Harry Potter London Nights
- Thread starter Professional Cynic
- Start date
I really don't have any plans for Hermione to be a major character. She doesn't show up at all in Ch.4, and probably won't show up much if at all in Ch.5 either.
I just noticed this while writing, but I'm making Dumbledore in this story what seems to be more proactive and badass than his canon version.
On the note of Herwald von Einzbern, it helps this story. If I ever feel down about the quality of my work, I can just read HvE, get angry/annoyed, feel better about my writing, and be driven to write something better. I did a little of that after finishing ch.4.
I'll update soon; Ch.4 is being beta read at the moment.
I just noticed this while writing, but I'm making Dumbledore in this story what seems to be more proactive and badass than his canon version.
On the note of Herwald von Einzbern, it helps this story. If I ever feel down about the quality of my work, I can just read HvE, get angry/annoyed, feel better about my writing, and be driven to write something better. I did a little of that after finishing ch.4.
I'll update soon; Ch.4 is being beta read at the moment.
Here's a rough version of the chapter. I'll put up a better one soon. Also, there is a True Assassin that is not Hassan. I think it works.
Chapter 4
Hogwarts Nights
She knocked on the door. It was late at night, past midnight. None of the other spirits around the castle would dare to challenge her, feeling the spiritual power. Though it was a risk, she had cast away the clothes she wore as part of her disguise. The blue armored dress was but one sign of her office. Flickering familiar torchlight, cast shadows as she walked in solitude. She had a meeting with that man. That man, the one who had denied her salvation. Nonetheless, there was a great deal of respect for him.
Having been around him for so long, she could get a general idea of his location, but the directions were more useful for her purposes. She hated to deceive her Master, but it was necessary for this. She came to the gargoyle barring entry. It would have been her right as king to come barging into the room, but that was no way to greet him.
ôI wish to see Dumbledore,ö she said, speaking to the gargoyle. There was no response, but she could feel the ancient magics in action. If he was there, he would know of her presence. So, she stood and inhaled and exhaled. She was willing to accept this.
The gargoyle slid aside, almost like a herald broadcasting her arrival. She didn't want to think of her arrival as being broadcast. She wanted to share a few peaceful days before the Hell of the Grail War began. However, Hell was not an accurate descriptor because, even in Hell, the good were spared. Not so in the Grail War.
She walked forward, boots sounding on the floor. These sounds were then muffled by the Persian rug on the floor of the office. The fire was warm and cheery, even if somewhat unnecessary in the warm summer night. There, sitting in a chair by the fire, was that man. Albus Dumbledore was his name. He'd trimmed his beard compared to what she remembered. Even all these decades later, there was a certain timeless quality to the man. He looked her in the eyes.
ôTea, Saber? Please make yourself comfortable.ö
ôYes please. Thank you.ö
Saber pulled up another chair, and seated herself in the comfortable leather and wood. It had that comforting smell of ages. She allowed herself a small sigh. They had enjoyed similar nights in what was Earth's darkest hour by the day's reckoning. He was a father figure, a friend, a comrade, and a mentor. Albus Dumbledore was a very unique person.
She heard his dress shoes as he came back with a pair of tea cups and saucers. The two of them both took their tea without sugar or cream, so no other things were brought.
Saber took an appreciative sip. It was the perfect temperature, near scalding. Even after all these years, he still remembered. The tea that he had prepared was slightly different from the normal grey tea that they had shared. This was a Chinese green tea. She had indeed sampled it before, but had not expected this to be the tea that he served. The fire crackled warmly in the somewhat amicable silence.
ôHow have you been after all these years, Saber?ö asked Dumbledore softly.
ôThings have been like a dream, especially my memories of this time.ö
ôAh. I see. Shall we reminisce like a pair of old folks.ö
ôWe are old, Dumbledore.ö
ôDo you remember destroying the Vimana?ö
ôYes.ö
She could practically feel the wind racing around her much like the winds cloaking her sword. The twin Rolls-Royce V12 Merlins purred like a tiger. Magic was enshrouding and reinforcing her platform. Up ahead was the golden flying machine of ancient India. It was like a joust but in midair with much greater consequences. It was her authority against his. Her only companion was down in the cockpit, separated from her by a layer of ballistic glass.
ôYes.ö
ôAh. That was something else. I wish we were still as close as that time, but things seemed to drift apart.ö
ôI think that you lost your way to another ideal.ö
Dumbledore sipped his tea.
ôThat's not it. It's the Grail, isn't it.ö
ôYes. Yes, it is.ö
Saber took a sip of her own tea. It was growing lukewarm now.ö
ôWhat would you have done with the Grail, Dumbledore?ö
ôAfter seeing it, I would destroy it. Before then, I suppose that I wanted the world to become a paradise unachievable by mortal means. Nowadays, I don't really think in such sweeping terms, but I had a dream like every boy.ö
ôThat you did,ö said Saber, laughing, ôI wish it had stayed. It was that dream which made you a cut above the rest, the wheat separated from the chaff. It just seems that you threw away what made you special. If you'd kept on that way...ö
ôYeah, I know.ö
Saber gave him a slight smile. The wounds were still there, but she couldn't bring herself to hate the man. They both had paths which had changed radically after intersection. Hers had remained straight but his had veered away from that intersection.
ôGood night, Dumbledore.ö
ôGood night, Saber. Victory is already promised.ö
She laughed and walked from the office. For his part, Dumbledore sighed as she left. She was the only woman that he could ever truly love. Whenever he saw another, they would simply fall from the standard set by Saber. If only he'd been born a few centuries before.
***
Morning followed. Harry could feel Archer's presence at the edge of his senses. He put on his glasses. Dawn's light crawled in through the windows. The samurai sat at the edge of the bed. At this moment, the armor was gone, and she simply wore a plain kimono of red and black. She looked so much like a girl than a warrior with the layers of bulky armor gone. She had a faint smell of ashes, almost like that of a smoker. However, the smell was not nearly as unpleasant. If anything, it was almost like the sinister version of incense.
ôGood morning, Master.ö
ôGood morning, Archer,ö he whispered, ôDo you mind turning around? I'm going to get dressed.ö
She chuckled before quietly acquiescing.
ôThanks you.ö
ôDon't worry. I'll keep watch.ö
He could easily imagine her smirk with her back turned. He couldn't bring himself to be annoyed by his Servant even if he wasn't particularly fond of smirking people like Malfoy or Snape. Harry quickly dressed himself in his Hogwarts uniform and freshened up. Archer disappeared from his vision. She must have seen someone begin to rouse.
ôMornin' 'Arry!ö came Ron's voice, ôI was wondering when you'd get back. Obviously it wasn't like Hermione, Luna, Ginny, Neville, or me.ö
ôI ended up going out on my own and spending a night in London. Dumbledore found me the next morning. We ate breakfast, and I got an afternoon train ticket.ö
ôThat's nice. After having to deal with Fudge, bloody incompetent he is, we flooed back to Hogwarts. I've got a question for you. My sister mentioned something about this strange Japanese girl who followed you around. Killed the shit out of a pair of Death Eaters, or so I heard.ö
ôWell, shit,ö was the mantra repeating itself inside Harry's mind. He doubted that the priest, Nathan Hill, would take kindly to him revealing the Grail War to outsiders even if they were magical. Father Hill had managed to find him out of all the teaming masses of people, schools of human fish. It would come as no surprise if the priest was able to monitor him and probably Susan Bones at Hogwarts. It's not like the school had the same sort of worldwide resources that the Catholic Church did. The only people who might be able to match them would probably the Muslims, but they didn't seem to be nearly as organized or entrenched as the Roman Catholic Church.
ôIt's complicated. It was a spirit that had been in the Department of Mysteries that was sympathetic to me for her own reasons. She's not here right now. She just disappeared into thin air.ö
Technically, none of this was an overt lie. There was a great deal of omission and fudging of details. However, the secrecy of the Grail War was not something he would compromise. He would especially not compromise it after that fight with Caster and Elise. To intervene in a battle between Servants, as his friends would do with the best intentions, would end up with their deaths. As much the lump in his throat pained him, the all too real image of their broken bodies as a result of getting involved in the Grail War pained him more.
ôThat's strange. Ginny said that the girl could mess with the real world. Blew off a Death Eater's head and cut another one apart. That's not your run-of-the-mill spirit.ö
ôYeah. Archer was a strange spirit. I suppose that's why she was locked down there in the Department of Mysteries.ö
ôMakes sense. Don't see why you call the spirit an archer. According to Ginny, it used guns and swords.ö
ôBeats me. That's just what she referred to herself as being. I half remember from muggle school about Japan. Their knight, the samurai, were trained in archery. I guess that's the place from which the whole 'Archer' thing originates.ö
ôWhatever,ö said Ron, ôIt works for me. I'm sure there's room for one more in our merry band of adventurers.ö
Harry laughed at his choice of words.
ôThanks, Ron. If I see her, I'll tell her about your offer. Heaven know we need a bit more firepower.ö
Ron laughed.
ôIf what Ginny said is true, we'd have more than enough firepower.ö
ôToo true. Too true.ö
Harry thought back to the lightning unleashed by Caster. Right now, he hoped that Archer had enough firepower to deal with the other Servants in the Grail War.
ôAlright. I'm going down for breakfast. You should come quickly,ö said Ron.
ôI'll be down soon. I'm going to pack quickly.ö
ôSee you later.ö
Harry did actually pack for class. He also pulled out the Marauder's Map. He quickly scanned for the Hufflepuff dorms. It was just as he thought. Next to the little dot labeled ôSusan Bonesö was another dot. It was originally something else, but that had turned into a more readable ôSaber.ö
ôVery, very nice,ö purred Archer, ôSo many tactical opportunities. What I would have given for something like this on my campaigns...ö
ôIt's a real help. Well, we know that Saber is here. Do you think you could beat her?ö
ôPerhaps. It would have to be an oblique strategy. I could feel just how powerful she was. There is no way I could defeat her directly. Hand-to-hand is practically out of the question. The best bet would be to simply assassinate the Master from far away. They are a good deal squishier than the Servants.ö
ôI know her. She's a good person, and I really don't want to kill her. Her relative is one of the few people in Minister's cabinet with some shred of integrity.ö
ôI'll be blunt; you're not ruthless enough. If you don't want to do that, it would probably best to try to make an alliance with Master of a another powerhouse like Berserker. This is assuming that Berserker's Master doesn't want you dead like Caster's.ö
ôYeah. Of course, we all probably want each other dead. Or at least the Servants.ö
ôWe want a wish and won't let anyone get in the way. It's that simple.ö
ôYeah, Archer. It is.ö
ôDon't worry, Harry. I'll be very close.ö
Harry couldn't tell if she was serious or making an innuendo. Still, she was pleasant and generally enjoyable to be around. Perhaps it was the natural charisma which allowed her to command armies to crush the enemies before her in Feudal Japan. Sighing, he walked off to break the nightly fast.
The castle's Great Hall was filled to the brim as normal. Bright sunlight illuminated dust motes here and there. Harry noted the additional tapestries. They seemed to be almost like tarot cards. One portrayed a knight with bow and arrow. Another a mounted warrior. A third portrayed a knight wielding a long lance. A further tapestry held a wizened magician. Another held a death-faced killer. A sixth held a wolf-faced warrior like those seen in Viking depictions of berserkers. Above all, hung above the image of a radiant knight of the sword. Dumbledore had done some redecorating that was undoubtedly for those involved in Heaven's Feel.
From the table of the snakes, there was less vitriol. It really wasn't less overall vitriol but less vitriol directed at him. For one reason or another, Harry did not spy a certain blond head in the crowd. It was suspicious. Instead, he focused on his plate of coffee and beignets which he had found as a surprise. He could practically see Dumbledore winking to him from the faculty table. He dug in with gusto.
ôYou should let me materialize, Master,ö stated Archer.
ôWhy?ö returned Harry through their mental communion.
ôJust because I don't need to eat doesn't mean that I don't want or like to eat. I've never had British food before.ö
ôSeriously?ö
ôSome of it does look rather bland or much too sweet, but I really want to have some. Besides, look at Saber over there. She's digging right in!ö
Harry looked over to the Hufflepuff table where Saber or ôPennyö was eating heartily. She seemed so comfortable in this setting. There was a certain familiarity in her movements that could only be gained by years of repetition. It was elegant but proud. Harry began to idly wonder how Archer would eat.
ôYou see! You do want to know how I eat! So~ let me materialize and eat breakfast!ö
Evidently, he had been thinking too loudly.
ôMaybe later, Archer. Besides, I could cook something for you. I'm not half-bad. I would venture to say that I could cook a greater variety than just English food. I can do a little bit of Italian, Spanish, and French. If you'd like, I could even try my hand at Japanese, but I doubt it would be much good.ö
ôI will hold you to that promise,ö stated Archer ominously.
A voice snapped him back to reality, or at least away from the vengeful samurai. It was Ginny, the only person at Hogwarts besides Dumbledore to see Archer.
ôWhere did Archer go?ö she asked quietly.
ôShe's not here at the moment. She disappeared into something more incorporeal. I don't think it's the case, but I could imagine that she's still following me around or something.ö
It hurt him deep in his heart to lie like this with a straight face, but it was for the best. The Holy Grail War would be a devastating conflict.
ôYes, I am indeed 'following you around or something' as you so eloquently put it,ö said Archer. He could easily imagine her covering up a smirk.
And so, the continued normally. There weren't any classes with Susan or ôPenny,ö so he didn't see them. In Potions, it was as he had surmised; Draco wasn't there. That had him slightly worried, given his father's connections. Nonetheless, he fell into bed with a relaxed sigh, knowing that Archer was right there to guard him. Cooking for her would be the least thanks he could give to the scarlet samurai. Things remained in this pleasant limbo for the next few days.
***
It was past midnight. Pale moonlight was blocked by heavy curtains. All was calm and quiet. Silent, the presence slid into the room without detection. This was his specialty, undetected murder. For him, such a reputation was an complete irony since he was caught for his crime and sentenced for his sin. In the end, his greatest punisher was his own self. More silent than death and darker than black, he crawled above the bed containing his mark. Sleeping, the boy looked so peaceful and relaxed. The boy was without a care in the world.
He came into the material realm quickly and silently. As was expected, he was clad in black. His tunic was black. His cloak was black. His belt was black. Sandal-clad feet settled into the proper stance. From behind a bone-white mask, there was no strong feeling about this. There was only assurance that it would validate his sacrifices and sins. The wickedly serrated blade of the sickle was in his hands, ready to reap a life. He raised the sickled up to plunge it into the boy's brain.
There was a click behind him. This was not unexpected. He really should have protested more greatly about this order. It was only logical for the Master to keep the Servant ready and nearby like an attack dog. The ring of steel felt cold against the back of his neck even through the material of the cloak.
ôI wouldn't do anything too hasty there. Which Servant might you be?ö
ôI'm Assassin. I suppose that you caught me red-handed.ö
ôNot quite red-handed, but I prefer it that way. I'm Archer. Are you Hassan?ö
ôHassan? Those guys just stole my thunder a few thousand years later. However, I wouldn't be hasty either, Archer.ö
ôAny particular reason, Archer?ö
ôSince you warned me earlier, I feel obligated to return the favor. I don't want to say much more, but blowing out my brains would end poorly for you.ö
ôWhat say we take this outside, Assassin?ö
ôThis assassination was practically doomed from the start.ö
ôWere you stuck with a poor Master?ö
ôHe's a pretty good kid, but he's a bit impulsive and doesn't like think ahead. He's too caught up in his own emotions. I'll admit that I'm the same way.ö
ôAnd the Servant matches the Master.ö
ôIndeed. Shall we clash blades away from the children?ö
Assassin disappeared into his spirit form before reappearing outside the window. Archer did likewise, and the two were facing off in the grass around the castle. Twin arquebuses faced a sickle. Sighing, Archer put them up and instead drew the gleaming silver of her katana.
ôCan't disturb the children with gunfire, can I.ö
ôAye. I suppose we both like kids.ö
ôNot really. I was never much of a cuddly type.ö
ôMe neither.ö
The clash of blades rang in the still night air. Sparks flew as the two blades clashed, one for war and the other for agriculture. Assassin wielded his farmer's tool in a reverse grip. In this respect, it impeded the Servant's offense; however, it allowed him to stand his ground against the more powerful Archer in defense. And powerful she was. The air distorted from the speed at which she swung the sword. With that sword, another advantage lay with Archer, an advantage of range. The short hook-like blade of the sickle could never hope to match the reach of a katana. By all means, Assassin should have died within twenty blows against the superior swordsman.
However, the murderer had his own tricks. He parried the heavenly sword and immediately twisted his wrist, seeking to rip and tear the blade from his adversary's hands. Archer was fast, already beginning to retract the blade the moment she felt the first movements from his blade, but it was too fast. The blade was not wrestled from her grip. Archer was dragged into the murderous short range of the sickle, a place where the reach afforded by her katana was more a liability than a strength. The Heroic Spirit raised a fist and landed and devastating right hook that sent Archer reeling.
Archer relinquished the grip on her katana, allowing the majestic length of curved steel to fly through the air. The second sword at her waist howled for blood. It howled to be released by the demon lord. Archer granted its wishes as she drew the black wakizashi that seemed to drink in the blackness stamped with the kanji characters ?? or Jigoku, meaning ôHell.ö This pair of opposing blades formed Archer's Noble Phantasm, Heaven and Hell~Dualistic Blades of the Warlord. What the unholy blade lacked in reach, it made up for in power. Its nature meshed naturally with demon's blood inside Archer. It sang in her grasp.
Assassin was fast, but not fast enough. The tip of the blade carved open a long scratch along his right forearm which wielded the sickle. On Archer's right forearm, a similar wound appeared. However, this scratch was deeper, longer, and bloodier than the one afflicting her enemy. By her estimate, it was seven times worse than her opponents. Letters scratched into Assassin's mask lit up a deep blue. She somehow recognized the language, Hebrew. She could already gather the meaning. Any harm upon this murderer would be avenged sevenfold. Archer immediately broke apart, jumping far back from her opponent. The gears in her head were turning, recalling what she had learned from European priests.
She uttered a single word while narrowing her eyes: ôCain.ö
ôThe one and only, Archer. Though can you think of a more famous murderer than the first murderer -the horrible sin of fratricide at that. The Hassan have nothing on me and my legend.ö
Archer's response was the slash of her wakizashi. The sickle of gleaming flint held in a reverse grip sparked as it came in conflict with the black sword. The second of the opposing pair of blades broke off to again clash with the farmer's tool. The two blades skittered away from each other, wielders twisting their bodies around for another go. All Assassin had was his skill from years as a vagabond wanderer who had fought against stronger foes with better weapons while all he had was his trusty sickle. Archer had the skill of a warrior who had trained for the battlefield and then passed the baptism of fire with flying colors. She had fought against kama-wielding ninja. However, her opponent was one who had practically invented the style. He did not fall into the traps that Archer would have normally used against such a fighter.
Three slashes cut at the masked murderer. Each one was aimed to kill. One was aimed to slice his throat, a second aimed to open up his belly, and a third to sever the large blood vessels in his legs. Assassin slipped around the three like oil and launched his own offensive against the crimson samurai. His rain of strikes was aimed for a mortal blow with every strike. Archer could not afford to let even one slip past her guard. Neither could she afford to land a good hit on her opponent, but her blood sang out for her to finish him quickly and viciously. Nonetheless, she understood on an intellectual level the danger of this course. The best move would be to find and kill the Master. With Assassin's Noble Phantasm, he would be a very troublesome opponent. No Servant could go all out on him without dying. She needed some scapegoat to fight Assassin and get killed by his divine protection. Preferably, the scapegoat would also kill the family-murderer. Of course, Archer knew that this was somewhat hypocritical for her. She had marched on her family to secure power.
She noticed a familiar magical presence coming, undoubtedly attracted by the sounds of battle. Archer disappeared into her spirit form. Assassin did likewise. The new presence came into the empty courtyard. She came in as a blur of blue and gleaming silver. Though there was no weapon in the girl's hands, a blur of wind could be seen; it was a distortion that took the general shape of a sword.
ôCome out, you cowards!ö called the regal maiden in blue.
ôNot quite my style, I'm afraid,ö called the disembodied voice of Assassin.
ôNot my style either. Sorry, Saber,ö called Archer's own disembodied voice.
ôWell, who are you cowards?ö
ôArcher.ö
ôAssassin.ö
Archer saw the grinning death's head in the window, returning to the task of assassinating her Master. Immediately, she went into the room and faced down the black Servant.
ôThis is such a pain, Archer,ö said Assassin, sighing.
Archer raised an eyebrow at the original murderer, clamped a hand over her Master's mouth, and dragged him bodily from the bed. It would be much safer to have him awake and near her with Assassin's presence. His eyes opened immediately, and he moved to say something but was muffled.
ôBe quiet. It's just a Servant battle. We've got Saber and Assassin here. Now, I wouldn't be surprised if Caster showed up. Don't worry, I'll keep you safe.ö
Harry simply relaxed. He implicitly trusted Archer. Archer jumped from the window to an outer turret of the curtain walls. From there, she made another bounding leap to a tall pine tree out in the forest. Harry leaned against the trunk from one of the upper branches.
ôI can't see, Archer.ö
She handed him the glasses she had snagged when dragging him to safety.
ôThanks.ö
Archer gave no reply, instead drawing one of her arquebuses. She balanced the finely made weapon on a branch. The match was burning a dull glow. She pulled back the serpentine of the matchlock. The weapon was cocked, locked, and loaded.
ôWhat are you doing?ö
ôTaking a shot.ö
She adjusted the firearm. Archer whispered her calculations. Harry wasn't able to hear much, but he knew that she was only judging the target's location with her ears and then using that to calculate the sort of ballistic trajectory necessary to drop a shot on the enemy Servant's head. By his own estimation, they were at least a mile from the castle. Such a shot should have been an impossibility.
ôSayonara, Saber.ö
Archer squeezed the trigger. A flock of birds flew into the night sky being roused by the sound of the gun. Harry could barely make out a flash of shimmering lead as the bullet arced over the wall to the clash going on inside the castle walls.
ôHmm... It seems that I missed.ö
Archer brought the second matchlock to bear.
ôIt seems that I'll need a bit more firepower.ö
Archer pulled back the serpentines and smoldering matches with her thumbs.
ôBrimstone. Hellfire.ö
True names unleashed, the paired arquebuses transmuted into something altogether more sinister. Even if he had seen it before during the fight with Caster, it did not fail to unsettle him. There was something intrinsically wrong about them. He could feel the dark power in the air. Archer gave him a cheeky smile, as if to say ôWatch this.ö
Archer unleashed a barrage of evil projectiles. As they were magical weapons, there was no need to reload. Archer would simply fire a shot, pull the serpentine back, and fire again. Choking sulfurous smoke soon obscured Harry's vision. After a dozen rounds of this, Archer ceased fire. When the smoke cleared away, Harry could see some smoke coming from Hogwarts.
ôWhat did you...ö
ôIt just set some grass on fire. No need to worry.ö
Harry could only nod mutely at his Servant's response.
Archer's eyes looked at the distant castle. Her eyes caught a pair of blurs fighting across the roof. One was black and the other blue and silver. Her eyes narrowed as she gazed intently at Saber. While the knight's armor was somewhat damaged, Archer had hoped that her bombardment would have a greater effect. She had a few deep scratches, likely the courtesy of the similarly damaged Assassin.
ôI see you, Archer,ö called Assassin, ôWhat do you say to a truce to fight Saber?ö
ôWhat say you, Master?ö
ôMight as well. If she finishes off Assassin-ö
ôShe'll be dead courtesy of his Noble Phantasm. Our black-cloaked friend is Cain from the Bible, the one who murdered his brother and was marked to be avenged sevenfold.ö
ôI'd like to knock out Saber quickly. She's too dangerous. When the war really starts, someone else can have the misfortune of dealing with Assassin. I already have a good idea who his Master is, and he is not someone I would mind you dealing with.ö
ôSo you do have a coldblooded streak to you! Alright, I'll work with Assassin for a little while.ö
In a blur of red and black, the warrior known as Nobunaga was gone. She stood up to the petite form of Saber. Archer's eyes were a few inches above the blonde knight's. The twin arquebuses in her hands returned to their harnesses.
ôArcher,ö stated Saber plainly.
ôIndeed. I'm much more a ranged warrior, but I can't help but want to cross blades with a legendary swordsman such as yourself.ö
ôYou are a strange one, Archer. You have a holy sword and demonic one. You carry yourself like a knight, but lack a knight's pride. You seem to have strange companions.ö
ôAssassin? Naw. While this probably is a bad move tactically and strategically, it's not out of any love for the murderer. I want to cross blades with you.ö
Archer's hand rested on the sheath of the katana bearing the mark of heaven, thumb pressed against the handguard. She assumed an iaido stance, aiming for a kill on the draw. While the style was originally for the purpose of defense against a sudden attack, there was a certain visceral beauty which Archer admired to the style. But there was something to do first.
Saber held her sword out in front of her, winds kicking up the dirt around her. Her green eyes stared into her opponents brown ones. Her feet were planted firmly in the ground like the roots of a great oak tree, but she was ready to move like a lion out for the kill. She saw a momentary twitch in her opponent, but did not flinch. The Japanese heroic spirit had pulled out her gun and fired. A sulfurous smoke filled the area between the two. The winds surrounding her sword dispersed it in seconds.
ôI hope that wasn't a surprise attack, Archer. That was sloppy.ö
The samurai in red gave a lopsided smile and put the arquebus back into its harness.
ôIt wasn't. I already said I wanted to clash blades. That's a clever tactic you have there, Saber. You hide the blade of your sword with a barrier of winds. Not only does it conceal what is likely a powerful Noble Phantasm, it also prevents the opponent from gauging the size of your blade. However, introduce a little smoke into the mix, and you plans of hiding the sword's dimensions go -dare I say- up in smoke.ö
ôVery funny, Archer,ö said Saber without a trace of humor.
Archer's hand lazily returned to the handle of her katana. She smiled at Saber. The staring contest began. Assassin dared not interfere. He could have gone after Archer's Master, but this was vastly more interesting than his original mission. A leaf full and green blew between the two. Matched expressions of steely focus were on both sides of the leaf. As soon as the leaf came right in the middle of the two, they exploded into action. The leaf left the zone of death in four pieces.
Archer had moved first, being faster than Saber. The quick silver of the katana flowed like water to target Saber's armpit and carve into her lungs. The invisible air moved to smash down diagonally through Archer's pauldron and exit out her side. The two met and negated the other's force. Of course, the Knight of the Sword was at an advantage against the Knight of the Bow. However, Archer had fought against swordsmen more skilled than her. It was an insane tactic. When Archer's blade clashed against Saber's, Archer fought more against the other Servant's blade than the Servant.
Heaven and Hell~Dualistic Blades of the Warlord were not chosen by Oda Nobunaga for their mere beauty. These two were as unshakable and unbreakable as the two realms for which they were named. Neither of these blades could be sundered. It was this quality that allowed for the success of this insane method of sword combat. It was this quality that allowed for Archer to stand against Saber.
Sparks flew between the grinding hurricane and the divine steel. The two swordsman, one Western and the other Eastern, were engaged in a battle of wills and strength. The blades met hundreds of times over the next few seconds, both being equally matched. A rushing wind filled the battlefield as air flooded back into the wall of vacuum created by the dispersed air of the clashing blades. For Harry watching in the tree, it was the most beautiful sight he had ever seen.
ôThey're something else...ö murmured the teen, trailing off.
ôThey are, aren't they,ö assented another voice.
Harry turned his head to see death's visage. Ebony robes fluttered in the breeze. The shadowy figure was perched like a gargoyle next to him. The murderer seemed relaxed as he watched the fight.
ôAren't you going to help, Assassin?ö
ôAre you kidding me? Look at that. Not only would it be suicide for me, one who is not good at head-on confrontations, but do you really want it to stop.ö
Harry turned his gaze back to the battle at hand. Assassin was right; it would be shame for such a beautiful clash to end so quickly. Almost resentful at the cloaked man's correctness, he nodded to the Biblical character in agreement. He noticed blood dripping from the stone sickle.
ôWhose blood?ö asked Harry.
ôThere was a witness to this. Note the past tense.ö
Even though every fiber of his being railed against this, he couldn't help but chuckle a little at the absurdity. It was wrong. An innocent bystander whose only crime was location had died. He chuckled all the same at Assassin's dark humor.
Once the laughter died down, Assassin continued, ôI was pretty nice about it. It was just a single strike to the spine to allow for a painless and fast death.ö
ôI'm going to assume that you are rather well-versed in such attacks, seeing as that was how you murdered your brother.ö
ôHonestly, I could -and probably should- murder you on the spot for talking about that. You're right; I am an evil man. I forgot that I was my brother's keeper. The big brother is supposed to look out for the little one, but I killed my little shepherd brother anyway.ö
The two swordsmen backed off temporarily. As if sighing in relief, wind rushed back to a normal pressure quite unlike the veritable cyclone between the clashing blades. Saber was stoic, and Archer still smiled lazily.
ôThat was quite a duel, Saber. Thank you for such a good sword fight. It's been a while, and this sword arm needs to stay strong. I can't just rely on my marksmanship.ö
ôI still think that you lack a knight's pride, Archer. However, there was another pride in your strokes. I think I misjudged you.ö
ôI'm sorry, Saber,ö said Archer, backing further away and drawing the twin matchlocks. The matches trapped in the serpentines glowed ominously. Saber frowned slightly at her opponent's actions.
Her eyes widened in shock as the ragged and jagged edge of a sickle came for her neck. For Saber, there was only one option: act on instinct. She threw herself away from Assassin's black blade and used the buffeting winds held in her hands to attempt to blow away Assassin. She was only partly successful, as this move put her right in the firing line of Archer. Saber could see Archer's lazy grin as she held the guns in a tilted grip, but she could see that it was tinged with some regret. There was a certain swordsman's pride to defeat another by the blade. Even if Archer did use those weapons anathema to a hero, she did regret being unable to triumph in a clash of blades. Smoke blasted out as a one of a pair of projectiles broke the sound barrier with ease to attempt to smash through Saber's breastplate and rip apart her torso where the diaphragm met the liver. The other was aimed right between the eyes to smash and deform and blow the brain out the back of the skull. It was a perfect shot pulled off with an inhuman ease. It was an ease that seemed almost infernal.
Saber planted her invisible sword into the ground and whipped about to change her direction. This was only partly successful since the shot aimed between her eyes merely ripped through several strands of hair near her ear and the shot aimed at her torso hit at such an angle that it was deflected by the armor. Of course, the temporarily allied Servants did not relent as Assassin came at her to rip her entrails with that sickle of his. His blow was easily deflected her sword, now pulled from the ground. Rather than fight it, Assassin allowed himself to be sent flying. Archer then fired another pair of shots, these aimed at the kneecaps of the silver-armored knight. Saber immediately jumped back; upon doing so, she realized from the crimson-clad samurai that it was part of a plan to use her instincts against her. The black-cloaked form of Assassin shot forward like bullet ready to rip her apart and gut her. Saber instead grabbed Assassin by the mantle and sent him hurtling bodily into a tall tree which splintered and collapsed at the impact.
Compared to the previous events of the battle, the crack like a bullet was nothing.
ôThis shall not pass!ö cried the man in a thunderous voice.
Dumbledore had arrived. So great was his power and presence that he managed to cow Archer and Assassin. Out of respect for a comrade, Saber too deferred to the old man. He fixed all the Servants and the single Master with a glare.
ôFighting on Hogwarts grounds is prohibited. I hope greatly that you will be able to restrain yourselves in later confrontations. Perhaps if innocents had not been involved in this shadow war, I would have let this skirmish go; however, a certain Argus Filch is dead with wounds that resemble those given by the agricultural tool known as the sickle. While there is not much I can do to you, I warn you that there is much I can do to your Masters. On that note, warn your Masters that I will see them about this incident.ö
It was insane for a mere mortal like Dumbledore to stand down some of the Earth's greatest heroes, but he did and they listened. Archer returned the weapons to their harness. Assassin put away the sickle into the folds of his robe. The cyclone of Saber's invisible sword died down. They returned slowly to the castle, and the night rejoiced as the clash had been brought to an end. Harry Potter slept a peaceful sleep in spite of the night's events since he knew there was an guardian angel or devil watching over him.
Chapter 4
Hogwarts Nights
She knocked on the door. It was late at night, past midnight. None of the other spirits around the castle would dare to challenge her, feeling the spiritual power. Though it was a risk, she had cast away the clothes she wore as part of her disguise. The blue armored dress was but one sign of her office. Flickering familiar torchlight, cast shadows as she walked in solitude. She had a meeting with that man. That man, the one who had denied her salvation. Nonetheless, there was a great deal of respect for him.
Having been around him for so long, she could get a general idea of his location, but the directions were more useful for her purposes. She hated to deceive her Master, but it was necessary for this. She came to the gargoyle barring entry. It would have been her right as king to come barging into the room, but that was no way to greet him.
ôI wish to see Dumbledore,ö she said, speaking to the gargoyle. There was no response, but she could feel the ancient magics in action. If he was there, he would know of her presence. So, she stood and inhaled and exhaled. She was willing to accept this.
The gargoyle slid aside, almost like a herald broadcasting her arrival. She didn't want to think of her arrival as being broadcast. She wanted to share a few peaceful days before the Hell of the Grail War began. However, Hell was not an accurate descriptor because, even in Hell, the good were spared. Not so in the Grail War.
She walked forward, boots sounding on the floor. These sounds were then muffled by the Persian rug on the floor of the office. The fire was warm and cheery, even if somewhat unnecessary in the warm summer night. There, sitting in a chair by the fire, was that man. Albus Dumbledore was his name. He'd trimmed his beard compared to what she remembered. Even all these decades later, there was a certain timeless quality to the man. He looked her in the eyes.
ôTea, Saber? Please make yourself comfortable.ö
ôYes please. Thank you.ö
Saber pulled up another chair, and seated herself in the comfortable leather and wood. It had that comforting smell of ages. She allowed herself a small sigh. They had enjoyed similar nights in what was Earth's darkest hour by the day's reckoning. He was a father figure, a friend, a comrade, and a mentor. Albus Dumbledore was a very unique person.
She heard his dress shoes as he came back with a pair of tea cups and saucers. The two of them both took their tea without sugar or cream, so no other things were brought.
Saber took an appreciative sip. It was the perfect temperature, near scalding. Even after all these years, he still remembered. The tea that he had prepared was slightly different from the normal grey tea that they had shared. This was a Chinese green tea. She had indeed sampled it before, but had not expected this to be the tea that he served. The fire crackled warmly in the somewhat amicable silence.
ôHow have you been after all these years, Saber?ö asked Dumbledore softly.
ôThings have been like a dream, especially my memories of this time.ö
ôAh. I see. Shall we reminisce like a pair of old folks.ö
ôWe are old, Dumbledore.ö
ôDo you remember destroying the Vimana?ö
ôYes.ö
She could practically feel the wind racing around her much like the winds cloaking her sword. The twin Rolls-Royce V12 Merlins purred like a tiger. Magic was enshrouding and reinforcing her platform. Up ahead was the golden flying machine of ancient India. It was like a joust but in midair with much greater consequences. It was her authority against his. Her only companion was down in the cockpit, separated from her by a layer of ballistic glass.
ôYes.ö
ôAh. That was something else. I wish we were still as close as that time, but things seemed to drift apart.ö
ôI think that you lost your way to another ideal.ö
Dumbledore sipped his tea.
ôThat's not it. It's the Grail, isn't it.ö
ôYes. Yes, it is.ö
Saber took a sip of her own tea. It was growing lukewarm now.ö
ôWhat would you have done with the Grail, Dumbledore?ö
ôAfter seeing it, I would destroy it. Before then, I suppose that I wanted the world to become a paradise unachievable by mortal means. Nowadays, I don't really think in such sweeping terms, but I had a dream like every boy.ö
ôThat you did,ö said Saber, laughing, ôI wish it had stayed. It was that dream which made you a cut above the rest, the wheat separated from the chaff. It just seems that you threw away what made you special. If you'd kept on that way...ö
ôYeah, I know.ö
Saber gave him a slight smile. The wounds were still there, but she couldn't bring herself to hate the man. They both had paths which had changed radically after intersection. Hers had remained straight but his had veered away from that intersection.
ôGood night, Dumbledore.ö
ôGood night, Saber. Victory is already promised.ö
She laughed and walked from the office. For his part, Dumbledore sighed as she left. She was the only woman that he could ever truly love. Whenever he saw another, they would simply fall from the standard set by Saber. If only he'd been born a few centuries before.
***
Morning followed. Harry could feel Archer's presence at the edge of his senses. He put on his glasses. Dawn's light crawled in through the windows. The samurai sat at the edge of the bed. At this moment, the armor was gone, and she simply wore a plain kimono of red and black. She looked so much like a girl than a warrior with the layers of bulky armor gone. She had a faint smell of ashes, almost like that of a smoker. However, the smell was not nearly as unpleasant. If anything, it was almost like the sinister version of incense.
ôGood morning, Master.ö
ôGood morning, Archer,ö he whispered, ôDo you mind turning around? I'm going to get dressed.ö
She chuckled before quietly acquiescing.
ôThanks you.ö
ôDon't worry. I'll keep watch.ö
He could easily imagine her smirk with her back turned. He couldn't bring himself to be annoyed by his Servant even if he wasn't particularly fond of smirking people like Malfoy or Snape. Harry quickly dressed himself in his Hogwarts uniform and freshened up. Archer disappeared from his vision. She must have seen someone begin to rouse.
ôMornin' 'Arry!ö came Ron's voice, ôI was wondering when you'd get back. Obviously it wasn't like Hermione, Luna, Ginny, Neville, or me.ö
ôI ended up going out on my own and spending a night in London. Dumbledore found me the next morning. We ate breakfast, and I got an afternoon train ticket.ö
ôThat's nice. After having to deal with Fudge, bloody incompetent he is, we flooed back to Hogwarts. I've got a question for you. My sister mentioned something about this strange Japanese girl who followed you around. Killed the shit out of a pair of Death Eaters, or so I heard.ö
ôWell, shit,ö was the mantra repeating itself inside Harry's mind. He doubted that the priest, Nathan Hill, would take kindly to him revealing the Grail War to outsiders even if they were magical. Father Hill had managed to find him out of all the teaming masses of people, schools of human fish. It would come as no surprise if the priest was able to monitor him and probably Susan Bones at Hogwarts. It's not like the school had the same sort of worldwide resources that the Catholic Church did. The only people who might be able to match them would probably the Muslims, but they didn't seem to be nearly as organized or entrenched as the Roman Catholic Church.
