How I Saved History (Fate/Grand Order SI)

[Charles Flynn]

Once Medb's been dealt with, we hit the road again. No time to waste and giving a Caster Servant extra prep time is just asking for trouble.

We stop to make camp up in the Appalachian Mountains, that night, Galahad having made it abundantly clear that if I push myself to near death again by riding twenty-four/seven, he'll make me wish I was dead.

Of course, it's only when I'm settling down for the night, staring up into the heavens, that Nero approaches me.

"So. I have slain Medb by my own blade, irrumator," she says by way of greeting, her arms akimbo as she smugly looms over me. "Do you still deny my prowess?"

"No, no. I suppose I have to admit that you have at least some measure of martial skill," I concede with a sigh. "Congratulations on your first legitimate, honorable kill in a fair fight."

"How dare you!" Nero snaps, her right eye twitching. "I have slain countless Celtic warriors in open combat since this Singularity began."

"And I've seen none of that," I reply with a grin. "For all I know, they just fell on their swords to escape your singing. After all, I'm intimately aware of how your voice makes me long for death."

"And you're hardly one to talk," Nero says, looking flushed. "You haven't killed a single enemy! Just directed your Servants as they did the work you could never manage for yourself."

Okay, yeah. That one actually hurts. I don't let it show, though. "True. But then again, I'm the Master. Dishonorable cowardice is kind of expected of me. Coming from a Servant though? Never having personally defeated any of your enemies is just all kinds of sad. Even Jason fought a few of his own battles."

"The Imperatrix is not obligated to sully her hands with martial matters," Nero says primly. "And besides, often I engaged the enemy as a gladiator, and raced chariots! In no area of human accomplishment was I lacking!"

"Congratulations on showing off just how well you can outperform slaves terrified of so much as scratching you instead of actually ruling, then," I say, raising an eyebrow. "While delegating your actual work to other people so you could keep on playing the people's Heracles. While Boudica was burning cities to the ground, you partied it up in Rome. Even Claudius went out on campaign. Even Caligula went out on campaign. But not Nero, no. She's too important to fight and bleed besides the men who are the only reason she has any power." I snort. "Actually, now that I think of it, the only people you actually killed on your own in your life were Poppaea and yourself."

Suddenly, my head is back against the ground, with cold steel against my throat, and Nero on top of me, outright fury in her eyes. "Flynn. I'll bear your insults, fair enough. But if you ever again imply that I would ever raise a hand against MY WIFE? I'll kill you where you stand."

"So, I suppose you really did love her," I say, staring up into her eyes. They're the most remarkable shade of green. "I suppose you had to have something admirable about you." I sigh. "I'm sorry that I repeated those rumors to hurt you. And I'm sorry for your loss. Despite what Suetonius wrote, it was fairly obvious that you loved her dearly."

"Hmph." She looks down at me haughtily, the pressure of Aestus Estus on my throat lessening slightly. I'm suddenly far more aware of the weight of her body on top of mine, still staring into her eyes, and… NO! GODDAMMIT, DO NOT GET A BONER FROM THIS! "Apology accepted; I suppose. It's not really like you to back down, though. Almost… disappointing."

"Thank you." I say, desperately trying to think of literally anything besides the fact that Nero is on top of me right now. "Now, could you put the sword away? And get off me?"

She tilts her head. "No. I don't think I will. You're much more pleasant when you're beneath me."

Her breath is in my face, our faces only a few inches apart, the blade between our throats, and-

Robin clears his throat awkwardly, and Nero jumps off of me, leaving me simultaneously relieved and disappointed. "Okay, yeah, I'm not entirely sure what I just walked in on, but we've got a visitor, and we need both of you guys on deck. So, well, just pack up… whatever the Hell this is, and come up to join us."

Nero gets up and walks away, her cheeks slightly flushed, but other than that, not acting like anything even slightly out of the ordinary just happened.

I get to my feet unsteadily, still feeling whiplashed from… whatever the hell just happened. Robin clears his throat uncomfortably.

"What?"

"Err… are you going to go to the meeting like that?"

"Like wha…?" I look down.

Oh. Yeah, that would be awkward. Come on, think unsexy thoughts!

My entire family is dead.

Huh, that was easy. And now I'm depressed. There's just no winning when Nero's involved, is there?

"All right, lead the way," I say, turning to Robin, who turned away from me for some reason.

"Oh. That was faster than I expected." He sets off walking, presumably in the direction of the meeting.

"Yeah, turns out I have a vast plethora of decidedly un-arousing things to think about." I follow him.

"Wait, I thought you were, um…" he makes a jerking off motion with his right hand.

"Yeah, no." The conversation lapses into an awkward silence for a few minutes.

"I mean, no man would blame you," Robin says once the silence grows unbearable.

"Well, yes, but whenever I'm in a Singularity, there's always a team of technicians running support. They have a constant readout of my vitals and can pretty much see what I see." I snort. "Jerking off is one thing. Doing it in front of all my coworkers is another thing entirely."

"Yeah. I guess so." Robin says awkwardly, and the uncomfortable silence is reborn.

After another minute of walking, I see the clearing with most of the Servants in it.

"Oh, thank God." Robin and I exclaim simultaneously, before looking at each other.

"So, we never speak of this again?" I propose hopefully.

"Took the words straight out of my mouth."

All right let's see who's here. Galahad, Yan Qing, Serenity, Robin (obviously,) Billy, Geronimo, Georgios, Medusa, Medea, and, last but not least, Nero. She's not looking at me, and I pointedly return the favor.

Huh. We're missing Cursed Arm. Let's see… the Assassin's were supposed to be running in-camp security, with two, the Hassans, patrolling, and one, Yan Qing, serving as my unseen bodyguard. Apparently, Nero pinning me to the ground with a sword to my throat doesn't rate an intervention from him though. The fucking traitor.

"We're short an Assassin," I point out. "Where's Cursed Arm?"

"Keeping an eye on the man who wants to meet with us," Geronimo says. "Good to have you finally join us, Flynn. Your Servants tried to contact you through the mental link, but you didn't seem to hear them. So, I sent Robin to get you."

"Yes, thank you for that. He saved me from a rather unpleasant fate." Nero flips me off. "So, who's the interviewee?"

"Arjuna of the Pandavas. Formerly an ally of the Celts." Geronimo's face is dour. "All the same, he says he wishes to join us. According to him, Edison has resummoned Karna, and we'll need his help to defeat him."

"Is there any reason we can't trust him?" I ask.

"No. It was clear from the start that he only joined up with the Celts to get a proper fight against his greatest rival. But, at the same time, working with a man willing to aid in the destruction of my people for something as petty as a fight rubs me the wrong way," he says, shoulders tense. "Are we simply to forgive him, and cast his crimes beneath the rug?"

"Trust me, I completely understand." I sigh and shrug in a 'what can you do?' sort of way. "But, at the same time, I don't think we'll be lucky enough to kill Karna the same way twice. We'll have to accept Arjuna's help."

"Please!" Nero interjects. "Why would you need this dishonorable cur when you have me?" She strikes a pose.

"You heard her," I say, with a note of apologetic resignation. "If we don't take up Arjuna's offer, our best chance at pulling off a win is Nero."

"Oh, fuck you!"

"No," I say, utterly deadpan. "How about we put it to a vote?"

"That sounds utterly foolish," Nero says with a huff.

"Hey, when in Rome, I kowtowed to your inbred ass, now that we're in America, you can return the favor and give democracy a shot."

"Fine," she growls. "All in favor of-"

"O-kay, how about, before the two of you turn this meeting into another of your petty bickering sessions as part of the absurd, mutual-loathing-fueled mating rituals endemic to your specific breed of idiot, we all agree that I should be the one that manages how the voting is held," Geronimo interrupts. "All in favor?"

Everyone aside from Nero and Medea raises their hand, including me. Sometimes the only way to maintain respect even in the face of petty outbursts is to admit your failings, and I'm more than man enough for that.

Kind of curious why Medea didn't vote for it, though.

"All right then, it's agreed," Geronimo announces, before conducting the votes. In the end, Medea, Robin, Billy, Serenity, Geronimo, and I all vote in favor of letting Arjuna join us. Nero and Georgios both vote against, while Yan and Medusa abstain.

"So. He's in." Geronimo doesn't look entirely happy with the verdict, but Arjuna's still too useful to pass up.

And so, the Archer is led into the camp.

"Lord Arjuna," I say in greeting, dipping my head respectfully, and then looking at him for the first time.

He's tall and willowy, with dark skin and curly black hair that both contrast sharply against his pure white robes and gloves. But what sticks out to me is-

"You're cleanshaven."

"I beg your pardon?" Arjuna asks, sounding slightly confused.

"I'm sorry, it's just that all the tapestries and paintings always depict you with a handlebar moustache," I explain. "Were you summoned as a younger version of yourself?"

"Ah no. Actually, I used to have a moustache like the ones my brothers had, but I was told it looked utterly terrible on me, so after the Kurukshetra War I began shaving regularly."

"Huh. And is Karna the same?" I ask curiously.

"Oh, yes, although he shaved his moustache after he met Duryodhana. He really didn't have the face to pull it off. Or the lineage," Arjuna adds the last bit in a dark, resentful undertone.

"Well, unexpected lack of facial hair aside, we're glad to have you with us," I say, extending my hand. After a moment, he shakes it.

"I suppose that's fine. Don't get in my way, and we won't have any problems."

Dick.

---

The journey continues. We don't run into any of the other Resistance forces, including Washington, Lincoln, and Bathory. Instead, once we cross the Mississippi, we begin running into more and more of Edison's discount Helter Skelters. I send Serenity back to Chaldea and bring out Arash to help us avoid them.

Nero and Arjuna are both avoiding me, so instead I keep to Galahad's company, and continue to coordinate our travels.

Finally, though, after a grueling month of travel, constantly skirting around patrols and fighting off robots, we get a lead on Edison's location.

Unfortunately, it's not exactly the sort of lead any of us was expecting.

---

We start out early in the morning that day, and skirt around three patrols before it's noon. I'm looking at the map, trying to find out where to look next, when Arash shouts out, "INCOMING!"

That's all the warning I get before a massive Helter-Sketer with rockets strapped to its back lands in front of us, shaking the earth with the force of its impact.

The Servants back up and fall into combat stances, while I fall back behind Galahad. Before us, the huge robot rises from the crater it just made.

And then it points one massive hand at me, the speaker on its chest crackling to life.

"MASTER of Chaldea, I bet you're hungering for an epic showdown! THE STUFF OF LEGENDS, WITH THE WHOLE WORLD AT STAKE!"

"I mean, not really?" I say from behind Galahad. "Personally, I mostly just want to run into my opponents unarmed, unarmored, and asleep, with not a bodyguard in sight. So, less the stuff of legends, more the stuff of mildly amusing historical anecdotes."

"HA-HA, and DON'T I KNOW IT!" the voice continues. "FORTUNATELY FOR YOU, I KNOW JUST THE PLACE FOR YOU TO SATE YOUR LUST FOR EPIC BATTLE!"

"Which I don't have, I just said- Oh. This is a recording. I'm arguing with a recording."

"'WHERE?' YOU ASK?" the recording asks, confirming my assumption. "WELL, sonny-boy, TODAY'S YOU LUCKY DAY, BECAUSE I'M GONNA TELL YOU! AT THE HEART OF THE LOVELY CITY OF DENVER, SITS THE MASSIVE EDISON STADIUM! AND WITHIN THAT STADIUM, LEGENDS WILL DUKE IT OUT, TO DECIDE THE FATE OF THE WORLD! SO, HURRY ON UP AND GET THERE, YA MOOK, BEFORE EDISON'S PLAN SUCCEEDS!"

The enormous Helter-Skelter strikes a pose. "AFTER ALL, KARNAMANIA'S RUNNING WIIIILD, BROTHER!" And then, its message apparently delivered, it explodes, leaving me with so many questions.

"Okay," I say after spending a few moments just staring at the blast crater. "Can anyone tell me WHAT THE FUCK JUST HAPPENED?"

 

[Charles Flynn]

Of course, we don't take Edison up on his challenge immediately. But, unfortunately, my 'stand at the city limits and have Arjuna nuke them with his NP' strategy didn't exactly pan out, and the patrols are starting to swamp us, leaving us with little choice but to walk into the maw of the beast.

Edison Stadium is huge, a sprawling, ugly abomination of concrete and steel. It's also surrounded by knockoff Helter Skelters, which part like the Red Sea before us. The way they're making before us leads us to the main entrance, which cuts a straight path into the stadium's interior.

"Stay close to me, Flynn," Galahad orders, hefting up his shield. "I'll cover you if things go bad."

"Same as always, then?" I ask with a grin.

"Testing, One, Two, Three!" a deep, confident voice says through the stadium's loudspeakers, and a television screen flickers to life over the entrance we're being funneled towards. On it is... WHAT THE FUCK?

"Ah. Hello, there, Master of Chaldea," the lion man in red white and blue spandex says over the tv monitor. "I've been waiting for you."

"Thomas Edison," Geronimo says coolly, stepping up as he looks at the screen with defiance in his eyes. "I see you're as mad as ever."

Th-THAT'S EDISON? I stare numbly at the screen, all other thoughts banished from my head. Why, God? WHY HAVE YOU FORSAKEN ME? WHY DID YOU MAKE ME LIVE IN A WORLD WHERE THIS IS A THING? I DON'T WANT THIS TO BE A THING!

"Um, Boss," Billy speaks up. "Did... anyone actually tell Flynn about Edison being a lion-man? Because I think we just broke him."

"Fear not, stultus irrumator!" Nero calls, stepping up besides me as Geronimo continues to exchange tense banter with Edison. "If the big, bad lion man is too scary for you, you may hide behind my back as I deal with him. After all, many times I killed lions, naked and armed with no more than my bare hands, before my adoring people! To face a braggart like this one, with my magnificent Aestus Estus in hand, will be a simple matter indeed."

I put my hands on her shoulders, pulling myself out of my stupor to smile at her. "Thank you, Nero. I'm sure I can count on you."

She looks utterly gobsmacked. "R-Really? Are you sure you aren't going to belittle me? Or bring up my failures?"

"No. Even I have to admit that killing a lion unarmed is a fairly impressive feat," I say, smoothing out my features and taking my hands off her shoulders. "And you are a Servant. I suppose this is well within your ability to handle."

"Y-You think I'm capable?" Nero repeats, a smile beginning to creep its way across her face. "You think I'm capable." Her cheeks are flushed as she says it.

"That's not actually what I said," I protest, waving my hands futilely in denial. "I just-"

"I'm gonna go kill Edison, andthenI'llcomebackandwe'lltalkabouthowawesomeIam-" Nero babbles, her face splitting into an unbelievably wide grin as she does so. Then she dashes off into the stadium, leaving me staring after her in bewilderment.

"Alright, pay up," Medea says, holding out a hand to Galahad. He grumbles and then forks over some money.

Geronimo sighs. "Well, shall we enter the stadium? Edison said he won't be using his robots to fight us. Although you probably missed it while you were making cow eyes at Nero."

"I was not!" I assert indignantly.

"Let's just go," Arjuna says from the back of the group, where he's been brooding angstily ever since we got to Denver. "I tire of these childish games."

"Sure." Dick.

As we walk through the tunnel, some sort of rock music starts playing. "And HERE THEY ARE, FOLKS! THE MASTER OF CHALDEA, AND HIS SCRAPPY PALS FROM THE RESISTANCE!"

We step out into a cheering stadium.

"Hn. Where's our opponent?" Arjuna asks, his eyes scanning the stadium, before he completely freezes. "Oh, no."

"Well, then, ARJUNA!" a booming voice calls out from up above. I look up, trying to see where it's coming from, and spot a platform, suspended some forty feet above us. "It's been a while, hasn't it? Well, the waiting ends today! It's time for a rematch!" And with that, the speaker leaps from his platform, coming down in a three-point landing. As he stands up, I realize that he's nearly as big as Heracles.

He wears segmented armor from the waist down, but beyond that, is completely unarmored. He's obviously Indian, much like Arjuna, but unlike Arjuna, he's actually got facial hair. His hair is long and flowing, and he has a thick handlebar mustache that curves down to merge with his mutton chops. His chest looks like a carpet, and his muscles have muscles.

"Duryodhana," Arjuna says coolly, staring at his cousin and sworn enemy with hatred in his eyes. "Of course you're behind this spectacle. Have no shame or modesty?"

"Of course not!" Duryodhana replies with a hearty laugh, his shoulders shaking. "You and your brothers taught me a long time ago, Arjuna: No matter what I do, or how I act, there will always be someone who finds a way to belittle me for it! SO WHY BOTHER CARING about what anyone else but me thinks? I chart my own path, free of fear of shame or censure, taking no one's feelings but my own into account! BECAUSE THAT IS WHAT IT MEANS TO BE KING!"

"I know your weakness, cousin," Arjuna says with a grin. "Do you really think you even stand a chance against me?"

"Ah," Duryodhana spreads his arms wide. "I see that you've failed to account for my Elite Four!"

"Elite Four?" I repeat.

"YES!" Duryodhana screams out, blood vessels bulging from his sheer enthusiasm. Four more Servants drop in from the platforms above us. "MY FOUR MOST ELITE WARRIORS! KARNA LANCER!"

"It is good to have the chance to finally duel with you properly, Brother."

"KARNA ARCHER!"

"You dare look down on me? I'll kill you!"

"KARNA RIDER!"

"For the sake of my king... no, for the sake of my friend, I'll end you in one blow, ARJUNA!"

"AND ASHWHATTAMA!"

"Yo."

"I HOPE YOU'RE READY, RESISTANCE! BECAUSE YOU'RE ABOUT TO FACE THE FINEST AND MOST FEARLESS OF THE KAURAVAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAS!"

As I stare at the forces arrayed against us, only one thought echoes through my mind:

We are so boned.

 

[Charles Flynn]

Duryodhana materializes a wicked, flanged mace in his hands and then strikes a great bronze gong with enough force to deform it. "Let the battle... BEGIN!"

And just like that, everything goes straight to Hell. Galahad steps up to cover me as both Arjuna and Karna Archer open fire, turning the stadium into a flame-scarred wasteland, while Karna Lancer, Karna Rider, and Ashwatthama all charge us.

'All Servants, whatever you do, don't let them get to melee with you! ' Oh, GOD, why did I bring two assassins instead of one of my heavy hitters? It's just Arash, Cursed Arm, Yan, Medea, Georgios, and... Medusa. Actually, those last two might be able to pull this off. 'Medusa, Georgios, you're on intercept duty. STOP THEM! Cursed Arm, I sincerely doubt that your Zabaniya will work, here, but feel free to try. Yan, you're on distraction duty. Fan the fog of war, shapeshift into Duryodhana, start confusing them.' Medusa sheds her blindfold and meets Karna Lancer head-on, ducking beneath the swings of his lance to try and stab him in the leg with her spiked chain. It's utterly ineffective. Meanwhile, Georgios is trading blows with Karna Rider, and Ashwatthama... shit, he's an Archer. 'Arash, sniper duel Ashwatthama, try not to die.'

Robin and Billy are helping as best they can, shooting at Ashwatthama to keep him distracted. He actually dodges. Wait, that's right! He's the only one on the enemy's side that isn't indestructible! Oh my god, YES! I can work with this!

But still, I have no idea how we can win this one. We're way too underpowered to take down someone like Karna, much less three of him.

"Flynn, please tell me you have a plan," Galahad says with a grunt as he deflects yet another stray flaming arrow away from me.

"I..." I turn to Medea, who's crouching down besides me. "Teacher, do you have anything that could work here?"

"No. Perhaps Rule Breaker might work, but only if I can actually penetrate their hides."

Hm. "Duryodhana might be vulnerable to that, actually. His invulnerability has a weak point. If you hit him there, we can take him down." Wait... I look around the battlefield, seeing my Servants running their delaying action, and Karna Archer and Arjuna trading shots that could destroy city blocks, but I don't see the enemy's leader. "Hold on, where's Duryodhana?"

"Right here!" the King of the Kauravas announces from behind me. "So, go on, what was that you were saying about your guru stabbing me where I'm weak?"

"That it would be dishonorable, Bhima-like cowardice, and we should under no circumstances do it?" I offer hesitantly, hating my voice for how it squeaks as I look up at him. He's smiling jovially as he stands behind us, mace in hand, well within striking range. He could kill any of us from where he's standing. And we both know it.

"Good lad," he says with a laugh, slapping me on the back. "Oh, come off it, boy, I'm not going to kill you. I've had more than enough of dishonorable backstabbing. This'll be a clean fight if I have anything to say about it!"

"So, you're not going for any dishonorable tactics?" I ask after I convince myself that this is actually happening.

"No, no, not unless you lot resort to cheating first," he assures me, tossing an arm over my shoulder. "But I'm sure that such a fine, upstanding young man such as yourself wouldn't even think of doing anything dishonorable."

"Y-Yeah, no, nothing dishonorable going on here," I babble, feeling the blood drain from my face. "Never do anything even remotely dishonorable, I wouldn't! Good old Honorable Charlie, that's me, all right!"

Galahad just gives me a look.

'Shut up, he's a very scary man.' I hiss at him over the mental link.

Suddenly, there's a great shout, and I stare in disbelief as Georgios actually manages to push Karna Rider back. Not that I'm complaining, but how did that happen?

Then Geronimo steps up. "TSEGO DEGI NALEYA!"

The giant, fiery coyote actually slams Karna Rider back into the edge of the stadium.

"KARNA!" Duryodhana shouts, backhanding Medea into the nearest wall before dashing towards his friend.

'Medea? Are you okay?'

'Everything hurts right now.' she replies.

'Well, at least you're still alive.' I offer up as consolation.

Karna Rider's already getting back up, no worse for the wear, when Duryodhana reaches him.

"Apologies, my king. I have failed most shamefully to defeat the enemy swiftly." Karna Rider says, his head low. "If I could use my Noble Phantasm at the moment, I would have already crushed our foes in the blink of an eye. But I cannot steer my chariot and attack at the same time."

"If that is all that impedes you, my friend," Duryodhana says. "Then I will be your charioteer!"

"My king, there is no need to demean yourself by acting below your station for my sake!" Karna protests.

"My friend, you are gravely mistaken if you think that fighting beside you could be anything less than the highest of honors!" Duryodhana says, a broad smile splitting his face. "Now call your chariot, and we will end this battle!"

Oh no.

Things go rapidly downhill from there. Karna Rider's 'chariot' turns out to be some sort of Ancient Indian spaceship, and my Servants start dropping as the arrows start flying.

Soon, it's just me and Galahad left. And Arjuna, who's still dueling Karna Archer.

"So, any last-second Hail Mary's?" I ask desperately, as the four Kaurava Servants not fighting Arjuna all converge on us.

"I'm afraid not," Galahad answers. I had a feeling that was the case, but I still had to ask.

"Well," I sigh. "I suppose that if I have to die besides somebody, you're not all that bad a choice."

The crowd roars as Archer Karna finally gets a lucky shot in, and Arjuna goes down.

"Same here," Galahad admits, his eyes already anticipating the first blow. "It was an honor, Flynn. I'm sorry we couldn't make it to the end."

The five Servants stop thirty feet away from us, and I suddenly hear clapping.

"Well, how the tables have turned," Thomas Edison gloats, walking out into the stadium. "You tried your best to stop us, Master of Chaldea. But, in spite of your treason, AMERICA WILL ENDURE!"

"Yeah," I shout, deciding that, fuck it, if I'm dying here, I'm doing it as I lived: Pissing off everyone around me. "In your image, ya filthy Commy!"

"No matter what you say, I will SAVE MY COUNTRY! No matter what the cost, I will- Wait, WHAT DID YOU JUST CALL ME?"

"I called you a communist. Because you are one." I grin. Even if I'm dying here, I'm going down swinging, the only way I can. "I mean, you're an autocratic leader who claims to stand for the people, while in truth operating a fascistic dictatorship that forces people to work constantly according to the demands of the state. I bet you don't even use money anymore, do you? Just giving out resources in accordance with each individual's needs, just like the Marxist you are."

"What? No, I'm not-" He freezes. "SHUT UP!"

"In Soviet America, President is Lion," I say in my best impression of a Russian accent. "And also king."

"SHUT UP, SHUTUPSHUTUPSHUTUP!"

"Da, Tovarisch Edison. I am always ready to meet the needs of the State."

"You know what?" Edison snaps, pulling out a remote detonator. "I was going to tell you a bit more about my plans, and how I overcame adversity for my country, but you just had to piss me off! Now, you get to watch as I cement America's future, and save us from the Incineration!" He presses the detonator. Nothing happens.

After a moment, he presses it again. And then again, then he starts mashing down the button like he's trying to get through a cutscene. "There was supposed to be a timeline-shattering kaboom! Why isn't there a timeline-shattering kaboom?" He roars in frustration. "With the power of the Grail, amplified by the McMahon magus family's magical rituals, there should be more than enough power for my device to work! Why isn't it doing anything?"

"Oh!" A woman's voice says from up on the suspended platforms. "Do you mean, by any chance, this Grail?"

Nero smirks, dangling the Singularity's Grail loosely in one hand as she looks down at us. "Because I'm afraid that I removed it, and disabled that device of yours."

"Impossible!" Edison bellows, his jaw dropping as he looks up. "How'd you take it out without triggering my security measures?" He cuts his question off with a growl. "It doesn't matter! Duryodhana! Karnas! Other guy! Kill her and recover the Grail!"

"Indeed!" Duryodhana booms. "Kauravas! It is time we ended this farce!" As one, the five Servants draw their weapons, and then surround Edison.

