On Patrol

[Matthew Walker]

[]Post edited, see Girlfriend in the Incinerator for more details.[]

It was already dark when Matt came too, his face pressed against the carpet. His head was pounding and he groggily pulled himself to his feet. In an instant he was fully awake, eyes darting about his small house. There was no furniture left, the house burned to a skeleton from the fiery struggle. Matt Sharpened hard and fast, the pain in his head threatening to drown him as he ran through the small space.

"CASTER!?! CASTER!?!" He called frantically, tearing the place apart as he searched fruitlessly for her. But he already knew she wasn't there. He could feel it. Deep down near his gut, right where he had once felt her presence pulsing like a second heartbeat. Nothing. She was gone, and there was nothing he could do about it.

Wearily he sank to his knees, shoulders drooping in defeat. I couldn't protect her. Just like my father. Just like my mother. He ground his teeth, seething rage boiling up inside him. He had always had a temper. He knew that and had always gone out of his way to be gentle and friendly and personable. To not let the little things get under his skin. But this time it wasn't a river of lava beneath the surface. It was a roiling flow down the face of the volcano.

"I'LL FIND YOU!" He shouted to the empty air, his voice filled with helpless rage. "I'LL FIND YOU, DO YOU HEAR! I'LL FIND YOU AND I'LL MAKE YOU WISH YOU WERE NEVER BORN!"

With one more determined set to his shoulders he rose, snatching the scrap of notebook paper off the wall and stuffing it into his pocket. He burst onto the street looking frantically left and right before picking a direction and setting off. He couldn't come back. But he would find the one who had taken his Caster.

The soles of his shoes slapped the pavement as he ran. He wouldn't let something like a little scratch, he winced and twisted again, favoring his left side, stop him from doing his duty. Especially not that the war had started.

And he had realized something in the battle earlier that day. Two things in fact. He knew that Caster was stronger than him. That he was the observer and that she was the warrior. But he had realized that, whatever the cost to himself, whatever the risk, he didn't want to see her hurt. To see her in danger. Now that he was away from her things seemed clearer and more muddled at the same time. Clearer because he didn't have her presence there distracting him and scattering his thoughts. More muddled because he couldn't piece together what he felt for her. What it love? Simple attraction? Why did he want to see her safe? Just the common decency any red blooded man would have for protecting a woman? Or something more? Now alone on the darkened streets of the city with some time to himself to mull things over he realized that she WAS beautiful. But the way he felt about her seemed amplified whenever he actually looked at her. Whatever he felt he felt tenfold in her presence. Like a spell. Perhaps she...

Matt put the thought out of his head. But deep in his subconscious the insidious worm of suspicion remained.

Matt's second realization had also been about a woman, but not about Caster. It was the magus, the Master, that had come to his rescue with her servant on the street. Emma? Yes, Emma. He had seen her. He had looked deep into her eyes. And he had realized something. He couldn't kill her. He couldn't even lift a finger to harm her. My god, what am I doing here? He wondered to himself. He was there to compete in the grail war. But he knew himself. He knew he would never be able to kill anyone. So if I have no chance of winning, why am I here?

He pondered his purpose, his steps measured as he walked down the dark street. He didn't know why he was there or what he wanted. No, he knew what he wanted. I don't want anyone to get hurt. I don't want any one to die.

The thought was like a lightbulb had gone off in his head. He knew what his purpose was. If I can't hope to win this thing that I will at least strive to see that nobody else has to get hurt. I'll become a Protector. A safeguard.

One hitch remained in his plan, only slightly jarring his newfound determination. What would he tell caster?

He was just about to turn and go back when the overwhelming feeling of being watched came over him. The hair on the back of his neck stood up and he tensed, turning slowly around. He Sharpened, ignoring the sudden jolt of pain from his injures as his enhanced eyes peered through the darkness.

"Who's there!" He demanded of the shadows.

[Miliardo Red]

This was hilarious.

The familiars worked as better scouts today than they had any right to, following both Mistress Bastillo and her male companion home from the evening events, completely undetected. Safe in the sky, Miliardo's dear kestrels obtained far more information about the whereabouts of the opposing Masters than wandering around would have been, and done so far more safely. A perfect trial run for the day. He would undoubtedly have to step up his scouting campaign; between his beautiful creations and the apparent havoc a Servant creates, he would be sure to identify his legion foes before long.

Miliardo happy marched through the streets toward his target, wearing a new face. He looked like an older, thinly bearded man, wearing a different sort of suit, with gloved hands. His voice was much deeper than his "Miliardo" voice, and whoever the Thousand Faces had copied to create this form had a tendency to clasp hands - a tendency Miliardo unconsciously adopted while using the face as his own. As an accessory, Miliardo had a short cane. Not an illusory one, but a simple thin cane made of applewood, with brass endpoints. An unnecessary detail, but Miliardo more than anyone knew that proper accessories are what really make the outfit.

Jack was invisibly in tow somewhere nearby, doing whatever it is that terrifying serial killers do when sulking in the shadows. Aside keeping their master consistently nervous, anyhow.

His target tonight was the young man from earlier. He may not have been more important than a possible acquaintance of Mistress Bastillo, except for that last detail: The woman he had with him apparently had an effect on her Rider. And she seemed so very protective of the young man, eyes aglow with such rage when she found him injured and the Rider standing over him! No doubt, she had to be a Servant herself. How else could the Rider have reacted so? He must have realized his strange, informal ally had been a master all along.

Speaking of the young man, he was clearly a fool. The kestrel that followed him home remained in the sky there for a short time, and he had come back out of the house... without his companion. Such a juicy opportunity, he could not allow it pass by. A close approach would determine for sure if the boy was a Master, and if so, he could be easily dispatched while his Servant was nowhere to be found.

And so here we are.

The young man looked slightly unsteady, like a man recovering. Well, that's to be expected, after the beasts from earlier. His pain clearly wasn't stopping his attentiveness though, as he apparently heard Miliardo coming and twirled in his direction.

"Who's there!"

Miliardo confidently stepped closer, not even bothering to hide himself. The young man's prana slaked off him constantly, a sign he shared with Miliardo himself and the Mistress Bastillo had after last night's events. The sign of a Master with an active Servant. Everything was coming together so very well. And if this was some kind of dark mistake and he somehow wasn't... well, wars have causalities.

"Young man, you look to be in poor health" Miliardo's 'voice' dripped with sarcasm and mock concern, as he continued to approach the young man. "Are you injured? I have a doctor with me. He can... help your wounds."

Miliardo finally stopped, some ten paces from the young man, half in the shadow and half in the light of a street lamp, the contrasts turning his illusory face into a stark contrast of light and dark, and the light reflecting harshly off the illusory glasses his 'face' wore.

"Yes, your wounds definitely need helping. Wouldn't you say, Doctor?"

[The Ripper]

A dark figure loomed from the darkness behind Matt, approaching in utter silence as the brash young magus was distracted by Miliardo's taunts. Matt was highlighted in the center of the perfectly conical beam of an overhead street lamp, his shadow a dark pool around his feet. Useless for shadow jumping. But the Doctor was a past master of conventional stealth as well as his own brand of untraceable movement and he was like a wraith as he glided forwards. Even where the light of the street lamp forced him into full tangibility he moved as silently as death, using his lesser ranked presence concealment and suppressing the supernatural fear aura that he exuded in order to approach to within a few scant paces of Matt.

Some would consider it foolish to approach so openly given what the Doctor was capable of. But there were more things to be considered than the simple, fleeting gratification of a quick kill. No, to watch the fear, the torment that grew on a face as they knew, without a doubt or a hope for salvation, that death had come for them. A death more horrifying than anything they could devise in their darkest nightmares.

And more than that, if this magus truly was a master his servant could be lurking nearby. Surely no magus would be so utterly foolish as to go abroad alone, at night, in the middle of the grail war? His relatively unprotected location was obvious bait for an overzealous attacker. This way the Doctor could flush out any hiding backup and still be within arm's reach to slit Matt's throat before a servant could even react.

Looming over Matt's shoulder like an implacable monolith the impossibly tall and slender servant let loose with all his dark emotional fury. The wave of terror settled over the street like a putrid miasma, the air nearly shimmering from the raw fear.

"Yessss." The Doctor hissed, an unsettling grin splitting the shadows of his face impossibly wide, almost wider than his face could have been obscured as it was by darkness. He paced around Matt, malignant glee evident in his eyes as he delivered his diagnosis. His words were technical, almost impersonal. But he delivered them with all the relish of a corrupt judge sentencing an innocent man to the gallows.

"The facial lacerations and bruising suggest a sizable blunt force trauma. See, Master, how one eye is almost swollen shut? A sure sign of light internal hemorrhaging. It'll bruise blue, then purple, then the putrid color of gangrene. Standing posture and walking gait suggest a tender left side, perhaps the result of the same blunt force trauma that caused the facial damage. Legs seem unaffected, but the limp suggests damage to the inner cortical region. Yes Master, our new friend is in quite the sorry state." Jack tsked as he continued to circle Matt, his cultured tones like a scalpel in the night. He wasn't addressing Matt, judging him like a piece of meat as he idly bantered with Miliardo. His eyes darted left and right behind the blazing frames of his glasses, judging whether or not a servant lurked in the darkness. Time to find out.

"Oh, he might make a full recovery given the opportunity. But in this case, the prognosis is...Terminal!" He roared, punctuating the last word with a lunging gouge towards Matt's face.

[Matthew Walker]

As Miliardo stepped from the shadows of the dark street Matt fell into a cautious combat stance, feet shoulder width, arms slightly raised, hands open and ready for action. Every nerve in his body tensed and the air of hesitant expectancy that always heralded a fight came over him. Adrenaline pumped and he felt light, like he was hungry but still full of energy. The strange magus's words were mocking but Matt felt an odd resonance, a connection between them. Of course without any magical training whatsoever he didn't realize that it signaled Miliardo as a fellow Master. All he knew was that there was something off about the menacing middle aged man standing across the street.

He was so caught up in his analysis that he almost didn't catch his words. A doctor? But there isn't anyone else...

