Fate/Vagabond Ardor

Lancer nodded as Martin spoke, his eyebrows raising slightly at the mention of "company". The Servant had come into the world with little understanding of what was going on. Already it seemed getting any grasp on the situation was a fool's hope. Honestly, the fragmented information in his head was still far too garbled to make any sense of. Still, Martin seemed keen on postponing the situation with the interloper for the sake of a drink. Lancer cracked a smile at the notion.

"I'm sure they won't mind waiting for a bit."

Lancer reached out a hand to accept the beer, taking a long swig of the beverage. Bitter, but in a refreshing sort of way. The white-haired Servant nodded in appreciation. Martin introduced himself. Lancer involuntarily grimaced at the word "Master". Still, he reached out and reciprocated the handshake with a dashing smile.

"If you please, I'll just call you Martin... Strictly speaking, I'm not entirely sold on this 'Servant' idea just yet."

He took another sip of the beer, glancing toward the door, curious what sort of visitor might walk through it. This curiosity lasted only a moment though, then his eyes were back on Martin. It occurred to the man in the red suit that the man before him had introduced himself, and that it was rude not to do the same... there was just one small problem.

"Right then... I suppose you deserve to know: I'm not sure exactly what my name is, that is, I seem to have been summoned without any memories of what Heroic Spirit I am... or if I'm a Heroic Spirit in the first place. Honestly, I can't explain why, but I don't feel like the term fits."

The Servant shrugged, taking another sip of his beer and turning toward the door. He stretched his arms above his head. He wasn't quite used to this new body yet.

"Well, I do apologize for not being able to introduced myself. If it helps, I think my class is Lancer. There was a a great deal of commotion about a spear on my way here."
 
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The old leader made his way back to his young master's room. It was still a far ways away from daybreak, more than a few hours. Thankfully, Sun Tzu had gained enough of a scope of things from his and Lleyse's short walk. Glancing down at the pug, Sun Tzu gave a nod, a sense of understanding between the two. It had become somewhat obvious to the servant the relationship between Lleyse and his master. For now, though, it remained to be seen if the relationship would become an issue, or beneficial.

Sitting down, his legs underneath him, Sun Tzu gently closed his eyes. While servants did not need rest, or necessarily relaxation, in order to function, the calmness of it all did help Sun Tzu more aptly take in his surroundings. The old servant would be on watch until his master woke up. Anything, barring an assassin or a particularly stealthy servant, would be sensed or heard by him well before they could attack. Even though Sun Tzu was confident that the late night escapade had not alerted any other competition, it would help to be as safe as possible.

As time started it's slow pass, Sun Tzu sat calmly, not stirring even a muscle. All that could be done is waiting. Waiting for the time so that the real work could finally begin. Sun Tzu would have much to start learning, and reading, in able to gain the advantage he sought. Sun Tzu wondered how many servants had already had their first skirmish, or battle, by this point.

Opening his eyes, and glancing at his sleeping master, Sun Tzu then wondered when their first skirmish would be. By the nature of servants and the Grail War, it's highly unlikely a master and servant's first taste of combat would also be their last. More so, Sun Tzu thought about how his young master would react, but this would be a worry gor another time.

Simply, now, Sun Tzu returned to his resting state, mulling over the things he had seen, and the information available to him currently. Behind the memorizing of knowledge and experiences, though, was the small nagging excitement of being able to devour all the books and knowledge he could tomorrow. He had several ideas on where to start, but most likely it'd be up to Seth to direct the old servant.

For now, the room did not stir, and neither did the master. Not until the time had came.
 
As she had spent the entire night telling herself, she wasn't ready for any of this. Already her Servant was in action, putting plans of his own into action, and she was still bumbling through things, letting him act on his own as an excuse to ignore the fact she had no real strategy or idea how to move forward. She was crouched in a dark corner, so like the night she had followed her grandfather to that night club years ago and watched him tear apart her parents' murderers. She had been there to take vengeance, but had only watched it be taken for her. In that situation though, she had the awe and love she felt for her grandfather to carry her through that useless feeling. She only had herself right now, only herself and her Servant who she was still trying to get a read on. Some pretty boy from old Eurasia, commenting on the scent of a woman's sweat. Like the otaku back home. It put her at ease, that odd familarity with something so unknown.

Wrestling with herself as she had been doing for hours now, she had spared half of her attention to the discussion. It seemed plain, safe. No need to take action. Shoo off the rival so she could stop skulking in the darkness. But things were complicated by the arrival of someone new - a woman. A self-assured woman, confidence oozing from her voice. The polar opposite of what Yukari felt in the moment. Peeking her tired eyes from behind a far church pew, she couldn't quite see the weapon, but she heard the sounds of a gun being readied. So we're this far already are we? Weapons of man already being drawn while spirits shunt around. She could feel the familiar in the air as well. Weak as she was, she had enough sense to feel it, and was worried if she was known, and just being ignored. Was a Servant going to gut her at any moment? Was that gun going to fire a bullet through her skull at the last minute? Her heart began to race and she hated herself for being so ill-prepared for this, at every new occurrence that she faced as the night went on.

"Who shall I kill, Master?"

His voice, in her mind. It stopped her heart, stopped her thinking. Power was placed in her hands, even if she did not wield the gun or the sword directly in this instance. She thought of her grandfather, fists bloodied, spent casings around him with thugs at his feet. She eyed the two targets in quick order, focusing her weak vision. The man didn't strike her as particularly worrisome. Conflict would come to all of them by the end of this, and in the end he might be the one who stood over her dead body by whatever means. But the woman had a weapon drawn, spoke of herself as the winner already. That spoke of someone ready to do whatever it took to win. Who was already in the process of moving towards that goal. Negotiations? Would her death lead to retribution from an ally? No matter her choice, a domino effect was assured.

The community of Magi meant little to her, after all. She was Yggdmillennia, a dying magi among dying magi. She wasn't in this for the good of magic or its worth or anything of the like. She was in this for herself, for her family. She was a selfish woman in the end. She was of yakuza, and it was time she thought like one. "The woman," she returned after five entire seconds of silence in her link with her Servant. She was jealous, angry of that confidence. She was a petty woman, too. "Be sure she knows the Kamei Family and their Servant is what bested her when you do it, Assassin."

