On Patrol

[Amaranta Bastillo]

Emma was resisting. The rising urge. To throw a boot shoe pointy object heavy object boot . Into someone’s face; namely, Bedwyr’s. The Rider. Her Servant who was presently exalting over some teeny blonde, midget swathed in a dark cloak. Her eyes couldn’t make out the details, but evidently this somebody was more important than, say, oh, she didn’t know, somebody bleeding to death on the floor. The scene he was creating wasn’t making the stab wound any less painful.

And off he was going about some nonsense about kings, and riding. Typical Bedwyr-speak, really; although it seemed he was so very enraptured by the golden-haired runt that she could take higher precedence than his Master. It was nice that he had managed to find somebody else to bother, but didn’t he have something more important to be doing? She was beginning to worry that even Matt seemed to have more sense than Bedwyr.

“…Oi,” she grated, a long, low, drawn out rasp, “Aren’t you forge-“
“Out of the way, boy,” she was beaten to the punch as the cloaked figure pushed past Bedwyr, bending down as she approached; she wasn’t prepared for suddenly being swept into her arms, breath whistling past her teeth as she took a sharp breath, and before she could raise any objections, “Quiet girl.”

Who did this person think she was? Giving orders to Bedwyr; Bedwyr taking her orders. She was probably another Servant, wasn’t she? And what was to say that this old acquaintance of his wouldn’t stab them him the back?

“Your master comes first, Rider.”

Emma gave a derisive snort that managed to get itself cut short when she found herself shoved into Bedwyr’s arms. Well, that provided another opportunity. Never mind that she was bleeding to death, she shot him a scathing glare with all the vitriol she could muster. That, at least, kept her attention elsewhere as Bedwyr clambered awkwardly onto the Vespa.

“Drive.”

It seemed that the blondie wasn’t about to forgo her position of authority anytime soon. The engine rumbled to life below them. Out of the corner of her eye, she spied Matt’s figure disappearing off into the night, probably well on his way to getting himself killed again.

“So…” she muttered, her tone scathing, words clipped to conserve energy, “Who’s she?”

Emma had something of an idea already, from his outburst earlier. But she would hear it from Bedwyr himself.


[]Sorry for late as hell-ness. ;-;[]

[Bedwyr]

“Your master comes first, Rider..”
She was right, she always was. Tears were blinked away as he rose to serve his Master, and Arturia. But she seemed… different. More confident, and with a different way of moving, almost unnoticeable. Yet it was still Arturia! He could have yelled with joy as he carefully remounted his leaning steed.

“"'Sides, the four of us on one scooter? Might get kinda awkward 'sall I'm sayin."

He actually smiled. At the very least the man knew his place, and when to leave. And he quite possibly realized the murderous intent Bedwyr held towards the young man. The injury… his… no… Thoughts began to fail again as he looked back at Amaranta.

Once again he had failed.

Not only that but he ignored her for a reunion that could be saved for a later time. But it had been so… overwhelming to see his king. To see her. To have the opportunity to serve once again, as he always did. So when she said drive, he drove. Arturia was on the spare saddle of the mount, holding on to Bedwyr’s waist, both her hands wrapped around him.

But more importantly, for now, the Master he had failed was cradled carefully in his arms. His good hand held her own hands tightly pressed on the wound in her shoulder.

Staring at the blood fury ignited in every fibre of his being. Every single one of his thoughts was hatred, and it took an incredible amount of control to realize that before vengeance came healing. I will not let her die on me!

The wound was clean at least, as he quickly glanced at it as his right hand’s gauntlet faded into the air. Still, rage consumed his soul. Once more he had to breathe as his mount flared with his anger, roaring as he put his feet in the stirrups.

“So… who’s she?” The words were scathing, and he deserved it. Had deserved it many times. He deserved much worse than just spiteful words. She was bleeding, he had entrusted her to the care of a fool. And he left her supported by him only to kneel before his king, who he could not even warn of the danger.

He was a failure on all counts.

“I-I… am sorry, Amaranta” He was whispering now. She did need to know who the one behind her was, as Arturia had said, her Master came first.

He revved again and burned through the hallway. There was frustration in his movements, in his mount’s movements. Where was he even supposed to go? A medic?

There was no hesitation as he kicked out a steel door and rode into the street. The mount was only being steered by his lower body, as was normal. While his rage translated into it, making it roar monstrously, the motions were still eased and fluid.

That skill was ingrained in him, would always be ingrained in him.

“A- Saber.” That was the only thing she could be. The only thing, and there were still enemies around. He would not reveal her name, even if he almost had earlier. He was back in the night air, under the stars and lanterns that hung from the high metal stands, before he continued. “Do you know where we can heal her!? Please!” They were opponents, supposed to be opponents. Even if that was true, he could die later. Surely she could hold off on killing him until his Master was alright.

Saber… what had that one from before been then? And where did he go? Assassin was nearby him. It was… confusing. He was Rider, that woman was Rider. His king behind him was Saber, that knight from before had most assuredly been Saber.

Had there only been Riders, Sabers, and Assassins summoned. Now is not the time for those thoughts!

He only had to follow Arturia’s direction now, but he could do one more thing as he rode through the night air. “Amaranta, this is my liege. Arturia Pendragon, Riothamus, High-King of all Britain.” His voice was once again a whisper, but it was still audible over the roar of the steed.

“And I am sorry… That was meagre and worthless, even to him. Words were never the end of anything. He would have to prove himself.

Yet each time he tried there was only failure.

[Merlin Ambrosius]

The boy had chosen to leave, and die. Fine. That was his decision and Merlin wasn't in the kind of mood to persist. Well, he didn't really care about males in general but the childs servant was still undetermined. The thought of losing a potential knight of the round was weighted with the thought of having to save a foolish master every five minutes. Merls came to a simple conclusion that if it were the higher ranked knights they wouldn't have allowed this child to wonder off alone, and if they were the lower ranked then they were too illresponsible to act as proper soldiers in this war. Merlin's decided the lads life wasn't worth the effort to keep, and let Beddy drive off without any objections.

