Bad Enough Dudes

[Matthew Walker]

It was early afternoon and the sun shone merrily in the sky, the brightness of the day a defiant counterpoint the dark deeds being perpetrated under the cloudless azure dome. The street held no hint of hostile intent, no clue of the carnage that would unfold there when darkness fell.

Wide sidewalks stood as testament to the throngs of shoppers and businessmen that traversed its length daily. One side of the street was made up of small office buildings and a large painting supply outlet. The other was dominated by a strip mall and capped by a filling station. Double wide lanes admitted motorists, crosswalks catered to foot traffic, and the hustle and bustle of modern life flowed over and through it like blood through the veins of the city.

A man walked down the street blithely navigating the crowds and slipping through presses of people. There was nothing remarkable about him. He was short, middle aged, and well fed. His suit was pressed but inexpensive, his shoes were old but polished to a shine, his hat failed to conceal a receding hair line. His features were broad and flat, the corners of his eyes creased with laugh lines. He grinned at everyone that glanced his way. A round faced man with an odd smile.

He padded happily to a point midway down the wall of the paint supply warehouse and then turned to face it. His expression was inquisitive and he held out a hand, his fingers stopping just short of the surface. To any mundane observer he simply stood there, arm extended, for the better part of five minutes. The wall under his palm wavered briefly as if seen through a heat wave and then was still again. Strange, but hardly more than could be put down to a trick of the light.

What a casual observer wouldn't see was the needle thin flow of Prana that emanated from his hand. It seeped, not into the wall, but into the cubed section of reality that the wall occupied. It wormed its way through the fabric of space and time. With a twist of his wrist it suddenly boated, sending hairline fractures through the infinitely fragile crystalline structure. And then it settled back, growing as thin as gossamer as it tied all the fractured pieces together. Really it was a clever little trap. Like an egg perfectly balanced on the end of a needle. By its self it would balance there indefinitely. But as soon as a source of Mana of sufficient magnitude moved past it like a gust of wind...

The round faced man beamed a friendly smile and began whistling. A cheerful tune floated down the street as he strolled away under the bright blue sky.

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It was getting on towards dusk when Matt arrived on the street where he had felt the odd aura before. He'd brought Caster to investigate it. All he'd been able to tell was that something was wrong there. Like a high pitched keening in the back of his skull, the sound to faint to hear unless you concentrated on it.

Most of the office buildings along their side of the street had closed down for the night but there was still a goodly crowd milling through the shops and restaurants across the way. Enough people that Matt and Caster didn't stand out as they strolled down the street. He kept his eyes peeled for anything out of the ordinary, even though he hadn't seen anything the day before, and gestured as he spoke over his shoulder.

"This is where I was when I felt it. Just ahead there a bit. It starts from the middle of the wall here, probably something just on the other side. What do you make of it? I don't think anyone here would..." Matt trailed off. Something was different. Something wrong.

Before the feeling had been like the faintest of scents in the air, the softest of noises. Now he could feel it. A magical aura. It grew stronger the closer they approached. But not stronger like feeling more heat as you approached a camp fire. Stronger like feeling more tension as you pulled on a rubber band. A tension that felt likely to snap at any instant.

"Uuuuh, maybe we should..."

He felt it an instant before he saw it. And he saw it an instant before it hit him. As they approached the wall bowed, curving inwards imperceptibly as if it were made of rubber and they were pushing an invisible rod into it the closer they approached. Without warning it snapped back. There was a sound like a thunderclap of displaced air far, far louder than the reaction that elicited it. Matt was hit by a wave of force and thrown off his feet.

His head spun, his ears rang, the sound like an explosion still echoed through the city. Through blurry vision he saw something step through the rift that had been torn in the wall of the warehouse. Two somethings. Three. No, there was an entire crowd of them pouring through onto the street.

They were vaguely humanoid, but any resemblance to a human stopped there. They were lanky, dessicated husks, all gaunt flesh and protruding bones. Tendrils whipped from their backs, barbed points dripping venom. An impossibly wide maw bristled with fangs. They loped along on all fours at terrifying speeds, claws digging into masonry as they crawled over the walls.

"Ugh," Matt grunted, forcing himself to his feet and shaking his head to clear it. Screams rang out across the street and his eyes widened.

"That can't be a good sign."

[Amaranta Bastillo]

Emma had woken up on the morning on the second day nursing a hellava headache, a sore back, and a crick in her neck, having managed to drift off to sleep over an old book while still drenched in the blood from the day before. If that wasn’t a bad enough start to the day, the very next thing that greeted her was a butchered Vespa. Her butchered Vespa.

It was probably her howl of rage that woke Bedwyr, and brought the events of last night crashing down on her. She still couldn’t believe the amount of heated debate it took to get him to leave her alone while she showered, her migraine getting worse by the second, and she had been shocked to see him leaning right outside the door. In retrospect, she probably shouldn’t have expected anything less.

They had, or rather, she had, decided to skip classes that day, and Rider had wanted to explore the city. She had just wanted to lock herself in the basement and never come out, or something along those lines. They had managed to reach a compromise when Emma had agreed they could take a stroll around town, minus the not-a-Vespa, and if Bedwyr would wear clothes that didn’t look like cosplay. It was a small miracle that some of the old clothes she found around the house actually fit him pretty well, but she told herself not to question that.

The trip around town was more or less uneventful, even if Emma had managed to dig out her old M-45 pistol that she used to use up at the practice range. She had even managed to take him out for coffee without something exploding in her face, although she supposed her instructions to let her do the talking and pretend he didn’t know Italian probably helped.

“So, yeah, this is pretty much all of Torre Al-“her explanation managed to get drowned out by an explosion, “…But that’s new. And probably not good.”

When she turned her head to inspect the cause of the distress, she could see masses of people running away – towards her – at full pelt, screaming, shrieking, their voices merging into a cacophony of unintelligible noise that only served to make Emma’s headache worse. She could just manage to pick up a faint, putrid scent on the wind before her eyes registered the source of the mass panic.

“You have got. To. Be. Shitting me.”

Dozens of otherworldly things were clambering over themselves, pouring out onto the streets of Torre Alta over the rubble of the warehouse that probably held them. She didn’t blame everyone else for running away screaming now; they were pretty ugly bastards, barely humanoid things drooling sizzling saliva as they scuttled across the ground at impossible speeds. She glanced to her side.

Although Bedwyr could walk without crutches, she doubted his ankle would hold up under any more strain than that, and yet she had a feeling that this particular problem wasn’t just going to solve itself. He was her Servant. He could cope. But for her, it was just one ridiculous, life-threatening adventure after the other, wasn’t it? She was beginning to regret just not going to class already.

“Oi, Rider,” she muttered, hand fishing around in the back of her belt for the firearm she had hoped she didn’t have to use, “You’re trained to handle stuff like this, right? Knock yourself out. That’s an order.”

It was most definitely illegal to shoot a gun in public, but Emma doubted anyone would’ve noticed, what, with all the eldritch abominations running around. If that riding-crazed freak could make himself useful, then she couldn’t very well turn tail and flee, even if that was what all her instincts were screaming at her otherwise.

[Bedwyr]

This whole thing was enormously demeaning. He had been awoken by Amaranta’s scream, and had been up in a flash, drawing his blade, which formed into a breaching sword, and not even buckling his surcoat as he raced down the stairs to her. She may have been in danger!

But of course she was not. Amaranta had been yelling at the shock of seeing her steed. For some reason she was angry about his modifications, which improved it probably close to a hundred-fold. Of course it would be difficult for someone with no experience to ride it, but he was willing to teach her… eventually.

So the ensuing argument did not go well. He was itching to see more of this world, places he had never seen. He fought from a losing position at the start, and only gave ground.

He was lucky he even got to leave the manor. He was now wearing some mismatched clothes, that seemed particularly aged, and no armour, or his surcoat garbed him. He folded that up, however, and carried it with him. Reminders are always needed. He was actually surprised she did not suggest he give up the earrings, which would have been the last thing he would have done.

His sword was summonable to him, but he did feel naked without the sheath at his waist. And even were he to summon it, he would still have to draw it from its sheathe. What is the point of this?

And worst of all, she didn’t let him bring his mount. He had worked on it for hours. Well maybe, he wasn’t really sure how long it took, other than it had made him tired. He had promised himself he would not be without a mount again. And yet here he was, walking down the street on a now slightly injured ankle. What if they were attacked again?

The wound on his back had healed however, and he had pulled the stitches out this morning. He still occasionally coughed blood, and the wound inside his body did heal slightly slower, but at least it was healing.

Amaranta showed him around the area of the city they were in for a few hours without event, and he was often astonished at many of the things in the city. There were well established rules of passage for mounts, as well as those who walked. They also seemed to be generally obeyed, and he did see the result of one such failure by two riders, whose mounts were now most assuredly dead.