@ERode
 
Martin's House​


His eyesight came back only by degrees, accompanied by what felt like an assortment of nails driven through the back of his corneas. It wasn't the light itself that had done this, of that he was vaguely aware as he shuddered his way up from the ground. The man's spine aligned itself upright once more, his grimacing face locked in distaste as his head pounded. It was not the reaction which he expected, it was not... what had happened before. Hairs stood on end on his neck as the element of uncertainty crept its way up clammy goosebumps. He knew little of Magecraft other than what he had been told. There were no floating eyes greeting him or bizarre atmospheric phenomena barring his way, and so in his mind he went undetected. How could anyone sense anything over the whorl that had just exploded from within the building? A rock steady hand landed on the doorknob, prizing it a few degrees before finding that, none too surprisingly, it was locked tight. Probably bolted too. The Mage inside was probably still dealing with the emotional blow of his failed summons, if he wasn't a smear on the wall. He nodded to himself. One burnt catalyst to collect, and then they could all go home and reflect on their hubris. Anyway, the owner of the home had made enough of a ruckus already, what was a little more?

"Heave and-" Wood fractured, bits of the frame and the door itself raining down on the floor. What survived the sudden impact fell inwards, slamming down in the entranceway with a cloud of sawdust swirling up from below. The man on the outside stood, both feet firmly planted, beyond the wreckage. The interior lighting flooded out into the odd orange luminescence of the streetlights, casting the neon floral pattern of the intruder's shirt in an odd, shadowless haze. He stepped gingerly over the jagged chunks of wood lining the door frame, making it about a pace onto the collapsed door before stopping in his tracks. Dark eyes settled on the duo he didn't expect to see, chatting it up and having a grand old time over a couple beers. Perplexity furrowed his brow. The master was easy to identify, he felt no gut reaction to look upon the man and his plainness was telling next to the brand new suit and absurd hair of his compatriot. He did not know a great deal about Heroic Spirits other than the essential details of their nature, but whoever was standing in the apartment did not meet his expectation of what a long dead Roman would look like.

That was overlooking the most important part. There should not have been a Servant standing there at all. They had failed, what could some nameless Master have done differently, that the saint would answer his call? Unarmed, unaccompanied, the Observer stepped off of his improvised palanquin and offered an open hand to the drinking duo in greeting.

"Damn." An American accent, far too dry. "I guess it's a little bit late for take-backs but I figured you'd be alone. Well," His eyes shifted back and forth between Master and Servant. "Since... You don't need it anymore, maybe I can convince you to hand over that catalyst of yours without any mage duels or any of that violence you people love?" He sounded like he should have been grinning, but that gaunt face refused to budge.

@DrowsyPangolin @ArmoredScout


São Paulo Metropolitan Cathedral​


"No hard feelings, mm, Lady Overseer?"

Her blood turned to ice. Golden eyes fell on the seeming-Master with a scolding glare. Soft laughter filled the room from the jacketed woman still training a pistol upon her. It certainly had not taken as long as she expected. The ways of the wicked were indeed static, though the scripture bid them not to believe so. If evil were so inconstant a thing that it could be cured, redeemed in the eyes of the holy... They would not yet be fighting. Though it cut contrary to the good word, such were the words of her order. She did nothing as Yarankash paced away from her.

"No hard feelings indeed. Turn the other cheek, as you say? This needn't be anything more than a peaceful repatriation of stolen property." The Mage raised her pocket pistol, leveling the weapon off on the Overseer's chest once one of the Masters in the room had stepped away from her. Her observation familiar mewled softly, collapsing into a pose suggesting sleep before it disappeared entirely. She took a few testing steps towards the Overseer before she began to circle around the woman, holding her distance as she paced backwards into the cathedral.

"We won't have long with our prize before the Association comes," She conceded, looking away from the sister for the first time to acknowledge her new accomplice. "There are many who are discontent with the Holy Church's assumption of unilateral control of the grail. To be brief, we have invited their intervention." At least one Master had yielded to reason, so few of them were able to recognize a superior mage when they saw one and it had cost them dearly. Perhaps there could even be a reward for one so helpful. Perhaps.

The Overseer's shoulders rolled with a deep sigh. Even as lines were drawn through the room the habit-clad woman's smile had yet to darken. There was a single vote uncast in their exchange and moral action required that she seek it out before proceeding. Obligatory charity was an oxymoron, but it was the way of her office.

"We shall yet see how peacefully the night proceeds."

Leather squeaked as pressure mounted on a heavy, safety-less trigger. The Overseer turned aside, casting her furious stare in the direction of the Master who had yet to speak, the redheaded youth who had arrived only moments before.

"What say the last Magi of his fellows' deeds? Are you as willing to indulge this farce as they? Is not one person beneath this roof beyond salvation? Surely, you know the fate of prior Grails, lost in wars stoked by men's own greed. Pray, aid me to fend these villains from holy ground, lest they use the vessel for their own wicked aims. Fight side by-" A warning shot punctuated her pleas of desperation, runelight blooming upon the floor as the engraved bullet exploded across the consecrated stone, tearing a crater which spanned an uncomfortable portion of a human torso in the resilient material. The Overseer's head tipped forward, her jagged smile glowing as hostility flourished. "Fight with me and live."

@MechanicalHorse @ERode @Akashi
 
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The order was given, and there was but a faint flicker of regret before Yarankash cut off his connection with his hidden master. A knife in the night, poison in the wine. So familiar. The entirety of his essence, once his past was stripped away by slavery.

Had to be this way. No matter his desires, his Class served as his fetters, and the one he was about to kill was an enemy of both his Master and his faith. To draw a gun in holy ground, to invite violence and rebellion; she was but a heretic, more magus than human. Another form of tyrant.

So he followed her like a shadow as she circled around the Overseer, eyes attentive and bright even as her words, her reasoning, her caution all fell to deaf ears. Young. Beautiful. A pity, for ghosts of the past to take lives of the living. There was another twinge of pity, of remorse, before he scrubbed it away like he did the atabeg's blood from his fingernails. A Crusader would gladly decapitate. A Jihadist would gladly deface. An Atabeg would gladly torment. But Yarankash was but a Frankish slave.

The roar of runeshot filled the cathedral with brilliant light, and in the shadow of that unholy destruction, Yarankash acted.

His shoulder loosened. His arm relaxed. His fingers unfurled.

There was not a single assassination art that did not originate from the Middle East, from that illustrious organization of living shadows.

And even compared to them, he had the unique advantage of 'staying undetected after the first strike'.

As all eyes turned to the red haired master that still did not speak, Yarankash's arm became a snake and bit into the back of the gunslinger's neck.
@MechanicalHorse @Epsir @Akashi
 
AKISE MOTOYO
​
He didn't exactly expect any of what came next, but was neatly surprised. Standing there, gazing at the new person who entered the Cathedral, everything was about to change. Holding a gun pointed at the Overseer, Akise merely kept quiet. All this talk about the Grail, and how the church was their one common enemy was a laughing matter in his mind.