"W-WHAT IS THE MEANING OF THIS?" Edisons shouts, looking around.

"We're betraying you, obviously," Duryodhana announces with a cheeky grin. "And, to answer your first question, she knew how to get around your machine's security measures because I told her."

"TREASON! SEDITIOUS, VILE, TREASON!" Edison roars, the lightbulbs on his shoulders flaring erratically.

"Honestly, I was planning this from the beginning," Duryodhana admits with a shrug. "I'm always up for a chance to ham it up and show off, and especially to give Karna a fair match against the second-most-obnoxious Pandava brother, but not if it means sacrificing the entirety of human history to save one measly country, especially one that's not my own."

"Do you really hate us colonists so much that you'd rather leave us all to the Incineration than work together with us to save our land?" Edison asks, whiskers twitching with fury. "You filthy, uncultured savages!"

Duryodhana blinks. "Okay, boss, you do realize that when I said we were Indian, I meant that we're actually from India?"

"Oh." Edison blinks. "My apologies for lumping you in with the savages."

That's when Duryodhana just gets fed up and smashes his former commander's skull in.

And then, with their summoner gone, the Kauravas begin to fade.

Duryodhana turns to me. "Looks like my part in this is done, then. It was fun while it lasted, though." He grins. "Good luck, Master of Chaldea, and Godspeed."

And then he's gone.

Nero jumps down from the platform she's on, landing five feet away, Grail still in hand.

I'm alive. I'm alive, and we won, and it's thanks to her. And Duryodhana, of course.

"So, then, irrumator. Care to sing my praises?" She smirks at me, one hand on her hip, the other holding out the Grail for Galahad.

I hug her, and she lets out a squeak. "Thank you."

"W-Well, you're welcome, then," she stammers out. "So, you admit that I was a useful and capable Servant?"

"The best in all the Resistance, and one I'm glad to call my ally." I release her, and she looks flustered. "Thank you, Nero. We couldn't have done it without you."

Galahad slots the Grail into place, looking between me and Nero warily.

"Very well, then!" Nero says. "The emperor forgives you for your earlier insults."

"I'm still not taking those back, actually. They were true, and I'm not going to stop pointing out your failings just because I've seen your good side."

"Impudent commoner," she says with a smirk. "Although I suppose that you wouldn't be half as intriguing without that sharp tongue of yours."

"Singularity's collapsing," Galahad reports, looking between us in concern. "We'll be Rayshifting out in a moment or two."

"Very well, then," Nero says, and then she kisses me.

Eventually, she pulls away and my brain restarts, allowing me to note that Nero looks smug and Galahad nauseated.

"Uh-Wha?"

"A little something to make sure you'll do your best to summon me to Chaldea," Nero smirks evilly. "Husband."

"Yeah, oka- Wait, WHAT?"

As the Rayshift carries me away, the last thing I see is Nero's victorious smirk.

---​

Roman greets me with a grin as I stagger out of my Klein Coffin. "So, Nero, huh?"

I stare at him for a long minute.

"S-So, we should debrief as soon as possible, in-"

"No. Bar."

"Yeah, that's fair."

 

[Charles Flynn]

Of course, the day we get back from America, there's another meeting.

"All right, people," Roman says, looking around the table. "There's no escaping it. We need food. We were running out before the month and a half we spent on America, as it stands now, we have only two days of food left."

"Have we found a Micro-Singularity?" I ask, already bracing myself.

"Yes. This is one of the bubble-type ones left over from resolving the London Singularity. It covers the town of Stratford-upon-Avon in the year 1652." Roman announces. "It was the first one we could find. You'll have to go on a supply run to there, as swiftly as possible. S.H.E.B.A. projects that the Micro-Singularity will resolve itself twenty-seven hours from now."

"Alright," I say after a moment of thought. "I'll get my team together." First stop: Getting a haircut. I haven't shaved in over a month.

---​

"I'm putting a party together for a supply raid," I say, standing stock-still while Chaldea's acting barber sizes me up. "You interested?"

"Hm." Kojirou draws Monohoshizao. "The last one I was on didn't turn out all that well."

"They rarely do. It's why I need someone with your expertise to accompany me on this one."

"Well, I suppose if you think so highly of me, I can't help but join you," Kojirou says with a small smile, bringing his katana up into the ready position. "Just to confirm: Clean-shaven cheeks and your usual crew cut?"

"Yes."

"Very well. Hold still." And then he lunges into motion, Monohoshizao a dancing glimmer of light.

And once he's finished, I'm clean-shaven with short hair once more, without so much as a scratch on me.

"Skilled as ever, Kojirou," I note. "Well, I'm off to get Vlad, Tamamo, and Caesar on board. I've already confirmed things with Hundred Face and Cu."

"I myself will head to the briefing room."

"No, straight to the Klein Coffins, this time. We can't waste so much as a second."

---​

My team is assembled. Vlad, Tamamo, Caesar, Kojirou, Hundred Face, Caster Cu, and, last but not least, a very tired-looking Mash.

"Alright people, let's go put some food on our tables," I say, as we file into the Coffins.

And then we're off, the light carrying us away once more.

 

[Charles Flynn]

"Come my brothers, my comrades!" William Shakespeare bellows, leading his fellow Stratfordians into battle. "And together, we will topple this tyrant, this King of Christmas!"

King Arthur (currently wearing a sexy Santa minidress) says nothing, simply levelling her sword as behind her, her elves draw their tommyguns.

Meanwhile, I just stand there, completely gobsmacked, where I Rayshifted in.

"Flynn?" Galahad asks tentatively. "Do you have any idea what the hell's going on right now?"

"No. And I don't think I want to."

"Should we... do something?"

"Probably, yes."

---

"And so, by right of conquest, I take up the title of Santa Claus, and with it, ABSOLUTE DOMINION OVER ALL OF CHRISTMAS!" Vlad announces from atop his mountain of elf corpses. "If there are any who would object to this, please do so now, so that I may kill you."

Unsurprisingly, no one protests.

"Jolly good, then, Master of Chaldea!" Shakespeare cheers, as, around us, the other Stratfordians all begin to celebrate our victory. "'All's well that ends well,' as I say."

"Ah, yes." I agree, already noticing the Singularity beginning to dissolve. 'Cu, how's that food Rayshift going?'

'We didn't get very much.' he replies apologetically. 'Sorry, Charlie.'

'It's fine.'

Then the Rayshift takes us away again.

---

The week after America is a grind. We're stuck going from Micro-Singularity to Micro-Singularity, desperately scrounging food as we go, all while I have to resummons fallen Servants between excursions.

It never ends.

---

"Mysterious Heroine X, thus far, I've been obliged to aid you, in spite of how asinine your very existence has been. But this GOES TOO FAR!"

"If you're not with me, YOU'RE AGAINST ME!"

---

"It is I, Astolfo, Paladin of Chalemagne!" the little pink-haired fiend announces as he glides in on a hippogriff. "And I require your aid on a quest most perilous!"

I turn to Galahad. "Get the emergency whiskey."

"Why?"

"I've read the Matter of France, I'm going to need it."

---

"KARNAMANIA 2: ELECTRIC BOOGALOO!"

"ROMAN! ROMAN, START THE RAYSHIFT! START THE RAYSHIFT!"

---

It's a Saturday, and Mash and I are both slumped over the table in the cafeteria, dog tired.

"Hey, Kyrielight?" I ask, prompting her to groan and turn her head towards me. "How're you feeling? Those cyborg polar bears worked you over pretty hard on our last deployment."

"Eveything hurts, Senpai."

"Yeah. You still up for Movie Night, though? I picked out a movie that I think both you and Galahad will enjoy."

"What's it called?" she asks, beginning to sound like the perky and reliable Mash that I know.

"Monty Python and the Holy Grail," I tell her, trying my hardest to contain my evil smirk.

"Sounds a bit like work, honestly."

"True. Actually, hold on, what do you do with the Grails we secure?" Because… I just had an idea.

"Da Vinci keeps them for experimentation, although I don't think she's actually used any of them yet. She's been too busy fixing the plumbing."

I grab Mash's hand and pull her up. "Come on, kid, I've got a plan."

---

"Da Vinci!" I shout, barging into our resident Renaissance Woman's lab. "I need a Grail!"

"Top shelf on the right!" she shouts back to me from deeper in the Workshop.

I look, and there they are.

"Alright, let's do this," I say. "I wish I had a root beer."

In a flash of holy, golden radiance, a root beer appears in my hand.

"All yours, Mash."

"What? Senpai, I've never-"

"It's all yours. Take it."

She does, hesitantly, popping off the cap and then taking a small sip.

I discreetly reach for my emergency unicorn horn, just in case.

"It's so fizzy!" she says with a frankly adorable grin.

"Good. It taste alright?"

"Yes!"

"Okay. Let's call Roman in. I think I just solved our food shortage."

 

[Charles Flynn]

And so, with the previously neverending demand for more food supplies resolved through a literal miracle, life returns to normal, more or less.

I set about my routine, summoning new Servants and placating the old, interspersed with more lessons from Medea and my own sessions of plotting out which Servants to include on away teams with me.

Strategies form, albeit slowly, and, whenever we fire up the FATE system, I find myself silently praying that this time we'll get Fionn Mac Cumhaill.

The prayer is never answered, unfortunately. A shame. I suppose that having him along with us would just be flat out too easy, though.

We do get a few Servants, although they're... not exactly top-shelf.

---​

"Oh. It's you. Splendid!" Hans Christian Anderson says as the light clears.

"Good to see you again too, Caster," I reply with a smile. "If you're interested, we've archived a lot of lost texts over the course of the Singularities. Shakespeare's working on a play as well."

"Hm. An interesting spread." Anderson notes with a smirk. "Did you set all that up to bribe me into not insulting you?"

"No, we just happen to have similar interests. I wouldn't go through that much effort just on the off chance that I might summon an exceedingly weak Servant who thinks himself a wit," I reply, which gets him grinning.

"Similar interests indeed. Very well, Master. I suppose I'll see what Chaldea has to offer." With that said, he heads off.

I'm glad I summoned him, honestly. He and I have surprisingly similar senses of humor.

---​

"Servant Assassin. True Name Fuuma Kotarou." The red-haired ninja bows. "I will serve you faithfully, my Master."

"Glad to have you aboard," I say with my patented playing-nice-to-people smile. Honestly, maybe I would've thought having a ninja in my service would be cool before my time in Chaldea, but I've met the Hassans. Compared to them, a ninja is just... boring. And considerably less useful. "Please seek out Dr. Roman for your work assignment."

---​

"Servant Caster, True Name Geronimo," the familiar warchief says. "It's good to see you again, Flynn."

"Same here."

"I will not trouble you overlong. Dr. Roman's office is where we get our work assignments?"

"Yep."

"Good. I hope that my presence will be of some use."

---​

"Servant Archer, True Name Euryale," the lavender-haired child says. "But of course you knew that already."

"I do indeed, Lady Euryale," I say with a smile that manages to look completely genuine.

"Is your version of Asterios still here?" she asks hopefully before backpedaling. "I'm only asking because the idiot was a really comfortable seat, that's all."

"Of course," I affirm, utterly deadpan. "He's here, as is your sister."

"Stheno?"

"No, Medusa." I manage to stifle my wince.

"Very well, then. Take me to them."

And so, the day's summonings come to a stop as I go to reunite a goddess with her loved ones. Asterios is easily found. Medusa, less so.

Eventually, a snickering Fergus mac Roich points us in her direction.

The few people in the halls give us curious looks as we go. I suppose Euryale riding on Asterios' shoulder is a bit of an unusual sight. But, soon, we're at the room Fergus told us Medusa was in. Fifth door on the left in Floor Three's first residential corridor.

As Euryale tells Asterios to knock, a thought hits me. The residential rooms are assigned outwards. Medusa was summoned late, too late to be assigned a room in this particular corridor. Actually, wasn't this room already taken? I think on it for another second. Actually, yes, I do remember, now! This was one of the Chul Kids' rooms! Why would she be-

Oh.

Oh.

Oh, no.

"Kind of busy at the moment, go away!" Cu shouts from inside the room, clearly irritated. "Can this wait?"

Euryale freezes, fury in her eyes.

"Okay," I interject. "maybe we should-"

"Asterios, break the door down."

The unfortunate portal is smashed to bits by the Bull of Minos, revealing both Cu (can't tell which one, since I can only pick them apart by their clothes, and he's currently not wearing any) and Medusa, both bare as the day they were born and in a fairly compromising position. I avert my eyes, both out of politeness, and a desire not to witness the train wreck unfolding before me.

"S-Sister?" Medusa asks, her voice squeaking as she pulls the sheets up to cover herself and Cu frantically, er… disengages himself. "Wh-When did you get here?"

Euryale, for her part, stalks towards Cu, hissing like a teakettle. Finally, she comes to a stop right in front of him, an accusing finger poking him in the chest as he tries awkwardly to cover himself and pull his tights up at the same time. "How dare you!?"

"Err... I'm sorry, I don't know you," Cu says, uncomfortably, covering his groin.

"I am the goddess Euryale!" she announces angrily. "The flawless divinity whose sister you were just forcing yourself on!"

"Um, Sister," Medusa interjects, her face as red as a tomato. "That's... not really what happened."

"Quiet, Meduseless, you're not a part of this!"

"I... sort of feel like I am, though," Medusa mumbles, looking down in embarrassment.

"Look, kid," Cu says, uncomfortably. "Your older sister's a grown woman, she can make her own decisions. I'm sure it'll be the same for you once you've grown up." He glances between Medusa and me for support, and then tilts his head in confusion. "Wait, why are you guys looking at me like that?"

"First, you force yourself on my little sister," Stheno seethes, her fists clenched and her face a mask of unabashed fury as she looks up at the poor, doomed fool. "And now you dare to insult my beauty? ASTERIOS! KILL HIM!"

"Asterios, don't do that," I interrupt, stepping into the room. "And Lady Euryale, please calm yourself. Let's discuss this like rational adults, instead of just jumping straight to murdering your sister's boyfriend."

"Boyfriend's pushing it," both Medusa and Cu say in unison.

Euryale gives a wordless scream of fury.

'Georgios, place yourself between them, and mediate this.' I order.

"As our Master has commanded, we shall discuss this as rational adults," Georgios pronounces, materializing between Euryale and Cu, who's finally managed to get the bottom half of his jumpsuit back on.

"You're supposed to be a saint! How can you condone this?" Euryale screeches.

"Was this union consensual?" he asks Medusa, who nods. "Then I cannot protest it. I will, of course, be happy to conduct the marriage ceremony."

"Marriage?" both Medusa and Euryale shriek, while the blood drains from Cu's face.

This… may have been a mistake...

---​

"Oh, thank God that's over," I mutter as I trudge back into the Summoning Room. "Two more spins, right Marjani? Just fire it up."

The rings spin, and .. ooh, another Servant!

"Yes, lowly Master of Chaldea! It is I, Gaius Caligula! I have returned to lead you to new heights, and bring ruin to your enemies!"

Oh, no. Alright Charlie, power through the headache, come on, you can do this. We need to keep him out of the way until we can figure out how to control him properly. Wait, wait, yes! I've got it!

"Worthy Emperor, Chaldea has languished in your absence!" I wail, hamming it up. "Even the greatest of heroes of yesteryear have faltered in the face of the enemy that plagues us!"

"Tell me its name, good Master, that I may strike it down!"

"We languish beneath a plague of snipes, Glorious One! Even the sharpest eyed of heroes cannot spot them, even if they stood in the third-floor storage closet in which the foul beasts make their home! Only you can find them, although I don't doubt it will take some time, and save us all, o third and greatest of the Dioscuri triplets!"

"It shall be done!" Caligula bellows, dashing out the door.

I sigh in relief. "All right, Marjani, fire it up one last time, and then I'm off to get some aspirin."

The rings spin, and... "Yes! You have summoned me, the fearless Jaguarman!" the cat-suited weirdo shouts from atop the platform. "Just remember, I'm not a tiger! I'm a jaguar!"

"Neat. Any interest in being a janitor?" I ask, massaging my temples.

"No way, Jose! I'm too important for that!" the woman in a fucking catsuit says. "Give me a big job, like field commander!"

"I'm field commander," I say, feeling my irritation rise.

"Well, are you doing it well?" she asks.

Okay, that is fucking it. "Actually, we only have two positions available for you: Janitor, or fur rug. May I ask which opening you wish to fill, so we can get you started right away?"

"Janitor!" Jaguarman squeaks, face deathly pale. "Definitely janitor!"

"Excellent! Roman will give you the rundown, and I'll expect the stains in the hallway to have been cleaned by tomorrow morning. Well then, off you go!" And with that said, I head off in search of aspirin.

 

[Charles Flynn]

Three weeks since America, including the week from Hell.

Honestly, I'm surprised it took this long for Roman to call a staff meeting.

"All right, everybody, thank you for coming," he says, walking into the room. "We have two major issues that need to be addressed here."

"I agree," Tom says, standing up. "And I say we discuss the Vlad situation first."

"Ah. That." I do my best not to shift uncomfortably. "I'm... aware of the issue."

"Are you?" Tom asks irritably. "He's been utterly deranged ever since you got back from that Stratford Singularity, especially with his new delusion that he's Santa Claus!"

"Yes… that would be awfully hard to miss." Ever since we got back, he refused to take his bloodstained Santa hat off. He also keeps insisting we call him Santa.

"Indeed," Roman interjects uncomfortably. "But, well... he's getting out of hand. He keeps asking people to sit on his lap and tell him if they've been good this year, and that's not even counting how he's loudly been announcing his plans to start impaling naughty children on stakes in order to inspire good behavior, instead of just handing out coal."

"Believe or not, I'm actually already on top of this one," I assure them with a grin. "Caesar and I are drafting out plans on how to save Christmas at the moment, we'll begin implementation in October."

"October?" Roman repeats with a raised eyebrow.

"Set up time is essential, Roman."

"Fine. Onto the next major issue: We've found the next Singularity."

"Alright!" I cheer.

"It's in Jerusalem."

"Always wanted to visit."

"And for some reason, it registers to our scanners as being utterly divorced from the normal Human Order."

"That's... less good."

"Can you get a team ready?"

"Sure. I've got a duty roster picked out." One complete with actual melee fighters.

"Good. We'll Rayshift you in tomorrow morning at eight."

"More than enough time," I say with a grin. "What year?"

"1273."

"Ah. The Crusades. Not exactly a time period I wanted to visit, but, if I must." I get up to go. "Anything else?"

"Not really."

"Then I'm off."

---​

The team is assembled: Cursed Arm, Georgios, Siegfried, Vlad, Billy, and Medea. Strong melee and ranged options, combined with a reliable stealth killer. Not as reliable as Serenity, but she's enough of a double-edged sword that I'd rather keep her in reserve.

"Alright, people. Let's go take Jerusalem." I grin. "Always wanted to say that. But no, let's just go save history instead."

"Sure thing, boss!" Da Vinci says from beside the Coffins.

"Wait, what are you doing here? You almost never send us off."

"I'm going with you!"

"LIKE HELL YOU ARE!" I snap. "You're the primary repairman for all of Chaldea. We quite literally cannot afford to lose you!"

"The same could be said of you, Mister Last Master."

"Trust me, if I could end Singularities by deploying Servants remotely, I would. You, on the other hand, don't need to stupidly risk your life!" I want a hot shower, dammit!

"And here I thought you'd be happy to have one of the people who've been tossing you into danger join you in the field," she says with a pout.

"On an emotional level, maybe that'd be appreciated. But I'm also not an idiot. You're a Caster. You work best on your home turf. Sending you out of said home turf is just a complete and utter waste, for no greater purpose than fulfilling your desire for cheap thrills." Okay, wow, might've been a little too harsh there.

She glares at me. "I'm going, or I turn your room's electricity off."

"Fine." Right. "Caster spot's filled. Teacher? You okay to sit this one out?"

"That's actually to my liking," Medea says with a small smile. "I'm rather tired of fieldwork, I must admit." She fixes me with a stern glare. "But, if you need me, don't hesitate to call me in. Understood, Apprentice?"

"Clear as crystal." I grin. "Alright, let's see... How about Cu? He's got speed and incredible combat prowess."

"Fine," Roman says from up at the console. "As long as he can get here quickly. We've already delayed quite a bit."

'Cu, get to the Rayshift Room. You're on the away team,' I send to Cu (Spandex Lancer.)

Once he's arrived, we file into the Klein Coffins, and the Rayshift's light bears us away.

 

[Charles Flynn]

"Y'know, I think I'd remember the Promised Land of Israel being a fucking desert," I note drily as I look out over the drifting sand dunes. All the Servants who could astralized fifteen minutes into our trek, leaving me with only Da Vinci and Galahad for company. "Da Vinci, are you sure the Rayshift dropped us in the right place?"

"Yes!" she snaps irritably, still checking her scanner. "And I'll thank you to stop questioning my work! And like I've been saying for the past hour, repeating the question every five minutes won't change the answer!"

"Well, not like there's much else to do, what with us having been left walking for hours over these lovely sand dunes in search of water that, in spite of your repeated assurances that it's in the direction we're walking, has thus far failed to appear!"

"Genius takes time! And besides, maybe this desert's very existence is a result of the Singularity's abnormal nature! Ever think of that, smart guy?"

"I'm with Flynn on this one," Galahad chimes in, joining in what has swiftly became our favorite pastime over the last hour of hiking through the goddamn desert: Bitching at Da Vinci. "The Rayshift team probably just screwed up the Rayshift and dumped us into an endless desert to die. It's actually a forgivable mistake! After all, it's not like they had a genius on hand to spot any errors! Because she decided that technical support was beneath her and tagged along to the front line!"

"You two really aren't letting that go, are you?" Da Vinci asks, her brow twitching irritably.

"Da Vinci, I have sand in my leotard, and every last piece of my armor is currently hot enough to fry an egg on. Flynn is as red as a lobster right now, and looks like he's about to flat-out die of heatstroke. I believe I speak for the both of us when I say that we are taking this particular grudge to our graves."

"Okay, seriously, is it really that bad?" Da Vinci asks plaintively. "Haven't I been your wonderfully supportive and helpful Da Vinci-chan most of the time? Can't you find it in your hearts to forgive me this one mistake?"

"One mistake?" I ask with a raised eyebrow. "You still haven't finished the piping because you got distracted halfway through and started building a submarine."

"I put in a request through Mash for you to find a way to make my armor cover my midriff three months ago," Galahad says, glaring at our guide. "You refused point blank because, and I quote, 'Your outfit is way cuter that way!'"

"But it is!"

"I could be eviscerated, Da Vinci!" Galahad snaps. "And beyond that, I don't want to look cute! I'm a man! Bad enough having to operate in a teenaged girl's body, having to be dressed like a stripper while I do so is just adding insult to injury!"

"You just can't appreciate my genius," Da Vinci says with a pout.

"No," I correct. "We do appreciate your genius. It's the only reason we put up with your personality."

Her jaw drops, and she looks to be winding up for a counterargument, when Georgios de-astralizes between us. "Okay, that's enough! I didn't want to leave astral form, but you lot have left me absolutely no choice in the matter. Now, we are going to spend the next five minutes in silence. Understood?"

"But-"

"SILENCE!"

"Yes, Saint Georgios," I mumble, feeling like a little kid.

We continue to walk on in silence.

Da Vinci is the first one to break it. "So, how'd you know about the submarine?"

"Hundred Face."

"I knew it! I told Roman you were using them as a spy network!"

"No- Well, yes, I actually am doing that, but that's not what I was talking about," I point at the band of skull-masked figures in black making their way over the dunes ahead of us.

"Oh!" Da Vinci smirks. "I told you that we're in the right Singularity!"

"Don't count your horses just yet," I mutter, and we get into position, and wait for the black clad mob to reach us.

---​

"Hassan-I-Sabbah of the Hundred Faces!" I call in greeting when they finally get into earshot. "May I ask what brings one of your rank and order into this desert?"

"Knowing my name will not leave me more well-inclined to you, toady of Ozymandias!" one of the personalities, the one carry a lumpy sack over one shoulder, shouts at me.

"I am no servant of Ozymandias," I assure her, already trying to parse out just which pharaoh she's referring to, there. They really enjoyed recycling that particular title. "I am the Master of Chaldea, and simply wish to know the lay of the land."

"A likely story," another of the personas sneers.

"I do have a character witness," I say mildly. 'Cursed Arm?'

He materializes beside me, leaving the various Hundred Faces reeling.

"Okay," the group's spokeswoman says after a brief deliberation. "I suppose it's possible that you're telling the truth."

"Thank you. Now, may I ask for an explanation as to this Singularity's condition?"

"Look, we can't talk right now!" the spokeswoman snaps. "We have to hurry, or-"

A flight of sphinxes catches up with them, and the Hundred Face collective chucks the sack at me and books it, leaving me to sort out this mess.

Once the monsters are dealt with, we turn our attention to the sack, whose contents turn out to be a woman.

"Flynn, we must aid her in returning to her home," Galahad says, dead serious.

"This feels slightly mission non-critical," I point out.

"Flynn, she is a damsel in distress. I can't just turn my back on her, it'd be unchivalrous."

"I dunno, she looks pretty peaceful sleeping, maybe she's fine with this, and can take care of herself."

"She was in a sack, Flynn, that is a very distressing circumstance to be in."

"Well, I mean, can you say from personal experience that being chucked in a sack and dragged off is unpleasant?" I ask, desperate not to delay the mission.

"Flynn." He gives me a look.

"Alright, stupid question. Are you sure she counts as a damsel?"

