[Quest] Lost Singularity - Fimbulwinter

[Rafflesiac]

6

[SleepMode]

3

Doesn't have to be a route, just make sure the doofus doesn't get into trouble.

[Spartacus]

6

[34]

1

[SpoonyViking]

6

[Daneel Rush]

Well, looks like the die is cast, for good or ill.

I hope I can post the next part before the weekend ends.

[Draconic]

3. Find Maria.

- - - Updated - - -

Why is everyone so obsessed with this girl he’s never actually seen yet, and looks objectively evil?

Besides, ditching Saver for Assassin seems like a big step backwards.

[34]

agreed
changing my choice to

3

[Bird of Hermes]

Screw it, 6

[Draconic]

Why, Bird?! Why?!

[Tobias]

Leave me out of this

[Draconic]

I have this thread on instant email notification, and when I saw you posted here, I got really excited, but it was just pineapples…

[Daneel Rush]

Quest Master's Commentary

There were a few ways this could have turned out. I'm just happy you chose Buster.

Bismarck Square, Cerro Cárcel, Valparaíso
Day 02
Evening Phase - 08
Severe Cold (-31 °C/-24 °F)
Snowfall



(BGM)

Maria releases a kiai as she charges, feeling supernatural strength pushing her athletic legs beyond human limits, readying the arm and back muscles for a mighty sword strike. It is the most straightforward of attacks—Maria knows she possesses no skill as a swordsman, and this fierce blow is the utmost expression of that awareness. All power, zero technique.

So, she only looks forward, and thus cannot see what Lancer sees: as if a claymore mine had been triggered by her feet moving from their spot, snow and concrete are blown away behind her. She is no longer a person, but a living force of destruction; the embodiment and meaning of “A-rank Strength”.

The shaft of the spear meets the descending blade, and Bismarck Square is promptly cleared of snow. In a nearby residence, Sakura finds herself embraced by a Servant who quickly placed herself between the Japanese beauty and the chilling shockwave—a vacuum of air displaced by the clashing weapons. It is then that she notices Assassin’s right arm, monstrous as the left she saw before, but also burnt all the way to the point where it disappears beneath the dark cloak.

Lancer grunts at the strain of withstanding Maria’s awesome strength. Were it a matter of a simple clash of strength, he would have been knocked prone by the mighty blow, but it is more than his Strength parameter that withstands Maria’s attack. Instead of being disabled by overwhelming might, Lancer merely takes a single step back.

Undeterred by this, Maria tries again, roaring as she attacks in an almost identical manner. No, Lancer notices; this attack is slightly slower, with a little more buildup.

Stronger.

Maria’s only answer is more power.

Lancer spreads his legs apart a fraction of an inch further.

Sword strikes guarding spear. Sakura hears the creaking and breaking of rooftiles over her head. Nearby cars are lifted off their wheels for a moment before returning to the ground with grating loudness. Lancer relents against his opponent’s superior strength and takes another step backwards—and then stumbles.

Maria grins in wicked triumph.

Unlike Lancer, Maria has seen Bismarck Square in its true appearance, uncovered by snow, if only in photos in tourist guides. Unlike Lancer, Maria knows that Bismarck Square is in fact a small amphitheater and, as such, it has small steps leading to its famous columns adorned with stone mosaics.

Lancer was fighting defensively, aware that his opponent had some sort of plan, but he could not predict something completely unknown to him.

However, it bears to be reminded: this man, Lancer, is a Servant.

There is no alarm in his eyes. Instead, he raises his massive spear over his heard, turning it so that the tip is pointing towards the other Servant raising her blade. A moment before Maria takes the next step forward, she is showered by the smothering feeling—instinct—of rapidly accumulating magical energy.

Two words come into shape in the forefront of her mind.

Noble Phantasm.

Additional words are whispered in the back of her mind. They are whispered in her voice, but the words are not her own.

Don’t stop.

Maria roars. Lancer barely mutters.

“HAAAAAAAA!”

“

Sibirru Mišlamim

Temple Staff that Brings the Providence of the Underworld

.”

An instant later, a rocket named Maria Westinghouse smashes against a car on the perimeter of the plaza, all the way across the square from Sakura’s position. Its electronics long frozen, no alarm is triggered by the metal-crushing impact.

“Gahk!” Maria coughs, her lungs forcefully depleted by the sudden crash. She looks down at her chest, where she feels the pain of being penetrated by a spear with enough force to launch her backwards at the speed of a bullet. However, there is no wound.

While Maria is halfway buried in a car almost two dozen meters away, Lancer lies prone on the amphitheater steps, clutching a bleeding wound on his right side.

“Mighty Annunītum, your providence has granted me this victory,” he murmurs even as he winces, slowly getting back on his feet. “Sweet Laz, this evening I elude your embrace.”

Wise Up! (Lancer of the Black Sun)

Sensible Blessing of Laz – A
The sensible blessing of a rare goddess with common sense. All parameters except for LCK and NP, as well as the Skills Divinity and Magic Resistance, gradually increase in rank the longer Lancer stays in battle, to a maximum rank of A. Parameter and Skill ranks reset at the end of battle. It is a very powerful, and very by-the-book Skill; the kind that gives an image of a certain goddess wracking her head to come up with an appropriate blessing, like a bachelor in his thirties suddenly asked to think of a present for a sibling’s young daughter.

