Solenoid Flux
An Evangelion / Fate Zero Crossover Concept
Snippet #8: Casses Circumdant III / Dysconclusion
// Shinto Slums, 09:16 PM
As one, the wraiths trained their empty eye-sockets upon the Magus Killer, pausing momentarily as if to assess the prana that now dispersed from his activated circuits. Attaining a silent consensus to prioritize his termination, perhaps, they abruptly reopened their assault with a swiftness that would've caught a typical user of reinforcement flatfooted. Even at Double Accel, Kiritsugu found that he was barely avoiding injury, and several times, the creatures' skeletal fingertips left shallow gashes across his Kevlar-lined coat.
Given the simplicity of the familiars' attack patterns, though, it was unlikely that El-Melloi was personally coordinating them. More probably, responses were being automated from some anti-magi heuristic coded into the leyline field -- maybe designed to seek out the participants of the Grail War. So supposing, as long as the Command Seals that mediated Kiritsugu's own involvement in the game remained starved of prana as they presently were, the level of threat the wraiths represented could be downward-revised on the whole.
With a well-practiced motion, the Asian man chambered a large caliber bullet and closed the break-barrel of his Thompson Contender -- squeezing off the round at one of the six wraiths.
In general, forces were exerted at a fraction of their standard rate during activation of Innate Time Manipulation, but inertia was significantly higher; and it was only with instinctive application of reinforcement that Kiritsugu overcame the recoil, dodging an attack and moving toward his next position without first confirming that he'd injured his mark.
In fact, he hadn't.
The bullet ricocheted from the electromagnetic barrier that covered the wraith's skin, lodging itself within a nearby wall. Noting merely that the outcome was roughly as he'd anticipated, Kiritsugu chambered a second round and fired it wide, putting a hole into a rusted water tower on the next building over. This time, however, the strain of Double Accel reared its ugly head, and the Contender -- unintended in the first place for simultaneous deployment with Time Alter -- kicked itself from his grip and clattered to the smog-blackened cement pavement.
Right as the wraiths began to close in, a flash of pistol fire registered in Kiritsugu's peripheral vision, and a window shattered across the street. It seemed that Maiya had caught on to what he was going for, and had come through where his own efforts had failed.
"Release Alter," he quickly intoned, applying pressure to his injured wrist. "Field Enclose: Severance."
The ammunition that Kiritsugu had fired were not of his remaining Origin Bullets. They were rounds of mostly normal composition, but invested with sigils typically incorporated in bounded field construction. The Contender, whose rifling was lined with prana-conducive alloy, had been utilized merely to prime and activate the first two bullets; while Maiya had prepared a third, firing it from a similarly customized handgun. Three points formed a triangle -- and three bullets could be made to carry the smallest number of sigils necessary for the foundation of a spatial enclosure.
Emiya Kiritsugu's dual Origins -- "Severing" and "Binding" -- expressed themselves to some extent as Elements within his use of magecraft. A bounded field forged by his hand could, for example, be imbued with the property of "Severance." While the insulation inherent to a living soul made this meaningless as a countermeasure against humans and stronger familiars, a lesser thaumaturgical proxy that ventured into such a territory would be removed instantly of any ties to its original controller's will.
Sanitized of independent initiative by El-Melloi, and denied now the directives of their automation heuristics, the six wraiths could do nothing but float aimlessly within the triangular bounded field. As the disturbance in the leylines began to lift, so too did the engagement come to its conclusion.
Kiritsugu picked up and reholstered his Mystic Code, attempting to catch his breath as he engaged a healing spell to somewhat alleviate the pain that wracked his flesh. Aside from the damage to his wrist -- which would require a closer examination later -- the majority of his injuries felt to be the usual fare of burst capillaries and sprained muscles. It was sheer luck that he'd gotten off without skeletal fracturing -- but all the same, he'd be out of optimal combat condition for a day or two.
Now, more than ever, it was clear to him just how far his skills had fallen off in his nine years of peace.
"See it through to the end," he uttered to himself softly, pacing to the edge of the roof where Maiya awaited. "You forfeited any right to doubt your course the moment you committed Irisviel to sacrifice."
//
Unseen and unheard, a slight shadow that had been trailing Emiya Kiritsugu across the rooftops collapsed in the stairwell of a nearby fire escape. The bone-white mask it had borne shattered across the asphalt of the alleyway below.
"Yuba ..." it cried. "Yuma ... Where have you gone?"
// Miyama Commercial District, 09:17 PM
The flesh of a Servant was not fundamentally distinct from that of a human.
Structurally, there were tissues of assorted variants, and bones and muscles and nerves; even genetic material -- everything one might expect to find in a living mammal. The functional difference lay primarily in the processes by which the condition of the flesh was maintained -- and natural degradation beyond a certain level was ultimately mitigated by the thaumaturgical remnants of the Third Magic.
On a practical front, however, the fact that a Servant possessed a simulacrum of the flesh at all permitted that they be hurt or injured in the same manner as a human; and if their skin could be pierced by a knife, then so too could their cellular membrane be compromised by chemical agents -- especially if they were unable to astralize and purge their system thereby.
Grimacing, Lancer pulled the syringe from his side and dropped it to tiled chapel floor. Whatever it was that he'd been dosed with, it was quickly acting, and he was already beginning to feel a severe nausea. The old woman who had planted the needle -- now standing just out of range -- cackled.
"I do apologize, young man," she said in saccharine tones. "Didn't have a chance to prepare a poison specifically on your behalf. The injection you were just administered was a concentrated extract of Nux Vomica, a concoction said to have brought low the King of Conquerors himself -- the Rider of this War."
