Chapter Twenty-Three: The Clock Is Ticking


Lilly wasn’t sure how long it took her to return to her senses. At some point, she realized that the sounds of the monster beating Archer up had finally stopped. When she looked up and dried her tears, she beheld a scene of absolute destruction, but she didn’t pay it much mind. The crater in the center of the street absorbed all of her attention. Running up to the edge, she began climbing down, scraping her knees as she rushed through the rubble.

Archer was lying there, in a pool of his own blood. His golden hair was stained crimson, and his face was purple with bruises, his eyes so swollen they couldn’t even close as he stared insensate at the sky above him. His fingers were bent at unnatural angles, and his skin was torn and cracked, with bloody bones poking out from his chest. There was nothing left of the proud, gallant hero who’d answered her summons mere hours earlier. Systematically, piece by piece, he’d been broken, with unrelenting zeal and barbarous cruelty.

Tears welled up in Lilly’s eyes as she knelt down besides Archer’s prone form. This was all her fault. She’d brought Archer here and told him to fight for a cause that wasn’t his own, and when he’d been injured, all she’d been able to do was plead for mercy. She hated herself for it.

“Mr. Archer...I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

Why was she talking to him? Her words hadn’t been worth anything before. They were worth even less now. Apologies were always hollow, uttered after the fact as if they could make up for the wrong inflicted to someone undeserving. It should’ve been her lying there. She never should’ve been born. Full of shame, she buried her face in Archer’s chest, letting his blood stain her face as a soft, wet reminder of her failure.


“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry...”

“Don’t...be…” a thin, vanishing voice replied.

The shock cut through her tears as suddenly as a flash of lightning. She raised her head slowly, unwilling to believe - but there amidst the crimson covering Archer’s face shone a light in a brighter shade of red.

“I’m...sorry. Really screwed up, didn’t I…?” He said feebly, struggling to breathe through punctured lungs as he looked up at her.

“Mr. Archer! You’re...”

“No...it’s too late...for me.” He shook his head, even though even a movement as trivial as that drew a gasp of pain from him. “I’m...dead...already. Guess I never was as good...as the other heroes, was I?” he asked, as a pained chuckle escaped his lips. “But you...can do better.”

“But...but…!”

“Please…” The spark in his eyes was already dimming. It wouldn’t be long before it twinkled out. “Don’t...give up, Lilly. I can’t help anymore. But you have to keep...going. You have to...live...”

His face went slack. He didn’t speak again.

“No! Mr. Archer! Please, you can’t give up!” Lilly said, desperately cradling his face. “You can’t...you can’t…!”

But there was no use. He was gone. Truly gone…

…

…

...But if so, why could she still feel the heat of his breath on her chest? Though Archer was already gone, his body clung to life, too stubborn to quit. And so long as it yearned to live...that meant there was still hope.

No. I won’t let him go yet…!

Her right hand darted for her backpack, drawing out a pair of vials. She drank clumsily, as quickly as she could, ignoring the taste as it went down her throat. She couldn’t afford any distractions now. His body was covered in wounds, much more severe than even Doug’s had been when she’d found him, bigger and more life-threatening than anything she’d ever healed before. But Archer wasn’t human. Heroes like him never died. If there was even the smallest chance of preserving him, she would find it and drag him back to her. He would live. No, that wasn’t right. He had to live…!

Gently, Lilly laid Archer’s head down on her lap and took a deep breath. Though it made her stomach turn, she forced herself to look at each and every one of his wounds. There were many -- too many to count. But to give him a chance, she had to find the most life-threatening one and start there.

...His chest. Unless his heart and lungs were repaired first, he would die as soon as his blood flow was stimulated. Seizing the dagger she always carried with her, Lilly carefully held the tip just above Archer’s innards and began to write.


The mind was the seat of conscious knowledge, but the body had its own memories, etched into its very flesh. Overlaid on top of each other, the sigils she drew formed an artificial link between her magic circuits and Archer’s, allowing her mana to begin reconstructing his body directly, far more efficiently than even the Master/Servant link would allow.



Bone was expelled from the membranous tissue that surrounded the lungs. Left with a gap, the cells within Archer’s body began the healing process, accelerated by Lilly’s magical energy. The hunger awoke inside her, dim and distant. She paid it no heed. There was something much more important to think about right now than a simple craving.

The expelled bone righted itself, returning to its original shape, and grew longer. Two pieces met and fused together, forming the beginnings of a new thoracic cage. Her breath was foggy in the cool night air. With each exhalation, she released more of her mana into him, taking a tiny piece of his weakness inside her in return.



Long, thin strands of red appeared all over Archer’s chest. Like surgical thread, they bound his shattered frame together. From tiny capillaries, veins and arteries grew, connecting muscles one by one.



Gradually, each bruise began to disappear. Old dead cells were replaced with new ones, and purple gave way to pink. His fingers readjusted themselves with cracking sounds, returning to their normal shapes. Strands of hair fell away, the blood that coated them sloughing off in the process as new follicles replaced them. She was drawing slowly now, trying to stave off imminent exhaustion. Servants were sturdier than human beings, but also much more complex. As magical constructs, a tremendous amount of energy was required to preserve the fascimile of mundanity that was their bodies. But just a little longer...just a little more…




As a jolt of electrical energy reactivated his brain, Archer awoke with a start, only to see Lilly looking down at him, smiling.

“What…?”

