Girlfriend in the Incinerator

[Cleopatra]

[] Well since we need a real dead Cleo thread, I've started writing it. Nope, sadly I'm not the real Cleo, but I'm tired of this situation hanging in Limbo. So here goes, Siggy~[]

She let out a small playful sigh, bringing the attention of the young man who dared claim himself her master back to her kneeling form. The construction of a boundary field was a pain, but a necessary one. Her servant was beginning to get almost bored of staring at her motionless face as she focused on creating the temple these grounds would now serve to be.

Well there she was getting ahead of herself. A bounded field first, make it her workshop, since the man who had summoned her was incapable of making one himself. Always surrounded by useless men… well they do have one use, I suppose~

|l|l|l|l|l|l|

A small staccato sound, like an urged ringing of a callbell echoed through her mind. She let a small gasp out, and opened her eyes again.

“Matthew~ There has been an intrusion about a quarter of a league north of here in the boundary field.” She had just finished setting up the first layer of the bounded field, apparently in time, and was beginning to place the second layer as that first alarum had sounded. “Would you please investigate it for me?” While her tone was not forceful, it was commanding in another way.

The young man was eager to do as she asked, of course. Especially after she had healed him of his wounds from those horrible beasts and that… that Servant who had been about to kill him. Just thinking about that made her furious, and had there been something around to throw, she would have thrown it.

Batterings, bruises, lacerations, fractured bones and numerous tiny injuries. She ordered the boy to strip, and he had been completely abashed at that, his face glowing red as she gently traced the injured lines on his muscular toned body with her finger. Each gentle movement of her fingertip left behind only streaks of cold flesh quickly warmed by his pulsing blood where his wounds had once been.

It was not a Servant, that she would have recognized immediately. Sensed before he even reached the field, and an Assassin would find the first layer of her field easy to breach without warning her.

After he left she closed her eyes once more, and began to layer the field into place. This was thorough, and annoying work.

Boring, and repetitive work. She sighed again. Then, there was a presence on the edge of her mind, a sort of tingling sense in a radius just outside the field. A Servant! How did it find her? So soon? Had the Servant followed them? If they had been followed… that… well.

It shouldn’t even matter. This intruder could be easily taken care of. They dared to assault her, on her own grounds, where she had the advantage? How foolish~ A wicked smile lit up her face. This wasn’t even going to be a fight, and thankfully Matthew was out of the danger zone. He wouldn’t be here to ‘defend’ her either, and since he did have his uses, she preferred he would remain alive to at least act on those uses.

[Sigurd Fafnesbane]

He felt the faint, cloying edge of the bounded field even as it alerted its master of his presence. Though Sigurd did not yet know it, the field was incomplete, for the Caster began to prepare another layer. It was the only reason why he managed to feel it in the first place. That... and the fact that he happened to be there as the Caster laid the field down.¹

Sigurd turned a head at the house inquisitively. A Magus lived there, then. His mind's gears whirred into motion as he mulled over the implications. He knew only a small amount of the theory, from that Valkyrie... but these fields should have been normally undetectable unless shoddily made... or hastily set up. A newcomer... a newcomer magus, then.

...A Master? Magi did not randomly move from land to land, except for times and events of great consequence... like the Holy Grail War.

He glanced over down the street, where his Master waited. She could wait a few minutes more. He looked again, behind him, to the left, to the right. No others. No witnesses. He could risk it, despite the early hours. He closed his eyes. In that moment, the slender man vanished, disappearing beneath a mountain of harsh steel and cruel iron.

Thus armored, Sigurd materialized his weapon in his right hand, before stomping across the lawn. His blade cut deep furrows in the virgin grass, plowing the land in his wake. Then, sword met concrete as he reached the driveway, screeching out sparks. Then a series of light thumps as he met the steps, halting before the stalwart oak door.

What manner of Magus awaited him? What type of Servant hung at his beck and call?²

Only one way to find out.

The oaken door had weathered three burglary attempts and the machinations of two generations of children. It had stood resolute and proudly, protecting the home's inhabitants.

It shattered into splinters beneath Sigurd's heel as the Saber kicked it open, leaving what remained hanging on its hinges. It gave a forlorn squeak as the Servant continued inside, pushing the last vestiges of what had once been a door aside.

He growled down the empty hallways, inviting the unknown Servant with a challenge.

"Raaaah."

