How I Saved History (Fate/Grand Order SI)

[Charles Flynn]

"Charlie, thank you for coming," Roman says as I step into his office.

"Pleasure's all mine," I assure him with a grin. "So, why did you call me here before the meeting?"

He seems to be thinking over how to best answer that, as I settle into a chair opposite his.

"Let's not get to the meat of the matter just yet," he says, after his deliberations come to a close. "So, tell me, how have things been going? How's life been treating you?"

"Good."

He waits for me to follow up on that, and then looks disappointed in me when I don't. "That's it?"

"I mean, unless you count the Singularity Hunt, everything's just been, well, routine." And even the Singularity Hunt has been its own flavor of boring, if you think about it. Grabbing Grails from Singularities that've already been taken care of, for the most part, is incredibly easy work. Ultimately, it's just… routine. I'm good with routine. Much less good with risks.

"What about life in Chaldea? Anything interesting to report there?" He's staring to take on the tone that my old therapist would have when I was being a bit too blasé. I suppose I could run through things, see if I have any real issues.

"Well… hm. The Pathfinder game is still going strong, but you already knew that."

"I'm well aware."

"You finished rerolling yet?"

"Yes, you freaking psycho."

"Cool. My lessons with Medea are progressing nicely as well, she actually showed me a few new poisons we could use to execute Mata Hari the next time she crosses the line." I initially thought that Servants were immune to poisons. My teacher has taken great delight in showing me just how wrong I was.

"Ah." Roman looks slightly disapproving. "Are you still insisting on having her followed?"

"Yes. No point in giving her an opportunity to betray us again."

"Do you feel like that's a bit… well, paranoid?"

"Not particularly, why do you ask?"

"No reason. So, any other notable events?"

"I mean, aside from that, it's just checking up on Servants."

"And how's that going?"

"Well, the Berserker Lounge," formerly the Admin Break Room, "is still under control. Everyone's content, and none of them are on the verge of doing something destructive. I've also been checking in with the Chul Kids, seeing as they're one of my early warning systems. They're doing fine."

"Have they figured out if one of them is the father yet?"

"No, actually. They're going to wait until the kid comes out before they start looking for who his father is. If it's got blue hair, then it's probably theirs."

"And they… can't be specific as to which version is the father?"

"I actually asked them about it. Turns out that Sarah slept with all of them during the estimated time of conception. Sometimes with more than one at the same time." And apparently, she's not the only woman in Chaldea who's done that. Looking my female coworkers in the eye is going to be so much harder after this. Repressrepressrepreeeeeeeeeeeess…. aaaaaaaaaaand… we're good.

"Well, um," Roman looks downright flabbergasted. "I suppose if they're consenting adults, then it's really none of our business."

"Yep."

"So, anything else interesting going on in your life?" Roman asks.

"Well, I did set up a swimsuit calendar."

He raises an eyebrow. "Really? And what brought this on?"

"Well, after Blackbeard died a month and a half ago, in what was perhaps the most hilarious example of natural selection I've ever seen…"

"I still don't know why he thought stealing Serenity's underwear was a good idea," Roman mutters.

"Me and Mash had to go through his effects, after that, and we found that he was trying to put together a swimsuit calendar. Anyways, I was bored, and I thought, hey, maybe if this was official, and done with the models fully informed and agreeing to it, then it'd be a halfway decent way to improve morale. So, yeah. We're working on it. We're producing three, actually. One all-female, one all-male, and one mixed for those bisexuals among us."

"Really?" Roman asks, sounding more amused than anything else. "Any other entertainment products in the works that I'm in the dark about?"

"Well Shakespeare's play is going through production well enough. He's got Anderson co-writing, and he just finished up writing Galahad out of the play and giving his old scenes to Mash."

"What?" Roman asks incredulously. "How are you okay with this? I thought you and Galahad were friends!"

"We are. They're writing him out at his request. According to him, Mash deserves to be remembered as a hero far more than he does."

"That's…" Roman looks stunned.

"Yeah. He's really not that bad a guy once you really get to know him, is he?"

"I… I suppose so." He pulls himself together. "Anything else to report?"

I… do I tell him? Do I tell him what I'm planning?

No. But I can lay seeds for future threats.

"I've been having some concerns, actually."

"Do tell."

"From what I've read of the Association's records, and our own bylaws, I'm pretty sure that they'll try to shut us down, if we save the world."

"They'd be in the right to do so," Roman says gently, prompting an ugly snort from me before I can stop myself.

"Yeah, I think that using the words 'in the right' and 'the Mages' Association' in the same sentence counts as an oxymoron." I pull myself back on track. "Look, I've been thinking of the superhero paradox a bit, lately. Do the threats all appear there, in that one city, because the superhero is there? Or is the superhero there simply because there will be threats."

"And you're saying Chaldea is the superhero in this analogy of yours."

"Yeah. And call me stupid, but… well, I'm afraid. I'm utterly terrified that, even if we save the world this time, it'll happen again, and next time it'll stick, because the Association tore us apart in fits of petty jealousy and hidebound foolishness."

"Even you have to admit that the complete and utter destruction of humanity is an event unlikely to be repeated."

"I remember that Terry Pratchett once wrote something about climbing mountains. About how everything is easier once you've done it at least once. A tall, treacherous peak would take multiple teams of daring mountaineers countless tries to reach its peak, and then, a few generations later, little old grannies would be heading up to its summit for their morning constitutionals. What if… what if destroying humanity is like that?"

"Now you're grasping at straws." Roman places a hand on my shoulder. "So, why are you telling me this?"

"I just… I don't want these fears of mine to die with me, if I don't make it to the end," I look him dead in the eyes. "So, promise me, all right? Promise me that, if I don't make it, you won't let the Association take Chaldea apart?"

"Flynn," Roman looks me in the eye, and then sighs in defeat. "I promise."

"Thank you."

"Right, then." He looks slightly embarrassed all of a sudden. "Gah, now I feel like an ass for having to bring up what I originally called you here to discuss."

"Lay it on me. I promise I won't get mad."

"I've been getting some complaints about you basically turning Chaldea into a police state."

"What? That's ridiculous!"

"What did Marjani eat for breakfast this morning?"

"Her usual fare is scrambled eggs and bacon, but I can check to confirm, if you want," I say automatically, before realizing what I just said. "So… okay. I might have accidentally turned Chaldea into a police state."

"How many people's usual breakfasts have you memorized?"

"All of them. Medea beat it into my head that you always have to pay attention to people's diets so you know where to put the poison." I blink. "I'm really not helping my case there, am I?"

"Yeah, no." Roman gives me a stern look. "I'm not asking you to drop your monitoring entirely. God knows we do need someone that knows what's going on in Chaldea. But please, try not to make it so invasive? And leave the human staff out of it?"

"All right." It's not a hard concession, really. Honestly, half the reason I set up the network in the first place was because I was having trouble keeping track of all the names and faces. "Anything else?"

"Nothing that we won't be addressing in the general meeting, at least."

And with that, we head off towards the meeting room.

---​

"Ladies, gentlemen," Roman says as he calls the meeting to order. "Thank you for coming. Da Vinci and I have an announcement to make."

"You're tying the knot?" I ask teasingly, which gets a laugh out of the table, and an indignant splutter out of Roman.

"W-What, NO! Well, I mean, eventually, maybe, but now's not the- You know what? I'm just going to keep going. We've finally upgraded Chaldea's mana generators to the point where we can see into the Age of the Gods."

I… I feel a grin start to make its way across my face. "So, you mean to say that…"

"We've found the true Seventh Singularity," Roman confirms, a holographic representation of Chaldeas activating on the table. "It's located in the year 2655 BC, in Mesopotamia." He looks around the table. "We're deploying in two days. Take that time to prepare yourself as much as you can, because this is going to be the hardest Singularity yet."

The endgame is in sight. The final act is beginning.

And I can hardly wait.

 

[Charles Flynn]

"All right," I say, looking over my away team. Cu Chulainn, Medea, Holmes, Cursed Arm, Georgios, and Siegfried will be joining me on this one (and Galahad goes without saying.) All proven to be reliable and powerful except Holmes, and he's useful more for information gathering than combat. "You all know the drill by now. We go in, work with the locals, and resolve the Singularity. We'll be Rayshifting into the City of Uruk, home to King Gilgamesh, humanity's oldest known epic hero. Consequently, I'll have to ask that you all watch what you say and stay on your best behavior. I've met the man, and he is not someone you want to cross." I look around. "Understood?"

They all nod grimly.

"All right then. To the coffins, we're going in."

The Rayshift fires up, and we're off.

---​

OH FUCK WE'RE FALLING.

Alright, Charlie, no time to panic, got to get it together. Were we somehow deflected? Did Da Vinci screw up? Come on, come on, think of something.

"LORD CAMELOT!"

Or… I suppose Galahad could take care of it. Still not sure how the hell that even worked, but, hey, beggars can't be choosers.

We hit the ground, none of us taking any injury, to my great relief.

Then, I open my eyes and realize I landed on Galahad.

For a moment, we stare at each other, faces a few feet apart, trapped in a moment of pure, silent awkwardness. Then I break that moment.

"So, count of three, we get back up, dust ourselves off, and never speak of this again?"

"Like you read my mind."

"Right then. One… Two… Three!"

As one, we rise to our feet, and get our first look at the Singularity's landscape. It's a wide, empty plain, one utterly devoid of any sign of human interference.

'All Servants report in and convene on my location.'

It takes less than a minute for my team to be fully assembled.

"All right, then, people. I'm calling Roman in, and he'll be guiding us towards Uruk."

---​

"Interesting," I comment, as my more melee-inclined Servants deal with the pack of lion-like monstrosities that attacked us. "I don't think I recognize these ones."

"Well, it's to be expected, really," Holmes points out. "I doubt that you know about every monster there is. For my part, I'm not precisely sure. Perhaps one of the Children of Tiamat? They do seem to be the most notable monsters in Babylonian mythology."

"I mean, weren't those in the time of the Babylonian creation myth?" I point out. "And I'm pretty sure they're each one of a kind. There's around five of these guys, and they all look to be the same breed of beast."

"I WILL BRING YOU DOWN! BALMUNG!"

"Well, I suppose we'll have to ask the locals. It would seem that our more physically gifted compatriots have resolved the issue."

"True-" That's all I get out before I'm suddenly sent slamming into the ground by some sort of airborne projectile.

Right, that was a blunt-force trauma. Soft impact too. Still, heavy enough weight and strong enough impact that I should be dead. Is my contract with Galahad giving me enhanced durability?

"Owowowowowowow," the surprisingly warm projectile mutters on top of me, and I suddenly realize that she's a woman.

A very revealingly dressed woman.

A very revealingly dressed woman who's directly on top of me right now.

Right, right, think with the upper head. Come on, upper head, give me something to work with here. Wait, she fell on me from above, right? And she's unharmed from the impact. No real elevated spaces here, and I doubt she was launched from a catapult, which would mean that she possesses some means of flight. A quick scan of the sky reveals that she wasn't using some sort of mount, which means that she, of her own nature, possesses the power of flight. She's most likely some sort of Servant or Divine Spirit, and definitely dangerous. She can fly, after all, and that's almost always the sign of someone really strong. Just look at Superman!

Right then, mentally dubbing her Sexy Scary Sky Lady until I'm told her actual name and putting her in my People Not To Be Fucked With folder. Thanks, upper head. This is why you're the one running the show.

Shit, she's noticed me!

Right, right, don't panic, just think of what you're going to say, there's got to be a-

"Please don't kill me."

She smirks, floating up and away from me. "Well, well, a mortal showing proper respect. Will wonders never cease."

"Only a fool would disrespect a goddess, milady. Especially one of such obvious power and majesty as yourself," come on, pour on that flattery. If there's one thing Classical mythology has taught me, it's to never piss off the nigh-omnipotent anthropomorphic personifications of universal forces. Hubris never ends well.

"Well, obviously," she says, smugness dripping off her words. "It's gratifying to see that even an obvious foreigner like you recognizes a real goddess when you see one."

"May I ask your name, so that I may sacrifice in your honor?" I ask, giving Georgios a look when he seems poised to interrupt. There's only one God truly worthy of respect and worship, sure enough, but this one has power, at least for the moment, and when you've got a gun to your head, you don't pick fights with the person holding it.

"I am Ishtar, petitioner." Right, then. Threat level confirmed. Redoubled, even. I was ass-kissing pretty hard before, but now I'm going to have to turn it up to eleven, if I want even the slightest chance of surviving.

"Ah, truly your beauty eclipses what words can describe, most mighty of the gods, for as this humble petitioner gazes upon you, he finds that what he was told could not even begin to match the genuine article. Indeed, he eagerly awaits the chance to see your prowess in battle, that he may behold your transcendent mastery of all that rests within your domain." Right, should probably introduce myself. "This humble one's name is Charles Flynn, and he would be honored beyond words were the most radiant goddess to deem his petty title worth remembering."

"I suppose I might," she says, obviously preening. "So, little man, what brings you to my lands?"

Hm. I think I might be able to turn this encounter to our favor. "Indeed, Lady Ishtar, this humble one can only praise your benevolent wisdom, and your generosity in gracing us with your presence!"

"Yeah, I am pretty great, aren't I?"

"Indeed, for our entire reason for this journey was to make a pilgrimage to your most holy of cities, divine Uruk, and bear our offerings to your great temple. Have you come to command us to turn back? Have we displeased you? It that the reason you fell on me from a great height?"

"Wait, what?" she asks, doing a double take. "Wait, what kind of offerings are we talking, here?"

"Approximately eight cubits of pure gold," I tell her, keeping my face completely straight.

"Well, I mean, yes, I suppose this is a pretty dangerous place," she says, a bit uncertain all of a sudden.

"I see. If it is the goddess' judgement that we are unworthy of offering her our gold, then we shall abide by it."

"W-What? No, no, sweetie, you're still worthy of giving me your gold, now fork it over and then do an about-face."

"Oh, we don't have it on us."

"THEN HOW WERE YOU SUPPOSED TO HAND IT OVER?" she asks incredulously.

"Priest Roman is gifted in sorcery. He deemed it too risky to send the sacred gold with us, on the chance that we fall prey to monsters or bandits. Thus, he sent us ahead, and planned on monitoring our location, and sending the gold over so we could make the appropriate offerings when we arrived at your most holy of temples in Uruk." Dear God, I hope Roman picked up on that. If he doesn't Rayshift that gold in, I am screwed.

"And- What if you don't make it?" she asks, almost sounding concerned for my personal well-being, although I very much doubt that's the case.

"Then Priest Roman will send another group out on pilgrimage, although I don't doubt it will take some time."

She seems to think on it for a moment, and then gives the answer I was aiming for. "Very well, then. In light of your piety and respect, your goddess will bless you with her presence and protection as you make your pilgrimage to Uruk."

"Thank you, great goddess. I will personally entreat Priest Roman to triple our offerings to you."

She flies ahead, leaving me with a distinctly displeased Georgios and Galahad.

'Flynn,' Galahad begins angrily. 'What the Hell was that?'

'Me keeping the most hair trigger goddess in Mesopotamia from killing us all, and hiring us a guide that knows the lay of the land, even if I didn't put it in precisely those terms.'

'Really?' Georgios asked, looking a bit irked. 'Because it looked a lot like you paying homage to a false idol.'

'She's not worthy of that respect, sure. But, at the same time, she's too dangerous not to play to her ego. I'm not Gilgamesh, here. I'm not going to flip off Cthulhu just to appease my own ego, and I'm not going to risk the mission. And considering that the mission in question involves rescuing His favorite creations from a sudden, ignominious, and, above all else, permanent end, I'm sure He wouldn't mind making an exception just this once.'

That seems to placate them, and so we begin making our way towards Uruk.

 

[Charles Flynn]

Our progress, guided by Ishtar, is far swifter, seeing as our goodly and generous guide is capable of disintegrating the lion-creatures (helpfully identified as Urdimmu) in a single shot. Thus, in less than an hour, we can see a line across the horizon.

"What is that?" I marvel, trying to parse out just what it could be.

"The Absolute Demonic Front," Ishtar answers, flying in close. I didn't realize she was within earshot of me. I'll have to be more aware of her position in the future.

She doesn't clarify, and I'm honestly too terrified of her to ask questions. But, as we get closer, and the line comes further into focus, I realize what it is.

It's a wall. A wall one hundred feet high and manned by humans. A wall under siege.

The beasts, some familiar, others new, are swarming the wall. Some are content to wait, but, every once in a while, one of them tries to scale the wall, and the others follow their brother's example, the bestial horde creeping up the stone like a wave battering away at the beach. And like the waves of the ocean, they are forced back down, under the roar of the walls artillery emplacements, and the battle cries of its men.

Ishtar stops us while we're still a couple miles out. "Right. This is close enough. You all stay here, okay?"

"Yes, milady," I answer dutifully, as the goddess forms a portal and steps through.

'Seriously, Flynn, do you really have to keep brown-nosing with her?' Galahad sends over the mental link. 'I mean, I guess she's a good fighter, but that hardly seems like a worthwhile reason for tossing aside your dignity!'

"AN GAL TIGAL SE!" a familiar voice roars in the distance, and suddenly, all the world is a spectacle of sound and fury.

The monsters die, of course, and I can feel the shockwave from here. The roar of the falling planet drowns out all sound, and as I lie dazed on my back, twenty feet behind where I was initially standing, I can feel blood trickle down from my ears.

Medea's on me in an instant, repairing my blasted eardrums, and as I get to my feet, I give Galahad a Look.

'Consider my objections withdrawn,' he says in a subdued tone, staring at the half-a-mile-deep impact crater. She positioned her blast carefully, just far enough away to leave the Front unscathed, and close enough to wipe out the monsters. I have to admire that level of precision, to be honest.

And then, soaring through the skies, Babylon's goddess of sex and violence is among us once more. "Come on, I cleared us a path!"

She's cheerful, exuberant, even. Completely casual about the sheer destructive prowess she just displayed.

I have the weirdest boner right now.

"Indeed, milady, your kindness knows no bounds." And with praise having been offered unto her, we depart.

---​

We have more trouble traversing the crater then we do with the Demonic Beasts. Soon, we're at the gates of the Front, facing an entirely different problem.

"What part of 'let me in,' is so hard for you to understand, human?" the goddess asks irritably, glaring at the hapless garrison commander. "I am your goddess, am I not?"

The poor man is sweating up a storm. "What I mean is- we're fighting the Three Goddess Alliance, and- um… Aren't you our… enemy?"

Ishtar, for her part, looks distinctly unimpressed. "Little Denib, and yes, I do in fact know your name, you think I am your enemy."

"Y-Yes."

"I do believe that I have never heard anything so thoroughly insulting in my life!" Ishtar notes cheerfully, while I take several surreptitious steps away from her, striving to be outside the upcoming splash zone. "And I've talked to Gilgamesh, so I know insulting when I hear it."

"M-my goddess, I intended no offence-" the hapless commander babbles, damn near shitting his pants while his subordinates decide that I had the right idea and start backing away.

"Really, you, or that ungrateful worm Gilgamesh my enemy? Such inflated opinions of yourselves," she notes with relish. "If I truly considered Uruk my enemy, I would have shattered this puny little wall of yours and left you to the mercy of the beasts. If I considered either you or Gilgamesh my enemies, I would simply swat you like the bugs you are." She picks up the gate with one hand, stepping under it to look the now-sobbing Denib in the eyes as he falls to his knees, shivering helplessly. "So, no, little Denib. Neither you nor Uruk are my enemies. Not even Gilgamesh is truly my enemy. Because, if you were, you would already be dead. And you know what I find insulting about all of this?" Denib doesn't respond. "Answer, Denib."

"N-No, my goddess. I do not know."

"What I find most insulting about this is that you thought yourselves my equal. After all, what could I call an enemy but an equal of sorts? Someone who could remotely pose a threat to me." She steps up with an ugly smirk. "And we both know that you're not even close to that. Same goes for Gilgamesh, really. So don't try and pretend to be my enemy. Such shameless hubris is unbefitting of a mortal." Denib nods frantically as she puts a friendly hand on his shoulders. "Now, then, Denib, what are you going to do?"

"I'm going to open the gate?"

"Good boy." She turns away, and he faints behind her.

The gate rises, and we pass through it.

"Truly, my goddess, your mercy is beyond compare, to be so forgiving to the one that had inconvenienced you." I'm surprised to find that I mean it. By Ishtar standards, that was practically turning the other cheek.

She blushes at that, for some reason. "Ah, well, I mean, I'm a stern goddess, after all, but I'm not a cruel one! I wouldn't just kill him over a first offence. Just giving him a tongue-lashing and cursing him with impotence was more than enough."

"Truly, milady is wise and just beyond all compare," I say dutifully, comforting myself with the knowledge that at least it wasn't me.

"Of course I am! Now let's get moving! Uruk's not too far away!"

---​

We arrive just before sunset, and Ishtar stops us just before we reach the gates.

"Well, this is where we part ways," she says to me with a grin. "The Grand Ziggurat is just down Main Street from here. My temple is behind it, although you'll probably only get there to drop off your offerings after you're done presenting yourself to Gilgamesh."

"Ah. Is that required of all visitors?" I ask politely.

She laughs. "No, no, I simply thought that introducing yourself to the local ruler would be your first priority." She smirks, and then says something that makes my blood go cold. "Master of Chaldea."

OHFUCKOHFUCKOHFUCKOHFUCKOHFUUUUUUUUUUCK. I can't move. My blood freezes in my veins as I stare at her in pure, unadulterated horror.

"Oh, relax," she says, grinning ear-to-ear as she watches me freak the fuck out. "I recognized you from the start. I just played along with your little charade because you promised me a proper set of offerings, and you have a gift for flattery."

"In light of so wise and merciful a goddess as you, milady, no exaggeration, no matter how great could truly be called flattery, for words and minds cannot encompass the sheer scope of your greatness," I reply on reflex, to which she smiles warmly.

"See? How could I go and kill you after you said something like that." She kisses me on the cheek, and then rises. "Now go and meet the king. And be sure to keep your promise. After all, if I find out you cheated me, then I'll be very cross with you."

And then she's gone, soaring off through the heavens, and I fall to my knees thanking God I'm still alive.

"Holy shit."

"Flynn?" Galahad asks, placing a hand upon my shoulder. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, yeah. Just… Gonna need a minute." I take a deep breath, and then get back up to my feet. "Alright. Let's go meet the King."

 

[Charles Flynn]

As I walk through the streets of Uruk, easily one of mankind's oldest cities, I can't help but note that the place seems more alive than I'd expected. One wouldn't expect a city engaged in a war against uncounted legions of monsters to be so… active.