The syringe was not a Noble Phantasm; it could hardly qualify as a proper weapon. As thorough in its cowardice as its ingenuity in application, it had inflicted upon Lancer an injury far more insulting than any he had suffered before arms empowered through the mysteries. Contrasted against the majesty of crimson spiral Lance, he thought, the poison more clearly illustrated the nature of the enemy's personality. The Servant of the Mask was the antithesis of the knightly code -- the embodiment of everything that Lancer despised in one entity.
"A- assassin ..." he hissed, supporting his shaking frame with the Gae Buidhe.
One by one, the folk of the congregation donned bone-white, skeletal masks, and their bodies seemed to lose focus within Lancer's vision -- resolving again moments later, transfigured as midnight-clad creatures of assorted shape. Soon, the old woman alone retained the appearance of a commoner. Holding a mask before her breast, she smiled.
"Truly flattering that I would be subject to the attentions of such a beautiful young man," she said, "but I'm afraid I'll have to take my leave of you tonight. The stage has been set for the show to begin, and all that remains is for the other actors to arrive."
Stage? Actors?
"What nonsense are you speaking of, Assassin!?"
The woman's only response was to bring the bone mask to her face, and along with her compatriots, her body dissipated into black dust. Almost the moment of their exit, a new presence -- that of a human -- entered from behind the chapel. Expecting yet another act of treachery, Lancer turned -- and found himself meeting the empty gaze of the young priest that he had just "killed." The man's countenance didn't perceptibly change as Lancer tremblingly leveled the blade of Gae Buidhe at his throat.
"You won't be able to harm me with that, Lancer. You can barely even hold it properly."
"You haven't the presence of a Master," said Lancer, breathing roughly. "Are you yet another Faker?"
//
The pair of divine bulls that drew the Gordius Wheel charged through the double doors of the chapel, shattering them to splinters. Via Expugnatio -- the trampling attack that Rider had used to crush through the bounded field -- left a trail of destroyed church benches and broken tiles in its wake, crackling with arcane energies. When the chariot finally ground to a halt, a dark-haired effeminate boy peered fearfully over the side from behind Rider's cape.
"The ... the King of Conquerors ..." Lancer managed to say, gaping at the indiscreet display.
"Hah! My title precedes me, then!" bellowed the large man in a jolly voice. "Indeed, you now breathe the same air as Iskander, conqueror of Persia and the Orient!"
Lancer, however, had already astralized; and a syringe's worth of odorless clear fluid fell to the floor where he'd been standing. The still-settling debris kept Rider from taking specific note of the splash, but he did sense the abrupt departure.
"Strange," he said. "He didn't strike me as a coward."
"R- Rider~!" whined the boy at his side -- his Master, Waver Velvet. "Why did you just charge in without warning me!? We couldn't even tell what was going on in here, what with that bounded field obscuring the view!"
Rider looked at the boy and pointed a thumb at the corpse beside the pulpit.
"The unlucky fellow over there vanished from my senses awhile ago," he said. "Didn't figure that he was dead or defeated -- but it was clear that the glorious battle I'd envisioned wasn't coming to pass. I hoped to exchange words with Lancer before he left -- maybe recruit him as a general of our forces."
Waver looked at his Servant incredulously.
"R- recruit him!? He's an enemy Servant! He wouldn't listen to you!"
Rider laughed and tousled Waver's hair with meaty hand.
"At times, it takes a mortal enemy to truly appreciate the measure of your worth," he said. "In Sparta, it's said that the greatest love can exist only between two men who see each other across a battlefield for the first time, and comprehend immediately that they're destined to cross blades."
Waver shuddered, and said under his breath, "There's something terribly creepy about that statement."
The young Asian priest, who had been looking on, approached the side of the chariot.
"If I may intrude," he said. "My name is Kotomine Kirei, son of the Overseer of this War. I am -- was -- the Master of Assassin, and I thank you for intervening on my behalf. Were it not for your actions, Lancer might have executed me."
A Master's presence was relatively fainter than that of a Servant, and through the walls of the bounded field, Waver hadn't noticed that there was anyone else in the church besides Lancer and Assassin. Kotomine Kirei, however, had been present -- and he now possessed none of the odic signature that indicated an active set of Command Seals. It was probable that the Grail had stripped him of his participation in the War once Assassin had been eliminated.
"Ah ... it was nothing," replied Waver. "Lancer shouldn't have been going after defeated Masters. But just to be safe, you should probably take refuge in the Sanctuary."
"I shall do so," the priest replied, bowing his head.
There was a certain crestfallen emptiness in Kotomine's eyes that inclined Waver to believe that he'd had a lot riding on Assassin's victory -- and in defeat, he had the look of a man who had lost faith in almost everything. Politely receiving the priest's valedictions, Waver watched him leave the building with a sympathetic frown. Was this what defeat in the Grail War entailed? A complete loss of hope?
Rider, however, considered Kotomine's departing figure with narrowed eyes.
"Rubs me the wrong way, that one does," he said. "And Lancer didn't look to be the type to go about threatening people for no reason ...
// Shinto Slums, 09:16 PM
'Three,' counted Kariya, grasping at the breast of his sweat-stained hoodie with a grimace. 'A pigeon, a wraith, and some sort of demonic creature. It feels like there's a fourth somewhere, but I can't pinpoint it.'
Wincing slightly, he parsed an update from the familiar he'd left at the hotel.
'Seems as if Tohsaka had the same idea that I did ...'
//
Berserker's movements were not those of a fighter, but by Saber's estimation, he did possess a raw, untrained talent in acrobatics. Thrown bodily by her initial slash to a distance of maybe fifteen cubits, he again pounced forward, flipping in mid-air to throw his feet down against her defenses. Saber brought her blade to a parallel with the street just above her shoulder, blocking the attack.