And then it hit him. A wave of terror and despair so strong he felt like some crushing weight had settled over his soul. His fight or flight reflexes, seconds previously keyed for a battle, now told him in gibbering, wimpering terror to flee as fast as he could. Anywhere. Any way. Escape! Escape! And something else.

There's someone there! But how? NOBODY's that quiet! The panicked thoughts ran through Matt's brain. He had been Sharpened enough to pick out the individual hairs in Miliardo's beard even in the darkness. He could hear crickets chirping in a back yard three streets over. And yet somehow this...thing...had snuck up on him.

He whirled and almost smacked into the Doctor's chest. He backed up a step and stumbled, almost falling but pulling himself up right. He winced and felt a warm wetness begin to seep down his side. Oh no, the stitches!

He hunched and backed away, trying to keep both Miliardo and Jack in his line of sight as the latter circled around him. He kept himself hunched with one hand clapped over his side. And then Jack charged!

"CRUD!" Matt swore, throwing himself backwards. The blow had been fast. Servant fast. But Matt could see him so it wasn't one of Jack's unblockable sneak attacks. Rough concrete dug furrows from his elbows and the back of his shoulders as he landed hard on his back. He instantly dropped Sharpen and Hardened instead, the sudden burst of fortitude allowing him to temporarily ignore his injuries as he scrambled to his feet. Can't run. Can't hide. Only one thing to do. Gotta attack! He wasn't thinking clearly, the supernatural fear that gripped him scattering his thoughts and leaving him only panicked, snap decisions.

"Raaaaah!" He bellowed a warcry as he charged, hands balled into fists the density of granite swinging with fear fueled frenzy towards Jack.

[Amaranta Bastillo]

“No.” Emma said flatly.

Rider had insisted.

They managed to keep the charade up for all of twenty minutes before Emma caved to the ridiculous task of learning to drive the butchered Vespa. She didn’t even now where the handles were anymore, let along where to grab. Bedwyr was gushing about his work as Emma regarded the modified vehicle with a dumbfounded stare.

“No. I can’t ride this thing.”

She had turned to leave, only for Bedwyr to spin her right back around. ‘Learning how to ride’ didn’t seem like a very good excuse for her to go out driving around in a butchered scooter in the middle of the night, but her Servant was adamant about it. She didn’t even know who was meant to be the Master anymore, but for fear of another episode like last night, she forced herself to accede to his highly unreasonable wishes.

“Just one round of the city in this… thing, right?”
“Yes. And you, Master, are riding,” Bedwyr informed her flatly.

And that was how it happened.

Bedwyr had shown her the ropes, pointing her towards the controls. It really wasn’t that difficult once she had gotten the hang of it, but it still felt awkward as hell controlling a scooter without hands. Bedwyr’s occasional words of encouragement, enthused with joy about riding, didn’t really help much at all. She supposed there was another reason for riding the scooter around like an idiot in the middle of night; she’d probably get arrested for riding the scooter around like an idiot if she tried the same stunt when the roads were busy.

Bedwyr had once more garbed himself in that ridiculously gaudy armour, and Emma was too tired to protest. Wasn’t one round of the city enough? Did they have to scout at night too? Knowing their luck, they’d probably run into either more monsters, Masters, or both. Bedwyr countered with the fact that he had never let her gotten hurt even once. Emma found herself too exasperated to respond.

With that said, the small satisfaction of being able to say ‘called it’ was nothing compared to the amount of ‘oh shit’ they had managed to stumble into once again.

It had started with a trickle of foreboding that wormed its way into her heart, some strange premonition of dread that she forced herself to ignore. Almost like… Her hands, balled into fists, were trembling, her heart thundering in apprehension. She found herself sinking into Bedwyr’s body as if to make sure he was still there, protecting her back.

Bedwyr? She was going to inquire, but it was drowned out in a roar of primal rage, and then another, heavy steps footsteps ringing out in the deadness of night.

“Bedwyr, we’re leav-?“

The engine spluttered to a stop, the scooter half-lit by the flickering illumination of a faltering street lamp. She had left her glasses at home, but there, in another island of light not too far off, was-

“Rider, don’t let him die!” she snapped, firing up the engines, slamming her feet down on the accelerator, as much of an emotional reaction as a logical one, “Bloody idiot’s going to get himself killed again!”

The rocketscooter hurtled towards the melee, engine roaring, hell-bent on running the shadow over.

[Bedwyr]

She actually wasn’t that bad. He really should have expected as much, but she picked up the movements required to control the modified steed much better than many he had trained before.

Perhaps it was because he taught her as if he was teaching her. Not that he would have ever needed to, she had no need of lessons from him.

He would have served, and perhaps he could have made that stern face smile. She had never seemed like she had enjoyed life, and just once he wished she could have. If he could just serve again, he could fix that.

But she was not her, no matter how much he pretended it was so. Either way, it was a start. And she was connected to her so he would treat them as if they were the same entity. Well at least as close as it was possible.

Back to her riding!

“See, it’s not so hard once you get used to it!” The only real problem she had was not accessing the full potential of the noble stead, but that was understandable. It was her first time riding it, or anything like it, and she was not as experienced as he was.

She also did weird flailing thing with her arms. That could also be expected, it was odd to change a habit like that. Normally she would be using them to direct, but now they were free. And she was apparently not used to that.

However that did not happen for long, as she began balling them into fists, clenching them to her side. She also pulled in rather tightly to his armour, which… was rather distracting. Her skills in handling also decreased slightly, but it was still remarkable how well she controlled it.

She was… tense, he could feel it, even without the link. Worried. Apprehensive. Afraid. A million other things.

And then there was a primal yell, and instantly his sword was at his waist. Amaranta was in front of him, however, so it would be difficult at best to draw from his side. Amaranta had stopped the vehicle

A single presence in his mind blared. The presence of another like him. A Servant. Another? What are the chances of this?

Yet it was familiar. His heart raced. Terror, terror like the night before! He could have smiled at that aura, if it did not set him to trembling. Already his mental process was being interrupted, and he barely heard Amaranta’s command.

“Rider, don’t let him die!”

A command was all he needed! He would not let an innocent die again, especially if told to do so! He already knew who this man was and-

Why was Amaranta riding the mount towards the scream?

What was she doing?

Towards the shadow wreathed creature. Towards the Magus, Matthew if he remembered correctly. Full speed. And it would do nothing, if he did not interfere.

And so he did, a quick twist of his waist and a movement of his leg passed the surprised Amaranta into his bad arm, and he slid the mount down on onto his leg, scraping against the cement in a shower of sparks, as the metal of his armour gouged rents into the concrete.

He was careful to not let the actual beast touch the ground, or let Amaranta fall as the vehicle once again surpassed any speed it had ever been designed for, even on its side. His objective was no longer to strike the shade, instead to put himself between the shade and his target. As he passed by, he instantly regretted not making it his true steed for a short while, hitting him with that would have been severely damaging.

But he had to make the most of the situation now! The shower of sparks ended as he pushed the scraping leg against the ground, and brought himself up on the steed in a complete one-hundred and eighty degree turn, facing the shade with his blade already drawn, and his body in the way.

Thankfully the idiot magus had at least seen this somewhat coming, and had separated enough to take advantage of Bedwyr’s obstruction. Then again, this thing could move fast. It had beat him along the rooftops, even if he had been injured he was not slow, even on foot.

And so, for this slight second lull of disbelief Bedwyr sat between the Shadow and his target, one leg holding the scooter from falling to the ground, and his good hand grasping a sword slightly shorter than what would normally fit in the sheath at his side. And just then he noticed the dark creature’s Master, the light distorting cloud, standing a bit away. Quite a distance away, he obviously did not want to get caught up in a fight like this.

Not many would.

Amaranta and Matthew are behind me at least... Could he be trusted to protect his Master? He seemed decent enough, but appearances were often deceiving. But there was not much else he could do. She needed to see him to safety if rescuing him was her true goal.

And this time he would be a wall against the shadow.

“Master, do not hesitate to use a command seal if necessary. But do not worry about this,” His voice turned to disgust, “shade. He will not pass me! Get to a safe place, or remove his Master. The choice is yours!” The mount rumbled beneath him with his voice as if it knew what was coming next.

If any harm comes to her, that Magus shall pay the bloodprice with his own.

“Last time, shadow, you fought me at my worst. Now you shall know why I am Rider!”

With that last shouted word, the iron horse beneath him surpassed every possibility it could have ever reached, broke every law that should have held it together. It became more than just pieces of metal

It became his phantasm.

The entire world was his stable. And this thing would soon learn that.

[Miliardo Red]

What. What.

Out of nowhere, that damnable Rider again drops out of the metaphorical sky to save an otherwise defenseless target from their rightful demise. And the Mistress Bastillo! Right here again, and yet that Rider too close for Miliardo to do anything about her. Vexing! And with the Doctor inspiring his great fear, how was he supposed to think his way out of the situation?

And on the topic of the Rider and his likely explosive power: fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck.

Maybe it was how badly this suddenly turn in an instant. Maybe it was simple stress from the night of the butchered woman getting to him. Very likely it was the combined weight of these things and the aura of pure fear emanating off of The Good Doctor. But instead of planning on how to deal with these developments, Miliardo ran.

Mind, this was not a bad idea. Two servants in an open street, their masters don't want to be sitting in the open with them, waiting for some servant to realize they can be cut down before their partner can move to stop the attack. But Miliardo was nothing thinking along those lines. His only thought was to hide.

Right next to the street was a condominium complex, and now the door was broken in. And the ever-present sense of fear that the Doctor pumped out abated slightly, giving some time to plan. Yes, running had been an impulse, but one that can be worked with. Miliardo ran everything through his mind, trying to decide what should be done before the next problem.

The Doctor and the Rider were fighting, or about to do so. The Doctor can handle himself; he's a legend largely because he could get away! No matter now great the Rider was, Jack the Ripper could escape the very moment things start to turn sour. That leaves only Miliardo himself to worry about escaping the situation, and he too was an expert at getting away unnoticed.

No crowd of strangers, though. He cannot just change faces and vanish. But simply vanishing... that was always an option.

Miliardo picked a hallway at random, and jogged down it, keeping as much of the building as he could between himself and the street. He remembered the warehouse from earlier in the day. As he moved, he chanted out the phrases he etched into his mind, forming the Deceiver's Cloak.