It was like he was in the center of it all, Especially after the man who came before the woman had aligned himself with her. A rather cocky expression was plastered on his face. "Oi oi oi!! This is a bit too much no?" Turning around, his arms were extended to the side.

"I was expecting a twist here and there during the war, but this is quite the surprise." His golden eyes flickered towards the Overseer. Either he would align himself with the others or the Overseer. However, there was one thing that was stuck in his mind. The grail did belon to he Magi, or so he felt, deeply inside.

"I find this quite unfair though. Asking me something like that.. Lady Overse--" Interrupted by the actions of the man, Akise was not able to decide what side to fight for. The gunslinger was neatly betrayed by the man who had aligned himself with her, and it was a Master.

'Reinforcement Magic...' Mentally, he took the step to be prepared for what came next, or maybe not. His legs were affected by his magic, giving him speed and strength.

"Tch!.. ' Annoyed, he moved at great speed towards the Overseer, grabbing her in the process and disappearing deeper into the cathedral. At least, it was away from the gunslinger and the Servant for the time being, however, with his own out there, he would have to do something about this.

Letting go of the Overseer once they were far enough for the short period of time, he spoke up. "I assumed this was a neutral ground?" A rhetoric question escaped his lips. Laughing, this situation was tricky, twisted and amusing.

"So whats the plan lady.. I got you away from the two of them.. I assume you were prepared for this?!" Before Akise could get his own Servant into action, he wanted to see what the one holding the key to the grail could do or say.

Maybe he'll follow that Servant's actions and betray her right here.

@ERode @Epsir @MechanicalHorse
 
Martin listened to the red suited Servant with curiosity and a grin. A Lancer, claiming amnesia, and apparently of dubious character. The story just kept getting better and better. He took another slug from the bottle, considering a response, and just as he opened his mouth--

The front door exploded, a few splintered chunks rolling across the floor and coming to a rest beside his boots. The light spilling out revealed their guest, a man in a hawaiian shirt that, after a step, appeared to be wracked with sudden confusion at the presence of a Servant in the household. The faltered gait suggested to Martin that the fellow had been absolutely certain of the failure of the summoning, which brought about a whole host of questions, the least of which being--

How did he know I was here?

The man extended a hand in polite greeting, seeming to change his tactics in a hurry, as he explained his situation. Martin sized him up, nodding politely, and stopped leaning on the counter. Slowly, in order to show the individual he wasn't going for a weapon, Martin leaned over to the fridge, producing another beer, and carefully set it on the counter beside Lancer. Whilst he did so, he cast a sidelong glance at the Servant, locking eyes with him and sending a succinct order.

If this man tries anything funny, subdue him, but do not kill him. I'd very much like him to provide me a few answers. If he's forthcoming and honest, mayhap we'll let him walk with what he wants.

Whilst grabbing the beer, he stated, almost cordially, "The only one that seems to be threatening violence around here is you, buddy. You really did a number on my poor door." He gestured for the newcomer to step forward. "Come drink with us, and we'll have a chat about that catalyst."
 
As the crackling bolts died down, Mary appraised the figure she just conjured into existence. A seasoned warrior, bearing the namesake weapon of his class. Not what she was expecting based on the description given, but not too unusual.

"Stealth? There's no need for that. If anyone wants to come at us, let them come. Saves the bother of having to hunt them down. Mary, by the way. Mary McAlister."

Mary stuck her hand out in greeting towards the old man.

"Now as for intentions, although the dossier suggests we should meet with the Overseer soon, it's late and I wouldn't want to bother her at this hour. In the meantime, let's head back to base."
 
Lancer found himself staring curiously at the intruder's spirited entrance. He took another sip from his beer. The man had expected Martin to be alone. The question of how this stranger knew the summoning was going to go awry drifted through the Servant's mind for a moment. Frankly, it was a sort of relief to know that his experience had not been the average summoning; had it been, he might have felt more than a bit of sympathy for whatever other unfortunate souls were forced into this mess.

The white-haired man leaned back on the counter, watching the newcomer attempt to explain himself. He mentioned something about a catalyst, which sent Lancer's gaze to the ruined cloth on the floor. It was little more than a rag at this point. Still, the amnesiac Servant was perplexed as to what, if any, connection he had to that scrap of cloth.

Martin greeted the man with a surprising level of tact, but as his gaze met Lancer's the Servant came to understand the game plan.

Sure, sure. Maybe I can get some answers as well.

Truthfully, Lancer doubted that the man could explain who he was or why his memories were so jumbled. In fact, the fellow seemed perhaps more baffled about the whole affair than he himself was. Still, perhaps there was a chance.

"Right, come in friend, let's talk. There's no need for any hostility here. Lovely shirt, by the way."

Lancer flashed a bright grin, motioning for the stranger to come in. He seemed wholly relaxed, despite the chaotic nature of the last few minutes.

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Saber nodded as Mary spoke.

"I am glad to have not inconvenienced you, Master... and I am also glad to have a Master that does not fear a battle. As you say, if our enemies come to us I will dispatch them."

The old man looked for a moment as Mary extended her hand. He seemed to ponder the gesture before finally rising to his feet and reaching out his own hand.

"I am honored to serve as your blade, Mary."

The old Servant's every word was rich with ceremony and respect. His demeanor was strangely alien in the modern world, though it served to distinguish him as a warrior in every respect. He nodded as Mary explained their next course of action.

"Of course, Master. I am interested to see our base of operations for myself."

The old man's stoic eyes gazed out the window of the clock tower, surveying the sprawling expanse of brilliant lights beneath them.

"What a wonder this modern world is."
 
São Paulo Metropolitan Cathedral​


No ordinary eyes could follow the outburst of movement that took place as gunfire flashed in the dark, least of all the Magus whose eyesight had just been turned into a haze of brackish green as the muzzle flash of her handgun dispersed into smoke and odor. Perception failed her, and in the instant it took Yarankash to traverse and strike her she stood, unknowing and grinning all the while.

There was no preventing what could only be a fatal blow coming from something with the power of a Servant, not when the assailed could scarce perceive the attack in motion. The strength of the magus, however, laid not in prowess of the body.

As Assassin's hand drove against the high collar surrounding the mage's neck faint light emanated from the black fabric, the reason for her excessive overdressing shining clear as day by the time ethereal fingertips touched the material.

The sizzling casing of the first gunshot chimed against the ground.

Shell intrusion observed
Reaction mass determined
Detonating mantle region 6-1

Runic scrawl shined across the threads, scrolling combinations of glyphs visible in the fraction of a second their exchange took before the space above them was replaced in a plume of directed plasma. Like touching a Tesla coil, the arc of white hot gas projected from the defensive runes made the offensive light of gunfire seem like a dying candle by comparison. A type of armor that broke itself to protect, it was all too fitting for her craft. In theory a precisely controlled and timed explosion was used to divert or destroy incoming projectiles. In practice... A Servant was not a tank shell.

