Yeah this is supposed to be in the Strange Fake timeline so DAA's and Servants.Originally Posted by ItsaRandomUsername
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Yeah this is supposed to be in the Strange Fake timeline so DAA's and Servants.
Though abandoned, forgotten, and scorned as out-of-date dolls, they continue to carry out their mission, unchanged from the time they were designed.
Machines do not lose their worth when a newer model appears.
Their worth (life) ends when humans can no longer bear that purity.
10/ Have a Good Time
Sure, you hear stories about such and such hooking up at a party, but how fucked up do you have to be from the pregame to make out with someone on your classmate’s lawn? Unless you’re a couple — then you guys just have no self-respect. Couples are the worst at parties. You’re just here flaunting the piece of meat on your arm.
“Wouldn’t it be great if you guys ended up like that tonight. Much more romantic than a morning handjob.” I accompany that witticism with an equally ingenious obscene gesture.
And what’s even more ridiculous for these two is that they both think the other is the piece of meat.
“Please rise above yourself for one night, Nadine,” my brother’s riposte almost sounded exasperated. Stop faking it.
“Please suck a handful of dicks.”
Krista just smiles uncomfortably as we step onto the porch.
*****
Context is important. My mom didn’t drive me home after Mary and I said goodbye to Archer. Krista was waiting for me at school. She had the ‘I want to cry because something is happening not to me but everyone around me and there’s nothing I can do to make it better and I’m so lost but slightly happy at the same time, look on her face — the very same one she wore when her parents finally got divorced.
“Nadine, there’s a party tonight. I want to go with you. . . and him.”
I raised an eyebrow.
“I told him that I wouldn’t go unless you agreed to go.”
“While watching high school kids get wasted and trying to dance to ‘music’, would make my night. I think I’d prefer to go home and kill myself after finishing the stack of homework we got today.”
“Nadine, don’t say things like that. And you weren’t even at school today.”
“Exactly why I gotta study. A good GPA may have never got anyone into college, but a terrible one has barred many a student from getting into the school of their dreams. We get like what, a quiz every two days on the material from the previous lesson? I’ve got to hit the books, qurlfriend. Not my fault that the Californian school system is a cycle of cram and forget.”
“Dream school? You’re always talking about how dreams and wishes are dumb.”
Low hanging fruit.
“Come on, no matter what happens, we’re friends, right? We’ve been friends since your family moved here. We’ve never been to a party before. This is a new experience and I want to have that experience with you. If you actually care so much about getting into a reach school, you’d know the best schools always have the wildest parties. Think of this as practice.”
“No one wants us there, Krista.”
“Your brother wants me there and I want you there. That’s enough, right?”
“He’s a douche, get over him already.”
Again, she makes the same expression which accents her dimples that are seemingly drilled into her face. I look around and can’t find that perfect, Forever 21 catalog model face anywhere.
“Where is that mama’s boy anyway?”
“He’s going to the gym. We should probably get something to eat first and meet him at your place.”
Hittin’ the gym, and in a few years hittin’ his wife. IMO.
*****
The moment I step through the threshold into the party…. Actually, the atmosphere already tore open the front door. The entire playlist consists of EDM tracks that a true aficionado would lecture you on how EDM is an umbrella term and each specific song belongs to a subgenre with a long history and influences from pioneers people ‘just didn’t get.’ I don’t know anything about EDM, that’s just what I heard from a guy in a tank top on the porch who’s alternating between a Rolling Rock and his post-workout protein shake. I know it’s a post-workout shake because I can smell the testosterone from here. Either way, Rolling Rock gives my brother a fist bump as we enter the din. Football teammates, of course.
Have you ever watched one of those ridiculous teen movies that became a sensation in the late nineties and early two-thousands? They always have a party scene that serves as a vehicle to introduce minor characters or moves the plot by splitting the main characters so we can delve into the relationships that make up the subplots. Yeah, that’s all wrong. No one can talk or hear each other in this din. We’re pretty close to Frat Row so no one’s going to complain about the noise but it’s still crazy that a high schooler can throw a rager like this. Those are the rich kids of the not-so desperate housewives of Tolosa for you. I’m sure the host goes to Mission Prep.
After a fistful of bombastic hi-fives, bro hugs, and fist bumps, my brother leads us to the drinks table. There are two thirty-rack of lite beer, a fifth of plastic vodka from Trader Joe’s, a handle of Captain Morgan’s, and a glass flask of Fireball that people vehemently refuse to do shots of then do them anyway before complaining about how bad it was. Then they woo.
I would want to say this is a pretty typical spread, but I haven’t been to enough parties to know. Even though the music is ‘lit af” no one’s dancing, they’re just standing around in little groups like sardines in separate cans, nodding and laughing at jokes that no one can hear. Even so, the sardines look like they’re having fun or are so intoxicated they can’t tell the difference.
I see my brother pat Krista on the shoulder and motioning her to follow, “There. . . people. . . meet!”
She nods vigorously and takes his hand. That leaves good ol’ Nadine amidst the liquor and lack of food.
“Wow. . . great. . . to officially meet. . . .” Krista’s hugging some girl from math class. “That top is so cute!”
My stomach turns. It does so many flips that I push my way into the hallway only to find a line of visibly uncomfortable high schoolers supporting themselves on the wall. Fuck. Ignoring them, I rush to the second floor and start opening all the doors. Three people are passed out in one room, two guys making out in another, and in the last one, a girl sobs uncontrollably while drunkenly pouring her heart out to her Snapchat story. Yuck. But this entire night has been an awkward yuck. Eventually, I find the main bedroom and enter the adjoining suite.
If you’re rich and live in Tolosa, your main bedroom is always going to have a bathroom suite. It’s pretty much a status symbol. The new houses being built up in Paso with all that wine money — all have suites. Words of wisdom that could only come from my mom.
Reflected in the mirror is an awkward, ugly, pathetic girl who could do with losing some weight and growing a few inches, “God, Nadine, just don’t be so weird! God, why are you so awkward. Just have a good time like everyone else here. Just relax and have a good time.”
“Dearie, are you okay?” Mary materializes on the toilet. “I didn’t expect this social gathering to be so rambunctious.”
“Now you’re talking to a ghost in a bathroom at a house party,” I tell the reflection. “You are truly pathetic.”
Mary instantly dematerializes as I open the bathroom door and head down the stairs and through the swarm of people. When I end up back at the drinks table, Krista appears and grabs my wrist.
“Hey! I think I’m going to play beer pong!” She then proceeds to woo.
Before waiting for an answer, she heads over with her new friend and laughs with her as if they’re old friends, leaving me to take off my jacket and stand slightly behind a small circle of people, nervously laughing at a joke that I can’t hear because of the music before realizing they feel awkward that I’m standing here. I walk away, not feeling dejected, yet. I do this twice; the first time because we live in a culture that emphasizes putting ourselves out there to be challenged, and the second time because we’ve been conditioned to be afraid of failing. There’s no third time.
So here I stand, looking at all the perfect WASP-y, photoshopped, family pictures wondering who slips an extra Xanax into their clean bulk mass gainer or pre-cleanse spirulina superfood berry smoothie since even the drunk guys holding up the walls and the faded girls in fetal position on the ground (two snaps of the bong) don’t want anything to do with me. My presence seems to be making this party less fun for everyone, so I step outside to find even the couple making out on the lawn no longer there.
There’s a little circle of people passing around a joint at one end of the porch, but if I were to join them, seeking inclusion under the guise of pursuing a high then, wow, you would truly be desperate for human attention wouldn’t you, Nadine? Instead, I sit next to the hedge with my ghost.
“Parties suck. Did I ever tell you how my mother kept trying to throw me a party for my tenth birthday because my brother got one every year? She even told me that I would have more friends if I let her throw me a bomb birthday party. She actually said ‘bomb.’”
