Mata Hari danced, surrounded by flame. Drums and tambourines accompanied her, but they were both irrelevant and unnecessary. The rhythm came from her and existed only within her. She danced and paraded, and in her passing all men stopped and stared, all the while wondering what they had been doing just before. And right behind the dancer, Cleopatra’s soldiers rushed in with buckets of water to put out the many fires that threatened Alexandria.
Mata Hari danced, leaving behind a throng of confused males while pushing herself towards the men smothered in a beastly haze. Hers was the dance of peace, bringing much-needed calm to the Alexandrian evening.
*********///*********
Lap pillow.
That was the first thought that struck him upon regaining the sense of self.
Countless experiences have fine-tuned a potent sense of awareness in the Master of Chaldea. Somewhat specific in scope, but potent nonetheless. Looking up, he found himself pierced by the deep stare of a great beauty. He paid little heed to the strange yet beautiful globes of glass that filled the gloomy and dusty chamber with eerie gray light. He did not mind her impossibly pale skin or the dark spots under her eyes. He did not even pay that much attention to the black feathers on the hem of her dress, or wasted any time wondering how that dress even worked.
No, there was only her eyes. Her intense, piercing, passionate, oh-so-very familiar-looking eyes.
“…yep, I see where this is going,” he muttered quietly to himself.
“You are awake, brother,” greeted the woman with a heart-melting smile that might have just made him surrender had he not been the target of a smile just like that every single day of his life since the Orleans singularity.
He sent a wordless prayer full of gratitude to Kiyohime for preparing him for this.
He tried to get up, but even if her dainty hands had not effortlessly pushed him back down, a chill in his body rendered his muscles taut and his joints disabled. That was not normal.
As if responding to that thought, warm returned to his body from his chest outwards, as if his blood had stopped flowing until just before. That was even less normal.
“Settle down, dear,” said the woman. “You must be tired.”
“Ah, um, thank you.”
“No need to.”
The image of sweetness, devotion; unbridled affection. His mind ran through the events that brought him to that dimly lit chamber.
“…Artemisia?”
Joy. He had not known joy until that moment. Her face, contorted between smiling and holding back tears, shuddered in ways he should have found unsettling but could not help but see as heart-wrenchingly human.
“You remember my name…” The woman in black slid an impish finger along the curve of his lips, as if they were the most delicate thing in the world. Aware that she could stay like that forever if he did not push the conversation forward, the young Master tried his best.
“So, I take it we’re inside the Mausoleum.” He started by stating the obvious.
“Yes,” she said placidly. “The safest refuge for the two of us. We will not be bothered here.”
He was really counting on that not being the case.
“Our love will flourish within these walls, forever and ever…”
Yup, really hoping for that bother.
Trying to pretend her hands were not roaming his (so far still covered) chest rather possessively—and comfortably to a worrisome degree—, the young man tried to extract more info from the very talkative wife.
“Five Servants might pull it off,” he innocently suggested. “Making it here, I mean.”
Artemisia placed her hands on his cheeks, firmly holding his head in place.
“There is absolutely no need to worry, love. Even if they did overcome endless numbers of ghosts, they will be stopped by the demons. Or they will just get lost in here while we deal with them one by one. With the power of the Grail, this Mausoleum is invincible.”
That was certainly a lot of information. Firstly, there were demon guardians. Demons were always trouble. On the other hand, hearts! But more importantly, there was a Grail.
…but still, hearts!
He sent another prayer, this time hoping Mashu Hari (temp) would direct the collection of those precious, precious hearts.
“So, there is truly no reason for worry. No need to think about anything else but loving each other.”
Her lovely smile faltered for the first time since their meeting. The hands which had moved back down to his chest stilled near his shoulders, where a single finger began to trace ticklish circles.
“So, um…darling?”
“Yeah?”
“Well…it’s…I mean…” She turned her face slightly to the side, taking her eyes off him for the first time. Her pale skin made the growing blush on her cheeks all the more obvious and all the lovelier. “I know you must be tired, and we have only now found each other after forever, and we have all the time in the world from today onwards, but…well…could we…perhaps…?”
Her blushing face turned back down to face him properly, and he saw the new luster in her gleaming orbs that told him blatantly that things were moving in an interesting but very, very dangerous direction.
Alright. Interruption. Rrrrrrrrrright…now!
