Fate/Shattered Gospel

"A neutral party shouldn't be showing such favoritism, Father," Shinobu said, winking, "But I'll welcome you to my fan club any time."

The urgency in Archer's retreat, however, made it clear that they could no longer linger, the bandaged girl following in the footsteps of her Servant as the two of them dove into the crowds once more, mixing with other tourists. Their job was done, but this was the first day. It was simply…reasonable that other pairs would be arriving soon, and without the shroud of Espionage keeping Mary beneath the notice of others, things were going to get rowdy soon.

Well, unless this was an opportunity to engage in talks of alliances and all.

The wheels of the suitcase clicked against the rise and fall of stonework as Shinobu leaned against Mary, listening to her instructions, nodding, before breaking off to join a small group of Chinese tourists who were exiting the building. Cerulean eyes scanned the plaza while she separated from her Servant, but nothing stood out for now. No one that smelled like a well-bred magus. No one whose eyes were as unfeeling as one.

"Mary, maintain your direction. Enjoy the view the view, check the time, and meet me at Crêperie du Cloître up the street," Shinobu said, under her breath, "I'm hungry, and we need a better crowd."
 
SUN WUKONG
​
Like an electric shock, everything came flooding into the Monkey King. He could actually sense the presence of another servant.

Wildfire spread throughout his veins, and a delighted grin crossed his face. It was as-if he was just given what he had been wanting, since he had been summoned, by the gods themselves. Grinning up at the towering Notre Dame, he wondered if, just maybe, this god had something to do with it.

What happened next occurred in a flash and flare. What stood in the commonly clothed Wukong's place now stood a golden-armored warrior, equipped with a ornately decorated staff. The surge of movement, and the strangeness of the scene brought many eyes on him from the crowd, only causing his excitement to exponentially increase.

"Alright! I was wondering when this would happen!" Wukong shouted, his voice boomed above the subdued din of the crowd. Many of the crowd were already dispersing, but many more were still stuck to their spots, watching the absolute weirdness that was occurring.

Raising Ruyi Jingu Bang aloft, Wukong glanced around at his unlikely 'fans'. While what he was doing was definitely out of practice for any servant or master that was of a reasonable persuasion, even so much that Wukong could admit it, he was intent on sending a message and making an impact.

Paris, Sun Wukong has entered the building.

Looking up at his raised staff, Wukong allowed a small chuckle before bringing the Noble Phantasm back down towards the ground.

It achieved the effect Wukong was hoping for.

With a deafening crack, Ruyi Jingu Bang slammed into the cobblestone. The effect was more akin to a minor earthquake, than it was to a staff hitting the ground.

Dirt around Wukong, and debris from the destroyed cobblestone, erupted into the air. People soon found themselves scrambling on the ground, knocked over by the surprising force that just struck. Screams rang out as remaining crowd started to panic and attempt to leave.

To Sun Wukong's surprise, he couldn't sense the servant like he could at first. Causing his previous grin to turn into a deep frown. Had the servant fled with the rest of the crowd? Was he too impressive?

"Hey, hey, hey, hey!" Sun Wukong boomed out, the dust and debris still settling around him. Glancing around quickly for anything that even remotely looked like a servant, he couldn't see from the combination dust and fleeing civilians. "This is a war! How do you expect to win a war if you won't even fight!" Wukong's tone changed from anger, to more of a disappointed and lecturing tone now. Had his potential opponent really fled at the drop of his staff?

Sighing, Wukong continued to glance around his surroundings, trying to listen for anything, or see anything out of the ordinary. Unfortunately, his self-caused havoc had came back to bite him in this regard.
 
Marianne​

"Copy. This won't take long, Miss Kazanari." Archer kept her eye forward and her voice even, calmly brushing her way through the crowd as she drifted away from her Master. Mary finally felt at ease, even as the pressure of her nearby adversary grew more and more intense. Every meter put between herself and her Master was another guarantee of the girl's safety. Without a human to protect she was free to draw the battle away and maneuver without concern. Their surroundings guaranteed that she could not use explosives, but for an Archer, preventing her projectiles from striking the innocent would be a trivial task. She lowered her chin, shoving her hands into her pockets as she disappeared into the people waiting around the Notre Dame.

The Servant's appeal to subtlety was made irrelevant almost immediately. A flash lit in her peripheral vision, and in unison with dozens around her her head jerked up to see the cause. While the quieted tourists stared with mixtures of awe and confusion the girl's face stiffened. Her soldier's mind registered the weapon in his hands immediately. This was an enemy. This was a Servant. He raised his weapon to the sky, and something instinctive fired within her. What were the reasons that a Servant would produce their weaponry before a crowd? Before the neutral ground? No hypothesis provided her comfort. Her mind abandoned reasoning and justification, focusing its lone, burning eye on the golden warrior before her. She could stop this. Her hands withdrew from her shorts, one step taken forward as the Servant laughed to himself. Her boot struck hard on the concrete, propelling her forward as the staff began to fall. The earth shook as his weapon tore apart the ground, the cobblestones at his feet warping as easily as if he'd slapped water. Rubble hissed through the air around her, joined by frantic screams from terrified onlookers. Brownish dust filled the air immediately. Archer checked an item from her list, low-observability had been accomplished without her intervention. Alone in the smoke, surrounded by scurrying shapes of dazed onlookers, she pressed on. The rumble of the battered ground, the thud of her own driven footfalls, the throb of her climbing heart rate... A melody centuries old. That rhythm was battle, the beat that defined her existence.

The War Song of the Rhine Army

Her arm fanned ahead of her, left hand brushing over the myriad armaments of Liberty as it flung to her side. One hilt called to her purpose, not merely to victory but to her ruse as well. An open hilt, simple pins driven through weathered wood, the distinctive forward swept pommel of the kilij. Mary's fingers seized around it, calling its memory to her side. The Servant's mana poured across the weapon, anchoring it in reality. She ripped it from the ether, the elegantly curved blade glinting in the smoke-diffused light from above. The Mameluke sabre, encountered in Egypt and loved by a certain Corsican general, a weapon that became a standard blade and a ceremonial piece in militaries the world over. It looked enough like a scimitar for her.

"How do you expect to win a war if you won't even fight!"

Her only answer was her last footfall on the path to confrontation. Until that point she had taken stock. The number of CCTV cameras watching them, the time it would take the nearby security forces to arrive, the direction in which she would lead their skirmish... All fell away, replaced by memories from afar. Her horse had fallen away. The sand clawed through her frayed uniform. Her sword sung in her hands. A silver crescent pierced through the smoke, the razor tip of Archer's sabre leading the way as her silhouette darkened within the dust, exploding from the eddying clouds as she charged the enemy. A single green eye bared down on Wukong in the darkness, a verdant flame behind the beautiful steel she raised up. Her leading foot landed. Her stance was bladed, her side facing forward as she lead in with her left hand. The sabre flickered as it turned, plunging in a hooked path towards the Lancer's head. She held no hope of piercing armor under her own strength. Nothing but lethal force could capture a Servant's attention.


Walter Moen​

Something around them changed. He felt it, he felt it even more keenly when his Servant did. It was a sensation entirely different from his mundane sense of danger. His Servant's tension was immediately apparent to the Master, and seeing the stalwart Berserker affected in any way was a humbling experience. Anything that could give a Servant pause meant incomparable danger for a human, he was certain, and the terrifying words the Berserker offered him afterwards did little to help. Walter felt his stomach sink as the warrior put his worries to form. The moment his servant would lose himself. It at once defined what made him afraid in crystal clear language... and confirmed his suspicions that there would indeed be no restraining a Berserker no matter how amicable they appeared at first. There was no politeness that could save him from that fact, but hadn't he already steeled himself for that?