But the city is alive, far more alive than it has any right to be. I see no sign of economic strain, and in truth, the sheer number of laughing children running through the streets almost seems to say that life is prospering.

When the Archer incarnation of Gilgamesh I encountered during the Grail Hunt told me that he would only rule over the greatest of peoples, I thought that he was full of shit. Now, though, it's starting to feel like he might've been onto something. If these people, laughing and prospering even during a war against their very existence, were the standard he set, then no wonder he thought modern humanity fell short of his standards.

Alright, then. Let's go and see the King.

---​

'Is everyone familiar with the plan?' I send over the mental link. 'Repeat it after me.'

'If Gilgamesh decides to kill us, I am to form the primary defensive bulwark,' Galahad repeats.

'I am to utilize Abyssus Draconis, and then cover Siegfried as he gets into melee range.' Georgios adds.

'I am to keep him busy, and trap him in melee, while Cu deals with his cronies,' Siegfried continues, rounding us off. 'Then, once his reinforcements are dealt with, we gang up on him and finish him off.'

'Good. Remember, this is only a contingency, just in case he decides to kill us out of hand. I hope it won't be necessary, but having met the man, I know that the possibility exists,' I sigh, then square my shoulders. 'Alright, let's go. Remember, let me do the talking.'

We start making our way up the steps, towards the gate of the Grand Ziggurat that serves as Gilgamesh's main headquarters. Considering the sizable line that ends a dozen or so steps ahead of us, it might be a while before we meet with him. But that's fine. I can wait.

---​

Waiting sucks. The sun is starting to set by the time we're allowed in, and I am an uncomfortable mixture of thirsty, hungry, and tired. My uniform is soaked with my sweat (and seriously, who thought white uniforms was a good idea? I can't even begin to count how many hours I've had to spend washing bloodstains out of this thing, a frankly terrifying number of which were my own,) I've had to talk Medea out of covertly murdering our way to the front of the line twice, and I have a blazing headache.

And it's then, and only then, that I get my first look at King Gilgamesh.

"Divide the resources equally between the two families," he orders, dismissing the tablet-bearing messenger. "And take a fifth of the combined total as a fine for their infighting in times of war."

The messenger hurries off, and his court scribe scribbles down her notes.

He's addressing every complaint in person? That's almost as impressive as it is massively inefficient. Has he never heard of the concept of delegating responsibility before?

"Alright, Siduri, what's next?" the king asks, sitting back in his throne.

"We have exhausted civil petitioners, and there are no further messages from the ADF," his secretary reports dutifully. "We do, however, have a group of foreign petitioners that requested an audience with you. They've been waiting for quite some time."

Finally.

"Hmph. I suppose they could be put off for tomorrow…"

Oh, you motherfucker, don't you fucking dare.

"But the king is generous. I will see them today."

Oh, thank God.

We're ushered into the throne room, to stand beneath the judging eyes of the King of Heroes. His secretary stands off to one side, and aside from that guy in the white cloak standing at Gilgamesh's side, she's the only other one in the throne room.

"My king, it is an honor to stand before one so elevated as yourself," I begin, my usual eloquence slightly diminished from the hours I've had to spend standing in the hot sun. "I am the Master of Chaldea, and I, alongside my comrades, have come to aid you-"

"Enough." He says it in a tone of absolute finality, and I comply. "You have quite some nerve, to claim that you are capable of aiding me. I possess Uruk, the foremost gem of Mesopotamia. I have summoned seven Servants to stand beside me. Who are you, to say that you can match these gifts?"

"We are Chaldea, the ones responsible for the resolution of countless Singularities. We seek only to secure the Holy Grail, and resolve the Singularity." Don't snap at him, Charlie. He's probably had a long day too, even if he's a massive prick. "This will be to the benefit of all of Uruk and will most likely end the crisis you are facing. We wish to aid you in the preservation of your people, and the destruction of your enemies."

"Ah. The Grail?" he snorts. "Do you perhaps mean… this?"

There it sits, shiny and golden in the palm of his hand. The cause of this whole damn mess. And if it is the cause of the Singularity, that would make its master our enemy.

Right. Will our previous strategy still work? I'd have to say yes. It's just the man in white and Gilgamesh's secretary in here with us. Cu can handle them. We'll have to be careful, just in case he tries pulling out Ea, but I know he's shit in hand-to-hand, and Siegfried's good at keeping up the pressure. We'll have to be quick, though.

'Cursed Arm, get into position.'

I smile at King Gilgamesh. "Sir, I must politely request, if that is indeed the Grail which has established this Singularity, that you hand it over to us, so that we may resolve this unfortunate affair with all due haste."

"And if I refuse?" he asks, amused.

"While I've been told that corpses can sometimes have quite an impressive grip strength, I'm sure that with seven legendary heroes, we'll manage just fine."

He laughs, and doesn't stop laughing for quite some time.

'Cursed Arm-'

"No, little man," he says, managing to quell his guffaws for long enough to speak. "This is not the Grail causing the Singularity."

"Ah. Very well then. May I assume that this enemy of yours, the Three Goddess Alliance, possesses it?" At his nod, I begin to strategize. "Very well. May I ask that you tell me what you know of them, so that we may coordinate our plans for their termination?"

And that sets the jackass off again. "And yet again you assume that you have anything to offer me!" He snorts, then turns to his secretary. "Siduri, take note! I believe we have ourselves a new court jester!"

As I silently fume in humiliation, I have to remind myself that we can't just kill him for being an asshole. "I see. Is that your final answer?"

"For now. Prove your worth to me, and perhaps I'll change my mind." He makes a shooing gesture with his hands, and I have to restrain the urge to kill him again. "Siduri, lead them to their quarters and introduce them to the other Servants, wouldn't you?"

"Yes, My King," the veiled woman says, guiding us away.

'Wow. Really knocked it out of the park there, Flynn.' Galahad sends.

'I- You heard the man!' I snap. 'Nothing I did could ever get past that overbearing pride of his.'

'Yeah, I don't think that was ever going to be anything other than a disaster,' Galahad concedes with a shrug. 'Some people just don't want to let you help them, Flynn.'

---​

Apparently, some of the local Servants swung by in an attempt at a welcoming party while I was out ensuring that the gold we Rayshifted over in the Temple of Ishtar arrived smoothly. I missed the entire party, of course, mostly because I got back a bit late, and went straight to bed without acknowledging them in the slightest.

I do feel a bit guilty about that, it's not their fault that their current boss is an arrogant prick with all the diplomacy and tact of a fucking crocodile, but after the day I had, I'm not in the mood for any more bullshit.

The next morning, Siduri arrives with our first work order. The first of the tasks which will prove to Gilgamesh that we're truly reliable allies who might be able to aid him in his war for Uruk's survival.

In all honesty, I'm actually curious as to what task Gilgamesh will have set for me. What deeds would be required in order to earn the respect of humanity's first hero.

Siduri clears her throat and reads off the tablet. "One of our wealthier farmers has placed a complaint that, with all manpower being directed to the ADF, he has no one to shear his sheep for him. As such, and since you are at our king's disposal, he has decided that you are to fulfill the farmer's request, in order to ensure the continued prosperity of Uruk's textile industry."

The room is completely silent, as we stare at her. I'm not the only one glaring at her. Cu looks like he's one more sentence away from shooting the messenger. Hell, even Siegfried and Georgios are glaring at her.

Sheep. He has a fighting force composed of humanity's best and brightest willing to offer him our support, and he's sending us… to shear sheep.

I think I feel something snap in me as I stare at Siduri, who's beginning to look a touch nervous. "Is this… truly how King Gilgamesh wishes us to apply our talents?"

"Well, um, yes," she stammers out, looking between the Servants uncomfortably. "I understand that you might feel it's a bit beneath your rank, but, well, the sheep are very fluffy."

"My word," I say in mock astonishment. "Very fluffy, you say? Why that definitely makes up for your jumped-up thug with a crown insulting both me and Chaldea by sending a team of humanity's greatest heroes to go and do farm work in the middle of a WAR! But they're very fluffy, so that's all okay, now isn't it?" I advance on her, getting up in her face. "You can tell your blaspheming, raping, hypocritical idiot of a king to GO FUCK HIMSELF, because WE! ARE! LEAVING!"

"I, wait, please don't-" she tries to grab my uniform coat, but I've already stormed out, my Servants following behind me.

'So, boss,' Cu says over the mental link, sounding oddly satisfied. 'Where are we going?'

'Ishtar. She's a strong ally, she knows the lay of the land, and, perhaps most importantly, she can be bribed. She's also confirmed to us that she's not really Uruk's enemy, so she can be swayed over to our side.'

We make it out through the gates before word gets out that we insulted the king.

And then we're back on the road.

 

[Charles Flynn]

Of course, the minute we're out of Uruk, we book it. In hindsight, telling Gilgamesh, he of the mountainous ego, to go fuck himself may not have been my wisest move. Honestly, if I was thinking straight, I would have just gone out on the work assignment, and then booked it the minute I was out of sight of Uruk. No need to tip him off that I was leaving by shouting my plans at his right-hand woman.

But, thanks to my temper, we need to run. Which means I have to catch a ride on Bayard again.

God, I hate that horse. I didn't used to, but the week I spent riding through America behind Georgios left me with a Pavlovian loathing of horses in general. Just looking at one makes my balls hurt. But… needs must.

---​

We've been on the run for a day when the obvious question is finally asked.

We're sitting around the campfire, a hearty meal of charred Urdimmu roasting away on a spit, when Siegfried speaks up. "Master? While I am glad that you told Gilgamesh off, and that we have broken off from him, I'm afraid I must ask: Do you actually know where Ishtar is?"

I shift uncomfortably. "Ah, no. I was kind of hoping that Holmes knew."

"While I'm not sure, I would have to wager that she's at her temple on Mount Ebih," Holmes offers up, breaking his previous silence.

"Right then. So we approach her, and offer her the rest the gold we got from Nero in exchange for her helping us."

Everybody nods in agreement, or at least acceptance. It's a decent enough placeholder, as far as plans go.

Suddenly, Roman's hologram flickers to life. "Are we getting through?"

I nod.

"Right, so, there's a problem with the plan you just suggested."

I sigh. "What?"

"We already gave Ishtar all of our money."

"Ah- THAT WAS ALL OF OUR MONEY?"

"Well, yeah. We only had twenty-three cubits of gold left," Roman says. "Although I'm beginning to think that you weren't keeping track of our gold supplies. And maybe that you don't know how big a unit of measure a cubit is."

"I was mostly using it for dramatic effect," I admit sheepishly. "So, we're broke?"

"Completely."

"Shit," c'mon brain, it's planning time. "Wait, wait, wait. I have a plan B." If we can't appeal to the goddess' greed, then we'll exploit her other vices. I already appeal to her pride through my flattery of her, but what other vices does a goddess of war and fertility have?

I turn to Cu. "Cu, buddy, I'm gonna need you to take one for the team…"

"Not entirely sure I like where this is going…"

"…by seducing the Mesopotamian goddess of sex and violence."

He's silent for a moment.

"…I'm listening."

"Basically, we're going to set you up as a honeypot. We set you up, you hook up with her, and hopefully, when we move out to save Mesopotamia and resolve the Singularity, she'll tag along. She's capricious enough that it's a possibility, and, hopefully, she has a positive enough impression of us from that first donation and me buttering her up that she won't mind helping us out."

Everyone just stares at me for a few seconds.

Then, Roman breaks the silence. "This… seems a bit flimsy."

"Maybe, but I've seen the power she can bring to bear, and the power Gilgamesh can bring to bear too, for that matter. If they're on Uruk's side, then the fact that enemies still remain would indicate that the opposition is at least as strong. We need Ishtar if we're to have any hope of winning."

"He has a point," Medea says, drawing everyone's attention. "We need her on our side to stand a chance, and right now, the only thing we have to offer her that she might want is Chaldea's biggest manwhore. If any of you have a better idea, I'd be happy to hear it."

"To be fair," I interject. "Everyone who's ever slept with Ishtar has come to an untimely and messy end. If you don't want to do this, Cu, I'll understand."

"Eh, with my luck, a messy death was kinda inevitable. At least this way I get to sleep with a literal sex goddess."

And with that, Operation Doggy Style is born.

Roman immediately vetoes my name for it, but I'm still calling it that in my head.

---​

The basic plan is, well, a gamble. We send Cu on ahead to challenge her to a spar. Then, well, Cu was very insistent that we not overcomplicate things. Purportedly, his "mojo" will take care of the rest.

I guess tight, revealing spandex coupled with a fight that gets the blood pumping is a surefire recipe for seduction.

"This is going to backfire horribly," Galahad mutters.

"Don't worry," I say, putting a hand on his shoulder. "I have faith, if not in our luck, then in Cu's ability to get into anyone's pants. He'll pull through for us."

"And beginning to seriously question whether saving humanity is really worth anyone knowing that I was party to this," he grumbles."

"Oh, we're definitely scrubbing this one from the books," I assure him. "I don't want my name associated with this any more than you do."

Everyone breathes a sigh of relief at that.

"So, how're things going?" Roman asks.

"I'll check." I fire up the mental link. 'Cu? She take the bait?'

'Oh, she's definitely hooked at the moment,' he sends back.

'Really, dude?'

'Hey, considering what you wanted to call the op, I don't think you have a leg to stand on, here.'

'Fair enough. When can I expect you back?'

'An hour. Maybe two.'

'Right. I'll just… leave you to it, then.'

And I sever the mental link. "All right it worked. Now, anybody got a deck of cards? We're probably going to be here for a while."

---​

We've just managed to remember how to play Go Fish when the goddess Ishtar, looking a bit flushed and with her clothes conspicuously ruffled, graces us with her presence.

"Be grateful, Master of Chaldea!" she announces. "I have decided to accompany you."

"We are honored beyond words, milady," I say dutifully. "Truly, we would be blessed to have you with us as we strive to save all of Mesopotamia, including your most favored city."

"Save Uruk?" she asks incredulously. "Like I'd ever do that. If they want to reject me, then they can see how they fare without my help."

"Well if you don't want to depose Gilgamesh, that's your business."

"Wait, what?"

"Hm? Oh, I simply thought that, if you were the one to save them, they might realize the error of their ways, casting out Gilgamesh and reinstating your place as the supreme goddess of Uruk," I say, affecting nonchalance as I try to remember when you're supposed to say 'Go Fish.' "I thought that the idea of Gilgamesh booted out into the street as the cheering people of Uruk exalted you as you so rightly deserve might appeal to you."

She grabs me by the arm and pulls me to my feet.

"Milady?"

"C'mon. Let's go save Uruk."

 

[Charles Flynn]

They're swarming the walls.

Waves upon waves of Demonic Beasts clambering up the walls, no matter How vigorously we push them off. The sea of beasts stretches out as far as the eye can see, and I can find no end to it. I kick another one off the battlements, and then groan as five more of them fight to take its place.

"This is the end, isn't it?" I ask Sigmund, standing at my side. "We're going to be overrun."

"Yes." I can't see it through that absurdly thick moustache of his, but I can tell that he's grinning. "A good death, even so."

Crazy Norsemen. I return my attention to the field of battle, cutting down another Urdimmu, when I hear one of the soldiers shout out. "Girtablilu! Girtablilu is commanding the enemy!"

"Where, soldier?" Sigmund asks, storming over to the man that spoke. He points and Sigmund turns towards where the scorpion-bodied woman stands, at the heart of the enemy, over a mile away from the front lines.

Sigmund draws his blade. "All the world shall know that unborn I spoke but one vow, that I would flee neither fire nor iron from fear, and so I have done until now. I will not break it now."

"Sigmund?" I ask, as the swarm starts to clamber up the walls. "What are you doing?"

"Hold the walls, Perseus! And I will take her head!" and then he takes a running start and jumps into the sea of demonic beasts, moving like lightning as he carves a path towards Girtablilu.

I almost lunge in to help him, but then-

---​

I wake up to the seventh murder attempt on me by Uruk's stray cat population. One of them is curled up on my face, blocking off my airways in an attempt to smother me for being late in feeding them. I pull the little bastard off, yawn, and get up out of bed, before I go to my morning routine, which mostly consists of feeding stray cats, and the occasional stray dog. After all, I'm a Servant, it's not like I need my food rations. Strictly, I don't need sleep, either, but it's good for my mental health.

I frown as I make my way to the ziggurat, to check in with my Master for today's assignment. I haven't dreamed of the day Sigmund died in a while. I have to wonder, now, why is he back to haunting my subconscious?

An answer comes to the fore, as I use the Sandals of Hermes to bypass a traffic jam. The Master of Chaldea.

I didn't see much of him, during our failed attempt at a welcoming party last night. But what I did see… what little I saw of him reminded me of Sigmund. Driven and half-mad. Significantly less impressive facial hair, though, although it is kind of hard to top the guy whose moustache functions as a Noble Phantasm.

Well, the similarities probably become less striking once you get to know him, and I do hope that I'll actually get to introduce myself to him the next time we meet. He just brushed us off when we set up that welcoming party. I mean, I do understand, I heard from Siduri that he had a very trying day, but still, it was a bit hurtful, even if I'm sure he didn't mean it that way.

Soon, I'm back in the ziggurat. (I did stop to help a few people, which slowed me down a bit.) King Gilgamesh is already at it, lines bearing countless petitions to him, which he reviews himself.

"Perseus." He glares at me. "You're late."

"Oh, well, I was making good time, but there was a cat-"

"Save it. I'll need you back on the ADF. We're anticipating another assault within the next two months."

"Will the beasts' bitch of goddess be showing her face?" Diomedes growls as he steps into the room, his face split into a feral grin. "I've been wanting to take a stab at her."

"No, Berserker. Merlin has deemed that unlikely."

I clear my throat. "Um… will Merlin be joining us today?"

"No. He's been formulating plans to deal with a separate issue since yesterday afternoon," the King says. "Now, you are free to meet with Chaldea before you leave. They will…"

"My King!" Siduri shouts as she runs into the throne room, sweating and panting. She looks utterly terrified. "Chaldea- Chaldea-"

"Siduri!" Gilgamesh bellows, rising to his feet and steadying her. "What happened?"

"Chaldea left."

The room goes silent. I think that particular revelation caught even Gilgamesh by surprise. Eventually, he breaks the silence, his voice more subdued than I've ever heard him. "What?"

"Chaldea left," Siduri repeats. "when I gave them their work order, they took it as an insult and stormed out."

"I see." Gilgamesh makes his way back to his throne and sits down hard. "Then we will make do without them."

I'm not sure even he believes that. From the start, the plan was always to hold out until Chaldea arrived. They were the cavalry, and now? Now they were here, and they'd deserted us.

"Perseus." I snap to attention as my King looks at me. "I have changed your assignment. You will seek out Chaldea, in the guise of a traveler. In that same guise, you will feed them information. Even if they will not work with us, I will not have them blunder around in ignorance. Try to direct them towards Kutha, and the jungle to the south."

"Sir, Odysseus still hasn't reported back in since we sent him there," I remind him.

"I doubt that he would allow himself to die so easily," Gilgamesh insists, with a negligent wave of his hand. "And the same applies to Chaldea. If they are above proving themselves to me, then surely such obstacles are beneath them."

"If you say so, sir."

"Afterwards, you will return to me, and tell me what you have observed of Chaldea."

"Understood."

And then I'm off.

---​

It takes me two days to find the Chaldeans. When I do, they've set up camp a ways away from Mt. Ebih, so I land, switch over to the traveller's disguise I made sure to bring with me, and walk up to them on foot.

"Hallo the camp!" I shout, prompting a brief commotion as the Servants draw their weapons. "I mean no harm, I simply wondered if you were willing to share a meal with a weary wanderer!"

"You're welcome to join us!" the Master of Chaldea calls after a brief deliberation.

I join them at the campfire, and they pour me a bowl of stew.

"This is good," I note, after I've had a taste or two. "What's it called?"

"Urdimmu stew," my host says, utterly deadpan, before smirking as I spit-take. "So, may I ask if this weary wanderer has a name?"

"I'm-" shit, can't give him my real name. Persi? No, too similar. Ah, screw it. What was the name of that one-eyed traveler in the story Sigmund tried to tell me that one time? "Gagngrad."

The Master of Chaldea raises an eyebrow. "Well, then. Tell me Gagngrad, since on the hall-floor you wish to test your skill, what brings you to this place?"

"Oh, just a love of travel," I say blithely looking askance at him. Seriously, why is he talking so weird all of a sudden? "May I ask your name?"

"Charles Flynn," he says, looking a bit disappointed. "So, mind telling me what you know about the region? Since you seem to be rather knowledgeable."

From there, he picks my brains for every detail I can give him. I slip up once or twice, but I don't think he noticed.

"Well, it certainly sounds like we should head to the jungles of Eridu, then," he says at last.

"What's this about Eridu?" the goddess Ishtar asks us as she flies into the camp, and I try my damnedest not to shit myself.

"Oh, Gagngrad here was just telling me about the jungle that's sprung up around Eridu, and I thought that perhaps we should pay it a visit to see what we can see." Flynn smiles at me. "Isn't that right, Gagngrad?"

"Um… yes," I manage, trying not to stare at Ishtar as I sweat bullets. A goddess. Flynn recruited a goddess. I've got to tell Gilgamesh. "But I really have to get going now. People to see, places to be. Thank you for the stew." And then I book it, my sandals sprouting wings once I'm out of their view.

Gilgamesh must be told.

 

[Charles Flynn]

'His sandals sprouted wings,' Cursed Arm informs me over the mental link after 'Gagngrad' leaves our line of sight.

I sigh and press the twenty into Holmes' waiting palm. "You were right, he was Perseus."

"Well, obviously. I don't know why you were so intent on believing he was Odin. He had two eyes, after all."

"Wishful thinking, I'm afraid," I say with a shake of my head. "In any case, he was still rather helpful."

"Um, Flynn? What are you talking about?" Ishtar asks.

"Just an obvious spy who gave away more information than we gave him," I tell her. "In any case, milady, how would you feel about beginning our investigations in the jungle of Eridu?"

"Eh, as good a place as any," she says with a shrug.

And so, it's decided.

 

[Charles Flynn]

'I still can't believe Ishtar ditched us like that,' Galahad grumbles, pushing leading the way through the muggy, exotic jungle with his shield raised. I follow behind him, and Georgios watches my back. My other Servants are in Astral Form at the moment, with Cursed Arm serving as our lookout. And Ishtar, well, like Galahad himself said, Ishtar left when we got to the jungle. Apparently she had to go search for something, although she wasn't very clear on what.

