The scene was frozen; every person present had wordless agreed on a moment of perfect stillness, crafted by the rapid succession of surprising events leading to that flawless instant. The sequence was clear in the Master’s head; they had arrived to witness a battle but frightening and magnificent. His Servants and their Egyptian allies worked together to whittle down Avenger’s stamina and willpower—she may have had the infinite supply from the Grail, but there was only so much magical energy her body could contain and utilize at any given time. Therefore, Mordred and Nero challenged her inhuman reflexes and agility with their swordsmanship, while Arsinoë aimed for sparse but powerful attacks whenever she thought she saw a gap, and Cleopatra’s light magic clashed with Avenger’s black flame. The dark Servant was swift on her feet; her dress was not a hindrance in the slightest. She moved quickly and cunningly, avoiding being surrounded and unleashing endless streams of flame to hinder the Servants’ performance in melee. She took and gave in equal amount—the enemy Servant that landed a hit, no matter how small, almost immediately became engulfed and blasted away in an explosion of black fire. It was four-versus-one, and the fight was astonishingly even.
For a moment there, he thought there were supposed to be more Servants in that fight, but he quickly dismissed the thought and focused on what he did see.
When Avenger managed to put enough space long enough to unleash her fiery Noble Phantasm, Artemisia placed multiple layers of wall stone between the flame tsunami and themselves. He vaguely remembered shouting something, but Artemisia’s barrier did not let him see his Servant’s desperate efforts to withstand the powerful technique. He knew something had gone horribly wrong when he heard the blood-curdling scream, the howl of a maddened Servant.
Cleopatra had fallen.
“I’m sorry…divine ancestor…everyone…I will be going ahead…” Her last words before dispersing in a cloud of golden dust.
Arsinoë did not take it well. Completely losing all traces of self-control, the big-sister-like pharaoh became a mourning beast, howling even as she lunged to tear apart Cleopatra’s vanquisher. The two Saber-class Servants had to pull away so as to not become secondary targets of Berserker’s wrath. The maddened pharaoh, losing all idea of self-preservation, leapt into the flames and met Avenger’s attacks with her small yet powerful body. It was a matter when she would succumb to Avenger’s merciless counterstrikes.
But then, Avenger faltered. Perhaps her body complained about the overuse of the Grail’s power. In any case, her legs locked and her flaming assault ceased for a critical instant Arsinoë did not miss—or rather, she had never stopped her reckless attacks in the first place. She finally reached into Avenger’s personal space, her clenched hand ready to spear through her body.
And that was the frozen scene he was witnessing. He barely caught Anna gasping by his side, bringing her hands to cover her mouth. Nero and Mordred stood some ways away from everything, looking more confused than anything else. For it was not Avenger whose body was torn through by Berserker’s mighty arm.
“Why…?” whispered Solomon’s queen, taking a stumbling step backwards as her knees failed her for a moment.
Artemisia paid no heed to the blood-coated hand protruding out of her chest. Her skin, pale as it already was, lost even more color as the vital fluid leaked out of the wound. Her smile was feeble, but it was there, in all its eloquence.
“You…brought my brother back to me…when I saw…you were about to get hurt…this body…just moved…on its own…”
Gratitude. Loyalty. Nobility.
She was, after all, a great queen.
Arsinoë was shocked into lucidity, but her arm nonetheless moved on its own, pulling itself out of Artemisia’s body with a wicked squelch. The Queen of Caria thus collapsed, falling on her bum and barely stopping her face from striking the stone floor.
“Brother…” She sought the face of her beloved with empty, half-lidded eyes. “I’m…terribly sorry… I wanted to…with you…forever…”
The Master closed his eyes; a form of quiet mourning. Whether it was Mausolus’ presence inside him, or plain rejection of an unnecessary death, the heart ached nonetheless.
Arsinoë and Naamah stared at the empty space left by Artemisia’s departure, each mote of golden light a slap on their faces and a flame in their hearts. Again, the young man from Chaldea wondered what kind of thoughts and shared memories passed through their heads; what kind of lives they had lived in their artificial playground before he and his Servants arrived.