As they rode, Merlin holding on to Bedwyr whose master was sitting in his lap, he could feel his anger slowly lesson. Not evaporating, but shrinking to the point where his need to trick and treat himself to the misery of others was starting to resurface. Which was bad, his out burst of anger had done a wonderful job of convencing Beddy he was Arturia. While he still felt anger over the topic, it was not longer to the point of blood boiling or veins popping. He would need to reveal himself to the knight before he accidently let something slip and set off a series of unfortunate misunderstandings....you know that didn't seem like a bad ide- Merlin shook his head. No. Merlin scolded himself. He would save it for when the knight's off his mount and less likely to succeed at killing the magician.

“So...Who’s she?” A question slipped out from the injured girl, one that was completely justifiable given Beddy's antics. Said knight hesitating, and nearly giving out Merlin's assumed class. Merlin nearly snorted at this. The very thought of him being a Saber both amused and scared Merlin. Lord knows he's handled legendary swords throughout his life; as in him giving them to others for them to go on those long quests for honor and glory while Merls stayed at home. No need for him to waste energy on such useless things. But who knows? This system was open-ended and the grail was a wonky copy of the original. For all Merlin knew it could have summoned him as a Beserker. Bloody piece of junk. If it had been Merlin crafting it there wouldn't have been such iss-“Do you know where we can heal her!? Please!” Merlins ranting had been cut short by the knights plea.

"Of course Rider." Merlin would take care of it himself, of course. He just needed to set up shop somewhere and get to work. He believed there was an empty building close by. "Take a left here. Head straight until you come to a right. Take it then head straight to the next fork. Take a left and pull into the warehouse there. She can recieve treatment from my master." A lie, naturally. His master held no such powers. But there was no need to disrupt the knights illusion just yet, so for now her 'master' would be the greatest of healers. Second only to Morgan Le Fay herself.

“Amaranta, this is my liege. Arturia Pendragon, Riothamus, High-King of all Britain.” Merlin let his face scrunch up into a sour look. Couldn't this boy keep anything to himself?

"How eager you are to reveal my identity, Bedwyr." The girl probably knew his name by now, no doubt. Surprise surprise. "Let's hope you can keep it to yourself when enemies are about, least you want them to gain the advantage of knowing my history." Merlin chided the knight, glaring at his back. "And cease your useless whimpering. Your her sword and shield, now start acting like it." Merlin hoped the boy wouldn't be such an emotional wreck the entire time he existed within this world. If so, his usefulness as shield would be...limited.

[Bedwyr]

There was something off about this whole thing. While there was a certain amount of what he knew about Arturia in this person she was different.

It was a strange combination that was just… off. Motions, movement, surety, words, tone, relaxation, beratement, and a thousand other things.

Not that it was easy to see through. Whoever, whatever this was had spent time near Arturia, known her at least semi-intimately. However, there was a slight bit that just led him to believe it was someone acting as her.

Why the person had chosen her he did not know, as he was her closest knight, even to the end. It was an incredible act, but an act nonetheless. Had the deceiver chosen anyone else he would have been fooled. But he had watched his king die, had stood by her side, returned her body to Merlin himself. Everything. He had always been beside her, and when she died he no longer cared for life.

Not only all that, but there was a new thing. There was not even a hint of being a Servant about her. He could not detect the fact that she was composed of prana. Was she…?

No, no normal Magus could manage this perfect a replica.

The beratement was the final hint.

There was only one possible action now. However… why was he not already dead if this person so wished it? Any sharp movements would injure his Master further, perhaps and he could not take that risk.

He focused intently, thinking carefully as he followed the directions of the fake behind him. Wait… what if I don’t do the moving!

“Be ready.” it was a whisper, and the only warning he gave. A sudden halt or spin would be bad so he took the only possible solution.

Bedwyr stood.

The bike was still his. It would respond to his thoughts if need be, but most of this would simply be skill, and the merging of two minds as one. The fake looked at him for a moment as he glared down at her.

“It’s good that you know who I am, but I am afraid that is no longer a mutual feeling. A rare smile touched his face, twice in one night was incredible. What was now necessary was a display of skill.

He shifted weight onto his back foot, tilting the mount onto one of its two feet, and pushed it with the other foot.

The mount spun, on the still moving foot, as fast as he could manage it, and still moved forward, although slowing down. This… was something he had learned from a spinning denarius, crossing the table and yet the center of it never moved. He was positioned as close as possible to the feet as possible to limit his own movement, and simply moved his feet in a careful manner so that he still faced backwards towards the desperately clinging fake.

It was like a tornado, with him at the eye, balanced and smiling with Amaranta in his arms.

To him, there was no limit of his skill. A modern rider might be able to spin for a moment, or perhaps an entire rotation before having to land the back feet of the mount, but he could keep this up as long as needed.

He continued riding the direction he had been, all the while at the center of a storm of metal. There was no way the pretender could hold on, and she did not.

In the middle of the tornado, he placed his foot where the pretender had sat, pushing the back half against the ground again, then leisurely spun the mount around safely, taking time to wrap Amaranta’s shoulder’s in his surcoat as he faced the thrown… deceiver.

Why do I fight all the ones who hide themselves?

His face hardened again. They did not have time for this, but he could not turn his back on an opponent again, especially when he did not know their capabilities. “So, who are you really?” He was terse and short with his words. There was no need, nor want to be kind to one who had taken the appearance of his liege.

If all else failed, or this girl did not answer, he knew where her Master was. He did not need the Servant to get his Master healed. He would not take the Master prisoner, or kill her of course, just get the person to heal his Master.

