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Originally Posted by Arashi_Leonhart
On the one hand, Sthula-Sarira seems like the obvious choice, and it is the most useful spell in Javier's arsenal. But doesn't its core principle sort of run counter to what Lily's been saying? It's not for nothing it's the spell that's been most changed by the divine flame.
I think the best choice is Alambique, to go with the theme of Javier changing the divine flame to something he can use.
1. Alambique
1. Alambique
You can discussThe OG RequiemConQUEST and other Quests in Discord (disc is much more active here).
Click the image to ConQUEST
3. Ekhtros. Eh, taking a gander back at his spell list, like it and 5 more than 1.
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The Act of dozing off in the afternoon is a luxury indeed.
Coffee would be nice, though.
[Collection of my Servant Sheets]
Now Revamped!
Spoiler:
Plaza Sotomayor, Valparaíso
Day 04
Morning Phase – 12
Severe cold (-30°C/-22°F)
(BGM)
It is vibrancy along her muscles, warmth in her blood and passion in her eyes. It is an urge, a compulsion and a solution. A power born of her individuality, yet unchanging in all individuals. It has always been there, only Maria has seen it given shape. The ancient Mesopotamians, in their wisdom, gave it a shape and a name, thus acknowledging that it exists, and its influence over them. From acknowledgement came acceptance; those ancient men and woman did not deny what and who they are.
Even if she stands firm like a stone, sword in front of her, Maria can now feel it: the achromatic, atonal rhythm. It was always there. It will always be there, long after she is no longer in this world. As long as there is a “one” and an “other”, the rhythm will be there, and they will dance along with it.
Everything in this world dances her dance.
And now, Maria Westinghouse comes to accept this fact.
This, too, is part of growing up.
“Conflict, thy name is Šaltum.”
The word is both a gift and a curse. It thrums in the air, fades through the boundaries between the layers of creation, into the deep waters at the far dawn of myth, and reach the eternal one forever lurking there.
“…good.”
*** ***
Parque Cultural de Valparaíso, Cárcel 471, Cerro Cárcel, Valparaíso
Sheer cold (-31°C/-24°F – Thermal Sensation 58°C/136.4°F)
Character Status
(BGM)
Interfacing reestablished. Reinitiating threat assessment.
Major threat identified. Initial countermeasure to establish a zone of control…success. The enemy has put the necessary distance. Initiating osmotic identity deployment in parallel with etheric analysis of the threat…
Etheric analysis verifies traces of divinity as manmade reproduction. A false Heroic Spirit carrying a flame of false divinity. Further analysis required to identify foundational principle allowing for this imitation…process discarded as unnecessary, prioritizing—
…
…
…
—Alright, that’s enough of that! Fucking flame, if you think you can keep eating me away, you’ve got something coming.
“Right, there was another piece of trash.”
Yes, I should pay more attention to that, I guess.
I am on my feet, which I guess is good—oh fuck, those two don’t look too good. This piece of shit Nazi has done a number on Nomikata and Assassin—no, Liria. No headaches anymore—, and I guess it’s sorta kinda my fault?
I…feel strangely at ease. I mean, I’m scared, sure. The thing standing in front of me is one of them “Servants”. The fact I can’t beat a Servant has not changed. But, it’s okay now. Because the divine flame inside me was even scarier, and it feels like that will be okay for now on.
Because I have a plan, and the palpitating hunch that it will work out perfectly.
Damn, I am arrogant as fuck.
“Nigredo,” says the uniformed Servant with the voice of a bored king ordering the thousandth execution of the day. A stream of black flames leaps out of his hand like the gaping mouth of a giant serpent, set on devouring me whole. I think Liria calls out my name.
…nah, that’s not gonna work, Mr. Nazi.
The black flames swirl around my body uselessly, and with the slightest thought, they seep into my pores and become my sustenance. Yum.
Yeah, you see, even if it were the most absurd flame that makes things wet and puts out other fires, as long as it manifests as a flame, it cannot hurt me. That is the rule of this divine power or whatever.
“…I see,” murmurs the Servant who has the cockiest fucking face I’ve ever seen, and I know Diego Vyhmeister. “That is how you survived the sphere.”
No fucking idea what you’re talking about.
Berserker (this one’s Berserker, right?) clicks his tongue.
“So intent in wasting my time…is there nobody in this goddamned city who KNOWS HIS FUCKING PLACE!?”
I have no time to freak out before the guy twitches in the most unsettling way and brings a hand to his face.
