They burst into the chamber like big damn heroes; Mordred had the pleasure of making the large double doors explode inwards with her might of her Mana Burst. They had effortlessly made their way through the mausoleum, which had quickly shown it was vastly larger on the inside. It was obvious to all of them they had been led to that vast chamber. Outside the mausoleum, a farcical battle ensued between equally artificial ghosts and soldiers, all of them constructs using as their foundation men and beasts who were once laid to rest in a mausoleum.
And for the first time since they set foot in the mausoleum, their steps came to a halt. The one they were looking for sat placidly on the other side of the rectangular chamber. The two-layered skirt of the form-fitting black dress spread like a beautiful and ominous lotus. Two black demons flanked her; their disproportionately small heads swaying in their vigilance.
“Arsinoë. Servants of Chaldea.
You seem nervous.”
Nero and Mordred tightened the grip on their blades, the Knight of Treachery gritting her teeth and shooting a frustrated glare at the foot that refused to take a further step.
Cleopatra’s pride kept her from squeaking when a hand fell on her shoulder.
“It is physical interference. Do not let it confuse you.”
Cleopatra extended her wordless gratitude to her dynastic ancestor. The masked woman released an exaggerated sigh.
“My first Noble Phantasm, overcome so offhandedly.” Then, she shrugged. “Not that it was meant to work on Servants in the first place, but it is still somewhat bothersome.”
“It is an unsightly stratagem,” said Nero as she looked around the rather empty and nondescript chamber. A gray box and nothing else. “And a poor choice of location for what should be a grand battle.”
“Unlike your majesty, the emperor of Rome, I cannot afford the privilege of dabbling in aesthetics while fighting for my life.”
“Then your life is sorely lacking in joy.”
“The conclusion is correct, while the argument is better forgotten.”
“More importantly!” Mordred nipped that conversation. “You’re taking us to Master, right now.”
The masked woman presented the room around her with a gesture of her arms.
“As you may have noticed, there are no exits other than the one you came from. There is no path to reach your Master from here. He will come once he is ready.”
“Or we can just bust these walls and make ourselves a path!” Mordred emphasized her counter by raising her sword beside her head.
“Are we not to trade a blow or two before you make such conclusions, Knight of Treachery?” retorted the masked one as she slowly, elegantly, got on her feet. “It would be the poorest of judgments to assume I will let you do as you wish in here.”
“Feh! You really think you can take on five Servants? Those two chumps you summoned won’t even stop us.”
“These two will fulfill their purpose. As for your question, allow me to return it to you: do you think the King of Magic will be overcome by five lackluster Servants like you?”
She had not finished the sentence when Mordred dashed forward, closing in on Avenger and her demons in an instant. The masked queen made a lazy gesture and the horned knight was engulfed by a pyre of unholy black flame. There was an explosion, a scream, the sound of metal crashing on stone, and then Mordred was groaning on the floor some feet from her allies.
“That…goddamned fire gives a bull’s arse about Magic Resistance!”
“We can see that,” said Arsinoë as she took a step forward, pumping her fists together. “We’re going together, Cleopatra.”
“It’s my honor, divine ancestor.”
Cleopatra’s light magic was devoured by black flames. The demons swept forward, howling at the Servants as they unleashed a storm of claws and arcane bolts. Arsinoë met both demons head on, howling like her class’ namesake a second before Nero intercepted one of the false demigods. Mordred leapt over the demons while surrounded by Cleopatra’s covering fire, but Avenger’s reflexes were in a category of her own, intercepting each and every single one of Cleopatra’s ranged attacks while meeting Clarent with a wall of flames that felt almost solid to the knight of Camelot.
Mata Hari watched the dizzying clash of powers from a distance. Leaving to look for the Master she longed for was not an option; she would just get lost in Artemisia’s Noble Phantasm. She merely watched, silent and still. Her time would eventually come. But this gave her time to worry about what she was witnessing. The masked Servant and her demons were keeping their four opponents at bay for now. However, while she seemed more than capable of matching Cleopatra and Mordred blow by blow, the demons would soon fall, and then the masked queen would be overwhelmed. It was too easy.
