In my mind's eyes Type-MOON!Satan - or rather, Shaytan in this case - has only one arm.
It's also taking the form of a woman for the lolz.
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In my mind's eyes Type-MOON!Satan - or rather, Shaytan in this case - has only one arm.
It's also taking the form of a woman for the lolz.
She's also hot.
Damn it now I ship Hassan x Shaytan.
What the hell, self?
^
Think of an amputee Scanty/Kneesocks and you have my interpretation of Shaytan.
Isn't this canon anyway?Quote:
Originally Posted by ItsaRandomUsername
He'd become a cannibal monster anyway.
He seemed to enjoy himself.
Seems like something she'd be proud of.
Who's Scanty/Kneesocks?
They're the demon sisters from Panty & Stocking with Garter Belt.Quote:
Originally Posted by Larekko12
Ah that piece of angel-shaming shit that rots the concept of naughty angels, and makes me want to wretch, while maintaining the sole redeeming quality of proliferating pretty fan doujin.Quote:
Originally Posted by Elf
The hate.Quote:
Originally Posted by Larekko12
It gives me power.
Then grow stronger than a super saiyan then a super saiyan for my loathing is as black as pitch , and thicker than the blood that flows. However despite it's subpar source I must say the more realistic images of Scanty/Kneesocks provide fitting image for a tempting Shaytan.Quote:
Originally Posted by Hazama
Ah, Spinach will worship you.
I actually have more Hassan planned, but right now I'm too burnt out to even attempt to begin writing something new.
Also, probably something for Archer, too. And definitely something for the Tsuki-side of things.
That was pretty cool, IRUn.
I was actually imagining just that. Scanty, specifically.Quote:
Originally Posted by ItsaRandomUsername
And Larekko, stop hatin' son.
Fuuuu- I meant to say amputee.
Crap I need some sleep.
And muchas gracias, Espinaca.
I live in a free country, and have yet to disparage any of those souls whom enjoy that horrific artifice. I shall hate as I please, drugged assasin. Stick with your fair Shaytan.Quote:
Originally Posted by Spinach
that was an avatar reference meaning no actual insult do not report.
I'll stick with my fair Shaytan and I'll like it! Have fun living without hot, slutty angels and lesbian demons!
I'm not that easily offended, my tongue twisting comrade.
"Mama?" Illyasviel said.
"Yes, Illya?" Irisviel said.
"Where's papa? What's he doing? When is he coming home?" Her tiny daughter asked inquisitively.
It was - at best - a difficult topic to approach, let alone properly explain. Doubly so when the one asking was her own daughter.
"Illya. Come here."
Young Illyasviel did as she was told and went to her mother. Her mother then took her into her arms and embraced the small girl in a gentle hug.
"Well, Illya. Kiritsugu is elsewhere."
" 'Elsewhere' ? Where's that, Mama?"
" 'Elsewhere' means that your papa could be anywhere in the world right now," Irisviel explained, "But don't fret about that, Illya. Because no matter how far away he is or what he's doing he will come back. He will come back for us. He will come back for you. He will always, always come back for you, because no matter what he will never, ever stop loving you."
"Don't worry, Mama. I won't ever forget."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Short one.
D'awww. ;w;
Hugs for Iri and Illya. ASAP.
-------It sounds just like a battlefield.
The forest sounds like a battlefield many times greater than the size of this one. The warzone is on a much smaller scale than the grand skirmishes of ancient times, but it is by no means any less significant in outcome. The stakes are as high as the immediate political, territorial and economical futures of those bygone civilizations were, if not more so.
-------It sounds just like a battlefield.
Broken hilts and shattered metal litter the ground around us. The nonstop clattering of steel ringing against steel is deafening. Swords and spears and axes and various other weapons scream at speeds that fire past the sound barrier. The din of combat relentlessly blots out all other sounds. Shining Noble Phantasms blast forward from the orange-red miasma and are answered by replicas whose imperfections are negligible at the worst. His projectiles meet my own copies, both originals and nearly-perfect imitations crashing into one another and snapping like twigs into prana and shattered steel.