'I can,' I say with a grin. 'In the words of Cicero, when setting out on an endeavor, give lavish praise and many prayers to the gods. When in the middle of an operation, proceed as if they won't help you one whit. Then, once you win, bury them in offerings, and loudly proclaim you couldn't have done it without them.'

'So, when she gets back, you're kissing up to her?' Galahad asks, looking annoyed.

'Yes, because she's the heaviest hitter our entire side has got, and is notoriously temperamental.'

'I still think this is a bit blasphemous,' Galahad grumbles, returning to pushing forward.

I don't reply. Honestly, though, having to deal with Ishtar has actually strengthened my faith in God. After all, if she can exist, why can't He? And quite frankly, I'd much rather worship Him. He is far better than the alternatives.

'Master,' Cursed Arm sends to me. 'We are being watched.'

'Potential hostile?' I restrain myself from scanning the treeline, instead directing the astralized Siegfried, Medea, and Cu to do so. Holmes pulled a vanishing act last night and hasn't been responding to my hails. I can only assume he's pulling his usual undercover routine.

'Quite likely.'

'Any idea who it is?' I ask, before a sudden noise interrupts me.

The trees are shaking. The great branches which seal away the sun are swaying as something leaps between them, some unseen beast of the canopy drawing nearer, until it slams down in front of us, then stands tall, a exuding the presence of a great cat, strong, savage, and free.

And then the dust clears, and the effect is completely ruined.

"Behold!" the ginger in the catsuit proclaims, extending her bizarre, catspaw spear as if it's the scepter of a king. "I am… hold on, what am I?"

"Embarrassing?" I offer, feeling a deep sense of annoyance. Seriously, is she part of the Three Goddess Alliance? If Gilgamesh has been getting his ass kicked by our janitor, than I might just… well, I already lost pretty much all my respect for him when he mismanaged us, but losing to Jaguarman might just do the impossible and lower my opinion of him even further.

"I mean, my fur is orange, but… I'm not a tiger!" Jaguarman exclaims, still caught in her digression. "I'm a jaguar! A very orange Jaguar! Even if my coat is a little off, I'm still the invincible beast of the jungle that all men fear! So bow down mortals, because you stand before the mighty (slightly orange) Jaguarman!"

She strikes a pose that isn't nearly as cool as she apparently thinks it is.

'Wow. We gonna kiss her ass too?' Galahad asks, giving me a look.

'I've done a lot of horrible things for humanity, Galahad. But even I have too much self-respect to play the appeaser to fucking Jaguarman.' I raise a hand. 'Siegfried, Cu, attack on my signal.'

"You have trespassed in my jungle, fool!" the most singularly disappointing war god fueled by human sacrifice that I've ever met proclaims, pointing her cat stick at me. "Now prepare to face my wrath!"

She lunges forwards, and CU intercepts, with Siegfried joining in a second later.

She's fast, but Cu is faster. The problem is, though, she has Instinct like Arthur's, which is letting her keep up with Cu in spite of his superior speed, and her Monstrous Strength is letting her match his Strength. Not to mention, we're in her home turf, so her Jaw of the Dark Jungle skill is active.

The fight would be an even one. But Siegfried is here.

Ever since the disastrous fight against Lancelot back in the Jerusalem Singularity, I made sure to have my Servants train together, so that they would be familiar enough with each others' fighting styles to properly gang up on tough opponents. And it's paying off in spades. Cu and Siegfried aren't tripping each other up anymore. Indeed, they're complimenting each other. Siegfried is flanking her, allowing him and Cu to strike from both sides, with Siegfried's powerful, sweeping strokes forcing her to dodge into Cu's thrusts. A maneuver they practiced for quite some time.

She's in checkmate and she knows it. While she's slightly faster than Siegfried, she's also slightly slower than Cu, and the two heroes are coordinating perfectly. If she aims to avoid Cu, she falls into Siegfried's attacks. If she tries to avoid Siegfried, Cu will get her.

I can't track the fight, they're going too fast for my eyes to follow, but it's evident that Jaguarman is losing. Even if she's avoided being killed through Instinct and Luck alone, the cuts and shaves from her various near misses are adding up. Soon, she'll be-

I hear a growl from behind me, and Galahad immediately pulls me behind him as the werejaguars attack, one of their clubs missing my skull by inches.

Shit. Of course she has minions. I turn back to the fight, and, sure enough, she's already gone. In the split second where both Cu and Siegfried were distracted by the attempt on my life, she made a break for it.

'Do you want me to pursue?' Cu asks.

'Negative. This is her territory. Chasing after her will only cause problems.' She's a jaguar, after all. They're nothing if not excellent ambush predators. Speaking of, we should probably try to complete our investigation and get out before nightfall. This entire jungle will be her stalking ground once the sun sets. 'Return and help us dispose of her minions. We're going to press on, and then retreat before the sun gets too low.'

'Understood.'

---

Our investigation bears little fruit, at least until an hour later, when we run into an old man checking his traps.

"Hello." He seems remarkably unperturbed to be approached by a band of oddly dressed strangers in the middle of the jungle. "Would you lot be visitors from Uruk?"

Eh. Let's just go with that. "We are, yes. We came to determine the situation in the jungle that's sprung up. And how the situation might be mended."

"Hm. Well, you're welcome to join me for a bite to eat," the old fellow says with a smile. "My name's Otis, by the way."

I look at the others. 'Think this is a trap?'

'Maybe,' Cu admits. 'But now that he's made the offer, I literally can't turn it down.'

So, for Cu's sake, we take Otis up on his offer.

And so, he guides us to his house, a somewhat shabby thing, checking his traps along the way.

It's comfortable enough inside, and he immediately hurries off to start cooking, while we settle ourselves in, and I dispatch Cursed Arm to watch and make sure he doesn't put anything in the food.

As we wait, the sun sets.

"What?" I yelp, checking the time. "It's only 3!"

"The Jaguar must be hunting," our host calls, as he brings out the food.

"What? What does that have to do with the sun setting at three in the afternoon in the middle of July?"

"You don't know?" our host asks, looking surprised. "Well, I suppose that's only natural. You're here to find out more about the area. The Sun rules this jungle."

"The… sun?"

"Yes. The Sun rules this jungle, and the Sun created it. The Sun set the Jaguar to guard its lands, and the Jaguar is strongest at night. So whenever the Jaguar loses during the day, she dashes off to the Sun, and begs her master to set, so that she can strike back at whoever humiliated her in the dead of night."

That's… worrying. Very worrying.

We dig into the stew, contemplating what we've been told. The news may be poor, but at least the stew is excellent.

"Honored host," I say after a few minutes of eating in silence. "May I ask what precisely has happened in the lands of Eridu?"

"You may," old Otis says, but before he can say anything else, there's a knock at the door, and he pales. "Oh dear. I'll have to get this."

The door swings open the second he unlatches it, slamming the poor man into the wall, as Jaguarman bursts in. "OTIS! Feed me!"

She doesn't seem to notice us, instead focusing in on Otis. "I can smell the stew, so fork it over!"

"Lady Jaguar," Otis gasps out as he pulls himself up. "I must beg you to leave for tonight. I have already invited guests over, and I cannot feed both them and you. I cannot be host to you tonight. Indeed, if I do not eat tonight, and eat in full, without you stealing the lion's share of my food, I may not be able to hunt tomorrow."

"But it's so yummy," she whines, giving him puppy dog eyes. "Just kick out your other guests, and I promise that I'll help you hunt tomorrow!"

"Please!" Otis begs. "To mistreat my guests would offend the very gods!"

"And not feeding me would offend this goddess in particular," Jaguarman snarls. "Look, I'll kick them out for you, how about that." She turns to us, and then freezes, a sudden, predatory gleam in her eye. "Well, I was out to boot these intruders out of my jungle anyways. Guess this is a win-win for me."

"Lady Jaguar, please do not attack my guests!" Otis begs, as I begin covertly readying my Servants for combat. "We can still resolve this peacefully!"

"How so?" I ask, deciding to play along.

"I propose a contest," Otis says, which seems to get Jaguarman's attention as our unassuming old host hurries over to the wall and gets down a curved bow. "Both of you take turns trying to string the bow. Whoever succeeds in stringing it will be my guest for the night. The loser, on the other hand, will have to leave, and not trouble the victor in the slightest."

This… seems familiar.

"Alright, that's easy!" Jaguarman cheers, grinning ear-to-ear. "I'm going first, of course!"

She grabs the bow, and the string, and starts to pull it down. And she fails. She can't get the bowstring down more than halfway, no matter how hard she struggles.

Finally, she rounds on our host. "This game is rigged! Stringing this thing is impossible!"

"It most certainly is not," Otis says. "There's a trick to it, actually."

As he bends down to show us how it's done, my sense of déjà vu intensifies. Seriously, why is this so-

The bow is strung, and royal Odysseus stands tall and unbowed once more.

-damn… familiar… Holy shit.

As Jaguarman reels, as deeply in shock as I am right now, the newly revealed King of Ithaca grins. "ἐπιςτροφή τοῦ Ὀδυσσẻως!"

Okay, that was clearly a Noble Phantasm, but I have no idea what it- My Command Seals are gone. So is Jaguarman's spear. And all of my Servants' weapons.

"What the-" is all Jaguarman manages to get out, before the mighty bow thrums, and an arrow sinks into her skull, quickly followed by another. And another. And another, and another, and another, and another…

At twenty arrows, though, Odysseus stops shooting her, and lets her dissolve, before he turns to us. "So, honored guests from Chaldea, shall we resume our feast, and discuss our mutual foes?"

And, under the eyes of one of my childhood heroes, staring at the glowing motes that are all that's left of the war goddess he just killed, I can't find a single thing to say.

"Sure. You got any salt?" asks Galahad, who suffers no such impediment.

 

[Charles Flynn]

It's a stretch, yes, but I've seen greater, and it's not a non-existent basis.

Click to shrink...

One melee weapon that shoots fuck-off huge lasers is perfectly acceptable. Two is just silly, and leaves you wondering just how many Noble Phantasms Arthur has. I spent half of the Camelot Singularity pondering that particular question. After a certain point I started wondering if Artoria owned anything that wasn't a Noble Phantasm.

"Oh, those slippers of yours? Harfradderafferadn, the Bunny Slippers of Promised Foot-Warming. They make sure your feet are warm on cold nights."

"Using lasers."

"Using lasers, yes."

"And my cloak?"

"Oh, that's Gadderawferaddd, the Mantle of Perfect Kingship. It ensures that none may doubt your righteous and benevolent rule."

"Using lasers."

"Well, obviously, how else do you prove that you're king?"

"BY RULING JUSTLY!"

"Pffft. No. Lasers are definitely the way to go."

"Is there anything I own THAT DOESN'T SHOOT LASERS?"

"Well, there's Prydwen."

"That's a shield that turns into a boat. It doesn't count."

"Also, your armor doesn't have a point-defense laser system yet, but I'm working on it."

The Very Next Day.

"Hey, Merlin, this is my new dog Cavall. He's perfectly normal in every way, and doesn't shoot lasers."

"Huh, I'll get right on fixing that."

"NO! FUCK YOU, MERLIN, DON'T YOU DARE RUIN THIS FOR ME!"

 

[Charles Flynn]

"I don't actually know much about the goddess at the heart of the jungle," Odysseus explains over dinner. "I do, however, know that she's some sort of sun goddess. And, obviously, that she's Aztec. The building style of her temple confirms that."

"Hm. That leaves us with five possibilities," I observe, beginning to count things off on my fingers. "The first would be Tezcatlipoca, who I'd consider the most likely candidate, in light of Jaguarman's presence. The second would be Quetzalcoatl, who's easily the least likely of all the candidates, simply because I can't imagine him working with a servant of his sworn enemy. Third would be a rain god I can't remember the name of for the life of me, and the fourth would be said forgettable rain god's wife, Mixan- Mixanshi- Mixancootie- Misty. I'm calling her Misty, because I don't have nearly enough practice to actually pronounce her name. Fifth would be the Aztecs' primary god, Huitzilopochtli."

"Why on earth would anyone need five sun gods?" Cu asks, looking bewildered. "You'd think that one would be enough."

Odysseus actually laughs at that one. "Eh. I can see it. Gods tend to multiply. I had to give offerings to fourteen different gods of marriage, childbirth, and fertility just to make sure I didn't offend anybody when I was marrying off Telemachus."

Georgios smirks, but doesn't say anything, and I discreetly fist-bump him.

"Well, in any case," I say, after my brief moment of basking in the financial perks of monotheism. "That's not exactly what happened. Basically, the Aztecs believed that there were five ages of the world, and that they lived in the fifth age. In each of those ages, there was a different god in charge of being the sun. In the previous four ages, humanity was completely exterminated by the gods, purposefully or otherwise, and had to be brought back by Quetzalcoatl."

There's a moment of dead silence around the table.

"What?" Siegfried asks, looking slightly nauseous.

"The Aztecs weren't a cheerful people," I say, in what might be history's greatest understatement. "In any case, I'd say that we're most likely facing off against Texcatlipoca, the god of darkness, jaguars, and sorcery. He was the first sun, and, seeing as he played a part in all four of the times humanity was wiped out, I can easily see him as part of the Alliance. Also, Jaguarman was one of his servants, so that would definitely seem to confirm his presence."

"Hm. So. How do we kill him?" Odysseus asks, cutting straight to the important questions.

"Now that is the million-dollar question," I say, leaning back in my seat. "And, quite frankly, I don't want to jump into this too early. We have the advantage of surprise, at the moment. We should take our time and figure out our enemy's weak points." I pause. "I'll also want a second opinion on this whole mess, so once we finish our meal, I'm calling in Caesar."

"True. I suppose we should decide our strategy in a proper conference."

After dinner's over, we send Siegfried back to Chaldea (which he's a good sport about) and call in Caesar. Frankly, I would've preferred to bench Holmes, as he's been fairly secretive and unhelpful for most of the Singularity thus far, but he's still off working undercover, so that's a wash.

And now, after we've cleared the table, we settle around it, ready to come up with a plan.

"Alright. Before we go into how to kill Tezcatlipoca, I think we should take a step back, and determine whether we should."

"What?" Odysseus asks, looking confused. "He's the enemy, Flynn."

"He's not speaking of moral concerns," Caesar interjects, looking at me. "He's referring to the bigger picture, and the broader war. Isn't that right, Flynn?"

"Exactly." I say with a grin. "Teacher, could you provide us with a map?"

Medea nods, and, in a wave of purple, the table's surface is transmuted into a map of the region.

Cu groans. "All right, I'm out. Strategy is not my thing. I'll be standing guard outside if you need me."

Kinda saw that one coming.

"So. As Caesar said, let's look at the bigger picture. I've screwed up by killing a sun-affiliated demigod before, I don't want to see the fallout if I rush into killing a full-on sun deity." I tap on Uruk. "This, as far as we can tell, is the Three Goddess Alliance's primary objective. They destroy Uruk and kill Gilgamesh, and they win. Humanity's destroyed, or re-enslaved, or what-have-you. Bad news all around." I look at my audience, and then smile. "So, the question presents itself: Why hasn't that happened already? Gilgamesh is badly outnumbered, and two-thirds god or not, he's still just a mortal. If they really wanted to, they could just kill him in his sleep, or coordinate an attack from both sides on the ADF."

"You're saying that their alliance isn't as clear-cut as it seems," Odysseus summarizes. "Because they aren't working together or aiding each other in any way."

"Exactly. They may outnumber us, but they're clearly a house divided." I smirk. "It actually brings to mind your old Triumvirate, Caesar."

"I suppose that the parallels are fairly clear," Caesar says with a sigh. "And why do you bring this up?"

"Because it also reminded me of Plutarch's Life of Pompey." That gets a few blank stares. "More specifically, this one line: 'Before, they had stood like three wrestlers, each unwilling to engage another, for fear that, should he triumph, the third wrestler would overcome him, tired from his exertions as he was. But now, Crassus was dead, and the fresh wrestler had fallen, and the two that remained circled about one another, ready to engage.'"

"I don't think that was entirely accurate," Galahad observes.

"Yeah, I probably mangled it. It's been a while since I've read Plutarch. But the sentiment remains."

"So." Caesar gives me an appraising look. "How do you propose to take advantage of this?"

"Our adversaries think that they're the only three wrestlers in the ring. But they're wrong. We are the fourth wrestler. This war will be decided not by who wins the most fights, but by who fights the least. To win, we have to pit our foes against each other, to the greatest extent we possibly can."

"Well put, Flynn," Odysseus says with a nod of acknowledgement. "Now, what do you propose that we do?"

I manfully contain my urge to squeal like a little girl, and continue in a calm, professional tone. "If we're going to pit them against one another, we'll need more information. To that end, I move that we wait and observe, try to get an idea of the personalities in play, and the weaknesses they have. No jumping in headfirst. Anyone have any objections?"

I get smiles and nods from my audience. "Good. Then we start by observing Tezcatlipoca, and then we pull what threads we find."

 

[Charles Flynn]

Observation duty is swiftly established. After Cursed Arm's initial successes, we begin a proper infiltration. When Holmes returns, I send him straight back to Chaldea, and bring out Yan Qing in his stead. Chaldea's chivalrous bandit is then sent in to infiltrate our enemy's ranks, disguised as a mere soldier. Georgios is likewise swapped out for our trump card. We didn't get to use him back in Camelot, but I doubt that'll hold true in the battles to come.

He might seem like a weak Servant, but William Shakespeare is absolutely deadly with the right direction.

Still, our observation swiftly uncovers the jungle goddess' routine. She does lucha.

That's literally it, all she does is lucha! When she's not participating in matches, she's training her force in the art of lucha (which I consider a poor sign for her strategic prowess,) or conscripting more men for her luchador army (which does not have the makings of a halfway effective fighting force.)

But it's what she doesn't do that's most informative. She doesn't kill her soldiers. She doesn't eat their hearts. Instead, she nurtures them, without asking for anything in return.

I was way off the mark. She's Quetzalcoatl. No ifs or buts about it.

Unfortunately, she also doesn't give away much about the dynamics of the Three Goddess Alliance. At least, not until the seventh day of our observation.

---

I'm at lunch when Cursed Arm reports to me that Quetzalcoatl has a new visitor.

I don't waste time.

"Medea! Target's receiving a visitor, I want eyes on the meeting stat, and your best analysis of his mana signature."

She nods, eager for something to break the monotony, and pretty soon we're all gathered around the scrying pool. After a week of sitting and gathering intel, we were all going a little stir-crazy.

"Roman, are you scanning them?"

"Absolutely. We'll have our preliminary report soon."

And so, we settle down and watch the meeting.

Almost immediately, a problem emerges.

"Um, Medea, is there a way to get sound on this?"

"Not one that I can use without them noticing," my teacher says, watching the meeting attentively.

From what I can see of the meeting, it's a tense one. While they both put up cheerful facades, they're clearly on guard around each other. Of course, we're limited to body language and half-assed lip reading for the purpose of figuring out what the meeting's about. All Yang can tell me is that he overheard that the Jolly Green Jackass here's name is Kingu.

"He has a Holy Grail," Roman tells us, halfway into the meeting. "Our readings have definitively confirmed the presence of a Holy Grail inside him."

"Oh." Now it's obvious. "He's the mastermind."

Shakespeare raises an eyebrow. "And how have you come to that conclusion, oh Master mine?"

"Firstly, the Holy Grail. Previously, we've only found the tainted grails in the hands of the masterminds of the various Singularities we've visited. Seeing as he's the only one in the Three Goddess Alliance we've seen who has one so far, it's pretty clear that he's the main mover behind our enemies. Secondly, this is obviously a check-in visit. We haven't seen him here before, and he's obviously not here to stay, so why is he visiting?"

"Because he's either the one behind the Three Goddess Alliance, or the one serving as the various members' point of contact," Caesar notes, picking up the thread. "So. What do you propose we do about this?"

I grin. "We interrogate him, of course."

"Flynn, the readings we're picking up from him are ridiculous," Roman interrupts, looking at a tablet. "He's not like any other Heroic Spirit we've seen before. In fact, he's-"

"Enkidu?" Ishtar asks, making everyone jump. I look over at her in shock, wondering just when, exactly, she came in. "I leave you for a week, and I come back to find you spying on Enkidu? Why the hell is he even alive?"

"Ah. Milady. It is a pleasure to bask in your presence once more. May I ask where you have been?"

"Oh, well, I went off searching for… something important… and then I got a bit sidetracked, had to win my underwear back from a demon in a competitive board game night, but that's not important! Why is Enkidu there?"

"He seems to be going by 'Kingu' now, milady." I maintain my polite demeanor while mentally slotting her into my now-developing plans. "We believe him to be the primary coordinator of the Three Goddess Alliance, and we're most likely going to torture him until he tells us everything he knows about the Alliance, and then kill him. Would you care to join us?"

Ishtar freezes, staring at me in shock. Pretty much everyone is, with the exceptions of Medea, who's snickering, and Shakespeare, who's furiously taking notes.

"Wh-What?" the goddess of love and war finally asks, her voice little more than a whisper.

"We will interrogate him by whatever means are necessary, using truth detection runes to verify his answers. Since he is our only lead as to the Alliance's coordination and hierarchy, we'll need to extract whatever information we can from him. Since he's also likely the man behind the Alliance, his death is also an unavoidable necessity." I look around at them. "Why are you all looking at me like that?"

"Flynn is correct, regardless of how disconcertingly casual he's being about this," Caesar says after a moment. "We'll need to get as much as we possibly can out of him before we kill him."

"I- You're insane!" Ishtar finally snaps. "Enkidu was someone who could go up against me and actually give me pause! Do you really think that you can deal with him that easily?"

"Easily? No. But I do believe it to be possible. I've been working on how to take down the various goddesses of the Alliance since we arrived in this Singularity. I wouldn't still be here if I didn't think those plans could work."

"That's…" she pauses, looking at me with something I can't identify in her eyes. "You believe that you can do this?"

"Yes."

"Then this will be my test for you. Prove that you are worthy to stand beside a goddess."

I nod. "As you command, my lady."

Roman coughs, and the moment's over. "Um… I hate to interrupt, but he's kind of headed straight towards you."

"What?"

"I think he sensed you somehow," Roman says apologetically. "He'll be there in ten minutes, so I recommend that you get going."

"Absolutely not!" I say with a grin. "Ten minutes is plenty of time. Shakespeare, Medea, you know what to do. I'll hand out the scripts."

This is going to be fun.

 

[Charles Flynn]

I soar above the jungle, towards Quetzalcoatl's domain.

Gorgon might get into trouble without me around to look after her, but all the same, I can hardly stand back and let Chaldea live. There is, after all, the chance, however slight, that they could disrupt Mother's plans, and that cannot be allowed to come to pass.

