“Come on! What are you—stop standing there like idiots!”
After a short break, the time had come for their next assault. Rider did not have infinite magical energy, so she could not afford to splurge on huge magical beasts—nothing bigger than an adult human, really. However, the walls were broken, so there was no real need for the big beasts anymore. The time had come to rape and pillage.
But the assault had stopped before it truly began. The changing, cheering, shouting madmen she called her subordinates slowly, gradually came to a halt, standing dully in the middle of the field. Some stretched as if they had just awakened from the most pleasant sleep of their lives. Some let go and fell on the grass, admiring the night sky or simply falling asleep on the spot. It was as if the pleasant night breeze had cooled their tempers and blown away their will to fight or do much of anything.
“What the fuck’s wrong with you!? Get up! Get up and fight!”
“Nay, nay, these children cannot fight anymore.”
Rider had suspected it by this point, of course, but it was nonetheless infuriating to see her Caster-class “sister” placidly walking towards her incapacitated army.
“It shouldst beest grossly obvious by this point, but mine own thaumaturgy is mightier than thy force of personality.”
It was the reason the (unofficial) Chiyou power scale was divided between “stronger than” and “weaker than” Rider. Perhaps the most accurate scale was “those who can” and “those who cannot” overcome Rider’s Noble Phantasm.
Rider’s might as a Servant rested on the numbers she could amass. Saber and Berserker were broken monsters to whom numbers were irrelevant, and Assassin could tear apart her army with
Banner of Chiyou. And then there was Caster’s own Noble Phantasm.
The taller Chiyou paid closer attention to the environment around them. It should have been the same open fields stretching eastward from the walls of Rome. It was the same field; the difference was in the little details: the soft caress of the wind, the soothing aroma of the grass, the lulling song of the cicadas; the way the noise from the collapsing city had been muted, leaving only the peaceful presence of nature.
“You used…your Noble Phantasm…on yourself!?”
“I am always at peace,” declared Caster. “And now I am one with the World.”
Rider could only click her tongue, all the while drawing her own sword. She knew it was not her
Magic Resistance that allowed her to somewhat ignore Caster’s Noble Phantasm. It was the fact that they were both Chiyou—they all had a degree of immunity to their fellow aspects’ powers.
Banner of Chiyou did not work on any of them, for that matter. That meant…
“Good for you,” Rider began. “You reduced this fight to a one-one-one.” The sword in her hand swayed from side to side in a dismissive gesture. “But that’s it. The moment we start fighting, your inner peace will be disturbed. And then my guys’ll snap out of it and we’ll beat your tiny ass.”
“I do not see why that would be the case.”
Rider wanted to laugh. She wanted to mock the sheer ridiculousness of what Caster was implying. But she could not; not when faced with the tiny Servant’s calm countenance, lacking any trace of humor or unease. Truly, there was nothing but peace in that cute face.
“To defeat thee while maintaining mine own heart and mind completely at peace. Without raising mine heartbeat; without feeling alarm, tension ‘r hostility. Without losing countenance and without feeling pain.”
Caster began a leisure walk forward, as if uncaring of the enemy armed with a sword some twenty paces away.
“’tis a fair and interesting handicap. Let us doth our best, Rider.”
****************************
The fight began immediately. Their opponent was a “pure” Berserker—a mad, uncaring combat machine, incapable of reason or communication, so they found themselves the target of his mad charge the moment he caught glimpse of their approach.
It was a giant, taller than Asterios or even Darius III. A big, hulking, mostly humanoid lump of muscles; its entire body blackened the color of scorched iron. It had decent speed, and its physical might was top-class. The Master pointedly avoided looking at the lumps of flesh scattered in the vicinity—the remnants of the poor fools who happened to be nearby when he was summoned.
The situation was not good for them.
Lancer Alter was slower than this Berserker, and risked being squashed like a bug every single time she tried a hit-and-run attack. Furthermore, her Noble Phantasm had to be used sparingly at this point. It was Momu who took the monster head-on, grabbing its attention and relying on the difference in size and maneuverability to stay away from Berserker’s huge, flailing limbs. Unfortunately, this meant Momu did not have the opportunity to user her
Witchcraft to boost her spear’s anti-Spirit capabilities.
The problem was exacerbated by the two Servants proving incapable of focusing entirely on the huge threat in front of them. He, too, was busy looking around for the one who summoned the giant: Chiyou’s Rider, the one dressed like a Middle Eastern dancer. Chiyou’s Assassin, the one clad in the black and wearing a skull mask, stood mere steps behind him. He had no reason to hope in that one protecting him from Rider; in fact, he felt it was just as likely Assassin would stab him in the back any second now.
So, this was when he had to come up with a plan.
This was also when Berserker began to breathe fire.
“A fire-breathing giant summoned on the Aventine Hill,” murmured the masked Assassin. For a close distance, that voice…could it perhaps belong to a woman? “It couldn’t be any more obvious by this point. “
“You know who he is,” said the young Master.
