New Asgard is unusually, albeit not surprisingly, active. Then again, describing this false kingdom as active is not appropriate in any manner.
Lancer ignores the synchronized footsteps of soldiers being deployed and the grinding hum of tank treads in motion. Rider is going for the kill.
Rider is going for the glory.
It is frustrating, but he cannot get in Rider’s way. He was commanded to step back by his Master, so he steps back. It is frustrating, but he was defeated. It remains true that he did not use his strongest Noble Phantasm, but it is also just as true that, against that monstrously powerful Saber, he has absolutely no other plan. He may have been able to overcome her with the offensive boost of Annunītum, but Saber’s overwhelming aggressiveness relentlessly forced him to go on the defensive.
Her tremendous power overcame his superior weapon technique. Lancer is far from humble, but he is sensible enough to acknowledge that Saber is superior to him.
Rider has a strong chance to kill Saber tonight. However, Lancer will mediate on today’s battle, on the chance that Rider fails and he has to fight Saber again. He will do as he has always done; it’s not like he won every battle in life. First, he will atone for his failure, and then seek the counsel of the goddesses.
The tunnel is broad, enough to allow two tanks side-by-side. Lancer does not know if it was originally like this, or it was dug into its current size. He is currently alone, but his head is held high and his back ramrod straight. His heart is not so weak that his shoulders would sag following a single defeat.
Something---somebody—approaches. It is not the natural awareness of another Servant. It is a unique, unexplainable instinct, and it is precisely this uniqueness that makes it helpful, for there is only one person who triggers this strange sensation.
The considerable distance between the fluorescent lamps makes it so that the tunnel’s lighting is umbral at best. That is why it takes several moments for the figure ahead to emerge from the dark.
Spoiler:
Lancer knows not what to make of the Maid—like everyone else, he feels the capital M in his thoughts. Why she roams so freely, what her purpose is, or even what she is at all. But the most frustrating thing is the ineludible feeling of reliance he experiences in her presence.
‘I can trust this person’s competence.’
‘I can rely on this person’s skill.’
There is absolutely no basis for it, but Lancer trusts her like he would a favored advisor, even if she has done absolutely nothing to deserve it.
Yes, this Maid is very strange. It is also strange that, despite acknowledging her great beauty, he does not desire her in the slightest. It even feels wrong somehow, to lust after this woman.
The Maid flicks her glistening golden hair before stopping some steps in front of him. Her expression reveals nothing; it is neither scathing nor judgmental, but Lancer nonetheless feels his own eyes pulled away from hers. He cannot look at her in the eyes, as if reduced to a child ashamed of his mother’s scolding. Yet, this does not bother him in the slightest.
“You lost,” she says. It is a statement of fact.
“I have no excuse.” Lancer speaks words he would not say to any among the Servants in New Asgard. “Saber is the superior Servant.”
“Speak what you know,” responds the Maid not a moment after Lancer stops speaking.
“Not…much, I am ashamed to admit. Her physical prowess is top-class among Servants, but I suspect she possesses some additional factor that increases her effectiveness against me; an ‘anti-King’ or ‘anti-Divine’ trait of sorts. Also, she wears an immensely powerful melam.”
It is the latter sentence that seemingly catches the Maid’s interest, to the point that she actually spends a second pondering her next words.
“Stronger than yours?”
Lancer grits his teeth, a wild surge of shame threatening to break his kingly poise.
“…yes, ma’am.”
“What about its major effect: physical or mental?” she promptly asks. If she has any thoughts on Lancer’s words or feelings, she will not voice them or even show them on her face.
“Wholly physical. I do not think she even knows she can exert mental interference through her melam.”
The Maid says nothing else, perhaps expecting him to provide additional input, but he does not. He cannot.
There is one more thing in his mind; a stray thought that emerged spontaneously as a seed when Saber projected her melam to strike at Archer from a distance, sprouted when she began to accumulate magical power at the shore of the frozen sea, and grew unbidden the more he meditated on his battle. He will not voice it, though. It is a thought too absurd. Too blasphemous.
