Martin slipped along, listening to the beginnings of a clash out on the lawn, Lancer hitting the roof, and more importantly, the dialogue being shared between the villain of this little scuffle, and his--
Servant
--Companion. Fleeing like a bastard might have been a smart idea, but...
Abandoning Lancer in this struggle would be a greater betrayal than issuing a callous order. He continued his ambling walk through the house, and struck up a pose in the window beside the door, flicking the porch light on, and watching it instantly wink out. As he moved on, a form draped in darkness remained, pointing threateningly with what, in the dark, appeared to be a gun.
Hopefully that fool thinks me stupid enough to make this a Spectator sport.
He turned his thoughts toward Lancer, tinged with amusement. I think I have an idea, if you'd be willing to move back inside the house. I've got a little more magic that could lend you quite the competitive edge.
Lancer shook his head, his spear screaming by his side.
"A beast, hmm? Perhaps. But a beast is bound by his nature. Just another chain, not that a beast would ever notice."
The red-clad Servant watched as the wraith before him regenerated his maimed limb with seemingly minimal effort. The nameless Servant raised his eyebrows at both this feat and the wraith's reply.
"You are an interesting one, certainly."
The next moment Lancer charged, his lips cutting into a broad grin as the spectre narrowly avoided a grisly demise at the point of his spear. The boards of the porch moaned in agony at the sudden strain placed upon them, a few of them cracking as Lancer's shoes met their surface. The Servant watched with curiosity as the shade kicked his Master's corpse into the front yard.
Martin, I suspect there is something abnormal about the man I killed. This spirit seems intent on keeping his body in one piece.
As the spirit before him brought forth a weapon, Lancer nodded in approval.
"Excellent."
Lancer twirled his volatile weapon between his fingers, sizing up his enemy as he did so. With such a large weapon, he'd be at an advantage if he closed the gap between them quickly, or maybe he needed to make a move to hinder his opponents agility...
Lancer glanced toward the house as Martin put forth his plan.
Frankly I had expected you to run... You have my attention though. Very well Martin, we'll see what sort of tricks you've got hidden away... You may want to stand clear of the door.
"Well wraith... it seems neither of us are typical, if there is such a thing in this bizarre contest. But, I suppose it's still a contest, nonetheless. As you say, en garde."
The Servant dashed forward, making a quick jab towards his opponent's chest. The attack left little room for reprisal, as Lancer kicked back from the wraith almost in the same moment he struck. The red-clad Servant slid backwards through the doorway, his eye glinting red as he raised his spear to defend himself.
Showtime, Martin.
The spectre twirled its weapon as the foe approached, catching the swift stab of Lancer and deflecting it aside. Molten steel thwacked across the haft of the wraith's spear, the force of the blow reverberating up the overlong weapon and charring the treated wood of the handle. Sparks flew, not from the metal but from flakes wood sheared off by the force of the impact. The weapon fronted by the aberrant was clearly ill suited for a confrontation of Servants, the immense strength of even feinted, testing blows enough to rend steel. The pike groaned under stress, the spirit behind it gritting with exertion. The overmatch in physical power was apparent immediately but as the true Lancer withdrew from the clash the fake didn't seem cowed in the slightest, striding forward immediately and cocking their unwieldy weapon aside. Wood flowed under the abnormal Servant's hands, their grip changed to the pike's greatest extent. Gripping the pole-arm as if it were a mere bat, they swung at the face of the house, uncaring of whether or not they could strike the Servant skulking inside or the threatening image of a Master in the window. Their brazen attack even seemed to invite retaliation.
Even a weak Servant could be terror. The pike's steel head crashed through the suburban home's paneling, chewing through wood and insulation as if it were rice paper. Wires cleaved, glass shattered as window frames distorted, and sparks flew as structural studs were rent in two. A hail of petty fragmentation filled the inside of the house, a foul cloud of construction materials obscuring sight as the wraith eviscerated as much of the building's facade as they could reach.
Martin was already backing away from the front of the house, as Lancer entered, and the front wall promptly exploded. His reaction was quick, leaping backwards and placing his back firmly against the wall, dropping the remote he'd snagged and pretended was a gun.
Showtime indeed. It's a shame nobody will see it.
Lancer's body shimmered, and shifted, before fading entirely from view, disappearing into the dark, seemingly completely invisible. The scene that would surely follow deserved a musical backdrop, but he hadn't the time to get his phone connected to the house speakers, that would shortly be ruined. Again, the thought crossed his mind that he'd be in deep shit if Clock Tower hadn't logged his rental under a false name.
His temples pounded, as a dull ache spread through his head. These illusions were beginning to become quite taxing. The game needed to end soon, before he ran out of reserves.
Lancer fell into a low crouch immediately as the wraith struck. The pike ripped through the wall before him, its blade sailing only a few inches over his head. Debris was scattered to the air with the force of a wrecking ball, and the dust of disintegrated drywall clouded the room.
"What wanton destruction. Quite unfortunate."
Lancer gripped his spear, preparing to strike from his low position, when he felt a peculiar magical energy wash over him. His frame flickered and vanished from the clouded room. The Servant grinned, not that anyone could see it. It seemed Martin was far from helpless.
Impressive, Martin.
Lancer's hand gripped the invisible haft of his spear, its form once again focusing into a more precise shape. The previous strikes had been thrusts... if he were to break from that pattern it might offset his opponent's defense. As far as he could tell, that was where the wraith's strength lay; it was quite good at avoiding death. But a change in tactics, combined with the invisibility Martin had granted him and the shrouded nature of the house...
Lancer pounced upward into the air, his form completely obscured by Martin's illusion. In truth, Lancer wasn't precisely sure of the capabilities of his weapon, but he had an idea...