ôIt's complicated. It was a spirit that had been in the Department of Mysteries that was sympathetic to me for her own reasons. She's not here right now. She just disappeared into thin air.ö
Technically, none of this was an overt lie. There was a great deal of omission and fudging of details. However, the secrecy of the Grail War was not something he would compromise. He would especially not compromise it after that fight with Caster and Elise. To intervene in a battle between Servants, as his friends would do with the best intentions, would end up with their deaths. As much the lump in his throat pained him, the all too real image of their broken bodies as a result of getting involved in the Grail War pained him more.
ôThat's strange. Ginny said that the girl could mess with the real world. Blew off a Death Eater's head and cut another one apart. That's not your run-of-the-mill spirit.ö
ôYeah. Archer was a strange spirit. I suppose that's why she was locked down there in the Department of Mysteries.ö
ôMakes sense. Don't see why you call the spirit an archer. According to Ginny, it used guns and swords.ö
ôBeats me. That's just what she referred to herself as being. I half remember from muggle school about Japan. Their knight, the samurai, were trained in archery. I guess that's the place from which the whole 'Archer' thing originates.ö
ôWhatever,ö said Ron, ôIt works for me. I'm sure there's room for one more in our merry band of adventurers.ö
Harry laughed at his choice of words.
ôThanks, Ron. If I see her, I'll tell her about your offer. Heaven know we need a bit more firepower.ö
Ron laughed.
ôIf what Ginny said is true, we'd have more than enough firepower.ö
ôToo true. Too true.ö
Harry thought back to the lightning unleashed by Caster. Right now, he hoped that Archer had enough firepower to deal with the other Servants in the Grail War.
ôAlright. I'm going down for breakfast. You should come quickly,ö said Ron.
ôI'll be down soon. I'm going to pack quickly.ö
ôSee you later.ö
Harry did actually pack for class. He also pulled out the Marauder's Map. He quickly scanned for the Hufflepuff dorms. It was just as he thought. Next to the little dot labeled ôSusan Bonesö was another dot. It was originally something else, but that had turned into a more readable ôSaber.ö
ôVery, very nice,ö purred Archer, ôSo many tactical opportunities. What I would have given for something like this on my campaigns...ö
ôIt's a real help. Well, we know that Saber is here. Do you think you could beat her?ö
ôPerhaps. It would have to be an oblique strategy. I could feel just how powerful she was. There is no way I could defeat her directly. Hand-to-hand is practically out of the question. The best bet would be to simply assassinate the Master from far away. They are a good deal squishier than the Servants.ö
ôI know her. She's a good person, and I really don't want to kill her. Her relative is one of the few people in Minister's cabinet with some shred of integrity.ö
ôI'll be blunt; you're not ruthless enough. If you don't want to do that, it would probably best to try to make an alliance with Master of a another powerhouse like Berserker. This is assuming that Berserker's Master doesn't want you dead like Caster's.ö
ôYeah. Of course, we all probably want each other dead. Or at least the Servants.ö
ôWe want a wish and won't let anyone get in the way. It's that simple.ö
ôYeah, Archer. It is.ö
ôDon't worry, Harry. I'll be very close.ö
Harry couldn't tell if she was serious or making an innuendo. Still, she was pleasant and generally enjoyable to be around. Perhaps it was the natural charisma which allowed her to command armies to crush the enemies before her in Feudal Japan. Sighing, he walked off to break the nightly fast.
The castle's Great Hall was filled to the brim as normal. Bright sunlight illuminated dust motes here and there. Harry noted the additional tapestries. They seemed to be almost like tarot cards. One portrayed a knight with bow and arrow. Another a mounted warrior. A third portrayed a knight wielding a long lance. A further tapestry held a wizened magician. Another held a death-faced killer. A sixth held a wolf-faced warrior like those seen in Viking depictions of berserkers. Above all, hung above the image of a radiant knight of the sword. Dumbledore had done some redecorating that was undoubtedly for those involved in Heaven's Feel.
From the table of the snakes, there was less vitriol. It really wasn't less overall vitriol but less vitriol directed at him. For one reason or another, Harry did not spy a certain blond head in the crowd. It was suspicious. Instead, he focused on his plate of coffee and beignets which he had found as a surprise. He could practically see Dumbledore winking to him from the faculty table. He dug in with gusto.
ôYou should let me materialize, Master,ö stated Archer.
ôWhy?ö returned Harry through their mental communion.
ôJust because I don't need to eat doesn't mean that I don't want or like to eat. I've never had British food before.ö
ôSeriously?ö
ôSome of it does look rather bland or much too sweet, but I really want to have some. Besides, look at Saber over there. She's digging right in!ö
Harry looked over to the Hufflepuff table where Saber or ôPennyö was eating heartily. She seemed so comfortable in this setting. There was a certain familiarity in her movements that could only be gained by years of repetition. It was elegant but proud. Harry began to idly wonder how Archer would eat.
ôYou see! You do want to know how I eat! So~ let me materialize and eat breakfast!ö
Evidently, he had been thinking too loudly.
ôMaybe later, Archer. Besides, I could cook something for you. I'm not half-bad. I would venture to say that I could cook a greater variety than just English food. I can do a little bit of Italian, Spanish, and French. If you'd like, I could even try my hand at Japanese, but I doubt it would be much good.ö
ôI will hold you to that promise,ö stated Archer ominously.
A voice snapped him back to reality, or at least away from the vengeful samurai. It was Ginny, the only person at Hogwarts besides Dumbledore to see Archer.
ôWhere did Archer go?ö she asked quietly.
ôShe's not here at the moment. She disappeared into something more incorporeal. I don't think it's the case, but I could imagine that she's still following me around or something.ö
It hurt him deep in his heart to lie like this with a straight face, but it was for the best. The Holy Grail War would be a devastating conflict.
ôYes, I am indeed 'following you around or something' as you so eloquently put it,ö said Archer. He could easily imagine her covering up a smirk.
And so, the continued normally. There weren't any classes with Susan or ôPenny,ö so he didn't see them. In Potions, it was as he had surmised; Draco wasn't there. That had him slightly worried, given his father's connections. Nonetheless, he fell into bed with a relaxed sigh, knowing that Archer was right there to guard him. Cooking for her would be the least thanks he could give to the scarlet samurai. Things remained in this pleasant limbo for the next few days.
***
It was past midnight. Pale moonlight was blocked by heavy curtains. All was calm and quiet. Silent, the presence slid into the room without detection. This was his specialty, undetected murder. For him, such a reputation was an complete irony since he was caught for his crime and sentenced for his sin. In the end, his greatest punisher was his own self. More silent than death and darker than black, he crawled above the bed containing his mark. Sleeping, the boy looked so peaceful and relaxed. The boy was without a care in the world.
He came into the material realm quickly and silently. As was expected, he was clad in black. His tunic was black. His cloak was black. His belt was black. Sandal-clad feet settled into the proper stance. From behind a bone-white mask, there was no strong feeling about this. There was only assurance that it would validate his sacrifices and sins. The wickedly serrated blade of the sickle was in his hands, ready to reap a life. He raised the sickled up to plunge it into the boy's brain.
There was a click behind him. This was not unexpected. He really should have protested more greatly about this order. It was only logical for the Master to keep the Servant ready and nearby like an attack dog. The ring of steel felt cold against the back of his neck even through the material of the cloak.
ôI wouldn't do anything too hasty there. Which Servant might you be?ö
ôI'm Assassin. I suppose that you caught me red-handed.ö
ôNot quite red-handed, but I prefer it that way. I'm Archer. Are you Hassan?ö
ôHassan? Those guys just stole my thunder a few thousand years later. However, I wouldn't be hasty either, Archer.ö
ôAny particular reason, Archer?ö
ôSince you warned me earlier, I feel obligated to return the favor. I don't want to say much more, but blowing out my brains would end poorly for you.ö
ôWhat say we take this outside, Assassin?ö
ôThis assassination was practically doomed from the start.ö
ôWere you stuck with a poor Master?ö
ôHe's a pretty good kid, but he's a bit impulsive and doesn't like think ahead. He's too caught up in his own emotions. I'll admit that I'm the same way.ö
ôAnd the Servant matches the Master.ö
ôIndeed. Shall we clash blades away from the children?ö
Assassin disappeared into his spirit form before reappearing outside the window. Archer did likewise, and the two were facing off in the grass around the castle. Twin arquebuses faced a sickle. Sighing, Archer put them up and instead drew the gleaming silver of her katana.
ôCan't disturb the children with gunfire, can I.ö
ôAye. I suppose we both like kids.ö
ôNot really. I was never much of a cuddly type.ö
ôMe neither.ö
The clash of blades rang in the still night air. Sparks flew as the two blades clashed, one for war and the other for agriculture. Assassin wielded his farmer's tool in a reverse grip. In this respect, it impeded the Servant's offense; however, it allowed him to stand his ground against the more powerful Archer in defense. And powerful she was. The air distorted from the speed at which she swung the sword. With that sword, another advantage lay with Archer, an advantage of range. The short hook-like blade of the sickle could never hope to match the reach of a katana. By all means, Assassin should have died within twenty blows against the superior swordsman.
However, the murderer had his own tricks. He parried the heavenly sword and immediately twisted his wrist, seeking to rip and tear the blade from his adversary's hands. Archer was fast, already beginning to retract the blade the moment she felt the first movements from his blade, but it was too fast. The blade was not wrestled from her grip. Archer was dragged into the murderous short range of the sickle, a place where the reach afforded by her katana was more a liability than a strength. The Heroic Spirit raised a fist and landed and devastating right hook that sent Archer reeling.
Archer relinquished the grip on her katana, allowing the majestic length of curved steel to fly through the air. The second sword at her waist howled for blood. It howled to be released by the demon lord. Archer granted its wishes as she drew the black wakizashi that seemed to drink in the blackness stamped with the kanji characters ?? or Jigoku, meaning ôHell.ö This pair of opposing blades formed Archer's Noble Phantasm, Heaven and Hell~Dualistic Blades of the Warlord. What the unholy blade lacked in reach, it made up for in power. Its nature meshed naturally with demon's blood inside Archer. It sang in her grasp.
Assassin was fast, but not fast enough. The tip of the blade carved open a long scratch along his right forearm which wielded the sickle. On Archer's right forearm, a similar wound appeared. However, this scratch was deeper, longer, and bloodier than the one afflicting her enemy. By her estimate, it was seven times worse than her opponents. Letters scratched into Assassin's mask lit up a deep blue. She somehow recognized the language, Hebrew. She could already gather the meaning. Any harm upon this murderer would be avenged sevenfold. Archer immediately broke apart, jumping far back from her opponent. The gears in her head were turning, recalling what she had learned from European priests.
She uttered a single word while narrowing her eyes: ôCain.ö
ôThe one and only, Archer. Though can you think of a more famous murderer than the first murderer -the horrible sin of fratricide at that. The Hassan have nothing on me and my legend.ö
Archer's response was the slash of her wakizashi. The sickle of gleaming flint held in a reverse grip sparked as it came in conflict with the black sword. The second of the opposing pair of blades broke off to again clash with the farmer's tool. The two blades skittered away from each other, wielders twisting their bodies around for another go. All Assassin had was his skill from years as a vagabond wanderer who had fought against stronger foes with better weapons while all he had was his trusty sickle. Archer had the skill of a warrior who had trained for the battlefield and then passed the baptism of fire with flying colors. She had fought against kama-wielding ninja. However, her opponent was one who had practically invented the style. He did not fall into the traps that Archer would have normally used against such a fighter.
Three slashes cut at the masked murderer. Each one was aimed to kill. One was aimed to slice his throat, a second aimed to open up his belly, and a third to sever the large blood vessels in his legs. Assassin slipped around the three like oil and launched his own offensive against the crimson samurai. His rain of strikes was aimed for a mortal blow with every strike. Archer could not afford to let even one slip past her guard. Neither could she afford to land a good hit on her opponent, but her blood sang out for her to finish him quickly and viciously. Nonetheless, she understood on an intellectual level the danger of this course. The best move would be to find and kill the Master. With Assassin's Noble Phantasm, he would be a very troublesome opponent. No Servant could go all out on him without dying. She needed some scapegoat to fight Assassin and get killed by his divine protection. Preferably, the scapegoat would also kill the family-murderer. Of course, Archer knew that this was somewhat hypocritical for her. She had marched on her family to secure power.
She noticed a familiar magical presence coming, undoubtedly attracted by the sounds of battle. Archer disappeared into her spirit form. Assassin did likewise. The new presence came into the empty courtyard. She came in as a blur of blue and gleaming silver. Though there was no weapon in the girl's hands, a blur of wind could be seen; it was a distortion that took the general shape of a sword.
ôCome out, you cowards!ö called the regal maiden in blue.
ôNot quite my style, I'm afraid,ö called the disembodied voice of Assassin.
ôNot my style either. Sorry, Saber,ö called Archer's own disembodied voice.
ôWell, who are you cowards?ö
ôArcher.ö
ôAssassin.ö
Archer saw the grinning death's head in the window, returning to the task of assassinating her Master. Immediately, she went into the room and faced down the black Servant.
ôThis is such a pain, Archer,ö said Assassin, sighing.
Archer raised an eyebrow at the original murderer, clamped a hand over her Master's mouth, and dragged him bodily from the bed. It would be much safer to have him awake and near her with Assassin's presence. His eyes opened immediately, and he moved to say something but was muffled.
ôBe quiet. It's just a Servant battle. We've got Saber and Assassin here. Now, I wouldn't be surprised if Caster showed up. Don't worry, I'll keep you safe.ö
Harry simply relaxed. He implicitly trusted Archer. Archer jumped from the window to an outer turret of the curtain walls. From there, she made another bounding leap to a tall pine tree out in the forest. Harry leaned against the trunk from one of the upper branches.
ôI can't see, Archer.ö
She handed him the glasses she had snagged when dragging him to safety.
ôThanks.ö
Archer gave no reply, instead drawing one of her arquebuses. She balanced the finely made weapon on a branch. The match was burning a dull glow. She pulled back the serpentine of the matchlock. The weapon was cocked, locked, and loaded.
ôWhat are you doing?ö
ôTaking a shot.ö
She adjusted the firearm. Archer whispered her calculations. Harry wasn't able to hear much, but he knew that she was only judging the target's location with her ears and then using that to calculate the sort of ballistic trajectory necessary to drop a shot on the enemy Servant's head. By his own estimation, they were at least a mile from the castle. Such a shot should have been an impossibility.
ôSayonara, Saber.ö
Archer squeezed the trigger. A flock of birds flew into the night sky being roused by the sound of the gun. Harry could barely make out a flash of shimmering lead as the bullet arced over the wall to the clash going on inside the castle walls.
ôHmm... It seems that I missed.ö
Archer brought the second matchlock to bear.
ôIt seems that I'll need a bit more firepower.ö
Archer pulled back the serpentines and smoldering matches with her thumbs.
ôBrimstone. Hellfire.ö
True names unleashed, the paired arquebuses transmuted into something altogether more sinister. Even if he had seen it before during the fight with Caster, it did not fail to unsettle him. There was something intrinsically wrong about them. He could feel the dark power in the air. Archer gave him a cheeky smile, as if to say ôWatch this.ö
Archer unleashed a barrage of evil projectiles. As they were magical weapons, there was no need to reload. Archer would simply fire a shot, pull the serpentine back, and fire again. Choking sulfurous smoke soon obscured Harry's vision. After a dozen rounds of this, Archer ceased fire. When the smoke cleared away, Harry could see some smoke coming from Hogwarts.
ôWhat did you...ö
ôIt just set some grass on fire. No need to worry.ö
Harry could only nod mutely at his Servant's response.
Archer's eyes looked at the distant castle. Her eyes caught a pair of blurs fighting across the roof. One was black and the other blue and silver. Her eyes narrowed as she gazed intently at Saber. While the knight's armor was somewhat damaged, Archer had hoped that her bombardment would have a greater effect. She had a few deep scratches, likely the courtesy of the similarly damaged Assassin.
ôI see you, Archer,ö called Assassin, ôWhat do you say to a truce to fight Saber?ö
ôWhat say you, Master?ö
ôMight as well. If she finishes off Assassin-ö
ôShe'll be dead courtesy of his Noble Phantasm. Our black-cloaked friend is Cain from the Bible, the one who murdered his brother and was marked to be avenged sevenfold.ö
ôI'd like to knock out Saber quickly. She's too dangerous. When the war really starts, someone else can have the misfortune of dealing with Assassin. I already have a good idea who his Master is, and he is not someone I would mind you dealing with.ö
ôSo you do have a coldblooded streak to you! Alright, I'll work with Assassin for a little while.ö
In a blur of red and black, the warrior known as Nobunaga was gone. She stood up to the petite form of Saber. Archer's eyes were a few inches above the blonde knight's. The twin arquebuses in her hands returned to their harnesses.
ôArcher,ö stated Saber plainly.
ôIndeed. I'm much more a ranged warrior, but I can't help but want to cross blades with a legendary swordsman such as yourself.ö
ôYou are a strange one, Archer. You have a holy sword and demonic one. You carry yourself like a knight, but lack a knight's pride. You seem to have strange companions.ö
ôAssassin? Naw. While this probably is a bad move tactically and strategically, it's not out of any love for the murderer. I want to cross blades with you.ö
Archer's hand rested on the sheath of the katana bearing the mark of heaven, thumb pressed against the handguard. She assumed an iaido stance, aiming for a kill on the draw. While the style was originally for the purpose of defense against a sudden attack, there was a certain visceral beauty which Archer admired to the style. But there was something to do first.
Saber held her sword out in front of her, winds kicking up the dirt around her. Her green eyes stared into her opponents brown ones. Her feet were planted firmly in the ground like the roots of a great oak tree, but she was ready to move like a lion out for the kill. She saw a momentary twitch in her opponent, but did not flinch. The Japanese heroic spirit had pulled out her gun and fired. A sulfurous smoke filled the area between the two. The winds surrounding her sword dispersed it in seconds.
ôI hope that wasn't a surprise attack, Archer. That was sloppy.ö
The samurai in red gave a lopsided smile and put the arquebus back into its harness.
ôIt wasn't. I already said I wanted to clash blades. That's a clever tactic you have there, Saber. You hide the blade of your sword with a barrier of winds. Not only does it conceal what is likely a powerful Noble Phantasm, it also prevents the opponent from gauging the size of your blade. However, introduce a little smoke into the mix, and you plans of hiding the sword's dimensions go -dare I say- up in smoke.ö
ôVery funny, Archer,ö said Saber without a trace of humor.
Archer's hand lazily returned to the handle of her katana. She smiled at Saber. The staring contest began. Assassin dared not interfere. He could have gone after Archer's Master, but this was vastly more interesting than his original mission. A leaf full and green blew between the two. Matched expressions of steely focus were on both sides of the leaf. As soon as the leaf came right in the middle of the two, they exploded into action. The leaf left the zone of death in four pieces.
Archer had moved first, being faster than Saber. The quick silver of the katana flowed like water to target Saber's armpit and carve into her lungs. The invisible air moved to smash down diagonally through Archer's pauldron and exit out her side. The two met and negated the other's force. Of course, the Knight of the Sword was at an advantage against the Knight of the Bow. However, Archer had fought against swordsmen more skilled than her. It was an insane tactic. When Archer's blade clashed against Saber's, Archer fought more against the other Servant's blade than the Servant.
Heaven and Hell~Dualistic Blades of the Warlord were not chosen by Oda Nobunaga for their mere beauty. These two were as unshakable and unbreakable as the two realms for which they were named. Neither of these blades could be sundered. It was this quality that allowed for the success of this insane method of sword combat. It was this quality that allowed for Archer to stand against Saber.
Sparks flew between the grinding hurricane and the divine steel. The two swordsman, one Western and the other Eastern, were engaged in a battle of wills and strength. The blades met hundreds of times over the next few seconds, both being equally matched. A rushing wind filled the battlefield as air flooded back into the wall of vacuum created by the dispersed air of the clashing blades. For Harry watching in the tree, it was the most beautiful sight he had ever seen.
ôThey're something else...ö murmured the teen, trailing off.
ôThey are, aren't they,ö assented another voice.
Harry turned his head to see death's visage. Ebony robes fluttered in the breeze. The shadowy figure was perched like a gargoyle next to him. The murderer seemed relaxed as he watched the fight.
ôAren't you going to help, Assassin?ö
ôAre you kidding me? Look at that. Not only would it be suicide for me, one who is not good at head-on confrontations, but do you really want it to stop.ö
Harry turned his gaze back to the battle at hand. Assassin was right; it would be shame for such a beautiful clash to end so quickly. Almost resentful at the cloaked man's correctness, he nodded to the Biblical character in agreement. He noticed blood dripping from the stone sickle.
ôWhose blood?ö asked Harry.
ôThere was a witness to this. Note the past tense.ö
Even though every fiber of his being railed against this, he couldn't help but chuckle a little at the absurdity. It was wrong. An innocent bystander whose only crime was location had died. He chuckled all the same at Assassin's dark humor.
Once the laughter died down, Assassin continued, ôI was pretty nice about it. It was just a single strike to the spine to allow for a painless and fast death.ö
ôI'm going to assume that you are rather well-versed in such attacks, seeing as that was how you murdered your brother.ö
ôHonestly, I could -and probably should- murder you on the spot for talking about that. You're right; I am an evil man. I forgot that I was my brother's keeper. The big brother is supposed to look out for the little one, but I killed my little shepherd brother anyway.ö
The two swordsmen backed off temporarily. As if sighing in relief, wind rushed back to a normal pressure quite unlike the veritable cyclone between the clashing blades. Saber was stoic, and Archer still smiled lazily.
ôThat was quite a duel, Saber. Thank you for such a good sword fight. It's been a while, and this sword arm needs to stay strong. I can't just rely on my marksmanship.ö
ôI still think that you lack a knight's pride, Archer. However, there was another pride in your strokes. I think I misjudged you.ö
ôI'm sorry, Saber,ö said Archer, backing further away and drawing the twin matchlocks. The matches trapped in the serpentines glowed ominously. Saber frowned slightly at her opponent's actions.
Her eyes widened in shock as the ragged and jagged edge of a sickle came for her neck. For Saber, there was only one option: act on instinct. She threw herself away from Assassin's black blade and used the buffeting winds held in her hands to attempt to blow away Assassin. She was only partly successful, as this move put her right in the firing line of Archer. Saber could see Archer's lazy grin as she held the guns in a tilted grip, but she could see that it was tinged with some regret. There was a certain swordsman's pride to defeat another by the blade. Even if Archer did use those weapons anathema to a hero, she did regret being unable to triumph in a clash of blades. Smoke blasted out as a one of a pair of projectiles broke the sound barrier with ease to attempt to smash through Saber's breastplate and rip apart her torso where the diaphragm met the liver. The other was aimed right between the eyes to smash and deform and blow the brain out the back of the skull. It was a perfect shot pulled off with an inhuman ease. It was an ease that seemed almost infernal.
Saber planted her invisible sword into the ground and whipped about to change her direction. This was only partly successful since the shot aimed between her eyes merely ripped through several strands of hair near her ear and the shot aimed at her torso hit at such an angle that it was deflected by the armor. Of course, the temporarily allied Servants did not relent as Assassin came at her to rip her entrails with that sickle of his. His blow was easily deflected her sword, now pulled from the ground. Rather than fight it, Assassin allowed himself to be sent flying. Archer then fired another pair of shots, these aimed at the kneecaps of the silver-armored knight. Saber immediately jumped back; upon doing so, she realized from the crimson-clad samurai that it was part of a plan to use her instincts against her. The black-cloaked form of Assassin shot forward like bullet ready to rip her apart and gut her. Saber instead grabbed Assassin by the mantle and sent him hurtling bodily into a tall tree which splintered and collapsed at the impact.
Compared to the previous events of the battle, the crack like a bullet was nothing.
ôThis shall not pass!ö cried the man in a thunderous voice.
Dumbledore had arrived. So great was his power and presence that he managed to cow Archer and Assassin. Out of respect for a comrade, Saber too deferred to the old man. He fixed all the Servants and the single Master with a glare.
ôFighting on Hogwarts grounds is prohibited. I hope greatly that you will be able to restrain yourselves in later confrontations. Perhaps if innocents had not been involved in this shadow war, I would have let this skirmish go; however, a certain Argus Filch is dead with wounds that resemble those given by the agricultural tool known as the sickle. While there is not much I can do to you, I warn you that there is much I can do to your Masters. On that note, warn your Masters that I will see them about this incident.ö
It was insane for a mere mortal like Dumbledore to stand down some of the Earth's greatest heroes, but he did and they listened. Archer returned the weapons to their harness. Assassin put away the sickle into the folds of his robe. The cyclone of Saber's invisible sword died down. They returned slowly to the castle, and the night rejoiced as the clash had been brought to an end. Harry Potter slept a peaceful sleep in spite of the night's events since he knew there was an guardian angel or devil watching over him.
A writeup for Assassin
Servant Assassin: Cain
Alignment: Neutral Evil
Strength: C
Mana: A
Endurance: D
Agility: B
Luck: C
Noble Phantasm: Avenged Sevenfold~Mark of Cain (Anti-Unit Rank A++)
His NP has such a high rank because it's a mark directly from God with a very powerful effect. Its effect might not be all that outlandish, but I think it warrants the ranking.
Servant Assassin: Cain
Alignment: Neutral Evil
Strength: C
Mana: A
Endurance: D
Agility: B
Luck: C
Noble Phantasm: Avenged Sevenfold~Mark of Cain (Anti-Unit Rank A++)
His NP has such a high rank because it's a mark directly from God with a very powerful effect. Its effect might not be all that outlandish, but I think it warrants the ranking.
Some people are attractive enough to cross sexual orientation lines, for many observers. See the TVTropes pages on <a href='http://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Main/EvenTheGuysWantHim' target='_blank' rel='nofollow'>Even The Guys Want Him</a>, and <a href='http://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Main/EvenTheGirlsWantHer' target='_blank' rel='nofollow'>Even The Girls Want Her</a>, when you have enough spare time.
Also, see the <a href='https://secure.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/en/wiki/Kinsey_scale' target='_blank' rel='nofollow'>Kinsey Scale</a>.
Also, see the <a href='https://secure.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/en/wiki/Kinsey_scale' target='_blank' rel='nofollow'>Kinsey Scale</a>.
Here's a new chapter. It has not been proofread by anyone other than myself at the moment (since my beta is caught up with RL stuff). I would really appreciate it if people let me know where I screw up. At this point, I want to say that I'm about 20-25% finished with this fic. I plan for the Grail War to start in earnest next chapter.
I want to write a good guy Dumbledore in this because evil!manipulative!Dumbledore is, I find, annoying and stupid
Archer is a fun character to write because of the different facets of her personality.
Oh, beware the gun porn at the end. Want to give a reasonable warning
Chapter 5
Premonitions of the Storm
Things the next morning were, if emotions could have color, deathly pale. Someone, even if he was one of the most disliked people in Hogwarts, had been murdered. After the paranoia of Umbridge's reign, this was close to being the straw that broke the camel's back. There were already rumors and fear abounding through the halls the morning after. There were to be no classes for the day, as had been posted on various bulletin boards. Harry sat with his friends, putting up a facade of ignorance. He knew exactly what happened; the killer had even joked about with him and he had laughed. It was just more incentive to win the Grail. With Dumbledore's warning and his own personal reservations, he was considering to use the Grail to erase the evils that had allowed for its genesis.
ôLadies. Gentleman.ö
A clear and powerful voice cut through the haze of noise. It was exactly the commanding, powerful, and charismatic voice necessary for this situation. It was Dumbledore as Harry now knew him, the experienced Grail War veteran who was uncompromising on his principals. There was silence; the floor was his.
ôAs you may have heard, an incident happened last night for which classes are canceled today. I highly regret this, but Mr. Filch, our faithful school caretaker for decades, has been murdered. I say this to you because I expect a certain excellence from Hogwarts students. I expect you to be able to take this news without panic. I do this because I place my trust in you, the student body. As of now, I will work my utmost to secure the school against further threats. Furthermore, I would like to personally apologize for the incidents that have happened under my watch. I will personally improve the defenses of our beloved school for your safety no matter the cost. Thank you.ö
He sat down. There was only a stunned silence at this speech. Harry was not surprised. This was the true Dumbledore. However, most students had never heard the true Dumbledore with his conviction and fiery stubbornness. It was only expected that they would pause at his true colors.
The letters then began to arrive. For Harry, there was one to his surprise. Quickly, he opened it up. It was an order -phrased as a request- to report to Dumbledore's office. He could imagine the other people who had gotten the letter; he wasn't stupid.
ôPerhaps that's why the Grail selected you as my Master,ö whispered Archer in the edges of his mind, ôI was famed for my cunning and trickery. It would make sense to have a smart Master for a smart Servant.ö
ôThanks for boosting my ego, Archer.ö
ôNot a problem. There's something on your mind. What is it?ö
ôIt's about last night. Well, I...ö
ôJust spit it out. Be decisive.ö
ôI want to be able to fight. Back then, I was just helpless. I want to be able to contribute to our victory.ö
ôYou can't fight a Servant. A mere human stands no chance against a Heroic Spirit.ö
ôWeren't you human back when you were alive?ö
ôPartially. I have the blood of demons flowing in my veins.ö
ôBut not your arteries, right?ö
ôYou know what I mean!ö
ôSeriously, Archer. Would you please teach me something like how to use the sword.ö
ôSwordfighting? Huh. I suppose so.ö
ôWas it really that easy for you to decide?ö
ôYou probably stand a better chance than with magic. I'd say that about half of the Servants are magic resistant. Guns, normal ones, wouldn't be too useful -not to mention probably difficult to acquire. However, you might be able to last the second necessary to fend off an attack and call me via command spell.ö
ôI'd rather save the command spells to give you a boost against more powerful Servants like Saber.ö
ôNot a bad strategy, but don't hesitate to call me if your life is in danger. If you die, neither of us can win.ö
ôJust an idle thought, but couldn't you enchant a sword to help against enemies. If possible, I was thinking along the lines of speed and strength augmentation.ö
ôYou're the wizard, not me. I don't know.ö
ôShame. When do you think would be a good time. I was thinking after lunch in the Forbidden Forest. With a Servant, I'm pretty sure I'm safe.ö
ôThanks.ö
ôHarry, you seem really zoned out,ö commented Hermione, ôDoes it have anything to do with that letter?ö
ôI suppose so,ö he lied, ôI'm not sure what the Headmaster wants to talk about.ö
Of course, he knew exactly the topic of the discussion. He just needed to lie so they wouldn't get involved. Or such was the mantra repeated in his head.
ôWell, breakfast is almost over. You might want to make a head start,ö said Hermione, shrugging. Harry smiled.
ôI think I'll do just that. See you later!ö
ôSee ya,' Harry!ö
He waved as he began to walk. He could feel Dumbledore's eyes follow him. The old man was calmly calculating and observing, always ready to take action when necessary. Harry straightened and gave a nod to none in particular. However, he knew that Dumbledore saw it. He hoped the wizened wizard approved.
***
As he expected, he found himself in Dumbledore's office with Draco, Susan, and Saber. Archer and Assassin were both nearby in their spirit forms. Dumbledore sat at his desk, cup of tea in hand. There were six additional cups set out. At his behest, the three students each took a cup. Saber had already taken hers and smiled as she sipped at it.
ôLet's be friendly here. Would Archer and Assassin also materialize. I didn't go to the trouble of making tea for seven to let it cool down and be full.ö
It was no request. It was a command. Harry nodded to the empty air and Archer materialized. Much like Saber, she was not wearing her armor or carrying her weapons; she merely wore her fine crimson and black kimono in the same fashion as a man. She took one of the teacups and sipped from it.
ôAn excellent brew. I'm Archer. It's a pleasure to meet you.ö
ôDon't mince words. I know you've been hovering around Harry. I know you've met me, though we haven't been introduced.ö
Draco gave a nod of his own and Assassin appeared. The cloaked Servant put his sickle down on the desk and took a cup of tea.
ôPleasure to meet you. I'm Assassin but you can call me Cain.ö
ôMost Servants would rather have their true names unknown. Why are you different?ö
ôAs soon as I get hit, the big glowing mark from God shows up and everyone knows who I am. I really don't give a damn.ö
Draco's face scrunched up as Assassin said this. Harry sympathized; he would have the exact same reaction if his Servant threw around her identity like that. Thankfully, Archer didn't.
ôThe First Murderer's first action is to murder. How quaint, Cain.ö
ôWell I apologize, insincerely, about that. I was ordered to leave no witnesses.ö
ôThe murderer wants to become a hero?ö
Cain smiled, closed his eyes, and sighed.
ôYes. I want to become a good man. That is my wish.ö
ôI see,ö said Dumbledore, now focusing a glare on Assassin's Master, ôWhy would you order this?ö
ôThe priest said: 'No witnesses.'ö
ôI see. I highly doubt that those were his instructions. As I recall, the instructions were something like 'No muggle witnesses.' However, the meaning of a general 'no witnesses' was implicit.ö
The three nodded. They had all figured out the implicit meaning in the instructions. The compliance was up to the Master. While 'no muggle witnesses' was the rule, the killing of other witnesses to the unfolding miracle did not seem like something the priest would frown upon. Of course, such ideas made the priest one of dubious quality.
ôWho is this War's administrator?ö
Harry supposed that, himself excluded, the others must have been surprised by his knowledge of the Grail War. He would have never suspected it if the man himself not mentioned his involvement.
Saber spoke up, ôFather Nathan Hill.ö
ôHill?!ö
ôYou know him,ö inquired Susan.
ôYes. Allow to explain; much like myself, he is a veteran of the last Grail War or 'Heaven's Feel.' He was the Master of Servant Assassin Hassan-i-Sabbah. I myself was the Master of Saber. Nathan Hill was one of the most ruthless Masters in the last war.ö
Archer snorted and began to laugh. It was a rough, masculine manner that was not something that one would expect from a girl. Saber's brow furrowed slightly while the corner of her lips turned slightly upward.
ôArcher,ö began the blue knight, ôWould you care to explain before you make a fool of yourself?ö
ôWould you care for the nice version or the honest version, Saber?ö
ôHumor me with both, please.ö
ôThe nice version is that I suspected something was fishy about this man. From what I overheard, he does not sound like any of the Catholics I met, nothing like Francis Xavier. Honestly, I would probably use the same sort of ruthless tactics were my Master not so kind.ö
ôFrancis Xavier?ö
ôDon't ask me,ö said Assassin, throwing up his hands, ôHe's after both our times. Never heard of the man.'
ôHe was a Jesuit who traveled through the Far East. He might not have grasped the language perfectly,ö Archer began chuckling but continued, ôBut he had a good spirit. I didn't know him too well, but he was a good man.ö
ôJesuit?ö asked Saber, ôI already understand that they are a Catholic religious order, mind you.ö
ôI'm not the best source, but the Jesuits are a religious order founded by a man called Ignatius Loyola. They focus on education and missionary work.ö
ôThank you, Archer,ö said Saber.
ôNo problem, Saber. I suppose we've all got a bit of catching up to do with this time. Especially you, Assassin.ö
ôWe aren't stranger here. Call me Cain.ö
ôLadies and Gentlemen.ö
Again Albus Dumbledore held the floor.
ôAs I was saying, there are several rules that I would like you to follow. The Grail War will not touch my school any more than it has. No killing or fighting on campus, not even if people see you manifested.ö
All present nodded.
He continued, ôIf you can't follow this, I'll stop you myself.ö
Harry idly thought that his word choice was a bit odd. The threat was still there. Harry decided to be the better man and extended his hand to the old wizard. Dumbledore grasped it firmly and shook it.
ôI can do it, Professor.ö
Archer then shook his hand.
ôI stand with my Master.ö
The others followed suit.
ôI do have a question before we conclude this,ö said Dumbledore, ôWhat do you wish to do if you obtain the Grail, Masters?ö
ôI want a just world,ö said Susan immediately.
ôI really shouldn't say this,ö began Draco, ôBut I'd rather have Assassin's wish fulfilled than serve family interests.ö
ôAs for me,ö said Harry, ôI don't know yet. I should probably get to figuring that out sometime soon.ö
ôThank you. You may leave now.ö
And so they left, Archer and Assassin returning to their spiritual forms.
As they left, Albus Dumbledore muttered angrily under his breath, ôHill.ö
***
ôWhat time is it?ö asked Harry.
ôI don't know. Looks to be a few hours before 10 o' clock,ö replied Archer.
ôWell, I was hoping to get a lunch ready and maybe go out and learn a little swordplay. I do have the day off, after all.ö
ôI wasn't really expecting you to go for that already, but it's you. Don't expect too much actual sword usage. Your scrawny, and I think you need to be in a bit better shape to handle a sword. Don't get angry because I don't mean any harm.ö
Harry laughed, ôNo problem, Archer. You know more about swords than I do.ö
ôWhere would you find a sword, a katana specifically?ö
ôI'd make one with magic.ö
ôRight.ö
Hands in his pockets, Harry wandered off to the kitchen to see if he could get something. He passed through the sunlit halls quietly. People were generally happy to see him, and he returned their greetings in his usual friendly manner. A few turns brought him to the general area, though the changing architecture had lost him a few times. After a quick out of pear tickling, he found himself in the kitchens.
ôWhat do you want?ö asked a gruff house-elf with a stained apron.
ôWell,ö began the teen.
ôI don't have time for dilly-dallying; just spit it out.ö
ôI'd like a lunch for two, please. Preferably something filling but not rich.ö
ôYou teens are all the same,ö sighed the elf, ôYou all make these requests for dates. Y'know what, kid. I really don't mind.ö
ôThanks, what's your name?ö
ôRobert. You?ö
ôRobert? I'm Harry/ö
ôI know you're English, but pronounce it like a Frenchman. Row-Bear.ö
ôRobert.ö
ôYeah, that's right. Come back in an hour or so and ask for my name. I'll have something nice for you and your girl.ö
ôThanks,ö
ôHeh. Don't come crying to me if it doesn't work out. I've been cooking for decades. If things go poorly, I'm pretty sure it's your fault.ö
ôThanks... a lot.ö
ôEh, don't mention it. Now let me do some cooking on request.ö
ôI'll leave now.ö
Harry quickly left the kitchen and overbearing house-elf.
