DISCLAIMER: Lunar Legend Tsukihime, Fate/Stay Night, and all related characters and concepts are the creation and property of Kinoko Nasu and TYPE-MOON, along with whomever they’ve happened to license them to, such as Geneon, Funimation, A-1 Pictures and Netflix.
This is a not-for-profit, just-for-fun project.
Rin’s Room
Battleship Wolfen
Outside Sighișoara, Romania
OK, Rin, the Japanese magus asked herself, how exactly are you going to go about stealing the Greater Grail?
Realistically, it was her best option: it would both fulfill her master’s mission and remove the potential threat both Shirou Kotomine and the Yggdmillennia family posed. It was also, at least theoretically, a hell of a lot easier than taking down thirteen Servants in a battle royale . . . Theoretically, because she had to do so while escaping the notice of said thirteen Servants and their Masters—and screwing up might lead to that battle royale occurring, after all.
Frid—still an annoying name to get used to, but at least I can pronounce it, she thought—had sketched the physical Grail for her, and included human figures to give her a general sense of scale. The thing was massive; he’d said that it had needed either heavy chains or outright thaumaturgy to be lifted in the past.
Frankly, that didn’t really worry her—so far as they knew, Ilya could open Doors as big as they needed to be. All Rin needed to do was get close enough for the Grail to be within her range. The problem lay in exactly how to arrange that—and, again, do so in such a way that the others didn’t know she had. And it was hard to plot, when doing so aloud meant that the walls themselves would overhear you, and report it to their master.
Not that she thought the Norse deity would do anything about it, necessarily—but he was already more aware of the Works’ operations than she’d like. And just because he wouldn’t interfere, it didn’t rule out someone more invested in the Grail overhearing the report . . .
Frustrated, she returned to the sketch—and paused to note its artistry. A “borrowed skill,” Frid had called it, asserting that he’d never had such in life; his original, or as the druid. But apparently, as a magus, he did.
That makes sense, she supposed. Like any magus, he’d need some ability to draw symbols properly—and as a bloodline focussed on improving their Mystic Eyes the ability to draw what they see can only be helpful . . .
On a professional level, she was itching to dissect him; not literally, of course, but considering what she might be able to achieve in understanding the Kaleidoscope through studying him . . . Was “Godafrid” a created persona to the mind operating his body, as the druid had been, or a true analogue: the Kaleidoscope’s reflection of him in this facet? If the latter, why was Godafrid not present in her own facet—and was this another fusion, or some other means of manifestation entirely?
But sadly, her curiosity would have to go unsatisfied until after this Holy Grail War, or at least until after she managed to figure out how to steal the Greater Grail . . . Unfortunately, she didn’t really have much information to work with; mainly because for once, Godafrid didn’t—not when she’d asked, at least.
“Sorry, Rin, but I’ve never seen the setup—I came in just hours before all this started, remember? Besides, they wouldn’t have shown me everything, anyway; I’m Fiore’s fiancé, yeah, but I’m not family yet, and Darnic’s arrogant, but hardly an idiot. So I can tell you where it is if you’re digging straight down, going by the anime, but I’ve no idea of its actual position in the castle, or what protections they’ve got over it. All I can say with certainty is that they can’t stand up to an Anti-World Noble Phantasm—but then again, what can?”
It just figured, Rin thought sourly, that the font of endless knowledge would run dry right when she needed it. That was just her luck . . .
In any case, trying to plan to steal it from Yggdmillennia’s castle meant she’d be going in blind; but the same applied to trying to take it from the Hanging Gardens, if Kotomine got his hands on it. That, Godafrid had been a little more forthcoming about, and the only advantage she could see was that it was more-or-less in the open, then, as opposed to cloistered behind uncounted numbers of traps set up over seventy years. Sure, she’d have to break the Gardens’ defences, and kill Kotomine and Semiramis to get to it—but she was going to do those things anyway, and she’d have the rest of the Red Faction to help her with that part.
Of course, then she ran into the issue of trying to pull a fast one on the Red and Black Factions while they were right there . . .