Whimsical Blessing of Annunītum – EX
The whimsical blessing of a reckless goddess with zero common sense. The longer he fights in an aggressive and reckless manner, the more his offensive power rises and his defense drops. The opposite happens when he chooses to fight cautiously and defensively. Theoretically, the boon could rise indefinitely, but a battle will never last forever. Naturally, this Skill only works when Lancer is fighting a “worthy opponent”, so he cannot just “build up the buff” by fighting worthless mooks. It’s actually a very videogame-cheat-like Skill; the kind that makes you think “as expected of that idiot!”

(Additional details locked behind Servant’s True Name)

Maria groans weakly, her body unable—or rather, unwilling—to push itself out of the wrecked car. Her head lulls as it seeks the enemy Servant, but Lancer has made himself easy to find. He glows, a pale gold radiance with traces of dull grey, in contrast with the rich gold Maria herself can conjure. The radiance extends to its great weapon, stretching past its sword-like tip as if to make it look even longer. Maria understands that it was this “aura” that struck her as if solid and possessing great physical force. An “Aura Thrust” to match her “Aura Slash”.

However, it has done something else.

Caution! Status Change! (Saver)

MGI B -> C
Independent Action: Limit reduced by one hour.

She feels weaker. She feels anemic.

Ideas and knowledge not her own fill her mind.

Sibirru Mišlamim.

The Staff (Polearm) of Meslam.

Meslamtaea.

A god of famine enshrined as a staff.

Maria does not know the name of the king who received that enshrined god as a gift from a kind and grateful goddess, but she understands the nature of the weapon in Lancer’s hand.

Wise Up! (Lancer of the Black Sun)

Sibirru Mišlamim

Temple Staff that Brings the Providence of the Underworld

Rank: B
Type: Anti-Unit
Range: 2-12
Maximum Targets: 1 person
The Polearm of Meslam.

The sacred weapon bestowed upon Lancer by a god of pestilence and famine, at the behest of the goddess of fates. A large spear-like weapon, with a tip the length and shape of a scimitar, and a socket shaped like the head of a mace, suitable for inflicting blunt force trauma. It is a big and heavy weapon, the like of which would not be wielded comfortably by the average human. Of course, Servant Lancer has both the strength and skill to wield this clumsy armament with masterful skill.

The spear was originally a ritual tool enshrined in the Temple of Meslam in the ancient Mesopotamian city of Kutha (Gudua in Sumerian). It is therefore a physical manifestation of Meslamtaea; what in Shinto would be called a shintai. It constantly gathers ambient magical energy and divine blessings whenever and wherever available, and Lancer can store his own magical power in the weapon as well.

Invoking the Noble Phantasm’s true name accelerates the effect of Sensible Blessing of Laz, pumping up some of Lancer’s Parameters and Skills. It further allows releasing the stored energy into a powerful mid-range attack with A-rank Strength, regardless of Lancer’s current STR rank. This energy, furthermore, is inevitably painted in the colors of Meslamtaea, in what can be described as Mana Burst (Decay).

A sickly-colored

melam

divine radiance

manifests from the spear, stretching out to effectively triple the weapon’s range. Those who are immersed in the radiance not only take damage as if struck by the physical weapon; they experience their magical energy being eroded and wasting away into uselessness. The Servant will experience a kind of “magical anemia”, the mana circulating in their body diminished in quality, thus proving less and less suitable for sustaining the Saint Graph with every strike of the spear. In a standard Holy Grail War, the constant, ever-increasing demand for a “healthy” intake of magical energy will end up killing the Master after their Servant takes enough hits.

“Shit…” Maria grunts as she struggles to fight the feeling of weakness. She is helped by a new, growing feeling. It has sprouted in the darkest depths of herself, and it grows rapidly, like a forest blaze.

That is the enemy. Stand up. Crush it.

It is not like Maria can communicate with the Servant that possessed her. It is not like there is a second voice talking in her mind. Those words are merely the construction of her conscious mind, making sense of the flashes of expression, feeling and intent that come from within herself but are not of her.

“Easy…for you to say…” murmurs the girl, whose exhausted mind and enfeebled body tell her to just knock it off already.

The enemy. It is right there. It must be destroyed.

Maria whines like a wounded dog. Her body has been weakened by Lancer’s Noble Phantasm, but not to a critical degree. What holds her in place is the burden she has carried for a year, everything that has piled up on top of it in that time, and especially in the past three days of dire cold.

That unwillingness to move is forcefully dispelled when Lancer closes half the distance between them before swinging his great weapon. The aura projected from the spear tip bends and sways like a huge whip, and Maria throws herself forward just before the pale gold brilliance falls upon the hapless automobile, crushing it from roof to tires.

“Shit!” Maria curses quietly. “That thing’s gonna be a bitch to dodge.”

Lancer’s weapon is no longer a rigid object with a fixed position. He deftly manipulates the aura like an artistic gymnast her ribbon, making it lash at Maria with fearsome speed and power.

“Shit!” She curses a bit more loudly when her blade passes through the aura effortlessly, just a second before it caresses her side. Then she grunts when her body is thrown sprawling to the side as if struck by a battering ram. There is no time to feel pain; she rolls on the snow and jumps to her feet a mere instant before she is struck once more.

Her scream of pain is broken by her hitting the concrete floor of the square face-first. Head half-buried in the cracked floor, Maria stays there, unmoving.

Caution! Status Change! (Saver)

MGI C -> D
Independent Action: Limit reduced by two additional hours.

*** ***

(BGM)

“Grandma.”

“What now, girl.”

The old woman, as was her usual, lazily idled her life away on the rocking chair. Her student, sixteen-years-old Maria Westinghouse, showed uncharacteristic calm as she labored towards fixing the broken coffee cup with magecraft.

“…why did you teach me magecraft after all? I mean, if it really bothered you, you could’ve just said no, and there was really nothing I could do ‘bout it.”

