05-13-2006, 04:31 PM
Matou Sakura stumbled and fell heavily against the closed door leading to her room. For a moment, she caught her breath against the surge of pain, then gasped in relief as it began to fade back to mere agony. The motion needed to stop leaning on the wood and twist the knob to open it sent bolts of fire screaming across every nerve of the moving muscles, as was always the case after one of her grandfather's training sessions, and she didn't even notice that the room wasn't empty until she had already staggered halfway to the bed.
Seeing her this way disturbed her brother badly, and so he never... came to her room... until she'd had a chance to recover. The surprise broke her concentration and made her stumble again, but a pair of hands - one hard and one firm, but both gentle - caught her shoulders and braced her upright before she could fall.
"Are you all right, my master?"
Her vision had tunneled badly, and all that was left was green. "F-fine."
Her rescuer hissed dissaprovingly, and stepped to one side to start helping her towards her bed. "Here," he said, in a voice that made it clear he didn't believe her in the slightest. "Why don't you lie down a bit - it should help."
Well she could have told him that. She'd done this all too many times before. When she was resting as comfortably as she'd be capable of for the next couple of hours, she turned her head on its pillow and looked at him as he stepped back respectfully.
He was tall - standing, she'd only have come up to his shoulder - and broad-shouldered, with western features, dark hair pulled back away from his face, and round little glasses. Anything else about his appearance, though, was hidden by the floor length dark green cloak that swallowed his entire form below the neck.
"Thank you," she whispered, and he smiled.
"My pleasure," he said softly. "Call me Caster."
"'Tatarusha'..." she whispered, trying to place why the word would be familiar, and then she translated it in her head and aborted an attempt at sitting up when the pain surged back to the fore. "...the War."
"Where seven Masters and seven Servants come to a distant land and contend together in a war for the one and only Holy Grail... Yes."
But that was wrong. She shouldn't be the one. "But I'm the younger child..."
He snorted. "And that means what to me? The one speaking the words doesn't matter - it's the power that does the trick, and no matter how those two wastes of flesh tried to hide it, that was yours." He turned his head slightly, and wouldn't look at her. "Besides, you deserve my service. They never could, and I'm a mage myself - I'm not so easy to compel."
Not so easy to... Her blood ran cold. He had defied her brother - defied her grandfather - and then come here, where they'd - where he'd... "You... have to go!" she hissed. "They'll come... and..."
"I won't let them lay a finger on you!" he retorted.
"Not... for my sake!" she forced out.
"What better reason could there be?"
The sound of steel on flesh, then bone, was loud to the point of being almost deafening when compared to the nearly all-encompassing stillness that had been before and came after ...
... the body limply falling to the church floor wasn't quite as loud, but it did sound more oppressive somehow ...
"... damnit, that felt weird. What the hell is ..." said the form which faded into being near the entrance, words halting as soon as it beheld the sight.
Kotomine Kirei removed the blood from his blade with a negligent flick of the wrist, sparing a momentary glance of distaste at the flecks that had settled onto his garments before returning his attention to the Servant ...
... who wasn't all that much to look at. A boy, no more than sixteen, likely less at first glance, the only unusual things about him being the white hair and red eyes which made him think of the Einzbern homunculus.
"As you can see, you are currently in need of a Master," the priest stated. "I find myself in need of a Servant. Certainly, I would be more competent than this one, hence your chance of attaining the Holy Grail would ..."
"Sorry, I don't do the choir boy thing," the Servant cut in, frowning.
Well, the sorry excuse for a Master now decorating the church floor had said something about this being a willful Servant, Kotomine thought. Not that the priest was particularly worried. He'd had a long time to prepare for this War, and experience he'd not had the last time as well.
The words of a Binding came from him with practiced smoothness ...
... only for the bond that would normally have been established between Master and Servant to futilely try and grasp at something, nearly physically slipping before it could make the connection.
"Right, like I said, not interested Paladin Anderson," the boy frowned, the Binding finally managing to catch onto something ... right as the world flashed amber and ...
... well, by the time the dust had settled enough for Kirei to be able to see, there was a semi-sized hole in the wall of the church, and a distinct lack of Servant or Command Spells on his arm.
The nonplussed priest was only knocked out of his stupor by the sound of Gilgamesh, who'd been lurking in the shadows, laughing his ass off.
"So you're to be my Master," said a woman's voice in the dark, and Tohsaka Rin snapped the book in her hand closed as she spun to face it.