Too terrifying.
“Did you use
Tupšenna Pitēma
Faith-Rewarding Light of Divine Venus
?”
Lancer should have been surprised the Maid knows of his strongest Noble Phantasm. He should have been suspicious, maybe even outraged. However, in Lancer’s mind, there is absolutely no problem with the Maid having this knowledge.
“No, ma’am.”
With that, it seems that the Maid is done with Lancer, walking past him and towards the tunnel’s entrance. Towards the frozen city.
“Where are you going?” Lancer asks before he can stop himself.
The Maid seemingly does not deign it necessary to answer. Instead—
“Report to our Sovereign.”
That does bring an unpleasant expression to Lancer’s face. Admitting his failure to the lord of New Asgard is going to be very unpleasant.
If anything, to Lancer and almost everybody else in their hidden realm, being in the same room as the lord of New Asgard is by itself most unpleasant.
*** ***
CMR Falabella Department Store, Independencia 1806, Valparaíso Day 02 Night Phase - 02 Sheer Cold (-34 °C/-29 °F) Snowfall
When exposing himself to the harsh cold of the supernatural Fimbulwinter without suitable protection, Javier risks succumbing to hypothermia. Whenever his Warmth level is Poor or lower, continuous exposure to the cold will erode his Stamina level. When his Stamina reaches Critical level, further exposure to cold weather will then decrease his Health level. As usual, Health dropping below Critical equals death.
Hypothermia kills slowly. It is nonetheless dangerous in that a wound that would have otherwise dropped Javier to Critical Health can kill him because his Health has been lowered by the cold.
The walk to Falabella was the longest hour of my life. It normally would have taken twenty minutes, tops.
Holy fuck, it is cold. And dark.
Even with Oliver Drake’s borrowed clothes, the wind seeps all the way into the bones, and it is hard to keep one’s eyes open for more than a few seconds. I have to be grateful to Maria for the ugly scarf; it’s the thing keeping my lips and nose unfrozen.
But these clothes are definitely not good enough. The scarf is too thin. The gloves are too thin. My pants are no good at all, and with every step I take snow seeps inside my shoes, to the point that I almost can’t feel my feet anymore.
Fortunately for me, there was no sight of undead, and the road I took was far enough from Errázuriz that there was no risk of being noticed by the Nazis. The city at night is illuminated by the mysterious aurora from the highest hills—what is the deal with that, anyway?—, scattered by the falling snow and reflected by the frozen ocean, but it is not nearly sufficient to make night travel any comfortable. I did hear what I believe were two tanks in the distance.
Goddammit, Maria. It means nothing from the powerless me, but please hold on.
Spoiler:
Ok, now what the hell happened here?
So, everything’s frozen. That’s normal. But what about the whole…mess? The place doesn’t just look frozen and abandoned; it looks like something rampaged all over the place.
A frozen corpse, missing the top half of its body. The appearance of burnt flesh does not elude my eyes. There are also burnt marks on the walls and floors. Black traces…explosions? Somebody rampaged throughout this building with fire and explosions?
Not that it matters in the end, because I still got what I am looking for.
Status Change
Warmth: Poor -> Good (Stable in face and feet)
Perfect. I’m the man of the Antarctic.
Well, not quite. Just as good as it’ll be without some miraculous cold resistance magic. And my eyes are still unprotected—couldn’t find any goggles. I’m sure there are also socks more suitable for this weather. But really, there’s no way I could normally afford this shit. Especially these shoes—Duke-of-Wellington-style high water boots? Phew.
Anyway, with a sturdy backpack slung over my shoulders—extra clothes for Oliver and Sakura; it’s the least I can do—I leave this half-destroyed store behind. It’ll be fine as long as I never meet whoever went crazy in here.
…I just jinxed myself, didn’t I. Fuck.
*** ***
Unknown Location
Maria Westinghouse awakens with a groan. The first thing she becomes aware of is the tremendous weight on her back. Then, darkness and cold. She is prone on a smooth but awfully chilly floor.