Arsinoë’s arms fell with a weighty feeling, as the passing of Artemisia washed away her will to fight. She glanced at Avenger, perhaps hoping this would be the end point for their little fiasco, only to meet a strange sigil drawn in black flames. She vaguely caught somebody yelling her name—the boy, mayhap? —before she was blown away.
Naamah was thus far unharmed, but not unscathed. It was probably connected to her overuse of the grail, but her body no longer rose as regally as before, and her breathing had become more pronounced.
“Not enough. You have not shown me enough, and you are running out of time. Rather than letting the 72 demons have their way with you, I will strike you down right here.”
“My Master, my love! Come to me; I wish you by my side. Also, do tell me who that remarkably lovely lady may be, for she is a thousand unwritten love songs, yet her presence smolders my chest in a manner most unpleasant.”
The young man did not need Nero’s cue to rejoin his Servants, and he hoped the bridal Saber did not read too much into his relieved face. If anything, he appreciated Mordred and Arsinoë not taking their eyes from the opponent.
“Not much time; ladies, this is Anna. Anna, these are my fair companions. Plus her majesty Arsinoë II.”
“…um. I’m Anna…please don’t mind me…” The child Servant felt better sticking close behind the young Master.
“Master.”
Mordred never took her eyes from the target. In fact, her feet inched slowly forward.
“Good to see you’re fine and dandy. So, um, I’m gonna go all out now. Dat right with ya?”
He hesitated for a moment. He knew just how point less this battle truly was in the grand scheme of things. It meant nothing to him, nothing to Chaldea, nothing to the restoration of the Human Order Foundation.
However, it was crucially important to that masked woman.
He almost whistled in admiration. There stood a real woman, capable of charming a man even without showing him an inch of skin.
“…go for it, Mordred.”
Arsinoë also took it as her cue, and the two Servants dashed towards their common opponent. Sword and fist were physically stopped by a wall of magical flame with unnatural solidity. Monstrous claws surged out of the wall, which were promptly dodged when Mordred and Arsinoë moved to flank Avenger from both sides. The black-clad Servant read that move and unleashed a barrage of bullets to her sides, forcing them to jump backwards and away from her. Then she kicked away the magic lurking around her right heel with some irritation before releasing the wall of fire like a massive ram towards the Master.
“You use Witchcraft against me!? The Mother of Witches!?”
Anna shrieked, and Nero cut apart the flames with her blade.
“I, I’m sorry! I just—I thought…I could make her trip…unyaa…”
Anna quickly relaxed under the Master’s patient and tender stroking.
“That’s alright. Calm down and let us take care of this.”
Naamah moved her arms like an overexcited orchestra director, attacking at the same time she weaved through Mordred and Arsinoë’s relentless assault. The two’s rate of attack was skillfully controlled by Avenger, as the two spent more time and concentration on stay away from Naamah’s many-shaped forms of attack. It somewhat reminded them of the King of Heroes, at least in how she shaped her flames into many different kinds of weapons.
Arsinoë ducked under a thick lash of flames, while Mordred slashed apart the wall in front of her. Naamah leapt away before the next slash of Clarent split her in two, leaving a path of hungry flame spears to deter pursuit. The Egyptian pharaoh however leapt over the Tepes-like field of spears at the same time Nero lunged forward, having found a safe path to Naamah’s backside. However, Naamah surprised Nero with a backflip belying her manner of dress, at the same time a black fireball knocked Arsinoë out of the air. Immediately afterwards, Nero’s triumphant battle cry heralded a sudden burst of speed when she changed directions and spun to meet the landing Avenger with a circular slash. Almost as if she was made of the black flame itself, an explosion erupted out of the new wound, blasting Nero away until Mordred haphazardly caught her. It gave Naamah the time to put some necessary distance.