ôSo I'm your girlfriend, huh?ö asked Archer. It was the question he had been dreading, but had been expecting from the spirit.
ôI'm just not going to answer that. The answer should be readily apparent to you, Archer. You enjoy teasing me too much.ö
ôI can't help it. You're a hormonal, insecure teenage boy. I'm a rather attractive girl who was remembered as a man. Also, nobody is trying to kill us, so I have nothing better to do.ö
ôI really didn't need that.ö
ôIs this my 'giving a damn' face, Master?ö
ôRight now, you don't even have a face.ö
ôTrue. That will change soon enough. I thought you wanted to eat lunch with me and learn some swordplay.ö
ôWell yes...ö
ôThen it's settled. You'll get to see my wonderful face soon enough.ö
The teen closed his eyes, sighed, and shrugged. Archer was herself, sometimes silly but sometimes serious. Tiring as it could be, he liked it. Archer was something else entirely.
ôI want to show you something, Archer.ö
Even if she wasn't visible, he could practically feel her happy nod. He surmised that being a spirit must be a depressing experience. To return to the material realm must be like a dream come true for her and all the other Servants. Assassin was like that, trying to make up for his sins with his second chance at life. That was not what he would have expected from the Cain of Bible, but neither would he have expected to be partnered with the famous samurai Oda Nobunaga who was, in fact, a girl. If that were the case, he could only imagine what the other Servants would be like. He hoped it wasn't something ridiculous like King Arthur being a girl; that would be just plain silly.
He walked up to one of the highest turrets of the castle. No other souls were there. There was a small balcony. From here, the deep blue lake and verdant green forest and bright green grass could be surveyed. Little columns of smoke could be seen from the quaint roofs of the village. The sun was behind them, casting a cool shadow on them. The summer air was warm and pleasant and carried by a light breeze.
ôAh. Archer, you can materialize. It's really nice outside right now.ö
Just like that, Archer appeared, sitting on the railing. Her legs swung out and back. As with before, Archer was not clad in her armor, merely a black and red kimono. She smiled happily. The samurai girl simply rocked in the wind, eyes closed and savoring the feeling.
ôI'd be careful if I were you, Archer.ö
An eye opened, ôI'm a Heroic Spirit. Plain old falling wouldn't kill me.ö
ôYeah, I suppose so. That would be a pretty inglorious death,ö said Harry as he sat down on the stones.
ôYou can sit here with me, y'know. I'd catch you if you fell. Part of my job is to protect you from things like that too.ö
ôSure,ö acquiesced the teen as he sat on the railing beside Archer. He could feel the summer warmth. More importantly, he could feel Archer's warmth. Rather than a mere phantasm, she was a real living, breathing, flesh-and-blood person. It suited someone as full of life as her much more.
ôSay,ö began Harry, ôI'm a really poor Master for you. You said it yourself that I was holding you back from victory.ö
ôYou're too kind,ö said Archer, ôBut I like you like that. I simply can't help but like someone so much nicer, kinder, and more honest than me. Normally, I'd be jealous, but I'm strangely fine with you. Don't change. You're probably a better person than me.ö
They sat in a pleasant bliss. The sun was now directly overhead, and Harry's stomach growled like clockwork for the start of the normal lunch period. Archer disappeared back into her spirit form with a sigh as Harry began the long process of walking back down for the lunch that the gruff elf had prepared.
After a short stop in the kitchen, Harry found himself with a lunch in a wicker basket. The elf had patted his back and smirked, saying that it was ôsomething real special for you and that lucky lady.ö
It had taken some time to get to the forest. It wasn't that he was trying to show off by casually going to the forest; it was just that it was secluded enough to do things privately with a materialized Archer. Furthermore, the centaurs probably wouldn't attack him on sight, but rather would threaten him and give him an opportunity to leave before turning him into a pincushion. It would not surprise him if Archer, being a Heroic Spirit, would be able to take care of them with ease. He also wouldn't be surprised if they had seen Archer from the last night's battle and didn't want to bother him. He wouldn't be surprised either if they would give a cryptic warning since stargazing was a specialty of theirs.
For the most part, there were pines in the forest, but the gnarled limbs of ancient oaks spread like outstretched arms. Light poked holes through the canopy and spread onto the ground in nature's version of Claude Monet. Harry could smell the moist scent of untouched earth. Archer had manifested and was walking behind him to the right. The fresh scent of the pines mixed with the earth scent to provide an ambrosial smell. It was not often that anyone could enjoy the Forbidden Forest. Grass grew intermittently, as sunlight could not always pierce through the dense woodland. He walked along and found a secluded stream next to a grove. A mature pine had been hit by lightning and toppled over, forming the small sunny area. It was a perfect place.
ôHere then?ö asked Archer.
Harry nodded and sat down on the collapsed tree trunk. He began to unpack the lunch. There were a pair of sandwiches, roast beef with lettuce, swiss, tomato, bacon and Russian dressing on sourdough rye. Robert had also included a sealed pitcher of chilled tea and fresh strawberries.
Archer immediately took one of the strawberries and ate it. It was the first thing she went for. Harry was happy to eat his sandwich at the moment, but gave Archer a strange look. She met his gaze while in the middle of eating one of the strawberries.
ôWhat? Fruit like this was near impossible to get back in the day.ö
ôIt doesn't mesh, like... at all. The fearful warlord is a girl who likes strawberries.ö
ôI can still kick your ass.ö
ôI know that. It's just amusingly absurd. Wait! Save some for me. I like strawberries as much as the next guy.ö
ôI really could make a homoerotic joke about that, but the strawberries are too good. I'll share, if only because you are my Master.ö
ôAw, that's nice. Are you even going to touch the sandwich?ö
ôYou wouldn't believe how good fresh fruit tastes after being dead for a few years. Besides, some of that English food of yours looks rather disgusting.ö
ôBut you were whining about how Saber got to eat it when you couldn't! And here I am, offering you some nice food that is not swimming in grease or anything! You've got to be kidding me!ö
ôOh you~ Why so serious?ö
Harry pinched the bridge of his nose at the odd Servant. Then he shrugged and finished off his tasty sandwich. That gruff elf, Robert, had done a great job. Archer had started on hers, savoring the taste. He had to imagine, as she had said, what it would be like to simply taste and feel after being a dead spirit for nearly half a millennium. She had also left a some of the strawberries. Harry poured himself a cup of chilled tea and put it to his lips. It was slightly sweet. Tea like this just wasn't a very British thing. In fact, as Harry recalled in a moment of trivia recall, tea like this was more of southern United States beverage, especially when sweetened. He could see why they might enjoy it on a hot summer day like he was now enjoying it.
Archer licked her lips of a small bit of the dressing from the sandwich and made an appreciative ôhmm.ö Smiling, Harry poured her a glass of tea which she eagerly took. After draining the glass, she leaned back.
ôThat was much better than I thought it would be. Now, I hope you can cook since you must already understand that you will need to set up a base of operations actually in London rather than here. I want to enjoy being able to actually eat.ö
She didn't even begin to consider the possibility of her death. Harry supposed that this was the first step to victory, imagining that defeat was impossible.
ôI'll cook stuff for you. I'm no master chef but I'll do my best.ö
ôThat's what I want to hear. You said you wanted some swordplay, right?ö
ôYeah.ö
Archer stood up and moved over to sit on the grass, resting her back on a tree trunk. She patted a spot next to her for Harry to sit down. Harry packed the picnic basket and came to sit next to her. He supposed that, being made from magic, grass strains wouldn't be an issue.
ôI hate to be philosophical with you about self-defense, but before I let you hold a sword, I want to explain what it means to hold a sword. Maybe it's because I'm an old, dead, sentimental samurai, but I don't care.ö
ôI don't mind. I'm new to this.ö
ôHave you ever held a real weapon? I would exclude your wand, since it seems to be more of a tool. However, if you have, you know the feeling.ö
ôI found my uncle's shotgun and picked it up when I was five years old. It wasn't a good experience. It was heavy and unwieldy. Most of all, I didn't want to kill anyone with it. I'd seen some stuff on the news about people getting shot and guns scared me. I didn't -and still don't- particularly like them, but I wouldn't wish them murdered. I sure as hell wouldn't do that.ö
ôThat's not bad, but would you go into a bit more detail about what you felt when you picked up that weapon?ö
ôWell, my mouth went a bit dry. I can still smell the rank oil and gunpowder residue, since he never cleaned it. I put my little index finger around the trigger but then took it off immediately. My knuckles were white and trembling not just because it was heavy but because I was scared. Though I really couldn't express it adequately at the time, I knew that I could go point it at someone, squeeze the trigger, and blow their brains out.ö
ôYeah. Having a weapon in your hand for the first time can do that to you. To live by the sword is to die by the sword. As you might know, I disemboweled myself to die as a swordsman than die by fire. But, there is a 'but.' There is something beautiful, a certain ephemereal quality to the arcs of gleaming steel as you fight face to face against an opponent. Unlike a gunfight, you can generally say that the superior person wins, affirming their greater existence. I'll admit, I found the indiscriminate power of guns to be more useful as a general, but I am a samurai. I hope that you can appreciate the sword, Master.ö
ôI think I will, Archer.ö
Archer materialized the sheathed form of her katana in its dark wooden sheath. She unsheathed the Noble Phantasm and passed it to her Master so that he could hold it. Palms down, he took it with the edge facing outward. He could almost cry at sullying the silver beauty with his handprints. It was a beautiful work, undoubtedly crafted by a master swordsmith. He could feel the cold weight, but it was not a dead weight. Unlike that gun which he had held so long ago, there was a history and sweat and blood to it. It was one-of-a-kind, not something made without heart in a factory.
ôAh, if you want me to teach you, you'll need a blade of your own. I'm going to skip the entire 'practice weapons' stage to bare blades. It will be the fastest and -I believe- most effective method to teach you.ö
ôI see. Archer, could you please find a stick the same general size and shape of your sword. I'm planning on forging one with magic. Before you say anything, I know it would cheapen the sword. However, as you said, I need a sword. Besides, It'll be something that I made with my own two hands. Well, sorta...ö
ôDon't let that get in the way. Start stretching while I go find something. You really wouldn't want to tear anything. You can do that, right?ö
ôYeah. I know enough about stretching to not hurt myself.ö
ôI was talking about straining yourself while I teach you to use the sword.ö
ôOh. I'll get right to it.ö
After he returned her sword, Archer left to find a stick that he could transfigure. Harry began to stretch out, mostly his legs. They were surprisingly stiff, but he managed to get them a lot more limber by the time Archer came back with a stick around the size of her sword. Harry took it and felt it. It seemed to work. It was time to work his magic.
He'd worked out a mental ritual to get a perfect transfiguration. It might have been longer than the method they were normally taught, but Harry found that it worked for him quite well. His improving grades had also agreed.
The first step was to analyze the basic structure. In this case, it was several things. Most simply was the shape of the sword. It was also possibly the easiest step at which he could fail. There were so many subtle aspects to the katana which had to be analyzed and comprehended. However, in the case of this, Harry wanted a deeper analysis. There was so much more. There was the basis of a sword. What was it that made a sword to be a sword? Nonetheless, he managed to analyze the basic structure.
The second step was to analyze the existence of the sword. He had read a little Greek philosophy. Most of it had gone over his head. However, one concept had stuck with him. For everything, there must a paradigm. Though he could not truly envision the perfect, ideal sword, he understood the concept on some level. With this instinct, he was able to move onto the next stage.
The third step was to prepare the materials for the change. The name of this step was something of a misnomer since the materials were all in his mind. He had to bring about the steel of the blade, the wood, the sharkskin, all of these elements and hold onto them distinctly in his mind. However, for this sword, he did not have definite image. The sword would shape itself in its genesis. In that respect, it was almost like a child being formed within a fertile womb, ready to simply be.
The fourth step was to go through the process of how the object would normally be built. It did not necessarily even have to be entirely accurate to the process, but the concept of construction gave an underlying framework to the magic that shaped it to its final form. For this, he had to imagine the blacksmith beating and folding the steel to come close to that paradigm perfect sword. The fires were stoked and ready. The water was ready for quenching.
The fifth step was to begin construction. This was the step in which the previous four melded into one. He had to be mindful of every detail of the past steps. Everything must be there for the perfect metamorphosis. This was the most important step, requiring an organized and focused mind.
The sixth and final step was direct this into a flow of magical power that would bring everything to a finale. Of course, errant thoughts would bring about imperfections. However, he had truly seen a perfect example of a sword. Heaven was his paradigm. The power flowed out and reshaped the mere stick. Unlike other transfigurations, he did not have a defined end image as he did not want to copy Heaven. To do so would be to sully the honor of the blade and its wielder. A sword like this had to be one-of-a-kind. The power crackled like lightning through his nerves, but it was a good pain. Pain was only a proper reaction for a mere mortal like him attempting to even come close to that sword. Nonetheless, he knew that he would produce something of value.
As he wished, he produced something of value. The blade did not appear to be of steel, as he would have thought, but of bronze. However, he had no doubt that it was as strong as steel if not stronger. The same wavy pattern of a masterly forged katana existed along the edge, but it lacked a fuller like her sword. The handguard was an inky black made in the shape of an elongated hexagon. The grip was, unexpectedly, black leather. He distinctly recalled sharkskin in his own mental image. The little metal ôcap,ö as he had no better name for it, riveted to the handle was made from the same bronze too.
ôI've never seen a sword like that, but it should work. You can worry about a sheath later. Now, I'll show you how to use a sword.ö
And so she did. She taught him how to move. She taught him to read an opponent from the feel of their blade on his own. She taught him what she knew of the sword. Though he might not have succeeded greatly in this instruction, he was a sincere student. He soaked up her instructions like a sponge. She was proud to have a good student like him, and he was proud to have a teacher as good as her. For hours, they trained like this until the sun began to set in the evening sky.
With a sheath for his sword, he walked back to castle. Sweat drenched his clothes and his muscles ached all around, but he felt good. This was something that would directly help him in Heaven's Feel. Also, he enjoyed seeing Archer happy like this. Not only had she tasted again, but she had taught him. She seemed so happy to pass on her sword skills. Maybe, though she used guns, Archer wanted to see another swordsman in this world. Whatever the case, all he wanted now was a shower and a meal.
***
It was another summer day. At this time, Saber was sitting beneath the shade of a tree outside. She was eating lunch outside of the bustle of the Great Hall. As Sue had discovered, Saber could eat large amounts of food. That was not to say that she ate indiscriminately; she liked good food in large quantities. She also had the excuse that it replenished the energy sustaining her. Some of the other girls were jealous about just how much food she could put away while maintaining her petite figure. She wasn't fond of butterbeer or pumpkin juice to the surprise of more than a few, but she did like firewhiskey a great deal, finding the burning sensation and smoky flavor delicious. In terms of age, she was biologically, inasmuch as a magical construct could be biological, seventeen, so she really didn't have too much trouble acquiring it. For this reason, she had a bottle of the stuff along with a glass to drink with her meal.
Someone was walking to her, also carrying a rather large lunch. It was the red samurai, Archer. Archer was a Servant that baffled her. The samurai held a pride equal to Saber's knightly pride, but Archer's was not a knightly pride. Perhaps she would discover the root of this pride when they would next clash. Like her, Archer was not in her armor nor did she have her swords at her waist. Saber raised an eyebrow at the grinning Servant who sat down next to her.
ôHow do you do, Saber?ö
ôI'm doing quite well, thanks.ö
ôLot of food there, huh?ö
ôYes. I like large portions.ö
ôI understand. When you're out on the battlefield, you always want a hearty meal in your belly before you go out. I like large portions myself, but I don't think I could eat that much. I guess that means you're my superior in this regard.ö
ôI suppose so, Archer. It seems we both have something in common.ö
The two began to eat their food. Another figure came into the distance. The cloak and dagger ensemble made the identity immediately obvious. It was Assassin. He too was bringing a lunch to eat under the shade of the tree.
ôYou should scoot over to give some space to Assassin, Archer.ö
ôOf course, eating-senpai.ö
ôGratuitous Japanese is annoying, Archer.ö
Archer smirked, but moved over. Saber shifted over also to allow Assassin to sit down. The two female Servants looked toward him as he took out some of the food.
ôWhat?ö asked Assassin.
ôTo put it bluntly for the more polite Servant of the sword, we were wondering if you would take your mask off to eat.ö
ôOf course I would! Does it look like this thing has a hinged mouthpiece. Plus, why would I want to get a mask like this dirty! It would be a pain to clean!ö
ôCain, to put it bluntly,ö addressed Saber, ôYou are nothing like your legend.ö
ôNo, I am the same man. What was written down is fact. Right now, I want to set right what went wrong with the Grail's Power. It's not that I want to use a wish to instantly make me a good man, but I want to bring back Abel. I want to be a good person like you, Saber.ö
ôI'm not nearly as perfect as you think, Cain.ö
ôIf what I see is genuinely good, what harm is there in emulating it.ö
Saber smiled at his honest flattery. Assassin removed his mask to reveal a weathered face that had been touched by sun and wind from years of wandering. There were a few scars here and there, but nothing very large. He had a short beard and mustache which, given its nice condition, the Biblical killer evidently took great pride in keeping.
ôSo, Archer,ö asked Cain, ôWhat's your wish?ö
Archer paused and tapped the side of her head with her index finger.
ôI think I'd simply want the chance to be here for a while. I don't really have any grand miracle or mistake I want to fix. What's done is done, I'm going to go forward. It just doesn't seem like a responsible choice to me to retroactively avoid the consequences of our own actions.ö
ôI see. I suppose that's one way to look at it.ö
They continued to eat under the shade in silence for some time.
ôSaber,ö inquired Archer, ôWhat's your wish?ö
ôTo understand my wish, you'd have to know my identity. However, I'll humor you with a general answer. I want to change history.ö
ôThere will be all sorts of unintended consequences to that. You do know that, right?ö asked Archer.
ôI do. Maybe it will become more clear if you discover my identity.ö
ôCan't wait to see that sword of yours unveiled. It's got to be a powerful, instantly-recognizable Noble Phantasm.ö
ôIt is. Maybe you'll see it.ö
Archer smiled and leaned back before continuing to enjoy her food. Soon enough, they would be enemies, but they were friends for now. Each them felt at ease. It was nice. Soon enough, they would be fighting again. Now, they were just eating lunch like a bunch of old friends.
Interlude
ôLooks like your ready for a real war, Master,ö came the rumbling voice.
There were guns everywhere, lot of guns. There were several different rifles lying against the wall. One was a Norinco Type-56-2 rifle, a Chinese clone of the venerable AK-47, with a side-folding stock. It had been modified to mount an open reflex sight and take a vertical foregrip and chosen for familiarity. Another was an Armalite AR-18, semiautomatic rifle similar to Vietnam's infamous Black Rifle, chosen due to its usage among the Irish Republican Army. A third was an L1A1 SLR with plastic furniture, a British version of the Belgian FN FAL battle rifle called the ôright arm of the free world,ö modified to take a telescopic sight. This was chosen for its reliability, 7.62 NATO punch, and because it was a local weapon. Another was a Norinco Type-85 Designated Marksman Rifle, a Chinese clone of the SVD Dragunov, chosen for familiarity and usefulness on the urban battlefield. It too packed a heavy punch like the SLR with its 7.62x54R round.
On a desk were a several pistols. One was a Norinco Type-80 machine pistol which bore more than a little resemblance to the old ôBroom-Handleö Mauser. It was a last ditch weapon intended for vehicle crews, but with its relatively small size, detachable stock, and fully automatic capacity, it was a useful tool to its user. Another was a Czech Cz-52 pistol chambered for 7.62 Tokarev. The high velocity pistol round was useful against most body armor at pistol ranges, and its ergonomics made it a much more attractive choice than the Tokarev TT pistol which first used the round. A third was the venerable Colt M1911A1, a pistol which had fought from the First World War onward, with an extended threaded barrel for the mounting of a suppressor. It was chosen for its .45 ACP round because, at least in the jacketed hollow-point which was loaded into the magazines, it was subsonic which allowed it to be better supressed.
There was an RPG-7, the ubiquitous weapon of the guerilla, leaning against a corner with several rounds of rockets. There were hand grenades of various makes and types in a crate. There were Claymores and plastic explosives. There was even ammonium nitrate for a fertilizer bomb.
There were even more esoteric weapons in this arsenal. There were a pair of Ghurka kukris with their famously shaped blades. There were a few ballistic knives, models which were used by the Spetsnaz. There were, of course, more mundane knives such as the Ka-Bar. Right now, a Spyderco folder, immediately recognizable by its round thumb-hole was being sharpened for the upcoming war.
ôI'm ready for a war, Rider. No rules, no mercy, no quarter. You would have it no other way, would you?ö replied a woman's voice.
I want to write a good guy Dumbledore in this because evil!manipulative!Dumbledore is, I find, annoying and stupid
Archer is a fun character to write because of the different facets of her personality.
Oh, beware the gun porn at the end. Want to give a reasonable warning
Chapter 5
Premonitions of the Storm
Things the next morning were, if emotions could have color, deathly pale. Someone, even if he was one of the most disliked people in Hogwarts, had been murdered. After the paranoia of Umbridge's reign, this was close to being the straw that broke the camel's back. There were already rumors and fear abounding through the halls the morning after. There were to be no classes for the day, as had been posted on various bulletin boards. Harry sat with his friends, putting up a facade of ignorance. He knew exactly what happened; the killer had even joked about with him and he had laughed. It was just more incentive to win the Grail. With Dumbledore's warning and his own personal reservations, he was considering to use the Grail to erase the evils that had allowed for its genesis.
ôLadies. Gentleman.ö
A clear and powerful voice cut through the haze of noise. It was exactly the commanding, powerful, and charismatic voice necessary for this situation. It was Dumbledore as Harry now knew him, the experienced Grail War veteran who was uncompromising on his principals. There was silence; the floor was his.
ôAs you may have heard, an incident happened last night for which classes are canceled today. I highly regret this, but Mr. Filch, our faithful school caretaker for decades, has been murdered. I say this to you because I expect a certain excellence from Hogwarts students. I expect you to be able to take this news without panic. I do this because I place my trust in you, the student body. As of now, I will work my utmost to secure the school against further threats. Furthermore, I would like to personally apologize for the incidents that have happened under my watch. I will personally improve the defenses of our beloved school for your safety no matter the cost. Thank you.ö
He sat down. There was only a stunned silence at this speech. Harry was not surprised. This was the true Dumbledore. However, most students had never heard the true Dumbledore with his conviction and fiery stubbornness. It was only expected that they would pause at his true colors.
The letters then began to arrive. For Harry, there was one to his surprise. Quickly, he opened it up. It was an order -phrased as a request- to report to Dumbledore's office. He could imagine the other people who had gotten the letter; he wasn't stupid.
ôPerhaps that's why the Grail selected you as my Master,ö whispered Archer in the edges of his mind, ôI was famed for my cunning and trickery. It would make sense to have a smart Master for a smart Servant.ö
ôThanks for boosting my ego, Archer.ö
ôNot a problem. There's something on your mind. What is it?ö
ôIt's about last night. Well, I...ö
ôJust spit it out. Be decisive.ö
ôI want to be able to fight. Back then, I was just helpless. I want to be able to contribute to our victory.ö
ôYou can't fight a Servant. A mere human stands no chance against a Heroic Spirit.ö
ôWeren't you human back when you were alive?ö
ôPartially. I have the blood of demons flowing in my veins.ö
ôBut not your arteries, right?ö
ôYou know what I mean!ö
ôSeriously, Archer. Would you please teach me something like how to use the sword.ö
ôSwordfighting? Huh. I suppose so.ö
ôWas it really that easy for you to decide?ö
ôYou probably stand a better chance than with magic. I'd say that about half of the Servants are magic resistant. Guns, normal ones, wouldn't be too useful -not to mention probably difficult to acquire. However, you might be able to last the second necessary to fend off an attack and call me via command spell.ö
ôI'd rather save the command spells to give you a boost against more powerful Servants like Saber.ö
ôNot a bad strategy, but don't hesitate to call me if your life is in danger. If you die, neither of us can win.ö
ôJust an idle thought, but couldn't you enchant a sword to help against enemies. If possible, I was thinking along the lines of speed and strength augmentation.ö
ôYou're the wizard, not me. I don't know.ö
ôShame. When do you think would be a good time. I was thinking after lunch in the Forbidden Forest. With a Servant, I'm pretty sure I'm safe.ö
ôThanks.ö
ôHarry, you seem really zoned out,ö commented Hermione, ôDoes it have anything to do with that letter?ö
ôI suppose so,ö he lied, ôI'm not sure what the Headmaster wants to talk about.ö
Of course, he knew exactly the topic of the discussion. He just needed to lie so they wouldn't get involved. Or such was the mantra repeated in his head.
ôWell, breakfast is almost over. You might want to make a head start,ö said Hermione, shrugging. Harry smiled.
ôI think I'll do just that. See you later!ö
ôSee ya,' Harry!ö
He waved as he began to walk. He could feel Dumbledore's eyes follow him. The old man was calmly calculating and observing, always ready to take action when necessary. Harry straightened and gave a nod to none in particular. However, he knew that Dumbledore saw it. He hoped the wizened wizard approved.
***
As he expected, he found himself in Dumbledore's office with Draco, Susan, and Saber. Archer and Assassin were both nearby in their spirit forms. Dumbledore sat at his desk, cup of tea in hand. There were six additional cups set out. At his behest, the three students each took a cup. Saber had already taken hers and smiled as she sipped at it.
ôLet's be friendly here. Would Archer and Assassin also materialize. I didn't go to the trouble of making tea for seven to let it cool down and be full.ö
It was no request. It was a command. Harry nodded to the empty air and Archer materialized. Much like Saber, she was not wearing her armor or carrying her weapons; she merely wore her fine crimson and black kimono in the same fashion as a man. She took one of the teacups and sipped from it.
ôAn excellent brew. I'm Archer. It's a pleasure to meet you.ö
ôDon't mince words. I know you've been hovering around Harry. I know you've met me, though we haven't been introduced.ö
Draco gave a nod of his own and Assassin appeared. The cloaked Servant put his sickle down on the desk and took a cup of tea.
ôPleasure to meet you. I'm Assassin but you can call me Cain.ö
ôMost Servants would rather have their true names unknown. Why are you different?ö
ôAs soon as I get hit, the big glowing mark from God shows up and everyone knows who I am. I really don't give a damn.ö
Draco's face scrunched up as Assassin said this. Harry sympathized; he would have the exact same reaction if his Servant threw around her identity like that. Thankfully, Archer didn't.
ôThe First Murderer's first action is to murder. How quaint, Cain.ö
ôWell I apologize, insincerely, about that. I was ordered to leave no witnesses.ö
ôThe murderer wants to become a hero?ö
Cain smiled, closed his eyes, and sighed.
ôYes. I want to become a good man. That is my wish.ö
ôI see,ö said Dumbledore, now focusing a glare on Assassin's Master, ôWhy would you order this?ö
ôThe priest said: 'No witnesses.'ö
ôI see. I highly doubt that those were his instructions. As I recall, the instructions were something like 'No muggle witnesses.' However, the meaning of a general 'no witnesses' was implicit.ö
The three nodded. They had all figured out the implicit meaning in the instructions. The compliance was up to the Master. While 'no muggle witnesses' was the rule, the killing of other witnesses to the unfolding miracle did not seem like something the priest would frown upon. Of course, such ideas made the priest one of dubious quality.
ôWho is this War's administrator?ö
Harry supposed that, himself excluded, the others must have been surprised by his knowledge of the Grail War. He would have never suspected it if the man himself not mentioned his involvement.
Saber spoke up, ôFather Nathan Hill.ö
ôHill?!ö
ôYou know him,ö inquired Susan.
ôYes. Allow to explain; much like myself, he is a veteran of the last Grail War or 'Heaven's Feel.' He was the Master of Servant Assassin Hassan-i-Sabbah. I myself was the Master of Saber. Nathan Hill was one of the most ruthless Masters in the last war.ö
Archer snorted and began to laugh. It was a rough, masculine manner that was not something that one would expect from a girl. Saber's brow furrowed slightly while the corner of her lips turned slightly upward.
ôArcher,ö began the blue knight, ôWould you care to explain before you make a fool of yourself?ö
ôWould you care for the nice version or the honest version, Saber?ö
ôHumor me with both, please.ö
ôThe nice version is that I suspected something was fishy about this man. From what I overheard, he does not sound like any of the Catholics I met, nothing like Francis Xavier. Honestly, I would probably use the same sort of ruthless tactics were my Master not so kind.ö
ôFrancis Xavier?ö
ôDon't ask me,ö said Assassin, throwing up his hands, ôHe's after both our times. Never heard of the man.'
ôHe was a Jesuit who traveled through the Far East. He might not have grasped the language perfectly,ö Archer began chuckling but continued, ôBut he had a good spirit. I didn't know him too well, but he was a good man.ö
ôJesuit?ö asked Saber, ôI already understand that they are a Catholic religious order, mind you.ö
ôI'm not the best source, but the Jesuits are a religious order founded by a man called Ignatius Loyola. They focus on education and missionary work.ö
ôThank you, Archer,ö said Saber.
ôNo problem, Saber. I suppose we've all got a bit of catching up to do with this time. Especially you, Assassin.ö
ôWe aren't stranger here. Call me Cain.ö
ôLadies and Gentlemen.ö
Again Albus Dumbledore held the floor.
ôAs I was saying, there are several rules that I would like you to follow. The Grail War will not touch my school any more than it has. No killing or fighting on campus, not even if people see you manifested.ö
All present nodded.
He continued, ôIf you can't follow this, I'll stop you myself.ö
Harry idly thought that his word choice was a bit odd. The threat was still there. Harry decided to be the better man and extended his hand to the old wizard. Dumbledore grasped it firmly and shook it.
ôI can do it, Professor.ö
Archer then shook his hand.
ôI stand with my Master.ö
The others followed suit.
ôI do have a question before we conclude this,ö said Dumbledore, ôWhat do you wish to do if you obtain the Grail, Masters?ö
ôI want a just world,ö said Susan immediately.
ôI really shouldn't say this,ö began Draco, ôBut I'd rather have Assassin's wish fulfilled than serve family interests.ö
ôAs for me,ö said Harry, ôI don't know yet. I should probably get to figuring that out sometime soon.ö
ôThank you. You may leave now.ö
And so they left, Archer and Assassin returning to their spiritual forms.
As they left, Albus Dumbledore muttered angrily under his breath, ôHill.ö
***
ôWhat time is it?ö asked Harry.
ôI don't know. Looks to be a few hours before 10 o' clock,ö replied Archer.
ôWell, I was hoping to get a lunch ready and maybe go out and learn a little swordplay. I do have the day off, after all.ö
ôI wasn't really expecting you to go for that already, but it's you. Don't expect too much actual sword usage. Your scrawny, and I think you need to be in a bit better shape to handle a sword. Don't get angry because I don't mean any harm.ö
Harry laughed, ôNo problem, Archer. You know more about swords than I do.ö
ôWhere would you find a sword, a katana specifically?ö
ôI'd make one with magic.ö
ôRight.ö
Hands in his pockets, Harry wandered off to the kitchen to see if he could get something. He passed through the sunlit halls quietly. People were generally happy to see him, and he returned their greetings in his usual friendly manner. A few turns brought him to the general area, though the changing architecture had lost him a few times. After a quick out of pear tickling, he found himself in the kitchens.
ôWhat do you want?ö asked a gruff house-elf with a stained apron.
ôWell,ö began the teen.
ôI don't have time for dilly-dallying; just spit it out.ö
ôI'd like a lunch for two, please. Preferably something filling but not rich.ö
ôYou teens are all the same,ö sighed the elf, ôYou all make these requests for dates. Y'know what, kid. I really don't mind.ö
ôThanks, what's your name?ö
ôRobert. You?ö
ôRobert? I'm Harry/ö
ôI know you're English, but pronounce it like a Frenchman. Row-Bear.ö
ôRobert.ö
ôYeah, that's right. Come back in an hour or so and ask for my name. I'll have something nice for you and your girl.ö
ôThanks,ö
ôHeh. Don't come crying to me if it doesn't work out. I've been cooking for decades. If things go poorly, I'm pretty sure it's your fault.ö
ôThanks... a lot.ö
ôEh, don't mention it. Now let me do some cooking on request.ö
ôI'll leave now.ö
Harry quickly left the kitchen and overbearing house-elf.
ôSo I'm your girlfriend, huh?ö asked Archer. It was the question he had been dreading, but had been expecting from the spirit.
ôI'm just not going to answer that. The answer should be readily apparent to you, Archer. You enjoy teasing me too much.ö
ôI can't help it. You're a hormonal, insecure teenage boy. I'm a rather attractive girl who was remembered as a man. Also, nobody is trying to kill us, so I have nothing better to do.ö
ôI really didn't need that.ö
ôIs this my 'giving a damn' face, Master?ö
ôRight now, you don't even have a face.ö
ôTrue. That will change soon enough. I thought you wanted to eat lunch with me and learn some swordplay.ö
ôWell yes...ö
ôThen it's settled. You'll get to see my wonderful face soon enough.ö
The teen closed his eyes, sighed, and shrugged. Archer was herself, sometimes silly but sometimes serious. Tiring as it could be, he liked it. Archer was something else entirely.
ôI want to show you something, Archer.ö
Even if she wasn't visible, he could practically feel her happy nod. He surmised that being a spirit must be a depressing experience. To return to the material realm must be like a dream come true for her and all the other Servants. Assassin was like that, trying to make up for his sins with his second chance at life. That was not what he would have expected from the Cain of Bible, but neither would he have expected to be partnered with the famous samurai Oda Nobunaga who was, in fact, a girl. If that were the case, he could only imagine what the other Servants would be like. He hoped it wasn't something ridiculous like King Arthur being a girl; that would be just plain silly.
He walked up to one of the highest turrets of the castle. No other souls were there. There was a small balcony. From here, the deep blue lake and verdant green forest and bright green grass could be surveyed. Little columns of smoke could be seen from the quaint roofs of the village. The sun was behind them, casting a cool shadow on them. The summer air was warm and pleasant and carried by a light breeze.
ôAh. Archer, you can materialize. It's really nice outside right now.ö
Just like that, Archer appeared, sitting on the railing. Her legs swung out and back. As with before, Archer was not clad in her armor, merely a black and red kimono. She smiled happily. The samurai girl simply rocked in the wind, eyes closed and savoring the feeling.
ôI'd be careful if I were you, Archer.ö
An eye opened, ôI'm a Heroic Spirit. Plain old falling wouldn't kill me.ö
ôYeah, I suppose so. That would be a pretty inglorious death,ö said Harry as he sat down on the stones.
ôYou can sit here with me, y'know. I'd catch you if you fell. Part of my job is to protect you from things like that too.ö
ôSure,ö acquiesced the teen as he sat on the railing beside Archer. He could feel the summer warmth. More importantly, he could feel Archer's warmth. Rather than a mere phantasm, she was a real living, breathing, flesh-and-blood person. It suited someone as full of life as her much more.
ôSay,ö began Harry, ôI'm a really poor Master for you. You said it yourself that I was holding you back from victory.ö
ôYou're too kind,ö said Archer, ôBut I like you like that. I simply can't help but like someone so much nicer, kinder, and more honest than me. Normally, I'd be jealous, but I'm strangely fine with you. Don't change. You're probably a better person than me.ö
They sat in a pleasant bliss. The sun was now directly overhead, and Harry's stomach growled like clockwork for the start of the normal lunch period. Archer disappeared back into her spirit form with a sigh as Harry began the long process of walking back down for the lunch that the gruff elf had prepared.
After a short stop in the kitchen, Harry found himself with a lunch in a wicker basket. The elf had patted his back and smirked, saying that it was ôsomething real special for you and that lucky lady.ö
It had taken some time to get to the forest. It wasn't that he was trying to show off by casually going to the forest; it was just that it was secluded enough to do things privately with a materialized Archer. Furthermore, the centaurs probably wouldn't attack him on sight, but rather would threaten him and give him an opportunity to leave before turning him into a pincushion. It would not surprise him if Archer, being a Heroic Spirit, would be able to take care of them with ease. He also wouldn't be surprised if they had seen Archer from the last night's battle and didn't want to bother him. He wouldn't be surprised either if they would give a cryptic warning since stargazing was a specialty of theirs.
For the most part, there were pines in the forest, but the gnarled limbs of ancient oaks spread like outstretched arms. Light poked holes through the canopy and spread onto the ground in nature's version of Claude Monet. Harry could smell the moist scent of untouched earth. Archer had manifested and was walking behind him to the right. The fresh scent of the pines mixed with the earth scent to provide an ambrosial smell. It was not often that anyone could enjoy the Forbidden Forest. Grass grew intermittently, as sunlight could not always pierce through the dense woodland. He walked along and found a secluded stream next to a grove. A mature pine had been hit by lightning and toppled over, forming the small sunny area. It was a perfect place.
ôHere then?ö asked Archer.
Harry nodded and sat down on the collapsed tree trunk. He began to unpack the lunch. There were a pair of sandwiches, roast beef with lettuce, swiss, tomato, bacon and Russian dressing on sourdough rye. Robert had also included a sealed pitcher of chilled tea and fresh strawberries.
Archer immediately took one of the strawberries and ate it. It was the first thing she went for. Harry was happy to eat his sandwich at the moment, but gave Archer a strange look. She met his gaze while in the middle of eating one of the strawberries.