"I do," He said. It was best laid simply. "But I'm already wrapped up in this. We've got enough people to fight without me trying to fight your nature too. If an opportunity for a fight arises, I don't see a problem with taking it... Well, they might think we're rude for starting before checking in with the Overseer, but if you didn't already notice I don't expect most of the other Masters are looking for a fair, straight fight in any way. Can't blame 'em either, I sure wasn't asked so I don't figure they were, and there aren't too many people who harbor fantasies of being thrust into a battle to the death." He wasn't sure at all about that last part, especially with the bodycounts that previous Holy Grail Wars apparently had. No matter how much he distrusted them he wanted to think of his opponents as reasonable people, and that was the sole hope he couldn't disallow himself.

But Berserker hadn't eased up even after his first statement. In turn, the tension refused to leave Walter as well. What else was there? He watched with rising terror as his Servant announced the presence of others. So that was what he was feeling. More importantly, he could see the intensity rising within the warrior, the primal rage of his class building up and beseeching that terribly powerful form for release. Walter felt his mouth twitch towards a nervous smile. Berserker was good for his word, right? He held his last minute doubts in check, pinning the unsteady bundle of his feelings with the last, hoarse affirmation the hulking man let out: That he would remain himself. For a time. Walter dared to turn his head away, looking to the skyline for darting shapes and flashing lights. He saw nothing, and focused himself. Through the roar of automobile engines and noisy people on their way through life he did not hear the clang of steel weaponry or the sinister blasts of war magecraft. They weren't under attack, yet a Servant was near enough for a Berserker to sense? Something was already amiss, or perhaps the Berserker knew not his capacities as a Servant. That wasn't something that struck him as impossible, but not a concern he was about to voice.

"Alright... Thank you. Let's hurry for Notre Dame and hope they're not coming with us for the time being. See if you can't figure out a direction by then, because we'll come back for them afterwards." It had suddenly become so easy to talk high and mighty. A small part of him sincerely hoped the intervening Servant wasn't in the direction of Notre Dame, or worse yet, blocking their way to the church. With his legs tightening involuntarily he forced himself to move, leading onward towards uncertainty.
 
It was misfortunate, truly, the events that had occurred.

Who knew, after all, that there was a Servant audacious enough to attack indiscriminately, in broad daylight, with hundreds of witnesses around? Who knew, after all, that there was a Servant mind-blowingly idiotic enough to announce their present without even confirming the location of their enemy? Who knew, after all, that there was a Master that would allow that to happen to begin with?

And who could have known that the cobblestone terrain that the golden staff had struck was so fragile?

Indeed, the explosion of dirt and stone wasn't merely on par with a minor earthquake, but with that of a fragmentary grenade, a deafening crack that sent fragments of the plaza flying not only vertically, but also horizontally. Wide-eyed, Shinobu had dove down, using her own suitcase as cover as bits of stone slammed into the makeshift shield. Others were less fortunate, bystanders sent flying from the initial shockwave, or keeling over from the baseball-sized shrapnel that slammed into them. There were screams, yes, but they were not only of fear and panic.

A young man, watching his friends become swallowed up in the retreating crowd, his own broken leg making it impossible to follow.


An elderly woman, unconscious, blood making her wrinkled skin even more pale than normal.


A child, his spilled ice cream the least of his worries.

Shinobu crawled up onto her feet, her Servant responding even without a command, blade dancing towards the golden staff-wielder. The suitcase fell off to the side, as she rushed towards the child, ignoring her own injuries, the leg that limped even now, before lifting him up onto her back. A warm wetness soaked into her clothing, while a sickly sweetness invaded her senses, but Shinobu ignored it all. This little hardship meant nothing to her. She cracked open her own bones for the sake of magecraft. Just carrying an injured child out of the battlefield was enough!

"C'mon c'mon c'mon!" Teeth grit, Shinobu stumbled away, each ensuing shockwave from the fight causing her to pitch forward. She wasn't that strong, and the child wasn't that small, but her knees didn't buckle, and the young Master continued to push on. Explosions explosions explosions. She hoped that Mary didn't have to pull out a gun for this. Hoped that it could be drawn away from the Church. That the fight could remain inconclusive, to the extent that there was no need to use any disgustingly powerful Noble Phantasm.

Another explosion in the form of exchanged blows, and her knees finally gave in, falling forwards only to headbutt a wall of rock-hard flesh. Bouncing back, Shinobu landed on her butt, before looking up at what she just ran into.

She froze.

An overpowering presence. A mind-devouring violence. Hidden poorly beneath a poncho, the Servant's extravagantly foreign appearance loomed, all tattoos and rings. And beside the looming presence stood another, sharp-eyed, completely aware of what they were walking towards. A red brand seared into the back of his hand.

Her eyes widened, surprise and fear marked in turn, before Shinobu shook it off once more. Not now. She could still use this.

"Y-you…" she began shakily, before clearing her throat, coughing out a bloody gob, "Help! Police, ambulance, can you call? I-I don't know how to stop the bleeding! There was an explosion and everyone just fell over and no one else is trying to help people who can't walk and justcarryhimtothehospitalI'llgrabmoreifIcanbutIcan'tevenfindmyfriendpleasedon'tdieholyshitttttt!"
 
"You adapt well, Master," the Servant said as Walter finished speaking. There was a certain reverence in his voice, as some of the building tension left for the moment. The young man had seemed flighty to the warrior. He had seen the look in his eyes many times before, in the jungles of his homeland. The scared young man worried he'd never see his family or his home again as he went to battle the coming morning. But that initial impression of his partner had quickly ebbed away. That tension and anxiety was there, but there was a resolve that was stronger than both qualities. That it was noticable enough for a Berserker class Servant to notice was a feat in of itself. "Faced with certain death men will act unpredictably to avoid it. In most cases," the Servant said after a moment's thought. Walter kept repeating the location of Notre Dame. The name meant nothing to the Servant, but he was provided a rough idea of it thanks to his properties as a Heroic Spirit. Either way, they were to meet a priest, and where else to meet a priest than a Church? The Berserker allowed himself a moment to focus on that, to stave off the fire in his belly that screamed to become an inferno as battle loomed ever closer. He had told his Master he would remain himself, and he was determined to be true to his word, no matter what spiritual or magical impetus demanded of him otherwise.

But then something happened.

The growing sounds of battle had been forced to the back of his mind. There was no need to sense where rival Servants were, the rising storm made it obvious enough where they could be found. Tlahuicole felt impact as he continued onwards, akin to a pebble against a wall for how solid his form was. There was a feminine sound, the sound of a young female in distress, and the massive Servant looked downwards to meet the eyes of the young woman he had apparently bumped into. It seemed fate cosnpired against the warrior losing himself at this juncture, as his Master and this new distraction both did a good job keeping his mind away from the battle so close, the battle that his spirit screamed to partake in, but his honor bond with his Master screamed back to deny.

But he could ignore it for only so long. He could fight what he was as a reborn spirit for only so long.

As the young woman seemed to panic, to flail and yell, the Servant made no move to help her or to respond to her pleas. Blood marked her, marked the child in her arms. The scent of copepr made his nostrils flare, his brow wrinkle. Already civlians were being harmed? Before the most wild, the most chaotic class took to the field no less. He felt momentarily disgusted. In life, the hero of the people he was, he would have jumped head long to this child's aid, but he held himself back for the moment. He kept himself together.

Battle. Battle. Battle. The children are hurt. Bring war.

"Master," Tlahuicole said to Walter, urging him to pay attention to the girl, before he did and made this situation even worse. Though it had been a single word, the plea in his voice was obvious, the angry tone that of an enraged man who had witnessed an injustice and desired vengeance in turn. "Orders."
 
Sun Wukong​




'There'

Wukong saw his enemy lance forth from the dust, like a green-tipped arrow, as beautiful and majestic as it was dangerous. Thankfully, Wukong was able to see the approach she was taking, and readied himself.

Raising his staff in one hand, protecting the right side of his body, especially his head. Maneuvering himself to his back left foot, he blocked the body of the sword, preventing a strike that would of curved into his unprotected head. The heaviness of Ruyi Jingu Bang more than easily stopped the strike, hardly budging under the highly-dexterous strike. The speed in which Wukong was able to answer the strike was surprising, but what was even more surprising was the lack of a counter-strike, or a attempt to follow-up.