Maria’s grandmother, from whom the teenage girl received that name, was a feeble-looking old lady. Thin, so thin some would even suspect mistreatment of the elderly. So worrisomely thin that you’d fear the slightest exertion would break her bones like twigs. So feeble, that anyone would conclude she needs the most extensive care.

“Tch,” clicking her tongue, the old woman turns her harsh gaze on the growing apprentice.

“Cocky brat,” she growls, her voice an extreme contrast with her appearance. Her disdainful stare looks like it’s missing a cigar poking out of the corner of her mouth. “If you can spout worthless bullcrap out of that mouth of yours while doing magecraft, then maybe I should give you a harder task.”

“Ah, um, I’ll be quiet now. My bad. Forget I said anything.”

For a minute or so, the teacher watched her apprentice’s back and slumped shoulders. This woman acknowledged that she had made many mistakes throughout her life, but there was one single, very important thing in which she would not allow herself to screw up.

“I’ve only met three types of people,” she thus began. “The first are those who were born entitled to stand at the top. Whether they deserve it or not, whether they have done anything to earn their place or not, it doesn’t matter. They are where they are, and it is too difficult to knock them off their spot, so most people don’t even bother.”

Young Maria did not cease her magical work, but listened intently. She always did.

“The second are the people like me: those who wish to stand at the top, but aren’t willing to go through the effort. We give up on ourselves because giving up is easy, and we choose to delude ourselves into thinking we are fine with comfortable mediocrity. We excuse ourselves with ‘If I had’s and ‘If I could’s, and we say to ourselves things like ‘it’s fine as long as I can hold on to a stable job’, ‘better a loveless marriage than growing old alone’, ‘it’s too hard out there, so it’s not like I can do any better’.”

A dark, bitter chuckle.

“Our lives are not great, but at least we manage. And then there’s the people like you, girl. Those who long for the top, and are willing to do what it takes to get there and stay there. The truly ambitious, truly selfish, truly relentless people.”

“Some might have the talent, so they just have to work hard, show their stuff and push themselves to the top. There are those like Hitler and Himmler: they were worthless pieces of shit themselves, so they gathered and controlled those with talent, using them as stepping stones towards the top.”

The old lady coughed and cleared her throat before continuing.

“Maria, girl, you are utterly and thoroughly average. No fault of your own, really; it’s in our blood. The only things that are not average about you are your looks, and your hopeless desire to be more than average. But neither of those things are worth a damn: there’re plenty of pretty girls out there, and every child and delusional idiot in the world dreams of being special.”

The old woman can easily imagine the girl’s pouting face.

“But I haven’t told you anything you don’t already know, right, girl? You know, and that doesn’t stop you from trying. You have nothing you can proudly claim you’re good at it, but you still want to win.”

The rocking chair had stopped its sway long ago. There was only the old woman’s speech, watching the back of the girl who had long stopped concentrating on doing magecraft.

“I know the world of magi. It is a cutthroat world, in some ways even more so than what they call the ‘mundane’ world of man. It’s no place for a happy-go-lucky girl like you. But, dammit, against my own advice, I’m teaching you everything I know, because I want you to win.”

The minuscule woman reduced to skin and bones, looked down at her wee hands clenched tight.

“It’s my last petty act of defiance. Take my magecraft and shine. Take my knowledge and win.”

She almost did not notice the teenage girl kneeling in front of her to grasp those feeble hands in her own. Their eyes met. They remained dry, because these two women, Maria and Maria, do not do tears.

“Because I want you to be better than everything I ever wished to be, my girl.”

*** ***

(BGM)

“Ah, that’s right. I completely forgot,” murmurs Maria Westinghouse, her freehand slamming the concrete next to her head to slowly push herself back up.

A whip of radiance strikes her back, smashing her back on the rough, solid ground. From the girl comes out only a quiet grunt.

“The reason I’m here in the first place.”

Maria then feels a strange heaviness afflicting her body, like there’s a partial disconnection between her mind and her body. She finds it difficult to get her body to do what she wants, but she is too immersed in introspection to look around her and identify the reason for this phenomenon.

Besides, Lancer’s attacks stopped, which is a plus to her.

“It’s not about saving Javier.”

Without Lancer striking her down, Maria has no reason to stop herself from getting back on her feet. It is difficult, extremely so, as her body seems to misunderstand her brain’s commands; it jerks and twitches randomly and almost comically, arms moving when legs were supposed to, and applying too much force or too little at times.

But Maria spares no thought to this. She ignores the distant gasp and the loud, angry voice of some loser.

“It’s not about beating Nazis.”

Maria stumbles, but quickly plants the tip of the sword on the concrete and uses the weapon as a cane. With an inclined back, slumped shoulders and heavy breathing, she turns towards Lancer, squinting at the sickly golden radiance enveloping him and his weapon. She does not know whether it is a peculiarity of the Servant possessing her, or whether it is her brain again struggling to process information it cannot fully grasp, but in some weird synesthetic phenomenon, the sight of that radiance triggers the perception of an unpleasant scent. The part of her that is not her stirs in in displeasure.

Just like with the automatic spell on the ice coffin, Saver recognizes the Servant standing some distance from her as an enemy that must be eradicated. Like fire spreading throughout her blood vessels and nerves, it warms her body and ignites her mind with hostility.

“It’s not even about avenging Grandma.”

Maria can smell Lancer’s Divinity, and it disgusts her.