This is what it is like - to live SWORD.
- Even with the aid of advanced magic, I never would have expected that doing something such as realizing an Origin could make such a difference to my very existence as a magus.
My mind is working lightning fast. I am like a machine working at the speed of thought; reading, memorizing, storing, replicating, locating, reproducing, modifying, all of this at the same time and so much more. My magic circuits burn white-hot like a blaring dynamo, constantly being feed a stream - no, a torrent - of prana to replace od being spent on churning out these weapons like a manufactory.
Gram -
- Dainsleif -
- Mereodach -
- Durandal -
- Vajra -
- Swentowit -
- Crocea Mors –
- Curtanna -
- Harpe -
- Gae Budihe -
- Kikuichimonji -
- Gungnir –
- Clarent -
- Balmung -
- a Masamune -
- Houtengenki –
- Attila -
- Caliburn -
- Kusanagi -
- Gae Bolg –
- And countless others…
Whether they be archetype, prototype, or the one-and-only, each new Noble Phantasm he calls forth to waste me is recorded by my subconscious and then replicated in response to counter the original weapon in less than an instant. Each of those swords that would be instant death for me breaks into useless hunks of metal when slammed into its replica.
Even I know that I cannot keep this up forever. I cannot ignore the fact that his weapons reach closer and closer with each passing moment. My newfound strength is doubtlessly potent, my inner world that I am channeling into reality is enough to rival even the output of the golden king's armory...but I am vastly less experienced with it than he is with his own power.
It is like I am behind the wheel of the latest and most advanced sportscar, racing down a speedway: It is powerful and fast and has boundless potential - but I am unused to being behind the wheel and have no knowledge of its workings, leaving me with no alternative other than to struggle desperately to keep up with the vehicle; right now the only thing I know how to do is work the accelerator and the brake pedal, and sooner or later I will have to make a turn that I have no idea of how to accomplish.
----I pray that I get the hang of this and turn this situation around for all of our sakes, before this uneasy stalemate begins to turn in an unfavorable direction.
-------It really is just a battlefield.
Gilgamesh's eyes briefly flicker to the bloodstained tear prominently adorning the breast of his white suit's jacket, the place where my earlier Traced copy of Gae Bolg had failed to inflict the heart-killing blow. He adjusts the golden tie above his pitch black silk shirt with a baleful expression, the leer in his eyes and the sneer on his lips are disturbing with their sheer intimidation.
“Staining this fine suit of mine with my own blood with a dirty copy is detestable enough, but this…how dare you even think of doing so such a thing, let alone actually do it. Blatantly imitating the king is a crime of the highest authority. Those who commit that sin should be put in their place right where they belong: directly under the press my bootheel.”
In response to his will, the weapons launch from the shimmering warp at even greater speed and intensity than they were before. Gilgamesh forces me to press the accelerator of the car harder, the prana burning under my skin like hot wires. I am completely pinned in place, rendered immobile by his attacks. If I were to even attempt to evade, letting up my counters for even a millisecond, then he would not let that chance slip by – he would kill me in an instant.
To stop is to die.
To keep this up is to die.
----I am trapped.
The merciless onslaught of raining swords pushes even my own strength to the breaking point. Amidst this, the golden-haired Servant reaches into the swirling void and pulls out a bizarre sword so alien in nature and origins that I cannot even begin to read it and that it makes me sick to even try to do so.
"You do not deserve the honor of dying by my true Noble Phantasm, but this just goes to show how much I despise your very being right now."
“Shirou!”
Her familiar voice cries out my name, alarmed by the increased ferocity of the king’s wrath, unnerved by her inability to help in this situation.
“I’ll crush you like the roach that you are, Faker.”
Red pictograms like glowing circuits etched on the side of the sword. They begin to spin like drill bits, the wind picks up immediately and a swirling eddy of bloodlike energy rotates around the sword like churning water.