The whole exchange had not taken five seconds, and the Master could only grasp the aftermath. Both sides were tired and wounded. Naamah looked around at the battered and cracking walls of their battlefield.
“Without Artemisia, Mausoleum is falling apart. I guess it is about time to show you our true battlefield.”
Again, a sigil of flames came to life in front of Avenger, but it was her words that made something click inside the Master’s head: if everything they had seen thus far was created by Artemisia’s Noble Phantasm, where were they really?
“What the—!” Arsinoë and the two Sabers instinctively moved in front of the Master, and he had to appreciate that, for even he could sense the massive movement of magical energy surrounding Naamah.
“Avenger!” he called out. “This is enough already!”
“It is not! Why would I let fools like you face the King of Magic, if you cannot even overcome the likes of me!?”
“You’re declaring victory way too early, blackie!” The ever-defiant Mordred gripped her sword and readied herself for yet another round.
“You know as well as I do that I could have already overwhelmed you with Tophet Gehenna. But in my mercy, I shall offer you a final chance. Show me, Chaldea! That you can overcome my strongest Noble Phantasm!”
“Another one!” Arsinoë shouted her disbelief. Anna shrieked and made herself even smaller behind the Master.
“Isn’t it obvious!? I am a demon, Arsinoë! That naturally means I get a Reality Marble!”
“Oh shi—”
“
Sigillum Salomonis
The Time of Hardship Has Come, She Is the One Who Rejects All
!”
The sigil of black flame diametrically changed color, exploding in a gentle wave of warm white flames that washed over the collapsing chamber, harming none but instead revealing a vast nothingness. A bleak island of hard, cracked grey soil like a wasteland, floating in a strange, surreal sky made of blue, purple, red and white stars. In the far distance, other islands were connected by gigantic, vile-looking tree roots. Above them, Solomon’s ominous ring of light shone menacingly like the Sword of Damocles.
“What you see over there is your final destination. Solomon’s temple; his Reality Marble. You could say we are standing in his backyard, in a way.”
As usual, Naamah was surrounded by tongues of black flame. She once again stood proudly, as if revitalized by the invocation of her strongest Noble Phantasm. The young man wanted, really wanted to focus on their current enemy and on the early visage of the final challenge they would have to face after clearing the final singularity, but…
“Wait-wait-wait-wait—waiiiiiiiiiiit!” Mordred had a very good reason to cry so desperately. “Why the hell am I naked!?”
“Hnn.” Arsinoë seemed to take it in stride. The horns were still there, though.
On a side note, he was naked too. He was a gentleman, so he did not look at Anna, so he did not know that she, too, was naked, and that she was staring a lot.
“Armor that was given to you. A sword that you took from Camelot’s vaults. Neither is allowed in this realm. On that regard…” She turned to Arsinoë. “You still have your ring, but I doubt you crafted it yourself.”
“I earned it as an mystes of the Samothracian mysteries. You can’t take it from me.”
“Indeed I cannot. But my utmost praise goes to you, emperor of the Romans. To think you remain untouched…”
“Umu!” Nero proudly stabbed the ground with her sword. “Would you expect this one not to forge her fine sword with her own two hands? Would you expect this one not to craft her own wedding dress? Then you would not know this Nero Claudius at all!”
With the boasting done, she turned a sheepish look at her Master…which was promptly dispelled as her eyes began to roam.
“Focus, Nero.”
“Ah, right! Um, well, it seems I have lost my Imperial Privilege skill, so my glorious swordsmanship has declined.”
“Naturally,” Naamah added. “You did not earn your position as emperor. You merely inherited it. So it seems we have a weaponless knight and a knight with a sword she can no longer use properly. It appears only Arsinoë can put up some resistance—”
“What are ya talking about, idiot?” Mordred crudely interrupted, cracking her knuckles. “So I can’t amplify magical anymore. Big fucking deal. I’ll just break your face with my own two hands.”
“I thought
you were quite embarra—”
“Knock that off already! If even Master’s not embarrassed, what else can I do!? I hate every second of this, so I’m gonna kick your ass, like, right now!”