Wise-Up! (Lancer of the Black Sun)

Divinity – C -> A
A skill that represent the depth of one's Divine Spirit aptitude, how close one is to a Divine Spirit. It also has an effect which reduces special defensive values called 'purge defense' in proportion to the Divinity's Rank. It can break through Skills such as Protection of the Faith and Enlightenment of the Sacred Fig.

(Additional details locked behind Servant’s True Name)

It has been enhanced by the effect of Sensible Blessing of Laz, itself accelerated by the invocation of Lancer’s Noble Phantasm.

“I can see the understanding in your eyes,” Lancer speaks upon noticing Maria’s gaze. “You know you stand in the presence of a god. Do you realize now? The folly of your defiance?”

It is then that Maria bothers to look around, noticing the line of Nazi soldiers aiming at her from that rooftop, and the strange flying machines hovering above her. They are weird designs she had only seen in conspiracy theory books and a secret dossier she caught a glimpse of in distant Zagreb.

“Tch,” she clicks her tongue, and the blazing power that is not hers purrs quietly as Maria’s heartbeat begins to match its own pulsation.

“Right, right,” Maria murmurs quietly, words only to herself and the other one in her body. “We’re pretty compatible, after all.”

It brings a weak chuckle to her lips. Some stupid voice she hates is spouting worthless crap, she guesses from speakers installed on the flying machines.

“Yeah, just like you, I just…I just want…”

To become someone who can be proud of herself.

“Right now, I just want…!”

*** ***

Sakura and Assassin have returned to the harsh streets of frozen Valparaiso. Darkness blankets the land, illumination coming from the distant argent aurora at the “edges” of the Singularity, the mysterious light from the top of the highest, southernmost hills, and the aura of radiance emanating from Lancer. All in all, there is sufficient light to move comfortably, and just enough darkness for Sakura to feel somewhat confident trying stealth. In her gloved hands she carries a rocket launcher identical to those used by the Nazis, which Assassin literally picked up from the snow-covered street.

“Don’t think too hard about it. Just be grateful it’s here,” were Assassin’s words in response to Sakura’s sheer disbelief at what she would decry a convenient plot device were she reading a novel.

They had taken the long route around the block behind the school-like building on whose rooftop stood the soldiers, aiming for the opposite side of the square. Create a distraction, and the draw Maria’s attention so that they escape together…

“This is never going to work,” Sakura declares.

“Glad to hear you agree. Now I take my leave.”

“Eh?”

The hooded blonde merely shrugs.

“Like I said, I’m not risking being noticed by Lancer. Trust me on this, I’ll add to your distraction when the time—aw crud!”

Sakura does not even have time to gasp when Assassin roughly grabs her and throws herself into the nearest residence. She is about to complain when she hears the unfamiliar humming sound, and inevitably gasps when the things become visibly in the sky, flying over the house and towards the square.

Three bizarre flying machines, their spinning rotors humming somewhat ominously. Bluish sparks of electricity jumped around the bottom of their lightbulb-like shapes.

“What in the world…?”

“Sorry about that,” Assassin says, her sight fixated on the flying machines. “Don’t trust my Presence Concealment to work on those things. Well, if they can see through walls we’re screwed.”

“Wha-what are those things!?”

“Some of Rider’s toys. I think the English name is, um, ‘foo fighters’? Anyway, you have to move. I’ll stay close.”

Sakura is a product of the Luviagelita Edelfelt’s Spartan training. While it is in her nature to seek and believe in the good will of others, she has been thoroughly educated in the folly of being overly trusting.

She looks down at the rocket launcher; the weapon she has modified with Alteration magecraft.

“Why don’t you try imbuing the rocket with your Hollow?”

She wants to; she really wants to get answers from this creepy, know-it-all Servant. But Sakura sees no viable way to subdue her, especially with Assassin being aware of her possessing the Hollow element effective against spirits. So, Sakura leaves the house with rocket launcher in hand, carefully returning to the square from a side street, keeping close to the wall to avoid the sight of the soldiers posted on that roof. She fights the hammering in her chest and the tenseness of her muscles reluctant to move.

It weighs upon her: the awareness that she is not Luviagelita Edelfelt. That unlike her reliable partner, she is terrible at pretending she is fearless. She cannot power through the obstacles in her way with sheer prowess and confidence like Luvia or her sister.

Sakura only knows how to endure.

And she is terrifying good at enduring.

The temperature has dropped below minus thirty degrees, but she is not aware of it. Her gloved fingers are slightly numb, but she can guarantee they will pull the trigger when the time comes. Her legs are soaked with every step sinking into the thick snow, but each step remains steady and firm.

Sakura Edelfelt does not have the luxury of deciding her fate. Her life belongs to somebody else, so she cannot afford to die in this frozen city.

She hears the crackling of electricity, a fearsome sound. Even with buildings on the way, she can see the strange flying devices hovering in a triangle formation, she suspects over Maria’s position. Sakura feels a strange tingling deep in her body, and it takes her a moment to realize it is not a wholly physical sensation. She guesses the foo fighters are doing something, but she cannot begin to figure out what. On the other hand, she can also hear some sort of discussion.

“I was about to slay her!” complains Lancer, clearly irate for whatever reason.

“You were talking too long,” a new voice retorts. It is a potent, booming voice, clearly artificially amplified. Apparently, the flying machines are equipped with an audio system.

“My strategy is safe and without flaw,” continues the voice. “My Feuebälle disrupt her Saint Graph and restrain her movement.”

“Then I will deal the finishing blow!”

“Your Noble Phantasm will also be disrupted. My soldiers will gun her down.”

“How insolent!”

