I’ll agree with 2.
3 also tempted me, but I think 2 is reasonable under the circumstances…
I’ll agree with 2.
3 also tempted me, but I think 2 is reasonable under the circumstances…
Corner of Av. Elias and Subida Caracoles, Near the “Reina Victoria” Funicular Station, Cerro Alegre, Valparaíso
Uttercold (-47°C/-52.6°F)
(BGM)Character Status
For a moment, I see white. Only white. A bitter weight sinks to the bottom of my gut. My jaw trembles. I feel dizzy. A disgusting, uncomfortable clump of something rises to my throat, threatening to spill out and stain the world with my shame.
This…is this what I wanted for myself? Is this part of the greatness, the fulfillment I seek in my life? This…terror, not for myself, but for somebody else’s sake, to such an extent that it makes me physically ill?
“Javier!” Liria calls out to me. It feels incredible distant. “Javier! Javier, what the fuck!?”
How the hell…how the hell is anybody supposed to live like this?
“Let’s go!” I do not believe my own voice. “Take me to her, now!”
Maybe I’ll apologize to Liria after all this is over. Right now, there is only one thing in my mind. Only one thing I have to do…!
“Right, right, no need for the attitude, Javier!” Liria looks and sounds more amused than anything else as she picks me up like a much taller bride before leaping off.
“Ha! To think I can pull off a stunt like this…?”
She stops talking for a reason I understand. I, too, caught the hint of a male voice somewhere nearby, but I can’t hear it clearly enough with the distant ruckus coming from the coast. Of course, it’s just a matter of turning my head and looking behind us—
“That’s…!”
“What? Who is it!?” Liria urges me to speak further, as I remember what she herself told me a while ago through her zombie.
“That’s Nomikata—no, Isolde!”
Indeed, the British redhead’s tall figure stands somewhat in front of the Reina Victoria Station. Were they hiding there this whole time?
“Aaagh, too late for that!” Liria declares, deciding not to stop and leaving the possessed man behind us. “I’ll send them a familiar if they feel like talking!”
Liria only manages two (dozen? Hundred? Those things move fast!) more beats of her wings before yet another sound grabs our attention.
“That was…”
“…a gunshot,” I complete Liria’s assessment. A lone gunshot, not the staccato of automatic gunfire we’d expect from the Nazi soldiers or the werewolves, which I had already heard earlier from the southeast—likely Senta or Ortrud engaged with the enemy. A frightfully potent gunshot; what I would imagine a Magnum sounds like, but what do I know.
This gunshot, however, came from the north, towards the coast, further away than Seigi-Isolde.
A person with a handgun in that direction; that’s probably…
*** ***
Naturally, Isolde also heard the gunshot. Naturally, it feels their (Seigi’s) head with questions: who fired the shot, and at whom?
“There’s fucking Servants down there fighting a goddamned Divine Beast! Who the hell’s down there firing fucking pellets!?”
Another question: did the enemies caught hearing of it?
“Ah, who am I kidding—of course they did! Whoever it was, that dumbass just made themselves a target!”
Seigi Nomikata speaks his thoughts. Of course, only Isolde can hear them.
“Wha—no! Don’t give me that shit!” Isolde promptly protests. “You saw Lover Boy and Fly Bitch down there; they’re going uphill, and they’re obviously in a hurry!”
Isolde can only think of one reason Liria would leave the Bašmu battlefield—another Servant-level threat is on the loose, and the only one Isolde can think of is…
“You know why I took your body, Nomikata! I’m not gonna—!”
Isolde stops. They have no choice. They can only tighten Seigi’s jaw and grit Seigi’s teeth as the body’s rightful owner makes it very clear who is in control.
“Guh…b-but…!”
This is not the usual usurpation. Isolde can only use their spell on those without the means to protect themselves against such interference. It is useless against any mage worth their salt—there is no way it would work against a fully-recovered Seigi Nomikata who is already thoroughly experienced in suffering its effects.
“Fine! Sheesh!” Isolde throws Seigi’s arms into the air, portraying an out-of-character image (for Seigi) of sheer petulant exasperation. “I’ll check it out, alright!”
Defeated by their own powerlessness, Isolde trots down the stairs Elías Avenue, where Javier Lucero stood just a while ago.
“But I swear, if things go to shit because of this, I’ll fucking nigredo your dick before this is over!”