Rin sighed. All these complications meant that, essentially, she was going to have to “wing it,” as she’d heard it put—and while associating with Shirou had improved her ability to adapt to the unexpected, she didn’t like having to do so. She much preferred to meticulously plan out her actions, and take the care to account for every possible variable . . .
And she scrupulously ignored the doubting voice in the back of her mind—sounding all-too-much like a certain Servant—pointing out that she hadn’t managed to make that approach work out yet . . .
Millennia Fortress
Trifas, Romania
“How go our preparations for the incoming attack?” Darnic demanded of the Masters of Yggdmillennia. “And how much knowledge of it do we have?”
“I’ve alerted our agents of the Hanging Gardens’ existence and imminent arrival,” Fiore reported. “They’re tracking it as we speak, and undertaking measures to implement mass memory erasure and cover stories as necessary. By all accounts, we likely have no more than an hour, but no less than thirty minutes; it’s large, but not fast. Arguably,” she added thoughtfully, “our greatest disadvantage will be altitude: there’s not much in our arsenal that can reach it, before we even consider the idea of breaching its defences.”
“In that regard,” Darnic said dryly, “I’m certain we can rely upon our allies of the Red Faction . . .” He turned to Caules. “How stand our present defences?”
“All Bounded Fields are active, and familiars are seeded in place,” the youth reported. “We have approximately sixty percent of our homunculi forces, all armed—but with the workshop sealed, our access to the homunculi prana batteries—”
“Are reduced to barely half of their original number, with the rest behind the barrier,” Darnic finished. “I am aware. I’ve already adjusted the connective spells accordingly: it will allow our remaining Servants to operate as they were intended to, able to use their Noble Phantasms without restraint.”
Which galled him, because that was only possible given that Caster and Rider had been eliminated, and Assassin had never been connected at all . . . But in point of fact, he’d gone a bit further than even that, arranging the connections so that, as Servants were defeated, the prana flows would reorient on the remainder.
As such, it rendered each Servant who fell in battle merely a means to strengthen their allies; a nasty surprise for the Red Faction when the War resumed, and a trump card to grant the last Servant of Black standing a level of power beyond imagining . . . And, in truth, it was a strategy Darnic had never believed he would need to implement—at least, not until nearly half his forces were eliminated before and during the first major skirmish of the War.
Of course, Darnic didn’t feel the need to share this detail with the others; while he’d selected them carefully for their talent and general lack of ambition, it wouldn’t do to tempt them, nonetheless. Likewise, while he was reasonably certain that none of their Servants save his own might kill the others for a strategic advantage, their reactions to knowing the possibility existed were somewhat less predictable . . .
“If our magecraft, Servants and homunculi are thus prepared,” he announced, “that leaves only the golems.” He turned his gaze again, and prompted, “Roche?”
The boy jumped in his seat at being singled out; but to his credit, his voice was even as he answered.
“B - Between what was destroyed in the attack, and the workshop being sealed off,” the youngest magus replied, “we’re at only thirty percent of our original golem army. I’m trying to salvage by combining bits from some of the destroyed ones, but I’m just not as good as Teacher . . .”
His tone was dejected, and the emotion was plainly visible upon his face. Some of the reason for that was attributable to youth, no doubt, but its presence being explicable did not make it acceptable—though Darnic found that watching the boy pale at his disapproving gaze was minutely gratifying.
“Restore all that you can,” he said, choosing not to comment directly, “and we will make the best use possible of your labours. Neither the Red Faction nor the traitorous priest has snatched victory from our hands yet, and I will not act as though the deed is already done! Our most powerful Servants yet remain within our arsenal—”
Saber and Lancer, primarily, though to discount the centaur renowned for both his wisdom and his prowess was probably a mistake . . . And Berserker, while young as a Heroic Spirit, was nevertheless far more suited to this modern era than most of her counterparts; it might be that the battlefield would grant her advantages other Servants lacked.
“—and we know what it is we face, now! We have the talent, the power, and the will—AND WE SHALL MAKE CERTAIN THAT ALL SHALL REMEMBER THE NAME OF YGGDMILLENNIA!”