“You have a lot of studying to do if you can’t tell who he is by now, Master of Chaldea,” replied the definitely-female Assassin. Her voice carried the tinge of demeaning scorn only women were capable of. “It’s the offspring of Vulcan, slain by Hercules for daring to steal the cattle he himself had stolen from Geryon.”
“Spare me the stab at my uncultured mind,” he said tiredly. “Can you figure out what his Noble Phantasm may be?”
Assassin harrumphed, taking the few steps that placed her on his right side.
“You look calm, considering the situation.”
It was, truly, worrisome to watch. The giant’s smashing blows shook the ground every single time they missed the enemy that did not even reach his waist. It looked and sounded like Berserker was attempting to flatten the Roman hill with his bare hands. Berserker and Momu had disappeared within the dust cloud raised by those ground-shattering blows, and there was no longer the slightest hint of their battlefield having been the city’s cattle market. The wooden stands and the columns of the nearby temple of Hercules had been shattered in the first minute of the fight. Whenever Berserker tried to engulf Momu in a stream of flames, the small Lancer slid between his legs, and Berserker quickly corrected itself before she could land a blow to his back. It was a standstill, but the Master doubted Momu could win in a protracted battle.
“I don’t feel it. The terror I felt when we fought Heracles.”
The sheer, indescribable feeling of intimidation. The certainty of encroaching death. None of it was present at that moment.
“We can win. That’s the feeling I have right now.”
The masked Assassin studied the boy’s profile for a few seconds.
“You…already have a plan.”
The Master nodded.
“It’s not much of a plan. Momu must be thinking the same thing, but there’s a problem.”
Ahead of them, Momu scored a glancing blow to the giant’s shin at the same time Artoria struck its right flank. Right after that, Chiyou Lancer had to smash Berserker’s right arm before it could impact Artoria’s Llamrei, allowing the mounted Servant to gallop away.
“Lancer Alter can only use hit-and-run attacks. She can’t go toe to toe with that Berserker like Momu, and Momu needs time to use her
Witchcraft on her spear.”
“So you want me to get in there.”
“No, no; please keep an eye for Rider. I feel this guy doesn’t have any
Magic Resistance, so…”
He shouted Lancer Alter’s name a moment before stopping Berserker with his Gandr. On cue, Artoria’s charge crashed the tip of her lance on the back of the giant’s right knee, forcing it to stumble and drop its weight on it. Momu had moved the moment the Master opened his mouth, and the young man felt deeply touched by trust he did not believe he had earned. Nonetheless, the small Servant was already working on her exorcism tool—
A gasp escaped his mouth when the little Lancer was blown to the side by an invisible attack—no, it was a pressure wave. Artoria held an expletive in her mouth and rode away before Gandr’s effect came to an end.
“Rider…!” The Master growled while the scantily clad Servant pleasantly walked to her Servant’s side.
“Oh, so the Master of Chaldea knows irritation. Cute.” Her smile was a wordless taunt. “I won’t apologize for getting in the way of your plan; I would like for things to go my way for once. Now, Berserker dear—”
“You really should think twice before doing what you’re about to do,” Assassin spoke the loudest she had in the short time the Master had known her. The huge Berserker growled, but his summoner’s hand on his side stilled its nigh-uncontrollable rage.
“And why should I listen to the weakest Servant ever summoned?”
“Uh, no, I have the weakest Servant ever summoned. He’s in the Avenger class—”
“His Noble Phantasm,” Assassin continued, making it a point of speaking louder than the irreverent Master. “If that Berserker is Cacus, the son of Vulcan, then there’s only one thing his Noble Phantasm could be. And it’s worthless.”
Before Rider could voice her outrage, Assassin calmly pointed at Artoria Lancer Alter.
“See that lance? It can break through his Noble Phantasm like it’s made of papier-mâché. So, just, stand aside and let the short one finish the job.”
Artoria’s horse carefully paced itself so that the two Lancers stood together. Momu’s plain spear glowed an intimidating argent. It was an exorcism tool, possessing the power to banish spirits, now further empowered to weaken and maybe even shatter the bond between the record of the Servant’s existence and the Saint Graph which grounded it onto the World. The two Lancers looked at each other.
“Can I leave it to you?”
Momu nodded.
“Focus of the child. His safety matters more than anything else.”
They did not allow Rider the privilege of choice. Artoria charged like a shooting star, carried by her mighty steed and empowered by
Mana Burst. She struck Berserker’s abdomen without mercy and without fear, for the giant, in all his madness, recognized the greater threat charging right behind her and thus could not afford the time to return her blow. Artoria rode safely away, leaving Momu to take the fight against Berserker to its conclusion.
At the same time, the Master of Chaldea jumped backwards—a meaningless gesture, because Rider was at least an order of magnitude faster.