*** ***Atop a Building Near Av. Errázuriz, Valparaíso
Uttercold (-47°C/-52.6°F)
(BGM)
The gunshot was, of course, fired by the youngest Hexensoldat. In her arms outstretched, she holds the gun she received from Marco Ahrens, which is very much not a Magnum or anything of that caliber. The potency of the shot had nothing to do with the properties of the mystic code.
The gun smokes in her hands and almost scalds her gloved fingers from the sheer heat is irradiates after being pushed beyond its limits by Elisabeth’s magecraft.
“…it worked…” she whispers to herself, her voice velvety softness in no way matching the scene. “It actually…guh…!”
The gun is not the only one emitting heat—magic circuits pushed to perform a role for which they were not designed are now raging in the depths of her body, wracking the young girl with pain beyond anything she has experienced before. Elisabeth has never been a mage, and thus she now crashes head first into the burden that is wielding the art. Furthermore, it is not a simple spell she has pulled off.
She falls to her knees, and the gun slips off her hands and clatters on the damaged floor of one of the very few buildings still standing this close to the coast. The battle against the colossal serpent rages to the west. This is closer to the location where Maria Westinghouse first engaged Hans Kammler and his tank.
While everybody was concerned about the Werwölfe, Elisabeth did not forget that the Fourth Reich was still likely to have soldiers and vehicles. A squad of soldier constructs could bring down Ricardo Scherer’s parish with their rocket launchers, and their dangerousness would increase even further if they have access to the destructive power of the Kraftstahlkanone, or the Wirbelringkanone’s ability to stun even Servants.
The target of her gunshot was one of those squads—nine etheric soldiers were unmade with a single shot, along with the truck on which they traveled. The problem, of course, is that there are two more trucks with about as many soldiers each, and she has revealed her position. That is not the last of her problems, even; the number of bullets she received from Marco Ahrens notwithstanding, there’s no telling how many times she will be able to reproduce that impossible feat of ballistics before she or the gun break apart.
Panting through the pain, Elisabeth picks up the gun and crawls out of the rooftop and into the lightless corridors of the frozen building. She has to move; she has to find another firing spot. She has…she has to…
…why am I doing this?
What is indeed the meaning she seeks in these actions? It would be easier to hide, and fire the gun in her hand only at whatever enemy that happens to find her. But then again, that wasn’t the purpose Marco Ahrens intended for his mystic code when he placed it in her hands, was it?
Perhaps the more relevant question would be for whose sake is she doing this?
Her fingers ache and feel stiff, almost as if refusing to hold the gun any longer. Elisabeth powers through the ache spread throughout her body, commanding her active circuits to keep generating the tremendous amount of magical energy needed for each shot. There is one among the enemies with a sensitivity to the flows of environmental magical energy in his “territory”—Karl Maria Wiligut. Elisabeth knows she could not be any more obvious to his senses right now.
A sound in the sky well above her head informs Elisabeth of one of the Feuerbälle zipping around over the building. Clicking her tongue, she wonders what Wiligut will send after her—those soldiers at Errázuriz, or something worse?
She will get her answer soon enough.
*** ***Streets of Cerro San Juan de Dios, Valparaíso
Uttercold (-47°C/-52.6°F)
“Wiligut…”
Senta pants as the zombie controlled by Liria approaches. There’s no outrunning a Servant; that’s for sure. Therefore…
“Hide…? No…”
She idly wonders where Ortrud may be. Hopefully not close enough to catch Wiligut’s attention. But why here? Senta thinks she knows all of New Asgard’s access points; why did Wiligut choose to come out in this part of the city?
There is no reason to hide. Wiligut can use divination; while nowhere near what Senta’s creatrix can pull off, it should be very much capable of tracking Senta in the same neighborhood, especially considering they’re inside his “territory”. That is, unless he suffers one of the spellcasting mishaps the Irminist system is prone to.
Senta remains rooted to the spot, unmoving beyond the rise and fall of her heaving chest as she breathes heavily, muttering a single spell as fast as her casting technique allows.
She does not see the attack coming. To her fortune, Liria does.
“Senta!”
Pulled back to the real world by a sudden shove and the sudden ache of her rump striking the cold concrete, the homunculus girl looks up only to see half of a corpse on the spot she occupied just a moment ago. Only a waist and the legs attached to it remain, still bitten by black flames even after they finally collapse.