The bite, while dampened, tore into the smoldering material of her rear-collar, still careening into the mage's pale neck and nearly folding the woman in half then and there. Blood welled beneath the exposed nape of her blouse. Her eyes widened as she tipped forward, the sensation of being struck and the feedback of her mystic code reaching her at the same time. From behind? She didn't have the time to think more than that. Her heel swiveled in a practiced motion, tracing a shape on the floor with all the ease of a mage activating a single action command, supernatural speed possessing her foundering form as she drew back up, oblivious to the true location of her killer as her pistol chased the shape of the Overseer.

The shape flying past her, borne aloft by the red-haired Master. A sickening thought came to mind. She squeezed the trigger as quickly as she could, turning to track and skipping backwards towards the doors as she went. Wild shots smacked into stone pillars and wooden pews, sending flashes of destructive fire and showers of shrapnel to random reaches of the room. By then her mind had caught up. It could just as easily have been his Servant. The only thing her armor had spared her was the generosity of instant death if that were the case. Her eyes spun the room. The redhead, the Overseer, the other Master, that normal smile. She felt herself heave with panic, seize with barely numbed pain, but... It's still similar to what was expected.

The diminutive but deceptively heavy Overseer was easily swept up by Akise, carried the length of the hall by reinforced strides until they very nearly came to a halt upon the altar. Metal rattled under her habits as she jostled in his arms, their rapid retreat hailed by passing gunfire. She jolted as the two separated, flinching away from a rain of stone fragments as a segment of a nearby statue disintegrated. She looked pensively at the stairs leading to the grail, her hand twitching out towards the opening as if considering it before she clasped her hands at her waist. She took a step forward, looking over her side at Akise as he questioned her.

"This is indeed the neutral ground, though foremost it is the house of God and by Grace am I sworn to the defense of both. You are offered the mercy and the gift of cooperation, as it is my intent to drive out dissidents by force," Her voice was surprisingly even for someone who'd just been shot at, but there was little about their situation that could be called normal to begin with. "It would reflect poorly upon what mutual trust remains between the Holy Church and the 'community of Magi,' fragmented as they are, to say that preparations were made in the expectation of the Masters betraying the war itself... But my presence alone could be taken as evidence of that suspicion. I have nothing more to say on the matter save that I am prepared to protect the war against wayward Magi. Moreso with one of their number to support me, if you would be so kind as to choose self preservation over fruitless conflict."

She stepped forward, robes ringing with the sound of concealed weapons. Red wooden handles dropped into her palms with a subtle shake of her sleeves, her blackened gloves coiling tight around the Assembly's favored throwing weapons.

"And what say the first Master, now that it's come to blows?" She no longer looked to the one masquerading as a master, but out at the pews sheltering the one still hiding within her cathedral. It was apparent to all that despite the tense language exchanged seconds ago she was still alive and the mage she'd been betrayed for was now reeling on the other side of the room. Of course, opposing one never meant supporting the other. Part of her entertained the idea that they favored a melee, after all, their kind would have just ended up fighting over a stolen grail all the same.

"I must admit I was under the impression that we were now enemies yet..." Lights glittered on the far side of the room, the black-clad intruder raising her fist as three sigils glowed upon it. "You first turn the fist upon the harmless one."

Embarrassment and prolonged defeat were the only things awaiting her if she tried to contend with a Servant, if she was lucky. Her head spun, both from actual injury and the nagging wonder of just what kind of damage she was suppressing with prana. The likely outcome was grave, and she didn't need to ruminate much to figure out her odds when she was acutely aware of how unaware she was of the entity trying to kill her. Shoot wildly into the church? Get real. Her right hand raised into the air, smoking gun overshadowed by the red glow piercing her glove. Time was critical... the finishing blow could have already begun.

"By my command! -"

Her words disappeared in a roar of magical energy, space bending to the shared will of Servant and Master as a tunnel through the bounded field of the cathedral was bored, no small feat to add atop the miracle of instantaneous transportation.

Something answered her call. Makeshift armor rattled as a ghost stepped from the air before her. By that point the Master began to slump. Her knee thudded against the stone as she fought her collapse. The figure offered no aid, facing stalwartly forward despite it's hideously shabby exterior. Bands of leather, lacquer, and plates of steel crossed and weaved to create something approximating a suit of armor in the Japanese style. A dented metal breastplate held the homemade armor together, flanked by shabby, uneven shoulder guards and hip covers of mismatched livery. A cast iron mask obscured its face, the crude, tarnished metal devoid of decorations, forgoing any resemblance to the human face in favor of the look of a pock-marked sheet of scrap metal. The helmet followed suit, its black lacquerwork peeling from atop its visor, the golden ornament of an unknowable clan broken off and stained in crimson paint where a single lopsided horn remained. A sword hung at its side, the scabbard cracked and dangling from worn down rope. More pressingly, a broad-winged spear sat poised and ready in the crook of an arm. One of the first things to suggest maintenance and care, the steel head of the weapon glinted where it did not already drip with fresh blood. The speartip traced circles in the air, exaggerating the subtle motions of the warrior's body as the helmet glanced towards the nearby door.

"Forget the Rider, you bastard." The Master's knuckles braced against the tiles, holding herself up as she gingerly ran her empty hand across the ooze of blood at her neck. Her were choked out in a hurry. "Perception altering attacks, but not from the nun. A Servant, probably. Hiding. Cut a path." The ghost nodded.

@ERode @MechanicalHorse @Akashi


Martin's House​


"The only one that seems to be threatening violence around here is you, buddy."

"There's no need for any hostility here."

Now that one, he couldn't help but break into a smile at that one. The man inched closer, matching the caution of the two behind the counter in his thoughtfully slow movements after he was beckoned forward. The floor creaked with every step, his boots leaving prints in the scattered particulate while he advanced.

"Well they call it a war, don't they? This is a shoot to kill kind of city, too." He scratched his temple, "Guess I'm not exactly a combatant though." He laid his right hand across the countertop, flashing a back clearly devoid of the red blemishes which made a Master, before accepting the brown glass bottle with an uneasy stare across the label. Cradling the ice cold brew in his sweating palm, his eyes gradually wandered up to the suited Servant standing across from him, any sense of thoughtfulness hidden behind the dull look on his face.