“You really are a pest!” shouted the brown-skinned dancer as she rushed to seemingly extinguish his life with her bare hands. She all but barked in laughter when the dark-garbed Assassin interposed herself, drawing a rather large sword for one of her Servant class. Her attack was obviously superhuman, but even the young Master could tell that, by Servant standards, it was pathetically slow.
“I guess pests stick together, after all!” Rider was laughing as she effortlessly danced around Assassin’s rough strikes, leading her for a few seconds until she had enough and blew her away with another kiss-triggered pressure wave. The Assassin in dark armor landed almost ten yards away.
“Becoming dogfood is more than a loser like you deserves.”
Assassin had already noticed the beasts. Plain, mangy dogs, the likes of which probably made a living scavenging for scraps in that very market, loomed closer and closer by each passing second. Their eyes glowed with unnatural intelligence and drive. Their foaming mouths revealed fangs stained in the blood of Romans. They had ceased to be ordinary animals. But
Banner of Chiyou had no effect on common animals—
Assassin roared together with the beasts when a pack of a dozen or so leapt at her as one, leaving the Master of Chaldea facing a grinning dancer. He felt like smiling a bit himself, but not quite yet.
“So, anything to say, boy?”
“Hey Artoria.”
This time, Lancer Alter was the faster one, literally impaling Rider with her great lance until she lifted the dancer’s feet off the ground. The beautiful woman howled in pain all the while Artoria held her aloft like some sort of trophy, until she finally flung her away like a piece of dirt staining her weapon. Rider was thrown like a useless scrap, and her body crashed through a wooden window into a plain building.
“Hey Master.”
A crooked smile formed on the young man’s face, almost mirroring that of his Servant.
“I think you enjoyed that a little too much. Please help that Assassin.”
“You think she cannot deal with them?”
“Of course she can. No reason not to help her.”
Artoria grunted, sending a glance at the more ferocious battle taking place some ways away before charging to trample some wild dogs.
Momu’s mind worked faster than her legs. Darting around the giant, ignoring the pain on her back and legs from countless fragments of rock, wood and marble, she fought under the assumption that a direct hit from that monster would be lethal. She had a great constitution, but that giant was truly strong. She felt it was her size which had saved her thus far.
At this rate, she could lose.
She could not defeat this giant with scratches and glancing blows. She needed a decisive blow, to allow her magic to wreck Berserker’s Saint Graph.
The gap between its attacks was too short.
As a Berserker, it automatically moved in the most straightforward—the fastest way to attack the immediate target.
It was just a matter of turning Berserker’s attention away from the others.
The sound of a heavy impact caught the others by surprise. The Servants immediately knew the fight was about to be decided.
Momu had blocked an attack instead of dodging. She gasped, her entire body seemingly struck numb by titanic strength traveling from her raised arms down her torso to her legs, and finally to the ground that became a tapestry of web cracks beneath her feet. It was a mere moment in which she was rendered still, incapable of moving or reacting to anything.
A second blow sent her flying like a bullet, crashing against the wall exactly eight yards behind her. A long breath later, Berserker engulfed that wall in a stream of divine flame.
“Lancer!”
“Don’t,” interrupted the Master, gesturing with his arm to stop Assassin’s intent to assist Chiyou. “This is her opening. Thanks to her Noble Phantasm.”
Certainly, the fire breath attack was slower to perform and cease than any physical blow. It was simply Berserker’s instinctive choice of action the moment his opponent left close-combat range.
The moment the flames began to recede, she jumped out from the stream, charging in a straight line to stab Berserker in the heart.
The giant did not react, and the group of three watching from afar feared it had some sort of
Battle Continuation Skill. Then its body burst into flames—its own flames, devoid of control.
The giant howled in agony. The little warrior did not stop.
The second stab went to the spleen. Berserker fell on its knees.
The third and fourth to the lungs. Berserker jerked backwards as if he had been struck by one of its own punches. It voiced its pain loudly enough to be heard by the entire city, but it still flailed wildly, hoping to crush the small Lancer beneath its fists. Momu threw herself to the side, rolling away from the immense limbs before delivering two more stabs, this time to the kidneys. Blood sprayed out of the wounds, almost to a comical degree.
The final strike was to the liver, and it completed the huge Servant’s complete shutdown. His massive bulk crashed face first on the ground, his body no longer burning from his own flame. Momu cautiously put some distance, but it was clear to everybody that Berserker was defeated; his Saint Graph was already breaking apart and on the verge of scattering into loose spiritrons.
“You are too kind.” Momu’s soft voice, full of gratitude upon receiving his healing, was a balsam to his tired heart.
“That was great. Thank you for your hard work.”
Momu looked down, her small body shrunk in a recognizable posture of demure embarrassment. Artoria circled around them, seemingly pleased by the fall of their great enemy.
“Hmm, this was a complete victory. Now we have to deal with Ride—”
And then there was light. Blinding, fierce, eye-searing, to a degree even the Servants had to protect their sight.
“What’s going o—” The Master heard himself shouting.
Then came the roar, announcing the advent of a nightmare.
Originally Posted by venomking