Her Servant was quite a lot of very pretty woman with a metallic looking mask over her eyes and even more straight, brilliantly lavender hair sweeping down and almost hiding the fact that she was wearing... not very much leather at all, really. With the spiked daggers in her hands and the chains draping down from them, it made her look like something straight out of a rather disturbing ecchi manga. The faintly sinister smile she was wearing only made the comparison worse. "I am Servant Rider, here by your summons."
...Dammit, Rin thought.
A few minutes later, once the introductions had been made, she set a filled teacup in front of her guest and apologised. "I'm sorry for reacting the way I did a moment ago. It's no reflection on you; I'm simply... irritated with myself for missing the mark I had aimed for all these years."
"Ah," said Rider, and tried the tea. It wasn't bad, actually, either as a refreshment or a peace offering. "I'm not offended. What do you plan to do about the war?"
Her Master took a sip from her own cup. "The first step is for us to learn to work together, to come to know each other's abilities and reactions. Once that's accomplished, we'll begin to sweep through the city, looking to locate other Servants."
"An active approach, then. Using momentum, or avoiding surprise?" There was no clue in her voice what she thought of the matter.
"Both. And also, this city is my home. I've lived here all my life, and since most of our opponents will have come from far away, that will give us an advantage. The longer they have to become comfortable here, though, the smaller that will become. I mean to make the most of it."
An interesting approach to the War - to win it by making the ground on which it took place your own, rather than going directly to seize the goal. There was something old-fashioned, almost traditional about it. To be honest, it felt rather homey. She drank some more of her tea and considered the girl who had summoned her.
The latest heir to the family was a youngish woman - well, an older girl, she supposed, given the way standards seemed to've changed - with the slight build and night-of-the-new-moon hair that were so typical for this island chain and a beautifully symmetrical face that wouldn't have been typical anywhere. There was a lively intelligence and iron will behind the startlingly light eyes that set off her hair and clothes so well, and the Servant allowed herself a small bit of optimism. "All right. Where do we start?"
The subject of her regard smiled. "Names, I think. Mine is Tohsaka Rin."
She had been summoned to take part in this contest once before, and was certain that she had heard the name 'Tohsaka' attached to one of the mages responsible for setting up the entire affair. That the family had had sufficient power and skill to be involved in such a venture, then survive the years from that day to this, spoke well of their mutual chances... so long as the blood had bred true. "And I," she answered, "am Medusa."
"Sou ka," Rin said, and brought her cup up, not so much for the sake of thirst as to give herself a moment to process her thoughts. "In that case, you'd have been in the first Holy Grail War, correct? If I remember the records cor-"
The doorbell rang, and interrupted her. "Hide yourself," she told Rider, setting her drink down with enough force to rattle its saucer. "I will answer that."
"And if it is another Master? Or their Servant?" was the answer, with a strictly professional sort of concern in its speaker's voice.
The human of the two smiled coldly, and stood. "I can take care myself long enough for you to react."
Rider stood also, then bowed slightly and faded away.
Rin's heart nearly stopped in her chest when she saw who was at the door. "K...konbanwa, Senpai," stuttered her guest, who wouldn't meet her eyes. "I... need a place to stay."
Rin had always known that she had a sister. Quite aside from the family records that she'd had to master after their father passed away, her earliest memories all showed a smiling, child-sized figure omnipresent at her side...
She'd tried to reestablish contact, once, when she realized that they were attending the same middle school, but the overture had been rebuffed with what she thought, from later observation, might have been the only harsh words her sister had ever offered anyone.
She'd known even then that what she was trying to do went against every mage family's tradition, and, with contact clearly unwelcome and her studies making her more and more familiar with the genuine reasons behind most of those traditions, the attempt hadn't been repeated. Instead, she'd been content to watch from a distance, smiling at Sakura's successes and having a quiet - and, if neccessary, forceful - word with the occaisional person who thought that a shy, pretty girl must be easy prey.
The fact that that, all too often, her watching gaze had met an unreadable return from usually-gentle eyes made her think that she wasn't the only one with regrets on the matter, but with Sakura's choice made perfectly clear and the threat of her own Holy Grail War looming ever in the future, she hadn't chosen - hadn't had the courage - to try again. It had seemed like a tradgedy, but a survivable one, and she had resigned herself to the fact that it would remain that way.