“Fuck, this shit Mad Enhancement…keeps…getting in the way…!”
…wait, isn’t this a chance? But, I don’t think my fireballs will beat this guy, and I don’t have anything that would help us get away; a smokescreen of volcanic gases at best. I feel I finally have a chance to get a hold of the fucking flame, so dying is not an option here!
Nomikata…is up to something, in that he is obviously concentrating on something. Liria…is just trying to stand up, but she is more swelling than person by this point. Really, the best I can do is hold his attention for as long as I can—
“Don’t you fucking dare!”
I barely catch a glimpse of his fingers twitching in front of him—no, he is drawing in the air. A chilling gale so cold it hurts my skin wreathed in flame blows me away from him and from everybody else, and towards a hard meeting with the ground.
“Don’t you fucking look down on me!” roars the Servant. “You were actually thinking about fighting me!? Know your place, scum—!”
His insults and taunts lose all their weight when the world itself roars more mightily than he ever could.
*** ***
Near the Parish of Saint Aloysius de Gonzaga, Cerro Alegre, Valparaíso
Sheer cold (-31°C/-24°F)
(BGM)
“What the fuck now!?” howls one Oliver Drake, doing his darnedest to keep his body sticking to the floor of the building right in front of the Jesuit church. Marco Ahrens manages to stay on one knee, carefully peeking out of the nearest window.
Oliver has to shout because the world seems intent in drowning all other sound. The wind roars, the earth shudders, and the world is regularly bathed in pulses of blue radiance that seem to come from the west. Oliver thinks the Day of Reckoning would feel a lot like this. It does seem like something has descended—or has it risen?—from some deep corner of the unseen Creation to share its fury with the world. It feels as if it is seeping into their blood and setting it on fire.
“Oliver! The soldiers will show up any moment now!”
“Guh…right!”
The two men probably do not realize the chattering of their teeth as they crawl from the window to the door, only to be startled by a different roar and the distinct sound of something very large crashing very hard.
“That’s…!” Oliver gasps out.
It is the reason the two men have yet to set foot in the church: the monstrous being that beat them to it. It grunts and shakes its head to regain its bearings after a brutal throw into a nearby building—a small hotel, in fact—by the one blocking its access to the holy building.
Spoiler:
The Herald of Fimbulwinter seems the only one not disturbed by the new presence of power rising to engulf the town. The men who do not know it cannot understand that it is a guardian hound. Set on guarding the parish, not even the end of the world would distract it from that task. They are nonetheless startled when she turns her head to look straight at their heads poking out from behind the doorframe. Naturally, their stealth pales before its faultless nose.
“Get in there! Hurry!” urges the Servant. As if previously rehearsed, the door to the parish opens at the exact same time.
Father Ricardo Scherer, too, apparently does not need to look for them, fixating his eyes in their direction immediately and urging them to make the dash while the blue monster is no longer blocking the way. However, he then turns his alarmed gaze to his right—the other men’s left—, just in time to notice the group of soldiers trotting right around the corner.
“Shit,” curses Marco as he reaches for his coat’s pockets. “We run, now!”
“Now!?”
“Move!” urges the Nazi hunter, and Oliver no longer questions it. He manages to catch a glimpse of Marco taking out a seed of all things.
“Close your eyes!” commands Marco before throwing the seed at the soldiers. Upon impact, the seed explodes like a flashbang, and the two men close the short distance to the church in blinding light.
Of course, there is a problem with this plan: there is no point in blinding the enemy if it already knows where you are going.
“Shit-shit-shit—!” Marco mutters in a flat tone as he waits for the deluge of bullets on his back, but that never happens. Instead, there is another terrible crashing sound, like somebody dropped a truck from a fifth floor, and the now familiar howl of pain from the blue monster.
Oliver gasps as he all but tumbles his way inside the church, while Marco immediately presses himself against the half-open door.
“Father,” he quickly says. “I will not apologize for firing my gun inside your church, for I am well past God’s forgiveness.”
“You know not what you say, boy,” replies the stern priest, but the armed agent shakes his head.
“Those are my words, sir,” he retorts before fixing his attention on the outside as the blinding flash ceases. Indeed, the soldiers were crushed by the bull-like monster’s great bulk after the Herald threw it a second time.
“Do you know what is happening over there?”
Marco looks in the direction the priest gestures, where a pillar of blue light has risen to pierce the grey sky. Just looking at it seems to ignite something in their hearts, an uncomfortable, yet all too familiar impulse.