She is buried in rubble.
Fuck.
She easily remembers what happened: paralyzed by that strange cyclone cannon, she projected her melam and unleashed it as a point-blank explosion that blew her away. She took considerable damage from her own power, but the alternative was death by Nazi rockets, and fuck that shit.
Maria wants to sit down and reflect on everything she’s gone through today. But unfortunately for her, the day is not over yet. Javier still needs her help.
Her body hurts. Her everything hurts. Even parts of her body whose name she doesn’t remember. What’s worse: she’s running out of fuel—out of time. She can feel the power of Servant Saver becoming tenuous, the inhuman flame within flickering away.
She needs mana. She needs Ja…well, it doesn’t have to be Javier, does it?
Before she can do anything about Javier or her sustenance situation, she has to get out of this pickle. Pushing herself out of the rubble is not an issue as long as she still has the strength of a Servant, but it would be folly to do so without an idea of what awaits her.
She can guess some of it: as soon as the rockets did their job, the soldiers were deployed to either confirm her death or seek her out and stuff her with bullets. They probably would not dig out all the rubble of all the buildings struck by the rockets, so she would probably be safe under the rubble…until Rider himself shows up. Servants can “feel” other Servants, after all.
That, or her Independent Action runs out of juice, and then she’s screwed.
And there’s the problem: as much as she would love to cleave Rider in two, she’s in no way fit for a fight right now. The adrenaline burst of epic badassery she unleashed upon Lancer is pretty much gone, and she’s not confident she can pull it off again, or rather, the right conditions have to be fulfilled…
Her attention then shifts from her thoughts to the world beyond the pile of rubble pushing down on her back. The sound is of course muffled, but the very fact she can distinguish it indicates its loudness.
Automatic gunfire. Then, an explosion that rattles the debris on top of her.
Somebody…is fighting the soldiers?
What the hell’s going on up there?
Maria can only hope Sakura did find that Fiore What’s-her-name.
Choice Time!
No time to rest just yet. What will our beleaguered heroine do?
Push myself out of the rubble and get the fuck away ASAP, no looking back.
Push myself out of the rubble, assess the situation and intervene. If somebody’s kicking Nazi butt, I want in.
Push myself out the rubble and hide. Gotta watch what’s going on.
Stay under the rubble a bit longer and wait to see what happens.
I apologize for having to disappoint you with the lack of a scene. Truth is, I did write the next section, and I did intend to post it today, but as I read it I realized I had completely mangled the Maid's characterization (she is by far the most difficult character to write in this Quest), so I've thrown away the whole thing. I can only plea for your patience.
The Maid sets foot outside. Her feet sink in clear snow, and the chilly breeze from the sea washes over her body. She takes a deep, unnecessary breath, letting the cold on her skin further flow inside her, purging herself from the stale air of New Asgard.
The cold air carries countless stories. In the same way the light of the stars unveils the truth of distant eons, each breath, each blink of the eyes, each step she takes is a snapshot of the present. Her head is held straight, her eyes never looking anywhere but forward, not a single mangled building, bullet hole and impact crater escapes her. The Maid is collecting data, monitoring the current state of the ritual site.
She has collected enough samples by the time her eyes catch sight of Rider’s vanguard. Two heavy tanks—Panzerkampfwagen Tiger Ausf. B, her mind promptly identifies—stand still, a figure in a long coat watching the scene of devastation before him while atop one of them.
The Servant Rider, however, shines by his absence. He has dispatched a considerable number of heavily armed soldiers, led by one of the Hexensoldaten—artificial magical soldiers, built upon a purposely-aggrandized legend on a foundation of infamy. While the actual effectiveness of this artificial Armed-SS remains up to discussion, their successful creation is, the Maid guesses, something a person can be proud of.
Not the Maid, though.
The blonde beauty does not ponder the reason for Rider’s absence at the frontline. His presence or lack thereof is of no importance, even if she already holds the answer. Nevertheless, she allows herself a pang of pity. In hiscurrent form, Rider does not amount to much.
