I kinda fell asleep srr
****
"Hey kid." A tall man munching on a toothpick with exotic long white slicked back hair spoke, in his left hand he was holding a boy, who was running straight toward the obvious site of a battle between servants, by his ankle upside down. The kid unbothered by the blood slowly going toward his brain let himself be held like a sack of potatoes.
"Where the hell do you think you are going running toward that direction? If your house is there and you are worried for your family, staying here is the best you can do. Don't put yourself in danger." The man expressing his worry was Haldor, he could feel a massive bounded field to try and mitigate the perception of people about the explosions but he doubted how useful it would end up being in the long run.
The kid was probably one of the failed targets of its effect.
He spotted him accidentally thanks to Berserker who said he felt something somewhat strange in their surroundings and when he pointed in its direction Haldor saw he was pointing at this child running toward the direction of the MASSIVE explosion far in the distance.
"It's fine mister, I don't live there and I have no family so it's all right." The kid answered back, his tone a monotone that made Haldor raise an eyebrow slightly taken aback by his attitude.
"Then why are you going there? It's dangerous, so go back home or wherever you live." Haldor felt somewhat strange holding this kid but he suppressed the feeling in favor of not letting a poor child just become mincemeat.
"I'm going there to fight them." He pointed at the point where the light had come from.
"Huh?" Haldor tilted his head in confusion until something lit up in the back of his mind. 'It cannot be… right?'
"Ehm, fight who exactly?"
"The Servants." He answered matter of factly.
'Holy shit.' Haldor barely held back his words not wanting to curse out loud in front of a kid.
"You are a magus?" Scrap that he was possibly even a master, so another servant must be around too. Also Haldor was pretty sure the boy just said something extremely crazy right now.
'The Servants… not even the masters but the Servants…' He mumbled over his words in his mind a bit incredulously as if about to give a huff of laughter.
"I don't know." The kid simply tilted his head while hanging upside down.
'What does that even mean?' Haldor was a bit confused by his reply but didn't let it bother him too much, he also now noticed the red tattoo on the back of his left hand. This kid was definitely a Master.
'Do you feel any Servant around, buddy number two?' He pulled on the mental connection between him and Berserker who stood in physical form already looking out for any other enemy surrounding them.
[No. Also what do you mean by "buddy number two"?] Beowulf answered, the rest of his comment ignored by Haldor though, he couldn't feel any other Servant around them but still stayed vigilant.
"You sure you didn't mean the masters? You should let your Servant fight the other Servants." Haldor questioned, letting out that he already found out he was a Master but he could clearly see the kid looked as calm as he was before.
"No, it's fine. I will just fight them too if I can." He answered without breaking eye contact with the man.
'Holy balls of steel.' Haldor's jaw dropped slightly.
"Ahem, okay kid, enough of this, where is your Servant?" Haldor coughed in his free hand curled in a balled fist to clear his throat and went straight to the point. The magic circuits inside his arm activated and he cast a fairly decent lie detection spell. As long as they held body contact it would tell him if he lied or not.
"In a hotel drinking, why?"
'Heh, what an obvious lie.' At his response Haldor smirked to himself, definitely a bull.
TRUTH
'Wha…' Haldor jerked momentarily stunned by the feedback of his own spell, granted he wasn't the best but he could feel the kid wasn't doing anything other than reinforce his own clothes and body slightly. "Hold up, seriously?"
"Yes."
TRUTH
'Damn… this kid pulled a deadbeat Servant.' Haldor barely held back his words. "Must be hard…"
"No."
TRUTH
"I see… anyway, is he or she from the Assassin or Caster class by any chance?"
"No, he isn't. Why?"
TRUTH
"Just because. Also cause I don't want to die from someone I can't even see coming."
"Why would you need to worry about that?" The boy asked in genuine doubt.
"See that blonde guy there built like a body builder." To answer him Haldor pointed at the hulking Beowulf who was dressed in a brown leather jacket and white shirt with a pair of jeans. "He is my Servant, Berserker."
"I see." The boy nodded without batting an eye.
"So you are a Master too."
Before Haldor could even answer, the boy had already made his move.
THWACK
And punched him in the crotch.
"URGHAAAAAA!" The sudden pain made him scream and released his hold on the boy's ankle in favor of holding onto his intimate parts in pain due to his instincts of self preservation of his treasure.
