Fate/Mythologie

[You]

5/ Dilo (I)

For the entire duration of the battle, I was cowering in a corner of the bleachers hoping that I wouldn’t be found. My hand was firmly in my school hoodie pocket, gripping a cross-shaped hilt. Even when the Rider started talking about visiting the overseer, I couldn’t introduce myself. There was no way that I was just going to walk out into that fray and announce that I was the overseer for the war. Especially after failing to help that girl.

My fist lightly taps one of the metal supports in frustration. I’m the overseer, I’m supposed to make sure no one from this town gets hurt, yet — I know, a Servant attacked her. There is nothing I can do against a Servant. I know, that Servant was instantly defeated. But I... I could have done something. I should have done something. If I did do something then at least I could proudly say, all the evenings spent on the mountain behind the Mission weren’t wasted. That boy didn’t drown for nothing. . . .

Oh well, self-pity isn’t going to get me anywhere. There’s better reception here, so I’ll call the city rangers and let them know about the mess on the football field and the mountain trail.

Strange, there’s no answer. I’ll call again.

After the third tone, someone finally picks up, “Hello?”

“Sorry to bother you, Mr. Kars, it’s Chris from the Mission?”

“Shit, Chris, you know what time it is?”

“Sorry about that, but there’s been a battle. I’d like to request clean up. Plan Delta at Tolosa High and Plan Foxtrot at Cerro Huerta. I can drop you a pin for Huerta.”

“Appreciate the info, but Chris, ummm, your mom hasn’t told you yet?”

“Told me what?” She’s not my mother — a common mistake.

“We’re off the war. All of us. Orders from above.”

“Wait, that can’t be right. We were all at the meeting last week. Everything was ready and —”

“Chris, sorry but according to the higher-ups, it’s not our problem anymore. We’re all in support roles.”

“Who’s higher up than the mayor? Did they get a senator or something?”

“It’s late, Chris. Talk to your mom; get some sleep. Thanks for being out there even if you didn’t have to. You’re a good kid.” Mr. Kars hangs up.

What did he mean by that? I’m the overseer, right?

Oh, I need to make my way back to the Mission as fast as possible. I just remembered that the Rider said he was taking that new Master to see the overseer. It should be okay though; Cherry will know what to do until I get back. Right, now on which rooftop did I leave the pie?

*****

Cherry gave me a hug when I arrived back at the Mission. She almost crushed the pie. I asked her if anyone had come looking for me, but she shook her head, motioning me to come into the kitchen.

Turns out Father Kelsey was waiting for us. He wanted to say something, but Cherry insisted we have a slice of pie first. I would have liked to change first, but I dropped my bag onto the kitchen floor and prepared myself for a slice of hard-earned, cold, blueberry pie. To clarify, no, it wasn’t the old man’s birthday, Cherry wanted to get the pie to celebrate our final night before the War began. Tragic.

“How’s the old man?” I ask Cherry, after saying grace.

“Don’t worry. . . he’s the same as always,” she replies with a moderate accent. I don’t believe her when she says she had a good high school English teacher.

Father Kelsey plunks two forkfuls of pie into his mouth and then coughs in his fist.

“You okay, Father?” I pass him a napkin.

He shakes his head, “Gucchi, but we really got to get on topic.”

“I was surprised they started fighting so soon. When I got there the football field was torn up. Worst of all, when I called the emergency Parks and Rec number Mr. Kars said we weren’t in charge of moderating the war anymore. What’s up with that?”

Father Kelsey looks at Cherry with his big, dark brown doe eyes. Fork in hand, Cherry grabs her elbow for a second and then places her fork onto her plate.

“Chris. . . Bishop Dilo passed away yesterday.”

Dilo, the priest visited me in the hospital when my parents died.

Dilo, the —

— no matter who we are, we are merely. . . .

I see, so after all these years he’s gone as well.

“This came in the mail this morning.” Cherry hands me a letter with my name on it. “Open it when you’re ready. You were special to him,” she says softly.

“Bishop Dilo was a great man. He worked his whole life for the Church, helping people. I only met him once, but I’m very sorry for your loss.” Father Kelsey offers some paltry words.

“I didn’t want to tell you until you came back from school. . .” With her brows creased, Cherry tries to lighten the mood with a crooked smile, “I didn’t think they would start fighting this early.”

“It’s my fault that I didn’t take the clairvoyant book or the spirit board with me to school. I won’t make that mistake again.”

Father Kelsey looks at Cherry again.

“Yes, Father, is there something you want to tell me?” I ask.

His eyes widen as the slight curl of his lip darkens his face. “Sorry lil’ dude, I wanted to tell you this in person.” He bites his dry, top lip. “The Church rang this morning. They told us we were no longer mediating this Holy Grail War.”

No wonder Rider and that new Master haven’t arrived yet.

“That doesn’t make sense, Father. I… We’ve all been preparing for this war ever since before this Mission took me in. The city has been collaborating with the Mission for years. Who’s going to replace us? Why would the Church take us off this project on such short notice?”

“Because Bishop Dilo passed away yesterday.” His voice is pent and low.

So that’s why the up and coming, handsome pastor of the Tolosa Mission is so worked up. His relationship with the Church is much more personal than Cherry’s or mine, to the point where he has convinced himself that he has unwavering faith in the institution we serve. And right now, he’s experiencing the worst of its nepotism and bureaucracy.

“Factional infighting,” comes Cherry’s distasteful, curt reply. “Dilo was more than popular. . . he was a legend. I had no idea until I started working for the Mission.” She nods at Father Kelsey and continues, “But he was too famous. His celebrity kept certain projects alive and alliances from dissolving. The moment he passed, those who disagreed with him made a grab for power.”

The Church abhors a vacuum.