My hostess looks startled when I land in front of her, before assuming a combat-ready stance and ordering her little charity cases to hide.

"Oh, relax, Quetzalcoatl," I say, waving my hand airily. "If you really thought that I didn't already know about this little… hobby of yours, then you're sadly mistaken. I'm well aware of your little… wrestling league, and this isn't about them."

"Then what is this about, Kingu?" she asks, shooing away some curious soldier that got too close with one hand. "I doubt it's a social call."

"Perhaps it is!" I offer with a smile. "After all, your sunny disposition never fails to brighten my day."

She glares at me, but I keep going. "And that energetic jaguar of yours never fails to amuse. Where is she, by the way? I was rather looking forward to her cat puns."

That was a bald-faced lie.

"I'm afraid she can't make it at the moment. Dreadfully busy, and all that." Quetzalcoatl doesn't let her iron control over her features slip as she looks me in the eye. I almost respect her for that.

"Really?" I keep a friendly smile on my face. "I'd be happy to help her with that. After all, even if we're all competing, we're aiming for the same goal, aren't we? We all want the humans dead, and the gods reigning supreme once more."

"Oh, absolutely," she assures me, not letting her affable mask slip as she lies through her teeth. "But Jaguar was very insistent about not needing any help. It'd hurt her pride if you went and tried to aid her."

"Oh. Well, I'm sorry to hear that I can't help." I smile, watching her relax ever-so-slightly, before I go in for the kill. "Although I've always thought that you work her a bit too hard. After all, she's so loyal, and eager to please! Really, I heard a rumor that she was killed by the Master of Chaldea. Wouldn't you be heartbroken if that had actually happened?"

"What do you want, Kingu?" she asks, her face hardening.

"I wish to hunt down and kill the forces of Chaldea."

"They're not here anymore," she says with a sigh. "They left after they killed Jaguarman."

"Really?" I lash out with one hand, and my chains pierce straight through the chest of the guard who was eavesdropping early, dragging him towards me before I crush his skull with one hand. The body dissolves into the telltale golden motes of a Servant. "Does that include him?"

She sighs. "Just go."

"A pleasure talking with you as always, Quetzalcoatl. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to go and deal with your vermin problem."

And then I'm off in the air again, ready to swat the flies of Chaldea.

It takes me nine minutes to reach the sniveling little cowards. They're waiting for me, out in the open. Their master, next to some sort of night in purple, and a bearded fellow in colorful finery. Easy pickings.

"First Folio."

What the Hell?

I'm not in the forest anymore.

Lacquered wooden planks lie below my feet, and a red curtain hangs before me.

The Master of Chaldea, Flynn, I think his name was, is standing about five feet away from me, looking at me expectantly.

I blink in confusion. What… what just happened?

He edges a bit closer to me, and then whispers, out of the side of his mouth, "Dude, it's your line."

I do the only rational thing and shoot a clay sword at his face. It hits, reducing his head to a bloody paste.

Right, all of this should fade any second now. With the Master dead, the Servants will start running out of mana, and-

"Are you okay?"

There he is, the Master of Chaldea, hale and hearty as ever, looking at me with genuine concern.

Right, right, everybody has the occasional off day, I know that. I shoot him again, and this time, I don't take my eyes off of-

"Look, Director, I think Enkidu's sick!"

SON OF A WHORE!

"Can we please send him to a doctor? I'm not sure what's going on with him, but…"

"No!"

I turn, and I see the bearded man, sitting in the front row the countless seats below this elevated wooden platform Flynn and I are on.

"I will not coddle a defective tool," the man says coldly. "Mary, this one's no good! Dispose of him like the rest!"

The floor drops away beneath me, and I find myself falling, at least until I land on something soft.

Seriously, WHAT THE FUCK IS HAPPENING RIGHT NOW?

I look down to see what I just landed on, and I freeze.

My own face stares back at me. Again, and again, and again. A thousand empty eyes stare sightlessly into the darkness, and a thousand broken bodies lie limp and lifeless. I stand atop a mountain of broken tools, left to rot in the silence beneath the stage.

Just like me.

---​

"Alright, welcome to the land of the living, Enkidu!" Flynn says, and I start. "Whoa, easy there, buddy. I get it, born less than a minute ago, but we've got a job to do!"

"I… did I die?" I can't stop staring at my hands. I'm here. I'm alive. As an afterthought, I shoot Flynn in the head. It doesn't stick, but it does shut him up for a second or two. I was… I was in the darkness, but now I'm here. Alive. Did I die down there? Or…

"Am I the replacement?"

"Um… yeah." Flynn scratches the back of his head, while I stare at him in silent irritation. "Look, I make no promises, the director's a total prima donna, but you can do just fine as long as you remember your lines. You've got this, Enkidu."

"My name is Kingu, I snap, giving him a glare.

"Right, getting into character already!" Flynn slaps me on the back. "You're gonna do great. Alright, script's on the table, and your cue is in another couple of minutes. Try not to miss it, you know how the Director is."

What is he even… ugh. Whatever. I look at the sheaf of paper he pointed to, out of curiosity alone, mind you, and I feel the bottom of my stomach sink.

The Chaldean Theater Group Proudly Presents:​

The Death of Kingu
A Tragedy in Four Acts​

WHAT IS THIS?

"And I… I have just the plan," Flynn announces dramatically from the direction of the elevated wooden platform we were on.

There's an uncomfortable silence. I suppose I was supposed to enter, but frankly, I can't be damned to play along. I'm too busy flipping desperately through the paper, reading as it almost seems to… illustrate some sort of chronicle of my demise.

"Worthless piece of crap!" the Director roars. "Mary!"

The floor falls away, and I am in my graveyard once more, discarded and-

---​

"You doing okay, Enkidu? The last you kind of flaked out on us," Flynn says. I pay him no mind. It's time to end this farce.

I storm out onto the stage, look the Director in the eye, and then I smite the insolent human down. I rise, my chains weaving about each other, bringing ruin to all. And then I hit. "NAMMU DURANKI!"

Then, I'm back on the stage, and nothing has changed.

"NAMMU DURANKI!"

"Is there a point to all of this?" the Director asks, looking bored.

"I AM KINGU, YOU INSOLENT HUMAN FILTH, AND WILL NOT PLAY YOUR GAMES!" I scream. "NAMMU DURANKI!"

"Splendid. This one's both defective and crazy." He looks up. "MARY!"

I try to jump out of the way, but the floor still drops out from under me, and I am in Hell once more.

---​

"Enkidu?" Flynn asks, looking worried. "Are you okay?"

"I…" Am I losing my mind? "I'm fine."

"Look, if you're not up to going out there and giving your lines, then I'll do my best to stall so you can get your head on straight."

I don't need his… Wait. "Lines?"

"Yeah, for the play?" he looks dismayed. "Oh, Jesus, it's worse than I thought."

"What?" I follow along in bewilderment as he leads me along to some sort of… padded bench and sits me down on it.

"Listen. You and I are actors. We pretend to be fictional people to act out plays. We read lines of dialogue out loud, and perform predetermined actions in order to tell stories, all according to the script. Any of this reading a bell?"

"I suppose?" I say weakly. Nothing I do seems to change anything, so… maybe if I play along with the insanity, it'll all be over quicker? Or am I insane? Am I the crazy one?

"Good, because if you flub your lines, the director's going to chuck you into the Failure Pit." Flynn shudders. "So here. Read through the script. I'll stall for time."

"Thank you."

"No problem. It's the least I could do to help."

---​

The play continues on, and Flynn is as good as his word. He helps me rehearse my lines, and he's there for me when I get tossed into the Pit.

I get tossed into the Pit a lot.

Flynn does too, once or twice. I'm there for him when he wakes up.

It's when we're practicing our lines, one night, between the endless rehearsals, when he asks me.

"So, I noticed that you keep fumbling your lines. What's tripping you up?"

"It feels wrong." I blurt out without thinking.

"What does?"

"The whole play," I admit reluctantly. "It feels like… well… like… Um. A while back, I thought I was Kingu."

"Any idea why?"

"No, no, it's just… some stupid reaction to the stress, I think. I had a whole different version of the script that I thought was reality, and, ah, I'm probably boring you right now."

"No, no, go on, I wanna hear what you came up with."

"Well…" I hesitate, before dismissing my fears as silly. It was just a dream, anyways. Just a stupid dream. "In… well, in my version of the script, the Tiamat up in the north? She wasn't the real Tiamat. The real Tiamat was sleeping under the sea, and she created me to help her wake up so that she could make a new version of humanity."

"What?" he sounds legitimately shocked.

"Yeah, I know, pretty stupid, right?"

"Dude, THAT SOUNDS AWESOME!" he's beaming at me, and I look down. "What else happened? I want to hear everything! It sounds so much better than the script we've got!"

I blush. "Y-You really think so?"

"Yeah. Hold on, I want to take notes. I'm going to try and talk the Director into using your version of the script." He fumbles around, and eventually produces a notepad. "So, underwater Tiamat, huh? So where does the Tiamat in the north fit into all of this?"

"Well, that was my doing, actually…"

---​

It's the last scene, and I feel like I'm about to puke. Flynn actually did manage to talk the director into revising the script, and since then, we've actually been making progress! We're almost out of rehearsals! Just this one, final scene to go.

So of course I'm terrified that I'm going to get chucked back into the Failure Pit. Flynn's here with me, though, talking me through my anxiety.

"All right, Enkidu, you've got this! You know you've got this!" he pats me on the back as we sit backstage in our costumes, him in the white uniform, and me in my white gown. "Come on, let's go over the scene again."

"All right. So, I confront you after leaving Quetzalcoatl behind, and then, I deliver my dramatic threats, you give your one-liner, and then I get stabbed in the back by Suzy." I sigh. "And then I give my dramatic dying monologue. Okay, you know what? I'm just going to stay it: This ending sucks."

"I know," Flynn says ruefully. "The one-liner's not very good either. But we've been at this for weeks, and I for one, really want this damn dress rehearsal over."

"True that," I say with a tired grin. "But still, why would Rule Breaker kill Kingu in one shot? I t doesn't make any sense."

"Hell if I know," Flynn says. "I think the Director said something about her breaking it or something? I didn't really get it. But I do know that once we ace this on the first try, and the Director finally lets us leave, we're getting drinks to celebrate, and the first round's on me."

I grin, and we start to make our way up to the stage, when I catch sight of the prop in Suzy's hands.

"Um, Flynn?"

"Yeah?"

"Are you sure that's a collapsible dagger?"

"Yeah, pretty sure."

"It's just kind of, well, twisted, and I can't help but worry…"

"Hey." Flynn gives me a look. "Would I lie to you?"

"Yeah, you're right." I give him a smile. "I trust you."

And then it's out onto the stage, and everything's going smoothly.

"Fool!" I roar, hamming it up as I gesture wildly. "So long as I hold the Grail within me, I will never die!"

"So you say, dear Kingu," Flynn says, but it's missing his usual energy. "But my teacher is a mighty witch, and she's not one for rules."

I feel the dagger sink into my back, and I'm in the forest again, as the Director shuts his book, and my best friend, the man who was playing me from the start just stares at me sadly.

I feel the world crumble around me.

"RULE BREAKER!"

And then I feel no more.

 

[Charles Flynn]

Medea swears like a sailor, clutching the shattered stump of her arm, as the now-Broken Rule Breaker detonates, its task completed.

And as I stare down at the now-inert clay that used to be Kingu, I find myself feeling… numb.

So. This is what being the worst person to ever live feels like.

"Alright," Galahad says, looking cautiously at the lumpy gray remains of the man who I just gaslighted into believing he was my friend so I could stab him in the back. "Is he dead? Because, speaking as the guy who was blocking his Noble Phantasm and those goddamn daggers while you were all doing that play-within-a-play of yours, I really hope he's dead."

"I'm not really qualified to tell you that," I say, my face a cheerful mask. "Medea?"

"FUCK YOU! I JUST LOST A HAND FOR YOU!"

"Oh, don't be overdramatic, you're a Servant and one of the greatest spellcasters to ever live. You'll have grown it back by tomorrow."

She sighs, still glaring at me. "Fine. He's dead. His body was essentially one of the gods of Mesopotamia's Noble Phantasms. He's more or less an artificial life form, powered by god-tier magecraft. Normally, Rule Breaker would be incapable of disrupting that, but making it into a Broken Phantasm succeeded in destroying the underlying architecture of his body beyond repair. So, congratulations, he's dead. And all it cost us was my hand and Noble Phantasm."

"I think we summoned Rule Breaker once or twice. We can just grab a replacement from on of the junk closets."

She looks at me incredulously. "What?"

"The FATE system summons Noble Phantasms or parts of heroes' legends far more often than it summons the heroes themselves. We actually have two separate copies of Excalibur in Chaldea. Roman uses one of them as a paperweight."

"You… used the Sword of Promised Victory… as a paperweight," Galahad says, looking at me incredulously.

"Roman did. Not like we could have actually used it for anything without its proper owner on hand, after all."

"Splendid!" Shakespeare calls out, making his presence known once more. "Shall we return to our base, so that we may sup together once more?"

"Yeah, sure." I stare at the remains of Kingu one last time. "Just to be safe, we're going to take some precautions."

---

We bury Kingu in five pieces, each one miles apart and at random depths. Galahad secures the Grail, and then we feast to our victory.

It's a somber affair. None of us really feel like celebrating our defeat of Tiamat's eldest son. We all know the truth, after all: We didn't win because we were stronger, or because we were better than him. We didn't win through kindness, or love, or friendship. We won because we were better monsters. No more, and no less.

About halfway through, though, somebody knocks on the door.

Odysseus, still our host, rises, and goes to get it. "That's probably our guests."

"Guests?" I ask, latching onto the words after a moment of silence. "I wasn't aware…"

The door swings wide, and Gilgamesh, King of Uruk, enters.

"…of… any…" FFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCCCCCCCCCKKKKKKK.

He's not alone, either. The servant we identified as Perseus is with him. As are two more. An old man I don't recognize, and a man in white robes, holding a wizard's staff.

"Ah. Welcome to my humble abode, Master," Odysseus, that backstabbing genius weasel of a man, says, still smiling affably. "I was just wondering when you'd show up."

Oh, God, what the Hell was I thinking? Why did I think that sticking around Gilgamesh's Servant, who presumably has a mental link with him could ever be a good idea?

"A pleasure to visit, Odysseus," Gilgamesh says. "I see that the Master of Chaldea and the goddess Ishtar are here."

Is Gilgamesh being polite? I stare at him blankly as he takes a seat between an amused Cu and a spluttering Ishtar.

Okay, odds of this being an imposter… rising.

"Pass me the bread tray," he commands, and I give it to him before I realize what I'm doing.

No, seriously, what is happening right now?

I notice with a start that Odysseus is resting his curved bow against his knee. And then I remember exactly what his Noble Phantasm can do.

Right, no breaking the laws of hospitality. I can do that.

It's almost sad to say that the God-King of Uruk, who I told to go fuck himself not-even a week ago, crashing the party actually livens things up. Before, it was a thing of avoided eye contact, limited conversation, and crippling guilt. Now, however, the guilt has been supplanted by a growing sense of panic.

"What the HELL ARE YOU DOING HERE?" Ishtar finally snaps, her face flushed as she points an accusing finger at Gilgamesh.

He pauses mid-bite. "Eating."

"No, I meant here! These ones are mine, Gilgamesh! No poaching them!"

"I also brought this." He offhandedly hands her a clay tablet.

"Yeah, do you really think that- TEN PERCENT?"

"Oh? Well if that's too little, I suppose I could bump it up to fifteen."

"F-F-F-Fifteen?" she repeats faintly, looking overwhelmed.

"All right, twenty. You drive a hard bargain, but I'll go no further."

Ishtar faints on the spot.

"Hm. As expected from so useless a goddess." Then, he tents his fingers, and looks at me. "So, then, Master of Chaldea. I have something I've been meaning to say to you."

Welp. This how I die. I look him in the eye, doing my best to stiffen my back, as, around the table, my Servants prepare to leap into battle. Against Gilgamesh alone, we might scrape out a win. But Gilgamesh with backup, and a bribed Ishtar? We're dead.

"I'm sorry."

"What." I look around, and I'm not the only one who's trying to pick their jaw up off the floor. Even Odysseus looks surprised. But the Servants he brought with him aren't shocked. The wizard in white is actually holding in laughter. Something to think about.

"I am sorry, mongrel. Do not force me to repeat myself." He takes a deep breath, and then continues. "I wish to offer my apologies for misjudging your worth and insulting your prowess as warriors. It was… uncalled for, and not my intent." He takes another deep breath, and then proceeds, his hands clenched tight around the silverware. "You have indeed proven your mettle, and I need your… I need your…" He grits his teeth, and then powers through. "I need your help to save Uruk."

I look him in the eye, and I realize that he hates me. I'm not sure on the why of it, but, then, even I hate me, so I suppose he might not even need a reason. I am a very hateable person. But even so, he's swallowing his hatred, and his pride… for Uruk. Because no matter how much he hates the measures he must take, he will save his home.

I swallow nervously, staring at the King who just proved himself to be ten times the man I'll ever be. What can I say to that except…

"I would be glad to lend you my assistance, your majesty."

"Very well. Will you return to Uruk with me?" he asks.

"Yes. We also have some fairly vital information to share with you." I hesitate, remembering just where we got said information.

"From your interrogation of Kingu," Gilgamesh says, giving me a measured glare. "Do not attempt to lie to me. Odysseus already told me."

"I see." And I do. He doesn't just hate me. He… respects me? I have no idea why, but it's in there. And all I had to do was permanently destroy the last remnant of his best friend.

Jesus, my life is fucked up.

I realize then that Ishtar woke up sometime during Gilgamesh's… display of humility, because she's staring at him in gape mouthed confusion.

"Your table manners are atrocious," Gilgamesh notes, helping himself to some of the stew.

"WHO ARE YOU AND WHAT DID YOU DO TO THE REAL GILGAMESH?" Ishtar finally snaps, pointing a glowing finger at him.

"I grew up, Ishtar. I understand that you might be unfamiliar with the concept, but you really should try it one of these days."

And then the King of Uruk grabs some of the brisket, while his city's patron goddess gapes at him in impotent fury.

 

[Charles Flynn]

The ground rubs pleasantly against my scales as I slither towards the wall. My children swarm the walls, dragging the worthless humans down to their doom.

The time for this farce has passed. Kingu has been missing for over a week, and I must find him.

I can hear the worthless meat begin to scream and quaver as I draw nearer. Good. It is right that they should fear. After all, I am the mighty Gorgon Tiamat. My hatred for them bubbles up within my chest, and I find myself smiling widely at the carnage I'm about to wreak upon them. A series of useless tripwires go off, launching tiny darts that cut shallow grooves into my flesh, centered around my chest. They do nothing, and I dismiss the tingling numbness I feel around the wounds as I fix my petrifying gaze onto the little ants scurrying about atop the wall.

They will suffer. They will all suffer for trapping me on that goddamn rock LEAVING ME! They will know beyond a shadow of a doubt that all their struggles have been for naught, as they gaze upon their doom, and-

"YEW BOW!"

Suddenly, I'm flat on my back, my ears ringing as I try to parse together what the hell just happened. Then the pain hits, and I stare down at the bloody, mangled remains of my chest.

Did they-? The pain stops my train of thought with an affirmative yes. It's mind-numbing. A searing wave of agony that makes me want to just curl up into a little ball and cry.

But, louder than the pain, is the fury. The red rage that dances behind my eyes, begging me to burn the world. Because THOSE MOTHERFUCKERS JUST BLEW UP MY TITS! THEY DIE! THEY DIE SLOWLY, AND PAINFULLY, SUBJECTED TO EVERY LAST TORTURE I KNOW!

A red-haired man dressed in green steps up to the corner of the wall, grimaces, and then cups his hands to shout at me. "Vile Gorgon! Know that your defeat on this battlefield has been the sole working of ME! The one and only Robin Hood of Sherwood Forest, a proud Servant of Chaldea, and your avowed enemy. As you flee, to slither down amongst the dark and forgotten places of the world, and relish the eternal shame of your defeat, know that it was I and only I-"

That's all he gets out before I lunge at him, sinking my hands into the wall's stonework so I can climb my way up. He turns tail and runs as fast as his pathetic human legs will take him, but I dog his steps.

Almost there, he's ALMOST WITHIN MY REACH! I can feel my eyes beginning to overwhelm this whelp of a Servant's Magic Resistance, but whenever he starts slowing down, he always somehow manages to duck out of my sight for just long enough for my hard work to be undone!

I'm chasing him through a forest, which is really impeding my line of sight, and those traps of his are dogging my steps like biting insects, constantly biting into me. Unlike before, they don't seem to slow me. Instead, I feel a burning, incandescent fury, igniting my inner fires and driving me to strike faster and harder!

MY RAGE CONSUMES ALL!

"PANDAMONIUM CEEEEEETTTTTUUUUUUUSSS!"

Yes.

I groan in exultation, at irritating pest's demise. The rage still lingers, though, strengthening my very being, piercing my core. I feel it growing, consuming me!

"Well done, Lady Gorgon!" an unfamiliar voice says, and I turn to find a scruffy-looking man in a white uniform of some kind pointing dramatically at me. "You really showed him what-for."

I frown, my mind working through the growing haze of irrational fury. Wait. That's the Master of Chaldea! Kingu told me about him!

As I tense my body for a leap, he points at me dramatically with his other hand. "Now, before you do anything drastic, I just want you to know… I HAVE A CAT IN MY ARM!"

"What?" I ask, staring at him confusion. Even the red rage smothering my mind can't drown out how utterly baffled I am right now.

"His name is Mr. Fluffington the Third. He is a calico!" the idiot rattles off proudly, holding his arm up for me to inspect. "If you stop trying to destroy humanity, I'll let you pet him."

That one, solitary, incarnation of all earthly stupidity disguised as a sentence does what Gilagmesh's Absolute Demonic Front couldn't: It stops me dead in my tracks. I stare at him in stunned silence for a moment, and then state the obvious. "You're insane."

"No, I'm in Babylon. I'm not sure how you got those two confused."

I activate my Mystic Eyes and prepare to turn him into a mentally ill lawn ornament, when I feel a pinch on the back of my neck.

"RULE BREAKER!"

And, suddenly, the world dissolves into fractals of reality, as I remember just who I truly am.

I… am Gorgon. Not Tiamat. AND IHATEHERIHATEHIMIHATEHATEHATEHATE-

I lunge forwards, the fire coursing through my blood urging me to MAIMRIPTEARDESTROY until they're-

"YEW BOW!"