“I think we need to focus on the things right in front of us,” Marco posits, looking away from that dangerous light to witness the unending clash of strengths between the scarred girl and the monstrous beast. It is a fight in its most primal form, utterly devoid of adornments such as styles or techniques. They are two animals rolling on the ground in a struggle for dominance.
The Jesuit priest jumps on the spot, grabbing the others’ attention.
“More soldiers are coming,” he says with obvious alarm. “From the back—the ladies over there…!”
“Shit! Alicia!”
The two men clearly in better shape can only admire the speed at which the jeweler rushes to the aid of his wife, one of Marco’s guns in hand.
“Will he be fine!?” An even more alarmed Father Scherer wonders. Marco chuckles.
“He has the best aim with a gun I’ve seen in my life, and he’ll do anything for his woman. He’ll be fine as long as I watch his back,” answers Marco. “More importantly, you are an ESPer, aren’t you, Father?”
Father Ricardo Scherer tightens his jaw and speaks no more.
*** ***
Cumming 255, Cerro Cárcel, Valparaíso
Sheer cold (-31°C/-24°F)
“Wha—what is that—kyah!”
“My next target, that’s what it is,” growls the prone Brünnhilde, retracting the hand that just slapped her sibling. “You’re taking too long, shitstain.”
“Ah, um.”
Hexensoldaten II, code name Isolde, can only resume their healing art on their fallen sister, the miraculous light from their hands hard at work restoring the damage Senta inflicted on her. Isolde, who already had reason to be afraid, is now trembling like a metronome in response to each pulsating of blue light washing over them. Their sister, however, seems to find delight in this new power flowing and spreading throughout the frozen land.
“Yeah, fuck Senta and her ghost bullshit; now that looks like something worth crushing,” says the elder homunculus with growing excitement. “I can rip out that four-eyes’ entrails anytime. There’s better prey out there.”
She wastes not a moment to slap the girl restoring her to full health.
“So hurry it up already!”
Isolde, already well used to this, keeps working in silence, only shooting the passing glance at the looming figure watching their every move while still as a gargoyle.
The creature that brought the wounded Hilde to her stands guard silently. Its mission is probably to deliver them to the Sovereign as soon as Hilde is in good health, which is right about this moment.
Spoiler:
“Um, I’m done.”
“Good.”
Hilde, well accustomed to Isolde’s miraculous healing power, wastes not a single breath admiring the perfect restoration of her body, now devoid of wounds or even trace of the damage suffered, except for the holes and gashes on her uniform. Isolde is much slower to rise to their feet, as ever resigned to whatever fate awaits them next—
The longhaired homunculus does not quite catch what happens next. She believes the leonine creature reached out to them with its large hands, but now he is on a bed of rubble from a collapsed wall nearby, and Hilde has her fist outstretched for some reason.
“Do not touch me, mongrel,” growls the pink-haired warrior. “Didn’t you hear me? I’m going to fight that,” she then declares, gesturing westwards with her nose, the direction from which comes the soul-inflaming blue energy. Isolde shivers as if she can contain the surging urge to do something.
The creature does not speak. As wordlessly as it has been this whole time, the monster rises to its feet. Its cold, inhuman stare paralyzes Isolde with fear, but does nothing to perturb Hilde, who looks at the anthropomorphic feline with utter contempt.
“If you’re gonna get in the way, I’ll crush you too, alright?”
Isolde can only pull herself backwards and away from the scene of imminent violence. The creature, clearly intent in seizing them both yet unable to communicate, walks towards Hilde in an almost insolent stride. Hilde clicks her tongue, but her face is all grin.
The short blonde girl is thus witness to what seems the utter collapse of any semblance of order within (what remains of) the Fourth Reich. Hilde will not obey the voiceless instruments of the Sovereign’s will. Isolde can only wonder what this means for them.
The Sovereign…well, not anymore. Karl Maria Wiligut’s Saint Graph has been taken over, and Isolde knows very well who is in control now. They…should go there, right? To where that one is.
Nevertheless, Isolde’s legs do not move. Having lived a life without volition, the doll with a soul, stirred awake by a mysterious power that urges those it touches towards confronting others, cannot come to a decision on their own. Desperately, pathetically, they look around, as if to find somebody else who will tell them what to do.
Strangely enough, they do find somebody else. For a moment, their eyes meet somebody else’s; a person who scampers away the moment she realizes she has been seen.