One way or another, Darnic thought to himself
Tamamo’s Tearoom
Battleship Wolfen
Outside Sighișoara, Romania
She heard him, because of course she did; even leaving aside the fact that most deities were attuned to their names—handling prayers would be quite difficult, otherwise—Tamamo-no-Mae, as she’d been conceived in Scion, had maxed-out Epic Perception. Over a distance as relatively small as the size of the Wolfen, there was basically no way she couldn’t hear him. It was why he’d called to her that way in the first place.
Of course, the fact that she responded to his call by opening up a hole in the floor and dropping him into a chair in a cozy, Western-style tearoom was something Frid hadn’t predicted, and therefore had him crying out in alarm—but he really should have expected that, too. She was a kitsune, after all; pranks were first, second and third nature.
“Goodness me,” she said earnestly, though there was a sly narrowness to her eyes. “You look rather startled—would you perhaps care for some tea, to soothe your nerves?”
“. . . I’m rather fond of green tea with lemon,” Frid allowed, “if you wouldn’t mind, please.”
She smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. Nevertheless, she reached for the teapot, while he looked around the room. The Western design puzzled him, initially; yes, at the end of the chronicle he’d run, Tamamo had joined her husband in the Norse pantheon, but she’d maintained some of her Japanese nature, even so. Then he noticed the size of the room, and concluded it was a space for public events—presumably, her private tearoom would more suit her personal tastes . . .
The delicate porcelain cup, which very much was Japanese, and etched with foxes, was passed his way.
“Thank you,” the magus continued, “Now, as we’re pressed for time, forgive me for getting directly to the point. Would I be correct in assuming that since you’ve gotten here, in addition to Gaia’s efforts to stymie your powers, you’ve noticed other odd effects? Your ichor turning gold, perhaps, or maybe hearing prayers whispered in time with your heartbeats?”
The images he’d seen of the Sword of Atli, shifting from xiphos to rainbow-bladed broadsword, had indicated that Gaia—or whatever power oversaw the Nasuverse at large—wasn’t having an easy time of dealing with simple artefacts, after all . . . And while Tamamo was impossible to read when she chose to be, she’d proven remarkably open, in-game, when she was surprised.
She had an obvious tell: her tail tended to poof up.
“Ironically, it’s probably the reason your powers—unstable or unreliable as they are—have lasted this long,” Frid continued, not noticing the “fluffy tail” go even more so. “You see, in the reality I came from, the game based on our lives was undergoing a rules revision—and the updated back story at least partially implied that it was following a universal reset.”
Such as the sort of thing that might occur when the Titans collectively devour the World, he didn’t add. Nor did he really have to; the idea of things occurring in cycles undoubtedly came naturally to her, given the kitsune’s background—and while unlike her husband, she might be more heavily invested in Epic Wits rather than Intelligence, that hardly meant that she was stupid.
He took a sip of the tea, and smiled. As expected, this was pretty much the best cup of green tea he’d ever had, with just enough lemon tang not to overpower its taste.
“. . . I see,” Tamamo said at last, sipping her own cup of tea thoughtfully. “And what, precisely, would these changed rules imply?”
“There are a number of changes, in terms of the system mechanics, organisation and overall effects,” Frid admitted. “The most immediate issues, however . . . Well, on the positive side, your nature will integrate much more easily, because the Second Edition rules now allow for the creation of nonhuman Scions—kitsune are one of the examples used, in fact. But there are two primary factors that are important so far as things are concerned for you and your husband. First, at present, the rules only cover the Heroic tier of power . . .”
Which would render them more than mortal, but a far cry from a God; at a guess, a Hero’s abilities were largely on par with what Frid had seen of most magi, or spellcasters. There were exceptions, of course—Shirou Emiya, for example—but it was a semi-decent baseline. Demigod-tier, on the other hand, was a good benchmark for Heroic Spirits, with the same caveat about exceptions.
“The second problem,” Frid concluded, “is that the pantheons have been reorganised—and Erik’s father is not counted among them.”