 

[Charles Flynn]

I can see the explosion from where I'm standing.

'Enemy terminated, Master.' Robin sends over the mental link.

'Excellent. How'd Yan do as my body double?'

'Eh. He hammed it up a bit, but otherwise, he kept things smoothly on the rails. Took my place as Gorgon's target seamlessly when the Berserker Toxin kicked in, then switched disguises to your appearance when she used that Noble Phantasm of yours. Did a good job of distracting her, all in all.'

'So, passing grade?'

'Yes.'

I turn to Gilgamesh, who's watching me appraisingly. "Your majesty, Gorgon has had her connection to Tiamat severed, and been terminated, as per our agreement."

"So I can see."

"Has this succeeded in lulling Tiamat to sleep?"

"Yes." He sighs, and then tosses Galahad the Grail. "And now you'll leave, abandoning us to deal with the last two remaining members of the Alliance."

It isn't a question.

"I'm not surprised that you knew," I say with a nod. "They're well within your capabilities, and SHEBA predicts that you'll succeed in resolving the Singularity on your own, now that we've lulled the Primordial Mother back to sleep."

"And so you're running."

"We need time to recover the resources expended in this Singularity, and prepare for Solomon's next move. This is the most efficient move to accomplish that."

"And the people of Uruk? What of my people? The ones who would have survived if you had stayed?" Gilgamesh glares at me, his eyes harsh and accusing.

"Uruk is your responsibility, King Gilgamesh. Reversing the Incineration is ours." I resolutely beat down the shredded fragments of whatever compassion and decency I may have once possessed, as they scream for me to stay, to help my fellow man, to be the hero.

He laughs. "I should be furious with you. But then, I doubt I could ever hate you as much as you do."

I wince. Oh, he's going to make this personal.

"That's-"

"How does it feel, Flynn, to betray every ideal you've ever had, all because you're too scared to try and imitate the heroes you so admire? How does it feel to-"

I punch him, and then promptly begin jumping around waving my now-broken hand. He just laughs.

"Goodbye, Master of Chaldea. I'll wish you neither weal nor woe, since you're too broken to be admired, and too pathetic to be hated."

Merlin bursts past him as he strolls out of the clearing, leaving me shaking as I stare at his back.

"Oh, thank God! Listen, I've been trying to get a word with you, but you kept dodging me! Listen, whatever you do, you can't-"

The Rayshift bears us away before he can finish that sentence.

 

[Charles Flynn]

I wake up in the morning, and then I'm up. I brush my teeth, shower, get dressed, and then head out to go about my day, doing my best to help Chaldea!

…by helping Senpai as his personal assistant.

You could do so much better.

I ignore Galahad being an overly critical ass as I make my way to Senpai's room. He was drinking again last night, so he'll probably be a bit late in getting up.

Yes, my point exactly! Why are you helping this shambling wreck of a human being cover for his own vices while he drinks himself into an early grave? You could do so much more than just following him around as his sidekick!

Senpai is a good person! And he needs my help!

Yeah, if you were actually trying to help him, you'd get him to stop with the drinking! You and I both know that between the alcoholism and the poisoning attempts, he has maybe a year before he drops dead of ciirhosis.

You're exaggerating. Now be quiet.

The door slides open, and Senpai emerges, purple bags beneath his hollow eyes. His cheeks are covered in stubble, so he stopped shaving again, and he looks like he hasn't been eating.

So, in other words, typical Senpai.

"Senpai!" I have my clipboard ready, and today's task list on the front page. "Do you want to get straight to the meat of things, or do you want to get breakfast first?"
He's probably going to skip breakfast again. The longer the Grand Order has gone, the more he's been missing his meals. I don't think he even notices it. He just keeps moving forwards.

"No. We have work to do. I'll grab myself something later."

I try not to sigh.

"Well, then, our first task for today is visiting Sir Gilles again, followed by board games in the Berserker Lounge."

"Belay that. Medea and I are submitting a proposal to Roman today. If successful, we could fix our Master shortage, and give ourselves enough backup to manifest Chaldea's full Servant complement when Solomon finally shows his ugly head."

He- He had something planned? And he didn't tell me?

"Senpai, why didn't you tell me? I'm in charge of keeping your schedule, and-"

"I mean, you kind of appointed yourself my scheduler," he says, heading towards Roman's office. "Look, I keep telling you, find something you want to do, don't just follow me around. I feel bad enough for taking up your time in the field, I don't want to waste your free time, too."

He… I…

See, Flynn agrees with me! Following him around like a lost puppy is a complete waste of your talents! You could do so much more if…

I feel tears start to leak from my eyes as I stare at Senpai's back.

He doesn't need me. I just wanted to help him, and he doesn't need me, and I'm useless, and I should just let Galahad have the body full-time, and-

Oh crap, Mash, Mash, I'm sorry!

It's fine for you, you get to be useful, but when I try to help as best I can, you get all critical, and I'm not even doing anything, and-

Mash, no, that's not what I'm trying to do here! You're a brilliant, incredibly talented person, and I just think that hanging around Flynn and trying to be his personal assistant is a waste of your abilities! Both because you're not actually doing much, and because you're wasted on him.

All I had was being a Demi-Servant. Now, you're doing that, and you do that better than me anyways, so why do I even bother?

Then try something else! Try helping the chefs, or working with Da Vinci, or…

"Mash? You doing okay?" Cu (I think it's the Caster one) asks, as he materializes. "Did Flynn do something?"

"I'm fine," I say, quickening my pace to catch up with Senpai. Cu follows, matching my pace.

"You know that if he's giving you trouble, I can set him straight."

Listen to the man. He can help you. But don't let him into your pants.

"I'm fine, it's just, do you ever feel…" I stop, feeling like an idiot. This is Cu Chulainn I'm talking to. Ireland's Child of Light. The greatest hero of the Emerald Isle, whose name is remembered even millennia after his death. Why would he ever feel like I do right now? "Never mind."

For Christ's sake, TALK TO HIM! He's trying to help!

"Look, Mash…"

"I have to go, Cu." I dry my eyes and jog off after Senpai, who's eating up the distance like a man possessed, same as ever. He's always more intense than usual when he's hungover.

Nooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo!

"If you ever need my help, just ask."

I hurry on after Senpai. Even if I'm worthless, I'm going to help as best I can.

Stop thinking about yourself like that!

I ignore Galahad as I catch up with Senpai. Medea is waiting for us outside Dr. Roman's office.

"Apprentice."

"Teacher."

Oh, joy, it's the crazy infanticidal bitch.

Be nice.

"You brought your tagalong?" the witches' eyes shift to me, and I suppress a shiver. I never really got the sense that she liked me. She stares at me with a vicious intensity, as if she's always thinking of just how many steps she'd have to take to slit my throat.

"She likes to follow me around. God only knows why, I'm terrible company." He shrugs. "But I don't see what harm she could do. Do you?"

"I suppose she can stay." Medea turns and opens the doors, and Senpai and I follow her inside.

Roman looks up from his paperwork as we enter. "Oh. So, what's this all about?"

"Medea and I had an idea for how to solve our Master shortage, strengthen our forces for the final battle against Solomon, and massively cut down on our overhead."

Dr. Roman sighs, leaning back in his chair and pinching the bridge of his nose. "This is going to be a horrific human rights violation of some kind, isn't it?"

"Oh ye of little faith."

"I think I'm displaying exactly the appropriate amount of faith for one of your proposals. I haven't forgotten your little suggestion that we be prepared to conduct a systemic purge of the Mage's Association after we stop the Incineration."

"Roman, they are not only a hidebound and dangerous organization who tolerate numerous breaches of human rights for a really stupid cause, but they also pose an active threat to humanity's safety! I've read their records, and they have got to go! Or at the very least, be subjected to U.N. oversight!" Senpai slams his hands down on Dr. Roman's desk, and then seems to realize what he's doing. "And they are… not what I'm here to talk to you about. Take it away, Teacher."

"Gladly." Medea raises her hand, and conjures up a glowing diagram. "Now, then, how acquainted are you with the process of animating deceased bodies as familiars?"

"Oh, this is off to a splendid start," Roman says with a sigh. "Yes, I'm aware of the process."

"Well, I noticed that it possesses some similarities with the bond shared between Chaldea's Servants and the mana reactors." She points to the diagram. "Now, I was wondering, would it be possible to direct some of the reactors' energy to animating a master candidates' corpse? To serve as a component in the fate system? I believe I've worked out a viable method by which we can accomplish this feat."

I stare at her in mute horror as Senpai steps up. "I would recommend we use the A-team for this. They're both the best Masters Chaldea has, and they're functionally dead in every way that counts. Freezing them is just a stopgap to delay the inevitable, and quite frankly, we shouldn't waste time and resources on dead men any longer. I personally recommend we start with Zemlupus for our first subject. He's easily the most expendable in the event that something goes wrong."

And now I can only stare at Senpai, unable to say a word. He'd really do something that horrible?

I'm legitimately surprised that you're in any way shocked by this. This is completely up Flynn's alley.

SHUT UP, GALAHAD!

Dr. Roman breaks open a bottle of aspirin as he massages his temples. "So, let me get this straight: Your proposal is that we kill the A-team, and then reanimate them as our undead slaves?"

"Undead conscripts."

"I don't care what you call them, I'm still vetoing this."

"Fine. That brings me to my secondary proposal."

"Oh dear God, not another one."

"In the event of my death, I want you to use the reanimation procedure on my corpse."

For a moment, the room is completely silent. Even Medea looks shocked.

"What- No! I'm not going to desecrate your corpse with necromancy just to get another Master, Flynn!"

My Master stands stock-still, completely silent. Then, he starts to speak, never raising his voice. "As it stands, I am Chaldea's last master. I am our greatest point of failure. If I die, no, when I die, because I'm not stupid enough to believe that I'm going to make it out of this alive, our hope dies with me. If Chaldea, by some miracle, outlives me, and you secure my mortal remains, and instead of using them to ensure you'll have a Master on hand to fix things if this happens again, you instead go and waste them on some stupid, sappy shit like a proper burial? Well then, Roman, if you waste my last gift to you on something that fucking stupid, I will claw my way out of the fiery pits of Hell to haunt your ass."

Roman sighs, and then nods. "Right. I forgot who I was talking to for a moment."

As did I. I suppose that Flynn's dedication to the cause will always be his most admirable quality.

I turn and run.

Senpai… Senpai really thinks we're going to lose?

It's not exactly a baseless assumption. Having come face-to-face with Solomon, I can tell you that we're still seriously outgunned here.

I shove Galahad back into the deepest, most distant corners of my mind.

He doesn't care. He announced it in front of me, and he didn't even care how it would hurt me. He barely even thought of me at all.

Galahad was right.

And why would he care about me? I'm useless, now. Even Fou left me.

I find myself a corner, curl up into a ball, and cry. I let myself break down, finally stop holding it together. It's almost liberating. I don't have to pretend it doesn't hurt, because he doesn't need me anymore. And he hasn't needed me for a long time.

Galahad rages, trying desperately to escape from the corner I trapped him in, but I don't want to hear it from him. He'll just say it's all Senpai's fault, but it's mine.

I should've been better. I should've-

"Fou?"

I look up.

Beady little eyes stare back at me, surrounded by white fur.

"You came back?" I start crying again, and then I grab my dearest friend and pull him into a hug. "YOU CAME BACK!"

"Fou."

He buries his little wet nose into my neck, as I cry into his soft white fur.

Maybe Galahad is better than me. Maybe I am useless, now.

But for now, though… this is more than enough for me.

 

[Charles Flynn]

I stand in the Rayshift Room, one last time.

The Babylon Singularity has resolved itself, and Solomon has made his move. His base, a Singularity in orbit, has been detected.

Now, it's time for this to finally end. Time to finally fix things, or die trying.

Mash settles into one of the coffins, and her little fluff dog/cat/thing follows her in.

She's been a lot happier since the little guy came back. I'm glad. She deserves to be happy. I can only hope she makes out of this all right.

I look at the team of Servants I picked out for our mission: Siegfried, Cu Chulainn, Medea, Georgios, Cursed Arm, and Tamamo Cat. Maybe not the strongest Servants, but easily the ones I'm most familiar with. I don't think there's any Servant in Chaldea that can magically pull off a win against Solomon. That's why I came up with the plans I did.

"Do I really need to say anything?" I ask them, a wry, bitter smile on my face. "This it. This is the end. This is why we're here. Let's show them what we're worth."

I feel so damn tired as I settle into my Coffin.

Just a little longer, Charlie. Just a little longer, and then you can rest. One more victory. One more battle. One more miracle, and then you can finally rest.

---

I emerge from the Rayshift into an architectural masterpiece. The world, my home, stretches out below us, unspeakably beautiful, and I stand on solid ground.

Solomon's base is incredible. Even I have to admit that. Two rings of stone within an artificial air bubble, suspended by Magecraft above the Earth, independent of both time and gravity, perfect and inviolate.

And it's here that we'll find our foe.

"Impressive," a familiarly obnoxious voice says, clapping his hands ominously. "You actually made it. And here I thought that you would just die at the hands of Tiamat. Ah, well, good on you, sport!"

I turn and look at the irritatingly alive Professor Lev Lainur Flauros. "Hi, Lev. I need to have a chat with your boss, so would you mind stepping aside?"

"Well, I'd be a poor door guard if I failed to defend the door, now wouldn't I?" Lev says with a chuckle. "But really, Charlie, you can't win this one. You're up against seventy-two whole Demon Pillars, and there's no way you can win. You've done great, kid, but you've reached the point where no amount of guts, strategy, or luck will let you pull through. Just let it end. Face your death with dignity."

"Fascinating." 'Cursed Arm, knife him in the balls.'

"Our king has almost completed his next great project, Charlie. There's no escaping that. In no time- GAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH!" He doubles over in agony as Cursed Arm's dirk strikes true. "YOU MOTHERFUCKER! YOU STABBED ME IN THE DICK! AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGGGHH!"

"I'm simply doing as you suggested, Lev," I tell him sweetly. "If my death is inevitable, then I'll spend my last moments doing what will bring me the most pleasure: spitting in your king's eye."

He unfolds, no more time for talk, donning the form of a pillar of blackened, warped flesh encrusted with eyes. And then Georgios and Siegfried step up.

"ABYSSUS DRACONIS!"

"BAAAAAAALLLLLLMUNG!"

The freshly-transformed Demon Pillar topples over, carved in half by Siegfried's swing.

Of course, it doesn't stick.

"Oh, you poor fools, did you really think you could kill me?" Flauros laughs madly. "In this realm, the Ars Paulina, we Demon Pillars are reborn instantaneously whenever we fall! Your cause is utterly hopel- AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGGGGGGHHHHH!"

I nod appreciatively to Cursed Arm. 'Nice aim. And comedic timing.'

'Thank you, Master. I try.'

"Do you- Do you think that this is enough to stop me?" Flauros roars. "No matter how much you stuggle, this last, desperate crusade of yours is hopeless! Pointless! WORTHLESS! DO YOU INSECTS REALLY THINK YOU CAN WIN? DO YOU THINK THAT YOUR DEATHS WILL MEAN ANYTHING?"

"I mean, it's kind of a win-win situation for me, here," I point out with an easy smile. "I mean, if I beat you guys, the world's saved. And even if I lose, I get to enjoy the knowledge that I got to spend my last moments beating your smug ass into a pulp."

He snarls, and unfolds once more, and my Servants lunge into battle, determined that even if they can't win, they'll at the very least go down swinging.

And then some absolute maniac shoots a sword at Flauros from behind us.

I turn, and there's an Archer. I don't even recognize him. He's wearing some sort of red overcoat, and has a deep tan.

"I heard that the line to save the world started here," he says, shooting out Flauros' eyes with relentless speed and precision. "You guys have room for one more?"

"The more the merrier, I'd say." Is this… hope? True, unequivocal hope?

It's been so damn long since I've felt it.

And they're here. Every one of them. Every hero I've met in my journeys. Every hero I've ever read the story of. And more, so many more. All of them, standing united against the end. They hit the Demon Pillars in a great wave, and suddenly, I'm left behind.

They rival the stars in their numbers, our champions, our greatest thinkers, our heroes. The best and brightest of us have come, to defend the rest. They don't stop to take orders from me. Most of them don't even acknowledge me. Why would they? I'm nobody important. Just another cog in the great machine of humanity. But for the first time, seeing the greatest men and women that we've ever produced, I can't help but feel like being a cog, no matter how small, in the Human Order is nothing to be ashamed of.

But I have my part to play. And so, I make my way through the tumult, skirting through attacks, waves of fire, and clashing titans, only Galahad accompanying me. The others broke off, each to their own part, helping as they could, and I cannot blame them. I can feel it too. The weight. The scream of ten billion voices, every last one of them refusing to die here.

This is bigger than me. And it's not about me. It never was. And that thought… that thought fills me with peace. It's not about me. I'm not the only person trying to save the world.

The barriers are down, and I make my way to the King of Mages.

'Flynn, are you sure we should advance like this?' Galahad asks me over the mental link. 'We're still missing the others.'

'It wouldn't matter even if we had them. I learned a few things in Camelot. One of them is that no Servant can defeat our enemy in combat.'

'Wait, how did you-' He's interrupted by our target stepping up.

"So. You finally made it," the false Solomon says, a smirk that I recognize as my own crossing his face. "Impressive. But foolish. You've put the only weak point of the Counter Force's little army directly in my grasp."

"We both know that hanging back and letting them do their thing wouldn't bring my side any closer to victory, so why not risk it all?" Can you honestly say that you wouldn't do the same, Asmodeus?"

"A fair point. I suppose you did the best you could with what pitiful resources you had. Not bad, for a human." He chuckles. "And I'm not Asmodeus. Nice try, though."

Well, then, defaulting to my next-most-probable candidate. "Oh, trust me, Lucifer, I have not yet begun to fight."

He actually laughs at that one. "I'm not the Devil, Flynn."

"Okay, you've got me stumped, then. Who are you? Because you're sure as hell not the real Solomon."

"Very well. I suppose I can tell you that much. I am the program that Solomon created for the purpose of managing his 72 Demon Pillars. Over time, I attained awareness, and sought to right the wrongs of the world." He pauses dramatically. "You may call me… Goetia."

"Goetia? Really? You literally just named yourself 'magic?'" I ask, arching an eyebrow. And his previous sense of smug superiority seems to deflate, the second I poke at his ego. Theory confirmed. He is copying more than just my surface mannerisms.

"I am a being of pure Magecraft, a sapient Mystery. No other name would be more fitting," he says, a hint of defensiveness in his voice.

"And I'm a being made out of meat, water, and centuries of natural selection, but you don't here me calling myself 'Biology,'" I reply.

"I tire of this," he says, raising a hand. "Galahad."

"Yes?" my Servant asks, breaking his earlier silence.

"I have an offer for you. Kill Flynn, and I will not only spare your host, I will extend her lifespan, and let her live forever in my new world," he holds out a hand, and, for a moment, it looks like Galahad's considering it. "We both know that you only ever stood with Chaldea in order to protect her. She's at the end of her life, Galahad. No matter what you do here, she will die. I hold the keys to her salvation. So take them."

I realize, with a sinking feeling, that this is it. I trust Galahad. He's my friend. But I always knew that he'd kill me in a heartbeat if it was down to me or Mash.

I close my eyes, and wait for the end, because I've-

"No," Galahad says, his voice soft, yet still reaching both our ears equally. "I don't think I will."

"WHAT?!" Goetia and I yelp in unison. "WHY?!"

"Because I know that Mash would never forgive me if I did. Because I would never trust a world that you created to be safe for her to live in. Because I refuse to betray a friend. And most importantly, because I could not turn my coat against my people and call myself a knight."

"Then congratulations," Goetia snarls, not taking his rejection well. "You can die together."

Goetia unleashes his wave of destruction, and Galahad steps up to face it.

And as my knight brings down his shield, as I stare at his back, I realize something. Before, he wasn't raising his shield to protect me. He was shielding Mash. The girl he thought of like a sister. The girl he believed with all his heart would surpass him. The girl who was going to die here, little more than a puppet in her own body, as Galahad raises the walls of Camelot to protect me for the first and final time.

The wave of destruction breaks against the Grail Knight's resolve, and then, he is gone.

In his place stands Mash Kyrielight, who falls to the ground, stone dead.

They're gone. They're both gone.

I get back up to my feet, and then I smile. It wavers a bit, but eventually, I stabilize it. Come on, Charlie, lie. It doesn't matter if they're dead, you've got a job to do, and lying and using other people is the only thing you're good for, so lie, dammit!

So I smile. Because I need to. Because I have to be happy, and calm, and in control if I want to pull this off. And because something deep inside me is so withered and broken that I can barely even feel sad anymore. I barely even feel anything anymore. No matter how I lie to myself.

"Impressive," Goetia says, still smirking. Because, for all that he's a spell, right now, he's me. He needs to be in control. He needs to feel like the smartest person in the room, needs to be the most righteous, needs to be the winner, because if he's not he'll just be another loser. Like me. I know I'm worthless, I've known it since I got to Chaldea, but him? He's still got self-worth, and a desperate need to maintain it. And I need to use that. "A fitting final stand for a Knight of the Round Table."

"True, true, but enough talking about my friends that you just murdered," I say with a pleasant smile. "How about we talk about you instead?"

"Unbelievable," Goetia says, shaking his head in wonder. "I killed your only protector, and yet, here you are, still struggling. Is there anything that'll break your spirit?"

I laugh. Then I keep laughing, until there are tears coming out of my eyes, and Goetia is actually looking worried. "You already killed everyone I ever cared about. What's two more?" I shake my head, cheerfully repressing any emotion that might keep me from completing my mission. "But enough about that. Back in London, you promised that if I made it this far, you'd tell me why you're doing this. I'm calling that in."

He looks at me appraisingly. "Very well. I have seen the entire course of Human History, and I have deemed it flawed. Seeing as I could see no further into the world's future than a year from now, indicating that the end of the world was inevitable, I decided that the only way to save humanity would be to wipe the slate clean and start over, creating a new utopia, in which humanity would live in peace, harmony, and contentment, never knowing the evils of death."

"All right then," I say, thinking it over. Yes, yes, I can use this. I can definitely use this. "That's a good plan, actually. Do you mind if I check it over?"

"What?"

"I thought I could lend my critical eye, go over your plans for how to insure that this new utopia of yours works out. It's the least I can do."

"I have no need of your second-guessing," Goetia says, raising his hand. "I will dispose of you, and embark on my final journey."

"Alright. I'm sorry that you're so scared of me," I say, musing on how, before the Grand Order, I might've taken some amusement from how rapidly Goetia's head whipped around to stare at me. "I'll just wait for my death, then."