For a moment, Wukong got a good look at this fragile beauty before him. Less servant, more human. The only thing physical that seemed to set her apart was a sort of patch over her eye. A wound? Or maybe even a Noble Phantasm? Wukong would have to ask. Wuong allowed himself a small smirk, as he kicked with his right foot, launching himself backwards. Fragile as she looked, there was an aura of deadliness about her. Something brutal and unforgiving as it was subtle and reserved.

With space between them now, Wukong twirled Ruyi Jingu Bang around in his right hand, "I have to admit, I wasn't expecting a Saber-class to be my first opponent. I was hoping to save that for the icing of my cake." Wukong grinned, more friendly than threatening. "But, anything to have something worthwhile happen, right? I assume a warrior like yourself has been as bored as I have, if not more." It was strange, the golden-clad warrior seemed more interested in small talk than he did in fighting at this point. The grin he possessed was even sincere, and his stance wasn't even in anything resembling combat ready.

In a moment, though, Wukong's ears twitched as he picked up the frantic yelling of humans. Glancing around, tearing his gaze from his courtly opponent, he saw wounded 'fans', some in severe distress. His grin turning to a frown, Wukong returned his gaze towards Marianne, his eyes filled with determination.

It must of been her, or maybe even his opponent's master. Wukong had made sure to judge it surely. He knew the worst he could of done was someone getting hurt by falling. He had made sure to manage his strength. What did they have to gain by hurting civilians in this way? Was Saber meaning to use their souls for mana, or some other purpose?

Suddenly, the reserved nature of Marianne became something else to Wukong. He saw through her now. She wasn't majestic, or subtle. She was sinister and uncaring. It explained why she attacked without even announcing herself, in such a lethal way.

The tactics, the garb, the weapon. It made sense to Wukong now. This wasn't a servant that fought battles and wars in the way he was used to. It was a more modern way, in relation to Wukong, of fighting. Decisive, brutal, and willing to do anything.

"Raise your weapon, Saber, and be ready." Wukong gripped Ruyi Jingu Bang, his golden-mailed hands holding Ruyi Jingu Bang like they hadn't for a long time.

"Because, Sun Wukong, the Monkey King, is coming at you with everything he has!"

The shout rang out, loud enough for anyone nearby to hear clearly. Kicking himself forward with a massive force, enough to kick up a little of cobblestone and dirt, Wukong flew through the air at his opponent, his staff gripped in both hands. The strength of such a move was more than impressive, but the speed of which he moved was just as impressive.

Swinging with the right side of his body, it seemed Wukong meant to strike Marianne with a full-forced strike. Even if his strike was blocked, the resulting transfer of energy would be enough to send a normal servant flying.

It all happened in a moment, Wukong swung his staff, in a way some would attribute as a baseball player swinging a bat, meaning to strike his opponent in the chest. Of course, if he missed Wukong was ready to stick his foot out to stop himself from being flung too far away. Admittedly, the attack was so head-on, and so ill-telegraphed, that Wukong would be disappointed if the 'Saber' was unable to properly react to him. He even knew it was a bad attack. But, with his blood slightly boiling, and his eagerness, Wukong was willing to fling his entire self, literally, into one attack.
 
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The crushing blow of the golden Servant's staff made the very ground shudder beneath its might. Kelly's eyes widened as the cloud of dust and debris exploded from the source of impact, sending the surrounding crowd into chaos. The priest gritted his teeth. This was the power of a Servant, and that power had just been revealed to hundreds of bystanders, in broad daylight no less. It was difficult to tell at first how much damage had actually been done. Still, the Father knew one thing: this was the sort of catastrophe he was meant to be preventing, and he was failing miserably at it.

Seconds after the battle had begun, Kelly heard hurried footsteps behind him. Instinctively, he reached out his arm to stop the young woman who had just come bounding out of the cathedral's door. Isabella came to a halt abruptly, glaring at her superior, the man who had deemed it necessary to obstruct her action. Long, slender blades had materialized between the fingers of her clenched fists. Kelly looked at her with uncharacteristic seriousness, shaking his head.

"Iz, we've got no chance at stopping something like that with force. Our concern right now is the crowd."

Isabella nodded, the blades of the black keys dissolving.

"We need to get as many as we can into the church. Once they're in there, we can adjust their memories. Some have already scattered though. They'll be more of a problem. But for now..."

The priest ran out toward the crowd, breaking into a full sprint in an instant.

"EVERYONE INTO THE CATHEDRAL, YOU'LL BE SAFE IN THE CATHEDRAL. THERE'S BEEN AN ATTACK!"

He stabbed a finger toward the open door of Notre Dame. The priest's ordinarily relaxed demeanor had instantly hardened into a commanding presence. Still, there was no panic in his voice. After all, he was no stranger to conflict. His fellow executors could attest to that.

Isabella raced across the plaza. Kelly was doing his best to guide the crowd into the cathedral, but many were too shaken or hurt to move anywhere fast. She knelt beside and elderly woman, carefully lifting her. The small woman had a surprising abundance of strength. As she headed toward the doors of the cathedral, she murmured something. It was difficult to make out her words over the din of battle, but to the trained eye, her subtle healing magecraft might've been noticed.

The nun rushed the woman into Notre Dame, and in an instant was back out in the plaza, searching for more wounded. A young man with a broken leg was her next target. She knelt beside the panicked youth, caressing the side of his face.

"Don't worry. You're safe now."

She reached out a hand to help him to his feet and, murmuring a quiet, soothing prayer, helped him hobble toward the great cathedral. All the while, she made out Kelly's Irish accent barking over the otherworldly cacophony. For a moment, she looked back toward the clashing Servants. This was unlike anything she had ever seen before.

The majority of the crowd, at least those who hadn't set off in the opposite direction immediately, were hurrying toward the cathedral. Kelly nodded. At least it wasn't a total failure. The priest's eyes scoured the surrounding area for the Masters of either Servant. The golden Servant, who had revealed himself to be Sun Wukong, appeared to be acting on his own. Either that, or his Master was quite stealthy. The other Servant, who, though having been introduced as Assassin was now waving around a sword and being called Saber, seemed to have split from her Master as well. The bandaged young woman had run off as soon as the battle had begun.

Kelly grimaced. There was nothing much he could do to stop a battle between Servants, other than perhaps asking them politely to stop. If their Master's were present, there might be hope, but as it stood... Kelly shook his head. He had to try something. If he didn't, there was a chance others would arrive and join in on the battle, and the potential dangers of such a clash sent a chill through the priest. He approached the two Servants, keeping a respectable distance, but still standing closer than one might have recommended. With a deep breath, he called out:

"This battle is endangering bystanders. It's too public. As Overseer, I cannot sanction such a fight."

The words even tasted pointless. If the Servants were determined to fight, they would fight. The power of the Overseer went as far as desperate pleas and empty reprimands. His teeth grit together as he watched the battle before him continue.

"God damn it Albert, what've you got yourself into?"

He cursed to himself.
 
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Marianne​

Steel shrieked in resistance as her sword clashed with the gilded staff. Dust settled around the pair as the haunting ring of weaponry joined the cries of the wounded. Marianne retracted her sword immediately, the blade flipping across the back of her hand smoothly as she recovered her stance. Before the Archer could keep going the Lancer withdrew, sailing gracefully backwards and out of her range. More distance she'd won, more distance she couldn't afford to give back. She took a step forward, stopping only as the aberrant Servant began to speak. Her lip twitched as he spoke carelessly, her stoic face ignoring the sincere warmth in his words. Archer only raised her weapon. If she was to be Saber as well, so be it. "Retreat, Servant," Marianne said, her cold, brittle demand barely spoken above the chaos behind her. She couldn't see, but she heard the turmoil and her mind could fill in the blanks. There he went, chatting as if nothing had happened. The disconnect between wanton violence and his amicable demeanor eluded classification. What hero could knowingly possess complete disregard for the innocent? It was an inconsistency her intuition associated with the Berserker class of the war, but there was no heavy air of violence surrounding him. Something was grotesquely amiss, and that alone kept her from charging forward. Where was the intent to kill? Was he playing the fool? Was he just unlucky?... Were they? Part of her felt reviled that her thoughts could return such a fantastic explanation.