“Seeeeennnn~taaaa…”
The owner of that name feels her heart chill. A deluge of emotions in that single word strike her like a battering ram, all the more so because they come from the wrong person and the wrong voice. Even from a distance, Senta thinks she can hear the crunch of thick black boots on the pavement, and the revolutions of circulating magical energy fueling tremendous power.
“You could not have the decency to let that kill you,” the voice, very much male and low-pitched, bearing a sticky, tar-like mellifluousness, continues. “Would’ve spared me so much effort.”
Senta stands up quickly, so very confused, shocked, and above all, mind-numbingly afraid.
“And now you have the gall to stand up, instead of staying there to be put down like you deserve. Why do you make things harder for yourself, Senta?”
Senta is not prepared for this. Her frantically-beating heart is not prepared for this. It is in no way part of the plan, and it terrifies her. This is the worst.
This is the worst. This is the worst-case scenario!
“…Hilde.”
It is not a question. The body may belong to Berserker Karl Maria Wiligut, but the one speaking through is most definitely not Kammler’s Rasputin. That man, just like Hans Kammler, would never address her by anything else other than “Number Five”.
“That’s Brünnhilde for you, maggot,” Berserker responds with cold anger. “That’s another reason to despise our mother—she never let me establish the proper hierarchy among us.”
“How…?” Senta has to ask. She cannot conceive how this is happening. Hers and Ortrud’s plans were based entirely on facing Brünnhilde—Brünnhilde’s person, Brünnhilde’s abilities. Wiligut—his body, his abilities—throws an impossible wrench at the whole thing.
They don’t have a solution for this.
So, before she dies, Senta just wants to know how she was so thoroughly outplayed.
“Yes, yes, how did the battle idiot pull this off?” Berserker chuckles at Senta’s visible confusion seasoned with the bitter spice of despair.
There is no outrunning a Servant.
In an instant, Berserker’s hand clutches Senta’s head and throws her to the ground. The bespectacled girl does not get the time to wince at the impact before Wiligut’s boot falls hard on her gut, pushing all air out of her lungs.
“And now the sow makes her shot—”
Berserker leaps backwards and away from Senta just in time to dodge the gunshot that would have blown his head up like a watermelon. He chuckles again at the sight of the girl on the ground, coughing and groaning as she bends into a fetal position.
“You girls really think you’re so smart,” the Servant speaks utmost mockery and contempt. “You got away from me the last time, so you presumed I would come chasing after you like a rabid dog if I saw you wandering on the streets like an obvious target. You’re the bait and Ortrud’s the sniper; anybody can figure that out, dumbass.”
Hilde snorts through Berserker.
“Get this in that idiot head of yours: don’t think so highly of yourself because you got a lucky shot with those ghosts last time. You are nothing, Senta. The only reason I’m giving you the time of day right now is because you’re in the way to Isolde.”
Senta shakes on her prone position.
Isolde.
Isolde…is out here…?
Senta is no idiot, and quickly connects the dots.
Isolde’s healing powers could turn the tide of this battle in either direction. The very reason Brünnhilde wields the Five Runes Inner Chant as reckless as she does is because she always counted on Isolde to heal the harm that terrible Reinforcement technique inflicts to its wielder.
There might be greater nuances to Brünnhilde’s personality that Senta is just beginning to discover, but the core remains: her eldest sister wants to be the strongest, and step on those weaker than her. If she intends to challenge the likes of Saver and Enheduanna, she needs the trump card that is Isolde.
Senta’s reasoning then goes a step further, looking beyond Brünnhilde herself.
Don’t tell me…Isolde, you slipped out here to draw her out!? You knew she wouldn’t be provoked by me, so you came out yourself so we could pull off our plan!?
Certainly, nobody spent more time with the eldest Hexensoldat than the second among them. Isolde probably knows and understands Brünnhilde better than anyone else. However, not even Isolde predicted Hilde could…usurp Berserker’s body like this.
How come everybody can switch bodies nowadays…?
Were she in a better mood, Senta would declare her wish to take Ortrud’s body for a ride—she’d love to have some of that awesome ritual sex she pulled off with Javier last night.
“Now, where’s that slut…hmm?”
When Berserker glances in the direction the shot came from, he certainly did not expect the sounds of distant gunfire from the northwest. Another battle seems to be taking place some blocks away. Brünnhilde is far from displeased by this knowledge.