"Yes. Age and experience matter not. What does matter is that she is alone and helpless, and we can help her. What purpose does power serve, if not to help the helpless?"

"All right, fine, we can save her."

---​

When Sack Girl comes to, she propped up against a rock, with Galahad kneeling before her.

"Uh-huh-wha?" she yelps, seeming to become a great deal more awake all of the sudden. "What's going on? This isn't my room!"

"My lady, are you unharmed?" Galahad asks, his face a perfect mask of polite concern, complete with a small, charming smile. "We rescued you from the varlets that had taken you. Do you know where you are? Do you require any assistance whatsoever in returning to your home?"

"Aren't we jumping to conclusions, here? Are we entirely sure that this wasn't a result of perfectly justifiable motives?" I ask from behind him. "I mean, who knows, maybe she drowns puppies for fun, or something."

"I most certainly do not!" she snaps, her face flush with anger as she hops to her feet. "Now who are you people and what are you doing here?"

"We're Chaldea's away team, here to save human history," I say, my face dispassionate. Unlike Galahad, I'm not exactly keen on trusting Sack Girl at the drop of a hat. "Is that an issue?"

"You-I-" she flushes again. "You stand in the presence of the pharaoh Nitocris, peasant! You are permitted to bow, and offer up your thanks that I have chosen to grace you with my existence."

Right. She wants flattery? I'll give her flattery. "Most radiant one, whose will charts the rise of the sun and the flooding of the Nile, your most humble servant is pleased beyond what words can hope to describe to have not only been graced with the privilege of your incomparable existence, but also that you have chosen to appear before him. Indeed, the tale of your unimaginable beneficence shall be passed down to his children, and his children's children, and their children after that, that generations to come might know of their god-queen's benevolence."

Everyone stares at me for a second after I finish that spiel. Nitocris in particular looks about as flushed as I do, although I at least have the excuse of sunburn.

"V-Very well, peasant. I suppose, in the face of such just and judicious praise, and your honesty in acknowledging my magnificence, I will take your claims of having aided me as the truth. Come! I shall guide you to the temple of my Pharaoh, that you may be rewarded for your deeds."

"This humble one requires no reward, Pharaoh. The gift of your existence is already more than he deserves."

"You deserve what your pharaoh says you deserve!" Nitocris snaps. "Now come along."

'I had that,' Galahad grumbles over the mental link.

I start to follow Nitocris, but... why is everything spinning?

The last thought to cross my mind before I hit the sand is that Galahad might've had a point about the heatstroke.

 

[Charles Flynn]

I come to on a hard bed.

Oh, God, it feels like my face is on fire! What the Hell happened?

"Flynn? You're awake!" Galahad says from the chair by my bedside. "Thank God, we were worried for a bit."

"Awww... you do care," I snark on reflex, before wincing. Damn sunburn.

"Of course I do, idiot. If you die, we lose the whole damn war."

I look around. Sandstone walls. The construction looks... Egyptian. "Where are we?"

"Nitocris took us to the palace of the pharaoh she serves," Galahad explains, offering me a waterskin, which I eagerly accept. "He permitted us to stay while you recovered from your maladies."

"How long was I out of it?" I ask.

"Over a day. You nearly died, Flynn."

"Ah. We should get going, then. No time to waste, and all."

"Not until we're sure beyond a shadow of a doubt that you're better," Galahad snaps, looking irked.

"No weaseling out of this one, Charlie," Cu says, de-astralizing besides Galahad. "You survived Servants and Solomon. Like Hell we're going to let you die of something as lame as heatstroke."

"Indeed," Georgios chimes in, also de-astralizing. "We aren't leaving until we're entirely sure you've recovered."

"Fine," I mutter, noticing that it's actually remarkably cool on the slab I'm lying on. "Did you manage to learn anything from our hosts?"

"Our host calls himself Ozymandias, King of Kings, and told us a bit about this Singularities' history," Galahad reports. "Apparently, the enemies empowered by Solomon were the Crusaders. They summoned Ozymandias through their Grail, which he has at the moment, and he immediately rebelled against them. Then some sort of Lion King came along, killed the Crusaders, and razed Jerusalem in order to found what he calls the 'Holy City' on the same spot."

"WHAT?" I yelp. "They... they..."

"Destroyed Jerusalem, yes."

"THAT MOTHERFUCKER!" I scream. "That was a World Heritage Site!"

"It also had people in it, you know," Georgios points out.

"The City of David and birthplace of Our Lord and Savior just got nuked by some asshole furry who then proceeded to set up a cheap knockoff on the still-cooling ashes," I snap. "Don't tell me you're not as pissed about this as I am."

"You know, when you put it that way, I am considerably more furious," Georgios observes. "Funny how that works out."

"He didn't actually tell us much more than that," Galahad says, hastily trying to redirect our righteous fury back to the topic at hand. "Apparently he, the Old Men Of The Mountain, and the Lion King have been in a three-way stalemate ever since."

"We're going to Jerusalem," I say, in a tone that brooks no argument.

"It's 'the Holy City' now, actually," Cu corrects.

"I don't care what the fucking furry calls his new tourist trap, we're going to Jerusalem," I snap. "Then, once we get there, we are going to get the lay of the land, and then we are going to kill the Lion King. Preferably by giving Vlad carte blanche."

"Yeah, once you've rested," Galahad objects, to which I turn my glare on him.

"Cu, the reason my bed feels as though it's being air-conditioned comes down to you have carved some runes into it, correct?"

"Yes." Cu admits, looking like he already knows where this is going.

"Then you carry me on a rune-carved litter if you have to, but we are going to Jerusalem."

"Da Vinci actually made a dune buggy, but we still shouldn't head out so quickly!" Galahad objects. "Trust me, I'm just as unhappy about the desecration as you are, but we shouldn't rush into things."

"I'm not rushing, I'm being efficient. I can continue to convalesce in a cool environment while we travel. Will we be granted supplies by the Pharaoh's benevolence, or will we have to forage for ourselves?"

"He is sending us off with supplies, actually," Georgios comments, his face a battlefield between caution and righteous fury.

"Excellent. Cursed Arm?"

"Yes, my Master?" the skull-masked Assassin asks as he de-astralizes on the ceiling.

"Spread the word to the other Servants. Georgios, deliver my thanks to our hosts. Tell them that I am grateful beyond words for their hospitality, and the indescribable boon that is their divine existence, but while I cannot stand on my own two feet to say my farewells in person, I also can't delay in my mission, and so, must leave posthaste."

"It will be done with utmost courtesy."

"I know it will. Galahad, help me over to Da Vinci's dune buggy. Cu, set up more runic cooling."

They nod in agreement.

"Alright, people, let's get going."

---​

Da Vinci's dune buggy does another aerial jump, and I try my best not to black out from the pain as the lashings securing me to my cooling bed dig into my sunburnt skin.

"For the love of God, Da Vinci, we have an injured man in the buggy!" Georgios snaps. "Drive more carefully!"

"He said all due haste, I'm driving with all due haste," she snaps back, before the entire buggy shudders with a worrying jolt.

"What was that?" Galahad asks.

"Ran over another of those starfish creatures, it's no big deal," Da Vinci says confidently.

"Okay, that's it!" Georgios says, getting up from where he was sat besides me. "I'm taking over as driver!"

"But-"

"No buts! You're too reckless to be trusted behind the wheel!" He punctuates that declaration with a stern glare, which makes Da Vinci practically wilt.

---​

Georgios' driving, while less speedy than Da Vinci's, does have the advantage of not making you wonder if you're about to die horribly every five minutes. We do have to fight off more monsters when we're going more slowly, but I'd say the trade-off is worth it.

Finally, however, we reach the desert's edge, and come out onto a scarred, rocky plain.

"It's not green," I note worriedly, staring out at the scorched and cratered land. "The land around Jerusalem is fertile, and full of greenery. That's why they called it the Promised Land. It... it shouldn't be like this."

"We'll find out why it's like this," Georgios assures me from the driver's seat. "And then we'll fix it. That's what we do, after all."

Roman's hologram flickers to life. "Fine, I'll try it again, but I don't think-" He blinks as he looks at us. "It worked! Thank God you guys are okay!"

"Oh!" I tilt my head. "We lost contact with Chaldea?"

"Y-You didn't notice?" Roman asks, looking a tad hurt. "We were afraid that you'd died!"

"Well, it's not like we actually contact you all that often," I point out sheepishly. "Mostly because the whole 'hologram' thing would probably spook the locals." And because I don't want a backseat Master constantly peering over my shoulder, but I'm diplomatic enough to not say that one aloud.

"But, still, we have a lot of sensors, and intelligence on mythology and history on hand!" Roman protests. "We could be incredibly useful!"

"You are, it's just that I can't constantly consult with you," I point out. "But, all the same, it's good to have you back with us."

"Yeah. So, what happened?"

We tell him what happened, with Galahad doing the lion's share of the reporting.

"So, Ramses the Second," Roman says.

"I mean, it could be a lot of Pharaohs, actually. I'm presuming that they tended to recycle titles."

"True, but Ramses is the only one I can think of who would exclusively use that title and also qualify for the Throne of Heroes," Roman says. "So, what did he tell you about the Singularity?"

"There are three factions: Him, the Hassans, and the Lion King, who killed the Crusaders and destroyed Jerusalem."

"He DID WHAT?" Roman yelps, looking like someone just killed his dog.

"He destroyed Jerusalem. One of the holiest cities on Earth for just about every Abrahamic faith. And then he had the gall to build his so-called 'Holy City' on top of the ashes."

"But… but... did he have no appreciation for the labors of those that built it?" Roman looks shell-shocked. "The ones that spent their entire lives making sure that the whole affair was conducted properly, and building the Great Temple?"

"Great Temple was already gone, actually. The Romans destroyed and looted it."

"Oh, right. Fuck the Romans."

"HEY!" Romulus snaps from out of the hologram's display range.

"No offense, Romulus," Roman says quickly.

"Some taken."

"So, anyways," Roman says, turning back towards me. "You're going to give them hell, right?"

"Of course."

"All I needed to hear. Chaldea out."

And so, we hurtle onwards, towards the ashes of Jerusalem.

 

[Charles Flynn]

We encounter the occasional pack of starving cannibals, who we of course put out of their misery, but for the most part, our journey is unhindered.

Sadly, that streak of good luck and smooth travel is broken when we run into an active conflict.

"Georgios, park the buggy. Galahad and I will go out to assess the situation."

"Understood."

We peer out at the two groups.

'First group's refugees,' I note. 'And they're led by a Hassan. That means that the knights who just cornered them…'

'Are probably the Lion King's men,' Galahad finishes for me. 'Holy shit.'

'What?'

'That's Sir Tristan.'

I look at the knights' redheaded commander more closely. 'He looks about as emo as I always pictured him being.'

'So, are we going to save them?' Galahad asks hopefully. 'I've always wanted to deck that mopey asshole.'

Hmm… They're still negotiating, although I can't really hear them from here, but we can't close the distance quickly enough to prevent casualties. Intervening might cause us problems, but they're the Lion King's men, and thus the enemy. Killing them is a goal in and of itself. So. How do we close the distance and incapacitate the enemy commander?

Vlad would be ideal for taking out Tristan, he's slow but he's also an absolute tank. Once he gets a hold of the enemy, the fight's as good as over. All I need is a way to move him across the intervening distance faster than Tristan can react! Unfortunately, I don't have anything like that on hand. I know my current team's capabilities like the back of my hand, and-

Hold on, when did I get the back of my hand tattooed?

…I'm a fucking idiot.

'Galahad, get in there and shield the refugees. Siegfried, Cu, and Billy, target the rank and file. Cursed Arm, reassure your fellow Hassan that we're friendlies. Vlad, by the power of my Command Seal, tackle Tristan!'

They deploy in a blur, lunging in to attack the enemy and defend the civilians in the blink of an eye. Vlad, for his part, quite literally teleports in order to pin Tristan to the ground.

Once Galahad's shield has been established, and half the knights terminated, I begin to make my way to the refugees' leader, who's staring at the slaughter of his pursuers with a mixture of relief and confusion.

"You are the Master of Chaldea?" The unknown Hassan asks, still staring at the one-sided slaughter of the knights previously poised to kill him.

"That is indeed my position, yes," I say, joining him in watching.

"Sir Tristan!" Vlad coos as he secures the bleeding, now one-armed knight in a bear hug, goring him with several of his armor's spikes. "You've been a very naughty boy!"

"You'll pay for this, you ignorant-"

"So now, you get the rod!" Vlad continues, grinning maniacally.

"Wait, what are you…" That's about when he stops talking and starts screaming in agony as Vlad drives an armored, spiked knee into the unlucky knight's crotch.

You know, it's weirdly cathartic, having an enemy killed like this. It's like you're transmuting your frustration and helplessness into their pain.

But enough introspection. I turn to the refugees' protector, mentally commanding Vlad to stop playing around and finish Tristan off. "It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mr…."

"Hassan-i-Sabbah of the Intoxicating Smoke," the masked killer says, not even flinching as Vlad finishes off his opponent with a gristly squelch. "And it would seem that I am in your debt."

"May I ask your intended destination, and the circumstances of your departure?"

"Our village was destroyed. I led the survivors to seek refuge in the villages of my colleagues." He pauses. "You are welcome to join us."

"We'll have to abstain," I say, after giving the offer due consideration. "I planned on our team heading to the Holy City, to get the lay of the land and evaluate what we'll need in order to put down the Lion King."

"A bold strategy," Intoxicating Smoke says after a moment. "I would advise caution, however. The Lion King is served by some of the foremost Knights of the Round Table."

"And I count the greatest of all the Round Table's knights among my Servants," I say confidently, which makes Galahad grin.

"You have Lancelot with you?" Intoxicating Smoke asks eagerly. "The Lion King also counts a version of him among his knights! Perhaps your version may be able to match the Lion King's!"

"Err… no. I have Sir Galahad."

"Never heard of him."

I wince, as Galahad's previously sour look morphs into one of rage. "Well, rest assured, he's by far a better knight than Lancelot."

That seems to soothe Galahad's temper, and Intoxicating Smoke thankfully takes my word for it.

We part soon after, with Intoxicating Smoke telling us where to find the villages of the Hassans, so that we may be swiftly reunited.

---

"Yep, that's Camelot," Galahad says with a sigh as we finally come into view of the Holy City. "There's no doubt about it. The Lion King is King Arthur."

"Are you sure?" I ask. "Couldn't it just be Morgan La Fey, or some other sort of enemy of the Round Table disguising themselves as him?"

"Maybe. But probably not. I'm not sure why you're having so much trouble believing this." Galahad raises an eyebrow as he looks at me. "I actually served the man, and I'm still not as absolutely desperate to believe the best of him as you."

"It's… he was a paragon of chivalry and virtue, and someone I look up to. I don't want to believe that he's behind this."

"Huh." Galahad looks honestly perplexed. "Honestly, he wasn't as impressive in person as the stories always paint him."

"Really?"

"Oh, don't get me wrong, he was virtuous and just, and brave, and all that, it's just that that was literally all there was to him," Galahad says with a shrug. "He was a good king, but that was always the sum totality of his character. I've quite literally met rocks that had more of a personality and a wider emotional range than I ever saw from Arthur."

"But, wasn't he supposed to be charismatic and commanding?" I ask, furrowing my brow.

"He was. He was an incredible king, but he was also an incredibly boring person."

"That's… kind of disappointing, actually."

"I thought the same thing when I first arrived at court."

"Huh." You know, I don't think I've ever heard all that much about Galahad's life from him before. Might as well hear some of it while he's in this good mood. "What was that like? Arriving at court, I mean?"

He grins. "Well, Master mine, let me tell you a tale..."

His story holds me captivated as we make our way out amongst the crowd at Simbaland's gates.

 

[Charles Flynn]

'So, what about Merlin?' I ask as we stand amongst the crowd, looking over the Holy City's walls and the men that staff them. We switched over to the mental link early in Galahad's story to avoid drawing unwanted attention.

'What about Merlin?' Galahad shoots back.

'You mentioned how you met most of the other key figures in Arthur's court, including your fellow Knights of the Round Table,' and he wasn't very complimentary to any of his former colleagues that weren't his fellow Grail Knights, Bedivere, or Mordred, 'but you haven't mentioned Merlin yet.' He also didn't mention Lancelot, but quite frankly, I'm not pulling the pin on that grenade.

'That's because I never met Merlin, Flynn,' Galahad tells me, irritated. 'He'd already died when I got to Arthur's court.'

'Died?' I repeat quizzically. I don't remember that being in any of the myths.

'Well, they all said he was seduced into setting aside his worldly concerns and departing for the Garden of Avalon by his apprentice, which I'm assuming is a euphemism for getting a nasty STD from all his womanizing and dying horribly.' Galahad snorts. 'I mean, with how much he slept around, it was only a matter of time.'

'I mean, wouldn't his otherworldly heritage probably give him an in?' I ask.

Galahad looks at me, utterly deadpan. 'Flynn. Don't tell me that you actually believe Avalon is real.'

'You… don't?' I ask incredulously.

'Why should I? It's all some bullshit spat out by the druids, their knockoff of Heaven. It's just superstitious mumbo-jumbo, though. Like fairies.'

'You don't believe in fairies, either,' I summarize dryly.

'Of course not. There's only one truly supernatural power in this world, Flynn, and that is our Holy Lord on High. Fairies are just the byproduct of superstition, and pagans misinterpreting His divine workings.'

'Wasn't your father raised by the Lady of the Lake?' I point out, regretting it the moment I say it.

'Oh, I bet he'd like people to think that!' Galahad's practically frothing at the mouth as he rants. 'Probably spent his entire inheritance at some out-of-the-way French brothel, and then came limping back with that hokey claim of being "raised by fairies" to preserve his oh-so-important REPUTATION!'

'Spent all his money at a brothel. As a child,' I repeat deadpan, giving Galahad a look.

He deflates from furious to sulky. 'That's totally something he'd do.'

'If you say so, Galahad.' I really don't want to argue the point.

Then I look up in shock, as the night sky turns to day.

'The fuck? Galahad, ask one of our neighbors what's going on. I don't speak Arabic.'

He does so, and soon reports back. 'He says that this is the Holy Selection, and that some of the refugees might be allowed to enter the Holy City.'

'Say something to me in Arabic, I need to check if the translation program is up and running.'

"That's Sir Gawain," he points at the knight in shining armor that just walked out amongst the crowd.

'Neat. Program's running just fine. Also, we'll have to retreat if combat breaks out. Sir Gawain at high noon is a force to be reckoned with.'

'Please. I can take him!'

'Galahad, even your fa-' Wait, shit, can't compare him to his dad. '-riend Mordred would be hard-pressed to face Sir Gawain at full strength. I don't want to try our luck.'

'Nice save.' He gives me a distinctly unimpressed look.

'Thanks, I try.'

"Good citizens of the Holy Land!" Gawain shouts, and both Galahad and I turn our focus towards him. "I know that you're all eager to enter the Holy City!"

The crowd cheers.

"And we're ready to welcome our newest citizens into our walls!" Gawain assures his audience with a smile. "The Holy Selection is about to begin! Please remain calm and still, as our King chooses those suitably virtuous to enter our city!"

The Lion King stands on the rampart, and a series of glowing, golden lights race out amongst the crowd, eventually congregating and centering on a few people. The only two I can see from where I'm standing are a little boy whose mother is crying as she looks at him, and Galahad.

'Huh. Good to know I've still got it,' Galahad notes.

"All right! Holy Selection over!" Gawain announces. "The people glowing right now will be allowed into the Holy City!"

There's a moment of silence, and then one of the men in the crowd shouts, "Wait, what about the rest of us?"

"You will not be allowed into the Holy City," Gawain says slowly, his smile becoming a bit forced.

"Yeah? Well, how about this!" a man near us shouts, grabbing the little boy who was chosen and putting a knife against his throat. "You let all of us in, or none of us!"

The crowd's murmurings take on a violent tone, as more people follow the first rabble-rouser's example. Someone even tries to pull the same stunt on Galahad, but a simple look from him stops them in their tracks.

"Every damn time," Gawain mutters, before raising his hand. "Retrieve the chosen. Dispose of the rest."

The Lion King's knights lumber forwards, and the slaughter begins.

Alright, time to retreat.

'Galahad,' I turn, and he's already gone, running into the fray to defend the helpless. "Son of a bitch."

Alright, that's fine, I can still swing this. I've got the other Servants with me in Astral Form, and Da Vinci's back at the dune buggy. We can still retreat if I use a Command Seal on Galahad. He'll hate me for it, but he might accept it as necessary.

'All right, all Servants, we're ret- Wait, where's Cursed Arm?'

I turn, and I see him. The man who took the boy hostage is dead on the ground, a bloody hole in his back, and Cursed Arm is fighting furiously against one of the huge, lumbering knights, desperately forcing him away from the boy and his mother.

The sight of a Lawful Evil killer-for-hire putting his life on the line to defend innocents is apparently the starting gun in the race to see which of my Servants can most thoroughly ignore my orders and screw over my long-term strategy, as the Servants that remain, not to be outdone, all leap into combat, leaving me completely unguarded.

The fight after that is complete and unbridled chaos. I see only flashes of it, as I'm jerked around, desperately trying not to be trampled by the crowd as I also try not to get caught up in the fighting.

I grab a knife off of a dead man, after what feels like hours of struggling through the chaos, steering around the fire, and desperately trying not to trip over the ever-multiplying corpses that coat the ground. Then, I start stabbing anyone that bumps into me, which soon nets me some elbow room, and some space to actually think and coordinate. After a moment, I start moving, out of the paths of the various Selection Knights that are cutting corpse-strewn highways through the packed crowd. A bit like me, actually, I think, as the crowd surges in too close once more, and I stab the woman who bumps into me. Although I'm mostly just aiming to injure, not kill.

Now that I have the time and space to think and survey the battlefield, I notice that, while the Servants have managed to slow down the slaughter, their uncoordinated response has left them unable to stop it. Galahad's squaring off against Gawain, Siegfried and Cu are both carving their way through the Selection Knights, but they can't get at the ones that have entered the crowd, simply because the panicked mob is too much of an obstacle. Beyond that, the Knights' coordinated nature is allowing them to keep their hunters isolated and bogged down. They can't break the perimeter like this. Georgios and Vlad tried to rally the people and break the perimeter, but they're not inclined to listen to a knight, and their voices are being drowned out by the clamor while the Selection Knights keep them bogged down. Cursed Arm is only protecting the mother and son he first stuck his neck out to save, and Billy is dead, from what I can tell. The Knights ganged up on him and forced him into melee.

We're outnumbered, and if we keep going like this, the crowd will all die off, and we'll be left with only the Knights, and that's just if Mufasa's men don't off me first.

How do I get us out of this?

Right. I might be able to summon a new Servant in from Chaldea to replace Billy, but it needs to be someone tough, with tactical ability, and the capacity to command large groups. Someone unexpected, who'll be able to break the perimeter.

Okay, I know just the guy.

And I know exactly how I'm going to summon him.

I leave the knife in the next person that jostles me, remove my uniform jacket, and then make a beeline for the Selection Knights' perimeter.

Then, as the wall of knights advances towards me, their flashing swords spelling death for all who come near, I raise up my glowing Command Spells and shout, "Help, help, I'm being oppressed!"

"OPPRESSORS!" Spartacus roars as he's dragged forth from Chaldea and onto the field of battle. A lesser man would waste time on questions. He doesn't, instead smashing two Selection Knights together with enough force to leave them as mangled scrap.

I grin, partially from vindictiveness, but mostly from sheer, unadulterated relief that that actually worked.

'Spartacus, we need to disengage, and get the refugees out. Can you break the perimeter?'

He answers with action, smashing through another two of the Selection Knights and bellowing, "THIS WAY, MY BROTHERS! TO FREEDOM!"

'All Servants, begin to disengage! Help Spartacus protect the refugees as we retreat. We're pulling out!' I join the flood of refugees making their way out through the hole Spartacus made in the encirclement, making sure to position myself towards the back.

Unfortunately, a glaring flaw soon becomes apparent: Spartacus can only face the Selection Knights on one side of the stream of fleeing refugees. The other side is still undefended, and has a fair share of Selection Knights there, too.

All right, fine. They'll stretch the perimeter thin, dealing with this particular leak, and I can get out through one of the gaps that forms when that happens. Spartacus' rampage through the Selection Knights to the right of the break he created is definitely going to help with that. Granted, that'll still end with almost all the refugees dead, and my odds won't be great, but it's better than nothing. Now then. Another Selection Knight is cutting into the crowd, specifically the flood of people trying to escape. Just got to stay out of his way, and-

"SWITCH ON, AIRGETLAM!"

-watch in bafflement as he's karate-chopped in half by a slender, silver-armed knight, apparently.

"Go!" the mysterious stranger shouts to the crowd. "I'll keep them busy!"

I don't hesitate in taking his invitation, and soon, I'm outside the encirclement, making my way towards the buggy.

'Servants, we are retreating. Maintain the gap in the encirclement and disengage from your enemies!'

They finally start listening to me, instead of running off to be noble and get both themselves and me killed.

'Charlie,' Spartacus sends, his tone solemn. 'Even if the oppressed flee, the oppressors will pursue. I will stay behind to delay them, so that you and the others can escape with their victims.'

For a moment, just a moment, I try to think of a retort. A way to persuade him to leave the panicked civilians behind, to convince him that they're a less valuable asset than one of my Servants and can be left to delay and distract our pursuers.