----
¹_{Because you live down the street, derp}
²_{A fail and a Caster. Together, they [insert verb and noun of your choice]}

[Cleopatra]

A sound of a heavy, splintering tear echoed up the stairs, to the smiling woman. A Servant, walking into such a trap so willingly and with such brute force. Beneath her were already arising a multitude of slithering shapes, that quickly went out to greet the attacker. They could squirm under the crack in the door, but were of height, or longer than a man. Snake familiars, hissing soldiers under her command, capable of devouring a man, or poisoning him.

Small serpents that could coil and launch themselves at exposed areas. Eyes were a favourite target, and they would be as darts, the ones that would deal the most damage to the opponent.

Their bites were far more toxic than the larger ones, which while the bigger ones seemed more deadly, they were only to get the opponent to fight them and be struck repeatedly by the small serpents, until finally the large ones consumed the weakened and drained opponent.

Hundreds of snakes, those were not the only two kinds, but were her favourites. Large threats in one’s face while the schemers worked in the background, and dealt the true damage while hulking brutes pretended to claim the victory for themselves.

There were snakes whose sole purpose was to bind the opponent, others to leap at weapons, and still more to make the opponent feel fear as they moved just at the edge of his vision. Crawling, hissing, slithering… a hell for any opponent. And if they did make it to her… well she wasn’t so defenseless. One snake that did not leave with the others weaved its way into her hand.

With a gentle touch of the snakes head, it immediately stiffened, and… changed. A slow change, as the tail of the creature became divinely blessed wood, and steadily the petrification crept up the flared, motionless snake. It was her phantasm now, the blessed Staff of Isis. The unstoppable gift from a God, the staff would make her spells wreak more havoc than they could alone.

She stood, with the once-snake staff, and again a sultry smile touched her lips. Tapping the staff against the wooden floor, her mind received the same things the snakes did. Their flickering tongues tasting the air were her own, their eyes were her own, their thoughts were her own.

He was a tall, cruelly metalled man in seamless armour. That was not even remotely worrisome, the snakes’ fangs had pierced metal before, and a Servants armour may only hold them back for a short while. But they were not her only weapon, the snakes and their eyes. They allowed her to target her opponent with her magecraft. Pressing the palm of her left hand flat against the floor, she invocated loudly.

Ra invoco levissimo's
Pol splendet trabem in aeternum
Humiliare et arcu dura sub sole solitudine!

[/color]

From the ceiling above him, three rays would spiral into a single beam, and with a beam of the sun’s heat that could glass the desert sands, chase him down, heaping endless punishment on him. And through the eyes of the snakes, she would guide it!

She almost felt sorry for the poor man. Almost~

“Ohohoho~” What a fool! There was no way to contain her rich laughter as the circling beam of light approached her opponent, melting the ground underneath its light into slag. He had picked the wrong house to invade. Although… if he showed himself well, she might let him have the privilege of serving her for a few minutes, just to see what he was like under all that steel. Probably some hulking barbarian brute, but one never knew.

“Goodbye~” She whispered to him from above his head. Upon the first strike of the beam, so too would the creeping snakes attack in concert. This was over before it even began.[/blockquote][/blockquote][/justify]

[Sigurd Fafnesbane]

Then snakes. Snakes everywhere.¹ Snakes of all sizes and shapes, from quivering, foot-long creatures to massive, coiling anacondas. They rolled down the hallway, out of crevices and cracks, a deluge of slithering, hissing, serpents.

Sigurd smirked and prepared his weapon to meet the onrushing horde, bringing it in front of him.

Then it was as if the sun had broken through the roof, shining from high above. A quick glance. The beginning of a spell. The sun's power, within the grasp of the other... a Caster.² Three beams swirled around each other, coalescing into a single focus.

Sigurd acted. He fiercely dragged his sword's point across the wooden floor. In that same moment, he stepped forward, over the swiftly inscribed rune.

Ansuz.

Blazing hellfire leaped into action around him, dancing, shielding the Saber. Hardly mindful of the sun's flare, he turned his attention to the snakes ahead of him as they lunged forth. He met them with a loud snarl, equally animal as the snakes' hisses, sword sweeping, slashing.

The small creatures instantly withered away and perished in the fire's heat, while the massive beasts met their end on his sword's edge.

The sun's fury struck the Saber's back, only to dissipate against his armor, the magic rendered ineffectual by his innate resistance and high prana capacity.