He could have wept. Such a waste of the mounts, he had seen far too many die, receive broken limbs, from the errors of mankind. Their failure almost disgusted him at that point, but he was not Galahad. Some people just did not have talents in one direction, and he supposed riding might be one of those things.

An explosion shook the very ground beneath his feet as he was lost in thought again. It seemed almost normal compared to what he had seen today. He had seen explosions in his time.

But apparently Amaranta was not so unworried.

“You have got. To. Be. Shitting me.” She sounded more like she was tired of something rather than surprised. He did suppose she had gone through a lot. She had known nothing, and now knew much. But she did not seem to like the sound of it at all.

She pulled out a gun. His mind was already getting closer to merging with the spare one. Perhaps it was his summoning that had kept them apart in the first place. It was a strange mechanical crossbow, that carried more than one bolt at a time. And was much, much faster to reload. It was also pretty much useless against a Servant, but it would probably be highly effective against another human.

Suddenly Bedwyr realized the crowd around him was running the opposite way he was facing. Away from the explosion.

“Oi, Rider, you’re trained to handle stuff like this, right? Knock yourself out. That’s an order.” His mind had a strange sensation of wanting to hit himself in the head particularly hard. In a flash the spare mind told him it was a simple corruption of language, and simply meant to try with extraordinary effort.

His brain roared into gear. "I will serve!" His battlecry echoed throughout the plaza, but had absolutely no effect on the loping, slobbering beasts.

This was more like what he was looking for! He spun out the white surcoat from under his shoulder in an instant, and tied the cross clasp together over his arm- I shouldn’t damage Amaranta’s clothing, I can go without the armour for now. over his clothes. Then he pointed his finger straight at the sky and yelled “Who the hell do you think I am”[/color] His sheathe materialized at his waist. His own sword was out in a flash, shifting into somewhat of a medium length sword, maybe a hand shorter than what he would wield on horseback. He was not in cramped quarters anymore; he would not need something as small as the shortsword from last night.

And once again he had managed to find himself fighting without a mount. Perhaps I should inform my Master what ‘Rider’ means after this. He could probably pick up a steed that one of these people left behind anyways. But it would probably be directed by hand. He hated that, he really did.

He was quickly too busy to bother looking for a mount, as he was surrounded by slobbering creatures, composed almost solely of … something strangely familiar, but his mind blanked on it. Both of them did.

His eyes blinked once and then he slashed at the first one that lunged at him, separating its head from the rest of its body. One stroke, these were nothing. They moved together now, but he was faster as long as he pivoted on his left foot. Another strike, his blade shining in the afternoon sun, split one up the middle. Their maws dripped with prana, it was almost as if the things were Servants, or some corrupted form. One struck at his blind side, and he slammed his bad hand’s forearm into the side of its head. He heard the breaking bones as his arm connected with the dessicated creature's skull. Its bones.

These things were simple, but he could not take them lightly. He narrowly avoided the lunge of another, but he caught it under his arm and snapped its neck. His sword spun again, and this time bisected two of the lunging beasts at once. There! His sword ran through another one, as it attempted to engulf his hand in its maw. He through the corpse with his sword at another, but the thing melted into air before they collided, and the final two hounds leapt through the air at him. He slouched down, spearing one with his sword, and letting the one on the other side meet his bad arm. The bite tore into his arm for barely a quarter of a second before he brought Spatharius back at an angle through the thing’s body. It disappeared from his arm, fading away like mist.

He was holding the things back from his Master, who contributed the occasional bolt from her mechanical crossbow. There were a ridiculous number of these things, and they had started to realize his weakness of only having one arm.

“There are quite a few of these things, Emma!” He was seriously regretting not bringing the mount, as he crushed the skull of another with the pommel of his sword. The fact that he could not take off after any beasts that ran towards his master because of his injured leg made him have to focus on ones trying to detach from combat with him, which made him take slight wounds and pressure from the ones attacking from the other directions. Another slobbering creature had the top of its head pierced by his blade, he only needed six inches of strike to guarantee death, he did not need to pierce the things head to the ground. He whipped the blade out of the skull to meet another’s charge.

He was death for these beings. They would not pass him, would not get to his Master. “Should have let me bring the steed!” He shouted out finally. She really should have, this was starting to get tedious.

[Miliardo Red]

Miliardo's day had started both well and terribly. The finer point was that he was as well rested as ever, thanks to the good Doctor's prana harvest, which was also safely contained far away from his own home, unlike the mess still in the basement.

The terrible start was that Miliardo had to watch. He had never intended to have such a close view of how Jack the Ripper went about his gruesome hobby. While death never bothered Miliardo, Doctor Heller's monomaniacal glee was nothing short of horrifying. He could almost dismiss the event as the most hands-on anatomy lesson he'd ever received, but lessons on how to slowly remove people's organs while they begged for death, choking on their own blood and crying out in pain, didn't seem all that helpful in the long run. The woman had taken hours to die, and her home was now liberally decorated with her entrails; the Doctor had carefully pinned them to the walls where he could, still attached to the body when possible. The "operating theater" was a bloody web of entrails wrapped around furniture and looped around lamps, before returning to the mostly-empty corpse in the center of the room.

"Unnecessary" was Miliardo's opinion of the results, but he wasn't entirely sure if that was his true feelings or if the sheer shock of dealing with that much grotesquery out of one corpse had taken away his ability to put stronger words to the event. But it was thankfully behind him for the time being; he could return home, wash up, and have the Doctor deal with the basement. Escaping notice was his expertise, after all.


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That was then, this was now. Five metal birds of prey now stalked the sky, all under Miliardo's control. He lounged in his own living room, clean and clear of last night's massacre, his concentration on the scouting birds. The Doctor's suggested excursion had been interesting, but ultimately information gathering was much more efficient this way, and far less dangerous to his person.

One of the brass kestrels, flying over Torre Alta, caught sight of something unusual. A mass panic, caused by... things, inhuman monsters skittering out into the street, attacking passerby's. They were grotesque, but somehow lacked the sheer menace his Servant possessed just by smiling. Pale imitations of a real terror, though looking very much the part for monsters.

And then there was the Rider, and his Mistress Bastillo, fighting them.

Miliardo very nearly lost his concentration laughing. Fate seemed to be pushing him and that young lady together. But why would they be involved in monsters? Why were there any monsters at all? This situation warranted a closer examination.

High above, where they would not be noticed by the combatants below, the lonely clockwork kestrel circled and watched. And across the city, it's 4 siblings turned and began to converge, flying toward the event. There would undoubtedly be more to watch.

[Matthew Walker]

Matt's ears were still ringing from the explosion and the sounds of panic only added to his disorientation. The shockwave had thrown him several yards and knocked the wind out of him. He ignored his protesting muscles as he forced himself upright. Still dazed from the blow he took stock of the situation.

There were a lot of people milling around, the press of bodies rushing to escape the explosion clogging up the ends of the street as the panicked crowd pushed and shoved to get away. They were running as fast as they could but the creatures pouring out of the rift were much faster.

The tide of monsters bore towards him like a flood of decrepit flesh and bone, snarling and snapping and crawling over one another in a frenzied rush to reach the tender flesh just beyond them. Though Caster was the stronger of the two of them by far Matt made a snap decision. She may be able to save him from getting holes punched in his hide but...

"Caster!" He called over his shoulder. "Get those people out of here! I'll hold 'em off!"

The blast had thrown chunks of debris across the street and Matt shifted sideways, placing himself directly between the oncomming monsters and the retreating crowd. He had seconds before they closed on him and his eyes searched frantically for anything that would give him an edge. They finally settled on a length of re-bar about half as long as he was tall protruding from a chunk of concrete. He grabbed it and closed his eyes briefly. Power flowed through him, igniting his nerves like his skeleton had been dipped in fire. Strength coursed through his veins, iron bending like putty under his fingers as he wrenched the makeshift weapon free. An empty feeling replaced the surge of raw power as he released it, dropping the amplification back to a slow burn as he felt his life ticking away like sand in an hourglass.

"Awright, you ugly chumps. LET'S DANCE!" He challenged, leaping forward meet the assault.

Bones crunched, black ichorous blood spurted, and Matt's arm rose and fell like a piston. But he was just one man and the teeming horde of monstrosities was without end. He took a step backwards. Then another. A lucky slash drew a line of fire up his ribcage and he had to dive backwards to stop the blow from spilling his guts onto the pavement. The mob began to surround him and he back up onto the hood of a car to gain a little high ground.

When his head broke the level of the swirling melee surrounding him he caught sight of a pair of figures on the opposite end of the street, across from the ever growing wave of monsters. He couldn't make out much. But one had a sword. And he was hacking through the monsters like a hot knife through butter. He was a Servant. Which would make his smaller companion...