"Clear as glass.
You cannot see the wind
And water is only a shimmer
I cloak myself in wind and water
And make myself unseen
I am clear as glass, a lie to embrace.
Deceiver's Cloak."

Let them find him now! Miliardo allowed himself a bit of luxury, a cackle that echoed the halls of the building...

[The Ripper]

The Doctor was about to make one final lunge and plunge his great butcher's knife deep into Matt's heart when the roaring, screeching charge of the Rider and his master brought him up short. Jack instantly backed off. He hissed in annoyance, a mask of rage painted on his features. His rage flashed into place only for an instant, however, before he was once again in cool mastery of himself.

That mastery was what slipped away next when he saw who it was that had denied him his kill.

"Ooooooh! Oooohohohohahahahahaaaaa!" The Ripper gave out an over exaggerated gasp of surprise, his mocking shock fading into dark mirth. He laughed long and loud, head thrown back, the sound echoing around the empty streets like the audible form of hell distilled into a raspy cackle. It swirled about, mingling with the aura of fear that pervaded the streets and seeming to further amplify it. Matt, Emma, Miliardo, all were forgotten in excitement over a familiar plaything.

"It's YOU!" He burst out, arms wide in a welcoming gesture, twisted delight evident on his face.

"Southpaw! How's tha leg, boyo?" His question rang with false concern. Once again Jack's normally cultured accent could be heard to slip, his excitement overriding the years of discipline he had put into hiding his baser nature. When Bedwyr lowered his weapon at Jack and issued his full throated challenge the spindly lunatic made a mocking show of cringing back, hurt that his taunting show of concern had been rebuffed.

"You'd best be careful wi tha pig sticker 'o' your'n. You aren't careful ya jest moight 'urt someone."

Bedwyr revved his mount. Bonded it. Made it his Phantasm. And even in the face of certain destruction by overwhelming odds Jack's tone remained teasing and conversational. He shrugged as he backed away, stepping out of the pool of light cast by the street lamp. Darkness enveloped him like an oily slick dripping from his head down to his feet until at last he stood in the night, distinguishable only by being darker than the blackness that surrounded him. The only thing visible was the incongruously white flashing of his crazed grin. He made no move to dodge, or to counter attack, or to flee.

Bedwyr charged. And Jack vanished.

[Matthew Walker]

Things were looking grim. Disoriented from the fall, injured, with torn stitches and no backup, Matt had thrown himself at the dark Servant before him in a desperate attempt to fend him off before he himself was killed.. Luckily for Matt fate saw fit to intervene. Just as he was about to crash into Jack the souped up vespa carrying Bedwyr and Emma skidded to a halt between him and his murderous antagonist. It took him a moment to recognize them from behind but when he did he heaved a massive sigh of relief. Or at least as much relief as he could feel with the crushing weight of Jack's fear aura bearing down on him.

Three against one! And Bedwyr is a Servant too! We might just stand a chance here. He thought. His naivety was such that he didn't consider the arrival of a servant/master team a bad thing. Matt's mental process was simple. He thought of Emma and Bedwyr as part of 'the good guys'. He didn't even consider that they might stab him in the back for standing between them and the Grail.

"Boy am I glad to see you guys!" he panted to Emma, dropping back a half pace to rest his hands on his knees.

"Another second there and I'da been a gonner. Guess that's two I owe ya."

He kept his eyes trained on Jack but caught a flash of movement out of the corner of his vision, the man from before vanishing into a nearby building. The Master!

"Crud, we can't let him get away! Leave Rider to handle the Servant, there isn't anything more we can do here. We have to stop that magus!" he yelled to Emma, sprinting after Miliardo. He winced as he ran, the open wound in his side slowing him down. Matt dropped his Sharpen entirely, devoting all of his energy to maintaining a moderate Harden that let him ignore the pain and keep up a goodly pace. Blood still pulsed from the wound but as the flesh around it took on the density and consistency of concrete it became less of an immediate problem. And, as always, he played the guessing game with himself. How much can I take? How much do I have left? How much...before this kills me?

Inside the building, seemingly through the walls, Matt could see something happening. A half competent magus would recognize it as a burst of Prana and be wary of a trap or an instant attack. But Matt was not a half competent magus, and he barreled straight into the small abandoned row of condominiums.The door had swung shut behind Miliardo and Matt burst through in a shower of splinters, looking about wildly for which way the slippery Master had fled.

"Dang it!" He yelled with all the vehemence of someone cursing. It was almost comical, really, Matt's colloquial refusal to swear. For an instant he considered suggesting splitting up to search but he looked at Emma quickly decided against it. Oh, she could probably handle herself. But what kind of man would he be if he sent an unarmed girl alone to hunt for a dangerous mage?

"Stick close to me and keep your eyes peeled." He said instead, picking a direction and limping off.

"You won't get away! You hear me!"

{{ Hey, I sorta assume that Emma follows Matt in this post. If she does something else entirely just lemme know and I'll edit. }}

[Amaranta Bastillo]

It only struck Emma after they were speeding full-pelt towards Matt and that menacing silhouette that she was still on the vehicle, and an irrational panic once again threatened to take hold of her as she realized the possibility that she might’ve gotten in his way. But Bedwyr wasn’t stupid. In a swirl of movement, he had the scooter sideways, skidding along the ground in a flurry of sparks and burning rubber, the metallic sound of steel scraping against the concrete screeching in her ears as she somehow found her way behind cradled in Bedwyr’s bad arm. And before she knew it, she’d been set down, watching the Bedwyr’s back as he faced off with the same shade that had menaced them last night.

Emma decided not to concern herself too much with Bedwyr as he bellowed his challenge to his enemy; she had full confidence in him. Of course he wasn’t going to let it pass. She scrabbled to reassure herself to quash that inexplicable fear that was once more rising in her chest. She only half heard Matt’s haggard gratitude as another wave of hopelessness threatened to drown her, a small, treacherous voice in her head gleefully telling her they weren’t going to make it past the night.

Matt’s yelling snapped her out of it. With a start, she realized he was already sprinting away after the Master. The shape-shifting Master.

“Oi, you!” she tore off after him, “Wait!” She found herself being amazed at how fast he ran, considering the condition he was supposed to be in,” You’re going to kill yourself all over again!”

She had just barely caught up with him when he crashed through a door; a sturdy timber door. Sure, it might’ve been abandoned, but he had destroyed the solid wooden piece into splinters just by barrelling into it with his shoulder. And this was the same guy who had a building blow up in his face only earlier that day. She stepped into the building after him, through the hole that he had conveniently created, in a considerably less dramatic entrance.

There was a momentary lull after Matt violently not-swore. And then he was off again, limping away off into the shadows. She had conveniently left her firearm behind, along with her glasses, and now she was suddenly finding herself in a situation where both those items would’ve been very welcome. In the streets, everything outside the light of the streetlamps had managed to blur into a hazy shadow with fuzzy outlines. The unlit interior of the complex made it even worse. Keeping a wary eye was difficult when she could hardly see.

“Hey, you,” she moved up next to Matt, still breathing heavily from that pursuit and yet still trying to keep her voice low, “How’re you still even moving? And, more importantly, what do you plan on doing when you find the magus? He’s as likely to kill us as whatever you were planning to do. -”

As if on cue, a hollow cackle echoed through the halls, and she tensed. But the sound had travelled; the magus was close. At least they had gotten the right building, although Emma was uncertain as to whether or not that was a good thing.

“Look, he’s a magus,” it suddenly occurred to her that the injured party whom she was talking down to at the time was also a magus, and most likely a far more competent magus, but she brushed it off for the time behind, “And you’re a half-dead wreck, no matter what your fancy powers might be.”

She conspicuously avoided mentioning any of her nonexistent skills, instead putting on a show of scanning the darkness. And then it struck Emma that she had, of her own volition, ran straight towards the same guy who tried to knife her just the day before.

[Bedwyr]

Good.

Amaranta had gone with the magus, hunting the other Master. While he was not sure of the Magi’s skill, a man who could avoid a Servant’s strikes was likely not to have a problem with a simple magus who did not seem to be incredibly combat oriented.

If he had been, he likely would have killed Amaranta last night.

Even if he hated it, he would have to leave it to them, no Magus could compare with a Servant, and attempting to leave combat last time had particularly… unpleasant results. His leg twitched as he remembered the near inability to walk.

But this time, the combat would be brought to his opponent. He was not the disadvantaged one here!

Between one blinking of an eye and the next his mount underneath him reached its top speed as if acceleration was not any barrier. The distance to the shade was closed in even a shorter amount of time.
Yet, it was still not fast enough. In a span of time less than a single beat of his racing heart, the shade vanished. A darkness deeper than the absence of light simply vanished.

”What!?” He could not keep his surprise inside his head, instead he blurted out a useless word.

Instantly he shifted his weight and slammed a foot on the ground, forcibly turning the beast underneath him in a full circle, trying to see where the darkness had gone.

But there were only shadows.

He had to resist the urge to blindly ride off, in any direction, and even considered randomly swinging his sword around for a second. However, what he needed to do was different. Last time he had tried to run, he had lost proper motion in his leg. This time even if he took a hit there, it would make no difference. His skills in riding were not hampered by mere injury.

If this thing wouldn’t fight him, he would make it come to him. This time, he would bar the path to the shadow’s Master.

With speed unreachable by modern vehicles, he launched himself towards the shattered remnants of the door. When he reached it, it would take no time for him to turn around, putting his back to the door.

That was if he even managed to make it without injury. But this time he was prepared, Spatharius hung ready for a back slash this time. He would not be caught unawares, and any injuries, even ones that he could not sense coming, would be repaid in full.

He would be a wall; he would force the enemy to come to him. Without his Master, he would fade out. The tables were turned from last night.

Would the shade even realize that? A smile crossed his face; he really hoped the thing did. He would enjoy sinking steel into the shadow’s dark flesh. If it even had flesh… that part worried him quite a great deal. What if it was shadow? Perhaps its real body was somewhere else…

Either way, it’s your move shade!

[Miliardo Red]

"You won't get away! You hear me!"