ôWhat? Fruit like this was near impossible to get back in the day.ö
ôIt doesn't mesh, like... at all. The fearful warlord is a girl who likes strawberries.ö
ôI can still kick your ass.ö
ôI know that. It's just amusingly absurd. Wait! Save some for me. I like strawberries as much as the next guy.ö
ôI really could make a homoerotic joke about that, but the strawberries are too good. I'll share, if only because you are my Master.ö
ôAw, that's nice. Are you even going to touch the sandwich?ö
ôYou wouldn't believe how good fresh fruit tastes after being dead for a few years. Besides, some of that English food of yours looks rather disgusting.ö
ôBut you were whining about how Saber got to eat it when you couldn't! And here I am, offering you some nice food that is not swimming in grease or anything! You've got to be kidding me!ö
ôOh you~ Why so serious?ö
Harry pinched the bridge of his nose at the odd Servant. Then he shrugged and finished off his tasty sandwich. That gruff elf, Robert, had done a great job. Archer had started on hers, savoring the taste. He had to imagine, as she had said, what it would be like to simply taste and feel after being a dead spirit for nearly half a millennium. She had also left a some of the strawberries. Harry poured himself a cup of chilled tea and put it to his lips. It was slightly sweet. Tea like this just wasn't a very British thing. In fact, as Harry recalled in a moment of trivia recall, tea like this was more of southern United States beverage, especially when sweetened. He could see why they might enjoy it on a hot summer day like he was now enjoying it.
Archer licked her lips of a small bit of the dressing from the sandwich and made an appreciative ôhmm.ö Smiling, Harry poured her a glass of tea which she eagerly took. After draining the glass, she leaned back.
ôThat was much better than I thought it would be. Now, I hope you can cook since you must already understand that you will need to set up a base of operations actually in London rather than here. I want to enjoy being able to actually eat.ö
She didn't even begin to consider the possibility of her death. Harry supposed that this was the first step to victory, imagining that defeat was impossible.
ôI'll cook stuff for you. I'm no master chef but I'll do my best.ö
ôThat's what I want to hear. You said you wanted some swordplay, right?ö
ôYeah.ö
Archer stood up and moved over to sit on the grass, resting her back on a tree trunk. She patted a spot next to her for Harry to sit down. Harry packed the picnic basket and came to sit next to her. He supposed that, being made from magic, grass strains wouldn't be an issue.
ôI hate to be philosophical with you about self-defense, but before I let you hold a sword, I want to explain what it means to hold a sword. Maybe it's because I'm an old, dead, sentimental samurai, but I don't care.ö
ôI don't mind. I'm new to this.ö
ôHave you ever held a real weapon? I would exclude your wand, since it seems to be more of a tool. However, if you have, you know the feeling.ö
ôI found my uncle's shotgun and picked it up when I was five years old. It wasn't a good experience. It was heavy and unwieldy. Most of all, I didn't want to kill anyone with it. I'd seen some stuff on the news about people getting shot and guns scared me. I didn't -and still don't- particularly like them, but I wouldn't wish them murdered. I sure as hell wouldn't do that.ö
ôThat's not bad, but would you go into a bit more detail about what you felt when you picked up that weapon?ö
ôWell, my mouth went a bit dry. I can still smell the rank oil and gunpowder residue, since he never cleaned it. I put my little index finger around the trigger but then took it off immediately. My knuckles were white and trembling not just because it was heavy but because I was scared. Though I really couldn't express it adequately at the time, I knew that I could go point it at someone, squeeze the trigger, and blow their brains out.ö
ôYeah. Having a weapon in your hand for the first time can do that to you. To live by the sword is to die by the sword. As you might know, I disemboweled myself to die as a swordsman than die by fire. But, there is a 'but.' There is something beautiful, a certain ephemereal quality to the arcs of gleaming steel as you fight face to face against an opponent. Unlike a gunfight, you can generally say that the superior person wins, affirming their greater existence. I'll admit, I found the indiscriminate power of guns to be more useful as a general, but I am a samurai. I hope that you can appreciate the sword, Master.ö
ôI think I will, Archer.ö
Archer materialized the sheathed form of her katana in its dark wooden sheath. She unsheathed the Noble Phantasm and passed it to her Master so that he could hold it. Palms down, he took it with the edge facing outward. He could almost cry at sullying the silver beauty with his handprints. It was a beautiful work, undoubtedly crafted by a master swordsmith. He could feel the cold weight, but it was not a dead weight. Unlike that gun which he had held so long ago, there was a history and sweat and blood to it. It was one-of-a-kind, not something made without heart in a factory.
ôAh, if you want me to teach you, you'll need a blade of your own. I'm going to skip the entire 'practice weapons' stage to bare blades. It will be the fastest and -I believe- most effective method to teach you.ö
ôI see. Archer, could you please find a stick the same general size and shape of your sword. I'm planning on forging one with magic. Before you say anything, I know it would cheapen the sword. However, as you said, I need a sword. Besides, It'll be something that I made with my own two hands. Well, sorta...ö
ôDon't let that get in the way. Start stretching while I go find something. You really wouldn't want to tear anything. You can do that, right?ö
ôYeah. I know enough about stretching to not hurt myself.ö
ôI was talking about straining yourself while I teach you to use the sword.ö
ôOh. I'll get right to it.ö
After he returned her sword, Archer left to find a stick that he could transfigure. Harry began to stretch out, mostly his legs. They were surprisingly stiff, but he managed to get them a lot more limber by the time Archer came back with a stick around the size of her sword. Harry took it and felt it. It seemed to work. It was time to work his magic.
He'd worked out a mental ritual to get a perfect transfiguration. It might have been longer than the method they were normally taught, but Harry found that it worked for him quite well. His improving grades had also agreed.
The first step was to analyze the basic structure. In this case, it was several things. Most simply was the shape of the sword. It was also possibly the easiest step at which he could fail. There were so many subtle aspects to the katana which had to be analyzed and comprehended. However, in the case of this, Harry wanted a deeper analysis. There was so much more. There was the basis of a sword. What was it that made a sword to be a sword? Nonetheless, he managed to analyze the basic structure.
The second step was to analyze the existence of the sword. He had read a little Greek philosophy. Most of it had gone over his head. However, one concept had stuck with him. For everything, there must a paradigm. Though he could not truly envision the perfect, ideal sword, he understood the concept on some level. With this instinct, he was able to move onto the next stage.
The third step was to prepare the materials for the change. The name of this step was something of a misnomer since the materials were all in his mind. He had to bring about the steel of the blade, the wood, the sharkskin, all of these elements and hold onto them distinctly in his mind. However, for this sword, he did not have definite image. The sword would shape itself in its genesis. In that respect, it was almost like a child being formed within a fertile womb, ready to simply be.
The fourth step was to go through the process of how the object would normally be built. It did not necessarily even have to be entirely accurate to the process, but the concept of construction gave an underlying framework to the magic that shaped it to its final form. For this, he had to imagine the blacksmith beating and folding the steel to come close to that paradigm perfect sword. The fires were stoked and ready. The water was ready for quenching.
The fifth step was to begin construction. This was the step in which the previous four melded into one. He had to be mindful of every detail of the past steps. Everything must be there for the perfect metamorphosis. This was the most important step, requiring an organized and focused mind.
The sixth and final step was direct this into a flow of magical power that would bring everything to a finale. Of course, errant thoughts would bring about imperfections. However, he had truly seen a perfect example of a sword. Heaven was his paradigm. The power flowed out and reshaped the mere stick. Unlike other transfigurations, he did not have a defined end image as he did not want to copy Heaven. To do so would be to sully the honor of the blade and its wielder. A sword like this had to be one-of-a-kind. The power crackled like lightning through his nerves, but it was a good pain. Pain was only a proper reaction for a mere mortal like him attempting to even come close to that sword. Nonetheless, he knew that he would produce something of value.
As he wished, he produced something of value. The blade did not appear to be of steel, as he would have thought, but of bronze. However, he had no doubt that it was as strong as steel if not stronger. The same wavy pattern of a masterly forged katana existed along the edge, but it lacked a fuller like her sword. The handguard was an inky black made in the shape of an elongated hexagon. The grip was, unexpectedly, black leather. He distinctly recalled sharkskin in his own mental image. The little metal ôcap,ö as he had no better name for it, riveted to the handle was made from the same bronze too.
ôI've never seen a sword like that, but it should work. You can worry about a sheath later. Now, I'll show you how to use a sword.ö
And so she did. She taught him how to move. She taught him to read an opponent from the feel of their blade on his own. She taught him what she knew of the sword. Though he might not have succeeded greatly in this instruction, he was a sincere student. He soaked up her instructions like a sponge. She was proud to have a good student like him, and he was proud to have a teacher as good as her. For hours, they trained like this until the sun began to set in the evening sky.
With a sheath for his sword, he walked back to castle. Sweat drenched his clothes and his muscles ached all around, but he felt good. This was something that would directly help him in Heaven's Feel. Also, he enjoyed seeing Archer happy like this. Not only had she tasted again, but she had taught him. She seemed so happy to pass on her sword skills. Maybe, though she used guns, Archer wanted to see another swordsman in this world. Whatever the case, all he wanted now was a shower and a meal.
***
It was another summer day. At this time, Saber was sitting beneath the shade of a tree outside. She was eating lunch outside of the bustle of the Great Hall. As Sue had discovered, Saber could eat large amounts of food. That was not to say that she ate indiscriminately; she liked good food in large quantities. She also had the excuse that it replenished the energy sustaining her. Some of the other girls were jealous about just how much food she could put away while maintaining her petite figure. She wasn't fond of butterbeer or pumpkin juice to the surprise of more than a few, but she did like firewhiskey a great deal, finding the burning sensation and smoky flavor delicious. In terms of age, she was biologically, inasmuch as a magical construct could be biological, seventeen, so she really didn't have too much trouble acquiring it. For this reason, she had a bottle of the stuff along with a glass to drink with her meal.
Someone was walking to her, also carrying a rather large lunch. It was the red samurai, Archer. Archer was a Servant that baffled her. The samurai held a pride equal to Saber's knightly pride, but Archer's was not a knightly pride. Perhaps she would discover the root of this pride when they would next clash. Like her, Archer was not in her armor nor did she have her swords at her waist. Saber raised an eyebrow at the grinning Servant who sat down next to her.
ôHow do you do, Saber?ö
ôI'm doing quite well, thanks.ö
ôLot of food there, huh?ö
ôYes. I like large portions.ö
ôI understand. When you're out on the battlefield, you always want a hearty meal in your belly before you go out. I like large portions myself, but I don't think I could eat that much. I guess that means you're my superior in this regard.ö
ôI suppose so, Archer. It seems we both have something in common.ö
The two began to eat their food. Another figure came into the distance. The cloak and dagger ensemble made the identity immediately obvious. It was Assassin. He too was bringing a lunch to eat under the shade of the tree.
ôYou should scoot over to give some space to Assassin, Archer.ö
ôOf course, eating-senpai.ö
ôGratuitous Japanese is annoying, Archer.ö
Archer smirked, but moved over. Saber shifted over also to allow Assassin to sit down. The two female Servants looked toward him as he took out some of the food.
ôWhat?ö asked Assassin.
ôTo put it bluntly for the more polite Servant of the sword, we were wondering if you would take your mask off to eat.ö
ôOf course I would! Does it look like this thing has a hinged mouthpiece. Plus, why would I want to get a mask like this dirty! It would be a pain to clean!ö
ôCain, to put it bluntly,ö addressed Saber, ôYou are nothing like your legend.ö
ôNo, I am the same man. What was written down is fact. Right now, I want to set right what went wrong with the Grail's Power. It's not that I want to use a wish to instantly make me a good man, but I want to bring back Abel. I want to be a good person like you, Saber.ö
ôI'm not nearly as perfect as you think, Cain.ö
ôIf what I see is genuinely good, what harm is there in emulating it.ö
Saber smiled at his honest flattery. Assassin removed his mask to reveal a weathered face that had been touched by sun and wind from years of wandering. There were a few scars here and there, but nothing very large. He had a short beard and mustache which, given its nice condition, the Biblical killer evidently took great pride in keeping.
ôSo, Archer,ö asked Cain, ôWhat's your wish?ö
Archer paused and tapped the side of her head with her index finger.
ôI think I'd simply want the chance to be here for a while. I don't really have any grand miracle or mistake I want to fix. What's done is done, I'm going to go forward. It just doesn't seem like a responsible choice to me to retroactively avoid the consequences of our own actions.ö
ôI see. I suppose that's one way to look at it.ö
They continued to eat under the shade in silence for some time.
ôSaber,ö inquired Archer, ôWhat's your wish?ö
ôTo understand my wish, you'd have to know my identity. However, I'll humor you with a general answer. I want to change history.ö
ôThere will be all sorts of unintended consequences to that. You do know that, right?ö asked Archer.
ôI do. Maybe it will become more clear if you discover my identity.ö
ôCan't wait to see that sword of yours unveiled. It's got to be a powerful, instantly-recognizable Noble Phantasm.ö
ôIt is. Maybe you'll see it.ö
Archer smiled and leaned back before continuing to enjoy her food. Soon enough, they would be enemies, but they were friends for now. Each them felt at ease. It was nice. Soon enough, they would be fighting again. Now, they were just eating lunch like a bunch of old friends.
Interlude
ôLooks like your ready for a real war, Master,ö came the rumbling voice.
There were guns everywhere, lot of guns. There were several different rifles lying against the wall. One was a Norinco Type-56-2 rifle, a Chinese clone of the venerable AK-47, with a side-folding stock. It had been modified to mount an open reflex sight and take a vertical foregrip and chosen for familiarity. Another was an Armalite AR-18, semiautomatic rifle similar to Vietnam's infamous Black Rifle, chosen due to its usage among the Irish Republican Army. A third was an L1A1 SLR with plastic furniture, a British version of the Belgian FN FAL battle rifle called the ôright arm of the free world,ö modified to take a telescopic sight. This was chosen for its reliability, 7.62 NATO punch, and because it was a local weapon. Another was a Norinco Type-85 Designated Marksman Rifle, a Chinese clone of the SVD Dragunov, chosen for familiarity and usefulness on the urban battlefield. It too packed a heavy punch like the SLR with its 7.62x54R round.
On a desk were a several pistols. One was a Norinco Type-80 machine pistol which bore more than a little resemblance to the old ôBroom-Handleö Mauser. It was a last ditch weapon intended for vehicle crews, but with its relatively small size, detachable stock, and fully automatic capacity, it was a useful tool to its user. Another was a Czech Cz-52 pistol chambered for 7.62 Tokarev. The high velocity pistol round was useful against most body armor at pistol ranges, and its ergonomics made it a much more attractive choice than the Tokarev TT pistol which first used the round. A third was the venerable Colt M1911A1, a pistol which had fought from the First World War onward, with an extended threaded barrel for the mounting of a suppressor. It was chosen for its .45 ACP round because, at least in the jacketed hollow-point which was loaded into the magazines, it was subsonic which allowed it to be better supressed.
There was an RPG-7, the ubiquitous weapon of the guerilla, leaning against a corner with several rounds of rockets. There were hand grenades of various makes and types in a crate. There were Claymores and plastic explosives. There was even ammonium nitrate for a fertilizer bomb.
There were even more esoteric weapons in this arsenal. There were a pair of Ghurka kukris with their famously shaped blades. There were a few ballistic knives, models which were used by the Spetsnaz. There were, of course, more mundane knives such as the Ka-Bar. Right now, a Spyderco folder, immediately recognizable by its round thumb-hole was being sharpened for the upcoming war.
ôI'm ready for a war, Rider. No rules, no mercy, no quarter. You would have it no other way, would you?ö replied a woman's voice.
I know I use a bit of fanon in this. Please bear with me. I do think I have an original take on one bit. Also rape and graphic violence. Just warning y'all. Not trying to do it for attention or anything like that. I do have a definite ending in mind. Things are going to be dark, but I promise there's going to be a bright light at the end of the tunnel.
Also, the only editing was done by myself. I apologize for any errors I may have missed.
Chapter 6
The Battlefield
Interlude
They were a young couple enjoying the London nightlife. They weren't actually from London. They were both born in Northern Ireland but had decided to move for safety. After partying, they had decided to cuddle a little bit next to a dark alley. They wouldn't into the alley, that would have been stupid. They had seen enough horror films to know that going into the dark alley was a bad idea. They had been next to a streetlight in a fairly well-lit area.
Then she had came. With a tongue like poisoned honey, their bodies had jerked like marionettes on a string to move at her whim. Everything else was relaxed, but their eyes were filled with fear. Their own bodies weren't even their own. They would have laughed as she pulled out a magic wand, waved it about, and spoke pseudo-Latin words; however, this was all too real. They were lead inside an abandoned factory. The place was due for demolition and weeds grew everywhere. The steel and iron was, on the whole, in various stages of rust. Suddenly, their bodies were theirs again. After waving her wand and throwing around more pseudo-Latin, she was now checking her nails
ôWhat the hell was that? Who the hell are you?ö
The next three words sealed the man's fate.
ôKill him, Berserker.ö
Next to her, the air warped as a figure brought about by magic came to existence. His hair was wild and long like a barbarian's, and he had a long and similarly wild beard. His thinly powerful frame was easily six feet tall. Blue eyes pierced into the soul. Spittle flew with his roar as he crossed the space, approximately thirty feet, near instantly. The tiles shattered from the kicking-off. The cross of lead dangling around his neck glinted and glimmered in the dim light that slipped in through the smashed windows.
The man raised his hands to block. In the split second, it was all he could do. However, this only meant that the first strike didn't kill him. Berserker slammed his fist into the man's forearm. Being on a completely different level from normal humans, the Servant's chambered fist outraced the sound of his punch and ended with a supersonic crack like that of a bullet. The floor cracked as Berserker put his full weight into the blow. The bones in the arm shattered, virtually pulverized to dust. The outrageous forces acting upon him sent the man flying a good fifty feet before he slammed into a brick wall. Bones could be heard audibly cracking. Without medical treatment, the man would probably die anyway.
In the limited cognitive functions of Berserker's mind, he knew that his master had given him an order. The man still drew breath. The order was not yet executed. The tiles cracked once more as Berserker sought to carry out the murderous order. With the same speed, Berseker was right there with another gunshot-like fist. This fist was aimed towards the man's abdominal section. As most students of at least High School biology could state, the abdomen was filled with squishy, liquid filled organs. The effect of Berserker's fist was not unlike that of a bullet hitting a water balloon. The man's midsection promptly exploded, spraying viscera and blood everywhere. Since he had put his full force into as he did with all blows, Berserker's fist kept traveling. With ease, it smashed through the spine and then it smashed through the bricks. Obviously, the man was now dead. Berserker removed his bloodstained hand from the rapidly cooling corpse.
ôWhat do you think of my false priest? And where do you think you're going?ö
The woman had started to run. It was only natural in such a situation. However, things that were only natural did not always work out, to say nothing of when the supernatural was involved. She moved to run out a door, but she found it blocked by a shimmering, iridescent barrier. It looked like a soap bubble, but it was at least as strong as steel.
ôYou can't get out. In fact, no one will hear your screams. Why? Because magic. It exists, but people like you simply aren't worthy of it. You are, shall we say, life unworthy of life.ö
ôNo. No. No, no, no, no, nononononononono!ö
Her false priest was already at her side. The mad Servant was ready. Anything his Master commanded would be his bidding. To his dulled mind, that was his purpose. He was an extension of her. Her hand reached down to her Servant's crotch.
ôBerserker, you deserve to have some fun. Be a dear and rape her to death.ö
The screams that followed carried on for hours and with the magic warding the place, nothing could stop them except death's release. The Master watched with passionate sadism. The huntress had a new hunting dog.
***
The train station was a hub of noise. Here was shouting as parents called out to their children; there was a young child screeching happily as they were reunited with a sibling who had gone to Hogwarts. The past few weeks had been quiet if nervous. Silly as it was in comparison to the bloody war with which he was involved, those last few weeks of cramming for the OWLS had been more than a little stressful. The only method by which he could relax was practicing swordplay out in the forest with Archer. Out of respect for the studying students, there had been no Quidditch games nor practices. For Harry though, the only real way to work out his stress was to do something physical.
Besides, he felt rather assured that he had a decent chance of surviving a first strike from another Servant long enough to use a command seal to call Archer. In other words, he had at best a fifty-fifty shot of interposing his sword between an attack and then thinking ôHelp me, Archer!ö loudly enough for the command seal to activate. Another issue that had been causing him some stress was his friends; they were concerned about how withdrawn from them he was becoming. Harry himself didn't feel very good about lying to them, but it had gotten easier, especially with the thought in mind that he was protecting them from the horrors of the upcoming Grail War.
With regards to that, Archer had made some stipulations. They weren't really orders, but they were. She wanted to stay manifested with a body as much as possible. However, outside of historical reenactment or Japan, a person walking around dressed like a samurai attracted a lot of attention. Therefore, he had to make a shopping trip to get her plainclothes.
The other matter on his mind with regards to the Grail War was residence. As a minor, his options would be undoubtedly restricted. He could stay with his Aunt and Uncle, but the problem in that was distance. Nothing would be accomplished by putting them in the line of fire, and he couldn't stand himself if there was another ruthless Master like Father Hill according to Dumbledore running around. It was just his way, Harry Potter's war, to go forward and stop that. Besides Archer, calm and collected as she could be, had a streak of bloodlust. She would want to go out and fight. As she had told him during their spars, ôHe who holds the initiative controls the the tempo of battle. He who controls the tempo of battle wins.ö
The sword. Harry himself found his weapon of choice that was shrunken inside one his pockets to be a bizarre one. Yes, it was probably better against a Servant than a gun. Yes, it was easier to obtain than a gun since he wasn't an American. Yes, it required more discipline and training then other weapons. Yes, it was antiquated. It felt right. Besides, he had an idea on how he would practice magic which he would inevitable need without alerting the Ministry. In actuality, he had an idea and fallback option.
His first order of business was to get out to withdraw some money from the bank. Like any other war, he would need money. However, he would need to get his stuff from his Aunt and Uncle and he really didn't feel like having to break in to get his stuff. So, his plan was to inform them before the aforementioned plainclothes for Archer. Then he'd go back and see them for his stuff. The only issue was that he probably needed a residence at that point. Harry knew that he had a few options in that regard. One of them, or at least what he thought was an option, was a look through the phonebook and a pay phone away.
He passed through the barrier between Platforms 9 and 10 and lost himself in the crowd. Most of the parents of the muggleborn students were here. He did see Uncle Vernon's massive form, but slipped away. He'd be seeing them.
ôWe could get around much faster if you let me carry your bags, y'know,ö said Archer.
ôYeah, but a Japanese girl dressed like an old-style samurai moving around at inhuman speeds and carrying a person plus his bags is rather noticeable. I'm trying to avoid the noticeable.ö
ôKill everything and nobody will know.ö
ôI hate how that makes sense. No, I'm not going to order you to kill everything. It's a good thing I have magic.ö
ôMagic you can't use without calling in the government likes ants to honey.ö
ôI know. That's why I have an invisibility cloak.ö
ôIt's too small.ö
ôI thought we already discussed this.ö
ôNo we didn't. You said that you'd use the wandless magic that you'd managed to figure out.ö
ôTrue. I'm going to use magic to hide out, shrink the luggage, and leave invisibly.ö
ôLet's hope they don't have any of those infrared cameras you've mentioned.ö
ôIt really depends on the kind of invisibility. I think there is something special about this cloak. Normal invisibility cloaks would have lost their power ages ago. This one has been working for at least decades.ö
ôThat doesn't necessarily mean it is invisible to every spectrum of light.ö
ôIf that were the case, then it wouldn't be an invisibility cloak. It would be a partial invisibility cloak or an imperfect invisibility cloak.ö
ôThose sorts of things didn't exist when it was made. Who knows if it is invisible in that way. I hate your country with all its CCTV cameras. They are such a pain in the ass.ö
ôArcher, I'm also going to be using one of those spells I like to call a 'Someone Else's Problem' Field.ö
ôThat won't help you against cameras.ö
ôIt should. It's a modern revision of the spell. They'd have to be a complete idiot to not take cameras into account.ö
ôYou wizards are complete idiots. Therein lies the problem.ö
ôAm I a complete idiot, Archer?ö
ôNo. You are only partially an idiot since you, unlike many of your fellows, have me, an ancient and wizened general -but don't call me old, or I'll kill you- to guide you.ö
ôOf course not, Archer-sama,ö he replied, sarcastically using the honorific.
ôIt's could you acknowledge the lord.ö
ôBut I am the Master.ö
ôMere semantics. You just acknowledged me as the lord.ö
ôYou just like it when I use honorifics. You like it when I call you Archer-sensei when you're beating the crap out of me to teach me how to use a sword.ö
ôTrue. True. You did learn how to use a sword. When you started, you might as well have been swinging around a bat, but now you could be called a swordsman. You might be pathetic compared to Saber or myself, but you are definitely a swordsman now.ö
ôShucks, Archer. You're going to make be blush.ö
By this point, the teen and the voice in his head had gotten to a more private location. Here, he touched his hand to the luggage, muttered the magic words, and shrunk it to a size which he could fit into a pocket. Given Archer's questioning about magic, he really didn't want to think too much about how it worked. That just made his head hurt. It was easier to say ôbecause magicö than it was to give a real explanation as to how it worked, given that it obnoxiously violated almost every branch of physical science imaginable (with the possible exception of quantum physics). He then donned the shimmering cloak, becoming invisible. A few more magic words gave him the ôSomeone Else's Problemö Field. With these, he passed through the security with ease.
ôTold you so, Archer.ö
ôMaster,ö said Archer urgently, ôWe've got another Servant.ö
Harry didn't even pay attention as Archer pointed it out. There, casually leaning against a corner in his grey cloak, was Caster. Nobody noticed him since a spellcaster powerful enough to be called Caster could easily cast the same sort of spells to make him unnoticeable. Though the cowl concealed much of his face, the corners of his mouth were slightly upturned in a smile. Now that he could get a better look at the Servant, he noticed that Caster had a thin, scraggly beard. He also noticed that the Servant wore dark trousers and with a matching jacket and Oxfords. From what he could tell, Caster wore no tie nor did he button up the jacket. Aside from his cloak, Caster seemed to be the image of the mafia hit man. Casually, Harry moved to lean in the same corner.
ôWhat brings you here, Caster?ö
ôThis and that. You?ö
Caster was already getting on his nerves, and it wasn't in the fun, teasing way that Archer got on his nerves.
ôThe same. A little business that I need to deal with. Did your Master, Elise, send you here?ö
ôNot really. She wanted me to patrol the city for Masters. Coming here was a pretty logical choice. 'Sides, it just felt right to me.ö
Caster pulled out a packet of cigarettes and procured one. A silver Ronson lighter was flicked open, and a small flame lit the cigarette. A small waving ribbon of tobacco smoke drifted upwards.
ôWant one?ö offered the cloaked Servant.
ôNo thanks. I don't smoke.ö
ôHah. You probably couldn't take it since I smoke unfiltered. You'd get lung cancer and die or something.ö
ôThanks. If you try anything, Archer is right here to blow your brains out.ö
ôLike all fighters, Archer is a meathead. I've got magic so she can suck it.ö
Caster was definitely pissing Harry off.
ôWe've got unfinished business, Caster,ö came Archer's voice, ôI wouldn't be so cocky.ö
ôYeah. A real pair of idiots here. Makes sense for one idiot to summon another. That was your summoning catalyst, right? It was idiocy, right?ö
ôYours was being an ass, right?ö
ôThat means I'm getting to you,ö fired back Archer before be blew out a stream of smoke.
ôYou have a way with words, Caster. You really do.ö
ôI'll take praise where I can get it.ö
ôSo, back to earlier, what logic led you hear?ö
ôYou, for one, looked school age and you were wearing your uniform. I would expect a few other families to send their younger members. It makes a fair bit of sense. They are, probably, more expendable than the family heads.ö
ôIf you aren't going to kill me, why are you here?ö
ôInformation is power. Besides, I already attached a curse that will turn your blood to acid in three hours.ö
ôWhat!ö
ôJust fucking with you. You should be a bit more careful; your spell does have limitations.ö
ôFuck you too, Caster.ö
With that exchange over, he walked away. He was trembling in anger. If he spent even one more minute beside the cloaked Servant, he'd lose his temper. Caster just rubbed him the wrong way. The cloaked Servant's antagonizing didn't improve his impression of the powerful wizard.
ôArcher.ö
ôYeah.ö
ôI'm going to be the one that kicks his ass.ö
ôHuh. I don't think that's a good idea.ö
ôI have a sword. I doubt a wizard is competent swordsman.ö
ôThat's a fatal mistake if I heard one. You are both a wizard and a competent swordsman. What was that quote you mentioned?ö
ôThe one from Napoleon?ö
ôOh yeah! I remember. 'Don't interrupt your enemy in the middle of a mistake.' That's a bad assumption right there. You also must remember that Servants deliberately try to conceal their abilities from each other.ö
ôI suppose so. He just pisses me off. I want to wipe that smirk off his face with my fist.ö
ôYeah. He insulted me too. Don't worry about me not wanting to wipe that smirk from his face. Of course, I'd wipe off the rest of his face too.ö
Harry chuckled. Her cheerily dark sense of humor was pretty funny. Soon, they left the train station. He knew the route from here to Diagon Alley. That would be his first stop. Due to the, as Harry would put it, bullshit of Ministry laws, he could indeed practice magic there without worrying about activating the Trace. Of course, it meant that in practice, muggleborn students or those who lived with muggles, could not practice magic outside school unlike those raised among wizards.
As was to be expected, things were crowded. Once outside, he took off the cloak and dismissed the charm. It was a hot summer day. Thankfully, he had changed over to a plain grey t-shirt and jeans. The jeans might get a bit hot, but Harry just didn't like shorts all that much.
A quick wandless spell disguised his appearance as he made his way to the Leaky Cauldron. Of course, Archer was watching around. Though they weren't supposed to fight in public, rules were often broken for the sake of convenience. Murdering a Master early on to gain a wish was very convenient. Annoyingly, he didn't only have to worry about Servants. He would have to worry about Masters too if Dumbledore's comments about Hill were correct. It made sense; if he could, he would fight against an enemy Master. He also couldn't rule out a pragmatic Master who would use guns. That would be especially egregious for him since his own Servant used guns.
It was no big deal to get to the Leaky Cauldron. Of course, he looked very out of place in his clothes. However, a wave of a wand silenced all doubts. A few taps later, he was in Diagon Alley. It was a rather simple matter to get to Gringots. A few of the guards raised an eyebrow at his choice of clothing. Harry laughed because he would be purchasing more of that kind of clothing for Archer. After walking up the steps, he entered the building itself. As he would expect, there were lines. Since he was not above such earthly things, he had to wait in one. Thankfully, there was a voice in his head that was not a sign of schizophrenia with whom he could converse.
ôSo, Archer?ö
ôYes?ö
ôWhat sort of clothes did you want to buy?ö
ôI'm not terribly interested in lingerie. It's not like I don't have undergarments of my own.ö
ôDid you really have to talk about that first?ö
ôYes. It makes you adorably flustered. It's kind of sad when the medieval spirit is less prudish than her master.ö
ôI'm not a prude. I'm just not the type to really think about that. You've been in my head, sort of. You should know that I'm not thinking about sex every five seconds.ö
ôIt would be funny for me if you were.ö
ôI feel so much pity for your poor, horrible lack of amusement,ö responded Harry dryly.
ôWell, the other things I'd like are a pair of sandals, shorts, maybe a miniskirt-ö
ô-Can you get more stereotypically Japanese?ö
ôPardon me?ö
ôThat Japanese girls wear miniskirts is something of a joke. It's funny because you want to wear one even when you're from medieval Japan.ö
ôVery funny. Carrying on, I'd like a shirt of some king -probably a t-shirt-, and maybe a nice red dress.ö
ôRed dress specifically?ö
ôI just happen to like the color.ö
ôTry not to die on the away team.ö
ôHuh?ö
ôThe redshirt always dies, always.ö
ôI don't know pop-culture, Harry.ö
ôI'm going to lord that over you so much.ö
ôYou do know that just means I'll kick your ass harder when we spar.ö
ôMeh. It'll be totally worth it.ö
ôNext!ö called a goblin teller.
Harry moved up in the line to the wizened and wrinkly banker.
ôName?ö
ôHarry Potter. I'd like to withdraw an amount equivalent to 200 pounds and 25 galleons. A little change would be nice too.ö
ôYou are a minor.ö
ôMy relatives with whom I live are muggle.ö
ôThough the Ministry doesn't like it, we at Gringots really don't care to whom we lend our money. We just expect payback with interest or things can get uncomfortable.ö
ôThank you, sir.ö
ôDon't act like I care about you. Move over to that line in the corner. You will be called out as Number 17.ö
ôThank you, sir.ö
ôMove.ö
ôYes sir.ö
And so he moved to avoid the goblin's ire. The line to the teller had sixteen ahead of him. Though it might seem to be an inefficient system at a glance, the goblins managed to masterfully route streams of customers between tellers. If one were looking for a special item or requested specifically, they would be streamed over to a separate line for a ride to the vaults. However, doing so was a process that was somewhat more time consuming than going to the teller and getting the requested amount immediately from the bank's reserves. At a later date, the money withdrawn would be taken from the vault itself. This new system with the tellers hadn't quite existed when he had first gone to the bank. However, the influx of more and more people new to Gringotts and a study of muggle banking methods had gradually yielded this system.
ôSo... Archer?ö
ôI'm all ears.ö
ôYou have no ears at the moment.ö
ôMere semantics.ö
ôIt's been three hours. I'm not dead yet.ö
ôWonderful. Caster can go die in a fire. I'm going to take great joy in shoving my sword up his-ö
ôYou know he would turn that around on you. It would be something like 'Didn't know you were fully functional in that way.'ö
ôHe would. Then I would show him which sword I meant and he would be very much without doubt as to the sword I meant.ö
ôAs a guy, that would be incredibly cruel.ö
ôHe deserves it. Besides, you and me both know that he knows more than he lets on.ö
ôObviously. Now there is one Servant I might be able to beat hand-to-hand.ö
ôIt's a bad idea. Besides, I get the feeling that he is not defenseless in a melee. Just doesn't seem the type to overspecialize.ö
ôTrue, but shouldn't he be one of the physically weakest Servants. Wizards, myself included, tend to be squishy.ö
ôAs a Servant, he would be less squishy than you. Even at the weakest, a Servant is on another level compared to a person like you.ö
ôYeah, but weren't all of you Heroic Spirits human at one point?ö
ôI don't think you get it. All the feats that I manage, I was able to perform at that level while alive. I suppose that if you dedicate your life to it, have a lot of natural talent, and are just lucky, you might maybe have a chance of becoming a Heroic Spirit. Maybe its a dilution in power available due to the amount of people in the world compared to my day. However, the chances of you being able to fight at my level are at least a million-to-one.ö
ôDamn. Do you really have to put me down like that.ö
ôYes. Don't get overconfident and cocky. While I'd love for you to be able to fight at my level -it would save me a lot of stress- I don't think it's possible.ö
ôNumber 17!ö called the teller.
ôHere!ö
He was handed a sheaf of bills alongside a little bit of change and a small sack of coins. After thanking quickly, he left the building. It wasn't particularly difficult to find a device which could bring about a ôSEPö field. They were a dime a dozen. However, the specific qualities he wanted were somewhat difficult to find. He wanted one which could key in specific people to its location, adjust its size, and was portable. In the end, he settled for a stone cylinder engraved with several runes which weighed about two pounds. It cost him six galleons. A bargain model would have cost maybe one.
After this, it was a trip down to Knockturn Alley. The plan was to buy a wand. Of course, there was a reason why he would choose a shadier method with much less quality control than Ollivander. Ollivander had his business subsidized by the Ministry. This gave him much greater access to the rare ingredients necessary for a proper wand. However, it meant that one of his wands, which was necessary for entry at Hogwarts was given a Trace spell. This was the bog-standard Trace. That was not to say that an area could be Traced. However, this was the most common method.
The alley was, as always, rather dark and dingy. In his street clothes, he stuck out like a sore thumb. However, there were a few others dressed like him. It was a sign of the changing times. With more mundane influences, the culture of magical Britain was changing for better or for worse. Harry had previously worked through the equivalent of a phonebook to find a wand dealership. There he had found one: Igor's. It was only through the ôphonebookö that he learned that other wand dealerships existed. Harry had felt particularly stupid upon discovering that particular fact. The fact that only about one tenth of magical children went to Hogwarts had also come as a shock. Hogwarts mostly took muggleborn students and purebloods whose families had traditions of attendance. Most went to other, smaller schools.
Igor's was a very unassuming building. It was a small, two story building made from bare, unpainted wood. Fading and flaking white letters spelled out the shop's name. Almost like a store out of the the American Old West, ôWands and Other Items.ö Blinds were drawn on the single window. Harry walked up the steps onto the porch. The only indication that the shop was open was a small sign hanging from the doorknob which said ôOpen.ö By this point, he had a sinking feeling about the whole venture. Nonetheless, he rapped at the frame of the solid door.
ôCome in,ö came a rasping voice from behind the door. Whoever it was, the voice sounded like a longtime smoker.
Harry did so, and opened the door, causing a bell to ring. The first thing he noticed was the cloying scent of tobacco smoke. There was a full ashtray of stubbed cigarette butts. Idly, he noted that these were Marlboros. The lighting was poor as the room was only lit by a quartet of dim oil lamps. In a display case were several different wands. These seemed, for the most part, to be similar to the cylindrical wands traditionally used by stage magicians. They lacked, as a whole, the handgrip of an Ollivander wand. The walls were bare and plain. The rail-thin man behind the counter was positively ancient with all his wrinkles. He looked almost like a living fossil. Long white hair was tied back. Oddly, he was dressed in a white dress shirt with a red bowtie and a brown tweed vest that was left unbuttoned.
ôHey kid, you just going to gawk like that? Hate to be rude, but I'd like to get a little business going. I don't get all that many customers and I have a low tolerance for dilly-dallying,ö said the man with a slight Eastern European accent. Harry would have guessed Romanian.
ôSorry. I'm looking for a wand.ö
ôI'm going to assume less than legal, right?ö
ôErr, yes. I'm looking for something to get around the Trace. I'm expecting a bit of fighting, so I want to be able to cast without worrying about the Ministry, pardon my French, going after my ass.ö
The old man chuckled.