“‘Bomb,’ that’s like ‘cracker’ ain’t it? Like a cracker of a birthday party.”
“But like, Mary, how could anyone want to throw this sort of party? Drinking flavored fermented wheat tea, throwing a ping-pong ball into a cup, inhaling burning skunk grass. Why can’t people just have genuine conversations while enjoying a movie or playing a board game?”
Mary’s features are very deep-set. They give her this intensity that you wouldn’t expect from a cook which multiplies the emotion behind every single expression. The reason why I’m bringing this up is because her entire face has slackened into crestfallen disappointment tingled with slight bewilderment before it tightens under the porch lamp a quarter covered in flies.
“You’re a buck eedjit, dearie. I don’t know what you’re looking at, but this craic is quite brilliant.” There’s a wisp of a smile on her face, “Aye, your brother isn’t the man you want him to be. You might not be noticing but he’s been keeping an eye on your friend’s drink the entire night. When anyone too steamboated attempts to get close, he always puts his arm over that person’s shoulder asking if they’re okay. He’s had more than one drink spilled on him because of it. Wise up, girl, you could do much worse for a brother.”
Excuse me, I’ve had enough of this. I’ll even walk home by myself if it means getting away from this hot mess.
*****
There are a few streets in Tolosa that are safe to walk at night. Santa Rosa bisects the top half of the town, eventually becoming part of Highway 1. Oh, Highway 1, when pop love songs mention driving a sports car down the coast of California, they’re talking about Highway 1. All I have to do is cross three roads of suburbia upon this hill and I’ll be on Santa Rosa. There’s a ghost beside me if I get into any trouble too, so here goes something.
There isn’t much that I do with my phone other than post pictures to my private Insta only Krista has access to, use Facebook for group projects, and call my mom. The number of functions on this thing is excessive, but I’m always thankful there’s GPS navigation. Sure, Google and Apple are tracking your every move and selling that data to tampon companies, but there’s a big difference between getting home and not. Tonight, I’ve walked five minutes in a direction but it hasn’t registered on the GPS. Full bars plus LTE coverage too. There’s an episode of ‘The Office,’ where Steve Carell’s character drives into a lake because he insisted on following the GPS. Technology’s a lot more trustworthy these —
“Nadine,” Mary materializes. There’s an edge to her voice, “Stay behind me.”
The moment she finishes her warning, all the streetlights switch off.
Crash.
Why aren’t people coming out of their houses? Couldn’t they hear that crash? The sound was like a car macerating a streetlight at full speed. Please, no, that can’t happen again, so I’ll use my phone as a flashlight.
“Huh?”
Light is cast on whatever’s in front of me. Only disbelieving shock keeps dinner and the alcohol in my stomach. Mary, where are you? Where did you go?
“Mary!” I take a step forward. This is bad. This is really bad because death is creeping up my neck. Instinctively, I take that step back so I can start running in the opposite direction but my body just collapses from the panic. My knees crumple and my body goes limp, but it doesn’t collapse onto the tar street. A clammy claw grabs my face and now my feet are no longer touching the ground. No matter what happens, I won’t let go of my phone, because I’ve finally found Mary.
She’s splayed right next to a fallen streetlight. God, there’s so much blood pooling from her. This is bad. This is really bad. This is so bad that I almost couldn’t feel the pain coming from my hand.
“Curious and curiouser,” I can see it through the gaps of its fingers, “A Master allowing her thaumaturgical energy (魔力, maryoku, lit. “supernatural power;” previously transliterated as “magical energy/mana;” incorrectly translated as “prana”) leak (漏れている, morete-iru, lit. “leak-ing”) extant, sauntering around without a bound (隠された, kakusareta, lit. “hidden” ) Command Spell (令呪, reijuu)? Ergo, she seeks engagement. But accompanying a Servant unto granted such a mediocre Saint Graph (霊基, reiki, lit. “Spiritual Foundation”) must be a potently rotted [Saint Graph] core (核, kaku, lit. “nucleus”).”
Even if it’s still dark, I can see its eyes. They’re as red as the blood coming from the cuts on Mary’s face as she tries to mouth my name.
“Ahh –”
I try to scream, but nothing comes out. My brain shuts down from attempting to go into overdrive but fails over and over again. I can’t move. Nothing in this body can move. Those eyes don’t just observe, but also thrust molten butterscotch into me, attempting to smother my nerves so the claw around my head may more easily drink.
“She summoned a Servant, yet the manner of switching on her Thaumaturgical Circuits (魔術回路, majutsu kairo) is unknown to her? My, what a truly lackluster (欠けている, kakete-iru, lit. “to be deficient/insufficient”) lineup.” It opens its mouth revealing cheap, Target Dracula fangs. I don’t think they’re plastic.
I can’t accept this. In the next moment, Count Chocula here is going to suck my blood. This is disgusting. This is gross. I don’t want to be another vampire movie cliche. There’s no one here to help you, Nadine. Turns out the cook was really just a cook. You’re going to die because you left a party. Why did you leave the party? Because you couldn’t stand your best friend leaving you for more interesting people. And why wouldn’t she? Look at yourself. Didn’t Krista say as much? You don’t even have a dream. There’s nothing that you want to do; all that you have inside of you is this painful emptiness that stops your heart.
And I can’t forget that. I can’t forget that because it’s where I began as a person.
That stopped heart starts leaking hot tears that spread throughout my body, melting my butterscotch shackles. It hurts, it really hurts. I want to say that, but this feeling is beyond pain. It’s a tear that humans should not be able to grasp and therefore will inevitably rip apart one’s existence. As the deluge of tears reaches my fingertips, I begin to struggle, trying to get its hand off my face. It doesn’t budge. I may have gotten ahold of my body, but he’s too strong. It won’t even take a second for those hackneyed fangs to dig into my neck.
I don’t stop struggling; I don’t close my eyes; I don’t stop screaming. I’m weak. I’m really weak - that’s why I’m going to die. I’m not afraid of dying. I’m NOT afraid of dying. It’s just too pathetic to die like this. . . .
Some abstract, supernatural flow halts. Much like a small rock that’s thrown at a window, the stone pierces through but the resulting force shatters the entire window.
A gloved hand digs into the wrist of the arm holding me.
“You weren’t expected. . . Berserker.”
“Let go of the girl.” In her other hand is a gigantic revolver with multiple barrels pointed at the vampire’s face.
“Heroic Spirit (英霊, eirei) or not, my power (能力, nouryoku, lit “abilities”) engaged make subsequently evading fired bullets (弾丸, dangan) nothing so much as extant.”
She tightens her grip on his wrist. “Let go of the girl,” she repeats one final time.
This is a Servant’s true power. Berserker’s undertow, her chaotically, insane killing intent, threatens to engulf the vampire. Even if that thing is undead, it has no other option but to let me go if it wants to live a little while longer. With that, the grip on my face relaxes and my feet touch the ground once more.
Without looking at me, Berserker says one word, “Run.”
I want to say something to Berserker, but there are too many questions running through my head — like why is there a bed on the street. I just put my phone inside my blue jacket pocket and run towards the road. I don’t need to confirm that Mary is with me. We’ve been together long enough that I know how to distinguish between her ghost form and her physical one.
My lungs are burning but the chill of the cold air keeps me from taking my jacket off. Once again, I almost died, but instead of being attacked by a skull-masked ninja, it was a vampire. There’s no way I can put up with two more weeks of this shit. It was a mistake; it was definitely a mistake to participate in this battle royale. Another terrible decision from Neigh-dine. Tomorrow morning, I’m going straight back to the bowl-cut priest to hand over Mary.
