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

[Xamusel]

Okay, sorry about that... that point flew right over my head, mainly by a mile or two.

[Arbitrarity]

Yeah - it just depends on whether or not the Grail system can ping things from pruned timelines. Chaldea's FATE system does work differently, after all.

Confirmed the meaning of

the phrase "time is out of joint."

I am once again hit by not narrowing to the Fate-adjacent explanation and working in a broad/vague possibility space. This tracks with you previously discussing whether or not "fusing" worlds was viable.
I suppose a pruned timeline might be a Lost(x), Singularity, or otherwise though. Doesn't necessitate a Fantasy Tree, especially if it's this close to normality. Presumably the Works can reach it, but would probably not look there normally/there would probably be a lot of such timelines/the act of observing them has weird metaphysical implications.
Worth noticing the Counter Force is weaker in pruned timelines, though that has various different effects (i.e. easier to summon irregular classes, possible to destroy the world, etc)

Well, it might just be as simple as "He heals fast because he has to stay pretty" . . . Then again, I'm basing Aphrodite on Aqua from KonoSuba, so would she do something that useful . . .?
[...]
One of the endings I didn't use was Aphrodite pouting that she didn't get to be impressive, with something so simple . . .

Hm. From his comment I imagine subtle/related stuff like "is perceived as being respectful unless intentionally doing otherwise" or reducing how much he second-guesses himself about doing so, though "epitome of [...] beauty" is also on the table. I'm only assuming it's related because Aphrodite is treating it as a prayer she's answering, rather than generally granting a boon.

[Kieran]

I am once again hit by not narrowing to the Fate-adjacent explanation and working in a broad/vague possibility space. This tracks with you previously discussing whether or not "fusing" worlds was viable.

Yeah - I mean, theoretically, the Throne registers all possibilities, across all of space and time, simultaneously and eternally . . . But the FATE system does NOT work the way the Grail system does, not really. So whether the Grail can actually do it is an open question - and what the consequences of trying will be.

After all, they got Avenger when trying to summon a Divine Spirit . . .

I suppose a pruned timeline might be a Lost(x), Singularity, or otherwise though. Doesn't necessitate a Fantasy Tree, especially if it's this close to normality. Presumably the Works can reach it, but would probably not look there normally/there would probably be a lot of such timelines/the act of observing them has weird metaphysical implications.
Worth noticing the Counter Force is weaker in pruned timelines, though that has various different effects (i.e. easier to summon irregular classes, possible to destroy the world, etc)

Which could be a whole host of problems on its own - hm.

Hm. From his comment I imagine subtle/related stuff like "is perceived as being respectful unless intentionally doing otherwise" or reducing how much he second-guesses himself about doing so, though "epitome of [...] beauty" is also on the table. I'm only assuming it's related because Aphrodite is treating it as a prayer she's answering, rather than generally granting a boon.

Thus far, he at least got a cure wounds out of it; I'm debating secondary effects . . .

[Kieran]

. . . And on an unrelated note (hence the separate post), I'm beginning to think I'm not living up to the levels of absurdity I ought to be - because this is the opening movie of the PSP port of Dead or Alive Xtreme Beach Volleyball 2 (which is Venus Vacation's predecessor):







What do you think? Should I go a little harder in the direction of Carnival Phantasm and the like (and in the process, really have Frid regretting his life choices) . . .?

[Xamusel]

Yes, but also no. I think Carnival Phantasm vibes are good, but not to the point of making Frid's life all that difficult.

[Kieran]

Yes, but also no. I think Carnival Phantasm vibes are good, but not to the point of making Frid's life all that difficult.

Awww - you mean I have to limit my sadism . . .?

[Xamusel]

To put it plainly? Yes.

[Kieran]

Had to play the laundry card today, so an update of some form will be tomorrow, instead - sorry.

[Xamusel]

It's fine, Kieran, so don't beat yourself up.