“「Enuma… ”
----Even in the heat of battle, the sight of this chills me.
---As a human being living on the planet, of course the sight of this would chill me.
--Of course I would tremble in the face of such awesome power.
“ …Elish!」”
“Berserker!”
----“GRAWWRRRH!!!!!”
It all happens in an instant.
A form that dwarfs my own suddenly barrels into me, tackles me into the air and knocks me from the killing-field I was trapped in – but without any killing intent at all. I hurtle into the undergrowth of the forest, thrown far from the area of impact. The moment it happens, I realize something…
Berserker……saved me.
…or rather, she did.
…Illyasviel Von Einzbern.
…no…………Illya.
That thought is prematurely cut short as the wave of destruction cast by Gilgamesh’s Noble Phantasm washes over where I stood before him, where Berserker stands now. It is downright awe-inspiring: pure space-time compressed from the very wind into an unthinkably powerful blast of absolute and indescribable annihilation capable of shredding through anything in its way, not because of an abstract concept that it is capable of imposing, but as a result of its unbelievably raw power. The outcome of such an attack being launched with such an output does not need to be described:
----It's enough to kill Berserker a thousand times over.
The Servant was ripped into dust the moment he stepped into the path of that Noble Phantasm. His flesh, so invincible and virtually untouchable ever since my first encounter with him will be rent into a state of absolute nothingness in a heartbeat. It was their choice to sacrifice themselves for me. There is nothing we can do about it. Already the seemingly-immortal Servant must be defeated once and for a-
"Berserker! Don't let him kill you like this!"
In an act of quick thinking, Illya gives Berserker an order. One with the backing of a Command Seal, one of those three absolute sigils granted to Masters of the Holy Grail War – a crystallized miracle capable of warping even the fabric of reality and bend the rules of the world in order to follow the commands of the one casting it.
The girl I had known before. To do a thing like this, for some one like me would have been inconceivable back then. Her only goals, supposedly, were to seek vengeance on me and reclaim the Grail for her family. The old Illyasviel would not have done that, not for me. But I had opened her heart, just as she had opened mine. Her newfound boldness; her new motivation for wanting to win this Holy Grail War; her desire to live; it is because she seeks a happiness that she thought to be long lost…
‘…a happiness that only I of all people gave to her.’
As long as it is within the power of the Servant and their Master, then the order will remain absolute. And Illya is a powerful Master, brimming with magic circuits and flowing prana, and Berserker is the trump cards of all trump cards if there ever was one…
------------But really, is it enough………? Illya and Berserker have their limitations, and the Noble Phantasm’s destruction is absolute and total and happened faster than the eye could see………
http://img405.imageshack.us/img405/4...taraxia397.jpg
------“HUUURRRYAAAAUUUUGGGHH!!!-!!!-!!!-!!!”
A roar louder than even the destruction of the land around him erupts from the top of Berserker’s lungs.
There he is against all odds, against all reason, against the will of whatever power may be, he stands there at ground zero of Enuma Elish’s blast – an attack still searing an ugly scar into the surrounding landscape of the Einzbern's forest.
The impossible begets the impossible when it is achieved. The miracle of the Command Seal, backed with the miracle of the Einzbern wishcraft:
It was enough. Her wishes were enough to supercharge Berserker’s Noble Phantasm into overdrive just in time. I do not know how many lives Berserker has left, but right now that does not matter.
…This is the power of God Hand at work, an absolute immortality against any attack that had already killed Berserker once.
Servants battle each other for the Holy Grail using their Noble Phantasms. Since a Noble Phantasm is so closely tied to victory or defeat, it’s a battle-royale to determine which one has the strongest Noble Phantasm. Power clashes against divine mystery against concept. Those are the factors that determine the outcomes in battles between Servants.
The greatest power with the most mystery just faced off against the strongest concept.
----and it lost.
“What?! Impossible!” Gilgamesh is absolutely incredulous. An amalgam of distaste and fear washes over the golden Servant. His anger takes over, and he does not stop blasting the searing energy from his Noble Phantasm. “How do you still stand!?”