All at once the armored Servant appeared to realize something, his face hardening in an instant. Ah, there it is. Her own stance lowered with his, crossing her blade in front of her as she felt and heard the Monkey King's intent to strike. She wouldn't let him close the distance. Marianne surged forward, sabre flickering around her as her hand raised. The Lancer's prodigious speed overtook her expectations, the Monkey King's body streaking towards her in a gold blur of violent motion. Even without armor she could only rival his velocity, meeting him halfway. It didn't bother her, but it meant the retreat had to be secured with ranged weaponry. Her eye shifted up over Wukong's shoulder, to the sheer drop into the Seine. That would be easy enough.

His strike had the power to destroy her, there was no turning it aside with the weapon she had. There was barely time to evade, but she knew exactly how to counter such overwhelming force. Lancer cocked his shoulder back, swinging from the right as she continued to advance. Archer bowed low in a sprint, chasing his left side. She circled him as best she could, forcing his swing to chase her. As Ruyi Jingu Bang arced into her Archer reversed her grip with a flourish. Her free hand flew to the pommel of her sabre, steering the blade down and holding the weapon flush with her forearm. The fearsome staff clapped against the steel blade, the thin metal bending uncomfortably with unseemly, creaking noises from Archer's arm beneath. Her teeth grit as the shock rippled through her. The soles of her boots were worthless even on jagged cobbles, the force of the blow spun the lithe Servant towards the ground. Marianne rolled deftly over the hard ground, breaking her fall across her shoulders and springing to her feet without a moment's interruption. Even if she'd evaded the brunt of his blow the enemy Servant was simply too fast to assume he wouldn't recover in time. She had to tease out another strike, continue to fall back, acquire a firing line... Her aching arm raised the sabre one handed, drawing the point down on Wukong as her knees began to slip, her center shifting forward to carry her into-

Her heel dug into the ground, arresting her motion just out of arm's reach. The Overseer's voice reached her ears. He was nearby. The Servant actually had to look to make sure someone with knowledge of the war could be so foolish. Marianne's pose stiffened into a more formal stance, her right hand hidden squarely in the small of her back. The sword in her hand turned with a flick of her wrist, dancing in her hand before plunging down into the ground between them. A scowl tugged at her face, but there was little other choice. To continue was to make an enemy of the Overseer... Which for the time being, was the last thing she wanted for herself and her Master. "Satisfied, Sun Wukong?" Her voice was chilled. She wanted to poke and prod. Curiosity was a natural consequence of her eye for detail, and a Servant's perception laid bare any inconsistency. "Or is it going to take a Servant's blood to entertain you?"


Walter Moen​

A sliver of grit teeth shined past the man's twisting lips as face contorted. Walter had been looking straight ahead to see the flash, to watch the cloud of heavy dust kicked up in an instant. The sound of explosions reverberated on itself in the city streets, windows near the duo shuddering in their frames. Animals and car alarms sounded off with equal perseverance, raging long after the initial round of screams and gasps from the other bystanders. It sounded like one, it felt like one... but he'd seen enough bombs go off to know it didn't quite fit the bill. Maybe it was just because he was standing next to a large, angry hammer that he could only see a nail, but on some level he knew that they'd found their friendly neighborhood Servant. It still hadn't dawned on him that they were watching two at work. His hand clenched over the strap of his backpack, nausea turning his stomach as adrenaline dumped into his system. Almost by reflex his right hand pawed at his side, his elbow flexing to make sure his draw was clear. What could that Magecraft do for him here? Nothing, he already knew that. He had to command his Servant. Through no action of their own, they were part of this battle.

The sound of tiny, crashing feet didn't reach his ears. The ragged, frantic breaths of two threatened lives barely registered to him as he stood, transfixed by nothing more than a little smoke and the horrendous, clawing noises that came from within. The soft thump right beside him cut through though. The Master nearly jumped out of his skin at the sight of the little girl, reclined on the ground with a bleeding youth slung over her shoulder. It was almost a relief to see something he could do something about. The shocked man ran a hand through his brown hair, raking it back as she babbled at them. What had she just seen? Walter's demeanor changed, tightened. He could be composed while he was doing his job. The medicine man took a knee, hooking his arms around the boy on her back and laying him out on his back at once. "Sit down, little miss. You've done your part," He commanded. "EMS can't be far away." His fingers ran the checklist almost unconsciously, grazing past arteries before opening the boy's jaw and gently tugging his tongue around. Tenderly, the healer set his head down. Everything else wasn't the greatest it could have been. There wasn't anything he could do but apply a dressing. The fragmentation had to be embedded, and from the stains on his body he'd been struck squarely in the abdomen. By what? Remained the primary question, but that was beyond what he could do. His backpack called to him, but he wasn't going to be the guy drawing ritual circles on the ground when the army rolled up to stop whatever the hell was going on.

Before he could get the knife out of his pocket, Berserker's gravelly voice pulled him back to the situation at hand. He wasn't here to do his job, he was here to fight a war. His fighter needed orders. He paled slightly, taking a look back towards the battle. "Berserker... Stop them. Stop this." He shivered, pausing for a moment. "Right..." Fabric rustled as he cut a strip around the victim's body, tearing away the obstructing, sticky clothing and freeing a mostly clean band for use.

"Do you know this kid?" He asked softly, looking back up at the mostly intact girl as he performed the monotonous task of dressing and pressing. Everything had to be stable and slow, if the fragmentation was close enough to the skin anything could jostle it within its ill-gotten cavity. Had she just coughed up blood? He shot an examining look at her. The wounds that stood out had been treated long ago, wrapped in bandages. She had carried herself here under her own power, as well. "What about you? Are you injured? Try to stay focused, just talk to me or count if you like. Help is on the way."
 
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AKISE MOTOYO
​
Akise Motoyo was one to shake things up in the Holy Grail War. He wanted to achieve a lot, and in order to do so, he had to pull many strings in order to get the piece of jewel he wanted. He had not received any particular invitation to partake in the upcoming war between the seven Servants, but he knew very much about it.

That did not stop him though. Still, the man was persistent enough to twist his way in. No matter how weird the Holy Grail War may come to be, his presence, if successful in summoning a certain someone was accomplished, would make it that much more weirder. He too, was in Paris. Not so far away from the packed streets in the lovely city, and the capital of France, he was in an abandoned warehouse.

All the neccessary preparations had been made. It was time to summon her Majesty to the present, but the question was - would it be possible? Standing there, his golden eyes squinted at the sight before him. For now, the only thing inside the warehouse was the dust it had been collecting.

Thanks to a friend, he was able to use this particular warehouse for the summon. There was no need for Akise to actually tell the truth to his oblivious of a friend, nor was it neccessary. Crown Jewel at the center of the respective symbol used to summon a Servant. Finally, the soon-to-be-master began the process.

The symbol was coming to life, connecting with the Crown Jewel, and using it as a catalyst to summon someone who could only be considered a Saber class Servant - hopefully, that is. There was a good reason for why Akise chose a remote location for the summon. He did not want to attract attention from civilians and certain others out there in Paris.

It was to bright for him to see what was happening, and all he could do was to place his hand above his eyes, to keep some form of sight still intact. His golden eyes squinted ever so greatly at what was happening, but the grin plastered on his face could tell that his plan was working.

"Great!" He whispered to himself, taking a step back. "This is wonderful.."
___________________________________________
Servant | Cordelia (@Random)
Location | Paris - Abandoned Warehouse
Mentioned | None
Interactions | None​
 
The Throne of Heroes was not picky.
An automatic defence mechanism for humanity could not afford to be picky. Heroic Spirits could be made from all kinds of things.
There had been at least one instance in which it had sublimated an entire army based on their connection to one man, and another wherein had ascended a serial killer who merely did not get caught. Even Divine Spirits that were prohibited could still qualify.
In the void of timelessness, where reality and fiction mingled, an unplace of paragons, it was astounding that such a blithe system of "well, as long as it's old and kind of famous, right?" could possibly exist.
Yes, the Throne of Heroes had little concern for formalities.
No aria? No empty slot? No problem, have a Servant.
And have a Servant Akise Motoyo did.

