Fate/Shattered Gospel

Kelly looked up at Berserker, his expression somewhat relieved. "Right then, I'll have to thank this Walter fellow when I see him." The sound of hurried footsteps racing toward the plaza, and the sudden exclamation 'Berserker, what the fuck?' told the priest that the aforementioned Master had just arrived. Kelly waved to the young man with the battered backpack, pulling a cigarette from the pack in his pocket.

"Hey there, I guess you're Walter, right?"

He priest looked from Berserker to his Master. They were an interesting pair, for lack of a better word.

"My name's Albert Kelly, I'm the Overseer of this war. Berserker was just telling me that you were the one I needed to thank for breaking up this mess."

The priest pointed at the shattered concrete with his unlit cigarette.

"Not how I would've chosen to start this whole thing off, that's for sure. Honestly though, I really do appreciate you sending Berserker to intervene. I'm not sure if it was him or the sound of the police that got Lancer's attention, but I'm glad something did, otherwise I'd be cleaning up an even bigger mess."

The sound of wailing sirens was practically upon them now. Kelly sighed, lighting his cigarette as a police car came into view.

"Anyway, I have to go explain away what just happened. You two may want to head out before they start asking questions."

The priest waved to the Master and Servant, heading toward the edge of the plaza. He took a long drag from his cigarette. From his earliest days, the Father couldn't recall a single time where he had enjoyed talking to the police.
 
Marianne​

No matter how much she waited and watched, no sign of her Master appeared in the crowd. The legs flashing by slowed in pace, the scramble to evacuate long over and a confused, dazed atmosphere following in the wake of an attack without a conclusion. There were those who had been corralled into the loving arms of the church and those who had been let go. That was... problematic for the Magi, she understood. It wasn't as if she had the freedom of action to conceal their battle. Firearms could remove the cameras, grenades could obscure their positions, but all left remnants of war that would only inflame the panic around them when discovered. There were no shell casings, no fragments of military hardware to discover at the site of the blast. Mystery invited explanation, and the Overseer and his backers would no doubt be keen to interject their own. Or. Or they didn't have a media tap, and there was nothing they could do to conceal the war anyway. Mary's eye slid shut, her fingers clamping against her scalp. The dark was comforting, even perforated by the random, human noise surrounding her. In the middle of her reflection one sound stabbed through the mess, ringing clearly over the mess. The will of her Master, the subtle radiance of their bond shining anew.

Archer stood. She pushed her way between shuffling spectators as she stepped off the curb, gingerly casting bystanders aside on her way across the road. Even if she could have answered from afar she had to see it, to confirm her Master's condition the way her instincts told her to. The voice had only been audible in her head and yet there was a distinct feeling for where it had originated lingering in her mind. When she allowed it reopen, to resupply the energy she had expended for one mere sword, the familiar could easily follow the spiritual connection to her Master. She stepped away from the crazy streets, soaking herself in the shadows of the alleys once again. It was better to be there. Slowing footsteps carried her inward, a begrudgingly granted glance behind her searching for other intruders and finding nothing. She replied as she walked, her own voice echoing back across the connection. "They were..." The Servant struggled for brevity, to satisfy her moody exterior with a terse, accurate response, but little could encompass the scope of her colleagues. She had expected heroes, and had a working knowledge of such things as an inhabitant of the Ring, but the casual power of those who had shown themselves dwarfed her modernized notion of 'larger than life.' Both Wukong and the Berserker had practically destroyed the environment just to move through it. The words that came to mind were too flattering for her after action report. Marianne changed course, turning a bend in the alleyway as she sought out her Master, and doubling back on her assessment. "I can defeat them."