“May I join you for a while?” said a new voice, approaching slowly from the front, where the only entrance and exit loomed like a wide, gaping mouth to the abyss.
Thank you! Ow-ow-ow-ow-oww!
Artemisia’s hands closed on his shoulders, her nails like talons digging like the bird of prey holding to its soon-to-be-meal.
“What are you doing here?” The queen’s voice was a threat without words, but the newcomer replied to it with laughter. The strange, somewhat muffled sound came from a figure concealing her entire anatomy with dark clothing, including an ominous-looking, black horned mask that encased her whole head. While the long, modest dress could not hide her female attributes, it was not something he could see as attractive. If anything, it made this person look like a widow in mourning.
“Now that your beloved is by your side again, do you no longer have time for a friend, Artemisia?” The masked woman said in a voice he guessed sounded friendly enough. The other woman relaxed her grip on him, but only for a moment. Then he felt a pull; she was trying to get him even closer to her, and the lap pillow was about to become a breast pillow—an improvement to be encouraged in better circumstances.
“You are not needed here,” coldly declared Artemisia, and the Master idly wondered whether her reaction was the familiar-to-a-bothersome-degree yandere possessiveness, or just plain horniness.
“You should be making sure those Servants never return.”
The masked head turned from side to side.
“I have done plenty enough for today. I even went and tried my first Noble Phantasm. Unfortunately, that girl, Mata Hari; she has the advantage of close range, so she can move up to them and override my technique with her charms.” A small chuckle. “Were I a lesser person, I would feel somewhat miffed by that.”
Artemisia was clearly not in the mood for engaging in conversation with the newcomer.
“You must not amount to nearly as much as you claimed to, if the weakest among them can counter your Noble Phantasm.”
More muted laughter.
“Now you are just merely venomous, my friend.” A sigh. “You know I have no interest in your brother, Artemisia.”
She inclined her head, and for the first time he felt (for he could not see) the masked woman’s eyes bearing on him.
“The one I wish to converse with is the last Master of humanity. Would you allow me that, my friend?”
But the other woman would not budge, and the Master of Chaldea, as predicted, ended up buried in a pale and oh-so-amazingly soft bosom.
“I do not trust you near my brother.”
There was a brief moment of silence. If he was allowed to guess, the Master would have concluded the masked woman was rolling her eyes. He did catch the barely audible sigh. She then murmured something he did not quite get, but apparently something did happen because he felt Artemisia tense beneath him.
“Wait, what did you just—?”
“I did not want to have to resort to this but, Artemisia, my dear friend, you look utterly exhausted. Do you not think you deserve some rest? A brief nap, perhaps?”
The woman’s voice was plain, conversational; as if merely commenting on Artemisia’s pallor, or the bags under her eyes. But the young man could see his captor’s eyelids drop like they were made of lead, even against the woman’s obvious wishes and her mind’s commands. No, it was safe to say even her mind had shut down and switched to sleep mode in seconds.
While he (finally) moved up to a properly seated position, the masked woman grabbed Artemisia before her falling body hit the stone floor, and let her gently lay on the hard surface.
“Very well. Now we can talk,” declared the masked woman. “I would offer you the tour, but I am fairly certain she would get back up the moment I took you out of this room. Artemisia was also in charge of refreshments, so I do not have food or drink to offer you. My utmost apologies.”
“Rather strange to hear that from the person who just knocked out her ally.”
Again that muffled laugh.
“I bet it is nowhere near close to the strangest thing you have seen, lad. Do I win anything?”
He made a point of showing his empty pockets.
“Don’t have much in the way of awards to give.”
“Then I will make you agree to join me for some conversation this evening, if you are agreeable to that.”
He shrugged.
“Don’t see any better way to pass the time.”
“Strange thing to say for a young man trapped in a crypt with two beautiful women.”
“Oh, don’t go there.”
This time her laughter was louder; albeit still distorted by the helmet, he went and guessed the person inside the obscuring garments was a young woman, probably around the same age as Mashu, if not older. Then again, she was quite tall…
“Iiiiin any case,” he continued, pulling the conversation back to a manageable direction. “I take it you’re the boss of this place.”
This time her laugh was perhaps somewhat mocking, or at least so the thought.
“Yes, yes, I guess you could say I am the final boss in here. I am the one holding to the Grail, if that interests you.”