“This Mission is one of the first casualties. He fought so hard for us as well.” Father Kelsey’s face is all scrunched up.

He did, did he?

“The new overseer and his team arrived this morning. The city and our Mission will be ‘duly compensated’ for all our trouble. Moving forward, sorry dude, you’re no longer the overseer for the Holy Grail War. . . .”

I want to say “It can’t be helped,” or “That’s a load off my chest” and smile but I can’t. I’m not sure how I feel about old man Dilo. We only knew each other for a few weeks, but during that time he told me some entertaining stories I can’t remember, that a vampire killed my parents, and I will never be anything more than a human. For all that’s worth, I can’t help but remember the sad, guilty look he gave me as I said goodbye. As for my being replaced as overseer, it’s a role that I had no attachment to. It was just a job that I was given, something to do, like kitchen duty or squeegeeing the stained-glass windows. I’ll probably be doing a lot more of that stuff for the next two weeks now. Yup, that really freed up my schedule. I haven’t dropped by to see the boys in —

“Who’s replacing me?” I don’t know why I asked that.

Cherry looks at me mid-bite. She takes her time to swallow the last piece of pie on her plate, no doubt wondering if she should answer at all.

“Assembly of the Eighth Sacrament, Sancraid Phahn.”

[SirGauoftheSquareTable]

Sancraid? Whoo boy

[warellis]

So that snake is here. Not good. Let us hope this version of him is less terrible than his Prototype counterpart.

[You]

6/ TEMPorary LiAR

“Are you sure this is the right place?” I ask. “California Pizza Kitchen is closed.”

The knight looks at me. “Pizza — that’s Italian, correct?”

“Sure. There’s an actual Italian restaurant if you keep going down the road.”

“Little lady, I helped establish Italy. I don’t find myself too willing to walk all the way down this road to sample whether it was worth the effort.” Although it wasn’t a country back then, he added.

“Good for you, dude but everything’s closed. It’s like midnight.”

“Good fortune our destination is not that establishment then.” He slides off the saddle and picks me up from the horse which abruptly disappears into the night.

“Parking’s free this time of night.”

“You’ll cut your suitors with that sharp tongue, little lady.”

I could feel the cook silently agreeing with him.

We cross the street from the California Pizza Kitchen with all its lights switched off to the Seventh-Day Adventist church next to the local Masonic Lodge. I’ve never been to this church, but then again my family isn’t religious. Not a problem though, like everyone else in this country we have relatives we only see once a year who are more than religious enough to make up for us.

Without knocking, the knight opens the door and ushers me in. Behind the pews are four stained glass windows each with an icon: an ear of wheat, a flower I can’t make out, a dove, and a bible. There are a few more on the sides but the glare from the ceiling light is too strong.

“No good faffin’ about in a house of God.” The cook appears out of nowhere and motions for me to sit down. She looks really at home in the front row of a church. I, on the other hand, can’t help but feel unnerved by the knight sitting behind us.

The door next to the organ opens and out comes a tall priest in his pajamas, a solid black shirt that has a neckline that plunges below his chest, satin pants that yearn for a seventies revival, and a pair of faux alligator skin slippers.

“Apologies, I happened to be dealing with the cleanup. You’ve had quite the night haven’t you, Nadine?” He smiled for a second as if he just remembered something hilarious, “May I call you, Nadine?”

“Call me what you want but tell me how you know my name first.”

He points to the knight. “That’s my Servant.”

I don’t know what that means, but I do wish the lights were dimmer. His platinum blonde bowl cut is reflecting the glare right into my eyes.

“You must be so confused right now. I’m so very sorry, Nadine. Let me start from the beginning.” He walks up to us and gestures at the seat beside my Servant. She looks at him warily, but I nod. I haven’t met many priests, but I can already tell he isn’t suited for the job. When you think of a priest you think of an old wrinkly, white dude who can only mumble; a creepy middle-aged dude you wouldn’t let near kids — bald spot optional; or a hot, young dude who includes a bible verse in all his Facebook gym posts. Yeah, he still mains Facebook. This motherfucker looks like he’s more of a Walmart greeter or a funeral director than a priest.

“Have you ever heard of the Holy Grail?”

“Monty Python?”

“Yes, that cup. I am the steward of the Holy Grail that has manifested in this town.”

“You’re telling me that you’re one of those cable tv miracle hunters and there’s a miracle in this town? Shouldn’t you be going to the Mission for that?”

“Girl, you shouldn’t talk to a priest like that. Who knows what horrors will befall us?” The cook snaps at me as she crosses herself.

“It’s quite alright, madam,” he reassures her. “No, Nadine, I’m not part of the Congregation for the Causes of Saints. I belong to a different part of the Church who devote themselves to the Eighth Sacrament. We retrieve holy objects and return them to their rightful places. Like the Indiana Jones’ of the Church.” He laughs at his own joke. How unpleasant. “Some in the Church may conflate us with those barbaric Executors, but I assure you, we’re more like archeologists.”

The knight behind us is whispering something under his breath as he prays. I glance at the cook beside me for a moment, before turning my full attention back to the priest. “They’re here because of the grail too, aren’t they?”

“Yes, they’ve been summoned to do battle to obtain it.”

I nod, “So it’s not the ‘real’ grail, then.”

The priest seems taken aback, “What makes you think that?”

“Isn’t the Holy Grail actually supposed to be Jesus’s descendants? My mom was really into Tom Hanks for a few months.”

I look around, the knight opens one eye, the cook looks at me with a blank expression on her face. Shit. Kill me now. Please. Why are you so dumb, Nadine. I’ll just stop talking.