Her dour grimace soured further as she finally looked upon her Master, whatever relief she thought the reunion would bring stamped out by the sight of blood. It seemed unlikely that she was harmed, there hadn't been a trail leading in, though it fit Mary's impression of her Master that she was the type of person to be silent about an injury. Whether or not she was even hurt there was no denying the girl's ragged look. It occurred to her only then that their luggage had been completely lost and was now sitting in the middle of a police cordon. Archer opened her mouth to speak, but no placation could pull them from where they'd ended up. She could, but that could only come later. "Are you hurt?" She asked, craning her head a bit in the dark to look at the red splotches on her charge's shoulders. It was true that hopeless wars were only won with unflattering victories... but that wasn't what a soldier aspired to. The lanky spirit shook her head, plopping a hand, gently, on her Master's least bloody shoulder. "However much it may sting, we've won today. All that's left to do is find a place to establish ourselves."


Walter Moen​

Walter reflexively turned his head aside as he heard his name called, suspicious eyes cast sideways at the Priest. He knew his name? They were off to a bad start if it was someone who recognized him, though he couldn't say he could return the priest's apparent familiarity. Maybe it was just an Overseer thing. He hadn't heard his Servant pass on his informal introduction. Sheepishly, he returned the Father's wave. "Oh." So Berserker had already explained the situation. Had there even been a battle? What a lucid Berserker he had for a partner. All cheery thoughts cheered on by the fact that he wasn't talking to a heretic hunter with knowledge of his 'exploits' and transgressions before the Church. "Nice meeting you, Father. Dunno if that was something that deserves thanks or not. We're here to kill just like the rest." He had to say something like that, had to at least try to get into character for the War. "It is rather eh, fortuitous that they decided to leave. It's a bit public here." Light it already some compulsion in him commanded as he watched the priest wave around his cigarette. Maybe it was because he hadn't found his brand in weeks. He did not envy someone who could tolerate that trash, but they all looked similar enough to remind him of his habit.

"It's hard to believe there's a Master who would want things to start like this, but I guess it takes all sorts." His heard turned with Kelly's as the authorities began to arrive in the distance. That was the point of no return for them, there was simply no way to escape without at least being observed. He felt a sweat break out on his forehead as he thought of the few ways they had to escape this situation. None were inconspicuous but at least Berserker could leap them away with minimal effort and no chance of pursuit. His grit-teeth foreboding was cut short as Kelly mentioned his role in all this. For perhaps the first time in his life, he felt genuine relief from a priest's words. "Yeah, we'll disappear real quick," Walter said, glancing across the river. "Take care," He added, returning the other man's parting wave. It all felt very brief, mere moments had seen him through his first battle of the War and also the obligatory meeting with the Overseer. It was far beyond time to go. The medicine man turned to face Berserker, wondering what his Servant's take on all of this was. Naturally, there was no time to sit and ask.

"Well, you heard him. Let's get going while he can still explain us away." He nodded his head towards the sidewalk, the locked-down facades of nearby buildings and the clusters of dazed onlookers. "We'll slip in with them and get off this island as quick as we can." Without much else, and with no time left to spare, he lead off from the battlefield in a hurry. Getting off of the island was another story, a casual glance at traffic revealed a nightmare for traveling. They had plenty of time to mull it over, but only once they were out of the police net. Again, with a Servant, they could just jump the gap. "You did well, Berserker," Walter finally spoke up as the awkward duo began to march through the other survivors. He'd lost sight of the boy from before, a sign he hoped meant that he'd been whisked away as commanded. "Didn't put up too much of a fight, did they?"
 
Shinobu sighed, relieved, as Mary appeared at the entrance of the alleyway, her slender form silhouetting against the gray light that filtered through the clouds that had collected. An improvised weapon slipped from her fingers as she came into view, Archer's confidence giving her something to cling onto. Wukong, the Lancer, and Berserker, a man that refused to turn into a spirit even though his large frame was much too inconspicuous. They were both powerful, enough to casually shatter the earth, but if Mary's full arsenal was enough to take them down?

Then the cerulean-eyed girl had no reason to doubt her. Even the greatest beasts were taken down by modern arms, after all. Even the acclaimed Gandr of the Tohsaka family found their match when faced against automatic rifles. If a soldier decided that she could take down a yellow monkey and a bodybuilder, then that's where Shinobu would hedge her bets.