Amaranta was still in his arms, as he resumed sitting on the steed, and his sword remained undrawn. There was simply no time to fight, but he could not trust this person yet.

[Merlin Ambrosius]

“It’s good that you know who I am, but I am afraid that is no longer a mutual feeling." He stood upon his mount, grinning down at Merlin. said wizard letting his glare fade in favor of a pout.

"Oh? Is that so?" It would seem Merlin's anger had led to his downfall, unable to keep the character of his kings farcade. The jig was up for him, and Beddy was not going to let him just walk away. Or would he? Would he place a fight before the girl's need to heal? If so, Merlin would chalk it up as another failure for the knights ever growing list. "It only took until the enemy had man handled your master and been invited to ride your mount. I dare say your in-ability to sense potential danger leaves me in awe Bedwyr." Merlin clapped, giving the knight a look of dis-interest. "Maybe if you didn't spend half your time ogling her Majesties body you would have done a better jo-"He began to spin his bike, the vehicle moving to his will. A circular hurricane of destruction, storming down the streets and tearing appart all unlucky enough to stand in it's way.

He was trying to use the momentum to knock his current 'enemy' off the mount, keeping his master's frail body out of reach. Better. Much better. If he had acted like this before Merlin wouldn't have gotten so angry. But that was the then and this is the now. And the now included Merlin spinning at unnatural speeds in an unnatural angle, with its rider hell bent sending Merls flying. He could feel it, even with his servant strength he was slipping. In just a few more spins Merls was finally thrown off the mount, tossed into the air and head first into the concret.

He was fast, his supernatural skill at acrobatics giving him the edge needed to flip his body in mid flight. Merls landed feet first, slamming his fist into the ground to help slow down his body's skid across it. He was not one of those unnaturally strong servants, so it did little more then tare his gloves and bruse his hand. Regardless, he came to a stop just a ways away from the knight. The man seemed content with standing on his equilivant of a high horse, holding his hurt 'maiden' and acting all mighty.

“So, who are you really?”

Merlin stood up, dusting off his pants and claping his gloves. If there was any way of turning back the clock and back into the woman whose feet Beddy worshipped, that time was long gone. His deception revealed, his illusion crushed, his game killed: the man was ready to strike him down if need be. He was Beddy after all, this man would not take disrespect to his liege form. Not while his body still breathered, not while he still existed in this world.

So that's exactly what Merlin did.





God, this was going to be fun.

"Why not see for yourself Bedwry? Keep watch now, I'm doing this just for you."With a flick of his wrist, the zipper to his robes had been down and it's spread open. A moment later he let the robe completely slip off his body, happily showing off his upper body. Arturia's body he meant, her slim and graceful form had been revealed to the world in all it's glory. The knight was recieving the view a life time, one of his greatest wishes fullfilled. He was privillaged to see what the bare skin of his desire looked like. The bare skin of the King of Britainia!



"So, like what you see?"

[Amaranta Bastillo]

A thin trickle of blood, oozing deep crimson, marred the chrome steel of the vespa, tracing it’s way down the side, dribbling a trail of dark red splotches, the flat pitter-patter of blood hitting the asphalt drowned out by the dull roaring of the engine.

Arturia Pendragon, Riomanthus, High-King of all Britian, Bedwyr had said, only just articulating himself over the scooter, ticking off the titles, the name he gave her both strangely familiar and yet just that little bit beyond the reach of recognition. Pendragon, High King. Liege-lord of Bedivere. It took her mind far too long to connect the pieces. Of course Arthur would have been a fair-haired soft-skinned fifteen-year old girl. It seemed on pair with just about all of the other nonsense that she had been subjected to.

She tilted her head back, brushing off Bedwyr’s mumbled apology with a muffled grunt. Even despite her injured shoulder protesting most indignantly at their mistreatment, those inexplicable misgivings grew only ever larger amounts by the moment. She only half-listened to the exchange between Bedwyr and his supposed liege, too tired to offer any input beyond a few barely audible syllables, trying her best to disregard the presumptuous posturing of the abrasive woman sitting in the back-seat. Even if she was Arthur, she was well on her way to debasing any goodwill Emma might’ve have harboured for her courtesy of her fame.

“Be ready.”

Those two words out of the blue were her only warning for what Bedwyr was about to do. The scooter jolted from underneath her, and she found herself swept up by Bedwyr, in and amidst the screeching of burning rubber against splintering bitumen, finding herself at the centre of a deadly hurricane of rumbling steel; in the eye of a raging storm. A power pole shuddered, and then finally gave way, pulling down lines to communication in the entire area, crashing to the ground with a resounding boom.

“So, who are you, really?”

The sudden tempest died down almost as suddenly as it materialized, Bedwyr righting the vehicle, stepping down from his perch with light steps, wheeling the modified Vespa around to face the woman whom he had thrown off, deftly wrapping her shoulder with the surcoat that he had bled all over the day before. The notion was nice, if a little awkward.

But of course they had more important things to be worried about.

“Why not see for yourself, Bedwyr?” the blonde-haired figure spoke snidely, the very opposite of cowed, “Keep watch now,” her Cheshire grin widened in the darkness, “I’m doing this just for you.”

What happened next defied all expectations; the moon wreathed her body under its pale, wraithlike illumination, Bedwyr just about almost dropped her, and the figure before them regarded them with an insufferably smug expression.

Did she just… Flash them?

If this was some ridiculous form of medieval foreplay from the Dark Ages, Emma wasn’t amused.

Crimson seeped through the fabric of the surcoat, blood trickling down her arm, pooling on the floor.

Pit.

Pat.

Time was offering an inexorable ultimatum.

Meanwhile, Bedwyr was suffering through the far-reaching psychological consequences of being confronted by a would-be sex-offender.