ôThere was another just like you. It was fifty or so years ago. I'm willing to bet you found me because I was the first wandmaker you found in the directory who was located in Knockturn Alley.ö
ôUmm, yes sir.ö
ôReally, I don't mind. I'm assuming you already have an Ollivander wand.ö
ôYes sir.ö
ôI'll warn you, because I lack the funds available, you won't get as much raw power from one of my wands.ö
ôI don't mind. I just need it to work well enough for a fight.ö
ôAllow me to explain. After a little fiddling around, I have managed to create something perfect for a duelist who needs power on the cheap.ö
ôReally?ö
ôYup. It required a crystal shard in the core. What it does is that it synchronizes to a magical core in your own body?ö
ôWhat's a magical core? I've never heard of it. To be perfectly honest, it sounds like some sort of arbitrary power level sort of thing.ö
ôI suppose it could be called something like that. However, it is not. It's much more of a concept than any physical thing. Your magical core is almost like your soul but it is more. It is the sum of your being. It is who you are. I suppose a better descriptor would be that it is the origin of the self. However, to understand the magical core requires an understanding of philosophy and metaphysics which I think that you, my young friend, lack.ö
ôThanks. Would I be correct in assuming that you are Igor.ö
ôIndeed you would. Allow me to get the model wand which you want.ö
The man disappeared into the recesses of the shop. Unlike Ollivander, there was no question of whether the wand would suit the wizard. This was a much less artistic approach. However, it had its merit. To diverge the mysticism from the wandmaking allowed things like the crystal which Igor had mentioned. Harry did have one burning question now: What was the essence of his magical core? The old man returned soon enough. The wand was ten inches long and painted black with the exception of a band of white at the end from which spells would be cast. Harry could feel it practically humming in his grasp.
ôHow much do you want for this?ö
ôFifteen galleons.ö
Harry handed over the requisite amount of money and tipped him for confidentiality with an additional coin. The old man smiled without humor as the teen left the shop. He sat back on his stool.
ôI suppose it's happening again,ö muttered Igor, ôHow nostalgic! Again my wand will be carried into the greatest conflict !ö
***
With his new wand stuffed in his pocket, Harry walked out towards a shopping mall. As part of his promise to Archer, he would get her clothes. Much to his chagrin, Archer made it a point to talk about lingerie on the way there. He knew she was just trying to embarrass him, something at which she was succeeding. He figured that he might as well, in spite of her opposition, to by her lingerie, especially the lacy kind. He thought that it might annoy her back. It would be absolutely terrible for him if this scheme were to backfire.
Thus, he found himself in a women's clothing store. He had rather awkwardly explained that he was buying a surprise present for his girlfriend. That was a lie, a damn lie; Archer was definitely not his girlfriend.
As of now, he was holding up a brick red hoodie. Archer had told him that she liked it. Right now, she was making it so that he could see her though she was still invisible. It made trying to find her size much easier. It was surprising, though, just how small Archer was. It only now occurred that she was an inch or two shorter than him. Her presence was just that much larger than life. This small one seemed to fit her.
ôArcher get!ö
ôPardon me,ö responded Harry.
ôOver there.ö
What was, in fact, over there was a rack of scandalously short jean shorts. It was as if Archer was deliberately trying to mess with him which he knew she was. Raising an eyebrow, Harry walked over to the rack to find one that fit his annoying Servant. Again, it was a smaller one which fit her. There was at least one upside to Archer not requiring larger sizes in that his wallet liked it. In spite of himself, he actually did end up enjoying this shopping trip. On his way to the checkout, he also picked up a pair of flip flops. All told, it cost him around seventy pounds. Of course, given the .99 bullshit he had enough change to use a pay phone. After this, he walked towards a different part of the mall.
ôOh hell no.ö
ôHell yes.ö
ôScrew you, Master.ö
ôSince you've been going on about it, I figured I might as well humor you.ö
ôY'know, I really had this coming.ö
Harry entered the lingerie store with a shit-eating grin and explained, given a moderately questioning look, that he was here for his ôgirlfriend.ö After a few minutes, Archer was the proud owner of a pair of black, lacy panties. Harry's shit-eating grin continued.
ôI love you too, Archer.ö
ôWould you like to try on your new clothes, all of them.ö
ôGo fuck yourself, Harry.ö
Harry made his way over to a girls bathroom and passed the cloak to Archer. Surreptitiously, he waited outside the entrance. After a few minutes passed, a materialized Archer emerged. She was smart enough to realize that the topknot would attract too much attention and had thus let her hair down. Harry couldn't help but like the way she looked.
ôYou look nice.ö
Archer gave him a rather irate look. Then she shrugged.
ôYeah, I do.ö
ôLet's get to the next part of the plan.ö
ôThe pay phone part?ö
ôYeah.ö
It took a few more minutes of walking to go to the food court. Harry was hungry. He figured that he would allow Archer to pick where they ate. She was being a fairly good sport about it. Archer was in the mood for fish and chips. Harry was not at all disagreeable. They sat down at one of the tables. Archer was wolfing down the fried fish. Harry was a good deal slower.
ôWhat do you think, Archer?ö
ôI like it. Haven't had anything quite like it. Nice and filling.ö
ôYeah. Heavy fried food has that effect.ö
ôAre you worried about getting fat?ö
ôI'm on a sports team. I've got to be in shape, so I watch what I eat.ö
ôDon't worry; I'll train it out of you.ö
ôThanks, Archer,ö drawled Harry sarcastically.
ôDon't give me that. You like the fruits of hard work more than most. I'm that way too.ö
ôYep. Gotta keep moving forward. That's the only way to succeed.ö
ôRight! Now let me finish this. I actually like it.ö
Harry smiled. Archer was Archer. She was something unique. There was no other like her. She was a legend. He was just a kid that had accidentally called upon her and had the honor of fighting with her. Still, Archer put her trust in him. It was a feeling that he had never felt before. Perhaps this was what it meant to serve with the Demon Lord.
ôThat was good. Thanks, Ma-Harry.ö
That was right. This wasn't even related to the Grail War. It was between them as two people rather than Master and Servant. Harry smiled, stood up, and threw away the trash. From there, the next part of the plan was to find a pay phone. He had a phone call to make. Thankfully, there had been a phonebook at Hogwarts for the purpose of Muggle Studies. He had copied down the number.
Harry walked down the street into a red phone box. Quickly, he inserted the correct change for a call. Then he looked down at the phone number he had written on his wrist. It had just happened to be the most convenient location at the time. He dialed the number. There were a few alternate numbers just in case he had gotten the wrong number. This first number was the wrong number. The second was also a wrong number. The third, however, was the correct number.
ôMacTavish here. Hill, I fucking swear-ö
ôIt's not Hill; it's Potter, Harry Potter.ö
ôOh, sorry. Hey kid, how're you doing?ö
ôDoing pretty well. I'm having a bit of a problem, though.ö
ôOh really?ö
ôYeah.ö
ôGrail War related?ö
ôUh-huh.ö
ôWhat is it?ö
ôI need a place to stay. Could you help with that?ö
ôYou're probably better off dealing with Hill than with me.ö
ôI'd rather not deal with him. There's just something I don't quite like about him.ö
ôIt's because he's Catholic, right?ö
ôFunny but no.ö
ôLemme see what I can do. Call me back at 9 o' clock. I think I can find something for you.ö
ôNot just me.ö
ôGirlfriend?ö
ôWhy does everyo- It's my Servant. My Servant wants to be materialized, and I don't mind that.ö
ôAlright. Alright. Try not to die in the meanwhile.ö
ôCan do. Thanks.ö
***
Night had fallen over London. However, London was not Harry's current location. As of now, he was walking with Archer along a sidewalk swept by the pools of light driving back the darkness formed by the streetlights. It was a little past nine. He had called back MacTavish who had found something. Harry had said that he would call back soon since he had some business to take care of.
The street was normal. The near-identical houses were normal. It was as if the street took a great pride in its external normalcy. With Harry and others, the street was considerable less than normal. Archer smiled like a cat on the hunt. Harry was worried about how much Archer was looking forward to meeting his family. When she smiled like that, he knew it could not end well. There was simply no way. There it was, Number 4 Privet Drive. The moment of truth was at hand. Harry walked up to the door and knocked.
ôHello! It's Harry!ö
His heart began to speed up. It was really a silly reaction, especially compared to some of the things that he had faced. However, people were not logical beings. They were beings of emotion. The door opened and his heart almost felt like it would explode.
ôBoy, what are you doing? Who's that?ö
ôI need to get some of my things to move out. That would be Archer.ö
ôAre you stupid, boy? You're supposed to be staying here with us, not hanging around with your freakish friends. And what the hell kind of name is 'Archer?'ö
ôI really can't explain.ö
ôYou'd damn well better!ö
ôNo,ö stated Archer abruptly.
ôHow about we come inside?ö asked Harry, trying to ease the tensions.
ôFine.ö
They went into the house and sat in the living room. Uncle Vernon returned with his wife and son in tow. There was a tense, uncomfortable silence between the five. Dudley started to fidget slightly.
ôWho's that?ö asked his cousin, pointing toward the Japanese girl.
ôThat's Archer. It's not her name. I'll explain quickly. I'm involved in something called Heaven's Feel. In this, seven Heroic Spirits are summoned as Servants into seven classes. One of these is Archer. It's a fight to death. I was involved accidentally. I need to be out of here because, firstly, it's in London and, secondly, I'd put you in a lot of danger if I were to stay with you. It's supposed to be a secret, so please don't tell anyone ö
His uncle inhaled and exhaled loudly.
ôOne thing,ö said Archer, ôDon't talk to my Master like that. Only I get to do that.ö
ôReally?ö asked the large man.
An unholy firearm materialized into her hand as she lazily pointed it at the man.
ôYes.ö
ôFine. Do it,ö he acquiesced.
Archer smiled humorlessly. It didn't take too long for Harry to gather the things he needed. There weren't all that many things, but it took a little while for everything to be packed. With frosty goodbyes, he parted from them.
As they were walking along the sidewalk, Archer paused momentarily.
ôMaster.ö
She was dead serious.
ôWhat is it, Archer?ö
ôThere's a battle going on.ö
ôLet's go then.ö
Also, the only editing was done by myself. I apologize for any errors I may have missed.
Chapter 6
The Battlefield
Interlude
They were a young couple enjoying the London nightlife. They weren't actually from London. They were both born in Northern Ireland but had decided to move for safety. After partying, they had decided to cuddle a little bit next to a dark alley. They wouldn't into the alley, that would have been stupid. They had seen enough horror films to know that going into the dark alley was a bad idea. They had been next to a streetlight in a fairly well-lit area.
Then she had came. With a tongue like poisoned honey, their bodies had jerked like marionettes on a string to move at her whim. Everything else was relaxed, but their eyes were filled with fear. Their own bodies weren't even their own. They would have laughed as she pulled out a magic wand, waved it about, and spoke pseudo-Latin words; however, this was all too real. They were lead inside an abandoned factory. The place was due for demolition and weeds grew everywhere. The steel and iron was, on the whole, in various stages of rust. Suddenly, their bodies were theirs again. After waving her wand and throwing around more pseudo-Latin, she was now checking her nails
ôWhat the hell was that? Who the hell are you?ö
The next three words sealed the man's fate.
ôKill him, Berserker.ö
Next to her, the air warped as a figure brought about by magic came to existence. His hair was wild and long like a barbarian's, and he had a long and similarly wild beard. His thinly powerful frame was easily six feet tall. Blue eyes pierced into the soul. Spittle flew with his roar as he crossed the space, approximately thirty feet, near instantly. The tiles shattered from the kicking-off. The cross of lead dangling around his neck glinted and glimmered in the dim light that slipped in through the smashed windows.
The man raised his hands to block. In the split second, it was all he could do. However, this only meant that the first strike didn't kill him. Berserker slammed his fist into the man's forearm. Being on a completely different level from normal humans, the Servant's chambered fist outraced the sound of his punch and ended with a supersonic crack like that of a bullet. The floor cracked as Berserker put his full weight into the blow. The bones in the arm shattered, virtually pulverized to dust. The outrageous forces acting upon him sent the man flying a good fifty feet before he slammed into a brick wall. Bones could be heard audibly cracking. Without medical treatment, the man would probably die anyway.
In the limited cognitive functions of Berserker's mind, he knew that his master had given him an order. The man still drew breath. The order was not yet executed. The tiles cracked once more as Berserker sought to carry out the murderous order. With the same speed, Berseker was right there with another gunshot-like fist. This fist was aimed towards the man's abdominal section. As most students of at least High School biology could state, the abdomen was filled with squishy, liquid filled organs. The effect of Berserker's fist was not unlike that of a bullet hitting a water balloon. The man's midsection promptly exploded, spraying viscera and blood everywhere. Since he had put his full force into as he did with all blows, Berserker's fist kept traveling. With ease, it smashed through the spine and then it smashed through the bricks. Obviously, the man was now dead. Berserker removed his bloodstained hand from the rapidly cooling corpse.
ôWhat do you think of my false priest? And where do you think you're going?ö
The woman had started to run. It was only natural in such a situation. However, things that were only natural did not always work out, to say nothing of when the supernatural was involved. She moved to run out a door, but she found it blocked by a shimmering, iridescent barrier. It looked like a soap bubble, but it was at least as strong as steel.
ôYou can't get out. In fact, no one will hear your screams. Why? Because magic. It exists, but people like you simply aren't worthy of it. You are, shall we say, life unworthy of life.ö
ôNo. No. No, no, no, no, nononononononono!ö
Her false priest was already at her side. The mad Servant was ready. Anything his Master commanded would be his bidding. To his dulled mind, that was his purpose. He was an extension of her. Her hand reached down to her Servant's crotch.
ôBerserker, you deserve to have some fun. Be a dear and rape her to death.ö
The screams that followed carried on for hours and with the magic warding the place, nothing could stop them except death's release. The Master watched with passionate sadism. The huntress had a new hunting dog.
***
The train station was a hub of noise. Here was shouting as parents called out to their children; there was a young child screeching happily as they were reunited with a sibling who had gone to Hogwarts. The past few weeks had been quiet if nervous. Silly as it was in comparison to the bloody war with which he was involved, those last few weeks of cramming for the OWLS had been more than a little stressful. The only method by which he could relax was practicing swordplay out in the forest with Archer. Out of respect for the studying students, there had been no Quidditch games nor practices. For Harry though, the only real way to work out his stress was to do something physical.
Besides, he felt rather assured that he had a decent chance of surviving a first strike from another Servant long enough to use a command seal to call Archer. In other words, he had at best a fifty-fifty shot of interposing his sword between an attack and then thinking ôHelp me, Archer!ö loudly enough for the command seal to activate. Another issue that had been causing him some stress was his friends; they were concerned about how withdrawn from them he was becoming. Harry himself didn't feel very good about lying to them, but it had gotten easier, especially with the thought in mind that he was protecting them from the horrors of the upcoming Grail War.
With regards to that, Archer had made some stipulations. They weren't really orders, but they were. She wanted to stay manifested with a body as much as possible. However, outside of historical reenactment or Japan, a person walking around dressed like a samurai attracted a lot of attention. Therefore, he had to make a shopping trip to get her plainclothes.
The other matter on his mind with regards to the Grail War was residence. As a minor, his options would be undoubtedly restricted. He could stay with his Aunt and Uncle, but the problem in that was distance. Nothing would be accomplished by putting them in the line of fire, and he couldn't stand himself if there was another ruthless Master like Father Hill according to Dumbledore running around. It was just his way, Harry Potter's war, to go forward and stop that. Besides Archer, calm and collected as she could be, had a streak of bloodlust. She would want to go out and fight. As she had told him during their spars, ôHe who holds the initiative controls the the tempo of battle. He who controls the tempo of battle wins.ö
The sword. Harry himself found his weapon of choice that was shrunken inside one his pockets to be a bizarre one. Yes, it was probably better against a Servant than a gun. Yes, it was easier to obtain than a gun since he wasn't an American. Yes, it required more discipline and training then other weapons. Yes, it was antiquated. It felt right. Besides, he had an idea on how he would practice magic which he would inevitable need without alerting the Ministry. In actuality, he had an idea and fallback option.
His first order of business was to get out to withdraw some money from the bank. Like any other war, he would need money. However, he would need to get his stuff from his Aunt and Uncle and he really didn't feel like having to break in to get his stuff. So, his plan was to inform them before the aforementioned plainclothes for Archer. Then he'd go back and see them for his stuff. The only issue was that he probably needed a residence at that point. Harry knew that he had a few options in that regard. One of them, or at least what he thought was an option, was a look through the phonebook and a pay phone away.
He passed through the barrier between Platforms 9 and 10 and lost himself in the crowd. Most of the parents of the muggleborn students were here. He did see Uncle Vernon's massive form, but slipped away. He'd be seeing them.
ôWe could get around much faster if you let me carry your bags, y'know,ö said Archer.
ôYeah, but a Japanese girl dressed like an old-style samurai moving around at inhuman speeds and carrying a person plus his bags is rather noticeable. I'm trying to avoid the noticeable.ö
ôKill everything and nobody will know.ö
ôI hate how that makes sense. No, I'm not going to order you to kill everything. It's a good thing I have magic.ö
ôMagic you can't use without calling in the government likes ants to honey.ö
ôI know. That's why I have an invisibility cloak.ö
ôIt's too small.ö
ôI thought we already discussed this.ö
ôNo we didn't. You said that you'd use the wandless magic that you'd managed to figure out.ö
ôTrue. I'm going to use magic to hide out, shrink the luggage, and leave invisibly.ö
ôLet's hope they don't have any of those infrared cameras you've mentioned.ö
ôIt really depends on the kind of invisibility. I think there is something special about this cloak. Normal invisibility cloaks would have lost their power ages ago. This one has been working for at least decades.ö
ôThat doesn't necessarily mean it is invisible to every spectrum of light.ö
ôIf that were the case, then it wouldn't be an invisibility cloak. It would be a partial invisibility cloak or an imperfect invisibility cloak.ö
ôThose sorts of things didn't exist when it was made. Who knows if it is invisible in that way. I hate your country with all its CCTV cameras. They are such a pain in the ass.ö
ôArcher, I'm also going to be using one of those spells I like to call a 'Someone Else's Problem' Field.ö
ôThat won't help you against cameras.ö
ôIt should. It's a modern revision of the spell. They'd have to be a complete idiot to not take cameras into account.ö
ôYou wizards are complete idiots. Therein lies the problem.ö
ôAm I a complete idiot, Archer?ö
ôNo. You are only partially an idiot since you, unlike many of your fellows, have me, an ancient and wizened general -but don't call me old, or I'll kill you- to guide you.ö
ôOf course not, Archer-sama,ö he replied, sarcastically using the honorific.
ôIt's could you acknowledge the lord.ö
ôBut I am the Master.ö
ôMere semantics. You just acknowledged me as the lord.ö
ôYou just like it when I use honorifics. You like it when I call you Archer-sensei when you're beating the crap out of me to teach me how to use a sword.ö
ôTrue. True. You did learn how to use a sword. When you started, you might as well have been swinging around a bat, but now you could be called a swordsman. You might be pathetic compared to Saber or myself, but you are definitely a swordsman now.ö
ôShucks, Archer. You're going to make be blush.ö
By this point, the teen and the voice in his head had gotten to a more private location. Here, he touched his hand to the luggage, muttered the magic words, and shrunk it to a size which he could fit into a pocket. Given Archer's questioning about magic, he really didn't want to think too much about how it worked. That just made his head hurt. It was easier to say ôbecause magicö than it was to give a real explanation as to how it worked, given that it obnoxiously violated almost every branch of physical science imaginable (with the possible exception of quantum physics). He then donned the shimmering cloak, becoming invisible. A few more magic words gave him the ôSomeone Else's Problemö Field. With these, he passed through the security with ease.
ôTold you so, Archer.ö
ôMaster,ö said Archer urgently, ôWe've got another Servant.ö
Harry didn't even pay attention as Archer pointed it out. There, casually leaning against a corner in his grey cloak, was Caster. Nobody noticed him since a spellcaster powerful enough to be called Caster could easily cast the same sort of spells to make him unnoticeable. Though the cowl concealed much of his face, the corners of his mouth were slightly upturned in a smile. Now that he could get a better look at the Servant, he noticed that Caster had a thin, scraggly beard. He also noticed that the Servant wore dark trousers and with a matching jacket and Oxfords. From what he could tell, Caster wore no tie nor did he button up the jacket. Aside from his cloak, Caster seemed to be the image of the mafia hit man. Casually, Harry moved to lean in the same corner.
ôWhat brings you here, Caster?ö
ôThis and that. You?ö
Caster was already getting on his nerves, and it wasn't in the fun, teasing way that Archer got on his nerves.
ôThe same. A little business that I need to deal with. Did your Master, Elise, send you here?ö
ôNot really. She wanted me to patrol the city for Masters. Coming here was a pretty logical choice. 'Sides, it just felt right to me.ö
Caster pulled out a packet of cigarettes and procured one. A silver Ronson lighter was flicked open, and a small flame lit the cigarette. A small waving ribbon of tobacco smoke drifted upwards.
ôWant one?ö offered the cloaked Servant.
ôNo thanks. I don't smoke.ö
ôHah. You probably couldn't take it since I smoke unfiltered. You'd get lung cancer and die or something.ö
ôThanks. If you try anything, Archer is right here to blow your brains out.ö
ôLike all fighters, Archer is a meathead. I've got magic so she can suck it.ö
Caster was definitely pissing Harry off.
ôWe've got unfinished business, Caster,ö came Archer's voice, ôI wouldn't be so cocky.ö
ôYeah. A real pair of idiots here. Makes sense for one idiot to summon another. That was your summoning catalyst, right? It was idiocy, right?ö
ôYours was being an ass, right?ö
ôThat means I'm getting to you,ö fired back Archer before be blew out a stream of smoke.
ôYou have a way with words, Caster. You really do.ö
ôI'll take praise where I can get it.ö
ôSo, back to earlier, what logic led you hear?ö
ôYou, for one, looked school age and you were wearing your uniform. I would expect a few other families to send their younger members. It makes a fair bit of sense. They are, probably, more expendable than the family heads.ö
ôIf you aren't going to kill me, why are you here?ö
ôInformation is power. Besides, I already attached a curse that will turn your blood to acid in three hours.ö
ôWhat!ö
ôJust fucking with you. You should be a bit more careful; your spell does have limitations.ö
ôFuck you too, Caster.ö
With that exchange over, he walked away. He was trembling in anger. If he spent even one more minute beside the cloaked Servant, he'd lose his temper. Caster just rubbed him the wrong way. The cloaked Servant's antagonizing didn't improve his impression of the powerful wizard.
ôArcher.ö
ôYeah.ö
ôI'm going to be the one that kicks his ass.ö
ôHuh. I don't think that's a good idea.ö
ôI have a sword. I doubt a wizard is competent swordsman.ö
ôThat's a fatal mistake if I heard one. You are both a wizard and a competent swordsman. What was that quote you mentioned?ö
ôThe one from Napoleon?ö
ôOh yeah! I remember. 'Don't interrupt your enemy in the middle of a mistake.' That's a bad assumption right there. You also must remember that Servants deliberately try to conceal their abilities from each other.ö
ôI suppose so. He just pisses me off. I want to wipe that smirk off his face with my fist.ö
ôYeah. He insulted me too. Don't worry about me not wanting to wipe that smirk from his face. Of course, I'd wipe off the rest of his face too.ö
Harry chuckled. Her cheerily dark sense of humor was pretty funny. Soon, they left the train station. He knew the route from here to Diagon Alley. That would be his first stop. Due to the, as Harry would put it, bullshit of Ministry laws, he could indeed practice magic there without worrying about activating the Trace. Of course, it meant that in practice, muggleborn students or those who lived with muggles, could not practice magic outside school unlike those raised among wizards.
As was to be expected, things were crowded. Once outside, he took off the cloak and dismissed the charm. It was a hot summer day. Thankfully, he had changed over to a plain grey t-shirt and jeans. The jeans might get a bit hot, but Harry just didn't like shorts all that much.
A quick wandless spell disguised his appearance as he made his way to the Leaky Cauldron. Of course, Archer was watching around. Though they weren't supposed to fight in public, rules were often broken for the sake of convenience. Murdering a Master early on to gain a wish was very convenient. Annoyingly, he didn't only have to worry about Servants. He would have to worry about Masters too if Dumbledore's comments about Hill were correct. It made sense; if he could, he would fight against an enemy Master. He also couldn't rule out a pragmatic Master who would use guns. That would be especially egregious for him since his own Servant used guns.
It was no big deal to get to the Leaky Cauldron. Of course, he looked very out of place in his clothes. However, a wave of a wand silenced all doubts. A few taps later, he was in Diagon Alley. It was a rather simple matter to get to Gringots. A few of the guards raised an eyebrow at his choice of clothing. Harry laughed because he would be purchasing more of that kind of clothing for Archer. After walking up the steps, he entered the building itself. As he would expect, there were lines. Since he was not above such earthly things, he had to wait in one. Thankfully, there was a voice in his head that was not a sign of schizophrenia with whom he could converse.
ôSo, Archer?ö
ôYes?ö
ôWhat sort of clothes did you want to buy?ö
ôI'm not terribly interested in lingerie. It's not like I don't have undergarments of my own.ö
ôDid you really have to talk about that first?ö
ôYes. It makes you adorably flustered. It's kind of sad when the medieval spirit is less prudish than her master.ö
ôI'm not a prude. I'm just not the type to really think about that. You've been in my head, sort of. You should know that I'm not thinking about sex every five seconds.ö
ôIt would be funny for me if you were.ö
ôI feel so much pity for your poor, horrible lack of amusement,ö responded Harry dryly.
ôWell, the other things I'd like are a pair of sandals, shorts, maybe a miniskirt-ö
ô-Can you get more stereotypically Japanese?ö
ôPardon me?ö
ôThat Japanese girls wear miniskirts is something of a joke. It's funny because you want to wear one even when you're from medieval Japan.ö
ôVery funny. Carrying on, I'd like a shirt of some king -probably a t-shirt-, and maybe a nice red dress.ö
ôRed dress specifically?ö
ôI just happen to like the color.ö
ôTry not to die on the away team.ö
ôHuh?ö
ôThe redshirt always dies, always.ö
ôI don't know pop-culture, Harry.ö
ôI'm going to lord that over you so much.ö
ôYou do know that just means I'll kick your ass harder when we spar.ö
ôMeh. It'll be totally worth it.ö
ôNext!ö called a goblin teller.
Harry moved up in the line to the wizened and wrinkly banker.
ôName?ö
ôHarry Potter. I'd like to withdraw an amount equivalent to 200 pounds and 25 galleons. A little change would be nice too.ö
ôYou are a minor.ö
ôMy relatives with whom I live are muggle.ö
ôThough the Ministry doesn't like it, we at Gringots really don't care to whom we lend our money. We just expect payback with interest or things can get uncomfortable.ö
ôThank you, sir.ö
ôDon't act like I care about you. Move over to that line in the corner. You will be called out as Number 17.ö
ôThank you, sir.ö
ôMove.ö
ôYes sir.ö
And so he moved to avoid the goblin's ire. The line to the teller had sixteen ahead of him. Though it might seem to be an inefficient system at a glance, the goblins managed to masterfully route streams of customers between tellers. If one were looking for a special item or requested specifically, they would be streamed over to a separate line for a ride to the vaults. However, doing so was a process that was somewhat more time consuming than going to the teller and getting the requested amount immediately from the bank's reserves. At a later date, the money withdrawn would be taken from the vault itself. This new system with the tellers hadn't quite existed when he had first gone to the bank. However, the influx of more and more people new to Gringotts and a study of muggle banking methods had gradually yielded this system.
ôSo... Archer?ö
ôI'm all ears.ö
ôYou have no ears at the moment.ö
ôMere semantics.ö
ôIt's been three hours. I'm not dead yet.ö
ôWonderful. Caster can go die in a fire. I'm going to take great joy in shoving my sword up his-ö
ôYou know he would turn that around on you. It would be something like 'Didn't know you were fully functional in that way.'ö
ôHe would. Then I would show him which sword I meant and he would be very much without doubt as to the sword I meant.ö
ôAs a guy, that would be incredibly cruel.ö
ôHe deserves it. Besides, you and me both know that he knows more than he lets on.ö
ôObviously. Now there is one Servant I might be able to beat hand-to-hand.ö
ôIt's a bad idea. Besides, I get the feeling that he is not defenseless in a melee. Just doesn't seem the type to overspecialize.ö
ôTrue, but shouldn't he be one of the physically weakest Servants. Wizards, myself included, tend to be squishy.ö
ôAs a Servant, he would be less squishy than you. Even at the weakest, a Servant is on another level compared to a person like you.ö
ôYeah, but weren't all of you Heroic Spirits human at one point?ö
ôI don't think you get it. All the feats that I manage, I was able to perform at that level while alive. I suppose that if you dedicate your life to it, have a lot of natural talent, and are just lucky, you might maybe have a chance of becoming a Heroic Spirit. Maybe its a dilution in power available due to the amount of people in the world compared to my day. However, the chances of you being able to fight at my level are at least a million-to-one.ö
ôDamn. Do you really have to put me down like that.ö
ôYes. Don't get overconfident and cocky. While I'd love for you to be able to fight at my level -it would save me a lot of stress- I don't think it's possible.ö
ôNumber 17!ö called the teller.
ôHere!ö
He was handed a sheaf of bills alongside a little bit of change and a small sack of coins. After thanking quickly, he left the building. It wasn't particularly difficult to find a device which could bring about a ôSEPö field. They were a dime a dozen. However, the specific qualities he wanted were somewhat difficult to find. He wanted one which could key in specific people to its location, adjust its size, and was portable. In the end, he settled for a stone cylinder engraved with several runes which weighed about two pounds. It cost him six galleons. A bargain model would have cost maybe one.
After this, it was a trip down to Knockturn Alley. The plan was to buy a wand. Of course, there was a reason why he would choose a shadier method with much less quality control than Ollivander. Ollivander had his business subsidized by the Ministry. This gave him much greater access to the rare ingredients necessary for a proper wand. However, it meant that one of his wands, which was necessary for entry at Hogwarts was given a Trace spell. This was the bog-standard Trace. That was not to say that an area could be Traced. However, this was the most common method.
The alley was, as always, rather dark and dingy. In his street clothes, he stuck out like a sore thumb. However, there were a few others dressed like him. It was a sign of the changing times. With more mundane influences, the culture of magical Britain was changing for better or for worse. Harry had previously worked through the equivalent of a phonebook to find a wand dealership. There he had found one: Igor's. It was only through the ôphonebookö that he learned that other wand dealerships existed. Harry had felt particularly stupid upon discovering that particular fact. The fact that only about one tenth of magical children went to Hogwarts had also come as a shock. Hogwarts mostly took muggleborn students and purebloods whose families had traditions of attendance. Most went to other, smaller schools.
Igor's was a very unassuming building. It was a small, two story building made from bare, unpainted wood. Fading and flaking white letters spelled out the shop's name. Almost like a store out of the the American Old West, ôWands and Other Items.ö Blinds were drawn on the single window. Harry walked up the steps onto the porch. The only indication that the shop was open was a small sign hanging from the doorknob which said ôOpen.ö By this point, he had a sinking feeling about the whole venture. Nonetheless, he rapped at the frame of the solid door.
ôCome in,ö came a rasping voice from behind the door. Whoever it was, the voice sounded like a longtime smoker.
Harry did so, and opened the door, causing a bell to ring. The first thing he noticed was the cloying scent of tobacco smoke. There was a full ashtray of stubbed cigarette butts. Idly, he noted that these were Marlboros. The lighting was poor as the room was only lit by a quartet of dim oil lamps. In a display case were several different wands. These seemed, for the most part, to be similar to the cylindrical wands traditionally used by stage magicians. They lacked, as a whole, the handgrip of an Ollivander wand. The walls were bare and plain. The rail-thin man behind the counter was positively ancient with all his wrinkles. He looked almost like a living fossil. Long white hair was tied back. Oddly, he was dressed in a white dress shirt with a red bowtie and a brown tweed vest that was left unbuttoned.
ôHey kid, you just going to gawk like that? Hate to be rude, but I'd like to get a little business going. I don't get all that many customers and I have a low tolerance for dilly-dallying,ö said the man with a slight Eastern European accent. Harry would have guessed Romanian.
ôSorry. I'm looking for a wand.ö
ôI'm going to assume less than legal, right?ö
ôErr, yes. I'm looking for something to get around the Trace. I'm expecting a bit of fighting, so I want to be able to cast without worrying about the Ministry, pardon my French, going after my ass.ö
The old man chuckled.
ôThere was another just like you. It was fifty or so years ago. I'm willing to bet you found me because I was the first wandmaker you found in the directory who was located in Knockturn Alley.ö
ôUmm, yes sir.ö
ôReally, I don't mind. I'm assuming you already have an Ollivander wand.ö
ôYes sir.ö
ôI'll warn you, because I lack the funds available, you won't get as much raw power from one of my wands.ö
ôI don't mind. I just need it to work well enough for a fight.ö
ôAllow me to explain. After a little fiddling around, I have managed to create something perfect for a duelist who needs power on the cheap.ö
ôReally?ö
ôYup. It required a crystal shard in the core. What it does is that it synchronizes to a magical core in your own body?ö
ôWhat's a magical core? I've never heard of it. To be perfectly honest, it sounds like some sort of arbitrary power level sort of thing.ö
ôI suppose it could be called something like that. However, it is not. It's much more of a concept than any physical thing. Your magical core is almost like your soul but it is more. It is the sum of your being. It is who you are. I suppose a better descriptor would be that it is the origin of the self. However, to understand the magical core requires an understanding of philosophy and metaphysics which I think that you, my young friend, lack.ö
ôThanks. Would I be correct in assuming that you are Igor.ö
ôIndeed you would. Allow me to get the model wand which you want.ö
The man disappeared into the recesses of the shop. Unlike Ollivander, there was no question of whether the wand would suit the wizard. This was a much less artistic approach. However, it had its merit. To diverge the mysticism from the wandmaking allowed things like the crystal which Igor had mentioned. Harry did have one burning question now: What was the essence of his magical core? The old man returned soon enough. The wand was ten inches long and painted black with the exception of a band of white at the end from which spells would be cast. Harry could feel it practically humming in his grasp.
ôHow much do you want for this?ö
ôFifteen galleons.ö
Harry handed over the requisite amount of money and tipped him for confidentiality with an additional coin. The old man smiled without humor as the teen left the shop. He sat back on his stool.
ôI suppose it's happening again,ö muttered Igor, ôHow nostalgic! Again my wand will be carried into the greatest conflict !ö
***
With his new wand stuffed in his pocket, Harry walked out towards a shopping mall. As part of his promise to Archer, he would get her clothes. Much to his chagrin, Archer made it a point to talk about lingerie on the way there. He knew she was just trying to embarrass him, something at which she was succeeding. He figured that he might as well, in spite of her opposition, to by her lingerie, especially the lacy kind. He thought that it might annoy her back. It would be absolutely terrible for him if this scheme were to backfire.
Thus, he found himself in a women's clothing store. He had rather awkwardly explained that he was buying a surprise present for his girlfriend. That was a lie, a damn lie; Archer was definitely not his girlfriend.
As of now, he was holding up a brick red hoodie. Archer had told him that she liked it. Right now, she was making it so that he could see her though she was still invisible. It made trying to find her size much easier. It was surprising, though, just how small Archer was. It only now occurred that she was an inch or two shorter than him. Her presence was just that much larger than life. This small one seemed to fit her.
ôArcher get!ö
ôPardon me,ö responded Harry.
ôOver there.ö
What was, in fact, over there was a rack of scandalously short jean shorts. It was as if Archer was deliberately trying to mess with him which he knew she was. Raising an eyebrow, Harry walked over to the rack to find one that fit his annoying Servant. Again, it was a smaller one which fit her. There was at least one upside to Archer not requiring larger sizes in that his wallet liked it. In spite of himself, he actually did end up enjoying this shopping trip. On his way to the checkout, he also picked up a pair of flip flops. All told, it cost him around seventy pounds. Of course, given the .99 bullshit he had enough change to use a pay phone. After this, he walked towards a different part of the mall.
ôOh hell no.ö
ôHell yes.ö
ôScrew you, Master.ö
ôSince you've been going on about it, I figured I might as well humor you.ö
ôY'know, I really had this coming.ö
Harry entered the lingerie store with a shit-eating grin and explained, given a moderately questioning look, that he was here for his ôgirlfriend.ö After a few minutes, Archer was the proud owner of a pair of black, lacy panties. Harry's shit-eating grin continued.
ôI love you too, Archer.ö
ôWould you like to try on your new clothes, all of them.ö
ôGo fuck yourself, Harry.ö
Harry made his way over to a girls bathroom and passed the cloak to Archer. Surreptitiously, he waited outside the entrance. After a few minutes passed, a materialized Archer emerged. She was smart enough to realize that the topknot would attract too much attention and had thus let her hair down. Harry couldn't help but like the way she looked.
ôYou look nice.ö
Archer gave him a rather irate look. Then she shrugged.
ôYeah, I do.ö
ôLet's get to the next part of the plan.ö
ôThe pay phone part?ö
ôYeah.ö
It took a few more minutes of walking to go to the food court. Harry was hungry. He figured that he would allow Archer to pick where they ate. She was being a fairly good sport about it. Archer was in the mood for fish and chips. Harry was not at all disagreeable. They sat down at one of the tables. Archer was wolfing down the fried fish. Harry was a good deal slower.
ôWhat do you think, Archer?ö
ôI like it. Haven't had anything quite like it. Nice and filling.ö
ôYeah. Heavy fried food has that effect.ö
ôAre you worried about getting fat?ö
ôI'm on a sports team. I've got to be in shape, so I watch what I eat.ö
ôDon't worry; I'll train it out of you.ö
ôThanks, Archer,ö drawled Harry sarcastically.
ôDon't give me that. You like the fruits of hard work more than most. I'm that way too.ö
ôYep. Gotta keep moving forward. That's the only way to succeed.ö
ôRight! Now let me finish this. I actually like it.ö
Harry smiled. Archer was Archer. She was something unique. There was no other like her. She was a legend. He was just a kid that had accidentally called upon her and had the honor of fighting with her. Still, Archer put her trust in him. It was a feeling that he had never felt before. Perhaps this was what it meant to serve with the Demon Lord.
ôThat was good. Thanks, Ma-Harry.ö
That was right. This wasn't even related to the Grail War. It was between them as two people rather than Master and Servant. Harry smiled, stood up, and threw away the trash. From there, the next part of the plan was to find a pay phone. He had a phone call to make. Thankfully, there had been a phonebook at Hogwarts for the purpose of Muggle Studies. He had copied down the number.