"Not my blood," Shinobu replied, "Some people got caught up in his entrance. Had to do something, right?"

A sigh. A pity she didn't know who that bastard's Master was. Chaotic elements had to be stamped out immediately, after all, or the entire Grail War would be jeopardized by police and military involvement. There were manifold cameras around, not to mention those in the Church who may have filmed the exchange that followed. Could it really be called a victory, when the Master's whose identity she uncovered wasn't even Wukong's? Could it really be called a victory, when blood was spilled without real, concrete gain?

The gaunt girl blinked, a conscious decision to stop wracking her brains over that. She'll move on, regardless of a 'yes' or a 'no'.

"It's not a victory, but it's not an entire loss," Shinobu said, "But, yeah, let's head back. We can talk about going to a salon tomorrow, Mary."
 
The Berserker merely snorted as the priest and his Master began to converse. The tension of focusing his mind to converse ebbed away as he was allowed to let his thoughts wander. He took note of his surroundings, again letting memories of years past fill in any gaps his cracked mind would could not percieve entirely on its own. The rising din of panic was beginning to slowly slip away as the scuffle had been broken up, and what replaced panic was confusion and the need for answers. As a man who had led armies and been at the head of people all of his short life, even as a Berserker he could sense a people's aura easily enough. He spared a moment's attention to the priest and his Master once again, and he could tell their interaction was wrapping up.

The woman and the golden man. The supposed Saber and what could only be Lancer. He could not even begin to guess what other pieces remained to take the field and what form they would take, but he had a distinct feeling that they would be among his strongest obstacles as this fight continued. He reflexively clenched his fingers a few times, once more testing the strength of this mana given form. The woman... she surely had a trick and agility to bring to the table to match him. She did not feel weaker than he instinctively. And the Lancer, full of bravado. But that bravado was matched with strength.

"Let's get going," the Berserker heard, and he felt relief again to focus on his Master. It was not the fight he'd just missed out, or the fight he was already preparing for in the future. He felt a kind of sickness take root after that close encounter, something he'd felt on the edge of his mind from the moment of his summoning but now distinctly felt circling what remained of his mind, eager to swallow him up.

The anger. The need to kill.

"I only did what you asked of me, Master," the Berserker grumbled, shaking off the remaining anxiousness from the near battle. Masked rage painted his voice, but with every word spoken to his Master as they made themselves scarce some more of the eloquent yet brutish beast he'd appeared as returned to him. "The Saber... she was hesitant, she was wrapped up in it like the rest of us. That is what I sensed, anyway. The Lancer, though," the Servant said through momentarily clenched teeth. "Like me. He wanted to fight, but denied himself the battle. Because of the chaos or his Master, whatever it was.. I was ready to unleash everything I had in me against him had he taken a single extra step in my direction."
 
Marianne​

Mary nodded solemnly as her Master explained. "Right." She herself had done nothing for the uninvolved, unintended victims of the day's skirmish. Saying that there was nothing she could do had been an appealing choice. The Servants had to disappear, to disguise the evidence of their very being. She couldn't stand in the aftermath and offer a hand to anyone whose life happened to be trampled on in the process. It didn't bother her. That was how it always was. "... Thank you." That didn't change the tragedy of it all, and the gratitude she felt for someone's selfless aid of her country and its guests was real if, just a little bit, tempered by shame. She could see her Master's consternation. It would have been more strange to her if the girl wasn't shaken. With any luck, that glimmer of humanity would still remain after their work was done.

