What the hell was I doing out here?
"Standard operating procedure" for a Caster class Servant was to establish defenses and have your enemies come to you. A Caster was most dangerous in the center of his demesne, boosted by all his stored up energy. But the first thing this one had done was toss me a hunting rifle and told me to cover his back. Why were we out patrolling every night? According to theory, not using a catalyst to summon him would mean that my Servant would have a similar personality to my own, but he was an enigma, this man. One moment he would be in a rush, barking orders and being generally curmudgeonly, the next he would be standing deathly still, as if he could divine the true nature of this city by boring into it with his stare. For a man who appeared to be in the prime of his life, he acted like someone in his eighties. Or maybe that just was how everyone from the 1800s was.
“I have another idea,” I said, “about why you were summoned.” It was less to make conversation and more to think out loud. “You Natives believed that you belong to the earth, rather than it belonging to you, as if it’s your mother.” When he didn’t correct me, I kept going. “Perhaps it was your spiritual connection to your homeland that drew you here?”
Caster turned and gazed at the skyline a few miles behind us. Even at this distance, the multicolored lights of the CN Tower could be seen against the night sky. “This place is not my home.” he growled in a tone that brooked no argument. “Even before I was born, Toronto was not a very spiritually active area, thanks to all the building going on. The power of nature that was dwindling in my time is all but gone now.” I was about to point out that any part of North America was close enough in the grand scheme of things, but Caster had stopped again, glaring daggers at a nearby park filled with pine trees. This time, he made a beeline for the park and came to a stop at the entrance.
“I think I have found an explanation.” he said. “It is because of the only Servant we have yet to identify: Berserker.” He reached out his hand and pressed it against an invisible surface. A bounded field. How could this be Berserker’s doing? Even if their Master were to set up shop here, a park in the middle of a suburb was a poor place to do it. Caster traced a symbol across the barrier, which created a hole large enough for us to walk through. It wasn’t a symbol I recognized; not something used by any Canadian tribes, at least.
As soon as we entered, two things became immediately apparent. The first was that the temperature had dropped by about thirty degrees. The second thing was the smell. It didn’t smell like a city, it was more like a bog, dank and pungent despite the cold. It smelled of blood and dead things. What sort of monster lived here?
“I was summoned because of the presence of my hated enemy.” Caster said, this time with a quiver to his voice. He drew his weapons, a hatchet and a long dagger, gleaming silver in the moonlight. “Be on your guard. Keep that rifle up and don’t waste your shots. If you lose the gun, light anything and everything you can on fire.”
A screech pierced the forest, and was soon joined by a chorus of many more. Out of the corner of my eye I saw a white blur, and suddenly a man was in front of us, doubled over and coughing up blood. He looked up and I could tell he wasn’t human; his eyes and skin were pale as a corpse. He lunged forward, but Caster caught him in the shoulder with a thrown hatchet, then dashed forward and plunged the dagger into his heart. He pulled out the hatchet and chopped the man’s head off before he hit the ground. Caster waved his hand, and the man’s pouring blood began flowing, forming a circle of more Native symbols on the ground.
“Stay in the circle!” he barked, “It will keep them at bay for a little while!” At the same time he threw three daggers into different trees and they erupted into flames. Now that the clearing was filled with light, I could see them. About ten or fifteen human figures surrounded us, all in various states of disfiguration. I immediately recognized these emaciated, ghoul-like creatures that were staring at me and Caster with hunger, hatred and inhuman intelligence. They were Wendigos, the most powerful and horrifying creature that ever existed in North America. And there was a pack of them turning Toronto into a hunting ground.
Another screech drew my attention to the tallest one and all sensation of warmth left my body. I knew that this was Berserker,
the original Wendigo, summoned by a Master with more sadism than sense. The evil spirit had clearly possessed its Master, who may have once been an attractive woman, but now she stood fifteen feet tall, gaunt and skeletal with long silver hair and green eyes. A Command Seal glowed a faint red on her right hand, sustaining Berserker and herself.
Caster was unperturbed as the air got even colder, shrugging off his coat and shirt, revealing a toned body underneath. There was a silver disc that was, for lack of a better term, welded into his chest, over his heart. Unlike his tanned body, the skin under the disc was snow-white, just like the Wendigos that surrounded us. It reminded me of a certain film character that had put a machine in his chest to protect his heart.
Dear God. That’s how he survived for so long. That’s how he could fight and kill so many.
Berserker charged forward, and should have barreled right through him, but he caught her wrists in each of his hands. She had the advantage in brute strength and lightning speed, but the fire, the blood symbols and all the silver paraphernalia on Caster’s body had held her back just enough. Caster’s eyes flashed a cold blue and he let out a screech of his own as he snapped Berserker’s wrists in his hands. From there he became a whirlwind of hatchet and dagger, gouging at the giant’s body before finally lopping off her head.
I finally remembered to raise my rifle, but Caster was already among the others, hacking and ripping them to shreds as the fire and wards slowed them to a crawl. Four of them turned to flee, and I shot one in the back. Once they were out of the light of the fire, though, they sped up and vanished. It started to warm up; the bounded field must have come down. Caster was standing among the bodies, now a foot taller than he was and panting like he had just been running for miles. He shut his eyes and walked back into his warded area, chanting between breaths. He sat cross-legged for about a minute and then stood up to grab his clothes, now back at his normal height.
“The Master is dead, but the Wendigo will jump to another host.” he said raggedly, “And this time, it will be out for vengeance. We must warn the other Servants. Most likely it will try to take over one of the other teams to gain even more power.”
Shit. “Why would it call you to this time?” I asked, “Why would it arrange to have an enemy who’s so perfectly equipped to kill it?”
“The Wendigo does not want to kill me.” Caster tapped a finger to the silver seal on his chest.
“It wants to reclaim me.”
Originally Posted by asterism42
. Eager to see how the sheet comes out.