And then I cast that notion aside, feeling disgusted with myself for even considering it. He won't leave them. It's not in his nature. And, frankly, the others would probably betray me if I even suggested it.

'Thank you, Spartacus.'

'No need. To free the oppressed and cast down oppressors is a reward in and of itself! Now go!'

I confirm that all my Servants got out, and then tell Da Vinci to gun it, which I quickly regret.

 

[Charles Flynn]

The clusterfuck at the gates to Simbaland has ended. Thus, it's time for some post-fight inquiries.

I tent my fingers as I stare at the skull-masked Servant currently sitting implacably on a rock opposite me.

"So… Cursed Arm."

"Yes, Master?"

"You went against my directives and acted before you received orders to protect young Rashid and his mother."

"I did indeed do so," Cursed Arm admits, still not giving anything away.

"So, then, I have a question for you: What the ACTUAL FUCK?" I finally let my anger off the chain, slamming one fist down into the rock I'm sitting on. "Ow… FUCK, I think I broke my hand. That would have been so much less painful if we actually had a table between us."

"I concur, Master." Cursed Arm's poker face is impeccable. The mask probably helps.

"No dodging the question!" I snap, pointing at him with my undamaged left hand. "I'd expect this sort of thing from Galahad, but not you. You've been one of the most professional and loyal Servants in my retinue. That's why I want an explanation."

"You flatter me," Cursed Arm says. "But I am nothing special."

"Cursed Arm." I give him an unimpressed look. "Do you know why the other Servants all went Leeroy Jenkins on me when they saw you defending those two civilians?"

"They were inspired by the sight of someone they considered a soulless killer defending the innocent?"

"Close. For some of them, they were shamed into action by your heroic example. The rest all believed that, since they've only ever seen you act in accordance with my wishes, spoken or unspoken, that obviously my orders were to defend the people, and then acted accordingly." I give him a look, folding my arms. "Your little bout of Galahad-ism pretty much single-handedly destroyed our formation and scuttled my attempts to retreat. The first time you've ever acted against my orders, and this happens."

"I'm… sorry… Master." He genuinely sounds like he means it.

"The apology is appreciated, Cursed Arm. But I want to know why you broke ranks." I realized that the man I trust to do my dirty work has motivations and drives of his own. I have to know what they are, now, because otherwise I'll always wonder if my next order will be the one that drives him to betray me. "And how likely it is to happen again."

"That…" Cursed Arm looks down. "Master, you do not know what you ask of me."

"Well, yes, that's how questions typically work."

That startles a laugh out of him. "I suppose it is, isn't it?" He takes a deep breath. "Remember this well, for I will only speak of it to you once. It is forbidden for those who have taken up the mantle of the Old Man of the Mountain to tell of who they once were. Those names, those lives, they are what must be slain to stand as the foremost of Assassins."

"So… they're tied to your past?" I ask.

"Of course not," Cursed Arm tells me cheerfully. "I have no past. I have always been the Old Man of the Mountain."

"Ah. Of course." I wonder if he's always been at war with Eastasia, too.

"Incidentally, I think I'll tell you an entirely fictitious children's story," Cursed Arm interjects. "In order to pass the time, of course."

"Sounds fascinating," I say, trying to keep a straight face.

"Of course it does." He glances over his shoulder cautiously, and then begins. "Not very long ago, in a little town not very far from here, there lived a man. He had a wife and a son, and he could have lived out his days quite contently with them, if not for one, damning detail. You see, he was haunted by a constant, creeping fear. He had learned the histories, and there was no place for humble farmers and dutiful husbands in their manifold pages. The fool stayed awake at night, staring at the ceiling and paralyzed by the constant, creeping dread that he would be forgotten, a nobody, nary a word devoted to his name in all of history's myriad tomes." He looks over his shoulder again. "And so, he did a very foolish thing: He left his family to join the Bashasshin."

I raise an eyebrow. "No relation to the Hashasshin, of course."

"Of course not. The Hashasshin assassinated people. The Bashasshin threw surprise parties." He looks over his shoulder again. "Now, this nameless, entirely fictional man rose through the ranks. He became incredibly skilled in all the arts of party planning quite swiftly, but he lacked a unique talent of his own, which would leave him forever barred from the coveted title of Grand Partymaster." Another over-the-shoulder check. "And so, he hunted down the Party Demon Shaitan and grafted its arm on in place of his own."

"Party Demon?" I repeat with a raised eyebrow.

"His soirees were to die for," Hassan assures me with an unbreakable poker face. "But, sadly, even after he gained the legendary title of Grand Partymaster, the Partymaster of the Festive Arm was regarded as mediocre, and never did anything of note. In the end, all his sacrifices only gained him a footnote in the history books, at the price of his very identity. When he died, his last thoughts were full of regret at having cast aside his peaceful life with his beloved family for nothing." He does one last over-the-shoulder check, and then sighs in relief. "The end."

"I see." I nod. "So, you saved Rashid and his mother because…"

"I saved Rashid and Nalia because they reminded me of Festive Arm's wife and son from that very sad story I had heard," Cursed Arm says, his voice thick with regret. "It seemed to me that he would have dearly loved to see them again."

As he turns to go, I call out to him. "Hey, Hassan!"

"Yes, my Master?" he asks.

"You're right it's a very sad story," I say, deciding to stick to the initial conceit. "Actually, if I ever met this Festive Arm person, I think I know what I'd say to him."

"Really? And what would that be?"

"That even if his sacrifices didn't get him what he really wanted, I'm glad he made them. Because it's thanks to those sacrifices that I got to meet him, and he's been an invaluable ally in fighting the Incineration that I couldn't have done this without. "

"You sound as if you already know the man," Cursed Arm says, and I can almost hear his smile. "And you think highly of him."

"Well for me to meet him, he'd have to be summoned to Chaldea and fight by my side, wouldn't he? I think, by definition, that means he's among the foremost of heroes."

Cursed Arm falters. "Thank you, Master."

"No. Thank you. And I'm sorry for doubting you."

---

We've been journeying for two days when the mysterious stranger from the fight at the gates catches up with us.

He is, of course, immediately stopped at sword, stake, and spear-point, and told to state his name and business.

"Lower the weapons!" I command, making my way towards the unfortunate fellow with Galahad at my side. "He helped us escape."

He looks at me appraisingly. "You're the Master of Chaldea?"

"That is indeed the case, yes," I say, raising an eyebrow.

"I had suspected that much," he lifts up the corner of his shirt, revealing a bloodstained bandage in the vicinity of one of his kidneys. "We bumped into each other in the crowd, earlier. You stabbed me and left the knife lodged in my right kidney."

"Oh." Well… that's awkward. Siegfried, Georgios, and Galahad are all looking at me in disappointment. Vlad's nodding in approval, which is honestly just as bad. "Um… sorry?"

"The apology is appreciated," the stranger says, dropping his shirt back over his wound. "I had actually followed you to the crowd's outskirts, intending to kill you for attacking me. But then, well, you broke the encirclement and revealed yourself as Chaldea's Master."

"Ah. Well, thank you for not killing me, then," I say, profoundly uncomfortable. "May I ask your name?"

"I am Sir Bedivere of the Round Table," he says, lowering his hood to reveal that he's actually a fairly handsome fellow. "And I have come to ask to join you."

"Bedivere?" Galahad repeats, a grin splitting his face. "It's good to see you!"

"Sir Galahad," Bedivere replies with a nod. "It is no less of a pleasure to see you again. All of Camelot mourned your death." He adopts a politely confused frown. "Although, if you'll permit me to say it, the body is somewhat unexpected."

"Long story, and not one I had much say in," Galahad says with an airy wave. "Are you against the Lion King?"

"Yes. I only just recently in this Singularity, and I was horrified by the atrocities that my king has sunk to." He has a steely cast to his eyes as he looks up at us. "I am loyal to King Arthur, not the grotesque parody of himself he has become."

Huh. 'Cursed Arm, I'm going to need you to keep an eye on Sir Bedivere. He's our newest arrival. He's given us absolutely no reason for us to distrust him so far, and he helped us escape the encirclement at the gates, but, at the same time, he's a Knight of Arthur, in a Singularity where our enemies are all Arthur's knights.'

'Master, this seems… somewhat unwarranted, to be honest,' Cursed Arm replies.

'I know, it's probably just paranoia, but better safe than sorry.'

He agrees, so I return my attention to the animated conversation between the two reunited Knights of Arthur.

"Sir Bedivere, can you tell us anything about Mustafa…" that gets a blank look. "…The Lion King's response to the attack at the gate?"

"Gawain hasn't been sent out to pursue, if that's what you mean," Bedivere assures me. "But I don't doubt that the failure of their Holy Selection, and the removal of some of the people chosen to enter the Holy City, will merit a forceful response. And Galahad can tell you as well as I exactly who King Arthur sends when he needs a problem taken care of."

I look at Galahad, who's grinning like Christmas just came early. "Sir Lancelot. The Lion King will send Sir Lancelot."

"Are you sure?" I ask hesitantly. Both Galahad and Bedivere look at me like I'm an idiot.

"He always sends Lancelot," Bedivere says.

Galahad nods. "Exactly. Pirate raids? Lancelot. Kidnapped noblewoman? Lancelot. Dragon infestation? Lancelot."

Bedivere takes up the list. "Fey shenanigans? Lancelot. Invading coalition of kings? Lancelot. Need to show of Camelot's military strength at a tournament? Lancelot."

Galahad smirks. "Marital duties? Lancelot."

"Sir Galahad!" Bedivere squawks indignantly. "That's our King's wife and your father you're talking about! Have some respect!"

"If they wanted respect, then they shouldn't have committed the sin of adultery and brought shame to the house of Pendragon," Galahad says coolly, before smirking slightly. "Besides, Camelot fell because my worthless lecher of a father screwed everything up, just like I always knew he would. I'm allowed some measure of vindication."

"And yet you never spoke a single word against him, or any other knight, for the entirety of your time in court," Bedivere states, his eyes narrowed.

"Of course I didn't. To slander my fellow knights and comrades-in-arms would be unchivalrous, even if they were, with a few exceptions, lechers, braggarts, idiots, hypocrites, and terrible cooks."

Bedivere looks at him sadly. "Ah. I see."

"What?"

"You were never truly happy, were you? Even though you always smiled."

While Galahad is still staring at him like he's just been slapped, Bedivere turns to me. "Master of Chaldea, is it permissible for me to scout ahead?"

"Fine by me."

He goes out to scout, leaving me alone with the still-dumbstruck Galahad.

"So, um… do you want to talk about it?" I venture after a moment.

"No." He all but growls the denial. "Let's just get back to moving forwards."

And so, the march resumes.

 

[Charles Flynn]

"Sir Bedivere!" I call, waving as I make my way up to him in the haphazard mess tent we pulled together. "I actually have a few questions for you, if you have the time."

He looks down at his half-eaten breakfast of a loaf of bread so hard and stale it could quite likely be used as a murder weapon, and then back at me. "I think I do, actually."

"Thank you." I sit down besides him. "I figured I'd wait until Galahad handed over the body he's in to its rightful owner so she could rest, before I came and asked you this."

"May I ask why you took such a precaution?" Bedivere inquires, looking at me cautiously.

"Nothing nefarious, I assure you. It's just that, given our current array of foes, I thought that I should get a firsthand account of Camelot and its inhabitants that wasn't as biased as Galahad."

"Fair enough," Bedivere concedes, looking down sadly. "He really is a bitter young man, isn't he?"

I laugh. "Y'know, I would've expected the Perfect Knight to be an optimistic idealist. Instead, he's even more cynical than me."

"That's the thing, though," Bedivere says, looking… unsettled. "In Camelot, he wasn't. He never stopped smiling. He never ceased to be courteous or obey the code of chivalry in any way. We called him the Perfect Knight because he was. He never seemed to hold a grudge, never had a poor word to say about anyone, and he was kind and charitable to a fault."

"So, was he just faking it, or did something happen to him on the Grail Quest that completely changed who he was?"

"Maybe. He was only in Arthur's court for six months," Bedivere admits. "He left for the Grail Quest when he turned seventeen."

"He was Camelot's greatest knight at the age sixteen?" I repeat incredulously.

Bedivere shifts uncomfortably. "Umm… well, it's not precisely that. You see, he was only in the court for six months. He rode in, gave Sir Kay a sound drubbing, as one does, parked himself in the Siege Perilous, and then spent the next six months making a resoundingly good impression and meeting the other Knights of the Round Table. We all came to love and admire him, each in their own way, before he departed for the Grail Quest on his seventeenth birthday."

"I've actually met the man, and I find that somewhat hard to believe."

"And I've told you, he wasn't like that when I knew him. And beyond that, it wasn't precisely just because of his incredibly chivalrous nature that everyone adored him. It was because, well…" he looks down.

"We had finally conquered the enemy a year before Galahad showed up. The Saxons were defeated, the Picts pushed back, the Scots quelled, and the Irish repelled. For the first time since the reign of Uther, Logres was at peace. And, quite frankly, we didn't know quite where we were going from there. The old guard had grown old, even if the king hadn't. I myself was pushing fifty, while Lancelot was in his forties. We were all starting to slow down, and, even if by that point we had come to see the King as something inhuman and immortal, it was quickly becoming apparent that… well… that his knights weren't. We needed new blood. Mordred was part of that, but, frankly, he was too sketchy to be seen as the face of the next generation." Bedivere laughs.

"Galahad, though? Lancelot's son, just as great a knight as his father ever was, and growing fast to surpass him? He was the next Lancelot, the man we all knew would become the king's first sword, just like his father before him. And so, we loved him. Because, thanks to him, we suddenly had hope. We could believe that our dear kingdom of Camelot would endure beyond our own generation. We believed that our sacrifices had meaning. Of course we loved him. How could we not? He was our future." He lapses into a sad silence, before biting into his breakfast again. The stale loaf makes a disquieting crunching noise as he chews it.

"And then Galahad died," I finish, feeling sad myself.

"And then Galahad died," Bedivere agrees. "six days before his eighteenth birthday. Of course, that was only when we got the news. It took Bors multiple weeks to get back, and he wasn't sure of the precise date of when Galahad was taken up into Heaven, and Percival cast down the titles and customs of knighthood in order to become a monk. Lancelot was devastated, and, in his grief, declared that his son was the greatest knight to ever live, and he'd duel any man that dared say otherwise to the death."

"So, is that why you can't say he was the greatest knight at Camelot?" I ask.

"Yes. Galahad was a good fighter and a virtuous knight, incredibly so, even if I'm beginning to think that he may have been hidden away and compartmentalized anything about himself that might be unknightly, but he was sixteen. He may have trained constantly, it was his only pastime, and he was incredibly gifted, but the other knights all had decades of experience on him and trained just as hard. That's a massive head start he had to overcome, and quite frankly, I'm not sure he could overcome it." Bedivere sighs and shakes his head. "In life, he never actually fought any of the other Knights of the Round Table. Except Agravaine, but really, beating Agravaine isn't exactly a feat for the bards. The man was a good chancellor, but a terrible fighter."

"Was he really that bad?" I ask. "Agravaine, I mean."

"He once lost to Queen Guinevere."

"Okay, yeah, no, that's pretty bad."

"Galahad never picked fights with the other knights, or engaged in any duels that weren't prompted by a personal insult, and his tourney schedule didn't overlap with any of the heavy hitters. He did joust against Gareth, Kay, and Mordred, though, along with my humble self, so at least in that respect he's capable." Bedivere shakes his head. "All the same, I cannot say if his combat prowess has been overinflated, his title of the Perfect Knight a mere exaggeration born of the grief at his passing, instead of the reality of his ability and character. I'm certainly beginning to doubt whether his virtue was genuine as well, or if it was all merely a mask."

That's… that's not true. Even if he's an abrasive asshole, and nobody knows it better than me, Galahad's a good person. "Hey. Maybe he's not as polite and stoic as he used to be, but Galahad is still an amazing knight, and a good person. He calls me on it when I cross the line, and he never fails to save an innocent in distress. He might be the most judgmental asshole I've ever met, but he lives up to his own standards, and he's still just as much a chivalrous knight in his actions, even if he's not courtly in his words."

"Really?" Bedivere asks, sounding hopeful. "Then… perhaps it was not all a lie."

"Yeah." A thought occurs. "Hey, did he always tend to take off like a bullet the minute he saw a damsel in distress? I might respect him for it, but it's still kind of annoying."

"Yes. He was always like that. His father was the same." Bedivere smiles fondly. "Tell me, does he do the stance when he sees them too?"

"Back stiff, eyes fixed, one leg back and ready to leap into the fray?" I snort. "Yeah. It's like dog that just saw a squirrel."

"An apt description, I suppose," Bedivere says with a chuckle of his own, and looks at the crust that's left of his bread. "It seems that I must be off, and we'll be back on the road soon."

"A pity. I would've liked to talk to you for longer." I get up with a groan and start stretching my legs.

"A sentiment that I find myself sharing," Bedivere admits. "I find myself rather glad to have made your acquaintance, Mister Flynn, even if it has left me short a kidney."

"Again, I really am sorry about that."

"And I forgive you," he gets up himself. "Now, then. Shall we return to our journey?"

---

It's another fours days after Bedivere joined us, and a full six after the massacre at the gates, when we finally come into sight of the mountains. During that time, I took the opportunity to call in just about the last Assassin I thought I'd make use of: Mata Hari. After all, it just wouldn't do to leave the weakness Bedivere revealed to me unexploited, and no man of chivalry can ever truly turn his back on a damsel in distress.

Thus, what I like to call Operation: Fairy Bullshit was born. We chained Mata Hari to a rock, had Cu and Da Vinci put her under your standard trap-here-until-MacGuffins-are-secured spell, and then we moved on leaving her behind us to delay Sir Lancelot. I made sure to send Cu out to leave the three necessary MacGuffins in the lairs of the most dangerous Phantasmal Beasts he could find, before I told Mata Hari their locations. It wouldn't do to have Sir Lancelot get too suspicious, or dismiss it as too great an expenditure of time.

And now, my caution and careful adherence to chivalric genre conventions are paying off in spades. We're scot-free, and, according to Mata Hari's reports through the mental link, Lancelot is still off retrieving the Stone of Unbinding from the Dread Lair of the Burning Chimera of Burjadeen. (It was originally just the Regular Chimera of Burjadeen, but then Cu ended up setting it on fire while he was dropping off the Stone, and it adapted admirably to its new circumstances.)

Honestly, though, setting up that whole diversion has given me a newfound respect for all the wicked knights, evil overlords, and vile enchanters in chivalric literature. Never before have I realized how ridiculously labor-intensive detaining and cursing fair maidens to establish prime quest conditions can be. You've really just got to admire their persistence, at a certain point.

"All right, full stop!" I shout. "We stop here and discuss how we're going to split up and disguise our trail."

While we talk logistics, Mata Hari informs me that Lancelot has returned with the Stone of Unsealing, and is now going off again in search of the final MacGuffin, the Crook of Correction, hidden deep beneath the earth, in the lair of the Lamia Queen, and her countless hissing hordes. (I am at least 90% positive that Cu took the opportunity to seduce the vast majority of said hissing hordes, along with the Queen, because it took him two days to plant all three MacGuffins, [Lancelot had already arrived and set off in search of the first one by the time Cu got back] and when he came back, he was covered in serpentine hickeys.)

"Lancelot's still on our snipe hunt, two day's travel from here," I inform everyone. "Now. How many groups, and how many Servants to a group?"

---

We split the refugees into two groups, one heading towards the village of the Hassan-i-Sabbah of the Hundred Faces, and the one I'm with heading to the village of the Hassan-i-Sabbah of the Cursed Arm. I send Georgios, Cu, Vlad, and Siegfried with the Hundred Faces Group, and keep Cursed Arm, Galahad, Bedivere, and Da Vinci with me. It leaves me a bit short on heavy hitters, I'll admit, but my Servants will return to me once they've secured their refugees' safety. And, perhaps most importantly, I have an in with the leader of the village I'm going to.

We hike through the rocky foothills for another two days, before we're stopped and challenged.

I'm making my way along a narrow mountain ledge, single-file, when and arrow nicks the tip of my nose and embeds itself in the stone in front of my face.

God, I hope that was a warning shot.

"Why do you come to these lands, Knights?" a raspy, menacing voice asks. "State your case quickly, my marksman is a bit… trigger-happy."

I look around and quickly spot Arash, or at least this Singularity's version of him, standing atop a boulder about five hundred yards away with a bow in hand. He gives me a friendly wave.

"We came to defend the refugees we saved from the Holy Selection," I tell the unseen individual, probably this Singularity's version of Cursed Arm. "And seek the aid and protection of the Hashishim."

"And why should we trust your word, hmmm?" Other!Cursed Arm says, materializing atop a rocky spire about thirty yards away from us. "Why should I not kill you and your knights, and then take my people into my village? Or simply forbid you entry, while the others are permitted in?"

One of the refugees, a man with a a makeshift eyepatch over one eye, interrupts. "Lord Cursed Arm! I would ask that you allow these men to join us!"

"Oh, and why is that?" Other!Cursed Arm asks, turning to look at him.

"While their leader, the white man covered in sunburns, is little more than a petty thug and a weakling who coasts off the strength of his subordinates, the men who serve him are all good and honorable. They all jumped to our defense at the gate and have helped us unfailingly since we were rejected and nearly killed by the Holy City. I must ask that you allow them to join us and cast out only their commander!"

Galahad looks like he's about to challenge the man to a duel then and there, but I put a restraining hand on his shoulder as I reign in my own temper. I can't kill the ungrateful little shit now, that'd just make it look like he's telling the truth. At least a lot of the other refugees look just as indignant as Galahad right now.

"May I ask what I've done to earn such hostility?" I ask, my voice deceptively mild. Cu gave me a rune of translation before we parted ways, so I don't have to work through translators for this.

"You stabbed me in the eye!" the man snaps, making me begin to hastily think through the events at the gate. Shit, he does look familiar. "And I saw you stab other people, just for getting close to you! What, not good enough to rub shoulders with us filthy heathens, Crusader?"

"More that I required space to think in order to plan out how we might escape, instead of merely dashing about like a decapitated chicken and grinding anyone too slow to keep up to a bloody paste underfoot. Considering that the plan I concocted with the time to think I bought myself actually worked, and is, as a point of fact, the primary reason you and everyone else in this group are still alive, I would have to say that your eye was a worthy sacrifice."

The refugees' complaints die down, although I have less supporters than before. Instead there's a predominant sense of grudging acceptance, of liking the results, but disliking the methods.

Honestly, that was the only real way to get out of that. I couldn't just deny it, that'd make me sound guilty. I couldn't just ignore it; Cursed Arm would press the issue. Thus, the only way out was to attack the argument's preexisting moral conceit, that stabbing people is bad, and that, since I stabbed people, I'm bad.

By confessing to the action posthaste, and treating it as an obvious necessity (which it was, even though my reasoning at the time was more along the lines of "Oh God, they're going to trample me to death") I defuse the underlying stabbing=bad argument, remind them that I saved all their lives, and, furthermore, guilt-trip them, both for hindering my efforts to save them, and by reminding them of the people killed when trampled underfoot. It's the perfect response. I'm actually impressed with myself for thinking of it so quickly.

Other Cursed Arm nods begrudgingly. "I suppose you may be our ally. But still, I cannot bring myself to trust Knights of the Round Table! No Hassan would ever willingly work with the steel-bound infidels who have defiled our Holy Land!"

"We do have a character witness," I say mildly. "They're a Hassan as well."

"Bah!" Other!Cursed Arm shouts. "No one who worked with infidels could call themselves Hassan-i-Sabbah! I'll believe in your character witness as much as I would in any mangy cur!"

"Really?" I ask mildly, as My!Cursed Arm materializes behind his counterpart, looking embarrassed. "I was under the impression that he had a fairly distinguished record of service and went to incredible lengths in order to earn the title of Hassan-i-Sabbah."

"If he has fallen in with you? Then he is below scum! No true Hassan would work with an invader unless they were compelled by force!" Behind his ranting counterpart, My!Cursed Arm facepalms. Galahad, for his part, is snickering. He's not the only one. "So, I'll face you in- WHY ARE YOU LAUGHING?"

Galahad's to busy cackling to reply, so I just point behind the local version of my favorite wetworks man.

Local!Cursed Arm freezes as he turns around and looks his Chaldean counterpart in the eye.

"So," the fellow who's rapidly retaking the Favorite Assassin spot says drily. "We're a mangy cur, and below scum, are we?"

Local!Cursed Arm's shoulders slump. "Just… just go on to the village."

We happily oblige.

 

[Charles Flynn]

"Sir!" Francois, one of my advance scouts, calls to me. "We found something up ahead!"

"Is it our target?" I ask, almost dreading the answer. Please, God, I'm not ready for Galahad to see me like this. I don't think I can possibly endure my son being ashamed of me. But, all the same, I'm so glad I got the chance to see him again.

"No. It's a woman!"

A woman? Out here? Dammit, I can't afford the delay of escorting her to the refugee camp! I'll have to keep her with me and my knights. I can't just send her off into the wilderness alone. "Living or dead?"

"Alive, but she's chained to a rock!"

...This is starting to feel familiar.

"Alright, let's investigate."

---​

She's a pretty one, I'll give her that. She handles the "damsel chained to a rock" look better than most other damsels in distress I've rescued. Usually, if she's been there for any amount of time, the damsel in question tends to look emaciated, unless the sorcerer imperiling her actually bothered to prevent her from starving. Or defecating herself, I've seen a lot of damsel chained to rocks by foul magics, and it is never an attractive or dignified position. Considering that the woman in question is still fairly plump in all the right places, and doesn't smell like shit, I'd have to say she's only been here a day at most.