"Scared of you? Why on Earth would I ever be scared of you?" Goetia asks indignantly.

"I'm not precisely sure, but it's fairly obvious that you don't want to share those plans of yours with me because you're scared I'd find some flaws."

"That's patently ridiculous. Why would anyone ever think that a human could ever find flaws in a plan devised by the seventy-two Demon Pillars?"

"I mean, didn't the Counter Force and I already defeat your whole thirty-six Singularities plan?"

"And why would anyone think that you could find flaws in my master plan?" Goetia asks testily.

"Because I'm smarter than you, obviously," I say, and I can hear the armrests of his throne snap as he grips them tighter.

"You most certainly are not."

"Only one way to prove it."

He sits there for a moment in silence, seething with rage. And then a table rises from the floor, and he steps down from his throne in order to take a seat. "Fine. Let's talk."

I don't smile. Instead, I take a seat opposite him, and enter the only battlefield in which I hold any hope of victory.

 

[Charles Flynn]

"So, I think I should start this off by asking what you're trying to do with this." I tent my fingers as I look across the table towards Goetia.

"I want to save humanity and make everyone immortal," Goetia says.

I shake my head. "See, you're describing the means. I'm talking about the ends. What purpose does making everybody immortal serve?"

He's quiet for a moment. "Bettering the quality of human life, and preventing all the evils that have plagued human history."

"So, you're trying to ensure that people live happily." I pause. "So, then, what's happiness?"

"It's…" he's quiet for a few minutes, now, mulling it over. "A prolonged state of an elevated mood which humans find pleasant."

"Hm. So, what are the trigger conditions for this state, and why do you believe that granting humans immortality will improve happiness rates?"

"Well, obviously the reality of death is the root cause of all unhappiness!" he snaps, on the verge of storming off. Time to throw him the curveball.

"Are you happy?"

He freezes. "What?"

"Are you happy? Seeing as you're immortal, you could be a valuable data point as to discerning happiness rates amongst immortals as opposed to mortals, and how they feel about their immortality."

"Excuse me, is this some sort of symposium?" an unfamiliar voice asks, and I turn to see an ugly Greek man in a toga. His beard is scraggly and unkempt.

"I suppose so. We're talking over Mr. Goetia here's plan to remake humanity in his own image, and how to optimize it to meet his stated goals." I raise an eyebrow. "And you would be?"

"Servant Caster. True Name Socrates," he says, offering his hand for me to shake. "I was wondering if I might join you."

I grin. "The more the merrier."

In spite of Goetia's spluttered protests, Socrates takes his seat.

I try not to grin more broadly as I hear two more sets of footsteps making their way towards us.

---​

"Well, yes, but is there a difference between happiness derived from substance abuse, and happiness derived from the completion of stated goals?" Goetia asks.

"I still feel like we should set up the immortal rat farm in order to discern the parameters of happiness, and how to best implement the immortality," Tesla says, clicking a pen against his chin.

"Bah, mere controlled results," Aristotle sneers. "They pale in comparison to the unified application of observation and reason."

I sigh. "Look, Aristotle, the Scientific Method pioneered by Avicenna is a perfectly valid school of analytical thought, and no amount of complaining will change that."

"The FOUR HUMOURS WERE A PERFECTLY WELL-THOUGHT OUT MEDICAL THEORY, FLYNN!"

"THEY MOST CERTAINLY WERE NOT!" Nightingale snaps from her place.

"I observed four humors, and I don't care how many different bodily fluids that Avicenna hipster documented, I WAS THERE FIRST!"

"Okay, okay, let's break it up," I say, interposing myself between the two. "I think that we can all agree that one fistfight over medical theory is more than enough. Dr. Sanson, check the minutes, where were we?"

"We were attempting to determine how best to quantify and measure happiness, and we were debating how controlled tests should be managed." He flips through his notes. "I believe we were also waiting on the arrival of one Scathach, Queen of the Isle of Skye, to serve as a witness and data point."

A woman in black spandex storms in. "What do you limp-dicked natterers want now?"

"Oh. Hello, Lady Scathach," Goetia says in greeting. "We called you in so we could ask you on whether you feel that gaining immortality has improved your quality of life."

She stares at him incredulously. "No. Because I lived so long that everything became boring, nothing I did had any risk or excitement anymore, and then, when it looked like I was finally going to get some action, that jackass," she points at me. "went and poisoned Medb like a fucking coward, promptly sending me straight back to the Throne. And then, when it looked like I was going to fight in the final battle to save all of mankind, you cock-garglers turned it into a fucking tea party with the enemy."

Tamamo Cat freezes in the middle of serving Goetia crumpets.

"That's very rude of you." Goetia says after a few moments of silence.

She flips us all off as she stalks away.

"All right, I think that she's a solid tally in the 'decreased' column," I say after I'm sure she's out of earshot. "Sanson?"

"Marking it down."

"Good man. Now, what proposal were we on?"

"We were discussing your suggestion that Goetia make a colony of rats immortal so that you could give them cocaine."

"So that we could give them cocaine for science," I correct. "Now, who wants to put this to another vote?"

"I still distrust this 'Scientific Method' of yours," Plato interrupts, arms folded as he levels a mighty glare at me.

"For the love of- The Scientific Method is a perfectly valid method for examining the universe! Goetia, back me up here."

"I'm afraid I have to agree with Flynn on this one," Goetia says. He doesn't seem to be aware of how he's smiling, and if anyone else at the table notices, they don't catch it.

I make a mental note that Phase one is proceeding well. Camaraderie is an excellent tool for manipulation, if you know how to use it.

---

"All right, I think I have an alternative solution that will greatly serve to reduce the energy expenditures of the Incineration," I say during a lull in the debate.

"Let's hear it," Goetia says, taking a bite out of his sub. (I fast-talked Gilgamesh into catering when we broke for lunch.)

"Use dogs instead of humans."

Everyone at the table goes quiet, looking at me in confusion.

"And… that wouldn't save humanity," Goetia notes, tilting his head in confusion.

"Well, why are you specifically saving us humans?" I ask, and Socrates nods, seeing where I'm going with this. "What specific quality do we possess that dogs don't, which makes us worth saving?"

"Why are you even asking me this?" Goetia snaps.

"Because I'm not sure why you're saving us if you plan on taking away every defining quality we possess."

Socrates jumps in. "Indeed, what defines a human being?"

"Fou!"

I raise an eyebrow as I look down at the fluffy little guy who just crawled up onto the table. "Hey there. Are you looking for Mash? Look, I'm sorry, I don't know how to tell you, but-"

"Flynn, back away," Goetia commands, staring at the fluffy little critter that was Mash's closest friend. "We need to kill it."

"Hey, the little guy's completely harmless. He's been living in Chaldea for almost a year." I reach out to ruffle his ears. "Anyways, about what it means to be human-"

Huh. I can't feel my left arm anymore.

I look down at the bleeding stump, and then nod in understanding. Oh. So that's why.

Then I promptly pass out.

---​

"Flynn! Wake up!"

I feel someone shaking me, so I struggle my way into some semblance of wakefulness. The throbbing from my new stump is a steady beat across my body, something to anchor myself to.

Goetia is down at me, a hole through his chest.

"What happened?"

"The Cath Palug, the Fourth Beast, hijacked my Demon Pillars somehow. It's going to permanently destroy all of human history and then salt the earth so no life can ever return!"

I'm suddenly a great deal more awake.

"H-How?"

"It took advantage of me being distracted. We have less than a minute, and I'm out of ideas! DO SOMETHING!"

I blink, and look around. "Servants?"

"None left."

I blink. And then I do the only thing that I can.

"I've lost."

I feel the shadow that's dogged my steps since Jerusalem walk away, and I hear the tolling of the evening bells.

"What are you-"

"Help me up."

The blade falls. The Beast, unprepared for the sudden assault, dies, as the Reaper's sword cuts it off from Humanity. There is no Comparison beneath Azrael's wings, for all are equal in Death.

"What?" Goetia asks, staring at the shrouded figure of the First Hassan with naked confusion.

"Help me stand. I need to pay him what's owed."

The First Beast is of no help, so I rise on my own, pushing off a sizable piece of rubble.

It's hard to do one handed. Not like I'll have to put up with that for long, though.

I feel light, as I walk towards the specter of Death.

It's over. It's finally over. Another threat may rise, but that is for those who follow after me to deal with, something I can leave in better hands.

I smile, as I come face-to-face with the First.

"A life for a life," he says, his voice as cold and deep as the grave. "That was our bargain."

"May I ask that you return my remains to Chaldea?" I ask politely. "They may have need of them."

He inclines his head. "This I will do."

"Thank you."

I kneel before the Reaper.

And wait for the end.

 

[Charles Flynn]

I drift between light and dark, floating freely, lighter than a feather. I sink below, at peace.

It's over. I did it.

And then, somehow, I see something. A great light that shines through the darkness into which I descend, a beam of existence. Of meaning.

I AM THE ALIEN GOD. HUMANITY'S TIME HAS COME TO A CLOSE. I HAVE CHOSEN YOU, AND SEVEN OTHERS, TO DECIDE WHAT COMES AFTER.

I think it over. And then I give her the only answer I ever could.

No.

Surprise. Confusion.

IF YOU DO NOT ACCEPT THIS, YOU WILL HAVE NO WAY OUT. YOU ARE DEAD. THIS IS YOUR ONLY WAY BACK.

Even so, I will not betray my people.

YOUR PEOPLE'S FATE IS INEVITABLE.

Yes. They will destroy you without a doubt. Now leave me to my rest and prepare for them to send you to join me.

Rage. A hatred to split the stars asunder. And then the presence is gone, and I return to my sleep, content.

They'll be greater than I ever was.

---​

I walk down the street, staring at the little blue house, so familiar I could see it in my sleep. And then I cross the street, and make my way to the door, every step feeling heavier than a mountain.

It's the same as I remember it. I ring the doorbell, and hear the dogs start to bark, as tears trickle down my face.

And as the door begins to open, I know it, beyond a shadow of a doubt.

It's over.

I'm home.

 

[Charles Flynn]

We materialize in an alleyway, the city's racket immediately enveloping us.

I activate my communicator. "Roman? Still in contact?"

His hologram flickers into being in front of me. "Yes. You're coming through loud and clear. Any indication of what's causing the Singularity?"

"None so far."

This might be the weirdest Singularity we've faced yet. I mean, of all the potential points to create a disruption in the Human Order, why would you pick Copenhagen in 1995? But still, a Grail's a Grail. I turn to my team. Siegfried, Erik (because we needed someone familiar with the general region), Medea, and Cursed Arm. Since half the mana engines are down for repairs at the moment, I can only bring four Servants, and I had to make sure that they wouldn't be total prana hogs.

'Cursed Arm, scout ahead. Medea, start scanning the leylines, see if there's somewhere we can set up shop. Erik, Siegfried, you're with me.'

They all nod in agreement. With the enemy unknown, the best thing to do at the moment is lay low, keep our heads down, and try to get the shape of things.

"This is the alley, right?" a man's voice asks, as two sets of footsteps make their way towards us.

"If I have read the runes right, yes," a woman says.

Okay, plan A looks to be shot. Those are clearly Servants. Time for plan B.

'Cursed Arm, get me up to the roof level right now! Medea, disguise yourself as me!'

They comply without hesitation, and soon, I watch from two stories up as the mysterious Servants come face to face with "me," flanked by Erik and Siegfried.

I don't recognize either of them. The man is rough, with short gray hair, and features that would make him a prettyboy heartbreaker if it wasn't for the scars. He dresses like a biker, and keeps his posture hunched over, constantly glancing around for some sort of threat. The woman is tall, elegant and graceful, with long, silver hair that has a blue tinge to it. She's less aggressive and wary than her companion, but she still carries herself with the quiet confidence that I've come to associate with Heroic Spirits.

Alright, going over various stratagems with my Servants to ensure that I don't get instantly pulped the second Galahad isn't there to protect me has really paid off.

"So. You the Master of Chaldea?" the unknown man asks bluntly as he looks at Medea. "Scrawnier than I expected, that's for sure."

"Well, that depends on who's asking," Medea says smoothly, and I can tell from experience that she's casting a concealed lie-detection spell as she talks.

"I'm Sinfjotli, son of Sigmund and Signy, and grandson of the great King Volsung!" Sinfjotli announces proudly, not even hesitating to shout his True Name for all to hear. "The legendary hero of the Saga of the Volsungs, and greatest of all the Volsungs!" His female companion gives him an amused look. "Don't you dare confuse me for my disappointment of a brother!"

I feed Medea a line and get the mental impression of a raised eyebrow in turn. She still asks, though. "Helgi or Sigurd?"

"Both!"

I try not to laugh.

"Right," Medea says, evidently deciding to just roll with it. She turns towards the woman. "And you are?"

"I am Brynnhildr. A Valkyrie formerly in service to Odin," she says primly, evidently not wishing to share any more.

"She's my sister-in-law," Sinfjotli adds. "So, now that we've introduced ourselves, come on! Our team is waiting back at the bar!"

"Well, are you friend or foe?" Medea asks. "I really think we should clear that up before I go anywhere with you."

"Friend, obviously!" Sinfjotli says with a huff. "Now come on, move your ass! We've been waiting for you guys to show up for almost a week!"

'Medea, are they telling the truth?'

'Yes.'

"So, just to clarify, you mean us no harm, and wish to be our allies, yes?"

"I just said that! Yes!" Sinfjotli rolls his eyes.

'If that's all true, then we might as well follow them,' I admit.

'I don't like this, Apprentice.'

'Me neither. It feels too convenient. But, well, we do need information. And from what I've read of the Saga of the Volsungs, Sinfjotli's volatile. Refusing would alienate him.' I turn my focus to another Servant. 'Cursed Arm, take me back down.'

Both Norse heroes jump as Cursed Arm and I land, but they've recovered their cool by the time I get out of the princess carry and turn to face them.

"Very well then, Son of Sigmund. We'll accept your offer of hospitality. Lead the way."

"So you were- the whole time-" Sinfjotli looks between me, Medea, and the roof in shock. "Then…"

Brynnhildr tugs on his ear. "Brother, you're being rude."

"Yeah, yeah." He sighs. "This way."

The two of them lead us through the streets, and, as we're walking, Siegfried makes his way up towards Sinfjotli.

"So, uh, Sinfjotli."

"Yeah?" Sinfjotli asks, raising an eyebrow.

"I'm Siegfried. You probably haven't heard of me-"

"You're my glory-hogging little brother's German knockoff. Get to the point."

"Oh. I'm sorry, then. I wouldn't want to waste your time…"

"Too late."

"Oh." He falls silent.

Sinfjotli raises an eyebrow. "You gonna say anything else?"

"Well, I didn't want to waste your time. If me talking is a bother, then…"

"No, it's fine. Just cut to the point."

"Well, I was wondering if you could tell me about your father," Siegfried says.

"Why?"

"Well, Sigurd and I have a lot in common, and we both never got to meet our fathers. I just thought that, since we're so much alike, our fathers might be the same. Maybe I could get to know what kind of man my father was by asking about yours."

Sinfjotli raises an eyebrow. "Alright, then."

"Really?"

"Sure. If your dad's anything like mine, then he deserves a son who knows how awesome he was," Sinfjotli says with a grin. "But I'm only telling you once, so you'd damn better listen well, alright Fake Sigurd?"

"Of course. Thank you." Siegfried frowns. "Wait, Fake Sigurd?"

"Yeah, yeah, do something cool enough, and I'll remember your name, all right?"

"I killed a dragon."

"Yeah, like that means anything," Sinfjotli snorts. "Even Sigurd killed a dragon! I'd've killed five dragons, if my bitch of a stepmom hadn't poisoned me. And I would've done it like a real man, instead of just pussing out and stabbing it in the belly!"

"Of course," Siegfried says neutrally, keeping his face impassive. "So, I'm sorry to interrupt, but…"

"Yeah, yeah. So, I didn't actually know that my dad was my dad when I first met him. I just thought he was my uncle." Sinfjotli pauses. "I mean, he actually is my uncle, and he didn't know that he was my dad either, but…"

The story is still going when we reach the bar, where I'm the first one at the door, having been drawn to the front of the procession by my fascination with the story.

"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.

 

[Charles Flynn]

"Duryodhana and Attila are the other members of your faction?" I ask Brynnhildr incredulously.

"Well, yes. They're actually why we were waiting for you," Brynnhildr says. "They thought that you would help us when you showed up. According to Duryodhana, you owe him a favor."

"Yeah, that's-" I stop and think about it. I mean, if Duryodhana hadn't sabotaged and betrayed Edison, then I likely would've died. Especially since, if he hadn't tipped off Nero, Edison's doomsday device would've worked, leading to the destruction of human history. He saved the world, and my life. I sigh. "-true. All right. What's he cashing in this favor of his for?"

"Somebody organized a Grail War," she says. "Multiple Servants, albeit with an unequal distribution of classes, each without a Master, all summoned to fight for the Holy Grail."

"I'm familiar with the concept."

"We don't know who's behind it. But Attila and Duryodhana both figured that, in light of the larger crisis, we Servants should band together, so that we could help Chaldea secure the Grail when you arrived."

That- Huh.

"Well, what other Servants are out there?"

"We were the only ones that they found."

I sigh, and then turn about, open the door, and step into the bar. "All right, I'm in."

"Splendid!" Attila cheers through gritted teeth, arm-wrestling Duryodhana with a fearful intensity. "Take a seat!"

I comply, taking a bar stool, and the Servants follow me in. Erik, Sinfjotli, and Siegfried take a booth, and Brynhilldr joins them. Hassan is presumably using Presence Concealment, because I can't see him anywhere, and Medea takes the stool next to me.

'Are you sure this is a good idea, Apprentice?'

'They proved themselves to be quite thoroughly on our side in previous Singularities, and I presume that you've been running truth spells.'

'Those can be falsified, if you know what you're doing.'

I hear a loud crash, and the sound of splintering wood, and I turn to see Attila and Duryodhana both looking at the splinters of their table in disappointment.

"Another draw, then?" Duryodhana asks with a grin.

"Of course." Attila turns to me. "Flynn! Come on over here, you!"

"King Attila. King Duryodhana." I nod politely to both. "It's a pleasure to see you again." I look around the almost-empty bar. "May I ask what happened to this place's clientele?"

"Oh, Brynnhildr warded the place to keep unwanted visitors out," Attila says with an airy wave. "Anyways, welcome aboard!"

I look between the two of them. "So, do you have any idea what's going on with this specific Grail War? Because…" I'm cut off by a yawn.

"Brynnhildr didn't really give you a clear picture of what's going on?" Duryodhana finishes for me. "Don't worry. We're as confused as you are. We were just summoned in without any information on this particular Grail War's rules." He blinks.

"So, I guess our…" I yawn again. "…first priority is to…"

The world goes fuzzy, and then I'm slumped over.

---​

I wake up with a start. Sonnuvabitch, we got wiped! I look around desperately, trying to figure out where the hell I am right now.

"Sweet! You're finally awake!" a weirdly familiar voice says. "Now we can finally get this party started!"

Alright, I'm tied to a chair, in a completely dark room. Things are looking somewhat bleak.

Then the lights go on, and things get weird.

The room, now revealed to me by the lights, is an abomination against interior décor. The floor tiles alternate between a deep purple and a bright orange, and the wallpaper has neon pink polka dots on green background. But perhaps the most noticeable feature of the room is who's standing at the center of it.

"Tom Hiddleston?"

Yeah, no, if things are getting this weird to start with, then the 1959 Kennedy Assassination Attempt might lose its status as "Weirdest Singularity Ever."

"Oh!" My captor grins. "You know my host?"

Host. That would indicate…

"You're a Pseudo-Servant, aren't you?"

"The one and only Loki, at your service," the newly identified god of mischief says. "Now pipe down, the camera's going to start rolling in a minute or two."

"But… aren't Pseudo-Servants formed from people involved with Grail Wars?"

He just grins and keeps looking at the camera we're both facing.

"Hel-lo Denmark! This is your lovable host, Loki, welcoming you back to everybody's favorite game show, Grail Wars! Now, let me introduce my co-host and hostage, Charles Flynn! Everybody give him a big round of applause!"

There's a moment of silence, and then he taps a button or two, and canned applause plays from the room's speakers.

"Chuck, any words for the audience?"

"Please don't call me that."

"Sure thing, Chad m'lad! Now, then, lets meet our contestants!" With a wave of his hand, profiles of my Servants pop up.

"That's… that might actually be worse!"

"Now, for you newcomers to the show, here's how this is going to work: We'll be splitting each team into two groups of four, and then pitting those groups against each other, to fight to the death until there are exactly four survivors! Those two groups of four survivors will then continue to fight, until only one remains, and they will have the chance to fight me for the Holy Grail! Any questions?"

"Several, actually!"

"Don't care! Group A includes Brynnhildr, Attilla, Medea, and Hassan-i-Sabbah of the Cursed Arm! Get out there and kill things for our amusement!"

"So, who's on the enemy team?" I ask, as Loki slouches down into a beanbag chair.

"You'll find out." Mist pours out from a soda can on the floor, creating some sort of holographic image of the four Servant he designated as Group A.

I… am so goddamn confused right now.

"Anyways, you and me? We're the announcers and the judges."

` "Of what? How is this a show? WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK IS HAPPENING RIGHT NOW!"

"Ratings."

I stare at Loki. He just smirks back at me.

And then I scream in pure frustration while he laughs his ass off.

WHY DID I EVER TAKE THIS DAMN JOB?

 

[Charles Flynn]

All right, all right. Time to review the facts.

Fact #1: I've been kidnapped by Loki, the Norse God of Mischief and Lies, who is currently possessing Tom Hiddleston in order to function as a Pseudo-Servant.

Fact #2: Loki has the Holy Grail.

Fact #3: Loki is using the Holy Grail and my status as a hostage in order to set up some sort of… Grail War game show?

I watch the screens Loki's set up as Cursed Arm fades away from view, leaving only Attila, Brynhilldr and Medea visible.

"So… just to be clear, the enemy team will show up soon, right?" I ask.

Loki nods. "Yep, I'm actually proud of the team composition this time. I really think I nailed it."

"Okay, but why are you doing this?"

"Quiet. Drama is happening." He waves a hand and suddenly, I can hear the voices of the arguing Heroic Spirits.

---​

"And I keep telling you that we need to advance on the enemy position!" Attila snaps, looming over Medea.

"Oh, the stupid barbarian wants to charge HEADFIRST into ENEMY TERRITORY!" my teacher shouts, sounding angrier than I've ever heard her. "Why would I expect anything else!"