"Uh, thanks, by the way. You're looking a lot better than the last thing I saw get summoned. That's... a pretty good place to start, actually." He turned his back on the pair, grimacing at the sight of the broken in door and waving at the whole wreck with his hand as he drew in a deep, vaguely apologetic breath. "I was busting ass to make it in time and taking the quiet approach to a locked door was...," He trailed off, clearing his throat and idly twisting the neck of his bottle until the cap rolled off. The stranger seemed noncommittal with his beverage even then, swirling the bottle around in his hand and never quite dedicating himself to taking a drink.

"Not any more though. Everybody's nice and alive, no reason not to just take things nice... and... easy. Well, somebody probably called the cops about what had to have looked like a transformer popping, but there's no reason to panic about that. Magecraft, money, the cops around here bow to a lot of things and I'm sure if everything is nice and peaceful here when they show up, I can just wave some hands around, yeah?" He looked back over his shoulder, straight into the Master's eyes to make sure his point was made. Relying on local cops was a fool's insurance but it was about the one thing he could say to put at least a little bit of armor over his behind. There was good reason to seek protection, it didn't matter what else he had done in his life, standing in strangling distance of an enemy Servant was a harrowing experience. His face would never betray his internal distress, for even if he lacked the ability to sense what made a Servant a Servant there had been no ambiguity about what sort of power those beings possessed. The same went for him, in a way. Mages had a feel for one another, and especially within their own bounded field... But there was no such power in him. An ordinary person who happened to know and say too much, that was his role. Despite his lack of a command seal, a prana not unlike one drifted about his person, distinct from the entity standing in the rental's living room.

@DrowsyPangolin @ArmoredScout
 
"Assassin," Yarankash spoke up, naming their imaginary nemesis, the smile gone from his face.

Those dark eyes narrowed further, cursing that split second of indecision, that unwillingness to draw his steel, before he let it go. "My contract offered me sharper vision in addition to my Servant, but...as expected, it's not enough when our enemy crafted a legend out of assassination."

A calculated flicker of concern for the blooming injury on the back of her neck, before he offered the highbrow magus his support, if she would deign to take it. Tall shadows, and the red haired magus had his own troublesome magecraft. The Overseer would be making her move soon as well, while the impact of that shadow hopping Assassin's attack no doubt had an effect on both her body and her mind. Disadvantageous for her, and the threat of death was much too clear. In close quarters, in a confined space, in a dark room with many obstacles…

"We need to retreat," Yarankash suggested, a mixture of sympathy and cold rationality emerging as his final emotion. "Your injury needs to be tended to. Not even sure if there's any sort of poison that got mixed in, but in their case, they'll win simply by prolonging the fight."

Should he play it up? Should he push it a bit more?

What can you tell me about the newcomer, Master?

"Assassin didn't press the attack afterwards. This…might have just been a warning shot."
@MechanicalHorse @Epsir
 
"This tea is wonderful, dear..."

Although it was completely different than what she was used to in life, she had to give respect where it was due. Plus the view of the church from the small cafe she had found was breathtaking. This moment was truly a treasure worth taking.

"Thank you, captain." Her server said, his neck encircled with what appeared to be a tattoo of crimson script, dimly glowing with the magic used to uphold the pact made. He had been the third of hew newly formed crew, with the other four lingering about, playing cards at another table.

The boy had told her to wait, so wait she did despite a growing sense of impatience. Currently, her success lied in his survival and the uncertainty of the disposition of the other masters and servants meant that every moment he lacked her protection, the greater the risk grew.

Then again, she wasn't completely out of options, should the worst come.

Taking another sip of tea, she placed the cup back onto its saucer before turning to the others. "Boys, I'm feeling generous. Why don't you all have a drink on me?" The men cheered and gratefully accepted the local currency she provided them before beginning to head out on their liquor run. Before they got too far, however, Rider had a change of heart.

"Before that, how about we take a trip to the cathedral? Best absolve ourselves of sin before partaking of luxuries." Finishing her tea, she rose and accompanied them to their vehicle and soon enough, they were on their way, for better or worse.
 
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Sleep is of little comfort to the troubled, especially when that sleep is burdened with terrible dreams. Again and again the young magus met with an untimely end in the nocturnal world of his own mind. Still, terrible as the dreams were, Seth was exhausted, and even the most dreadful of his subconscious machinations was incapable of rousing him from his slumber. Instead, with every imagined failure he was tossed headlong into another doomed scenario.

Finally, he found himself in a room of sheer black. He could make out no shapes or forms within the black, but he could hear voices: or, more accurately, one voice accompanied by a gut-wrenching cacophony of barking and whimpering. The voice was chanting at a feverish speed. He could make out few words over the barking. Finally, he heard a woman's scream blended together with a tortured howl. The sound sent a chill through the young magus. In the dark he heard a voice, over and over again, as if it were a skipping recording.

Remember my son, you are cherished. You are cherished.

The dark was suffocating, smothering. Seth clawed out at the formless void, desperate to escape, desperate for air. Just as the terror began to choke the life from him, he was transported to another world.

The boy saw an image of a young man in strange armor, standing beneath a tree. In the distance, the boy could make out a the outline of a city. The architecture was strange to him, something he'd never seen in person for certain. The young man beneath the tree took little notice of the intruder, instead staring at the city, seemingly deep in thought. Seth looked upon the young soldier with curiosity. There was something familiar about him. More importantly, his presence was calming. The echoes of the previous dream began to fade...

Seth awoke as the first faint light of morning found its way to his window. The boy rolled over in bed, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. He noticed Archer sitting quietly, an icon of peace and focus. The boy smiled. Honestly, he had half expected to awake and realize the entire summoning had been a dream. But Sun Tzu sat before him. He hadn't failed.

"Good morning, Archer."

As Seth spoke, Lleyse rose up from her rest, pawing about at his feet. The young magus peered down at the black pug quizzically. "Good morning to you too. Trying out a new look?"

Lleyse gave a quick, energetic bark in response. Seth rose to his feet.

"Give me just a bit to prepare, Archer, and then we can go visit one of those libraries."

The boy set to work preparing himself for the day. The thought of actually venturing out into the city quietly terrified him, but he had Archer by his side, and that made him feel slightly better about the whole business.

Slinging his backpack over his shoulder, Seth nodded to Archer.

"Alright. Um... Shall we set out?"
 
She heard the Overseer speak to her, and Yukari felt shame at hiding as she was. As the melee ensued, chaos erupted and the war's first battles began, here she was, hiding behind a bench. She reminded herself of the context. The Master of Assassin. That was her place, the shadows. Don't be baited into revealing yourself. If you go against the church in this, that's your fate. In Yukari's mind, she was fending off an offending party. But she always did try to rationalize the really dumb things she did in life best she could, before about facing and regretting her actions. Something she'd gotten from her father, who surely regretted the loan he took all those years ago that ended with himself and his wife dead. No regrets, Yukari. Was the Overseer going to come for her? Did she know her Assassin was who made the move? It was obvious wasn't it? What had she started? Mana filled her legs, readying herself for a run as she kept one eye focused on the Overseer, the other on the melee occuring thanks to her orders.