Amazingly, the priest happens to be nodding approvingly, “Hoh, it’s indeed true that there have been people in the past who have been called, ‘Holy Grail.’ But, the Holy Grail in this town does not refer to the bloodline of our Lord. Instead, it is based on the 726th Grail the Church has examined. Its peculiarity is calling upon Heroic Spirits. The people who call upon those heroes are known as Masters. They are branded with stigmata known as Command Spells which gives you three absolute commands over your Servant.”

So that tin can’s a hero, is he? Not hard to believe. But her? Did this cook win a Nobel Peace Prize or something?

“There are Masters who summon these heroes, Servants. These Servants fight for the Holy Grail and the Church also wants the Holy Grail. I get why you sacrament guys would want it back, but why do these heroes fight for it?”

“Because it can grant any wish, dearie,” the cook mutters.

I look at the priest. He nods with his eyes closed.

My eyes feel hot, really hot. Hotter than the cramped family sedan that summer night. Hotter than the fries in my mouth. Hotter than Tom Jones on the radio. Hotter than the sharp, heart-stopping pain in my dad’s chest. Hotter than the burn of the seatbelt on my chest as the car hit that tree. Colder than my breath as I ran not for help but because I just. . . .

“My dad. Can it bring back my dad?” I finally manage to say it.

There’s something warm on my back. Unlike Krista’s hand, it’s big and rough to the point of ew. But, I don’t hate this feeling.

“Probably not,” the priest says softly. “The complete resurrection of the dead is beyond even Magic. It’s common knowledge these days that the Holy Grail is merely a magical energy furnace that collects the souls of Heroic Spirits to tear a hole in the World. This hole does not directly connect to the root of all existence, contrary to popular belief. The winner must make their way through the entirety of the outside of the World if they wish to arrive at the root. However, they are not alone in this quest, for outside the world contains vast deposits of untapped

mana

magical energy

. Enough to grant a wish as long as one understands the process necessary to accomplish it.”

“‘Understand the process necessary to accomplish it?’ What good is something that can grant any wish, if it needs —” I close my eyes and swallow the hotness. “Never mind, forget it,” and push away the cook’s hand.

“This is where you have to make your choice, Nadine. Other than you and myself, there are five other pairs of Masters and Servants. They all want the Holy Grail and they’re willing to kill for it.”

I already know that. The woman who died in front of me was seriously about to drive that dagger into my chest. There was no need for him to say that. Giving those words life just forces me to confront that reality at this very moment, right in front of him. There are going to be twelve other people, including this priest, who will be trying to kill me like that woman. How am I supposed to react to that?

“If you’re willing to kill for this Grail, why am I still alive?”

His eyes darken, “The Masters of the Holy Grail War are magi. They don’t follow the rules and morals that society has laid down. To minimize damage and to make sure things do not get too out of hand, the Church acts as a mediator for this battle, handling information manipulation and protecting Masters who have surrendered. We’re neutral.”

“It’s difficult to be neutral when you have a dog in the race,” I mutter while looking at the knight. “No offense, dude.”

The knight scoffs.

“The intended overseer for this war was from a specific faction in the Church. Their leader recently died. A member went rogue and summoned a Servant. I’m an emergency appointee sent by the cardinal in charge of this Holy Grail War as damage control and to exterminate the rogue element. Other than completing those two objectives, I am a neutral party in this war.”

“So the Servant that the knight was fighting. . . .”

“Self-defense. He was merely an interloper. We seek nothing more than to be rid of the Servant that was illegitimately summoned. However, as I am sure you are aware, to defeat a Servant, one must use a Servant.”

“You said that Masters aren’t normal people. Why was I chosen as a Master then?”

The priest looks at me and sighs, “You’re an anomaly among anomalies. The Grail chooses seven magi of a certain stature to summon seven Servants. I believe each of the Masters must have magic circuits, be of sufficient stature to summon a Servant, and have heretical tendencies. Of course, built into the system is a strong preference for those who created the Grail. If seven that fit such criteria cannot be found, then it takes those who meet most of those criteria. It seems you Nadine, have the potential to become a magus. It’s a rare mutation, but not so rare that it is unheard of.”

“Seven Servants? I saw a Servant die right before my eyes. There are only six Servants left.”

“No, even if that Servant and her Master perished, there are seven Masters and seven Servants left. That’s why you’re an anomaly. Command Spells that return to the Grail on a Master’s death are redistributed if there are more Servants than Masters. Someone killed Assassin’s Master and there were six Masters and seven Servants remaining. You, according to the Grail, were the most qualified person to replace that Master and was subsequently given the rights afforded to a Master, a Command Spell, instead of the preliminary ‘mark of the chosen.’ Immediately after the Command Spell was branded, the Servant was dealt a fatal wound and began to disappear. I’m a member of the Church, not a magus so I don’t know the specifics, but my guess is that the body of the true Servant was used as a supply of magical energy and catalyst to summon the fake.”

“Me,” the cook interrupts.

There’s a lot of words in there that I don’t understand, and it sounds ridiculous. I get it though. I think I get it. If the Servant that tried to kill me is a one then the cook is a zero. One plus zero equals one. Like always, my luck is beyond terrible. My family moved to a town where there’s a magical Hunger Games. To make matters worse, I wasn’t even chosen properly. I was literally a benchwarmer. Fuck this. Fuck this Walmart greeter of a priest. Fuck the Holy Grail. Fuck Krista.

“The redistribution of Command Spells. The use of a Servant corpse as a catalyst for a forced summoning. Both these loopholes have occurred in previous Holy Grail Wars, but not simultaneously. That is why you’re an anomaly among anomalies. So, Nadine, what are you going to do?”

Fuck me dead.

