São Paulo Metropolitan Cathedral
No ordinary eyes could follow the outburst of movement that took place as gunfire flashed in the dark, least of all the Magus whose eyesight had just been turned into a haze of brackish green as the muzzle flash of her handgun dispersed into smoke and odor. Perception failed her, and in the instant it took Yarankash to traverse and strike her she stood, unknowing and grinning all the while.
There was no preventing what could only be a fatal blow coming from something with the power of a Servant, not when the assailed could scarce perceive the attack in motion. The strength of the magus, however, laid not in prowess of the body.
As Assassin's hand drove against the high collar surrounding the mage's neck faint light emanated from the black fabric, the reason for her excessive overdressing shining clear as day by the time ethereal fingertips touched the material.
The sizzling casing of the first gunshot chimed against the ground.
Shell intrusion observed
Reaction mass determined
Detonating mantle region 6-1
Runic scrawl shined across the threads, scrolling combinations of glyphs visible in the fraction of a second their exchange took before the space above them was replaced in a plume of directed plasma. Like touching a Tesla coil, the arc of white hot gas projected from the defensive runes made the offensive light of gunfire seem like a dying candle by comparison. A type of armor that broke itself to protect, it was all too fitting for her craft. In theory a precisely controlled and timed explosion was used to divert or destroy incoming projectiles. In practice... A Servant was not a tank shell.
The bite, while dampened, tore into the smoldering material of her rear-collar, still careening into the mage's pale neck and nearly folding the woman in half then and there. Blood welled beneath the exposed nape of her blouse. Her eyes widened as she tipped forward, the sensation of being struck and the feedback of her mystic code reaching her at the same time.
From behind? She didn't have the time to think more than that. Her heel swiveled in a practiced motion, tracing a shape on the floor with all the ease of a mage activating a single action command, supernatural speed possessing her foundering form as she drew back up, oblivious to the true location of her killer as her pistol chased the shape of the Overseer.
The shape flying past her, borne aloft by the red-haired Master. A sickening thought came to mind. She squeezed the trigger as quickly as she could, turning to track and skipping backwards towards the doors as she went. Wild shots smacked into stone pillars and wooden pews, sending flashes of destructive fire and showers of shrapnel to random reaches of the room. By then her mind had caught up. It could just as easily have been his Servant. The only thing her armor had spared her was the generosity of instant death if that were the case. Her eyes spun the room. The redhead, the Overseer, the other Master, that normal smile. She felt herself heave with panic, seize with barely numbed pain, but...
It's still similar to what was expected.
The diminutive but deceptively heavy Overseer was easily swept up by Akise, carried the length of the hall by reinforced strides until they very nearly came to a halt upon the altar. Metal rattled under her habits as she jostled in his arms, their rapid retreat hailed by passing gunfire. She jolted as the two separated, flinching away from a rain of stone fragments as a segment of a nearby statue disintegrated. She looked pensively at the stairs leading to the grail, her hand twitching out towards the opening as if considering it before she clasped her hands at her waist. She took a step forward, looking over her side at Akise as he questioned her.
"This is indeed the neutral ground, though foremost it is the house of God and by Grace am I sworn to the defense of both. You are offered the mercy and the gift of cooperation, as it is my intent to drive out dissidents by force," Her voice was surprisingly even for someone who'd just been shot at, but there was little about their situation that could be called normal to begin with.
"It would reflect poorly upon what mutual trust remains between the Holy Church and the 'community of Magi,' fragmented as they are, to say that preparations were made in the expectation of the Masters betraying the war itself... But my presence alone could be taken as evidence of that suspicion. I have nothing more to say on the matter save that I am prepared to protect the war against wayward Magi. Moreso with one of their number to support me, if you would be so kind as to choose self preservation over fruitless conflict."
She stepped forward, robes ringing with the sound of concealed weapons. Red wooden handles dropped into her palms with a subtle shake of her sleeves, her blackened gloves coiling tight around the Assembly's favored throwing weapons.
"And what say the first Master, now that it's come to blows?" She no longer looked to the one masquerading as a master, but out at the pews sheltering the one still hiding within her cathedral. It was apparent to all that despite the tense language exchanged seconds ago she was still alive and the mage she'd been betrayed for was now reeling on the other side of the room. Of course, opposing one never meant supporting the other. Part of her entertained the idea that they favored a melee, after all, their kind would have just ended up fighting over a stolen grail all the same.
"I must admit I was under the impression that we were now enemies yet..." Lights glittered on the far side of the room, the black-clad intruder raising her fist as three sigils glowed upon it.
"You first turn the fist upon the harmless one."