Of course, because she just could not be wrong, that was when the immense summoning circle appeared on the distant ceiling, its arcane light showering the battlefield with inadequate gentleness.
“The words I said to your Master, I now repeat for you. I will have you show me the conviction to defy the King of Demon Gods.”
Massive appendages like tentacles studded with large red gems descended with sinuous movements.
“Demon pillars!?”
“No friggin’ way!”
“Aren’t those kind of small for pillars…?”
Arsinoë was the first and fastest to put some distance, retreating almost to Mata Hari’s position.
“Those aren’t pillars…! Those are tails! Get out of the way!”
Magical beams rained upon the chamber, assaulting indiscriminately and crushing the twin demons beneath its onslaught. Nero’s cries of pain were drowned by a tidal wave of orange hellfire that filled almost the entire stadium-sized chamber, all the while a gargantuan monstrosity descended to stand protectively in front of its summoner. Indeed, the pillar like appendages were its tails, attached to a vaguely humanoid body much smaller than any of them. Its mule-shaped head lacked eyes or any other features.
“That thing…to think we would set eyes on that thing again. Utter disgrace!” Arsinoë uttered darkly, her voice and posture changing according to the “divine” cue.
“Oh? So the Syrian War had that going on in the background as I thought,” idly commented the masked queen.
“Dynastic ancestor! What is that thing?”
This time Arsinoë could not criticize Cleopatra’s audible alarm.
“
Demon God Adrammelech. It is not one of Solomon’s seventy-two, but it is in no way inferior to any of them.”
Naturally, more than of her old opponent, Arsinoë was wary of the one who summoned it.
“Cursed woman, who the hell are you?” She caught herself. “No, it’s obvious by now that you’re a Semitic queen. Assyria? Phoenicia? Aramea?”
“I could be Chaldean, for all you know.”
“You suck at jokes,” said Mordred, her sword held tightly as if the immense beast would leap at her any moment now.
“Never had much in the way of practice, I must admit. But I would rather say: for a group of so-called heroes with the intent to challenge the 72 demons of the Goetia, you are all rather worried by a single demon god. In any case…”
Black flames danced around her dark form.
“…you will either overcome this simple obstacle, or do yourselves a favor and abandon that hopeless odyssey.”
“We don’t even need a Master to deal with this chump,” taunted Mordred upon stepping forward to lead the charge against the fell creature.
“Feel free to speak whatever you wish, Sir Mordred. I am well accustomed to being let down.”
And the fight resumed with realm-shattering intensity.
***///******///******///******///******///******///******///***
The next time he woke up,
he was not quite himself.
The uncomfortable chill had spread throughout his whole body, to the point it made him wonder if he had died and become a peculiarly self-aware zombie. He had definitely not commanded his body to get up, however. That was cause for alarm. On the plus side, his body did not ache after sleeping on the hard floor for who knows how many hours.
Artemisia still slept, unabashedly claiming his body’s feeble warmth. However, he only had eyes for the angel watching him from a distance; a little thing carefully poking her head behind the doorframe. It only took their eyes meeting for the young girl to squeak and disappear behind the barrier of worked stone.
“Uh, um, I, I did not mean to be rude!” Her voice, he thought, was like being dunked into a pool of velvet sheets. “I’m sorry!” she said nonetheless.
“I take it you’re a Servant…?” It made no sense for the girl to be anything else.
“Ah, um, yes.” She remained unseen, but her voice reached him easily. “I was summoned as Servant Rider…”
“…um…are you…are you the one who will become my
?”
His heart thumped, and for a brief instant his mind conjured thoughts he knew he would normally never have about such a young child. They vanished just as quickly, and he was grateful for the reminder of the foremost maxim he always kept in his mind when facing new Servants.
In one way or another, they are all extremely dangerous.