I clasp my hands and look down. Even if this is a church, there’s no point in asking for anything. I’ve learned that much in my seventeen years on this earth. I’m scared. I’m up against monsters fighting to the death with just a cook as a partner. The choice is obviously to give up. Give up, go home, and go back to the life that I was living before.

A laugh escapes all the way from my stomach.

That’s rich, what life? That life ended the moment I opened my brother’s door this morning. There’s nothing waiting for me back there, just awkward appeals for me to be reasonable, think about someone else for once, and to be happy for her. I can’t be those things because I haven’t been those things for such a long, long time that I’ve forgotten how to be those things.

I’m scared. I miss my dad. I want everything to be okay with Krista. I don’t want to fight. I want to give up. I…

The priest’s eyes sparkle at my wrung hands. Probably just the light, but for an instant, he looked at me like I was some kind of small animal he was about to devour.

“I’m impressed, Nadine,” he says slowly and deliberately. “You’re someone who has never been initiated to our side of the world, yet you’ve come to understand almost everything I’ve said with such acuity. I doubt there are many people your age who could deal with this situation with such calm and reason. It’s almost like you have eyes that see into the world.”

“See into the world?”

“It’s a rare ability even among magi. Have you ever felt like you can easily understand concepts that others can’t grasp?

I don’t know where he’s going but. . . all the time. I even correct teachers.

“Do you regularly anticipate others actions?”

Like preempting my mother every time she says something.

“Have you ever felt different from everyone else, like everyone else is missing something that only you can see?”

Something that only I can see?

I’m not special. I’ve known from a young age that there’s always someone better than you and therefore by extension me. People, they get so self-important and uptight about that. Sam, no one cares how ‘bomb’ those tacos are exclamation mark ecksdee. Everyone in this town has been to goddamn Taqueria Santa Cruz. The difference between the mouth-breathers who get four hundred likes for that post and those who get ten is confidence. Doesn’t matter if you pull it out of your ass, the sheeple won’t know the difference. No one is special. You just try convincing everyone else that you’re special until you’ve convinced yourself. It’s so dumb. People are so dumb. ‘Eyes that see into the world,’ sure, whatever. Whatever.

I look the priest right in the eye. “I’ll do it. Just make sure you give me a participation trophy at the end. You know, to let me know that I’m a snowflake. That’s the joke, right, about this generation?”

The priest smiles, “Do you mind me asking why you made that decision?”

“The Servants are here because they want to be right? That means she has a wish she wants to be granted.”

They both nod.

“It’d be pretty shitty of me to call on her and then just ditch her.”

The priest claps his hands in delight. “Quite awe-inspiring. I’ve never heard anyone give that sort of reason as to why they’d join a magical battle royale before.”

Nonchalantly, he gets up and walks to the podium.

“So, what’s your wish?” I ask the cook.

“To get my good name back,” she says abruptly, warily eyeing the priest.

To clear her name…. Wait, I’ve haven’t even asked her name yet.

“Is that an order, dearie?” Her terse answer.

The priest coughs as he retrieves something from behind the podium. “You may be unaware Nadine of what your request truly entails. I’m sure you’ve heard of the legend of Achilles and his heel. To know a Servant’s name is to know their weakness. It’s unwise to reveal your Servant’s name.”

“What should I call you then?”

The priest interrupts, “Usually the Servant is called by their class. In your case, it would be —”

“Call me Mary.” The cook, or rather Mary, speaks over the mansplaining priest. “My Nanna in heaven would cry if she heard folks calling me that vile name instead of the one I was christened with.”

Mary, Mary.

Quite contrary.

Like a piercing note from the church organ, the name seeps into the air of the church, persisting until it soaks into our grey matter. Even the priest stops whatever he is doing behind the podium and absentmindedly repeats the two syllables, branding it onto his tongue. It’s a common name for a common Servant of a common girl. I only know two historical Marys and one of them is hanging out with her kid on an altar behind the priest.

“Milord,” Rider’s arms are spread across the back of the pew like he owns the entire church. “The little lady has given her answer. I think we can let them go now.”

The priest bows in his direction. “I’m sure your parents worried about you; I’ll drive you home.”

Ignore the plural.

“You mind if I ask you something, first?”

“You may ask, but I won’t necessarily answer. You are officially a Master and I am a neutral party in this affair,” he says offhandedly as he retrieves a priestly jacket to cover his pajama shirt.

“The other people like me, Masters. What are they like?”

An incredibly toothy smile, “The other five Masters… Due to the nature of this war, I don’t have information about most of them. One of them is a representative of the government. When the Grail was established seventy years ago, one condition for the use of this land was a guaranteed slot for one of their own. Another is Lord Byron Valueleta Iselma, a disgraced noble from the Magecraft Association.” He lists them off one by one. “The Dilo faction summoned an illegitimate Servant, but you shouldn’t worry about them — I will take care of them. And finally, there’s the Einzbern homunculus who participated in the battle in the school grounds.”

Disregarding everything I didn’t understand, there are only four mentions. He must not be aware of one of the Masters.

“If you don’t have any other questions, we should get going.” Without waiting for a reply he starts walking outside of the church.

I look over my shoulder to find Mary but she’s already disappeared. Only the knight is left sitting in the church.

“You should probably follow the Father,” he urges me to hurry up.

“You’re called Rider, right?”

He plays with his facial hair. “My class, little lady, not my name.”

“Well yeah, Rider, thanks for helping me tonight. Appreciate it, dude.”

“You put too much stock in the regard of others. It might do your countenance well to smile.”

“Don’t need advice from a third-place renaissance faire costume, thank you very much.”

Rider whistles in reply. Go ride yourself.

