Still and severe, the three Servants watched over the whirlpool of quicksand. The ground under their feet rumbled violently along the stormy sky, as the monster struggled to escape her earthen prison. Very soon, it would succeed, and its rampage would begin anew.
To Artoria’s right, Chiyou Caster waited patiently, her expression concealed beneath her skull headwear. To her left, Lady de Bressieux could not hide her unease beneath her intimidating armor.
“Lady Chiyou, Your Highness, please tell me there is a plan.”
“We holdeth her still longeth enow for the Storm King to vaporize her with her Holy Lance.”
“With all due respect, that is a terrible plan.”
“That it is.”
“It is frustrating to say it, but that monster will tear me apart in a melee.”
“That it will. I am not much more confident in mine own performance in close combat, and it wouldst maketh dram senseth for our trump card to furth’r act as the bait.”
Artoria grunted in irritation.
“I shall tryeth a curse of paralysis, but I hesitate to declare 'twill grant us the time we needeth. Truly, we art at a severe disadvantage.”
“Therefore, allow me to claim the vanguard!”
They were surprised to hear the voice, but not by its owner. Truly, it could only belong to one person. And upon turning their heads to meet the approaching figure, they came to a common understanding.
History was written solely by her presence. An existence such that her very presence made a difference, just by being there. It was not a supernatural power—or perhaps it was—but it could not be called mere charisma.
Beneath the mantle of night, illuminated only by the flames besieging the Eternal City, she was a crimson apparition; like a work of art hidden by its artist, finally revealed for the awe of the masses.
Her blade gleamed. She gleamed. The fires of the burning city were reflected in her swollen eyes, filled with unshed tears. Her cheeks were painted the red of frustration, of restrained anger, of deep shame and appalling disappointment. She, who had been forced to scamper away like an animal in fear of what
Banner of Chiyou could turn her into.
But Chiyou had abandoned that city to its hopeless fate.
Her city burned. Its walls were broken. Its people were broken, reduced to less than beasts by Chiyou’s baleful light.
“This city will be saved! The people will be saved! This will not be Rome’s final night! I,
Nero, will not allow it!”
Stabbing the street with the tip of her blade, the emperor nodded in satisfaction at her own words.
“Umu!”
Artoria Lancer Alter clicked her tongue.
“…ah, it’s the bottom-of-the-barrel Saber.”
“That’s horrible!”
“Hmm, forsooth, the emperor lady is rather lacking.”
“The little one is roasting me too!”
“Eh, eh? So she’s not good enough? Even with that strong presence?”
“Nah, nah, she’s just good at boasting. Do not be fooled, Assassin.”
“You people are merciless!”
Naturally, Miss Nero’s self-esteem would not be touched by merely that much.
******************************
“Your Highness, I have a question.”
Her Its voice was somewhat smothered by the infant’s cries. It paid no heed to the nursemaids, and they gave it a wide berth while exiting the chamber. They could not see it; they could not hear its voice, but they could not deny the chilling awareness that it was there, invisible and alien. Moments later, it was alone with the queen and the baby in her arms. A warm breeze swayed and teased the sumptuous curtains, enveloping them all without ever touching them.
“Have you gotten used to speaking in first person?”
Incapable of understanding the royal’s mirth, it did not bother with an answer. Instead, it closed the distance to the smiling woman until they stood side to side. The child, as chillingly aware as the nursemaids earlier, found no comfort in its presence, and its crying grew louder. The queen seemed amused by this for whatever reason, but quickly undid her dress to present her naked breast to the child.
“Why are you here, Your Highness?”
The baby having found a better use for his mouth, the queen properly looked at it, her eyes ever warm and tranquil. The King and she were the only ones who could see it, and she was the only one who had ever showed it such eyes.
“Why are you
here, □□□□□□□□?”
“Because I was ordered to look after Your Highness.”
A strange murmur left the queen’s lips. For some reason, it did not like it.