“His Majesty Ptolemy said I would find a man here, and he would be my
.”
Tempering his mind for the challenge that was
being in the presence of this child, the Master of Chaldea smoothed his features and spoke calmly and welcomingly.
“Uhh, well, I am
a Master. I don’t think I summoned you, though.”
Slowly, the little girl showed her face once more, albeit partially curtained by long, dark hair—he reflexively inched his body away from her visage. Holding the doorframe with her little fingers, she kept her face hung low and her voice hesitant.
“N-no…I was, I mean, it seems I was summoned in response to His Majesty Ptolemy’s wish.”
“By Ptolemy, you mean the Second, right? Arsinoë’s husband?” At the girl’s nod, he pressed on. “A Servant summoned you?”
“Ah, no, he was…not really…a Servant…”
The young man needed mere moments to figure it out.
“Alright. But really, do we have to keep talking like this? I can barely look at you.”
A part of him wondered whether he just wanted to get a better look at her. Even from a distance and partially cloaked in shadows, she was unfettered loveliness.
“Uh-um…I…I feel that lady over there will do mean things to me if I go in. I’d rather not…I don’t like painful things…”
She shuddered at the thought.
He wanted to both commend her fine instincts, and also hug her and tell her everything would be alright.
“So, Mister Ptolemy sent you to find me?”
The girl nodded effusively, as if proud of her minuscule achievement.
“He said I should meet Brother and together we should go fight the masked lady…” She looked down and made herself even smaller. “But, Anna is not a strong Servant, so I would rather…please don’t mind me…”
He nodded. While somewhat discouraging, meeting a Servant that acknowledged her own weakness was also refreshing in a way. Servant she may be, but she was after all only a child. She was no Jack the Ripper, that’s for sure.
“I’ll be grateful for your help, small as it may be.”
“Ah…” Her fantastically big eyes glimmered, and her smile made his heart sing.
“Tha-thank you…”
Her body still concealed behind the wall, the little lady swayed her head side to side as if along with a song only she could hear.
“Ehehe…I found a nice big brother…”
Dangerous! This girl is way too dangerous in a number of ways!
After clearing the weird thoughts a second time, the young Master turned his attention to the obstacle yet to be overcome. The chill had spread throughout his body like a layer of cold beneath his skin. It was no longer discomforting, just odd, like the sensation of having a full stomach spread through his entire body. However, the revelation of Ptolemy’s appearance had made things a lot clearer in his sharp mind, and gave him a strong idea of the significance of this chill.
“Artemisia,” he called, and it astounded him how quickly she was on her knees in front of him, her expression lucid and her hair flawless like she had not just slept for hours.
“Brother dearest,” she greeted him, and it was clear on her face and in her voice that he was the most precious thing in the universe.
Avenger had given him most of the clues, and the little Anna had provided him with the last one.
The Grail was being used to power Artemisia’s Noble Phantasm.
The empowered Mausoleum had been used to create “a world for Heroic Spirits branded with the mark of incest.”
Mausoleum can create ether constructs using as their basis the records of the souls of those laid to rest inside a mausoleum at any point in history.
Ptolemy II Philadelphos had appeared in this world, but not as a Servant.
If Ptolemy had been given shape by Artemisia’s Noble Phantasm, probably in response to Arsinoë’s unvoiced wish, what about Artemisia’s own brother-husband, Mausolus himself?
He remembered the ghosts his Servants fought the day before. There laid his answer.
“Yes, my dear.”
Indeed, Mausolus was there.
The chill invading his body flowed with his blood, guiding his actions and feeding words into his mind.
The Carian queen gasped in delight when his hand fell on her fair hair to stroke it. She became a kitten beneath the touch of his fingers, leaning against his touch along the side of her face.
“Artemisia, my Servants are fighting the Masked Queen.”
“Yes.”
“We should go there.” He gave her no chance to voice her disagreement. “She is not strong enough to overcome five Servants working together.”
“It matters not, my love,” argued his queen. “Even if she falls, they will never reach us.”