“…good,” Brünnhilde-Wiligut declares, satisfied by whatever conclusion she has reached. “Change of plans, Senta: you die now.”
The long-haired girl can only watch the black flames of Santur gathering around Berserker’s right hand as he outstretches it towards her prone form. She can feel an unnecessary amount of magical energy compressed in a tiny black orb of rolling flame—Brünnhilde truly intends to leave no trace of her existence, not even ashes…
Senta might not know enough about her eldest sister, but her intuition tells her there is something in that wicked, contemptuous smile. What does Brünnhilde know that she doesn’t?
“Idiots,” Berserker barely mouths out. “The whole lot of you.”
*** ***East of Bismarck Square, Valparaíso
Uttercold (-47°C/-52.6°F)
(BGM)
“Damn it…!”
The frustration of a man who has to show his hand too early.
Following the three werewolves proved a challenge, as he had to deal with constant issue of the wind from the ocean possibly carrying his scent uphill towards them. That is why he kept a distance far more prudent than his usual; to give himself time to respond, should the physically superior creatures perceive him and turn back to attack him. However, to Marco’s fortune and dread, the werewolves were already on the hunt, fully intent on pursuing whatever lead that brought them to this part of the city.
When the three beastmen set off on a sprint, Marco reacts almost a second too late. He, too, caught a hint of their prey: a small figure that shrieked at the sight of the three bestial hunters and hurried into the nearest building.
Why did they chase? Why didn’t they gun that person down? Marco has no time to dwell on that. He runs after them, his free hand reaching into his trench coat.
When the werewolves reach the door their prey slipped into, they learn their small target is not unarmed. One of the enhanced soldiers shakes once, twice, three times as bullets strike his body and send his unbalanced body to the ground, but Marco knows ordinary ammunition will not work against them—their powerful bodies complement the efficacy of their bulletproof wear.
Marco pulls out a tiny apple seed that looks like it’s been coated in gold, throwing it at the group of three before the two not on the ground can charge in after their target. Naturally, he is the only one prepared for it to explode like a flashbang in their midst. A girly shriek echoes out of the building while the Werwölfe hiss in confusion.
Only one werewolf was prone when rendered blind, and that’s the one Marco targets, presuming the others would have the caution to change position. The Nazi hunter has given away all his “standard” guns loaded with special bullets. The only firearm he has left is his “special” gun, loaded with even more special bullets; both weapon and ammo crafted using water from a certain lake between Montségur and the summit of the Tabor.
It doesn’t matter how strong these werewolves may be. As long as the base is “human”, he only needs a single bullet from this gun to kill them.
His target this time is a werewolf, so the familiar dying screams carry a unique timbre this time. Marco Ahrens’ most special bullets cannot deliver a painless death, for they bear a truly ancient curse, older even than the Christ. The malediction of the Celtiberian druids that once inhabited the Pyrenees, delivering a magical plague.
Marco hears more than sees the other two werewolves jumping away in opposite directions, likely disturbed by the horrendous gurgling sounds of their fallen comrade, now raking his throat with his claws as if to end himself rather than enduring the agony of rotting from within. His brain is so filled with pain that he’s forgotten all about his submachinegun. The gruff man-construct finally recognizes the frightened person behind him as Isolde of the Hexensoldaten, but he does not have the luxury of time to get answers out of them.
One of those cone-shaped Feuerbälle approaches the area, its cameras informing the leaders of the Fourth Reich (?) of these events. Marco thinks he can hear a second one, but he cannot see it.
Two werewolves still remain, and Marco Ahrens stands alone, blocking the entrance to the building harboring their prey.
His body’s lifetime is already finished. He will no leave this city alive; that is undisputable fact.
But Marco Ahrens, once Otto Rahn, has no intention to walk into Hell alone.
Inside a Building Near Av. Errázuriz, Valparaíso
*** ***
Uttercold (-47°C/-52.6°F)
It is truly fortunate that Elisabeth can hear them before she walks down the stairs to the ground level. For all their prowess at stealth, it is hard to not make noise when walking on scattered debris and shattered, frozen glass. Quickly pulling herself down to her knees, Elisabeth carefully peeks over the staircase’s handrail.
Six werewolves—no, three. For whatever reason, the dangerous group splits into halves, of which one leaps away and out of sight. Are they trying to enter the building from another direction, or is their target somewhere—or someone—else?