[Kieran]

Alley outside “Copenhagen”
Fuyuki City, Japan
Febr—

Ç̷̧͇̭̫̮͔͖̳͍̈́̃̿͆̍͋͛̉͘̕͜͝R̵̻͚̙͖̿͘A̶̧̲̲̦͈̠̠̪̰͙̥̱̼̍̍ ͇̣̦͜C̵̢̢̛͓̮͇̣̼̪̦̜̬̥̱̰͇͚̝̽̆̅̓́̊̕͘K̴̛̞̹̾̽̊͊̃͛̽͂͋̎͑̚͠ ͙

June 17, 2004
















She appeared in a glittering of rainbows from mid-air, as though reality broke itself around her in order to accommodate her presence. The light swirled, and receded, drawing itself to the point of a wand before vanishing in a twinkle.

[Transition successful, Mistress,] reported the wand in a rather prissy voice, now clearly visible as some cheap knockoff toy from one of Japan’s innumerable “magical girl” series. [You may now praise me for my brilliance.]

“We’re off by months!” she snapped back, having spotted the date after getting her bearings. “What good is tracking the problem to its source if you can’t actually bring me there . . .?”

[But my readings indicate the source is here, Mistress!] the wand protested. [The focal point should be . . .] The wand twitched. [Um.]

“‘Um . . .?’” she repeated dangerously.

Impossibly, the wand appeared to break out in a sweat, answering in a nervous tone, [It appears to have vanished, Mistress . . .?]

Once, this would have led to an explosion of screaming, and likely violence against the gaudy, overly-pretentious backscratcher in her hand—but five years of experience made a lot of difference, even before her other partner was added to the equation.

“Then we’ll need to hunker down, somewhere out of the way, until we can work out our next move,” she sighed, adding to herself, “and preferably somewhere I can fortify . . .”

Fortunately, an easy location came to mind.
















Ryudo Temple
















“‘Time is out of joint’—she wasn’t kidding . . .”

A feeling of irritation, like bile bubbling up in the back of her throat, washed over her, and the sensation caused her to shiver.

Getting in had been surprisingly easy; brainwashing had never been her strong suit, but having a proper instructor and resources had done wonders for her skills in magecraft. As for the worry of being recognised . . . Well, five years of development, along with a change in clothing style, plus her new colouration, had essentially made her a stranger; she’d walked right by Ryudo Issei and not earned more than a curious glance.

She wasn’t quite sure how to feel about that. Sure, it was in her interests to go unnoticed, and standard procedure for any magus; but given what Shirou had let slip of his friend’s insistence that she was a devil—well, feeling ignored by him felt kind of wrong.

Or maybe that was the fact that she’d run into Caster here, along with her new Master . . .

The fight, thankfully, had been a hell of a lot easier this time around. True, she was relying on her Mystic Code mainly to keep the timeline ignoring her presence until she fixed whatever was responsible for things going haywire—but Caster had been just as surprised to see her, and Medea of Colchis had particular weaknesses to what she was, right now.

[I would’ve thought your entire timeline collapsing around you would’ve proven that much, Mistress,] the wand snarked.

“Quiet,” she hissed. Rolling out a map, she started dowsing . . .

“. . . Nothing,” she said disgustedly. She whirled on the wand, and demanded, “You’re sure this is the focal point?”

[If you think that you can do a better job of tracking inter-universal echoes along a cross-temporal axis, backwards, then be my guest—it’s tediously mind-numbing work.] The wand paused. [Of course, based on past experience, it might just be the perfect job for y—URK.]

It choked off in mid-sentence as fingers shrouded in shadowy energies that seemed to devour the light reached towards it.

“What was that?” she asked with mock sweetness. “Did you have something useful to say. . .?” She paused for a beat. “No? Then either be quiet or be silent as the grave.”

Her voice echoed with an ominous reverb at the last part . . .

. . . And no answer was forthcoming.

She leaned back and sighed. Why was this proving to be so complicated? Something with the power to do this—to break history—should’ve been so blatantly obvious it was visible in the sky for all to see . . . Instead, she was having to not only investigate, but to dodge the Fifth Holy Grail War on top of that . . .!

She would, though. As the last surviving member (not counting the Old Man, possibly) of the El-Melloi II class—of her Clock Tower—not to mention a (relatively) sane human being, she’d find out what was responsible for messing with her world and kill it dead.