Oh right, Mary’s hurt. How are you supposed to patch up an injured ghost? It’s not like we can just pop up at the ER. Whatever, Nadine, one failure at a time. I just need to cross this intersection and then I’ll be on Santa Rosa. Then it’s just a ten-minute walk home. This is definitely something even you can’t screw up, you stupid bitch.
The screeching of brakes rings through the night with the scent of burnt rubber wafting behind it.
Oh. . . I forgot this intersection had a blind corner.
Like a deer in the headlights —
Last edited by You; February 6th, 2021 at 04:37 AM.
Though abandoned, forgotten, and scorned as out-of-date dolls, they continue to carry out their mission, unchanged from the time they were designed.
Machines do not lose their worth when a newer model appears.
Their worth (life) ends when humans can no longer bear that purity.
I can't believe that Fallacies tried to kill Nadine.
The vampire's, uh, quirk, left me with a dopey smile on my face, so thanks for that.
Also something something continued subtle character growth for Nadine etc. etc. fun stuff.
My Fanfics. Read 'em. Or not.McJon01: We all know that the real reason Archer would lose to Rider is because the events of his own Holy Grail War left him with a particular weakness toward "older sister" types.
I was wondering what was going on there. Is this fic gonna meme on the entire TM fandom?
11/ This Will Was Surely Made of Steel
~Interlude~
As the Master and her Servant became distant, swallowed into the night, the vampire dared look Berserker in the eye.
Bang.
With a fluid motion, Berserker jerked on her opponent's wrist with supernatural strength, pulling him into the multiple barrels of her pepperbox while firing. The force of the attack coupled with the spray of bullets sent him flying into a nearby brick fence, smothering the area with a cloud of pulverized brick.
Particulate matter less than ten microns is a Group 1 carcinogen. Remember to disperse all dust clouds, Berserker.
Something stained her left glove red. It must have been the blood seemingly holding together the vampire's right arm. She was holding his forearm so tightly that when the force of the attack blew him away, the arm alone stayed with Berserker. Berserker dropped the arm onto the ground and began to walk away. With the bounded field gone, it wasn’t safe to fight on this street any longer. Too narrow, too enclosed, any more suspicious sounds could disrupt the sleep of children. Bed rest was important — a tenet that Berserker lived by while alive. She was not about to put the circadian rhythms of parents and their children at risk on a school night to further tussle with a vampire.
"Is that per the extent of a fragment of the Rationality of Man (人理, jinri) manifest unto an iterated corpus? Disappointing! How disappointing, Counter Force (抑止力)!"
His arm and face might have still been reforming, but he managed to close the distance between the combatants in one bound. His left hand metamorphosized into a claw sharp enough to tear through Berserker's body with one strike. The bullet-like claw shot from the barrel, his arm, at a speed of 2,500 inches per second and capable of producing more than 3,000 pounds per inch of kinetic energy.
But material numbers like those didn’t matter to a Servant.
With surgeon-like precision, Berserker intercepted the claw with a chop, cleanly fracturing the radius and ulna. That would disrupt any strike and send the human attacker reeling in pain, but the claw still managed to gash her torso. The dark red blood stained the white trimmings of her crimson uniform, but Berserker, true to her name, did not recognize the wound. It could be disinfected later. In reply, she fired a round at point-blank, aimed right at the center of the vampire's forehead.
True to his previous words, he detected Berserker's intention, predicted her target, and craned his neck far enough to the side so the bullet only grazed his layered blond hair. What he didn't notice during his performance was that Berserker had detached one of the bags from around her waist, and swung it with all her might at the soft tissue around his kidney area.
Anatomy Knowledge: A
Berserker's most trusted ability. Through the exaggerated training she supposedly obtained while alive, an encyclopedic knowledge of human anatomy had been forced on Berserker. From simply glancing at the, she could instantly grasp a person's physical medical history. Furthermore, through each attack, she opened up old wounds, fractured bones to disable movement, and targeted vulnerable organs to cause internal bleeding — creating holes in the absolute armor known as one's body, leaving one's greatest asset an increasing liability.opponentpatient
The beings humans have deemed heroes were unsurprisingly, mostly human. While Servants possess an Ether body, in the world of magecraft, taking a specific form required one to take a portion of its. For instance, with each breath Servants cycled magical energy through their body much in the same way humans do oxygen. It was no exaggeration to call Berserker, who's fighting style targeted the weakness of a human body with pinpoint accuracy, a Servant-Killer, yet. . . .functionslimitations
The impact pushed him off balance but didn’t knock the air out of his lungs as intended. If she had succeeded, Berserker's next attack would sweep him off his feet, allowing her to stake his heart with an arm. But the moment she initiated the maneuver, her leg was caught by impossible darkness — the vampire's cape hardened through some sort of mystery. Hard enough to block a Servant's all-out attack, still supple enough to wrap itself around her leg, and strong enough to act as a fulcrum, the caped darkness hurled her into the ground again and again and again. Each impact cracked the road she was slammed into; her ears ringing with the failure to subdue her supernatural opponent.
"A-a minor injury," a pain-filled gasp was finally discharged.
On this night, her opponent was not human No matter how they might look, vampires are pure creatures of mystery — as foreign to humans as oni. No sane person could expect that techniques used to destroy a human body would offer the same effect against a vampire.
Yet, she continued to shatter his kneecaps, believing he would kneel.
Yet, she continued to crush his spine, believing his lower body would seize up, paralyzed.
Yet, she continued to box his ears, believing rupturing his eardrums would destroy his sense of balance.
That was the disadvantage of the Berserker class — the inability to adapt to the current situation and readjust. Normally, a high rank in Mad Enhancement would force the Berserker to function similar to an automaton — a tool rather than a partner. However, this Berserker went beyond even that. Not only was she incapable of readjusting her tactics, but she also would not heed her Master's pleas.combat tacticsworldview
A machine with a steel heart would not, could not, deviate from the way humanity claimed she lived her life. In exchange for that uncompromising, indomitable approach to any problem that would only lead one to self-destruction. . .
The cape pulled Berserker into the vampire's arms as he bared his fangs.
Berserker was faster — she pulled back, forcing the vampire to overreach, losing his balance.
Berserker was better equipped — using her teeth, she tore the pin off the grenade that manifested in her empty hand.
Berserker was stronger — in one motion, she drove the grenade into the vampire's chest, piercing flesh and bone before rolling backward while firing several rounds from her pepperbox.
Thank you, Mr. Vampire, for re-establishing the bounded field while you were splayed on the ground, covered in Group 1 carcinogen and missing an arm. Now, the neighborhood children will get their recommended ten hours of sleep even if an Anti-Tank grenade detonates.
The resulting explosion shook everything within the bounded field, leaving a crater right in the middle of the street. The spray of tar and gravel from the explosion coat the stylish stone fences or batter the wooden ones with shrapnel. In an instant, the solidly middle-class street was replaced with a landscape the inhabitants have ever only seen in carefully curated war movies.
Even if vampires could dodge supersonic point-based attacks, their reaction time and speed weren’t nearly enough to escape a point-blank explosion that could destroy a tank. Yes, Berserker was faster, better equipped, and stronger.
"A weaponized domain of Mystery equipped with an armament (武装, busou) of the Man of Modernity is an affront (侮辱, bujyoku, lit. ‘insult’)."
But the vampire's high-speed regeneration made all three of her advantages completely meaningless. Within seconds, he was able to completely regenerate, black cape and all. "Of course, her Alignment (属性, zokusei, lit. ‘attribute’) is… Man (人). How audacious of me to hope for a better showing."
Perhaps that was Berserker's greatest weakness.
She did not help establish a.nationtexture
She was not a hero of legend who fought monsters to civilize the world.
She has not touched the depths of the arcane in her research.
Her story began and ends like the many often proudly told in this country where she now fights. A brilliant soul unsatisfied with her lot in life, craving something more — she found purpose in war.