The kid made a half flip and landed crouching on his feet, he clenched and unclenched his hand a few times realizing something. 'This guy is not as sturdy as Archer, if I hit him again in his nether region I can win.'
Understanding this the boy moved his arm to immediately try to punch his crotch once more while Haldor was still too stunned to react.
CLACK
However the blonde man caught his fist before that, his huge hand clumped around his wrist and held his forearm. The boy could feel the firmness in Berserker's grip and it felt like he was being held by an iron claw instead of flesh one but it was probably normal counting his enemy was a Servant.
'He isn't wearing any armor.' Using the superhuman strength of his enemy's grip the boy used his hand like a prop to hold the weight of his entire body and kick toward Berserker's crotch with both of his feet.
TWACK
It was to no avail though, without batting an eyelash Berserker used his free hand to slap away his feet.
"Nice try but it's a bit too early for you to take me by surprise using tricks like this." Beowulf laughed at his attempt and lifted the kid higher up. "Now up there you go."
FWUSH
'Up where?' It was what the boy would have wanted to ask him but before he could even pose the question Berserker gave him the answer by hurling him in the sky.
The boy flew until he reached up about ninety or a hundred meters in the air in an instant.
'This is gonna be hard.' The boy thought briefly once his brain caught up to his surroundings, he was about to face a bad fall.
"AAAAAARGGGGH, MY BALLS." On the other hand in the ground below Haldor was screaming as held on to his family jewels for dear life, writhing in harrowing pain.
"He really got you good, Master." Berserker chuckled with a smile, he was trying his best not to laugh though on the inside. "Don't worry I will take care of him."
"No, don't." Haldor managed to barely get these words out of his mouth amidst his moanings of pure suffering, then with his squinted eyes he caught the figure of the boy who hit him falling from the sky. His eyes opened wide and his face grew paler. "Berserker, catch him! If you don't, he will die."
"?" Beowulf was puzzled. After all, couldn't the kid just summon his own Servant with a command spell?
But he still obliged to his Master's order either way and took a leap and shot for the air.
"Gotcha." Beowulf grabbed him by the back of the shirt's collar while the kid was still falling.
As they landed on the ground the boy continued trashing around trying to free himself from Berserker's grip but it was without success. Just as he was about to blow his shirt away Haldor spoke from beside him.
"Let's call a truce." Or he tried to speak to be precise, his tone was so raspy the boy barely understood the meaning of his words but got that the white haired man wanted to call for peaceful talks.
'Should I accept though?' He was here to fight after all, not to make allies.
Despite that the boy still stopped his strugglings in Berserker's hold to ponder.
'But now that I think about it Gilgamesh also made some sort of truce with Archer and the girl. Would this be alright then?' The boy was confused and unsure of what to do.
On one hand this solution would be a smart one to take but on the other he felt like he would be doing only half of what he was asked to. The biggest problem was that he wasn't sure about which of the two would be the correct one.
'What should I do?' The boy continued to fix the white haired man with his impassive gaze, he wasn't sure what he was supposed to say or do right now. 'This is a tough decision.'
"Urgh haaaaa." Regaining his bearings Haldor gave a low growl, stood straight on his feet and finally let go of his family jewels… before quickly covering them up again just in case.
"Ok, kid listen." Getting his attention Haldor addressed the boy. "I don't fight kids. So I'm not gonna fight you, is that clear? I don't care what you do around or to others, you are a master too after all but I'm not fighting you. I'm going there to those explosions too if you want you can tag along with me."
[Convenient of you to be saying that after the kid made you crawl on the floor and possibly killed your entire future bloodline.] Berserker commented telepathically with a smirk.
'Shut up.' Haldor answered back snorting.
"...What if I still want to fight you though?" The boy asked, holding his chin with his right hand.
"I will have Berserker tie you to a street lamp." Haldor pointed to the pole on the side of the road.
"I see, that's very convincing." After all, if he got tied up here he wouldn't be able to fight any further.
"Isn't it?" Haldor shrugged before offering the boy his hand as Berserker put him down. "Then let's team up, what do you say?"
"Fine. We will go fight together then." The boy shook his hand, resisting the urge to use this moment to strike his nether region now that he was distracted.