[Bedwyr]

"Why not see for yourself Bedwry? Keep watch now, I'm doing this just for you.”

Still... who was she? She knew him on site, and he could only offhand think of a few who this person could be. Morgan, and her Magecraft? Kay and his Illusions? Merlin and his shapeshifting? Lancelot and his... no it wasn't Lancelot.

Or it could be someone who had found out his name from earlier in the day, when Amaranta had spoken it. That was something burned in memory, destroying a large warehouse, thankfully evacuated from the plague of beasts.

However he had not expected devestation of that level.

How would they know Arturia's form though? It was not like it was public knowledge, she was hidden by Merlin, doubled as by Gawain, and unaged by Avalon.

He was ready for anything, for anyone, ready to defend and ready to run, ready to protect. Anything she wou-

Why was… this what… what… no… what.

She was…

This… had to be a hallucination. Was this a dream?

He blinked; closing his eyes tightly, and shook his head. His arms had slackened, and he had almost dropped his bleeding Master. Better than the alternative, rage was overwhelming his trembling form. If that had caused his arms to tense… he may have killed Amaranta, crushing her to death. Thankfully his shock had been the immediate reaction.

When his eyes opened she was still there, naked as the day she was born.

Now, now there was all consuming anger. The fact that this woman dared to slander her! His teeth grit, his muscles tensed, and if the gauntlet on his right hand would not disappear upon leaving him he would have thrown it at her.

She… for revealing that there could only be one possible punishment. The young, slim body of his king… she would die soon for that. But for now, for now he had no time. Fighting could be done later, but Amaranta’s life could not wait for ‘later’. He had stalled enough as is, and she was draining her lifeblood alarmingly fast. The knife had hit something important, apparently. Exactly like the eating utensil that had jammed into his, and been ripped violently from it.

“You… You…!” He could not manage a coherent sentence now, exactly like earlier. Except now it was for a completely different reason. There was no point in staying there; he could go have someone else heal his Master. And it would be this Servant’s Master.

A deep breath. He could manage this; he wanted this Servant to follow him so he could kill her later. What she had done was beyond inexcusable. I think I can manage one sentence. Just one.

[/i]

“I see you are not one for… normal conversation.” It was… difficult to meet her eyes with his cold grey ones. His face was still impassive, but still she had her face, which was always difficult to meet, eye to eye.

How he had ever thought this woman was his king he would never know. It could be easily blamed on his distressed state at the moment he had seen her, but it was still his failure. She had no… ‘presence’ of a king. No dignity. No truth. No honour.

No matter who she was, she was no king.

“However, I will still thank you for your information of where your Master is. No harm will come to him,” He assumed it was a him at least. This Servant appeared lewd, perhaps it was an eccentricity or a want of her Master, “As long as he heals mine.”

His right foot pushed the ground, far harder than was necessary, pushing off to follow the directions the pretender had given him. The steed underneath him roared in response to his feelings as it moved as fast as was safely possible.

This would work, it had to! His own skills with repairing wounds were minor at best, but he still could dress a wound at the very least. Right now though, his tightly wrapped surcoat should be slowing the bleeding.

“Hold on, Emma!” His words were emphatic, but barely audible over the growling engine.

Amaranta would be healed, even if he had to do it himself!
[/justify]

[Spartacus]

(OOC: Long delay is long. Sorry guys.)

Spartacus had to hand it to the girl when she was on a roll. The moment he thought she could not possibly be more of an idiot she exceeds his expectations by leaps and bounds. First there was the spell she used that led them here. Why she had decided to use it was beyond him but after mumbling and tossing some dirt into the air Alex had managed to summon what could best be described as a Roman's favorite past time. Spartacus had hardly been paying attention to it being preoccupied with Alex going red from the ears down. His grin at Alex's expense was short lived as the conversations changed to a more boring nature of robbings, assaults, and more importantly words that could only come from Grail war participants. Really her bad luck was extraordinary.

Naturally, Anchor wanted to poke her nose into it being completely unprepared for a war. Despite explaining why it was a completely idiotic idea it had escalated to threats of a command spell. He had relented only because it would have been a waste of what could be a useful boost later on as she muttered something about nuts made of dough. Totally wasn't for the doughnuts nope no siree. Spartacus had simply grinned in a smile that showed only teeth and added it to his ever growing checklist for when he sits Alex down for a nice long talk.

A small vein pulsed underneath his eye as Alex once again manages to outdo herself. After stealing this iron horse, 'Motorcycle' shut up grail,
she had demanded to take the reins. Really now he was a Rider damn it what the hell was this prana anchor thinking!? Alex charging the giant tin-can had been the last straw.

Grabbing Alex by her waist, Spartacus kicked off the horse into a backflip. The shoddy mount unable to even control itself fell to it's side and slid to a halt before the gian'ts foot much to Spartacus's disgust. Sparks flew briefly as his armored boots met the road as the Rider promptly dropped Alex before turning his attention to the enemy before him. He was seemingly content to wait for them resting with his boot in the remains of the mount. Perfect.

"Alright. Time to SAVE THE DAY!!!" Materializing his Spatha in his left hand Spartacus turned his attention to Alex without lowering his guard. As she unslung her guitar eagerly, Spartacus's right hand found her collar and brought her up short. Raising her to eye level Spartacus focused the accumulated night's anger into his voice.

"Stay. Out."


Only two words but spoken in a low tone of command. The intent behind it should be simple enough for even her to understand even if his look hadn't been clear enough. Dropping Alex to the ground, Spartacus strode forward to meet the armored giant.

"Certainly carefree aren't you? Sorry for the wait but let's get started." Time to find out what these heroic spirits were made of.

[Merlin Ambrosius]

“I see you are not one for… normal conversation.”

