Just a little something.
Ride a Comet
ôYou really aren't what I expected,ö comments the black and purple phantom.
Facing her, at the gate of a Japanese-style temple is a short man in a jumpsuit, carrying a helmet under his arm. His hair is cropped short; he seems out of place in such a traditional setting.
ôI am Servant Rider,ö he says.
ôAs am I,ö replies the woman.
He chuckles.
ôThere can only be one, I suppose. Fake Rider is probably a better description for me.ö
Rider nods and brings out her chains.
ôI am sorry, but I cannot offer you a good fight. However, I have something much more attractive to one such as you.ö
The purple devil smirks, ôAnd what might that be?ö
ôA race. Here to Hokkaido and back.ö
ôThat's a long distance.ö
ôI didn't want some sort of ten-second race. If another Servant comes along, I'm pretty much dead meat. I'd like to do something fulfilling. You understand the need for speed, don't you?ö
Rider nods, as she can feel the excitement of having the wind flow over her skin and whip through her hair.
ôI agree. Are there any provisions for fighting during this race?ö
ôBe my guest. I love a good dogfight.ö
Rider stabs her own neck, and the blood forms into a pegasus of pure white. Fake Rider puts on his helmet and an aircraft comes through a red portal. It is a massive white plane with two engines large enough to hide a body. It's fin flashes were red stars.
ôAn interesting choice. What are you, Fake Rider?ö
ôI embody the MiG, a series of Russian fighter planes whose initials have been burned into the minds of all Western pilots. I'll go at you in my fastest incarnation, the MiG-25. You must be Medusa, Rider.ö
She nods as he climbs into the cockpit.
He holds up three fingers.
Three...
Two...
One...
GO!
And they shoot off, a pair of shooting stars. Sound is like a snail to them.
ôYou're a fast one,ö murmurs Fake Rider.
The real one hears his words crackle as if from a radio.
ôCan you go faster?ö asks Rider, leaning closer to the shining mount.
Massive shock cones erupt as the afterburners roar. This is his answer.
Rider smirks and urges her mount.
The Foxbat goes near vertical, climbing rapidly. This is the MiG-25's natural domain, flying at the edge of space. The stars are even more beautiful than before. Below is the shining star of Rider and her pegasus.
The airplane shifts in mid-flight to becomes the very similar MiG-31 Firefox.
The beautiful form of the pegasus is a mere blip on the radar.
Click.
A weight drops from the aircraft.
Whoosh!
A normal missile would not be able to harm servants, but this is no normal missile. It is a missile born of Cold War paranoia and rumors of Soviet superscience.
It streaks like a meteor.
Reins of the Heroic Cavalry bring the otherwise kind beast into a warlike mood.
The horse and Rider ram through the missile, their power overpowering it.
Beep.
Click.
Whoosh!
Another missile. Another dodge. She is coming in to ram him
With a maneuver that should rip any plane apart, he turns it around. A motor accelerates a barrel. The speed of the weapon needs no modification, but its projectiles are now able to deal harm to a Servant.
As the weapon spins up, Rider comes into his sights, intent on ramming him. Her form is so beautiful, as is the form of her mount. He opens fire.
At its maximum rate, a single shot is fired in less than 1/144 of a second. He has only a second. 166 rounds beautiful in their rotating forms spew. Glittering brass drops into the air, the cases disappearing as they return into the magic from whence they come
The rounds wound the flank of the beast. One even whips through Rider's hair. Rider's chain strikes, tearing into a wing. The plane dives with the real Rider hot on its tail.
He can't even see her from the cockpit, but he wishes so much that he could.
The white streak is catching up. The afterburners are pushed further. By now, they are over five times the speed of sound, nearing ten times.
He sees it on his radar. Fighters are scrambled to intercept both himself and Rider. These Firefoxes and Fulcrums and F-15Js are incapable of anything more than eating their exhaust. But they will have borne witness to something special that they will never see again.
Now, they have pushed past Mach 10. The plane glows red with the friction of the air. There lies Hokkaido. Time to turn back. The form of the plane shifts once more, to that of the agile MiG-17. He turns around, even faster than when in the Foxbat. But Rider has turned on a dime and is already well ahead of him. Fresco turns to Foxbat.
The Kings of Speed race to win. The afterburners roar once more. The distant points of light that are fighters chase after them, but there is nothing they can do.
Rider ducks her mount into a storm cloud. In spite of the danger, her fake counterpart follows. Lightning crackles around them. Even a single lapse in concentration will lead to a lightning strike hitting his plane. And that will end the race right there.
Foxbat becomes Fresco, as he bobs and weaves through the lightning. The crackling power is, at some points, mere centimeters from the canopy. He pushes through the clouds and Fresco returns to Foxbat. Rider is far ahead of him. He hits the afterburner. He won't let himself lose to some horseman.
The speedometer breaks and simply spins round and round as he grows faster. They are very close to Fuyuki, neck in neck. As the nose returns to Fuyuki, it disintegrates. The plane deconstructs itself, falling to pieces, which return to the mana from whence they came. Rider passes her fake counterpart, disappearing into the prana which formed him and smiling as if to say ôEven in death, I still win.ö
She returns with a slight grin of her own. He gave his all for that one race, to soar above the clouds. And so, desiring nothing more than speed itself, he won. She, on the other hand, was burdened by her feelings for her Master. Even a fake one such as him deserves some joy, and she was happy to grant such a small pleasure. And so, Rider rode back to the Matou family mansion.