She hears the zipping of a Feuerball past the building towards the southwest—perhaps in the direction of the parish where the civilians remain, perhaps to guide the werewolves and the soldiers towards them.
Withholding the gasp in her throat, Elisabeth skulks away when she catches the three remaining werebeasts sniffing the air. Whether there are three or six, she will only have one chance. If her spell fails, she will be torn apart by their guns or their fangs—or worse, captured and taken to Wiligut and Brünnhilde.
The chance to escape…might be finding some sort of alternate evacuation route, but can she really count on Chilean building design regulations?
No, it is more likely that this building is where she has to make her stand.
With trembling lips, the one-eyed girl tries to make herself as small and silent as possible as she begins planning the realization of yet another miracle of gunmanship—the extremely specific application of Wish Granting Elisabeth has now claimed for herself…until it kills her.
*** ***Streets of Cerro San Juan de Dios, Valparaíso
Uttercold (-47°C/-52.6°F)
(BGM)Character Status
Our attempt at surprise was never going to work. Even if Liria tried emerging from behind the nearby buildings, a flying person carrying a second, larger person is just too attention-grabbing and hard to miss. Furthermore, Servants can sense other nearby Servants—Liria can’t use her Presence Concealment while carrying something as large as me.
The moment Senta and Berserker enter my sight, I notice to my growing anguish that the latter is already set to attack, his arm wreathed in black flames. That anguish quickly changes into pleasant surprise when Berserker turns the dangerous arm towards us, smiling like he already won. Looks like he forgot flames don’t work against me—
His smile doesn’t change when he turns his arm back towards Senta! The fucker remembered!?Spoiler:
“No!” I cry out. Liria also shouts something else. Senta’s face doesn’t get the time to change expression.
The harsh rhythm of automatic gunfire changes everything in an instant.
Berserker is gunned down mercilessly by a barrage of submachinegun fire. Rather than a scream, merely a gasp leaves his lips as he falls in front of Senta. Liria lands a moment later, allowing me the relief of touching solid ground with my feet again.
Even as Berserker groans in pain, his expression shares the same confusion we share. Where did that gunfire come from?
A clatter. Somewhere nearby, a gun hits the concrete. It was held by…a corpse? That’s…a big boy. So that’s one of the Fourth Reich’s werewolves—fuck, they’re pure muscle.
“Seeeeennntaaa…”
The low voice is pure loathing. Even fallen, Berserker’s eyes glow with unbridled disgust, his face a mask of hatred.
“You already forgot, sister?” Senta speaks slowly, still looking rather winded as she struggles to get back on her feet. “My original magecraft?”
The manipulation of dead organic matter.
Berserker only clicks his tongue.
“You’re so fucking dead, Senta.”
His body then spasms and collapses on the ground. Unconscious? Dead? None of the three of us dares move just yet, like we’re all looking at a live grenade. While Liria and I are just, well, a bit taken aback by how quickly it’s all ended, Senta…there is a certain solemnity to her tired gaze. A soul that is maturing (aging?) way too quickly. Somehow, the girl that then looks up at me is not the same girl I left sleeping last night.
“Senta…”
Her smile comes out a little strained. She looks like…she’s not sure what to say, or what to feel. Senta, I’m just happy you’re safe—
“Get away from him!”
(BGM)
As expected of the Servant, she reacts faster than the two of us. I can’t complain to Liria for grabbing me who is closest to her instead of the wounded Senta. There’s really nothing we can do when we’re all of a sudden struck by what seems the very rage of the elements—blood-freezing gales rise from Berserker’s body, followed by the flashes of lightning and the ever-present black flame. The only reason I’m not wounded is sheer luck; the madness is utterly haphazard and directionless. The lightning is the only real threat to me, and it jumps in whatever direction except towards me.
Then comes the howl, and it almost freezes me in place, but my survival instincts remain sharp and remind me to seek cover.
“The hell’s going on!?” Liria asks the moment she appears inside the same building in which I sought refuge, still holding Senta.
“I think…that’s Wiligut again,” Senta posits. “I dunno how she did it, but it was Hilde controlling his body and speaking through him this whole time. But I think she’s dumped him now.”
The screams outside continue. There is lots of pain in those screams. Pain, rage, shame; I don’t know what else to call it. If it didn’t come from the likes of Wiligut, it would be pitiful. We gasp when a bolt of lightning accidentally slips through the building’s entrance and strikes a wall just three steps away from us, urging us to slip further away from the crazed Servant.