“Welcome back,” she said, pulling him into a hug. Her voice was little more than a whisper now. She was too tired to raise it any higher. “Mr. Archer...I was so scared. I thought I’d lost you...” she said, burying her head in his hair.

“Yeah, me too,” he murmured, returning the hug awkwardly, his muscles brand new and still untested. “...I really screwed up, didn’t I? I didn’t think that kind of beast could even be summoned.”

He chuckled, bitterly. “I really should’ve known better. Thank the gods I’ve got a miracle worker for a master to give me a second chance.”

In spite of her exhaustion, Lilly couldn’t help but blush. “T-that’s not true. I just did a bit of healing magic, n-nothing more than...”


“My Spirit Origin was damaged in that fight. Even if you fixed the outside, my body should’ve started to dissipate already, but it hasn’t. I feel good as new. Even the magi of my era would’ve struggled to do something like this.“ His strong, firm hand squeezed hers. “You’re better than you think you are, Lilly. Be proud of that.”

Neither said a thing for some time after that. They simply sat there, in the middle of the crater, recovering their strength after a hellish night. Eventually, however, Archer broke free of her embrace and pulled himself back up, picking her up in her arms in the process.

“It’s too cold to rest here. We’ll head back home and start with a blank slate tomorrow. We’ve got that monster’s measure now -- and I’ve got plans for how to deal with him.”

“Yeah!” she said, nodding back enthusiastically. “Can we really do it, though? That man...he was…”

“Yeah. When I was alive, they called me ‘The Man of Many Ways’.” He grinned, and squeezed her tightly. “They don’t even know we’re still in it, and it’s not my first time coming back from the dead, either. Maybe we can’t outfight that guy, but that doesn’t mean we can’t outsmart him. For those willing to look for them, victory always offers another way.”

---

——And thus, the curtain fell on the first night of the Holy Grail War.

That night, there were no winners or losers -- only survivors. Each had fought their own battles. Each would fight many more still. None knew how far things would go, nor how much would be sacrificed for the sake of victory. All each of them knew was their wish. It impelled them onwards, to danger, to uncertainty, to a bloody end.

If they had known what they stood to lose, would they still have chosen to fight?

If they had known what their prize would be, would they have sought another future?

But for now, their purposes were identical. Their thoughts were one. And throughout the City, each and every one of them moved to the beat of an old war song.

BGM: The Clock Keeps On Ticking


---

In a corner of Brilliant Park, far away from prying eyes, two military men worked together on dismantling a futuristic war machine’s tracking systems. They didn’t speak to each other; their bond did not require words. They were sworn brothers. They would fight together. They would die together, if that was what it took to win this war.

<I fire at the sun with the strength of twilight
I brandish a machinegun that’s full of magics
But, I am just another man...>

---

A car sped by, separated from the soldiers by nothing more than the park wall. Its occupants (two AIs, one man, and one monster) were headed for the airport. The AIs spoke in binary code with each other, sharing concerns at the speed of radio waves, but neither Servant nor Master exchanged so much as a look. To Lucas Graves, their victory still tasted like ashes in his mouth.

<Tired of running counter with no end in sight,
My lover turns her back on me at the finish line,
Because, I am just another man...>

---

On the other side of the protected woodland, a young girl and the hero whose life she’d just saved snuck in, seeking the comfortable darkness of the tree they called home. Things had gone poorly for them tonight, but this was not the end. Not yet, and not by a long shot. They still had a few cards left to play.

<Somedays I do, somedays I don’t,
Get out unscathed from this brawl,
Alive by the grace of one by whom I’m loathed...>

---

Atop a shopping mall not many blocks away from the scene of carnage they’d left behind, a young woman was hard at work, making calls at the break of dawn. Her liquid companion was not much of a fighter, but they had advantages no one else was counting on -- this battle would be waged within a prosperous city, and here, money and power went a long way.

<And your head is as messy as a rat’s nest,
You believe all the lies that you’ve been fed,
And the clock keeps on ticking...>

---

A storyteller and her liege watched the sunrise, full of omens and portents, thinking about the tale they’d just heard. Kindness and humanity had no place in this war for those chasing after victory. That’s what the Jinni’s story made clear. But even so…

Gravely, Caster squeezed Luna’s hand. Their path was clear. No matter what, they would do better than that.

<There are no memories that I can find,
My days are spent, and open wide,
Trying to make some sense of all I’ve heard...>

---

In the kitchen, Avenger listened quietly to the radio as Harold slept, exhausted after a sleepless night of plotting. He recognized the language of this tune, even without the help of his Servant abilities. It was nostalgic...a welcome reprieve after a long night, and a good memory to cling to in the days to come. He would need them. Each and every last precious memory he’d ever had…

<When the nights are cold, I’d rather not be born,
When they’re warm, it’s time to kill or fall,
And that’s how we become a country of men of worth!>

---


David was reading. Lancer had departed, claiming to had business to attend to. She’d left behind a book for him -- the diary of a great man, ‘someone you can learn from,’ in her own words. It bore no markings, except for its story. Who was this hero who had come from humble beginnings to rise to the highest echelons? And how was he supposed to become like him?

<I see the future’s past repeating,
I see a museum’s worth of glorious novelties,
And the clock keeps on ticking, tick, tick, TOCK!>

---


<But if you think that I am defeated,
I want you all to know I’m still in it, the hands still dealing,
And the clock keeps on ticking! It’s ticking, tick, tick, TOCK!!>

End of Night 1.