Herwas popularized. She didn't mind.storydeeds
Herwas warped. She couldn't mind.storylegacy
Most recently, herwas disparaged. She doesn't mind.storylifestyle
A genteel daughter of privilege once despaired that she could be nothing more in life than a socialite's trophy. In rebellion forged in spirituality, she confronted the poverty of the human spirit with administrative rigidity and sweet-smelling statistics. The woman's noble posture became immortalized and in apotheosis, thestripped away. Servant Berserker is nothing more than steel conviction, encased in Humanity's perverted expectations and mania.humanitysanity
She had never physically hurt anyone/Her Strength parameter was set to B+.
She had never been wounded/Her Constitution parameter was set to A+.
She had never dodged a bullet/Her Agility parameter was set to B+.
She had never touched a mystery/Her Magical Energy parameter was set to D+.
She… had never thought of herself as lucky/Her Luck parameter was set to A+.
Florence Nightingale had never fought. She had never fired a gun, never thrown a grenade, never smothered someone with a pillow. In fact, she was confined to her room for a large portion of her life. The gulf betweenandThe Lady of the Lampexpectationswas simply too large. It's obvious from the way she fights. With no technique or combat experience, she relies solely on her nursing training, conferred stat modifiers, and expendable body to overwhelm the opponent before they grow accustomed to her amateurish movements. The cracks in the armor of the Nurse of Steel are too evident — she is held together with nothing more than that steel will. The foundation of that will?Florence Nightingalereality
February 7th, 1837, God called her to service — to save lives. She fought the undefeatable specter who loomed above the soldier's beds in Scutari — the same one who loomed above her own bed throughout her youth calling for her in its honeyed tones, promising a comfortable, complete, oblivion. She spent her entire life fighting against an all-encompassing inevitability and even now did not waver, did not cease. She did not see the vampire in front of her, never, only theshe once wished would hold her with its Romantic throes.enemyThanatos
Berserker retreated as the vampire lunged. His actions tonight had been erratic as if trying to break an age-old habit. First, he tried to pierce her chest as if clawing for something and then he reverted to the orthodox bloodsucking. Unbeknownst to Berserker, the only bloodsuckers that were capable of safely draining the energy from a Servant are True Ancestors or Elementals — this vampire was neither.
She kicked up the bed she used to break the bounded field, converting it into a makeshift shield against the barrage of attacks. His claws sliced through the entire bed like a hot knife through butter. In a matter of seconds, the frame was a pile of kindling and the mattress nothing more than tattered rags.
The vampire smiled to himself because he knew that Berserker was no longer behind the bed. That poor attempt of distraction was to mislead him into believing she would comically use the bed as a battering ram. Instead, she counted on the vampire losing himself in the ecstasy of performing a series of elegant attacks — fit for an aristocrat such as himself.
No matter, the vampire thought to himself. No matter, for this is merely an appetizer. A test for the seekers of the Holy Grail unrelated to himself.
It didn’t matter if this Ghost Liner used that ridiculous bed to block his line of sight to take to the sky.
It didn’t matter if she flipped in mid-air, her heel, the blade of an ax kick about to penetrate his skull.
It didn't matter if he lost the left side of his body while doing his best to dodge.
For he will regenerate and jump right back into the fray.
Berserker was unable to land a decisive blow. Of course, this didn’t mean the vampire approached the level of a Servant. Berserker was leagues above this vampire in terms of inherent combat ability and it crushed him to his core and filled him with violent envy that painted the world crimson to say. . . her spiritual rank was higher than his. . . for now. But, their compatibility was terrible, she did not have a conceptual Anti-Unit Noble Phantasm that could deal with his regeneration, neither did she have an Anti-Army or Anti-Fortress Noble Phantasm strong enough to atomize his entire body in one attack.
Then, the result of each exchange was obvious. How many have already taken place? Five? Ten? It was merely a pattern of allowing oneself to be overwhelmed, succumbing to the force, and regenerating. For the vampire, this was par for the course. By reading her increasingly obvious movements, he was able to take the least amount of damage to conserve enough energy for twenty, no, thirty more exchanges while chipping away at that body.
Each riposte Berserker unflinchingly received shaved off a fraction of her magical energy, increasing the expenditure necessary for the next action. Her healing abilities were substantial enough that it would take mere minutes to address the wounds, but it was the very nature of this class which allowed a Victorian lady to sprint onto the battlefield that prevented her from addressing the damage while she faced a patient who required treatment.
"Yet, each blow and equivalent quantity of fury materialized, incognizant of the preceding exchange’s (輪廻の攻撃, renei no kogeki, lit 'samsara/endless cycle of attacks' ) futility Ergo, forward she forges a repetition of mistakes recurrently incessant — led to broadcast nothing but self-destruction (自己崩壊, jiko hakai, lit ‘self-collapse’) extant."
This wasn’t meaningful anymore.
Was this truly the extent of the capabilities of the Greater History of Man (汎人類史, han-jinruishi; 汎 is as ‘spanning / wider / greater,’ but usage as a noun prefix is per transliteration of the English "pan-") that subjectively colonized the Solar System with their Law (理, kotowari, lit. ‘principles / rationalities’) known as Science?
How. . . small (小さい, chii-sai).
The vampire's eyes flashed crimson and Berserker could feel her body halt without her permission. Using that interval, he rushed in to sever her head. One might call a Servant's body a magic circuit in and of itself which made directly corroding it with foreign magical energy difficult. The fact that the vampire's Mystic Eyes were able to hold Berserker even for an instant was a testament to their power which did not even reach a Noble Color.
"AAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH-!"
He had not expected Berserker to forgo all defense to focus the entirety of her magical energy into her throat before letting loose a shout that could hardly pass for the heavenly trumpets of angels.
This was the heartfelt cry of the Angel of Crimea.
No combatants rallied behind this war cry.
No soldiers wept because it signaled reinforcements.
No enemies despaired upon hearing it on the battlefield.
This was the self-righteous spirit that dotted every ‘i’ and crossed every ‘t’ in sanitation reports to the Ministry of War. The unyielding spirit that wrote volumes upon volumes of musings on what nursing is and what it is not. The conscientious spirit that analyzed datum after datum, furiously planting, watering, and then pruning graph after graph as if some kind of saint.
Severe, industrious, pious — the truth of her being was contained within that cry.
Cladding herself in that indomitable will, she used everything she could muster to tear apart the binding of the Mystic Eyes before driving her fist into the vampire's face so that of course he was sent flying to the edge of the bounded field. That attack contained no calculation, no intent, no technique — but it was built with the same tenacity the Lady used to assault each day.
"I see…. Vampirism is a bloodborne disease. Symptoms involve the hardening of clothes, bloodshot eyes, and the inability to be cured through death. I've never treated vampirism before so this will be a useful experience. Reminder to add section ‘How to deal with undying patients' to the 'Petty Management' section of 'Notes on Nursing.'"
The most peculiar thing tonight hadn’t been the battle between a legendary nurse and a vampire, but the fact that neither of them offered a word to the other. Every spoken word had been directed towards oneself; cautioning oneself, praising oneself, explaining to oneself. Almost as if neither of these two mysteries directly acknowledged the other's existence. But that will end now Berserker convinced herself to play her trump card.
To begin with, a Victorian daughter of privilege who rejected pastoral luxury to pursue a call to service from God should know nothing of frivolities such as vampires. If she maintained her sanity, she may have recalled the stories her suitor, the Baron, had shared with her that underlaid the second greatest treasure in his collection: the original 23rd of July, 1816, visitor's page for the Hôtel de Londres in Chamonix. What did come to mind were snatches of stories from her more trusted nurses, scaring trainees into abiding their curfew while breaking their own to go to the local pub. But even those memories had been painted over with a coat of rusted steel paint.