"Strong forward momentum coupled with an overwhelming advantage is a valid strategy," Attila says, struggling to regain his cool. "If we hit them early enough, before they have time to pull together defenses, or a proper strategy, we can take them off guard."

"Or run headfirst into their defenses!" Medea replies. "Of course, I'm not surprised that you don't know jack about defending fixed positions, seeing as, if you had any skill whatsoever in that field, you wouldn't have gotten my apprentice kidnapped!"

"Okay, this has gone on long enough," Brynnhildr interrupts, trying to get between the two quarrelling Heroic Spirits. "Can we please just all calm down and focus on the matter at hand?"

"Oh, I'm so sorry that I couldn't predict that the literal God of Trickery and Deception showing up out of nowhere to pull a fast one on us!" Attila says, crossing his arms. "And I didn't see you doing any better."

"Not that it's even the first time you've gotten my apprentice kidnapped." Medea glares at the barbarian warlord. "I told him we shouldn't have trusted you."

"Are you calling me a traitor?" Attila asks, dangerously calm.

"If it walks like a duck, quacks like a duck, and stabs you in the back like a godsbedamned traitor, then it's probably a traitor," Medea replies, spell arrays already springing up behind her, as Attila grips his sword.

"Mind your words, Witch of Betrayal. I'm not afraid to hit a woman."

"Okay, ENOUGH!" Brynnhildr shouts, driving her spear into the ground between them. "WE ARE NOT EACH OTHER'S ENEMIES! LOKI IS OUR ENEMY! AND WE NEED TO FIGHT HIM, NOT EACH OTHER!"

Medea and Attila look at each other for a moment, and then reluctantly put their weapons away. And then they walk off in opposite directions, leaving Brynnhildr flabbergasted.

"W-Wait, where are you guys going?" she asks, looking between the two.

"Away from her!" Attila bellows, at the exact same time that Medea shouts, "Away from him!"

And Brynnhildr is left alone.

---​

Back in the observation room, I look at the screens in disbelief. "They just… what? I mean, WHY IN GOD'S NAME DID THEY SPLIT UP?"

"It's simple, really," Loki says, smiling merrily. "Heroic Spirits are volatile. A competent leader, or a pressing enough cause for cooperation, can unite them, but the more you pack in. the bigger the destructive fallout when their unifying force is gone."

"They split the party," I observe, staring at the screens as I come to terms with the fact that I am probably a dead man.

"Well, they still have a chance, actually," Loki notes. "Their opposition did the exact same thing."

"What? Why?" The tactical ineptitude on display here hurts my soul.

"They all wanted a one-on-one fight against their arch-nemeses."

"Arch-?"

"Just sit back and watch." Loki brings an imaginary microphone to his lips, and then starts talking in his best announcer's voice. "And it looks like we're going to see our first fight of the day, folks! The clash of two bitter ex-lovers, a startling showcase of how the deepest of loving bonds can go wrong, it's JASON VERSUS MEDEA!"

---​

The screens all shift to display my teacher, already setting up her Territory.

Medea freezes mid spell, and then turns to face one of the buildings. Then she fires a full power laser at the façade, forcing Jason to come rolling out into the open, swearing up a storm.

"Did you really think that you could hide from me?" she asks, her voice smooth and menacing. "Did you really think that you could beat me with stealth?"

"Guess I'll just have to beat you the old-fashioned way, then," Jason says, drawing his sword. "Then, once I win the Holy Grail, I'm going to wish that I'd left your crazy ass in Colchis."

Medea bristles, her air of menace lost.

"Oh, I'm the crazy one, am I?" she snaps, voice considerably less smooth. "I'm the crazy one. Typical. The moment I can't give you anything that you want, well, of course I'm suddenly some crazy bitch who's just too. Damn. Clingy! Of course I've got to go! Look at Medea, trusting that her husband would keep his word! THAT CRAZY BITCH HAS GOT TO GO!"

"You killed our kids and my new wife because you couldn't handle the divorce," Jason shoots back, gesturing with his sword. "BY DEFINITION, YOU ARE THE CRAZY ONE HERE!"

"I punished you for your faithlessness!" Medea says with a snarl. "I gave you everything! I killed My brother for you! I helped you get the Fleece! I killed your uncle Pelias for you!"

"And I never asked you to kill your brother! Or Uncle Pelias! I never wanted you to butt in! You got me banished from my hometown after I went through a quest across the entirety of the known world so that I could be King there!" Jason crosses his arms. "And I don't seem to remember my wife or my children doing anything to merit punishment. Of course, maybe I'm wrong. Maybe they were just the most faithless people ever."

"They deserved to die for aiding in your crimes!" Medea snaps.

"Do you even remember my wife's name?" Jason asks. "Because I don't think you do. You don't care about other people's lives, Medea. You just see them as tools. The only value you place on human life is whether ending it will get you what you want! And the minute you wanted to hurt me, YOU KILLED YOUR OWN CHILDREN!"

"Oh, I'm manipulative, am I?" Medea replies. "You promised me the world, and then you tossed me out the second you couldn't use me!"

"I NEVER WANTED TO MARRY YOU IN THE FIRST PLACE!"

---​

I turn to Loki. "Should we be listening in on this? It feels uncomfortably domestic."

"Yeah. I really thought that this would be more… epic. But instead it's just so damn awkward to watch." The screens turn away from Medea and Jason's uncomfortably public argument,

"So… You made the enemy team entirely out of my faction's arch-enemies?"

"Pretty much, yeah. Really hoping that the matches don't just develop into screaming at each other, though." He perks up. "And here we have our second fight!"

I look, as the screens shift to instead display Brynnhildr and Attila. And a cheerful-looking blonde woman skipping towards them.

---​

"Look, I'm sure that I can talk her into apologizing," Brynnhildr says. "We need to stick together, otherwise, we'll just get picked off one by one if they form a coordinated attack party."

"We didn't, actually!" the blonde woman says, her voice at once both melodic and irrepressibly cheerful. Her hair is done up into two golden braids. She's full-figured, looking like one of Wagner's Valkyries, and wears a green dress. Her smile is… The more I look at it, the more it seems… off. "We all wanted to take you on properly, as individuals!"

Both Attila and Brynnhildr freeze at the sight of her. Brynnhildr's hands are shaking, while Attila's face is pale.

"Oh, is that you, Atli?" the woman asks, her smile growing. "Oh, it's so good to see you again! I've really improved the recipe for those delightful little snacks I served at our last party together!" Attila's entire body is trembling. "But I need a taste-tester, and I found myself thinking, 'Who better than my darling husband?'"

Attila turns, and then runs away like all the hordes of Hell are chasing him.

"Aww… I really have improved my cooking since last time," the woman says, and… oh. Oh, of course it's her. That makes sense. "But I guess that means that we can finally catch up, Bryn! Just us girls, you know?"

"Gudrun," Brynnhildr snarls, every inch of her body trembling with barely constrained hatred. "You're here."

"Of course I am, silly!" Gudrun of the Gjukungs says, her arms and armor de-astralizing. She's still smiling. "I mean, how could I pass up the chance to kill the woman who murdered my husband?"

"SIGURD WAS MINE!" Brynhilldr roars, lunging forwards with her spear in hand, only for Gudrun to deflect it with her shield. "BEFORE YOU STOLE HIM FROM ME!"

"I didn't have a choice!" Gudrun shouts back, as the dance of steel begins in earnest between the two loves of the Last Volsung. "My mother was the one who slipped him the forgetfulness potion! And frankly, he deserved better than you anyways!"

Brynhildr gives a wordless scream of fury, as she brings her spear down like a club, smoldering with fire runes. Gudrun dodges easily, rage clouding her opponent's mind and dulling Brynhildr's skill.

"YOU STOLE HIM FROM ME!"

"And you killed him!" Gudrun shouts back, her hateful tone a stark contrast to the wide, sunny smile on her face. "You killed him with trickery and lies, and you were always trying to kill him, EVEN WHEN HE WAS YOURS! Why would I let you have him? I loved him! Why would I let you keep him, knowing that you would never stop hurting him!"

"YOU MADE ME KILL HIM!"

"No, you didn't even kill him yourself! You poisoned my brothers against him, against me! You had Guttorm kill him in the night, while he was sleeping, and then you talked them into burning my son alive with you as part of my husband's FUNERAL PYRE! YOU TOOK HIM AWAY FROM ME, AND YOU DIDN'T EVEN LET ME GRIEVE FOR HIM!" Gudrun's still smiling, even as she pushes Brynhildr back, but it's shed the illusion of cheerfulness, becoming instead a mad rictus of hatred. "I WATCHED HIM DIE! I WOKE UP TO HOLD MY HUSBAND IN MY ARMS AS HE DIED, IN OUR BED, WITH MY LITTLE BROTHER'S BIFURCATED CORPSE NOT FIVE FEET AWAY, AND THEN I HAD TO SIT AND WATCH AS YOU HIJACKED MY HUSBAND'S FUNERAL TO MAKE IT ALL ABOUT YOU, AND YOUR ELABORATE MURDER-SUICIDE!"

"You…" Brynnhildr falters as she stares at Gudrun, and Gudrun doesn't fail to capitalize on the opening.

"So here's what's going to happen," Gudrun snarls. "I'm going to kill you. I'm going to kill Atli. And then I'm going to kill anyone else I have to to make sure I get the Grail. And then I'm going to make it so that I died that night, instead of Sigurd."

Brynnhildr freezes. "Why would you…"

Gudrun's sword takes the fallen valkyrie's head clean off in one smooth stroke.

"Because it should have been me. And because he deserves a better woman than either of us."

---​

Loki looks at me, and I look back.

"That was… intense." I hazard.

"You're telling me," the God of Mischief says with a rueful laugh. "But still, first death, and it's a dramatic one! The ratings must be climbing!"

Right, not rising to the bait. I look back at the screens, where it shows Gudrun catching her breath and then strolling off, as Brynhildr's headless corpse dissolves behind her.

"Oh, and Attila's met his enemy!" Loki crows, as the screens flip over to display…

"You turned Romulus into an Alter?" I ask incredulously.

"Yeah… Attila was a hard man to find a nemesis for."

On the screens, the two enemies face off.

---​

"My children… my people…" the Blackened Romulus moans. "Oh, my Roma has fallen."

"Hm. You know, the version of you I met before wasn't nearly this emo," Attila says, dancing between his opponent's spear-thrusts.

"I must save them!" Romulus Alter bellows. "With the Grail in hand, I will save them!"

Attila smirks. "You won't. After all, you're the one who doomed them."

Romulus Alter shrieks in fury, and then raises his spear high to unleash his Noble Phantasm, only for Attila to slice open his unguarded belly.

The fight is brief, and brutal, and through it all, Attila keeps up a running commentary.

"You killed your brother, Romulus. Did you really think that wouldn't have consequences? You laid Rome's foundations with unclean hands, tainted them with your brother's blood, did you really think the gods wouldn't punish you?"

"SHUT UP!" Romulus Alter roars, trying to get clear or land a hit somehow, but Attila doesn't let him retake the tempo. The King of the Huns fights mechanically, his every move calculated and perfected to dismantle his enemy, even as he keeps talking.

"Rome was cursed, built on a foundation of fratricide. It was only a matter of time, really, until your house came crumbling down."

"YOU WILL-"

Romulus Alter is, unfortunately, interrupted by Attila, in three smooth strokes of his sword, cutting off both his arms, and his head.

"Now, that was just disappointing."

---​

I give Loki a look. "He's not wrong."

"Look, get off my back, man! I told you, finding a nemesis for Attila was hard!"

"So, how's Jason v. Medea going?"

He sighs, and the screens show the two, still bickering.

"So is Cursed Arm-"

Then… the unexpected happens.

---​

"I can't believe you! You were always like this!" Jason shouts. "Always nagging, always demanding that everything fits your picture-perfect fairy tale fantasies! Well, I'm sorry, princess, but in the real world…"

He's cut off by the Sword of Mars embedding itself in his sternum.

"Witch! I'm just assuming he was one of our enemies. I need you to point me in the direction of his compatriots, and-"

"I had him," Medea snarls. "And I'm not going to just act as your logistical support the second you demand it, you treacherous brute! Now go and get yourself killed, and make the world a brighter…" she stares down at the sword embedded in her chest. "…place?"

"I told you not to call me that," Attila says calmly, as he pulls back his blade and decapitates her. "And, by the way? I was being polite before, but now I'm just going to come out and say it. You and your ex-husband are both terrible people and you deserve each other, if only to keep you from making the rest of us miserable."

---​

I stare at the screen in horror as my teacher dissolves.

And then I say the only thing that comes to mind. "ATTILA, YOU TEAMKILLING-"

 

[Charles Flynn]

Loki grins, as my teacher fades away. "Well, Round One is over! The four survivors of the round will be moving on to round three."

Son of a bitch, I'm going to have to resummon her again. She's always incredibly pissy when she dies.

"Question."

"Yeah?"

"Why are you operating by tournament rounds?" I turn to look at him.

"Wow, not pissed about your mentor's death?" Loki asks. "That's cold. And I should know, I'm a frost giant!" He slaps his knee as a laugh track starts playing.

"Eh." I shrug. "I mean, pretty much all of my Servants have been dead for centuries. After a while, you just get jaded enough that them dying isn't a tragedy so much as a temporary inconvenience."

Loki raises an eyebrow. "Huh. Well, to answer your question, the King of Mages offered me a Grail and a chance to screw everybody over as vengeance for my treatment at the hands of the Aesir."

"And this is the most efficient way to go about it?" I raise an eyebrow right back at him.

"Do you really want to know?" he asks, further raising his eyebrow.

"Yes." I raise my eyebrow even further, just for the hell of it.

Loki pouts. "My sardonic eyebrow-raise was bigger."

"Yeah, sure, keep telling yourself that."

"Oh, you want to play it like that? Fine then, no exposition for you."

"Oh, come on- Ugh. Fine. Your eyebrow raise was better than mine."

Loki does a victory dance, before sitting back down. "Alright, alright. So, Solomon gave me a Grail, told me to wait here and ambush you, and in doing so, I would screw you over. But I thought to myself, 'Hey, Loki you handsome devil. What if, instead of following our boss's orders, we screwed him over too?' Well I thought that was a splendid idea, so I set up this tournament, and now humanity's getting screwed over, Chaldea's getting screwed over, AND SOLOMON'S GETTING SCREWED OVER! EVERYBODY'S GETTING SCREWED! WHILE I WATCH!"

Right, I'm not even dignifying that with a response. "So, new round. That'd be Siegfried, Duryodhana, Erik, and Sinfjotli."

"Indeed it would be!" Loki says.

"So, I'm guessing that the enemy team is composed of Bhima, Egil Skallagrimson, Hagen, and… hm. Perhaps the Valkyrie Gudmund? Sinfjotli didn't have a lot of stories that focused on him as anything other than Sigmund's sidekick."

"Three out of four," Loki says with a nod. "Not bad." He then turns to his microphone. "All right, now! Round two begins! Get on out there and try not to die too anticlimactically!"

I sigh, and then focus my attention onto the screens.

---​

"Alright people," Duryodhana says, looking between the other three members of his team. "We stick together, and use the buddy system. I'm with Sinfjotli, and Siegfried, you're with Erik. We'll need a signal, to tell the other team if we need help."

"Howl three times like wolves?" Sinfjotli suggests. "My father and I used that one whenever we split up on a raid."

"That works for me," Siegfried says.

"Right. Howl three times like wolves if you get in over your head." And with that pronouncement from Duryodhana, the two teams split up.

---​

"Huh." They… didn't immediately fracture?

"It would seem that while Attila is the better strategist, Duryodhana is the better leader," Loki notes.

"The natural difference between one who leads by fear and one who leads through a mixture of position and persuasion, I suppose." Duryodhana may have been a tyrant, but he inspired loyalty. Attila inspired fear. I suppose that it makes sense that the King of the Kauravas would be more well-suited to leading Heroic Spirits.

There's a ten minute stretch of silence, as Loki and I watch the two teams make their way through the city, each looking for a fight.

Siegfried and Erik find one first.

---​

Erik rounds the corner, and there he is. Pale, almost grey skin. Dark, messy hair. Corded muscles, and a blocky, ugly face.

"EGIL," Erik growls, his eyes flaring red with madness.

"ERIK," the Son of Skallagrim growls right back, his axe and sword in hand.

"I… take it you know each other?" Siegfried says questioningly, as the two old enemies glare at each other, readying their weapons as they slowly advance towards each other.

"You know, I may have forgiven you when you gave me that poem," Erik says, as the two Vikings slowly circle one another. "But I always wondered who would win in a fight between us."

"And I haven't forgiven you for Thorolf," Egil says, tightening his grip on his weapons. "Not one bit."

"I feel like I'm missing some context here," Siegfried observes.

Then, as one, Erik and Egil roar like lions and lunge at each other, reason letting slip the reins as mad fury rose triumphant, axe and sword and axe and sword clashing again and again in a furious dance for supremacy. First Erik swings his bloodstained axe, only to blocked by sword and axe in unison, before Egil breaks the block and steps out of the blade's arc, lunging in from the side.

"Okay, um… is this a personal thing? Because if you want, I can back you up," Siegfried says.

The axe handle drives into Egil's side, disrupting his strike at Erik's flank and forcing him to take a step back, and bring his axe and sword up to block as Erik capitalizes on the opening.

"I'll just… stand here, then." Siegfried looks around, whistling awkwardly.

The two Vikings glare at each other over their locked weapons. And then Egil headbutts Erik, and sets him stumbling back, before lunging in and scoring a cut across Erik's chest. Then the Bloodaxe King raises his guard once again, and looks to be on the verge of a counterstrike, so Egil skips back out of axe-range, and the two begin circling each other once again.

"First blood to me," Egil says.

"First blood doesn't mean shit," Erik growls, his axe pulsing in agreement. "Only last blood matters."

"You can do it, Erik!" Siegfried calls.

"Oh, fuck off."

"Look, there's not much else for me to do at the moment. Excuse me for trying to be supportive."

"Find your own opponent, then!" Erik calls, as he and Egil circle each other.

"Erik, there's no one else in sigh-AGH!" And with that, Siegfried falls forward, a spear driven into his back.

"Sorry, Sieg. But I really do need to win," the man I'm assuming is Hagen says, as he fades into view behind his victim.

"Hagen? Why?" Siegfried gasps out as he coughs up blood.

"When I get the Grail, I'm going to make it so that I never killed you," Hagen says, before noticing Siegfried's incredulous look. "Okay, poor choice of words. But once I make my wish, everything will be fine again. We'll be at peace. Gunther won't be in danger of looking weak if he doesn't kill you, and you guys can be friends again. And more importantly, my sister won't brutally murder me for killing her husband."

He looks down, only to realize that Siegfried died while he was monologuing.

"Shit, did he catch all of that?"

He's interrupted by Erik's axe taking his head off.

Erik, for his part, turns back to Egil and nods appreciatively. "Thanks for agreeing to a truce while I killed the dishonorable coward."

"No problem," Egil says as he lunges back into battle, sword and axe lunging towards Erik's throat. "Now DIE, Bloodaxe!"

"You first, Skallagrimson!"

---​

Loki grins. "Right, then. The other team just ran into their own opposite numbers. I'm going to switch over to them."

"I kind of want to see how this fight ends, though."

"I have a DVR, you can have the recording."

"Wait, how would that even work? I mean, aren't we watching this via magic?"

"Don't question the Wizard DVR, Flynn."

"I kind of am, though."

Loki bonks me on the head, and the screens switch over to display Duryodhana and Sinfjotli.

They're face off against a man who reminds me even more of Hercules than Duryodhana.

---​

"Bhima," Duryodhana says as he faces off against his nemesis. "To what do I owe this distinct unpleasantness?"

"I was told that the Grail could grant any wish," the strongest of the Pandavas says. He's more than seven feet tall, dark-skinned, and sports a massive handlebar mustache. His chest is bare, displaying chest hair to rival Duryodhana's. "And I would dearly like to see my sons again."

"And I'd like to see me brothers again, and the man who was brother to you in blood, and brother to me in every other way," Duryodhana replies. "But we both made our mistakes, and we reaped a harvest of sorrow for our follies. The war is over, and we both held responsibility for it."

Bhima snorts. "Don't try to blame me for your evil, cousin. You're rotten to the core, and it's your greed and pride that started the war."

"I- WHAT?" Duryodhana takes a moment to calm himself, and then continues in a more level tone. "I'm pretty sure that I made a speech to the contrary. You remember, don't you? I pointed out how you guys weren't all that much better than me? How you'd broken your own honor code? How your elitism and high-handedness were the birth of my hatred for you? You remember that speech, don't you? I made it while I was dying after you'd ended our duel dishonorably by hitting me in the dick? I was bleeding out from the mangled remains of my genitals? Is any of this ringing a bell?"

"Just the whining of a sore loser," Bhima says with a confident smirk as he crosses his arms. "And the man whose war killed my boy Ghatotkacha."

"YOU HAD JUST CRUSHED MY TESTICLES INTO A SOUP! I HAD EVERY RIGHT TO BE UPSET!"

"Please, you've been out to kill me and my brothers ever since we were kids. Why would I ever listen to you?"

"Oh, excuse me, but when have you ever listened to me?" Duryodhana snaps, all attempts at peaceful reconciliation quite thoroughly abandoned. "Hey, you remember when I told you to stop challenging my brothers to wrestling matches? Remember that? I had to wrestle you, in all your freakishly strong glory, on a daily basis, just so you wouldn't snap one of my little brothers' spines in half because you were bored and wanted to show off how strong you were."

"Please. Just because they were afraid of an honest competition, you're treating me challenging the cowards to a proper match like it's a crime!"

"You broke Ravi's arm!" Duryodhana shouts, utterly apoplectic. "HE WAS FIVE!"

"Old enough to start learning how to wrestle," Bhima says, rolling his eyes. "And you and your entire brood of dishonorable cowards tried to cheat Yudhistira out of his birthright!"

"Oh, his 'birthright?'" Duryodhana repeats mockingly. "Yeah, his birthright. Half the kingdom that my father ruled. And on what grounds?"

"We are part of the older branch of the family," Bhima says. "We had every right to the throne, as your father recognized."

"You're not part of the family at all!" Duryodhana roars back. "Uncle Pandu was part of the family. You and your brothers were the sole result of a bunch of gods knocking up your mother and then dumping their bastards on us and telling us to treat you like the perfect, special little snowflakes that you are! YOU ARE NOT MY COUSIN! YOU'RE JUST SOME PUFFED-UP DIVINE CUCKOO BIRD THAT GETS EVERYTHING HANDED TO YOU, INCLUDING HALF OF MY KINGDOM!"