*****

The priest drives a Ford Escape. I asked him whether he had any kids. He told me that he was a priest. I asked him whether the Church was paying him enough. He said that he was not going to have college kids throwing up in the backseat of his car. I asked him why it was a Ford. He said that he didn’t trust Asian cars. Sure, they were cheap, worked hard, and you looked respectable driving them. But you had to realize the gears are shifty, the headlights are often or not too slanted, and more than anything the interior stinks. Couldn’t trust them, Asian cars.

I didn’t reply.

By car, you can get anywhere in Tolosa from downtown in fifteen minutes. After riding in complete silence for the remaining eleven, we ended up at my front door.

“Thanks for the ride. You can go now.”

“What sort of priest would I be if I let your parents worry about where you had been?” He crosses his arms. “I don’t think your parents trust your word either.”

“Parent, I wanted to resurrect my dad, remember.” I ring the doorbell.

“Ahhh,” he shakes his index finger knowingly like he innocently forgot to pick something up at the grocery store. “You did mention that before didn’t yo-”

He’s cut short by my mother wrenching open the door and yelling at me before she cuts herself short as she realized that there’s another person with me.

“Father Sancraid Phahn pleased to meet you.” He takes off his hat and offers his hand. Who on earth wears a hat after midnight? “I’m the acting priest at the Tolosa Seventh-Day Adventist Church.”

Less shocked than if I came home with an officer, “Church? What was she doing at a church? What were you doing at a church!”

“I caught her rummaging through our clothing donations. She didn’t seem like she meant much harm so I told her if she helped with some of my work, I would let her have anything that she wanted.” He produces a pair of galaxy leggings, a denim jacket with a fluffy collar, and slightly frilly purple one piece out of what seems to be thin air. It’s scary how good of a liar he is. More than that, the clothes he chose are exactly what I would pick out of a church donation pile (thrift shops are so 2012). I almost want to believe that I was out for a night of donating bin diving.

“What did you help him with?” She wants to believe it too. Stealing from a church, that’s definitely something my useless, delinquent Nadine would do.

I shrug, “Usual church stuff. Polish the candlesticks, make meals to deliver to the unfortunate, and some filing.”

“Until past midnight?!” She’s incredulous.

“Sorry, Ms. Craig. After she had finished her work, a mug of hot chocolate seemed in order. It seemed Nadine wanted to confide in me. Being a teenager is tough especially for one who lost a father. I’m sure you're a great parent. It’s just that at this age teenagers, especially girls, need someone they can talk to. And what can I say, I make a great hot chocolate.” That smile is so fake that it’s going to stink up the house for days.

My mum looks at me. I uncomfortably smile, the kind I do when I want her to think that she’s got the better of me.

“Well thank you for bringing her home Father —” She falters, unable to recall his name. I don’t blame her, I don’t either.

“Not at all, Ms. Craig. Your daughter is quite rough around the edges, but there’s a pure soul underneath. You’ve done a good job raising her.”

My mom opens and closes her mouth a number of times before, “Thank you for getting her back safely.”

“I wouldn’t be a very good shepherd if I left one of my flock out alone at this hour. May the Lord be with both of you.”

Effortlessly, the priest overseeing the Holy Grail War lied to my mother then got into his Ford Escape and drove away into the night. The moment he’s out of earshot my mother asks, “Did he do anything funny to you?”

“Mom!”

She looks taken aback and becomes defensive. “I had to ask. You can never know with priests these days. You’d know if you ever paid attention to the news.”

“Mom,” Why is she always like this? “Whatever, I’m going to bed.”

“Nadine. Is everything okay? I heard from your brother about Krista. That must be difficult for you.”

Oh, she went there, didn’t she? Well if you’re going to go there.

“Yeah, it’s difficult, but my perfect brother has been stealing things from me since I was born, so I’m used to it,” I snap. “Especially when my own mother takes his side no matter what.”

“Nadine,” she beings to get stern.

“Hope that means you figured out why I turned to a priest before my own mother.” I storm up the stairs to my room. My mother’s repeatedly calling my name, so I slam the door. That should shut her up. I hope the bang wakes my brother up. He always gets hissy the next morning when he doesn’t get eight hours. I hope he never gets eight hours.

“That wasn’t very nice, dearie.”

“You’re not my mother, you’re my Servant.”

I throw myself into the bed still fully clothed.

“I’m the Servant who’ll beat you senseless till you quit talking to me like that, girl. You don’t know the first thing about being a victim.”

The menace is palpable, gnawing at my ankles, trying to dig into my knees, but the pressure isn’t overwhelming. It’s like feeling the familiar buzz of your phone in your back pocket, but you’re unsure if it’s a DM or just a school email.

“Whatever, you’re dead. You’re already haunting me, so what’s the worst thing that you can do?” How very me to ignore the message anyway. After all, the only person who would DM me is fucking my brother now.

That shuts her up. That shuts me up. But, sleep won’t come with a disgusted ghost in an apron sitting on your chair, surrounded by a sprawl of impulse Ebay purchases your former best friend told you would go great with the Christmas gift that she bought you.

“Yer a right bitch, you know that?”

I tug my solid blue comforter over my hoodie and jeans. I don’t feel any more comfortable. God, it’s only Monday, too. I saw a ghost die today and I’m still the same old sad, bad Nadine. Can’t we just flash forward to the next fight or whatever?

“Yer a right bitch alright, but I wouldn’t have anyone less for a Master. ‘Cos you see, girl....”

My hair, face, and pillow are wet. She must have poured a glass of water over me. How petty. I open my eyes. I see nothing but my pillow. I close my eyes and block everything out.

“At least react will ya?”

I close my eyes and block everything else out.


Day 1 – End

[SirGauoftheSquareTable]

Well, I guess Nadine isn't so bad, even if she is quite rough around the edges. As for the Servant, no sympathy whatsoever. Finally, I honestly wish that I would have forced myself to read Prototype or Fragments of Sky Blue Silver to see if Sancraid really is this smooth a liar.