"Fair lady, what villain has done this to you?" I ask, sticking to the classics. Back in the day, I used that line about as often as I said 'Hello.' Got pretty embarrassing when I started using it as my standard greeting on reflex, though.

"The vile lord of Chaldea, Charles Flynn, has entrapped me here, goodly knight. He bade his foul sorcerers to curse me, that none may move me from this spot, or break these sorcerous chains, until a quest most valiant is performed, and the Blade of Unbinding, the Stone of Sealing, and the Crook of Correction are all found and brought to this place." She sighs woefully, and somewhat overdramatically. "But he has hidden them behind guardians most mighty, laying down obstacles so great that no knight could ever retrieve them, unless they were the great Sir Lancelot!"

"Then fear not, fair lady, for I am that knight!" I call, subtly flexing my shoulders to set my cape fluttering dramatically. Took me more than a decade to get that move down pat, but I have to admit, it was completely worth it. All the same, this is way too formulaic to be anything other than a transparent way to delay me, and one that is making me thoroughly worried about my son associating with the mastermind behind it. Should I really go out of my way to save her? Should I really risk failing my king, just to save one woman?

Yes. Because she's in trouble, and if I turned my back on her, I could hardly call myself Lancelot. I could hardly call myself a knight.

"My lady, have you hungered or thirsted since you've been chained to this stone?" I ask. It's an important question to ask. I'm assuming the answer is yes, since she isn't sweaty in the slightest in spite of being directly exposed to the sun, but it's always important to be careful. I still remember the first time I ran into a scenario like this, when I returned with the necessary items to unchain the damsel, only to find she'd died of thirst while I was en route.

"Oh." She seems slightly taken aback. "No, I have not."

"Very well." I press a waterskin into her hands. "Please, keep this, just in case that changes."

"Thank you," she's looking at me in surprise. I don't know why, though. It's just a basic precaution. Honestly, if she'd told me for certain that she needed food and water, I would have stationed half my men here, to ensure she remained fed and hydrated.

"May I ask if the wicked Flynn mentioned where these items were?"

"Err... yes. I made sure to memorize them, as they were my only hope of freedom." She rattles off a list of directions.

"Thank you, milady. I assure you, we'll have you free soon."

"Wait!" she calls as I turn to go. "You... obviously have some kind of mission to be out here. Why are you letting it go, just to help me?"

Well, now she's just not making sense. "Why shouldn't I? It's the right thing to do."

She doesn't have anything to say to that, so I take my leave, my men following me as I head towards the rookery of the Wicked Wyverns of Wisconsin, to retrieve the Blade of Unbinding.

---​

As I chop yet another wyvern in half, a thought occurs: I am never getting all this blood out of my cape. Three wyverns lunge at me, and I dodge the first, kick the second off course, and decapitate the third in one smooth stroke, even as I contemplate the abysmal state of my laundry, and my wardrobe in general. I've had to clean my armor by hand, with sheep's wool and olive oil (not the best stain remover, but it was all I could get my hands on) to get the crusted blood off of it.

I absent-mindedly grab a wyvern by the throat as it tries to attack me, and then hold it up as a shield against its brother's attack, before slicing through the both of them while they're entangled. Still, while I can clean my armor, my cape is another matter entirely. The whole thing a patchwork of dried bloodstains nowadays, moldy green, and grey, with the occasional splash of rust brown. It's ugly as sin, and I can't get it cleaned, mostly because we don't have anyone doing our laundry. The King said it was a frivolity and a waste, but really, why can't we have washerwomen? The Crusaders had washerwomen.​

I notice that the wyverns are all dead as a dragon, one of the dumb ones, erupts from the mound, roaring its fury to the heavens, and I decide to table my lamentations over the state of my clothing, at least for the moment. This might actually take some concentration.

Right, just like riding a horse: just follow your muscle memory. Sidestep the fire breath, dodge the claws, and then, when it tries to bite you, dodge to the right, grab it by the horns with your left hand, and then...

"ARONDIGHT OVERLOAD!" I cut its head straight off.

Alright then, time to go back a mile to where I told my men to wait for me, and then tell them to help me search for the Blade of Unbinding. I walk off, leaving the various draconic bodies behind me. Thirty-two wyverns and a dragon. Easily handled, but still, a pleasant workout.

Now then, onto the rest. And then... and then I'll have to go see my son again.

I firmly redirect my thoughts to a more optimistic bent. After all, who knows? Maybe the other monsters will take me a week to get through.

 

[Charles Flynn]

Once we've spent the day helping the refugees settle into Cursed Arm's village, and hunting up food alongside Arash, we're called into Cursed Arm's hut.

I notice, as I step inside, that it's easily the most worn of all the structures in the village, and certainly the plainest. I mentally bump my estimation of our ally up a few notches. He clearly takes the responsibilities of command seriously.

Other!Cursed Arm is waiting for us inside. We file in, with My!Cursed Arm bringing up the rear. Okay, that's it, we need to do something about the name situation.

"Before we begin," I interject, holding up my hand. "Can we please address a situation I've noticed?"

"By all means," Local!Cursed Arm says amiably. "What issue would this be?"

"The name situation. We have two Hassan-i-Sabbahs of the Cursed Arm in our group right now. I think we can all see the potential for confusion there."

The Cursed Arms nod reluctantly.

"Cursed Arm?" both look at me expectantly. "Okay, my Cursed Arm?"

"Yes, Master?"

"Since we're the new guys, at least in this Singularity, I think that we should be the ones to yield on this matter. If that's acceptable with you, that is?"

He hesitates for a moment. "…What do you have in mind?"

"I was thinking we could give you an alternative cognomen while we're in the Singularity, to distinguish you from your doppelganger over there." I nod to Local!Cursed Arm. "I mean, since you're both Hassan-i-Sabbah, the cognomen describing your unique talent is the only thing that really differentiates you, at least namewise."

"Fair. Slightly hurtful, but fair."

"Oh, I'm sorry if-"

"No, it's fine." He waves his hand dismissively. "What alternative cognomen would you propose?"

"I was thinking Scaevola, actually."

He looks at me skeptically. "'Left-handed?'"

I blink. "Wait, it means left-handed? I thought it meant scorched hand."

"No, it means left-handed. I'm not sure why you'd think otherwise."

"It was the cognomen of a famous Roman assassin," I recount, one hand sheepishly behind my head. "Gaius Mucius Scaevola. So called because, when on a mission to assassinate the Etruscan king, Lars Porsenna, he set his right hand on fire, as a demonstration that he and the two hundred and ninety-nine other Roman youths who'd sworn to assassinate Porsenna would sacrifice anything and everything in order to see Porsenna dead, including their own bodies. I thought you might like it."

"Well, now that you explained it to me, I have to admit that I find myself warming to the name," the newly redubbed Scaevola admits. "I think I'll keep it. Although that Gaius Mucius fellow does sound familiar."

"You don't remember? We fought him in Rome, when we were storming Romulus' city. He swore to kill Nero, and we had to stop him." That was a tough fight. Not because he was a very good assassin, mind you, his sense of tactical planning mostly boiled down to 'walk up to whoever looks most important and stab them to death,' but those Noble Phantasms of his were a nightmare to deal with.

"Oh, yes!" Scaevola says, smiling. "That one shouty fellow whose hand was on fire? Kept screaming about how his hand burned bright, and its red glow told him to destroy us? And screaming 'FOR ROMA!' at the top of his lungs?"

"That's the one. I'm surprised you didn't remember him sooner. We had to kill him three hundred times."

Cursed Arm clears his throat, and we all turn to him. Da Vinci looks slightly annoyed, so I'm guessing she wanted to chime in. That's right. She's Italian, isn't she? I suppose it would be expected of her to be familiar with the classics. "Much as I appreciate the discussion of my counterpart's new name, and as fascinating as those old war stories of yours may be, we are on a bit of a time crunch, here. Could we perhaps table this discussion for later, and move on to the main issues?"

"Certainly, Lord Cursed Arm." I dip my head respectfully.

"Thank you. Now, our enemies, the Round Table, are deadly adversaries. To face them, we'll need to muster up as many Servants, and as much military might as we can. I would propose that…"

'Master.' Georgios interrupts over the mental link, and I turn my attention to my distant Servant, and away from Cursed Arm's tactical briefing.

'Georgios? How go things at the village of the Hassan of the Hundred Faces?'

'Somewhat poorly.'

'Shit. Is she not letting you in?'

'No, she recognized me from the desert, and the refugees all vouched for us. Currently our primary issue is that we're under attack from Sir Mordred, and his retinue of artificial Holy City Knights.'

Thaaaaaat's a problem. I'm about to speak up, when Arash runs into the tent. "Cursed Arm! Hundred Face is under attack!"

"WHAT?" Cursed Arm bellows. "Are you sure?"

"I can see it right now," Arash says.

"I can second that. The Servants I sent to the village with the other half of the refugees contacted me to tell me they were under attack."

"Damnation. Well, we were already planning on visiting Hundred Face in order to recruit them, I suppose this simply means we'll have to visit even more swiftly."

Arash lights up like a kid on Christmas. "Soooo…"

"Yes, I mean that damned Arrow Express of yours, you absolute lunatic."

"Alright, let's get going!" He ushers us out from the tent and up the cliff face with a cheerful smile that doesn't reassure me in the slightest.

"We'll need someone to stand guard on this village," I point out.

"Damn." Cursed Arm looks at his counterpart. "Scaevola?"

"It would be my honor."

"All right, that's settled!" Arash is still grinning like the cat that got the canary as he ties some ropes to one of his arrows. "Now get on the slab and lie down!"

"Flynn?" Galahad asks, looking nervous.

"Yeah, I have a bad feeling about this too." I say as I lie down on the slab. "But if Cursed Arm says it's our only way to get there in time, then I believe him. Hold on a sec, have you actually seen Star Wars?"

"Mash has," Galahad says, looking a little irritated for some reason. "Doctor Roman made sure to show her all three movies."

"What about the prequels?" I ask without thinking.

"There are prequels? Roman never mentioned thoseaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaagghh!" His words turn into a prolonged scream as Arash finally seems to find the angle he was looking for, and then, in a move antithetical to a Newtonian understanding of physical motion, shoots an arrow that drags the slab we're on after it at Mach 2.

That's not an exaggeration, by the way. I can hear the sonic boom. The g-force is absurd, and I feel like my flesh is peeling from my face as I hurtle forward, shooting straight towards a nearby cliff face.

Just when I think that we're all going to die, Galahad kicks the plate we're on and hurtles forwards, shield in hand.

"LORD CAMELOT!"

And the shining walls cushion our fall.

Well, most of our falls. Cursed Arm and Arash both get smooshed between the plate and the rock wall, but they walk it off. Sometimes, Servants are just stupidly tough.

I just lie there where I fell for a second, feeling my heart racing, and marveling at the strange and almost miraculous fact that I'm still alive.

Then I get up and cuss Arash out.

"Okay, okay, let's all agree that we've made mistakes," Cursed Arm says, placing himself between us. "But we're here now, and we need to deal with the problem at hand."

"Alright."

We head up the bluff, and see the battle currently unfolding. Mordred is going toe to toe with Siegfried inside the village, the dragonslayer easily holding his own against the Pendragon bastard. Meanwhile, Cu, Georgios, and Vlad have managed to bottleneck the invading knights at the valley leading into the village, beginning to form a barricade out of the broken bodies of their enemies. Hundred Face, for their part, seems to be finishing up evacuating the village.

'Siegfried, how goes the battle?'

'I'm faring well, Master,' he reports. 'I have proven able to penetrate Sir Mordred's armor, while he proves incapable of doing the same to my Armor of Fafnir.'

'Analysis of the enemy: has he given anything away?' I mean, sure, only an arrogant idiot explains their plans and capabilities to the enemy before they've actually won, but then, Mordred kind of struck me as a bit of an arrogant idiot.

'He loudly bragged that he, like the other Knights of the Lion King, has been granted a Gift of some sort, which he calls 'Rampage.' I can only assume that this empowerment elevates them beyond even their normal counterparts.'

'Damn. What does his do?'

'It burns through his soul, but allows him to utilize his Noble Phantasm an unlimited number of times. Consequently, I haven't let him use his Noble Phantasm so much as once.'

'How'd you pull that off?' I ask, somewhat impressed.

'His armor doesn't let him use his Noble Phantasm. He has to remove his helmet in order to use his Gift, and thus, whenever he tries, I make a point of reminding him of the proper importance of head protection. With my pommel. And my fists.'

Mordred, taking advantage of Siegfried's momentary distraction, disengages, his helmet sliding back in some sort of intricate unlocking mechanism. He's actually done fairly well for himself. The only rent in his armor is on his right bicep, and I don't think that cut actually did much damage. His nose, on the other hand, is quite thoroughly broken, and he's missing a few teeth.

"Clarent Blood- FUCK!" his attempt to use his Noble Phantasm is interrupted by Siegfried, who brings Balmung down on Mordred's head in a vertical chop, forcing the Knight of Treachery to block. He wreathes himself in crackling red lightning, but it does nothing against Siegfried's armored flesh, as the taller knight relentlessly pushes his opponent back. With a growl, Mordred returns the favor, helmet re-engaging as he rushes Siegfried in a flurry of frantic blows. But it does nothing. Siegfried has the reach advantage, and he's clearly the more skilled swordsman. Mordred's Mana Bursts can never quite penetrate the Armor of Fafnir, and they can't buy him enough distance to fire off his Noble Phantasm

"Well I'll be damned," Cursed Arm says with grudging respect. "I'm beginning to get the impression that they could've handled this without us."

"Well, I am their mana supplier, so I suppose that me being here is boosting their performance," I point out. "But yes. I sent my heaviest hitters to protect the group I wasn't with."

"And you didn't save some for your own group?" Cursed Arm asks, and I can practically hear the raised eyebrow from behind the mask. "Confident of you."

"I suppose." I say, looking down at the fight.

'Siegfried, stop toying with him. Finish the job.'

'As you command, my Master.'

Mordred takes another leap back, only to find himself backed up against one of the cliffs encircling the village, with a determined Siegfried bearing down on him like a freight train.

"Clarent- FUUUUUCK!" he screams, as he's forced to frantically parry Siegfried's lightning-fast attacks, limbs blazing with red lightning as he brings his sword in to block.

"You, know," Siegfried says conversationally, as he hammers Mordred back into the wall. "Your technique is terrible. You rely too much on overwhelming the enemy and can only parry according to your instincts. Against someone with enough combat experience, though, that advantage of yours becomes meaningless. Further, your over-reliance on your Noble Phantasms leaves you vulnerable."

"SHUTUPSHUTUPSHUTUP!" Mordred roars, desperately pushing him back.

"I was only trying to help." He pommel bashes Mordred's nose, and I see it cave in. "My apologies if I unintentionally offended you."

"FUCK YOU! CLAREBT-"

Siegfried brings down his blade, and, as Mordred desperately brings his blade up to parry, Fafnir's Bane says but one word.

"Balmung."

The glowing, etheric blast of Siegfried's mighty Noble Phantasm disintegrates Mordred's unarmored skull and carves a new canyon at least a mile long into the cliff face.

Mordred's now decapitated corpse twitchs, desperately trying to cut into Siegfried, but it misses. His head is gone, and his torso has been bifurcated, a twisted, half-melted, burning mess of mangled meat. His left arm dangles somewhere around his waist, and his right arm, and the corresponding right half of his torso, is barely any better, drooping over under its own weight as it desperately strikes at Siegfried, barely held up by the charred and melted remnants of his spine.

This sight engraves itself in my mind, and I know that, soon enough, it'll be joining my nightmares.

Finally, mercifully, Mordred's body fades.

I turn to Galahad. "I'm sorry that you had to see that."

He sighs. "No. It's fine. Mordred was my friend, but… this is how he'd want to die. In honorable combat, fighting for his king. I'm not going to hold that against you. It's just…"

"What?"

"When we face my father, promise me that you'll let me fight him. Honorably, with no tricks." He looks at me sternly. "I don't want our match to be tainted by your interference again."

What is he- Oh. When we first met, and he first took over Mash's body. I had almost forgotten about that.

Do I make the promise? On the one hand, it's a major disadvantage against Lancelot. On the other, this is important to Galahad. Briseis-level important. If I don't give it to him, he might pull an Achilles.

I suddenly remember Sir Phelot, and how well he fared against Lancelot. Okay, yes, maybe treachery and dishonorable combat can't carry the day against the Knight of the Lake.

"You have my word. But I reserve the right to bail you out if it looks like you're about to die. Mash is still in there, and I'm not letting you drag her down with you. Are we clear?"

"Crystal." He grins. "Thank you, Flynn."

"Anytime."

And so, as Cu and Cursed Arm begin hunting down the knights that fled, Galahad and I descend into the valley, to deal with the battle's aftermath.

 

[Charles Flynn]

The reconstruction was in progress when I retired for the night, but by then, after a day of walking, and Arash's little… flight, I was pretty much dead on my feet. Cursed Arm told me to get some rest, so I found an unoccupied hut, and set down to rest.

Thus, when I wake up, I'm rested and refreshed, and ready to deal with yet another day of this seemingly endless slog through human history.

Okay, that was a bit too depressive. Come on, Charlie, think happy thoughts. Think of your dogs, they'll be so happy to see you once this is over and you can go home! Think of Solomon with his testicles in a vice, looking up in fear as righteous vengeance for his sins draws near!

Alright, good cheer restored. Now, time to check in on absent agents.

'Mata Hari,' I send over the mental link as I shake myself to full wakefulness. 'Report in. You've been out of contact for a full day.'

'Oh. Errrr… Yes, I suppose I have,' she sends uncomfortably. 'Sorry about that.'

My entire body tenses. This is… worrying. 'What's the status of Lancelot? Has your cover been blown?' Son of a bitch, I thought she was a professional! How the hell am I supposed to deal with the fallout if she's been compromised?

I quickly relegate my paranoid impulse to immediately command-spell her into suicide to the status of "last resort." Let's not be too hasty here.

'Lancelot brought back the last artifact and freed me,' Mata Hari says after a brief moment of hesitation. 'And… he thinks I'm just a refugee you used as a disposable decoy. He doesn't know I'm a Servant.'

'That's excellent. Are you safe?' I ask. 'Do you have reason to fear for your life, or that you'll be mistreated in any way?'

'No. He's been very kind, a perfect gentleman.' I suddenly realize exactly how she was compromised. 'And… he's letting me travel with him. He says he's established a refugee camp that I can stay in. I… I believe him! Please, Master, do we have to fight him? He's a good person!' She's crying. The mental link doesn't carry over the sound of the sobbing, but I can still feel it in her every word. 'I don't want to betray him!'

Oh, wow, first headache of the day, and I haven't even been awake for an hour, yet! My spy's been compromised, simply by dint of Lancelot being a decent person, and, if I go for my usual hardline let-no-enemy-escape policy, I'm probably in for a betrayal. On the other hand, if I try to diplomance my way out of this, Galahad will probably kill me. Setting aside that fact, if Lancelot has really set up a refugee camp, and he's been sparing refugees, can I really in good conscience have him hunted down? Am I not obligated to try and pull him over to the right side?

FUCKING HELL! I WAS NOT PREPARED TO START MY DAY WITH THIS!

'I'll take it under consideration and see if I can woo him over to our side,' I tell Mata Hari, pushing my glasses up to massage the bridge of my nose. It seems to soother her worries over the fate of her newfound knight in shining armor a bit, and she gives the rest of her report. Apparently, they've ceased their pursuit, and they've been called back to the Holy City to report their failure to the Lion King. Lancelot's been keeping her under wraps, hidden away from his fellow Knights of the Lion King (currently consisting only of Agravaine and Gawain,) and any soldiers of the Holy City not under his command. He plans on leaving a force of his soldiers outside the city in order to keep her safe.

Honestly, the worst part is that, when she reports his intent to keep her safe, I can't help but get the sense that he actually means it. He's going out of his way to save a refugee and putting his life and standing with the Lion King on the line, simply because he believes that it's the right thing to do.

And now, I have to figure out whether we're killing him.

I can't decide on this right now, so I get to my feet, get the rest of my uniform on, and then go out to meet with the others. Cursed Arm said that he'd be holding a briefing in the morning. Time to see what it's about.

---

Cursed Arm taps on the map currently being projected by one of Da Vinci's inventions. "This is our target, the Western Fort. One of our number, the Hassan of Serenity, is contained within. She was captured a while back, but we don't think they've managed to properly break her yet. This is a rescue mission, and one that needs to advance on a strict timeframe. We've got intelligence that Sir Agravaine is riding in on his way to interrogate her personally."

Hold on a second. "Wait, he's riding out in person?"

Cursed Arm nods, not seeing where this is going. Everyone's looking at me now.

"This is perfect!" I start grinning.

"I don't follow."

"Well, let's think about this. We have two Heroic Spirits from an order that specializes in decapitation strikes on hand, and one of our most dangerous enemies is going to be travelling and vulnerable." I grin ferally. "Hassan, how many times has Sir Agravaine left the Holy City?"

Hundred Face and Cursed Arm start to answer at the same time, and then get into a staring contest. Cursed Arm wins. "Twice, counting this one."

I can see the gears turning. That's been the problem, here. Serving as a leader of men, looking after the welfare of his village, it's hamstrung him. It's made him soft, made him forget who he is. He's been fighting like a hero, thinking like a hero. Now, though, he's remembering what it is to think like an Assassin.

"How high priority is Agravaine, though?" Galahad interjects, looking annoyed. "He's a shit fighter, and he's probably planning to betray the Lion King anyways. I say the damsel in distress should take priority."

"Of course you do," I say with a sigh. "But, let me answer your question with another question: If Agravaine is obviously the Round Table's Judas, and everyone disliked him, then why did King Arthur keep him as his Chancellor?"

"Because he was good at it," Bedivere answers, shocking Galahad. "I hated him as much as everyone else, I won't lie, but, well, it was only after Agravaine died that I realized how much he actually did. He was the glue that kept the Round Table together, even if it was through hatred, a constant looming threat that kept us as united bloc, kept us from picking fights with each other. And beyond that, he was the King's implementer, just as much as Kay was. He handled the logistical side of King Arthur's ideals and war efforts and took care of day-to-day concerns. He was the most unlikeable man I've ever met, but he was also easily the best chancellor the King could have ever asked for."

Yep, that just about confirms my suspicions. Ever since my stint as the Emperor Nero's personal assistant/quartermaster/favorite sexual harassee, I've been acutely aware that no amount of charisma, idealism, or political power will ever get rid of the logistical headaches inherent to coordinating a large group of people, be it a city, an army, or an empire. Behind every great leader, there is always a bureaucracy of some form. Empires may rise and fall, but paperwork… paperwork is eternal.

Thus, if you can locate the logistics guy, you know exactly who to kill to completely fuck your enemy's plans over. And, well, lucky us, because our current enemy's logistics guy is currently heading our way.

"So, is everyone beginning to understand why this is such a windfall?" I ask, grinning. "When we killed Tristan and Mordred, nothing really changed, save that the Lion King lost a bit of his military might. If we kill Agravaine, on the other hand?" I tent my fingers as my smile turns positively malevolent. "They'll eat each other alive."

"Are you- Are you seriously suggesting we leave our comrade imperiled in order to take a shot at an enemy who's barely worth fighting?" Galahad sputters. "I- this is ridiculous!"

"No," Hundred Face's current spokesman says, sharpening a dagger. "It's an opportunity. Serenity would gladly lay down her life for the cause. Anyone who has earned a place in the Hashashim would, much less one who has risen to the exalted title of Hassan-i-Sabbah. If we pass up this chance to secure our victory, we will disgrace our titles, and bring shame to our order."

"You would abandon your comrade?" Galahad asks disbelievingly, staring between Cursed Arm and Hundred Face.

"Yes, boy!" Hundred Face snaps. "We are not your crusading knights, full of lofty ideals and foolhardy chivalry! We are Hashashim! We are faceless, nameless, and numberless, sworn to defend our Holy Land by any means necessary. If it means that we must sacrifice some of our number, then so be it! If it means that we must slay the innocent, so be it! If it means that we must lay down our very lives, so be it! We will do whatever it takes and let nothing slow us down!" The current Face takes a deep breath, and then retakes his seat. "If it appeases the mewlings of your conscience, boy, then go and save Serenity yourself. She would do the same as us if our places were reversed."

"You dare-" I quickly place myself between Galahad and Hundred Face before this can escalate any further.

"Okay, let's put this to a vote. All in favor of taking out one of our enemies' heaviest hitters, and quite possibly saving the world?"

Hundred Face, Cursed Arm, Da Vinci, Vlad and I all raise our hands.

"All opposed?"

Galahad, Cu, and Georgios raise their hands. Siegfried and Bedivere both abstain.

"That's a hundred and four to three in favor," I note.

"A hundred and four?" Galahad asks sourly.

"Each of Hundred Face's personalities gets a vote."

The current spokesface blinks in surprise. "Actually, if that's the case, then the vote is eighty-three to sixteen in favor. Some of us abstained, and a few of us voted to saved her."

"We'll go to rescue Serenity, Galahad. But only after we've dealt with Agravaine. He's easily the biggest threat out of our current foes. The Lion King, Gawain, and Lancelot are all difficult enemies to beat, certainly, but Agravaine is what keeps their army together."

"Fine," Galahad all but growls. "I'll go along with this. But you'd better keep your promise."

That kills my smile, as I hesitate, not entirely sure how to broach the possibility of approaching Lancelot diplomatically and winning him over to our side.