Even though she knew that having her here would put her terribly at risk, since the War had already begun, her heart couldn't help but soar at having this second chance with her sister, her only family.
The moment stretched long, and then Rin smiled and stepped to one side of the doorway. "Welcome home."
Sakura let the smile grow on her face as she leaned down to pick up the bag sitting by her feet. "tadaima," she whispered as she stepped over the threshold. She knew of the mage custom of keeping only a single child from each generation - all too well given how profoundly it had affected her life - and it was a welcome surprise to see that Caster had been right about her sister's willingness to set it aside.
Rin was talking steadily as she led her into the house, pointing out this feature or that bit of family history as they went. It was actually reassuring - not so much because it was, so to speak, a visible sign of acceptance as because the way her being nervous enough to babble made it clear that this - whatever 'this' was - was as important to her sister as it was to her.
Knowing that, that the older girl still cared despite the way their parents had seperated them, was enough to make a decision for her. "Oneesan."
Rin stopped and turned, looking back at a face that - under the lighter hair and darker eyes - was all too much like her own. "Yes... Sakura-chan?"
"I... have absolutely no interest in acquiring the Holy Grail."
It was very disturbing to see the way the revelation made her eyes harden as the mind behind them suddenly switched from love and concern to the careful analysis of a threat, but Sakura bit lightly at her lower lip and forced herself to stay and meet that searching gaze squarely.
"you're not trained," Rin said softly to herself, "i'd see it. but how... have to be close... Masaka!" Her eyes widened and the calculating look dropped from her face as she stepped forward and siezed her sister's shoulders. "They tried to let Shinji use your mage circuits?!"
Involuntarily, her eyes dropped, and her body froze in place. She knew that that would be a giveaway to someone with her sister's perceptiveness and knowledge of magical theory, and something cringed inside her chest as she waited for Rin to recoil.
Sakura stiffened as she felt soft arms wrap around her shoulders and pull her close, and then the shock passed and she realized that she was crying in relief. "i'm sorry," she whispered, not quite sure what she was apologizing for. "i'm sorry i'm sorry i'm sorry..."
"Hush, Sister. It's all right. It's all right," Rin told her gently, and then she was just crying.
Eventually, rather later, she recovered her composure and sat back a little. "I'm sorry to-" she began, but Rin placed a single finger vertically across her lips to cut her off.
"You have nothing to apologize for," she told her firmly. "If anything I should be saying it, for not getting you out of that place myself."
Sakura didn't look convinced, but nodded anyway.
"Good!" she nodded, then changed the subject. "Now, why don't I show you your room and help you get squared away, and then we can be introduced to each other's Servants?"
"Each... how did... you know I was a Master?"
Rin winked. "Would you have said that about the Grail if you weren't? What I want to know is how you knew about me - did those people tell you, or...?"
"C-caster told me. We had to leave - I couldn't... let him get hurt protecting me when he didn't... have to, but I knew that the War... would follow anywhere I went. So..."
"You went somewhere it was already aimed at." The taller sister smiled as they came to the top of the stairs. "I'm pretty sure that this was actually your room when we were little, you know. Most of the house is in storage - with only me in here it's much too big, and it all wouldn't get used anyway, but I keep this one open, in case..." She snapped her mouth shut and looked away, concious of having revealed more than she meant to. "There's the guest room, too, and of course you can have any of the closed rooms if you want, but they'll take a while to air out-"
Sakura dropped her bag at the foot of the bed and turned back to where Rin was standing in the doorway and gave her a brilliant smile. "Uun! This is perfect!"
Chink. Tinkle. Ker-klunk.
"#Another?#"
Raised arm.
"#Another.#"
"Oi, two more!" a call through the thong of other patrons.
Somehow, when he'd been ordered to search the city for other Servants and their Masters, he'd not expected to end up in a situation in any way reminiscent of this one.
Slurp.
But the beer was good, and the single malt was better, and frankly it had been far too long since he'd had either to care about the inevitable fallout.
The runt was matching him drink for drink, though it probably had something to do with the fact he'd mentioned about alcohol no longer working. Not that it did much to him anymore either. Just gave him a bit of a buzz, these modern spirits did.
How could a good Irish boy get properly plastered out of his mind on this watered down piss. Admittedly, it was decently tasting watered down piss, but still ...
And why the hell was the thing the runt was nursing called an 'Irish' coffee anyway?
Eh. Times changed. Who could figure whichever way they'd go?
They drank the drinks.