The Servant of Rage bounded away and began to circle predatorily, glaring at her with red, glowing eyes as he sought a weakness in her defense.
The armor that Berserker wore was very strange, thought Saber. Its color, which may have been black or purple, was obscured by a dark fog that seemed to possess the same defensive properties as the Boundary of the Wind King; and the metal plating had parted from her strike apparently unscathed. Mystical properties aside, though, the general cast of the armor wasn't anything she was familiar with, and she could see no practical use in the long shafts attached at the shoulders. According to the knowledge supplied by the Grail, the horned headgear somewhat resembled the helmets worn by the warriors of this eastern nation in centuries past -- but the appearance was off enough that Saber couldn't conclude equivalence.
There must be some clue to discern his identity, Saber thought. Berserker was short of stature -- only her height, roughly -- but he was capable of matching or exceeding her in strength, speed, and endurance. That alone suggested that he might have been a hero of the Age of Divinities -- or a fellow practitioner of the Prana Burst. If the latter were true, perhaps she could provoke him to more clearly demonstrate the technique.
Investing her prana within Invisible Air, she activated its secondary form -- the Hammer of the Wind King. Her blade glowed momentarily with golden light as she raised it above her head, and a chaotic torrent of wind spiraled about it.
"Strike Air!" she shouted, aiming at Berserker as she brought her weapon down.
A tempest of highly pressurized air rushed forth from her blade, streaming toward the dark Servant with lethal potency. Rather than dodging aside or merely defending, however, Berserker swung his hand in a claw-like motion -- releasing a colorless distortion that met the Strike Air and blew past it before dissipating. The enemy Master met Saber's eyes and smirked.
It wasn't a wind-based attack. Saber thought at first that she was correct in her assessment that Berserker was a user of the Prana Burst -- but while there had been odic energy present within the distortion, it was in quantities too minute to warrant the disruption of the Strike Air. It felt almost as if Gaia itself had moved to cancel her attack.
"A nature spirit?" asked Irisviel from beside the automobile, some distance behind her.
Releasing an inhuman roar, Berserker began a rapid advance -- leaping and deflecting from a wall to come at Saber from an angle. Saber had adequately reconstituted her sheath of air to defend, but wasn't quick enough to block a kick against her forearms. Though her gauntlet somewhat diffused the blow, she was forced within cubits of Irisviel. Falling back further was not an option.
In a defensive capacity, Invisible Air was free to vary to a number of different configurations. Steadying the construct with the hilt of her blade, Saber poured her energy into it, forcing it to extend into a flat barrier, perpendicular to the ground.
Berserker, however, had already defeated Invisible Air once. Crashing against the field of wind, he planted his fingers into it, palms opposed. To Saber's horror, the tips slowly sank through, tainting the barrier at the points of contact with a black mist that somehow interfered with structural integrity. Applying a colossal force, Berserker began to pull his hands apart -- and as if the Boundary of the Wind King had been woven of so much cloth, it simply tore apart.
It was only the second night of the War -- and Saber's first engagement -- but her primary Noble Phantasm, the Sword of Promised Victory, had already been exposed.
"Berserker!" shouted the enemy Master. "Back! We're up against the King of Knights!"
No Command Seal was expended, but Berserker broke away on his Master's order. It surprised Saber that the black knight's loyalty was strong enough a feature of his character to permeate Mad Enhancement -- but she wouldn't look a gift horse in the mouth. Using the breather to reorder her defenses, she studied her opponent anew.
Irisviel's judgment was probably not entirely erroneous. Twice, Berserker had demonstrated that he could cancel high thaumaturgical phenomenon at will -- and he did so without the use of a visible Noble Phantasm or a reasonably large expenditure of prana. As far as Saber knew, full divinities or nature spirits couldn't be summoned as Servants of the Grail -- and that rather increased the chances that the dark Servant was some sort of demigod.
Within her mind, Saber's course was clear.
Though Irisviel had counseled her against exhibiting the full attributes of their trump so early in the War, Saber had nothing else within her immediate arsenal that could readily slay a demigod. Full activation at her present levels of energy might consume her unto unconsciousness, but she'd vowed to herself to defend Irisviel at all costs.
Readying the divine sword, Saber summoned the majority of her available resources and primed her attack.
"EX ..."
Eyes focused beneath the enemy's horned mask.
"-CALIBUR---!!"
A searing, concentrated beam of brilliant white light fired forth from Saber's small frame, consuming all that would stand within her way. For all of its resemblance to a weapon of science fiction, this was not a power that had emerged from the bowels of human understanding, crafted by unveiling the world's truths. This was an embodiment of sheer fantasy -- the distilled essence of humanity's prayers, framed by an unknowable, ironic hand.
This was the crystallization of the wishes of mankind -- the beautiful light of destruction.
Saber was barely conscious upon the conclusion of the attack, drained and panting. Debris littered about the now-molten asphalt before her had caught aflame in the beam, lighting the smoke that filled the street in a hellish red cast. Something, however, caught her eye, and she found herself gaping.
Maybe thirty cubits before her, cloaked in a growingly chaotic swirl of black fog, Berserker glared at her completely unscathed -- poised before his relative unharmed Master. Those red, glowing eyes that weighed her soul could not be human, Saber thought -- they were the eyes of a demon out of hell.
"Wh- ... what manner of creature are you?" she whispered unsteadily.
The Master of Berserker, who had been coughing violently, spit out a quantity of blood.
"We're done for the night, Berserker," he said hoarsely. "Withdraw."
