Grail Works, Ltd: A Scattering of Roses (TYPE-MOON Multi X-over)

[Arbitrarity]

. . . As it turns out? Nyotengu isn't just not subtle, she's REALLY NOT SUBTLE . . .

Yeaaah, I wrote that thinking "wait, the DOA tournament sounds like it's recorded/widely publicized. Maybe the tengu only show up after the public parts?", which could have been true for DOA 2, but seemed unlikely for Nyotengu.

[Kieran]

Asagami Private Girls Academy
Misaki Town, Japan
July 8, 2004

















“Sempai?”

The confusion was clear in the girl’s voice—to say nothing of her expression— and Akiha bit back a sigh.

“I want you,” she repeated carefully, “to try and foresee something for me.”

The confusion visibly drained out of Seo-san’s face—alongside every drop of blood, leaving her whiter than rice paper.

“Yes,” Akiha said with a sigh, “I am aware of your gift. My family has administered this area for years, which means being alert to any special talents.” She shrugged. “You seem to have little interest in using it, and I’ve no real reason to exploit it.”

That was a lie—a genuine prognosticator would have been invaluable at several moments in her life, most recently during the serial killings . . .

Sadly, Seo-san had been on vacation with her family for much of that period, and by the time she had returned, events had moved too quickly to make consulting her viable. And many of the other things she might press Seo-san on were complicated—for example, if Akiha asked for a prediction of her brother’s romantic future . . . No—the risks were too great. Not least of those being that even the best result might lead to overconfidence and complacency on her part and ruin it in doing so—to say nothing of what would happen if the prediction was not what she wished. . .

The Tohno heiress had a horrible vision herself, just then, at the thought: of stalking Nii-san and his lover—whomever she might be—for decades. Becoming so fixated that she was determined to punish him with his own death, and that of his future family—but not before taking measures to conceive one herself, in a fit of scorn and madness that would not have her demonic blood to blame for it.

Akiha took a deep breath, internally, and banished the thought. That kind of thinking was the province of the writers of melodramas; and worse, the trashy kind, where the authors displayed little understanding of logic or human character—never mind hers. Such small-minded fools had carved out their niche in television (an excellent reason to forbid them from her home, in her mind) and cheap novels, but thankfully had little power over the real world, never mind her own destiny.

. . . Which brought her thoughts back to why she was here in the first place.

“A gentleman in my family’s employ has gone missing,” the heiress explained. “I was hoping you might be able to give me some insight into what’s happened to him.”

Seo-san stared at her, and Akiha briefly had the sensation that she was made of glass to the younger girl’s eyes.

“. . . He’s done my family a great service,” she elaborated. “And I want to make sure I leave no avenue unexplored, if it means his safe return.” She tapped her schoolbag. “I confess to being uncertain precisely how your skills work, but I’ve brought some items, in case a sympathetic connection is needed.”

Seo-san shook her head at that, but asked quietly, “You’re sure he’s in danger?”

“. . . Reasonably,” Akiha admitted. “I cannot say so for certain—I would be far less concerned if I could—but he has a knack for attracting troublesome circumstances that quite possibly exceeds my brother’s.”

Seo-san’s eyes widened at that, and it made the heiress wonder just how much her precognition had allowed her to see of Shiki; after all, to Akiha’s knowledge, the two had never met—

She tabled the concerns raised by that idea for now. If nothing else, this affirmed her decision to come to Seo-san; if she was truly so gifted, then surely the girl could tell her something of use . . .

“You’re in luck, then, Sempai,” Seo-san said—though her expression seemed at odds with her statement. “I know exactly who you need to see.”

“Who?” Akiha demanded, before internally wincing at how sharp the demand had been.

“My other sempai,” Seo said enigmatically. “Just, let me do the talking, please—it’ll be better for both of us . . .”
















Despite its Japanese name, Asagami held more than a little Western influence in its design. Thus, it possessed a conservatory for music classes, as well as several instruments of such design—which was why Akiha was puzzled to hear string music coming from the school’s clocktower, when Seo-san led her there.


She was no more enlightened when she climbed the stairs behind her kouhai to find a dark head of hair, framed by a pair of pigtailed braids, bent over one of the largest instruments Akiha had ever seen. A “cello,” she believed it was called in English—though she wouldn’t dare try to pronounce it, for all that her fluency in the language had recently improved.

(The reason for said improvement being why she was here—but that thought got tabled for now, as well.)

As the last note vibrated to an end, the cello player turned to reveal a white girl—really white, almost moon-pale—with dead, dark eyes.

“I don’t appreciate being disturbed.”