On a personal level, the magus knew, this was pretty much a non-issue; Uller, Norse God of Hunters, Skiing, and Justice had been a largely crappy parent to Erik in the game—and among the Aesir, that was saying something—but on the level of metaphysics, it was a problem. Being more mortal than divine, Scions at the Heroic tier drew the majority of their power from their godly parent, and if that source no longer existed . . .
Well, the simplest solution for all the forces struggling to redefine him would be that Erik would cease to exist altogether.
Which, Frid admitted, would be bad on several levels—not the least of which is here and now . . .
“. . . What can be done about the process?” Tamamo asked at last. Not how it could be stopped, or reversed—which, really, might be even trickier to manage for them than it would for the Works members, given that Fate was a real and binding force in the paradigm of Scion.
Not that it would be easy to undo Frid’s becoming a magus with Mystic Eyes, either; really, preventing this sort of thing was why exactly Ilya enclosed them in paradigm shields whenever they travelled off-plane to begin with.
“. . . Assuming that he doesn’t simply wink out of existence, or revert to being purely mortal,” Frid said speculatively, “I assume that Erik’s inherent divinity will twist to match whichever deity suits him best—”
“Yes,” the fox-goddess said dryly. “I seem to recall a great deal of that happening around you . . .”
Frid shrugged, though he wasn’t able to completely stop himself from blushing. What had eventually become Krampus had been, essentially, an NPC he’d controlled to bolster the two players he’d had at the time; and ultimately, a trickster who’d switched pantheons as the situation—and storyline—had called for it.
“Given his association with you, it’s possible he’ll join the Kami—what were, to you, the Amatsukami,” the magus admitted, “but he’s so intrinsically attached to the Aesir, I don’t think that will change.”
Had they been dealing with the player behind Erik, it might’ve been a different story; his attachment to Tamamo might’ve outweighed his loyalties. It actually had been an in-game struggle to decide which way it was going to go, at the end—and that was when Tamamo wasn’t a flesh-and-blood woman (well, ichor masquerading as flesh and blood, but semantics). But in this case . . .
“Ultimately, I think it’s going to come down to what becomes his defining attribute,” Frid mused. “Scions in this new edition of the rules are only allowed access to one of their parent’s Purviews naturally—the rest have to come through Relics. And as before, that puts him in a tricky position, because I can think of only three candidates, offhand.
“The Beasts Purview is, as before, essentially vacant; the Aesir have no specific gods of animals like the other pantheons. Odin might be argued to be the god of wolves and ravens, but given Erik’s associations, the Fenris Wolf is more likely.” Frid’s tone turned serious, and he added grimly, “And while the Titans of this new World don’t seem as overtly hostile, neither is the Fenris Wolf likely to be anything other than as myth portrays him.”
After all, as the Storyteller, he’d allowed Erik’s player’s vision of the Fenris Wolf to be imposed on the game’s version—and there was no such guarantee here.
“The Frost Purview,” Frid continued, “is linked to both Skadi and Hel. Skadi is possible, because she’s a hunter by Calling—which is what Erik began as, and adopting one of their divine parents’ intrinsic natures is also something a Scion does, so the compatibility is higher, I think . . .
“The problem is that Hel is also the only source of the Forge Purview—the power of creation and innovation.”
He glanced around the room leadingly, and the kitsune’s ears flattened.
“. . . In essence, my husband is most likely to become the son of the Norse Izanami-ni-Mikoto,” Tamamo muttered sourly. “And that is if he survives at all.”
“I’m afraid so,” Frid said gently, knowing that was pretty much abhorrent to her innate Japanese aesthetic. “I’m sorry.”
As he took a sip of tea to moisten his dried-out throat, Tamamo closed her eyes, and sighed heavily, processing all she’d been told. And then, her ears perked up, her eyes opened wide, and a bright smile pasted itself on her face as she bowed respectfully.
“Well, in the event that such a thing happens,” she said in a too-chipper voice, “then I’ll be in your care, honoured Father-in-Law!”
Frid choked.
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Originally Posted by Xamusel