“She brings up a good point, boy,” said Arsinoë. “You seem quite at ease in spite of things.”
“Hmm…well, I guess, after everything I’ve been through, something like shame feels a bit pointless.”
“Uwah. Is it normal to pity you after hearing that?”
“Suit yourself.”
“So I shall. Also, are you aware the naked little girl is still pressed against your back?”
“I Gandr’d myself, so not really.”
“Whoa! The boy is kinda hardcore!”
It felt like there were two Berserkers in combat, as Mordred’s rough swordsmanship modified for unarmed strikes created a brutish, unorthodox assault. Arsinoë pulled back to provide mid-range support, covering Mordred with launched iron sand attacks and trying to create a gap for Nero to break in and unleash her Noble Phantasm. Naamah’s combat technique had never excelled; it was her uncanny reflexes, superior endurance and unceasing repertoire of flame attacks that kept her in the fight. Even if she could spam Tophet Gehenna, she did not want to, and thus sought the ideal moment to deliver the decisive blow. But it was clear to the Master and to Anna that their movements were slower, more sluggish. They had already lost track of time, and not even Naamah’s demonic endurance was unlimited, especially under the duress of sustained combat against four other Servants.
“Such…meaningless…struggle!” Naamah howled as she unleashed a wave of flames to interrupt the enemy assault. It didn’t work; they just leapt over it. “If this is the best you can do, how can hope to—aaah, get lost!”
Mordred managed to protect her face from the explosion with her crossed arms, taunting Avenger with her naked smirk.
“Keep blabberin’ like that and you’ll bite your tongue!”
Avenger was busy dodging Nero’s textbook attacks while serpents of flame held Arsinoë at bay.
“Pointless…! At this level, all your efforts are pointless!”
“They are not!” shouted Nero, and the brightest smile filled her face upon realizing her Master had spoken the same words. “Listen to our clamor, demon princess: we do not fear your husband!”
“Do not!” Tall flames surged around Avenger, echoing the awakened rage palpable in her words. “Do not call
that thing my husband!”
For the first time in the entire battle, Avenger took to the offensive, lunging at a suddenly quite uncomfortable Nero with a savage succession of flame lashes, flame swords and flame punches.
“The man I feel in love with was
an ordinary human being! A humble cook in my father’s court! A simple, mundane man, who did his very best every day! A man hopelessly in love with life, despite having nothing and having lost everything!”
Arsinoë and Mordred hurried over to support their teammate, both well aware that this was Naamah’s last mistake, and her last outburst before she either ran out of steam or incinerated them all with her second Noble Phantasm. “This is it!” was the common thought in their heads.
“Um, bro-brother…? Um, I think she is referring to the tale of Solomon and Naamah in the aggadah. Solomon was forced to live several years as an ordinary, powerless human when the demon Asmodeus tricked him into taking off his ring—awawawawah…hauu…”
While Anna was rewarded with head pats, the Master focused his eyes on the dizzying display of high-speed combat his Servants were showing. It was like all of them had caught their second wind at the same time. Naamah’s from disappeared within an unrelenting barrage of flame attacks, all the while Mordred and the others danced like dervishes around the firestorm.
“That unremarkable, hardworking man…his was the most beautiful soul! He was the man I loved! Not
that thing! I hate
that thing!”
A burst of flames in all directions pushed the three Servant away. More and more fires danced around her. Her lustrous black headdress reflected the unhallowed light of the grudge flame, becoming an ever deeper black.
“Your time is over, people of Chaldea. You fail—ugh!”
Everybody heard the distinct sound of a magic missile impacting flesh, yet nobody saw that attack coming.
Exactly as intended.
For it was, after all,
five Servants that stepped into that room to fight Naamah. One of them simply had stood aside, doing nothing and saying nothing; becoming utterly nondescript and so thoroughly nonthreatening that she disappeared from everybody’s awareness.
“Damn it, Mata Ha—gah!”