A magus! Matt though with surprise. And hopefully one who's smarter than I am. All thoughts of the Grail War were suspended. It didn't occur to Matt that the figures at the end of the street were, not allies, but enemies. All he knew was that he was glad to see them.

"Hey! Hey you!" He hollered at the top of his lungs.

"Heeeey! There's...There's like a rift thing! Over there! It's where they're commin' from! Can you shut it down? Magic it away!" He yelled, trying to get the Emma's attention. A creature came in with a low slash and he jumped backwards off the car to avoid it, losing sight of the duo as he dropped once again into the fight. And then he had no thoughts to spare for anything that wasn't stopping undead horrors from tearing him limb from limb.

[Amaranta Bastillo]

“What steed?” she screamed back at Rider, “The one that you butchered?”

Still, despite her bravado she couldn’t help but be glad that Bedwyr was keeping most of the seemingly endless number of beasts busy, keeping her a safe distance from the melee. Just the sight of those things from a distance made bile rise in the back of her throat. Emma really didn’t want to get any more acquainted with those Lovecraftian abominations any more than she already was.

Her bad day just managed to get better and better, didn’t it? And to prove her point, a pair of those shambling monstrosities managed to break away from Bedwyr’s range to come dashing towards her at terrifying speeds that belied their appearance, gaping maws poisonous saliva dripping & glistening on their rows of dagger-teeth, those black, shadowy tendrils flapping in the air behind them as they moved.

And they bore with them the scent of decay; of rotting corpses. Emma could’ve gagged.

Click.

“Oh you are fucking joking.”

Click. Click. Click.

“Screw you too, world.”

To top it off, she hadn’t bought any extra magazines with her, and those abominations still sprinting at top speed on all fours. Bedwyr couldn’t possibly make the distance in the time, even without being swarmed by hordes of those monsters. For a guy who was meant to protect her, he was pretty freakin’ useless. Second day on the job and she was already this close to getting her face ripped off by magic zombies.

‘Think fast.’

This was stupid. Idiotic. Nineteen years and she’d never have had to deal with anything more than a twisted ankle. Like hell she was going to die because some demon-ghoul wanted to eat her face. There were always routes of action; avenues of escape. She just needed to find them before the slobbering, loping beasts were on top of her.

“Venire.”

A fool’s gambit, but it was all she had. Elaborate font on yellowed parchment flashed through her mind’s eye, letters forming to make a word, words forming to make a phrase. A spell. A simple, one-phrase spell which she’d never even uttered before in her life. But it would work. It would definitely work. Her eyes were trained on the pair of slobbering beasts. A few more moments, and they would be on top of her.

“E sparpagliare.”

Something foreign coursed through her veins, setting her nerves on fire, but that only meant whatever it was she was doing was working. She felt the air around her cool, saw shards of ice crystallize right before her eyes as they hurtled towards their targets at bullet-speeds. But just as quickly as the sensation came, it was gone, and the very next thing she saw afterwards was an eyeful of yawning rows of teeth dipped in acid.

She really did throw up a little in the back of her mouth then. She still had the presence of mind to fling herself to the side in response to that attack, though, managing to avoid getting her face melted by landing painfully on her elbow.

The first thing she realized when she crawled back up that she was still intact, minus a skinned elbow, and the very next thing was that she actually cast a spell. A magic spell. No frills attached. And furthermore, that same magic spell actually worked the way she wanted it to, and there, on her left, were two still very-creepy, but very much dead (or dead-er) demon-zombie-ghoul things.

The sight of them were still enough to make anyone gag, though.

At least Bedwyr was still doing a good enough job at keeping the rest of them busy. She winced as her elbow stung when she moved it. At least there was nothing broken.

“Hey! Hey you!”
“Who-?”
“Heeeeey!”

Was there somebody calling her? There was definitely somebody hollering for her attention. Emma scanned the area for anybody else who hadn’t fled, and her eyes settled on a lone, human figure among a sea of those otherworldly monsters. She tried not to ask herself the question of why he was still alive in there, but she got her answer nonetheless when he continued to speak.

Of course. A magus , her brand-new wizarding-world knowledge told her. If it helped, he seemed much more personable than the one from last night, although that might’ve had something to do with the fact he wasn’t trying to kill her.

“Magic it away how-!?” she stopped when she saw him disappear into the sea of undead bodies again.

They weren’t really that far apart; the hordes of monsters just made it seem that way, but there was no way to break through. But from what she had gathered from his hollering…

“Bedwyr!” she was taking long strides towards a side road, “ Don’t bother holding them off for me, why don’t we try cutting them off at the source like that nice man tells us to? I’ll be pulling back for a bit, you do something about making sure that guy who actually looks like what he knows what’s going on isn’t going to get himself killed.”

She broke into a run. She knew where she was going; that abandoned warehouse had a side entrance somewhere; she’d passed by it a few times. She’d never tried it before, but from what she’d heard, that small blue-green door with the battered ‘no entry!’ sign was never locked properly. Her run turned into a flat-out sprint.

Bedwyr and that guy in the jacket were holding up most of the beasts amidst the rubble, but she still didn’t want to waste time. Emma didn’t want to face down another one of those beasts if she could help it.

[Bedwyr]

A man was yelling. Yelling for help.

He took the soldier’s risk, and was probably going to die a soldier’s death. He would have attempted to save him were he not protecting his Master, or told to help, but now his would be a necessary death. Perhaps he shouldn’t have stayed to fight these things. At least he managed to shout something useful about stopping these abominations.

"Heeeey! There's...There's like a rift thing! Over there! It's where they're commin' from! Can you shut it down? Magic it away!"

Magic it away? Wasn’t he a magus? He was probably a master as well! Bedwyr’s sword sliced through another beast’s head. These things were pathetic once he learned that they always tried the same tactics. Every time they would leap at his blind side. Or they would all try to leap at once. This was beginning to get routine. He had not taken a single hit since the first tests of their tactics.

And once again lost in his thoughts he let two of the beasts pass by him to Amaranta. He stumbled to attempt to chase after them, but a beast saw the opportunity and bit at his good leg.

Not damaging both of them! His sword hit the beast far, far harder than intended, and the recovery was far more than intended. If the slobbering beasts were actually intelligent, he might have paid for it. But they weren’t, even the magus with the piece of building material could kill some of them.

He snapped a look off at Emma, who had managed to kill the two beasts that had separated from him with some sort of magic. So she can actually use magic! Maybe she just couldn’t heal… or something, he could not think about a plausible explanation, but then again he did not know much about Magi, other than Merlin. And he really didn’t know much at all about Merlin.

His chest heaved a sigh of relief, he had failed, but it had not been with serious consequence. Another beast died, as his earrings weighed down his ears with memories. I cannot afford to get lost in memories now! Spatharius drifted into another ravenous beast’s brain.

“Bedwyr!” Amaranta’s voice came while he batted a beast into a nearby building with his bad hand. It did not get up. Wait. She just shouted his name. His real name. In a public location. He felt a strange urge to rest his face in his good hand. He... just... Was it his fault for telling her?“ Don’t bother holding them off for me, why don’t we try cutting them off at the source like that nice man tells us to? I’ll be pulling back for a bit, you do something about making sure that guy who actually looks like what he knows what’s going on isn’t going to get himself killed.”

Excellent! Perhaps he could make up for his failure to save the woman last night, the woman who was most assuredly now dead, if it was not an empty bluff. He would wait till Amaranta was out of sight, however, to come to the idiot’s aid. Hopefully he could hold his own for the short while before he came to his aid. I hope he has something resembling luck.

“I will serve!”

Bedwyr began to thin out the pathetic beasts in front of him; it would make the running easier to do. He could barely see the young magus anymore. Amaranta was around the corner now. He planted his good foot and burst off towards the… mount that the man was standing on top of. It would probably be ridable, but he could almost guarantee the stupid thing was steerable by hand.

And yet it would still serve.

The magus was still on top of the vehicle, being swarmed, as he cut a path to the door, through the door. His good hand drifted under the steering device to commandeer, hotwire, it.

A beast burst through the open door, and Bedwyr just slammed its gaping mouth with his own forehead. Twice. It did not survive.

The vehicle underneath him roared to life. He would not use his will near another magus yet, but riding was available to more than one class. It would not reveal any more than his sword would. He broke the passenger window with the tip of his sword, it shattere out onto the pavement.

“Magus! Get in through the window!” He shouted to the man above the mount he was about to accelerate. And then he realized that the open door was by his bad hand.