“How disappointing.”
It was left speechless. It simply did not understand, and the moment of silence destroyed any opportunity to ask for an explanation.
“Are you aware there are different degrees of obligation?”
If anything, the sudden veering of their conversation rendered it even more confused. Not really expecting a reply, the queen continued.
“There are those obligations risen out of sheer necessity: the things we have to do to ensure our very survival. Obtaining food, water, clothing and shelter; those kinds of things.”
The queen looked out the curtained windows, her eyes roaming over the dozens of animals being tended to at the palace courtyard; animals belonging to the immense delegation from a distant land. She very well understood: that evening, it would be the foreign queen that would lay with her husband.
“Then there are those obligations that must be fulfilled the ensure the working of human society. Laws, morals, manners; things like that.”
She then looked down at her child.
“To a degree, giving birth to this child was one such obligation. Our king needs a heir, and I was appointed by God to become the heir’s mother. But, I believe there is a third kind of obligation; one not related to survival as a living creature, nor as a member of a collective called humanity.”
Her fingers softly caressed the uncaring child devoted to filling his stomach. It made her smile.
“An obligation we all possess, solely by virtue of being human.”
“A fundamentally human obligation…” it repeated. “Your Highness, what exactly—”
The queen met its questioning gaze with deep, intense eyes. Firm, piercing in their resoluteness. The eyes of a warrior facing the direst battle, not a noble queen born and raised in luxury.
“To take responsibility for our words, our decisions, and our actions. That, I believe, is the fundamental obligation of all human beings.”
Her gaze softened when she looked down at the baby.
“This child did not ask to be born in this world, with all its challenges and suffering. My king and I conceived him, and it is because of our decision that he is here, so small and frail and helpless.”
She shook her head before looking back at it.
“This child—his life, his growth—is my responsibility. I will not leave it in the hands of others. Because this child is my duty as a human being.”
******************************
With an ache behind her eyes, Assassin returned to the realm of the conscious. Her body felt cold, but that was expected, exposed as she was to the elements at nighttime.
She noticed the trails left by tears trickling down the sides of her head. She pulled her arm over her eyes, covering them both.
“…fuck. Fuck this. Fuck everything.”
Chiyou Assassin—no, Chiyou Beast—was long gone, assaulting Chaldea while she slumbered outside the gates of Rome. Upon awakening, the young-looking, horned Assassin was assaulted by Chiyou’s words.
“This is all…my fault.”
Her words lacked certainty she did not possess, but her heart achingly told her Chiyou did not lie.
Even without remembering her identity, she had been aware from the beginning that she was not one of the good guys. A good guy would not feel such an utter, ingrained loathing towards the Master of Chaldea.
She sighed.
“Fuck.”
The cold wind howled high above her head; a forgathering storm that ceaselessly teased and hinted at its calamitous fury. If the Rider Servant Chiyou summoned was who Assassin was almost entirely sure she was, then the presence of this growing storm implied she was still skulking around. But the disaster she created was the Beast, Chiyou, not that wanton witch.
“So, what to do…?”
She barked a hollow laugh.
“So fucking stupid,” she muttered while leaping back to her feet. On cue, a long musket came into existence by her side. On her face, the determination of the fairest, wisest queen she had ever known.
“There’s only one thing to do. Right, Your Highness?”
******************************
“It cometh.”
Indeed, the quicksand’s spiraling flow was slowing to a halt. As if on cue, the ground shook terribly; a single pulse of outrageous strength.
“Umu,” murmured the red emperor, almost as if a mantra. Artoria looked at her, the one so strangely like her younger self in appearance. This was not a Heroic Spirit; this was the living emperor of Rome, gripping her great sword in a trembling hand.
“Nero,” she spoke quietly. A second quake, as powerful as the first, almost knocked Lady de Bressieux prone.
“Are you ready to die here?”