"Your so cute when your flustered." Merlin giggled, hoping to spark some more reactions out of the night. Though calm on the surface the wizard was howling internally. His mental scape composed of dozens of himself rolling across the floor in laughter at the knights reaction. Poor Beddy was trying to keep it together after what happened; which made it even more hilarious. "I'm a tad disappointed though. I thought you'd be happier to see me like this." Merlin puffed out his cheeks, crossing his arms while looking away from the Bishie."Am I not woman enough for you? I know I my breasts are small, but...." Merlin shifted his weight, seemingly uncomfortable with being looked at all of a sudden. His cheeks became flushed. "They'll get bigger if you...if..." Merlin gave the knight a side glance.

“However, I will still thank you for your information of where your Master is. No harm will come to him. As long as he heals mine.” What? That's it? And he used one of the better lines too! Well, part of it. Okay, so it was a pathetic attempt to mimic one of Merlin's past girls. This was Beddy, you didn't exactly need high tier stuff to get this kid blushing. Maybe the rage was cancelling out any further attempts to push his button? A thought that made the arthurian trickster contemplate whether or not his last stunt was worth this new resistence to his teasing.

....

Wait, master?

And like that the knight was speeding off in the direction that Merlin had so happily given him. Upon realizing this, and the fact that Beddy was eagerly rushing his master towards an empty warehouse with no currently known occupants, Merlin facepalmed. Pulling his hand down, Merlin gave a look of utter unamusement. Great. Now the girl was going to bleed to death. If Merlin didn't do anything that is.

Immediatly the wizard weighted the pros and cons of chasing after the two. Should he risk a stab to the face for a potential meat shield? Or should he let the two of them rot like the self-centered man he was? Of course it was only when Merlin realized that having Beddy alive meant he could mess with the knight some more that his choice was clear.

Twisting around, he ran to and straight up the side of a building. Hopping over the rails, Merlin started running across the buildings towards Bedwyr's desitination. He would have to make haste if he wanted to catch the night before he discovered the lack of master. Merlin could make it in time, maybe.

[Alex McCeol]

"Stay. Out." said her tall protector, in a voice that made even the infamous hairtrigger temper of Alex McCeol stay in check. Even if the face that accompanied it looked stupid. Indeed, it was the first moment that she thought of herself as in waters too deep to swim in. Alex had waded through every misfortune life had thrown at her, spitting in the face of everything as she had escaped her father's influence, evaded his agents sent to recover her, even fought off that magus two month's past who had tried to sacrifice her to some vaguely satanic creature that was sealed in a coin somewhere at the bottom of the Hudson river. Never once had she felt as powerless as she did now.

"Very well." she said to Spartacus as he turned to face the hulking armored giant who had stopped the improvised projectile that had been thrown at it. "Don't get killed, Rider, or else I'm screwed." she thought to herself, as she backed away from the fight, keeping her eyes on the two soon to be combatants. Not to say, however, that she wasn't keeping her other senses tuned just in case someone was keen on doing something sneaky.

"Really wishing now I had more dirt" she thought. She had used all she had had on her in order to find this little brawl, and while she had more, it wouldn't survive the week if she used it more then once a day. Catalysts were inconveniant like that. And Alex knew that she'd be at an even bigger disadvantage then she already was without the benefit of the wind's whispers. "Useless. Useless. Useless" kept repeating in her head. She hated feeling as useless as she did now.

[Sigurd Fafnesbane]

At the other Servant's command, the small girl turned tail and retreated, well out of the reach of the inevitable clash of titans. Just as well, for Sigurd had already began moving. Snorting contemptuously at his foe's choice of weapon – a relatively small, dirklike blade – Saber stomped forward methodically, bringing his weapon to bear. It hung loosely in front of him in a relaxed grip, but neither combatant was fooled. At any instant, the armored Servant was ready to unleash his fury on the disinterested, aloof soldier – and his small sword.¹

Sigurd breathed lightly, not at all concerned with defeat. Even though he was a shadow, he was drawn from the stock of Sigurd Fafnesbane, mightiest of heroes. Undefeated in battle, only felled by treachery. What deeds did this little man have to his name?² Whatever they were, they would not be enough. He would die here, mere fodder for the Grail.

Slow, ponderous footfalls hearkened Saber's arrival, as lighter, smoother steps drew attention to the other. Neither side was eager to throw the opening shot, almost content to watch their opponent's moves, to seek out a chink in his defenses – yet, Sigurd struck first. The moment he judged that the distance between the two was short enough for his weapon – and too far for his foe's – Saber swiftly swung his sword in a diagonally-vertical arc capable of messily bisecting any foe, Servant or otherwise. As the sword reached the apex of its swing, Sigurd quickly followed through, stepping back, planting his feet, as he grasped the hilt with both hands and brought the weapon down in a thunderous chop.
----
¹_{So small~}
²_{Hm, freed some slaves, led a revolt, and spawned the fourth or fifth most horrific meme on the world.}

[Spartacus]

Finger tapping lightly upon the hilt of the spatha, Spartacus observed his opponent carefully as the range between them slowly shrunk. The armored giant looked to be either a saber or damned berserker judging upon his size but he was still far to calm to be the latter. Regardless of what his class may have been, he couldn't be very fast swinging around that overcompensating blade. Any benefit from the range it granted would as much hamper him as help if he failed to capitalize on it. When the opening blow failed to connect with him, it would leave the giant wide open for a counterattack.

Immediately upon finishing this thought the range had shrunk to the point that the giant could connect if only just so with his swing. Spartacus had to give him credit for one thing if nothing else. The giant was a good deal faster than what he had originally pegged him for. Had the giant been more patient and waited to swing once the range had shrunk further he might have cut Spartacus clean in two. Rushing down to meet him the demonic sword roared through the air with the fury of a thunderbolt delivering pure destruction as it connected. Not even the surrounding road was spared being cratered by the impact.