Magical energy began to radiate from Berserker. Invisible spirals of spiritual pressure tested the tensile strength of the bounded field which creaked and cracked under the quantity and volume. A miracle was about to be unleashed upon the world.
"I shall abstain from whatever is deleterious and mischievous..."
She spun the words of a pledge created after her time, using heras its basis. This was the moment that Nightingale became the ideal all future nurses aspired to live up to. In Berserker's mind, this was the only treatment left that could cure this wretched soul of his vampirism.call to serviceway of life
"I shall do all in my power to proliferate good health for all!"
Thebegan to form behind Berserker. The great sword this phantasm carried will purge everything in the area, purifying all toxins and diseases no matter their origin or how far they've tainted the soul.angel in whiteshadow in white
Although he had regenerated most of his body, the vampire was laying on the other side of the road. Too far away, he couldn’t stop Berserker's invocation no matter how many openings might be on display. What a shame he didn't land closer.
"–”NightingaleI Will Abstain From Whatever
"Ahh-" A dribble of blood leaked from her mouth instead of the remainder of the name.
Berserker looked down. As if mocking her earlier attack, the vampire's arm that she tore off at the beginning of the battle was lodged in her chest.
"This arm's been on the ground. Must disinfect the. . . “
The hand tightened its grip on her heart and. . . .
*****
The Doctor opened the door of her Prius and fell out onto the sidewalk. It had taken all her strength to maintain consciousness behind the wheel. She had lost all color in her face, her pulse was racing, and her breathing was erratic, that is to say, she was going into shock. If a good Samaritan were to come across her at this moment and reached out to the woman writhing on the ground, they would have quickly snatched their hand away. This woman was feverish. . . no, it might be more accurate to say that her nerves themselves were burning up — the cost of using magecraft beyond one's ability.
Using the last of her strength, she broke the seal on the syringe in her hand. What she held in her hands was blasphemy to any magus — red liquid that was visibly filled to the brim with magical energy encased in a disposable syringe one might find the pharmacist at CVS or Rite-Aid using to deliver vaccinations. For the Doctor it was a matter of practice. The traditional, thin octahedral glass vials with metal oxide stoppers were difficult to both sterilize and attach a needle onto.
Groaning, she pulled up her shirt and slipped the needle-tip into a septum slightly above the right side of her pelvis. The liquid rushed through the cannula and pooled into the cecum before the Doctor magically forced her large intestine's powerful muscles to push it into the ascending colon. The spasming started to dissipate and color returned to her face. Most importantly, her magic circuits began to cool down, their burden taken by something else. Although she was not taking additional damage, her skin was slightly charred, the left side of her body was numb, and her brain, overheated and overtaxed, waved in and out of consciousness. Yet, through the force of her will, she was able to stand.
The cost of summoning a Berserker. The Berserker class was usually used to boost the basic abilities of weak Heroic Spirits to give them power they never had during their lives. If that was the criteria for the model Berserker, the Berserker the Doctor summoned may be the cream of the crop. However, the class skill Mad Enhancement rendered the Servant nothing more than a mad warrior that butchered everything in its path without regard for its Master's health. Supremely ironic, considering the identity of the Heroic Spirit the Doctor summoned.
No, it wasn't Berserker's fault. . . at least this time. The cause was right in front of her, a mundane street lit up by an upright streetlight. It might be by design that the street was so narrow since everyone on this block had a driveway. A street that no one wanted to walk through at night. A street that everyone feels safe enough walking through if they must. So safe, that upon seeing this street, they might decide to cross a different street on a whim. Because you see, it's safe.
But in their world, a whim is never truly a whim.
The Doctor's magic circuits might be weak, but she could feel the bounded field that had been erected. The same bounded field that cut off her ability to communicate telepathically with Berserker but was not strong enough to sever the flow of magical energy from Master to Servant. Whether that was intentional, the Doctor didn’t know. She was sitting in her office sharing Berserker's view of the events through their Master-Servant link when her Servant stopped responding and started draining substantial quantities of magical energy. She believed that she could hold out, find Berserker before too much magical energy was drained. After all, her supply of syringes was limited and no more could be made — her penalty for joining the Holy Grail War. With Berserker's presence having disappeared, the only thing the Doctor could do was to track her magical energy to the road where it stopped — the location of the battle.
"Argh —” the cry escaped the Doctor's throat.
Hot. The imaginary friction of her rotating circuits sent her internal temperature skyrocketing. Berserker was draining such large quantities of magical energy, even the mystery inside her body having consumed the supplement couldn’t handle the magical energy demanded.
Noble Phantasm.
Berserker must have been driven into a corner so dire that she needed to use her trump card. Her Noble Phantasm maybe one of the lower ranks, but the amount of magical energy necessary for the activation for an Anti-Army Noble Phantasm that could affect up to one hundred people, minus the support from the Grail, is more than the Doctor's already drained body could handle.
With her body crying for release and sweat staining her forehead from the effort to make the smallest movements, she managed to unholster the revolver and aimed its barrel directly in front of her. She didn’t have enough magical energy to include any attachments, so the shot would ring throughout the neighborhood and tear the residents from their slumber. Panicked, they'll take to their blue screens to call law enforcement. The Doctor just hoped Berserker had enough sense to carry her to their safe house before the police arrived. She struggled to smile, preparing enough magical energy to take the shot.
"Ahh —” she coughed.
A sharp phantom pain stabbed her chest. This wasn’t a hallucination due to the excessive depletion of Od from one's body. The magus was the one who created the telepathic channel between magus and familiar. The most advanced function is sharing each other's senses. The sensation she experienced was from the secondthe Grail draws when it ties the fate of the Master to the Servant, delivering each party a better sense of each other's status. While a first-class bounded field can easily shut off a telepathic link, cutting this secondary path is the equivalent of an external force cutting off a Servant's magical energy supply. That path told her something had to be done, or Berserker’s life would be in danger. Easier said than done. The Doctor was injured, exhausted, and most importantly, off-balance.pathline
She stumbled.
She tightened her grip on the weapon in defiance of her failing body.
How many times had she been in a similar situation, on dunes, on an outcropping, on the open sea?
How many times did the faces of those who left her behind appear, telling her that ignorance was her sin?
How many times did she vow that this was not the path she chose based on her sins, but that she would carry them on this path?
Even if your parents abandon you, I won't. I'll never give up on you.
Good people die senselessly. Innocent children die meaninglessly.
This was something the Doctor and Berserker agreed on.
— I don't like that.
Her body, drained until it yelled for a black oblivion, managed to muster enough magical energy to fill the revolver — she squeezed the trigger.
Everything shattered and her world went white.
*****
The Doctor woke up in an unfamiliar room with familiar decor. It took a few seconds for her eyes to adjust to the cold fluorescent light only to be greeted with the faded murals on the cream-colored wall. Nonsense caricatures of dinosaurs with thermometers in their mouth and too-friendly clowns that had cartoonish inflammations around a thumb or a joint were painted in warm colors. To her left was a child-sized bed.
"Berserker. . . water. . .” she managed to croak.
She turned to the side to find her Servant at the sink, filling a glass, examining the turbidity, and then offering it to her Master. The Doctor managed to sit up and thank Berserker before taking a sip. The water coated her dry mouth and ran down her throat. By the time she took a larger gulp, she began to feel the ache of her damaged body — bearable, you've been through worse, you've seen worse, you've healed worse.
"Berserker, where are we?"
Berserker took the glass away from her Master and proceeded to push her head onto the pillow.
"A suburban side street is the furthest away from an operable location as one may find. This medicine cabinet may be missing essentials, but at the least, a first aid kit is present."
A school? The Doctor recalled an elementary school in the vicinity. They must be in the school nurse's office. The Doctor didn't want to know how Berserker broke into the school without setting off any alarms. She was just thankful they weren’t in a jail cell or worse.