"At thy behest."
A weary wind blew. The summoning circle froze over.
No, that was not ice.
It was not cold, it was not frozen.
Crawling crystal crept over the ground below the "bullseye" that Saber was aiming for.
Bang.
In a flash, every lightbulb in the warehouse shattered.
All that remained was the ethereal glow of mana, surrounding a figure as if she were glowing with heat.

She was not, at first, looking at Akise at all. It took a few moments of staring into the distance before she finally turned her head to look at him.
Rose-coloured eyes met his own, and that was the exact moment that the woman became visible for what she was.
Her body was in its prime, but her eyes were exhausted. The air around her felt heavy, gravity seeming to press harder with every breath she took.
On her ragged arms, she wore pure golden vambraces, and in her right hand was the sword of the Saber-class Servant.
It was clear in that instant that she was hopeless.
The Saber class's strength was supposedly the greatest of all classes, their Noble Phantasms among the most mighty of all.
That was why she was doomed.
The weapon in her hand had just been summoned, and yet already it was shattered in two.
And yet, despite that, she did not seem despondent in the least.

This woman, this Saber, this Queen held herself as firmly as steel.

The Throne of Heroes was not picky, but that was not to say it did not choose carefully. The very soul of this already weary Servant was clearly visible. Here stood a Hero.

Staring at the man before her, she spoke a single ragged word.

"Master?"
 
"By your will, Master."

There was elation in the Berserker's voice as he immediatley took a step forward, leaving Walter to tend to the two children. He felt at home, then. He recalled similar moments in his life. A comrade, a healer, left to tend to an injured young soldier while Tlahuicole strode forward to bring ruin to those who hurt his own. His first step forward cracked concrete as he put his full weight into his stride, his muscles tense and readying themselves. "If more than the fighting Servants scream, stop me," he said to his Master before he was gone in a flash. Despite his size, the sprint with which he broke into was like that of a cheetah, deftly avoiding ramming into any of the panicing onlookers and smearing them across the street with his pure bulk. The modern era passed by him in a blur. But more and more this ceased to be what Walter called it. Paris, was it? No, instead of concrete buildings passing by he could see and smell the jungles that surrounded Mexico City. The Berserker smiled as a foot crashed against pavement, cracking it as before, but this time, he used it as a launching point. Magically formed muscle tightened and then expanded as he leapt upwards.

The Servant flew through the air, the air rushing through his hair, his poncho flapping wildly. His right arm outstretched, fingers splaying open. From nothingness an explosion of blue light formed a massive macuahuitl, the Servant's thick fingers gripping the handle as he descended quickly. He could see the two Servants clearly now as he fell towards the ground. A third as well. A human.

"... Overseer, I cannot sanction such a fight." A stern voice, but understandably anxious.

"...is it going to take a Servant's blood to entertain you?" A collected, feminine voice.

He could not hear a word from the golden Servant. Maybe he'd gotten his banter in before the Berserker's appearance. Nothing could be heard in that moment though, as Tlahuicole finally arrived. Between the Overseer and the two Servants the Berseker landed like a comment. Concrete exploded as his feet hit the ground, more dust and debris flying outwards from such a bombastic entrance. A moment after landing, Tlahuicole's macuahuitl was slammed into the concrete beside him, making a show of its weight and his power as the muscles in his right arm flexed, veins bulging. The debris and dust picked up from his landing slowly dissipated, letting the two Servants see the tanned Berserker spare a long look to both of them.

"Ximocahcāhua." Stop.

He blinked. He was so fired up he slipped into Nahuatl.

"You will cease this battle," he said, his tone making it apparent there would be no negotiation. "Or I will stop both of you."

Battle. Battle. Battle. Kill. Kill. Kill. Glory in death!

His brow twitched. A sliver of himself wanted use it already. To die fighting two Servants. He could not keep his sanity in this position for long. This was the battle he longed for, no matter the circumstances. The lithe woman and the golden man, both would provide ample sport before he was returned to the ether.

End it. End it. End it!

"▂▂▃▃▂▂"

He spoke, but words did not leave his throat. An otherworldly anger made audible left his throat instead, and his entire body tensed even as he began to lose himself to what he now was. Drop your weapons you absolute fools, the rational part of Tlahuicole's mind screamed. Do not let this worsen.
 
ANNABELLE (COUNT ROLAND)
​
So far, the conversation between Saber and Josef was going well. It re-assured her mind that her Master was not concerned about summoning her. Her blue eyes squinted at the sight before her. Once again, pulling a regretful memory from her past to the surface involving Roland. However, her attention was quickly fixated on the knock at the door.

Turning in its direction, her hand was on the hilt of her sword, just to be sure. Curious and serious at the same time, her eyes followed her Master to the door. A moment later, his hands were holding a few bags, and the stranger at the door had left. Like Josef promised, he had brought clothes appropriate for a woman. "I assume these are for me?" She asked, before her eyes landed at the bag.

From what she could see, the clothes looked very different from her own time. Holding the bag, she moved to the room pointed out by her Master for her to change in. Once inside, she couldn't help but curiously, pull one set of clothes to another. "They.. They look ... Unique?"

Saber was not sure how to describe something like that. Perhaps, getting accustomed to how the world worked in this current time and age was for the best. She took her sweet time to pick something that would suit her. Once she was done deciding, and had found herself wearing something a modern woman would wear, she left the room. If anything, she looked like a business woman, or something close to it.

If anything, Saber looked like a professional, or a woman who could be selling cars or working at a law firm. But, she would have no idea what that would be exactly. Josef was already there, waiting for her, and again, with a drink in his hand. "Alright, Master, I think.. I'm done.."

Saber gave herself a simple look. "I believe it's time for us to head out?" As per her Master's wish from earlier, they were now, pretty much ready to wander the streets of Paris. Not only was Annabelle prepared to do her best in winning the Holy Grail War, but she was, deep down, curious and excited to see how much her land had changed so far. Everything she had seen thus far was from a mere window.

But then.. She became serious. Her eyes darted towards the window in the room. Wave of energy that could only be to that of a Servant could be felt in a certain direction. This could only mean a few things, but apparently, they did not require to go on an excursion in order to find another Servant no more.

There was something else happening there as well. Whoever it was, or whatever class this Servant was, he was not alone. The Holy Grail War did not wait for anyone. "Master.."

"I'm sensing a Servant not so far away from here.. I believe there is more than one Servant there."

"What would you have us do?"
___________________________________________
Master | Josef (@Sightles)
Location | Somewhere in Paris
Mentioned | None
Interactions | Josef (@Sightles)​
 
"Good grief. What a pain."

And from the cyclone arose a man. Or at least, an entity that took upon the appearance of one. In reality, a being beyond humanity, with powers beyond any ordinary man. The winds began to slowly die down when the entity made itself known to the world, and dissipated it with his outstretched arm as though swatting a fly, all the while his appearance slowly became more visible, though not completely.

The voice that met Chain was surprisingly laid-back, hardly a booming or deep voice that one might have expected from most Servants, even if the man turned out to be an Assassin-class, but alas, either way, Abraham Van Helsing was not like most other Servants. Standing upright, easily at least six feet tall and perhaps a bit more than that, the blonde man had one hand pocketed while the other was placed nonchalantly upon his own hip shortly after adjusting his own framed glasses. As he stepped out of the summoning circle, revealing more of his features to the man who had summoned him, the Assassin cleared his throat, before speaking again, a serious expression growing on his face.

"I ask of thee, are you my Master?"