"Patience is a virtue dumbass."

Immediately as the swing reached it's apex, Spartacus had stepped back out of the blade's range. It was no difficult task to do so. After all, the range had only been barely enough to connect and stepping back when the giant swung had only served to shorten that range further. Feeling the air hiss as it passed before him, Spartacus kicked off from the ground with all his strength following back along the blade's original path. Bringing his right hand to rest on the hilt as well, Spartacus unleashed a full powered two handed blow aimed against the tin can's helmet. Feeling a satisfying crunch as he passed by, Spartacus turned sharply on his armored heel upon landing a good twenty feet away. That had been almost too easy....

[Alex McCeol]

Alex McCeol watched in tense silence as her partner fought with the enemy Servant. The fight was moving past what her human eyes could follow, and her other senses weren't helping her much either. Both of the combatants took their swing, the great knight first. However, her servant obviously dodged it (as he was unperforated and not stains on the wall and/or Alex herself) and countered with his own strike. It had taken place instantly.

This of course left Alex with one option on things to do, if only to make herself feel better about exactly how out of her depth she was. "That's right! Kick his ass!" Alex cried out helpfully from the sidelines (or to be more accurate as far away from the battle as she could be without losing sight of her servant). It wasn't much, but was anything a regular human could do really?

That was the rub wasn't it? As powerful as McCeol was, she was only human. Only flesh and blood, while the familiars summoned by the grail, the Servants, were made of sterner stuff, of myth. The ability to throw someone through a wall with a spell or mystic code made little difference compared to the power of the Heaven's Feel, and it's results. It wasn't anything she could handle on her own. As tough as McCeol was, she wasn't tough enough for this.

It scared her. Not on any physical level, anywhere the american girl would acknowledge. But behind the layer of rational thought, cynical viewpoints, and rebellious temperances there was a scared child looking out and wondering how to fight the monsters. She'd been running on adrenaline since the summoning, and had been ignoring the fear, but now that it caught up with her, she was nearly paralyzed with it.

"Shut UP!" the less rational, more animal part of her brain told her. Sure there were enemy servants, sure there were unknown creatures of some mystic origins about attempting to eat people about. If she let the fear of them stop her, she'd never get moving, never get what needed to be done, never sa-

Alex was brought out of the circles her mind spun in by the fight picking up once again.

[Alexandra Ritter von Ehre]

"Hmmm...." the extravagant clad master pondered about the current situation. Alexandra had no doubts about the superiority of her Knight, but the spectacle had become dull and uninteresting. Something that should have turned into a duel to behold, albeit in her mind being more of a one sided slaughter act of Saber, had been overrun by a chaotic mass of servants. It was hard to identify every participant individually and became a shining light of prana for everyone who was not totally inept at sensing.

The conflict could easily turn into a Battle Royale, with more and more moths flying to the light and the purple haired woman disliked the thought of receiving unnecessary attention. It was all too soon, too sudden and she reached a conclusion for herself. Saber would probably hate the thought of running, when he was an imposing figure that usually instilled this urge in his foes, but there was no other way about it.

A dark grin formed on the Noble who only knew the meaning of Chivalry from a book, when she thought that it might even have positive effects on the chosen warrior. Sometimes people acted more amusing and with more cute vigor when they were driven into absolute hatred, fueled by the desire for revenge. Her servant already held many useful traits, but his skills on the field, his knowledge about his own powers were hindering his aggression. She certainly did not want him to fall into depression or worse despair. That was reserved for her enemies, but a loss would only make him more eager to act more violent and with more determination next time.

A killing machine, worthy of being called a Berserker, albeit being very happy with the choice of Saber. Then again, it was not really a loss, was it?

"Enough playing for today. If you want you can leave a nice present for that fool, that he will remember you dearly, but otherwise I order you to retreat. It has gotten boring, and I am getting hungry."

There was not much logic behind her action, none that could be perceived by a normal person, yet she did not leave much place for complains. Her word was absolute and that had already been pushed into his head minutes after the summoning. But how cute would he react? Would he eventually complain? Alex shivered in delight about the countless variations of Anger he might display, and hopefully anticipated his return, while turning her own eyes away from the battle field from her strategic favorable position.

Although she was far off, too far away to act herself, she happened to have a good view to know about her enemy. It almost seemed as if the heir to the 'von Ritter' lineage had picked up some part of the family training after all, and was not just one who enjoyed senseless slaughter.

[Sigurd Fafnesbane]

The message came in loud and clearly, bringing with it a measure of perplexity on Sigurd's part. The battle had just only begun, and he was already being ordered away? He resisted that urge - and felt a debilitating flash of energy course through his body. In that brief moment, he slowed down, enough for the Thracian to kick at Saber's head unimpeded and launch himself off a horn.

To the Saber, the blow was nothing more than an annoyance. He did not feel the strike, only heard the dull clanging of metal beating against metal. As the other Servant flew through the air, Sigurd turned away, intending to carry out his orders, however asinine they were. The power of the first command seal still resonated strongly. The Saber had no intention of risking its consequence any longer than necessary.

If you absolutely must retreat, then ensure that the foe does not follow.

In the brief time span between the other's launch and landing, Sigurd faced the wall, sword flashing and slashing. Then he jumped onto the wall, landed, and kicked away, flying against the opposite wall with a heavy smash. The wall instantly caved in where Sigurd kicked it, a spiderweb of cracks spreading, and spreading, and spreading, along the scars left by the Saber's sudden barrage. In a ponderous, groaning motion, the wall began to fall apart, sending rubble and masonry crashing down to the earth.

The Servants would do fine.

The one Master? Not as much.

