Well, here is chapter 4, sorry for the long wait, I was busy with university and frankly I was torn over this chapter.
In the end I decided to go with my original plan, I hope you will like it.
This is unedited and pretty raw and comments would be appreciated.
Miracle 4
Nothing has changed.
He has not changed.
Even after all those years, the only thing he is able to do is swinging that sword around.
He has not changed at all.
But
Right here, right now, there is nothing for him to protect.
Nothing but his own life.
Against that cursed red lance which tries to pierce his body again and again.
So he can fight without regrets. There is no better use for his sword after all than in battle. To slice his foes apart. To cleave his enemies in two.
To Kill.
Lancer is strong. In the days of his youth that servants head would have been worth several gold pieces at least he thinks.
He understands enough about the war he is participating in to know that his opponent must have been a great hero before his death.
Did he fight to protect someone or did he fight for his own glory?
Most importantly, does it matter in the end?
As long as this fight lasts the most important thing is survival. Winner takes all. That is the only rule.
Those who lose will simply fade away, just another name on a long list of victims of the victor.
He does not want to fade away. Not as long as his enemy still breathes.
After decades of war he knows that surviving and killing are the two things he is most talented in.
So he swings that big lump of iron without thought, there is no need to think too deeply about this after all.
It is always the same thing since the day he was born on the fields of battle.
He has not changed at all.
Whatever
He can live with that.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Lancers arms are shaking.
It is as he had thought.
That sword is as monstrous as its owner. The strength behind those blows is enough to make him wince every time he is forced to deflect one.
He is being pushed back. Slowly but surely he is losing ground to Assassin.
A difference in skill.
That is all it is. His opponents skill with his chosen weapon is higher than his own. Assassins strength is greater than his own.
So why cant he stop smiling?
Because this is exactly what he wanted.
This is what he craved, this is what he dreamed of when he made his pact with the world.
A battle to push him to his limits.
A battle to end all battles. With this, everything that he was forced to do up till now became worthwhile.
The sound of screeching steel echoes through the darkness.
Once again the lances tip is pushed aside, missing its target.
Again the giant blade slashes apart only empty air.
Even though he is being pushed back Lancer is far from helpless.
Defense is his specialty after all.
As long as he stands firm no sword can touch him. The red lance blurs into a web of red steel.
Not even a blade like the Dragon Slayer can cut through his last line of defense.
Yet
He can not hope to win like this.
He is giving up the initiative, he is losing control of this battle and with every blow he is forced to deflect he is losing strength.
His course becomes clear.
It takes less than a second for him to gain the distance he needs.
Gae Bolg is starting to shake in his hands. The times of release is near, the cursed lance longs for a target.
A grim smile.
The blue clad servant crouches down.
For a moment the amount of magical energy filling the battle field freezes even the Black Swordsman.
Then Lancer is airborne, the cursed lance grasped in his hand he flies through the cold night.
The change from total defense to absolute offense took him only a single second.
GAE
This is the end.
Whatever happens, this battle will be over.
BOLG
The lance flies from his hands, for but a moment it is hidden from sight by the magical energy that surrounds it.
The giant sword comes down, planting its tip in the earth.
With a roar of displaced air the black swordsman disappears in a torrent of magical energy.
The strength of Gae Bolg.
The Spear of Striking Death Flight
Touching the ground Lancer waits.
There is nothing left for him to do. There is nothing he can do.
His strength is spent. This glorious battle took its toll upon him.
He has full confidence in his Noble Phantasm, but that servantfrom the beginning of this battle it was clear that there was no guaranty for victory.
With a gasp the blackened shape of his enemy steps forward.
No, he is holding himself up by his sword.
Assassin survived Gae Bolg but.
But the prize he paid is a terrible one.
The entire left side is simply gone.
The mechanical arm together with his handcannon is no more, torn apart from the shoulder downwards, the left leg is a torn mess of burned flesh and there is a big hole on the left side of his torso that is leaking large quantities of blood.
His single eye remains but blood is running down is face, making his face even more frightening.
It is a wonder that he can still stand.
No, it is a wonder that he has not died yet but those wounds will kill him soon enough.
Something moves.
Lancers eyes track the movement.
Something on Assassins back is moving. For a second Cu Cullainn can clearly see the outline of something that looks like dog coiling itself around the black swordsman.
With a loud noise the something from assassins back covers his entire face.
Blood spurts out of his armor.