The tone of the statement, much like the rest of her appearance, was dead—empty of inflection, emotion, or much in the way of nuance. Nevertheless, it radiated an implication of danger in the same way the presence of a corpse did.

Her cheeks flushing, Akiha opened her mouth to respond when Seo-san beat her to it—recalling, if only in hindsight, the younger girl’s instructions.

“Sempai,” Seo-san said, bowing—but while it was deep, her eyes never left the other girl. “We’re looking for a missing man; one who’s potentially suffering horrible tortures, if he’s still alive at all.”

Akiha stared at her underclassman in disbelief but couldn’t keep a wince off her face at the mentioned possibility—especially given how sincere she sounded about it.

“Your attempt to manipulate me is blatantly obvious, to say nothing of insultingly crude,” the cello player said flatly. “Especially given that there’s no guarantee whatsoever of such having occurred.

“. . . However,” she added ominously, “the stultifying banality of this school has rendered me desperate enough to give even the possibility of that an intriguing enticement.”

Those eyes, which on closer inspection were not merely dead black, but more like abyssal voids in her corneas, turned to Akiha—who had faced demon hybrids, serial killers, vampires and Church executioners in her recent past . . . And this girl frightened her at least as much as any of them.

“Do you have something of his?” the cello player demanded.

With fumbling hands—because she felt she didn’t dare take her eyes off the girl, for her own safety—Akiha withdrew the container and held it out, like a protective talisman.

Between one blink and the next, it was in the girl’s hands, and she slid the box open with a smooth movement.

“Hair,” the cello player said absently. “Not my preferred medium, but I appreciate the aesthetic. Very traditional when dealing with things like witchcraft, potions and curses; Grandmama would’ve approved . . .”

She sighed, then reached out to take the hair from the box—

And as her fingers gripped it, suddenly stiffened, her head hurtling back as her eyes rolled up, causing Akiha to gasp in surprise.

Seo-san had already been in motion, and half-caught the girl as she toppled to the floor—Akiha, however, had to help, lest they both be dragged down.

“Some kind of seizure . . .?” Akiha demanded.

“A vision,” her underclassman corrected. “It’s how her powers work—”

Her lips moved soundlessly, for perhaps the space of a heartbeat. Then, as suddenly as she’d gone down, the girl sprang up, like a corpse which had been shocked back to life, gasping like the victim of a near-drowning. Her eyes were wide, wild—and they locked on Akiha.

The spark of frenzied animation went out of the cello player like the snuffing of a candle. The darkness swallowed her eyes again—but this time, there was a calculating intent behind them.

“This man you’re looking for,” the cello player demanded. “Who is he?”

Her voice was as empty as it ever had been—but there was a terrifying sharpness to it, now; like an executioner’s axe, poised to fall . . .

“. . . Someone to whom I owe a great deal,” Akiha said warily, “even though I understand little to nothing about him.”

The Caucasian girl’s eyes narrowed.

“Your answer is nonsensical,” she said flatly. “But the hints of bitterness and regret in your voice are . . . Refreshing. I think I will enjoy helping you, Miss . . .?”

“Tohno Akiha,” the heiress said curtly.

Contrary to convention, she neither bowed nor offered to shake hands—and Akiha was not surprised when she received the same lack of courtesy.

“Addams Wednesday,” said the other—and the use of Japanese name order was surprising. “We’ll need to do some travelling, and quickly, if we’re to catch up with him—pack lots of sunblock.”

So, she is capable of courtesy, when it suits her, Akiha ruminated—but what really had her attention was what had happened during the seemingly-emotionless girl’s earlier fit . . .

The Tohno heiress would the first that she had no particular talent when it came to reading lips—but she could recognise a simple, two-syllable word that she’d heard several people repeat frequently over the last hour or so in conversation.

And so, she wondered—just why would this “Wednesday Addams” call out for “Nero” in the throes of her psychic vision . . .?







Beneath her emotionless mask, the young magus’ heart was beating wildly. It was an unacceptable loss of control, to Wednesday’s mind, but comprehensible—after ten years of searching, she’d finally found a lead—and here, of all places!

She made a note to pack extra blades and restraints—this time, he WASN’T going to get away . . .

Yeaaah, I wrote that thinking "wait, the DOA tournament sounds like it's recorded/widely publicized. Maybe the tengu only show up after the public parts?", which could have been true for DOA 2, but seemed unlikely for Nyotengu.

Yup . . .

Again, it's not totally unworkable - and an excellent excuse to have Waver and crew poke around, if someone wants - and they do at least TRY to pass it off as part of the "halftime show," so there's that . . .

At the very least, I suppose, it's less trouble than trying to integrate Ninja Gaiden's lore into a TYPE-MOON world . . .