The lance left his hand at an alarming speed, sailing through the dust-choked air. Martin's magecraft still eclipsed its form as it "unfurled", becoming distorted in shape. In the moment before impact, one could see a flare of light at the weapon's tip.
Burn.
The spear screamed, exploding into a brilliant yellow light. A ravenous surge of flame erupted out in a radius that consumed the majority of the front porch.
Lancer landed beside Martin, the cloudy air surging past him in a hot current away from the flames. The Servant peered into the aftermath of the explosion.
The pike sailed free, its owner noting the lack of a clash in the off-yellow cloud swirling free of the gutted house. The scuff of footwork on the interior floor reached them through the cacophony of groaning walls and splintering wood. Evaded. The wraith followed through on their swing, tearing out the rest of the wall and releasing their weapon. The enormous polearm sailed off into the night with a distinctive whistle, planting itself upright in Martin's lawn.
Lights had been flickering on down the block since their exchange started, screen doors slamming as the night came to life in a panic. The mind's eye confirmed what experience knew: The authorities had been contacted. Cellphones rumbled to life to report explosions in the sleepy suburb. Memory traced the roads they had followed to get there, charting response times and patrol patterns. Only the human factor remained. How quick were the cops in this day and age?
The anomalous Servant clenched their fists, stepping forward. Trained ears tracked movement in the smoke, unaware of the enchantment placed upon their opponent. The smokescreen was for them and it was time to stop pretending. Obscured lips called upon a true name. "See our tryrants, judge our heart-"
Words cut off as crimson light bloomed inches from the spectre's face. An explosion split the night, the front porch engulfed in searing fire for a fraction of an instant as pressure and heat blew away what was left of the badly damaged structure. From within the hellfire came an inhuman wail, backed by the shrill crinkle of buckling metal. Loud pops chased the boom, strands of slag and molten steel erupting into the air as high pressure air whistled in the twilight. A metal wheel exploded from within the mass, punching a hole through the back wall of the home before ricocheting off into the unknown.
A far more human set of noises followed, incoherent screaming from out on the yard. A man's voice, in particular that of a man wearing the remains of a Hawaiian shirt. Sounds of agony joined the other alarming noises the residents of São Paulo were being awoken by.
As the dust settled a battered shell of ravaged scrap metal surrounded the wraith, bubbling and collapsing on itself after weathering the brunt of the attack. They stared forward as their bulwark melted down to the soil, masked face peering into the house for a Servant they could no longer see.
"Enough! Stop!" The man on the lawn bellowed in between near-sobs of pain, his reeling slowly beginning to calm. "Just get us out of here." He stopped short of breath, panting as he struggled to roll onto his chest. "Sirens... I hear sirens."
The explosion promptly threw Martin through the side door to the garage, landing in a heap against his rental, some old pickup, something he had chosen specifically to avoid notice.
Too late for that now, he mused to himself, as he slowly got to his feet. The ache was still prevalent, but masked by the new ache in his shoulder and back, but he wagered he was lucky to still be moving after that.
You don't just walk off a Noble Phantasm like that.
But despite that, through the ringing in his ears, he heard yelling, confusion.. A familiar voice.
Motherfu-- Lancer, we're leaving. Get in the truck.
He threw himself into the drivers seat, and smashed the button for the garage door, which mercifully began to creak open. He grasped the steering wheel, and looked into the back seat, his pile of gear thrown haphazardly in. With the re-assurance, he concentrated on the whole of the vehicle.
Pain once again split his head, as the truck, and everything inside it, faded from view, obscured from view by his magic, at least temporarily. With the truck concealed, he quickly pulled out, and onto the street, moving along at a reasonable pace.
I need a fucking drink.
The hot wind swept across Lancer's face as the flash illuminated the room. Something about that fire seemed nostalgic. He felt as though there were something he should've remembered, some lost image that should've been illuminated by that light... but nothing came. Furthermore, the immediate result of the explosion left little time for contemplation.
The sound within the fire told him his opponent had survived, the metal wheel sailing by just further proved this point. Lancer took a step back, watching as the smoke cleared, revealing the wraith and their now molten barrier. Still shrouded by Martin's illusion, his eyes met the wraith's gaze. His hand opened, as if to call forth his spear once again, but the shrieking on the lawn gripped his attention.
He lived? One curiosity after another...
It was clear the situation had managed to spiral fully out of control, not that it had been particularly under control in the first place. Martin was right, though. They needed to leave. Any further conflict would only lead to a rapid escalation in damage... and that was sure to draw unwanted attention. Lancer nodded.
"We will meet again, wraith. Until next time."
Lancer bounded from his position, grabbing the side of the truck and vaulting himself into its bed as Martin's magecraft eclipsed the vehicle.
Right then, get us out of here. I'll cover you if anyone tries to pursue us.
The Servant glanced back toward the wraith and their newly-revived Master. He had fallen into this world in a state of confusion, and thus far fate had only seen fit to further that confusion at every turn. The trend seemed unlikely to change.
In the distance, the wailing of sirens grew ever closer.
An engine roared to life, something leapt through the air, metal thunking as a body scraped over the vehicles surfaces. It was enough to know where they had gone, if not where they were going. The Master continued to scream for assistance, crawling away from the opening garage and the sounds of a passing truck as fast as his numb body could carry him.
His Servant strode over him, dropping to one knee in a swirl of coattails as the invisible target sped away. They drew a dull colored tube from the ground, gripping one end and extending the tool before bracing it over one shoulder. Before anything could follow a calloused hand clasped them over the shoulder, their haggard Master drawing himself to his feet on the stoic spirit's support. They'd faltered enough.
The invisible car escaped over the horizon, and the two shadows it left behind would be long gone by the time the police arrived.