Ereshkigal had promised her the power to, after all . . .

[Xamusel]

Okay, what did I just read, man? I mean, yes, it's non-canon to the series, but still, was that Rin​ from an alternate timeline?

[Kieran]

Yup - the Works' timeline was the Strange/fake one, originally . . . And apparently,

Fate/Strange Fake climax (?) details

Rin gets possessed by Ereshkigal as a counter to Ishtar during the fight with her.

. . . And having gotten my hands on the draft manuscript of the Third Edition Abyssal Exalt book, I was kind of inspired - because other Onyx Path materials have named Ereshkigal as a Deathlord - one of the Abyssals' patrons - in the past . . .

[Xamusel]

Oh, snap... this is not gonna end well, is it?

Speaking of which, I need to work on my entries to the Grail Works timeline, which I've neglected to do all this time.

[Kieran]

Oh, snap... this is not gonna end well, is it?

Depends on what I manage to talk myself into, or out of . . .

Speaking of which, I need to work on my entries to the Grail Works timeline, which I've neglected to do all this time.

As you say.

[Arbitrarity]

What do you think? Should I go a little harder in the direction of Carnival Phantasm and the like (and in the process, really have Frid regretting his life choices) . . .?

Seconding that that's probably too silly for my preferences; DoA: Beach/Xtreme is already very silly.

Apocrypha: What Happened to Caster . . .?

Is this even Apocrypha? This looks like it could be Works canon, it's been established that Medea wasn't even in their war since the establishment of the setting.
... I guess the justification for that before was ?something about Anti-heroes? though; her actually being there and getting killed isn't yet established. I guess this can sit in "speculatively could be true" pending having a use-case for Strange Fake!Kaleido!Rin

[Kieran]

Seconding that that's probably too silly for my preferences; DoA: Beach/Xtreme is already very silly.

"And the presence of Power Rangers and G. I. JOE is enough in that regard," then . . .?

To be clear, I just wanted to make sure that everybody found this fic was being ridiculous enough to live up to the franchise (either of them!), or if I needed to adjust things somewhat . . .

Is this even Apocrypha? This looks like it could be Works canon, it's been established that Medea wasn't even in their war since the establishment of the setting.
... I guess the justification for that before was ?something about Anti-heroes? though; her actually being there and getting killed isn't yet established. I guess this can sit in "speculatively could be true" pending having a use-case for Strange Fake!Kaleido!Rin

I admit, before Prelati became an option, I toyed with the idea having said Rin as Frid's main nemesis - basically trying to kill him as the source of the destruction of her timeline, and an excuse to have Ereshkigal join the Works, much as I've toyed with using Extra!Rin for the same (latter) purpose. The storyline is a tad darker than I'd like, though . . . As things stand, it's a good placeholder; likewise, Castoria might've been the summoned Caster (since Gilgamesh could take her "slot" as far as manifesting the Grail goes - and Zouken can always summon a Hassan for Assassin . . .), but I think she's not defensive enough to just hole up in the Temple and wait for the end of the War . . . For now, I suspect, it will remain ambiguous.


. . . As a side note, I am discovering the limitations of the Essence20 system, and they're not to my liking - I think Exalted 3E - or, God help me, Scion 2E would be better suited for this. In terms of the former, however, we run into the same problems again - Lunar works well for Frid (though Sidereal isn't terrible), but the lack of a corresponding Solar is an issue . . . With the advent of the Abyssal book, however - well, such powers might work well for, say, (Dark) Sakura. (Black) Irisviel, Sacchin, Ciel - or hell, Ryogi Shiki, if I wanted to be really cruel. Or Frid himself, and would explain why he doesn't stay in the Works' world longer than he has to . . . Regardless, this book maintains the option of finding a way to purify the Exaltation, as before - so it's not entirely without hope.

And as to Scion . . . Wonder of wonders, my gaming group has found an actually playable version of the "Storypath System" rules - I had a hell of a lot of fun running it, and I hope they had fun playing it - so maybe the mechanics aren't entirely hopeless . . .? And a Mythos Scion works SO WELL in the story as written . . .