"#So, go outside and try and kill one another like civilized people?#" the runt asked. It was refreshing to be able to speak in even the butchered approximation of his old tongue that this English language had become, rather than whatever it was these Nihongese used.
Cu Chullain considered, shrugged. "#Nae, night's young yet, and there's still spirits here I've not touched.#"
"#Fair enough, guv. Your turn, I think.#"
"#Aye,#" the Hound of Ulster nodded, and raised the empty mug. "Another two!"
The sound of clashing arms echoed faintly as two shapes darted about the rooftops of the commercial district of Fuyuki City.
Actually, it was more a matter of one shape darting about, while a shimmer of the air seemed to follow and sparks flew when both clashed.
Lancer landed heavily, skidding back with the momentum of the blow he'd parried, two-pronged weapon held before him as if to ward off further attack, feet digging furrows in the antennae riddled rooftop.
"Can't hit what you can't see, brat!"
He spun, his weapon arcing around as his grip shifted to the rear of the shaft and his arms windmilled it around with enough force to cut AC units and the occasional exposed pipe to bits.
Didn't seem like this guy would be willing to lay aside whatever twisted little bit of animosity he harbored for the evening. Pity. Irish had proved to be both entertaining and a veritable wellspring of information about what this so called War revolved around. True, the next time they met would likely be a lot less amiable, but one took what one could.
This one, though, looked to be playing for keeps ...
... and he had some sort of invisibility deal going.
Come on, come on.
There!
The Lancea Longini swung about in a quick and vicious arc, prongs twisting together as if alive as mana was channeled into them - an utterly unusual sensation, that, to which he far preferred the use of his Field, but inevitable in this case. He didn't know _how_ he knew what the Lance could do, only that the knowledge was there and had proved to be accurate before.
There was no time for a thrust - pity, because that would have likely ended things - but the seemingly tensed prongs slammed into the invisible shape ... which had been made less so by the dust, flecks of rust, and the mist that one of the demolished AC units was sprouting ... with enough force to send it hurtling out beyond the edge of the rooftop as they uncoiled with a shriek that could be felt to the very bones.
The shimmer of invisibility fell away, revealing the man cloaked underneath as he reeled from the impact.
That he was floating in the air was duly noted, as were the vaguely greek looking half-armor and sandals he wore. And the expression of surprise on the far-too-fresh face.
Then he was sent flying, the explosion of amber hexagons that signified a Field manifestation slapping his body out of the air and into the side of a nearby office building.
Lancer twirled the Lancea Longini once, and sprung to follow.
Unfortunately, the only thing he found a few seconds later was a mess of empty cubicles and a marked absence of a target.
He didn't know how long the disruption to whatever it was that had made the bugger invisible would last, but he was willing to bet it wouldn't be long enough.
"Another day, then," he spat at the empty room before leaping back outside.
Hopefully, he wouldn't have to deal with anymore interludes like that before he found out where or when he was.
"There's something wrong here."
"Master," a chiding voice. "You're heading into a free for all, no holds barred deathmatch for one of the most sought after items of lore and legend ... One would think that 'wrong' is sort of par for the course here."
The woman tugged on the lapels of her suit's jacket, but otherwise didn't show any signs of having heard.
Possibly something to do with the fact that talking to thin air wasn't something to be done in the middle of a small crowd.
It wasn't even the situation she'd run into on what she'd intended to be a brief reconnaissance of the more modern part of Fuyuki.
She was ... perturbed. Perturbed enough to almost not notice the sudden rain of debris coming down around a dozen or so feet away.
Reflex and excellent visual acuity had her spotting the darting shadow that first dove into, and then again out of the cloud of pulverized plaster and glass shards where something had slammed into the wall of the highrise a dozen or so floor up.
"Master? Would you like me to pursue?"
Yes, her Servant had caught it as well, plus the fact that it was apparently another Eirei doing the grasshopper imitation up there.
Bazette Fraga MacRemitz shook her head.
Whatever was going on up there, it didn't look like something it was wise to just leap into, as much confidence as she had in her Servant's skills with those blades of hers.
Normally, she wouldn't have cared and would have gone for it, but the earlier conversation with somebody she'd thought to be impartial in this ...
... she'd never been friends with Kotomine Kiriei. She didn't think the man had any friends, truth be told. But she'd been fairly sure that she knew what to expect from the man. She'd met him before after all, and liked to think she was well acquainted with him.