Harry walked down the street into a red phone box. Quickly, he inserted the correct change for a call. Then he looked down at the phone number he had written on his wrist. It had just happened to be the most convenient location at the time. He dialed the number. There were a few alternate numbers just in case he had gotten the wrong number. This first number was the wrong number. The second was also a wrong number. The third, however, was the correct number.
ôMacTavish here. Hill, I fucking swear-ö
ôIt's not Hill; it's Potter, Harry Potter.ö
ôOh, sorry. Hey kid, how're you doing?ö
ôDoing pretty well. I'm having a bit of a problem, though.ö
ôOh really?ö
ôYeah.ö
ôGrail War related?ö
ôUh-huh.ö
ôWhat is it?ö
ôI need a place to stay. Could you help with that?ö
ôYou're probably better off dealing with Hill than with me.ö
ôI'd rather not deal with him. There's just something I don't quite like about him.ö
ôIt's because he's Catholic, right?ö
ôFunny but no.ö
ôLemme see what I can do. Call me back at 9 o' clock. I think I can find something for you.ö
ôNot just me.ö
ôGirlfriend?ö
ôWhy does everyo- It's my Servant. My Servant wants to be materialized, and I don't mind that.ö
ôAlright. Alright. Try not to die in the meanwhile.ö
ôCan do. Thanks.ö
***
Night had fallen over London. However, London was not Harry's current location. As of now, he was walking with Archer along a sidewalk swept by the pools of light driving back the darkness formed by the streetlights. It was a little past nine. He had called back MacTavish who had found something. Harry had said that he would call back soon since he had some business to take care of.
The street was normal. The near-identical houses were normal. It was as if the street took a great pride in its external normalcy. With Harry and others, the street was considerable less than normal. Archer smiled like a cat on the hunt. Harry was worried about how much Archer was looking forward to meeting his family. When she smiled like that, he knew it could not end well. There was simply no way. There it was, Number 4 Privet Drive. The moment of truth was at hand. Harry walked up to the door and knocked.
ôHello! It's Harry!ö
His heart began to speed up. It was really a silly reaction, especially compared to some of the things that he had faced. However, people were not logical beings. They were beings of emotion. The door opened and his heart almost felt like it would explode.
ôBoy, what are you doing? Who's that?ö
ôI need to get some of my things to move out. That would be Archer.ö
ôAre you stupid, boy? You're supposed to be staying here with us, not hanging around with your freakish friends. And what the hell kind of name is 'Archer?'ö
ôI really can't explain.ö
ôYou'd damn well better!ö
ôNo,ö stated Archer abruptly.
ôHow about we come inside?ö asked Harry, trying to ease the tensions.
ôFine.ö
They went into the house and sat in the living room. Uncle Vernon returned with his wife and son in tow. There was a tense, uncomfortable silence between the five. Dudley started to fidget slightly.
ôWho's that?ö asked his cousin, pointing toward the Japanese girl.
ôThat's Archer. It's not her name. I'll explain quickly. I'm involved in something called Heaven's Feel. In this, seven Heroic Spirits are summoned as Servants into seven classes. One of these is Archer. It's a fight to death. I was involved accidentally. I need to be out of here because, firstly, it's in London and, secondly, I'd put you in a lot of danger if I were to stay with you. It's supposed to be a secret, so please don't tell anyone ö
His uncle inhaled and exhaled loudly.
ôOne thing,ö said Archer, ôDon't talk to my Master like that. Only I get to do that.ö
ôReally?ö asked the large man.
An unholy firearm materialized into her hand as she lazily pointed it at the man.
ôYes.ö
ôFine. Do it,ö he acquiesced.
Archer smiled humorlessly. It didn't take too long for Harry to gather the things he needed. There weren't all that many things, but it took a little while for everything to be packed. With frosty goodbyes, he parted from them.
As they were walking along the sidewalk, Archer paused momentarily.
ôMaster.ö
She was dead serious.
ôWhat is it, Archer?ö
ôThere's a battle going on.ö
ôLet's go then.ö
This is not my best, but I wanted this posted before I leave for a week on vacation. After this, I think you can imagine Berserker's theme song. It's metal, by the way
Chapter 7
Seven Servants
It is a battle of force against force. Metal sparks as the two clash. Lance against sword. However, the lance was not the battering force that clashed against the hurricane of the sword. A bronze shield as large as a man's chest battered without fail against the raging storm. Once more the whirlwind of the blade crashed down upon the shield. The ground cracked as the warrior stood his ground unflinching. Bronze clashed against steel. Not only were the implements of destruction bronze or steel, but the garb of the users too was either bronze or steel. The swordsman, a petite girl, was clad in blue cloth and silvery steel. The spearman, a large man with a dark beard, was clad from head to toe in shining bronze with a red cloak that flew wildly in the winds kicked up by the clashing warriors. The spear was thrust overhand to strike at the blue knight's heart. The raging storm swept away the shaft and quickly reversed direction to hew at the man. The great shield moved in an arc to bat aside the sword. Once more the lance was thrust, seeking to pierce through the steel-clad knight.
ôHeh,ö laughed the bronze knight, ôNot bad for a girl.ö
The girl raised an eyebrow.
ôSaber, you really are something else,ö continued the bronze spearman.
ôAgain, Lancer?ö asked Saber.
The mountain of bronze nodded, shaking off some of his perspiration. As he charged back into the fray, he let out a barking roar like that of a noble hunting hound. With two hands, Saber raised her sword on high to slam down onto the bronze warrior. Prana burst behind the blow like a raging wave. The shield again took her blow. Aside from a few dents and scratches, it was none the worse for wear. However, neither his shield nor his spear seemed to have the air of history of a Noble Phantasm. In this case, it was simply the shear strength and iron discipline of Lancer going against her blow.
His sandal-clad feet were pushed back by the force. The concrete was turning into gravel beneath his feet. However, it was not Lancer's way to retreat. His feet dug into the ground. This was his line in the sand. From here, he would only advance. His legs were like steel springs ready to be set loose. With a great roar the power was released as the thrust the spear with a force like that of a cannon. With that speed and power, Saber could only dodge. She jumped back a good ten yards. Lancer advanced, walking at first. As Saber broke in a run to go against the bronze spearman, he accelerated into a sprint. Hundreds of pounds of steel and bronze smashed against each other as each warrior put their full weight into their blows. With the line in the sand drawn behind him, Lancer would not be forced back. With her pride as a knight, Saber would not be forced back. Again and again they smashed into each other, tearing up the ground around them. Shards of pavement flew like shrapnel from an artillery strike. The spear drew back. The sword drew back. Again they clashed with titanic force. In spite of the brute force unleashed, there were no wasted movements in their blows. For something so base and brutal, it was breathtakingly beautiful. Steel and bronze clashed in the night.
From a far away rooftop, Caster sat alongside the lithe form of his Master. With his magic, they were watching from afar. Unlike his less than friendly dealings with Harry and Archer, he was relaxed and smiling now.
ôCaster,ö began Elise, ôThey really are amazing.ö
ôThey sure are, Master. What do you want to do?ö
ôI'm content to stay and watch. Perhaps if there is an opportune moment, you can go in there and finish them. I only really want to make a move if Potter is out tonight. He's going to die first.ö
ôWell, that is why you summoned me,ö returned Caster laughing, ôI do think there is a good opportunity out there. Saber's Master is exposing herself. Give me an order and I'll take her out.ö
ôYou did mention that another was prowling around here.ö
Caster closed his eyes and began to scry the area. After a second of concentration, his eyes snapped open under the shadows of his cloak.
ôYes. With the horse, it's probably Rider. There is no one in the vicinity that is obviously Rider's Master. The Servant has been enchanted to look like a mounted bobby. Not just any policeman, but one with the sort of mustache you only see in pornos.ö
Elise flushed red at his words. She gave her Servant a gentle slap across his cheek.
ôDid you really need to go there?ö
Caster laughed.
ôWhat about Potter and Archer?ö
ôI gave up on tracking them a while ago. The spells that I would use for long-distance tracking require too much concentration. I would rather have my attention focused on matters like this brawl.ö
ôI suppose that makes sense.ö
ôDon't worry. I'll know when they come back. They will. I know he will.ö
Elise sighed and pouted. Caster leaned back and extended his arm to give her a hug. His Master smiled and returned the affectionate gesture. They spent some time cuddling like this. Suddenly, he broke away.
ôWhat is it, Caster?ö
ôPotter is back. Looks like they want a slice of the action.ö
Rider's Master began the climb onto a warehouse overlooking the battlefield. For this, she was clothed from head to toe in dark grey gear. A balaclava concealed her face and night vision goggles made her look like some kind of alien. The lines of her weapon this night, the AR-18 outfitted with a night scope and brass catcher, were also the same sort of thing that would be found in science fiction, especially when compared to the more traditional SLR. A long suppressor was screwed onto the gun's muzzle. Furthermore, a bipod, now folded, was clamped onto the barrel rifle. The reasons for this location were twofold. Firstly, the building was not so high that it would silhouette her against the sky. Secondly, the smooth metal allowed for a fast escape.
Once she had gotten onto the roof, she deployed the legs of the bipod. From here, she was four-hundred meters away from the action. From here, the muzzle flash could not be seen by human eyes. Every possible light-reflecting surface had been painted over with a matte black. She took a look at the action and found a target, a lone girl standing out.
ôIdiot,ö she muttered as she flicked the safety off.
The goggles were pulled up to allow usage of the scope. Her target glowed under the best efforts of modern technology. The reticule was aligned with the head of the girl. At this range, it would take less than half of a second for the bullet to trike. A ribbon tied to the rifle gave a good gauge of the wind. There was a little that would cause the shot to sway slightly to the left. Her finger moved from tapping the trigger guard to being curled around the trigger itself. She was ready for her shot.
A few miles away, Archer and Harry were moving in as quickly as possible. At this distance, her hawk-like eyes pierced through the night. Far away, near the battle, a glint of light caught her attention. Now, she was in her full battle regalia. Her eyes narrowed.
ôMaster, we've got a sniper over the battle.ö
ôDo you think the sniper is a Master?ö
ôWho knows? However, taking out a sniper would our lives so much easier.ö
ôDo it,ö
Archer reached behind her back for a matchlock. Given that she was holding Harry in her other arm, she only had one arm free. As usual, she only used one hand for the gun. In an instant, wind and bullet drop and even the earth's curvature were taken into account by the gunslinger Servant. Grinning ferociously, she fired. Then she frowned as an arrow struck her bullet mere feet from impacting on the sniper.
Rider dispensed with his disguise and slid another arrow onto his bow. Though he had foiled his own chance of a surprise attack, he had saved his Master. It was a fair trade. How obnoxious it was that he, who used a bow, was not Archer. He spied the moving form of his opponent, a Servant who used guns, in the air. He pulled back on his small compound bow and let loose the arrow with the speed of a bullet. It easily smashed through the sound barrier. By the time the first arrow was halfway to his target, ten more arrows were in flight.
He rode his horse out to find a better position. With a grand leap, the compactly powerful steed jumped onto the roof. He extended a gauntlet clad hand to his master. She took it, and he swung her onto the horse. Then with another leap, they were on the move. This was to be a running fight.
Archer calmly analyzed her situation. While in the air as she was, she could not easily change her position. There were eleven arrows aimed at her. She couldn't blow them all out of the sky with only one gun. The solution was simple and clear in her mind. She tossed Harry upwards and drew her second gun. Eleven shots and eleven shattered arrows in less than a second. She caught her Master.
She took a look at the Servant who had fired the arrows. As of now, he was swinging the sniper onto his mount. The Servant wore dark green Chinese-style lamellar armor. As an archer, his arms were unarmored. An iron helmet with an Indian-style mail skirt protected his head. He rode with a very familiar style of tunic and trousers. It was the garb of the infamous enemy of the Japanese, an enemy that had been swept away by the divine wind.
ôMongol,ö growled Archer.
Harry was set down on a rooftop.
ôI've got some ass to kick, Master.ö
Harry smiled and gave her a thumbs-up and concealed himself with his invisibility cloak. Archer smiled back and jumped off into the sky. Harry hoped that she would draw the fight to a more remote area.
Archer cocked both her arquebuses and snapped a pair of shots at the moving Servant. By simply process of elimination, this was Rider. The steed was also a dead giveaway. A pair of simultaneously fired arrows destroyed the incoming lead. Rider slid into cover as Archer moved around to take another shot. In a moment, Rider returned without his passenger. Three arrows were readied, hard iron tips pointed at her. Assuming he could pull the bow back as fast as she could fire her two guns, he would have three projectiles out for her two. Neither Servant was willing to go all out in order to conceal the full extent of their abilities.
Three arrows were released, easily outracing their sound. Three bullets were fired, two from the right gun and one from the left. Once more, the projectiles collided into shattering wood and metal. They looked toward each other with grins that said to each other: ôGo faster.ö
Fire and smoke leaped from the guns as Archer fired a volley. Rider weaved around them and behind a brick wall that was thoroughly perforated by the gunshots. Archer had to hand it to him; he was a magnificent horseman, doing all that using only his knees and not so much as touching the reins. The horseman rode vertically along the wall before cresting over. Five volleys of three arrows were loosed. Archer quickly backpedaled dodged the volley of arrows. However, Rider was now suffering from the same issue in that he could not easily change direction in air. Two shots. One for him and one for his horse. Two arrows. One for each bullet. Collision and destruction.
Rider's arrows were like a an automatic shotgun. With their rate of fire, they were not just any machine gun but the modern incarnation of the gatling gun. Archer smashed them out of the air with burning lead. The streams of fire crossed the city to vie for supremacy. Every last attack had the force to rip off limbs with ease.
From the rooftop, Caster commented, ôIsn't it something. I don't think I've ever seen something like that.ö
ôBut you can do so much better than them, right?ö
ôOf course. Imagine a fireworks display vomiting. When I really get going, that can happen.ö
ôYou are the best Servant, Caster.ö
ôAww, thanks. I try to be humble.ö
ôNo you don't. But that is part of why you are so much fun. Plus, you have the power to back it up.ö
ôWhat do you know? Berserker is on the move. Assassin is probably out there. 'Course, with his class skill, I can't track him. I'd bet good money that he is watching and waiting.ö
Again, Saber and Lancer clashed. By now, both were battered and dripping with sweat. Nonetheless, the two Servants could continue fighting at full force. Steel and bronze again hammered into each other with titanic force. Sword against shield and spear. In spite of himself, Saber was hammering back. Now, he was only a few feet from his line in the sand. It was a line he would not cross. Lancer planted himself and shoved forward with his shield, sending Saber flying. Sparks skittered between her armor and the field of gravel, concrete having been demolished by their clash. Lancer barreled forward, using his shield like a battering ram. Saber stood her ground.
Steel clashed with bronze. Lance sought to pierce flesh. Sword sought to cleave flesh. They were both seeking destruction. In spite of their goals, no malice passed between the two warriors. It was a good fight and they were enjoying themselves. Like the best warriors, they kept going at it with iron wills. They would pick themselves up and try again. Try they did. Their strikes held tremendous force, enough to probably shatter a building. Steel fought bronze.
Far off, Archer ducked under a shotgun-like spread of arrows. Now, it was not a contest of rate of fire. In that, Rider was her superior. However, now it was a contest of accuracy. The physical limitations of a bow gave her an edge. Smoothbore matchlocks, her guns might be, but she knew they were more accurate than any bow. She snapped a pair of shots. It was, in submarine terms, a ôdown the throatö shot. Just was when a submarine would fire a pair of torpedoes to the right and left of a ship in the hopes that they would turn and hit a torpedo. Unflinching, Rider let the shots whip past him. Archer had a plan by now.
The twin guns were raised. One shot, two shots, three shots, four shots, five shots, six shots. They fanned out in a loose hexagon around Rider. Four more shots were fired. These were not with the intention of actually hitting Rider; rather, they were intended to box him him. It was a task they performed admirably. Unlike arrows, bullets have a nasty habit of ricocheting from hard surfaces. Usually, with soft lead, this would be unlikely for the shot fired by an arquebus. However, the arquebus was also used with another sort of ammunition: stone. To an extent, Archer could control the qualities of the ammunition fired from the guns. In this case, she used a harder material for the first six shots. Each of the six shots was aimed at various surfaces behind Rider. They hit and ricocheted. Some needed to hit another surface to ricochet against their intended target. Unaware of the qualities of his opponent's weapon, all six slammed into the mounted Servant's back. Rider dematerialized. For now, he was down for the count.
ôShit!ö cursed Harry as a bullet punched through the shield he had transfigured from the roof. It was dark, and he couldn't see. There was no muzzle flash he could see nor any retort he could follow. There was only the supersonic crack of the rifle rounds. He ducked down and began to crawl. Without his power, the shield returned to its original form. It was probably the same sniper that Archer had attacked and Rider had saved. He felt a scorching heat over his neck as a bullet whipped past. He lay flat. Then, he had a plan. He whipped out the invisibility and swung it around.
Suddenly, her target disappeared from the thermal scope. Rider's Master scowled in annoyance. She had to move to switch positions. Even with the suppressor, the gunfire was bound to wake someone up. Nonetheless, it would probably be blamed on the IRA if she were seen. That worked perfectly for her. She put two more rounds into the general area, slipped the night-vision goggles back onto her face, and began to move.
Harry dropped back down the second the rounds flew. Then he got up and cautiously put on the cloak. The sword was at his side and new wand in his hand. He began to load the revolver in his mind. First spell was a barrier to protect from bullets. This one was omnidirectional and could move with him. However, he doubted it would stand much gunfire. Next was a fire spell. This worked from the idea that the sniper was using thermal vision equipment. Hopefully it would blind the sniper or burn the sniper. Next was a disarming spell. For obvious reasons, this was a good thing. It wouldn't surprise him if there was a backup gun. Following this were a pair of blasting spells. The sniper was aiming to kill him, and he knew he needed to return the courtesy. Finally was another shield spell just in case. The cartridges were loaded. His revolver was ready.
There, a flicker of heat. Her opponent, Master of that gun-using Servant, had an invisibility cloak. There were ways to deal with that without magic. The easiest solution would be lots of grenades, but she only had a few.
ôArcher, I need your help,ö thought Harry loudly but not so much that the command seal would activate.
Soon enough, Archer was beside him in full battle regalia. There were no more gunshots. The sniper evidently knew better than to try and take on a Servant. Suddenly, Rider, the rear of his cuirass shattered and dripping blood, appeared and whisked away the sniper. Archer fired a pair of shots at the retreating team, but Rider, wounded as he was, still dodged. Soon enough, they were gone from even Archer's hawklike eyes.
ôWe should leave. I think people noticed the gunshots.ö
There was a loud noise, explosive like another gunshot. Archer and Harry turned around to the source of the noise. Archer's guns were at the ready. Harry's wand was pointed in one hand with his other at the hilt of his sword. It was a smirking Caster.
ôGentlemen, calm down. I'm not out to annihilate you right now. Just thought I'd pass along something that might be of interest to you. Berserker and his Master have arrived. They went to Lancer and Saber's fight. I think that you might find Berserker's Master to be particularly relevant.ö
ôWhat's that supposed to mean, Caster?ö growled Harry.
Caster smiled affably and replied, ôNothing at all. But please humor me and go. You'll find it to be quite fulfilling.ö
Harry wanted to plant his fist into that arrogant face but restrained himself.
ôThanks for the intel, Caster,ö stated Archer. She pulled the trigger. ôGoodbye.ö
The bullet entered into the shadows of his hooded face. The lead entered his head just above his left eye socket. It destroyed as it went past, deforming to blow out almost the entire back of his head into a pink mist as it exited. Caster dropped and fell in a pool of blood. He then dissolved, almost like sand blowing away in the wind. The mocking laughter returned.
ôWhy so serious, Archer? Or should I say Nobunaga-chan? That's no way to greet a friend.ö
ôYou really aren't my friend.ö
ôI never would have guessed,ö answered Caster's voice emanating from everywhere and nowhere.
Archer frowned but grabbed her Master and began to move towards the first battle of the night. The clash of the titans, the clash of bronze and steel, continued. Harry couldn't help but feel that Caster, as much as he disliked the man, was right.
ôArcher, can you see what's going on?ö
ôLooks like Berserker is a priest,ö she answered.
ôIs there more?ö
ôYou've got to be shitting me! It's that same woman who tried to kill you when I was summoned!ö
ôHow does Caster know all this?ö asked Harry.
ôWho knows? I'd love to beat it out of him.ö
ôI thought you wanted to shove a sword up his ass.ö
Archer laughed, ôThat too!ö
Harry laughed back. His face then sobered as they approached. It was time to get serious. His revolver was being reloaded for maximum destruction. This time, he was thinking with transfiguration.
ôArcher,ö he said, deadly serious, ôFeel free to simply blow her brains out.ö
ôCan do. I'm not going to let someone like that stay alive to threaten my Master.ö
The arquebus was drawn and in her hand, aiming even as they jumped from building to building. It was a single shot, aimed at the torso. The lead hurtled, cracking as it broke the sound barrier.
Bellatrix had no idea that death was coming her way. She smirked as she prepared to give the order to annihilate Saber's Master. Suddenly, Berserker's hand flew past her. There was a hissing sound. Something in her Servant's hands was so hot that it was causing his hand to burn and steam. Heart pounding, she took a look. It was a small object, maybe half an inch in diameter originally. It had flattened against his hand and began to simply disappear. There was no mistaking it. That had been a musket ball, and she knew only one Servant who used guns.
ôArcher.ö
There they were, looking down on her from the roof of a building. Archer was standing tall and proud. Her guns were held at an angle with outstretched arms. Potter was crouched, shimmering material of his cloak flapping in the wind. His hand was resting on the hilt of a Japanese sword and a wand was in his off hand. Berserker's mad eyes turned upon the pair.
Berserker's arm then snapped out, fast as lighting. Assassin hit with a jarring impact. The force of the blow was returned sevenfold by Cain's curse. Berserker showed no pain and merely roared with hellish rage.
ôStop or I'll kill you.ö
Draco came out, kneeling, with his wand aimed toward the dark witch. Saber and Lancer broke off their battle to turn against their new foe. Steel did not clash against bronze. Assassin got up and returned to his Master's side.
For Harry, the world suddenly became a photo negative. Breath was impossible. There was something wrong. However, he could not place the source of his apprehension. It was definitely not Bellatrix and Berserker. This was something much different. It was as if he could feel another's hate. While her hate was an all-consuming fire, this hate was like an ice-cold scalpel. It was a refined killing intent. Something was wrong. Unless he did something, he would die.
Bellatrix sniffed haughtily.
ôKill them, Berserker.ö
The mad priest was off like a starting pistol. Pavement shattered to gravel turned to sand under his advance. His target was the shining steel-clad knight. Saber brought her invisible sword up in a guard position. The callused fist slammed against the hurricane. If Lancer's strength was an ox, Berserker's was a freight train. The pavement sparked against her armored boots. The rail-thin priest loomed over her. He was so close that she smelled the alcohol in his breath. Instinctively, she jumped back from his other fist. Her sword blocked a quick jab. His leg was raised to slam into her stomach and push her even further back. Again, the mad priest was upon her. She instinctively knew that his fist could smash apart her head like a watermelon.
A pair of gunshots rang out, going through the priest and glancing off her breastplate. Archer smiled like a fox in the background. An icy aura surrounded the priest who roared with his insane rage. The fist met hurricane. It was only by using prana to reinforce her blow that she was able to block the attack head on. The mad priest had gotten stronger.
ôNoble Phantasm,ö stated the knight of the sword.
Harry and Draco's twin blasting spells slammed against the shield of their superior opponent. They moved through attack and defense. When one of the teens faltered, the other would shield him to give a brief respite before the two were back in the fight.
ôMalfoy, cover me!ö
ôCan do!ö
A shard of glass turned into a thick wall of glass strong enough to resist gunfire. Physical barriers were also the only method to block the Killing Curse. Harry began to chant before tapping his wand against the ground. A spike rose up from the ground to impale the witch. Almost effortlessly, she danced around it and cast a spell that shattered their glass barrier. The two scattered.
ôDidn't think I'd every say this,ö remarked Harry, ôBut we make a good team.ö
ôI'm just as shocked as you are,ö returned Draco dryly.
Bellatrix tapped her wand against the ground, causing the earth to rise up in the form of ashen skeletons. There were a dozen of them. Harry's revolver was loaded, five blasting spells and one shield. The firing hammer dropped and one skeleton exploded. A barrage of gunfire smashed the remaining eleven apart, returning them back to the dust from which they came. Archer smiled. Harry knew that he had one chance against Bellatrix. That chance lay in his sword.
ôCover me. Try anything and Archer will kill you.ö
Draco nodded and rolled his eyes. He began to provide covering fire in the form of destructive spells. Harry was crouched, hand at the hilt of his katana. His stance was like a sprinter's. He began to run. His heart was beating like an engine. Time seemed to slow. His hand began to draw the blade. He screamed his wordless battle cry. The sword was raised above his head. Harry knew just how silly he must have looked, but he didn't care. It was only him, his sword, and his opponent. His feat pounded against the pavement like death metal drums.
Her eyes widened as she realized his plan. Archer turned to watch her Master. She didn't want to take a shot for fear that it would bring Berserker to his Master and near her own. If things got bad, she would take the shot anyway. She felt a tap on her shoulder
ôHey there.ö
Archer's face received an introduction to Lancer's shield. Her crossed matchlocks were barely able to deflect the follow-up thrust aimed at her breast. She flipped the guns around to use as clubs. However, these clubs were only a measure intended to allow her to buy the time to draw Heaven's gleaming, pure blade.
However, Lancer was rather easily forcing her back. Archer fought for every inch of ground she lost, but she lost the ground all the same. It was that damnable shield which, when combined with his armor, covered him from head to toe. Archer had an advantage which Saber did not; she carried two blades. Up went Heaven, a high blow. Out went Hell, a low blow. Unable to see this movement, Lancer did not know that Archer had drawn her smaller blade until it pierced his foot. A blow with his shield sent the knight of the bow flying, but the damage was done. In midair, Archer drew her matched pair of arquebuses and fired. The bronze shield took the blow, but it had been worth a shot. Of course, Archer knew that she had been careless to let Lancer sneak up on her. The scowling, helmeted visage kneeling to look at his sandal-clad foot was proof that she had managed to get in her own payback.
Harry's opponent, the witch, widened her eyes as she saw his charge. A quick spell and sweep of her wand created a small barrier. It was good enough to withstand his first strike, but shattered upon the second. After his sword rebounded from the shattered barrier, he twisted around and brought the blade under guard. Still shouting his war cry, he brought the blade up. The coppery blade bit into flesh. This was the place where the katana excelled, slashing blows against unarmored or lightly armored foes or, as Harry put it, cutting down unarmored peasants. Assassin appeared behind her. His stone sickle was ready to rip into her neck.
Sensing her imminent demise, the command spell on her hand glowed with power. Space warped as Berserker returned to fight directly beside his Master. The hand moved to smash Harry to pulp. In the split second, Harry knew that the power behind that fist would, for all intents and purposes, cause his body to explode into a bloody mess. A pair of gunshots knocked both hands away. Harry felt a sensation of flight as Archer carried him away.
ôGood Servant you have there,ö said Draco.
ôThanks.ö
ôI'll kill you for that! I'll rip out your eyes and feed them back to you! I'll-ö
A trio of shots and a trio of arrows were batted out of the air by Berserker. Rider and his Master had arrived. More bullets and arrows tore through the air to get at her. Berserker smashed them aside were he could and simply absorbed the damage where he couldn't. The icy blue aura surrounded him. Berserker roared and caught one of the arrows before hurling it back with more force than had propelled it at him. They were really aimed at his Master, but it made no difference to the mad Servant. Lancer's keen eyes took in the sniper and mounted Servant.
ôStop!ö shouted Saber, ôYou're just feeding his Noble Phantasm!ö
Since she had taken a healing potion in the interim, Bellatrix laughed and said, ôYou'd be correct Saber! This is Rage of Winter~False Priest's Strength, the Noble Phantasm of the toughest Servant, Heroic Spirit Rasputin!ö
Harry couldn't help but cock his head at the stupidity of revealing your own Servant's identity. Then again, the dark witch was not known for being rational.
ôAssassin,ö began the aristocrat boy, ôWouldn't your ability be a natural counter?ö
ôMaybe. I'd rather not get hit by him, even if my curse would hurt him far worse than his own blow.ö
Draco gave a slight nod at his Servant's answer.
ôIf that's the case,ö boasted Lancer, ôI would love to test his toughness. Let's see if he is, as you claim, 'the toughest Servant.' Maybe you'll think again after I pierce through him like virgin.ö
There were chuckles all around at the bronze Servant's quip. However, something still seemed wrong to Harry. Again, the world seemed to turn into a negative. There was a pulse of pure wrongness. Something was going to happen. He didn't know what was going to happen or how to deal with it, but it would happen. He could feel it in the air around him.
ôArcher! We've got to get out!
ô-Spark.ö
And the world turned white, brighter than the sun. It was a powerful magic. Archer's magic resistance would have done nothing. The hammer of god was dropped. The vacant lot was reduced to glass. The searing beam of annihilation. Vision returned to Harry. He looked toward the sky. Caster, on a broom, waved back. A large magical circle of glowing white was already beginning to disappear beside the cloaked Servant. Harry scowled. Caster had set them up for this. It was an ingenious lie that he should have seen through, but he had been blinded by anger. Harry sighed and let Archer carry him away.
Chapter 7
Seven Servants
It is a battle of force against force. Metal sparks as the two clash. Lance against sword. However, the lance was not the battering force that clashed against the hurricane of the sword. A bronze shield as large as a man's chest battered without fail against the raging storm. Once more the whirlwind of the blade crashed down upon the shield. The ground cracked as the warrior stood his ground unflinching. Bronze clashed against steel. Not only were the implements of destruction bronze or steel, but the garb of the users too was either bronze or steel. The swordsman, a petite girl, was clad in blue cloth and silvery steel. The spearman, a large man with a dark beard, was clad from head to toe in shining bronze with a red cloak that flew wildly in the winds kicked up by the clashing warriors. The spear was thrust overhand to strike at the blue knight's heart. The raging storm swept away the shaft and quickly reversed direction to hew at the man. The great shield moved in an arc to bat aside the sword. Once more the lance was thrust, seeking to pierce through the steel-clad knight.
ôHeh,ö laughed the bronze knight, ôNot bad for a girl.ö
The girl raised an eyebrow.
ôSaber, you really are something else,ö continued the bronze spearman.
ôAgain, Lancer?ö asked Saber.
The mountain of bronze nodded, shaking off some of his perspiration. As he charged back into the fray, he let out a barking roar like that of a noble hunting hound. With two hands, Saber raised her sword on high to slam down onto the bronze warrior. Prana burst behind the blow like a raging wave. The shield again took her blow. Aside from a few dents and scratches, it was none the worse for wear. However, neither his shield nor his spear seemed to have the air of history of a Noble Phantasm. In this case, it was simply the shear strength and iron discipline of Lancer going against her blow.
His sandal-clad feet were pushed back by the force. The concrete was turning into gravel beneath his feet. However, it was not Lancer's way to retreat. His feet dug into the ground. This was his line in the sand. From here, he would only advance. His legs were like steel springs ready to be set loose. With a great roar the power was released as the thrust the spear with a force like that of a cannon. With that speed and power, Saber could only dodge. She jumped back a good ten yards. Lancer advanced, walking at first. As Saber broke in a run to go against the bronze spearman, he accelerated into a sprint. Hundreds of pounds of steel and bronze smashed against each other as each warrior put their full weight into their blows. With the line in the sand drawn behind him, Lancer would not be forced back. With her pride as a knight, Saber would not be forced back. Again and again they smashed into each other, tearing up the ground around them. Shards of pavement flew like shrapnel from an artillery strike. The spear drew back. The sword drew back. Again they clashed with titanic force. In spite of the brute force unleashed, there were no wasted movements in their blows. For something so base and brutal, it was breathtakingly beautiful. Steel and bronze clashed in the night.
From a far away rooftop, Caster sat alongside the lithe form of his Master. With his magic, they were watching from afar. Unlike his less than friendly dealings with Harry and Archer, he was relaxed and smiling now.
ôCaster,ö began Elise, ôThey really are amazing.ö
ôThey sure are, Master. What do you want to do?ö
ôI'm content to stay and watch. Perhaps if there is an opportune moment, you can go in there and finish them. I only really want to make a move if Potter is out tonight. He's going to die first.ö
ôWell, that is why you summoned me,ö returned Caster laughing, ôI do think there is a good opportunity out there. Saber's Master is exposing herself. Give me an order and I'll take her out.ö
ôYou did mention that another was prowling around here.ö
Caster closed his eyes and began to scry the area. After a second of concentration, his eyes snapped open under the shadows of his cloak.
ôYes. With the horse, it's probably Rider. There is no one in the vicinity that is obviously Rider's Master. The Servant has been enchanted to look like a mounted bobby. Not just any policeman, but one with the sort of mustache you only see in pornos.ö
Elise flushed red at his words. She gave her Servant a gentle slap across his cheek.
ôDid you really need to go there?ö
Caster laughed.
ôWhat about Potter and Archer?ö
ôI gave up on tracking them a while ago. The spells that I would use for long-distance tracking require too much concentration. I would rather have my attention focused on matters like this brawl.ö
ôI suppose that makes sense.ö
ôDon't worry. I'll know when they come back. They will. I know he will.ö
Elise sighed and pouted. Caster leaned back and extended his arm to give her a hug. His Master smiled and returned the affectionate gesture. They spent some time cuddling like this. Suddenly, he broke away.
ôWhat is it, Caster?ö
ôPotter is back. Looks like they want a slice of the action.ö
Rider's Master began the climb onto a warehouse overlooking the battlefield. For this, she was clothed from head to toe in dark grey gear. A balaclava concealed her face and night vision goggles made her look like some kind of alien. The lines of her weapon this night, the AR-18 outfitted with a night scope and brass catcher, were also the same sort of thing that would be found in science fiction, especially when compared to the more traditional SLR. A long suppressor was screwed onto the gun's muzzle. Furthermore, a bipod, now folded, was clamped onto the barrel rifle. The reasons for this location were twofold. Firstly, the building was not so high that it would silhouette her against the sky. Secondly, the smooth metal allowed for a fast escape.
Once she had gotten onto the roof, she deployed the legs of the bipod. From here, she was four-hundred meters away from the action. From here, the muzzle flash could not be seen by human eyes. Every possible light-reflecting surface had been painted over with a matte black. She took a look at the action and found a target, a lone girl standing out.
ôIdiot,ö she muttered as she flicked the safety off.
The goggles were pulled up to allow usage of the scope. Her target glowed under the best efforts of modern technology. The reticule was aligned with the head of the girl. At this range, it would take less than half of a second for the bullet to trike. A ribbon tied to the rifle gave a good gauge of the wind. There was a little that would cause the shot to sway slightly to the left. Her finger moved from tapping the trigger guard to being curled around the trigger itself. She was ready for her shot.
A few miles away, Archer and Harry were moving in as quickly as possible. At this distance, her hawk-like eyes pierced through the night. Far away, near the battle, a glint of light caught her attention. Now, she was in her full battle regalia. Her eyes narrowed.
ôMaster, we've got a sniper over the battle.ö
ôDo you think the sniper is a Master?ö
ôWho knows? However, taking out a sniper would our lives so much easier.ö
ôDo it,ö
Archer reached behind her back for a matchlock. Given that she was holding Harry in her other arm, she only had one arm free. As usual, she only used one hand for the gun. In an instant, wind and bullet drop and even the earth's curvature were taken into account by the gunslinger Servant. Grinning ferociously, she fired. Then she frowned as an arrow struck her bullet mere feet from impacting on the sniper.
Rider dispensed with his disguise and slid another arrow onto his bow. Though he had foiled his own chance of a surprise attack, he had saved his Master. It was a fair trade. How obnoxious it was that he, who used a bow, was not Archer. He spied the moving form of his opponent, a Servant who used guns, in the air. He pulled back on his small compound bow and let loose the arrow with the speed of a bullet. It easily smashed through the sound barrier. By the time the first arrow was halfway to his target, ten more arrows were in flight.
He rode his horse out to find a better position. With a grand leap, the compactly powerful steed jumped onto the roof. He extended a gauntlet clad hand to his master. She took it, and he swung her onto the horse. Then with another leap, they were on the move. This was to be a running fight.
Archer calmly analyzed her situation. While in the air as she was, she could not easily change her position. There were eleven arrows aimed at her. She couldn't blow them all out of the sky with only one gun. The solution was simple and clear in her mind. She tossed Harry upwards and drew her second gun. Eleven shots and eleven shattered arrows in less than a second. She caught her Master.
She took a look at the Servant who had fired the arrows. As of now, he was swinging the sniper onto his mount. The Servant wore dark green Chinese-style lamellar armor. As an archer, his arms were unarmored. An iron helmet with an Indian-style mail skirt protected his head. He rode with a very familiar style of tunic and trousers. It was the garb of the infamous enemy of the Japanese, an enemy that had been swept away by the divine wind.
ôMongol,ö growled Archer.
Harry was set down on a rooftop.
ôI've got some ass to kick, Master.ö
Harry smiled and gave her a thumbs-up and concealed himself with his invisibility cloak. Archer smiled back and jumped off into the sky. Harry hoped that she would draw the fight to a more remote area.
Archer cocked both her arquebuses and snapped a pair of shots at the moving Servant. By simply process of elimination, this was Rider. The steed was also a dead giveaway. A pair of simultaneously fired arrows destroyed the incoming lead. Rider slid into cover as Archer moved around to take another shot. In a moment, Rider returned without his passenger. Three arrows were readied, hard iron tips pointed at her. Assuming he could pull the bow back as fast as she could fire her two guns, he would have three projectiles out for her two. Neither Servant was willing to go all out in order to conceal the full extent of their abilities.
Three arrows were released, easily outracing their sound. Three bullets were fired, two from the right gun and one from the left. Once more, the projectiles collided into shattering wood and metal. They looked toward each other with grins that said to each other: ôGo faster.ö
Fire and smoke leaped from the guns as Archer fired a volley. Rider weaved around them and behind a brick wall that was thoroughly perforated by the gunshots. Archer had to hand it to him; he was a magnificent horseman, doing all that using only his knees and not so much as touching the reins. The horseman rode vertically along the wall before cresting over. Five volleys of three arrows were loosed. Archer quickly backpedaled dodged the volley of arrows. However, Rider was now suffering from the same issue in that he could not easily change direction in air. Two shots. One for him and one for his horse. Two arrows. One for each bullet. Collision and destruction.