Sakura comes to understand that Lancer and Rider are competing for the right to deal the finishing blow. It makes her want to roll her eyes, but she will not complain if it gives her more time. She approaches the corner of the school-like building, just meters away from the car that was crushed by Maria and Lancer’s aura whip not too long ago. Weapon resting on her shoulder, she sneakily takes a glance at the whole scene…

Maria struggles to stand up. Her movements are awkward, spastic, like she’s trying to get on her feet in the middle of a seizure. The hovering foo fighters slowly set a rotation centered on Maria’s position, their electrical hum like something out of a sci-fi movie. The speakers spout the worth of defeating the hated opponent for the glory of the Fourth Reich in Rider’s voice, while Lancer demands Maria’s life to be offered to his goddesses. The scene is bizarrely surreal to her.

Then, the situation changes.

It is not a visible change, only something that can be felt by those who know and perceive magical energy. It is an intrusive, unsettling feeling, like invisible, syrupy tentacles spreading in every direction and unabashedly exploring, prodding and caressing everywhere.

It is Maria’s—no, Saver’s—magical energy, rapidly accumulating and expanding. And that gets everybody’s attention. Even Rider who is not present can somehow perceive and react to the change, which suggested to Sakura that the foo fighters include cameras and perhaps even more arcane sensory devices.

“What…” murmurs the Servant of the spear, instinctively taking a defensive stance against the slowly-standing young woman.

“Tha…tha—that’s preposterous! Her structure should be weakened by your spear and disrupted by the Feuerbälle! She should not be able to stand on her feet!”

The machine’s hum intensifies, and so do the jumping sparks at their bottoms, until they leap from device to device becoming a triangle of blue lightning. However, Maria cares not about this apparent new threat. Even with her body shaking as if wishing to break apart, the blonde girl just grits her teeth, plants her feet on the ground, and yells at the top of her lungs.

*** ***

Strength. Power. Rage. Defiance. Battle. Mercilessness. Victory.

All these things define the Servant Saver.

All these are things Maria Westinghouse is wishing for.

An unstoppable force.

Servant and host become one.

“I just want to win!”

(BGM)

It is a blaze.

While Lancer’s can be called orderly, restrained, carefully directed, the gold radiance enveloping Maria is a raging bonfire, almost twice as tall as she is. She has become a beacon of light, the aura so rich it looks like a rising waterfall of incandescent liquid gold. Wrapped in awesome radiance, Maria calmly pulls up her facemask.

There is no weakness. There is no fragility.

There is only

Saver

Maria Westinghouse

, and enemies to be crushed.

Wise Up! (Saver)

Nemesis – A++
A Skill suitable for Servants whose legend sets them as an adversary to a specific another. It represents a figure that opposed, challenged and harassed their destined archrival, becoming the agent of their downfall. It grants the power and willpower to maintain ceaseless pursuit of the destined opponent, which to a degree makes this Skill related to Stalking. Furthermore, this Skill modifiers the Servant’s other Skills, boosting their effects when used against the Servant’s fated rival.
(Additional Information Locked – Requires “Void’s Refuse”)

Status Changes

Saver Skills Activated:
· Counter Hero (boosted by Nemesis to D++): Lancer rank-down to STR and AGI.
· Defiant Virago (boosted by Nemesis to B++): effect of enemy Noble Phantasm negated; MGI rank restored to B.
· Effect of Feuerball successfully resisted.
· Great Crown Inversion Impulse in effect.

“Tch! Why don’t they work anymore!?” Rider’s shouts saturate the speakers’ amplifiers. “Lancer, what’s with your pathetic Noble Phantasm!?”

The Nazi officer is ignored. Lancer carefully, fiercely stares at the incandescent swordswoman.

“That melam…explain that melam at once, Saber!”

Instead, Maria raises her sword and slices to the side. One of the foo fighters promptly crashes on the ground in two pieces.

A German expletive resounds out of the remaining two machines.

“What’re you waiting? Kill her! Fire!”

“Too fuckin’ slow,” Maria, on the rooftop with her back to the soldiers, says to herself just before the high place is bathed in a succession of golden flashes. The worthless soldiers, never possessing of life in the first place, are effortlessly undone.

Maria’s insolence does not extend to Lancer, quickly turning to face the whipping aura of decay. This time, however, she meets it with her sword bathed in golden radiance, and the intangible attack is parried away. Lancer, apparently expecting this result, is already in midleap, and the long metal tip of his bulky weapon clashes with Maria’s heavy blade. As if to response to Lancer’s insolent aggression, the golden radiance surrounding Maria grows even larger and taller.

The pseudo-Servant tries to push Lancer back from whence he came, but the armored man is agile and uses his own weapon pressing against Maria’s to vault over her head and land behind her. Naturally, as soon as his feet touch the ground, he has to turn around to meet Maria’s next attack.

“Guh!” Lancer grunts as he found himself pushed back by a superior force.

“Hmph.”

One strike becomes two, which become three, which become twenty-seven. Speed and power amalgamated in a display of martial exchanges challenging the limits of visual perception. An instant later, Lancer has retreated three steps back, and Maria follows without missing a beat, her aura also pulsating and slowly growing mightier.

Lancer finds himself on the defensive, not because he was aiming to delay.

Her attacks remain brutish, overextended, and thoroughly straightforward. But there is now variation in the angles of attack, fluid sequencing of attack motions, application of momentum to direct the patterns of attack, and adaptation to his own movements to correct and improve on her own.

There is technique.

Technique worthy of a Servant wielding a sword.

“You…!” gasps out Lancer. “Are you claiming your power defies that of a living god!?”

“Sure.”