Sigurd crushed another leaping anaconda's skull with a swift stomp, before striding forward, supremely unconcerned with the sun's rage. Most of the initial wave had blooded themselves against his weapon to no avail. Those that managed to somehow reach past the fire and the steel found themselves vainly scratching against the impervious defense, before being bodily hurled away, dashed against the floor.

Behind him, the fire raged on, abetted by dry wood, no longer fueled by his own magic. The greedy flames licked at the walls, all-devouring, consuming.

Was that all? Saber shook his head once, tossing a lingering creature from one of his horns. It fell into the fire, shriveling away. He continued onwards, stomping the occasional straggler, the lurker that managed to escape his wrath.

Was that all?

----
¹_{...No. I won't make that reference. Not even gonna bother.}
²_{But I am Saber.}

[Cleopatra]

Fire!?

The armoured mass could use runic magecraft? And his armour was standing against every attack she could use. It dulled and broke even the most successful fangs, and the single snake that had somehow managed to make its way into the dully glowing armour only found more seamless steel, until it had been finally fried by the intense heat that didn’t even seem to affect the man.

He should even be cooking inside the very armour he stood in; the steel he was garbed in was cherry red in the flames and under the light of Ra!

But of course it wasn’t that easy, he simply shrugged it off, and so she abandoned the effort. With that spell at least.

Now though… the house was burning from the man’s runic spell. And he had no more obstructions in the snakes. But she would not run from any man, even if she could.

There was still the final trump card, but she would need time.

Isis Deus magicae
Anubis et ille qui tenet ad interitum
Stand! Accingite! Offendet faciatis!
Dignare me mittere cor habere pondus ...

With each line she traced a writhing circle of fire into the air around her, using the staff of the gods. A binding spell that would constrict and suffocate the opponent if they crossed the blazing circle, mummifying the opponent in living snakes and ropes of flame.

While it would not hold for perhaps even a split second, the man seemingly shrugging off the light of Ra, it should give her the second she needed to activate her second phantasm. One that did not worry about the resistance of magic the brute had.

Smoke began to fill the room, and his footsteps echoed up the stairs.

Scutum!

The second layer of defenses, a hard layer of air that might divert a strike from her, depending on how powerful the man was. The stairs were being torn, crushed, and burned, as the man progressed, still crushing any snake that tried to halt him.

Cleo?

Matthew!?

The mental link… he was coming this way. Of course he saw the smoke, heard the fighting and the smashing door.

Murus nebulae.

She muttered the last one, sealing Matthew’s entrance into the house. He could not, would not get involved in this fight. He could not stand up to a Servant, and the only way up was behind the iron-clad Servant. Cleopatra knew he would try though, that was part of his charms. And were it any other man than her Master, she would have gladly sent him to serve as a distraction. But she still needed the boy. Alive. While the phantasm would be interesting to use on him, she still could not have any more risks than were necessary.

Just wait a little bit, Matthew~ I'll be alright, stay safe.

[/i][/center]

The last snake died. Her visions stopped. Two more steps, that was it. Two more steps, and the door would burst open, its splinters deflecting off her airshield. He would charge at her. She would use the split second the spell halted him to activate the Ankh of Isis.

And then she would win. Although she had not wished to use the phantasm, he had forced her hand and no resistance to magic would save him now~[/blockquote][/blockquote][/justify]

[Sigurd Fafnesbane]

Thoom

Thoom

True to Cleopatra's expectations, Sigurd smashed through the door, pulverizing the wooden thing with a single swing of his sword. A rain of splinters flew at the Caster, igniting and disappearing into ashes on her blazing shield. Saber stood against the frame, the fire crackling merrily behind him.

His armor glowing an angry red, the all-burning flames behind him, Sigurd appeared as a ghastly phantasm, his shadow thrown wildly across the room by the gleefully dancing blaze.

All of Saber's attention was focused on the woman standing in front of him. Despite her impending doom, despite the imminent specter of death flitting across Sigurd's visage as he glared at her. At least he could not fault her courage, even if he could sneer at her foolishness. The only way for her to live was to flee, to run... anything besides standing and rallying an ineffectual defense. Did she not see how her traps had failed her miserably?

Was it courage, then, or foolishness that drove her?

Only one way to find out. With deliberate, slow steps, Saber strode forward, into the circle of fire. Instantly, serpents materialized out of thin air, wrapping and coiling around his body. Just as quickly, they split apart as Sigurd moved, unable to restrain him, or recoiled from the blazing heat exuded by his armor.

Ineffective. Again. She was a fool, then, to rely on her pitiful magics.