“He’s lost it…” Liria muses.
“You’d think Mad Enhancement would make it impossible for him to cast spells, but…” Senta adds.
He just releases them recklessly, haphazardly. It doesn’t even seem like he’s casting them himself; they’re just…popping off all over the place. Maybe…he’s not even aware of what he’s doing. Kind of like automatic writing, or somnambulism.
“Senta, are you okay?”
Her first answer is to bury her face in my side. She…doesn’t want me to look at her face.
“…I am now,” she says so softly it would not even move a dandelion seed. Her quiet, throaty, husky voice would melt my heart if we weren’t in the middle of a battle for our lives. “But we’re in trouble now.”
“Well, yeah, lover girl,” Liria retorts. “I dare you try to get any close to that prissy asshole.”
“Nah, that’s not—I mean, Ortrud might be able to snipe him from a safe distance. The real problem is Hilde; now she’s definitely angry, and I won’t be able to catch her by surprise again.”
“Well, I don’t think any werewolf corpses still remain with that living storm out there,” Liria points out, gesturing towards the mad mage Wiligut.
“Wait, you mean that was your plan to take out Hilde? The werewolf corpses?”
Senta nods, still pressed against my side.
“Ideally, yes. If that failed, there were other alternatives.”
I…really don’t like the sound of that. What in tarnation did you girls intend to do?
“Not that it matters, anyway,” Senta quickly adds. “Hilde’s real target is Isolde! She wants to—”
“She’s going after the healer…” I promptly realize. “Damn it, I did see them walking in this direction a while ago! Then…those gunshots earlier might be Marco!”
“Yeah, there were those two drones we saw on the way, hovering over some houses to the west of here,” Liria adds. “Something’s happening over there.”
“The Feuerbälle? But why would they stay there if they already have units in the…”
The small Senta finally looks up at me. It is unfortunately that her expression looks so haunted and worried.
“Javier! They…anybody near those drones is in huge trouble!”
*** ***
Known and Presumed Character LocationsDecision Time
Catalog of Somewhat Original Servants
In Progress: Fimbulwinter Quest Project.
Beast's Lair Quest Discord Server
Discussed this in Discord, but I'll be voting for
Javier and Senta Trying to take out Berserker once and for all.
Liria meanwhile will be going towards Isolde.
There were several reasons for why I'm voting this.
First the main potential danger for Ortrud now that she's revealed her location with her Sniper Shot remains Berserker should he regain focus/get possessed once more.
The possession giving Brunnhide as potent a tool as a Servant has to be death with here and now, especially since I expect Berserker to potentially be a problem.
Honestly Javier's super mode could likely handle Berserker by himself in all likelihood, due to his immunity to flames making it only the lightning we have to look out for, but keeping a female near us gives us a rank up which will make the fight safer.
Liria on the other hand has reasons to leave
A) The fastest among the three of us
B) Has the most incoming/up to date information thanks to her familiar's
C) Can deal with hostile mooks at the most reasonable cost among the three characters.
In case anyone wants an easy copy paste
Javier, Senta - 1
Liria - 2
Partly agree with your plan, but I'll propose the following instead:
Liria - 2
Javier, Senta - 3
Summit of Cerro Colorado, Outside the Valparaíso Metropolitan Area
Uttercold (-58°C/-72.4°F)
Maria has been following Route 60 for a while. She has left behind the city proper, taking one of the countries major highways. This one leads southeast towards the town of Curauma, where it connects with Route 68; the major route towards the Chilean capital, Santiago. Maria will not travel nearly that far. She can already see it, filling a good portion of the field of view. Her final destination.
(BGM)Spoiler:
It stands almost arrogantly, mocking the modern word with its anachronistic presence. It seems to bear a faint glow the color of Saver’s own melam. It is something that has no business existing in this world, but it is undeniably a remarkable feat of architecture over thirty meters tall. Maria, too, can see the master of the temple standing at the top of the stairs, seemingly unconcerned with her approach.
Maria has felt the increasing cold the temple seems to emanate, as if it were the very core of whatever magic that wreathes Valparaíso in eternal Fimbulwinter. It is cold, very cold—even mages would think twice before approaching this building, even with both winter clothing and the support of their heat-generating circuits. Contrastingly, the temple’s aura seems to generate heat as well, melting the snow around it into a pristine pool that allows the temple to cast its vibrant reflection.