A famous line of her Servant's that survived the century is that ‘Nursing is the act of utilizing the environment of the patient to assist in her recovery.’ That is to say, the barriers of healing must be removed if the patient is to make a speedy recovery. On first impression, Berserker seems pushy, brash, and unintelligible, but the core of her nursing and heris that Nightingale does not heal, she creates an environment that is the optimal place so a patient can heal — that was theSaint GraphSpiritual Foundationof the Noble Phantasm the Nurse of Steel was about to unleash.coreessence
"What happened in that bounded field, Berserker?"
The Doctor had asked Berserker to find and then tail the seventh Master, a local girl. No matter what Berserker's relationship with Assassin might lead to, Assassin's Master was a child forced to fight in the Grail War. As a licensed, somewhat practicing pediatrician, the Doctor could not let her continue, no matter the child's wish.
The Doctor had Berserker guard the local high school's entrance this morning. The girl never arrived. They tried again after school and picked up her scent — the girl was actively leaking magical energy. The only danger was Assassin sensing Berserker, but considering Assassin was weighed down with the Personal Skill Powerless Shell, the Doctor hazarded her magical energy sensing ability was less than competent.
From there, Berserker and the Doctor sought an opportunity to release the girl from her contract. Assassin, the weakest Servant in the war, was both a target and disposable. After getting the two alone, Berserker would defeat Assassin, and the girl would be taken under the protection of the government agency that the Doctor was affiliated with. Her first choice was to drop the girl off with the overseer, but her handlers had given her conflicting information about the Church. After parsing through the information with a critical eye, it sounded as though the Holy Church was going through an internal power struggle with repercussions that affected even this Holy Grail War.
Berserker was about to engage the pair when Nadine became caught up in a bounded field. Foolish girl — if your Servant is already in spirit form, cut off the magical energy supply. . . is what the Doctor wanted to shout in a pillow, but that would be hypocritical. She, herself, was nothing more than a third-rate spellcaster at best, someone, almost worth less than an initiate in the world of magecraft.
On the Doctor's orders, Berserker immediately materialized a bed, the same one the Doctor was laying on and proceeded to break into the bounded field to confront Caster. In their mind, only Caster could make such a complex bounded field. What they found was a vampire attempting to drink the girl's blood.
"Vampirism. . . is a terrifying disease of the mind. It renders a delirious patient unable to consider the very person in front of them. Reminder to calculate the possible societal cost of a provincial epidemic of vampirism. Use the same set of assumptions to create a forecast on the strain to public health resources in urban centers," Berserker muttered, unable to recognize the person in front of her.
The Doctor took this opportunity to seat herself back up, but Berserker pushed her back down while still muttering to herself and nodding deeply at intervals.
A vampire taking part in the Holy Grail War was not unheard of. The first report she had read about the topic, the one closest to her heart, detailed a vampire who made the art-museum-shaped-hospital she worked in into his lair — taking her patient hostage. She pushed those memories back into her heart. The Doctor didn't know too much about Dead Apostles, but a Servant shouldn't have too much trouble against them unless it was a Dead Apostle Ancestor. Unless like the vampire who terrorized her hometown. . . .
"Berserker, was the vampire a Master? Did a Servant materialize? "
Berserker stopped muttering to herself and turned to face her Master. For the first time this night, she looked the Doctor directly in her stern, heavy eyes.
"There was no Servant."
Berserker's measured tone was one used for reporting something mildly unacceptable to a superior officer. The Doctor immediately understood that Berserker thought of this Dead Apostle as a threatening patient. The Doctor couldn’t make sense of it in her head. What sort of Dead Apostle could fight equally with a Servant, without any help?
"What happened after I fainted?"
"It retreated."
Of course. The Doctor's revolver is a one-of-a-kind limited action Mystic Code. Fired bullets were capable of draining the magical energy from bounded fields among other things. The more complex the bounded field one holds together, the greater the rebound to one's magic circuits from having it broken. Furthermore, Dead Apostles pride themselves in being the greatest erectors of bounded fields — some are capable of even fooling nature to create otherworlds. To have its bounded field broken twice? In a single night? They say a Dead Apostle's grudge is as persistent as the curse from signing a Self-Geis Scroll. The Doctor doesn't know what a Self-Geis scroll is but if it's half as bad as her Comcast contract, then —
But that wasn't the issue at hand.
"The longer that girl remains a Master, the greater the danger she'll be in. Tonight shouldn't have happened. Berserker."
"Doctor?"
"Tomorrow, we kill Assassin."
"Affirmative, I'll set an appointment."
In an elementary school nurse's office with bloodied bandages lining the floor, the pair who both pledged to ‘first, do no harm’ a century apart planned to draw the first meaningful blood in this conflict. All to save a singleyear old girl.seventeenten
~Interlude Out~
Last edited by You; February 6th, 2021 at 05:13 AM.
Though abandoned, forgotten, and scorned as out-of-date dolls, they continue to carry out their mission, unchanged from the time they were designed.
Machines do not lose their worth when a newer model appears.
Their worth (life) ends when humans can no longer bear that purity.
Wow, Dr. Levitt clearly has gone cuckoo since Snowfield. I assume she's still chasing Tsubaki's ghost or something.
Would've commented sooner, but sometimes I just plain forget to check this sub-forum. Oopsie! ;p9
A solid fight scene juxtaposed with two appreciable and interesting character studies.
At first, I got a little confused when the narration started mentioning Assassin, until I realized that the narration for this interlude is biased towards Team Med and that there's no way they'd know at that point that Mary is an Avenger instead. That, and both Servant and Master are a bit touched with madness, so there's another layer to the writing.
My Fanfics. Read 'em. Or not.McJon01: We all know that the real reason Archer would lose to Rider is because the events of his own Holy Grail War left him with a particular weakness toward "older sister" types.
Avenger? Where's that mentioned?
It's very heavily implied, and I thought Sancraid almost mentioned it outright before Mary interrupted him.
Mary's an Assassin.
She doesn't like being associated with the word Assassin
Though abandoned, forgotten, and scorned as out-of-date dolls, they continue to carry out their mission, unchanged from the time they were designed.
Machines do not lose their worth when a newer model appears.
Their worth (life) ends when humans can no longer bear that purity.
Aha.
The plot thickens.
My Fanfics. Read 'em. Or not.McJon01: We all know that the real reason Archer would lose to Rider is because the events of his own Holy Grail War left him with a particular weakness toward "older sister" types.
Though abandoned, forgotten, and scorned as out-of-date dolls, they continue to carry out their mission, unchanged from the time they were designed.
Machines do not lose their worth when a newer model appears.
Their worth (life) ends when humans can no longer bear that purity.
Oh. And here I thought she was an Avenger. My bad, man.
While it's very true she's much more intense, I would say you can see the seeds in Strange Fake.
Last edited by You; August 17th, 2019 at 02:17 AM.
Though abandoned, forgotten, and scorned as out-of-date dolls, they continue to carry out their mission, unchanged from the time they were designed.
Machines do not lose their worth when a newer model appears.
Their worth (life) ends when humans can no longer bear that purity.
I do agree, but at the time, it was just the devotion of a doctor to save her patient. Now, it's...well this.
I really enjoyed the juxtaposition of Berserker's old life vs her Servant Class, just how different they were. I also really enjoyed the the juxtaposition of a being of Greater Mystery like the DA being confronted by something so deeply embedded in Modernity and just how almost...futile Berserker's attacks were due to not having a Greater Mystery on hand.
12/ Rested Laurels
A kindly old man I've talked to at the park a few times is in the driver’s seat. Wispy white hair brushing against his forehead comes out from underneath his beanie. The rest of him is swaddled within two layers of jackets. Winters in Tolosa aren't cold enough to seriously consider layering. He hasn't turned on the car heater, either.