Ride a Comet
ôYou really aren't what I expected,ö comments the black and purple phantom.
Facing her, at the gate of a Japanese-style temple is a short man in a jumpsuit, carrying a helmet under his arm. His hair is cropped short; he seems out of place in such a traditional setting.
ôI am Servant Rider,ö he says.
ôAs am I,ö replies the woman.
He chuckles.
ôThere can only be one, I suppose. Fake Rider is probably a better description for me.ö
Rider nods and brings out her chains.
ôI am sorry, but I cannot offer you a good fight. However, I have something much more attractive to one such as you.ö
The purple devil smirks, ôAnd what might that be?ö
ôA race. Here to Hokkaido and back.ö
ôThat's a long distance.ö
ôI didn't want some sort of ten-second race. If another Servant comes along, I'm pretty much dead meat. I'd like to do something fulfilling. You understand the need for speed, don't you?ö
Rider nods, as she can feel the excitement of having the wind flow over her skin and whip through her hair.
ôI agree. Are there any provisions for fighting during this race?ö
ôBe my guest. I love a good dogfight.ö
Rider stabs her own neck, and the blood forms into a pegasus of pure white. Fake Rider puts on his helmet and an aircraft comes through a red portal. It is a massive white plane with two engines large enough to hide a body. It's fin flashes were red stars.
ôAn interesting choice. What are you, Fake Rider?ö
ôI embody the MiG, a series of Russian fighter planes whose initials have been burned into the minds of all Western pilots. I'll go at you in my fastest incarnation, the MiG-25. You must be Medusa, Rider.ö
She nods as he climbs into the cockpit.
He holds up three fingers.
Three...
Two...
One...
GO!
And they shoot off, a pair of shooting stars. Sound is like a snail to them.
ôYou're a fast one,ö murmurs Fake Rider.
The real one hears his words crackle as if from a radio.
ôCan you go faster?ö asks Rider, leaning closer to the shining mount.
Massive shock cones erupt as the afterburners roar. This is his answer.
Rider smirks and urges her mount.
The Foxbat goes near vertical, climbing rapidly. This is the MiG-25's natural domain, flying at the edge of space. The stars are even more beautiful than before. Below is the shining star of Rider and her pegasus.
The airplane shifts in mid-flight to becomes the very similar MiG-31 Firefox.
The beautiful form of the pegasus is a mere blip on the radar.
Click.
A weight drops from the aircraft.
Whoosh!
A normal missile would not be able to harm servants, but this is no normal missile. It is a missile born of Cold War paranoia and rumors of Soviet superscience.
It streaks like a meteor.
Reins of the Heroic Cavalry bring the otherwise kind beast into a warlike mood.
The horse and Rider ram through the missile, their power overpowering it.
Beep.
Click.
Whoosh!
Another missile. Another dodge. She is coming in to ram him
With a maneuver that should rip any plane apart, he turns it around. A motor accelerates a barrel. The speed of the weapon needs no modification, but its projectiles are now able to deal harm to a Servant.
As the weapon spins up, Rider comes into his sights, intent on ramming him. Her form is so beautiful, as is the form of her mount. He opens fire.
At its maximum rate, a single shot is fired in less than 1/144 of a second. He has only a second. 166 rounds beautiful in their rotating forms spew. Glittering brass drops into the air, the cases disappearing as they return into the magic from whence they come
The rounds wound the flank of the beast. One even whips through Rider's hair. Rider's chain strikes, tearing into a wing. The plane dives with the real Rider hot on its tail.
He can't even see her from the cockpit, but he wishes so much that he could.
The white streak is catching up. The afterburners are pushed further. By now, they are over five times the speed of sound, nearing ten times.
He sees it on his radar. Fighters are scrambled to intercept both himself and Rider. These Firefoxes and Fulcrums and F-15Js are incapable of anything more than eating their exhaust. But they will have borne witness to something special that they will never see again.
Now, they have pushed past Mach 10. The plane glows red with the friction of the air. There lies Hokkaido. Time to turn back. The form of the plane shifts once more, to that of the agile MiG-17. He turns around, even faster than when in the Foxbat. But Rider has turned on a dime and is already well ahead of him. Fresco turns to Foxbat.
The Kings of Speed race to win. The afterburners roar once more. The distant points of light that are fighters chase after them, but there is nothing they can do.
Rider ducks her mount into a storm cloud. In spite of the danger, her fake counterpart follows. Lightning crackles around them. Even a single lapse in concentration will lead to a lightning strike hitting his plane. And that will end the race right there.
Foxbat becomes Fresco, as he bobs and weaves through the lightning. The crackling power is, at some points, mere centimeters from the canopy. He pushes through the clouds and Fresco returns to Foxbat. Rider is far ahead of him. He hits the afterburner. He won't let himself lose to some horseman.
The speedometer breaks and simply spins round and round as he grows faster. They are very close to Fuyuki, neck in neck. As the nose returns to Fuyuki, it disintegrates. The plane deconstructs itself, falling to pieces, which return to the mana from whence they came. Rider passes her fake counterpart, disappearing into the prana which formed him and smiling as if to say ôEven in death, I still win.ö
She returns with a slight grin of her own. He gave his all for that one race, to soar above the clouds. And so, desiring nothing more than speed itself, he won. She, on the other hand, was burdened by her feelings for her Master. Even a fake one such as him deserves some joy, and she was happy to grant such a small pleasure. And so, Rider rode back to the Matou family mansion.