"What's your name by the way?" After finishing the handshake Haldor asked, realizing he didn't know what to call him other than "kid" or "boy".
"I don't have one now."
"I see… Well, that kind of sucks. Anyway, I'm Haldor, nice to meet you, kid."
"Nice to meet you too, mister."
And thus an unlikely and unusual team was formed.
***
Meanwhile
Battle raged all around in the highway directed to Tokyo. A group was encircled by more than two hundred puppets that continued in their persistent siege without stopping.
Explosions rang, blood spilled and pieces of wood flew in the air.
Humans and puppets fought in what could be called a mad ballad of superhuman violence.
In the midst of all of this a single man stood unmoving, unlike the rest, in the very center of the defensive formation made by the other priests. He was Paolo.
He stood as still as a mannequin with a blank expression on his face, his mouth slightly open and his eyes open wide as they took in their surroundings without blinking for a second.
'What is this?' He thought listlessly.
Then his body finally seemed to start catching up with reality.
'Why is this happening? Am I dreaming?' His pupils started trembling , his eyes still wide open but his brows and cheeks started quivering as if he was showing signs of spasming. 'Why are they trying to kill us?'
'Ever since we started this journey it's just been so crazy, this has to be a dream. How could vampires be real? And moving cyborg like puppets as well? And why would so many people try to kill us on both the plain and the boat as well? Something like this can't possibly be real.'
His thoughts were jumbled from the mess he was in, he couldn't understand left from right and he felt like puking but unfortunately the impulse didn't even come to him to help distract himself with it.
'But then…' Suddenly a piece of wood flew past him, grazing his cheek. He brought his trembling hand to touch over the bruise on his face, the moment he touched he slightly flinched in pain.
"Then why…" Paolo slightly open mouth started whispering in a raspy voice, he felt like his throat was so dry it might have been a desert; it was as if he hadn't drank for a very long time, which wasn't true as he was sure he had just sipped on a bottle of water somewhere around less than ten minutes ago.
And yet his throat was just so dry right now. Which only further reinforced what Paolo was thinking right now, much to his dismay.
"Why does this feel so real?" He barely mumbled.
BOOM
A puppet's head was blown into the air, landing not far away from his feet. It bounced on the asphalt and then started rolling in his direction until it was stopped by hitting his shoe. The head was charred, with its yellow turban smeared in someone's blood.
"Eh…" Then Paolo's legs started trembling, then as if all strength had left his body his knees gave in and they hit the ground.
"Haaah haaah haaa." He started hyperventilating, his hands grasping his hair as his whole body quivered like a leaf.
"Haaaaah… I…"
"I… I want to go home."
Paolo shut his eyes and hoped for everything around him to just disappear but they wouldn't grant his wish.
And more importantly he was well aware that the phrase he just said was meaningless.
'Who am I kidding…'
'If I had any home to return to then I wouldn't be here.'
***
On the grass outside the highway an old man stood watching as the ferocious fight between the members of the church and a mechanical army of his own creation unfolded.
The old man had a bald head top with the hair falling down only from the back and sides of his head in long white braids like the one on his beard.
'The shields seem to have created a solidified air around them that limits the passage of the puppets. Did they turn the area they surround into a shrine? No, the right term should be a church for them, I suppose.' He watched almost fondly as he stroked his beard in thought. 'The shields are its walls and the church is the safe place guarded by their deity, thus the walls are resilient and can repel spells somewhat while also limiting the entry of enemies. Not bad, not bad at all.'
"These people from the church are certainly much better than we expected. Especially those two, they are much stronger than the rest." The old man, Caster, looked in the direction of Father Mark and Father Mael specifically. Among all the men and women fighting against the yellow turban soldiers they stood out, they were a clear cut above the rest as they slaughtered his puppets without any need of help from others.
However, Caster could see that despite their strength it wouldn't be enough to defeat his army.
While no one died yet on the priests' side, it was only a matter of time before someone did. The knights' defenses were starting to grow looser as they slowly retreated back step by step, the executors were instead starting to grow more and more wounded as the rate at which they recovered from their injuries was starting to fall back the speed at which they suffered damage.