“…Elisabeth…?”
The fool and the monster she is fighting neither have in themselves to pay attention to the second among the Hexensoldaten as they, for the first time in their lives, step out of the rails built for them and take off on their own, to chase after their youngest sister.
The only one to blame is the soundless rhythm that has always resided in their soul.
Because everybody dances the demon’s dance.
*** ***
“…earlier than anticipated,” she murmurs in a flat voice, gazing at the primordial emanation rising to challenge the heavens, as it is to be expected. Already her mindthe possible timelines to develop from this event. The possibilities are many, but the commonality to most of them is a single one.divinescalculates
“…seems like everything will be decided tomorrow.”
The ritual still needs a whole seven days, but there is no need to wait for the last day to have the final battle. Even if she chose to wait, there are already too many impatient actors on the stage. The Children of Villarrica, Karl Maria Wiligut and the one holding him in thrall, and of course Archer. Neither of them will wait for the final day.
“So, how about it, child who beckoned the Dancer?”
Spoiler:
*** ***
(BGM)
They emerge from her light and from the ground itself, like shining constructs shaped out of primeval mud. Just like the Queen of Heaven claims the works of man through man’s devotion to her, the Serpent in the Primordial Depths claims them because it was her dance that pushed humans to create them and use them.
The world welcomes the demon, and then trembles in fear. However, the demon is inescapable, for it is everywhere and exists within everyone. The dance is perpetual and all encompassing; wherever there are two things that are not identical to each other, therein exists the dance.
Every single day, it perpetuates, it grows and evolves, for there are as many ways to dance as there are souls in Creation and stars in the sky. It is beautiful; it is cruel; it is fruitful; it is maddening; it is necessary; it is loathsome, it is essential and shameful. It is radiant and foul, hidden yet omnipresent.
Lancer has the dubious privilege of standing on ground zero of its advent. He cannot look straight at the pillar of magical energy surging from the darkest depths of the primordial sea, long detached from the tangible world. The might of the king and the blessings of the goddesses cannot prevent him for having to cover his eyes with his gauntleted arm. Bathed in that light, he feels all of its baleful temptation, the blood-boiling urge to abandon all restraint and simply join in the dance.
No amount of demon-banishing, monster-slaying legends can prepare anybody for this. This demon is no mere pawn of the gods. To fight it is to fight human nature, common sense and inevitability. To oppose it is to oppose the very way the world works. It is universal, and thus beyond mystery.
It rejoices in battle because all battles come from it.
It spits on all rules because all rules were made because of it—pitiable attempts by “rationality” to contain it and control it.
It is the source of all entropy, all carnage, all sins and all calamities. However, it is also the source of all learning, all growth, all agreements and all transformations.
It transcends all good and evil, because all good and evil are born of it.
It is the quintessential Authority given form, its universality engraved in its very name.
Because to live is to dance the dance of.ṢāltumStrife
This is the opponent now standing before the great emperor, Naram-Sin.
Spoiler:
And in the midst of it all, stands Maria Westinghouse. She is the beacon, the first and lead instrument in the dance performed in frozen Valparaíso. A fundamental concept has gained embodiment through her. What could possibly go through her mind at a moment like this?
Maria then realizes her feet are not touching the ground, which is kind of a problem. Reaching out to her melam is no effort, changing its solidity so that it no longer lifts her and thus allowing gravity to work properly on her.
Warning: Mental Image
Hey, Saver. You know you can’t bullshit me at this point, don’t’cha? I can tell this isn’t your true Noble Phantasm.
“…you haven’t earned that one yet.”
Oh, for fuck’s sake, a demon shouldn’t be such a prissy bitch!
A controlled melam means a restrained luminescence, allowing Maria and Lancer to look at each other.
“Congratulations are in order, I take it,” posits Lancer. “You are an impressive woman. When I reclaim the throne of this world, I shall take you as my empress.”
Maria slowly and eloquently rolls her eyes.
“Yeah, don’t see that happening.”
“Alas, you are probably right.”
Lancer pulls his weapon off the ground, thus making the two concentric rings disappear along with the divine presence in the sky.
“My Noble Phantasm will not work against you as you are now,” he answers Maria’s unspoken question. “Ah, but do not get me wrong. This is not a declaration of surrender.”
With that, Lancer’s own melam flares to life, vivid golden tints swirling around sickly ochres and greens.
“Enough time has passed, and the blessing of the goddesses is still with me.”