“She carries the Grail, my beloved.” That made her purse her lips in worry. “More importantly, are we so vile as to abandon the friend that brought us together once more?”
With that, Artemisia looked at him with entirely new eyes. Her lips trembled, and he could swear he saw the beginning of tears in her eyes. He could not stop himself from wondering just what thoughts ran through her mind: what did she remember? What kind of memories did she and Avenger create in this artificial world?
He then decided: if he ever partook of another delightful chat with the masked Avenger, he would ask her about it.
“Let us go, my love,” he said as he stood up, extending his hand.
“I will follow you to the end of the world and beyond, brother dearest.”
When they stepped out of the cylindrical chamber, they met big eyes brimming with an amalgam of child-like admiration and painful disappointment. It was a mournful visage that struck the hearts of those who looked at it…except for those particular two, apparently.
“Such a wonderful love…” Barely a whisper.
Artemisia paid no heed to the compliment and stood protectively between the child and the Master.
“Brother, who is this child?”
“She is an ally, Artemisia. She will come with us.”
“I do not like her,” she declared. “She reeks of the lusts of men.”
No big surprise there, he thought. The child had taken a few steps back, her pose purely defensive, as if expecting to be struck any second now.
“She was brought into this world by the Grail. She is just as welcome here as you and me. I will not ask you to like her, but she will come with us.”
Artemisia glared for a few more seconds while Anna incessantly muttered things like “please don’t mind me”. When the Master moved forward, Artemisia clung to his left arm so as to state a very clear message.
“Come,” the young male said, but the girl inched further back and shook her head.
“Please don’t bother with me…I, I’m very weak, I won’t be of any help—”
“Then we’ll look after you, but I’m not leaving you alone in here. Just come.”
“…um.”
A flower in each hand, it could be called. Artemisia possessed the fine skill to ignore the world beyond herself and her brother, so she paid absolutely no heed to the girl walking closely to the Master’s right. That is not to say she would not react the very moment the little girl tried to pull some weird move on her man, of course.
“I want to make a Bond with Brother…”
“Did you say something?”
“Awawawawah!” Rather than the young man, Anna was looking at the unbelievable face looming over his shoulder. “Nothing! Anna said nothing!”
The little girl was prudent and meek, but could not take the displeased look off her face. A pointlessly smug-looking Artemisia settled back by her beloved’s side.
“So you’re name’s Anna, right?”
“Yes, sir.” The girl nodded firmly, like a good girl who has been taught to address her elders clearly. “I believe you have been looking after my aunt for some time. Thank you very much.”
Something; some unfathomable part of him, screamed at rest of him that this was a conversation he did not want to have right now. It could be called “a Master’s intuition”.
So, he changed the topic.
“By the way, I take it neither of you know Avenger’s true identity.”
Anna only shook her head.
“I only learned her class now that you mentioned it, darling. I take it you had a pleasant conversation last night?”
The Master caught the hint implicit in the subtle tightening of Artemisia’s grip.
“She spoke at length with the Master of Chaldea, just like she intended. It was quite pleasant; we should do it again some other time, together.”
He made a strange face at the uncharacteristic choice words he was burdened with. He did not feel outright possessed, and the aid was appreciated, but he looked forward to being fully himself once more.
“Hmm. Well, yeah, she’s an Avenger. According to the rule of this world, she must have incest in her legend somehow, right?” He continued after Artemisia’s confirmation. “And she’s probably related to Solomon, so…”
Both Artemisia and Anna stopped to look at him, their eyes identical portrayals of shock and alarm.
“…so I take you figured out what I haven’t.” He never claimed to be a history buff.
What followed was a stream of sentence fragments as the two Servants traded incomplete thoughts and clarified the shared image in their minds.
“There are not many women connected to Solomon’s legend…”
“…thousand children aside…”
“…it can only be
that one—”
“But that doesn’t explain…”
“It might! If she’s also…”
“Is that even possible? Then, the mask…”
“It’s probably her body…”
Artemisia didn’t even react when Anna mirrored her actions and the two women each grabbed one of the Master’s hands.