"It's not a victory, but it's not an entire loss," Was a far more reserved way of scoring their actions. Mary nodded again, acknowledging her Master's point. A guerilla's victory would not be good enough. The Servant was done with their trip to the isle, and beyond ready to depart as her Master suggested it. She offered her hand to the bloodstained girl. At least with a chaperone, someone so disheveled was less likely to draw unwarranted attention. If nothing else, she'd be in good company while they were still among the survivors. "Perhaps. I never had much time for salons, maybe you can show me what makes a good one. I'll show you what makes a good bar in return." Calm, measured footsteps carried her along back towards the entrance. There was one final detail nagging at her, but it was one she elected to let go for the time being. They hadn't intervened, as near as she could tell. It was entirely possible that a Servant's senses had merely glimpsed into the numerous hidden affairs of the modern world. Magi didn't hunt with rifles. The overcast sky greeted them as they left the alleyway, Mary taking a sharp turn to march them away from the cordon. It was unlikely that the other side of the small island wasn't equally congested, but even with Espionage she wasn't going to go traipsing past a battlefield any of the Servants could still be watching.

Archer held her chin as they passed by storefront after storefront, most grim and unoccupied as sirens still blared in the vicinity. It was an old look for her city, with too many new twists to really feel familiar. "What exactly did we lose back there?" She asked, shooting a glance over at Shinobu. Her tone of voice stayed even, carrying curiosity rather than any scorn. "If you still have money, let's just find some place easy to secure and worry about funds later." No matter what was gone they were going to be fine, at least in her eyes. The more desperate the situation, the more her abilities mattered. Something about exiting the realm of civility was comforting. She hadn't held a rifle in so long, and that emptiness burned on her palms, itched on the curve of her finger. "Our enemies believe me to be Saber, they will expect me to be active in the war, most likely. It's fine by me, I confess that after today I want to end this war quickly. While I am acting, I can recoup our losses."


Walter Moen​

Walter arched and eyebrow as Berserker went on, giving a report he entirely hadn't expected to receive about the outcome of the 'battle.' The Magus had prepared himself for quite a few things in the past few hours, killing, dying, the feeling of smallness that came from standing between warring heroes... He hadn't really put strategy talks on that list though, but as soon as the Berserker opened his mouth he was grateful for the information. He only had the cards to fight directly, and knowing the personalities of his adversaries lent to that in a way that mere speculation could not. In the back of his mind he still knew that the only chance they had was to be utterly aggressive, the thought of pursuing the two Servants they'd already met had already popped into his mind, but he felt that course of action to be in incredibly poor taste. Even Berserker was content to break up this fight and reset, and being more bloodthirsty than his Servant was a sure sign of getting the wrong idea. Two Knight classes... They had encountered two of the strongest cards on the field and survived. Only Archer remained for identification if his Servant - and what better authority on Servants could exist than one of their own? - was correct, and the ranged combatant would stand little chance in the tight confines of a city, he figured. Line of sight was what a Servant could jump nigh instantly here.

"We'll seek out that Lancer again, then." It was an easy decision. A reluctant Saber? They were supposed to be the combat class, but, perhaps they were reluctant to allow a melee to break out. They were a knight, more than likely one bound by a strict code of honor. Heroes were like that, even Berserker. Walter nodded his head as he thought it over. It all seemed to make a great deal of sense. "If he's the sort who wants to battle, that's the only way we can fight." Maybe it was a little bit too convenient. Lancer felt alright, challenging a Saber directly was pushing his luck. He'd never say so to his Servant, but he was happy to allow the war to whittle down opponents on that level.

The bridges were clogged with traffic, evacuated cars left behind as the police held the road, and small trickles of pedestrians running among them. Cordon or not, it was an island with plenty of freshly displaced people on it and one way or another many were leaving. The duo found themselves among them, albeit drawing a few more glances than the average passersby. A cold breeze whipped down the river, caressing the bridge top as they made their way across. Walter stole a look skyward, finally matching the dimming light with the new cloud cover. The weather was sure to grow worse. Even for him it was a bit too ominous. Quite literally, everything had been very clear until they arrived at the church. Now at least one of their opposing teams was starting violence out in the open. Even though he'd taken the trouble of playing by the rules and checking in with his friendly neighborhood Overseer, someone had poisoned the well. Magi were paranoid brats, it was unlikely that the rest would even bother once they learned of the scuffle. Worse, others would sink to that level in order to survive. He grit his teeth. "It's good that you held back, Berserker. The worst thing we can do is fight in front of the police, those sirens. Well, the worst thing we can do is still to harm the innocent, but we can't afford to get chased all over town by the government either. We'll have to pick places and times they won't be able to show up. Some fights we won't be able to just turn away from."
 