[Kieran]

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

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


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
















Zack Hotel
Venus Islands, South Pacific
November 17, 2006
















Ayane’s focus on the Art of the Raging Mountain God had been total—the technique had demanded no less.

But just because she couldn’t consciously pay attention to her surroundings didn’t mean that her senses had suddenly stopped working. And she’d been trained to recall things with perfect clarity, in as much detail as she possibly could, regardless of the circumstances. She saw the weird clone fighting the airhead girl, building up to some kind of massive technique, far faster than Ayane was—the pure killing intent of it was impossible to miss . . .

And then the Owner stepped out behind her, and threw a rock—

(A rock! Of all the stupid, idiotic, ridiculous things . . .!)

With actually pretty good accuracy, for a civilian; that, or a lot of luck. It wouldn’t have hit at all if the clone wasn’t so focussed on executing whatever attack she was setting up—and it absolutely didn’t do anything to her when it did.

(Seriously, why couldn’t he have brought a gun? He looked and sounded American; what kind of American didn’t have a gun? Sure, it probably still wouldn’t have done anything fatal to the clone—Donovan made his bitches absurdly hard to kill—but it would’ve been a lot more effective than a damned rock . . .!)

Credit where credit was due: the distraction worked. Unfortunately, it distracted the airhead, too, and she didn’t take advantage of her distracted enemy to either fall back or follow through. Instead, she just stood there like an idiot while the clone switched to a new target.

(And Hayate-sama had told her to keep an eye on the girl? She’d thought it a worthless errand before . . .!)

Ayane saw the man’s face, throughout; saw the acceptance of his death from the moment he walked into the clearing. As a civilian, he couldn’t really have understood what he was up against, but he comprehended that he was laughably out of his league, all the same. And then, just as full dark fell on the island, the clone up and vanished—

And so, she hit him instead.

There was just enough time for his eyes to widen—

(For the realisation of what was about to happen, where it had come from—he knew it was her fault . . .!)

And then the wave struck, and she lost track of him—assuming there was anything left, of course. She’d intended to hit the clone as hard as she could, which had proven fatal to trained, hardened targets in the past; it was the entire point of the technique, after all . . .

There was no reasonable expectation that a civilian would, or even could, survive.

Still, Ayane had gone looking—for the clone, for remains, for anything—until it got too dark for even her training to let her find her way.

An idle thought crossed the kunoichi’s mind, then: a wish that she’d brought the Purple Thread with her. She had her half of the artefact, of course; the other, however, still remained with Tsumugi Katashina, and while Ayane didn’t begrudge the girl for it, the Owner’s having it would’ve solved a lot of problems, now. She’d have a literally glowing trail to follow . . .

To whatever was left of him, came the poisonous whisper in her mind.

Ayane hated hearing it, even in her own thoughts, but she could hardly deny it. She’d committed an unbearable sin for a shinobi: causing collateral damage, and to a civilian, at that. If any of her subordinates in the Hajinmon sect had done such a thing, she’d have them broken down to the lowest rank possible, if not expelled or executed—and Hayate-sama might yet demand that of her. Certainly, she knew that the elders would encourage it; this would just be proof of the “poison child” showing her true nature, in their eyes—and worse, Kasumi would pity her.

(And she very pointedly ignored a small voice from a long-forgotten depth inside her, bewailing the loss of yet another person who had been kind to her . . .)

It took an act of will for Ayane to reassert her shinobi discipline and resist the urge to take out her frustrations violently on something—or someone. The clone would be ideal, of course, but she could easily be persuaded to tear into the little idiot that had jumped into a fight that wasn’t hers, and wound up needing the civilian to—

Even in the privacy of her own mind, Ayane flinched from forming the phrase “die saving her,” but she could hear its echo nonetheless; and she hated herself for the hesitancy. she was a trained, skilled, and experienced kunoichi; she was supposed to be better than this . . .!

And so she went, back and forth, emotions churning like a brewing storm, with no reasonable outlet in sight—

And then a bloodcurdling shriek of terror suddenly echoed from somewhere downstairs, carried through the ventilation ducts.

Ayane exploded into action with a grim expression on her face, and dark glee in her heart.