Indeed, Lancer’s expression of divinity is a grand thing, a conflagration the size of a three-story building. Maria takes in the might of a man who made history, beloved by the people and by his gods in life. In the presence of the radiant power of a powerful, ancient Servant, she sighs.
“That’s not enough,” she declares, for she knows this for a fact. “You cannot defeat me with only that much.”
“Really.”
The last great emperor of the first empire of humankind is in no way bothered by the girl’s boast. Instead, he lowers his weapon and his own center of gravity, levering the tip of the great spear close to the ground. There is no hesitation or fear in his mind. No matter the enemy, he faces it with only the conviction to fight until the very end, because the emperor is not allowed to surrender.
“Prove it.”
*** ***
Parque Cultural de Valparaíso, Cárcel 471, Cerro Cárcel, Valparaíso
Sheer cold (-31°C/-24°F – Thermal Sensation 58°C/136.4°F)
“What the hell is that!?”
Berserker seems to have a serious dislike for this power. There is no other word to call it. It spreads endlessly but in waves, touching everything in its way and seeping into our minds. I feel it stirring the flame and me alike, but it seems to wreak havoc in that Servant, who is now clutching his sides as if fearing he is going to explode. Seigi and Liria…seem fine, or at least they look like they can deal with it just as I can.
He is asking what that is. Well, I know. Rather, I feel it. We do have a connection, after all, and it is impossible not to notice it by this point.
“That? That’s Maria. Friend of ours,” I reply. “I’m sure she’ll come here when she’s done over there; then you can ask her anything you want.”
Sorry, but I’m not gonna lose the chance to get one on this piece of shit Servant if I can. So yeah, I’m gonna be a cheeky little shit about this.
“She digs chili con carne. Thought you might wanna know that.”
*** ***
Wise Up! (Lancer of the Black Sun)Quest Master’s Announcement: Saver’s profile has received a major update.Wise Up! (Saver)
Last edited by Daneel Rush; April 30th, 2020 at 11:33 AM.
Catalog of Somewhat Original Servants
In Progress: Fimbulwinter Quest Project.
Beast's Lair Quest Discord Server
Plaza Sotomayor, Valparaíso
Day 04
Morning Phase – 13
Severe cold (-30°C/-22°F)
(BGM)
Gravel bursts in every direction. Melam explodes, painting the world in scattered tones of gold and ochre. Lancer almost gasps—his spear met Saver’s blade, but it is not Maria’s hands that hold it, but her melam shaped into something like a vice claw. The girl has already slipped under the shaft of his weapon, a radiant sword of melam in hand. However, Naram-Sin is a warrior king par excellence, and that same pole is already leaning to intercept the furtive attack. There is zero clumsiness in his wielding of such a large weapon, and Maria spins all around Lancer’s form without her sword striking true. With a twitch of her face, a deluge of radiant weapons surges out of her divine aura over her head, pouncing on Lancer like hunting hounds, but the ancient king releases a kiai and a swing of his spear sweeps them away in a tidal wave of corroding melam. By this time, Saver’s physical weapon is back in Maria’s hand.
The clash resumes immediately, the king with sublime martial technique opposed by the demon with a complete lack thereof. The one whose name is conflict itself relies not on the methods of man, for her dance in itself directs the course of battle. She is not a goddess expressing Divine Authority, but the Authority itself, driven by independent will. She does not “fight in a specific way”. She does not even “fight”.
Saver is the fight itself.
Lancer realizes it quickly enough, for such is the magnitude of his brilliance. Eventually, effectively, inevitably, he realizes that, at some point, he stops thinking. He stops planning his moves. He thrusts his spear at the right side of Saver’s chest not as part of the execution of a tactic, but because it was “the one move to make at that point in time”. It is as if the myriad streams that make the countless tactics imaginable in this encounter had gathered and reduced themselves to a single steady flow. The tense unpredictability of battle has become a choreography dictated by his opponent, which he can only follow to its inescapable end. Saver sets the pace of the dance, and every attempt to disrupt the tempo is stamped out mercilessly. When he steps backwards instead of forward, Saver switches from stepping aside from the thrust that he was supposed to make, instead kicking gravel into his eyes. When he aims for her head instead of trying to sweep her off her feet as he is supposed to, she intercepts it with a floating golden shield, leaving him exposed to her own attack. When he holds his weapon low instead of keeping hit aloft, she tries to drop an anvil of melam on his head for some reason.