The scream that follows is one of murderous fury.
He should not be able to move.
He should be dead.
So why is it that this Servant is coming at him, swinging that giant sword of his as if nothing happened?
The armor, his noble phantasm is his armor.
The realization comes too late.
He wants to dodge, to deflect, to do something at least but he can not.
His strength is spent.
He has lost.
With a sickening sound the sword cuts him open from his shoulder down to his hip.
A fatal blow.
Even as he falls Lancer takes a look at his enemy one more time.
No, that guy does not feel like an assassin at all.
Berserker class would fit that guy perfectly.
Still there is something he has to say to his crazed opponent.
Hey, not bad slowpoke, how about we meet again in the next grail war!
He is fading fast now but that is okay. He gained what he wished for. Dying for such a battle, thats okay with Lancer.
It was his wish after all.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
His enemy is gone.
The armor has left him even weaker than before.
And he is dying.
Again.
He wants to laugh at the absurdity of it all but right now it hurts to even breathe.
This is pathetic.
He cant even raise his goddamn sword. He cant even move anything below his neck.
His wounds are serious.
Fatal even.
He knows he is dying. He can feel himself growing cold by the second.
How can this shit get any worse ?
Sacrifice. Sacrifice. Sacrifice. Sacrifice. Die for us. Sacrifice. Sacrifice. Sacrifice. Sacrifice.
Thats a good answer.
God must really hate him for killing his angels.
He is dying in a pool of his own blood and those fucking spirits still come after him.
But damn it all he wants to live.
He wants to continue swinging that sword around like an idiot that does not know anything else.
Get the HELL away from me you freaks.
A single one closes in on him. It advances slowly, coming closer and closer to his head.
If only he could move his hand, If only he could move anything but his head, if only
Realization sets in.
The moment the spirit comes close enough he acts.
His head moves like snake.
His teeth close around the ghost.
With a soft moan it dies.
It feels as if someone had thrown a bucket of cold water unto him. Icy cold and slick like oil.
Whatever it is he can feel it race through his body. Right into the wound on his torso.
The pain lessens.
His mouth twists into a grin.
Well, looks like you guys have some use after all.
They are closing in on him now.
Come on you freaks, Dinner is served.
Death will not come for him tonight.
In the end I decided to go with my original plan, I hope you will like it.
This is unedited and pretty raw and comments would be appreciated.
Miracle 4
Nothing has changed.
He has not changed.
Even after all those years, the only thing he is able to do is swinging that sword around.
He has not changed at all.
But
Right here, right now, there is nothing for him to protect.
Nothing but his own life.
Against that cursed red lance which tries to pierce his body again and again.
So he can fight without regrets. There is no better use for his sword after all than in battle. To slice his foes apart. To cleave his enemies in two.
To Kill.
Lancer is strong. In the days of his youth that servants head would have been worth several gold pieces at least he thinks.
He understands enough about the war he is participating in to know that his opponent must have been a great hero before his death.
Did he fight to protect someone or did he fight for his own glory?
Most importantly, does it matter in the end?
As long as this fight lasts the most important thing is survival. Winner takes all. That is the only rule.
Those who lose will simply fade away, just another name on a long list of victims of the victor.
He does not want to fade away. Not as long as his enemy still breathes.
After decades of war he knows that surviving and killing are the two things he is most talented in.
So he swings that big lump of iron without thought, there is no need to think too deeply about this after all.
It is always the same thing since the day he was born on the fields of battle.
He has not changed at all.
Whatever
He can live with that.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Lancers arms are shaking.
It is as he had thought.
That sword is as monstrous as its owner. The strength behind those blows is enough to make him wince every time he is forced to deflect one.
He is being pushed back. Slowly but surely he is losing ground to Assassin.
A difference in skill.
That is all it is. His opponents skill with his chosen weapon is higher than his own. Assassins strength is greater than his own.
So why cant he stop smiling?
Because this is exactly what he wanted.
This is what he craved, this is what he dreamed of when he made his pact with the world.
A battle to push him to his limits.
A battle to end all battles. With this, everything that he was forced to do up till now became worthwhile.
The sound of screeching steel echoes through the darkness.
Once again the lances tip is pushed aside, missing its target.
Again the giant blade slashes apart only empty air.
Even though he is being pushed back Lancer is far from helpless.
Defense is his specialty after all.