Deflecting a spear thrust to his right side, Maria twirls clockwise like a figure skater. Before Lancer can even think of pulling back in response to her approach, Maria switches her blade to her left hand, using the now-free right hand to grab the shaft of the spear and leap over it, delivering a roundhouse kick to Lancer’s face. When her feet return to solid ground, her blade is already back in her right hand. Now on the other side of the polearm and with her back to the other Servant, she completes her rotation with a spinning slash that a stumbling Lancer barely manages to duck under.

It is Lancer’s talent at combat that allows him to regain his footing and meet Maria’s ensuing assault straight on, but when his horizontal swipe of the heavy spear and dodged and Maria rolls under it and to Lancer’s left flank, he can barely set the spear’s shaft on the path of the slash that would have bisected him from left to right. Instead, the impact sends him flying off the rooftop and crashing into the very unfortunate car.

Maria wastes not a second. The moment she identifies Lancer’s landing spot, she hurries to leap off the rooftop, but abruptly stops at the edge. She does not know this, but Sakura stands right below her.

Suddenly, Maria broadens her stance and swings her sword to the right, to meet the great arrow aiming to impale her at the flank. The impact generates a bright flash that swallows Maria, and a ringing sound that makes Sakura shriek and hurriedly cover her ears. When the Japanese beauty opens her eyes, she is met with Lancer’s displeased stare.

“This is no place for the likes of you, magus,” he commands in a steely voice. “Leave at once, for it pains me to admit I cannot guarantee your safety.”

“Do as he says, Sakura,” adds Maria an instant before intercepting three more arrows. There is no reason so seek cover; at this point, her awesome radiance has grown to make her a beacon visible from most of the city.

Lancer has already jumped off the wrecked automobile, and looks up at Maria with disgust.

“Answer me, swordswoman! Who are you!?”

The swordswoman in question knocks away another arrow and looks down at the inquirer, her blazing radiance matching the intensity of the hostility in her eyes.

“Your doom.”

Decision Time (Maria)

Harmonization of Servant and host has reset the combat sequence.

Choose your tactic:
OR OR

In case of choosing Arts, you may also choose the priority target:

• Prioritize Lancer.
• Prioritize Archer.
• Prioritize Sakura.

Decision Time (Sakura)

The circumstances have rendered the original “distraction” plan moot. However, Sakura does still have a rocket launcher.

1. Fire at Lancer, and the escape.
2. Fire at the ground between the fighting Servants, and then escape.
3. Do nothing, just escape.
4. Just do nothing.
5. Write-in.

[SleepMode]

Holy shit this is intense, really hyped to see what happens next.

Maria: Arts ~ Prioritize Archer

Sakura: 2 ~ Fire @ ground between the Servants, then escape

[Spartacus]

Holy shit this is intense, really hyped to see what happens next.

Maria: Arts ~ Prioritize Archer

Sakura: 2 ~ Fire @ ground between the Servants, then escape

Same choice.

Lancer identity supposed to be obvious by now but I know nothing about Babylonian myth.

Rider on the other hands, I have a hunch.

[Rafflesiac]

Damn that was a hype ascension.

Buster and ​3

[34]

Buster
2

[SpoonyViking]

Buster
3

[Bird of Hermes]

The hype continues;
Buster
2

[Daneel Rush]

Quest Master's Confession

This was supposed to be much longer, but I only got this far and I didn't want to delay the next post any longer. I'm having trouble writing the next part of the Servant fight to my satisfaction, but I can only persevere. The day is almost over, let's see how thing end up.

Bismarck Square, Cerro Cárcel, Valparaíso
Day 02
Evening Phase - 09
Severe Cold (-31 °C/-24 °F)
Snowfall



(BGM)

Servant Lancer, temporarily bearing the epithet “of the Black Sun” at his Master’s behest, feels far from defeated. Servant Saber has admittedly surprised him with a sudden rise in both power and technique, sufficient to render his first Noble Phantasm useless, but he would not be a Heroic Spirit if that were enough to make him throw the towel.

Furthermore, he is no mere spearman. He is a King. He is a living God. He is chosen by the Goddess of Victory.

The swordswoman looks down on him from that nearby rooftop, her vivid melam over eight meters tall. Her eyes are no longer those of a human being, which furthers his suspicions that he is fighting some sort of demon. But, what kind of demonic creature could possess such powerful melam? What first comes to mind is the vile Dimme, but that infant-killing abomination is no wielder of swords.

Then, the woman standing on the snow rests the tubular weapon on her shoulder and sets her finger on the trigger. It does not quite seem she is aiming at him, but…

“Stop! Drop that weapon at—!”

Maria relies not on words, and in a flash appears to Sakura’s right, and her sword strikes down the arrow that would have killed the Edelfelt lady. The air displaced by the impact is enough to send Sakura tumbling down on the snow, the rocket launcher slipping off her hands.

“Sakura!” shouts Maria admonishingly, and the voice does make the older woman tremble to her shoulders. However, no more can be said, for now both women are looking in the direction of Costa Mirador Building, and they can see twinkling lights like stars in the night sky.

Lancer understands what happened. Their Master’s instruction to leave the people to their devices are clear; their only enemies in this singularity are Servants opposing their desire. They are to strike against humans only if humans explicitly act against them Servants. That is how Archer has interpreted this woman’s action.

“Archer, stop—!”

Of course, Archer cannot listen.

Maria finds herself occupied intercepting a barrage of dozens of arrows, each almost as long as her blade. This time, she cannot dodge, for Sakura is right behind her, her butt planted on the snow, paralyzed by the realization that this time she is most definitely way over her head.

“Sakura!”

“Ah, um, I-I’m sorry!“

“Around the corner! Move!”

“Ah! Ye-yes!”