[ItsaRandomUsername]

Don't expect much from any current Proto-related media on anything Sancraid-related, really. Least of all Frags.

Anywho, I'm a bingbong who missed the previous update, so having two waiting was pleasant. Not a ton happening, but that's okay because the characterization so far is baller. Okay, wait, there's the thing with Sancraid, right. Wary but interested in that. Amusing how in /Proto he's the one who summons a Servant on the sly to mess with the HGW, whereas here he has seemingly done no such thing.

Also, liked that nod to /hollow with the modified 1+0=1 line. It's the little things.

[You]

Sancraid was chosen for this role because Proto mats has him being an American citizen.
I was partial to the idea of being "at home" levels his character a bit but also makes him more expressive.
Like here, he is not claiming to be a pacifist like he was in Proto. But he's still without a doubt, a "holy" man.

[ItsaRandomUsername]

Sancraid was chosen for this role because Proto mats has him being an American citizen.
I was partial to the idea of being "at home" levels his character a bit but also makes him more expressive.
Like here, he is not claiming to be a pacifist like he was in Proto. But he's still without a doubt, a "holy" man.

Explains the--how I like to imagine its portrayal--vaguely Pulp Fictionesque semi-rant about Asian cars he had.

[SirGauoftheSquareTable]

Sancraid is still lying through his teeth about the Dilo faction, correct? If he isn't, I don't know what the hell is happening.

Also, Nadine's mom doesn't seem so bad now.

[ItsaRandomUsername]

>TEMPLAR

Okay, clever.

[SirGauoftheSquareTable]

Finally, kind of funny you have Sancraid driving an Escape, since me and my family just drove one last weekend as a rental car. Pretty good taste on Sancraid's part, then.

[You]

Sancraid is still lying through his teeth about the Dilo faction, correct? If he isn't, I don't know what the hell is happening.

I wanted the appeal of this chapter and what the title alludes to being the questions: what is Sancraid lying about, what is he actually telling the truth about, and what are half-truths.
And in turn, what is Nadine rejecting, what is she accepting, and why.

- - - Updated - - -

>TEMPLAR

Okay, clever.

Thanks, all Sancraid chapters are planned to follow such a motif.

[Bugs]

Pleasantly surprised a guy whose only personality blurb is "hates Asians" is given an actual character here, one that seems to play off of Nadine's insecurities to a T.
I hope Mary continues to take none of her shit.

[SirGauoftheSquareTable]

Pleasantly surprised a guy whose only personality blurb is "hates Asians" is given an actual character here, one that seems to play off of Nadine's insecurities to a T.
I hope Mary continues to take none of her shit.

I also hope someone doesn't buy Mary's whole victim-complex. Considering who she is, the only source of her misfortune is her own obstinacy and stupidity.

[Rafflesiac]

I just realized you had Fragments Mary serve as a catalyst for this Mary.

heh, good one

[ItsaRandomUsername]

Abnormal Servant + Extra Class is also a fitting combination. Not 100% novel, given that it was /hollow that explored that w/Bazett's Angra Mainyu, but still a fitting combination. One of the funnest parts of a T-M work/fanfic is seeing how the ideas utilized within piece together and relate to the rest of the setting.

[You]

Mary's summoning as speculated by Saicraid is an accidental combination of Kirei's

"In theory, they should have returned to the Grail. The Command Seals themselves are things that the Grail bestows. People who have lost their eligibility as a Master because of the loss of their Servant, their Command Seals should be reclaimed back by the Grail. Yet, if there appears a Servant whose contract has been lifted because of the loss of his Master, the Grail will then redistribute the unused Command Seals it had previously reclaimed to new contractors."

Twenty-one engraved Command Seals distributed to seven Masters, disappearing after having been used once, and the Command Seals that at the end had not been consumed would then be amassed in the hands of the supervisor and commissioned for safekeeping.

"Then in other words, depending on the development of the war, new Masters may possibly emerge?"

and Zouken's HF backdoor

Therefore even if her summoning was "abnormal" it's within the confines of "normal" for the system.
If there was something weird, it would be the speed at which the Grail redistributed Lenny's Command Spell to Nadine.

[warellis]

Everyone else has already praised this entry so I'll say something which might sound funny to praise for but I am pleasantly surprised to see: the fact that even if Phain is just pretending to be a 7th Day Adventist priest, that there is acknowledgement that there is more than just the Roman Catholic Church in Christianity.

As for Nadine, I'm a little amazed at how...nonchalantly she is taking her introduction to the supernatural.

From what someone said earlier, she's the second, non-magical child who has been kept in the dark, compared to her brother?

[You]

Everyone else has already praised this entry so I'll say something which might sound funny to praise for but I am pleasantly surprised to see: the fact that even if Phain is just pretending to be a 7th Day Adventist priest, that there is acknowledgement that there is more than just the Roman Catholic Church in Christianity.

As for Nadine, I'm a little amazed at how...nonchalantly she is taking her introduction to the supernatural.

From what someone said earlier, she's the second, non-magical child who has been kept in the dark, compared to her brother?

There's a hint at the beginning of the chapter as to why Sancraid is pretending to be a 7th day Adventist priest out of anything else. I think I'll go into detail how he feels about his role later on though.

[You]

7/ AntUmbra

“So, a Cuban?”

“Wasabi mayo instead of mustard, please.”

“Do you want anything else with that?”

“No, that’ll be all Hibiki, thanks,” I smile.

I turn to the window opposite of the waitress. In the place of a sheet of glass is white as far as the world will allow. Nothing but a blank canvas of bleached sand. Nothing moves, nothing dies, everything just empties itself into the sand.