While the exchange of pleasantries they'd engaged in upon her visiting his Church a few hours ago hadn't been out of the ordinary for them, her instincts had been constantly on edge since just before stepping into what was supposed to be neutral ground.
Instead, the Church and Kotomine himself had seemed ... vaguely forboding.
She'd always trusted her instincts.
Which left her about as close to jumping at shadows as she'd ever been.
Not the best state of mind to enter combat in.
"Judging from the weapon, a Lancer," she heard the petite Archer state from beside her. "I couldn't see who he was fighting, though."
"Could you track him?" she whispered.
Archer's 'hmph' of offended dignity was as much of an answer as she needed.
"There was something familiar about him ... no, nevermind," the white-haired, red-coated Servant said, her face briefly creased by a frown.
"Follow him, but keep your distance. Use those eyes of yours to your advantage."
"My Master," the girlish figure tensed, then leapt, still immaterial to any but those sensitive enough to the supernatural.
Sakura blinked.
So, for that matter, did the friends she was eating lunch with. However many admirers her sweet-hearted disposition might have won, as far as they knew, the only people who knew her well enough to actually call her cell were all already present.
"Well?" one urged after the first moment's startlement. "Answer it!"
So she did. "Moshi moshi?"
"Master," said Caster's voice. "There is another Servant on the campus, besides myself and Rider. Your sister plans to confront him after the school empties for the night, and suggests that you go home via-"
"No," she cut him off. "We'll stay." She didn't have any particular interest in risking herself, and knew that she didn't have the skills to really contribute, but Caster had also made it quite clear that he had no intention of leaving her unprotected. She'd need to be somewhere safe before he'd leave her, and with the Grail War underway, 'safe' meant under the protection of a Servant. "You can't help if you're not here."
"Understood. I'll start preparing, then. Goodbye, Master."
Oh, yes. Westerners did that at the end of phone calls, didn't they. "...Goodbye," she said, and killed the connection.
Then she looked up and started to sweat. Her friends were watching so intensely! "Who," demanded several, not quite in unison, "was that?!"
Struck by a sudden wicked impulse, she smiled and returned to her lunch, and refused to answer.
Honestly, it was getting more than a little annoying.
No.
It had gone past being a little anything around the time the need to drag one's waterlogged self out of a canal occurred.
Right then, that meant little more than a pressing need to find a change of clothes, be restricted to being immaterial - which, for some reason, was seriously disconcerting for him - or settle for the imitation plugsuit he seemed to instinctively summon when under attack.
And yes, he now had enough evidence to be able to say that it was a fully instinctive reaction, sort of like trying to use his Field to deflect oncoming blows ... which for some reason didn't seem to fully work on these Servant types.
As the fact that the better part of his recently acquired - read stolen - turtleneck had been burned off from the impact of a ...
... normally, he would have said 'piece of wood', but damn if he'd ever seen a bokken cause this sort of damage. Hells, he'd still be sporting trendy second to third degree burns if it weren't for the fact that whatever means had been used to bring him and his Core here had also brought along his abilities to use most of said Core.
Unfortunately, there seemed to be some sort of limit ... which he'd discovered, quite unfortunately, during that last clash. Using his Field shouldn't have been taxing, at least not to that extent. It was like his soul was running off some sort of energy pool, and while said pool was recovering on its own, it did so much slower than what he was normally used to.
The concept was disturbing.
It also put into perspective some of the things Irish had talked about regarding this whole Servant issue.
Not the least of which being the why of several issues.
Like why he knew he could snatch a random person from the street and gobble up their very being ... alright, so he'd likely been able to do that before, what with the Field and all, but he'd never as much as tried outside of ripping the minds out of a few poor excuses for human beings. Now? There was a certain ... certainty about how exactly to get the most out of doing just that.
Also, he'd never really gotten anywhere past 'you hit the other guy with that end' where melee weapons were concerned, and here he was, suddenly waving around a polearm like there was no tomorrow.
Well, maybe not quite that well, but it was the general idea that counted.
Then there was that feeling of an empty spot in the back of his mind, which he figured had to be wherever the Master/Servant bond went ... it nagged at him. Not too badly, just ... insistently. Sort of like a bad rash in a hard to reach spot.
Adding to that the irritation of going to sleep in one place and waking up in unfamiliar circumstances with somebody starting to demand he call them Master a few days ago ...
... his mood, somewhat fortified by sharing drinks and stories with Irish, was pretty much shot again.