Obediently, the black knight crouched and took his Master into a fireman's hold. Giving Saber and Irisviel one last look, he bounded to the roof of an undamaged three-story building and vanished from view. The Servant of the Sword permitted herself to collapse only when the black knight's presence left her awareness entirely.
//
With a hazy, unfocused consciousness, Arturia found herself staring up into the worried face of a beautiful woman, who was shouting something that she couldn't hear.
"You shouldn't fear for my health, Guinevere," she replied, closing her eyes. "The sovereign monarch is an ideal -- and ideals can never bleed ..."
//
The white wire-frame hound deposited Saber in the back seat of the Honda, and Irisviel cancelled her dynamic transmutation, coiling the material back into her sleeves. She exhaled, brushing aside a stray hair from the girl's forehead.
Kiritsugu regarded the small Servant merely as a tool, and for the ends that he desired, he had deemed her a necessary sacrifice. Saber, too, hoped merely to be deployed as a weapon, and cared little if she was killed in the process. Both sentiments were things that Irisviel could comprehend, but deep within her heart, she hid a secret that she dared not voice to those around her:
Her understanding of the necessity of another's sacrifice was purely intellectual.
If it were for the sake of Kiritsugu or his dream, she would gladly give her own life without a second thought. Whether this was because she was ultimately a homunculus, Irisviel didn't know, but self-sacrifice wasn't something she had a problem with. The idea of Kiritsugu or Saber being injured on her account, on the other hand, was totally and completely abhorrent to her. She didn't want to see it happen -- didn't want to think about it.
And yet, it was happening before her eyes.
Before the War, she'd resolved to keep to herself her feelings on the matter, supporting Kiritsugu and Saber in their pursuits as wholeheartedly as she could. It occurred to her now that she might have overestimated her own strength -- and vastly underestimated the threat the War posed to her loved ones. This first engagement could've easily ended Saber, and even now, the girl was suffering.
No, Irisviel decided. She wouldn't stand aside and allow Kiritsugu and Saber to fight alone. It was true that her alchemy was unsuited for combat, but there had to be a way for her to apply herself -- to protect those she held dear.
Footsteps broke the relative silence of the street, and Irisviel became aware that a strong, Servant-like presence had manifested behind her. Charging her wires, she turned.
Twenty meters from the car, a short figure in silver plate armor regarded her silently. The look of the equipment was similar enough to Berserker's that Irisviel momentarily thought he'd returned -- but the new Servant lacked the strange shoulder-shafts and the demonic mask. Instead, aside from a pair of glass-lensed indentations on either side of the head, the helmet was entirely smooth and featureless -- polished to a shine.
The style of the armor seemed vaguely European to Irisviel, but the Servant's weapon was a different matter altogether. Within his hands, he held a black-bladed katana with a hilt that resembled something mechanical.
There was a faint noise that sounded like a radio communication from the Servant's helmet, but Irisviel was too far away to make out the speech. The Servant's reply, however, was clear.
"Yes, Mother," he said.
//
The 8th Servant of the War ... (?)
FALSE SABER (?) // V17 b-005
master: "mother"
gender: Male
attribute: Lawful Neutral
strength: B
endurance: C
agility: A
mana: C
luck: F-
Description:
An unknown interloper clad in silver armor.
Skills:
Independent Action (?) - Rank EX: Indefinite or permanent manifestation at no requisite prana cost.
Territory Creation - Rank B: Construction of a mobile spatial quarantine that rejects foreign phenomenon. As it is constantly active, it doubles as Magic Resistance.
Information Erasure (?) - Rank D: Servant parameters and attributes are invisible to a Master's Perspective
Battle Continuation - Rank A: Capable of combat while bearing potentially deadly injuries; will remain alive so long as lethal incapacitation does not occur.
Disengage - Rank D: Capacity to break from combat. Rapid restoration of status when removed from combat situations.
Clairvoyance - Rank D: Non-visual detection of objects and presences at ranges up to 2 km.
Vitrification - Rank C: A serene state of mind, which nullifies mental interference of equivalent rank.
Noble Phantasms:
<a href='http://imageshack.us/photo/my-images/694/unit01.jpg/' target='_blank' rel='nofollow'>Maglock Katana</a> (Prototype)
rank: -
type: Anti-Unit
A highly durable carbon composite katana with a hilt of nonstandard design. When provided energy from the metallic ports on the Servant's hands, the blade is capable of vibration at super-sonic frequencies for improved cutting power. Equivalent to a B-Rank Noble Phantasm.
P-06 Standard (x2)
rank: -
type: Anti-Unit
A pair of pistol-like weapons that electromagnetically discharge large-caliber rounds at supersonic speeds. Not a Noble Phantasm.
//
Master/Magus Statuses
Emiya Kiritsugu: Injured
Tohsaka Tokiomi: Active
Kotomine Kirei: Retired (Active)
Waver Velvet: Active
Matou Kariya: Injured / Prana-Depleted
Uryuu Ryuunosuke: Active
Sola-Ui Nuada-Re Sophia-Ri: Active
"Mother": Active
Kayneth Archibald El-Melloi: Eliminated
Irisviel von Einzbern: Missing
Servant Statuses
Saber: Prana-Depleted / Missing
Archer: Active
Assassin: Active (78 of 80)
Rider: Active
Berserker: Injured / Recovery Hibernation
Caster: Active
Lancer: Injured
False Saber: Active
Current Master-Servant Pairs
Emiya Kiritsugu // Saber
Tohsaka Tokiomi // Archer
Kotomine Kirei // Assassin
Waver Velvet // Rider
Matou Kariya // Berserker
Uryuu Ryuunosuke // Caster
Sola-Ui Nuada-Re Sophia-Ri // Lancer
"Mother" // False Saber
An Evangelion / Fate Zero Crossover Concept
Snippet #8: Casses Circumdant III / Dysconclusion
// Shinto Slums, 09:16 PM
As one, the wraiths trained their empty eye-sockets upon the Magus Killer, pausing momentarily as if to assess the prana that now dispersed from his activated circuits. Attaining a silent consensus to prioritize his termination, perhaps, they abruptly reopened their assault with a swiftness that would've caught a typical user of reinforcement flatfooted. Even at Double Accel, Kiritsugu found that he was barely avoiding injury, and several times, the creatures' skeletal fingertips left shallow gashes across his Kevlar-lined coat.