Not that Sigurd would be there to admire his handiwork. He was too busy climbing, scaling the building. While the other Servant would be too busy protecting his master from the ensuing deluge of stone and mortar, Sigurd withdrew into the night.

[Alex McCeol]

"Oh shit." was the main thought that Alex thought, seeing in her minds eye what was about to happened in the seconds before it did. She turned to run, muttering a sung aria as low as she could as she did. A dome of wind slowly formed around her, beginning to pick up speed as it circled around her.

[glow=Blue,2,300]"Ó bandia na gaotha chosaint dom"[/glow] A simple wind spell, that she had drilled with from a very young age, and one she could pull off with ridiculous efficiency. It was a Song, begging the World for protection.

Too slow.

She managed to get half way through the second verse when the world tumbled on her. The wind spell spun, struggling and failing to hold back the stone wall's collapse. The Servant's strike didn't just destroy the wall, it annhilated it, sending hundreds or thousands of pieces of rubble everywhere. The first level of the spell just wasn't enough.

Alex gritted her teeth, as she gave the last syllable to the spell's second verse, and felt the prana of her body being poured into the spell doubly fast. This would protect her, by flinging the debris away from her and hopefully keep her alive.

"Gotta... keep this up.... so... tired... damn... it..."

She had used a lot of prana tonight, and was closing in on her reserves, the last fourth of her total prana. That, and exhaustion due to the amount of hours she had gone without sleep had taken it's toll on her. She wouldn't be able to keep up the shield for very much longer. The weight of the rubble too large to move was pressing down on her.

Where the hell was that Servant of hers?

[Spartacus]

...Which of course it naturally was. Immediately upon turning around the tin can was completely unharmed. While it had certainly connected the original target must have made a head slip at the last moment. Instead of a severing blow to split his face in two the full strength blow slid off the helm's horns. The concussive force should have at least rattled him slighty even if it was a glancing strike. Yet no signs of such a thing showed and he had no time to think it over.

With only the slightest pause the armored giant took off with a burst...right at anchor who was a straight shot away not having found a safe hiding spot. For some unfathomable reason the giant didn't take the easy swing. Defying all reason the giant fled the fight ignoring both servant and master. Prefering a rooftop retreat he kicked down two walls using them to propel his bulk into the skyline. The walls however fell neatly towards Alex in an unstoppable tide urged downward by the giant's powerful kicks.

All of this information was processed in a quiet part of Spartacus's mind as he rushed into the falling wave. Following closely on the giant's heel he was not far away when the building had imploded from the force of it's boots. Were it a simple collapse he might have idly strolled in plucking her out of yet another mess. Cascades of mortar launched at bullet speeds were another matter entirely as they piled up quickly in an odd domed shape.

Letting the blade dematerialize, Spartacus let his hands curl into fists stronger than steel. Then the blows fell upon the piles of bricks that had stacked up. As if to mock the storm from earlier they fell too swiftly for the eyes to follow and with each blow a dozen bricks vanished into dust. Quicker than it had piled up the mound had become a cloud of dust settling on Alex.

Two more blows against the air displaced that cloud bringing his anchor into view. Standing back, Spartacus remained on guard for any other surprises while inspecting his partner. A quick once over confirmed she was exhausted but uninjured. Scooping the girl up into his arms, Spartacus headed up to roof top level himself albeit in a less destructive manner. Sure enough the giant was gone and it was time for them to do the same. There may not be anyone left around but this girl had a knack for attracting bad luck. The local town watch was bound to be here soon after the scene that was made, and no sense sticking around for it.

Leaping from roof to roof, the pair were headed towards the tallest building nearby. As if to dispel the events that had just occured he began talking in the same relaxed voice he had upon summoning.

"Seems you can manage to stay alive long enough to attract more trouble. More the shame for both of us I suppose. If you aren't too comatose to respond think of a place for us to head to. We can talk more there."

Upon reaching his destination, Spartacus glanced down at the dimunitive girl with one foot on the ledge of the roof. It gave a nice view for miles around with the added bonus of making it impossible for any pursuers to sneak up on them unawares.

[Sigurd Fafnesbane]

Dematerialization was a strange phenomenon. A sense of disembodiment, a detachment, if you will.¹ Sigurd could no longer feel the blood pulsing through his arms, his heart beating strongly. But when he rematerialized... there it would be, as good as new. Sigurd shoved the thought out of mind and presence. It was pointless ruminations. What mattered was the fact that it allowed him to travel through the city unmolested and unchallenged. He ran² through the rooftops, heedless of the city's bright lights, seeking his Master out.

What he had to say, he could say directly to her face, and not through telepathic communication.

Ah - there she was. On the roof, closer to the battle than he would have thought. Slowing to a stop, Sigurd reappeared behind her, his body reconstituting itself, veins stitching themselves to arteries, muscles tightly threading and binding to bone, his heart beating strongly once more, a shimmering grey mass given form.³ Silent floating turned into thudding, heavy footfalls as the process completed itself, revealing Sigurd's armored form, resplendent with bullish horns and cold, yellow eyes.

Sigurd had barely exerted himself from the earlier fight, brief as it was. Despite this, if one knew how to look, his chest rose and fell raggedly, the steel plating around his torso almost fluidly expanding and contracting with it. It was not just armor, not just steel and leather, but something more.

Sigurd was angry, rankling with this unnecessary retreat. Irritated by this demand. He had been made to flee, to look like the coward. He was the man with no fear. He was Sigurd Fafnesbane, and he despised the feeling. He could have resisted, yes, would have done so... but the weight of that command seal pressed down upon him, hanging above like the sword of Damocles.

"So, Master. Why?" Sigurd hissed coldly. The single-word question hang in the air, completing itself with the Saber's sullen silence.