This is going to be interesting! He flipped over so his bad hand was on the passenger side, and his good hand was out the removed door. He slashed the face off of one creature as he brought his right foot against the steering wheel and his left foot on the accelerator. He had given the magus enough time, he roared the car to a decent speed, he was driving backwards after all. He swung his sword at a monster that had latched on to the hole where the door was. He guided the vehicle by pure instinct. He could feel the prana of the rift, and that was where he was headed. He could feel the impact of the beasts beneath the mount.

[Matthew Walker]

When Matt fell off the roof of the car he managed to land on his feet, swinging his improvised weapon in a wide arc to give himself a little breathing room. He was completely surrounded at this point, hemmed in by a ring of snarling fangs and gleaming claws. He couldn't see anything beyond the press of monstrosities encircling him. He hoped Caster had gotten the civilians out before the monsters reached them. He hoped the magus and her Servant had managed to seal off the rift. In either case there wasn't anything he could do but frantically defend himself.

A beast leaped at him from behind, teeth bared, claws outstretched, and Matt met it with a swift back kick. He wasn't Strengthening and the blow wasn't enough to do any serious damage but it sent the creature sprawling away from him, tangling the legs of another.

An assault from the front forced him backwards slowly. But this time his back wasn't facing empty streets, it was facing ravening monsters. Matt brought his bit of rebar down hard in a two handed stroke that sent bits of skull and rotting brain matter splattering. But for every one he dispatched two more leaped forward to fill the gap it left in the circle.The onrushing creatures used force of numbers to hem him in, closing in slowly on all sides now that they had him cornered.

It was frustrating and frightening. He knew he could beat them if only he could risk Burning.

Things were looking grim when he heard the screeching rasp of metal slicing through metal. Taking a quick step backwards to open up some distance he glanced behind himself and was shocked to see the Servant from before. The one handed warrior had sliced the door off a nearby car and was doing something beneath the steering column.

"Magus! Get in through the window!" He barked.

Despite Bedwyr holding back his most iconic abilities any clever magus would have been able to infer his class from his ability to hotwire a car or his tactical choice to do so above simply wading through enemies. But Matt was not a clever magus. A brave magus, yes. And an earnest one. But not clever. At least, not when it came to Servants and magic. Still, as the moderate sized sedan roared to life with a sound like a monster truck without a carburetor barreling down a ramp at 100 miles an hour Matt couldn't help but let out a low whistle, a gesture that was completely swallowed by the sound of the magically souped up engine.

Matt rushed over to the car. But instead of getting in he bent to scoop up the door that Bedwyr had cut away to gain entry. There was a thump as he jumped up onto the roof again.

Matt stood, feet apart, stance low, holding a long bit of pipe like a sword in one hand and a disembodied car door like a shield in the other.

What did that magus call him?

"BEDWYR! PUNCH IT! I'LL KEEP 'EM OFF THE CAR!" He yelled over his shoulder. His tone held nothing of calculation or deception. He didn't view knowledge of Bedwyr's name as a tactical advantage or some sword hanging over him. Matt didn't think in terms like that. He was simply calling out to a comrade in arms.

Rubber screeched, the hood popped open and hellish flames began to shoot from the engine, and the smell of burning rubber and expended noss began to fill the air.

"WAAAAAAHOOOOOOOOO!"

And that was how they rode out. Bedwyr, one handed, steering with his feet, blade like a scythe, driving the car backwards like a bat out of hell. And Matt, howling like a madman, perched on the roof, laying about him with feverish intensity as he surfed the careening vehicle towards the rift from which monstrosities were still pouring.

[Amaranta Bastillo]

As she hoped, those monsters were too busy dealing with Bedwyr and that mystery magus to have spilled out into the side streets, but Emma was hurrying all the same, the tips of her fingers still tingling from that show of what couldn’t have been anything but magic. Everything that had happened within the last twenty-four hours was nothing short of unbelievable, and here she was running headfirst into the thick of it all.

Wait.

Wait wait wait.

What?

Turn around, go back home, and forget any of this ever happened. Except she dismissed the thought as soon as it came to her. It would never work, no matter how much she might want it to, but charging into a nest of those things was going to get her killed, distraction or no. She had enough trouble with handling two of those things from a distance, she didn’t even want to think about dealing with a horde of them indoors, in close-quarters.

She slowed to a brisk walk, and finally came to a stop, just short of rounding the last corner, breath coming in short bursts. What the hell was she doing anyway? She didn’t even know what she was meant to do after finding the hypothetical ‘source’ of those monsters, and that was assuming it even existed. Just run in there without a plan, why won’t she.

God she was an idiot.

“…Yup, definitely getting myself killed…”

Despite those muttered words, she found herself once again moving forward, slowly pushing open that battered blue-green door with the faded lettering that led to the interior of the warehouse. She found herself wincing at how loud the hinges creaked as she swung the door open, opening into the open space of the warehouse interior, the grey concrete support-pillars casting long, snaking shadows on the ceiling, shimmering green-blue light illuminating the whole interior. Undead monsters were pouring out of a-

“WAAAAHOOOOO--!”

She blinked in astonishment.

“-OOOOOO!”

The battered, burning remains of what used to be a sedan hurtled through the hole in the wall, smashing through the crowd of monstrosities, engine burning & wheels screeching, a madman perched on the roof brandishing a long metal pole, the vehicle tearing itself a morbid path as it careened into a shimmering void that those beasts were still pouring out of.

Were they stark, raving mad? What the hell were they trying to achieve? Close the rift by crashing a burning vehicle into it? To make matters even better, it seemed that the monsters on the other side of the room were finally beginning to take notice of her.

“OI, YOU GUYS,” she began to pick up her pace,” WHAT. THE. HELL.”

While most of the beasts were still occupied by the inferno blazing through their midst, it seemed that she wasn’t able to escape the attention of all of them, but it wasn’t like she was expecting anything less. Unfortunately she didn’t think out anything past that point. She didn’t even have a weapon, except for that rather pitiful 2-inch long blade in her Swiss army knife that she now gripped tightly with her right hand.

There were several of those things dashing towards her in their clumsy gait, but if their behaviour so far had been any clue, they weren’t nearly intelligent enough to work as a group. Biting the inside of her lip, she met them head on, the leftmost one coming in fastest and strongest, leaping towards her in great, loping bounds, those dagger-teeth aimed at taking her face off. Just one more bound until it was on top of her.

“…Here goes.”

With a sharp breath, she ducked under the beast, slashing at its belly as it went over her head, but she wasn’t given enough time to see if it had any effect, slashing at those shadowy tendrils that had somehow managed to wrap their way around her arm, and then hastily dodging to the right as one of them tried to bite her arm off, punching that one between the eyes before spinning on her heel and stabbing another in the face as it was about to take a chunk out of her side.

“A LITTLE HELP WOULD BE NICE!”

She didn’t look up, her attention was occupied by those abominations prepared to rip her to shreds. Her only weapon gone, she swung the tote bag into one of their faces. The thought of trying that spell out again did cross her mind, but there was never a quiet moment for her to focus.

[Bedwyr]

Really, on the roof. The roof. That made him have to restrain the speed at which the mount moved, to keep from flinging him off the top of the steed. It was… annoying. He had been using that word a lot lately, but restraints while riding were… unpleasant. He sighed as another head went rolling on the ground, and faded out near instantly.

The vehicle wasn’t even a phantasm right now, and so had suffered an overly enormous amount of damage. It was on fire.

And apparently these things could have very negative consequences while on fire.

The mount was on its last breaths as Bedwyr power slid through the hole in the wall where the monsters were streaming through. He could feel the pain of the mount as hooves… burst, and the body was crushed. It was dying, he was killing it. He was killing it, digging his spurs, forcing it to run past exhaustion.

It was already dead.

Some sting of remorse took him when he realized that. He was forcing a corpse, something that shouldn’t exist.

The idiot on top of the thing probably didn’t even realize it yet, although he fought hard to keep the beast from death. Not hard enough, sadly.

As he spun the creature he rode in a circle he caught a glimpse of Amaranta.She’s here!? Bravery once again. Did she intend to seal this thing herself?

“OI, YOU GUYS, WHAT. THE. HELL.” Again confusion, as Spatharius bit into the body, now corpse, of another creature. They vaguely reminded him of some familiar a magus of his own time had claimed was incredibly strong, just as good as a human warrior. It did die exactly like one, so Bedwyr supposed it did work.

Wait, why was she confused? He was rider. He RODE things. It was what he did. And yet she still gaped. The magus on top of his mount was still yelling. He was enjoying the ride, at least. That was the best a man could hope for.

The spin let him see the rift, the distortion, the hole in reality that these creatures poured from. Still poured from. Just as he was about to course correct to it, his Master shouted in desperation.

“A LITTLE HELP WOULD BE NICE!”

A thousand ideas ran through his mind in an instant, but only one would deal with both problems. If there had been none, he would have pointed the dying, no the dead beast, straight at his master and went.