Given the simplicity of the familiars' attack patterns, though, it was unlikely that El-Melloi was personally coordinating them. More probably, responses were being automated from some anti-magi heuristic coded into the leyline field -- maybe designed to seek out the participants of the Grail War. So supposing, as long as the Command Seals that mediated Kiritsugu's own involvement in the game remained starved of prana as they presently were, the level of threat the wraiths represented could be downward-revised on the whole.
With a well-practiced motion, the Asian man chambered a large caliber bullet and closed the break-barrel of his Thompson Contender -- squeezing off the round at one of the six wraiths.
In general, forces were exerted at a fraction of their standard rate during activation of Innate Time Manipulation, but inertia was significantly higher; and it was only with instinctive application of reinforcement that Kiritsugu overcame the recoil, dodging an attack and moving toward his next position without first confirming that he'd injured his mark.
In fact, he hadn't.
The bullet ricocheted from the electromagnetic barrier that covered the wraith's skin, lodging itself within a nearby wall. Noting merely that the outcome was roughly as he'd anticipated, Kiritsugu chambered a second round and fired it wide, putting a hole into a rusted water tower on the next building over. This time, however, the strain of Double Accel reared its ugly head, and the Contender -- unintended in the first place for simultaneous deployment with Time Alter -- kicked itself from his grip and clattered to the smog-blackened cement pavement.
Right as the wraiths began to close in, a flash of pistol fire registered in Kiritsugu's peripheral vision, and a window shattered across the street. It seemed that Maiya had caught on to what he was going for, and had come through where his own efforts had failed.
"Release Alter," he quickly intoned, applying pressure to his injured wrist. "Field Enclose: Severance."
The ammunition that Kiritsugu had fired were not of his remaining Origin Bullets. They were rounds of mostly normal composition, but invested with sigils typically incorporated in bounded field construction. The Contender, whose rifling was lined with prana-conducive alloy, had been utilized merely to prime and activate the first two bullets; while Maiya had prepared a third, firing it from a similarly customized handgun. Three points formed a triangle -- and three bullets could be made to carry the smallest number of sigils necessary for the foundation of a spatial enclosure.
Emiya Kiritsugu's dual Origins -- "Severing" and "Binding" -- expressed themselves to some extent as Elements within his use of magecraft. A bounded field forged by his hand could, for example, be imbued with the property of "Severance." While the insulation inherent to a living soul made this meaningless as a countermeasure against humans and stronger familiars, a lesser thaumaturgical proxy that ventured into such a territory would be removed instantly of any ties to its original controller's will.
Sanitized of independent initiative by El-Melloi, and denied now the directives of their automation heuristics, the six wraiths could do nothing but float aimlessly within the triangular bounded field. As the disturbance in the leylines began to lift, so too did the engagement come to its conclusion.
Kiritsugu picked up and reholstered his Mystic Code, attempting to catch his breath as he engaged a healing spell to somewhat alleviate the pain that wracked his flesh. Aside from the damage to his wrist -- which would require a closer examination later -- the majority of his injuries felt to be the usual fare of burst capillaries and sprained muscles. It was sheer luck that he'd gotten off without skeletal fracturing -- but all the same, he'd be out of optimal combat condition for a day or two.
Now, more than ever, it was clear to him just how far his skills had fallen off in his nine years of peace.
"See it through to the end," he uttered to himself softly, pacing to the edge of the roof where Maiya awaited. "You forfeited any right to doubt your course the moment you committed Irisviel to sacrifice."
//
Unseen and unheard, a slight shadow that had been trailing Emiya Kiritsugu across the rooftops collapsed in the stairwell of a nearby fire escape. The bone-white mask it had borne shattered across the asphalt of the alleyway below.
"Yuba ..." it cried. "Yuma ... Where have you gone?"
// Miyama Commercial District, 09:17 PM
The flesh of a Servant was not fundamentally distinct from that of a human.
Structurally, there were tissues of assorted variants, and bones and muscles and nerves; even genetic material -- everything one might expect to find in a living mammal. The functional difference lay primarily in the processes by which the condition of the flesh was maintained -- and natural degradation beyond a certain level was ultimately mitigated by the thaumaturgical remnants of the Third Magic.
On a practical front, however, the fact that a Servant possessed a simulacrum of the flesh at all permitted that they be hurt or injured in the same manner as a human; and if their skin could be pierced by a knife, then so too could their cellular membrane be compromised by chemical agents -- especially if they were unable to astralize and purge their system thereby.
Grimacing, Lancer pulled the syringe from his side and dropped it to tiled chapel floor. Whatever it was that he'd been dosed with, it was quickly acting, and he was already beginning to feel a severe nausea. The old woman who had planted the needle -- now standing just out of range -- cackled.
"I do apologize, young man," she said in saccharine tones. "Didn't have a chance to prepare a poison specifically on your behalf. The injection you were just administered was a concentrated extract of Nux Vomica, a concoction said to have brought low the King of Conquerors himself -- the Rider of this War."