Well, at least the lunatic with the bokken had assumed he was dead and left. That, he supposed, had been Berserker. Seemed familiar for some reason. Tattered kimono wearing guy waving around a couple of wooden swords?
Eh. It'd come to him in time, he supposed.
More immediate concerns had to be addressed first. Like where to get a ... well, no. He'd ended up around the shopping district, or what he figured for such, again so the where of getting clothes wasn't as much of a problem as the how.
There was always the option of just going immaterial and snatching another set, like he'd done with this one, but that'd require him to wait a few hours until the shops closed.
He wasn't really in a very patient mood right then.
It could therefore be forgiven that he failed to notice the two asian gentlemen in bad suits when he stalked past them as they were having a conversation in an alley that ran along the back of ... well, it was either a brothel, a strip club, or a combination of both.
Apparently, they didn't take being interrupted well.
The feeling was altogether mutual, though, and one of them was close enough to being his size of 'runt' to make the process of letting off some excess anger be not only therapeutic, but also somewhat productive.
So you could say that the day ended on a bit of a high note.
It started very suddenly. One moment Rin was leaning against the chain-link fencing that ringed the school's roof, the next, she was grinding her cheek into the grit of its concrete. A moment later, when the brilliant bolt of light blasted a meter-wide hole through the facade she had been standing behind, she realized why Rider had knocked her down.
"An Archer?" she asked herself as she scrambled to her feet.
"No," the Servant answered. "He's mounted."
The other Rider, then. She glanced over her shoulder at her sister and the green-cloaked Servant looming behind her. "You knew?" she asked him.
"Pretty much," he shrugged. "His name's Temujin, I don't think he's been in a Grail War before. His defensive power is low and his charge isn't anything to write home about, but he's fast even for a Rider and," he gestured vaguely at the hole in the roof, "he can work at a distance."
"Can you slow him down?" Rider asked. "Pin him in place for my charge?"
Rin stepped forwards for a look at their opponent, since he seemed to be waiting for a reaction. Details were mostly lost in the distance, but the Servant was there on a shaggy-looking pony, and his Master stood beside him. She didn't need to see Caster to know he was blushing, though - he wasn't very talkative, on the whole, but that didn't make his crush on his counterpart any less obvious. "Yes. But it will cause the same problems for you."
"Then I suppose that we will simply have to do this the hard way."
"That won't give you any advantages," he warned.
"But I," she answered, "will not be alone."
He smiled. "As you wish, then. Tohsaka-sama, you can deal with his Master?"
"Hai."
Caster brought one hand up and fanned a sheaf of ofuda out, like a magician doing a card trick. "Then let's begin."
The waiting was, perhaps, the worst part. She'd been relegated to having to wait essentially since being born, so she'd just about perfected the art. Still, being so close ...
... her very being itched, and it was getting more and more difficult to resist simply throwing her Servant into the fray ...
Powerful as she knew him to be, there was something inherently off about the events she was witnessing.
Not that two Master/Servant pairs were apparently cooperating - temporary alliances were commonplace during all sorts of conflicts, not just the War.
Her eyes were keen and well trained enough that they could, with some difficulty, pierce the veil of the Caster's created territory.
What she was seeing, though ... Ilyasviel had long since learned that she could trust her instincts ... and those were telling her that there were two Rider class Servants down there.
She knew of theories, theories mind, that postulated a Servant could, under certain circumstances or with certain skills, survive in this world past the end of one of the Wars. This, so it seemed, confirmed those ... but while she did not recognize either Rider, she was moderately sure no known Servant of said class had the ability to allow that and it most certainly wasn't part of the 'parcel' of that class package either.
So she suppressed her eagerness once again, and waited.
And watched.
And planned.
The watcher should be wary, though. There exists, always, a chance that they themselves are being watched.
That they themselves are being evaluated.
Angela Orengo, Kenyan Mage's Association, leaned on her cane and tried to ignore the way this cursed yellow man's island made her arthritis flare. The troublesome child stalking across the school's lawn towards her might not have had the decency to die properly, but at least she was showing a proper appreciation for the moment.
Still. The moment had gone on long enough. "I've got no quarrel with you, girl. Hand over your reiju and it can stay that way." Not that she expected that to work, of course, but it was always cheaper to try.
"Iie, Obaasama." 'No, Grandmother,' in the local gabble, which was at least polite. What followed it, though, wasn't. "Not while I have the advantage."