"I've never told you this before champ, but I'm a magician," he says with both hands diligently on the wheel, waiting for the arrow to turn green.
With my mind still reeling from a vampire attack of all things, his words don't evoke much emotion.
"You mean you're a mag-us. . . may-gus. . . ." What was that funny-sounding word that the bowl-cut priest used again, "Whatever, a mage?"
We pull into the UPS parking lot and he puts the car into park.
"Donut and a warm beverage?"
The parking lot outside the UPS is usually packed this time of night. No one's here to purchase stamps this close to midnight; the famous local donut store next door is open twenty-four hours a day. The decor is visibly morethan a roadside diner-style cafe to the point they host struggling musicians who are on the verge of ‘making it.’hipsterartisan
"Don't worry about her, champ. They're tough, they are, Ghost Liners. She might be silent right now, but she should be healing with your magical energy."
I thank him and take the paper cup filled with warm apple cider from his wrinkled hands. The apple cider at Tolosa's Donut Company is just Costco apple juice mixed with mulled spices with a three-dollar price tag, but it never fails to warm me up to the point I sincerely confess that it was worth three measly dollars.
"But, are you okay, Nadine?"
Laurent almost ran me over. I was running away from the vampire and forgot to look around the corner before I crossed the street. Luckily, Laurent said, he had a garage on Tank Farm check his brakes last month.
"Who. . . are you, really?"
"Not bad, always been meaning to try this out." He takes a sip of his Thai iced tea before starting to answer my question. "Retirement's all about taking it easy, but there's been some strange leyline activity the past couple of days. Decided to start redrawing some maps when the signal went haywire." He shrugs. "If there's someone in Tolosa who can make a bounded field like that, I want to know."
He went on to explain that when his daughter inherited the family business, he felt like it was time to move to the ‘Best Coast’ instead of Florida. I'm not sure his story made sense. From what the bowl-cut priest had told me yesterday, these mages seemed like they should be stricter than this nice old man. None of this applies to me anymore.
"Thanks for the cider, but I'm going to go to the church and forfeit tomorrow. That was insane; I almost died. I don't want to be involved in something like this anymore, you know."
Laurent's eyes grow slightly concerned, "I think that's a wise decision, Nadine. This event isn't worth risking your life, especially for someone so young.”
What does he know about this?
“I can see that you have a few questions, though. I'll be happy to answer them."
Mary's leaving tomorrow. I have nothing to do with that world, so there's no point in asking. . . My hands go onto the wooden table that seems like it was bought in a garage sale. There are six donut holes left, so I take two. They don't go with the cider at all. But donut holes. Whatever, I'll bite.
"You seem to know about the Holy Grail War. Are you a Master?"
He rolls up his sleeves and shows the front and back of his arms. There's nothing but irregular hairs, saggy skin, and brown blotches.
"Now look at your own, champ."
Don’t patronize me, dude. I know that on the back of my left hand is a Command Spell — a fat rod with squiggles coming from the edges. Each squiggle has a thin circle in the middle. The gaping maw of a black sun or a portal to a better world.
"Command Spells react to other Command Spells," he explains. "Did you feel anything from your Command Spell when I picked you up?"
Mid-head shake, I want to ask him whether all mages know this much about the Holy Grail War. Whether the Holy Grail War is a big deal in their world, like the Olympics. But no one watches the Olympics anymore. Disappointing reference. Instead, I ask the obvious.
"That person who attacked me. . . Do vampires really exist?"
"A vampire in the Holy Grail War?" He sounds slightly apprehensive. "Well, that wouldn't be the first time."
He goes on to explain that supernatural creatures do exist in the world living in pristine locales or within the cracks of society. It goes without saying that you can only see these beings at night time. For that reason, I've decided to name this world I've stepped into the ‘Moonlit World.’ Poetic license, kill me. Either way, Laurent focuses on vampires, how they're created, the various stages of their evolution, and finally what they consume and why. It all sounds rather reasonable, up to the last part.
"Mature red blood cells don't have DNA. We learned that in AP Bio."
He tilts his head.
I type in the question on my phone and show him the result.
"Well, it says right here that the DNA from blood comes from white blood cells. Vampires still obtain genetic information from blood, just not from the red blood cells," he points to a line in the Wikipedia article.
"Still, it's ridiculous to think that having sex with someone would lower the purity of one's blood and cells. If anything, KFC would deteriorate the quality of one's blood more than sex. This sex thing sounds like a gross, fictitious misapplication of the perceived dangers of HIV when it was an unmanageable disease. . . Do vampires get AIDS?"
"I wouldn't think so. Vampires have been around much longer than the AIDS virus as we know today. Either way, HIV attacks the immune system, vampire bodies are already dead. More importantly, vampires often use animal carcasses to restore their bodies. If viral cross-species transmission was a problem among bloodsuckers, I don't think there would be one attacking you."
It sounds right, but just because something sounds right since an important person tells you that it is or it corresponds to one's priors doesn't necessarily mean it's right. I'm not sure why having sex with someone would reduce the ‘purity’ of your genetic information, but there's way too much wiggle room here about a topic I was just introduced to argue back.
To use an example, Laurent had told me that the older the vampire, the morethat's necessary to maintain its existence. Forgot my phone when I went to the toilet a few weeks ago; only reading material was a copy of my brother's Men Health, so I flipped through it, kill me. There was one article about the idea of how as the body ages it becomes less efficient at processing protein due to a steady decrease in mucus, digestive enzymes, and stomach acid. I believe the title was ‘Steady Gains Even Into Your Golden Years,’ — god my brother is such a douchebag. Anyway, the idea that vampires require more energy as they grow older seems to adhere to this principle you read in a magazine for guys who can’t get it up, so you believe it.energyblood
People. . . people see the connection when they want to see connections and are incredulous when other people can't follow the same connections. Those assuringbetween the mosaic ofconnectionssynapsesmake your world all the more understandable — all the more purposeful. How stupid. Since you’re the one doing the connecting, you believe that it has to be real, because you’re the one who put it all together. If you could put it together then it should be obvious to everyone else. But what you don’t realize is that there are billions of facts, billions of people, therefore an infinite amount of possible connections. How impertinent you must be to believe another person could possibly trace the same connection you’ve made. How dare you believe the connection you’ve made is the right one?factsneurons
"When the vampire grabbed me, its eyes were red and I couldn't move. But then my heart stopped and I could move again. What was that about?"
Laurent takes a napkin to wipe the condensation from his hand. It seems there was only ice chips left in the cup.
"That's two questions." He folds his used napkin into two instead of crumpling it into a ball. "Vampires hypnotizing people is a pretty common thing in movies, no?"
"Like in the original Dracula movie, victims would be enthralled and he could talk to them telepathically."
"I was thinking more Hotel Transylvania, but whatever floats your boat, champ. Strong vampires have Mystic Eyes. You've heard that Medusa's gaze could turn people to stone? Well, legends with mystical eyes that are common throughout the world."
"Do those have anything to do with the 'the eyes that see into the world?'"
"'Eyes that see into the world?' That's an uncommon phrase even among magi, I wouldn't expect a high schooler to have heard that term. Where did you hear it?"
"The overseer for this war told me that I might have them."
"From a man of the cloth? Even more peculiar. You could say it means he has great expectations for you. The first and greatest magecraft was the ability to see. Witch doctors and wise women in the distant past were useless if they couldn't preempt tragedy, be it natural or man-made. In a sense, the greatest power in this world is knowledge, the ability to grasp the true nature of phenomena. Saying someone has 'eyes that see into the world' is a more specific way of telling them they have the senses required to grasp the subtleties of the world. It isn't a magical sixth sense, but a unique gift. One might even call those with such a gift a 'Magician's Egg.'"