The syringe was not a Noble Phantasm; it could hardly qualify as a proper weapon. As thorough in its cowardice as its ingenuity in application, it had inflicted upon Lancer an injury far more insulting than any he had suffered before arms empowered through the mysteries. Contrasted against the majesty of crimson spiral Lance, he thought, the poison more clearly illustrated the nature of the enemy's personality. The Servant of the Mask was the antithesis of the knightly code -- the embodiment of everything that Lancer despised in one entity.
"A- assassin ..." he hissed, supporting his shaking frame with the Gae Buidhe.
One by one, the folk of the congregation donned bone-white, skeletal masks, and their bodies seemed to lose focus within Lancer's vision -- resolving again moments later, transfigured as midnight-clad creatures of assorted shape. Soon, the old woman alone retained the appearance of a commoner. Holding a mask before her breast, she smiled.
"Truly flattering that I would be subject to the attentions of such a beautiful young man," she said, "but I'm afraid I'll have to take my leave of you tonight. The stage has been set for the show to begin, and all that remains is for the other actors to arrive."
Stage? Actors?
"What nonsense are you speaking of, Assassin!?"
The woman's only response was to bring the bone mask to her face, and along with her compatriots, her body dissipated into black dust. Almost the moment of their exit, a new presence -- that of a human -- entered from behind the chapel. Expecting yet another act of treachery, Lancer turned -- and found himself meeting the empty gaze of the young priest that he had just "killed." The man's countenance didn't perceptibly change as Lancer tremblingly leveled the blade of Gae Buidhe at his throat.
"You won't be able to harm me with that, Lancer. You can barely even hold it properly."
"You haven't the presence of a Master," said Lancer, breathing roughly. "Are you yet another Faker?"
//
The pair of divine bulls that drew the Gordius Wheel charged through the double doors of the chapel, shattering them to splinters. Via Expugnatio -- the trampling attack that Rider had used to crush through the bounded field -- left a trail of destroyed church benches and broken tiles in its wake, crackling with arcane energies. When the chariot finally ground to a halt, a dark-haired effeminate boy peered fearfully over the side from behind Rider's cape.
"The ... the King of Conquerors ..." Lancer managed to say, gaping at the indiscreet display.
"Hah! My title precedes me, then!" bellowed the large man in a jolly voice. "Indeed, you now breathe the same air as Iskander, conqueror of Persia and the Orient!"
Lancer, however, had already astralized; and a syringe's worth of odorless clear fluid fell to the floor where he'd been standing. The still-settling debris kept Rider from taking specific note of the splash, but he did sense the abrupt departure.
"Strange," he said. "He didn't strike me as a coward."
"R- Rider~!" whined the boy at his side -- his Master, Waver Velvet. "Why did you just charge in without warning me!? We couldn't even tell what was going on in here, what with that bounded field obscuring the view!"
Rider looked at the boy and pointed a thumb at the corpse beside the pulpit.
"The unlucky fellow over there vanished from my senses awhile ago," he said. "Didn't figure that he was dead or defeated -- but it was clear that the glorious battle I'd envisioned wasn't coming to pass. I hoped to exchange words with Lancer before he left -- maybe recruit him as a general of our forces."
Waver looked at his Servant incredulously.
"R- recruit him!? He's an enemy Servant! He wouldn't listen to you!"
Rider laughed and tousled Waver's hair with meaty hand.
"At times, it takes a mortal enemy to truly appreciate the measure of your worth," he said. "In Sparta, it's said that the greatest love can exist only between two men who see each other across a battlefield for the first time, and comprehend immediately that they're destined to cross blades."
Waver shuddered, and said under his breath, "There's something terribly creepy about that statement."
The young Asian priest, who had been looking on, approached the side of the chariot.
"If I may intrude," he said. "My name is Kotomine Kirei, son of the Overseer of this War. I am -- was -- the Master of Assassin, and I thank you for intervening on my behalf. Were it not for your actions, Lancer might have executed me."
A Master's presence was relatively fainter than that of a Servant, and through the walls of the bounded field, Waver hadn't noticed that there was anyone else in the church besides Lancer and Assassin. Kotomine Kirei, however, had been present -- and he now possessed none of the odic signature that indicated an active set of Command Seals. It was probable that the Grail had stripped him of his participation in the War once Assassin had been eliminated.
"Ah ... it was nothing," replied Waver. "Lancer shouldn't have been going after defeated Masters. But just to be safe, you should probably take refuge in the Sanctuary."
"I shall do so," the priest replied, bowing his head.
There was a certain crestfallen emptiness in Kotomine's eyes that inclined Waver to believe that he'd had a lot riding on Assassin's victory -- and in defeat, he had the look of a man who had lost faith in almost everything. Politely receiving the priest's valedictions, Waver watched him leave the building with a sympathetic frown. Was this what defeat in the Grail War entailed? A complete loss of hope?
Rider, however, considered Kotomine's departing figure with narrowed eyes.
"Rubs me the wrong way, that one does," he said. "And Lancer didn't look to be the type to go about threatening people for no reason ...
// Shinto Slums, 09:16 PM
'Three,' counted Kariya, grasping at the breast of his sweat-stained hoodie with a grimace. 'A pigeon, a wraith, and some sort of demonic creature. It feels like there's a fourth somewhere, but I can't pinpoint it.'
Wincing slightly, he parsed an update from the familiar he'd left at the hotel.
'Seems as if Tohsaka had the same idea that I did ...'
//
Berserker's movements were not those of a fighter, but by Saber's estimation, he did possess a raw, untrained talent in acrobatics. Thrown bodily by her initial slash to a distance of maybe fifteen cubits, he again pounced forward, flipping in mid-air to throw his feet down against her defenses. Saber brought her blade to a parallel with the street just above her shoulder, blocking the attack.