Nonexistence was a tiresome experience. Of course, there was no feeling in nonexistence. That is, the mythical Throne of Heroes, where spirits such as him resided. It was only until after he had been summoned that he realized what it was like to not be conscious. To not exist. It was like waking up from a dream, a deep slumber that he never could recall when he slipped into. Helsing scratched the back of his neck as he awaited the response, not so much out of a need to relieve an itch, but rather, to feel again. The sensation of his gloved fingers scratching against his skin... Yes, this was certainly "existence" again. What a nostalgic thing... or rather, perhaps not?

His black clothing, jacket and all, blended well in the dark warehouse in which he stood. The shadows had always been among his greatest allies, and one of his most dangerous opponents. Helsing had to admit, he would have felt more comfortable outside though. Not to say that he was claustrophobic, being summoned into a place and not have immediate access to fresh air was a bit unpleasant. Where even was he now?

...

Ah, yes. Paris. Paris, Paris, Paris. Remembering where he was, recalling the knowledge instilled into him the moment he had been summoned, Helsing let out a soft breath as a small smile tugged at the corner of his lips. He had always wanted to go there, but surprisingly never did, despite his old line of work leading him to many places in life. But here he was now, if only to fight once more.

A cruel twist of fate, but perhaps one could say... That was his luck? Hmph. Considering his most powerful weapon, he wondered sometimes if he may as well have been a Lancer.

Well, such was life, either way.

@Random
 
Berserker? Explained the size, but to use a Berserker as a peacekeeper? Either Madness Enhancement wasn't nearly as mad as anticipated, or the individual before her was a much greater magus than expected.

Well, not 'great' enough to be able to ignore a girl and boy in peril, even if the sensible idea would be to vacate the area immediately and not deal with any of this garbage at all. A conscience was nothing but a shackle for a magus, after all, especially in a ritual that essentially involved human sacrifice. But at the same time…

Shinobu liked that.


"I'm fine," the young girl said quickly, getting up despite the healer's suggestion, "And I don't, but I wasn't just going to leave someone lying there! Just…keep him alive, alright? I need t-"

Another distant explosion sounded, causing her to flinch. With two Servants gathered now, one of them the infamous Berserker, Shinobu could only hope that Mary had the good sense to leave.

"I really need to go," she said quickly, fear and worry lighting up her eyes. With that, she strode off up the road, stripping off her bloodied hoodie and folding it onto itself, steps filled with a tense purpose. Berserker's Master was a good person. Lancer's Master was either too weak to control him, or a complete fucking asshole. The Father seriously deserves a vacation.

Things to keep in mind going forward.
 
AKISE MOTOYO
​
The atmosphere inside the warehouse changed significantly. The light bulbs shattered by the pressure from the summoning ritual. A form of crystal began covering the summoning symbol. Akise kept a wide smile plastered on his face during the situation unfolding before him. It was actually working, or rather, it actually worked. A loud bang and everything returned to normal.

Moments later, once the dust had settled down and it was much easier to see what was right in front of Akise - he could see a figure. His golden eyes narrowed down, focused on the person before him. From a wide smile to a curious and an ecstatic expression. There she was, a Saber class servant.

Their eyes met, but it did not take long for his Servant to speak. Yes, indeed, he was her master. Letting his hand down from his forehead, he chuckled at what he had accomplished. Oh, this Grail War was in for some twists and trickery. "Yes, indeed, Saber. I am your Master."

It did not take long before he could see her broken sword, and that alone confused him for a mere moment. "Hmmm.." He pondered at the situation before him. Running his fingers through his scarlet hair, he walked around her, but in a circle. Assessing the Servant before him, he wanted to make sure this wasn't the Grail's doing.

Stopping in his tracks, he gazed at the ceiling. His finger and thumb rubbing his chin. Thinking. "Maybe I made a mistake? Overdid it?" For a few seconds, he didn't consider the presence of his Servant. However, he quickly diverted his attention from his thoughts and to her.

"Can it return to its original shape?" A nod towards the sword to let Saber know what he was talking about.

Not giving her the time to respond, he continued. "No matter. I always do like to have the odds stacked against me." A rather sheepish chuckle escaped his lips.

"Pardon my actions, your Majesty." Akise bowed his head down with respect. Tilting it slightly up, he gazed at the royalty before him.

"My name is Akise Motoyo. You've been summoned to our day and age. Our world you may not recognize no more..."

Standing upright "But I assume you already know that... Queen Cordelia.. And why.."

Clapping his hands together to change the conversation with his Servant, and to move on, he approached the Queen.

"There is a bag of clothes in a car just outside this warehouse. Please, if you can follow me, I'll have something appropriate for you to wear when we're blending in with the others." Akise clearly referred to the humans in that regard. Done talking, he was walking towards the exit.

"By the way, we're in France, Paris."
___________________________________________
Servant | Cordelia (@Random)
Location | Paris - Abandoned Warehouse
Mentioned | None
Interactions | Queen Cordelia (@Random)​
 
Sun Wukong
​
The second wind was about to happen, Wukong was able to stop his flight, and turn to start to meet his opponent. However, the same voice that stopped his opponent, also caused him to halt. The voice had a surprising air of authority.

Looking back at the church's father, Wukong allowed a small smile. Wukong didn't see much of an issue with what was currently happening, but if a Father was to demand a stop, who was Wukong to argue. However, it was his opponent's next words that started his blood to boil.

As Wukong whipped his head back around, annoyance on his face and a sharp retort on his lips, he was once again interrupted from his opponent. A bombastic appearance, not much different than the one he made, caused him to shield his face with his arms.

Wukong could hear the voice of the apparent servant, before he ever laid eyes on the new challenger. It was deep, and purposeful. One could sense the power this individual possessed just by the way he spoke.

Wukong laid his eyes upon the new servant. A mountain of a man, his sheer girth making him much bigger than any man Wukong had taken down before. Wukong's annoyance turned to awe, for a moment, before turning to one of excitement. A toothy grin spread on the Monkey King's face.

Glancing to Marianne, before returning his gaze to the new opponent, obviously a Berserker, Wukong spoke up "Hey, Saber, I got a proposition for you. How about we continue our little match later?" Wukong shouldered Riyu Jingu Bang as he stared at Berserker, making direct eye contact, "I don't normally like to let servants off the hook, and no offense, but this guy seems a lot more fun than you." Wukong unshouldered his staff, and pointed it at Berserker. "I mean, where does this servant get off telling the Monkey King what he should do?" There was still a smirk on Wukong's face, seemingly not understanding the gravity of the current situation. Wukong even took a few steps towards Berserker, fully turning his back on a opponent that he was fighting mere seconds ago, only feet away no less. It seemed that Wukong was sincerely done with Marianne.

Piercing through the banter, and numbers of panicking civilians, was the blaring of sirens. Something that changed Wukong's slight eagerness to one more of annoyance. For a moment, it seemed Wukong's face contorted into one of concentration, before his expression turned into one of resignation. His staff lowering down until it gently touched the cobblestone.

Letting out a small sigh, Wukong waved his hand in the air as he spoke, "Well, I guess I'm letting two servants off the hook today." Wukong turned back to face the Father, "I apologize I wasn't able to finish what I started, Father. Seems like most of the trouble I caused wasn't quite worth it."

Wukong shouldered his staff once more, and boldly set about walking away from the pair he was quite ready to battle. The brazenness of being content with turning his back on his enemies and strolling away was more than readily taken as a sign of arrogance, or perhaps even a sign that he didn't seem to think the battle was one that would be as serious as one should take servant battles.



Josef Maximilian von Habsburg
​

Annabelle's sudden seriousness surprised Josef. Furrowing his eyebrows, Josef stood up and took up position next to his servant. Deep in thought, Josef wondered just what they should do. He was the mastermind and it was up to him to figure out their course of action.

To charge boldly to the scene, and fight down anyone who was ready, would definitely set the tone and tempo for the Grail War, and Josef would prefer this method. Most of the time. However, if there were already two servants having it out, it would require a more gentle hand.

"I have an idea." Josef spoke up, as he made his way to the door, grabbing his jacket. "How about we go do a little scouting. See what those servants are doing, and see if we can't identify who's who." Josef donned his jacket, and reached for the door, but hesitated.