Giving up on close combat, Lancer manages—or perhaps she allows him?—to create some distance, switching to a strategy of middle-range corrosive blasts and waves released by his Noble Phantasm. Maria dances, sinuously stepping out of the way of each shot before it is even released, while responding in kind with countless weapons of all shapes and sizes, conjured over her head from her melam and released like artillery fire. The superlative agility of the two Servants only results in the devastation of the buildings making the perimeter of Sotomayor Square, such as the National Admiralty and the Ministry of Culture and the Arts. Maria’s seemingly endless volume of fire forces Lancer towards the center of the square’s area, and back into melee.
“What a superlative woman you are!” Lancer celebrates even as he finds himself pushed into a corner. Maria does not fear matching her sword against his larger, heavier weapon again and again. The sword is merely a Projection; she can just create another one if it breaks.
“I cannot take the credit for Ṣāltum’s power, ya know.” Maria’s charge is followed by a swarm of flying weapons of radiance above her, each of them beset on impaling, piercing and/or bisecting Lancer. It is to his merit that they all fail, undone by his own melam expanding like a gargantuan amoeba. Again, their battle reduces itself to the clash of sword and great spear.
“To wield the Dancer’s power to such an extent is a worthy achievement on its own, girl. You are not an evil warlock, nor do you have the ‘Quality’ of a High Priestess. I can tell.”
They go for a challenge of raw strength, swinging their weapons with earth-shattering force in each blow. Every single time sword meets spear, the air thrums with power and the ground beneath their feet breaks like glass.
“Your connection to the Dancer is so strong that I fear for your life, girl.”
Maria almost—almost—falters; to the point she wonders whether he was aiming for that. Their weapons meet again and stick to each other, so girl and emperor stare at each other’s eyes.
“I am ready to pay the price, as long as I can put an end to this insanity.”
“You have yet to learn how to lie, girl.”
This time, Maria does falter, allowing Lancer to overpower her for a moment and throwing her away with the force of his swing. Maria prevents him from chasing after her with a new barrage of radiant weapons fired from over her head.
“You are aware this is nowhere near enough to defeat her, are you?”
Maria clicks her tongue.
“Ṣāltum will only show her true power against her, anyway.”
“Is that so? Should I say ‘as expected of the arrogance of a demon’, that it will only regard Ishtar herself as her match?”
Maria feels Saver’s swirling irritation within her, the Servant apparently agitated by Lancer’s words for some reason.
Irritation? No, this isn’t quite that. Saver, what the heck is this feeling…?
Apparently finding what he was looking for in Maria’s face, the smirking Naram-Sin settles into a stance.
“Well, let us put an end to this.”
“Yeah,” Maria agrees as she blandishes her sword in both her hands. “Let’s.”
(BGM STOP)
They measure each other with their gazes. While Saver defines the flow of battle by sheer act of existing, Lancer can only think back on it and try to see where it is taking them. He bears the burdensome certainty that this next clash will result in his defeat, but he still cannot read the how. How is Saver going to eke out a victory out of this illusion of roughly equivalent ability?
There is no time.
(BGM)
Maria attacks first, conjuring a wall of sharp and pointy objects above her head before releasing them in Lancer’s direction. Again, it is devoured by the power of Meslamtaea released by Lancer’s spear. Maria charges in the wake of her barrage, as ever aiming to slip in past the long spear’s range of effectiveness. Again, Lancer proves too skilled to fall for a tactic probably countless opponents tried throughout his life. The slash that should have sliced him in halves at the belly meets the shaft of the polearm instead. Naram-Sin sees the opportunity when Maria is changing her grip on her weapon, and takes it, showing indescribable dexterity with a weapon too large and slipping the tip of the spear between Maria’s hand and the sword’s hilt in the split instant she slackens her hold on it. An instant later, the sword is flying off in whatever direction.
“Ha!” Lancer laughs triumphantly. The time it takes Maria to unmake that sword and Project it again in her hands is the time he needs to pierce through her heart with his spear—
“.”ṢāltumChain of Venus
The azure melam ripples between her feet.
“From below—!”
By the time Lancer finishes that second word, he is already trapped. His strength, a gift from the war goddess, is insufficient to oppose a chain made to restrain that same goddess.
(BGM STOP)
“So, this is the end you planned from the very beginning.” Lancer sounds just a little dejected as he looks at the girl already holding her sword for the executioner’s blow.
Maria shakes her head.