All thought left her in a moment though, when she saw it. That piece of home made manifest in the middle of Brazil.

This woman had a Servant of Japanese origin. He hit her like an arrow in the chest, remembering the days spent admiring the make of the similar armor in her family's estate. "Samurai," she breathed out through her lips, staring in childish awe at the figure that had appeared from the ether. So much time spent reading about early Japan, the Sengoku Jidai and eras before and after. Rational thought and composure came back to her all at once as she heard her Servant's voice in her mind once again. The awe was gone, the memories of laughing while slipping a kabuto helm atop her head while her grandfather smiled left her mind. Stop living in the past, you fool.

She tried to focus, ignoring the Overseer completely now to focus everything she had on the newly appeared Servant. What could she discern, what could she feel from him? She hadn't placed her talismans, believing this a safe space, somewhere to get her bearings straight. Ping pong, you foolish woman, you're the one who ruined the safety of this cathedral, even if that other cow had been the first to raise a gun.

"A Servant of my homeland, Assassin. Don't count on it showing any of the courtesy and honor my people hold so dear, though," she replied quickly, sparing a quick glance to the Overseer again. "It looks imposing, god does he look imposing... but I'm not feeling any great pressure. Not yet, anyway. Samurai are meant for close combat, and you're mean for killing in one hit and running, am I correct? I don't know how to proceed with this, and I'm getting more nervous about the Church cow the longer I stand here," she said, beginning to ramble, and through the mental link her rising anxiety would be obvious. Saber? Lancer? A Berserker? What was he? She pressed her mind and her eyes to the figure, willing herself to rush forward, to throw a talisman, to do *anything* but let her Assassin do all the work, but she was coming up short of anything.

Who was it? Who was it? Who was it? She felt like she should know, that something close to a True Name might help the both of them. The names of Sengoku heroes went through her mind, the heroes of before even then, during the Kamakura era and earlier.

In a flash of thought, of utter genius or most likely utter stupidity, from behind a pew, she yelled.

"Anata no namae o hanasu, senshi!"

Speak your name, warrior. Now who was the one counting on Japanese courtesy? What was she even thinking?

@Epsir @ERode
 
He was honestly impressed with the act that this disappointing and disheveled first foe was putting on. Breaking into the home of the enemy headfirst, expecting failure, and in the face of success suddenly acting in a friendly, well-to-do manner. If he didn't know any better, he'd mistake it for a genuine attempt at apology, but the mention of the cops seemed to suggest to him a bargaining chip. It seemed to him that the man didn't know what sort of oven he'd leapt into.

Dismissively, he sipped from and then gestured with the beer bottle he was holding, and the air along the hinges of the door began to shimmer. At once, a perfect facsimile of the door stood upon those formerly shattered hinges, appearing to stand open, allowing the interior light to continue spilling into the yard. Smiling a bit, and continuing to stare mister hawaiian shirt in the eyes, he responded, "Aye, I'm sure the cops will be on their way soon. Wouldn't want them to peep in here, now, would we?" Another gesture, and the shattered chunks of door on the ground faded from view, their forms neatly obscured by bending light. "I'd suggest that we move this conversation to the porch, so as to greet them if, and when, they arrive. Wouldn't want somebody to touch my false door, after all. More beer, Amigo?"

I believe we'll bury this man after the cops are dealt with, Lancer. Thoughts of how to dispose of the body were already spreading through his mind. He could easily keep his hands off the corpse, and considering what he'd read of the speed of Lancers, he assumed dumping a few garbage bags a good distance away from the rental wouldn't be too difficult for the red suited fellow.

Stall. Ask him more questions. We've got a little time before we need to remove him from the picture.

"So, whilst we head outside, who exactly contracted you to grab this Catalyst?" He posed it almost conversationally, but it cut right to the heart of the matter, and would sate at least part of his curiosity.
 
Lancer gave a peculiar sideways glance as the stranger mentioned another summoning, one that had evidently gone awry.

"Well, I'm glad to hear it... though that does beg the question: What exactly got summoned... and furthermore, what exactly were they trying to summon in the first place? You may have gathered this already, but I'm fairly certain I was not the preferred candidate for this summoning."

Lancer held off on explaining further. Revealing his lack of identity might be dangerous. It was a war after all, as their new guest had so kindly informed them. The red-clad Servant smiled as Martin disguised the damaged door with his magecraft.

"Interesting trick there. Quite convenient."

The white-haired man followed Martin and the stranger out toward the porch. The discussion of the local police was almost amusing. Though he was only aware of himself on the most basic of levels, Lancer was certain a few officers of the law wouldn't be much trouble for him. The concern made sense though, he supposed. There was no need to make a scene.

As they passed through the illusory door, Martin's message came through loud and clear. The Servant smirked.

Easy, easy. If we need to remove him I can oblige. No need to rush to such a... messy conclusion though.

From the onset, Lancer had felt something strange about the interloper, some odd aura. At first he thought perhaps it was just the man's somewhat odd demeanor, but now he was certain there was more to it. The Servant took a sip from his bottle and looked over the aloha-shirt man with a muted curiosity.

"Right, you said you're not a combatant in this war, so why come for the catalyst? Do you happen to be working for one of the other Masters? Or maybe some interested outsiders?"

The Servant brought his thumb to his chin, feigning deep contemplation.

"Or maybe you yourself are just a very interested outsider. Regardless, if you don't mind me saying it, I'm certain you're not an ordinary man. There's some kind of peculiarity to you."

Lancer chuckled, waving his hand at aloha-man.

"No offense of course. There's nothing wrong with a little peculiarity."
 
AKISE MOTOYO
​
The Overseer was safe now, temporarily, that is. Akise had brought her across the cathedral. There was no were else to go. Turning around, keeping his eyes focused on what may come for them, he listened to the Overseer. All that talk about betrayal and picking a side. To him, it meant nothing. He had to be smart, despite the surprise that waited for him once he entered this neutral ground.

"I believe I've made my choice already, Overseer." Referring to the fact that he had helped her away from the chaos that was still ongoing. Lights across the cathedral, this did not bode well for him.

"Yeah, even if I do make appear before your enemies, I'll be considered as such as well." A smirk was plastered on his face. A challenge so soon was welcomed in his book. For now though, he wouldn't flat out say he would stick with the Overseer during the Holy Grail War, however, he would keep to himself. Selfish, and be on his own side.