“Rather than the Grail, how do I call you, anyway?
“If you need a means of addressing me, you may call me ‘Avenger’.”
“Huh,” he uttered. “Just met you moments ago and you already might be the most agreeable Avenger I’ve met.”
Laughter again. He thought the mask being on the way was sort of a shame; he had the hunch it was laughter he could grow to like.
“I would like to accept the compliment but…is it normal to feel bad for my fellow Avengers?”
*********///*********
“Revered ancestor, I still believe this is completely unnecessary. We can solve this matter—”
“Cleopatra, stop acting like you have to do everything yourself and carry every burden on your own. It’s depressing.”
It was late in the evening, but there would be no rest for the Heroic Spirits just yet. They had gathered at the gardens of Cleopatra’s royal palace, surrounded by untold amounts of color from many plants and flowers. It was a stark contrast with the monotonous white and red of the Hellenic architecture and the endless carpet of sand. Mordred and Nero appreciated the display with varying degrees of approval, while a slower Mata Hari distractedly followed them. Cleopatra smirked with pointless smugness at the seemingly-impressed Roman emperor.
Mata Hari was by far the last to take a seat.
“I—I’m truly sorry, I just need a little—”
“No need to worry,” replied Arsinoë. “Nobody expects you to do much fighting tomorrow, so it was fine for you to go all out tonight. If anything, we are grateful for your efforts.”
Cleopatra cleared her throat.
“Ah, ye-yes, it is as the revered ancestor says. You may be lacking in a lot of ways, but it is true that your efforts in the past few hours stopped the situation from becoming a far more dangerous problem.” She released a sigh full of discontent and exasperation. “A loose woman has been praised by two pharaohs this evening, truly this world has gone mad!”
“Was that really praise…?” Mordred pondered, while the person praised wisely chose silence.
“More importantly, what exactly happened?” Nero of all people brought the discussion back on track. Cleopatra cleared her throat again.
“It is clear how it began: a number of isolated incidents escalated to irrational degrees. An attempted robbery here, a bar fight there, an assault on a woman someplace else…deplorable incidents by themselves, but not nearly enough to become a city-wide riot.”
“The fact Mata Hari here had to use her Noble Phantasm to counter it means we were probably dealing with the enemy’s Noble Phantasm…is there something you wish to say, Nero Claudius? You have been making quite the face there.”
Nero did not catch herself in time before she fully turned her face away from Arsinoë.
“Umu…no, not at all. Rather, I merely remembered something unpleasant. That is all.”
Everybody accepted the answer. They were all Heroic Spirits; they all carried great burdens within themselves.
“Rather, why does the Roman emperor still live?” A cold, resentful voice added.
The Berserker, having promptly reminded everyone she is, in fact, a Berserker, shook her head like a wet dog and offered an apologetic smile to the present.
“…don’t mind her.”
“Um, right. More importantly, King Arsinoë; you seem as ignorant of these latest events as we are.” Nero could not hide the tinge of suspicion towards the clearly unhinged woman who had one-sidedly decided to switch sides in this conflict.
“Aaaa, you got me there,” said the elder pharaoh in a leisurely manner. “Artemisia’s Noble Phantasm is Mausoleum; we think that’s clear enough.” The others nodded. “But we have nothing useful on the Masked Queen. That one’s kept all her cards to herself until now. At least we can tell you she sounds like a woman behind that mask, and she’s got boobs under that dress. Also, she gets along fairly well with Artemisia, but it’s…well, you could not call it friendship.”
She shrugged, and the others got its meaning of “pity” rather than “confusion” or “disregard”.
“Artemisia’s a she-wolf who has not yet realized she’s been tamed.”
“Well, no matter who this masked woman is, that stunt of hers sure did its job,” Mordred then declared. “There will be no resting for anybody tonight. The soldiers, too, will be worn out tomorrow.”
“It makes no difference,” Nero argued. “We must strike tomorrow. Not merely for my darli—ahem, for Master’s sake, but to prevent any further misuse of the Holy Grail.”
Arsinoë nodded in agreement. “So far, it’s only been used to power up Mausoleum, but the Masked Queen’s the one calling the shots in there. Who knows what she could do with it, now that her little garden’s falling apart.”