A-ha. Ahahaha. Miliardo couldn't help but think the boy a fool. Of course he could get away. But the Servants were outside. In here, there was no Rider to save him, and the Good Doctor's presence wasn't pressing his mind like a vice. He could think, and these pursuers... their skills were not something to be afraid of. Perhaps he didn't want to get away after all.

No, he wouldn't be escaping. Not right now. Instead, Miliardo pulled out a long, glass knife, one that was properly enchanted. No gleam of light on honed, sharpened glass, no wavering from the light bending through the blade handle, the knife was just as invisible as Miliardo. Knife in hand, he backtracked, straight toward the bellowing boy, telling him how he'd never leave. The game had begun.

"Ahh, my young fellow, why do you think I was trying to escape? I merely wanted to clear the field a little. The Servants will fight so much better without having us around to keep them nailed into place, don't you think?"

Miliardo at this point was around a corner from the young man. He could peek over the side, seeing both the boy and the Mistress Bastillo, apparently hunting him. How quaint, and injured man and a girl that barely seemed to comprehend what the War was about, expecting to overpower him.

A-ha. Ahahaha.

"Come on then, and bring the Mistress Bastillo with you. We can settle our differences here, just the three of us."

Yes, let the boy come. Let him wear himself stupid trying to fight what he can't even see. Miliardo stood in the middle of the hall, just far enough around the corner that nobody could simply attack him from around the corner. He would have to rely on his invisibility to allow him to make his first attack in, so the boy wouldn't have a chance to react before the Cloak breaks. The Mistress Bastillo... seemed unskilled and unable to defend herself. She clearly had no defensive talents last night. As long as the Rider does not appear to save her, she would be easy prey.

Miliardo smiled. He didn't know, but for a brief moment, his smile looked very much like that of his Servant.

[The Ripper]

Jack's maddening cackle echoed around the empty street as if the dark Assassin where everywhere and nowhere at once. Not a singular being but an overreaching presence that had claimed the street under the sway of it's dark influence. The sounds of his perverse glee jumped from place to place as if he, by himself, had the stalwart Rider outnumbered and surrounded. Was the laughter coming from the left? Or the right? Straight ahead? Was that movement behind that tree? The sound of soft scampering across a darkened lawn? It was impossible to tell, the effervescent cackle ricocheting around and fading from full blown, insanity tinged laughter to a giggle like a child with a filthy secret.

"Tha's a moighty fine nag yer got, kiddo!" Mocking words echoed from across the street.

"It'd be a roight shame ta see it 'a cuvered in blood, now, wudnnit?" Came from a different direction, as if in answer.

"But nag or no, yew sherly are a soight to be'old. Stannin' there, all proud. *sniff* Truly a roight bastion on this dark noight, eh?" As the words came they seemed to circle Rider, coming closer, and closer, and closer, their source spiraling inward like an intangible ghost.

"I just got one question fer ya..." The words were impossibly close now. It would seem almost as if Rider could reach out and touch the source of the sound if his own eyes did not tell him that there was nothing there.

The next words came, not in the grainy underclass accent of the crazed murderer but the genteel and cultured hiss of a well bred gentleman.

"Are you afraid of the dark?"

The question was soft. Whispered directly in Rider's ear. And then Jack was there, seated on the phantasmal scooter like a lover riding doubles. Jack leaned his chin on Rider's right shoulder and threw his arm over Rider's left in a gesture like loving familiarity. But instead of putting an arm around him he brought it down in a quick jerk and stabbed Rider with the item he held in his clenched fist. It was a fork, Victorian style with four tines all sharpened to pierce meat.

Being stabbed by a fork is hardly a hampering injury for a servant. Four small holes aren't that deadly. But Jack drove the fork home with surgical precision and sadistic glee. It struck the upper pectoral girdle, just above Rider's left clavicle. Jack sunk it into his flesh and then wrenched on it with a grunt, tearing a wide rift in Rider's left subclavian artery.

He hadn't attacked Rider's mobility as he had the night before. Such an attack would be an exercise in futility. Instead he had torn wide a major artery.

The entire strike had taken less than a second. And then he was gone once more, his ability to disengage coming into play as he pushed himself off the scooter and once more vanished into the darkness. His unhinged laughter began to echo around the street again as he leaped about in a fit of evil amusement.

[Matthew Walker]

“Hey, you,” Emma said as she caught up with Matt. “How’re you still even moving? And, more importantly, what do you plan on doing when you find the magus? He’s as likely to kill us as whatever you were planning to do.”

The words brought Matt up short. Just what was he going to do? He certainly wasn't going to kill him. And Matt doubted that asking him nicely not to hurt anybody would do any good. But Matt, naive as he was, assumed that everyone operated in the same moral arena as himself. People were fundamentally good. Anyone doing evil was misinformed, or confused, or suffering from mis-communication. And any real man that realized he was in the wrong would instantly take steps to correct himself. Who wouldn't?

"I'm gonna punch him in the teeth." Matt replied levelly, looking Emma in the eyes. "See if I can't knock some sense into him."

“Look, he’s a magus, and you’re a half-dead wreck, no matter what your fancy powers might be.”

"Oh, c'mon." Matt said, a wide grin on his face. "I'm, like, a quarter dead at most.. 'Sides, I'm not that easy to kill." His tone was joking to hide his fear. Matt was the sort of person who cracked jokes to ease the tension of a dangerous situation.

"Anyways, we gotta get mov..." His words were interrupted by Miliardo's disembodied voice.

"Ahh, my young fellow, why do you think I was trying to escape? I merely wanted to clear the field a little. The Servants will fight so much better without having us around to keep them nailed into place, don't you think?"

"Actually I prefer it that way. It's just you and me, Clyde. Well, and her I guess." Matt said to the darkness, jerking a thumb over his shoulder at Emma.

"But I'm the one who's gonna knock you in the grill."

He moved forwards as he spoke, eyes straining through the darkness to catch a glimpse of Miliardo. He's gotta be here! Is he invisible? He wondered. Matt didn't know what a fully trained magus was capable of and he didn't want to underestimate Miliardo. Without the training to recognize the Prana signature of his invisibility spell Matt couldn't triangulate him magically either.

"Come on then, and bring the Mistress Bastillo with you. We can settle our differences here, just the three of us."

"You leave her outa this, you hear? I'm your opponent. C'mon, ya scared? Come out and fight me like a man! Pansy!" Matt roared, frustration evident in his voice as he searched. This isn't working. He thought. Time to switch tactics.

"Cover me." He said to Emma, picking a spot in the middle of a wide room. He took a deep breath to steady himself and released Harden. He sagged visibly, bunching around the injury in his side as it once more began to seep blood. A stain of red spread across his t-shirt and began oozing down his jeans. On the bright side his pounding headache abated a bit as the strain on his nervous system lifted. Gotta make this quick. He thought, Sharpening instead. He had considered Sharpening while maintaining his Harden spell at the same time but he wouldn't be much good to Emma if he blacked out again, would he? And he had an aversion to pretty girls seeing him faint.

Matt's senses sharpened and his ears pricked. The pain in his side amplified, threatening to drown out all other sensation, but he quelled it with an iron burst of willpower. Instead he focused outward. He could hear the pipes and foundations of the building shifting. He could feel minute vibrations as rats scampered through the walls. He could detect the faintest air currents that flowed through the drafty house. He intensified the Sharpen. Pain raged through his skull as the headache threatened to overwhelm him and his vision began to blur at the edges from magical energy tearing through the magic circuits bonded to his nervous system. And there, faintly, he could hear it. Behind him he could hear Emma's heart beating. And something else...There!

"I've got yo..." But his triumphant shout was cut short. The maneuver had taken too long, left him too vulnerable. And he was about to pay for his mistake.

[Bedwyr]

[]Amaranta is finding it difficult to write responses following Matt, so instead she wants to follow Milly on the next Cycle. So V, you are up next. Then Amaranta, then back to stabbity stabbed Matt.[]

Thoughts… thoughts as he was trying to clear his mind of the fear pervading it. His voice seemed to be coming from everywhere at once. Panicked thoughts, the mount itself seeming to suggest that it sensed the shade’s –

”Are you afraid of the dark?”

Wrenching pain. His left shoulder. A small pronged weapon had struck, then torn.

His own blade lanced back, eager for blood. There was the feeling of a bare resistance as the tip sliced across perhaps the shades cloak.

Yet it was… strangely reassuring. Fear was slowly draining from his body; this shade actually was able to be touched. To be struck. To be killed.

That had been his greatest fear. Had this thing been immaterial…
But no longer, he could have smiled, was his left arm not in blinding pain. But it was his left arm, even with reduced movement, was not a serious problem. There was not much it could serve as.

The real problem was that it was spurting blood. From a knife… thing. A… fork!? That was an eating utensil, at least that’s what he was informed of. It still served as an incredibly effective weapon, it was now caught in his armour, having lanced straight through.

That’s impossible! The weapon was not even ranked… and yet, there it was, stabbed deep into a primary artery. It should have been held back by his armour, turned aside no matter what strength this man had. And yet he sliced through, was not even impeded by it.

Man.

It was no longer shadow, or shade to him. He was now human, no matter his presence. He could fall; no he would fall to the blade that had proved him. That simple touch of cloth had confirmed it, had set resolve in his heart.

He was not the shadow; he simply hid in it like a coward in the night. There was little mystical about a coward. But still… such a simple weapon through his armour.

Blood dripped onto the surcoat, staining it again. He had to focus, and reformed his armour over the wound. There was no need to show weakness now, and that would do it.

Hold on… what did he say?

”Are you afraid of the dark?” That was it! That was the key! At least he hoped. The Assassin disappeared each time when he stepped into the shade. He had seen it three times now, and perhaps it meant nothing. But then again, perhaps it did. And he would lose nothing for trying.

The steed underneath him had been designed with multiple torches that functioned with the touch of the dead men’s switches before. They maintained the same function now, but were no longer on. And like everything, they were now greatly improved by making this mount his for a short period of time.