But there was a way he could do both.

He felt the thing underneath him. He felt it. Prana now connected them, their thoughts, and their minds. This was how he had normally ridden. The beast underneath staggered to become a phantasm.

Pain. That was its only idea, the only concept that surrounded it. He could tell what was wrong with it, how long it had left. And it was not much.

Well, your burial will be magnificent.

He slashed at a final beast, splitting its maw in half, and Spatharius shortened, ready for its next job. Faithful. In one action he jammed it into the reigns, to lock them, and through the deadman’s switch. It would hold, and it would survive. The blade was unbreakable, after all. And the thing needed something of his prana to remain a phantasm, to allow this plan to succeed.

Gripping the seat he faced, he slammed both his feet into where the idiot magus was currently standing on the rooftop, bursting it open, and hopefully knocking the Magus away. If not… Sacrifices are sometimes necessary.[/color]

“Magus, RUN!” That would be the only warning he gave, as he disrupted the prana flowing through the beast underneath him as he dove out the broken door, and onto a beast that was completely destroyed on impact with him. It did cushion his skid a little, but it interfered with his attempt to land on his feet.

Eight seconds. And he had wasted one falling. His feet planted in an instant, as he ran towards his Master. The vehicle would explode at perhaps B rank, maybe lower, and that would do cause some large amounts of collateral damage.

She wouldn’t be part of it.

Six seconds, the beasts were in his way, and he had no blade. He simply tore them to pieces with his body. Nothing would slow his progress.

Four seconds, she was fighting something with her bag. A solid blow from his good arm passed clean through the monster’s chest, feeling the prana it was composed of shudder, as if a beating heart. One convulsion, then it dissapeared, leaving his arm clutching air. It had not expected that, it had hoped for an easy meal. His own surprise at what he had done wasted another second. What was he doing, wasting time like this?

Two seconds, he had wasted more on thought. Well there was realistically only one choice now. “GET DOWN!” He roared, hopefully loud enough for the other Magus to hear as well. With that he clutched Emma tight to him, formed his armour, completely destroying the clothes she lent him, and was ready to protect her from the explosion with his body. He would serve. His surcoat swirled around her body, guarding her from any other debris. Nothing would pass his body now, not while he held his ground here.

Not a stone, nor a piece of dust would touch her. He would not allow it. He would not fail.

A single second.

“Don’t move!”

[Amaranta Bastillo]

It was probably only a few seconds, but it felt like far too long. Getting into a brawl with magic-acid-drooling-zombie-demon-things was definitely not the smartest thing that Emma’s ever done. She was all but scrambling away from their gaping jowls, the small victories from earlier completely insignificant when there was a horde of them, with more pouring from that portal, the beasts lunging at her and scrabbling over each other for a shot at the fresh meat.

It was already just barely short of a miracle that she had survived for so long, and even more of one that she was still on her feet, but she was retreating into a corner. Even if they were mindless, the monsters were faster, more numerous, and very likely stronger than her. She didn’t even bother lashing out anymore; focusing on keeping herself in one piece took priority.

Just as she tensed her muscles again when another one of them was going to pounce, she saw, almost in slow motion, a hand emerge from within its torso. In the next instant, it had disappeared into nothingness, leaving behind a faint burst of something that Emma couldn’t quite place. Not even two seconds. A mere moment was all it took for Bedwyr to make short work of that monster with his bare hands.

She almost sighed in relief, but the look on his expression seemed as terse as ever. From the corner of her eye, she could see the car, engulfed in a blazing inferno, about to collide with the inky substance that formed the rift.

“GET DOWN!”
“Rid-?”

She cut off as he pulled her close to him, all but shoving her face into his chest. Almost reflexively, she began to pull back, but his arms held firm.

“Don’t move!” he snapped, in a tone that brooked no resistance.
“What are y-“

A deafening blast rocked the interior of the warehouse, washing the dull grey with a brilliant, blinding white, drowning the shadows with a flash of explosive energy, overriding her senses. The man clutching her tight seemed to say something, though the meaning escaped her, and she found her head being pushed down. The floor shook. Even without seeing anything, she could hear the world around her falling apart, feel the debris flying everywhere.

Something from above hit her back, and skittered off. From above. She pulled away. Winced at her arm; something had managed to scrape it, but it wasn’t anything big. Was it over? Bedwyr’s grip had loosened, and she straightened herself. Surveyed the surroundings. Strewn with rubble. A good portion of the concrete support beams had been all but destroyed. There was a hole in the roof, a giant crater in the floor.

It looked like a bomb had exploded.

She looked up. The roof looked like it was about to cave in. Something creaked, scraped against each other.

“...Be- Rider?” she said slowly, still recovering, “The ceiling.”

It didn’t just look like it was about to cave in. It was caving in.

[SHOUNEN HERO MATTZ]

To his credit, Matt had managed to hold his own against the creatures while riding up top. A smack across the face with a side swipe, a crushed skull when he slammed the bar down, a shield thrust to fend off the ones that tried to jump him. He kept his body moving, twisting and turning frantically in hopes of fighting off the creatures.

But they were overwelming him.

He recieved a small respite when they blast through the entrance to the creatures nest. Dropping to one knee and lifting the car door in front of him, he didn't know what to expect. Well, he did, actually. He expected to get jumped by horrible monsters from unknown origins. Which is exactly what happened.

Slamming his shield into the one on the right, he crammed the crowbar into the mouth of the one that tried to take him in a frontal assualt. The thing, being the mindless beast it was, didn't think to back out of the crowbar and instead tried to claw Matthew from its current position. Matt hissed, feeling the claws tear across his arm. He Countered with hooking the crowbar upward, piercing through the roof of it's mouth and stabbing into it's brain. He ripped the crowbar out it's mouth, kicking the newly made corpse into another incoming enemy while he turned to slam the crowbar into an enemy that had tried to jump him from the side.

Naturally he could get all of them, barely managing to hold off a few with his makeshift weapons and lack of magic spam. If it wasn't for Bedwyr managing to sword fight while driving a car, Matt didn't think he would have lasted this long.

“A LITTLE HELP WOULD BE NICE!”

"What?" Matt, briefly distracted by Emma's call for help, let one of the creatures claw at his ribs. "Gah! Damn it!" He just managed to slam the shields edge into the creatures neck, stunning the thing long enough to kick it off the car and into an airborn enemy that had just tried to jump him.

Matt didn't think anything about his wounds save that it effin hurt and focused his attention on the distressed Emma. "We have to help her Bedwyr!" He yelled as he continued to fight tooth and nail to keep the creatures off himself. Matt really wasn't in any position to be screaming about saving someone else. None the less, the boy put her safety above his own and prepared to charge head first to her rescue.

At least he planned to until Bedwyr kicked him off the car.

“Magus, RUN!” He just barely heard, having been tossed off the vehicle and into a creature that had the unlucky chance of being right behind him. Matt bounced off the creature, losing grip of his weapons in the process and skiding a bit across the ground. Something all the more painful since he landed on his bad arm. He couldn't help but let out a few curses in response to the pain coursing through his body. He didn't have time to weither in pain, however, as the creatures were turning their attention to him. Matt pulled himself to his feet and took a quick glance around himself. Yep. Surrounded.

These odds were horrible. Completely surrounded, arm broken from repeated injury, his side was still bleeding and now his head was hurting from being tossed off the car. And he had lost his only means of fighting off the creatures, Bedwyr his car door and crowbar. Outnumbered, outpowered, and already beaten down. Was this the end for Matthew Walker? Tune in next time for the next exciting episode of MATHEW WALKER, SHOUNEN HERO!

....

"Well screw that." He ran forward, falling back and slidding himself underneath the creature while just narrowly avoiding a claw to the face. He grabbed the car door, quickly twisting his body into a kneeled position to fight off the expected creature assualt. Of course, with his lack of crowbar and the fact that most of them jumped him in usion, Matt soon found himself overwhelmed and in a pile of creatures just seconds away from tearing him to shreads. Speaking of seconds.

Two...

one...

Matt couldn't really comprehend what had happened. His ears were ringing, his could only see white, and his body felt both intense pain and like it was weightless. The poor guy hadn't even realized that the blast had sent him flying outside, crashing outside and skidding across the ground into the corpse of a previously killed creature. His body was battered, exhuasted, and torn; it'd be a mircale if this boy could even stand up right now. Matt was just barely holding on to conciousness,not wanting to get mauled by the creatures in his defenseless state. He as on the verge of collapse regardless of his wishes. His ears started to clear up, able to now faintly hear sirens in the off distince.

"This..is gonna.." Matt coughed. "Hard...to...expla.." He finally lost consiousness.