The Maid wonders: why is it so hard for humans to understand that we are great precisely because they can see beyond ourselves?
A blink. A new sample. Stray thoughts on Rider are already gone. Irrelevant, superfluous, trivial details are easily discarded.
The Maid is not a mathematician. However, were one capable of looking into her mind and not be overwhelmed by its fathomless depths, one would find clarity as pristine as the most flawless calculations. With enough samples, the
divinations
calculations
are pretty much automatic—she has had enough time to adjust to the higher number of elements to considerate, compared to what she was used to.
Both the past and the present are in her grasp. With that knowledge, she lights up a path towards the ideal future. That is her service.
However, she will never make the mistake of believing she knows everything. Even gods can be taken by surprise. Nobody can control everything. So, she does not try. Great things are achieved by succeeding in spite of great adversity.
An internal “order of business” is created in an instant. Just as quickly, it is resolved. Everything is moving according to schedule, there is nothing that demands her immediate attention—
The Maid stops, turning her head towards the murky, grey sky. Dashes of cerulean sway in the clouds; refractions of the aurora released by the temple. Night has fallen, but not a single star can be seen. Of course, visual verification is unnecessary. She has already calculated the position of the stars.
“The moon…is in Suḫurmāšu,” she murmurs, an uncharacteristic act from her. “Dark things will come from the World on the Reverse Side.”
Neither unexpected nor unwelcome. Great things are achieved by succeeding in spite of great adversity.
Naturally, the soldiers pay no heed to her words. It is as if she does not exist in their perception. And she was not speaking to them in the first place.
The Maid walks among the small groups of soldiers scouring the wreckage created by the rocket bombardment. She knows what they seek, andshe knows where it is, but the Maid never acts outside her role. Or rather, she cannot.
She pays no attention when a wall of flames rises across the width of Errázuriz Avenue, isolating her and a handful of soldiers from the rest of the Nazi squadron and its leader. The Maid is thinking of visiting the Port of Valparaiso. She does not pay attention when a man rushes out of a side street, striking one of the soldiers with a punch that makes its artificial body literally explode. She is aware that the man is calling out to her, and she knows who this man is, but that does not make him of any relevance. Therefore, she has no reason to stop for him.
Sounds of violence, roaring flames and explosions rage behind her. It appears this man can effortlessly handle small groups of soldiers. Well, that too is entirely within expectations.
The soldiers dealt with, the man tries to catch up to her, but the Tiger tank that tramples over the wall of fire easily demands all of his attention. The Maid has no business with the second most successful Villarrica specimen, so she will not stop for his sake. She does, however, glance towards the rubble at the edge of the rocket’s bombardment area, the ruins of what once was a night club.
Being unconscious is in no way restorative, at least in regards to stamina. That is the lesson to be learned today. All this walking across the frozen city has given me plenty of time to remember. I just came out of a fight for my life, damn it.
I kinda wanna throw up. But that would only weaken me further, so now my throat is aching.
The clothes protect me, but they are also heavier. The streets are covered by over a foot of snow. Walking is in no way easy. Running is not impossible, but it’ll be a clumsy thing, likely to end with a mouthful of snow. Well, I guess Maria can still jump around with her superhuman strength and agility.
I did notice, though. Maria has been busy this afternoon, if all the traces of violent battle mean anything. The worst thing, of course, is how two entire seaside blocks have been razed. I try perhaps too hard to not think about the frozen and unfrozen people who might have been in those buildings.
There is nothing I could have done for those people. I’m already at my wits’ end just staying alive.
I made my way back along the avenue parallel to Errázuriz, carefully staying out of sight of the occasional Nazi soldier. I bordered the northern edge of Panteón Hill and its three graveyards, making it to Cumming Avenue, that looks like a storm of sharp things reaped through it. When I reach Anibal Pinto Square, my eyes inevitably dart towards the house in the distance, where I met Sakura Edelfelt this morning. Really, it’s like this entire day has been centered around this spot. You would think there is something important nearby or whatever.