Angela hissed between her teeth and snatched the cane up to clutch it in the middle. The little brat! How dare she! ">" she cried. ""
The green-cloaked Servant that had been trailing at the insolent girl's heels stepped forwards and swatted the ugly cyan mass of the curse aside with casual ease. Then he brought his hands up and flicked them through a series of bizzare contortion. "Self-reliant territory: sealed," he announced, in a voice halfway between professional and amused.
The Barrier flared up around them, an almost invisible wall of transparent, slightly luminous mist drifting from a ring of ground towards a single point somewhere far overhead. Angela took a step back and half turned to take in the source of the painful-sounding 'thump' behind her.
"A Caster, my Lady," her Servant observed, picking himself up off the ground with a glare at the one responsible. The expression on his flat, round face was terrifying. "Not to worry."
Rider evidently hadn't been anywhere near so tall or powerful as his reputation implied, making him simply a short little whipcord of a man with a long, whispy moustache and muscles like oak heartwood. The girl's Servant was taller and broader, a fact obvious even with the shrouding cloak he wore, but for the summoned spirits that made the War the thing it was, physical appearance was the least of it... and the spell-focused Caster class was weak in actual combat.
The Caster pushed up his old-fashioned round spectacles then held his hand out and beckoned. "I'm waiting, Temujin-dono."
"Think I'm a fool?" Rider retorted. "Ha!" A flare of light coalesced in his hands into a bow - for all appearances simply mundane wood and horn, but the arrow he drew, aimed, and released in the same quick motion was simply a flaring streak of pure light, blinding in the twilight gloom.
His target was already charging into it, cloak streaming out behind him as he ran, and merely brought one hand up to - almost casually - swat the missile from the air before launching a spray of coal-black throwing daggers with a flick of the other. They were dodged, of course, but bought enough time for their owner to bring the glaive that had whipped into his hands around and down in a punishing arc.
Rider twisted away from that, too, and twisted to his feet with a speed that set the laminated leather plates of his cuirass clattering against each other. "So that's the game," he said, then brought out a richly decorated sabre in a flash of mana.
Caster laughed and whipped his glaive around like a staff - which, come to that, it was about the same size as - and began to hammer at his defenses with blade and butt alike. "Part of it!" One strike was ducked under and a second crashed off of a sword interposed with free hand braced against its spine before the third fell short as their target sprang back out of reach then - warned by some honed warrior's instinct - spun and brought his sword up to catch in the crux of a pair of crossed daggers.
The Servant wielding them used the impact to flip gracefully away and land in a handstand that tumbled upright with a supple smoothness that, if Angela were to be more honest with herself than was her want, would have been the object of intolerably envy even in her younger years.
Her husband had been right, curse his rotting, philandering corpse. Defeat did taste worse than any heartburn.
So be it. That wouldn't keep her from making the slanty-eyed little slut pay for her victory.
It was the one thing that the sorcerers of the Association were trained to do above all else.
Conceal the existence and effects of Majutsu from the world at large, at any cost.
It was also one of the few things the members of the Association's various branches could agree upon.
The Church was similar in its outlook where that particular matter was concerned.
It was bad enough that they had to stand the past Wars - they'd been a stretch on their resources as well as a bit of a challenge to conceal. Not one that was considered beneficial either.
This one? Something had changed, and none of the bigwigs sitting in their comfortable safehouses and Association headquarters could figure out exactly what ... only that this War was somehow different.
That had been the extent of the knowledge even dedicated research had brought before the onset.
Now?
There were Mages from all over the world being drawn towards the battleground, yes, but in numbers hitherto unexpected. At least half again as many Servants, possibly more, and even in these opening days the damages caused were ...
... impressive.
Also, increasingly harder and harder to explain away.
Though, for the old fossils back home, there seemed to be a bit of a flip side. After all, if this War was so much more than the others had been, wouldn't the prize change to follow?
And so it was that, for the first time in centuries, the Association took a more ... hands on approach. Not that any of the branches shared this with the others, but that was pretty much a given anyway.
There were some, they already realized, who would be key pieces of this grandest of games. To control them would mean to control the outcome.
It was a shame, the particular Magi manning the high end binoculars on that shift thought, that some were a bit too well guarded.
But then, that - as all things - was subject to change.
One only needed some patience.
In the center of the bionocs' sights, the image of a young looking girl with long white hair stood, almost immobile save for the locks of said hair gently swaying with the breeze as she, too, waited.