[Bedwyr]

Amaranta groaned. She had been hit by something falling from the roof. Can I not succeed even at this?[/color]

No time to think about that, just don’t do it again![/color]. There was massive structural damage to the storehouse. The explosion had shaken the very foundations and-

“...Be- Rider? The ceiling.” Yes, Amaranta realized it as well. The supports for the roof, even most of the roof itself was beginning to give way. He could not feel the other Magus’ presence within the building, but it was fading, outside. Either he was moving, or dying.
Thoughts spun through his mind as Spatharius bolted back into its sheath with a bright flash of light. Other bits and pieces of lights flickered on and off to join it. How do I do this?

A spark. The entire system of lights shut off at once, but sunlight streaming from the broken roof easily replaced it. Amaranta said something, maybe. Perhaps it had been the crackling of fire now creeping around the warehouse. He would brook no stopping him when he decided. Some sort of air burst through a pipe on the wall, intended to heat or cool the building he did not know.

He could get Amaranta out of here. Like the fight earlier, he had been thinking in the wrong dimension. The hole provided such an easy solution, but that was not the one he should take. His sword could easily cut through the walls of this place, in the direction of the Magus. It would be as if the things were paper.

The whole thought process took less than a second. He turned to Amaranta again. ”Hold on to my back, tightly.” Holding her with his hand might make her take injury from the wall structure he was about to destroy.

Spatharius came easily into his hand, a longsword now. He had no idea how thick the walls would be, so he needed maximum penetration, just in case. Amaranta latched onto her back.

Concrete snapped beneath his feet as her took his first sprinting step. Pieces of roof fell, smashing into areas he had been only moments before, one of them he even had to slide under, as his mind wandered about what piece of the wall to the street to breach.

He was going to reach the other Magus, he didn’t know if the beasts would still remain after, and the man did have his name after all, at the very least there would have to be some speaking between them. He was at the wall in a flash, he had to go slightly slower than normal, so that Emma’s grip would not fail.

Mud. Its constructed of mud, rock and wood. The separate mind provided him of something he should have probably known earlier, just as his sword began the first of three sweeping motions that sliced through the wall like butter. It was weaker than even some armour he had seen before, and his blade had cut through those just as easily.

With a final motion, he reared back and jammed his foot straight through the now separate section of wall. It burst, breaking into quite a few pieces as it flew out into the open street. The Magus was not far, he had collapsed. That was good; he wouldn’t have to chase the man. He let Emma down, and went up to the unconscious Magus. Dead? His hands reached for the man’s wrist, his gauntlet fading out, checking for a pulse, and suddenly dropped the man’s left hand in surprise.

“Command Seals!” As if in tune with his voice, the building behind him took that pronouncement to be its last life line cut, and the structure vibrated and collapsed in on itself.

He had thought him a Master before, but now it was a guarantee.

Bedwyr had been ready to instantly protect his Master, but no fragments of the building fell out. Instead the thing collapsed inwardly, with great gouts of flame. It was still day, how would this be erased from memory? How would they track all the people in this plaza. His mind had told him the church could do it, but he still doubted.

Well there was no choice now. ”Master,” His sword shortened, gleaming in the light of the sun, he did not want to do this, but it was war. What his liege said was what he would do. ”What do you want me to do about him? That do sounded particularly final. It might be.

[Amaranta Bastillo]

“Hold onto my back, tightly.”

That, coupled with the final rumblings of the dying supports snapped Emma from her vague stupor. There was no room, nor time, for argument or protest, and Emma wasn’t particularly inclined towards getting buried under several tonnes of concrete.

“Fine,” she wrapped her arms around Bedwyr’s chest, hooking her hands together, half muttering to herself, “You better get us outta here in one piece.”

Without warning, Bedwyr launched off the ground with a powerful bound as his sword materialized into his hands. Emma tightened her grip as dust stung her eyes and chunks of concrete began to rain down, but that didn’t stop her from being flung around like a ragdoll on Bedwyr’s back as he weaved through the falling blocks, hanging on for her life.

But he wasn’t heading towards any of the exits. He couldn’t possibly be-

Her train of thought was broken as Bedwyr ducked & skidded on the floor, mere millimetres from being crushed. His pace didn’t stop as they approached the wall, raising his sword up high, slashing at the barrier in front of them. But what should have only created sparks made three clean strokes on the solid concrete wall.

Before Emma could make a remark, his RIDER KICK punched a hole through the weakened structure, creating his own exit. In less than a minute, Bedwyr and his partner in crime had managed to destroy a decades old warehouse. She let her arms drop limply to her side.

Should she have been thankful her home was still standing?

But as things stood, they had more pressing matters. Bedwyr had already sprinted to the side of the inert figure of the other magus. She had winced at a few bruises and cuts, but that guy on the floor was hit full-force by an explosion that brought down a building. It would’ve been a small miracle in itself if he was still alive.

“Command Seals!”

It took Emma a full second to register that. It took another full second for the warehouse to completely collapse on itself with a terrific roar, but Emma was the only one who jumped at that. Bedwyr had already raised his blade. One stroke, and the black-haired stranger, already lying in a pool of his own blood, would’ve been dead for sure.

“Master,” he said grimly, sword hovering above the unconscious man, “What do you want me to do about him?”

He looked like he was ready to kill. He probably was. From what she had been told, and f the behaviour of that participant from the night before was anything to go by, she supposed that should’ve been the natural reaction. They were both masters with servants in a city-wide battle royale for the elusive ‘Holy Grail’, after all. What’s war without a few casualties along the way?

“Okay, look,” she leaned backwards onto the remains of a wall, index finger absently tracing a spiral on its surface, “do you really have to ask? We call the proper authorities and let them deal with iiii,” her voice trailed off.

She had left her bag in the rubble. The bag with her phone, and, more importantly, her ID. She looked from the unconscious man on the ground to the warehouse ruins. How long would it take Bedwyr to reach the nearest hospital? Would he know where it was? Wait a second, wouldn’t he look incredibly out of place? How long would it take authorities to get to the scene? Would they find her ID? Would she look incredibly suspicious digging through the rubble to find her bag? She probably would, wouldn’t she? What about Bedwyr? Maybe he had special-servant-searching-skills?

“…My bag’s… still in there.”

[Miliardo Red]

A busy evening. Two more of the birds had joined their companion in the sky, giving Miliardo an excellent view of the unfolding events. Very important, seeing as the events were unbelievable.

The Rider's actions weren't a surprise; while it's ability to turn simple vehicles into... that was an amazing talent, one expects amazing things from Servants. What made it unbelievable was that they did so in broad daylight, without bothering to hide their actions.

They brought down an entire warehouse.

The display was vulgar. There was nothing subtle about it. Yes, the monstrosities running amok had been destroyed with an extreme prejudice, and Miliardo guessed that was sort of the point of this exercise. Not that he entirely understood why dealing with them was important; clearly it was not part of the Holy Grail War and an ill-advised use of a Servant's abilities. The Masters are here to discretely murder each other for a prize, not to turn the war into a embarrassingly public affair.

On the other hand, this suited him very much. While they were lucky that the crowd wasn't paying as much attention to them as they were fleeing in terror, The Rider and his Mistress Bastillo were very much displaying their skills to him, knowingly or not. The exploding warehouse was impressive, if completely without any sort of subtlety. It gave him an idea of the Rider's abilities to add to what was gained from the previous evening, and information is the first step to defeating any foe.

The other man working with the Rider was clearly worth watching, as well. Some sort of magus? He didn't much look the part, but it takes all kinds. If he was an acquaintance of Mistress Bastillo, he needed to be monitored in case he could provide some leverage against her and the Rider. Miliardo made a mental note for one of the three birds to follow him. Perhaps he and the Good Doctor can... arrange a visit. Assuming he survived, the lad looked to be in less than perfect shape.

More than once Miliardo cursed his bird's lack inability to hear anything useful from the chaos below. They were clearly conversing quite freely. Maybe he'd have learned something. But if nothing else, the birds will teach him one thing:

Where the Mistress Bastillo lives.

The brass birds-of-prey remained in the sky, flying in loose patterns around the battlefield. Two more were incoming, though they may not be required. Still, no reason not to be thorough.

[Cleopatra]

Couldn't Matt have given her a better order than "protect the citizens"? That was the first thing he shouted. "Get those people out of here!" he says. That was the only order she got. She did get them out of the way and away from trouble quite nicely, however. When civilians would trickle back to the scene, to satisfy their curious urges, Cleo would just flash them a fierce gaze, made innocent with a smile. She meant business when she told them to get away from the battle.

It had all happened so quickly, as well. Cleo had her attention focused on keeping the civilians safe while more Masters and Servants showed up. Those beasts were beat in no time at all. It was quick, yes, but efficient... Not so much. Cleo suddenly felt a force tugging at her, pulling her to her Master.

Her Master who had fallen.