Once the first attack was made, once the veil of stealth was thrown away, there was no choice but to keep attacking. Incessantly, without holding a single unit of energy back; that was the only tactic available to the weakest of Assassins.
“You! Are! A! Pest! Ugh!”
Naamah released a wave of flames. Mata Hari did not dodge; dodging meant giving the opponent an instant she could not afford to give. After all, Naamah was faster. So, she threw her naked body into the flames, never ceasing her chain of attacks.
“Mata Hariiiiii—!”
A barrage of attacks to make up for the lack of offensive power. Without room for counters, without room for movement, without room for breathing. The simplest and yet the pinnacle of all-or-nothing strategies.
“Stop it alrea—aaghk!”
With everything she had—her life, her weakness, her love—, those feeble hands reached Avenger’s torso and blew her away with one last, point-blank blast. Then the Assassin fell on the ground, unmoving.
Naamah struggled to her feet, having suffered yet endured the death of a thousand paper cuts. It was the first time she had been knocked down, and it was a sufficient blow to bring her tiredness to the forefront of her thoughts. Her body wanted to stay down—what pulled her upwards was a deep emotion.
But Mata Hari had acted to conclude the battle, and conclude it did, at the hands of a pristine white sword.
“It is over, Miss Avenger.”
“Yes, I am rather tired, fair emperor.”
The young Master had moved to assist the fallen Assassin and, at her request, helped her get back on her feet.
“Master.”
“Hmm?”
“The hardest part of this battle was holding myself from hurrying to your side.”
“…I was also struggling to keep you out of my thoughts, Mata Hari. Especially when the clothes went away. Let’s go.”
They moved slowly, carefully, even if the space around them creaked ominously upon the demoness’ defeat.
“My, ufufu. Next time I am to show you my naked body, let us hope for a more romantic occasion. May I suggest the privacy of your room?”
“Mata Hari, I pride myself on my ability to keep my focus. Please don’t threaten that pride by putting thoughts in my head.”
Another giggle.
“Yes, I was feeling somewhat affronted by your lack of physical reaction to my nudity.”
“Gandr.”
“Oh my…wait, aren’t magic circuits also inherited?”
“I suspect her Noble Phantasm cannot negate metaphysical organs. Mordred could still use her Prana Burst.”
“Fair enough.”
They eventually surrounded the struck down Avenger, who respect placidly on the hard ground.
“I like boys and girls that do their best. Well done, people of Chaldea. I am defeated. What I still don’t get is how you can use magecraft, Mata Hari.”
“I am a spy, Miss Avenger. With all due respect, you know nothing about me.”
“I know that’s not your true appearance, you closet flatch—ow!”
Mata Hari acted as if she had not just fired arcane blasts are the prone Avenger.
“My, were you saying something, Miss Avenger? Ufufufufu.”
Some questions are better left unasked.
“Um, so, do we get to take off her helmet now?” Mordred posited.
“Uh, no, if she’s really the demon Naamah, that’s still a terrible idea.”
“The pharaoh speaks wisdom, Knight of Treachery.”
“Avenger.”
Her covered head moved to address the young Master.
“The man behind the singularities…is he really…?”
Avenger took a moment to answer. He could imagine her blinking slowly inside the headdress.
“The man I married gave everything of himself to his people, to the point that he was not allowed a human’s life. As the holder of all wisdom, the people of Israel placed all their burdens and problems on him; they decided they no longer needed to think by themselves if their king possessed all the answers. But he nevertheless loved them and took care of them, at the cost of his very self.”
She shook her head.
“That man could have never become
that thing. But there is no doubt that the figure you met in London was unmistakably Solomon.”
“But that doesn’t make—”
The young man silenced Mordred with a gesture. In spite of everything, he trusted Avenger, so he would accept those words. It was his job to make sense out of them.
The golden grail appeared amidst the group, hovering over Naamah’s prone form.