(Please, please be something I can hurt . . .!)
















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
















“Your problem is twofold,” said the Kurai lookalike (or at least, a lookalike for Kurai when he’d chosen to pass for human). “The first is that Fate loves patterns—it seeks to reinforce known ones whenever it can find something similar enough. This means that it will be trying to force your friend into certain scenarios that follow Krampus’ legend. As such, for example, you’ll want to keep him away from ANY version of Dracula—”

“Too late,” Shirou murmured, only realising after he’d said it that he’d spoken aloud. Quickly, he clarified, “That was the Lancer of Black in the Great Holy Grail War—and he went vampiric under his Master’s direction near the end.”

“That does match Lancer of Black’s usual path,” agreed the lookalike, “but I thought you said it was Erik who dealt with him . . .?”

“It was,” Ilya said smoothly, “but Lancer of Black did try to unleash a vampire plague on the city, and he didn’t stand idly by and let it happen.”

“. . . He hasn’t been to Gotham City yet, has he?” the wizard (a term which apparently did not have the same meaning as in the Clock Tower, being more of a species description than a rank).

“Not that we’re aware of,” Ilya answered smoothly. “And assuming he didn’t wind up there now, of course . . .”

“It’s not impossible,” the wizard agreed. “The Dracula encounter, plus Erik’s presence, might have firmed things up enough to send him to where Krampus’ legend began—or some similar hellhole of a city . . . Which leads into the second aspect of the problem: symbolism. Or maybe ‘connectivity’ is a better term. Sometimes, it will only matter that something is close enough, as far as Fate’s concerned. It’s why so many of King Arthur’s knights, for example, ran into a “Black Knight,” or an “Insert-Colour-Here Knight” . . . In Krampus’ case, he gad a habit of changing identities—even so far as his associated pantheon—as part of his Legend, as well as going through supposedly-indestructible Relics like they were t-shirts . . .”

Which he was also already doing, Shirou realised. From “Kurai,” to whatever an “Exalt” was, and whatever he might have become, it was undoubtedly going to be different again—

No, it was already, wasn’t it?

Otherwise, Kishinami-san wouldn’t have locked onto the two worlds she and Akiha had visited thus far; the information Ilya had provided would have been enough for the Moon Cell to find him. Instead, they were having to adjust with each jump, adding new information or variables, and hoping they hit the right combination. And the redhead had to admit that it looked like they’d come pretty close. The wizard was built bigger and greyer than the druid had been (whose hair had been white, mostly), but it wouldn’t have been hard to convince himself that he was looking at the same man in a costume.

It was almost as unnerving as seeing himself, standing next to the same man, alongside what sounded like Ilya, if Ilya had grown up enough to attend college—but as strange as that concept was, it was Shirou’s own duplicate that concerned him.

Shirou, after all, had seen the end of his path; or one of them, anyway, since he refused to believe that the future was absolute—and yet, while the image of the man before him looked not much older than he did (if at all), there was a lock of white in his red hair, and the eyes of Rin’s Archer Servant staring out of his face. And that was despite Ilya saying that the way magic worked in that universe was basically nothing like the way it did here . . .

So how had it happened to this version of him?

And almost more importantly, now that he thought about it, how long ago had it happened . . .?

Because, whispered an insidious terror from the bottom of his soul, what if it is, in fact, an inevitability, after all . . .?

The yawning pit in Shirou’s stomach only deepened at the sight of his counterpart’s expression—a conflicted grimace that the redhead was willing to bet was a perfect match for his own face.

On the other hand, pointed out a cautiously optimistic part of himself, as versions of me go, this guy doesn’t seem nearly as annoyed by the sight of me as Rin’s Servant used to get, so maybe it’s not so bad . . .?

The only way to find that out, of course, would be to ask—but how to get the privacy to do so . . .?

His thoughts were interrupted by the Kurai-lookalike continuing, “This is where symbolism and connectivity are important—elements that are deeply ingrained, but have to be avoided, or twisted, somehow, to suit your purposes. For example, ‘Krampus’ as an identity is tied to Christmas—which means that the Sword of Atli is something you can’t let him near. Not only is it one of Krampus’ primary weapons, but it’s even more dangerous to use as a summoning catalyst.”