"Very well," Cursed Arm says, already scanning the map and unaware of my inner turmoil. "Now, how shall we go about this?"

I find myself grinning again, Cursed Arm having been my unknowing savior from the painful conversation still ahead of me. "I might have a few ideas on the matter, actually."

 

[Charles Flynn]

Galahad's not talking to me.

We're sitting pretty high up the rocky, boulder-strewn slope, crouching behind cover and waiting for our target to arrive. He's been making it abundantly clear that he doesn't agree with this. I think it offends his knightly sensibilities.

I want to apologize. Find a way to broach the subject. To apologize, to appease him with a bout against his father, but… If I'm honest, I think that sending Galahad out against Lancelot is basically the same thing as trying to kill Lancelot. And, well, there's the problem. It feels like whatever choice I make; I'll end up alienating one of my Servants and costing us a valuable asset. And I can't help but try to find a third option.

So instead, we sit in silence, him sulking and me thinking, until Hundred Face nods at us.

Our target's almost here.

I peer up over my cover, taking a moment to appreciate my position, high enough to have a clear view of the battlefield, and close enough to still provide my Servants with mana. Agravaine's retinue of knights and men-at-arms is still following its intended route, as the Faces we'd seeded along the route to serve as advanced warning had assured us.

Now, then. I wait until just when they're in the process of passing us to signal the assault.

Siegfried and Cu slam into the formation, snapping it in half, as Georgios and Vlad place themselves respectively ahead and behind the formation along the road. We're on a steep cliff, no true object for the Servants, but nigh impassible for men-at-arms, and difficult indeed to traverse for the dim and inflexible Selection Knights. Easily the best possible spot for an ambush. Now that we've got them penned in, divided, and in disarray, with Arash providing sniper fire, and Hundred Face providing numbers as they bury the rear-guard in their bodies.

Of course I expect something to go horribly wrong.

Agravaine start boasting about something, I think, but I can't hear him from where I'm situated, especially since he's sensibly taking cover behind some of his Selection Knights. And then, sure enough, things go wrong.

Several Selection Knights roar in rage, their armor turning black as they attack without restrain or any sense of concern for their well-being, actually managing to go toe-to-toe with Cu and Siegfried, making up for their lack of improvistational skill with pure savagery and overwhelming force.

Now, suddenly, Agravaine's position doesn't look so untenable. I can hear him barking commands, and his forces begin to reconnect, forming battle-lines as best he can, a three-sided wall of steel.

The initial thrust has stalled, which means it's all up to Cursed Arm, now.

"GAE BOLG!"

Oh, Cu managed to break through, that's nice. I watch as he lays into the rank-and-file, cutting his way towards Agravaine and the Selection Knight guarding him.

Agravaine's planning something, but that's about when Cursed Arm Zabaniyas him, concluding the engagement quite nicely. A pleasant surprise, really. I spent every single moment during the fighting expecting something to go catastrophically wrong.

Cursed Arm devours the heart, and then looks up towards me, giving the prearranged signal that he successfully consumed Agravaine's memories.

Seriously, this is great! It's like Christmas! Everything's coming up me, and my plans are all going, well, according to plan.

I immediately begin planning my contingencies for when the Wheel of Fortune decides it's time to kick me in balls.

'All Servants, Agravaine has been killed and all objectives met. Terminate all witnesses, and get a fire going to burn the bodies.' No use giving the enemy actionable intel on our capabilities, after all.

The whole affair is done in half an hour, leaving me jumpy, constantly expecting the other shoe to drop. We polish off the remaining enemies easily enough and burn all the bodies save those of the Selection Knights. Those we keep for dissection and analysis by Da Vinci.

Once we've finished our cleanup, however, we head out towards the fortress.

According to Cursed Arm's stolen memories, Serenity was kept restrained by one of Agravaine's Noble Phantasms. Consequently, we've amended our plans. No longer are we going to try to break in. Instead, we'll be waiting for when Serenity breaks out.

Still, as we leave, I can't help but look over my shoulder.

Call me superstitious, but I can't escape the sense that the worst is yet to come.

 

[Charles Flynn]

"Damn," I mutter, looking out over the absolute massacre taking place, when less than a minute ago we were proceeding peacefully at marching speed. I should have expected an ambush! This is the perfect ground for it! But victory, it would seem, has bred complacency. Something I'll have to correct once I get out of this.

If I can get out of this. I lost half my men in the Assassins' initial strike, and I'm losing more by the minute from that infernal Archer of theirs.

We're too densely packed in here. The road so narrow that only four of us can walk abreast, and my men are already panicking.

"Front line!" I snap out. "We're pushing through and leaving them in the dust behind us!"

Selection Knight #375, my current human shield, intercepts another arrow, as, to the rear of our formation, Knights #542 and 543 are still berserking, and holding back the two human blenders who managed to shred my forces in their first strike. That leaves me with two more Selection Knights that haven't engaged the enemy, since 376 was crushed along with the rest of my rear guard and our supply wagons under the waves of black-clad Assassins now agilely surging towards us. We can't stay in this killbox any longer, or soon I'll be completely out of men.

"Knights # 541 and 544, advance to the lead of our formation and destroy any and all obstacles that stand against us! All men, line up! Vanguard and right flank, ready your spears! Everyone else, get your shields up, and-"

Then, my plans all crumble with a cry of "GAE BOLG!" I look numbly on, as the devil in blue drives his crimson spear through Knight 543's heart, and then gleefully leaps over the now fading knight to slaughter my troops.

I'm not making it out of this alive, am I? That's Cu Chulainn.

I look at my men, and I see their fear. But still they hold formation. Still they look to me to save them, still they look to Agravain of Iron, indomitable and undefeated (even though that's mostly just because I'm smart enough to run from fights I can't win.)

Very well. If I am to die here, then I will do my king proud. I draw my blade and pull out the poison I designed while manufacturing our Berserkers.

I'm sorry, my King. I only wish I could have seen it through to the end. I remove the cork with my teeth, and then-

"Zabaniya."

There's a sudden, burning pain in my chest, and I can't breathe. I feel something wet drip down my back as I fall to my knees. The vial, and even my sword both fall from my suddenly limp hands.

Turning my body over so I can see who attacked me feels like a labor worthy of Hercules, and by the time I've managed it, I can see that my troops have broken, scattering in a panic, every last man for himself.

Above me, I see Death, my heart's blood dripping down his skeletal chin. His black robes fluttering in the wind, dark as a cloudy night, his bone-white face stained red with blood. My blood. He nods as he looks up at some distant crevice half a mile up the slope, paying me no mind, and I realize that this is the only chance I'll get to take him down with me.

My hand fumbles as I reach for my fallen sword, trembling fingers wrapping around the hilt. My body is tired, so damn tired, but it still obeys my final wishes, my muscles tensing for one. Last. Push! I bring my sword up, ready to drive it in through my enemy with final lunge, and then-

A dagger pins my sword arm to the ground as Grim Death returns his hollow eyes to me. I feel tears begin to drip down my face, shame and helplessness filling my clouded mind as my body, having failed to execute my last will and testament, refuses to rise again. This can't be how it ends! I can't fail my king like this!

Around me, my men are slaughtered, their pleas for mercy falling on deaf ears, and I realize that our deaths meant nothing. No information will be allowed to escape. We cannot even help our king with our deaths, nor are we permitted to face the end with dignity.

And as I feel my flesh begin to dissolve, I realize that I have never hated any man so much as I do this inhuman thing that has killed me, and even now unsheathes its blades to finish the job.

A knife descends in a taloned hand, and I know no more.

 

[Charles Flynn]

"Well, I think I can freely say that this particular fort's been neutralized," I comment as we enter through the western fortress's main gates. The walls and courtyard are all littered with the corpses of the guards. We found a small contingent of them that had evidently tried to flee when Serenity started picking them off. They didn't make it to the Holy City, but there might've been others, so we'll have to be quick about this.

"Serenity?" Hundred Face calls. "If you're in here, it's Hundred Face! We took out Agravaine on the road!"

There's a long moment of silence. Then Serenity de-astralizes. "About time."

"Good to see you too," Cursed says drily. "Anyone else still alive in this place?"

"There was another prisoner, an Archer named Tawara Touta, but he left. Said he had to go find his master and take care of her."

Huh. Tawara Touta… why does that sound familiar? Oh! I summoned him! He's Rice Guy!

Meh, we'll manage.

"Well, I hope he finds her all right," I say, which makes Serenity turn her attention to me.

"Who's the lobster?"

"That's Charles, the Master of Chaldea," Cursed Arm says. "He's been a great help."

"Hm. I suppose he'll do." She walks past us, maintaining a safe distance. "Now, can we please hit the road? I haven't slept in a week, I've been tortured, and maybe of all, I've had to sit through these idiots' laughable excuse for an interrogation. If one of my recruits was as laughably amateurish as this sorry lot, I'd have killed them on the spot."

"Huh."

"What?" She glares at me.

"Normally the version of you we summoned to Chaldea is a bit more polite."

"Maybe she is. But I just went through a week of torture and solitary confinement while surrounded by idiots. I am in a spectacularly bad mood. And, making the matter worse, now my colleagues dragged some random idiot back with them to gawk and ask stupid questions." She turns and walks away. "Now, can we just go?"

"Yeah, we have horses."

"Don't bother, they'll just die if I try to ride them."

We exchange looks, and then follow.

---​

After our sparse dinner at camp the next night, the topic of who we should target next comes up.

"Lancelot." Galahad says firmly, and the rest of them nod in agreement.

"Are you sure?" I ask, realizing that public opinion is against me.

"Yes," Cursed Arm chimes in with a self-satisfied smile. "If we kill him, too, like you did with Agravaine, we'll only have to deal with Gawain and the Lion King. Plus, he's the only one out in the open right now. According to Intoxicating Smoke's surveillance, he's been sent out to hunt us. We can use that to trap him and finish him off."

As I look at them, all eager for the kill, I realize with a start that my choice has been made for me. It's not just Galahad that'll doubt me if I try to negotiate with Lancelot. All of them will.

And so, I have no choice but to begin planning the ambush and execution of a good man whose greatest crime has been borne of a bad situation.

The weight of responsibility has never felt heavier than it does now.

 

[Charles Flynn]

I burst through the doors of my king's sacred palace, a retinue of my guards behind me.

"Gawain." My king's lip curls in disdain. "Why have you interrupted my preparations?"

"My King, the Holy City is revolting!"

"No it isn't," she says, confused, raising her Holy Lance to point at me. "I specifically designed the Holy City's sewer system and hygiene codes to avoid such an issue. And even if this was not sufficient to prevent odor build-up, such matters should be brought to Sir Agravaine, and not myself." Rhongomyniad begins to spin. "For the crime of interrupting my workings over trivial matters, I sentence you to-"

"My King, Agravaine is dead, and the Holy City has risen up in revolt!"

"What?" For the first time since my summoning, the Lion King actually looks surprised by something.

"During the day, when I was guarding the gates, a runner from the eastern fort reached us. He claims that two days ago, their prisoner, who was restrained by Agravaine's Black Chains, got free, and slaughtered them all, with him barely escaping with his life. More of the garrison from the Eastern Fort showed up after that, and they confirmed his story. None of them wished to bring word to you, however, and so they entreated me to be the one to bring you the news."

"Foolish of them," my King notes, her face still utterly dispassionate. "I would not have killed them for completing their assigned duty, but now I must have them killed for their cowardice."

"A bit late for that, my King," I say with a pained smile. "They're all most likely dead. Once the sun had set, and my duties ended, I began making my way through the city, and found that word had reached the city, and that riots had started."

"Why, though?" She looks honestly perplexed at the thought of her citizens rising up against her. "I have ruled justly, and insured that their lives have been comfortable and fulfilling. I have made my city a paradise on Earth, and allowed them to live in it. Why would they reject my benevolence?"

I look at her incredulously. "Your Grace, I believe that they are slightly upset about their friends and family being slaughtered at our gates, and unwilling to indulge in luxury while countless others starve, simply because they met your personal criteria of worthiness."

"Why would they object? To judge who is worthy and who is not is my prerogative as a god."

I wince. "They're... ah... not too happy about you declaring yourself a god, either." Hell, I'm not too happy about that part, and I'd follow her to hell and back.

"Very well." she raises her lance. "Have the soldiers dispose of them."

"The soldiers are revolting, too."

She frowns. "Then have the Selection Knights dispose of them."

"We don't have any of those, either. You sent our entire supply out with Lancelot."

"And I was not informed of this why?"

"My King, it was your order."

She frowns for the moment, and then sighs. "Very well. Stand by me. We shall go to dispose of the rioters, and perhaps remind them of what is righteous."

"As you would have it, my King," I say with a sigh.

---​

I watch in muted horror as the king I swore to serve unleashes her Sacred Lance on a crowd. The deaths of those at the epicenter of the blast are swift, but the deaths of those on the outskirts? Those are slower. Half-melted corpses outline the blast radius, and the screams of the wounded ring loudly out over the sudden deafening silence, as the rioters stare at the Lion King in terror.

"People of the Holy City." Her face doesn't change, her dispassionate, glowing eyes sweeping over the crowd. "With that blast, I have punished you for your crime of rejecting my divine judgement and violating the peace. Return to your homes, and no harm shall come to you. You are forgiven."

The fear turns to anger, and suddenly a rock hits her in the face.

The man who threw it is clearly an off-duty soldier, one of the ones left over from the Crusader armies that we forcibly recruited. "Fuck you and your forgiveness! Fuck you and all your self-righteous bullshit! You're not our God, and you're sure as hell not our King!"

I note, in that still moment, while the world seems hang stilly in the silence, that the people beside the rock-thrower are all Saracens, and they're hefting rocks of their own. Men who once would fought and died in droves against each other, now standing shoulder to shoulder and looking at us with naked hatred in their eyes.

And then, the moment breaks, as the king hefts her Holy Lance, and the crowd charges towards us with reckless abandon, no longer letting their fear keep them from doing what they believe to be right.

And my King kills them all.

I follow her, wading through the blood, and stepping over the charred corpses, as she goes hunting.

No one is spared, not a single one. No mercy and no regret taints her resolve.

My own men, my loyal men betray us after she first kills a child, charging at us with a stick in hand for killing his mother. She gores him straight through the chest without a trace of hesitation, her spinning lance shredding the corpse. That's when I feel Bartholomew, my second in command, drive his sword into my back.

I kill him. I kill so many.

At the end of it, there's almost no one left. Just a few of the guards and citizens cowed by the sheer slaughter. Less than a dozen.

She turns to me, and I look up at her, removing my gaze from the blood on my hands.

"Gawain."

"Yes, my King?"

"Return to the gate. We will have to hold the Holy Selection again, and tighten our standards." She looks about dispassionately, showing remorse as she looks over the charred and charnel-filled streets. "I am unsure of how our previous methodology managed to produce a batch this faulty, but I will have to amend that mistake." She turns to one of the few survivors, who cowers under her gaze. "You. Clean this up."

"Yes my King."

We part ways, and as I walk to the gate, I find myself staring at the dead that clog the streets, and envying their courage.

 

[Charles Flynn]

We set our ambush up in a pass through the mountains. Steep cliffs on either side, allowing for us to place our forces above, and, while it's not particularly narrow, Cu's runes and Da Vinci's devices have allowed us to make it impassible if we need to, hemming them in.

The plan is simple: Galahad pulls the old knight on a bridge trick, and shows up in front of them, and attacks, forcing Lancelot to engage him one on one. While that's going on, and the barriers have triggered, trapping Lancelot's knights inside, the rest of our forces descend from above, slaughtering the unprepared soldiers with the element of surprise.

Of course, it doesn't look like things are going to pan out that way.

"Could you repeat that?" I ask the Face serving as my attaché to the Hundred Face collective. We're in my command center, located atop the taller of the pass' two cliff faces. Da Vinci, Georgios, and Bedivere are with me, to act as bodyguards and a reserve force. Cu and Siegfried both stand at the edge of the cliff, ready to deploy.

"Lancelot left his forces behind, and he's making his way to the pass on foot," the Assassin says. "Seems like he knows we're here."

I had thought this might happen. It's why I had Hundred Face act as a surveillance system. I thought Mata Hari might do this. But to find out that she actually did? To find out that she's stabbed me in the back, that she's stabbed Chaldea in the back, that she's stabbed humanity in the back, all for the sake of some stupid fucking crush? That fills me with pure, uncompromising rage.

And so, I turn my attention towards my senses to my still-loyal Servants. 'Attention all Servants. Mata Hari has betrayed us, and Sir Lancelot is aware of our ambush. I'll be informing you of how we'll be changing our deployment shortly, but before I do so, I wish to announce a new directive: Mata Hari has betrayed us, and, in doing so, jeapordized our chances of success, and by extension, the well-being of all humanity, by spilling vital information to our enemy. Consequently, she is a traitor, and should be dealt with accordingly. If you should see her, provide with an appropriate death.'

That gets a round of grim affirmations, although Galahad and Georgios notably remain silent.

'Mata Hari.' I send to her as I stare at the map, and the troop distributions oh-so-helpfully pointed out by Hundred Face.

'Yes, Master?'

'You betrayed Chaldea.' It isn't a question.

'I did.'

'Was it worth it?'

'No. But I couldn't bring myself to betray him.'

'So you betrayed us instead.'

'I'm sorry.' She really does sound like she means it.

'I know you are. But you'll die for it all the same.' I remove myself from the conversation entirely, then, and focus on exactly how I'm going to turn this around.

"Right," I say aloud, shaking my head. "We're going to win this. And Mata Hari is dying, even if I have to kill her myself." I turn to Hundred Face. "Lancelot's position?"

"Three hundred meters out from the pass's entrance."

'Galahad, your father is three-hundred meters out. Advance and engage.'

Hopefully, that'll keep him busy.

I head to the cliff's edge myself, and I see the knight that's making his way at a walking pace towards our now-ruined ambush point.

He's wearing a helmet, and his armor shines brightly in the midday sun.

He's sent tumbling helplessly back when Galahad slams into him, fumbling at his blade as his helmet tumbles off to reveal-

"THAT'S NOT LANCELOT!" I shout, as Galahad stops in his tracks far below me. "THAT'S MATA HARI!"

The newly revealed spy and seductress draws a borrowed sword, holding it shakily with both hands as she faces off against Galahad. And he makes no move against her. Of course he doesn't, that damned chivalry of his won't let him hit a woman!

Shit, shit, shit, this is a classic shell game. "Hundred Face, did you have eyes on Mata Hari?"

"No. We had presumed she was in one of the tents, but-"

"Lancelot could be anywhere right now!" I say, suddenly realizing that I've just been outmaneuvered. "Can you confirm that his forces are still there?"

"Yes, we've checked!" Hundred face snaps back at me.

"Deploy in a search pattern, FIND HIM!"

"Master?" Cursed Arm says quizzically as he pulls himself up onto the rock shelf we're on. "What did you need me for?"

"What are you talking about?" I ask irritably, walking towards him. "You're supposed to be watching Lancelot's armies with Hundred Face!"

Hundred Face grabs me by the shoulder before I can get close to him, though, looking at their fellow Hassan with mute horror. "That's not Cursed Arm."

My guards bristle, and move to act, but Lancelot draws first.

His blade lashes out, and, with a cry of "ARONDIGHT OVERLOAD!" he blasts Georgios backwards off the mesa, before sending Bedivere flying in the opposite direction with a side kick to the chest.

By now, the other Servants have begun to react, with Da Vinci and Hundred Face drawing me behind them, while Cu and Siegfried move in to engage.

Finally, my mind unfreezes, and I begin to react. Come on, how do we take him down?

He's holding his own against Cu and Siegfried, even though its two on one. His every motion is flawless, as he keeps them at bay, taking advantage of his opponents' limited familiarity with each others' fighting styles to make them trip each other up. He's not just holding his own, he's actually winning.

'Cu, use your Noble Phantasm. We can't afford to draw this out.'

Chulainn's Hound leaps back, a wild grin on his face as Siegfried steps in to keep Lancelot occupied, and draws back his lance, the Piercing Spear of Barbed Death glowing with a downright feral light. "GAE BOLG!"

The spear surges forwards. It hits. There is no possibility in which it does not hit.

Unfortunately, it hits the wrong dragonslaying Saber.

Cu freezes as he stares at the spear in his hands, currently driven straight into Siegfried's vulnerable back. "But- I was aiming for Lancelot! How did I miss?"

Lancelot kicks him in gut, wrenching the spear from his hands. "Guess I'm just lucky."

I watch in horror as the Knight of the Lake sheathes Arondight, and Gae Bolg turns black in his hands, red veins making their way up its length. "Nice spear. I think I'll keep it."

He charges in, and Cu goes to meet him, resignation clear on his face as he fights Arthur's greatest knight unarmed.

I only realize that I've been backing away from Lancelot when I nearly fall off the cliff, and Da Vinci pulls me back.

But then, once he's done killing Ireland's most legendary hero with his own spear, Lancelot turns his attention towards us, and Da Vinci and Hundred Face both grimly square up to face him.

He cuts Hundred Face in half as he neatly dances out of the way of Da Vinci's attacks, pushing me off the cliff and then grabbing the front of my shirt.

I struggle to find my balance, feeling a desperate terror welling up in my throat as I realize that his hand is the only thing holding me up.

"So, Master of Chaldea. Shall we discuss the terms of your surrender?"

 

[Charles Flynn]

I look up at Lancelot and internally panic.

"Tell your Servants to stand down," he orders, his hand not moving in the slightest as he holds me up.

This is... wait.

I push past the adrenaline and the fear, and actually think. He hasn't killed me. The Lion King's orders, as reported by Mata Hari, were for Lancelot to hunt the Chaldea-Hashashim Alliance down and put us all to the sword. But here he is, using me as a hostage to ensure that we surrender. If he was actually following his king's orders, he wouldn't be bothering with this. Just like with the refugee camps Mata Hari mentioned. That means... I've learned my lesson from Attila and Duryodhana. If the enemy isn't killing me immediately, it's because they want me to stay alive. I am the Achilles Heel of humanity's last hope, after all. Killing me stops Chaldea dead in the water. And he doesn't want to do that. He's rebelling against his king's orders, even if it's through deliberately misinterpreting said orders, which would indicate a moral conflict. I can use that.

Of course, all of this is relying on the word of an extremely biased spy and now confirmed traitor. But, well... I know the look of a man who's actually planning to kill me from the look of a man that's bluffing. And Lancelot's bluffing.

Of course, the half-formed arguments crystallizing in my mind won't work if they're delivered from a position of weakness. I need to remove his current power over me. Moreover, I need to gain the upper hand.

I have just the thing on hand.

'Galahad, get ready to catch me.'

'Flynn, what the Hell are you planning?'

I don't answer, instead looking up at Sir Lancelot, my left hand drawing my teacher's first-ever gift to me behind my back. God, please let this work.

I grab his arm to pull myself up, smiling as I do so. "You make a solid case. I guess I have no choice but to say-"

I then drive the poisoned dagger, enchanted just enough to let me hurt Servants, into his wrist, forcing him to release me.

"-No."

His look of absolute shock is far more hilarious than it really should be. I think I might be slightly hysterical.

The cliff's cracks and textures fade into a blur as I fall, gaining momentum as I do. For a second, just a second, I wonder if this how I die.

And then Galahad catches me in midair, before driving his shield into the cliff face to brake our momentum.

"I swear to God, Flynn," he grumbles. "Have you ever thought that maybe, just maybe, one of these days I won't be around to bail your ass out of whatever fire you've jumped headfirst into? Where would you be without me, huh?"

"Dead." I grin as he unceremoniously dumps me on the ground. "So, it's a good thing I can rely on you, huh?"

He looks nonplussed at that. "Well, at least you admit it." He raises an eyebrow. "Where'd you get that dagger?"

"Medea gave it to me. It's enchanted just enough to hurt a Servant, but she didn't bother to enchant it any further. Not much point, really, there's no way I'm landing a hit on a Servant twice. Only way I could ever hurt one would be with a surprise attack."

"Fine." Galahad smiles. "I suppose I'll have to finish the job, then."

"We're negotiating with him." Honestly, this entire idiotic ambush only happened because I yielded to peer pressure, and it's already proved itself to have been a terrible idea.

"WHAT?" Galahad yelps. "Flynn, you promised!"

"And I'm not going to keep it if it means hamstringing our entire war effort against the Lion King." I look at him sternly. "I just saw him in action, and he was an absolute whirlwind of death."

As if to prove my point, Da Vinci is sent flying off the cliff, and lies, groaning, in her impact crater.

"He took on six Servants and won. We just lost Cu and Siegfried, two of our heaviest hitters. I still don't know if Georgios survived. Your father is a freaking juggernaut, and even if we manage to beat him, I'm beginning to suspect any victory we could pull off would be pyrrhic. Thus, we're negotiating."

"You're just going to roll over for him? You're surrendering?"

"Of course not. We're negotiating the terms of his surrender." I walk over to the still whimpering Da Vinci and start dragging her to her feet.

"You're fucking insane."

"Look on the bright side. If my plan fails, you still get your fight in." I struggle to lift Da Vinci, who's babbling something about spiders. "Now help me with Da Vinci, would you?"

He looks at me, still incredulous, before snorting and shaking his head. "I'm not sure if I want to applaud you or just punch your face in."

"Yeah, I get that a lot. Now come on over and help, she's a lot heavier than she looks, and your father is both very scary and very close by."

He snorts, and then grabs Da Vinci's other arm.

'All Servants, converge on me. We're parleying.'