The words stilled Nero completely. For a moment there, she indeed stopped breathing. Immediately after, as if the words were a spell washing over her body, she relaxed. From the crown of her head to the tip of her toes, her body ease down and settled in a comfortable poise.
“My thanks, Lancer. I place the fate of my city—no, my world, in your hands.”
“Hnn.”
“This shall not beest a long battle,” declared Chiyou Caster. “That thing knoweth not restraint, and neither shouldst we if we desire to triumph.”
“Right,” murmured the French Assassin.
The ground shook a third time, and the quicksand simply stopped moving.
The stormy clouds growled.
“It cometh!”
And the sandy ground thus exploded. Nero lunged into the conical pit, followed a step later by Caster and Assassin. Rhongomyniad began to glow a deep purple.
Metal clashed with metal. Nero grunted, and a combination of multiple forces from several directions threw her aside. Caster made a pushing motion with both arms, and an eight-foot-tall wave of sand rose to drag Berserker away, if only for one second before exploding.
“Guh!” Caster grunted at the futility of her spell before Berserker’s unfathomable power.
“On it!” Nero was quick enough, and moved to intercept the monster before Caster became its prey. The ornate crimson sword met the chaotic myriad of blades one more time, and the cloud of sand created by Berserker’s return had dispersed enough for the emperor to get a proper first look at her opponent.
Truly, no trace remained of its original human form. Submerged in the quicksand, Berserker’s body had been crushed, twisted and broken, until nothing was left of the original humanoid body but a misshapen, bloody lump of flesh and triturated bone. And from that lump erupted countless blades in every thinkable direction. There was no longer a “body”. Berserker Chiyou was merely a swarm of blades sharing a single point of origin.
“Here stands a true monster indeed!” Nero gasped more than exclaimed. The blades moved, and so did her arms, dexterously matching the unreadable onslaught from uncountable angles.
Needless to say; she was outmatched. How could the likes of Nero Claudius hope to equal Chiyou’s inhuman supremacy?
She was slowly and inexorably pushed back, step by step, closing the distance to the edge of the sand pit where Artoria Lancer Alter stood, readying her mighty Noble Phantasm.
A second sword, even larger than the emperor’s, intercepted the blow that would have destroyed Nero’s liver.
“Miss Assassin!” exclaimed the red swordswoman.
“Assassin!” shouted Caster Chiyou. “What art thou bethinking!? Thou art not artful enow!”
“I know that, but neither is Her Majesty!” refuted Marguerite. “That’s why, the two of us together—!”
To Berserker, Lady de Bressieux’s interception had been nothing special, no different from the countless parries Nero had already performed by this point. In no way did it disrupt its onslaught. One or two obstacles; it did not matter. There were plenty blades for the two of them.
And indeed, if Nero was outmatched, Marguerite de Bressieux was not even worthy of comparison. Before Berserker’s monstrous power, they might as well have given that greatsword to one of the city’s mangy dogs. Mere seconds later, the black Assassin was pierced and slashed at least half a dozen times, and her body impaled by a spear-like outgrowth was flung over Nero’s and Caster’s heads, landing about halfway to Artoria’s emplacement.
Caster grunted in annoyance. Nero did not react to Marguerite’s defeat; she was not allowed that privilege. Even if it was only a fraction of an instant, Marguerite had caught more of its attention than she had.
“How! Vexing!”
Her exclamation was accompanied by a mighty upwards swing, fierce enough to push Berserker away. Nero seized the chance to trade looks with Caster a distance behind.
She saw in Caster’s eyes what she knew also smoldered in her own.
The choice was made.
Berserker charged forward; again, a wrecking ball of sharp steel. Nero leapt back to stand protectively a step ahead of Caster.
“Ready?”
“Umu.”
The storm of metal fell upon the emperor and her ward with a ringing clash of blades. And the storm came to a halt, only for a moment.