This was it. He was going to go out into Paris and win his Grail. Glancing back at Annabelle, Josef winked at her, "That is, if you're already feeling spry enough." It was an obvious tease to Annabelle, something Josef could tell he would enjoy more and more in the days to come.

Getting out and seeing what Annabelle could really do was top of Josef's list. Seeing how she could handle herself in a fight, and allowing her to work her magic. Then it was Josef's duty to direct that skill in the correct direction. However, entering into a fight boldly, between two servants, might just be the best way to lose Saber, or his own life, before he'd ever get a chance.

Opening the door, Josef prepared to leave the hotel with his well-dressed servant in tow. One thing was for certain. Josef wouldn't be coming back to this hotel until something of worth was accomplished. It was time to start the Holy Grail War, for real, by introducing the one servant Josef would help make everyone else fear.

@Akashi

 
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Kelly raised his arm in front of his face, shielding his eyes from the concussive force of Berserker's arrival. For a moment, he cursed to himself, assuming the arrival of a mad warrior was potentially the worst possible outcome. What happened next surprised him though. The mountain of a man seemed to be trying to end the conflict. It seemed every moment only served to smash any sense of understanding the priest might have had over the Grail War. Still, though a peace-keeping Berserker was a surprise, it wasn't an unwelcome one.

The warrior's demands appeared, for a moment, to have completely diffused the situation. The Monkey King had agreed to end his battle... only to insist on another one immediately after. Kelly's expression shifted from relative hope to utter resignation. A battle between Wukong and the newly arrived Berserker might level the entire block. Kelly took a step forward, prepared to make his case once again, when the sound of distant sirens cut through the panic of the streets. Lancer clearly heard the sound as well, and this, finally, was enough to appease him.

Kelly felt his shoulders relax as the Monkey King apologized.

"Right... if you could, next time, do you think you could set up shop a bit further from the cathedral? Maybe at night, too. I'd appreciate it."

The bombastic Lancer was content to stroll away casually as the sirens grew ever closer. Kelly turned to the two remaining Servants with a shrug.

"You two should probably make your exit before the police show up. I'll try to get this situation under control."

During the whole altercation, Isabella had been making impressive progress at gathering the panicked mass of bystanders into the cathedral. One could already smell a faint hint of incense on the wind. The priest sighed. At least there hadn't been any fatalities as far as he could tell.

Before returning to the business of covering up the incident, Kelly nodded to Berserker.

"I don't know if you or your Master made that decision, but I appreciate the effort."

The sirens were nearly upon them now. Kelly sighed, rubbing the back of his head. He'd never much cared for dealing with the authorities.



Interlude
Through a Scope​

A young man watched the whole scene through a rifle scope. Two Servants, two inhuman monsters, had just made the city their battleground in broad daylight.

"Damn, that was earlier than I expected..."

The young man's accent seemed African in origin. He adjusted the magnification on his scope, getting a closer look as he commented to himself.

"Doesn't look as bad as it could've been tho- Another one?"

Another Servant came into view.

"Looks like that Priest has got his hands full..."

The young man again began adjusting the magnification on his scope, scanning over the area around Notre Dame. Oddly enough, his view left the Servants and began analyzing the surrounding environment with an almost mechanical level of care and precision. It seemed unlikely he was the only one with his eye on the square... though evidently any others were hiding just as well.

"C'mon now, I know I'm not the only one watching... so where could they be?"

A flock of pigeons came into view, perching on a nearby rooftop. The mercenary took a deep breath, scanning along the birds until he noticed an unnatural glint among them. He focused on the abnormal creature. Upon closer inspection, the pigeon seemed almost metallic in appearance. The mercenary's finger came to rest on the trigger of his QBU-88. The bird's head turned toward him.

"Gotcha."

The clack of the suppressed shot cut through the air, quickly dying amongst the roar of the city below. The familiar was torn asunder by the incoming round, dropping from the rooftop and into the street below.

The mercenary immediately removed a smart phone from his pocket and made a call.

"Yeah, it's Amadi. I guess you know that your little project is already causing a scene. Just thought I'd let you know that the Association saw everything too. I took out a familiar, a metal bird, just like you said. Right. I'll get to work on that."
 
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  • Nice Execution!
Reactions: Akashi
Marianne​

The other Servant doubled back on her, the intense look on his face all the evidence that she needed to know that her words had struck just as deeply as intended. For her part the Archer felt little satisfaction in angering a hero, she had already begun to regret her inquisitive pecking when all thought about their little exchange ceased. A third. Her skin bristled with the realization that the power of a third spirit existed, its presence only becoming discernible from the noise as it closed upon them. Between the instant that it became noticeable and when it arrived, there was no time for deliberation. Only the presence of the Overseer stayed her hand. It landed and again their world disappeared in a cloud of raised dust. A different patch of cobblestone was obliterated for the intervening party to make their statement, the sinister hiss of projectile debris absent as a moment later the shock of such a mass landing swept away the the smokescreen. Anywhere else in the world and she would have already opened fire. This place had to be different, before the man of God she needed on her side, she had no choice but to turn the other cheek.

It was impossible to misinterpret the class of what then towered over them. Neither the specter nor the monkey king could be called short, and yet they were dwarfed in the shadow of something that could never conceivably be called tall. No, the man who had come to stop them was a giant. What followed was not, however, something that fit her impression of a Berserker. He spoke in a language she had no affinity for, but anyone could understand strength. Whether they knew that word or not the voice behind it demanded attention, and Archer's was still on the new Servant's words as he continued. There was a tension in his demeanor that betrayed a rising fire beneath. The garbled, enraged voice that left his throat let the inferno show, the Servant's true nature slowly slipping the mask of civility that followed his entrance. There was no rational motive for arriving in such a way, but she understood his demands quite well. No line had been drawn, but an hourglass had been tipped. How many seconds until this become a melee? She drew her empty left hand back, returning her right to her side as the sword planted before her disintegrated. Not by her hand. Wukong was right in one regard: Marianne was not here to have fun. Her eye turned to the cathedral's doors, the 'rescue' ongoing. The shrill sound of sirens rose in the distance, ghostly cries winding through the city's streets. She sighed. Two weeks of dead weight, of softness, of idleness had to be washed away. The only thing she regretted was having to thank the jolly, foolish monkey squaring up with a Berserker for reminding her.

She said nothing to either of the two who remained, nodding to the Overseer and watching the seething Berserker with a cautious glare. While her abilities allowed her a defensive footing against even a Lancer in physical combat the cost of concealing her class with martial prowess and crafty swordplay would be far steeper against a Berserker's style of fighting. No, survival would mean revealing her capabilities at the onset of the war. Whether he understood such subtleties or not, the warrior stood in a position to control the pace of her war. Either Servant could force her escape, but she preferred to flee from one who could be reasoned with. With a cursory bow of her head, Archer withdrew. Not one for turning her back on the enemy, the Servant skipped the final steps backwards to her initial goal. One handed lifted her over the railing, twirling soundlessly downwards into the Seine below. Out of sight, the Servant's presence soon disappeared, one blot of spiritual noise dying to the world as she made a very familiar escape, the familiar sounds of violence long over accompanying her. And one that didn't belong.

...

For a Servant, it only took a few minutes. The time she was able to cut off of her old methods in a new body left her astounded long after she was actually done making her way back to the world. It took a little bit of the edge off of everything else. She had no memory placing the restaurant her Master had chosen for their rendezvous, and wondered if it would even be possible to enter. Was her Master even able to make it? But... Archer scratched at her chin, slowly wandering out of an alleyway to mill among the standing, gawking crowds. The cordon was being set only a short ways down the road, but in its early phases the street was not yet clear of the frightened, and displaced. Or the curious. That was fine by her, things would become difficult if large tracts of the city were locked down. Drifting back to the current, a quick glimpse the flank of Notre Dame indicated that she was indeed up the street. Through the scattered pedestrians she saw a red awning, Crêperie du Cloître written upon it. It wasn't the large, flamboyant tourist trap she imagined. Instead, it felt... Cozy, and familiar. Stop. She did. Mary shambled towards the building, taking a seat on the curb and cradling her head. Her one eye skimmed between passing knees, looking for evidence of her Master as she opted to wait and see.