“We have to hurry!” urged the little girl, and the Queen of Caria agreed.
“The odds in that battle are a lot closer that we thought, my love.”
***///******///******///******///******///******///******///***
“Alright, this is kinda tough,” admitted Mordred, to which a confident-looking Cleopatra grudgingly nodded.
“But we’re winning!”
Nero’s merriment was visible even as she slashed apart a barrage of arcane missiles.
“This is the glorious battle Heroic Spirits live for, brave Mordred! Onwards—uwaah!”
“Keep laughing like that and you’ll just get killed, Father-looking idiot!”
The two Sabers danced amidst a storm of magical beams and a barrage of black flame bullets. Avenger was skilled at keeping Adrammelech between herself and the enemy Servants, but Arsinoë had slipped through and engaged her in close-combat. The black-robed Servant weaved around Arsinoë’s fists all the while trying to smother her in streams of flame.
“I’ll break that mask and we’ll see what you’re hiding.”
It was obvious Avenger possessed zero melee combat ability. It was sheer reflexes that kept her away from Arsinoë’s blows. That and an unceasing assault with black flames from every direction.
“Taking off this mask is the worst thing you could do, esteemed pharaoh.”
“Spare me the bullcrap and just tell me who you are!”
“You should try asking the young Master when he arrives. I am sure that by this point he already knows.”
Avenger glanced at the rampaging demon god. It had proved a mighty obstacle, but it would soon fall. Mordred was simply too strong and too fast; her body enhanced to the limit with prana slashed away the arcane bolts she could not dodge, and what few blows she landed were mighty and decisive. The Nero clad in white danced across the field of fire, her unnatural acrobatics making up for the limitations of her clearly inferior swordsmanship. Apparently nothing could harm her, so she had free rein to inflict the death of a thousand blows upon the demon god. Cleopatra had fared worse, having taken a direct blow from a potent magical blast that left her winded for the good part of a minute. That led to Arsinoë almost losing it, and she would have single-handedly torn the demon apart in her madness had Avenger not blasted her to lucidity with her black flame.
“On the other hand,” she continued upon reaching a decision. “If you are in such a hurry, I might as well just show you my second Noble Phantasm.”
A single moment of surprise was enough for Avenger to blast the queen of Egypt away and to the opposite side of the chamber, where the other Servants had readied themselves for the last assault on the demon god.
“You…” hissed Arsinoë. “Adrammelech is not your Noble Phantasm!?”
“Of course not,” retorted Avenger all the while more and more flames swirled around her black-clad form. “Summoning demons is just something I can do. A demon god was made possible by the Grail.”
“Well that sucks,” Arsinoë commented in a growling tone. “So, who’s up to firing back?”
“You kiddin’ me? I’ve been holding it in since forever; lemme at’er!”
Clarent crackled with energy being gathered and amplified, emitting a ruinous light.
“I as well. Watch carefully, revered ancestor.”
Mordred and Cleopatra stepped forward, both pulsating with energy as they readied their mightiest attacks. Radiant gold and wicked crimson seemed to clash; they were allies by circumstance, but their powers could not be more different.
“The pyre burns day and night, fueled by the flesh of children and the blood of sinners. The desperate and the wicked seek hope and absolution in the embrace of a false god. But no prayer will be answered! For the worthless, the only salvation is death!”
After one last clash of blade and claws, Nero pulled back and shot a twisted smirk in Adrammelech’s direction.
“Tch! It won’t let me interrupt her.”
Avenger disappeared within a pillar of black flame. The five Servants winced at being smothered with unbearable heat. The cries of infants and the screams of countless men and women echoed out of the flames, their twisted harmony a curse upon themselves and upon the world that brought them to such ruin.
“It’s coming!” cried out Arsinoë. “Tear her apart!”