---​

I see Lancelot draw near, a white flag raised high to match my own. Thank God. After what I've seen from him, I'm not sure that even having all my Servants on hand would be enough to beat him.

Alright, then, I've got my improvised ideas lined up into a proper speech that might do the trick.

Almighty God in Heaven, please let this work.

"Sir Lancelot!" I call from behind Georgios, Vlad, and Galahad. "Thank you for joining us."

"Why did you call for parley?" Wow, not sparing any time for pleasantries, is he? Well, I can work with that.

"To offer you terms of surrender, of course!" I say cheerfully. "If you and your men surrender now, we'll pardon you for your previous acts of treason, and allow you to seek your own atonement on the battlefield at our side." Hook...

"Treason?" He repeats with a raised eyebrow.

"Yes. Your harmful and treacherous actions, deleterious to the goals and well-being of your liege lord." Line...

He glares at me. "Even if I have failed my liege, those actions are not yours to forgive."

"Sir Lancelot, who is your liege?" Liiiiiiiiinnnnneee...

"The Lion King."

"An incorrect assumption. The liege you owe fealty above all others is not the Lion King, although I can understand the mistake." He looks confused, but he also looks like he's going to argue the point. Sinker!

"I think I should count myself qualified to know who's my liege."

"My good knight, what is a liege lord?"

He blinks. "It is the king or noble to whom you have sworn fealty."

"And the relationship is quite clearly defined: The liege offers gifts to his vassals, and enriches them, and in return, they serve him in battle. You would claim that Arthur is your liege, for he has so enriched you?"

"Yes!" Lancelot snaps. "And I repaid my king poorly. I will atone with my service!"

"I'm afraid I would have to disagree, Sir Lancelot. I know of one to whom you owe a greater debt."

"And that would be-"

"Humanity."

He looks at me skeptically. "I'm not entirely sure I understand."

"Humanity is your liege before all others, for it has given to you before all others, as it has to every human being. It has birthed you and it has named you, it has seen your deeds and called them glory. It has given you gold and lofty keeps, it has fed you, and it has given you meaning. It has created you, Lancelot, woven you together on the loom of civilization. All you have loved, and all you have hated, your very existence, all of it you owe to humanity! Your every moment, your every joy, your every sorrow, YOUR EVERY BREATH you owe to humanity! Your Lord and Master beyond all others is humanity, for it is a web of a thousand promises, the greatest fealty any thinking being could ever know, and IT NAMED YOU ITS KNIGHT! It raised you up above all others, enshrined as all mankind's defender by their collective will, the only reason you stand here in this moment, centuries after your death! AND HOW DID YOU REPAY THAT GENEROSITY?"

"I-" He's struggling for words, trying to come up with a way to respond to my tirade. He's actually backed up a step, looking like a deer in headlights. But most importantly, he looks guilty. And if there's one thing that Lancelot is vulnerable to, it's guilt.

"You betrayed it for a lesser lord," I say, relishing every word. "You are a traitor, Lancelot. You have betrayed your father, and you have betrayed your mother. You have betrayed those who served you, and you have betrayed those who served beside you. You have betrayed every human being to ever live, every human being who knew you and called you a hero, every human being that trusted you to save them." I snort. "And for what? To slavishly follow a twisted parody of the king you once served, not because you believed her, but because you wanted to prove to yourself that you were still a loyal knight." I laugh outright, there. "Funny way of showing it."

He's buckling, now, my words hitting him like actual physical blows. "I'm... I'm sorry."

"I suppose you are," I admit, making him look up at me in shock. "It's not too late, Sir Lancelot. You can turn back. You can atone for your treachery. Make up for your misdeeds. And the first step? Put down your sword."

He stares at me for a long moment, and I feel myself begin to doubt. Was it enough? Did I screw this up? Did I peg him wrong?

And then Arondight hits the ground.

 

[Charles Flynn]

"Master, why have you not killed the traitorous whore?" Vlad asks without preamble as he de-astralizes inside my tent. It's been a week since Lancelot's surrender, and we've marched into the northern hills. A circuitous route to the Holy City, to be sure, but I've kept my plans to myself.

We'd wrapped up negotiations and accepted Lancelot's surrender, along with the surrender of his men (all of them more loyal to their commander than the Lion King.) But, part and parcel with that was the pardon of Mata Hari, something that stuck in my Servants' craws as much as it stuck in mine. I suppose it just... bubbled over.

"We're talking about Mata Hari, right?" I ask, just to confirm. "This isn't just you trying to get me to have Medea disposed of again?"

He's been making petitions for her termination almost since the day we summoned her.

"No, the kinslayer has been spared my wrath, at least for the moment. Now, my righteous fervor is fixed upon a far more heinous target. So tell me, Master, why does the traitor live?"

I look at him appraisingly, and then sigh, settling down on one of the stools. "Take a seat. Dismiss the armor, first, though, the whole tent's a gift from Lancelot."

"Really?" Vlad looks about at the drab tent, filled with tears in the fabric, and at the ratty bedrolls and spartan stools. "He didn't strike me as a skinflint."

"He gave me two, actually. I set the nicer one up as a decoy."

"Cunning of you," he says with a nod, dismissing the armor and taking a seat. "Be we drift off-topic. Why does Mata Hari live?"

"Two primary reasons. Firstly, Lancelot's fond of her, just as much as she is of him. If we demand her head, it'll put a dangerous strain on our new alliance."

"Bah, do what is right and lawful, not what's convenient! I never hesitated from doing justice, no matter how much my lords mewled and whimpered!"

"And, as I recall, you ended up betrayed by those same lords you never compromised to or made concessions for."

"Watch it."

"I'm not disparaging your accomplishments, Lord Vlad. Your fear tactics were a masterpiece, and your repulsion of the Ottomans was brilliant. But you neglected your image, and the fundamental importance of securing loyalty. I can't afford to do the same."

"Fine. Your second reason?"

"Narrative fidelity, and keeping up our image."

"Layman's terms would be appreciated."

"Basically, I convinced Lancelot to change sides by shifting the narrative. He was caught between two masters: the Lion King, and what he knew was right, The Good. He wanted to do the right thing, but he also didn't want to betray his king. I changed the story, and, in doing so, forced him to view events from a new perspective. I made him think of The Good as his proper king. Suddenly, serving the Lion King was a betrayal, and doing what he knew was right, which he already wanted to do, was the only way for him to atone. Going by that new narrative, then, our offer of an alliance is a gesture of mercy and forgiveness. We aren't just dragging him along because of his strength, but we, as servants of Humanity, are forgiving him and his subordinates for prior treason, and offering them a chance to atone for their misdeeds." I sigh. "Unfortunately, to keep to that particular narrative, it becomes necessary that we forgive Mata Hari. After all, if we forgive Lancelot for his prior treason, failing to do the same for Mata Hari means that we come off as hypocrites."

He groans, massaging his forehead. "I swear, you think in circles." He shoots me a glare. "I have no understanding of the twisted labyrinth that is your mind, but you usually know what you're doing. I still don't like having to forgive her, though."

"Oh, rest assured, Vlad, even if we're forgiving her, we'll be watching her like a hawk," I say with a chuckle. "And, if she ever pulls a repeat performance? Well, you'll be free to dispose of her as you see fit. Just... whatever you do, make sure she suffers."

"Well then, Master." He grins. "You have my thanks for explaining yourself. It's good to see you haven't gone soft on me."

"I do what I have to. I simply acknowledge that just because extreme measures must occasionally be taken, one shouldn't assume they are always the best option."

Vlad takes his leave, and I'm left alone with my thoughts.

My theory on the Lion King's true identity is dubious, certainly. And the evidence is circumstantial. But I believe I can make a solid enough case to persuade Gawain. Man might be a great knight, but he's not the brightest bulb on the tree. Besides, he's as conflicted as Lancelot, in his own way.

We have the forces for our attack on the Holy City.

But... all the same, I need to set up some long-term plans. Even if we clear the Seventh Singularity, Solomon's still out there. We need a countermeasure.

Cursed Arm appears an hour after Vlad left.

"Are you sure about this?" He looks at me dubiously.

"We are at the ideal point to visit the Shrine you mentioned," I point out.

"Alright. If you're absolutely certain." He sighs. "The First will have my head, you know."

"And, if negotiations proceed as planned, he'll have mine as well." I grin somewhat shakily. "Now come on. We'll have to get going."

And so we depart, along the hidden paths in the light of the waning moon.

To the Shrine of Azrael.

 

[Charles Flynn]

"Where the Hell is he?" I shout, slamming my fist down on the table, which breaks in half. It's my father's, so I don't really care.

"Galahad, we've looked everywhere. Neither he nor Cursed Arm is in the camp," the worthless deadbeat who sired me mewls, holding up his hands placatingly. I consider telling him to go fuck himself, but then reconsider. After all, this one isn't his fault. It's mine. "Wherever he and Cursed Arm went, they definitely planned this out so they wouldn't alert us to their departure."

Damn it, I should have known he was plotting something! He's always plotting something! And now I let him out of my sight, and he's probably going to die because I wasn't there to save him! Oh God, Mash will be devastated if he dies. (Although only God knows why.)

I mean, I wouldn't shed a tear, but I don't want Mash to be upset.

"We have to find him!" I snap, starting to pace back and forth. "He won't last five minutes without me- us to watch his back!"

"Oh, ye of little faith," a familiar, insufferably smug voice interrupts, and I turn at the tent's entrance to find Flynn doing his best to casually lean against one of the tent poles, a grin on his face. "I'll have you know that I made it out just fine."

He's alive. Oh thank God he's alive.

I rush up and begin inspecting him for injuries.

"Aw, worried about me?"

Good. He's unhurt. I straighten back up and start throttling him. "IF YOU EVER PULL A STUNT LIKE THAT AGAIN, I SWEAR TO GOD, I WILL PUT MY BOOT SO FAR UP YOUR ASS THAT-"

He starts making choking noises, so I let him go. Mash'd be upset if I actually killed him, after all. "Missed you too, Galahad."

"I didn't miss you. Not in the slightest. In fact, life seemed brighter without the inescapable shadow of your idiocy hanging over me." I help him up to his feet and start brushing him off. "Now WHERE WERE YOU?"

"About." He smirks as I make a garbled cry of rage. "And everything went according to plan."

"Where's Cursed Arm?" Serenity asks, suddenly, and, with a start, I realize that the Old Man of the Mountain is nowhere to be found.

"Dead." Flynn's smile suddenly takes up that ever-so-slightly too genuine quality he always has when he's faking it. Or about to have someone killed.

"How did that happen?" the current Hundred Face rep interjects accusingly, glaring at Flynn.

"We went to negotiate with the First."

Both Assassins freeze, and I'm left confused. Who the Hell is he talking about?

"Ah. I am sorry to have troubled you, then," Hundred Face says, bowing his/her head respectfully. "Will the First be joining us in the assault?"

"Only if things go catastrophically wrong."

"I'm sorry, who the hell is this 'First' guy?" I ask, utterly lost.

"No one you need to worry about," Flynn says, turning to go. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to catch some rest."

I start to protest, but then I notice something that stops me cold.

Flynn's hands are shaking.

I stay silent as he leaves, and Hundred Face promises to keep an eye on him so he can't slip away again.

The only time I can remember Flynn being so rattled he let it show outside of combat was... Solomon.

Whoever this 'First' guy is, he scared Flynn as much as the King of Mages did. And yet he says that he successfully bargained with the guy.

That raises the question, now, doesn't it? What sort of deal did Flynn make?

As I step out from the tent, and stare up at the stars, I can only come to one, horrible conclusion: Flynn did something stupid again.

And then I sigh. I suppose that all I can do is stay by his side, then. I'll keep him alive as long as Mash's body holds out, no matter how much trouble he ends up in. She'd never forgive me if I didn't.

Abruptly, I realize there's someone besides me.

"Sir Lancelot," I say, perfectly civil, already donning a smile as I reflexively draw the comforting façade of the Perfect Knight up around me. "Is there something I can help you with?"

"Ah," he looks awkward, the worthless buffoon. What, did running out on my mother before I was born and never coming back leave you unprepared for dealing with me? Wow, I'm just so damn sorry for you. Jackass. "You know that I'm proud of you no matter what, right? No matter what sort of lifestyle you choose."

"Er... yes?" The hell is he on about?

"Oh, well, good, then." He fidgets awkwardly with his cape. "Um... Flynn seems like a g- like a ni- like a... person. Who I'm sure makes you very happy."

"More like he annoys me to no end." I snort. "Although I suppose I have to concede that he's good at his job, at least."

"Um... well, I suppose that's really just between you and him. And none of my business." Lancelot turns to leave. "I'll just be going now."

I watch his back as he power-walks away. Seriously, what the fuck was that about?

Ah, well. At least that took my mind off of my previous, heavier thoughts. It would seem that my sire is, at the very least, a passable clown, even if he's a shit excuse for a human being.

I turn my back on the stars, and head for my own tent, returning Mash's body to her as I go. I'll need my rest.

After all, tomorrow we begin our march on the Holy City.

 

[Charles Flynn]

I grin as I look out over our army, marching towards the Holy City.

"An impressive spectacle, eh, Galahad?"

He just nods non-committally, still looking at me as if he's worried I'll vanish the moment he takes his eyes off me. He's been doing that ever since… things happened. Shrine-related things.

Notthinkingaboutit, notthinkingaboutit, nothinkingaboutit.

In any case, the Holy City is now within our field of view. We're getting close, and-

Arash gives us the warning signal, and I turn to Galahad.

"Prepare to block a shot from the Holy Lance."

He nods. "Our glorious homeland, that which heals all wounds, LORD CAMELOT!"

The walls of the shining city rise, and the light of the World's End breaks against them, the shining glare of their clash blotting out the Sun.

And then the glare fades, leaving us all half-blind, and shaken by the realization of how close to death we just came.

"Continue to advance!" I roar. "We don't stop until the Holy City has fallen!"

The rest of the army nods shakily, commanders pulling themselves together and barking orders at their men.

Good. I can't fail. Not yet, at least.

"So." Galahad looks at me with a raised eyebrow. "You never actually told us just how you planned to deal with Gawain. Just said that you knew how to get him out of the way. Since we're, you know, about to go toe-to-toe with him, I was wondering if you'd drop the theatricality and just tell me what you're planning."

Another deflection hangs on the tip of my tongue, but I catch myself. It's Galahad, he's saved my life more times than I can count, he deserves a straight answer. "I'm going to talk him down."

"Gawain." Galahad looks at me incredulously. "You're going to talk Gawain down."

"Same situation as Lancelot. He's too strong to fight head-on without any victory being pyrrhic. Thus, we have to at least try to woo him over to our side."

The new servants I summoned in to replace Cu, Siegfried, and Mata Hari (who we sent back to Chaldea the nonlethal way, to my great irritation) were all handpicked specifically for the fight against the Lion King. If we go up against Gawain, it could leave us fatally unprepared for the fight against the false Arthur.

And I can talk him down. I know that I can. Lancelot, Mata Hari, and Bedivere all pegged him as following out of loyalty alone but disliking the Lion King's actions.

Thus, he can be swayed. He can be won over. I can't fail here. I can't.

"Trust me. He'll come around. Especially when I tell him what I figured out about the Lion King."

"You're not even going to tell me this mysterious discovery of yours, are you? You're just going to find a reason to bail on this conversation, so it's more dramatic when you pull it out of your ass," Galahad says, half amused and half exasperated.

"Well, I was going to tell you, but you just gave me an excellent idea!"

"Yeah, sure I did, you freaking drama queen."

"You know you love it."

"I most certainly do not." He rolls his eyes. "And there's no way I'm letting you talk to Gawain alone. If you're doing this, then I'm going with you."

"I didn't doubt that for a second."

---​

We march on through two more shots of from Rhongomyniad, Lord Camelot's walls unbreakable.

And then, finally, we come to the Holy City's gates. The Holy City's surprisingly under-garrisoned gates. I don't see a single Selection Knight, and there are only two soldiers on the walls.

Right then. "Galahad, have you got the white flag?"

"Yes, although I still think this will be a disaster."

"You always think that." I grin, then add over the mental link, 'Besides, Serenity and Scaevola will be following via stealth. Worst comes to worst, and parley breaks down, I give them the signal and Serenity gives Gawain some sugar, hopefully ending the whole fight before it starts.'

Galahad frowns as begin making our way towards Gawain, flag of parley fluttering in the breeze. 'Why would giving our enemy a sweetener end the fight?'

I can't help it. I start laughing, at least until Galahad lightly punches me in the arm. Lightly by his standards, at least. I still lose feeling in it for a few seconds.

'You're an ass.'

'True.'

'So are you going to tell me?'

'Giving someone sugar is also a euphemism for kissing.'

'Oh. Gross.'

And then Gawain calls out to us, "That's close enough!"

"Sir Gawain." I nod respectfully, looking him over. "We've come to talk."

He looks like shit. In spite of the fact that Servants need no sleep, he still has dark rings beneath his eyes. But more than his apparent exhaustion, he looks… haunted. Like his very soul has worn thin.

"I doubt my king will offer any concessions," he says, trying for polite refusal and only managing 'completely dead inside.' "I think she might just blast you with the Holy Lance and then tell the survivors to go home, honestly. That's what she usually does, nowadays."

"Sir Gawain, are you… all right?" Galahad asks, looking worried. "You don't seem your usual self."

"I don't feel my usual self," Gawain says bitterly. "But I keep my word. It's the only honorable thing I have left."

"We came to parley with you, actually," I interject, trying to steer this conversation back on track. "Will you turn back? It's not too late to do the right thing and stand against the Lion King."

I see it for a moment, a split-second look of hope, of longing.

And then he shuts it away.

"I've come too far to turn back now, Master of Chaldea. And I've done too much to ever deserve redemption." He shakes his head sadly. "Return to your army. I will face you as a Knight of the Lion King. It's all I deserve, in the end."

Right then, time to break out my rhetorical trump card. I smile and, as I turn away, launch my payload. "Very well, then, Sir Gawain. I suppose it's only natural for a son to side with his mother."

He bites. "But-King Arthur is not my mother!" He looks legitimately confused at the thought.

Galahad's already giving me his get-it-over-with look, so I happily comply. "Hm? I thought it was obvious. The Lion King isn't King Arthur. She's Morgan la Fey."

"What." Galahad says, utterly deadpan. Gawain, for his part, is gaping like a fish.

"What, did you really believe that noble and chivalrous Arthur would order women and children killed, merely for the crime of not living up to his standards? Did you believe that generous and beneficent Arthur, who never failed to reward his knights for their loyalty, would treat his best and brightest followers like mere cannon fodder? Did you really think that pious Arthur, beloved by God, would be so blasphemous as to raze the holiest city on Earth and declare himself a god?"

"But- that doesn't make sense!" Gawain finally says, his tone in stark contrast to the hope beginning to creep across his face. "The Lion King has Rhongomyniad, the Sacred Lance! It would accept no master but Arthur!"

"Really?" I deliver my trump card. "And did you ever see Arthur use said lance?"

"No."

"Really, what's more likely: That Arthur secretly had a reusable nuke in lance form that he, for some reason, never used, or that Morgan used her magecraft to create something that would give her an edge? Because I get the feeling that the ability to turn any town you don't like into a smoking crater might've come in handy during your war against the Saxons." I only have circumstantial evidence, of course. But Gawain wants to believe me. He wants to believe that the monster he feels like he's been trapped into following isn't the king he so deeply admired. I did too. It's why I came up with the theory in the first place.

"I… I was wrong." Gawain says it like it's the most beautiful sentence he's ever heard. He's crying now, the tears streaming down his cheeks. "I was wrong. I failed my king. Oh, thank God! I can atone! I can atone!"

I walk up to him and offer my hand. "Will you join us?"

"Yes!" He takes my hand and I help pull him to his feet. "Stand back! I'll make an opening for you!"

Galahad and I both make a strategic withdrawal while Gawain fires up Excalibur Galatine.

"Do you really believe it?" Galahad asks once we're out of Gawain's earshot. "What you told him?"

"I want to. So did he. Sometimes, that's more important than if something's true."

He gives me a look. "I don't think I'll ever really understand you, Flynn." He turns to where the fires of the Sun burn away the walls of the Holy City. "But thank you."

"What's that for?"

"For helping him. Even if it was for your own benefit."

"No problem." And with that said, I give our army the signal, and the invasion begins.

 

[Charles Flynn]

The Selection Process continues to deny me. It continues to maintain that the previous batch were all Lawful Good. But that can't be right, because they rose up in rebellion against me. If they were truly righteous, they would have known that my commands and actions are entirely just. I have seen the coming threat, and I have taken what measures I could to preserve humanity. I am right, as I always am, and if they cannot see that, the fault lies in them.

One of the new Selection Knights, the ones I made without Agravaine's help, bursts in, interrupting my reflections.

"My KING! The HOLY CITY is under attack by the ARMY OF CHALDEA!" it says.

Hm. "Didn't I administer punishment upon them with my Holy Lance?" I think I remember doing that.

"HOLY PUNISHMENT has been administered on the ARMY OF CHALDEA."

Wait... "How many times have I done so?" I think that I remember punishing the fools more than once, but I can't be sure.

"HOLY PUNISHMENT has been administered on the ARMY OF CHALDEA." the Selection Knight repeats.

Right, I didn't account for the possibility of someone surviving multiple Holy Lance strikes when I was programming this batch. Something to fix in the next batch, I suppose.

"Gawain will deal with them." I can't waste time dealing with petty trifles. I need to fix the Holy Selection. The Holy City is almost entirely empty as is, and my entire timetable has been thrown off-balance.

"GAWAIN-" it seems to freeze, before devolving into an endless loop. "GAWAIN GAWAIN GAWAIN GAWAIN GAWAIN GA-"

I vaporize it. Yet another thing to fix in the next batch, I suppose.

Alright. How do we further purify the purest of the pure?

I'm still contemplating that question when the entirety of my palace is suddenly smashed in by my nephew's blade.

Establishing Holy Rotation.

The rubble doesn't touch me. Not a single speck of dust mars my appearance as I emerge from the rubble, Rhongomyniad in hand

Sir Gawain has betrayed me. I cannot comprehend how he failed to understand my righteousness, but no matter. His Gift will destroy him for his treachery.

The army arrayed against me is massive indeed. It would seem that Chaldea's Master has done well for himself in gathering together his forces.

Then something catches my eye and stops me dead in my tracks.

At the head of the army stands Sir Gawain. And besides him are Lancelot and Galahad. I feel a sudden pain in my chest, and I immediately check to see if I've been shot. My search proves inconclusive, leaving me no closer to finding the pain's source.

Very well. I'm no stranger to fighting through the pain. Now to address the traitors, and then dispose of them. I can summon a new batch of my knights to aid me in my work afterwards. I raise my lance, and-

"LADY MORGAN OF THE HOUSE OF PENDRAGON, ALSO KNOWN AS THE LION KING!" Chaldea's Master bellows from behind Galahad. "Your crimes have been exposed, and your reign of terror is at an end. Surrender, and you will be granted a swift and painless death."

They-

For the first time in centuries, I'm at a loss for words. They think I'm Morgan. I- I don't know how to respond to that.

The pain in my chest grows stronger and more insistent as I see Gawain and Lancelot glare at me, and I have no idea why.

They're wrong. They're all wrong, and not worthy to call themselves my knights, and I- I need to punish them. I need to make them go away.

Maybe then the pain will stop.

"RHONGOMYNIAD!"

"LORD CAMELOT!"

My light of judgement breaks against the walls of my own city, and I call up my Dun Stallion. If they will stand against me, then they must be crushed. I'll-

My horse collapses beneath me as two arrows pierce through both of his eyesockets with deadly accuracy, killing him instantly, and sending me to the ground.

I don't have time to find the Archer, however, because be the time I've gotten back to my feet, Lancelot is upon me, attacking me with reckless abandon. Gawain waits in the wings, ready to take his place the very moment he falls.

And neither of them is dying. My Gifts aren't working, and now I'm stuck in close combat against the greatest swordsman of the Round Table, on foot, while I'm only armed with a cavalry lance.

This could be an issue.

Very well, my lance begins to spin and-

"ARONDIGHT OVERLOAD!" Lance roars, and suddenly, I can't feel my arm anymore.

I- I'm unarmed. I can't fight one-handed, and Lance knows that. We sparred together often enough that he knows my weaknesses. (Why does remembering that just make the pain in my chest worse?)

"Why?" I ask, my voice still calm. I'm... I'm losing. "How-"

"Because you're not Arturia," Lance growls. "You're not my friend, who I was proud to call my king, and who fought tirelessly for everybody, no matter how righteous she thought they were. And I'm ashamed that it took me so long to realize that." He advances steadily. "This is the end of the line, Morgan. Paracelsus' Philosophers' Stone allowed me to survive your curse, and Andersons' story allowed me to grow to face you properly and win. And now? Now you die, and I lay my friend's body to rest."

I stagger back. I can't- I- The pain in my chest has grown, and it dwarfs everything now. My eyes- I can't see. They're clouded, for some reason. I can't think, because it hurts. It hurts like Camlann hurt, like the pain I felt only once and never again. Why? Why does it still hurt?

I barely see it as he sweeps his blade, and, in one smooth motion, decapitates me.

---​

I'm still alive, even after that. They leave me behind, think I'm dead, as the holy city begins to break apart, and the Singularity begins to dissolve.

I'm still alive, even after the Master of Chaldea and his Servants have vanished.

The Crusaders put my head on a spike, and burned my body, and I'm still alive.