They made for quite the scene: four famous figures of history, wearing serious faces while seated on cushions and partaking of wine and fruits. Surrounding by the beauties of nature and Cleopatra’s scurrying attendants, four powerful and beautiful ladies (plus Mordred) worked together to figure out their situation and their next move.
Of course, the question that needed to be asked was…
“Why?” Arsinoë repeated Nero’s question. “Well, this world is meant to be a refuge.”
Mata Hari straightened her posture, forcing herself to join the discussion in spite of her exhaustion and inner anguish.
“A refuge?” Mordred repeated, as if tasting the word in her mouth and hoping to make sense of it.
“A refuge, and a playground, I guess. A place for those Heroic Spirits branded by a certain sin to unwind, be free, and indulge in their wishes.”
The lesser Assassin sighed tiredly, murmuring a weak “how pointless…” that only Arsinoë caught.
“I take it Miss Mata Hari already figured it out,” said the Berserker. “What do all of us, except Mata Hari, have in common?”
“Naturally, we are all shining rulers of our respective lands!” Cleopatra declared.
“Uhh…”
“What Mordred said,” pointed out Arsinoë.
“It’s incest.”
All eyes fell on Mata Hari, including Arsinoë’s approving gaze, silently urging her to continue.
“Miss Arsinoë and Miss Cleopatra here were the first and the last in a bloodline of incestuous unions. Both of you were married to your brothers.”
“This one to two of them,” Arsinoë pointed out while pointing at the other pharaoh.
“Was that really necessary, revered ancestor…?”
“The legend of Nero Claudius is also filled with rumors of incestuous relationships. As for Mordred, even if magecraft was involved, she too is the product of incest.”
“And it is Artemisia’s love for her brother-husband that became legend,” Arsinoë completed. “Nero and Mordred were pulled into this world because they fulfilled the single condition that makes one welcome here. Mata Hari was accidentally brought along with the Master when Artemisia forcefully pulled him here.”
Standing up, Arsinoë spread her arms, as if to show the grandeur of Cleopatra’s garden.
“Nero. Mordred as well. Should you accept this world wholeheartedly, it would do anything for you. Just like it has done for Artemisia and Cleopatra.”
Nero’s eyes went very wide, and she gazed upon the garden with new awareness and understanding. On the other hand, Mordred made an awkward face, as if she had put something unpalatable in her mouth.
“That’s bullcrap,” she said. “Even if there’s a Grail, there’s no way I can get my wish fulfilled here.”
“No, it’s not quite that…” An unusually pensive Nero then said, resting her chin on her right hand. “Rather than wish granting…the simulation of wish fulfillment?”
Arsinoë grinned. It looked somewhat wicked.
“Got in in one, your majesty.”
“What? What did you get?” Mordred honestly inquired.
“Umu…this is…this is quite fearsome indeed…” Nero, however, mumbled to herself for a while before addressing her companion’s question.
“When Lady Arsinoë confirmed the mausoleum was Artemisia’s Noble Phantasm, I understood it is a technique of the same nature as my Domus Aurea,” she explained. “It is not a Reality Marble, but it is not simply the manifestation of a physical structure.”
“In layman’s terms, that building out there is not the Noble Phantasm…?” Mata Hari concluded, and Nero nodded at that, before facing a somewhat-uncomfortable-looking Cleopatra.
“This city, its people; no, this entire world. From the very moment we set foot in this place, we have been inside Artemisia’s Noble Phantasm. Am I mistaken?”
After a moment of tense stillness, the younger pharaoh nodded glumly, facing the Roman emperor with her back ramrod stiff.
“It is as you say. Everything in this world, except for us Servants and your Master, is part of Artemisia’s Mausoleum.”
It took a few seconds for the entire group to grasp the weight of that simple truth.
“No, no, wait,” Mordred was the first to open her mouth. “Nobody can call me a history buff, but Artemisia II was not such a big shot to pull off something like—”
“The Grail,” Arsinoë immediately countered. “We told you the Masked Queen used the Grail to power up Mausoleum. Rather, it just expanded its scope and area of effect. The citizens of Alexandria and the ghosts you fought are the same things; it’s only the outward appearance and behavioral pattern that’s different. It’s probably the reason whatever she pulled off tonight worked to such a degree; this world is under their control in the first place.”
Another shrugged.