Inwarldy the Berserker smiled as his Master took the course that he most eagerly wanted to take - to battle that Lancer to the end. Whatever other heroes this War had brougth to the table, fate had seemed to decide on the Monkey King to be his rival by pure chance. The urge to fight swelled at these thoughts, and he desperately tried to quell them by focusing on something else, anything else. So, he looked to his Master who seemed still deep in thought even as they made their way through the hustle and bustle. He had to focus his mind to know plow over pedestrians like a tank, and that too helped him focus on things besides his battlelust. "It is why I am here, to fight. Your goal is your own and I will do what I can to bring you to it, but otherwise my only goal is the battle itself," the Berserker stated plainly. What was the Holy Grail? What would he ask for with his single wish? He could not go back in time, could he? He could not reverse getting captured by the ruler of Mexico and put in a position he had no way out from besides death.

He could never return to Tlaxcaltec. Montezuma had ensured it, and the Throne of Heroes made it ever more apparent. So his goal was what he could reach out for with his own hands, with fist and macuahuitl before he drew a new final breath.

As Walter spoke of their strategy moving forward, his mind was brought back to the tasks at hand. He was silent for some time, taking in what he had said, then finally voiced his reply.

"I am... aware of the limitations of my class, and I am thankful that enough is left of what I am to not shame you and hurt the innocent in the same motion. I stress you be ready for that event because I do not want to suffer the shame of such madness any more than you do to have to somehow control it," the Servant said, his voice surprisingly relaxed now, if a bit somber, as he continued to the sea of people at the side of his Master. "It's all I can think of, it's maddening. My head hurts, my stomach churns. I want to fight, I want to die," he started to breath a bit heavily, enough that the already curious gazes grew moreso. But given a few moments, the Hero calmed, and returned ot his slightly more calculated state. As calculated as he could be. "A Berserker left enough sanity to be shamed by his madness... My apologies for the egotism you must endure in the battles ahead."
 
With Mary as her chaperone, and her body already bandaged up from a previous engagement, the duo received a few concerned looks from bystanders as they walked back out from the alleyway, but considering what had just occurred near Notre Dame, it wasn't nearly as concerning. The shroud of Espionage kept most eyes off them, and those who were curious didn't pursue their curiousity. As far as the modern world was concerned, after a terrorist attack on one of the world's most significant religious monuments, anyone who COULD still walk should still walk instead of taking up valuable space and attention from emergency responders.

"Salons are one of the things in the world that only got better with time, Mary," Shinobu replied, slipping into a comfortable routine of bantering with her Servant, "You've never truly lived if you haven't had your hair washed by someone else. Seriously, I don't know how they do it, but it just feels sooo satisfying." The gaunt girl laughed at that, pressing herself a little closer against Mary as they passed by a police cordon. "But hey, if there's any bars that survived since your time, they have to be good, right?"

It was with that sort of optimism that she approached the future with. Patting her pockets, the cerulean-eyed girl matched Marianne's own 'optimism' in regards to the situation. "Still have my wallet with me," Shinobu said, leading her down the street, "And my phone as well. My suitcase was mainly clothes and a laptop, but, well…we can do without those. Gotta say though, it's gonna be really weird if Kelly tells them that you were an Assassin, eh?"

Shinobu closed her eyes then, recalling once more the face of the man that stood by Berserker. The contours of his face. The color of his hair. The shape of his eyes.


"Berserker's Master," she spoke, once that telepathic thought was shared, "He's a good person. Leave him out of it for now. Maybe…"

A pause.

"Maybe he's worth an alliance. Against the Monkey King, at least."
 
Sun Wukong
​
Sun Wukong casually strolled through the Tuileries Garden, now in his more 'modern' attire. His master had been more than forceful with their demands of a retreat, something that bother Wukong immensely. How was he suppose to show the world how powerful of a legend he was, if he was to flee at the slightest problem in a plan.