[Xamusel]

So... what's Wednesday's beef with Frid?

[Kieran]

So... what's Wednesday's beef with Frid?

An excellent question . . . As is, "What does it have to do with Nero . . .?"

[Xamusel]

Oh, right, are the Addams's related to a certain Foreigner-class Servant named Abigail? I mean in this worldline...

Let me get to watching that video you linked about Nero momentarily.

EDIT: Okay, that was bound to be relatively disturbing, given the nature of modern Live Action TV. I thought that it had to do with Nasuverse!Nero Claudius.

[Kieran]

Oh, right, are the Addams's related to a certain Foreigner-class Servant named Abigail? I mean in this worldline...

What an interesting idea! As it happens, they do have a Great-Aunt Lavinia in the family tree . . .

Let me get to watching that video you linked about Nero momentarily.

EDIT: Okay, that was bound to be relatively disturbing, given the nature of modern Live Action TV. I thought that it had to do with Nasuverse!Nero Claudius.

Who says it doesn't . . .?

[Xamusel]

Er... who's Great-Aunt Lavinia? There's no mention of who she is on that page.

[Kieran]

Er... who's Great-Aunt Lavinia? There's no mention of who she is on that page.

Think about it.

[Arbitrarity]

Huh, I haven't read Kagetsu Tohya, so I missed Seo-san, though she's kind of just there to explain encountering Wednesday. Ten years puts us near Fate/Zero, though there are lots of other possibilities if you're jumping between world-lines. It's also pretty hard to guess how 1994 is meaningful from the Addams Family POV, since it happens in rather a lot of different years, and I definitely don't know the various incarnations of the series that well. Could just be a hint at a future destination for Nero-hunting.

[Kieran]

Huh, I haven't read Kagetsu Tohya, so I missed Seo-san, though she's kind of just there to explain encountering Wednesday.

Well, sort of - I was considering having Akiha go to her to track down Frid exactly this way - but given Frid's usual documented reaction to precognitives, telepaths, and the like (or theirs to him, more accurately), I don't think it would end well for Akira . . .

Ten years puts us near Fate/Zero, though there are lots of other possibilities if you're jumping between world-lines.

Hmm - Chibi-Wednesday encountering Gilles de Rais . . . Tempting. She'd be critiquing him all the way through, even if she wasn't the Netflix version . . .

It's also pretty hard to guess how 1994 is meaningful from the Addams Family POV, since it happens in rather a lot of different years, and I definitely don't know the various incarnations of the series that well. Could just be a hint at a future destination for Nero-hunting.

I did include the relevant video clip when Xamusel asked . . .

[Xamusel]

Uh... is it just me, or did the creators of The Addams Family get inspired by Lovecraft? Also, I was mistaken about Abigail's family name. It's Williams.

[Kieran]

Uh... is it just me, or did the creators of The Addams Family get inspired by Lovecraft?

To the best of my knowledge, Charles Addams wasn't a fan of Lovecraft - though he was friends with Ray Bradbury and Alfred Hitchcock.

Also, I was mistaken about Abigail's family name. It's Williams.

And as I understand it, the non-Servant Abigail is wandering the multiverse looking for a "real" Lavinia Whateley, alongside "The Gentleman" - who says that one, or both, couldn't be adopted into the Addams clan . . .?



. . . All kidding aside, the Addams Family would actually be easier to slot into TYPE-MOON than Dead or Alive; granted, they're generally not all that subtle, but much of their uniqueness could be explained by either hybridisation or simply being a magus bloodline (or both), since most versions of the Family aren't actually supernatural (much) - the new Netflix incarnation that gives Wednesday psychic powers is the most overt it's ever been, in that regard.

[Arbitrarity]

Ah, we're in newest continuity and skipping concerns about what year it is, then. I was internally ruling that out when doing date-comparisons, since that one takes place in 2021-22. Certainly seems appropriate to stick her in an alternate magical school, of course.

Uh... is it just me, or did the creators of The Addams Family get inspired by Lovecraft?

Eh, they're gothic horror, I don't really think they're that Lovecraftian most of the time.

[Kieran]

Ah, we're in newest continuity and skipping concerns about what year it is, then. I was internally ruling that out when doing date-comparisons, since that one takes place in 2021-22.

Fair - but on the other hand, continuity is normal, and no version of the Family does that . . .

Certainly seems appropriate to stick her in an alternate magical school, of course.

And more sensible, really - the Family's whole schtick is that they're different . . . Honestly, the whole "creating a world with monsters and supernatural powers, and having them act like regular humans so that Wednesday can still be the weird one" is one of my biggest gripes with the show; that, and the fact that Morticia spoke French and Gomez did NOTHING . . .!