“Looks like…its existence is too inhuman…to be afflicted by…something like a curse…”
Nero wished she could laugh at that. It was no longer possible, what with the blades piercing her lungs.
“But…I still can…”
Berserker’s blades were fierce and long enough. The same blades that pierced through Nero also penetrated Caster’s body. Uncaring of the blood spilling out of her mouth, Caster held to the blades spearing her. The sand beneath their feet rose slowly to grab at the protruding blades.
“Then, I also…!”
Nero’s words degraded into a groan even as she stabbed into the midst of the forest of blades. The red sword stabbed through unshaped flesh and further, until the tip buried itself on the sand behind it.
And then Berserker began to move forward.
Nero and Caster gasped out in mirrored pain as the blades dug deeper, and their gasps became howling cries when new blades erupted from the wound created by Nero’s stabbing sword. Caster struggled to sustain her magic; Nero could only put strength on the grip on her sword. But Berserker was relentlessly pushing them along on its way towards Artoria—
Until she was stopped one more time.
A gauntleted hand gripping the blade nearest to the ground. The other hand holding to a greatsword buried into the sand all the way to the cross-guard.
“Not…yet…!” gasped one Marguerite de Bressieux, holding on to existence despite multiple lethal wounds. “Even if you tear me into pieces…! As long as this fight isn’t over…! I will not die…gaah!”
Berserker cared not. Just another hassle to carry along. It continued its relentless advance; the blades not inflicting lethal punishment upon Nero and the others acting as pseudopods, wheels, and legs—whatever haphazard means of locomotion they could assemble.
However, through the combination of spell, strength, and sheer desperation, the monster had certainly been slowed down.
“Storm King…!” wheezed out Caster.
Certainly, Artoria Lancer Alter had taken her time. But there was a reason.
From her arrival to this era, she had been disconnected from the main energy source at Chaldea, courtesy of Assassin Chiyou’s Grail-powered blockade. She had been powered solely by her Master’s magical energy.
And even he was gone at this point, only the intent empowering his last Command Spell fueling her efforts.
She was effectively a Master-less Servant, in need of her immensely powerful and demanding Noble Phantasm.
“This is it,” she said, solely to herself. “This is my everything.”
She was enveloped by a storm. A furious thing of black and purple, utterly supernatural in contrast to the monstrous storm brewing in the sky above.
“Umu. It is how it is. Rome will not fall,” concluded Nero, placing what remained of her strength to make sure Berserker could not move any faster. Sand piled further, even smothering Marguerite, who nonetheless did not let go of the single blade she could hold on to.
“It was…an honor,” said the feeble Assassin.
“…’twast mine.”
The lance was lowered; its tip the mallet of judgment.
“
Rhongomyniad
Spear Shining at the End of the World
!”
******************************
It was not a silent scene. Thunder roared high above, and flames creaked in the distance, from many buildings that still burned.
Artoria Pendragon was alone. Her weight rested on one knee; the tip of her lance stabbing the ground. Panting heavily, her Saint Graph barely sustaining cohesion.
She was out of energy, but she had to endure a bit longer.
She had to make sure that it was truly over.
Rain began to fall. It was a gentle respite to the city in flames, but it only made her feel heavier.
The roar of thunder, again.
Then, the sound of grinding metal.
Artoria gritted her teeth.
A minuscule piece of shapeless flesh on the ground. Pulsating. Squirming. Writhing.
A blade the length of a hand surged out in a burst of blood and shredded flesh.
“One more…” Artoria murmured, as she struggled to get back on her feet. “One more shot—”
The intense, eye-searing flash of lightning. Artoria could not see the minuscule remnant of Chiyou being speared and incinerated by the sky’s castigation, because she was victim to a second one. Artoria crumpled down, her body breaking the threshold and beginning to fall apart. Her comfort was that no trace remained of Berserker, but that only lasted until she saw what emerged in its place.
A large, pulsating, glowing red gem—no, that was no gemstone.