“That’s not how it works,” she refutes.
(BGM)
“It’s not that I know how the fight’s gonna end from the start. I’m just another dancer on the stage. The only thing I know is that, if I follow along with the dance, the battle will reach an inevitable end. The when and the how are decided by the dance itself.”
“…I see. That…might be a little sad.”
Such is the difference between humans and things like demons and gods. When humans do conflict, the result is decided by their actions, their decisions and the difference in their skills and values. Ṣāltum can only follow the path set upon her by her intrinsic nature. She does not decide how she wins. She does not get to brag about her skill with weapons or her tactical acumen, because her actions in combat are not conscious actions. She just dances, and then she just wins.
“…yeah.”
“Stop wasting time, girl. There are places where you must be, right?” The Emperor can grin even in the face of death.
“…yeah.”
Nonetheless, Maria hesitates a moment longer, for there remains one last thing to say.
“Lancer—no, Your Majesty, Naram-Sin. I…I will never forget you.”
“Well…” The Emperor chuckles, his eyes still sparkling with both lustful desire and plain amusement. “Then this whole thing was not a complete waste of my time in the end.”
He winks.
“Try to stay away from any future Grail Wars, girl. Otherwise, next time we meet, you will definitely end up in my bed.”
Maria snorts. Her still remains held over her head. The Emperor’s amusement quickly turns into pity.
“…it might be easier if you use your conjured blades.”
“No,” Maria shakes her head. “No, it wouldn’t be any easier. Goodbye, Lancer.”
The man stares until he is satisfied with the hardening of her eyes.
“I would wish you good fortune, but that comes from the gods, so it would not fit well with the powers of that demon.”
The chains pull him down until he falls on his knees, and he looks up at the girl holding the blade that will end his existence. His smile does not reach his eyes, which look at her as if they could see the end of her story.
“May your final dance be such that it makes the heavens tremble. May your life burn out in the most wondrous blaze of glory, and your efforts engraved forever into legend. Goodbye, young dancer.”
(BGM STOP)
Spoiler:
Wise Up! (Saver)
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Parque Cultural de Valparaíso, Cárcel 471, Cerro Cárcel, Valparaíso
Sheer cold (-31°C/-24°F – Thermal Sensation 58°C/136.4°F)
Character Status
(BGM)
“It is only the flame within your soul that will consume you.”
In other words, as long as it is not in my soul, it is A-Okay. After all, my newfound immunity to fire extends to my own—divine or whatever it may be, the moment it appears in this world, it is just fire.
That is why the key is in Alambique. It is a spell for energy transfer, normally from one thermodynamic system to another, but this time I will use to siphon the flame from my soul to the outside world. This would have been too dangerous until a few days ago, because the spell in no way protected me from the movement of thermic energy flowing through my body, but this is no longer the case, because fire can no longer hurt me.
Alright, let’s release some fire! If it happens to move in a Nazi’s direction, um, don’t expect me to apologize!
The process of casting fireball seems to complete itself before I can even think of saying the spell’s name. I’m not complaining, though.
“Anyway, here we go!”
This “Berserker” seems to dislike it when anybody does anything.
“Who do you think you are—!?”
What comes out is not a “fireball”. A deluge of flames washes over him and swallows both him and his words. The potent flamethrower is accented by the tremors that seem to spread in its wake. For a moment I fear Liria and Nomikata also got caught by the flames, but Liria jumps away with newfound agility while Nomikata rolls to the side as best he can.
“My bad!” I call out to him, but there is no time to look at Nomikata because the flames are acting weird.
“Get behind me!” my instincts cry out, but I can already tell Nomikata won’t make it in time…!
(BGM)
“Insolence!” shouts Berserker at the top of his lungs just before the flame’s direction scrambles and the tidal wave surges outwards in every direction. It’s not gonna work, though.
“Alambique!”
It does not even feel like “casting a spell” anymore. I probably don’t even need to make the incantation. The flames rushing in Nomikata’s direction swirl around him to come at me instead. I wear them like a burning cloak, which apparently seems to piss off further this Servant with zero chill.
“Who do you…why are you…guh!” He looks at us with hatred, yet struggles to even complete sentences. Isn’t “Berserker” kind of a shitty class?
However, the guy is a mage. Getting a clean hit with my fire will be tough. Something like a distraction—
“Know your place!”
Suddenly, everything hurts. Also, I’m looking at the sky, and I feel the ground under my back. The hell just happened.