"Besides, my Servant should be just outside watching this unfold.. Hehe.. I don't believe I need her yet.." The air inside the cathedral changed ever so slightly. Someone else was there. And a damn Samurai was there as well. Being Japanese himself, he knew about them quite well.

His golden eyes squinted, gazing in the new Servant's direction . "That Samurai.. Yours?" Akise glanced at the Overseer.

Looks like the Servant was busy with yet another stranger Akise had yet to stumble upon. Except the lady up ahead with her guns and the Servant.

@Epsir @Anyone inside the Cathedral
 
São Paulo Metropolitan Cathedral​


Water clouded her vision. Her eyes finally began to water as she struggled, bowed and ungraceful, back to her feet. One hand clutched the jagged bruise inflicted by a mere glancing blow, the other hung limp and carried along her weapon. Her Servant didn't seem to spare his wounded Master a second thought as she deteriorated, leaving it to the verbose youth at her side. An inclusion which felt all too natural. "A- Assassin?" She mumbled the unnamed Master's words as he drew closer to her. Of course it was. It begged the question of what he was doing, drawing breath if they'd been attacked by a Servant... It bothered her how much sense it didn't make even though it all fit conveniently together.

"But," She groaned, straightening herself as he offered her support. Her grasp was unsteady and faltering, owing mostly to the fact that she had to manage with the hand still gripping her pocket pistol flush with her palm. Shaking fingertips dug in beside cold, unfeeling metal. "They- We need the Grail. It... It'll have been suicide to play our hand and leave empty handed." Her mind went back and forth on it. the woman's eyes not so subtly dancing from one end of the room to the other as she weighed common sense against her sole purpose. Poison had been the last thing on her mind, there were too many ways to subdue such agents but in the case of a Servant it was possible that it was beyond even her lofty capabilities. It was not a comforting realization. It continued to happen, he continued to have the most sensible explanation for a chain of events no one in the room could have even seen. What a superb ally to have, even if he was powerless without his Servant present. Her head ached.

Just when the magus thought she had hit the bottom of it all someone else spoke up within the room. She didn't need a clear mind to know that the number of people within the cathedral had significant implications in her effort to keep count of the number of Servants currently trying to kill her. A strange language lilted from the pews. Japanese? She figured that she recognized it, although if only because she'd encountered a few Japanese-Brazilians since coming to the city. The cosmopolitan setting didn't make assuming anything about someone by their language worthwhile... But there was the matter of her Servant.

The pile of armor seemed to forget what it was bidden, no more 'cutting a path to the grail' then than minutes ago. The kabuto spun towards the origin of the sound, forgetting its master and shedding flakes of rust as it reoriented. The laborious movements the Servant had lumbered about with since entering were betrayed by the rapid, mute glances shot back at its Master. Like a hound tiptoeing nervously at the end of its leash, unable to ask the permission it required to cut loose... Only with the air of hope and innocent joy replaced by the rotten sorrow of that decrepit Samurai. The Magus only stared back, herself expecting some kind of explanation. What had the woman said? A Servant announcing their presence? Had they been identified by common nationality? She shot a scowl at the man keeping her standing. Why was he right again? They'd been given a perfect warning shot, and from the darkness their enemy taunted them. She had never seen her Servant so animated since finding a drinking buddy and when that useless heap reacted to something it always meant trouble. Whatever telepathic link may have existed turned out to be insufficient, as after a bout of unproductive staring she simply conceded a, "Whatever, stay and fight," and spoke to her other comrade.

"You... May have a point. The others will take this over. Get me out of here." She wheezed uncomfortably after speaking too much, fingers digging into her supporter's arm as she went on reeling in the bizarre aftershocks of her blow to the neck.



"A shy answer, but an answer nonetheless," The Overseer concluded as the pews answered only with silence, the Master within them obviously turning her attention to the more immediate issues of hers as she called out to the adversaries by the door. A tenuous, non-interfering neutrality was not a bad outcome. There was little she could do to change a Master's decree anyway. Protecting the war was one thing, standing up to a Servant was something that was so obviously outside the bounds of human capability that it wasn't worth considering. Any number of things explained their turn of heart, including the notion that it was no turn at all but premeditated deception. The Holy Grail War was a conflict of information before it was a test of strength, after all. She was not going to question their charity, the woman's words seemed to be distracting the intruders at the same time her newfound ally helpfully directed her to leave the only location which cared for her life, repugnant though it was. The Overseer shrugged, feeling a sudden and unwelcome decline in tension.

She faced Akise as he gave his own answer, using many more words than the other Master but being no more direct. "Oh, so you do have a Servant," She said, wondering what Class warranted such an utterly carefree approach to the war. Other Servants were going to blows in his vicinity and the young man seemed as confident besides a battlefield as he should have at some juvenile party. "That is well, though I would ask you to direct them here and force some degree of stability with their presence. As a favor, I suppose."

"What?" She wasn't entirely sure she understood the question he then directed at her. The sister looked down the aisle, examining the armored creature that was now slowly walking in their direction, abandoned by the Master and her new liaison as she reached for the doors. It was most certainly a samurai, or a Servant inhabiting the shape of one. Hers, though? "No, that is most certainly an adversary. Ah, unless you would strike at the Master as I occupy this cretin's attention. I should applaud your boldness in asking a a woman of the cloth to match blows with a trained warrior, it makes for fine jest... But I must first agree that it would be the best course of action."

The Overseer raised her hands, unfurling the long dormant synapses of prana within her body and allowing that reserved energy to pass her fingertips. The cherry red hilts she carried in each hand resonated with power, spiritual iron materializing from their ends into the overly-long, needlessly heavy rapiers of the Executor, Black Keys. Twin swords brandished before the alter, the Overseer looked to her compatriot to make sure he really did aim to do battle there and then.


Martin's House​


The man watched Martin work with a look of dull interest, shrugging his shoulders and almost managing to raise his drink to his lips before giving up once more as the Magus seemed to generate and dissolve matter at well. A brand new door flickered into focus as the detritus of his partner's forced entry was simply whisked away to some unknown realm. Well, that was the conventional understanding of Magic, but this was something else... Magecraft, so it had been explained, was much closer to a science in the laws it followed. He'd stopped caring around then, but he knew that what he was watching had some kind of dastardly trick behind it instead of true power. It was most definitely a show of force, however. Imagine all the corpses that people wouldn't be able to see. He scratched his jaw, thinking of the charity the American and his suited Servant had shown him. What a lovely, wholesome bunch. He harbored no doubts as to the true form of the workshop surrounding him. "Oh, you know, some great hero from history, that's how this always works right? The... Greatest and most just of mankind's legends. Magnanimous fellas to the last I'm sure, like yourself, really." There wasn't a real answer he could give him.