I look up, towards Concepción Hill. I can’t see Atkinson Promenade from here, only the bell tower of the Luteran church I showed Maria this morning. Oliver Drake’s house is also that way, but there’s no point in going back there. Stuff is happening along Errázuriz—there are frigging tanks, man—and I’ll be damned if Maria’s not around there.
The problem remains: I can’t approach haphazardly. I may have magic—magecraft—, but I still can’t fight soldiers with assault rifles. So, how do I check for Maria without being seen by those guys…?
My heart skips a beat. I am rooted to the spot. Naturally, needlessly, my eyes dart around, looking for the unexpected source of fear.
(BGM STOP)
Ah, right, this place. Never got to talk to Maria about it.
There is something in there. Something is watching me. Like a wild beast, lurking in that impenetrable darkness. Yes, it’s just like stumbling into a wild predator in the wilderness.
Shit.
Never taking my eyes off the black maw of the cavern that should not be there, I retreat towards the Concepción Passage. It is strange that whatever lurks in there never comes up, seemingly satisfied with almost making me shit my pants, but I won’t look a gift horse in the mouth. I only breathe again when the mouth of the cave disappears from my sight, and the relentless watchful presence recedes.
Fuck, this place is too much—
There are no witnesses around, so I absolutely did not shriek nor was startled by the sudden explosion. Something’s happening at Errázuriz. As I cautiously step into Esmeralda Avenue, my ears catch the distant sounds of gunfire and explosions. I hope I am safe enough at this distance: Esmeralda is two blocks away from Errázuriz, and if my hearing doesn’t fail me, whatever’s going on is happening one further block eastward. That’s the corner of Errázuriz and Almirante Martinez. I think there was a night club there, but I guess it’s become rubble now.
My heart jumps for a moment when the distinct sound of a tank firing its main gun fills the streets, followed by collapsing rubble. I am still deciding whether I should move any closer when an all-too-familiar figure leaps out into Esmeralda Avenue, higher than any human being ever could without assistance.
What the hell. I can’t stop myself.
“Maria!”
It’s a repeat of the first time I met her in that getup. Even with the distance separating us, my voice reaches her, and I can tell she is looking in my direction. I can only hope she recognizes my voice—
—and she doesn’t measure her landing and crashes into the building across the street. I wish I could be surprised by this.
Ah, she is out again.
Were I not to know her, her charging at me at top speed with sword in hand would be fucking terrifying.
“Mari—oof!”
And now I’m being carried like a sack of potatoes, backpack and all. She begins to retread the path I just came from, but she only takes a few steps into the Concepción Passage before glancing at the closely-spaced buildings between us.
“Hold on tight,” she murmurs. She sounds exhausted. She…must have had it tough, if all the scars of battle I saw in the past hour and a half mean something. Nevertheless, she effortlessly leaps a story high, bouncing off the wall to the right to push herself to the height of the third floor. Her sword shatters the wall of the left building and a second later we land on an alluringly bouncy bed, my backpack slipping off my shoulders and rolling a few feet away. As if defeated by the softness beneath our footwear, our legs give in and we fall on the bed, Maria on top.
I hear myself groan—soft landing and everything, it was kind of a rough trip. Maria catches my attention as her body releases golden light.
“Mari—!”
A hand on my shoulder is enough to push me down completely prone on the bed.
Um, what?
“Maria, your face’s kinda scary right now.”
Wa-wait, now why’re you looking at me like I said something disgusting!?
“Javier.”
“Um…”
“Don’t you fucking dare enjoy this.”
“Wha—!?”
I am kissed.
She is cold. Even as she is wreathed in radiance, her body is awfully cold. But her kiss is rough, even violent, and I am overwhelmed.
Her hands grip my head and her tongue forcefully pushes past my lips. This is no showing of affection, no outward display of lust. I’m about to put up token resistance, but then she pours something in my mouth.
What…the hell…?