Rider's arrows were like a an automatic shotgun. With their rate of fire, they were not just any machine gun but the modern incarnation of the gatling gun. Archer smashed them out of the air with burning lead. The streams of fire crossed the city to vie for supremacy. Every last attack had the force to rip off limbs with ease.
From the rooftop, Caster commented, ôIsn't it something. I don't think I've ever seen something like that.ö
ôBut you can do so much better than them, right?ö
ôOf course. Imagine a fireworks display vomiting. When I really get going, that can happen.ö
ôYou are the best Servant, Caster.ö
ôAww, thanks. I try to be humble.ö
ôNo you don't. But that is part of why you are so much fun. Plus, you have the power to back it up.ö
ôWhat do you know? Berserker is on the move. Assassin is probably out there. 'Course, with his class skill, I can't track him. I'd bet good money that he is watching and waiting.ö
Again, Saber and Lancer clashed. By now, both were battered and dripping with sweat. Nonetheless, the two Servants could continue fighting at full force. Steel and bronze again hammered into each other with titanic force. Sword against shield and spear. In spite of himself, Saber was hammering back. Now, he was only a few feet from his line in the sand. It was a line he would not cross. Lancer planted himself and shoved forward with his shield, sending Saber flying. Sparks skittered between her armor and the field of gravel, concrete having been demolished by their clash. Lancer barreled forward, using his shield like a battering ram. Saber stood her ground.
Steel clashed with bronze. Lance sought to pierce flesh. Sword sought to cleave flesh. They were both seeking destruction. In spite of their goals, no malice passed between the two warriors. It was a good fight and they were enjoying themselves. Like the best warriors, they kept going at it with iron wills. They would pick themselves up and try again. Try they did. Their strikes held tremendous force, enough to probably shatter a building. Steel fought bronze.
Far off, Archer ducked under a shotgun-like spread of arrows. Now, it was not a contest of rate of fire. In that, Rider was her superior. However, now it was a contest of accuracy. The physical limitations of a bow gave her an edge. Smoothbore matchlocks, her guns might be, but she knew they were more accurate than any bow. She snapped a pair of shots. It was, in submarine terms, a ôdown the throatö shot. Just was when a submarine would fire a pair of torpedoes to the right and left of a ship in the hopes that they would turn and hit a torpedo. Unflinching, Rider let the shots whip past him. Archer had a plan by now.
The twin guns were raised. One shot, two shots, three shots, four shots, five shots, six shots. They fanned out in a loose hexagon around Rider. Four more shots were fired. These were not with the intention of actually hitting Rider; rather, they were intended to box him him. It was a task they performed admirably. Unlike arrows, bullets have a nasty habit of ricocheting from hard surfaces. Usually, with soft lead, this would be unlikely for the shot fired by an arquebus. However, the arquebus was also used with another sort of ammunition: stone. To an extent, Archer could control the qualities of the ammunition fired from the guns. In this case, she used a harder material for the first six shots. Each of the six shots was aimed at various surfaces behind Rider. They hit and ricocheted. Some needed to hit another surface to ricochet against their intended target. Unaware of the qualities of his opponent's weapon, all six slammed into the mounted Servant's back. Rider dematerialized. For now, he was down for the count.
ôShit!ö cursed Harry as a bullet punched through the shield he had transfigured from the roof. It was dark, and he couldn't see. There was no muzzle flash he could see nor any retort he could follow. There was only the supersonic crack of the rifle rounds. He ducked down and began to crawl. Without his power, the shield returned to its original form. It was probably the same sniper that Archer had attacked and Rider had saved. He felt a scorching heat over his neck as a bullet whipped past. He lay flat. Then, he had a plan. He whipped out the invisibility and swung it around.
Suddenly, her target disappeared from the thermal scope. Rider's Master scowled in annoyance. She had to move to switch positions. Even with the suppressor, the gunfire was bound to wake someone up. Nonetheless, it would probably be blamed on the IRA if she were seen. That worked perfectly for her. She put two more rounds into the general area, slipped the night-vision goggles back onto her face, and began to move.
Harry dropped back down the second the rounds flew. Then he got up and cautiously put on the cloak. The sword was at his side and new wand in his hand. He began to load the revolver in his mind. First spell was a barrier to protect from bullets. This one was omnidirectional and could move with him. However, he doubted it would stand much gunfire. Next was a fire spell. This worked from the idea that the sniper was using thermal vision equipment. Hopefully it would blind the sniper or burn the sniper. Next was a disarming spell. For obvious reasons, this was a good thing. It wouldn't surprise him if there was a backup gun. Following this were a pair of blasting spells. The sniper was aiming to kill him, and he knew he needed to return the courtesy. Finally was another shield spell just in case. The cartridges were loaded. His revolver was ready.
There, a flicker of heat. Her opponent, Master of that gun-using Servant, had an invisibility cloak. There were ways to deal with that without magic. The easiest solution would be lots of grenades, but she only had a few.
ôArcher, I need your help,ö thought Harry loudly but not so much that the command seal would activate.
Soon enough, Archer was beside him in full battle regalia. There were no more gunshots. The sniper evidently knew better than to try and take on a Servant. Suddenly, Rider, the rear of his cuirass shattered and dripping blood, appeared and whisked away the sniper. Archer fired a pair of shots at the retreating team, but Rider, wounded as he was, still dodged. Soon enough, they were gone from even Archer's hawklike eyes.
ôWe should leave. I think people noticed the gunshots.ö
There was a loud noise, explosive like another gunshot. Archer and Harry turned around to the source of the noise. Archer's guns were at the ready. Harry's wand was pointed in one hand with his other at the hilt of his sword. It was a smirking Caster.
ôGentlemen, calm down. I'm not out to annihilate you right now. Just thought I'd pass along something that might be of interest to you. Berserker and his Master have arrived. They went to Lancer and Saber's fight. I think that you might find Berserker's Master to be particularly relevant.ö
ôWhat's that supposed to mean, Caster?ö growled Harry.
Caster smiled affably and replied, ôNothing at all. But please humor me and go. You'll find it to be quite fulfilling.ö
Harry wanted to plant his fist into that arrogant face but restrained himself.
ôThanks for the intel, Caster,ö stated Archer. She pulled the trigger. ôGoodbye.ö
The bullet entered into the shadows of his hooded face. The lead entered his head just above his left eye socket. It destroyed as it went past, deforming to blow out almost the entire back of his head into a pink mist as it exited. Caster dropped and fell in a pool of blood. He then dissolved, almost like sand blowing away in the wind. The mocking laughter returned.
ôWhy so serious, Archer? Or should I say Nobunaga-chan? That's no way to greet a friend.ö
ôYou really aren't my friend.ö
ôI never would have guessed,ö answered Caster's voice emanating from everywhere and nowhere.
Archer frowned but grabbed her Master and began to move towards the first battle of the night. The clash of the titans, the clash of bronze and steel, continued. Harry couldn't help but feel that Caster, as much as he disliked the man, was right.
ôArcher, can you see what's going on?ö
ôLooks like Berserker is a priest,ö she answered.
ôIs there more?ö
ôYou've got to be shitting me! It's that same woman who tried to kill you when I was summoned!ö
ôHow does Caster know all this?ö asked Harry.
ôWho knows? I'd love to beat it out of him.ö
ôI thought you wanted to shove a sword up his ass.ö
Archer laughed, ôThat too!ö
Harry laughed back. His face then sobered as they approached. It was time to get serious. His revolver was being reloaded for maximum destruction. This time, he was thinking with transfiguration.
ôArcher,ö he said, deadly serious, ôFeel free to simply blow her brains out.ö
ôCan do. I'm not going to let someone like that stay alive to threaten my Master.ö
The arquebus was drawn and in her hand, aiming even as they jumped from building to building. It was a single shot, aimed at the torso. The lead hurtled, cracking as it broke the sound barrier.
Bellatrix had no idea that death was coming her way. She smirked as she prepared to give the order to annihilate Saber's Master. Suddenly, Berserker's hand flew past her. There was a hissing sound. Something in her Servant's hands was so hot that it was causing his hand to burn and steam. Heart pounding, she took a look. It was a small object, maybe half an inch in diameter originally. It had flattened against his hand and began to simply disappear. There was no mistaking it. That had been a musket ball, and she knew only one Servant who used guns.
ôArcher.ö
There they were, looking down on her from the roof of a building. Archer was standing tall and proud. Her guns were held at an angle with outstretched arms. Potter was crouched, shimmering material of his cloak flapping in the wind. His hand was resting on the hilt of a Japanese sword and a wand was in his off hand. Berserker's mad eyes turned upon the pair.
Berserker's arm then snapped out, fast as lighting. Assassin hit with a jarring impact. The force of the blow was returned sevenfold by Cain's curse. Berserker showed no pain and merely roared with hellish rage.
ôStop or I'll kill you.ö
Draco came out, kneeling, with his wand aimed toward the dark witch. Saber and Lancer broke off their battle to turn against their new foe. Steel did not clash against bronze. Assassin got up and returned to his Master's side.
For Harry, the world suddenly became a photo negative. Breath was impossible. There was something wrong. However, he could not place the source of his apprehension. It was definitely not Bellatrix and Berserker. This was something much different. It was as if he could feel another's hate. While her hate was an all-consuming fire, this hate was like an ice-cold scalpel. It was a refined killing intent. Something was wrong. Unless he did something, he would die.
Bellatrix sniffed haughtily.
ôKill them, Berserker.ö
The mad priest was off like a starting pistol. Pavement shattered to gravel turned to sand under his advance. His target was the shining steel-clad knight. Saber brought her invisible sword up in a guard position. The callused fist slammed against the hurricane. If Lancer's strength was an ox, Berserker's was a freight train. The pavement sparked against her armored boots. The rail-thin priest loomed over her. He was so close that she smelled the alcohol in his breath. Instinctively, she jumped back from his other fist. Her sword blocked a quick jab. His leg was raised to slam into her stomach and push her even further back. Again, the mad priest was upon her. She instinctively knew that his fist could smash apart her head like a watermelon.
A pair of gunshots rang out, going through the priest and glancing off her breastplate. Archer smiled like a fox in the background. An icy aura surrounded the priest who roared with his insane rage. The fist met hurricane. It was only by using prana to reinforce her blow that she was able to block the attack head on. The mad priest had gotten stronger.
ôNoble Phantasm,ö stated the knight of the sword.
Harry and Draco's twin blasting spells slammed against the shield of their superior opponent. They moved through attack and defense. When one of the teens faltered, the other would shield him to give a brief respite before the two were back in the fight.
ôMalfoy, cover me!ö
ôCan do!ö
A shard of glass turned into a thick wall of glass strong enough to resist gunfire. Physical barriers were also the only method to block the Killing Curse. Harry began to chant before tapping his wand against the ground. A spike rose up from the ground to impale the witch. Almost effortlessly, she danced around it and cast a spell that shattered their glass barrier. The two scattered.
ôDidn't think I'd every say this,ö remarked Harry, ôBut we make a good team.ö
ôI'm just as shocked as you are,ö returned Draco dryly.
Bellatrix tapped her wand against the ground, causing the earth to rise up in the form of ashen skeletons. There were a dozen of them. Harry's revolver was loaded, five blasting spells and one shield. The firing hammer dropped and one skeleton exploded. A barrage of gunfire smashed the remaining eleven apart, returning them back to the dust from which they came. Archer smiled. Harry knew that he had one chance against Bellatrix. That chance lay in his sword.
ôCover me. Try anything and Archer will kill you.ö
Draco nodded and rolled his eyes. He began to provide covering fire in the form of destructive spells. Harry was crouched, hand at the hilt of his katana. His stance was like a sprinter's. He began to run. His heart was beating like an engine. Time seemed to slow. His hand began to draw the blade. He screamed his wordless battle cry. The sword was raised above his head. Harry knew just how silly he must have looked, but he didn't care. It was only him, his sword, and his opponent. His feat pounded against the pavement like death metal drums.
Her eyes widened as she realized his plan. Archer turned to watch her Master. She didn't want to take a shot for fear that it would bring Berserker to his Master and near her own. If things got bad, she would take the shot anyway. She felt a tap on her shoulder
ôHey there.ö
Archer's face received an introduction to Lancer's shield. Her crossed matchlocks were barely able to deflect the follow-up thrust aimed at her breast. She flipped the guns around to use as clubs. However, these clubs were only a measure intended to allow her to buy the time to draw Heaven's gleaming, pure blade.
However, Lancer was rather easily forcing her back. Archer fought for every inch of ground she lost, but she lost the ground all the same. It was that damnable shield which, when combined with his armor, covered him from head to toe. Archer had an advantage which Saber did not; she carried two blades. Up went Heaven, a high blow. Out went Hell, a low blow. Unable to see this movement, Lancer did not know that Archer had drawn her smaller blade until it pierced his foot. A blow with his shield sent the knight of the bow flying, but the damage was done. In midair, Archer drew her matched pair of arquebuses and fired. The bronze shield took the blow, but it had been worth a shot. Of course, Archer knew that she had been careless to let Lancer sneak up on her. The scowling, helmeted visage kneeling to look at his sandal-clad foot was proof that she had managed to get in her own payback.
Harry's opponent, the witch, widened her eyes as she saw his charge. A quick spell and sweep of her wand created a small barrier. It was good enough to withstand his first strike, but shattered upon the second. After his sword rebounded from the shattered barrier, he twisted around and brought the blade under guard. Still shouting his war cry, he brought the blade up. The coppery blade bit into flesh. This was the place where the katana excelled, slashing blows against unarmored or lightly armored foes or, as Harry put it, cutting down unarmored peasants. Assassin appeared behind her. His stone sickle was ready to rip into her neck.
Sensing her imminent demise, the command spell on her hand glowed with power. Space warped as Berserker returned to fight directly beside his Master. The hand moved to smash Harry to pulp. In the split second, Harry knew that the power behind that fist would, for all intents and purposes, cause his body to explode into a bloody mess. A pair of gunshots knocked both hands away. Harry felt a sensation of flight as Archer carried him away.
ôGood Servant you have there,ö said Draco.
ôThanks.ö
ôI'll kill you for that! I'll rip out your eyes and feed them back to you! I'll-ö
A trio of shots and a trio of arrows were batted out of the air by Berserker. Rider and his Master had arrived. More bullets and arrows tore through the air to get at her. Berserker smashed them aside were he could and simply absorbed the damage where he couldn't. The icy blue aura surrounded him. Berserker roared and caught one of the arrows before hurling it back with more force than had propelled it at him. They were really aimed at his Master, but it made no difference to the mad Servant. Lancer's keen eyes took in the sniper and mounted Servant.
ôStop!ö shouted Saber, ôYou're just feeding his Noble Phantasm!ö
Since she had taken a healing potion in the interim, Bellatrix laughed and said, ôYou'd be correct Saber! This is Rage of Winter~False Priest's Strength, the Noble Phantasm of the toughest Servant, Heroic Spirit Rasputin!ö
Harry couldn't help but cock his head at the stupidity of revealing your own Servant's identity. Then again, the dark witch was not known for being rational.
ôAssassin,ö began the aristocrat boy, ôWouldn't your ability be a natural counter?ö
ôMaybe. I'd rather not get hit by him, even if my curse would hurt him far worse than his own blow.ö
Draco gave a slight nod at his Servant's answer.
ôIf that's the case,ö boasted Lancer, ôI would love to test his toughness. Let's see if he is, as you claim, 'the toughest Servant.' Maybe you'll think again after I pierce through him like virgin.ö
There were chuckles all around at the bronze Servant's quip. However, something still seemed wrong to Harry. Again, the world seemed to turn into a negative. There was a pulse of pure wrongness. Something was going to happen. He didn't know what was going to happen or how to deal with it, but it would happen. He could feel it in the air around him.
ôArcher! We've got to get out!
ô-Spark.ö
And the world turned white, brighter than the sun. It was a powerful magic. Archer's magic resistance would have done nothing. The hammer of god was dropped. The vacant lot was reduced to glass. The searing beam of annihilation. Vision returned to Harry. He looked toward the sky. Caster, on a broom, waved back. A large magical circle of glowing white was already beginning to disappear beside the cloaked Servant. Harry scowled. Caster had set them up for this. It was an ingenious lie that he should have seen through, but he had been blinded by anger. Harry sighed and let Archer carry him away.
Caster dropped what amount to a Master Spark on them (Go Marisa!)
Thank you guys for taking the effort to respond, particularly you, Prince Charon
From here, I'll put in music cues where I think they would be most effective. For example, expect a link to Sword of Promised Victory when someone is about to get Excaliblasted.
Chapter 8
Settling In
"He set us up! I'm going to kill that cloaked asshole!"
"Calm down a bit, Archer. What I want to know, since Caster's actions fit with what we know about him, is why Rider and his Master came back even though he was wounded?"
"Don't know. The Master had access to some pretty nice military stuff. Rifles, grenades, silencers, night-vision equipment. I'd guess a background in law enforcement, military, or organized crime."
"Fair enough. I suppose that makes sense. Of course, I had issues figuring that out because, firstly, I was being shot at while trying to avoid getting hit, and I was secondly unable to see the Master clearly."
"At least you aren't dead."
"Thanks, Archer. I enjoy lacking new orifices ripped into me by supersonic lead."
"Still not a fan of guns?"
"I'm fine with yours and if other people use them, but I'm just not comfortable with them. Give me a sword any day."
"Frankly, I think that's a rather stupid position to take-ruling out an entire field of effective weapons-, but then I realize that being comfortable and without hesitation counts for a lot. Besides, you have magic. Be creative."
"Thanks. I need a pay phone to get MacTavish.ÔÇØ
"One thing, Master."
"What is it?"
"You probably want to put away your sword and wand and invisibility cloak. Just saying."
"Thanks, Archer."
He smiled warmly at the red-and-black samurai. From his sitting position on the roof of a building, he raised a hand. Archer grasped it and pulled him up. The armor disappeared along with her weapons, and she went back to her jacket and shorts. Harry used magic to shrink his sheathed blade and folded the cloak which he then handed to Archer for her to keep it under her jacket.
"Let's move out."
Archer responded with a smile before grabbing him and stealthily bringing him down to the street level. Calmly, they walked out. Soon enough, they found a pay phone. The conversation with MacTavish was brief. Something was bothering him, but the man had said that he was coming right now. Maybe something had happened to his car; it was a nice Rolls-Royce that he had undoubtedly put a lot of effort into maintaining.
It took about twenty minutes for MacTavish to arrive. It was technically a new day by his watch, being twenty-two minutes past midnight. With Archer, Harry went into the car. MacTavish was silent, almost nervously so. He did not seem the type to be rattled, though.
"So, is that your Servant?"
"Yes sir. This would be Archer."
"A pleasure to meet you, Archer."
"The pleasure is all mine," responded the Servant addressed.
MacTavish gave a humorless smile.
"So," began Harry, "Something seems to be bothering you. What's going on?"
"Grail War."
"That's a rather large issue for me too. You don't have to worry about crazy people shooting at you with military-grade firepower."
"It's Berserker's Master, Lestrange. Father Hill has been annoyed with her nighttime activities. It's my job to run damage control for this, trying to preserve the secrecy of magic."
"What's that bitch been up to?"
"The usual for terrorist scum like her: killing people to get herself off. Disgusting shit."
"Yeah. I hate that sort of thing too. You seem to dislike it more than most."
"I fought against that kind of criminal scum for years."
They drove in silence for a little while longer. With the car stopped at a red light, MacTavish rolled up the sleeve of his plaid shirt to reveal a tattoo on a surprisingly muscled bicep. The tattoo depicted a winged gladius with a scroll bearing the words "Who Dares Win." To Harry, he understood instantly. MacTavish was retired Special Air Service, the famed British SAS. As far as special forces went, they were among the best there was. Their work often involved dealing with terrorism and similar missions. It was only natural that someone such as that would have not tolerance for any sort of terrorist. It was a sentiment with which Harry wholeheartedly agreed.
"So," continued Harry, "How'd you get into the business of the supernatural? I'm sorry if it's something you don't want to talk about."
"No problem. You should know that at the highest levels, the British government is entirely aware of your little magical ghetto. The PM wanted to mobilize the SAS to deal with your Voldemort problem the first time around, but you flat out refused. Anyway, it was down in
South America. My unit and I came across a cult which we had orders to remove with extreme prejudice. These people were seriously magical and seriously evil. Not something I want to talk about. This almost leaked magic to the world. Your folks were pretty angry and wanted me executed. Father Hill was impressed and used the clout of the Catholic Church to keep me alive. And that's how I became indebted to him."
"How's that been working out?"
"Well, most wizards are surprised to know that the our AK is several times better than the magical AK. For example, with Mr. Kalashnikov's venerable Avtomat, I can hit a target repeatedly from two-hundred meters. The magical abra-kedabra is only good out to about twenty meters. Muzzle velocity on it is so slow."
ôThanks. Just what I needed, a lecture about why wizards suck and why guns are awesome."
MacTavish laughed and continued driving. He came to rather poor apartment complex. It looked visible dilapidated which flaking paint and overgrown grass and a weathered roof. Somehow, it still held together and managed to project a personality of stoicism which weathered the elements.
"Here's the place. Nominally abandoned, but it is a place that I have as a staging area in case things get out of hand. When I say 'out of hand,' I mean the city destroying type of 'out of hand.'" said MacTavish.
"Was it really that bad?"
"Last war? Yeah. A bit before my time, but Father Hill talked about it. My job is to minimize collateral damage, including taking out threats both to civilians and the secrecy of this war. Everything becomes a 'gas leak.' Seriously."
Harry chuckled in spite of himself at the black humor.
"Thanks a lot."
"S'okay. I've got more than one staging area. By the way, I'd like to ask a favor of you."
"What is it?"
"You know Berserker's Master, Bellatrix Lestrange, right?"
Harry scowled and nodded.
"I'd like you to take care of her. She's been up to some sick shit. Rape, murder, torture, the works."
Harry shook MacTavish's hand, smiling grimly.
"I'll do it. Not because I want fame or to be hero, but because it's the right thing to do."
"You're a good kid. I really admire how you can just see the world in black and white. Me, I just see it in shades of grey."
He tossed a key to Harry which the teen caught.
"What's this?"
"Room key for 104 in Building 1501."
"Ah, thanks."
"Good luck, kid. You'll need it."
Smiling brightly, Harry stepped out of the car with Archer. He waved as the man drove off.
"I bet he has some ulterior motive," commented Archer.
"Probably. It's not like I want to fight Bellatrix purely out of the goodness of my heart. Not only does it remove a potentially powerful enemy, but I simply don't like her."
"You are an onion, Harry Potter."
"One of me a day keeps everyone away?"
"You know what I mean; you have layers."
Spinning the key on its string, he walked to building 1501, which was the northern building. His shoes crunched on dead leaves and tall weeds. Archer followed a step behind to his right. Whenever his left foot came down, so did hers. Whenever his right foot came down, so did hers. Room 104 was on the first floor of the building, with a window facing out toward a parking lot.
"Archer."
"Yes, Master."
"Since he intended to use this whole complex as a staging area, how many people do you suppose MacTavish has available? Also, if you were in his position, how would you utilize this area?"
Smiling, Archer replied, "That's a good question, Master. Given that there are eighty flats in this one building, he could probably fit in the area of two-hundred fifty in this. With the other two, we logically get to a max of around seven-hundred fifty. However, that would be a rather inefficient method of using this facility. I would use one building as a barracks to simply house my troops. Another would be set up as a command center and armory. Finally, a third would be used to hide transport that couldn't simply sit in the parking lot or simply conceal that the building is not truly abandoned."
"Thanks. Want to take a look around quickly. If this is a possible staging area, there probably will be something like what you mentioned."
"I'll do that in spirit form. You should go to bed."
"No, I should work on turning this into as much of a magical fortress as I can."
"No, you shouldn't. It's past midnight. You're on your last legs. Just get some sleep. You'll probably screw up horribly right now. Besides, you have a legendary Heroic Spirit as your guardian angel."
"I can't fault your logic, Archer. In that case, good night."
Harry walked over to the door labeled "104." A quick turn of the key unlocked the door. The air smelled dusty. The floor was covered with a plain brown carpet with the exception of the kitchen, which had dull white tiles textured so that it would probably be quite comfortable for bare feet. There was an actual bath rather than just a shower, something that came as a mild surprise. Additionally, there was a television and a radio. Also, there was only one bed. Knowing Archer, this could only end poorly. He surely wasn't sleeping on the couch. Entirely exhausted, Harry stripped down and slipped into the covers.
***
"It is rather unusual to have a visitor so early," commented Nathan Hill.
"I'm not a man of the usual, Hill."
"How do you do, Dumbledore?"
"Well enough. Yourself."
"Fantastic. The Grail War will be interesting this time around. There are even three of your protege competing. Though I must say that Caster and Rider's Master are the most interesting."
"I know you have something planned, Hill."
"What, to bring about a lasting peace after a war that has been waged for three centuries? I see no wrong in that."
"I'm watching, Hill. Step out of line and you will wish that the wrath of God was directed against you. God might show you mercy, but I would not."
"Please, Dumbledore. While you might have had feelings for Grindelwald, it was me that you feared during the war. Try me and you'll find I've retained my razor edge."
"I've only grown in power since the war, Hill. It would be best that you remove your personal goals from your job."
"What personal goals? I see only a politician in front of me, definitely one who has used his job to pull strings. You tell me to separate my own goals from my job. Let he who is without sin cast the first stone."
"Don't lie. Do you not remember 'Thou shalt not bear false witness against thy neighbor?"
"Must you quote the King James Bible? I'm afraid that isn't what we use in the Catholic Church."
"Don't be smart with me."
"So says the intellectual 'Do not be smart with me.' You are a funny man, Dumbledore. You really are. Of course, you don't even believe in God."
"I highly doubt that you do either, Hill; however, that is beside the point."
"Do you really think that the Church, not the strange Church that appears in fiction, would have an atheist priest."
"I would think that I am looking at one. You are something of a rule-breaker."
"I've changed. Working within the rules is so much easier. Compared to rule-breaking, it's been a breath of fresh air."
"That would not surprise me, Hill. If anything, you have a fine mind."
"Thank you. As do you. Begrudging as it is, I must admit that about you."
"Indeed, it is never good to underestimate. Who do you think will win?"
"Berserker's Master -Bellatrix Lestrange if you must know- threatens the privacy of this war with her spree of murder and rape and similar crimes. I'm about ready to simply declare open season on her for being stupid. Saber, due to the boost from the land and the inherent strength of the class -as you well know- stands a very good chance of winning. I'm sorry to say, but your precious Harry Potter with his Archer does not seem to be in the upper tier of this war."
ôArcher is not necessarily a weak class; how could you forget Gilgamesh?," said Dumbledore, "So they all survived that spell last night?"
"Indeed. Potter and Archer simply dodged. Lancer's Master burned a command seal. Saber's instincts saved her and her Master. Rider and his Master were simply far away from the site. Assassin and his Master are still alive, though I am not quite sure how. Berserker simply shielded his Master. Caster must be very disappointed; he had a great shot lined up."
"Well, I do have things to do. Farewell, former Master of Berserker."
"As do I. Take care, former Master of Saber."
***
Harry felt perfectly pleasant. He was snuggled against something warm and soft like a pillow. Almost like the rising and falling of a chest, he felt himself moving up and down, rocking like a boat in calm waters. Then his half-asleep mind realized that his head was not in the same position as it would if he were resting his head on a pillow. It was at this point that a singular thought ran through his mind: "Oh shit." He dared to open an eye. It was as he feared.
"Good morning, Master."
Almost -but not quite- gritting his teeth. Sometime during the night, Archer had slipped into the bed sometime during the night. However, he quickly realized that she was merely on top of the covers though that did not make it much better. During the night, he had ended up using her as a pillow. Knowing his Servant, he knew that she was teasing him. He became rather uncomfortably aware of the size of her bust. It was somewhat larger than he had thought, but then again she didn't exactly show off like that.
"Have you no class, Archer?"
"Who was the one snuggling up against my breasts? That's right, you."
Harry then became aware that she was wearing one of his t-shirts, which was more like a dress on her frame.
Sighing exasperatedly, he asked, "Any particular reason for the wardrobe change?"
"Well, I took full advantage of the bath. That was nice. Then I tried to use the television, but I couldn't figure out what to do with it. Don't worry, I didn't put my fist through it in frustration. At that point, I was walking around in a towel. I saw you looking so lonely. But then I feared that if I were to wear something so scandalous, you would take advantage of your poor Servant right there."
"You've got to be shitting me," said Harry dryly.
"I was already violated by your roaming hands. Woe is the poor maiden, Archer."
"I can't exactly control where my hands go when I sleep."
Archer merely grinned a toothy grin. Harry sighed.
"Back up a second, Archer," said Harry, "I did a little digging on Japanese history in the Sengoku period, but didn't you have kids."
Archer laughed before answering, "No. Did you notice any conspicuous breaks in my campaigns that would allow for a pregnancy? That's because there aren't. Firstly, I was a general and warrior. There is no way I would do something that would leave me bedridden like that. The children in question are the result of either adoption or the affairs of concubines. As far as demons go, I was -ironically enough- a chaste one. My desire was to set the world ablaze and push onward, ever forward to new heights."
"My mind has been blown. Everything I know is wrong."
"A wonderful feeling, isn't it."
Harry's stomach grumbled.
"I'm going to take a shower. Do you want me to show you how to use a TV?"
"Sure. Just because I know what it is doesn't mean I know how to use it."
Harry got slightly more dressed and walked over into the kitchen-living-dining space. There, he demonstrated the wonders of television and radio to his Servant. She was quite the astute listener and picked up the simple task quite quickly. He had thought that Archer would have taken longer because she was from the Sixteenth Century, but that was not to be, much to his relief.
After getting dressed, he felt very refreshed. It was a new day. There was a spring in his step. Archer was not teasing him at the moment. However, there was the minor problem of food. He had none. He also needed to start setting up wards for the place. Though he was not master wizard, he would do his best to turn the place into a fortress. Archer was watching the news. At least she had the decency to put on a pair of shorts.
"Archer~"
"I don't liken that tone."
"Would you please run out and get something to eat. I really don't care. Hot is preferable. Just take my wallet. It's in my back pocket."
"I can do that."
"One more thing, please don't spend all the money."
"Outside of general principal, why?"
"Diagon Alley, where Gringotts is, is likely to be a big target area. I don't want to take an off-chance of someone having an ambush ready."
"This war -any war- requires finances. You've got to just man up and be bold. Push forward, make them react. Once they are reacting, you control the battlefield. To control the battlefield is victory."
"Yeah, but if I'm ambushed, I'll be the one reacting to them. As Murphy says 'if an attack is going well, it's an ambush.'"
"I'll be there. Besides, attacking in public in broad daylight would be stupid. Would you do it?"
"No-"
"Then remember one assumption. Assume that the enemy is as competent as, if not more than, yourself. It is usually better to overestimate than underestimate."
"Bank trip?"
"Bank trip. It wouldn't be a bad idea to look into work of some sort, be it magical or mundane."
"Alright, I suppose I could."
"Glad you see it my way. Besides, you shouldn't be too worried with an awesome Servant like me beside you."
"Okay. Bye, Archer."
"I'll get something tasty."
"When in Rome, do as the Romans do."
"Gotcha.'"
Archer disappeared and, for the first time in a long while, Harry was alone. Out went the wand and the knife. Out went the book on warding rituals. While it could undoubtedly be done using conventional spellcasting at a much lesser cost, it was faster to use ritual magic involving sacrifice. Human blood, often that of the caster, was a common ingredient. For the sort of benevolent (to him, not intruders) protections he wished to create, it was a requirement. Given the seriousness of the conflict, he was looking for more lethal forms of protection. Then, because he knew that Caster and some of the better spellcasters could likely rip down his wards, there would be a layer of purely nonmagical defenses. He was leaning towards a combination of a claymore and what Timothy McVeigh had done. Rider's Master was probably the most likely to be able to deal with such a threat, given the apparent experience in mundane methods and equipment. Besides, in spite of personal distaste with wanton violence, there was a certain visceral feeling about lighting off twenty-three hundred kilos of explosives.
He took out the calligraphy paper he had obtained from the Hogwarts library. While the usage of such materials was, as Archer could attest, more popular in the East than West, it was infinitely more practical than the monoliths used in Western practices. First was a spell to alert him to any intrusions into his citadel.
This was served by a pair of concentric circles, the outer thinner than the inner, drawn in Harry's own blood. The script between served to define the circles, much like an archaic version of computer programming. It had a detection radius of one-hundred fifty meters and informed of him intrusions regardless of whether he was within the building or not with the image of the cocking of revolver followed by a flash of green light. It was personal, not something another spellcaster could mimic.
Next were a pair of parallel lines in the form of a stylized letter "I." Script ran between the lines, flowing and vertical. These were similar to muggle repelling charms in that they subtly influenced the subject to want to avoid the area. Subtle intrusions turned to brute-force mental attacks the further the subject penetrated.
Then, having seen the effectiveness of transfiguration, another element caused the earth to swallow up intruders. This was on semi-automatic. He could "tell" it to function autonomously, devouring those who would break past the mental compulsions. In terms of mental trigger, it operated much like a command seal.
The final element was a flourish that Harry simply could not resist. It was in the shape of a bolt of lightning. As its shape suggested, it used electricity. It operated in the exact same fashion as the hungry earth. However, it charged up the air around the target until a bolt of lightning was released. It was, as he had mentally nicknamed it "The Backhand of God," as it would smite those who would intrude much like a pimp would strike a disobedient whore.
With this array finished, he sat down. He was drained both physically and mentally. The world was swimming in front of his eyes; his limbs felt leaden. His last thoughts before all turned black were.
"Maybe I took too much blood?"
***
<a href='http://www.youtuberepeat.com/watch/?v=IYmQG3LWJBI' target='_blank' rel='nofollow'>Ever-Present Feeling</a>
"Set arquebusiers along the Renogawa behind palisades. Archers should be prepared to support."
The crimson samurai directed the preparations for battle. Thousands of men marched, beginning the laborious procedures. Hurry up and wait was the motto of the day. The cavalry waited, horses snorting. The infantry waited, weapons clutched in white knuckles. The storm was here, the storm which set the Land of the Rising Sun ablaze. The morning mist was thick and heavy. Sweat soaked the robes and clothes of the soldiers.
The Demon Lord stood firm, without pause.
The army of Takeda began its march. A full third of the army were the legendary cavalry, whose charge could smash aside even the bravest infantry. It was a maneuver drilled and perfected by the Tiger of Kai, Takeda Shingen.
The Demon Lord cared not. The famous Takeda cavalry were led by a fool. They would drown in mud and blood. They would be choked by brimstone and shredded by lead. The warlord reviewed the troops, going down the line. Soldiers were encouraged. A quick pat here. A cup of sake there. Nervous as they were, there was a fire inside them. It was a fire that only the Demon Lord could ignite. They would march through the fires of Hell itself with their leader.
On the steamy dawn, hooves thundered. Dirt was torn into flying clods which were trampled again and again. Behind wickedly sharp stakes, the army was ready. Fire and brimstone ripped across the field of battle. Bogged down in the mud as they were, the famed Takeda cavalry stood no chance against the disciplined forces of Oda and Tokugawa.
Entrails spilled onto the streaming ground as spears ripped into horses. Several spears would pierces through one. Such was the way of infantry fighting cavalry. Their strength was in determination and teamwork. Not even one man could falter lest the entire formation loose its cohesion and break like a cheap sword. To some, they might have shown bravery in charging into a hopeless fight. It was folly in which lives were wasted rather than spent.
The Takeda were broken. It was now time to rip through them. A hellish gunshot from the Demon Lord signaled the charge. They were ripped apart, as if by a the demons of Hell itself. Panicked and without unity, there was no other outcome.
At the end of that hot June day, it was the finest hour of the Demon Lord of the Sixth Heaven.
***
"Wake up, Master!"
A clapping noise of flesh on flesh.
"Wake up! I should never have let you do anything so reckless on your own."
Light and shadow. Light around him. Shadow on him. Pain. A railroad pike being driven through his skull. His eyes, like a butterfly's wings, fluttered open. Archer's concerned face was looking down on him. Soft. His head was resting against the smooth silk of her kimono. He groaned.
"What happened?"
"I saw you passed out on the floor when I returned next to a piece of paper with symbols written in your own blood. I thought you were dead at first. Don't do that, I don't think there is a Master better than you."
"I saw... your finest hour... mud and blood... along the Renogawa. Archer... you were magnificent. I... don't deserve... a Servant... like you," spoke Harry, pausing breathlessly every few words.
"Nagashino. That's what you saw."
"What happened? Why did I see that."
"Masters attuned to their Servants can experience the lives of their Servants through dreams. I believe that is what happened."
Harry nodded and took a look at his sheet used for the wards. There was a new symbol, a five petaled flower.
"Archer, what is this?"
Archer's eyes opened wide in shock and surprise.
"That's the Oda Clan crest."
Archer paused for a moment, then nodded as if affirming something.
"Though your reaction tells me it was an accident, I can now draw from the Mana in the area to refresh myself. What does the other stuff do?"
"The circles set the radius for the effects. The "I" thing causes people to want to avoid the place. The thing on the right causes the earth to eat people. That can be controlled. The thing on the left calls down lightning which can also be controlled. I call the lightning the "Backhand of God."
"I'd call it 'The Dick in the Sky.'"
Flustered, Harry replied, "Show some taste, Archer!"
"It fits. It comes down to fuck you up."
"I hate you. I hate you so much right now. I hate you so much right now because that actually makes sense."
Archer smiled like a particularly arrogant and satisfied cat.
"So, what did you find?"
"I bought McDonalds. Right now, I think its a good choice. It's processed so you should be able to digest it nice and easy. You look really pale and weak right now."
"I think I used too much blood."
"Ya think?"
"Coke and a burger with fries for you. I got myself a burger with iced tea. I prefer tea over soda."