(A cardinal sin, if ever there was one; that has been consistent over the 60 years of adaptations, after all - so to ignore it . . .)


I still enjoyed the heck out of it, and Jenna Ortega was pitch-perfect in her rendition of Christina Ricci's Wednesday - but I DO question some of the choices made.

Eh, they're gothic horror, I don't really think they're that Lovecraftian most of the time.

There's a touch of overlap, but not much, no.

[Xamusel]

I hope that Kieran manages to canonize the Omake at this rate... you know what I mean?

[Kieran]

I hope that Kieran manages to canonize the Omake at this rate... you know what I mean?

The last time I did that (the Krampus vs. Angra Mainyu scene), I finalised Frid's backstory, but I'm still trying to work out how to reveal and resolve it . . . And if I did do it here, it basically means Dead or Alive does not get fused here, because adding two crossover elements to this world is too many . . .

Of course, I'm still not sure what to do with the island if I do make this a DOA fusion; since the resort's something of an ongoing thing, and has magical power of its own, maybe fold it into Avalon, much as the Works is . . .? It has that sort of, "summery, peaceful sanctuary" thing going for it . . . I really need to rewatch that Case Files episode with the faeries; it'd probably be something similar.

Unless, of course, the island has a different origin . . .

[Kieran]

DISCLAIMER: Tsukihime, Fate/Stay Night, and all related characters and concepts are the creation and property of Kinoko Nasu and the staff of TYPE-MOON. Exalted, Scion and all related characters and concepts are the creation and property of White Wolf/Onyx Path Publishing. Forgotten Realms is the creation of Ed Greenwood, and presently owned by Wizards of the Coast/Hasbro. [B]Dead or Alive, DOA Xtreme Beach Volleyball and all related characters and concepts are the creation and property of Team Ninja and Koei Tecmo.

Writer's Note: Certain dialogue sequences in this story are lifted from DOA Xtreme Beach Volleyball: Venus Vacation, but I trust in the intelligence of my readers and the (general) availability of the game to recognise them when they see them.

This is a not-for-profit, just-for-fun project.






Zack Hotel
Venus Islands, South Pacific
















Misaki looked up from the reception desk when she heard the door open, to see the Owner coming through—and even through the unfamiliarity of his foreign features, he looked angry.

“Owner-san . . .?” she said, hating how timid she sounded—but it seemed to bring him up short, because he stopped, blinked and took a deep breath before speaking in a very even tone.

“Misaki-san,” he said. “Do we have any lifeguards on staff . . .?”

“‘Lifeguards?’” she repeated, puzzled.

“Safety officers, assigned to the pool and the beach,” he explained. “To prevent drownings or other accidents.”

She knew what they were, of course, but didn’t say so. Instead, she replied “Yes, Owner-sa—" Misaki gasped as the implication hit her. “Oh, no—what’s happened?!”

“A guest at the beach fell off her floating toy and lost her top,” he explained bluntly, “but it could have been so much worse, and I am NOT happy about it.”

Misaki shrank back a little at the way he suddenly seemed to loom menacingly without moving a muscle—and her reaction must’ve been noticeable, because he visibly forced himself to relax.

“I’m not angry at you, Misaki-san,” he said, in a surprisingly gentle tone. “But I am angry. I would like you to pass the message on that this situation should not have happened, and depending on the reasons it did, the negligent staff involved may find themselves ejected from the island.” His face darkened as he added grimly, “As in, I will throw them off it myself, from the highest point that I can find . . .

“However,” he added, with forced calm, “in the event it was a genuine accident, I’m willing to let it slide—this once, with the understanding that this NEVER happens again. We do not play games with people’s lives—make that very clear, please.”

Misaki nodded firmly. “Yes, Owner-san!”

“And if they give you any pushback at all,” he growled, “you send them to me—and their ejection will take place immediately.”

“Huh?” Misaki found herself taken aback by that.

“Well, first,” he explained, “see my explanation about playing games with the safety of our guests . . . And second, you’re my personal assistant, right? That means you speak with my voice, when I ask you to—and if anybody decides to give you trouble just because you’re young, tiny, and/or cute—”

Misaki could feel her cheeks heating up.

“—I will make them very, VERY sorry,” he finished with a growl.

Then the Owner relaxed and said politely, “Please make all that clear, Misaki-san. If you need me for anything, I’ll be in my office. . .” He stopped, suddenly blushing, before asking in an embarrassed tone, “Which is where, by the way . . .?”