Artoria Lancer Alter understood
everything, and understanding left a bitter taste in her mouth.
It had come out of Berserker Chiyou, the one thing left after her destruction. Berserker, who had emerged upon Cacus’ defeat. Cacus was summoned by Rider…
“A wish granter…”
“Indeed.”
Artoria tried to turn her face towards Rider, but a sandaled foot fell hard on the back of her head, grinding her face against the hard and wet soil. The Lancer could do nothing about it by this point, as she was already breaking down.
“This is what Assassin Chiyou used to summon me and the others. And now it’s mine. I call it my just reward.”
The words brought out a mocking snort out of the Storm King.
“Fool. That thing does not belong to you. Do yourself a favor and disappear before its owner comes back for it.”
“Hmph. Your opinion is duly noted and promptly dismissed. Now, please die.”
With a vicious stomp, Rider hastened the inevitable, and unceremoniously ended Artoria’s existence. She was finally alone, with no company but the floating crimson artifact. There was only one thing to do.
She laughed; a gloating, wicked, obnoxiously loud thing, and the storm clouds above responded with the rumble of thunder.
“Finally! Finally, finally, finally! So many annoying pests in my way, but finally! It’s done!”
Dark elation made her laugh until she had to clutch her stomach. Eventually, she did relax, her face easing into a sweet smile. Her scant clothes, now wet, clung to her skin to make an indecent image.
“Haa…” Shaking her head, she gazed upon the mighty, yet profane light of Assassin Chiyou’s “Grail”.
“This whole thing was just too annoying.”
It took her moments after she was summoned to figure out her place and her plan. She did not even think of acting against Assassin Chiyou, so she groveled and obeyed, all for the purpose of being the last Servant standing.
“And now, it’s just you and me, darling,” the femme in the garb of an exotic dancer sauntered closer to the floating, gem-like artifact. Her smile widened, revealing rows of pearly teeth, as her eyes shone with manic glee.
“Even if it’s a world that’s falling apart, until the day everything breaks down, this world is my playground—”
Blood was spilled mightily when a musket shot blew right through the hand reaching for the crimson “Grail”.
Lightning flashed, falling mighty close. Thunder roared, as if echoing Rider’s screams of pain. Obscenities poured out of her mouth, the gleeful luster of her eyes replaced with an inhuman glow.
“I’d be grateful if you kept your slutty hands off my stuff. God knows where those hands have been.”
The nameless, horned Assassin pursed her lips at the baleful glare she got in response. A second later, she had moved a dozen yards to the side, just before lightning fell on the very spot she had been standing on. Rider growled at her failure.
“You’re an open book right now, bitch,” taunted Assassin, her trusty musket resting on her shoulder.
“You…how are you still alive!?”
“Turns out I’m decent at the whole ‘staying alive’ thing. Who’d have thought?” Assassin bluffed without an iota of shame. “But, really, hands off my stuff. Well, I guess it’s just ‘hand’ now. Not apologizing for that.”
Rider breathed heavily. Once, twice, and one final time. With each expiration, she contained the rage irradiated, pulling it back into the depths of herself as she eased down her posture and settled down into a cool, steeled expression. In any case, the storm above their heads expressed her inner fury just as eloquently.
“…fine. I guess it would have been too easy, after all. Can’t earn my reward before doing some actual work, alright.”
The air around Rider began to circulate unnaturally, growing in violence as if aiming to match the powerful storm raring high in the sky.
“You are saying you want this back, little demon?” She said, using her non-mangled hand to gesture toward the floating artifact.
“Well, go fuck yourself.”
Assassin sighed inwardly. Then again, she had not really expected a peaceful solution to this. Conjuring a second musket into her free left hand, and doing her best to ignore the uncomfortable weight of her soaked clothes, she steeled herself for the beginning of violence.
“Yeah, whatever. Bring it on, Bitch of Guernsey.”
Originally Posted by Alexcoene
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