Embarrassment and prolonged defeat were the only things awaiting her if she tried to contend with a Servant, if she was lucky. Her head spun, both from actual injury and the nagging wonder of just what kind of damage she was suppressing with prana. The likely outcome was grave, and she didn't need to ruminate much to figure out her odds when she was acutely aware of how
unaware she was of the entity trying to kill her. Shoot wildly into the church? Get real. Her right hand raised into the air, smoking gun overshadowed by the red glow piercing her glove. Time was critical... the finishing blow could have already begun.
"By my command! -"
Her words disappeared in a roar of magical energy, space bending to the shared will of Servant and Master as a tunnel through the bounded field of the cathedral was bored, no small feat to add atop the miracle of instantaneous transportation.
Something answered her call. Makeshift armor rattled as a ghost stepped from the air before her. By that point the Master began to slump. Her knee thudded against the stone as she fought her collapse. The figure offered no aid, facing stalwartly forward despite it's hideously shabby exterior. Bands of leather, lacquer, and plates of steel crossed and weaved to create something approximating a suit of armor in the Japanese style. A dented metal breastplate held the homemade armor together, flanked by shabby, uneven shoulder guards and hip covers of mismatched livery. A cast iron mask obscured its face, the crude, tarnished metal devoid of decorations, forgoing any resemblance to the human face in favor of the look of a pock-marked sheet of scrap metal. The helmet followed suit, its black lacquerwork peeling from atop its visor, the golden ornament of an unknowable clan broken off and stained in crimson paint where a single lopsided horn remained. A sword hung at its side, the scabbard cracked and dangling from worn down rope. More pressingly, a broad-winged spear sat poised and ready in the crook of an arm. One of the first things to suggest maintenance and care, the steel head of the weapon glinted where it did not already drip with fresh blood. The speartip traced circles in the air, exaggerating the subtle motions of the warrior's body as the helmet glanced towards the nearby door.
"Forget the Rider, you bastard." The Master's knuckles braced against the tiles, holding herself up as she gingerly ran her empty hand across the ooze of blood at her neck. Her were choked out in a hurry.
"Perception altering attacks, but not from the nun. A Servant, probably. Hiding. Cut a path." The ghost nodded.
@ERode @MechanicalHorse @Akashi
Martin's House
"The only one that seems to be threatening violence around here is
you, buddy."
"There's no need for any hostility here."
Now that one, he couldn't help but break into a smile at that one. The man inched closer, matching the caution of the two behind the counter in his thoughtfully slow movements after he was beckoned forward. The floor creaked with every step, his boots leaving prints in the scattered particulate while he advanced.
"Well they call it a war, don't they? This is a shoot to kill kind of city, too." He scratched his temple,
"Guess I'm not exactly a combatant though." He laid his right hand across the countertop, flashing a back clearly devoid of the red blemishes which made a Master, before accepting the brown glass bottle with an uneasy stare across the label. Cradling the ice cold brew in his sweating palm, his eyes gradually wandered up to the suited Servant standing across from him, any sense of thoughtfulness hidden behind the dull look on his face.
"Uh, thanks, by the way. You're looking a lot better than the last thing I saw get summoned. That's... a pretty good place to start, actually." He turned his back on the pair, grimacing at the sight of the broken in door and waving at the whole wreck with his hand as he drew in a deep, vaguely apologetic breath.
"I was busting ass to make it in time and taking the quiet approach to a locked door was...," He trailed off, clearing his throat and idly twisting the neck of his bottle until the cap rolled off. The stranger seemed noncommittal with his beverage even then, swirling the bottle around in his hand and never quite dedicating himself to taking a drink.
"Not any more though. Everybody's nice and alive, no reason not to just take things nice... and... easy. Well, somebody probably called the cops about what had to have looked like a transformer popping, but there's no reason to panic about that. Magecraft, money, the cops around here bow to a lot of things and I'm sure if everything is nice and peaceful here when they show up, I can just wave some hands around, yeah?" He looked back over his shoulder, straight into the Master's eyes to make sure his point was made. Relying on local cops was a fool's insurance but it was about the one thing he could say to put at least a little bit of armor over his behind. There was good reason to seek protection, it didn't matter what else he had done in his life, standing in strangling distance of an enemy Servant was a harrowing experience. His face would never betray his internal distress, for even if he lacked the ability to sense what made a Servant a Servant there had been no ambiguity about what sort of power those beings possessed. The same went for him, in a way. Mages had a feel for one another, and especially within their own bounded field... But there was no such power in him. An ordinary person who happened to know and say too much, that was his role. Despite his lack of a command seal, a prana not unlike one drifted about his person, distinct from the entity standing in the rental's living room.
@DrowsyPangolin @ArmoredScout