Misaki blinked, nonplussed at the sudden shifts in his demeanor—however, her professional training stood her in good stead as she pointed behind her and answered, “Through there, and take the first door on the left . . . Jeez, Crazy Sunglasses Guy didn’t tell you anything at all, did he?”

(OK, maybe not totally in good stead, or she wouldn’t have slipped . . .)

“Not in the least,” the Owner agreed sourly, before suddenly smiling. “Fortunately for all of us, he had good luck if good sense—after all, he managed to hire someone as reliable as you to assist me, Misaki-san.”

Her face was definitely on fire again—she could feel it . . .

“Now, I undoubtedly have paperwork to familiarise myself with, and do,” he said, “so if you could please track down the lifeguards, pass on that message, and make sure they’re doing their jobs before something worse than a young lady being embarrassed happens . . .?”

“Y – yes!” Misaki said, flustered, before rushing off to fulfill her orders—though it was as much to get away from her own embarrassment . . .And it wouldn’t occur to her until much later that she’d forgotten to ask if he’d picked a Venus to receive the Owner’s Invitation yet.

And when it did, Misaki would find herself having to quash the brief response of “Lucky . . .” that the thought evoked. She did not need to start developing a crush on her new boss; this job was already going to be stressful enough, with everything that making the Venus Festival a success was going to entail; not to mention what might happen if her sister made it home before she did . . .

Misaki shivered.

Onee-chan was so worried about me working here—she’s overprotective enough to come storming onto the island and drag me home, rather than leaving me on a tropical island working under a grown man, without a chaperone . . .

Her eyes widened at the image that thought suddenly evoked, which was quickly followed by another.

I really, really hope that Owner-san wasn’t actually serious about throwing someone off the island. . .
















She’s really cute when she blushes, commented Frid’s inner bastard.

“Quiet, you,” he muttered under his breath. “I am her boss, not to mention undoubtedly old enough to be her father, whatever her age actually is.”

You say that like you didn’t enjoy the few glimpses of Honoka you got—like she could have hidden everything . . .

“Again, she’s eighteen, and that was bloody mortifying for the poor girl—stop making it worse . . .!”

Realising that he was arguing with himself aloud, again—and worse, losing—Frid collapsed into the chair behind the desk and buried his face in his hands.

“. . . I am so fucking doomed,” he groaned.

What the hell had Astraea’s judgement done to him? He hadn’t been this bad since he was a teenager—and while his reflection looked a far cry from the burnout with the grizzled beard he’d been, he didn’t look that young, either. He certainly matched the picture in his ID—the same one which identified him as the magus whose identity he’d bargained for. And it was a minor miracle that the documentation was intact, even if the actual magus status wasn’t.

If somebody actually has to run that ID against something, we are almost certainly going to be in so much trouble . . .

Frid ignored that problem, for now, and focussed on the more immediate one: keeping his hormones in check while he was going to be surrounded by pretty—

You meant “nubile,” don’t kid yourself.

—And legally underage girls. Some of whom, it had to be admitted, had decades of yearning attached to them.

Yup, so fucking doomed, indeed, said his inner voice with spiteful glee. Because while Kasumi might be nice enough to just avoid you if she spots you looking, having a “normal physiological reaction,” or anything of the sort, you just know that Ayane will kick your ass for it . . .

“Yeah, I know,” he muttered. “Why the hell do you think I’m trying to figure out where all this is coming from . . .?”

“Thirty-ish years of repression” isn’t enough of an explanation . . .?

No, it really wasn’t—Frid hadn’t reacted this badly to the Works, and they had a number of gorgeous girls with a similar amount of time attached to some of them, at least on the Tsukihime side of things . . . Then again, he’d been bolstered by Kieran Holt’s literally supernatural willpower; not to mention the fact that the girls in question were very taken, and he supported those efforts—and the same was true of the Fate cast.

Whereas the Dead or Alive girls, by and large, were canonically single. Sure, the DOA live-action movie had paired Kasumi with Hayabusa, but it had also paired Ayane with Hayate, either being unaware of or just ignoring (if not outright retconning) the fact they were half-siblings . . .

Though from the way Ayane sometimes acts around Hayate—and it's true of Kasumi as well, for that matter—you’d certainly think that she’d like to retcon that fact, if she could.

Ignoring the peanut gallery for the moment, Frid continued thinking.

Dealing with Fiore Forvedge Yggdmillennia in an intimate sense had been too painful to really consider. The man she actually loved was dead, after all, and she didn’t know that he’d bargained away his face to the man she was dealing with; nor could it have been explained to her without compromising too many other things. Instead, he’d done only what was necessary to maintain his cover and hoped that the Great Holy Grail War distracted her too much to notice any inconsistencies—and that seemed to have worked.