It’s not saliva—well, there might be some of that. But there’s something else: an overpowering freshness like a glass of water right after brushing my teeth; feels liquid, but not quite, more like cotton candy, but it does not dissolve in my mouth. Instead, it spreads to fill every possible space, choking my throat and making me cough even while still trapped in a kiss.
Wait.
Am I swallowing her aura of light? Is that what I’m tasting? How does that even—?
Suddenly, there is acute, stinging warmth. Ah, this is…
”Alright, that should be enough.” Maria declares upon letting go of me.
“Puegh!”
She’s rubbing her lips on her wrist. Now that’s just mean.
The light encompassing her fades. However, she does not move from her place on top of me, straddling my waist between her firm legs.
What? I am a straight man. I’ll acknowledge a pair of great legs, even if they are Maria’s.
She is frowning, her wrist still pressed against her lips, albeit not moving anymore. Like she’s thinking about something that’s bothering her. I’m kind of the one who was kissed against my will, girl, you don’t get to be the one bothered here.
I think of asking her to move, but her attention has already moved somewhere else. Her hands have moved to grasp my right arm, pulling up the sleeves of all three layers of clothing I’m wearing. I’m just glad nothing was torn. The corners of her eyes crease as she examines my arm, completely restored.
Someone—I think it was one of my cargo ship crewmates—once told me I’m good at saying the right thing. Let’s see if that works right now.
“We have a lot of catching up to do.”
It’s hard to tell if the words worked—what was I trying to achieve in the first place?—but Maria does let go of my arm and looks up at me, one eyebrow raised.
She looks like a brat. Well, she is a brat.
Her body leans a slight bit back, allowing me to pull up my torso to a seated position. I’ve met a few guys that would be quite flustered in our current position, but, seriously, it’s Maria. Also, we both look like shit right now; she got all sorts of dust on me.
“Also, you need a shower.”
She snorts.
“Don’t talk like you smell of flowers yourself, Javier.”
With that, she finally gets off me, making her way to the room’s considerably large windows. Like most, if not all windows in Valparaiso, the glass has shattered and remains only as snow- and frost-covered fragments on the floor. Maria cautiously took a peek of the world outside this bedroom.
“So, um, what was the deal with—”
I am promptly shushed.
“Quiet you. We’re not out of trouble yet.”
She beckons with a hand, the other having already recalled her sword. I can only do as told and sneak along. So, what are we looking at—no, that’s not the real question here, is it? Rather, why did Maria think it necessary to hide in a third floor?
“I didn’t really pay attention, but there was some guy fighting the Nazis when I got away. Look.”
She points at a tall figure a block away, where she crashed on the building just a while ago.
“Over there.”
The man suddenly releases a powerful yell, bursting at the seams with frustration. It eloquently tells things are not going his way, but, really, isn’t it a little too much? That guy needs to chill.
When he takes to a run in our direction, Maria quickly pulls her head away, her hand pulling me to do the same. She clearly reads the questioning look on my face, because she explains her uncharacteristically cautious attitude.
“I’m done with everything today,” she says. “I’m just fucking done. Let’s get out of here.”
We stick to the third floor, walking slowly and carefully, as if expecting enemies to blast through the walls any second now. Maria holds my wrist with her free hand as if I would sneak off somewhere if she doesn’t. When we reach the far back, she slices the wall open with her sword, revealing the great outdoors. It is a familiar sight: frozen trees that once made the rich greenery adorning the Concepción Passage. The section of the passage visible from here disappears behind a corner, where it begins to slope uphill to reach either Cumming Avenue or the Atkinson Promenade at the top. And right beyond that corner stands that gaping cavern…
I’m sure Maria felt my shudder, but she says nothing. And that, if anything, is the most blatant sign of her exhaustion.
But really, what was the deal with that kiss back there?
Oh boy, another segment where I feel like I'll regret my choices! (That means you did a good job Daneel)
Maria: Rest in a nearby empty building, Talk about how he's not dead and about the Children of Villarica
Javier: Talk about the cave, Explore the Port of Valparaiso
Originally Posted by SleepMode
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