“So…what would be less tiring: jumping all the way up there, or walking up the stairs?”
Saver does not deign the question worth her input.
Maria chooses the stairs, quickly confirming that, indeed, the temple itself is pleasantly warm, as if it hard usurped the world’s heat all for itself. Taking the slow route might be her way of delaying the inevitable, to give herself the time to give her rapidly beating heart the command to settle down, and not let her nerves get to her.
She’s walking towards battle. A grand battle with her very life at stake. She’ll never get used to the idea—she doesn’t want to get used to the idea.
Her enemy…is one clad in the trappings of a goddess. Wearing her very identity like armor. An incomparable soul from the Age of Gods.
I defeated Naram-Sin. I can do this.
She really would have appreciated some positive feedback from Saver right about this moment. Alas, only silence from the depths of her soul.
“So, you have come,” speaks the Maid when Maria is merely a few steps away. “I would commend you for your achievement, but I have already noticed you do not bring an offering.”
“My sword. Up your ass. How’s that for an opening?”
“I must decline.”
The Maid keeps her gaze on the city, as if she could see everything that is happening on the hill’s slopes and the distant coast. Sound does not reach this far over the ever-present wind, so there is no realistic way to catch sight or sound of what’s happening on the streets and the port, but Maria can guess that in no way stops the woman in front of her.
…you know, I would expect you to be more…ya know, heated up about this.
Again, no answer. This time, that silence is enough to shape a frown on Maria’s forehead. Just what’s the deal with her Servant, now of all times?
It might be the reason Maria does not take the initiative and draws her blade.
“What is man meant to know of the ways of demons and gods?” The Maid then says, still not looking down at the girl who stopped before reaching the top of the staircase. “Man is to care for the lot of man, for the ways of the numinous are ever mysterious.”
Unexpectedly, the woman chuckles.
“It was one of the first things I was taught. Everyone was taught not to question the divine ways, the divine will, the divine plan. I guess…the difference between this me and the original, is that she realized she did not agree with that. She wanted what was best for the people, and if grasping the mysterious ways of divinity would allow her to reshape the world for the better, she would not hesitate to put her everything into that effort. Would you call her ‘progressive’, or just plain arrogant?”
“Why are humans punished for seeking to be more?”
Maria has no answer for that deep, even ancient melancholy. When The Maid finally looks down at her, she projects solemnity to match that of the structure on which they stand.
“Come, girl. There is no need to stand down there.”
Maria is still frowning. She was not sure what to expect, but it definitely was not this…nothing. There is no hint of hostility from the woman she came here to defeat, nor any sense of imminent battle.
“If you wish for strife, I will fight you,” The Maid promptly declares, easily predicting the thoughts simmering in the other girl’s mind. “I would rather we converse, though. We have not really have many chances to do so, and it would be crass of me to not make the offer to my old Master’s legacy.”
Maria clears the last few steps to find another surprise. The top of the ziggurat holds a smaller structure—the temple proper, where ancient priests performed equally ancient rites to beseech the will of the gods from the spot closest to the heavens. It stands in front of Maria, but she cannot see anything through the doorless entrance. It opens into a inky darkness deeper than the darkest night.
“The hell’s with that…?”
“Think nothing of it,” reassures Enheduanna. “As you may know, I had to change from one wish granter to another. That’s just part of the temple’s recalibration. It is in no way dangerous.”
“But it’s still creepy as fuck,” Maria retorts, turning her back to it to instead gaze at the expanse of the hills of Valparaíso alongside The Maid.
“So…you really think we’re just gonna hang out here and not kill each other? You serious?”
“Being who I am, I am by no means against the thrill of battle, but…”
It is surprising. Maria does not remember this woman next to her ever leaving a sentence incomplete.
Enheduanna shakes her head, most likely to herself.
“Do you remember the Feuerbälle that were following you?”
A question that catches Maria off-guard, but it’s not like she cannot answer it.
“Yeah, they kept their distance after I struck down the first one, but then they just turned around and left me alone.”
“Well, they just needed to make sure you made it here.”
As usual, Enheduanna does not need cueing to explain herself.
“The eldest of my ‘children’, Brünnhilde, is now effectively the leader of the Fourth Reich. Naturally, she wants the Grail. Naturally, she also knows she probably can’t defeat either of us. Therefore…”
“She’s waiting for us to beat each other so she can then gank the winner?”