Gilgamesh is only responded to with another bestial roar from within the tumultuous whirlwind of ripping space-time that flows around Berserker the way a rushing river flows around a steadfast rock. But there is one key difference: while the rocky island will eventually erode from the continuous water, Berserker will remain as absolute and untouchable against that attack an eternity later as he is now.
Then, it happens.
The invincible island in the river begins to slowly move. Right for the suit-wearing, blonde-haired Servant.
“This is Ea! The Star of Creation that Splits the Heavens and Earth! This is the sword that created this entire once-glorious but now stagnant and wretched world! You should be gone from the face of the earth!”
Impossibly, Ea began to spin faster, the red markings on the side more of a completely incoherent blur than they were before. The sword spat its perpetual surge of energy at a greater rate in response to Gilgamesh’s desperate urgings. Just as before, the blast did not do a thing against Berserker, and the dark giant shambled slowly, surely toward the King of Heroes. He moved laboriously, slowly, but there was determination in his movements.
…Step…
“Ea! Spin! Faster! I need more power!”
…Step…
“Rip the world apart, Ea! Show this barbarian the truth of the world! Show him his place!”
He might as well have been spraying a mountain with a firehose for all the good that it did him - a mountain that drew closer and closer with each labored step.
“Berserker…” My eyes are wide as I look at the building climax of the confrontation between the king of heroes and the most famous hero to exist.
“He truly is the…strongest Servant. How could I ever win against such a demon?...” At my side, Saber murmurs worriedly under her breath, clearly in awe. Illya only stands by me, the sheer intensity of the determination and loathing in her eyes directed at the King of Heroes in her eyes takes me aback.
“…No one will hurt you, Shirou. I will make sure no one ever will.”
The Gilgamesh from before was gone. The proud, haughty, over-confident Servant’s previous personality was replaced with something else entirely - Gilgamesh’s voice was filled with single-minded desperation and panic. He is not going mad because Enuma Elish is not working, but because he is losing his options, that he is getting cornered in a way that he absolutely hates and is frightened of.
Step…
Step…
Step…
"You animal! When a king commands you to die, you obey him! So – DIE!!!”
Ea has lost its effectiveness. Even Gilgamesh must have seen that. But, the only option he has left is to open up the Gate and rain Noble Phantasms at Berserker in order to finish him off. He knew how Berserker had moved; he had seen it himself right before the hulking Servant had placed himself between Enuma Elish and me. He knew that the delay required to activate his surefire kill against Berserker would give plenty enough time for him to seize the opening and deal a decisive strike.
Yet the only thing holding back Berserker from bum-rushing Gilgamesh was Ea’s attack, and that was only delaying everything all the more.
"I won't lose to a monster and a party of impudent children!" he snarls angrily as he urges the waning Ea to continue blasting.
“…that’s too bad, then.” Illya calmly replies.
---Berserker is too close to for the king’s liking---
He has no choice - he sheathes the spinning drill sword and forces the void behind him to open. “「Gate of Babylon!!」”
Berserker had lost his hulking stone sword when it crumbled into its component molecules during the time he spent shrugging off Gilgamesh’s strongest Noble Phantasm. But that does not matter. Berserker is too close to for the king’s liking. With nothing to hold him back now, he is too fast for Gilgamesh to respond to his actions. Being bare-handed means nothing to a berserker-class Servant.
More so if that Servant is the one and only Heracles, the greatest hero of ancient Greece.
-----He moves like a gigantic dark blur!
-----A fist like an anvil sails right into the original hero faster than the eye can follow!
And a terrible force washes through the valley like a tidal wave.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Here we go. An experiment with writing style.
Normally I wouldn't emulate the way the visual novel is written, but in some cases I think it warrants it to provide the sort of authentic atmosphere that I want to convey, especially if I feel like channeling the Mushroom-Man himself for certain projects.
Yessssss die Gilgamesh die~
Dat Illya and Berserker. You go, Herk.