No matter, Wukong knew that working with his master would be how he'd win this war handily. Forcing his master to use a command seal would only be detrimental in the long run. Even the Monkey King could see that.

Even though Wukong was fighting through a sense of boredom and annoyance, as he strolled the beautiful gardens, something nipped and bit at the back of the Monkey King's mind. Something that lit a fire in him.

The magnificent flowers and rippling trees were only passing patrons as the steps of the Monkey King on harder, and heavily, slowly picking up speed.

Berserker. The thought of his would-be opponent made Wukong emit an audible chuckle. In reality, the chuckle was only to stop himself from shouting out. His blood boiled. Not from anger, but from the lack of confrontation. An opponent that would put him to the test, and that he'd be able to have the time of his life fighting.

The impudence that Berserker spoke with, as if he had a real chance against Wukong, is was spurned the Monkey King. Wukong would have to teach more than a few lessons before this war was over. However, his entire mind was consumed with his potential rival, and even friend.

While the lack of a fight greatly angered Wukong, he didn't have any thoughts of permanently defeating Berserker, or killing his master. To do so would be eliminating someone whom Wukong respect. While 'Saber' had been a good exercise, his adrenaline only spiked for Berserker.

He wouldn't tell his master. His master had already given him a lot of freedom with his duties. He would seek out Berserker, tonight. He would find him, and he would battle him. It had to be settled. Two spirits of great power met on the battlefield today, placing their reputations on the line, without it being solved. Something like that had to be settled, sooner rather than later.

Wukong kept his casual stroll through the Gardens, a devious smile spreading across his face.
 
Marianne​

The Servant found little reason to disagree. In her short time she'd deduced that most of the things in the world only got better with time, though she was not a Spirit dating back to ages of myth and grandeur that the other spirits in the Ring never failed to compare glamorously to the faulty, dirty world of later eras. Beauty salons had been a faraway luxury in the life she recalled most vividly, not that she'd ever held any desire to attend. The thought of that high piled, stiff beauty made her skin crawl in an almost claustrophobic way. Modern clothing suited, rather fitted her better than the femininity stressing dresses that were fashion in her day. For salons too, that probably held true. She put aside her discomfort, and in some small part the grimness of walking away from what looked every part a bombing. This was natural, this was necessary. You talked about the tavern you and the boys were meeting back up at, not the truck full of unarmed miliciens. "You've convinced me. I'll give it a chance." Though the wording felt funny to her. A Servant body like herself, was that truly living in the first place? Even barring her... peculiar status as a legend. The last time someone else had washed her hair... Archer tensed, her stomach turned. The Servant banished those thoughts with an agitated murmur as her Master insinuated that any of her old haunts could have been closed down over the years. A horror beyond belief, to think that the buildings could have been reconstructed, the bars themselves sold off. An Englishman was serving pisswater on top of her tear stains right now. She laughed. "Well, there's plenty of time to find new places. We'll need a victory first." There could be no digestif without a proper meal.

They hadn't lost nearly as much as she expected. Marianne sighed bittersweet relief. No matter how much easier it was for her to revert to savagery it probably wasn't a good look on her Master, and no sane person could deny the boon of still having their money to work with. It wasn't a whole lot, but it left her Master free to move and fend for herself in the inner city. The laptop was at least regrettable. The Servant had found herself shyly infatuated with the internet since her arrival, telling herself that there couldn't possibly be a Hero who wouldn't find themselves in the same situation. She had died just to pass on information, now it could fly itself from satellite to satellite. Even if she was already married to her firearms she could still stop and declare that such a machine was beauty in operational form. "Right, in the worst case we can replace them, I suppose," Mary said. "You'll at least need clean clothes to blend in... And, right. Hopefully he doesn't." It would be a grave breach of confidence but this was a noble battle between equal heroes in theory. Such just heroes had nothing to hide. Marianne couldn't do anything but scoff at the notion. "There is infrequently value in allowing the enemy to know they have faulty information. When nothing can be trusted, they may discard what useful intelligence they have." And they couldn't double back and silence Kelly for no good reason. Their enemies would not know the truth, could not know it, until they were already a partner for the Maquisarde's danse macabre.