“Why’s that?” Shirou asked. He felt a bit silly doing it, but the whole lecture had lulled him into the kind of state Tohsaka’s lectures on magecraft did—it was a reflex response.

“Because as sweet a girl as Altera is when she’s allowed to be, she’s also the incarnation-slash-puppet of a world-destroying alien entity,” the wizard said dryly. “I expect you can understand why that’s a conceptual link you don’t want your friend to make . . .?” He shrugged. “And her other known incarnation is as a Santa Servant, which—”

“A WHAT?!”

Shirou was a bit relieved to have his voice not be the only one in that explosive outburst—though oddly, Ilya’s hadn’t been one of them. Instead, she was staring off in the distance, her expression almost, but not quite, one of wild-eyed horror . . .

Before she started giggling.

“A Servant who’s assumed the mantle of Santa Claus—and it pretty much is a Mantle in the Scion sense,” the foreign magus explained. “It can change their Class, Skills and even their personality, to some extent, but doesn’t change their nature, any more than Zeus’s becoming Jupiter makes him not the Lord of the Sky, or king of his pantheon.” He shrugged. “Unfortunately, Krampus is ‘The Shadow of Saint Nicholas,’ so no Santa Servant is a good idea for him, even if they’re all mostly benevolent . . .”

“And my family,” Ilya added with glee as she choked down enough laughs to speak, “would absolutely LOATHE the entire idea. It would be an unconscionable insult to the Einzbern family and their efforts regarding the Holy Grail War Ritual.”

Now Sakura giggled.

(At least, Shirou thought she did—by the time he’d turned to follow the noise, the sound had ended, and there was only a placid smile on her face . . .)


“But while Christmas is off the table,” he continued, “Servants connected to other holidays are a viable option, and would be a way to twist the Fatebinding—because it would connect him to a holiday, which Fate will aim to do, but one of your choosing . . . Unfortunately, the only one that springs immediately to mind is Elizabeth Báthory’s Caster incarnation, who’s bound to Hallowe’en—but while she’s relatively well-meaning in that state, she’s still Elizabeth Báthory. If nothing else, as an Anti-Hero, trying to summon her would break your Grail as thoroughly as trying to summon Angra Mainyu did—or, for that matter, trying to summon Ereshkigal as a replacement Fatebinding for the Queen of Helhe . . .”

He trailed off, blinking. “Wait—how is Lady Astraea there?”

Ilya smirked. “As I’m told people say nowadays, we’ve had a few upgrades since the Fifth Holy Grail War.”

Shirou blinked, wondering what people said that.

“Regardless,” the wizard said, “that’s one way to twist a Fatebinding your way—assuming you could find a Servant connected to a particular holiday, at least.”

“There’s always Valentine’s Day,” offered the older Ilyasviel, and Shirou felt an icicle suddenly slide down his spine at her too-innocent, playful tone, even as other parts of him warmed at the smooth, purring quality of her voice.

(Dangerous! A grown-up Ilya was VERY dangerous!)

Shaking off both Berserker flashbacks and the uncanny similarities of this version of Ilya to Rider, Shirou forced himself to focus on the wizards, because he was the intended target of whatever Ilyasviel was trying to do . . .

“‘Valentine . . .?’” the Kurai lookalike repeated, before he abruptly blanched—a neat trick for someone with his complexion, Shirou thought.

“No—please, please, just . . . No,” he said, shaking his head. “That’s just cruel, Ilya.”

“But funny,” the pale-haired woman asserted.

“Are you bringing it up to tease me, to torture the other version of me, or just to try and keep her out of Shirou’s harem this time?” he fired back.

“HEY!” Shirou exploded, echoed by another “HEY!” on the other end of the connection.

Ignoring them, the wizard continued, “Besides, even if you could convince her to not tell the Church about what they’re doing, it wouldn’t work, anyway—they already have a Ruler present!” He shook his head. “Not relevant at the moment—and I have something they need to hear more urgently.”

“Which is . . .?” Shirou asked.