He strode up to the woman Caster, stepping into the whipping winds, the final defense. Immediately, the shield of air seemed to melt away, dissipated by his resistance. But Sigurd did not strike; he did not cast her down at the moment. His baleful, yellow eyes, nestled within the Dragon's steel, met her smoldering, sultry golden. He would grant her this, before she died. To gaze upon the face of her killer, to know him.

Nothing stopped him, but delays were as good as a stop. This would end here!

Gift of the God of Magic, Ankh of Isis!

[/center]
In her hand manifested a pure construction of prana, an elemental’s gift to her as its highest priestess, its greatest follower. An ankh, rebirth, light, servitude, and a cycle.

Her greatest weapon. With its power no man would refuse her call, and each one would fight for her affection, do anything to please her.

An unseeable aura descended around the area. All would obey.

Except nothing happened.

“Wh-what?”

She stepped backwards in shock. He stood against even that?

S-scintilla!

[/center]
Her voice was desperate as he stepped, and a thousand stinging swarms of fire just bounced off his armour, repelled. In those yellow eyes, there was only death. Why did nothing work? Why? Why? Why? Why was everything useless. Her charms… Nothing.

But she could not die like this. Would not die like this. She was the woman who had used a snake to kill herself rather than become a slave, rather than let some other man control her destiny. There were no more snakes, but those horrible yellow eyes fit a serpent’s perfectly.

She stood her ground. Steel returned to her spine, fear gone. She had already died once, a second time could not be any worse. And she stared back into those baleful yellow eyes. When she died, even by another, it would be on her own terms. [/blockquote][/blockquote][/justify]
Despite the cruel helm betraying no emotion, Cleopatra almost saw, no, felt the smirk that was indubitably forming on the Servant's face. Sigurd leaned over the Caster. Finally, he spoke.

"Caster. I am Sigurd Fafnesbane," He snarled coldly. There. A name for her. Before she died, a name. That was all.

Slowly, Sigurd drew Balmung from its sheath. Then, swiftly, he stabbed Cleopatra. He could almost feel her slacken, as the lifesblood ebbed away. He let her remain standing for a mere second, before roughly removing the unadorned sword from the dying Servant.

Turning away, no longer paying attention to his felled foe, Sigurd looked over the bloodied weapon. Already, the Caster's blood was receding, as if Balmung was greedily consuming the blood.

As Cleopatra lay dying, Sigurd contemptuously wiped the remaining blood on the wall, before resheathing it, turning back to the door.

The Grail War had claimed its first casualty.

[Cleopatra]

“Haaaa…”

Her laboured breath as the sword, Balmung, was pulled from her chest, and her final words before death would take her home again.

Sig… urd. Even dying her mind was flooded with the man’s name. Everything about him. Why nothing worked. Why nothing would work.

Cleopatra saw his weakness. No matter how hard she tried, however, she could not bring her hand up to aim a spell at his turned back, to extract vengeance.

She could only collapse, bleeding from an invariably fatal wound, the building around her going up in flames. Survival here wasn’t an option. Her eyes blurred, blinks coming and ending s l o w l y.

Barrier fields fell away, the two she had already placed. The barrier stopping Matthew from ascending the stairs winked out of existence.

Run!

[/center][/color]

But he did not. She faintly heard the running up the stairs. Faintly, from ears that only seemed obsessed with that rhythmic sound. Only heard his guttural scream as he leapt at Sigurd, who disarmed him in a contemptuous instant, and lifted him by the scruff of his neck with one steel hand, squeezing the life out of the boy. Almost. She still felt him, and his rage, his desire to save her.

Vision blurring. Ears failing. She couldn’t feel the heat anymore, only the cold embrace of death that was just a few steps away.

“- - - -“

Sigurd said something, something she could hear. They were only words, unrecognizable words. But her hand moved, if turning her palm upwards counted as movement. A last gift, perhaps. The sigh would not be her last words, or the ankh failing her last act.

Fe… ferre.

Endure. Like iron. Matthew’s body became harder than any reinforcement could make him in this age. His bone and muscle structure ‘unbreakable’. At least to the techniques of the modern world. It would still be unable to stand up to a Servant, but it might just save his life.

Her eyes opened and blinked one last time, she no longer had the strength to open them. But her last thought was knowing the link between them still survived, knowing he still survived, even as Sigurd left the burning house in cold iron greaves.

This time… this time it doesn’t seem so bad…[/blockquote][/blockquote][/justify]