To be fair, his inner voice pointed out, that particular fucking mess would’ve distracted a statue—but I wouldn’t have thought our guilt and self-loathing was that much more intense, that we didn’t react like this to her . . . Something about this place, maybe? We know it’s magical, and the name is certainly suggestive . . .

It was possible, Frid admitted—and all the more important, then, that he contact the Works and get them to get him the hell out of here, ASAP, before he did something he’d absolutely regret.

Though probably only very briefly, depending on who you tried to do it with . . . Remember, though, until you actually can get the Works’ attention, you’ll have to play the part of “Owner”—which means helping run the resort and the Venus Festival, and picking a “Venus” to get your personal invitation.

“Once again, fuck my life,” Frid muttered—then he moved to seize the only possible lifeline for what remained of his sanity.

Booting up the computer in front of him, Frid was relieved to see that somebody had left the login and password written down on a Post-it note on the monitor (and made plans to change both immediately after using them; that was not good security). Once everything was up and running, he opened up a web browser, went to a search engine, and typed “Fate/stay night summoning circle” into its search box, before tilting his head skywards.

“Please, please,” Frid beseeched the heavens. “Let this be simple, straightforward AND easy—just for once in my life . . .”

He hit “Enter.”
















Tohsaka Estate
Fuyuki City, Japan
















“I can’t believe I’m doing this . . .” Rin grumbled to herself.

The headache throbbing between her temples, however, insisted that she very much was—and constantly reminded her why.

The “Servant Universe” (and what kind of idiot was responsible for naming it that?) was a ludicrously dangerous place; that much was clear just from the concept, never mind the little contact they’d actually had. For starters, it was a “space opera” setting; this was not a concept Rin was overly familiar with, but even a superficial look at its trappings had her nervous. Faster-than-light travel, planet-destroying weaponry, and empires spanning multiple star systems, with all the resources that implied? And then, to further add the fact that it was populated entirely by Servants, with the appropriate scaling-up such a thing suggested . . .

Rin, in her dealings with “Mysterious Heroine XX,” had been willing to write off some of her quirks as a natural consequence of both being involved with the “Norse God of Mecha” (since he’d apparently designed her armour), and compatible with her Master. Both entities had given Rin migraines on par with Shirou or her own “Master,” the Wizard Marshal, so XX having learned from them was a perfectly reasonable explanation for her behaviour. Learning of the nature of her home universe, on the other hand, and the fact that, according to their research notes, it had both “space opera” themes and, apparently, deliberately parodic overtones woven into it. . .

For the first time in her life, Rin wished that she had a drinking problem—or, at the very least, that she knew someone who did, so that she could raid their liquor cabinet.

This had the potential to be both migraine-inducing in dealing with the sheer inanity, and in needing to keep their guard up, because she knew from hard experience that it was the person you didn’t take seriously that was the most potentially dangerous. And at Servant scales, that just made everything so much worse—and that wasn’t even mentioning the fact that they’d been able to detect Ilya’s clairvoyance, never mind that they might have the potential to follow it back . . .!

They needed an edge; an equaliser might be impossible, but they had a Holy Grail, and absolutely everything that an eldritch abomination with a perspective from outside her reality and (at the time) a supernaturally enhanced memory could recall and record about what it knew.

There had to be something they could use. . .

Ilya had said the enemy leader had looked like her; so, Rin had dived into what the archives said about “other-dimensional analogues and aspects,” trying to determine just why such a powerful entity might resemble her, and what it could possibly mean. In the process, she’d discovered not only the “Alter Ego Servant Class” (a whole new source of nightmares), but also mentions of Kaleidoscope facets that apparently ran parallel to theirs. One of them, labelled “Fate/EXTRA (CCC, Extella/Link, Last Encore),” was apparently deeply intertwined with Nero Claudius, the Servant whose fragments they were searching for—but another one, “Fate/kaleid liner Prisma Illya,” had caught her attention with its brief summary:

“Magical Girl Lyrical Nanoha, done Fate-style—right down to the Fate Testarossa rip-off. Even has an official crossover with it!”

Looking into that had revealed it to be a “magical girl genre” franchise—but a science-fiction based one, with starships, aliens, and super-technology powered by mana. And if it had an “official” crossover, that meant that the magical girls created in the “Prisma Illya” franchise had to be considered on par with the ones from the science-fiction franchise, and capable of competing with it. In short, that facet of her world had magical girls who were qualified to at least function in a “space opera” setting, and perhaps even thrive in one . . .

And all they needed was a Kaleidostick.