As of this moment, after only a few minutes the battle has been going on for, only seventy two puppets were destroyed out of the two hundred and forty seven in total. On the surface one might look at it and think that a great number of the enemies have been taken out as they destroyed around a third of the puppet force; but that was only when you didn't account for the fact that out of seventy two, twenty eight were killed by the two strongest in the group alone.
The rest of the group of thirty people was barely producing a little more results than those two and they were already starting to wear out, as soon as they faltered then the army would surely overwhelm the two middle aged priests and kill them.
"Now that's a poor guy." Caster looked in the direction of a blond young man kneeling on the ground, tears coming out of his eyes and trembling in fear.
It was an unexpected sight counting who he was attacking but he had no intention of sparing him, he might have felt pity at the sight but that wouldn't stop him now. This was a war after all.
"Hmm, I did expect to be taking some losses but these are starting to be a bit more than I expected, hmmm." Humming in thought, Caster continued grooming his beard before finally stopping.
"Well, I guess it's time to end this." The old man retrieved a yellow talisman with red inscription drawn on it, he wove it in the air before pointing it toward the sky.
Immediately the piece of paper started burning, then he threw the talisman in the air straight toward the battlefield, it flew between the swarm of yellow turban soldiers and landed on the shield of an old knight.
BOOOM
From the talisman flame erupted like a volcano in an upward stream, after a few seconds they extinguished themselves revealing a completely charred corpse reduced to nothing but thin black stick man. It was the corpse of Father Ignacio Cruz, senior knight of the church chivalric order.
"That should be enough, I will only intervene further if some… hm?" Suddenly Caster turned around in confusion. "What is this?"
***
"Father Cruz!!!" Sister Caterina screamed as she saw her own teacher get burned to literal charcoal without even having the chance of defending himself.
The gap in the shield wall was immediate. The sudden loss of one of them out of nowhere made the response from the other knight slower than it should have.
The puppets surged through the opening.
The knight who stood closest to the dead Father Cruz tried to stop them but two monk spades slammed into the shield of the knight pushing him back and unable to close the gap that was created in the formation.
The puppets stepped over the fallen corpse of Father Cruz and landed inside the formation.
FWIP
A black key pierced the head of one of the yellow turban soldiers with eerie precision.
Father Mark ran towards the puppet he just sniped.
"…Tch." He grabbed onto the black key stuck on its forehead and, pulling it out, he slashed at another puppet with it.
"He gives power to the faint, and strengthens the powerless." Then Father Mark started praying, reciting a part of the old testament.
CLANG
"Even youths grow tired and weary, and young men stumble and fall;" It parried the attack by using a pair of sickles but was pushed away from the force of it, however the rest of the horde charged straight toward Father Mark without minding their comrade.
CLANG
He deflected a monk spade that came from the left side and ducked under another was about to decapitate him before stepping inside the puppet's reach.
TWACK
"But those who hope in the Lord will renew their strength." His elbow smashed into its stomach zone with absurd strength and sent it flying backward, dragging a pair of its fellow allies together with him as they were dragged away by the flying puppet.
However it wasn't enough, more puppets continued charging at him. Father Mark frowned, this time there were just too many of them at once.
"Bloody hell." He cursed under his breath. "Care to lend me some help, friends?"
Then Father Mael appeared beside Mark again, mace already mid swing.
BAAAM
The weapon crushed a puppet's torso flat against the asphalt, scattering splinters across the road.
BANG FWING BANG BANG
Brother Billy and Brother Junpei also helped sniping a few from behind the two senior priests.
BAAM CLANG
Another two puppets were destroyed by the simultaneous efforts of Mark and Mael. One by getting cut in three different sections and the other having its head smashed away from its neck.
"They just keep coming…" Father Mael, muttered to himself, the situation was slowly getting worse and they also didn't even know how one of their allies died. "Any bright ideas, faggot?"
"Now that sure is an unbecoming way of referring to someone who is your ally, isn't it?" What came back was a rhetorical answer but Mael wasn't angry, on the other he was terrified, because the voice that answered him from behind him was one he was wholly unfamiliar with.
"Who ar–"
FWUSH
He tried to swing his mace as he turned around to look at the newcomer but before he could even finish speaking his left arm flew away as if cut by an invisible blade.
The next thing Mael saw was a hand holding onto a yellow piece of paper that was about to be plastered on his face.