The Servant of Rage bounded away and began to circle predatorily, glaring at her with red, glowing eyes as he sought a weakness in her defense.
The armor that Berserker wore was very strange, thought Saber. Its color, which may have been black or purple, was obscured by a dark fog that seemed to possess the same defensive properties as the Boundary of the Wind King; and the metal plating had parted from her strike apparently unscathed. Mystical properties aside, though, the general cast of the armor wasn't anything she was familiar with, and she could see no practical use in the long shafts attached at the shoulders. According to the knowledge supplied by the Grail, the horned headgear somewhat resembled the helmets worn by the warriors of this eastern nation in centuries past -- but the appearance was off enough that Saber couldn't conclude equivalence.
There must be some clue to discern his identity, Saber thought. Berserker was short of stature -- only her height, roughly -- but he was capable of matching or exceeding her in strength, speed, and endurance. That alone suggested that he might have been a hero of the Age of Divinities -- or a fellow practitioner of the Prana Burst. If the latter were true, perhaps she could provoke him to more clearly demonstrate the technique.
Investing her prana within Invisible Air, she activated its secondary form -- the Hammer of the Wind King. Her blade glowed momentarily with golden light as she raised it above her head, and a chaotic torrent of wind spiraled about it.
"Strike Air!" she shouted, aiming at Berserker as she brought her weapon down.
A tempest of highly pressurized air rushed forth from her blade, streaming toward the dark Servant with lethal potency. Rather than dodging aside or merely defending, however, Berserker swung his hand in a claw-like motion -- releasing a colorless distortion that met the Strike Air and blew past it before dissipating. The enemy Master met Saber's eyes and smirked.
It wasn't a wind-based attack. Saber thought at first that she was correct in her assessment that Berserker was a user of the Prana Burst -- but while there had been odic energy present within the distortion, it was in quantities too minute to warrant the disruption of the Strike Air. It felt almost as if Gaia itself had moved to cancel her attack.
"A nature spirit?" asked Irisviel from beside the automobile, some distance behind her.
Releasing an inhuman roar, Berserker began a rapid advance -- leaping and deflecting from a wall to come at Saber from an angle. Saber had adequately reconstituted her sheath of air to defend, but wasn't quick enough to block a kick against her forearms. Though her gauntlet somewhat diffused the blow, she was forced within cubits of Irisviel. Falling back further was not an option.
In a defensive capacity, Invisible Air was free to vary to a number of different configurations. Steadying the construct with the hilt of her blade, Saber poured her energy into it, forcing it to extend into a flat barrier, perpendicular to the ground.
Berserker, however, had already defeated Invisible Air once. Crashing against the field of wind, he planted his fingers into it, palms opposed. To Saber's horror, the tips slowly sank through, tainting the barrier at the points of contact with a black mist that somehow interfered with structural integrity. Applying a colossal force, Berserker began to pull his hands apart -- and as if the Boundary of the Wind King had been woven of so much cloth, it simply tore apart.
It was only the second night of the War -- and Saber's first engagement -- but her primary Noble Phantasm, the Sword of Promised Victory, had already been exposed.
"Berserker!" shouted the enemy Master. "Back! We're up against the King of Knights!"
No Command Seal was expended, but Berserker broke away on his Master's order. It surprised Saber that the black knight's loyalty was strong enough a feature of his character to permeate Mad Enhancement -- but she wouldn't look a gift horse in the mouth. Using the breather to reorder her defenses, she studied her opponent anew.
Irisviel's judgment was probably not entirely erroneous. Twice, Berserker had demonstrated that he could cancel high thaumaturgical phenomenon at will -- and he did so without the use of a visible Noble Phantasm or a reasonably large expenditure of prana. As far as Saber knew, full divinities or nature spirits couldn't be summoned as Servants of the Grail -- and that rather increased the chances that the dark Servant was some sort of demigod.
Within her mind, Saber's course was clear.
Though Irisviel had counseled her against exhibiting the full attributes of their trump so early in the War, Saber had nothing else within her immediate arsenal that could readily slay a demigod. Full activation at her present levels of energy might consume her unto unconsciousness, but she'd vowed to herself to defend Irisviel at all costs.
Readying the divine sword, Saber summoned the majority of her available resources and primed her attack.
"EX ..."
Eyes focused beneath the enemy's horned mask.
"-CALIBUR---!!"
A searing, concentrated beam of brilliant white light fired forth from Saber's small frame, consuming all that would stand within her way. For all of its resemblance to a weapon of science fiction, this was not a power that had emerged from the bowels of human understanding, crafted by unveiling the world's truths. This was an embodiment of sheer fantasy -- the distilled essence of humanity's prayers, framed by an unknowable, ironic hand.
This was the crystallization of the wishes of mankind -- the beautiful light of destruction.
Saber was barely conscious upon the conclusion of the attack, drained and panting. Debris littered about the now-molten asphalt before her had caught aflame in the beam, lighting the smoke that filled the street in a hellish red cast. Something, however, caught her eye, and she found herself gaping.
Maybe thirty cubits before her, cloaked in a growingly chaotic swirl of black fog, Berserker glared at her completely unscathed -- poised before his relative unharmed Master. Those red, glowing eyes that weighed her soul could not be human, Saber thought -- they were the eyes of a demon out of hell.
"Wh- ... what manner of creature are you?" she whispered unsteadily.
The Master of Berserker, who had been coughing violently, spit out a quantity of blood.
"We're done for the night, Berserker," he said hoarsely. "Withdraw."