Given the choice, Rin would’ve been perfectly content to let the blasted thing rot where she’d locked it up for the rest of her life—until the Sun burned out, really. But if the stupid Mystic Code could let them send more than just Astraea into the Servant Universe safely, then she was willing to swallow her mortification and unseal it. Using it, on the other hand, was another matter entirely; though given that she’d had the entirety of the Works to back up her threats, the magus thought she might be able to cow the thing into submission.

It was worth a try, at least.

The Tohsaka heiress sighed to herself. No matter what happened, this was undoubtedly going to be a headache. She could practically hear the stress thrumming behind her eyes—

Rin stopped, her eyes widening as she suddenly realised that no, that was a physical sound—and it was building, causing the few gems lying out on her worktable to vibrate in resonance . . .

She dove for an open doorway, praying she could make—and reach—the connection in time.

“ILYA, DO—!”

With a flash of light, Rin Tohsaka vanished from the world.
















Avalon Castle, Phantasmagoria Island (Grail Works. Ltd. Headquarters)
Beyond the boundaries of time and space
















Contrary to what some members of the Works might believe, Ilya didn’t actually monitor them all the time, everywhere they went—but she was beginning to think that she might have to start . . .

Her first indication of trouble was when Rin called her name. In her current state, Ilya was attuned to it; partly because on a metaphysical level, invocations, prayers and wishes were interchangeable. Once her attention was drawn to things, Ilya could see the incoming summoning, and in her current state, Ilya could react with split-second timing—far better than that, actually.

First, she attempted to block the summoning—and for the first time, got something equivalent to an “error” message. Shoving it aside for the moment, she then threw a paradigm shield around Rin even as she connected a Door to the entrance to Rin’s workshop. Regrettably, the magus didn’t make it that far, but at least she wouldn’t be beholden to whatever physical and metaphysical laws underpinned wherever she was going, and remade to adhere to them . . .

Ilya, for her part, buried her face in her hands and groaned. “Not again . . .”

“‘Again?’” Shirou echoed, entering the room with Tohno-san behind him. “What’s happened, Ilya?”

For a space of heartbeats, Ilya contemplated lying—or at least, prevaricating. Onii-chan felt bad enough because they’d lost their first client; she didn’t even want to contemplate what he might do because they’d lost Rin . . .

(Not least because it might confirm that his heart belonged to her—it might confirm the opposite, as well, but Ilya was too afraid of the former to risk it . . .)

It wasn’t like she could keep this from him, though—aside from anything else, there was a Ruler-class Servant present who was based at least partially on the concept of “Lady Justice.” It went without saying that she’d sniff out a lie.

“. . . Rin just got summoned off-world by someone,” the Grail spirit admitted with a sigh.

“WHAT?!” Shirou erupted, even as Tohno-san chimed in with, “It happened AGAIN?!”

“Yeah,” Ilya admitted ruefully. “And I couldn’t stop it when I tried . . .” She frowned, remembering that odd sensation, and probed more deeply into it.

“I thought you put protections in place, after the Moon Cell debacle,” Tohno-san said in an edged tone.

“I did!” Ilya said defensively. “But they were specifically against the Moon Cell—it’s not actually possible to protect against intrusions into our reality of any and all kinds without a direct wish, and maybe not even then . . .”

Finding something, her frown deepened into an outright scowl.

“And as it turns out, I can’t ward against this kind of thing,” she grumbled, “because it was a call for help; it would go against the purpose of the Works to refuse it.” She hummed. “Now that I know it’s there, though, I can forcibly reroute that kind of thing to come directly to us—no more randomly being kidnapped off the street to another world.”

“That’s something, I guess,” Shirou grumbled, looking no happier than his sister. “Is Tohsaka in danger? What’s she up against? What can we do?”

“I’m working on it, Onii-chan,” Ilya responded. “I got a paradigm shield around her in time, so she’s fine, for now—once she and I have a bit more information, I’ll brief you.”

At the dissatisfied look that crossed his face, she added tightly, “I’m also trying to track down our guest, those fragments of Nero Claudius, and keep an eye on the Servant Universe without being caught, all at the same time—I’m only human!”

The last part came out sounding more desperate than Ilya would’ve liked—but it was true. As a fully ascended Grail, she could have done as much, or more, easily; but she wouldn’t have been herself, any longer.

(The fact that Ilya couldn’t feel her mother anywhere in the Grail system—despite the fact that she should be there—terrified her to the absolute depths of her soul . . .)

Shirou’s expression softened. “Sorry, Ilya-chan. I know you’re doing your best.”

“Mm,” Ilya acknowledged with a nod. “When I have something concrete that I can tell you, Onii-chan, I will—I promise.”