Lancer watches the pathetic scene of the admittedly-beautiful woman crawling on all fours around the corner of the building, presumably aiming to move out of Archer’s sight. That she has done, keeping to the wall of the building until even Lancer himself could not see her anymore. He is completely aware of the opportunity presented to him, of course. However, he does not take it. Instead of attacking Maria…

“Wait! You bastard!”

Lancer allows Maria to misunderstand, as he dashes behind her and after the other woman. However, what he finds around the corner is not a lone, frightened woman, but a frightened woman struggling against a second woman’s hold and the monstrous hand covering her mouth. He makes no effort to conceal his disgust at the sight of the female Servant.



“Assassin.”

“Hiya,” greets the blonde in a cheerful tone, her voice perhaps purposely loud to be heard over Maria’s efforts stopping Archer’s assault. “No harming the people, I know.”

“I have no need of your assistance fighting Saber. Leave and take that woman with you.”

Assassin snorts.

“You think I want to fight that monster? No need to tell me twice, I’m here just to take this lovely lady away to safety…if she’ll just…stop…struggling! Sheesh, we’ve got a wild one here!”

“She is unsettled by your hands, demon.”

“Huh? Ah! Crap, I keep forgetting they’re like this now. My bad! Bear with it for a bit longer, okay?”

Sakura replies with a muffled scream and more futile attempts to break free.

“Worthless fools, the two of you!” A furious voice from two sets of speakers. “Lancer, Archer is pinning the enemy in place! Go and kill her—”

A smack of the great spear crashes one of the foo fighters into the other, both machines exploding into a shower of worthless scrap metal.

“Oh, I wanted somebody to do that all this goddamned time,” Assassin confesses. “Thank you, Your Divine Majesty.”

“Disappear from my sight, Assassin. I grow tired of your filthiness.”

“Aye-aye, sir.”

With Assassin and the woman gone, there is nothing holding Lancer back anymore. Nothing restrains him from returning to the fight, or even taking advantage of Archer’s intrusion. He turns around, ready to attack Maria as soon as he walks around the corner—

“I’ve had enough of you! DISAPPEAR!”

The rooftop of Costa Mirador Building is swallowed by a sweeping wave of golden radiance.

*** ***

(BGM)

Sthūla-Śarīra.

Javier Lucero has practiced this spell more than any other he knows. He understood the advantage of wielding a body optimized for maximum physical performance, so he honed himself until he could perform in a single breath.

Sthūla-Śarīra is the signature Reinforcement spell of the Orthodox Theosophy system. To its creator, Madame Blavatsky, it was the instrument of detachment. A first step towards becoming something greater. However, the enlightenment she sought lay in the opposite direction. She sought to reject the barriers of physicality, and enter communion with the Mahatmas. She longed for the stars, fruitlessly seeking things greater than the things of this planet.

Sthūla-Śarīra. It is the reaffirmation of its caster as “a thing of this world”. It is man, who once rejected Gaia, reaching for it once again. It is communion with the World—becoming a cell reconnected to the organism that is the Planet.

Javier Lucero knows this only in his mind. He knows, but he does not know. He holds the words in his memory, for he learned them from the study of Madame Blavatsky’s work. But he does not understand, because Javier Lucero has only looked at himself.

However, at this precise moment, as the undead squeezes his neck, closing his airpath and blocking the major vessels carrying blood to the brain, at the threshold between consciousness and oblivion, Javier Lucero’s conscious mind relinquishes control if only for an instant.

Without the restraints of self-centered, individualistic thought, Sthūla-Śarīra can manifest its true meaning. Unfortunately, there is no use to that true meaning if the magus is not conscious to partake of it. Yet, as the consciousness of a single man sinks into the immensity that is Gaia, something else stirs awake.

Somewhere yet nowhere, outside of the mortal frame yet very close to that human male, a coven of spirits gathers in council. Discussion, decision and agreement follow.

The path set for the man upon which they have placed their hopes and wishes, is now set before him.

*** ***

Drake Family Residence, Cerro Concepción, Valparaíso
Temperate (13 °C/55 °F; Indoors)
Severe Cold (-30 °C/-22 °F; Outdoors)
Snowfall

Character Status

Health: Stable -> Poor
Sustenance: Good
Warmth: Optimal
Stamina: Good -> Stable

(BGM)

Everything has become hazy to Javier Lucero. His lungs scream for air, and his mind is a vague blank, incapable of shaping proper thoughts. Yet, his arms remain taut, closed around the undead’s neck as if mirroring its actions, his strength seemingly unimpeded by asphyxiation.

Such is the nature of Sthūla-Śarīra: acknowledging the limitations imposed by the closed windpipe and limited blood flow to the brain, it has reallocated the body’s resources to sustaining its fight.

However, Javier Lucero resists unconsciousness. It is petty, desperate pride: the man who has already passed out twice in the same day struggles to resist a third instance. That kind of infantile pride would not sustain a human being, though. It is a void that pushes him forward.

A hole in his mind; an image that cannot take shape, for reasons unrelated to his current diminishment in brain function.

He does not remember it, and that is precisely why it is important. Perhaps it is not desperate pride, but prideful desperation. The boy who only needed to look after himself grew into a man who can only look after himself. A certain woman in a dream (?) accused him of looking only at himself, but this is solely because, for the longest time, Javier Lucero has only had himself. It is self-centeredness, yes, but it is not arrogance.

Javier Lucero is self-centered the way the homeless dog digging through the trash is self-centered.