Harry began to eat the fast food. It was greasy and generally unhealthy. He ate it slowly, chewing and savoring each bite. Obviously, it would not have any effect on Archer since she was a magical construct. She simply wanted to enjoy the sensation of taste. He sipped the drink, letting the sugar revitalize him. When he was halfway finished, Archer was already done.
"Thanks, Archer. I needed that."
"Someone has to look out for a careless Master such as yourself."
Harry smiled. Archer was definitely a Servant with whom he could get along.
***
The body was ripped apart by impossibly clean cuts. The ribcage had been cracked and ripped open in a bloody facsimile of angel wings. A post-mortem examination would reveal that death did not occur until all internal organs had been removed. It was blatant magical murder.
The four-man team, equipped with German Heckler and Koch MP5/10 submachine guns, a modification to fire the powerful 10x25mm Auto round, watched carefully. They wore all-black, from boots to cargo pants to longsleeved shirts to balaclavas. They bore no insignia, though one was obviously in command.
"Okay," said the leader, who stood somewhat ahead of the rest, "Idiot is threatening the secrecy of the War. Let me report in to Hill."
The man took out a black cellular phone and dialed the number. It was a secure line for occasions such as this.
"Father, we found another body. I think Berserker's Master must be removed as a threat."
"Understood. Thank you."
When he turned around, she was there with Berserker, the formidably tough Rasputin. In her black dress, she seemed like a fallen angel. There was nothing angelic about her features, though.
"Give it to her!" yelled the man.
Submachine guns roared. At this distance, perhaps ten meters, the submachine gun was the ultimate in personal firepower. Nothing else could fill the air with a swarm of humming lead hornets quite like they could. Short bursts ensured accuracy; these were well trained men with excellent trigger discipline. The projectiles fired were not normal jacketed lead. Each had a core of blessed silver and the hollow point took the shape of a cross. This was the specialized anti-supernatural ammunition available to the Church. Four magazines dropped to floor, and the men reloaded.
It should have ripped her apart, ripped through any magical protections. She should have been turned into bloody swiss cheese. She should have gained dozens of new orifices weeping bloody tears. Much like depictions of Christ on the cross, Berserker spread his limbs to resume the hail of gunfire. He endured the rain of lead. The cross of lead shook and bounced on its string as the mad Servant laughed. Deformed bullets dropped, hot and smoking, from his body. Even the one that had slammed right between his eyes did not so much as break the skin.
"Sir, I think we should have brought something bigger."
"Hindsight is twenty-twenty."
"Kill them, Berserker."
A fist stronger than steel, faster than a speeding bullet smashed into the face of the one who had opened his mouth to comment about the lack of heavy weaponry. His face caved inward, spraying blood and brains and bone shards. In its spasms, the corpse's finger pulled hard on the trigger. Recoil pulled it up, and Berserker's blow spun it around. One of the men had his leg perforated by his comrade's wild weapon.
Berserker spun around to eat lead. The black-clad man raised his weapon as a defense against the incoming fist. The weapon was horribly deformed and cracked by the jab. Using the power of his hips, the cross punched through kevlar and ceramic into the man's heart.
A quick uppercut snapped the neck of the leader back with a horrid cracking noise. Skin and flesh and tendons ripped, causing pumping arteries to spray bright red blood all over the floor.
The wounded man grit his teeth and pulled the pin on his grenade. The mad Servant loomed over him. He screamed a wordless battle cry and, crying, released the safety lever. Four seconds. Three seconds.
"God have mercy on my soul," whispered the last man.
Two seconds. One second. Zero. Shrapnel ripped into Berserker but did not so much as break the skin. Once more, Berserker shielded his Master from harm with his body. He turned to his Master, robes now coated with crimson.
"Let's go, Berserker."
Silently, the priest turned and walked to his Master. He grasped her hand, understanding this process. He had done it many times with his Master. He might be a mad dog, but a mad dog could be trained. They apparated out of the building, leaving the bodies to rot.
Hours later, Robert MacTavish came in on the scene riding an McDonnell Douglas 500 helicopter. It was a small, two-person helicopter with a bulbous glass cockpit. The militarized version, the AH-6 Little Bird, rode with the valkyries alongside the Huey in the film "Apocalypse Now." He dropped down via ladder with an M16 rifle, used by the SAS in lieu of the L85, equipped with the M203 underbarrel grenade launcher. It was the weapons system with which he was most familiar. Even if distances were too close for the grenade to arm, most things did not take kindly to a 40mm anti-supernatural grenade to the face.
The stench of death was overwhelming, both from the mutilated corpse his men had been investigating. They were definitely dead. Their wounds matched the sort of wounds that only one could deliver: Berserker. Though the Servant, being insane, was not culpable, the Master was an entirely different issue.
He radioed in, requesting for backup to transport the bodies and clean up the evidence. Immediately, he moved back to the helicopter. It was safer that way. As he had learned from years of fighting the supernatural, it was better safe than sorry. Still, he felt relatively secure high up in the sky with his trusty M16 sitting in his lap.
Hill had received the orders from the late team. Humphrey, Tod, Zack, and Nathan had all been good men. Though not people he knew very well, as he had never served with them in the military nor been on an operation with them, their loss cut him deeply. The orders were to assist the other Masters. The priest was going to make another announcement to the other six. The hunt was about to be started.
***
"Master, there's a fake bird hovering at the edge of your field. It has a message."
"Please get it. I need to finish up with this potion."
He had made enough to fill dozen bottles from the first batch. The potion was, essentially, a Molotov cocktail. Very volatile when it was combined with another liquid, but inert until then. It wasn't like he was making her do something he could very well do himself. Though it was rather silly, Harry decided that he would attempt to emulate Batman. He would rather rely on preparation than luck since he had the opportunity to do so.
Archer disappeared into her spirit form and left. Very quickly, she returned. A message was in her hands. It was written on standard 8.5x11 inch paper, the kind commonly used by printers. The note was neatly typed, though it appeared to be by typewriter.
"Essentially, Hill is ordering, under his authority as supervisor, each Master to send a representative to the Church by Six o'clock this evening. He has a message with regards to task he would like for us to complete."
"Would you like to be my representative, Archer?"
"Of course. I am your loyal Servant."
"I thought we decided to be partners?"
Archer just smiled.
"Just indulge in a little formality."
"Alright. What time is it now?"
"Five o'clock. I have an hour."
"How long would it take you?"
"Not long. Perhaps twelve minutes at most."
"Wouldn't you be able to move faster without the limitations of a physical form?"
"I could, but I also want to survey the city. Reconnaissance is always good. That would be the maximum speed at which I could survey to my satisfaction."
"Alright then. I'll be ready for a fight just in case. I'll double check the anti-apparition wards."
"I trust you'll use a command seal if something comes up."
"Of course, I will. By the way, I'm going to cook some chicken with pasta."
"Sounds tasty."
"It will be; I would cook nothing less for a Heroic Spirit."
Archer smiled and draped herself over the couch. She had found television to be less than interesting. So, at Archer's behest, they had turned to card games. He wasn't half-bad at poker and managed to teach Archer. As he expected, she was much better than him, but he had gotten lucky a few times. Harry started with dinner.
"Leaving," called Archer before disappearing into her spirit form.
***
As he had expected, six Servants were gathered at the steps of his church. Father Nathan Hill walked out with a slow, dignified purpose. There they were, some of the shining examples of humanity preserved by the World at the Throne of Heroes for some unknown purpose. Saber, royally resplendent, was present. The devilish samurai Archer was present. The wild Rider was present. The shrouded and sarcastic Caster was present. The masked and marked Assassin was present. The warrior of bronze, Lancer, was present.
"Gentlemen, ladies," he began, "There is an issue with regards to Heaven's Feel that I believe you and your Masters should know. For such an announcement, it should seem curious that there are only representatives for six of the seven Servants. There is a reason for Berserker's absence-"
"-Hey Priest!" called Caster, "This wouldn't have anything to do with Berserker and his Master's string of murders which might compromise the secrecy of Heaven's Feel, would it?"
Moderately annoyed but remaining calm, the priest in question answered, "Indeed, Caster. I am going to offer a bounty for the death of Berserker and his Master. One additional command seal will be awarded. My own forces will assist. However, they are not yours to command. Are there any questions?"
"Yeah," said Rider, eyes burning, "When can we start?"
"Immediately, Rider."
He grinned viciously. With the exceptions of Saber and Assassin, whose expression could not be discerned, the faces of the Servants present lit up with similar smiles. Smiling , though not nearly as viciously, Father Nathan Hill dismissed them.
"Peace be with you."
Thank you guys for taking the effort to respond, particularly you, Prince Charon
From here, I'll put in music cues where I think they would be most effective. For example, expect a link to Sword of Promised Victory when someone is about to get Excaliblasted.
Chapter 8
Settling In
"He set us up! I'm going to kill that cloaked asshole!"
"Calm down a bit, Archer. What I want to know, since Caster's actions fit with what we know about him, is why Rider and his Master came back even though he was wounded?"
"Don't know. The Master had access to some pretty nice military stuff. Rifles, grenades, silencers, night-vision equipment. I'd guess a background in law enforcement, military, or organized crime."
"Fair enough. I suppose that makes sense. Of course, I had issues figuring that out because, firstly, I was being shot at while trying to avoid getting hit, and I was secondly unable to see the Master clearly."
"At least you aren't dead."
"Thanks, Archer. I enjoy lacking new orifices ripped into me by supersonic lead."
"Still not a fan of guns?"
"I'm fine with yours and if other people use them, but I'm just not comfortable with them. Give me a sword any day."
"Frankly, I think that's a rather stupid position to take-ruling out an entire field of effective weapons-, but then I realize that being comfortable and without hesitation counts for a lot. Besides, you have magic. Be creative."
"Thanks. I need a pay phone to get MacTavish.ÔÇØ
"One thing, Master."
"What is it?"
"You probably want to put away your sword and wand and invisibility cloak. Just saying."
"Thanks, Archer."
He smiled warmly at the red-and-black samurai. From his sitting position on the roof of a building, he raised a hand. Archer grasped it and pulled him up. The armor disappeared along with her weapons, and she went back to her jacket and shorts. Harry used magic to shrink his sheathed blade and folded the cloak which he then handed to Archer for her to keep it under her jacket.
"Let's move out."
Archer responded with a smile before grabbing him and stealthily bringing him down to the street level. Calmly, they walked out. Soon enough, they found a pay phone. The conversation with MacTavish was brief. Something was bothering him, but the man had said that he was coming right now. Maybe something had happened to his car; it was a nice Rolls-Royce that he had undoubtedly put a lot of effort into maintaining.
It took about twenty minutes for MacTavish to arrive. It was technically a new day by his watch, being twenty-two minutes past midnight. With Archer, Harry went into the car. MacTavish was silent, almost nervously so. He did not seem the type to be rattled, though.
"So, is that your Servant?"
"Yes sir. This would be Archer."
"A pleasure to meet you, Archer."
"The pleasure is all mine," responded the Servant addressed.
MacTavish gave a humorless smile.
"So," began Harry, "Something seems to be bothering you. What's going on?"
"Grail War."
"That's a rather large issue for me too. You don't have to worry about crazy people shooting at you with military-grade firepower."
"It's Berserker's Master, Lestrange. Father Hill has been annoyed with her nighttime activities. It's my job to run damage control for this, trying to preserve the secrecy of magic."
"What's that bitch been up to?"
"The usual for terrorist scum like her: killing people to get herself off. Disgusting shit."
"Yeah. I hate that sort of thing too. You seem to dislike it more than most."
"I fought against that kind of criminal scum for years."
They drove in silence for a little while longer. With the car stopped at a red light, MacTavish rolled up the sleeve of his plaid shirt to reveal a tattoo on a surprisingly muscled bicep. The tattoo depicted a winged gladius with a scroll bearing the words "Who Dares Win." To Harry, he understood instantly. MacTavish was retired Special Air Service, the famed British SAS. As far as special forces went, they were among the best there was. Their work often involved dealing with terrorism and similar missions. It was only natural that someone such as that would have not tolerance for any sort of terrorist. It was a sentiment with which Harry wholeheartedly agreed.
"So," continued Harry, "How'd you get into the business of the supernatural? I'm sorry if it's something you don't want to talk about."
"No problem. You should know that at the highest levels, the British government is entirely aware of your little magical ghetto. The PM wanted to mobilize the SAS to deal with your Voldemort problem the first time around, but you flat out refused. Anyway, it was down in
South America. My unit and I came across a cult which we had orders to remove with extreme prejudice. These people were seriously magical and seriously evil. Not something I want to talk about. This almost leaked magic to the world. Your folks were pretty angry and wanted me executed. Father Hill was impressed and used the clout of the Catholic Church to keep me alive. And that's how I became indebted to him."
"How's that been working out?"
"Well, most wizards are surprised to know that the our AK is several times better than the magical AK. For example, with Mr. Kalashnikov's venerable Avtomat, I can hit a target repeatedly from two-hundred meters. The magical abra-kedabra is only good out to about twenty meters. Muzzle velocity on it is so slow."
ôThanks. Just what I needed, a lecture about why wizards suck and why guns are awesome."
MacTavish laughed and continued driving. He came to rather poor apartment complex. It looked visible dilapidated which flaking paint and overgrown grass and a weathered roof. Somehow, it still held together and managed to project a personality of stoicism which weathered the elements.
"Here's the place. Nominally abandoned, but it is a place that I have as a staging area in case things get out of hand. When I say 'out of hand,' I mean the city destroying type of 'out of hand.'" said MacTavish.
"Was it really that bad?"
"Last war? Yeah. A bit before my time, but Father Hill talked about it. My job is to minimize collateral damage, including taking out threats both to civilians and the secrecy of this war. Everything becomes a 'gas leak.' Seriously."
Harry chuckled in spite of himself at the black humor.
"Thanks a lot."
"S'okay. I've got more than one staging area. By the way, I'd like to ask a favor of you."
"What is it?"
"You know Berserker's Master, Bellatrix Lestrange, right?"
Harry scowled and nodded.
"I'd like you to take care of her. She's been up to some sick shit. Rape, murder, torture, the works."
Harry shook MacTavish's hand, smiling grimly.
"I'll do it. Not because I want fame or to be hero, but because it's the right thing to do."
"You're a good kid. I really admire how you can just see the world in black and white. Me, I just see it in shades of grey."
He tossed a key to Harry which the teen caught.
"What's this?"
"Room key for 104 in Building 1501."
"Ah, thanks."
"Good luck, kid. You'll need it."
Smiling brightly, Harry stepped out of the car with Archer. He waved as the man drove off.
"I bet he has some ulterior motive," commented Archer.
"Probably. It's not like I want to fight Bellatrix purely out of the goodness of my heart. Not only does it remove a potentially powerful enemy, but I simply don't like her."
"You are an onion, Harry Potter."
"One of me a day keeps everyone away?"
"You know what I mean; you have layers."
Spinning the key on its string, he walked to building 1501, which was the northern building. His shoes crunched on dead leaves and tall weeds. Archer followed a step behind to his right. Whenever his left foot came down, so did hers. Whenever his right foot came down, so did hers. Room 104 was on the first floor of the building, with a window facing out toward a parking lot.
"Archer."
"Yes, Master."
"Since he intended to use this whole complex as a staging area, how many people do you suppose MacTavish has available? Also, if you were in his position, how would you utilize this area?"
Smiling, Archer replied, "That's a good question, Master. Given that there are eighty flats in this one building, he could probably fit in the area of two-hundred fifty in this. With the other two, we logically get to a max of around seven-hundred fifty. However, that would be a rather inefficient method of using this facility. I would use one building as a barracks to simply house my troops. Another would be set up as a command center and armory. Finally, a third would be used to hide transport that couldn't simply sit in the parking lot or simply conceal that the building is not truly abandoned."
"Thanks. Want to take a look around quickly. If this is a possible staging area, there probably will be something like what you mentioned."
"I'll do that in spirit form. You should go to bed."
"No, I should work on turning this into as much of a magical fortress as I can."
"No, you shouldn't. It's past midnight. You're on your last legs. Just get some sleep. You'll probably screw up horribly right now. Besides, you have a legendary Heroic Spirit as your guardian angel."
"I can't fault your logic, Archer. In that case, good night."
Harry walked over to the door labeled "104." A quick turn of the key unlocked the door. The air smelled dusty. The floor was covered with a plain brown carpet with the exception of the kitchen, which had dull white tiles textured so that it would probably be quite comfortable for bare feet. There was an actual bath rather than just a shower, something that came as a mild surprise. Additionally, there was a television and a radio. Also, there was only one bed. Knowing Archer, this could only end poorly. He surely wasn't sleeping on the couch. Entirely exhausted, Harry stripped down and slipped into the covers.
***
"It is rather unusual to have a visitor so early," commented Nathan Hill.
"I'm not a man of the usual, Hill."
"How do you do, Dumbledore?"
"Well enough. Yourself."
"Fantastic. The Grail War will be interesting this time around. There are even three of your protege competing. Though I must say that Caster and Rider's Master are the most interesting."
"I know you have something planned, Hill."
"What, to bring about a lasting peace after a war that has been waged for three centuries? I see no wrong in that."
"I'm watching, Hill. Step out of line and you will wish that the wrath of God was directed against you. God might show you mercy, but I would not."
"Please, Dumbledore. While you might have had feelings for Grindelwald, it was me that you feared during the war. Try me and you'll find I've retained my razor edge."
"I've only grown in power since the war, Hill. It would be best that you remove your personal goals from your job."
"What personal goals? I see only a politician in front of me, definitely one who has used his job to pull strings. You tell me to separate my own goals from my job. Let he who is without sin cast the first stone."
"Don't lie. Do you not remember 'Thou shalt not bear false witness against thy neighbor?"
"Must you quote the King James Bible? I'm afraid that isn't what we use in the Catholic Church."
"Don't be smart with me."
"So says the intellectual 'Do not be smart with me.' You are a funny man, Dumbledore. You really are. Of course, you don't even believe in God."
"I highly doubt that you do either, Hill; however, that is beside the point."
"Do you really think that the Church, not the strange Church that appears in fiction, would have an atheist priest."
"I would think that I am looking at one. You are something of a rule-breaker."
"I've changed. Working within the rules is so much easier. Compared to rule-breaking, it's been a breath of fresh air."
"That would not surprise me, Hill. If anything, you have a fine mind."
"Thank you. As do you. Begrudging as it is, I must admit that about you."
"Indeed, it is never good to underestimate. Who do you think will win?"
"Berserker's Master -Bellatrix Lestrange if you must know- threatens the privacy of this war with her spree of murder and rape and similar crimes. I'm about ready to simply declare open season on her for being stupid. Saber, due to the boost from the land and the inherent strength of the class -as you well know- stands a very good chance of winning. I'm sorry to say, but your precious Harry Potter with his Archer does not seem to be in the upper tier of this war."
ôArcher is not necessarily a weak class; how could you forget Gilgamesh?," said Dumbledore, "So they all survived that spell last night?"
"Indeed. Potter and Archer simply dodged. Lancer's Master burned a command seal. Saber's instincts saved her and her Master. Rider and his Master were simply far away from the site. Assassin and his Master are still alive, though I am not quite sure how. Berserker simply shielded his Master. Caster must be very disappointed; he had a great shot lined up."
"Well, I do have things to do. Farewell, former Master of Berserker."
"As do I. Take care, former Master of Saber."
***
Harry felt perfectly pleasant. He was snuggled against something warm and soft like a pillow. Almost like the rising and falling of a chest, he felt himself moving up and down, rocking like a boat in calm waters. Then his half-asleep mind realized that his head was not in the same position as it would if he were resting his head on a pillow. It was at this point that a singular thought ran through his mind: "Oh shit." He dared to open an eye. It was as he feared.
"Good morning, Master."
Almost -but not quite- gritting his teeth. Sometime during the night, Archer had slipped into the bed sometime during the night. However, he quickly realized that she was merely on top of the covers though that did not make it much better. During the night, he had ended up using her as a pillow. Knowing his Servant, he knew that she was teasing him. He became rather uncomfortably aware of the size of her bust. It was somewhat larger than he had thought, but then again she didn't exactly show off like that.
"Have you no class, Archer?"
"Who was the one snuggling up against my breasts? That's right, you."
Harry then became aware that she was wearing one of his t-shirts, which was more like a dress on her frame.
Sighing exasperatedly, he asked, "Any particular reason for the wardrobe change?"
"Well, I took full advantage of the bath. That was nice. Then I tried to use the television, but I couldn't figure out what to do with it. Don't worry, I didn't put my fist through it in frustration. At that point, I was walking around in a towel. I saw you looking so lonely. But then I feared that if I were to wear something so scandalous, you would take advantage of your poor Servant right there."
"You've got to be shitting me," said Harry dryly.
"I was already violated by your roaming hands. Woe is the poor maiden, Archer."
"I can't exactly control where my hands go when I sleep."
Archer merely grinned a toothy grin. Harry sighed.
"Back up a second, Archer," said Harry, "I did a little digging on Japanese history in the Sengoku period, but didn't you have kids."
Archer laughed before answering, "No. Did you notice any conspicuous breaks in my campaigns that would allow for a pregnancy? That's because there aren't. Firstly, I was a general and warrior. There is no way I would do something that would leave me bedridden like that. The children in question are the result of either adoption or the affairs of concubines. As far as demons go, I was -ironically enough- a chaste one. My desire was to set the world ablaze and push onward, ever forward to new heights."
"My mind has been blown. Everything I know is wrong."
"A wonderful feeling, isn't it."
Harry's stomach grumbled.
"I'm going to take a shower. Do you want me to show you how to use a TV?"
"Sure. Just because I know what it is doesn't mean I know how to use it."
Harry got slightly more dressed and walked over into the kitchen-living-dining space. There, he demonstrated the wonders of television and radio to his Servant. She was quite the astute listener and picked up the simple task quite quickly. He had thought that Archer would have taken longer because she was from the Sixteenth Century, but that was not to be, much to his relief.
After getting dressed, he felt very refreshed. It was a new day. There was a spring in his step. Archer was not teasing him at the moment. However, there was the minor problem of food. He had none. He also needed to start setting up wards for the place. Though he was not master wizard, he would do his best to turn the place into a fortress. Archer was watching the news. At least she had the decency to put on a pair of shorts.
"Archer~"
"I don't liken that tone."
"Would you please run out and get something to eat. I really don't care. Hot is preferable. Just take my wallet. It's in my back pocket."
"I can do that."
"One more thing, please don't spend all the money."
"Outside of general principal, why?"
"Diagon Alley, where Gringotts is, is likely to be a big target area. I don't want to take an off-chance of someone having an ambush ready."
"This war -any war- requires finances. You've got to just man up and be bold. Push forward, make them react. Once they are reacting, you control the battlefield. To control the battlefield is victory."
"Yeah, but if I'm ambushed, I'll be the one reacting to them. As Murphy says 'if an attack is going well, it's an ambush.'"
"I'll be there. Besides, attacking in public in broad daylight would be stupid. Would you do it?"
"No-"
"Then remember one assumption. Assume that the enemy is as competent as, if not more than, yourself. It is usually better to overestimate than underestimate."
"Bank trip?"
"Bank trip. It wouldn't be a bad idea to look into work of some sort, be it magical or mundane."
"Alright, I suppose I could."
"Glad you see it my way. Besides, you shouldn't be too worried with an awesome Servant like me beside you."
"Okay. Bye, Archer."
"I'll get something tasty."
"When in Rome, do as the Romans do."
"Gotcha.'"
Archer disappeared and, for the first time in a long while, Harry was alone. Out went the wand and the knife. Out went the book on warding rituals. While it could undoubtedly be done using conventional spellcasting at a much lesser cost, it was faster to use ritual magic involving sacrifice. Human blood, often that of the caster, was a common ingredient. For the sort of benevolent (to him, not intruders) protections he wished to create, it was a requirement. Given the seriousness of the conflict, he was looking for more lethal forms of protection. Then, because he knew that Caster and some of the better spellcasters could likely rip down his wards, there would be a layer of purely nonmagical defenses. He was leaning towards a combination of a claymore and what Timothy McVeigh had done. Rider's Master was probably the most likely to be able to deal with such a threat, given the apparent experience in mundane methods and equipment. Besides, in spite of personal distaste with wanton violence, there was a certain visceral feeling about lighting off twenty-three hundred kilos of explosives.
He took out the calligraphy paper he had obtained from the Hogwarts library. While the usage of such materials was, as Archer could attest, more popular in the East than West, it was infinitely more practical than the monoliths used in Western practices. First was a spell to alert him to any intrusions into his citadel.
This was served by a pair of concentric circles, the outer thinner than the inner, drawn in Harry's own blood. The script between served to define the circles, much like an archaic version of computer programming. It had a detection radius of one-hundred fifty meters and informed of him intrusions regardless of whether he was within the building or not with the image of the cocking of revolver followed by a flash of green light. It was personal, not something another spellcaster could mimic.
Next were a pair of parallel lines in the form of a stylized letter "I." Script ran between the lines, flowing and vertical. These were similar to muggle repelling charms in that they subtly influenced the subject to want to avoid the area. Subtle intrusions turned to brute-force mental attacks the further the subject penetrated.
Then, having seen the effectiveness of transfiguration, another element caused the earth to swallow up intruders. This was on semi-automatic. He could "tell" it to function autonomously, devouring those who would break past the mental compulsions. In terms of mental trigger, it operated much like a command seal.
The final element was a flourish that Harry simply could not resist. It was in the shape of a bolt of lightning. As its shape suggested, it used electricity. It operated in the exact same fashion as the hungry earth. However, it charged up the air around the target until a bolt of lightning was released. It was, as he had mentally nicknamed it "The Backhand of God," as it would smite those who would intrude much like a pimp would strike a disobedient whore.
With this array finished, he sat down. He was drained both physically and mentally. The world was swimming in front of his eyes; his limbs felt leaden. His last thoughts before all turned black were.
"Maybe I took too much blood?"
***
<a href='http://www.youtuberepeat.com/watch/?v=IYmQG3LWJBI' target='_blank' rel='nofollow'>Ever-Present Feeling</a>
"Set arquebusiers along the Renogawa behind palisades. Archers should be prepared to support."
The crimson samurai directed the preparations for battle. Thousands of men marched, beginning the laborious procedures. Hurry up and wait was the motto of the day. The cavalry waited, horses snorting. The infantry waited, weapons clutched in white knuckles. The storm was here, the storm which set the Land of the Rising Sun ablaze. The morning mist was thick and heavy. Sweat soaked the robes and clothes of the soldiers.
The Demon Lord stood firm, without pause.
The army of Takeda began its march. A full third of the army were the legendary cavalry, whose charge could smash aside even the bravest infantry. It was a maneuver drilled and perfected by the Tiger of Kai, Takeda Shingen.
The Demon Lord cared not. The famous Takeda cavalry were led by a fool. They would drown in mud and blood. They would be choked by brimstone and shredded by lead. The warlord reviewed the troops, going down the line. Soldiers were encouraged. A quick pat here. A cup of sake there. Nervous as they were, there was a fire inside them. It was a fire that only the Demon Lord could ignite. They would march through the fires of Hell itself with their leader.
On the steamy dawn, hooves thundered. Dirt was torn into flying clods which were trampled again and again. Behind wickedly sharp stakes, the army was ready. Fire and brimstone ripped across the field of battle. Bogged down in the mud as they were, the famed Takeda cavalry stood no chance against the disciplined forces of Oda and Tokugawa.
Entrails spilled onto the streaming ground as spears ripped into horses. Several spears would pierces through one. Such was the way of infantry fighting cavalry. Their strength was in determination and teamwork. Not even one man could falter lest the entire formation loose its cohesion and break like a cheap sword. To some, they might have shown bravery in charging into a hopeless fight. It was folly in which lives were wasted rather than spent.
The Takeda were broken. It was now time to rip through them. A hellish gunshot from the Demon Lord signaled the charge. They were ripped apart, as if by a the demons of Hell itself. Panicked and without unity, there was no other outcome.
At the end of that hot June day, it was the finest hour of the Demon Lord of the Sixth Heaven.
***
"Wake up, Master!"
A clapping noise of flesh on flesh.
"Wake up! I should never have let you do anything so reckless on your own."
Light and shadow. Light around him. Shadow on him. Pain. A railroad pike being driven through his skull. His eyes, like a butterfly's wings, fluttered open. Archer's concerned face was looking down on him. Soft. His head was resting against the smooth silk of her kimono. He groaned.
"What happened?"
"I saw you passed out on the floor when I returned next to a piece of paper with symbols written in your own blood. I thought you were dead at first. Don't do that, I don't think there is a Master better than you."
"I saw... your finest hour... mud and blood... along the Renogawa. Archer... you were magnificent. I... don't deserve... a Servant... like you," spoke Harry, pausing breathlessly every few words.
"Nagashino. That's what you saw."
"What happened? Why did I see that."
"Masters attuned to their Servants can experience the lives of their Servants through dreams. I believe that is what happened."
Harry nodded and took a look at his sheet used for the wards. There was a new symbol, a five petaled flower.
"Archer, what is this?"
Archer's eyes opened wide in shock and surprise.
"That's the Oda Clan crest."
Archer paused for a moment, then nodded as if affirming something.
"Though your reaction tells me it was an accident, I can now draw from the Mana in the area to refresh myself. What does the other stuff do?"
"The circles set the radius for the effects. The "I" thing causes people to want to avoid the place. The thing on the right causes the earth to eat people. That can be controlled. The thing on the left calls down lightning which can also be controlled. I call the lightning the "Backhand of God."
"I'd call it 'The Dick in the Sky.'"
Flustered, Harry replied, "Show some taste, Archer!"
"It fits. It comes down to fuck you up."
"I hate you. I hate you so much right now. I hate you so much right now because that actually makes sense."
Archer smiled like a particularly arrogant and satisfied cat.
"So, what did you find?"
"I bought McDonalds. Right now, I think its a good choice. It's processed so you should be able to digest it nice and easy. You look really pale and weak right now."
"I think I used too much blood."
"Ya think?"
"Coke and a burger with fries for you. I got myself a burger with iced tea. I prefer tea over soda."
Harry began to eat the fast food. It was greasy and generally unhealthy. He ate it slowly, chewing and savoring each bite. Obviously, it would not have any effect on Archer since she was a magical construct. She simply wanted to enjoy the sensation of taste. He sipped the drink, letting the sugar revitalize him. When he was halfway finished, Archer was already done.
"Thanks, Archer. I needed that."
"Someone has to look out for a careless Master such as yourself."
Harry smiled. Archer was definitely a Servant with whom he could get along.
***
The body was ripped apart by impossibly clean cuts. The ribcage had been cracked and ripped open in a bloody facsimile of angel wings. A post-mortem examination would reveal that death did not occur until all internal organs had been removed. It was blatant magical murder.
The four-man team, equipped with German Heckler and Koch MP5/10 submachine guns, a modification to fire the powerful 10x25mm Auto round, watched carefully. They wore all-black, from boots to cargo pants to longsleeved shirts to balaclavas. They bore no insignia, though one was obviously in command.
"Okay," said the leader, who stood somewhat ahead of the rest, "Idiot is threatening the secrecy of the War. Let me report in to Hill."
The man took out a black cellular phone and dialed the number. It was a secure line for occasions such as this.
"Father, we found another body. I think Berserker's Master must be removed as a threat."
"Understood. Thank you."
When he turned around, she was there with Berserker, the formidably tough Rasputin. In her black dress, she seemed like a fallen angel. There was nothing angelic about her features, though.
"Give it to her!" yelled the man.
Submachine guns roared. At this distance, perhaps ten meters, the submachine gun was the ultimate in personal firepower. Nothing else could fill the air with a swarm of humming lead hornets quite like they could. Short bursts ensured accuracy; these were well trained men with excellent trigger discipline. The projectiles fired were not normal jacketed lead. Each had a core of blessed silver and the hollow point took the shape of a cross. This was the specialized anti-supernatural ammunition available to the Church. Four magazines dropped to floor, and the men reloaded.
It should have ripped her apart, ripped through any magical protections. She should have been turned into bloody swiss cheese. She should have gained dozens of new orifices weeping bloody tears. Much like depictions of Christ on the cross, Berserker spread his limbs to resume the hail of gunfire. He endured the rain of lead. The cross of lead shook and bounced on its string as the mad Servant laughed. Deformed bullets dropped, hot and smoking, from his body. Even the one that had slammed right between his eyes did not so much as break the skin.
"Sir, I think we should have brought something bigger."
"Hindsight is twenty-twenty."
"Kill them, Berserker."
A fist stronger than steel, faster than a speeding bullet smashed into the face of the one who had opened his mouth to comment about the lack of heavy weaponry. His face caved inward, spraying blood and brains and bone shards. In its spasms, the corpse's finger pulled hard on the trigger. Recoil pulled it up, and Berserker's blow spun it around. One of the men had his leg perforated by his comrade's wild weapon.
Berserker spun around to eat lead. The black-clad man raised his weapon as a defense against the incoming fist. The weapon was horribly deformed and cracked by the jab. Using the power of his hips, the cross punched through kevlar and ceramic into the man's heart.
A quick uppercut snapped the neck of the leader back with a horrid cracking noise. Skin and flesh and tendons ripped, causing pumping arteries to spray bright red blood all over the floor.
The wounded man grit his teeth and pulled the pin on his grenade. The mad Servant loomed over him. He screamed a wordless battle cry and, crying, released the safety lever. Four seconds. Three seconds.
"God have mercy on my soul," whispered the last man.
Two seconds. One second. Zero. Shrapnel ripped into Berserker but did not so much as break the skin. Once more, Berserker shielded his Master from harm with his body. He turned to his Master, robes now coated with crimson.
"Let's go, Berserker."
Silently, the priest turned and walked to his Master. He grasped her hand, understanding this process. He had done it many times with his Master. He might be a mad dog, but a mad dog could be trained. They apparated out of the building, leaving the bodies to rot.
Hours later, Robert MacTavish came in on the scene riding an McDonnell Douglas 500 helicopter. It was a small, two-person helicopter with a bulbous glass cockpit. The militarized version, the AH-6 Little Bird, rode with the valkyries alongside the Huey in the film "Apocalypse Now." He dropped down via ladder with an M16 rifle, used by the SAS in lieu of the L85, equipped with the M203 underbarrel grenade launcher. It was the weapons system with which he was most familiar. Even if distances were too close for the grenade to arm, most things did not take kindly to a 40mm anti-supernatural grenade to the face.
The stench of death was overwhelming, both from the mutilated corpse his men had been investigating. They were definitely dead. Their wounds matched the sort of wounds that only one could deliver: Berserker. Though the Servant, being insane, was not culpable, the Master was an entirely different issue.
He radioed in, requesting for backup to transport the bodies and clean up the evidence. Immediately, he moved back to the helicopter. It was safer that way. As he had learned from years of fighting the supernatural, it was better safe than sorry. Still, he felt relatively secure high up in the sky with his trusty M16 sitting in his lap.
Hill had received the orders from the late team. Humphrey, Tod, Zack, and Nathan had all been good men. Though not people he knew very well, as he had never served with them in the military nor been on an operation with them, their loss cut him deeply. The orders were to assist the other Masters. The priest was going to make another announcement to the other six. The hunt was about to be started.
***
"Master, there's a fake bird hovering at the edge of your field. It has a message."
"Please get it. I need to finish up with this potion."
He had made enough to fill dozen bottles from the first batch. The potion was, essentially, a Molotov cocktail. Very volatile when it was combined with another liquid, but inert until then. It wasn't like he was making her do something he could very well do himself. Though it was rather silly, Harry decided that he would attempt to emulate Batman. He would rather rely on preparation than luck since he had the opportunity to do so.
Archer disappeared into her spirit form and left. Very quickly, she returned. A message was in her hands. It was written on standard 8.5x11 inch paper, the kind commonly used by printers. The note was neatly typed, though it appeared to be by typewriter.
"Essentially, Hill is ordering, under his authority as supervisor, each Master to send a representative to the Church by Six o'clock this evening. He has a message with regards to task he would like for us to complete."
"Would you like to be my representative, Archer?"
"Of course. I am your loyal Servant."
"I thought we decided to be partners?"
Archer just smiled.
"Just indulge in a little formality."
"Alright. What time is it now?"
"Five o'clock. I have an hour."
"How long would it take you?"
"Not long. Perhaps twelve minutes at most."
"Wouldn't you be able to move faster without the limitations of a physical form?"
"I could, but I also want to survey the city. Reconnaissance is always good. That would be the maximum speed at which I could survey to my satisfaction."
"Alright then. I'll be ready for a fight just in case. I'll double check the anti-apparition wards."
"I trust you'll use a command seal if something comes up."
"Of course, I will. By the way, I'm going to cook some chicken with pasta."
"Sounds tasty."
"It will be; I would cook nothing less for a Heroic Spirit."
Archer smiled and draped herself over the couch. She had found television to be less than interesting. So, at Archer's behest, they had turned to card games. He wasn't half-bad at poker and managed to teach Archer. As he expected, she was much better than him, but he had gotten lucky a few times. Harry started with dinner.
"Leaving," called Archer before disappearing into her spirit form.
***
As he had expected, six Servants were gathered at the steps of his church. Father Nathan Hill walked out with a slow, dignified purpose. There they were, some of the shining examples of humanity preserved by the World at the Throne of Heroes for some unknown purpose. Saber, royally resplendent, was present. The devilish samurai Archer was present. The wild Rider was present. The shrouded and sarcastic Caster was present. The masked and marked Assassin was present. The warrior of bronze, Lancer, was present.
"Gentlemen, ladies," he began, "There is an issue with regards to Heaven's Feel that I believe you and your Masters should know. For such an announcement, it should seem curious that there are only representatives for six of the seven Servants. There is a reason for Berserker's absence-"
"-Hey Priest!" called Caster, "This wouldn't have anything to do with Berserker and his Master's string of murders which might compromise the secrecy of Heaven's Feel, would it?"
Moderately annoyed but remaining calm, the priest in question answered, "Indeed, Caster. I am going to offer a bounty for the death of Berserker and his Master. One additional command seal will be awarded. My own forces will assist. However, they are not yours to command. Are there any questions?"
"Yeah," said Rider, eyes burning, "When can we start?"
"Immediately, Rider."
He grinned viciously. With the exceptions of Saber and Assassin, whose expression could not be discerned, the faces of the Servants present lit up with similar smiles. Smiling , though not nearly as viciously, Father Nathan Hill dismissed them.
"Peace be with you."