“
”
“
Uraeus
O, serpent who finishes the time of daybreak…
”
“
”
A blade was swung. A serpent unfurled. A column of flames poured down.
“
Blood Arthur
…against my beautiful father
!”
“
!”
“
Gehenna
…become holocausts for the perpetual flame
!”
Three powers surpassing natural disasters clashed and vied for supremacy. Their cataclysmic power rocked the foundations of the mausoleum and engulfed the vast chamber with many-colored light. The maelstrom devoured the demon god, Adrammelech, and obliterated it from every direction. While Cleopatra grunted at the sustained effort, Mordred howled like a mad dog, pushing her body into pumping more energy into the blade. As for Avenger…
“Fools.
Tophet Gehenna becomes stronger the greater resistance it meets! Burn, all of you! Your bodies will fuel the flame of Malkam!”
“Guh! I…sorry…! I…can’t…!”
“Damn iiiiiiiiit!”
Cleopatra and Mordred were overpowered, and the flames washed over them entire room like a black tsunami, dragging the much suffering Servants until their backs met the far walls of the rectangular colosseum.
“Cleopatra!”
“I still live, revered ancestor,” replied the last pharaoh, already using healing magic even while slumped down on the cold floor. “I…still can…”
Unlike Cleopatra, Mordred and Nero were already back on their feet, clearly enduring much pain but still in the fight. Arsinoë did not allow herself to be outdone by the Sabers, especially not now that she had the unsettling answer.
“Damn you, woman…you said ‘Malkam’.”
“Hmm. I guess I did.” Flames were already swirling around Avenger’s concealed body.
“But that doesn’t make sense! There’s no legend or tale that mentions you having this kind of power!”
“That is because you still believe you are facing a single mortal. I am not a single mortal.”
Arsinoë felt strength depart her knees; she had to make conscious effort to keep standing.
“Is that…is that even possible…?”
“Revered ancestor! Who is that woman!?”
Arsinoë instead met Nero’s eyes. The Roman emperor seemed to have made some sense of hers and Avenger’s words; from the look in her eyes, she was a mere step from the answer as well.
“Malkam is the god revered by the children of Ammon.”
Nero’s head could not turn faster, directing a look of awe, respect, and utter trepidation towards their enemy.
“The King of Magic’s Queen…” she finally realized. “The mother of his successor…the ancestress of the Son of God…!”
“I am the embodiment of a grudge!” She spread her arms, and two columns of flame rose behind her. “The manifestation of scorn towards the worthless humans who placed all their burdens and sins on the shoulders of a weak and lonely king!”
“I am not merely the Ammonite, nor the King of Magic’s Queen and most beloved.”
The columns of flame spread to the sides, like gigantic wings sprouting from her back.
“I am the Princess of Demons; the temptation of the Original Man; the despoiler of the Ark.”
The firestorm grew around her and its ominous implication became clear in their minds: with the power of the Grail, she could unleash
Tophet Gehenna as many times as she pleased.
“Yeah, we’re kind of in trouble,” admitted Arsinoë.
“…umu.”
The flames screamed; the cries of agony of countless human sacrifices. Their nostrils were filled with the unmistakable stench of burning flesh and boiling fat.
“I am a composite existence; an amalgam of demonic, human and divine; a union of homonymous great souls.”
It was like all other colors had disappeared except for the coalescence of white, black and grays that made Avenger’s great firestorm. The world around them had become something that could be reproduced with merely a pencil. Indeed, it was clear they faced something that far transcended humanity.
“…so basically, another day for the Servants of Chaldea?”
The others stared at the joking Cleopatra with some measure of awe. Mordred snorted. Their souls were relieved of some of their burden, and they found it in themselves to face the storm taking form in front of them, no matter how overwhelming it may seem.
Their opponent was a demon of demons; a queen of queens.
“I am
High Servant Naamah, and I am your judgment.”
***///******///******///******///******///******///******///***
To be concluded in Part IV – Salomon
Originally Posted by Sandstorm77
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