Obediently, the black knight crouched and took his Master into a fireman's hold. Giving Saber and Irisviel one last look, he bounded to the roof of an undamaged three-story building and vanished from view. The Servant of the Sword permitted herself to collapse only when the black knight's presence left her awareness entirely.
//
With a hazy, unfocused consciousness, Arturia found herself staring up into the worried face of a beautiful woman, who was shouting something that she couldn't hear.
"You shouldn't fear for my health, Guinevere," she replied, closing her eyes. "The sovereign monarch is an ideal -- and ideals can never bleed ..."
//
The white wire-frame hound deposited Saber in the back seat of the Honda, and Irisviel cancelled her dynamic transmutation, coiling the material back into her sleeves. She exhaled, brushing aside a stray hair from the girl's forehead.
Kiritsugu regarded the small Servant merely as a tool, and for the ends that he desired, he had deemed her a necessary sacrifice. Saber, too, hoped merely to be deployed as a weapon, and cared little if she was killed in the process. Both sentiments were things that Irisviel could comprehend, but deep within her heart, she hid a secret that she dared not voice to those around her:
Her understanding of the necessity of another's sacrifice was purely intellectual.
If it were for the sake of Kiritsugu or his dream, she would gladly give her own life without a second thought. Whether this was because she was ultimately a homunculus, Irisviel didn't know, but self-sacrifice wasn't something she had a problem with. The idea of Kiritsugu or Saber being injured on her account, on the other hand, was totally and completely abhorrent to her. She didn't want to see it happen -- didn't want to think about it.
And yet, it was happening before her eyes.
Before the War, she'd resolved to keep to herself her feelings on the matter, supporting Kiritsugu and Saber in their pursuits as wholeheartedly as she could. It occurred to her now that she might have overestimated her own strength -- and vastly underestimated the threat the War posed to her loved ones. This first engagement could've easily ended Saber, and even now, the girl was suffering.
No, Irisviel decided. She wouldn't stand aside and allow Kiritsugu and Saber to fight alone. It was true that her alchemy was unsuited for combat, but there had to be a way for her to apply herself -- to protect those she held dear.
Footsteps broke the relative silence of the street, and Irisviel became aware that a strong, Servant-like presence had manifested behind her. Charging her wires, she turned.
Twenty meters from the car, a short figure in silver plate armor regarded her silently. The look of the equipment was similar enough to Berserker's that Irisviel momentarily thought he'd returned -- but the new Servant lacked the strange shoulder-shafts and the demonic mask. Instead, aside from a pair of glass-lensed indentations on either side of the head, the helmet was entirely smooth and featureless -- polished to a shine.
The style of the armor seemed vaguely European to Irisviel, but the Servant's weapon was a different matter altogether. Within his hands, he held a black-bladed katana with a hilt that resembled something mechanical.
There was a faint noise that sounded like a radio communication from the Servant's helmet, but Irisviel was too far away to make out the speech. The Servant's reply, however, was clear.
"Yes, Mother," he said.
//
The 8th Servant of the War ... (?)
FALSE SABER (?) // V17 b-005
master: "mother"
gender: Male
attribute: Lawful Neutral
strength: B
endurance: C
agility: A
mana: C
luck: F-
Description:
An unknown interloper clad in silver armor.
Skills:
Independent Action (?) - Rank EX: Indefinite or permanent manifestation at no requisite prana cost.
Territory Creation - Rank B: Construction of a mobile spatial quarantine that rejects foreign phenomenon. As it is constantly active, it doubles as Magic Resistance.
Information Erasure (?) - Rank D: Servant parameters and attributes are invisible to a Master's Perspective
Battle Continuation - Rank A: Capable of combat while bearing potentially deadly injuries; will remain alive so long as lethal incapacitation does not occur.
Disengage - Rank D: Capacity to break from combat. Rapid restoration of status when removed from combat situations.
Clairvoyance - Rank D: Non-visual detection of objects and presences at ranges up to 2 km.
Vitrification - Rank C: A serene state of mind, which nullifies mental interference of equivalent rank.
Noble Phantasms:
<a href='http://imageshack.us/photo/my-images/694/unit01.jpg/' target='_blank' rel='nofollow'>Maglock Katana</a> (Prototype)
rank: -
type: Anti-Unit
A highly durable carbon composite katana with a hilt of nonstandard design. When provided energy from the metallic ports on the Servant's hands, the blade is capable of vibration at super-sonic frequencies for improved cutting power. Equivalent to a B-Rank Noble Phantasm.
P-06 Standard (x2)
rank: -
type: Anti-Unit
A pair of pistol-like weapons that electromagnetically discharge large-caliber rounds at supersonic speeds. Not a Noble Phantasm.
//
Master/Magus Statuses
Emiya Kiritsugu: Injured
Tohsaka Tokiomi: Active
Kotomine Kirei: Retired (Active)
Waver Velvet: Active
Matou Kariya: Injured / Prana-Depleted
Uryuu Ryuunosuke: Active
Sola-Ui Nuada-Re Sophia-Ri: Active
"Mother": Active
Kayneth Archibald El-Melloi: Eliminated
Irisviel von Einzbern: Missing
Servant Statuses
Saber: Prana-Depleted / Missing
Archer: Active
Assassin: Active (78 of 80)
Rider: Active
Berserker: Injured / Recovery Hibernation
Caster: Active
Lancer: Injured
False Saber: Active
Current Master-Servant Pairs
Emiya Kiritsugu // Saber
Tohsaka Tokiomi // Archer
Kotomine Kirei // Assassin
Waver Velvet // Rider
Matou Kariya // Berserker
Uryuu Ryuunosuke // Caster
Sola-Ui Nuada-Re Sophia-Ri // Lancer
"Mother" // False Saber