----
¹_{It's... well, look, it's better if I go into detail here, rather than up there. It's sort of like... being a cloud, I guess. A big, puffy cloud. Since, you know, water particles and everything. Also, it rather tickled.}
²_{Or flew? Or floated? Thing's so unclear.}
³_{Now this... it... feels like... spontaneous... aaagh, never mind. I'm not explaining color to a blind man.}

[Alexandra Ritter von Ehre]

Awwwww, he is so adorable, so cute! She felt like jumping and hugging him, when his stares pierced through her. She knew that this command would just be the start of something wonderful, but Alexandra had not assumed this conversation to start so close to the previous battle field. Nor the Rper. Yes, it was really a bit unexpected, but certainly entertaining, and difficult to stop herself from clinging to cold steel. Nevertheless, she welcomed him with open arms and a bright smile.

"Welcome back, Saber. I really missed you. Is it really so strange for a girl to wish her knight at her side? It is cold and dark, and dangerous, you know~~"

She hid a fit of giggling and spun around before turning her back to Saber and heading towards the other side of the roof. "Well...," she began more seriously, "Why indeed? Maybe I just felt like it, but there is certainly more to it. The word coming to mind is Fear. It has to be instilled and gradually nurtured with more until they break. What is more scary than someone who could kill you any time any day, or rips your face off just to show you that they can do even worse? You have showed a bit what you can do, and next time you will have even more fun. It is boring to finish things fast. A lady at times wishes to have fun during a party, and steaks are not always meant to be raw~"

If he understood then fine, if he did not understand the same. The purple haired magus had given a proper explanation and there was no need for discussions. A soldier had to live with the whims of his lord, and that was the best way to describe their relationship. Sigurd was the knight of a whimsical princess with rather unladylike intentions, but this should not be anything new for the Dark Knight, and a brief look into his past revealed this quite easily.

"There are more entertaining parties than this one. Let's go and enjoy our dinner, after this little work out. Hmm, if you even had any."

In fact he seemed to have consumed more energy because of anger than the actual fight, but this was also just another adorable fact about Saber. Sometimes she wondered what he would do to her, if she were not his master. Would he break her, rip the flesh from her bones before consuming her ugliness? She shivered and grinned darkly before winking him to her side. "It is a little bit high, but I am sure you will carry me."

Well, he was also one of the best taxis, a young woman could hope for. Maybe there was a need for cushions on his arms, but the nice and dark design would probably get destroyed by he extra fluff. Still, the comfort could take a small level up.

"Strangely enough, I really feel like eating some steak tonight."

[Sigurd Fafnesbane]

Fear.

That was a response. The instinctual trigger that sent lambs fleeing from lions, deer from hunters. One that was supposed to set the heart pounding, beating. A feeling that Sigurd had only heard of, never known. The subject had made for amusing conversations whenever Regin attempted to bring it up, all in the name of teaching him fear. After theory had failed, the dwarf had attempted to teach him with a more hands-on approach, to similar effect.¹ Sigurd did not know fear.

But to deliberately evoke that survival instinct, to enjoy that fear...? That was something new, different. He almost enjoyed the thought. It sounded like it would make... good sport, at the very least. Even if the idea had its temptations, even if it had, for a noxious moment, implanted itself in Saber's mind, it was a thought that Sigurd swiftly discarded.

The other Servants might be unable to touch him, they might be weak, they might be lesser, but they were not yet animals. They were warriors. They were men.² They at least merited that much. A swift death, a quick mercy. Sigurd did not voice these thoughts. His Master knew what she wanted. Arguing would be pointless and ineffectual. He might have disliked it, he might have resented it, but in the end, such was the way of their positions, of leader and knight.

As if to reinforce or confirm the unspoken thought, the lady beckoned to Sigurd, smiling. "It is a little bit high, but I am sure you will carry me." Saber walked forward, bending a knee, head a little bowed.

"If you command it."

----
¹_{No, seriously. The guy was ridiculous. He even once tried to jump me in the middle of the forest wearing a bucket on his head. Except that bucket was painted green with big, cartoon-y eyes. He called himself a mighty DRAGON, roaring and spraying spittle everywhere. This, while pointing a little dagger at me. I smashed his face in with a stick and continued on. Understandably, Regin stopped trying after that.}
²_{And women. And women who dressed like men. Maybe men who dressed like women, too.}

[Alexandra Ritter von Ehre]

The purple haired woman seemed a bit disappointed about Saber's reaction. There was no way that she could see his face under the massive helmet. Sometimes Alexandra actually wondered why he bothered to wear it, but this was a part of his self and his combat form, and stripping him would at best serve a temporary form of self entertainment, and eventually hinder the chances of winning in her desired way.

Well, the masters were in the end the target. They should hold on their little servants after seeing the terrifying approach of Saber and slowly realizing that no matter how hard they try, their Heroic Spirits would not stand a chance against hers. And then then when they were at the point of desperation, Sigurd would snatch those servants like apples from the tree and their fear would be complete. Running desperately like a headless chicken into their certain death. Hmm... somehow this sounded like it may take some replanning. It was too straight forward and Alexandra herself well aware that she might lose interest in them at this point.

She was a patient woman, but everything had an end. Just like this night would soon make place for the next morning. Fortunately there was no need to get up early for school or she would begin to hate those trips a bit, which would be a shame considering that this was the best time to be surrounded by malice, blood shed and hatred, the real movement behind a War. Noble goals? No matter how normal one thought to be, the very source of this conflict would stain their hearts in black and corrupt their souls before they were consumed by eternal darkness. Maybe she could also feed some as snacks to Saber. His pride would probably deny him to go this way at the moment, but this did not mean that it would remain the same in the future.

They were just fuel for her dark ambitions. Sigurd's Master was enjoying herself, and her loyal knight raised her to leave into the night. The Battle of the Night had ended, but the War just begun.

....
...
..
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