In that instant he felt his death approaching and was about to try one last ditch effort to at least injure his assailant.
TTTRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR
However in that same moment a rain of bullets hit the mysterious enemy, pushing him away from Father Mael. At the same time Junpei pulled him back using his ash lock.
Now between his comrades he could see Father Mark holding a submachine gun he took from who knows where, emptying the entire magazine on a figure dressed in what he could barely make out to be a yellow coat.
TTTRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR
"Where the hell did you get that?" Mael couldn't stop himself from asking despite having nearly died an instant before.
"Contingencies are a virtue." He replied mildly but his eyes were not on Mael.
The figure in yellow was forced backward a few steps, before stopping and now standing unfazed by the bullets. Empty shells clattered onto the asphalt around Father Mark's feet as he continued shooting without stopping.
Then–
CLICK
…
CLICK CLICK
The weapon ran dry.
"Well, this sure took me by surprise. A fascinating weapon for sure." The stranger spoke with genuine surprise, his clothes were still perfectly intact despite the firing, only emanating some smoke as he dusted away at his shoulders.
Father Mael could now clearly see his appearance, an old man with braided hair and beard, wearing a black tuxedo with an open yellow coat that hung loose on his shoulders like a cape of sorts.
"I was hoping that would have worked out better." Father Mark grumbled in self reproach.
"If I died from a gun it certainly would have made for a very funny tale to tell but I'm afraid it isn't possible." The old man in front of them smiled as he genuinely considered the notion for a moment.
"You must be a Servant." Mark clicked his tongue.
"A Servant…" Father Mael muttered under his breath. "What do you mean, a Servant?"
"I didn't have the time to finish before but Manuel told me a Holy Grail War is ongoing in Tokyo, right now." Mark offered without taking his off from the enemy.
Meanwhile Junpei bondaged the wound of Father Mael by cutting a piece of his ash lock and muttering a sacrament to help stop the bleeding and preserve his state.
"So that man is…"
"Yes, I am the heroic spirit summoned as a servant answering the name of Caster, it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance." The old man presented himself as he smiled but his expression turned serious the next moment.
"So, now that I have presented myself, why don't you tell me which of you is in possession of such a powerful relic?"
'Relic? What is he talking about? Do we have such a thing?' Mael thought and tried to think of anything they had that could be called such, even attracting this man's attention but he wasn't sure. He certainly did not recall the Vatican bestowing them anything for this mission, at least not that he was aware of.
"If you were to give it up of your own will I can promise that I shall let all of you live as long as you firm a contract to stay away from this city."
'Is he serious?' Mael knew this being had no reason to make such a show unless he was some sort of sadist. 'If someone here were to be in possession of something that even a Servant would take such a notice in, it would probably be Mar-'
"Blasphemere, you shall not lay your hands on the holy treasure that Father Mael hides on himself!" Father Mark yelled in righteous indignation.
'Eh!?' Father Mael, still reeling from the pain of having lost an arm, made a double take as his face was pale, probably from the bloodloss… yes, definitely from the bloodloss and not the unholy shock of what he just heard.
"..." Even Caster was silent at hearing his words, feeling somewhat awkward. "Are you trying to protect him or sell him out?"
"Don't play games with us, you are a servant of the Caster class recognizing a relic position should be a child's play for you." The priest taunted.
"No, I just wanted to make an example out of him and take my chances if I was lucky." Caster deadpanned.
"This formation you set up makes the surrounding area in one of those churches of yours, inside of here all of the believers of your deity are indistinguishable from each other. It should be because in your cult all of the god's believers are its children. It's similar to beliefs of equality for all men under the will of heavens as well." Caster was quite relaxed, he might have been a bit taken aback by the priest's rather shameless words but he only found it amusing, he didn't even mind explaining why he didn't just take the object in question.
Before he had no intention of intervening in the battle as he didn't want to possibly attract a Servant, he was probably the one everyone wanted dead the most in the entire city. However then out of nowhere he felt this overwhelming sense of danger and magical energy coming from their formation, it wasn't immediate but rather something that was slowly building up and it intrigued him to no end.
After looking intently he couldn't pin point its exact origin but surmised it couldn't be originating from anything other than a powerful relic.
If he could get his hands on it with you damaging it he wouldn't mind sparing their lives.