“I was to be in charge of the Jerusalem singularity, spreading discord and immorality throughout the Holy War. I just took it and ran away; now it is yours. Take it and leave quickly. It is a matter of time until Solomon’s demons are drawn to this place.”
“Ah.”
With the end of Avenger’s defiance, those summoned through that grail were no longer needed.
“Brother…Anna has to go now.” The little Rider bowed elegantly, seemingly uncaring of her nudity as she slowly became golden particles. “Thank you for being a kind big brother. I am a very weak Servant, but I feel I could do my best if you are watching over me.”
“Hmm…yeah, looks like this is it, huh. Well, whatever, it was amusing enough. Good fight, everyone. And you, boy! Looks like all sorts of fun stuff’s going on at your place, so you better summon me! In fact, go ahead and summon my little brother as well. We’ll show you we make a hell of a team!”
“Let’s make a proper Bond next time, Brother! It feels really good, so look forward to it!”
“Send my regards to Cleopatra! She has sort of a weird mindset, but she tries her best in her own way, so don’t bully her too much!”
The Master claimed the floating grail once they were gone. He shared glances and nods with his companions, all of them tired, dirty and looking forward to a good rest.
That was when a new voice filled the air around them.
“Senpai! Senpai, you‘re there, right?”
“Mashu?”
“Yes! It’s your kouhai, Mashu. Doctor, it’s senpai!”
“Alright, then ask that senpai of yours how in heaven he ended up outside the time axis!”
“Oi, lad.”
The young man felt his head being compelled to look down by the deep inflection of Avenger’s voice.
“That pitiful voice suggesting a man without the slightest idea of how to please a woman. Who does it belong to?”
“I get roasted right away!?”
“Mordred is laughing, Doctor.”
“Well you’re welcome! How is that fair!? I don’t deserve to be suddenly insulted by a stranger with a sweet voice!”
“I don’t need to look at your face to know you deserve every single word and worse, you insensate chicken. I take back my words, lad: your achievements are commendable if that is what you have to rely on.”
“Aah, whatever! Wherever you are, it’s very unstable so get out of there, quickly!”
“The boorish man speaks wisdom. Let it not be said I do not give credit when due.”
“Your new friend is the worst!”
Mordred managed to cease her uproarious laughter to voice her thoughts.
“Doctor Roman, you’re kind of amazing, getting along so quickly with Solomon’s wife!”
“Geh.”
“Indeed,” retorted the masked woman.
“Senpai, Dr. Roman’s gone awfully pale! And Miss Da Vinci won’t stop laughing!”
The young Master decided this was as good a time to depart as any. With a gesture, he led his Servants to the nearby portal.
“So that’s the answer you reached…you could have just told me, idiot.”
The Master didn’t quite catch the black woman’s murmurs.
“Avenger?”
“Brave lad, you may summon me if it pleases you.”
“Huh?” He was somewhat glad he was not the only one who made that lame sound.
“If you still insist on opposing the King of Demon Gods, allow me to join you. We both…what is the expression…have a bone to pick? With
that thing, yes.”
“If I summon you, can I get infinite hearts?”
“Farm your hearts properly, you lazy piece of shit brat.”
“Tch.”
“And don’t click your tongue, it’s unbecoming.”
************************************************////////************************************************
That night, the Master of Chaldea did not sleep alone.
He was not particularly tense; there was not really that kind of atmosphere, even if his back was being smothered by the warmth and softness of Mata Hari’s pleasant body. If anything, she had reminded him of a child after a bad dream.
Was there any point in talking about their experiences? In asking her what she had thought and felt in the time they were apart? Was there any point in asking that question?
He would not even bother looking for answers. There was only one thing he wished to say.
“Mata Hari.”
“Hmm?”
“Thank you for your hard work. And welcome home.”
Nothing more was said; he was tactful enough not to comment on the cold wetness on the back of his shoulder. He just let himself be used as a body pillow for a night.
Or his many duties as a Master, this was far from the least comfortable.
Towards the Epilogue – Rising Sun
Originally Posted by 4score7years
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