Golden eyes flared with a boiling, bubbling rage, though she kept her facial expressions stoic and hard. She rushed to her Master, her silky black hair fell softly past her shoulders as she knelt beside him, the locks tickled the inside of her forearm as she lifted his unconscious head and placed it in her lap. Her gaze flicked to the others around her. It was then that she showed some emotion, her brow crinkled as she glared at the others. "Don't you dare touch him."

The icy expression melted from her face as she glanced down at her fallen Master. A hand pressed against his face as she softly wiggled his cheek, an attempt to wake him up. "Hey. Wake up." When that didn't work, she used a bit of force in her hand as she patted his cheek now. "I said wake up!"

Without a Master, this war would be pointless for her. She hoped and prayed that he'd wake up. What a waste of a second chance at life, it would be.

( Okay, I'm not so concerned about if I did things "right" in terms of how FSN works... So erm. At least I posted. Sorry it's so short compared to all the other posts. Hopefully I'll be able to get back into it quickly. )

[Matthew Walker]

Matt had been an avid player of full contact sports his entire life and as a consequence was not all too unfamiliar with being knocked out. For all his familiarity with the sensation he still hated it. The disorientation, the inevitable headache that followed, the bright stars that exploded black on black when you opened your eyes. It was a disorienting and scary and probably something he should avoid in his particular neurological condition. Oh well.

As always the first thought that swam into his head was "I can taste blood and pennies." The second was "How long was I out for?" Had it been seconds? Hours? Matt cracked an eyelid and immediately regretted it. The bright light seemed to tear though his skull, his pupils dilated from the concussion compounding the light sensitivity that came with the flash migraine that always hit him right after he used his powers. He felt rough concrete against his back and smelt the smoky scent of burning gasoline and charred flesh. Seconds then.

He squeezed his eyes shut and groaned, trying to think through a head that felt like it had just had the grand finale of the 1812 overture played inside it. Reflexively he Sharpened, his senses flaring super acute. He gasped as renewed waves of pain began to report in from all over his body and he used the flash of agony as a riptide to clear his head. Mustering up his energy one more time he managed to open his eyes.

And found himself staring at what appeared to be an upside down scale model of the Himalayas. No. Wait. It was the underside of Caster's breasts. Which was nice. But of all the fantastic things to wake up to he could tell that he wasn't in any kind of condition to really appreciate them.

"Uuuuuurgh. Hoouuuurgh. Nnnnngh." He groaned loudly, rolling himself to his side and then pushing himself up to his knees. His head swam and he sunk back down, his scorched palms on the concrete. The soft pitter patter of the blood dripping from his nose and mouth sounded like rain as it splattered onto the asphalt. He coughed, then spat, then dragged a filthy sleeve across his upper lip and pushed himself upright again. He hit himself with another blast of Sharpened pain to keep from passing out again and took stock of the situation.

He let out a long, low whistle.

The entire street was demolished. The warehouse was a smoldering crater. All the civilians had fled or been chased away by the...whatever they were that had come from the portal. Demons? Monsters? At any rate something unpleasant.

"Dude, you don't do things half way do you?" He said weakly and nodded towards Bedwyr. He punctuated his words with a cough and a wince as the constriction across his mid section sent waves of fire through bruised ribs. At least, he hoped they were just bruised. Cracked ribs were a pain in the rear.

He pushed himself unsteadily to his feet. He thought he had heard something when he'd sharpened earlier and when he checked again...yes. Sirens. The high pitched annoying kind that european cops seemed to like.

"You two should, huff, huff, get out of here. I'm sure the cops are gonna come investigate." He said, avoiding everybody's eyes. He knew what ought to happen right now. Bedwyr and Emma ought to, by rights of the Grail War, swoop in while he and Caster were at a disadvantage and finish them off. Which would be bad since A) he was no match for Bedwyr and B) Emma was a girl so the most he could do against her was defend or run away.

"Caster, you mind givin' me a hand?" He said, raising an arm and looking about ready to collapse. "We gotta, cough, we gotta find out what caused all this." He said and began staggering towards the rubble.

[Bedwyr]

...Another failure. They were certainly beginning to pile up on him. Amaranta deserves much better than this. Distraction, compiled upon the fact that he had been caught off guard had let a Servant get this close to his Master.

Amaranta had mentioned something about her bag being in the ruins and in the moment that his attention had been shifted, this other Servant had entered his rather small radius of detection. She had… much more of a presence than the ‘Rider’ from earlier had.

Of course normally that wouldn’t have been so bad, but as he brought his eyes to where he… felt her from, he was stunned for an instant. Her face was one of beauty, stunning him mentally and literally for the brief time in which she had closed the distance, and approached her fallen Master. That much was evident, with the way she caressed his face as he snapped out of the brief instant of admiration.

… Had she been thinking of fighting, he could have been defeated in that very instant.

Failure.

His teeth grit as he slammed his blade home in anger. Amaranta had been endangered by what he had done. Am I becoming complacent again? His face went hard, with a hopefully discouraging glare at the now waking boy. At least he had not been killed on accident.

Mixed feelings, contradictions. Had he been aware of himself, he would have likely made sure that Amaranta was safe in exchange for the boy’s life. Yet now he was glad the magus survived, no matter how much of an idiot he had been.

Yet the anger boiling forth from the Servant’s eyes was particularly worrisome.

Now that, that he could understand. Had the situation been reversed… well it was likely the woman in front of him would have been called reserved in comparison. The only thing that would have slowed his blade would have been the instant it took to place himself upon a mount.

Now that it has come to this, I suppose honour is demanded. After all, provoking a woman was never a good idea, and provoking one who seemed to already be contemplating murder could only be described as foolhardy.

"Dude, you don't do things half way do you?"

That had been unexpected… he had underestimated the force of the blast, and the supports he had taken out had apparently been critical points in the structure. A sapper likely could have explained the thing, and guaranteed its collapse, but sometimes random bad luck could make a single stone reduce a castle’s walls to rubble.

"You two should, huff, huff, get out of here. I'm sure the cops are gonna come investigate."

The boy sounded… worried. There was no point to that feeling now; he would not go out of his way to harm him outside of honourable combat, unless otherwise told to. He was an true knight, after all. And if Amaranta had not wanted him dead when he lay on the ground, she would not want him dead now, when they spoke with something at least resembling cordiality.

For some reason that brought his mind back to the woman in front of him. What class was she? There was definitely not the look of a hardened warrior on her face, but it was almost impossible to tell with those that would be summoned by the grail. No sheath was at her waist, and no weapon carried in her hands. For all he knew, she could be another rider.

Well until the magus told him, calling her out as Caster. That was simple enough, and the sheer amount of mana that her presence contained was evident of the truth his words contained.

The amount of information they know about us far surpasses what we know of them, however. My name… heh The handless arm tingled as if remembering its old pain, its old loss. That was more than enough of a calling card for him. Few, if any, were considered in their prime missing a hand, and the amount of help of knowing his name would be very little. The Magus had seen two of his Phantasms, but his final was truly the greatest. A return to how he had once ridden… that was his true trump card.

No other rider could stand in his way then, nor keep by his side. He was among the greatest, blessed to be one with his mount like a centaur of legend. A god among horsemen he had once been called by Drystan, upon unhorsing the man in a competition amongst the Diademed. He was no god, and there was nothing but his work and legend that had brought him to that point.

At least it wasn’t as bad as Kay’s constant puns about his hand.

Still though, this magus had seen his sword, and his ability to ride anything. They were at a disadvantage, and could plan around those two. Perhaps the man even knew his strengths and way of motion now. Masters were supposed to be able to contain a compendium of those they met, if they were experienced enough. This one... did not seem quite that way, at least.

"We gotta, cough, we gotta find out what caused all this."

Was it worth it for him and Amaranta to stay, or should they leave as suggested? He would stand out a little in his armour, that was for sure. He had ruined the clothes that she had lent him. He had broken a lot of objects belonging to her, with no way to replace them.

He could sit in his tunic as well, and she did lose her bag in the rubble, but in the end, it was up to her. Once again, she was in command.

“Well, Master,” He would not reveal his name as foolishly as he had to that… person from earlier, perhaps his familiarity had caused her to reveal his. There was no need to address the two who were hobbling off, anyways. Unimportant, for the moment. ”He seems fine for now, and I don’t think she,” He waved his good hand at the still angry Caster, ”Would let us take him to a field medic, anyways.”

“So should we remain here and search, or leave before these… officers of the law get here. Either way, I will serve.”

His eyes quickly swept the area around them, thoughtfully but still hard. It looked like the aftermath of a siege, at least without the bodies that traditionally scattered the courtyards and streets of a fallen town. Mounts lie overturned along the street, either dead or dying, leaking precious vital fluids, the ground was torn, and buildings near the utterly obliterated warehouse showed heavy signs of scarring.