"And just theoretically speaking in pure informative curiosity what would happen were we to refuse your deal?"
"I will kill each and every single one of you and take that thing from your corpses."
"I see." Mark nodded thoughtfully, then he put one hand on Mael's left shoulder where he was missing his arm. "We will never forget your sacrifice, Father Mael. I'm sure the Lord will welcome you in heaven with open arms, we will try and avenge you one day… maybe."
"This faggot…" Mael grumbled, already cursing the day he accepted to come here.
"You guys sure don't look like you are on the same side, you know?" Even Caster looked at Mark with such a frown on his face as if what he was looking at was the scum of the earth. "Shouldn't you have at least a tiny bit of comradery or something?"
"I'm afraid my feelings of camaraderie only extend to pretty lasses." Father Mark's words hung in the air with brazen confidence which made a vein visibly pop on Father Mael's bald forehead.
"You surely are quite the shameless one, aren't you?" Caster smiled exasperately as he gave a low chuckle. "But I will give you props for your ability to distract me but the rest of your ilk needs some more training I fear."
FWUP FWUP FWUP FWUP FWUP VFWUP
Crossbow darts rained on both sides of the old man but stopped midair hovering a few centimeters off of him as if they struck a wall.
"Feel free to take them back." He lightly threw a single talisman he held between his index and middle fingers in the air with the same attitude of someone tossing a piece of trash with a single flick of his arm.
WHUSH
The wind stirred around the old man in gusts that rose dust from the asphalt and before they even noticed the darts were already fired back at their shooters, turning the four of them who tried to ambush him into human porcupines.
The four executors fell to the floor dead as they didn't even realize what had killed them.
FWIPFWIP FWIP
Three black keys were thrown by Father Mark the moment the four men touched the ground, aimed at Caster's head but the old man waved his left hand throwing two talismans that flew to intercept the flying swords and then…
RUMBLE
Lighting came forth from the talismans and made the black keys explode into charred shrapnels.
"Haaa." Caster sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose to massage it. "You should have accepted my proposal."
"That's likely but I fear we don't have that luxury in such a situation. You see, we have quite the situationship over our side as well." Mark took another triplet of black keys to wield between the crooks of his fingers for each hand, once again ready to fight.
"You signed yourself up for certain death but if this is your will then so be it." Caster hands rose up and dozens of wooden arms popped out from the asphalt grasping the legs of all the knights and executors present.
"Wha!?" Even Father Mark was taken by surprise, his legs now firmly held in place by four mechanical arms. 'They could come from underground too, damn it.'
All across the formation, the same struggle erupted.
"Cut them off!" A nun shouted as she tried to free herself but a puppet pierced her guts with a monk sword.
Caster took out a bundle of talismans in his right hand, he was going to kill everyone of them in a single attack. Ever since he perceived this strange presence from the group of priests it had been slightly gritting at his sense of danger, whatever object they were hiding presented a measure of danger even to him in some form.
'I can't lose any more time, I will share–!'
…
'Huh?' All of a sudden though Caster started feeling strange, he felt lighter, lighter to the point of feeling like a feather that could be swept away by the wind.
STEP
He heard the sound of a boot stomping the ground lightly in the background but he struggled to figure out where it came from. Meanwhile his vision shifted, the ground grew lower and then he started seeing his own body.
However that very body now stood without its head.
STEP
That sound of light footsteps rang again but this time Caster was able to see where it came from. A man with a long black coat with orange details and turquoise short hair passed right by his now headless body walking while holding a katana in his right hand and an empty sheath in his left.
STEP
The man slowly spun the blade in his hand before calmly sheeting the sword back inside its scabbard without any hurry.
TING
"Formlessness." The man uttered in a barely audible whisper as the metallic sound of the sword's guard hitting the scabbard sounded unusually loud despite being barely audible amidst the confusion of the battlefield. Then…
FWUSH FWUSH FWUSH FWUSH
Caster witnessed his own body being cut to slices like an asterisk with the center of the attacks being his torso where the heart was located.
'Saber…' Those were the Servant's last thoughts. He had been so distracted by the presence of whatever the priests had been holding on that failed to notice the approach of another Servant, now his spiritual core was totally destroyed and he dispersed in the air like particles of light.
Thus, on the third night of the war…
Caster was killed.