He called out to the darkness, his voice echoing even if effeminate. The voice of a man who commanded knights. The voice of a man who had fought hundreds, thousands, tens of thousands in every situation imaginable. And he had sat here, afraid. Afraid of a skulking mad man, crouching in places where light did not touch. “Afraid of the dark? Me?” Blood trickled in his armour, soaking the grey tunic underneath. “Me, I don’t fear a single thing that would hide in the shadows! Not anymore!”

He tapped a small switch with the side of his heel and the darkness parted before the clear sunlike torch on the front, and around him the shadows faded back under the glare of bright red lights.

[Sigurd Fafnesbane]

Badum. Badum. Badum.

Badum. Badum. Badum. Badum.

The War was still young. The Holy Grail thirsted for blood and ruin.¹

Servant Saber was on the hunt.

Sigurd Fafnesbane knew where his targets were. He had felt their presences from afar. Two kindred souls standing together, locked in combat. At least... that was what he assumed. One was flitting in and out of his range of prescience. He knew that if he could feel them, then they certainly could feel him... but it appeared that they were too busy to care. Beneath the visor, Saber grinned viciously.

He knew combat. He knew the savage arts of battle. But this body, merely a doll constructed of prana and ether and supplied by a higher power, did not. The Servant intended to rectify this flaw.

This was why he had insisted that his Master stay somewhere, protected by a shield of anonymity and secrecy, while he went on patrol. Saber wanted to know the rush of battle once more. He wanted to relearn his own techniques, to adapt new ones in response to this new age of heroes. This, when he would fight, his mind would be ready. His body would be ready.²

And the night was so kind to him. It gave him his wish, only half an hour in his patrol.

“HAROOO!” With a sound like thunder, Saber howled his carnal delight and pleasure to the skies, leaping over a rooftop. Swiftly, he smashed his weapon into the building's wall to slow his own descent, tearing an ugly, jagged gash in the brick structure. A third of the way down, he tore it out in a hail of bricks and mortar, and leaped off the wall, landing squarely in the middle of the Rider's steed's deathglare.³ He faced Rider, weapon casually angled behind him, wavering over his own weak spot. Hardly obvious save for the most well-learned of combatants, but still an effective deterrent.

What a sight he must have made. The red glare washed over his armor, casting distorted, monstrous shadows behind him. It washed over his form and, in the pale half-light of the moon, blended with the darkness, drawing streaking, bloodred images across Saber.

Saber had joined the battle.
----
¹_{Ahahaha, you have NO IDEA}
²_{Definitely not ganked. At all.}
³_{Because the bastard child of a motorbike and a tricycle is so terrifying.}

[Miliardo Red]

The boy was stupid, that was for sure. He spent a few brief moments standing there, obviously attempting to track Miliardo in some manner or another, and then proceeded to shout to the world that he had located him. Pathetic.

Too pathetic to waste the Cloak on, even. Stabbing him in the side would certainly end his life and have him permanently out of Miliardo's hair, but he simply did not seem to be dangerous enough to justify losing the advantage invisibility conferred. And the fool was both clearly injured and off-balance.

So Miliardo tripped him. Let the child break his nose on the ground. Tripping him just required tangling his foot a little, not a large, hard-to-hide motion like an open assault, so the boy went to the ground with a heavy sound and Miliardo, still invisible, simply stepped around him... toward the Mistress Bastillo. She was not a simple fool to be ignored for the moment. She controlled the Rider. The Rider, who was quite adept at destruction and had twice placed himself between Miliardo and his goals. Fighting the Rider openly would not end well, but the Mistress Bastillo, in her naive ignorance, was here. Alone but for a fool, face-first on the ground some distance away.

Miliardo stalked toward her, taking a curving arc down the hallway without thinking about it (One never used a direct approach when they were invisible). The Mistress had been an interesting opponent for the opening act of the War, but the act must close and she must die.

"Your boy was an interesting diversion." Miliardo stepped lightly in her direction, enough for the Deciever's Cloak to create faint shimmers in the air all around him, if one was looking hard enough... but not enough to tell where in the shimmer he was. "But you have no Servant to save you this time. And not even your little pocket-knife. Game over, Mistress Bastillo."

"As I said last night... Kindly hold still and I'll kill you quickly."

At the moment he ended that sentence, a burst of light like the sun on the spray of a crashing wave erupted just before the Mistress of Rider, Miliardo leaping out of it like a man erupting from the surface of a river, his unseen knife poised for a killing strike.

[Amaranta Bastillo]

¬¬¬Emma really didn’t know whether to have felt thankful or slighted when she became something like an afterthought as Matt postured, back to the wall, watching his outline blur with the rest of the darkness. Cover him? Cover him how? He couldn’t possibly be lumping her in with the rest of those magic-freaks now, was he?

She pursed her lips, scanning the shadows for any signs of the other magus, for any flicker of movement, but the darkness offered nothing, especially not for her eyes. For a few, brief moments, everything was still, save for that incessant thundering ringing in her ears.

She almost jumped at the sound of Matt’s voice suddenly cutting through the silence, before she realized who it was. But that brief moment of relief was crushed when she heard him crash to the floor, interrupted halfway through his sentence, connecting with a sickening thud, leaving nobody left between her and the invisible killer.

She strained her ears to catch the soft padding of his feet on the ground, but she needn’t have bothered. He knew that he held all the advantage, gloating as he moved in for the kill. And Emma’s mind raced. She couldn’t rely on Bedwyr to swoop in at the last moment, Matt was most likely a crumpled heap on the ground, she had nothing to defend herself with, she couldn’t even see, and time was running out.

“Game over, Mistress Bastillo,”

No. It wasn’t. Of course it wasn’t. She had another weapon, and it had proved itself earlier that day; something that he didn’t know of. That he couldn’t have known of.

“As I said last night…”

She muttered rapidly under her breath, eyes trained on the location where she knew he must’ve been.

“Kindly hold still and I'll kill you quickly.”

As his final words descended into that murderous rasp, a torrent of light flooded her vision, on the final syllable of her incantation, and on the killing stroke of that albino man with murder in his eyes.

And time seemed to freeze.

A torrent of shards erupted from her fingertips , flying point-blank towards the body of her assailant as he brought his invisible knife down, while she twisted to the side, in a vain attempt to dodge the knife.

A line of cold fire lanced through her shoulder as she twisted free of the weapon embedded in the muscle, collapsing against the wall as the pain blossomed.

[The Ripper]

As the brilliant light flooded the street Jack hissed and retreated back into the sharp shadows suddenly created, wedges of blackness thrown from street lamps and cars onto the surrounding buildings.

"Why you...!" He burst out before once again regaining control over himself. His voice burned with seething rage and he slipped from shadow to shadow like a wraith flitting about, the circle of light surrounding Bedwyr preventing him from launching his sneak attacks.

"An interesting tactic, Rider." He called from the darkness, his well cultured layer of control snapped back over his words. "But your little maneuver changes nothing."

"Now, it would take a regular human between forty five and fifty seconds to die from blood loss with a major artery severed. I'm curious to see how long it would take for a Servant." The Ripper's words were clinical, curious, those of a scientist observing a subject, not a crazed murderer musing over his handiwork.

"In any case you puzzle me. I'll admit, I'm honestly curious. What was your plan? Was it to..." He was cut off, his words interrupted as Saber landed between himself and Rider with a geyser of concrete and asphalt, a crater in the street evidence of his dynamic entry. Rather than taken aback Jack seemed tickled silly at the sudden development.

"Woooohoho, hehehe, how fortuitous. I'm wondering, Rider. Was your plan to kill me? Or was it to protect your Master?" As he spoke his voice shifted, jumping from behind Saber to the darkened doorway of the structure Emma, Matt, and Milly had disappeared into.

"If it was the former you've hardly succeeded. If the latter, well, you've already failed. You kids play nice now." He taunted. With that Jack turned and disappeared into the shadowy building leaving Rider with the choice to deal with the new foe or turn his back on him.

[Matthew Walker]

Miliardo's trip took Matt completely by surprise and his sudden lunge sent him sprawling. He felt a sick tearing in his side as his wound reopened fully and he reflexively started to Harden but stopped. Any more and I'll black out. Just gotta do this the old fashioned way. He thought. With gritted teeth he pushed himself back to his feet and whirled just in time for the shock wave of Saber's landing to shake the building. Several things happened simultaneously.

As if under cover of the impact Miliardo hove back into full visibility, face fixed in a snarl, debris flying around him as he leapt at Emma. As he lunged Emma began to chant. Real magic, not the half guessed at powers that Matt had. She cast out her hand with a grand gesture and a thousand needle like slivers of ice sprayed out in a wintery shotgun blast. Just then Miliardo brought his knife down in a jerking stab that embedded the blade deep into the flesh of Emma's shoulder.

"No!" Matt called on reflex. He automatically jumped into action, sprinting forwards and ignoring the stabbing pain in his side that seemed ready to tear him in half at any moment. Miliardo was caught in the wave of frozen particles and Matt used the opening to bodily seize him by the collar.

"You hit her!" He bellowed into Milly's face, his words full of rage. "Bad move, Clyde!"

With a grunt of exertion he took a step to the side and lifted Miliardo into the air. No magic worked on his muscles but the superhuman magic of adrenaline fueled fury. He continued the motion and hurled Miliardo through a nearby window and out into the back yard 'barroom brawl' style. He didn't spare a glance after him, however, and rushed to where Emma had fallen.

"Amaranta, are you alright?" He asked, going to one knee beside her. "Can you call Rider? You have to get out of here before he calls his serv..."

Matt's words were cut short by a low chuckle that sounded from the darkness behind him.

[Bedwyr]

"In any case you puzzle me. I'll admit, I'm honestly curious. What was your plan? Was it to..."

The wall, a few stories tall, exploded in a shower of jagged fragments. It was being torn as a figure garbed in steel slid town it with a horrible tearing sound similar to when the warehouse from earlier had begun to crumble. The wall provided near no resistance to the horrible blade.

The ground crumpled underneath him as he landed, waving in what could only be called a tremor, spraying shards of paving stone and dust towards him.

A white surcoat whirled around him instantly, protecting his eyes for the fraction of a second it took for the shards to lance towards him.
“What a noisy entrance…”

Layers and layers of armour surrounded the man, making him appear almost larger than life. How does he even move?

