It was impossible not to notice. The skip to her step, the weird and somewhat silly grin on her face, the way she seemingly
vibrated as she made her way to that week’s appointed training grounds.
Scathach was acting weird.
She was not even paying the slightest attention to the throng of Servants after her, pulled by the overwhelming aura of weird she was radiating. Her student was just freaking out, but most of the curious were simply expecting something amusing to happen, so they went after her to stave their boredom.
Rayshifts were done, and eventually the group arrived to the vast open space where their shared and precious Master was already supervising the open rounds of sparring accompanied by Mashu and Peshtur, his right and left hands. Iskander, Fergus Mac Roich, two EMIYAs, and Lancelot stood behind them, offering their knowledgeable commentary or simply admiring a hell of a fight.
Their Master’s latest addition to the Servant roster was playing with the greatest hero of Greek mythology.
His blows that could gouge the earth could not reach her. They were either dodge or parried by that woman’s bare hands. They knew it had nothing to do with Heracles being a Berserker—everybody was well aware of his brilliance that transcended his madness. But she could nonetheless see it. She obviously saw patterns nobody else could see, calculated vectors of attack that should not be calculable, and thus predicted the attacks that should be unpredictable. This was not luck, nor was it divine providence.
“…she is just that good,” said the Archer-class EMIYA, unable to come up with a witty quip. “You think you could snipe her from here, old man?”
Kiritsugu replied with an annoyed grunt.
“Wouldn’t be surprised if she caught the bullet and threw it right back to my eye.”
“Master, can she parry
Nine Lives?”
“Probably, but we’re not gonna test it. Alright, that’s enough!”
And the woman who had not attacked a single time intercepted Heracles’ last assault and held to the weapon long enough for the Berserker to grasp the order and ease down. A moment later, she let go and saluted the immense hero with a polite bow.
“Magnificent. I would not expect any less from the fabled Heracles. It is nothing but regrettable you cannot learn anything in this form.”
The demigod grunted and walked to the Master’s side. Šarur did not move from that spot but did turn to address her summoner.
“So? Who will be next?”
A grinning Master looked behind him, and the line of men there looked at each other with some measure of unease.
“Ahaha, I must humbly pass this time, my boy. That kind of fight is far from my specialty, in any case.”
The Master nodded at Iskander’s fair point. The same could be said of Kiritsugu. He wanted to ask Lancelot, but it seemed Fergus was the one raring to give it a go—
“Please allow me, Master.”
All eyes fell on the Queen of the Land of Shadows. The Master looked as well, and saw that Scathach was not really asking for a favor. He easily saw what was different about her that day—not that she was trying to hide it—, and almost as easily figured out why. So, he just gestured her to go ahead, and filled himself with the electricity in the air. That pulsating, vibrant feeling that often surrounded Heroic Spirits, which told him something truly great was about to happen. From the looks of many nearby, he was clearly not the only one who felt it. In fact, it was likely all these Servants around him felt it more vividly. Even his adorable Mashu, despite no longer possessing the powers of a Demi-Servant, seemed fixated on the duo about to spar. He almost expected her to pull out a notebook and start taking notes.
“Um, Master? Ya know I normally dun’ care, but—”
“Your teacher needs this, Cu Chulainn. Just watch.”
“…please excuse my impoliteness, but I must ask for your name, milady.” Šarur was new to Chaldea, so she still did not know everyone. This seemed to amuse the witch for some reason.
“My name is Scathach.”
“Ah. The gatekeeper of the Land of Shadows, stated to be an unparalleled master of both rune magic and the way of the spear.” A bow. “It is truly the greatest of honors to stand before a top-class Servant.”
“The honor is mine, King of Weapons. Would I ask for too much if I requested a brief spar?”
“From the look in your eyes, this will be neither brief nor a spar.”
Scathach was not the kind of person to look sheepish at being caught. Nonetheless, there was something like a silent plea in her beautiful eyes.
“…not that I mind,” continued the ancient Noble Phantasm. “Children should, indeed, be enthusiastic towards learning.”
The scene froze. Many people inched away from the Hound of Ulster, who looked disturbingly blue in the face.
“…excuse me?” There was, somewhat surprisingly, no outrage or even irritation in those words. If anything, her body seemed to vibrate even more excitedly.
“Immortal as you may be, you have only lived a couple thousand years at most, Lady Scathach. At the time I took my own life in front of our Master, I had existed for well over ten thousand years. To my eyes, Lady Scathach, you are as much a child as our Master over there. It is by no means an insult, merely a statement of fact.”
Cu Chulainn released a choked gasp, to which the smirking Master quickly responded.
“You get it now.”
The most famous Irish hero nodded dumbly. Indeed, it was obvious in hindsight.
For the first time since forever, Scathach was meeting an opponent who had lived longer and possessed more experience.
For the first time since forever, Scathach was the student.
“Come,” taunted the primordial weapon. “Let us see whether you truly stand at the pinnacle of the spear. I am but a mere weapon; it is my honor to nurture your technique in this day.”