He only has himself: his life, his magic, his experiences—the things that he can call truly his own. At the brink of oblivion, as his brain struggles not to shut itself down, what comes to his mind is not his parents, his former classmates, his colleagues at so many odd jobs, or even the amusing young woman who is challenging the frozen city by his side.

It is the unacceptable gap in his memory.

There is nothing more important than that which has been taken from you.

He opens his mouth, but no words and no cries pour out of it. His hands finally let go of the zombie’s neck, sliding almost gently over its shoulders and along the length of its arms, stopping on the inside of its wrists.

Then, he begins to push.

The zombie has no awareness in its lifeless irises, but the one looking through those eyes is met by a gaze not belonging to a dying man. What should be the last struggle of a man burning the last wick of the candle that is his life, burns instead with the quiet ferocity of the hare willing to bite the neck of the hound that cornered it.

He cannot speak. He can barely think. But Javier Lucero refuses to die in this place, under these circumstances.

He is angry. He is furious. At the frozen city, at the wandering undead, at the Nazi soldiers, at the incarnated legends summoned to wreak havoc in this city, at his own weakness, at the gap in his memories he just became aware of, at somebody’s dark design that messed up his fate until he’s ended up fighting for his life against a goddamned zombie in a frozen jewelry store.

Ever since he finished high school, he has lived on his own, desperately struggling to make ends meet. But that struggle was the struggle he accepted for himself, living by his own rules, by his own choices.

He is not letting anybody, anybody, pull him out of the trail blazed by his own two feet. He will have his past, and his future, and some cake to go with it.

He doesn’t notice the smoke or the sizzling sound where his hands touch the zombie’s frozen skin. Only the one driving the zombie’s actions does. What Javier does notice is the slight decrease in pressure around his neck, and he immediately acts on it, drawing for a reserve of strength he was not aware he had.

It is not strength, however, that separates the zombie’s hands from Javier’s neck. It is the undead master’s reaction when its corpse puppet’s arms are set on fire.

Of course, the young man falls on his knees, desperately taking in the precious air. He pants heavily, the sudden inrush of blood to his brain triggering a stinging headache and visual saturation. That abrupt return to consciousness also brings the intense awareness that staying there regaining his senses is not a privilege he has. He reels back, but his back is already against the wall. As the white disappears from his sight, he feebly raises his hands to face level like a rookie boxer.

The zombie stands not in front of him. It has already set on a new course of action, of course. The flames spread throughout its body, but that only means it’s become a zombie on fire. It will not stop until its body can’t move anymore. And the worst thing is that it is currently using those same flames to destroy the barricade at the base of the stairs. The stacked furniture goes up in flames. The message is clear: Javier can’t just hope the zombie will burn to ashes.

It has enough time to kill Oliver Drake.

So, what does a young man without knowledge or experience in combat do when he runs out of options?

He howls, only for his own sake. The zombie sees him coming and takes a step back, but it is not quick enough. The charging Javier trips on the undead’s shin, and the two crash against the wall adjacent to the stairs. Javier stretches his hand without looking, catching the unliving hand reaching for his face, as if uncaring that he is grabbing a hand that is on fire. The zombie is seated on the snow, while Javier is on his knees. Pulling the walking death towards himself, Javier smashes his right fist on the undead’s face, which busts into flames on impact.

Javier doesn’t think about it. His brain has entered a mode that renders that degree of reflection impossible.

The zombie’s head jerks back, barely out of fist range, so Javier’s next punch goes to the center of its chest. Again, flames sprout at the point of impact. Intercepting the thumb aiming for his right eye, Javier leans back, pulling the zombie along by the two burning arms he is holding to then kick its chest with both feet, flinging the animated corpse backwards with explosive power.

His body tells him that the best thing to do is to just go with the inertia and lay prone on the snow. Instead, he stumbles back on his feet, wobbly feet almost sending him back to the ground until his back came to rest on the wall next to the burning, undone barricade. His clothes are soaked in his own sweat; the warmth spread throughout his whole body is nigh-unbearable.

The zombie is burning, its entire body clad in flames. It, too, tries to stand up, even as its flesh burns with unsettling, crackling sounds like a log in the bonfire. When it tries to push itself with its hands, its burning fingers break off its hands. Javier grimaces as the chilling wind cannot blow away the stench. Finally, the corpse falls on its back, as if giving up on everything.

And just like that, Javier too slides down the wall, letting his butt rest on the snow.

Status Change

Health: Poor
Sustenance: Good
Warmth: Optimal -> Stable
Stamina: Stable
Magic circuits closed.

He knows there are things to do, and things to think about.

“Aah, fuck everything.”

Unfortunately, there is still a pile of burning furniture less than three steps away. No time for a break. Or rather, Javier has already rested more than enough this day. The sun has fallen, the cold has strengthened, and the struggle continues.

Path Progression

Because Javier Lucero has chosen to seize his past rather than accept the present or welcome the future, the Path of Regression has opened to him.

Accept the investiture of divinity. Accept the burden of the World. Accept the folly of your people.

Circuit Quantity D replaced with Regression Quantity E.
Circuit Quality C replaced with Regression Quality E.
Regression Composition defined as Induced Divine Spirit Metamorphosis – Villarica Ngen-füta-winkul Variant.

You may select one and only one Regression Step among the following:

1. While Sthūla-Śarīra is active, you may also cast Fireball.
2. While Sthūla-Śarīra is active, your unarmed physical attacks also have the effect of Fireball.
3. While Sthūla-Śarīra is active, whenever you are struck by a melee attack, the target suffers the effect of Fireball.
4. While Sthūla-Śarīra is active, your Warmth parameter is fixed at Optimal no matter the weather conditions. It can still be increased or decreased by magical effects.