"Like one of those trick eggs you can buy at a magic store that has a hole for a scarf?"
He looks at me for a moment. "You can buy those? Don't need to answer." He takes a sip from his drink before remembering there's only ice left. "Rather than an egg that a magician owns, a Magician's Egg refers to someone primed to become a magician. As in that person will hatch into a magician."
"What's the difference between a magician and a mage? Is there even a difference?"
"There are only five magics left in the world and four magicians. Each magic makes something impossible in the modern era happen. I can go on if you want."
"And you're one of these magicians?"
"Sorry, champ. I was being facetious. In this field, a lot of time it's easier to advertise yourself as a magician."
I finish my apple cider and gaze off slightly to the distance. This donut shop is open twenty-four hours so there are quite a few people here. I recognize some of them from the party. I guess people are filing in trying to sober up with doughnuts. The typical aftermath of a Tolosa party. . . I presume. . . .
"If I'm a Magician's Egg, then I could become one of these four people?"
"If it were truly that simple, there would be more than four magicians. But talent can appear in the most unexpected places. Then again what's more unexpected than a magician appearing in Tolosa?"
"So, it's whatever. What about the second part of my question."
"Right, let's pivot to that. People who can use magecraft have a magic circuit. Or rather, it's the other way around, unless you have a magic circuit you can't use magecraft."
"The overseer said that a magic circuit was the potential to be a mage, and therefore a Master."
"It's usually something that's built through one's pedigree, but there are cases where people without the lineage will be born with a magic circuit. However, you won't notice you have one until it opens. Yours probably opened the moment you summoned your Servant. Once the circuit is established the next step is to build a mental switch. Like a light switch that turns the circuit on and off."
My heart stopped and it felt as though molten rods pierced my entire body. That pain was beyond the release from any sort of self-mutilation that the middle-school girls who act like they're always sad will drone on about in the bathroom for attention. This is the child of two incompatible systems, a refrigerator that can simultaneously cool yet also cooks the food inside of it. The more of the feeling that is produced, the more the contradiction yearns to correct itself by wiping out what it means to be a person, leaving the body as nothing more than a machine that produces that feeling.
"You can imagine magical energy as a type of energy-rich liquid that's gushing through these fantastical pipes known as magic circuits."
"Like gas. So then magecraft would be igniting the gas."
"But unlike petrol, you can douse someone else's magical energy with your magical energy. The vampire's Mystic Eyes placed a spell, a magical construct created with that energy, within your body. By turning on your magic circuit, you were able to wash it away, allowing you to move."
"If I were to learn magecraft, then I would be able to protect myself against vampires?"
He shakes his head. "It takes longer than two weeks to learn enough about magecraft to use it against another person. Magecraft is something built through generations. In your case, it would be better to leave the fighting to your Servant."
Like running a family farm. No matter the amount of resources one can bring in, a bougie hipster from a gentrified neighborhood in the Bay Area who decides it's time to go natural for reals unlike those posers who just shop at ‘Whole Paycheck’ to keep up appearances will never be able to run a farm better than a farmer whose family has worked the land for generations. No matter how talented or forward-thinking this hypothetical hipster might be, she starts at zero. Are you going to take on the full cost of the equipment, how do you know what you bought is the right equipment, when are you going to plant certain crops, what crops do well in this soil in these conditions, do you even know the condition of the soil, are you going to diversify your farm, what co-op or organization should you join, what's the best way to claim the maximum amount of government benefits. The only way to compete would be to hire experienced farmers which just highlight the importance of experience and pedigree. I don't come from a farming family, but this is what the country kids who do FFA talk about during lunch, so I can imagine learning magecraft is somewhat similar in principle.
A soft buzz, a pause, and then another buzz, a text message. I pick up my face-down phone from the table and it turns out to be an Instagram notification about Krista. She took a selfie you could find on any high-school girl's newly public account. Off-Tinder-Cinder-Krista, sucking in her stomach, right in the middle with her Prince Charming in a crowd of drunk teenagers who have all have already liked the picture, with the sophisticated, cosmopolitan caption of — Donut emoji, clock emoji, heart emoji, #first party #newfriends #litaf #blessed.
My eyes are hot. For god's sake you stupid bitch, calm down already. You don't want to break down in front of an old man. I quickly comment, ‘already here,’ before I can type something that I'll really regret and press send.
"Your friends coming to pick you up, champ?"
I nod, forcing the faucet to leak inside.
"I should be on my way then. Wouldn't want you losing your cred because your friends saw you hanging out with an uncool geezer."
You're. . . actually pretty cool. I want to say that but I can't find my voice.
"Before I go, I thought I would ask you, Nadine. Who do you want to be?"
"I —”
I don't think anyone really knows who they want to be. Instead, we chase the hollow ideal of being special. No one is special, yet at the same time we try so hard to make someone else feel special so they will meet our expectations and tell us we're special. . . . We cling onto that feeling of specialness in someone else's eyes because it's undeniable 'proof" that we live in a #blessed world rather than a shithole.
Two days ago, I thought that Krista was truly special to me and vice-versa, but that can't be true. All the threads in that self-gorging social web localized in that suburban party are self-serving, superficial, momentary relationships — transactions that merely give and take without a speck of understanding. It's the need to be part of a group to be acknowledged and the price paid is to acknowledge others. Gross. Disgusting. There's nothing genuine in that. But… if those connections are so superficial, so easy to make, what's wrong with me? If these eyes see into the world, why have I never even made a slipshod connection with another person other than Krista? So then, if it's something that everyone can do, but I can't. . . aren't I the problem?
'Who do I want to be?’
I don't know. I don't think the question matters. If everyone else can ███, then anyone else will do.
"I think I'm going to stay with this Grail thing," I tell Laurent.
Laurent scribbles something down on the last remaining dry napkin and hands it to me.
"My number," he smiles faintly. "Good luck, champ. You're going to need it," and leaves.
"What happened tonight is going to happen again, are you okay with that?" Mary's weak voice comes from the space in the seat beside me. She must have just woke up.
"Does life honestly have that much value when we live in this world?"
"That doesn't answer the question."
"Does it matter if it answers the question when I answered the question you truly wanted to ask?"
In return, I'll reject the world that rejected me. Instead, I'll turn to a new world that found me. Terrifying as it is, at least it hasn't rejected me, only shown me what was possible. I've been told that I have magic circuits, eyes that can see into the world, and am about to hatch into a magician.
I will reject everything to become someone I accept.
Someone beyond Nadine Craig. Someone not Nadine Craig.
Tonight, I resolve to be this to the end.
Last edited by You; February 6th, 2021 at 05:16 AM.
Though abandoned, forgotten, and scorned as out-of-date dolls, they continue to carry out their mission, unchanged from the time they were designed.
Machines do not lose their worth when a newer model appears.
Their worth (life) ends when humans can no longer bear that purity.
Ah, a turning point--and a real good scene, at that.
It feels like Nadine is rather more willing to listen in and internalize the information, and to apply that new knowledge/those new experiences to introspection and decision-making. Not that Nadine was one to disregard everything about her--far from that--but this shift in characterization is both palpable and feels deserved.
So yes, as iterated above, this was not only a good-as-usual update, but it was a better-than-usual one on account of it feeling like a subtle but apparent paradigm shift. Thank you very much!
My Fanfics. Read 'em. Or not.McJon01: We all know that the real reason Archer would lose to Rider is because the events of his own Holy Grail War left him with a particular weakness toward "older sister" types.
Just as I was wishing for an update!
Laurent as a character feels like a bit of a crutch in order to bring Nadine to her crossroads, so I don't think I can personally agree that this section was any better than the past submissions.
That being said, even if the information Nadine is receiving seems like it's coming from an artificial source, what she does with it seems like a natural progression of her character, as IRUN has said.
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