As long as he stands firm no sword can touch him. The red lance blurs into a web of red steel.
Not even a blade like the Dragon Slayer can cut through his last line of defense.
Yet
He can not hope to win like this.
He is giving up the initiative, he is losing control of this battle and with every blow he is forced to deflect he is losing strength.
His course becomes clear.
It takes less than a second for him to gain the distance he needs.
Gae Bolg is starting to shake in his hands. The times of release is near, the cursed lance longs for a target.
A grim smile.
The blue clad servant crouches down.
For a moment the amount of magical energy filling the battle field freezes even the Black Swordsman.
Then Lancer is airborne, the cursed lance grasped in his hand he flies through the cold night.
The change from total defense to absolute offense took him only a single second.
GAE
This is the end.
Whatever happens, this battle will be over.
BOLG
The lance flies from his hands, for but a moment it is hidden from sight by the magical energy that surrounds it.
The giant sword comes down, planting its tip in the earth.
With a roar of displaced air the black swordsman disappears in a torrent of magical energy.
The strength of Gae Bolg.
The Spear of Striking Death Flight
Touching the ground Lancer waits.
There is nothing left for him to do. There is nothing he can do.
His strength is spent. This glorious battle took its toll upon him.
He has full confidence in his Noble Phantasm, but that servantfrom the beginning of this battle it was clear that there was no guaranty for victory.
With a gasp the blackened shape of his enemy steps forward.
No, he is holding himself up by his sword.
Assassin survived Gae Bolg but.
But the prize he paid is a terrible one.
The entire left side is simply gone.
The mechanical arm together with his handcannon is no more, torn apart from the shoulder downwards, the left leg is a torn mess of burned flesh and there is a big hole on the left side of his torso that is leaking large quantities of blood.
His single eye remains but blood is running down is face, making his face even more frightening.
It is a wonder that he can still stand.
No, it is a wonder that he has not died yet but those wounds will kill him soon enough.
Something moves.
Lancers eyes track the movement.
Something on Assassins back is moving. For a second Cu Cullainn can clearly see the outline of something that looks like dog coiling itself around the black swordsman.
With a loud noise the something from assassins back covers his entire face.
Blood spurts out of his armor.
The scream that follows is one of murderous fury.
He should not be able to move.
He should be dead.
So why is it that this Servant is coming at him, swinging that giant sword of his as if nothing happened?
The armor, his noble phantasm is his armor.
The realization comes too late.
He wants to dodge, to deflect, to do something at least but he can not.
His strength is spent.
He has lost.
With a sickening sound the sword cuts him open from his shoulder down to his hip.
A fatal blow.
Even as he falls Lancer takes a look at his enemy one more time.
No, that guy does not feel like an assassin at all.
Berserker class would fit that guy perfectly.
Still there is something he has to say to his crazed opponent.
Hey, not bad slowpoke, how about we meet again in the next grail war!
He is fading fast now but that is okay. He gained what he wished for. Dying for such a battle, thats okay with Lancer.
It was his wish after all.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
His enemy is gone.
The armor has left him even weaker than before.
And he is dying.
Again.
He wants to laugh at the absurdity of it all but right now it hurts to even breathe.
This is pathetic.
He cant even raise his goddamn sword. He cant even move anything below his neck.
His wounds are serious.
Fatal even.
He knows he is dying. He can feel himself growing cold by the second.
How can this shit get any worse ?
Sacrifice. Sacrifice. Sacrifice. Sacrifice. Die for us. Sacrifice. Sacrifice. Sacrifice. Sacrifice.
Thats a good answer.
God must really hate him for killing his angels.
He is dying in a pool of his own blood and those fucking spirits still come after him.
But damn it all he wants to live.
He wants to continue swinging that sword around like an idiot that does not know anything else.
Get the HELL away from me you freaks.
A single one closes in on him. It advances slowly, coming closer and closer to his head.
If only he could move his hand, If only he could move anything but his head, if only
Realization sets in.
The moment the spirit comes close enough he acts.
His head moves like snake.
His teeth close around the ghost.
With a soft moan it dies.
It feels as if someone had thrown a bucket of cold water unto him. Icy cold and slick like oil.
Whatever it is he can feel it race through his body. Right into the wound on his torso.
The pain lessens.
His mouth twists into a grin.
Well, looks like you guys have some use after all.
They are closing in on him now.
Come on you freaks, Dinner is served.
Death will not come for him tonight.