Walter Moen
​
Seriously? He looked confoundedly at the seals on his right hand as his Servant told him when exactly to stop his rampage. What had happened to all the good talk about sparing the innocent? Well, Berserker was just being as realistic as he had been about the situation. That, at least, Walter could appreciate. There were shouts in the crowd as something obviously superhuman sprinted its way into the mayhem, leaping far above their heads in the final moments of his rush, but he paid that no mind. Conducting a Holy Grail War wasn't like doing exorcisms on the street. It actually put a bit of a smirk on his face. For once, it wasn't even going to be his problem. Sorry, priest. It was nice to enjoy something, even if it was pure schadenfreude, because the rest of his day wasn't shaping up for much. The entertainment was struck right off his face as he turned back to the panicked girl and the first patient of this trip to Paris. "Oh he'll be fine but you really-" There was no point arguing with her, and he realized that too late as Berserker's landing cut both of them off.

"I really need to go." He grimaced as she spoke, the expression on her face speaking to... What he could only assume was the mental strain of being at the center of all this. For an innocent tourist, someone who looked young enough to need a family around them... That was war. It looked extra ugly in a place his Western mind could call home, but he knew well enough that it really did look the same no matter where it happened to break out. What option did he really have, as she ran off? He looked down at his bloodstained hands, holding down on a kid that now had no one else rooting for him. Between the two, there weren't any options to select. Despite all that blood the girl was gone almost as soon as she had came. A chill ran down his spine for the second time that morning. Try as he might, the back alley doctor could not escape the deeply unsettling notion that somehow he'd just been played.

Sirens were beginning to blare in the distance. The patient had not yet regained consciousness. He didn't expect that to occur for quite some time, and hopefully not until a fancy first world trauma center had its money grubbing hands on him. He couldn't hear anything that sounded like battle though, which confused him. It didn't even occur to him that his Servant might have successfully stopped a fight from breaking out, after all he'd just turned a Berserker loose on people. Not people, he stopped to assuage his conscience in the most transparent way. Walter chanced another look down at the boy. Even if this was where he ought to be, he couldn't be around when the police showed up. When he put his mind to it, even his pocket knife was probably contraband in a European inner city. He'd gotten too used to ignoring the rules to actually check them when he traveled. "You better not kick it until you're some other guy's case," He commanded the unmoving child, before tying his bindings off and standing up. Really, it was idiotic to do anything in his predicament, but he dared to believe he was doing the least foolish things that would hopefully not end with him dead or an enemy of the state. He reached out to someone passing by who happened to glance in their direction, affecting a panic as he pointed to the boy. "Médecin! Ah, Appeler Médecin?" There was a glimmer of recognition in the innocent bystander's eyes which he was willing to take for a success. "Je dois aider autres." If his broken French elicited even a response, he was quite confident leaving the messy, messy affair of handing people over to EMS to the crowd.

He had to get his Berserker to leave before things turned into a complete nightmare, and the weight of his backpack bouncing behind him was a reminder that even something as simple as Clairvoyance was an effort for a wasted Magus like himself. He shouldered his way through the crowd where he had to, emerging in the vacated space most of them were just trying to get away from, either into the Cathedral itself or otherwise. Finding his Servant was always trivial, there were none in Paris who cut such a silhouette... And before him was a person who was obviously a priest. Something else disappeared at the riverside, a smudge in his peripheral vision. That wasn't his concern, mostly he was just wondering why he was finding a Berserker and presumably a member of that Church. He stumbled to a stop at the Servant's side, speechless, but mostly because he was breathless. "Berserker!... What the fuck?" His exclamation wasn't one of admonishment or anger, but sincere, meek confusion.
 
Deep brown eyes switched between the two Servants, fingers holding tight to the hilt of his weapon, ready to move at a moment's notice. Saber. The woman was the Saber of this war. Monkey King. The male addressed himself with his true name, of sorts. A warrior hero of the far east, a land Tlahuicole had no knowledge of, but a title that he could relate much to, given he was one himself, apparently. A hero of the people, he thought. His legacy one of stubbornness and a lust of battle. Was he what he was because of how he had fought, how he had died? Or how the people of his homeland viewed him, and thought of him in the centuries since? Thoughts and worries beyond him, doubly so given his current nature as a Berserker.

Tlahuicole's barrel chest expanded as he took a deep breath, his exhalation as if steam billowed out of his mouth from the fires deep in his belly. His knuckles shook as he gripped the hilt of his weapon at his side, the Berserker's entire being focusing on the Monkey King as he roudned on him, like a nuclear bomb being targeted and set to detonate. The apparent Saber fell to the wayside of his attention as the golden Servant made his intent for battle clear, and a low growl left the beast's chest. "▂▂▃▃▃▃▂▂..." the Servant muttered, a garbled language of rage made audible. Muscles tensed as he watched the Servant's staff touch it's end against stone, knowing the moment it raised back up battle would begin. His muscles were ready to explode into action when he saw the Monkey King move... but it was not to move forward, but to merely turn away. The Berserker let out a confused sound, like an animal denied its meal after a successful hunt, tilting its head slightly as the Servant began to walk away, speaking, but these words in his current state the Servcant could not understand.

All he understood was that he was denied his battle.

His heart slowed and his breathing calmed. The magical energies that swirled around his body and his weapon slowly dissipated. He had been ready to use it from the very beginning. He heard speaking again, the priest, but he was stuck in the momentary awe, and terror, of how close he had been to unleashing the final seals on his sanity, and bringing about his second death.

"... but I appreciate the effort."

He closed his eyes and stood tall, leaning his head back to take a fresh gulp of air, tasting the bits of dust and debris particles that still hung in the air following the brief melee. "... thank my Master; Walter," he managed after a few moments of silence. The Monkey King was gone, and the Saber excused herself in silence at some point during the brief, but intense standoff. Good. There was a pain in his chest that matched his relief. The pain of denied glory. He would meet that Monkey King again in this war, he felt it quite keenly. Once his macuahuitl evaporated into a dissipation of mana particles, he was once again merely a large foreign man, dressed in a poncho, standing in the middle of a small crater and surrounded by debris and a very troubled priest.

When he finally opened his eyes, he was greeted by the sight of his breathless Master, exclaiming something he did not quite parse.

"I do not quite know what this 'fuck' you are referring to is, Master, but the battle is ended."
 
It wasn't a worthwhile place to sit back and rendezvous now. With the explosions happening so nearby, most of those within the restaurant were filing out, concerned about the sirens that were so close, and the dust that rose in accordance to the impact of the combat between Servants. An undercurrent of fear made for an all too unpleasant atmosphere, and amongst the small crowd, a girl with too-wide eyes and a bandaged figure drew their concern too easily. She still had an entire suitcase of stuffs that was lost during the initial retreat from the grand cathedral, and, with blood splattered on her back, Shinobu was definitely in a bad spot.

So, before anyone could call out to her, the thin Master slipped into another alleyway instead. A mistake, it was, carrying that boy out, for it more or less painted a target on her back for any Good Samaritan to leap to her aid, but she would have done it regardless. No one else needed to bleed out and die. No strangers needed to get involved.

A terse frown formed, recalling that bold proclamation that had rang out through the streets, even as far away as she had been.

Wukong. The Monkey King. The mongoloid in Asian mythos that enjoyed being a massive dick to everyone. Of course such a bombastic asshole would choose to assault the outside of the church, expecting that other Masters and Servants were planning on visiting the place. It was smart. Pragmatic. Hell, even Shinobu herself planned to do something similar…but to attack instead of observe?

Alone in the alleyway, Shinobu sighed, purging herself of her anger. Not now.

"Mary," she said to herself, "I'm here. How were your friends?"
 
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