The church would have a lot of work to do.

And rather importantly, had Amaranta’s bag even survived the devastation of this small section of town. Hopefully events like this would not be repeated in the war… but he doubted that. He had not even fought a Servant yet, instead only creatures, and this was the destruction his presence left behind.

So what would she decide? He was actually rather anticipating an answer.

[Amaranta Bastillo]

“He just got hit full force by the explosion that managed to turn that warehouse into dust,” she had begun with that awkward feeling of having trespassed upon something private, “I don’t think that’s going to help.”

But as luck would have it, reality loved proving her wrong. The pained groans of the man on this woman’s lap were testament to that fact. In some extraordinary stroke of luck, or with some superhuman feat, he was not only alive, but conscious. And he was already on the way to trying to getting himself killed again. She could only wince at the laborious way he righted himself; she knew better than to move in to help him from the way that woman had glared at them, but it was still painful to watch.

“You two should,” he paused, taking shuddering breaths as he gasped for air,” get out of here.” His resilience was extraordinary, to say the least. By all rights, he should very well have been dead, “I’m sure the cops are gonna come investigate.”

She noticed the way he avoided their eyes, looking any which way but at their face. Bedwyr had already dropped back to her side, leaving the half-dead crazy who had ridden on top of the car in the care of this mysterious new woman. ‘Caster’, the man had called her. His Servant, then. She could trust her to handle her Master; they didn’t have to be involved in this any more than they already were.

“Well, Master, he seems fine for now, and I don’t think she would let us take him to a field medic anyways,” Bedwyr seemed to echo her sentiments, “So should we remain here and search, or leave before these… officers of the law get here. Either way, I will serve.”
“No,” she muttered, gaze still following the man as he stumbled away, and then raising her voice to be sure he could hear, “There’s not really much point anymore, is there? It’s not like we need to take anybody to a hospital or anything anymore.“

She wondered if her bag even survived the wreckage. The initial alarm following the shock of discovering her bag missing had since subsided, giving way to a resigned sort of acceptance. She had a feeling she might regret it later, but she’d deal with that problem when it comes. What else could she do? Brushing off her clothes, she turned to regard the smoking ruins of the warehouse, following the plumes of smoke that now blackened the sky, occasionally wispy tendrils breaking off and fading into nothingness.

There really was no way to be any more conspicious; and there was no telling when the relevant authorities would arrive beyond ‘soon’. But already, the crowd was filtering back, with their rushing crescendo of voices. She could hear the rumours and speculation already, the news anchor, the articles. But she doubted even one of them would hit the mark. It would be easy for them to lose themselves in the oncoming rush of people.

“Rider,” she only just managed to stop herself from blurting out his name again, “We’re leaving. Could you conjure up some appropriate attire before people start throwing you strange looks again? Or, I don’t know, become invisible or something like that Rider from earlier? Your current get-up’s not exactly subtle.”

She’d prefer not to get arrested, thanks. The less attention drawn to them, the better; she might’ve been looking a little worse for wear, but it wasn’t anything that was going to raise any eyebrows, maybe, at most, conjure up a few less than desirable implications about her hygiene. Bedwyr, on the other hand, could very well have been holding neon signage saying ‘LOOK AT ME!’. She hoped that this destroying clothing thing wasn’t going to be a theme. Grandfather aside, it had taken her a lot of trouble to find that tweed suit.

[Bedwyr]

“Rider, we’re leaving. Could you conjure up some appropriate attire before people start throwing you strange looks again? Or, I don’t know, become invisible or something like that Rider from earlier? Your current get-up’s not exactly subtle.”

…

…

…

“I don’t think that is a good idea, Amaranta.” While he did hate going into spiritual form normally there were two problems with doing it, even under orders. “While it may still be daylight, Caster could attack us, and I have a feeling,” He turned towards the sound of the sirens, “That you may lack the ability to get us out of here without question.”

There was a small, slightly injured steed nearby, still tethered to a piece of its metal post.

“I, however, may be able to provide some assistance, Master, since we need to leave with haste. The church may not take well to our remaining here.”

He crushed the iron tether in his fist; the metal itself had been covered by some synthetic material, and then separated the now useless piece from the foreleg of the beast.

This was different than the one he had constructed and used earlier. A chain connected multiple wheels within, and each rotation of the stirrups would rotate the wheels a specific number of times, based on which wheel was connected to the chain.

It was like a chariot. He did not like chariots. No, even a chariot was an odd comparison. It was a unique creature! He would enjoy testing its mettle.

Being steered by hand though and it did not seem to really have a place for a spare rider. That was easily remedied; he would have his master sit on the steel reins.

He picked the thing up and shook the dust and debris off it. It will serve.

“Master, we shall use this, and pick up your bag on the way, if you desire.” She had seemed particularly distressed at its loss, and he could remember the general area he had stopped, and failed, at protecting Amaranta. He lowered himself onto the unfamiliar stallion, and dismissed his armour, leaving behind his tunic and breeches. He gestured at the steering device for it with his good hand. “Please get onto the reins, Master.”

She looked at him with a particularly harsh glare. “You want me. To sit on that?” Well that had been what he had said, but if she refused… well she could cling tightly to his back again.

That thought may have been realized in her mind, however, as she did choose to sit on the handlebars.

“Hold on, Master. Falling at these speeds would be dangerous.”

“Wait what spee-“ She was cut off as he burst forward, pushing close to the speed that he had reached on the steed Amaranta had owned, by rotating his feet in the stirrups furiously. He was headed to the warehouse… well the remains of it. It was still on fire, but he could pass through the flames easily, even keeping his Master safe.

She had been worried about the bag she had been carrying, hopefully he could prevent it from getting burnt.

Huh, she screamed again as he launched through a wall of fire to no ill effect, bouncing between fire-free areas until he came to the place where he had failed, letting a piece of ceiling hit her.

And there was her bag. A little seared, and partially ripped but mostly intact. He slid to a stop, planted his foot and picked it up.

Surrounded by fire, and blazing heat, he returned it to Amaranta. “I believe this is yours, Master?” It had not been hard to retrieve it, at least for him. The fires were probably starting to get a little hot for her though, but he barely noticed it himself. “I suppose we should return to your home, Emma.

The look on her face as he handed her the bag was definitely not gratitude. He barely noticed, he had enjoyed riding the creature underneath him, something he had never experienced, far too much. In fact... he could probably go faster on the return trip to Amaranta's villa.

[Amaranta Bastillo]

“Oh, what, and you have a better idea?”

Emma really shouldn’t have asked. She really shouldn’t have. He didn’t even have to answer that. She noticed him looking past her, namely, eyeing some poor sap’s bicycle that was still teetered to a metal pole. And, of course, he destroyed that metal pole; crushed it in his hand, to be more specific.

Aaand there it was; she felt her headache returning again. Sure. They were just going to roll out of the smoking ruins of the warehouse on a stolen bicycle. Because there was nothing wrong with that plan, no sir. Arms crossed, fingers tapping impatiently, she observed Bedwyr inspecting the mount with barely concealed irritation.

“…”
“What?” she hadn’t heard him properly.
“Please get onto the reins, Master.”

The… Reins?

She look at where Bedwyr was motioning towards. She then looked back at him. And then back at handles of the bike.

He. Had. To. Be. Joking.

“You want me,” she said slowly, resisting the urge to raise her voice, “To sit. On that.”

She very honestly would’ve preferred to sit on hi- Oh. And so he did. Want her to sit on the handlebars, that was.

“If I fall off, I’m holding you responsible.”

But she got on all the same.

“Hold on, Master,” Bedwyr cautioned her as he straddled the vehicle, “Falling at these speeds would be dangerous.”

Speeds?

“Wait. What speeeEEEE-!?”

She found herself getting cut off as the bike they were riding on thundered away at what must’ve been over a hundred miles an hour, as she groped for anything to cling to. And, where was he going? Back into the ruins? Why was h-?!

Inertia threw her forward as they arrived at an abrupt stop, and she only just barely avoided getting thrown head-first into the rubble again.

“I believe this is yours, Master?” he looked almost smug as he handed him back her bag, “I suppose we should return to your home, Emma.”

She looked at him blankly for a good few seconds. This guy. Couldn’t. Be. Serious. She accepted the bag with a dumbfounded expression.

“Okay, Rider. Bedwyr,” she muttered under her breath,” you warn people beforehand about turning them into roadkill, not during. Now, I’m have no intention of turning into a smear on the side of the road the road on the way back, so I am either heading back on foot, on my own, or you somehow manage human speeds.”

She paused.

“Actually, scratch that,” a rather curious expression dawned upon her face, “I am riding this bike back. You get to follow on foot. Now. Be sure not to get caught~”