“This city of Alexandria was just made so that Cleopatra could perform as a proper pharaoh once more.”
Cleopatra mirrored her ancestor’s gesture.
“Wait, more importantly: where are we really, then?” Mata Hari then asked. “I mean, if we are not really in Cleopatra’s time, and this is an imitation of Alexandria, then when and where are we?”
“That’s the real scary part,” replied Arsinoë. “I have absolutely no idea. If we want to find out, we’ll have to beat Artemisia and end this farcical world.”
*********///*********
He was laughing. Like he had not laugh in a very long time.
“And then she began to try out swimsuits. Swimsuits! Who even gets buried with swimsuits anyway?”
They had talked a lot. Or rather, she had done most of the talking. She had explained the operation of Artemisia’s Noble Phantasm, and how she had used it to create a refuge for Heroic Spirits who shared a background of incest so that Artemisia could look throughout time and space for her beloved brother at her leisure. Or so she claimed.
She had not revealed a single hint about herself or her intentions, but he had nonetheless learned a little about his host for that evening. She was a skilled conversationalist; someone who knew how to seize and keep the attention of others. She was witty, she was charming, she was even coquettish at times; she was clearly accustomed to pleasing others with her words, and probably with her looks as well, even if she was currently concealing her appearance.
“Is Artemisia the only one looking for something?” he had asked, trying to catch her unaware and maybe make her stumble and reveal more than she wanted to.
She had chuckled.
“Well of course. I am an Avenger, and I am quite driven.”
She clasped her gloved hands and shifted her bum a little. He had done a lot of that in the past few hours; sitting on the cold stone floor for a long time was not precisely comfortable.
“But I have talked enough. It’s your turn to tell me about yourself. How does one like you end up becoming the last hope of humankind? You will excuse my rudeness, but from I have seen you are wholly unremarkable, both as a human and as a magus. So, my boy: tell me your story.”
And he did share his whole story, from the likely-terrible first impressions he made at Chaldea, all the way through Lev—no, Flauros’ betrayal, and the confusing situations that ensued. He spoke mostly out of respect to his more than graceful host, but he was all but convinced there was some really potent magecraft laced in her words. Every single of her comments, her chuckles, even her seemingly purposeless “mmhmm’s” encouraged him to keep talking, baring himself and his many experiences to this faceless woman.
He spoke for a whole hour, and he was parched at the end of the whole thing. Then, much to his surprise, the woman stood up and asked him to wait for a few minutes while she brought him something to drink. He was not even tied up or anything, but as if reading his mind, she warned him Artemisia would definitely wake up if he left that room, and he truly did not feel up to dealing with that. All in all, it had not been an unpleasant evening in the company of this unknown Avenger.
“I apologize,” she humbly said some minutes later as she filled an intimidatingly large mug. “I can only provide you with fresh water. I really should have asked Artemisia for better treats.”
“Water would be great right now,” he said honestly.
“But really, you have been through quite a lot, lad,” then said the woman, all the while he refreshed himself with great gulps. “A burden beyond exceptional placed on the shoulders of an utterly unexceptional human.”
Strangely enough, he did not feel insulted by that. Perhaps there was something in the water, but she almost sounded glad to call him “ordinary”.
“So, what is it that drives you, lad?” She finally asked. “Your opponent is the…the King of Magic, right? Compared to what opposes you, his highness David had it easy with Goliath. If you die, it’s the end, and even if you succeed, there is not a great reward awaiting at the end of that road. You will have the gratitude of the survivors at Chaldea, but that is it.”
“Some would say that is enough.”
“You are no saint, lad.”
“Some would say staying alive is its own reward. The restoration of the human order cannot be ignored just because I’m not getting paid for it.”
“So, is that it? You are doing it to stay alive, lad?” She showed the first signs of irritation ever since they began conversing. “You are the cornered mouse baring its fangs before the lion because it has no other choice?”
He shrugged. “I guess there’s some of that, yeah. Rather die doing something than moping on a bed, or something like that.”
“That is a terrible joke,” she countered. “You are no saint, nor are you some legendary hero, possessing of unlimited bravery.”
“Bravery is not exclusive to legendary heroes, you know.”
“What you face is not something to be met with the bravery of the common man.”
He took the harshness of her voice in stride. Taking a moderate sip of his mug of water, he cleared his throat and attacked from a different angle.