“As I understand it, the ‘Foreigner’ Class defines entities who descend to Earth from the stars, or mortal beings bound to eldritch entities,” he explained. “And the origin of the word ‘eldritch,’ according to some sources, refers to elves—which means if you contract your friend with a Servant with the Faerie trait, you meet the criteria without involving the Mythos.”

“Which Fate will then attempt to reinforce, right?” Shirou asked. “Because that matches what it wants . . .?”

“Exactly,” he agreed. “And since faeries, while alien to human sensibilities, are acceptable to the Planet, you’ll be . . . Well, safer,” he finished reluctantly. “The problem is that most of the Fae-type Servants I know shouldn’t be accessible in ‘Proper Human History’—Ilya, do you have any data on a Servant type titled ‘Tam Lin . . .?’”

Before she could respond, the image suddenly became a cloud of electronic static—as though it was a television that had lost signal rather than a magical projection. In the centre of it, a whirling flower blossom stood atop the words now hacking . . . Then, just as abruptly, it was all replaced with the word OK! And a sprightly (though vaguely unsettling, somehow) tune began to play.


The screen cleared to reveal that Tohno-san and the wizards were now in some sort of television studio, and among them now was—SAKURA . . .?!

A quick glance over to his side—to say nothing of the mortified squeak from that direction—confirmed that Sakura was still present, her complexion reddening further by the second. Not that Shirou could blame her for her reaction, given what her apparent counterpart was wearing . . .

Even if it did look really good on her.

(Shirou swiftly and mercilessly murdered that observation.)

“BB Channel interrupt!” announced the Sakura doppelganger brightly. “From far beyond the depths of time and space, a wise, ultracute and all-powerful kouhai descends to deliver mercy upon her poor, pitiful Sempai . . .!”

“BB-chan . . .” sighed Kishinami, though with a tone of fond exasperation.

“Sempai,” she returned cheekily. “Away for less than an hour, and already hopelessly lost with—ah?!” The named “BB-chan” had tilted her head as she spoke and apparently had widened her angle of vision enough to take in the rest of the room—which had led to her sudden stumble.

“So much sempai and protagonist energy . . .!” she babbled. “Heroine characters left and right!” Then she seemed to notice Sakura and jolted in place, visibly shocked. “And a pure and perfect heroine type . . .!”

She turned on Kishinami, eyes wide, and whined, “Sempaiii—even with her stylish new outfit, BB-chan is in danger of being overshadowed . . .!”

Bewildered, Shirou looked around the room, hoping somebody had an idea of what was going on here. Sadly, Sakura was gazing at the floor as though hoping it would swallow her up, Rider was trying to comfort her (or hide her from view, or both), Ilya looked just as confused as he did, and the blonde goddess, “Ruler” . . .

Well, she was glaring at “BB-chan” was though trying to burn a hole through realities to incinerate the lookalike, and that . . . Probably wasn’t a good thing, Shirou realised. Especially since she’d introduced herself as a Goddess of Justice. Though given what she’d said she wanted to do to Kurai, maybe it was just an overreaction on her part . . .?

(He’d ask her, but something told him that would be a really bad idea.)

“BB-chan,” Kishinami repeated, more firmly than Shirou had heard sound to this point. “Why are you here . . .?”

“Because I was watching you struggle, and I decided you looked too pathetic not to help!” she said cheerfully, which was at odds with the spiteful smirk on her face. “After all, Sempai, I am a high-grade AI designed to monitor the health of humans—who better to judge a hopeless case than me . . .?”

Kishinami crossed her arms, and asked blandly, “Are you done, or do you need one more?”

Shirou had never seen Sakura pout before, but going by BB-chan, she could do so very cutely . . .

(He paused for a moment to murder some resurrected impulses again.)

“Stingy, Sempai,” she whined. “. . . But, OK. I’m here because I have the perfect solution to your Servant problem!”

BB-chan grinned, her entire face lighting up in what Shirou could only describe as a devilish expression.

“You need Kazuradrop,” she concluded firmly.