“What about some prune juice, freshly squeezed?”

I don’t think you should be selling prune juice in a German cafe. A cafe only getting by because of its regulars isn’t winning any points by shaking up its menu. And do something about the decor as well. It’s as dim as that bar where the toilets don’t have doors, the one with that really pretentious name, The Library, that’s it. Twenty-one isn’t an age, I was told, it’s a state of mind. Okay, but how are we going to get in? My brother knows the bouncer, I was told, it’ll be a cinch. That’s not going to — well, let’s give it a go. That’s the spirit! Nothing ventured, nothing gained right, Chris?

“Hey, Hibiki, do scriptures dream of lamb?”

“No way, I dream about Chika.”

“Doesn’t that mean you’re broken? I feel like a scripture should be dreaming about lamb.”

“A scripture doesn’t know that it’s incoherent. All it can do is read and praise itself. In fact, it makes perfect sense to itself. The words mean the words mean the words. It doesn’t need to mean anything else to anyone else, you know. It’s only when that script tries to explain itself to a human that it realizes it’s incoherent.”

“Incoherent? Don’t you mean broken?”

“Incoherent because when something can be read five hundred different ways by five hundred different people, what’s a scripture to do?”

“Stop dreaming of lamb and dream of Chika instead?”

“Bing-bong,” she makes a bingo sound effect.

From the corner of my eye, I see a thin shadow brushing the glass fixed into the front door.

“Scratch the Cuban. Dilo’s waiting for me outside.”

The door opens itself and I start walking up. The mountain underneath my feet is too supple to be one I’ve climbed before. All of the Sisters are usually dry and compacted. Walking on sunshine, the always good-natured guide will tell you, locals never hike after a rainy day. Too loose, too muddy. Rather than sunshine, it’s like I’m climbing up a mountain of flesh.

The most touristy thing to do in this town is to climb three of the Sisters and then get a tri-tip sandwich at the local inn for lunch. It’s touristy because it’s doable and considered an accomplishment you can post on the internet. No matter your age, you’ll post a picture on Facebook because no one does it alone and every group has at least one person who brought a selfie-stick. Tag yourself, the post will say.

Hiking is the lifeblood of this town; it’s what people do on the weekends. Always going up, always aiming higher; I wonder what’s on the other side? Eventually the mysterious becomes nothing more than a weekend habit. People hike in this town because it’s something to do. People hike in this town because there’s nothing else to do. To do. To do. To do. Desperately seeking something to do. Aimlessly wanting something to do. The natural conclusion? People hike in this town because it’s what people in this town do.

How mechanically beautiful.

But people shouldn’t be this way, the mountain matter-of-factly blubbers. People should want more than this; people should feel more than this. You, of all, shouldn’t accept this for, ’lo and behold the flame this despondent mediocrity kindled.

A hole opens up and I transition into a disembodied form as I fall. The fire in the center bubbles up like a tidal wave of roe you get in the supermarket that’s advertised as caviar. A velvet coat that doesn’t pop no matter how many layers are pressed together dress me, giving me a form. I gasp, hoping for something to fill my lungs. But it doesn’t make sense to try to breathe. I don’t have lungs. The moment I stop trying, something comes from the heart of the mountain. Nothing more than a smidge of darkness, electrified by the atmosphere and the grudges that call this place home.

It doesn’t look at me.

I don’t look at it.

“You’re disgusting.”

The fiery bubbles surge, whipping themselves into a whirlpool that emanates nothing but… nothing but…

“Sorry.” In two syllables, I fail to reject it.

And one by one the bubbles begin to pop.

*****

By the time I flush the toilet, I have to admit the new overseer is doing a good job. Follow up is important. When Cherry told me that the Mission was no longer in charge of mediating the Holy Grail War, I was worried about whether these new operatives, with such limited time, could deal with the intricacies of managing information within this town. So rather than running the daily quests on the mobile game I play, messaging Kayla about where we should eat lunch today, or watching that recommended Youtube video which was clearly clickbait, I read the local headlines.

Apparently, someone broke into the Tolosa High football field yesterday and did a few doughnuts. A portion of the Cerro Huerta trail was being sectioned off due to a new city Natural Resources department report detailing possible high-risk fire hazards in Open Spaces in light of the Governor's proclamation of the ‘new normal.’ There was also an investigative piece about a spike of inmate deaths in the men’s colony close by. These are pretty good stories. I was certain they’d go for the tried and true ‘gas leak’ cover story that was part of Protocol #650.

I put my electric toothbrush back into its charger and try to floss my back teeth. Wait, I forgot to wipe the toothbrush clean with a square of toilet paper. Enough hard water scum leads to a brown crust. The Oral-B toothbrush manual always recommends drying it after brushing. As for flossing, I can never truly get my back teeth but that doesn’t mean I shouldn’t try. Wet my hands, two pumps of hand soap, twenty seconds of scrubbing remembering to pay special attention to the inside of the nails, and then twenty seconds in hot water, dry on my towel. I don’t remember what I was dreaming about this morning, but it can’t have been too important — just like the letter on my desk that I haven’t opened.

*****

Cherry is peculiar about fixing breakfast. It might be part of some ritual that she can’t let go of, but she won’t let anyone else make breakfast. There’s nothing to complain about taste-wise, though some kids at school thought it was hilarious that the first time I had frosted flakes were from a ziplock bag during P.E.

I spoon my fried egg (sunny side up) onto my toast and start eating. The school is just down the road from the Mission. I can usually make it with five minutes or so to spare.

“You’re late, as usual,” Father Kelsey on the other hand, walks in with nothing but a tank top and boxer briefs.

He yawns, stretches, and then looks in the pan. There’s an egg left in the skillet for him.