“Javier!” Liria calls out. She sounds surprisingly far away.
Did…what did you…fuck…!
That was…this must be how it feels to become roadkill. That was…it was just a pressure wave. Did he turn his voice into a sonic weapon? Fuck, it hurts. I, can I still move?
“All of you…you…lowly things!”
Strange sounds—an electrical discharge and some sort of rumbling. Liria and Nomikata cry out. An impact. Liria strikes the ground somewhere close by.
“I’ve had enough…” murmurs the Servant. “I’ve had enough, I’ve had enough, I’ve had enough , I’ve had enoughI’vehadenoughI’vehadenoughI’vehadenough…”
Alright, this guy is completely unhinged, shaking and waving his hands in bizarre ways. Rather than “berserker”, isn’t he just outright sick in the head?
“Of people who think they can get in my way!”
The air glows around him—wait, he was not just waving his hands, he was drawing weird runes in the air—
“Run away!”
There’s no way we can pull that off, Miss Liria!
I shout a pointless syllable as I direct my will into the ground. Fire is more my thing, but I know the hill will answer if I ask. So help me!
A wall of compact soil rises to intercept the crisscrossing lashes of lightning that surge out of those runes. They work hard, but it is no enough. His spell is just more potent, tearing through my haphazard barrier and exploding all round us. Liria cries out in pain one more time. I am lucky; a single stray bolt that strikes my foot, but that is enough to make the whole leg jump and twist in horrible pain.
“Ghhhngh!” Some distance to the side, Nomikata is struggling. I have no idea what he is doing, but he has some sort of black spear in his hands…and he is holding back the lightning strikes in some way—
“Uaaaaargh!”
…until he is not anymore. I feel my heart sink when a trail of lightning pierces right through his guts.
“Do you get it now!?” roars the mad Servant. “You are just humans. No, mongrels. Lowly animals, unworthy of your King…”
Something happened, right there. Berserker himself stops the words pouring out of his racist mouth, as if caught unaware by his own speech.
“No, I’m not—what did I just—guh…!”
And now he’s clutching his head as if struggling against the mother of all migraines.
“Seriously…” I blurt out between groans. “The fuck is wrong with that guy…”
“I think…” a tired-and-pained-sounding Liria actually answers my rhetorical question. “It’s what The Maid mentioned…about somebody else possessing one of her pinup girls, what’s-her-name. I think it’s now controlling Berserker…and I think Berserker’s now fighting back.”
Right, The Maid did say something like that. Something about one of her daughters…oh shit.
Oh fuck.
“Isolde! That’s what Lily meant!”
“What?”
No, wait, that’s not important right now. It kind of helps things make sense, but it doesn’t get us out of this situation. What I need to figure out is our next move. While the body snatcher and her victim are struggling for dominance, what are we supposed to do with this opportunity?
Choice Time
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Javier hasn't gotten a complete handle on level 3 yet, Liria's pretty battered, Seigi's been impaled for like the second time today and Hilde is en-route as well who gets stronger the more powerful her opponent is. We have only one option.
2).
Last edited by Bird of Hermes; May 20th, 2020 at 01:30 PM.
Quest of Fate
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1. Nothing could go wrong.
2
2!
2. Fly, us fools!
True Rider
2
The Act of dozing off in the afternoon is a luxury indeed.
Coffee would be nice, though.
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I'll also vote 2, we still haven't gotten a grasp of our Level 3, one of our legs is fucked up and we need to get Seigi help for being impaled yet again.
Besides Maria has now finished her fight so reuniting with her is a lot more feasible now.
Although I do worry about Saver's reaction to our much more pronounced Divine Nature, it's still the best option.
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2
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All of this running away like scared little rabbits while Javier has his anime powerups, disgusting. Down the villain now before she finishes powering up!
Unlike you, we do care what happens to characters other than the protagonist and we strive for him to care to. And in spite of the long fight we haven't discovered enough about BERSERKER in order to gain an advantage so an strategical retreat would give us an opportunity to piece the Intel together.
Besides, that "Anime Powerup" bullshit mentality is what got Seigi and Liria beaten up in the first place on top of a shit-ton of other problems, so, you know, it might be convenient to change our approach to problems.
True Rider
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A wise and beautiful woman who exudes an aura of grace. She is a sly, cunning, manipulative person who always gets what she wants, whether through trickery or ruthlessness. Her own fighting abilities are low, but she should not be trifled with. What does she ride? Men, of course!