There was large evidence of the man’s passing, Bedwyr could even see inside the building he had used to slow his fall.

"Woooohoho, hehehe, how fortuitous. I'm wondering, Rider. Was your plan to kill me? Or was it to protect your Master? If it was the former you've hardly succeeded. If the latter, well, you've already failed. You kids play nice now."

There was no choice here. He only could-

A pang.

Pain.

Blood.

Amaranta had been injured. Severely. Now there was beyond no choice. He could feel her location.

She was not dead. Yet. There was no second strike though, she was only bleeding. His only hope right now was the ability to outrun the man in front of him. He was going to kill that man he had trusted as soon as this was over. One job. One job that even he had failed before. No more thoughts!

A primal yell filled his throat as he began to turn “Yahhhhhhh!”

Too late.

The figure had closed the distance, and a strike that separated the very air, leaving behind a rushing wind, lanced towards him.

In one instant Spatharius flew out to intercept it, a desperate attempt to block rather than parry such a massive blade. For a single second, perhaps less, he thought it had even worked. Then the full weight behind the strike hit him.

And sent him flying back towards the entrance he had been guarding. His skill with steeds managed to allow him to hook his legs into the stirrups and clutched himself to his mount as its own grip on the earth failed, dragging his temporary steed with him.

He had hoped for it to slow him down, and perhaps it did, but he still felt one distinct crash as his back encountered the first wall, and destroyed it with his impact.

Yet still he kept going. Another crash as he flew the distance of a hallway in less than a blink. As he flew through empty space, he managed to twist his hips and pull the beast underneath him to take the brunt of the imact through the next wall. And the next. Finally he managed to get traction on the ground, but the wheel spun and sent him through another wall in a cloud of drywall dust.

Moonlight streamed in through the holes he had created as he pushed off towards where he felt his Master's pain from. The only light as he had damaged whatever ran them in this day and age. At least until his own creature’s torches started up again.

He felt pain, his and his Master’s. His was ignorable; her’s was not. Blood left a trail behind him as he shot as straight as an arrow towards her. Not even walls were a barrier.

He would arrive at her side in what would seem like a single instant. But is an instant fast enough!?

[/i]
[/justify]

[Alex McCeol]

The Triumph Rocket III series motorcycle began production 1998, nearly thirty years ago. It hadn't been designed for style, comfort, or aerodynamics. It had been designed as the most powerful production motorcycle in the world, and to that end it was largely a success. Of course, it helped it was being enhanced by the man resting his back against the sissy bar as Alex broke several traffic laws racing towards the melee she had heard. It also helped that she knew how to push the machine to it's limit, which was substantial considering it's raw power.

Five minutes earlier, Alex had been listening to the winds. It was an odd skill, uniquely hers, and a pain in the ass. Half the time she got nothing but embarrassing discussions, people wrestling in bed, and one dollar bills. The other half, you got cries for help. This time, it was the later. Now granted, no one had cried "HEEEELP". However, she had heard the three way discussion between two creeps and whoever they were mugging. Generally this wouldn't have been her problem if she hadn't heard the clash escalate from simple mugging to Servant Battle.

Spartacus had been skeptical about it until she promised him donuts afterward.

So here they were, riding at ridiculous speeds toward a pitched battle between the forces of darkness and light. Time to throw in a wildcard. Alex shouted over the roar of the engine at Spartacus. "ARE YOU READY?!?!?" The three headlights shined ahead revealing a huge armored figure between two obvious combatants. The man in armor had an appearence so obviously evil he only needed a sign that said "Bad Guy" over him to complete the image of Sauran Wannabe.

The 800 pound motorcycle barreled straight at him at speeds exceeding 100 miles an hour, riderless.

"DYNAMIC ENTRY!!!"

[]Theme Music[]

To Alex, it was no worse then the car-wreck she had been in with her cousin, last year. Spartacus had acted as an impromptu seatbelt, grabbing her around her stomach before leaping upwards off the bike. Spartacus landed on his feet, still holding Alex, who was upright and uninjured, her feet a couple inches off the ground. He let her go, and she hit the ground. A twist of hotblooded anger crossed her face.

"Alright. Time to SAVE THE DAY!!!" she called. Her guitar was released from the sling off her back, unharmed by both the jump and Spartacus's bearhug.

[Sigurd Fafnesbane]

Saber growled as the Assassin continued his mockery, unseen and unnoticed. He would gladly have fought the Rider¹, loosed his² blood upon Gram... but not at any man's behest.³ But later. As the voice faded away, Rider merely stood his ground, steed at the ready, as if daring him to make the first move.

He gladly took that chance. Readying his weapon, Saber dashed forth, swinging the massive blade in a short and abrupt arc, parting the very air with the force of the blow. Rider, in some futile attempt at defense, drew his own sword, blocking the strike. Sheath met blade in a flurry of sparks. The difference, however, was that Saber had thrown his entire mass behind that single strike with enough bone-shattering force to send Rider crashing through several layers of walls, leaving behind crumbling, vaguely defined holes in his wake.

Saber strode forward, briefly admiring his work. However, before he took one step across the threshold, he felt a wavering sense of sorts, wailing, directing him to the side, accompanying an actual rumbling and grinding sound.

Saber turned around, seeing a blaring missile hurtling towards him.⁴ He quickly adjusted his position slightly, turning to the motorcycle. However, the riderless vehicle was already wavering, wobbling, uncontrolled. The momentum caused by the rider and her... Servant, it would seem, leaping off of the two-wheeled mount did not help. Finally, with a tortured screech, it fell over, now propelled solely by its own momentum, hampered by friction.

By the time it reached Saber, he brought a foot down on it, gently halting the would-be missile.⁵ "Hmh." With a sudden burst of force, he brought his boot down, bisecting and smashing the motorcycle.

Already dismissing Rider, Saber turned to the new challengers, smiling beneath his helmet. Though he betrayed nothing, inside, he was a roiling mass of glee. Three Servants here, at once? Amazing. He could make so much progress in this war in one night. What was this one? Lancer? Archer?

He hunched forward slightly, drawing a swift, screeching line across the ground with his blade, casually balancing the massive weapon against the ground.

"Come."

----
¹_{Class uncertain.}
²_{Gender also uncertain.}
³_{Yeah, seriously. Nobody makes me his bitch. Nobody!}
⁴_{...That little FUCK jacked Grani's theme. She dies.}
⁵_Haha~

[Miliardo Red]

Miliardo was, at this point, convinced that fate was playing a nasty joke at his expense. Bastillo, who had shown absolutely no magecraft talents last time she was threatened, had blasted him with what amounts to ice-birdshot. And then her partner, who had until then seemed too injured to throw a proper punch, managed to lift Miliardo up by the collar and fling in bodily through a window, shattering the glass.

The ice spell hadn't done a great deal of damage; the Thousand Faces was not armor, but it protected him from the worst of it. But being thrown through a glass window had left Miliardo lacerated, bleeding, and otherwise feeling like a box of crap.
...
None of this showed up over his illusory face; the imaged projected by Thousand Faces did not include being cut by shards of glass. But nonetheless, Miliardo felt it was time to cut his losses and go elsewhere. The fact that the front of the condominium still had the sounds of a raging battle made it seem all the more important that Miliardo leave the area, before someone noticed him.
...
The plan was very simple. Miliardo had already switched faces again. Now he was simply going to limp away and hope nobody noticed him. The good Doctor was rather bright, he should notice that his master was leaving. Miliardo couldn't risk going back to fetch him, anyway; those voices out front did not sound like the Rider or the Doctor.
...run
Two nights in a row a rival Master had slipped through his fingers; at least last night an actual Servant had been the cause. Tonight a pup threw him through a window! Something had to be done, boldly striking out at weak masters clearly wasn't enough.
Because you're a failure.
Miliardo limped down an empty sidewalk and hid in an alley, waiting for the Doctor to notice his missing master and make his own way out of combat. He merely listened to the sounds of battle fading in the distance behind him, thinking. Maybe he was just doing this incorrectly; an Assassin is meant for subversive actions. Terrorizing weaker masters with ambushes had a certain charm to it, of course; Miliardo thought he was starting to see why the Doctor enjoyed giving people the frights. But it's not a terribly effective methodology for actually killing your opponents. Perhaps something more subtle... the Doctor would have ideas. Murder was his forte. He was a professional!
Yes, let a real person do the job you can't.
Miliardo made up his mind on that, to listen more to the Doctor's opinion on these things. A murderer should certainly know how to properly go about the business of killing people.

[Merlin Ambrosius]

[] Gonna be lazy and post pics later. For all of you who positively need a mental image, I personally think of merls running around in an Organization XIII cloak in this post. V: []

It had only been a short day or so since he had been summoned into the world, and had only been daring to leave the boys place at night to acquire materials. Animals’ food, cloth, needles, string, metals, questionable substances, etc; whatever he thought useful. He had already been working on building up his "spy" network. The ability to talk to and bribe animals had once again proved vital in his goals. It was still small, nothing more then a flock of birds and a few stray domestics that had been more then willing to help for the chance of acquiring a daily meal. He asked them simple questions. "Did you spot anyone with strange clothes on?" "Did you see anyone terrifying?" "Why do kids love cinnamon toast crunch?" To his surprise one of the birds managed to answer the last one. The avian was apparently found of watching television. You learn something new everyday, Merlin supposed.

Merlin was searching for something of course. He was searching for anyone from his time that he could trust to keep him alive. Arthur, the knights of the round...well most of the knights of the round. Galahad or Lancelot would be a no go; both would probably try to kill him given the chance. Well, maybe not Lance. Depends on how badly he'd want to win that up for grabs wish. Galahad would kill him because Mr. Perfect never liked him to begin with. Can't imagine why he wouldn't. Merlin was a loveable guy! How could you not put up with his wacky antics?..when he wasn't destroying villages by accident, or gender bending royalty, or setting your pants on fire. In Merlin's defense, Galahad brought that last one on himself. Boy needed to 'lighten' up.

Merlin stifled a giggle at that. Damn his current forms giggles were cute.