“This is very important to you.”
“I did not bring you here for simple pleasantries, Master of Chaldea.”
“You have been watching me for a while.”
“It’s only now that I managed to breach through into Chaldea and pull you here. But yes, I have glimpsed at some of your exploits in the singularities.”
“Then why are you questioning me, Avenger?”
“Because I need to understand!” She had long lost her cool. Her voice was a hiss, full of irritation and frustration. “Why you? Why are you the last hope of humankind? That King’s opponent should be…” A grunt. “…should be better than you!”
They seated in silence for a while. He stayed calm, and very quiet. The woman before him felt like a cat—no, like a tiger that would pounce him should he make an unnecessary move. Last inning, two outs, two strikes—something like that. Just how many bases were filled, then?
“This is very important to you…so it must concern your grudge in some way. The need for retribution that makes you an Avenger.”
She said nothing, and he almost did not catch the twitch of her gloved hands.
“What is it that you care so much about? Is it humankind…?”
He went all in.
“…or is it Solomon?”
“…”
Chilling silence was his answer. The silence was wordlessly promised murder should he dare to utter the wrong words. So, he pulled back, because he was the experienced Master of Chaldea. He already knew how to fight these battles.
Looking down at the hands holding the mug, he let his fingers dance idly over the soft ceramic rim.
“Circumstances. It was merely circumstances. I told you earlier, didn’t I? I was kicked out of the meeting, so I was the one who was saved. The Director saved my life. I never really thanked her for that.”
He sighed.
“I was the only one left, so I became the last Master in Chaldea. Somebody had to. I just happened to be there; the unremarkable magus who got himself a job there because he had nowhere else to go.”
He chuckled. The woman leaned her head slightly to the side. Was she surprised, to hear a sound of humor?
“I knew I was totally over my head from day 1. In Fuyuki I was just bumbling around, trying to make sense of the goddamned end of human history. Suddenly the one guy nobody expected anything from was the one who had to somehow pull off the impossible. So, I went and began to do my job; the thing I was hired to do: summon Servants. Lead Servants. Try to survive. Hopefully fix the world in the process.”
He looked back up, fixating his gaze on the featureless mask. His smile was serene, free of pressures and unease.
“Don’t get me wrong. The circumstances were awful, but I don’t hate how it turned out. And I discovered a whole lot of reasons to stick to it, even if Solomon is fucking terrifying.”
“Tch.”
He caught the click of her tongue, but he would not ask if she would not speak of it.
“I told you all about them: the cute kouhai who must be desperately looking for me; the unreliably reliable Dr. Roman, and the bunch of awesome lunatics who have accepted me as the Master. So I stick to this job, if not for humanity, at least for them, and for myself.”
“Because, damn it, I love them. I think they’re all amazing. And I’d do anything for them to think I’m at least a little amazing too.”
He rubbed a hand over eyes that were not in the least moistened, damn it. Taking one last sip from his mug and clearing her throat again, he presented his most neutral smile to his questioner.
“…so? Was that a good answer?”
After several seconds, something like a snort came out of the masked woman.
“…yes. It was a great answer, lad. I have heard enough.”
With that, she stood up. He made to do the same, but she stopped him with a gesture.
“The floor is not comfortable, but you should try to rest a few hours. Tomorrow you and your Servants will have to show me the spirit behind those words.”
He sighed. That was the thing he still did not understand.
“Can we only settle things through a fight?”
“Can you stop that King of Magic without fighting?”
He said nothing to that.
“If you believe you have what it takes to overcome that one, then this humble one should pose no obstacle to you.”
He wanted to say that was not what he meant, but he understood it was pointless. On the other hand…
“I have my doubts about Artemisia allowing me to join my Servants to fight you.”
A long, delicate finger poked his forehead. He vaguely remembered his mother doing the same many years before.
“Do not fret on that issue; it will solve itself. In fact, I would say the solution to that problem is already inside you.”
He frowned at that, and the same numbing chill that struck him upon regaining consciousness spread from his chest outwards, only to relent right after shuddering once.
“The opponent you must overcome is not that pitiful woman. Good night, Master of Chaldea. Tomorrow I will have you show me the conviction to defy the King of Demon Gods.”
To be continued in Part III – Gehenna
Originally Posted by Ail Don
Posting Permissions