Emiya Shirou stepped out the door of the Kyudo Club with a smile on his face. It might not have been the way he'd intended to spend his evening, but that didn't make finishing any less satisfying. Shinji hadn't seemed himself, though, like something was bothering him.
Getting him to talk about his problems was always a bi- Shirou stopped dead, train of thought cut off. There was an immense, shimmering dome over most of the school's courtyard, inside which...
There were two mages farther from him, trading levinbolts that splashed off of invisible shields in swirls of blue or black, and on the side nearer, three... people... involved in a lethal fight.
One, very obviously female and dressed in a tight, revealing costume dark enough to seem black in the poor light, dropped under a slash of the second's sword with a contortion that made him wince to watch, spreading her heels apart in a split even as she ducked almost low enough to kiss the grass. The third, tall and mostly hidden under a flaring cape that might or might not have been the same color as the woman was wearing, stepped up behind her and nearly spitted their mutual foe with a thrust from a weapon that Shirou would have called a yari, if the blade weren't too large and noticably off-center.
Sakura skidded to a halt a few meters away and braced her hands on her knees as she gasped for breath, but she had eyes only for the dual combats going on within the dome.
Shirou's eyes widened as, having looked away from the nearer fight at the sound of her footsteps, he saw something she couldn't. "SAKURA! WATCH OUT!"
She turned to look at him, then flinched as something blurred by her only a few inches from her side and banged off the blood-red spear in the hands of the tall, wolfish-looking man who had been about to strike her down from behind. A moment later there was a second blur, and the man in the cape was standing between her and her attacker. "#I think,#" he said, though Shirou didn't speak enough English to really follow the words, "#that you had better leave, Mister Setanta.#"
The spear-wielder didn't really move, but he nevertheless gave the impression of a man who had just received a very unpleasant surprise. "#And why'd you be thinkin' that, then?#"
"#Any number of reasons. Starting with the fact that I very much doubt Kotomine wants you dead just yet.#"
If that statement had been meant as negotiation, it certainly didn't work. "#Well if that's the way of it, then you can take your thoughts, aye, and himself's too, and stuff them up your self-righteous gobshite's arse!#"
There was a flurry of motion as the spearman lunged, which ended with the him folding almost in half around a kick that picked him up and knocked him tumbling. "#Fuck you, too, then,#" the other said mildly, and threw what looked for all the world like a business card at him.
Sakura gasped and paled, and then the world exploded.
Across the field, Temujin flinched when the thunderbolt when off. It was understandable - the spell's flash and report may not have been anywhere close to what a real lightning strike would have been like at that range, but compared to the relative darkness and quiet of the twilight battlefield it was no less stunning, and the brilliance did an excellent job of disabling his night vision.
Medusa hadn't actually been using her eyes to see anyway. The ring she'd thrown settled neatly around his neck, and a quick twist of the wrist tightened it and ensured it would stay there. She looped the chain around that hand once, twice, then set both hands together and yanked as hard as she could. Without a longer pull, it was only enough to stagger him, but by the time he'd come back on balance and slashed the links away, it was too late even to brace himself.
Servants were hard to kill. Their bodies were not organisms, as such, as much as - to be poetic - mere clay, guided by the apothesized spirit of a former human being and powered by the mana of their Masters. That lack of reliance on the delicate physical balances and processes of ordinary life did not, however, mean that they likewise lacked weak points. A limb whose joints, muscles, or connective tissues had been damaged or severed was still rendered unusable, the heart had as much to do with distributing mana as blood, and the soul, out of its own perceptions as much as anything else, still lived behind the eyes.
If Temujin had been able to see clearly, it wouldn't have worked.
He couldn't.
It did. One dagger scraped along the length of his saber in a spray of sparks, leverage and the momentum of her charge forcing it down and away out of his instinctive guard, and then the other was spearing forwards in her other hand and sliding all-too-easily between his ribs.
His eyes widened. "Next...time..." he forced out, before a wracking cough sent a trickle of blood from his mouth.
"Perhaps," she answered as it began to precede the rest of his body in dissolving away into the sort-lived greenish sparks of raw mana in open air. Then she slipped her blade free of his heart and glanced around at the rest of the battlefield.
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"V, did you do something foolish?"
"Yes, and it was glorious."
![[Image: happy.gif]](http://www.ezboard.com/intl/aenglish/images/emoticons/happy.gif)
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