Merlin had decided to take a leisurely stroll through the town, the boy trailing behind him. After getting used to his new servant body Merlin had taken the time to look over what he had and hadn't kept. Merlin didn't have all his magic; not even close. He felt so....weak compared to his former, glorious power. He only had a fraction of his potential and it was getting on his nerves. Alas, his whining wouldn't change a thing. And it wasn't like he couldn't have fun with what he had on hand.

For example, Merlin was currently shape shifted into a familiar figure. Small, slim, and quiet possibly one of the greatest figures of his countries mythology. Yes, mythology. Apparently people didn't really believe he or Arthur existed. Or if they did it was through down played individuals who the legends eventually evolved from. And they couldn't make up their minds, too. The amounts of myths involving him were hilarious. Didn't these people have anything better to do then make up stories about him? Merlin knew he was awesome but come on people. Get a life. It seemed that even one of his "Noble Phantasms" revolved around this inability of the public to make up their minds. Pffffff.

Returning to his previous thought, Merlin had used his former kings form to test out his forms current powers. It met his standards, at least. The body was perfect in shape, an exact replica of Britain's greatest king. From the strands of hair on her head to the color of her kingliness’s toe nails. Truly, Merlin had out done himself even with his current level of power. But then again, he was Merlin after all. How could his transformations not be perfect?

"Fufufufufuf Ohohohohohoho~" Merlin was sprouting nonsense, silently praising himself over and over in his mind. His master no doubt looked at him funny, either in confusion or...well confusion. The kid didn't seem bright. Or was crazy. Merlin hadn't been able to pin down exactly what the kid’s problem was. Not yet anyway.

He kept his dress simple. Pants, shoes, gloves, cloak/robes hybrid he had made the night before. Yes, the master of magic was going commando He could have sworn he was missing something, but quickly disregarded the thought in favor of wanting to quickly test out his power. It was a good thing he did. God had seen fit to bless him this night. It was a blur, something that had blown past the two of them on the street. To his master, who Merl’s had been quick to toss over his shoulder in case of a much needed get away, it would had been difficult to make out just who had been riding on the bike. But Merlin was different. He saw who was on that bike, if only for the second it took the riders to zoom past them.

He grinned. It was Beddy. Oh yes, Merlin had bothered to remember him. While the other knights of the round had been near nameless individuals that served his king, Beddy had been her personal puppy. Boy would follow her everywhere he could, tail wagging and eager to serve. Honor, loyalty, Duty, yada yada; boy was the typical knight in shinning armor. He'd sign up to help Merlin, if only because of his former title as the king's advisor.

Quickly stuffing placing him in a safe place, Merl’s took to the roof tops. Beddy was Arthur's best rider, there was no doubt about that. Even with his speed it would take Merlin time to catch up to the knight. Merlin didn't bother with his usual flips and twists through the air, he was in a hurry.....and there was no one to show it off too. Pity that. As he arrived at the scene, landing on a nearby five story building and making his way to the edge; Merlin could hear the knight shouting.

Master running for dear life while the servants decided to have it out; seemed like they were following the wars standard fight procedure. Merlin watched as his king's former knight tried to fight the assassin. Merlin was getting into it to, quietly mouthing things along the lines of "No no, your left!" and "He's over there!", thrusting his arms into the air as he silently cheered on the knight. Not that he ever bothered to move from his perch to help him. Obviously if the man couldn't kill this creature then he wouldn't be much help to Merlin.

And then the man in armor showed up. Merlin decided his spectatorship was done for the evening.

He had stayed long enough to see Beddy be sent through the wall, visibly flinching at the thought of what pain that might have caused. He made a mental note to grab Beddy and his master then run for the hills. Or drive, if Beddy's mount of was still useable. Happy days if it was.

Just before he could sprint away he noticed a new pair arriving on the scene. One, a tiny girl screaming her head off and the other being a muscular man; both of which were riding on a bike in that order. Oh good, fodder for the brute. They'd make a nice distraction. At the blonds command the man, assumed to be the servant, had grabbed her and leaped off the vehicle. She was apparently trying to hit the, assumed, Saber with it. And by Assumed Merlin means he is. Why else would be be wielding a sword that could cut him clean in two? Or crush him. Or smash him. Or other horrific things he'd rather not think about.

Their bike missile, though going strong at the beginning had eventually tipped over and slid up to the Saber. Who just merely stepped on the thing to stop what little momentum it had left. Seriously. This was their plan? Trying to hit him with an unmanned, non-NP vehicle and hoping to do damage? The Saber looked like he could have punted it back at them if he wanted too. And now the rider was without a mount. This fight wouldn't last long.

He knew that he didn't have time for this, he really didn't but Merlin pointed and laughed at the failed attempt of an attack. Seriously. He just couldn't help it. And then the realization that he had given himself away suddenly hit him. Fiddelsticks.

Moving away from his former seat, Merlin made his way down the line of buildings and towards the Bishie knight’s crash site. Landing on it's roof, he somersaulted off and landed gracefully on the grass. 'tada~' He just felt the urge to say it, lack of witnesses be damned. He noticed the what he assumed to be man fleeing the scene. He felt like a master and Merlin didn't care. Beddy's master was at least definitely female from what he could see. She was the only master Merlin cared about at the moment.

And he had finally found her, currently collapsed with another master fussing over her wounds. Oh dear. He couldn’t have her dying yet, now could he? Walking over to the now broken window Merl’s casually leaped into the room. He didn't bother to worry about the glass, focused solely on the girl in front of him. Merlin, whose form and face had remained hidden behind his choice of clothes this entire time, marched himself over to the lad and lady.

"Eveni-" and he was cut off by a low chuckle. Crap.

[Amaranta Bastillo]

Getting stabbed wasn’t exactly what you could call the most pleasant of experiences. For one, it hurt like a bitch.

“…Gu-u-h…” Emma tried to make herself take a deep breath,” …Ow…”

She had collapsed limply onto the floor, the only thing still keeping her upright the wall that she was using as support, and blood was congealing in a spreading pool around where she had fallen. The entirety of her shoulder was a roiling mass of a pressing torrent of pain, flooding her senses, and each shuddering breath only inflamed the angry throbbing more.

It really hurt way more than it had any right to.

Through that vague haze, Emma recognized Matt worrying over her. How, exactly, did that happen? Oh. Right. He threw the other Master out the window. She supposed she should’ve been thankful for that, although getting rescued by a guy who was half-dead himself somehow left a sour taste in her mouth.

“Amaranta, are you alright?!”
“I just got stabbed,” she grated out, “ why wouldn’t I be ‘alright’?”
“Can you call Rider?”
Could he call the hospital, please?
“You have got to get out of here before he calls his serv…”

He didn’t get a chance to finish his sentence; that dark chuckle that echoed from the shadows around them making her blood run cold. That Servant. But just as the rising tide of panic surged, the room itself erupted in a shower of concrete and mortar, the loud roaring of the engine betraying who it was as the light of the scooter illuminated the shadows in a sinister red.

It seemed she didn’t really need to call for Bedwyr after all, but a fight between Servants, here, was the last thing she wanted. And, from the corner of her eye, she saw a dark, hooded figure. Another Master? Servant? Maybe he was the one who had tried to greet them before, well, Assassin cut them off. How exactly did a short trip around the block descend into this?

As much as she didn’t want to contemplate standing up, she was going to have to. Gritting her teeth, Emma propped herself up on her good arm with a groan, wincing as wounded arm got dragged along. She wasn’t prepared for the wave of dizziness that suddenly hit, making the world spin as her eyes unfocused.

“Help me up, Matt,” she muttered through her teeth; how stupid and utterly cliché would it have been to just faint like that? “We need to go.”

Bedwyr had brought the Vespa. Perfect. It wasn’t designed for three, but Rider’d be able to manage it. All they needed to do was to focus on getting out and away. She didn’t know where Matt’s servant was, but it was evident that she probably wasn’t in any position to help her Master, and no matter how much of a magus he was, there was absolutely no way he could stand up to the monstrous capabilities of Servants, and she did not take a knife to the chest just to see him die.

For more pressing matters, Emma wasn’t particularly keen on bleeding herself to death either, but any efforts to stem the flow with her hand only resulted in her palm coming away slick with blood, and she was already surprising herself with just how much one little stab-wound could bleed. The possibility of actually dying was hovering uncomfortably close over her head. She wasn’t Bedwyr; she wasn’t even Matt.

“Rider!”

Before yesterday, something like this would’ve been the furthest thing from her mind. She’d tried to deal with it the best way possible. The events of the night had illustrated quite clearly that she couldn’t.

“Get us out of here. The three of us. Quickly.”

Even as she said it, she knew it wasn’t going to be quite that simple. But it was out of her hands. It, really, had been out of her hands since the very beginning.

Still, a Servant actually doing what he was told for once would’ve been nice.

[The Ripper]

Jack had stalked through the crumbling hallways of the darkened condominium like a wraith, following the aftermath of the battle between his Master and the two whelp-lings that challenged him. He was leisurely strolling along, taking his time, his hob nailed boots tapping an ominous click, click, click as he followed, allowing his nauseating fear aura to permeate the area. Like Rider he detected Miliardo's pain the instant Emma's spell hit him and he was sent flying out into the yard but, unlike the stalwart rider, the Doctor's only reaction was the slightest of frowns that pulled downwards at the edge of his mouth.

He quickened his pace, however, his apparent lack of concern for his master's well being hampered by his own villainous sense of self preservation. If Miliardo died Jack himself would be unable to continue his self proclaimed mission to share his message of enlightenment to as many people as he could get his blades into.

But when at last he emerged unseen into the chamber the situation had changed dramatically. Bedwyr's demolition derby through the building had cut a swath of destruction through the structure that threatened to level it at any minute. The supports near the Doctor creaked ominously, threatening to splinter and shatter at any time and send the rest of the building crashing down on anybody that was still inside.

And more than that, it was an absolute party in the room. The Doctor could sense Miliardo limping off in another direction to lick his wounds but his place had been taken, not only by Bedwyr on his massive, growling, magically enhanced mount, but by a hooded and cloaked figure that gave off such an air of majestic dominance that he couldn't be anything but a servant.