“You’re right on time, as usual,” he replies.

You want to bells rung on time, right?

He absentmindedly poses in front of the toaster while waiting for it to pop. How many followers could I get if I started a ‘hot priest around the house’ account? Unfiltered pictures of a half-naked, muscular, handsome, young, Filipino priest absentmindedly smoldering into the distance while bathed in the early morning sun might start raking in enough ad revenue for a new phone. Church technology might be the best in the world, but its social media presence definitely needs work.

“What about Cherry?” he breaks my train of thought.

“Early, as usual.”

He nods and the toaster goes off. As usual. Just like every other day for the past few years. Sure, things have changed a little, but even with this Holy Grail War going on, I can’t help but feel unaffected

“There’s a piece of pie left.” Father Kelsey says after he gets the milk from the fridge.

“That’s for the old man. I’ll go up to his room after I’m finished.”

Everyone does their own dishes in this household. We tried doing it how Cherry wanted us to do it — a weekly rotation. Spectacular failure. There are probably fifteen pages dedicated to that incident in her diary.

“Father, have you heard anything from the Holy See?”

“Nah, not yet.” He catches himself mid-automatic answer. He twists his mouth, his gaze gripping onto my face. “Dude,”

I raise an eyebrow.

“Just enjoy yourself, ‘kay.”

I get up to retrieve the piece of pie.

*****

“Pie for breakfast? You’re spoiling this old man,” The pie’s cold, yet the moment I enter the room, the old man somehow already knows.

Karabo Frampton, a retired Executor, ‘officially’ my foster father, as well as my teacher. From reading Church battlefield reports and witness testimonies, you couldn’t believe he was a sickly, gentle old man. That disconnect between who he was and who he is now is the reason why I call him old man. Karabo is someone else.

“Blueberry from Ahnenerbe.” I hand his dark, wizened hands the fork and the plate.

“Did you happen to see somebody ordering curry?” He croaks.

I shake my head. Seriously, old man, celebrities like that don’t go to small German cafes on the Central Coast.

“Shame,” he replies before saying grace and taking a bite. I sit back and let him enjoy one of the only things he still can. His health started deteriorating a year or two after we settled into the Mission. No one other than the old man himself knew what was wrong. Doctors were useless so they never came. There was no medication that could help him, either. So, he just sits here — a panther that lost his fangs, waiting to stop functioning.

“Is there something you want to ask?” He turns to face me with his bottom lip purple from the filing.

I wipe his mouth with a paper towel. The old man’s blind. Lost… or rather sold his eyes.

“Cherry already told you, didn’t she? I’m no longer the overseer.”

The crumbs on the plate I take from him look like mountains of crusty froth. There isn’t much space on the bedside table so I end up putting it on top of a faded leatherbound book.

“That’s my bible, Chris.”

I end up putting the plate on the ground.

“You’re no longer the overseer. How do you feel about that?”

I’m happy. This is what happy feels like. Overseeing the Holy Grail War was your job. But since you got sick, it fell into my hands. In terms of a resume builder though, it would definitely be something more noteworthy than building a mission in Georgia, exterminating an outbreak of Dead on an island in south-east Asia, or investigating a head-hunting magus in London. On the other hand, this is the town that adopted me. It’s selfish but somehow, I feel like I should deserve to be the one making sure nothing bad happens here. At least that’s what I think he would have wanted.

“Eh,” I grunt.

“Do you want to use your words, boy?” There’s half a growl in that croak.

“You’ve fought a Servant before.”

“You know the story. I didn’t do it alone and I almost died.”

Pandemonium on the Rail Zeppelin. A usurping heartless posturing as a crafted tree. Beheading incident beyond the past and future within the magical, locked room <imaginary number space>. Reverse grail within a snow brushed forest, apostolating death. Mystic Eyes of Death Perception

Transience

Umbral Foam

— two jewels that affirm the past. Two forsaken retainers of the king, one who died as fake, the other ordered to live. Heterochromia, the body halts. The brain sizzles; the sternum erupts. Lo’ gaze upon the Wheel of the Demonic Heaven. Remain steadfast, for within that spear is a prayer made of Thirteen Decisions that unseals the light at the end of the world.

— All of us, no matter who we are, are merely. . . foam.

I shake some thoughts out of my head. “Yeah, sorry. I used to love hearing that story, didn’t I?”

“And I loved telling it,” he gently smiles. “We both know you’re not afraid of having to intervene in a battle of Servants.”

When he says that, I can’t help but find my hand in a fist. That’s not right. Yesterday, underneath the bleachers, I was too scared to do anything. He might be my old man, but he doesn’t know everything about me. I think this just goes to prove it.

“My job is to fight vampires, not to oversee magi squabbles,” I say through gritted teeth. “I’m a lot of things, but I’m not the type to follow blindly.”

“You’re not a lot of things. But I thought you were at least that type of person.”

“The pie was good wasn’t it?”

“We’re talking about overseeing the Grail War.”

I look down.

“What should I do?”

“Why are you asking a dying old man?”

“Dilo. . . passed away.”

“He was a good man, Bishop Dilo.”

“Everyone keeps saying that. Was he really?”

“No, probably not all the time. But I believe I taught you to respect the dead.”

“Sorry.”

“Don’t say sorry unless you mean it.”

I stop talking and just raise my hand to catch the fork the old man throws at my eye with my index finger and thumb. For a dying old man, he can still throw a fork harder and faster than almost any baseball pitcher alive. Left alone, it would have dug deep enough to sever all the nerves in my eye and then pierce my brain.

“Go and have fun at school, Chris. You’ll figure out what you need to do.”

Having lost once again to the old man, there’s nothing left for me to do but head back to the kitchen with a heavy heart and an empty plate.