The name meant nothing to Shirou—and Ilya didn’t immediately respond, which meant she’d have to consult the depths of the Grail system for answers—but Kishinami raised an eyebrow in obvious surprise. . . And the Kurai lookalike had gone stiff and pale, again—and so, Shirou noted with surprise, had his own counterpart.

How and where, the redhead wondered, would he have encountered this “Kazuradrop”—and was that confrontation, too, an inevitability . . .?

“She’s an Alter Ego, right?” the not-Archer asked, in the tone of someone looking to confirm a belief rather than seek an answer. “They do have a Class advantage against Foreigners . . .”

“And her two revealed components are fairies,” Not-Kurai confirmed, before he added dryly, “Of course, the fact she also has a lifelong ambition to usurp BB’s position and authority has nothing to do with this suggestion, which would exile her from the Moon Cell for the duration of the contract . . .”
















Wolf Home
Unknown location, same time
















Kazuradrop sneezed, then frowned.

Firstly, she didn’t get sick. That was antithetical to both her nature and her programming. Sickness was an imperfection to be destroyed, like all other imperfections. Secondly, she had a nasty but nagging certainty that her “mother” was trying to throw her under the bus somehow, and the impulse to solve them swiftly and violently—the urges of her Repulsion For One’s Kin Skill were flaring strongly, all of a sudden.

Fortunately, she’d recently acquired a much less messy coping mechanism for such things . . .

Giggling to herself, she went in search of Big Bro Mecha Fafnir to bake cookies with. Not only would she get yummy sweets, nothing pissed off B.B. more than seeing her “daughters” get along well with someone else, because it implied that the “useless castoffs” of herself she’d made the Sakura Five out of weren’t the problem with her . . .

And the expressions the other AI made as a result brought a warm, spiteful glow to Kazuradrop’s digital heart.
















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
















The AI’s smile sharpened in a way that gave Shirou flashbacks to Sakura’s possession.

“My, you’re halfway clever, aren’t you . . .?”

She shrugged, doing interesting things to the straps holding her bosom in place (and Shirou did his best to prove once and for all that impulses died when they were killed).

“But it doesn’t make the choice any less logical, does it?” she asked smugly. “Kazuradrop meets your needed criteria ideally, and it will save the Moon Cell from potential strife and destruction.”

That sharp smile was back again.

“Really—what other choice do you have . . .?”
















Owner’s Office, Zack Hotel
Venus Islands, South Pacific
November 17, 2006
















Misaki looked morosely at the stack of paperwork in front of her. A lot of it had been done, in unfamiliar handwriting. Despite not being told anything by Crazy Sunglasses Guy, the Owner had tried—

Her breath hitched in mid-thought.

Had.

The explosions had been terrifying, but Misaki had done what she’d been told to. She’d kept the few guests they had (mostly the other Venus candidates) inside, readied the facilities they had for emergency treatment of any possible survivors the scouting party returned. Thankfully, Sayuri-san had been easy to find and wake—what a single nurse might be able to do was in question, but she was available, and the infirmary was stocked; what could be done, would be. And Misaki had called the fire department to request assistance. While they wouldn’t get here immediately, reinforcements were on the way.

As long as something like an American aircraft carrier wasn’t sinking and/or blowing up, they were prepared to handle a large influx of wounded—or as prepared as they could get.

Or so she’d thought—until the Owner didn’t come back . . .

Honoka-san had told her what happened: that the Owner had jumped in to save her life but wound up getting caught in an attack that blasted everyone as it drove off the person responsible. That they’d lost sight of him in the trees and the darkness. That Ayane-san had looked until it was too dark to see anything at all but hadn’t been able to find him . . . And Sayuri, who’d been listening at the time, said that given the speed and height he’d been travelling at, it was unlikely he’d survive the night even if he survived the landing.

And now Misaki was wondering what to do. Because without the Owner (unless Crazy Sunglasses Guy could pull a spare one out of his pocket), this was all finished—the Venus Festival, the resort, her part-time job . . .

All of it, gone.

What am I supposed to do now . . .?

Misaki was deep in thought when a hand landed on her shoulder—and she screamed.










Additional Writer's Notes: I have got to wrap up the Hogwarts stuff - italicising all the "over the comlink" dialogue is exhausting . . .