Her musing was cut short as imagery began to flood her mind. She vaguely sensed the connection to her master, pressed up against her, Diminishing but present youth, the angular shape of a man's face came to her, filled in with caucasian flesh. Short her. The smug, assured look of someone who felt none of those things even while standing beside the titanic Servant looming in the periphery of those visual memories. A Master, she knew for sure before her Master even affirmed such a thing. A weakness, something that was a bullet away from infringing the right of its Servant to live. She could end a conflict with this man's life, and-
"You're joking, right?" Marianne's voice raised with surprise. Trusting anyone was foolish. Trusting a Berserker, and this strange man next to one? She glanced down, sliding her eye shut. Her Master wouldn't have suggested such a thing without good reason. She hovered in silence for a time, regretting what classified as an outburst for the demure Archer and quietly contemplating as her Master lead them along. "... You think he's a good enough person to play along? Finding these people again won't be easy, unless you've got some method of communication already in place."


Walter Moen​

"And I don't mind that one bit." How could he? Well, it should have been easy, he had the natural aversion to violence that came with working in his field. Even if the Servants warranted human dignity and moral treatment they were all there to fight each other more or less by their own will. Maybe there were some tragic misunderstandings in the lot but with his life on the line as an almost unwilling combatant he didn't have the luxury of splitting hairs. So, he couldn't mind Berserker just wanting to battle. In a human he would have called it short sighted, or disgustingly bloodthirsty, but this was a Hero of another age, of another culture. It was the Servant's nature. Walter had come to terms with that, and thought he'd told his Servant well enough. Every mutation of this exchange, of assurances from the soon-to-be mad warrior didn't wear down on his initial trust as much as it built a dread of what madness the Heroic Spirit could possibly lament so much. He'd find out whether he wasted time foreboding or not. "We have to fight whether we like it or not. Frankly, I'm glad your goal is to battle. This wouldn't work if we were both squeamish about it."

The crowd thinned as the two pressed on, every block placed between them and the island seeing a gradual return to what felt like reality to the dream world of Servants and Grails they'd just left. Part of him wanted to call it a nightmare, but in truth for all the shaking and noise nothing had really happened. He looked down at his palm, quite literally stained with innocent blood. Fortunately he'd gotten that way trying to help the bleeding innocent. Between his ritual in the morning and that he really needed to wash, or at least find a towel. Especially as they wandered further out into the unscathed majority of Paris. Life would resume around them as normal, and he'd be wandering around stained in the colors of death. Not workable. Not particularly sanitary, now that he thought about it. He stopped to listen to Berserker, expression growing heavier as the Servant tread the slopes of madness. The warrior's rasping drew suspicious stares in their direction, but more than any indignation or embarrassment he felt sympathy for a man that seconds before was lamenting the 'limitations of his class.' "We'll work through it," was all he could say. It didn't feel right endorsing either direction. There seemed to be something deeply unethical about saying 'well, just cut loose then.'

"You're blameless in my eyes. We're doing all we can to keep this fight clean, the rest... Well, look at what they've already done. I'd like to say don't go and die our first time fighting but that's not my place, 'specially not if that's what you've been summoned for." A Servant calling something its goal could only... probably refer to its wish. Berserkers didn't seem apt to have well constructed desires anyway. Eternal battle? Could the grail grant that? Fortunately his seemed very fixed on finality, and no such questions would be answered. There was that tiny, nagging bit about how much he didn't want to die to work into the narrative at some point on his Servant's quest for death, but it felt like such a petty concern to voice when they were all just trying to live. Maybe the Masters could find common ground that way, but he wouldn't try it first. "For now, our next step should be finding a place to settle down. Boring stuff, probably, so if you want to go patrolling I don't mind."
 
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