“Indeed. My expectation is that my former student and his allies force her hand until she has no choice but to step into the battlefield herself. At that point, she would no longer be a threat to either of us. I would appreciate it if you would hold your thirst for battle until that point.”
“Wha…the gall of this woman!”
“Do you not wish to witness Shielder’s and Archer’s conclusion? I think it would be a privilege.”
“Guh…”
Maria grits her teeth as she considers the offer, if it can even be called that. It is true that she would rather not have to deal with some Nazi bitch stabbing her in the back right after what will definitely be the hardest battle ever. If she starts fighting Enheduanna right away, that might encourage Brünnhilde to just bunker down, stay hidden, and avoid the others until her time to strike.
On the other hand, delaying this decisive battle means playing into Enheduanna’s hand, for only she knows how much longer she needs to set up her new Holy Grail to do whatever the hell she intends to do with it.
Then again, the decision doesn’t really matter as long as she wins.
*** ***
Congratulations!
Saver has reached the ziggurat, fulfilling the primary condition to resolve the singularity and complete this story.
The Quest is now locked.
The Save Point has been deleted.
There is no longer any way but forward.
*** ***
Author’s Notice: All current instances of voting will last until October 27.Decision Time
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2.
1. I'm a simple person: when a Nazi politely asks me to do something because it'll benefit us both I do the reverse as a matter of principle. If Enheduanna cared so much about what Brünnhilde would do, then maybe she should have taken care of her daughters. '-'
Your argument is solid! Plus, everyone fighting at the same time makes for a grander scene.
Changing to 1.
Last edited by SpoonyViking; October 20th, 2023 at 10:30 AM.
Honestly I'm rather torn, I'd personally prefer 2 but we just got our save point deleted so aiming for the more potentially deadly option if the more interesting one could be a bad idea.
Still while it is poetic for everyone to be fighting together, and incredibly unlikely that our characters will meet again until this is all over, putting it off just feels more right, but it's one I'm OK losing on.
My Vote is 2.
between the regret of not doing it vs regretting doing it afterward...
1.
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There's a lot of variables, kya...
I'm torn on Berserker, since he's pretty... well, berserk right now, and in theory it'd be viable to leave him be since he's not harming anyone or even acting with any purpose... but it doesn't seem wise to leave him in play, since he could also hurt someone randomly or regain control or who knows what else. I don't think they'd just leave him to rampage, either.
But someone should go to help Elisabeth and/or Isolde too, so... hmm...
I'll second rajvir's vote as to the distribution of votes for those actions.
As for Maria's choice, mm... I'm reluctantly going to go with 2 for now.
The chance of causing Brunnhilde to hunker down is something Maria's already thinking about, and she showed the intent to win either way, so it's... smarter to talk briefly, then fight, so long as its without compromising her conviction? If she's showing that confidence, or at least projecting it, I think it's better for her to stick with it than rush things.
Besides which, the Maid is many things, but someone who would lie or rely on a trick to stall out the clock doesn't seem like it's one of them. If chatting would mean no time left, I think she'd be more open about that since she invited this conflict. Sometimes you should be able to trust your enemy, or at least respect what you've learned of them. She's never been less than open about those sorts of things.
(Is Sunny projecting the trust of a good foe yay rivalry? P-Perhaps, and sorry if it backfires)
Apologies that it takes me awhile to decide on these, it's a pretty hectic battlefield and that makes the decision calculus hard for me like I'm sure it is for them. ;.;
It's impressive how much is still on the board at this point, I think, and more than a little nerve wracking kya!
Last edited by Sunny; October 21st, 2023 at 02:44 PM.
Hmmm... Maybe if Maria had asked her directly, but personally, I think she'd see it as "I clearly laid out everything *I* deemed relevant, you were the one who should have been wiser to think about what *you* deemed relevant as well". I don't think she's the sort who believes lies of omission are still lies, myself.Originally Posted by Sunny
changed mine to 2.
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I have caught up. 1. Time to punch her in that perfect jawline.
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+1.
2
The Act of dozing off in the afternoon is a luxury indeed.
Coffee would be nice, though.
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Javier, Senta - 1
Liria - 2
The Act of dozing off in the afternoon is a luxury indeed.
Coffee would be nice, though.
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