The Doctor's expertise was in lone enemies, stalking and cutting and tormenting them until all that remained was a quivering ball of misery that would crawl to him and beg for death. Fighting multiple opponents was a risky proposition at the best of times and definitely not something that he would attempt against Bedwy, who still had his magically enhanced headlights, and the completely unknown quantity that the mysterious new servant represented.

Denied his kill, the deranged servant resisted the urge that pulled him like instinct towards the red light district of Lucca. Instead he maintained his high level presence concealment, invisible and undetectable as he poised himself to watch. If the newcommer fought Bedwyr he could pick off the injured winner. If not, well, at least the Doctor had a chance to identify a new enemy. Flitting about like a ghost and keeping hidden he circled, watching what went on and mentally tracking Miliardo's progress as he retreated.

[Bedwyr]

[]Yeah, we don't have to wait for you outside people so here we go~ Oh and Nails, Matt is not retconned, you can kill him or whatever, but you aren't allowed to retcon other's writings. Thanks~[]

He had almost expected the walls to be a bit more of a barrier, but as he had confirmed in the warehouse earlier, they were made with no real power behind them. Movement through them was almost as if riding through a bramble, or leaves, at the very worst.

His own wound had healed as well now, since he had finally removed himself from battle. Traces still remained, such as a rather large blood trail, and the steed once again receiving his life shed on its metal haunches. Once combat was ended, it was a simple matter to repair wounds. But it took a bit of focus, focus he had while riding.

The clarity of his mind was greatest while he was riding anyways. Healing a wound like that was minor, but once again damage had been done. Combat where he took damage was always the worst, and last on the first night he had been so severely injured he had not been able to muster the will to repair his wounds fully until almost twelve hours later.

But one minor would that was not crippling; instead designed to inflict blood loss was not so bad. On his offhand, his useless hand, as well. He almost had to wonder what the man, yes now he was tangible, now he was a man, was thinking. Stabbing him in such a useless place.

Yet the thing he was most worried about was the fact that this time the shadow could have done something different. On his first night of life, the night previous, his kneeling position had saved him from death. However this time, nothing had. He had been toyed with.

The steed smashed through one more wall to Amaranta and the failure of a Master he had entrusted with her safety. The very thought of that boy… he almost snarled, his face filled with rage and his fingers itching for his sword hilt.

The boy would pay, that much was certain. Guards who failed their duty, or fell asleep at post were executed, that had been the way of the Roman Legions for hundreds of years, and that had been the way of Arturia’s men. It was a simple military practice.

He had burst through the wall a few paces away from the pair, to keep his Master from being damaged by flying pieces of this mud… brick… thing that walls were constructed of now. But now he was beside her, as she was supported on the failure’s shoulder.

“Rider! Get us out of here.” The building shuddered with her speech, and he almost didn’t make out her voice in its creaking. Apparently his travel had done significant damage to the support structure of the building.

The steed rumbled forwards, as he prepared to give Amaranta, and Amaranta only, a hand onto it. Let that Magus deal with his escape. Better than what I wou-

She looked at him, near to reading his mind, and continued “The three of us. Quickly.”

Well that worked too. He needed to speak with the other Magus anyways, make him realize what he had done wrong. Random punishment was not an effective learning tool, although he did not expect the man to be learning anything after he was done with him.

For now, though, he would accept. His knuckles of his only hand went white under their metal wrappings as they both stumbled towards him.

It was then he saw the full extent of his Master’s injury. A deep knife wound, thankfully not anywhere vital, but the blood she was losing would add up, and quickly. She could not heal wounds as he could, after all.

Eveni-“ His sword was torn from the sheath that bound its fluid form with so much haste that any drill instructor would have flayed him.

And accompanying that steely hiss was a mad laughter.

A laughter that he most definitely recognized.

From the darkness behind his Master. From the same place as the greeting, which was strangely famil-

His eyes widened. There was no way. None. It was impossible. She… she… she was right in front of him! Right in front of the darkness! The shadow man, the Assassin!

“A-Art-Ar-“ Words could not issue from his mouth, they broke up in his throat, so instead he had to suffice with riding around the magi who had been about to get on the steed. He completely unceremoniously dismounted, falling to his knee in front of his beautiful king.

She. Is. Returned!

His wish had been granted already, and tears were streaming from his eyes, running streaks through his dusty face. The long soft hair of his, a mark of a female nature, but also the mark of a Celtic Briton, brushed unheeded against the ground.

There was no ceremony here. Only joy. Joy so great that the falling building, his own Master bleeding, and the Assassin in the shadows barely registered in his mind. He knew she was approaching behind him, going towards the steed that still maintained a connection with him.

“I-I…” Still words could not come out between his sobs. His King! His King had returned. Awoken from the dream. She… he could barely think anymore. It was no illusion, he could see through illusions easily. It was her very flesh.

ENOUGH! His own stern voice roared through his mind. He was not serving her in this dying building by kneeling or by leaving his Master behind. He could also tell that she was a Servant, not herself reborn. Not that it mattered; she would be reborn by the Grail.

He straightened up, his face still red and streaked from the momentary flood, but as firm as it had once been when he looked upon that face any time before.

“M-my…” He could not even mention her, it set his eyes to tears and closed his throat with sobs. But he could fill her in the best he could. “To your rear, or somewhere in these shadows not dis-dispelled by my l-light…” No, his voice broke with even that. There was only one thing he could say.

His steely grey eyes peered right into her blue ones as he smiled ”Ride with me!”

He was willing to obey. But for now, he needed to save his own Master, and that Magus so he could… explain things. As well as her. Especially her. He pulled himself back onto the metal steed, still not trusting his voice not to break again. But there was something important he needed to say, needed to tell her before he managed to somehow place all three of them on his steed.

“My King! I still serve!” He raised Spatharius to his face, its blade standing between his eyes, and for a moment it reformed not into a working sword, but a ceremonial one, brilliant and shining from some unknown light.

She had returned.

[Merlin Ambrosius]

[] Unspell checked version. Huzzah~. SRS merls is SRS []

Merlin was not amused. The knight had choosen to over look his master in a dangerous situation in favor of kneeling in front of the legendary wizard. Honestly, did this boy have no self-preservation instincts at all? Merlin would have to discuss with him the importance of keeping focus on your prana anchor after they had safely evac'd the area. For now there were more improtant things to worry about. Like the shadow assassin from earlier, who was no doubt drawing amusement in place of Merls at this current display of neglagence to one's own Master. Thankfully the creature saw fit to silently laugh at them from the darkness instead of striking down the masters while the two were distracted.

Ignoring the idiotic knight Merls brushed past him in favor of heading for his master. Upon reaching the two he lightly backhanded the boy in the chest, sending the lad back a step. "Out of the way, boy." He didn't have time for heroic's and sworn oath speeches; not while an enemy was breathing down their nexts. He was quick, bending down and sweeping the girl into his arms with one motion. His current size be damned, Merlin was a servant. Lifting her was nothing to him.

"Quiet girl." Was Merlin's echoing command, shushing any compliants she might have had while scanning over her wound. Bleeding yes. Painful yes. Life threatining? No. Well, not while Merls was here to heal it. He'd take care of it later. For now, Merlin moved back towards his arthurian comrade. Practically forcing the master into the arms of her servant, Merlin locked eyes with Bedwyn. "Your master comes first, Rider." The knight, however excitable and duty bound still had some kind of head on him. He would know what he had done wrong. He would strive towards not repeating the same mistake; which was good. Merlin prefered his meat shields useable.

Breaking eye contact Merlin went back for the other master, the one that had previously failed to keep Beddy's master safe from harm. He didn't know what the kids Servant was; for all he knew the boy could have summoned another member of the round. And that alone was worth dragging his half dead carceus through the city. Snagging the kid and lifting him up bridal style, Merls made his way back to the Rider in waiting. He mounted the bike, placing the child in his lap and grabbing around him to latch onto Beddy. Now the kid wasn't going to "accidently" be thrown off. Merls had seen the brief look of disgust the knight had sent the kid and would have none of that. Not while his servant was unconfirmed, at least.

"Drive." It was an order, simple as that.

[Matthew Walker]

Matt didn't seem to realize that Jack was still lurking about, leaning over Emma when the pair of servants came bursting into the room. He shielded her with his body when Bedwy entered in his shower of masonry and chalky pulverized drywall, leaping to his feet an instant later in combat readiness. When he saw who it was he quickly went back to Emma and motioned hurriedly to Bedwyr. For Merlin he spared a wary glance. The new commer was obviously a Servant but apparently not hostile. And Matt had more important things on his mind than the possibility of being stabbed in the back by an unknown assailant.

"She's wounded! You gotta get her..." Matt cut off, staring in shock as the knight went to one knee before the newcommer. "Oh, for cryin out loud. Dude! Hey! Snap out of it man, you gotta get her outa here. This whole place is comin down." He said loudly, flicking a stray bit of rubble at Bedwyr. The walls gave a groan as if to underscore his words.

Merlin gave a haughty toss of his head and pranced forwards, making as if shove Matt with an "Out of the way, boy." Matt batted his hand away with a scowl and decided he didn't like Merlin. She was arrogant, dismissive and patronizing. Still, if she was here to help Matt wasn't the sort of guy to pass up allies. He let the epicene servant pick up the injured Emma and tried not to hover. He suppressed his concern, he got the feeling that Bedwyr would object to somebody showing interest in his master.

Or maybe not. Matt gave Bedwyr a dubious glance and took in the way he was looking at Merlin. It was...weird. To say the least. His musing was interrupted when Merlin bent as if to pick him up too but Matt waved him off.

"That's okay, bro, I'm good. I'm flattered, but you gotta get her to a doctor and I'm not sure if all four of us are gonna fit." He said, eying the scooter. It was definitely enhanced by Bedwyr's presence but it didn't look like it had any more seating room. In fact most of it's bulk was taken up by chrome exhaust pipes and rumbling cylinders.

"'Sides, the four of us on one scooter? Might get kinda awkward 'sall I'm sayin." He added with his customary grin.

"Emma, take it easy 'kay? Gimme a hoot if you need me. I'll be around."

Matt stepped back and went to the window, peering out into the night. He was planning on tracking the magus that had attacked him but was worried that Bedwyr that would inisit on following an put off getting medical attention for Emma.