I can't move. I can feel myself suffocating without lungs to pump my air, but I still don't die. I still feel Rhongomyniad in the distance, sustaining me.

Everything hurts. The spike is through my skull, and I still feel the tearing. I feel like I'[m suffocating and being ripped in half at the same time, and I'm still alive.

And my chest still hurts. Even though it was tossed into a bonfire, my chest still aches, and I don't know why.

And so I hang there, helpless, eyes lolling helplessly in my own personal Hell. I've failed. I've failed and all my knights have betrayed me, and I don't know why.

I've failed. And now, I'm alone again.

"My King."

I try to look up, but I can't. All the same, I see him.

I don't recognize him, this strange knight with the silver arm, but he seems familiar. And kind.

"I'm sorry." He sighs, shaking his head in frustration. "I suppose that doesn't cover it."

I manage to raise an eye to look at him, straining all my muscles to do so. He doesn't look surprised when I manage to look him in the eye.

"I figured as much. Rhogomyniad didn't seem inclined towards letting its victim go, after all." He begins uncoupling his arm from his shoulder. "I'm sorry, my king. I'm sorry that I failed to return Excalibur to you before. I'm sorry that I didn't try to correct Flynn when he pulled out that idiotic theory of his. I'm sorry I let them hurt you, all the while ignorant that they were doing so." He starts crying. "I'm a poor excuse for a knight, aren't I? Always failing you." The arm warps in his grasp, as he offers it to me. "Please, my king. I am not worthy of your forgiveness, but I beg that you take back your blade."

That's... Excalibur. My old friend. I feel my soul embrace it, leaving Rhogomyniad behind, and suddenly, I feel myself begin to fade, even as Bedivere- oh, loyal Bedivere how could I forget you?- begins to do the same before me.

One of my knights was loyal. One of my knights forgave me for my failures. I think... I think I can.... live with.... that....

 

[Charles Flynn]

The staff meeting post-Lion King is... less celebratory than we anticipated it being.

"It's hopeless," Tom mutters, holding his head in his hands. "It's hopeless!"

"Hey!" I snap. "This is just a setback. We're still saving the world, no matter what it takes."

"Really?" Sara asks, looking pissed. "Because that's what we thought when we first set out to face the Seven Singularities. But here we are now, seven fucking Singularities later, and the planet is still on FUCKING FIRE!"

"And we're still here," Roman interjects in a tone that brooks no argument. "In the company of an army of some of the greatest heroes in history, in a mountain fortress staffed by the UN's best and brightest, armed with top-of-the-line equipment from both the UN and the Mage's Association. The Incineration might not be over yet, but neither are we, not by a long shot." He looks at each of us, and we rise to meet his gaze. "So let's stop looking at the task ahead of us, and start focusing on how we're going to do it."

That shuts them up. Shuts me up too. They hate me, but every last man, woman and child of Chaldea's human staff would follow Roman into the gates of Hell, me included, and we all know it. After all, without him, we probably would have just given up under the weight of the impossible task before us, before we cleared a single Singularity. Well, we had cleared a Singularity by then, Fuyuki, but... wait, maybe that's the problem?

"Roman, I had a thought."

"I'm listening."

"What if we've been looking at this the wrong way?"

Everyone's looking at me now. "How so?"

"Well, we've been assuming that Fuyuki was counted among the Seven Singularities Lev mentioned. But what if we got that wrong? Remember, he wished us good luck clearing the Seven Singularities. Fuyuki was already as good as cleared, so maybe he didn't include it in the Seven."

"So you think we missed a Singularity?" Roman raises an eyebrow. "Well, it's worth a shot."

A holographic representation of Chaldeas appears, and thirty-two dots appear on the globe.

"As some of you may already be aware, this is the map of all the Singularities we've detected that we think Solomon made," Roman says, pacing around the map. "The reason we've only resolved eight of them so far is because the other twenty-four were all resolved on their own, either by the Counter Force, or by the inhabitants of the Singularity's time period, in the same way that the one in the time of Augustus was already halfway done when we got there."

Nods all around.

"Now, the only weak point in Chaldeas is that it can't scan the Age of Gods." He continues to pace about. "I remember Solomon mentioning seventy-two Demon Gods, and each Singularity we've encountered has had a Demon God in it."

"Allegedly."

"Flynn being terrifyingly skilled at killing people before they can pull out their trump card aside, I had a thought: What if Solomon sent out thirty-six Demon Gods to make Singularities?" He turns to face us, a confident grin on his face. "That would mean that the remaining four Singularities are all within our Age of the Gods blind spot, including, presumably, the Seventh."

Now, people are smiling with him, hope starting to grow in all our hearts.

We've got a chance. It might be a slim one, but it's better than nothing. And we might still be able to do something.

"So." All eyes turn to me, with less hostility and more tolerance. We're comrades again, after all. Brothers and sisters in arms, struggling to save the world. "How do we upgrade our equipment so we can reach the Age of the Gods?"

"We're going to need more Grails," Da VInci interjects. "Our current problem isn't infrastructure, it's simply how much power we have."

And then the discussion begins in earnest, with everyone chiming in.

And afterwards, once our new raiding pattern has been decided upon, we go our separate ways, all ready to advance Chaldea's mission.

We'll be going after the lesser Singularities, as many as we can, in order to secure as many Grails as possible.

And once that's done, the Age of the Gods awaits.

 

[Charles Flynn]

The grand quest to gather up Grails has a… less than auspicious beginning.

---

"So," Ozymandias says with a chuckle as my Servants and I all come to stand before him. "The prodigal Master returns."

Right then. Egoistical God-Emperor to deal with, which means that it's flattery time.

"Oh glorious Ozymandias, your divine majesty eclipses all the world. Your will wins the waters, your generosity gives us grain. Truly, Your Majesty, your most humble of servants is pleased beyond what words can express to have been granted the unspeakable boon of your existence, much less the indescribable glory that is to stand before you. He, however, must reluctantly ask a further boon of you. Not for his sake, but for the sake of all mankind, of all who are your subjects. He must ask that-"

"Enough."

I stop my speech in its tracks, keeping my head respectfully bowed.

'Wow.' Galahad whistles appreciatively over the mental link. 'Just when I thought I knew how absolutely shameless you could be, you hit an entirely new low. That's almost impressive.'

'I swore that I'd sacrifice anything if it meant saving humanity, Galahad. My dignity is far from the most important thing I've discarded.'

"I see why you like him, Nitocris," the Pharaoh says, laughing appreciatively. "The man certainly has a clever tongue."

"I- I simply granted unto him the benevolence of a pharaoh!"

"Certainly," Ozymandias says, impeccably deadpan. "All the same, I find myself offended, oh Master of Chaldea. You have partaken of my hospitality, and yet, the moment you heard of Jerusalem's fate, you departed in a rush, not even bothering to thank me in person." I'm suddenly acutely aware of the fact that we're inside his Noble Phantasm, where most of my servants won't be able to fight at full power. "Furthermore, when you gathered your forces to go after the Lion King, you did not even think of me, either to consider me an enemy or to try to recruit me as an ally. Indeed, I feared that you had entirely forgotten about me."

"Lord Pharaoh, nothing could be further from the truth." A lot of things could be further from the truth, considering that I actually did forget about him. Still, got to sell the lie. "For the first, how could I ever consider you an enemy? You are the just and merciful pharaoh, from whom all earthly goodness and justice is derived. You exist, and have walked among us, and no greater proof of your selflessness could ever be found. And as for why I did not seek you as an ally, I did not wish to trouble you petty concerns. What can be handled by men should be handled by men, without troubling your august self."

He raises an eyebrow. "I don't think I much like you, Master of Chaldea."

Dammit. "That is, of course, your right."

"And there it is." He shakes his head. "You've cast away your pride. You've cast away your morals. You lie and use those around you without a shred of shame, letting others do your work for you. And to top it all off, you lack pride! I cannot understand you, Master of Chaldea. I may follow you someday, since your cause is just, but I doubt that I will ever understand you."

That hurts. It really does. And I did have the off moment of pride, when I was younger, but… That died. It died in the Grand Order. It died one piece at a time, surrounded by people better than I ever could be, forced to make choices that no good man would make. There is nothing admirable about me anymore. Nothing to be proud of.

"Pride, Lord Pharaoh, is the domain of better men than me."

"And again you prove my point," Ozymandias says, looking almost sad at the fact. "But very well. I will permit you to take the Grail, if you, and only you, perform a task for me. No help from your Servants."

Right. That'll be hard, but I can do that. "Very well. Name your task."

"I want you to pluck for me the feather of a griffon."

Oh. Shit.

---

I return five hours later, with a gash on my shoulder, and a foul mood gripping my heart. My Servants are still restrained,

"Lord Pharaoh. I have done as you asked." I present the feather with as much ceremony as I can muster.

"Excellent! And how, may I ask, did you come by it?"

"I found the nest of a griffin." Nitocris gave me directions, but I'm not going to rat her out. "The mother was absent, having been forced to leave her eggs momentarily unguarded so she could hunt for food. I then seized two of her eggs, drew my knife and established a hostage situation. I was forced to kill one of the eggs to make a point, but, fortunately, that was the full extent of the killing required. Then, I traded the egg's safety for one of its mother's feathers. I held on to the egg as I retreated, of course, it was the only thing keeping its mother from killing me. Then, when I came within the final stretch of the palace, I tossed the egg into a ravine, forcing its mother to dive and save it, while I retreated to the palace as swiftly as I possibly could."

Ozymandias has stopped laughing. "Disappointing. You really are a dishonorable coward through and through, I suppose."

"Oh. Really."

"I had aimed to have you face the griffin, or perhaps take the feather by stealth and nimbleness. Perhaps you could have even befriended a griffon. But instead you chose the path of treachery and manipulation." He sighs, and it's the most condescending fucking thing I've ever heard. "But, all the same, you've fulfilled my terms. Congratulations. You're free to go, and you may take the Grail with you."

I should calm down. I should just take the Grail and go. I should do a lot of things, but instead I step up to the most powerful man in Egypt and speak my mind.

"Oh, so I'm a dishonorable coward, am I?" I practically snarl the words out. "I don't meet your standards, do I? Well, you know what, FUCK YOU! I'm not some fucking king, or any other kind of Heroic Spirit, and I'm not STUPID ENOUGH TO FORGET THAT! I'm dishonorable, am I? May I ask why? Is it because I actually take every opportunity, pull out every stop, in order to ensure that I win, instead of just charging into battle trusting in my own invincibility and indefatigable tactical mastery? Because I've got news for you, Ramesses! Every time you went into battle doing that? The other guy was doing the exact same thing. And it DIDN'T WORK OUT FOR HIM, NOW DID IT?" I'm up in his face, now, and I know he's going to kill me. I don't care, though. I'm sick of this. I'm sick of them judging me. I'm sick of them all looking down on me because I'm not some idiot warrior king, tossing himself out onto the front lines. I'm sick of them looking down on me. I know that I'm a worthless nobody, and I know that I've discarded every ideal I ever had. AND I'M SICK OF IT! I'M SICK OF THESE MURDERERS, WHO'VE KILLED MORE PEOPLE THAN I COULD EVER EVEN DREAM OF KILLING, LOOKING DOWN ON ME FOR NOT MURDERING IN ACCORDANCE WITH PROTOCOL! "YOU WANT ME TO SAVE HISTORY, and THEN YOU LOOK DOWN ON ME BECAUSE I DIDN'T DO IT THE WAY YOU WANTED? GO FUCK YOURSELF! IF YOU WANT TO LOOK FOR A FUCKING HYPOCRITE, LOOK AT THE JACKASS WHO WANTS ME TO SAVE THE WORLD, AND THEN GIVES ME SHIT FOR USING THE ONLY TOOLS I FUCKING HAVE!"

And then I'm done. Everyone's staring at me, as I stand inches away from Ozymandias, waiting for death, all because I couldn't control my fucking temper.

And then Ozymandias starts laughing his head off, leaving me staring at him in confusion.

"By Ra!" he crows, wheezing with laughter. "The boy has a spine after all! And here I was beginning to lose hope!"

"Indeed, Pharaoh Ozymandias," Nitocris says, smiling slightly.

"Take your Grail, Master of Chaldea! Take it and allow nothing to stop you from saving humanity! Your Pharaoh commands it!"

I comply, still not entirely sure what the fuck just happened.

Nitocris escorts us out of the temple, all to the sound of Ozymandias' gales of laughter.

"Pharaoh Nitocris, may this humble one ask what just happened?"

"The Pharaoh Ozymandias wished to test you. He wanted to see if you had some measure of steel in you. Some measure of pride. So he decided to push you, and see what lay at your core."

"I see."

"And… Master of Chaldea?"

"Yes, Divine Pharaoh?"

"What you said about having to resort to dishonorable means, because they're all that you've got?" she gives me a small smile. "I just wanted to make sure you knew that I understand."

"You do?"

"When I had to avenge my brother, I couldn't go about it with strength of arms. I had to use every bit of guile I possessed. I had to use poison, and witchcraft, and treachery, all because it was all I had. And even though everyone agreed that it had to be done, they called me dishonorable for doing what they were afraid to, the only way that I could." She looks me dead in the eye. "So, um… this is embarrassing, but I just wanted you to know that I understand. And I don't think you're dishonorable, or a coward, or anything like that."

I smile, as the Rayshift begins to carry me away.

I suppose it's a relief, in the end, to be reminded that somewhere, in all corners of the Throne, I have kindred spirits.

 

[Charles Flynn]

Of course, not all the Grail retrievals go so smoothly.

---​

"So, Sinfjotli, Brynnhildr, the rest of your team is inside?"

My guides both nod, so I open the door to the bar.

And then immediately close it.

Nope.

"Flynn? Is that you?" Attila shouts from inside. "Come, join us!"

"Yes!" Duryodhana bellows. "We need someone to judge our arm-wrestling competition!"

Nope.

---​

"So," the towering, muscular oni begins, his rumbling voice echoing throughout the cave. "You're the Master of Chaldea! How splendid! After all, you look good enough to eat."

"Shuten-Douji," I say with a nod of acknowledgement. "May I ask, before you eat me, that you wait until tomorrow? My faith prohibits being cannibalized on holy days, and this is one of the big ones. I really don't want to end up in hell over some minor infraction, you know?"

Okay, not my best material, but I'm not really doing so well at the moment. It's fine, though. All I have to do is wait for Kintoki to get here, and then-

"Now that's just stupid. What are you trying to do, buy yourself some time?" Shuten rises, looking me over more carefully. "So, who are you waiting for? What rescuer are you hoping will spring up and-"

"GOOOOOOOOOOOLLLLLDDDDDDDDDDEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEENNNNN!" Kintoki roars off in the distance, freezing Shuten in his tracks.

"Boss!" one of the lesser oni shouts, running in from the front of the cave. "Golden Boy's here!"

"WHAT?" Shuten-Douji yelps, all plans of eating me suddenly forgotten. "But- But I'm not ready for him! Damn, damn, damn, damn, DAMN! Alright, fine. You lot go up and delay him, while I prepare to face him myself!"

The grunts all rush out, and Shuten ducks into another antechamber out of my line of sight, no doubt to secure his arms and armor for his fight against Kintoki.

'Galahad, how're things going on your end?'

'We're making good time, Flynn. Your idea on how to find Shuten's lair definitely worked.'

Having Yan Qing disguise himself as an oni, pretend to take me captive, and then trick an oni patrol into leading us to their hideout was a solid plan. Now, all I have to do is wait for my Servants and allies to dispose of Shuten, and-

My train of thought is interrupted when a well-figured young lady with oni horns steps out of the antechamber Shuten went into and fixes me with a glare.

"You. Human. How do I look?"

"Umm... good?" Seriously, what the hell is going on here?

"Good enough for Kintoki?" the woman, who can't possibly be who I think she is, asks.

"Yes. Definitely."

"Oh, thank the kami!" she says with a relieved smile. "I was a little worried that the dress might be a bit too much, but, if you're sure, then I'm definitely going with it! Anyways, there's a spice rack in the back of the cave, so please sprinkle a little paprika onto your clothing before I get back. It really sets off the flavor of humans."

And then she sashays on out, humming cheerfully to herself.

No. No way.

'Flynn? You still there?'

'Yeah, yeah, I'm fine. Just... Oni are weird.'

---​

The Fuyuki Grail stands before us.

This Grail War was a veritable odyssey. Identifying the Servants was easy enough, but the Masters were a much more difficult task. As was piecing together the situation, and what the hell that weird Assassin in red was up to. But now, we're on the home stretch. The King of Conquerors has fallen, as have Diarmuid, Bluebeard, Hundred Face, and Artoria. Gilgamesh was... well, bribing him into helping us win the Grail was difficult. Very difficult.

But in the end, he decided to help, in exchange for us killing his old Master. Apparently our cause was amusing enough to merit his aid.

And now, we stand at the final hurdle. The Grail is within our reach! Only Lancelot stands against us, commanded by a withered shell of an old man, who I swear looks uncannily familiar.

"Now! Now, the Holy Grail War finally reaches its completion, outsider, and there is nothing you can do to stop it!"

"Well, yes, that's kind of obvious." The damn thing is spurting black tar, for some reason, and Gilgamesh mentioned something about it being infected by the Zoroastrian answer to Satan, so, honestly, I'm probably not going to take it back with me to Chaldea. But by that same token... I can't let this Zouken guy win it.

"Yes, finally!" he laughs with a sort of twisted, perverse joy. "The Makiri's dream will be fulfilled!"

Wait, hold the fucking phone. "Makiri? As in... Zolgen Makiri?"

"Yes, once I was Zolgen Makiri, so very long ago." He stares off into the distance, lost in the memories. "So long ago..."

"OH MY GOD!" This is the best day ever! "YOU'RE THE PANDA GUY!"

He's jolted out of his reverie with a look of absolute horror on his face. "W-What? No! I don't know where you heard that name, but I am most certainly not-"

"Mongrel, what are you referring to?" Gilgamesh asks, in between chucking swords at Emolot like there's no tomorrow.

"Oh, you're going to love this one, King Gilgamesh. See, this dumbass used to be part of the Clocktower's Cryptozoology department. Then, he blew his entire budget-"

"SHUTUPSHUTUPSHUTUP!"

"-because he thought that pandas were a type of unicorn."

Gilgamesh breaks out laughing, even as he forces Lancelot to stay at range. "Truly, a clown without equal!"

"I know, right? I mean, when I first got to this parallel timeline, I could barely believe that they'd run this whole Grail War three whole times, and still nobody had managed to win. But now that I know he's involved, it make perfect sense!"

"If I was in Uruk, I would name this man my court jester! No man would be more fitting for the role than this bungler!"

"True, milord! Indeed, we-" "CALADBOLG!" Fergus, having taken advantage of the distraction I provided, ambushes Zouken from behind, disintegrating him as he drives his spiral sword into the decrepit old man's back.

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRTTHHHUUUURRRRRRR!" Lancelot roars, suddenly beginning to fade. Gilgamesh turns him into a human pincushion in the blink of an eye.

"Oh, just shut up, thief. Your inane, endless repetition grows dull."

"Well said, King Gilgamesh. I think the screaming was really starting to get on everybody's nerves."

And then, of course, the grail fires up in earnest.

"MAKE YOUR WISH."

Hm. Definitely not bringing this one back to Chaldea. Of course, there's also absolutely no way in Hell that I'm going to leave this thing primed. That would just be an unabashed disaster in the making.

"I wish that, in the Tohsaka Manor's backyard, there was a swimming pool, thirty feet in length, twenty in width, and ten in depth, filled entirely with lemonade."

"WHAT?"

Gilgamesh, for his part, is laughing like a madman, while Galahad just facepalms.

"You said to state my wish, so I did!" I insist, barely keeping a straight face. "So, lemonade swimming pool. Hop to it, Lucifer."

"FINE."

Okay, note to self, he definitely poisoned the lemonade.

All the same, we Rayshift out once Gilgamesh finishes incarnating himself.

Maybe we didn't get the Grail, or save anyone, but I made a lemonade swimming pool. That's a net win no matter how you slice it.

 

[Charles Flynn]

Of course, even amidst our madcap quest to gather more Grails, life still goes on within the walls of Chaldea.

Or, in some cases, ends.

---​

I stare up at the body dangling from the ceiling, quietly reflecting on the fact that, as of today, I'm one of only twenty-three human beings left alive on the planet.

"I can't believe- I didn't see this coming." Roman's crying as he looks at the fleshy former residence of one Tom H. Morrison, Chaldean bridge tech and section head.

It doesn't make that much of a difference, in truth. All the human staff save for me and Roman could be safely replaced with Servants by this point. All the same... it's still disheartening.

It's almost a betrayal, of sorts. After all, we were all in this together, the last humans on the planet. And he abandoned us.

Part of me wants to rage at him, to cuss him out for not standing with us to the bitter end. But then, I catch myself. He's dead now, and the living.... the living come first.

I put a hand on Roman's shoulder. "I don't think any of us saw this coming. Trust me, if anyone should be kicking himself over not spotting this in time, it should be me. I'm the one in charge of security, after all." And I have a massive spy network that I use to constantly monitor Chaldea, but that's best left unspoken.

"Yeah. Maybe so. But I still feel like I failed him."

"Did he leave a note?"

"No. Probably figured that writing one would just give away his plans." Roman sighs, and slumps into a chair. "How do we break this to the rest of the team? It's going to be hell on our morale."

"That, I leave up to you. God knows that I'm not good with normal people, even if I can manage Servants." I sigh, and take the chair besides him. "Are we holding a funeral? I know that we didn't for Jack, but that was mostly because, well..."

"There wasn't enough of a body to bury?" Roman finishes. "We held a memorial service, but you were on deployment at the time."

"So, where and when are we burying him?"

"I was thinking we could put him in one of the spare Klein Coffins. Preserve his body so that his family can send him off according to his wishes."

"You know wasting power on refrigerating dead people decreases our odds of actually winning, right?" I raise my eyebrow sardonically. Much as I respect Roman, he's still a little too sentimental for everyone's good. "Kind of hard to hand the body over to his family if we're all dead, you know?"

Roman shoots me an unimpressed look. "Really? You're on about this now?"

"Hey the issue's not going away, why should the debate?"

"Flynn, I don't care how many times you ask me, I'm not taking the A-Team off life support."

"All right, fine. Waste our electricity and mana on keeping Lev's #1 victims alive long enough that they can all die instantaneously the second you defrost them." I roll my eyes. "But don't say I didn't warn you when it all comes back to bite us."

"I won't ever regret keeping them with us, Flynn. You can count on that."

---​

Tom's death casts a shadow over Chaldea for weeks. We all knew him, after all, so we all mourn him. I mourn considerably less, of course, but then, I've never really been one to feel all that bad about someone's passing, a fact I prefer to keep to myself, since it tends to make people look at me funny.

But we proceed onwards. Always onwards. Deploying to secure more Grails, and, of course, summoning more Servants.

---​

"Servant Archer, True Name Gilgamesh!" the cheerful little blond boy announces, making me do a double take.

"Ah- Um- W-Welcome, Your Majesty!" I finally manage to get out, still slightly in shock at having summoned the chibi version of humanity's oldest hero. "I am honored beyond all measure to welcome one so magnificent as yourself to Chaldea."

"You don't have to suck up to me," the mini-Gilgamesh says, looking ever-so-slightly disappointed. "I'm not a total jerk like the older mes."

"Oh, thank God," I say, sighing with relief. "Well, then, Prince Gilgamesh, it is my pleasure to welcome you to Chaldea. If it's not too much of a bother, we'd love it if you could help out around the observatory. We're always understaffed, and your help would be welcome."

"Glad to help!" he says cheerfully. "Dr. Roman's office, right?"

"Yes."

And so he leaves, leaving me profoundly grateful that we didn't get an older version. Overwhelming power or not, that would just be a nightmare.

---​

"Servant Saber, True Name Bedivere," the silver-armed knight says crisply. "It would seem that fate has chosen me to assist you."

"And I can hardly fault that choice," I say with a grin. I actually liked Bedivere, after all. "We're glad to-"

"I wouldn't wish to waste your time," Bedivere says, all apologetic politeness. "If it's not too much of a bother, I would prefer to go to the Acting Director's office, so that I may be best integrated into Chaldea. Is that permissible to you?"

"Well, yes."

And with that said, he's off, leaving me utterly confused as to what I did to deserve the cold shoulder.

---​

"Servant Ruler, True Name Sherlock Holmes," the dapper detective says, professional and dashing as can be. I think Mash is hyperventilating as she looks at him. "I suppose that I'll take your case."

"It's an honor to have you with us, Mr. Holmes," I say, and I really do mean it. Looking at his stats, it's readily evident that, even if he's only a detective and investigator, his incredible deductive skills effectively make him a budget version of Fionn. And I've never been more effective in destroying humanity's enemies than when Fionn Mac Cumhaill was on my side.

"I suppose so." He takes a puff on his pipe. "May I ask where I am to be quartered?"

"I can't step away from the summoning, I'm afraid, but I'm sure that my assistant here, Mash Kyrielight, would be happy to show you around Chaldea."

"Senpai!" she squawks, looking simultaneously enthused and mortified. "I can't-"

"She's just being self-deprecating. She's more than up to the task."

"Very well then," Holmes says with a nod of acknowledgement as he makes for the door. "Miss Kyrielight? Are you coming?"

"Um, yes!" she gives me a half-glare as she make her way after her personal hero.

And now nobody can say I never did anything nice for her. "Alright, Marjani, fire it up!"

The circles spin and the light flares, revealing-

"Ooh. Hydra blood dagger! Score!"