Now it was Shirou’s turn to nod—but anything he might’ve said was interrupted as Tohno-san suddenly spoke up.

“Could you tell me something, Ilya-san?” he said. “Where’s my sister? Is Tohsaka-san the only one they took . . .?”
















Asagami Private Girls Academy
Misaki Town, Japan
July 8, 2004

















“Sempai?”

The confusion was clear in the girl’s voice—to say nothing of her expression— and Akiha bit back a sigh.

“I want you,” she repeated carefully, “to try and foresee something for me.”

The confusion visibly drained out of Seo-san’s face—alongside every drop of blood, leaving her whiter than rice paper.

“Yes,” Akiha said with a sigh, “I am aware of your gift. My family has administered this area for years, which means being alert to any special talents.” She shrugged. “You seem to have little interest in using it, and I’ve no real reason to exploit it.”

That was a lie—a genuine prognosticator would have been invaluable at several moments in her life, most recently during the serial killings . . .

Sadly, Seo-san had been on vacation with her family for much of that period, and by the time she had returned, events had moved too quickly to make consulting her viable. And many of the other things she might press Seo-san on were complicated—for example, if Akiha asked for a prediction of her brother’s romantic future . . . No—the risks were too great. Not least of those being that even the best result might lead to overconfidence and complacency on her part and ruin it in doing so—to say nothing of what would happen if the prediction was not what she wished. . .

The Tohno heiress had a horrible vision herself, just then, at the thought: of stalking Nii-san and his lover—whomever she might be—for decades. Becoming so fixated that she was determined to punish him with his own death, and that of his future family—but not before taking measures to conceive one herself, in a fit of scorn and madness that would not have her demonic blood to blame for it.

Akiha took a deep breath, internally, and banished the thought. That kind of thinking was the province of the writers of melodramas; and worse, the trashy kind, where the authors displayed little understanding of logic or human character—never mind hers. Such small-minded fools had carved out their niche in television (an excellent reason to forbid them from her home, in her mind) and cheap novels, but thankfully had little power over the real world, never mind her own destiny.

. . . Which brought her thoughts back to why she was here in the first place.

“A gentleman in my family’s employ has gone missing,” the heiress explained. “I was hoping you might be able to give me some insight into what’s happened to him.”

Seo-san stared at her, and Akiha briefly had the sensation that she was made of glass to the younger girl’s eyes.

“. . . He’s done my family a great service,” she elaborated. “And I want to make sure I leave no avenue unexplored, if it means his safe return.” She tapped her schoolbag. “I confess to being uncertain precisely how your skills work, but I’ve brought some items, in case a sympathetic connection is needed.”

Seo-san shook her head at that, but asked quietly, “You’re sure he’s in danger?”

“. . . Reasonably,” Akiha admitted. “I cannot say so for certain—I would be far less concerned if I could—but he has a knack for attracting troublesome circumstances that quite possibly exceeds my brother’s.”

Seo-san’s eyes widened at that, and it made the heiress wonder just how much her precognition had allowed her to see of Shiki; after all, to Akiha’s knowledge, the two had never met—

She tabled the concerns raised by that idea for now. If nothing else, this affirmed her decision to come to Seo-san; if she was truly so gifted, then surely the girl could tell her something of use . . .
















Writer's Notes: As before, things have been hectic at home, so I'm sorry for the delay - hopefully, they'll get better soon. I have also been distracted, as you know, by Wednesday, the upcoming F/GO event, and the new Power Rangers sourcebook, all of which are whispering tantalising IDEAS to the muse - and she's easily distracted as it is . . .

Which of the three elements, if any, will show up next time, I can't say yet - though RanmaBushiko is voting for the Addams Family, so that Frid's "little sister" becomes that version of Ilya . . .

[Xamusel]

Thanks for the jumping-off point for Rin, man. I appreciate it, truly.

[Kieran]

Thanks for the jumping-off point for Rin, man. I appreciate it, truly.

You're welcome - it wasn't hard to arrange, thankfully.

[Arbitrarity]

Huh. I suppose Frid has to worry about weird supernatural effects from the island. Reasonable. He's definitely having somewhat more trouble than normal. I suppose searching for a summoning circle diagram is the sort of thing that would make sense for him to do, but we'll have to see how well that works out. Drawing incorrect fictional diagrams might have strange results, if he can find anything at all.

Given the historical relevance of Nanoha to other Magical Girl shows I watched it recently, and yeah, you can really see a lot of the classic tropes and where other works take from it (and then I got to Strikers and whyyyyy). Prisma Illya is somewhat funnier with the additional context.