Scathach let herself shudder one last time. For a moment there, she could almost swear her eyes had moistened with unshed tears. But the ticklish feeling passed just as quickly, as she felt she was standing before a mountain. Šarur had not moved an inch, but Scathach was sure she had flicked the mental switch to “combat mode”. Even without the poisonous aura she heard was one of her Noble Phantasms, the unmoving figure of Šarur filled the mind with the impression of an unbreakable object. It almost made her fear her spears would shatter on contact with Šarur’s skin. It was unreasonable, but that was the sheer impression this ancient being radiated by
just being there.
She went all out.
“Uwah!” The young Master reflexively moved to catch Mashu as she stumbled backwards. He could understand her; the stillness of the precombat exchange had been almost instantaneously replaced with ultraviolence. It was pointless for him to watch; his eyes could not follow. He glanced at the two EMIYAs, who were obviously pushing the limits of their superhuman dynamic vision. As for himself, he could only the see crimson trails of Scathach’s cursed spear.
“They’re even!” Mashu exclaimed excitedly, her hands jerking from side to side as if holding an invisible shield to stop invisible attacks.
“No, they’re not,” Lancelot refuted. “She is still stopping those spears with her bare hands.”
“But teach’s getting faster…!” Cu Chulainn added, his grin showing rows of pearly teeth.
The opaque sounds of the spears meeting flesh without piercing it became a threnody of drumming as the witch of the Land of Shadows kicked it up another gear. He could vaguely catch glimpses of their faces in the storm. Even if he could not follow their actions, Scathach’s steel determination told him she was truly giving it her all; each of her attacks was meant to be a lethal blow.
In the end, he could only grasp the flow of battle through commentary.
“There!”
“No, feints don’t seem to work against her.”
“This might just be the kind of target you just can’t kill, old man.”
“Wouldn’t ‘dismantle’ be the right word in her case?”
“Uwah. Harsh.”
It was resolved just as quickly as it began.
There was a new sound; the all too familiar clash of metal against metal. Scathach jumped backwards, putting some distance. There was now a weapon in Šarur’s hand. The Master vaguely heard Cu Chulainn shouting something behind him.
And then it was over.
Šarur’s was standing on one of the spears, her left foot pinning the tip to the ground, the right a mere step away from Scathach’s hand. The sickle sword caressed the side of the spearwoman’s neck. Everybody partook of that moment of stillness.
“You understand your mistake.”
Scathach lowered her second spear and her opponent stepped back. She could not look straight at her opponent; her body shook at she came to terms with what had just happened.
“I...reached the conclusion that I could only beat you with my Noble Phantasm, and immediately acted on it.”
Šarur nodded while moving further backwards, as if allowing her opponent a moment of respite.
Scathach was shaking again. She had to be consciously mindful not to drop her weapons by accident.
It really did not mean anything. Šarur was far from invincible, so the result of this brief exchange was unimportant. Scathach had not done anything wrong—using Gáe Bolg was the optimal tactic; switching to that tactic was the optimal action. Scathach had done the right thing: if she wanted to kill Šarur, Gáe Bolg would succeed 100% of the time.
But it was precisely because it was the best tactic that it had been a mistake to switch gears to use it.
The optimal tactic was not the best tactic.
Cu Chulainn’s trepidation had long changed into amusement which was shared with the Master.
How could not they be amused by the sight of that fearsome Scathach making such a girly smile? How could it be anything but cute, the sight of a Scathach that still could not believe
she could learn something new?
“Try again, Lady Scathach. Let us see if the Queen of the Land of Shadows has not forgotten how to learn from her mistakes.”
The words sent a jolt throughout her body. Something long dormant awoke inside that long-lived warrior. A distinct, very special joy that she had only imparted, never received. Later she would think back on it and feel herself a little bit closer to her cherished student, perhaps thinking she could understand him a little bit better.
But that was for later. This moment was hers and only hers.
“Yes! I’m thankful for your guidance, Teacher!”
“Huh?” Of course, this was the Šarur unaccustomed to the simplest forms of praise.
“Here I come!”
“Eh? Wai—!”
The King of Weapons got really close to experiencing a really embarrassing death.
Overenthusiastic children are scary!
END
Šargaz
Crusher of Thousands, Left Hand of the War God
: EX
Type: Anti-Unit
Range: 0
Maximum Targets: Self
Šarur’s “twin little sister”. War God Ninurta’s second mace, held in his left hand. The
Crusher of Thousands. Identical to Šarur in appearance and autonomy, but lacking in the ability to make her own choices—obviously, these twins were developed to test two different paradigms on autonomous weapons. Šargaz is the War God’s doll, capable of independent action but incapable of independent thought. Unlike Šarur, who possesses the ability to create new information from self-reflection without additional external input, Šargaz’s artificial intelligence was developed merely through watching her older sister and developing behavioral patterns from what she records. Thus, in a way, Šargaz was Šarur’s first and most precious student.
Šarur is the superior intellect, but Šargaz possesses the superior stats. The details are unknown, but it appears her Gaia Reactor is specialized on the single function of “manipulation of gravitational forces”. Also, there is apparently some ability to reproduce the appearance, skills and techniques of other beings, but, again, the details are unclear.
Originally Posted by Zh1212
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