"Yeah, outside," He mimed, twirling his ice cold beer in his burning hands. It had been warm before but he was definitely uncomfortable in his position. A stray bead of sweat glistened on his forehead, above the stalled out, tense smile he'd been sporting for the past eternity. He followed as bidden, somehow less happy to be standing outside simply because it meant following along. There was safety outside, though, there was protection in open spaces with very clear lines of sight. It seemed in awfully poor taste to wander towards the garage door as they went, and so he restrained the urge to at least get a glimpse of what exactly had been felt, relating to the Saint.

The man rolled his shoulders, taking a deep breath of the relatively fresh air of outer São Paulo. It beat the hell out of the city interior and all the heliports he'd been transferred through. "You guys really like to ask questions. I mean, I'm not saying I don't think it's warranted, I'm sure this is very stressful. Very stressful." He wiped his forehead affectedly, finally freeing his hands of his unused beer by resting it on the porch railing. He stopped in silence as the Servant spoke to him, staring at the man with a troubled expression as he went on. 'You're not an ordinary man.' Well, he was supposed to be Roman after all. It was a bold new future, one where people weren't persecuted for things like that. If he had the capacity to feel flattered while dancing on the edge of death he might have. "That's uh... Thanks, man. About that question, though." The one both of them had been kind enough to ask. It wasn't very subtle, neither was he. "I wouldn't be very good at my job if I went around telling everyone who I actually work for. By that, I mean that I am wholly self employed." The man couldn't help but laugh at that notion. "Now, don't read me the wrong way, I would hate to throw some disingenuity on the civilized little convention we're running here... But I feel like you might be building up to a 'no.' We're talking in circles, you're leading me away from the thing. Now I would love to work things out, but another thing that wouldn't make me very good at my job is if I settled for a no here."
 
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It stopped. It reacted. It turned to her. She had its attention. Her eyes met his... wherever they might be. She knew they locked eyesight. Felt it.

She wanted to wet herself right there. If it had the gumption to, it could clear the space between them in a moment and cut her in two. Assassin was busy with his plot, he wouldn't be able to get to her in time, and if he could, would have the strength to fight this Samurai? Even if she blew her circuits to defend herself, she'd foolishly left her sword back at the suite. She could maybe dodge once, twice, before she fell over and died right there. She felt tremors in her knees, and she could feel her heart racing. From the backroom of her mind she could hear her Assassin, warning her, urging her along, to complete the plan and remove herself from the situation. If she could urge her legs to move, anyway. She could feel multiple eyes on her after she had so foolishly yelled in her native tongue. Assassin's Master, already out in the open, ready to be gutted like a fish. Aren't you proud of me grandpa?

"Anata no namae," she repeated to the figure. It had remained silent, and it wasn't dumb. A Servant wasn't going to reveal its name so easily, throwing away one of its greatest defenses against a rival Magi. But she had it's attention, and she began to move. She rose to full standing posture, putting every bit of mana she could into her nerves, to move smoothly. For a moment she was the femme fatale, her hips moving with exaggerated grace, confidence oozing off of a woman that surely wasn't sweating in anxiety with a heart threatening to burst from it's chest.

Using his and her's mother tongue meant little after the initial shock. Servants could discern language no matter the dialect.

Had her family held any kind of sway in the era this man came from? They had been mystics in the time of the Sengoku era, but before then she hadn't the faintest clue. His grandfather spoke of a legacy that reached back a thousand years, but he had was also a bit of a drunk in his latter years, bless his heart. Even so, was it a good idea to announce her lineage to an entire room full of possible enemies? What a goddamn mess. "A small world, is it not? A yakuza woman to meet a ghostly samurai. Are you a proud samurai serving their lord, or a shamed ronin working against their will?" She asked. She was killing time now as she edged the pews, making her way not so subtly to the exit. For all the thematics she actually knew very little about the era of the samurai or their culture, just the scraps she could remember from school.

The world was he and she. The Overseer, the other Master, even the Samurai's Master was secondary to her.

"Will he vanish as soon as she's dead? I'm breaking into a run as best I can as soon as you end it, Assassin. His every bit of attention is on me and I'm terrified. I don't know what he'll do but if he is the honorable samurai the moment she flatlines I know he's going to rush me for vengeance," she sent to her Servant, a rambling of misfired thoughts and words she meant to only think and not speak, even mentally. She was losing herself to worry and fear, the rival Servant's presence an impossible weight on her. Still, her legs moved with a smoothness that she could never sport naturally, keeping up the facade. ""Either way, you should go back from whence you came. Back home."

So should you, you stupid bitch, she silently chided.
 
A quick calculation.

His Master's weakness, despite her insanity, her bravery.

The speed of a Servant, any Servant that held the distinction of Knight.

The great unknown, the arrival of the third Servant, the one owned by that red haired man.

If he lead this dying Master away from the Church before slaying her, would the samurai react immediately, by killing Yukari in retaliation before his eventual disintegration?

No, no time at all. No doubts. No hesitation.

His blade was his own.

He tensed, throwing one glance back, before he took the first of many steps away.

But his life wasn't.

"By the way, the Kamei family," he said casually, three steps away from the conflict, "Sends their regards."

Silver flashed, surpassing common sense and kinetic vision as Assassin buried the dagger hilt-deep into the cavity beneath Elfriede's jaw. No scream, no gasp, and hardly any blood, but he wouldn't forget those eyes. The corpse dropped upon the floor as he pulled away from her deadman's grasp, another ethereal dagger already manifested, his presence as a Servant dissolving away.

Gone was the young, hip pastor. Gone was the confident tourist. Gone was any kindness. And when all those superfluous details were scraped away, what remained was a slave who became famous due to killing someone in their drunken sleep.

Hair like ravens' feathers. Eyes like spent coals. Fine features sculpted upon a reaper's countenance. A single dagger, like a ray of moonlight. The frame of a fair youth, cloaked in assassins' robes. His true form, that of Assassin.

…

No, the deception still lingered, thick and heady as his hidden malignancy settled down upon this dishonored warrior. A little bit oriental, a little bit honest. Not the pose of an assassin, formless and unassuming, but that of a shinobi, assuming a martial arts stance, the index and middle finger of his left hand conjoined and straight.

"Kakugo, bushi!"

Beyond his impossible luck, it was speed that was the ninja's specialty, and with that, he burst into movement, a black blur dancing between pews as he approached the ancient warrior.

Approached from a direction in which the red haired master would be behind him.

"Kiaiiiiiiii!"

Man, he better get at least an Oscar for his acting after this is all said and done.
@MechanicalHorse @Epsir @Akashi
 
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