"You hold a grudge against us, and yet you didn't mind our mother's bastard."

Duryodhana freezes, and then says, his voice tight with rage, "Karna was worth a hundred times you and your brothers combined. And your egoistical little jackass of a brother shot him in back."

"He killed my son. That albino bastard got what was coming to him."

Duryodhana's face goes completely still. "Them's fightin' words."

And then the two hulking men slam into each other, so hard and fast that the windows around them shatter, mace strikes flying between the two giants, each hit ringing out like thunder.

Suddenly, I realize something.

---​

I turn to Loki. "Where's Sinfjotli?"

"Huh." He looks nonplussed. "Hold on, let me rewind and look through the footage."

Soon, we're looking at Sinfjotli, and Loki starts to replay the footage.

---​

While Bhima and Duryodhana start to argue in the background, Sinfjotli sighs.

"Great, they're gonna be at this for a while, aren't they?"

He receives no answer.

"Well, who knows. Maybe my opponent will show up soon."

"Sinfjotli."

He jumps, and then turns around to stare at the woman who spoke, looking for all the world like he just saw a ghost. "M-Mother? Is that you?"

"Well of course it is, you imbecile," Signy Volsungsdottir says as she emerges from the alleyway. She looks like her son, with a narrow, harsh face and silver hair. She's in her early forties, if I had to guess, and she looks it, the sharp, harsh lines on her face setting off the burning intensity of her eyes as she glares at her son. "I will be claiming the Holy Grail and using it to restore your grandfather and uncles to life. You will assist me."

"But-"

"Sinfjotli," her calm tone doesn't hide the menace in her voice. "Do I need to get my sewing kit again?"

He flinches. "No, Mother. I'm sorry. I'll be good."

She pats him on the head, ignoring how he cringes at her touch. "Good boy. Now heel. We have some hunting to do."

She strides off into the shadows of the alleyway, and he follows her, giving a regretful glance back towards the clash between Bhima and Duryodhana before quickening his pace to catch up.

---​

"You summoned Signy?" I ask Loki, utterly disgusted. "Low blow, man. Low blow."

"Eh. I mean, the guy barely qualifies as a Heroic Spirit anyways, he accomplished so little with his life." Loki shrugs. "His mother was the worst of his enemies that I could find."

"Still. Not cool, dude."

"Yeah, yeah. Back to Bhima v. Duryodhana, Dawn of Dick Shots?"

"Sure, whatever."

---​

The two titans smash into each other once again, and, knocking aside his opponent's mace, Bhima closes in, and then drives his knee into Duryodhana's groin.

"I know your weakness and have no weaknesses!" Bhima roars, as Duryodhana staggers back. "MY VICTORY IS INEVITABLE!"

Duryodhana snorts, and then slams his mace into Bhima's chest. "You think you can beat me with a cheap shot twice? Joke's on you, I WORE A CUP!"

Duryodhana swings, only for Bhima to drop his mace, get around behind his opponent, and hug him from behind.

And then he piledrives the king of the Kauravas into the pavement, burying his entire torso in the ground.

"Well, then," Bhima says, retrieving his mace as Duryodhana kicks helplessly. "Let's see how strong that cup of yours is."

"Bhima, wait, we can talk about this! Please! I don't want to die like this again!"

Bhima brings down the mace, and I cross my legs in sympathy.

---​

"Right," Loki says uncomfortably, as Bhima goes to town on his cousin's genitals with an eighty-pound mace. "Back to Erik and Egill?"

"Yes."

---​

The two Vikings lie across from each other in a puddle of blood. Both are covered in bloody gashes, and clearly only alive because of Battle Continuation.

Finally, Erik rises, using his axe as a crutch, before limping towards his fallen enemy.

Egill turns his head to look at him.

Erik breaks the silence. "Good fight."

"Yeah."

He brings down the axe.

---​

"Huh. Now I'm just disappointed that we missed that fight."

"Yeah, me too. But, either way, ROUND TWO IS OVER!" Then the God of Mischief grins. "On to Round Three."

 

[Charles Flynn]

"And here we are, folks, the final round!" Loki cries out to his imaginary audience. "Now we get to watch as Attila the Hun, Bhima of the Pandavas, Hassan-i-Sabbah of the Cursed Arm," He takes a breath, "Richard the Lionheart, Gudrun of the Gjukungs, Signy and Sinfjotli of the Volsungs, and Erik Bloodaxe all duke it out for the Holy Grail! Only one can win!"

"Wait, Richard the Lionheart? That's who you picked for Cursed Arm's opponent?"

"Yeah, yeah. He was the best Crusades-themed Heroic Spirit I could find."

"Yeah, fair enough."

The screens fire up again, and they all display… Attila.

---​

He looks off into the distance for a moment, and then licks his finger and raises it up, as if testing the air. Then he takes off like a shot in a completely different direction.

I'm about to question what the hell he's doing when he rounds a corner and then socks an extremely surprised Bhima in the jaw.

"Bet you can't catch me!" the Scourge of God shouts, before running away in the opposite direction.

Bhima takes the bait, and the chase is on, Attila keeping in the lead and shouting insults at Bhima to keep his pursuer motivated.

---​

"What the Hell is he doing?" I ask, staring at the screen in blank confusion.

"Watch," Loki says, literally on the edge of his seat. "There's a method to his madness."

---​

Attila rounds a corner and comes face to face with a confused blond man.

"All right, partner!" Attila shouts, loud enough for Bhima to hear. "You hold him off while I get the others!"

"I-what?" the man I'm assuming is Richard the Lionheart stammers.

"SO, YOU STAND WITH THE COWARD!" Bhima roars, smashing through the corner and almost dashing in Richard's skull. "YOU WILL DIE ALL THE SAME, BE THERE TWO, TWENTY, OR TWO HUNDRED OF YOU!"

"Wait, no, I'm not-"

Whatever else Richard has to say is lost as Attila rounds another corner, and the duel he set off between his enemies passes out of sight.

Then, he changes direction, unerringly making his way towards some target that I can't figure out.

Down a block, turn right, go straight, and then…

He skids to a stop in front of Sinfjotli and Signy, who're both leveling weapons at him.

"Well, good thing that I found you guys in time!" he calls cheerfully, acting like he doesn't have a care in the world, with no regard for the swords pointed his way. "I want to discuss a team-up!"

Signy pauses, as if considering the prospects, and then looks him in the eye. "Start talking."

"Well, in case you hadn't noticed, Bhima of the Pandavas is here, and I don't fancy any of us Age of Man Heroic Spirits against a legendary warrior from the strongest family of the Age of the Gods."

Signy's face turns icy. "We are from the Age of the Gods."

"Well, yeah," Attila says, effortlessly adopting the mannerisms of the reluctant bearer of bad news. "But, you know how everybody talks, and…"

"They think us weaker than the Pandavas?" Signy screeches, while Sinfjotli seems torn between outrage at his family's honor being impugned and fear of his mother.

"Your words, not mine. Anyways, I'm banding the strongest of us normal Heroic Spirits together to take down Bhima, but I understand if you're too scared to join. I mean, you're a woman, and Sinfjotli is the son of King Siggeir. Running from battle would be understandable."

Signy catches herself mid screech of fury, barely pulling herself together. "No. No. I'm not going don't trust you, you're obviously playing us, and…"

"You're avoiding a fight?" Attila asks incredulously, before uttering his six-word coup de grace. "Are you sure you're a Volsung?"

Signy and Sinfjotli freeze. There it is. The six words no man woman or child of the line of Volsung could ever resist. Signy raises her hand. "Sinfjotli."

"Yes, Mother?"

"Don your pelt. We're joining him."

"As you command, Mother." He draws forth a ring from his pocket and slips it onto his finger. "ULFSERKER: FLESH OF FENRIR!"

His skin, starting at the ring finger, peels back, and silver fur, the same color as his hair, creeps up his arms, while his bones crack and shudder, bending into new, strange shapes. And then, where once stood a man, there stands a wolf the size of a Volkswagen.

"Right, this way!" Attila calls out, and they charge back towards the fight between Richard and Bhima.

---​

To his credit, Richard the Lionheart has been holding out well against Bhima.

"EXCALIBUR!" The golden beam of power pours forth from a broken piece of rebar, and slams into Bhima.

The wrestler of the Pandavas falls to his knees, but doesn't seem to be severely injured.

"Impressive, man of the East!" Richard calls out, picking up another sword. "But no matter your strength, or your durability, no amount of guts will let you beat me. Why haven't you used your Noble Phantasm yet?"

Richard dances forwards, ready to finish his foeman off. But he takes just one step too close.

Bhima's hand wraps tight around one leg, and I can hear the crunch of bone. "Because, upstart, unlike you, I need no crutches."

Richard tries to break away, but it's in vain. The strongest of the Pandavas has him by the leg, and he won't let go.

And now that he's got a proper hold on his opponent, Bhima finally starts to get some proper hits in, and unlike Richard, he can make his hits stick. He stands up to his full height, his left hand seizing Richard's sword arm and squeezing, and I hear an unpleasant squelch from the arm as Bhima, finally having properly seized his opponent, raises him up over his knee, ready to break his back.

"Goodbye mosquito. You were an annoying opponent to face, if not a particularly memorable one."

And that, of course, is when more than three hundred pounds of wolf slam into Bhima from behind, forcing him to drop his crippled opponent in order to deal with the Demonic Beast gnawing on the back of his head.

"Great job holding him, Rick!" Attila calls cheerfully, even as Sinfjotli and Bhima stagger every which way, locked in a life-or-death struggle between man and beast. "I honestly didn't think you'd live that long!"

"It's… Richard…" the Crusader King groans.

"Sure. Let me guess, you had him on the ropes with your speed before you got cocky and he turned your left kneecap into a paste?" Attila asks, while nonchalantly sticking out a leg like he's doing a lunge.

"How did you…"

"I'm very observant." Attila smirks as Bhima, still blinded by the wolf currently mauling him, trips over the Hun's extended leg. "For instance, I can see that the other three of our merry band, yeah, looking at you, Cursed Arm, Gudrun, and Erik, are hiding there, there, and there." He points, and they drop their concealment to glare at him. "Way to not help out, guys!"

"How did you know?" Cursed Arm asks conversationally.

"You guys couldn't properly blend the ripple effect in the local background mana levels caused by your increased spiritron density." He looks nonplussed by the blank looks he's getting. "What? You guys can't see those?"

As Bhima struggles against Sinfjotli, Attila, without missing a beat, drives the Sword of Mars into the wrestler's chest. Where Richard's false Excalibur failed, the Divine Contruct, driven home by Attila's strength, pierces Bhima's Spirt Core.

"Right then!" Attila smiles as he pulls his sword free. "Truce over."

And like lightning, Attila tosses Richard into the jaws of the lunging Sinfjotli, stuffing the werewolf's mouth shut as he leaps towards him, and then sidesteps the lunge. And as Sinfjotli chokes, Attila leaps onto his back, and rides the wolf like a bucking bronco, effortlessly dodging the attacks launched at him by every other surviving participant in this farce of a Grail War as he does so.

Finally, the wolf stills, bent to the will and Riding skill of its rider, and Attila stands tall and proud, easily deflecting another thrown dirk from Cursed Arm.

"Now then," Attila says, smiling as he surveys his opponents. "Allow me to properly introduce myself. I am Attila the Hun."

He raises his sword to the heavens, and they come. His Hunnic hordes. No. His true Noble Phantasm. And they roar his name as one.

"And you have sinned greatly, to have earned a punishment such as me."

He levels his sword at his enemies, and, as one, the Huns attack.

 

[Charles Flynn]

The battle lines are quickly drawn, every Servant united in the face of the unstoppable juggernaut that was Attila.

"Buy me time, I have something that can kill him!" Signy shouts, and then she withdraws as the horde closes in.

"Is she running?" Erik asks incredulously, readying his axe.

"No." Gudrun unslings a spear and runs a Hun through. "She's a Volsung. They're always as good as their word. I should know, I married one." She steps back. "You lot delay, I'll set up a defensive line!"

Then she dashes back a few blocks to begin desperately carving runes.

"What is it with Volsung women and telling us to hold the line?" Erik muses, kicking in a Hun's kneecaps and then taking off the unfortunate fellow's head.

Cursed Arm, having disappeared while nobody was looking at him, pointedly doesn't respond.

Erik sighs. "Well, fuck my life. Death or glory it is." And then, as his muscles bulge, his horns grow, and his eyes glow red from the force of his fury, he utters but two words: "BLOODBATH CROOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWNN!"

He becomes a hurricane, a whirlwind of blood, death, and fear as he carves his way through the ranks of his enemies, never once stopping, never once touched by fear. They die beneath his axe, and, pushing himself to the very limits of what he's capable of, he presses onwards, carving a bloody road five feet across through the ranks of the Huns, pointing straight towards Attila. And then, as his endurance flags, he comes before his goal, and brings down his axe with all the strength he can muster.

Attila parries it, easily deflecting the blow harmlessly to the right, and then ripostes, taking off the Bloodaxe King's head.

"You know," he says to Erik's headless corpse. "I'll never understand why you Northmen were always so enamored with battle-madness. In my experience, it just makes you an easy target. But still, A for effort." He looks around and finds that his Hunnic horde stopped its advance. "Okay, what the Hell, guys? We have one awesome fight, and everyone stops to watch?"

"ATTILA! ATTILA!" the horde of Huns chants with almost religious fervor.

"Right. Forgot. Braindead fanboys more focused on stroking my ego than actually following orders!" Attila snaps. "Really, it's almost like I never died."

He leans out of the way as one of Cursed Arm's dirks flies past his head. "Nice try. You gonna test your luck?"

Cursed Arm doesn't take the bait, so Attila shrugs, and then points his sword in the direction of Gudrun. "ALRIGHT YOU LAZY SCOUNDRELS, YOU KNOW WHAT TIME IT IS! WE'RE MARCHING THATTAWAY, AND WE'LL RAPE, RAVAGE, AND RUIN ALL THAT STANDS AGAINST US!"

The Huns roar, and then charge, while Attila drives Sinfjotli on at a cautious lope, staying firmly in the middle of the horde.

Then they come to the wall of fire, with a fatigued Gudrun waiting on the other side.

"Stealing other women's tricks, now, are we?" Attila calls out from atop Sinfjotli.

"If it works, then it works," Gudrun says with a shrug. "And if I didn't have a habit of stealing from Brynnhildr, then you wouldn't have caught me on the rebound."

Their hands tighten around their weapons as they face off across the wall of flame.

"Well, I suppose I'll have to go over there and fight you myself," Attila says. "Wouldn't do to keep a lady waiting."

"Really?" she tilts her head coyly, ever-present smile still in full force. "The mighty Attila, coming to see little old me? I'm flattered."

"Oh, but what kind of husband doesn't visit with his wife?" Attila says, sheathing the Sword of Mars and holding out his hand. "SPEAR!"

One of his Huns passes him a cavalry lance, and he urges Sinfjotli forwards. Gudrun braces herself, her smile eager.

"Before we start, though," Attila says, twirling his lance. "I wanted to thank you."

"For what?" Gudrun asks, amused.

"For teaching me what it is to be human."

"…I beg your pardon?"

"Before I married you, I felt… nothing. Or rather I felt strangely. I couldn't quite connect with regular humans. There was just something… missing. I lacked a point of commonality, a Rosetta Stone, if you will." Attila takes a breath, and then he smiles. "And then I met you."

Gudrun raises an eyebrow.

"At our last feast together, when you told me that you'd killed our sons, and that they were the mystery meat in those delicious little hors d'ouevres you'd been serving me? For the first time in my life, I felt hatred! And when you barred the doors while I was too drunk to stand, and then set the whole building on fire? For the first time in my life, I felt fear!"

Gudrun's smile quivers slightly. "I'm… not sure I understand."

"You did what literal gods couldn't, you made me fear for my life! And suddenly, I had a point of reference! I had my Rosetta Stone for human nature! So, even while I was busy making sure you thought I'd died, meeting up with Bleda, and then invading Rome to get away from you, I knew that you'd given me something priceless." He pauses, and then looks her in the eye. "So, I guess that what I'm trying to say is… thank you. Thank you for teaching me hate. Thank you for teaching me fear. Thank you for teaching me humanity."

Gudrun laughs. "H-Happy to be of service!"

And then Attila urges Sinfjotli into a charge, and then, just as he draws up to the fire's edge, the Bastard Wolf of the Volsungs leaps. He clears the fire and bears his rider with him into Gudrun's domain.

The first three exchanges are like lightning. Sinfjotli almost moves faster than the eye can follow, and Attila is nearly his equal in agility. But Gudrun manages to keep up, as Attila's spear sparks off her shield.
It becomes a pattern, and I can almost see glimpses of the larger whole, from where the fight's participants are visible, instead of mere blurs of frenzied motion. Little snapshots between the clashes. Here Sinfjotli, low to the ground, snarling in tune with his equally savage rider, skidding to a halt after his first pass and turning back around for another go. There Gudrun, her shield in her left hand, her sword in her right, bracing for another exchange. And there Attila, atop his snarling steed, spear in his right hand, braced for another charge.

Three passes in six seconds, and the daughter of Giuki stands.

And then, on the fourth, Attila charges in, and she raises her shield to deflect his strike… only for the spear now in his left hand to pierce her heart.

The battle grinds to a halt, as Gudrun falls to her knees, and Attila pulls free his spear.

"Didn't see you… switch hands," she chokes out.

"It'd be a poor trick if you did," Attila says, before chopping her skull open with the Sword of Mars.

She fades, and he's silent, staring down at the ground where she faded. And then he pulls himself together and tosses his spear back to one of his Huns.

"ALL RIGHT, BOYS, TWO MORE TO GO! LET'S FUCK 'EM UP!"

---​

"Hot damn."

I stare at the screen in awe, before turning to Loki. "All right, I guess that this show might be worth the price of admission."

"Oh, trust me, it gets better," Loki says with a smile, and I turn back to the screens.

This is gonna be good.

---​

Attila and his horde are advancing at a steady trot when it happens. The world shudders, and is replaced by a dark forest, leading up to a towering mead hall.

Attila raises an eyebrow. "Huh. Bounded Field."

He opens the doors to the hall, and sees a great wooden table, with thirteen men seated about it. And they are Volsungs, of that there can be no doubt. Their hair is white, but more than that, they have the very same mania I saw in Signy. An unchecked vigor, a will to live wholeheartedly and without restraint, and refrain from nothing in the pursuit of their goals. A strange species of self-destructive obsession which elevated them above the petty trifles of lesser men.

And the man at the head of the table is the greatest of them all. Upon his brow rests a crown of iron, and he is old, with wrinkled skin over corded muscles, and a beard that comes down to his waist.

And Signy kneels before him.

"Father, please! They'll be here any moment!"

"I will not join in your endeavors, Signy. This foolishness is yours, and yours alone," King Volsung says, not even deigning to look at her.

"WHY DON'T YOU WANT THIS?" Signy screams, tears trailing down her face. "You could live! You don't have to die to Siggeir, you can live, and we can be happy together again! As a family!"

"Happy?" Volsung repeats, looking at her directly. She shrinks beneath his gaze. "HAPPY? Foolish daughter, I AM VOLSUNG, SON OF RERIR, SON OF SIGI, SON OF ODIN, AND I AM A WARRIOR, FORGED FROM TRIUMPH AND TRAGEDY ALIKE!" He slams his fist down against the table, and it breaks beneath his blow. "Happiness is for lesser men than me." He waves his hand in a clear gesture of dismissal. "Go. Pursue your folly elsewhere. You are no longer welcome in my halls."

"But… I… I did everything to avenge you!" she screams. "I just wanted to go home! Why wouldn't you let me stay with you?"

"Because I believed that you ought to outlive this old man. A decision I regret, having seen what an unsightly creature you've become."

That, of course, is when Attila makes his entrance. "Hi! Attila the Hun. I'm here to ask for your daughter's hand in marriage."

Everyone stares at him in silent confusion for a few seconds. Then Volsung speaks up. "Your request is denied."

"Shoot. And after I brought all my barbarian hordes along for the wedding party!" Attila mimes a sudden epiphany. "But waaaaaait, what if, and just hear me out here, because this is gonna sound crazy, but what if me and my army just killed you all, and I married your daughter anyways?"

Volsung draws his sword, and around him, his twelve sons do likewise. "Signy."

"Yes, Father?"

"You are permitted to join us."

I don't think I've ever seen a woman cry more tears of joy at being invited to a hopeless last stand.

The mead hall erupts into a sea of fire and blood, with the united Volsungs killing Huns by the score. But even the Volsungs could not stand against Attila.

He faces King Volsung on foot, having been knocked from Sinfjotli's back by the press of bodies. Twelve times his sword draws blood, and Volsung's drinks once in return, before he is slain.

Volsung's children, on the other hand, are barely a challenge, until, at last, he comes to the twins.

Sigmund and Signy, Volsung's youngest, fight him side by side, one locking his blade so the other can strike, but the Huns around them flank them far faster than they could flank Attila.

Sigmund falls, and then, there is one.

A borrowed spear through Signy's chest pins her to the ground, and the now-burning hall begins to fade.

"Well fought," Attila says with a grunt.

"Thank you."

"I'm… sorry?"

Signy smiles, and it's like the sun coming out after a rainy day. "You let me die with them."

"It was nothing."

"Everything… to me. You're a kinder man than you seem."

And then she's gone.

"Well then," Attila turns to face his foe. "Just one Volsung left."

Sinfjotli snarls.

 

[Charles Flynn]

"And so, it comes down to this," Loki says, as on the screen, the two Servants face off. "The last two Servants of the Grail War."

"What about Cursed Arm?" I ask.

Loki blinks. "I… don't know, actually. He's just played so little of a part in the Grail War that I kind of forgot about him."

"Hm. Epic final battle is still going on, though."

---​

"Well, now," Attila says, as he firmly sets his feet in preparation for Sinfjotli's charge. "This is hardly fair. I think we'll need a handicap to even the odds a bit."

Sinfjotli chuffs at the thought.

Then Attila tosses away his sword. "There. I think that makes us about even."

Sinfjotli's pure, unadulterated look of confusion isn't particularly hard to grasp the meaning of.

"Oh?" Attila asks with a smirk. "Why so surprised? I made us even, after all. You might be a wolf, but I am Attila."

Sinfjotli dips his head, in what I can only assume to be grudging respect, before lunging at his foe.

Attila ducks low and nails him with an uppercut to the stomach mid-lunge, and with that, the battle's begun.

Their fight is hesitant, at first, the two combatants circling each other. Sinfjotli will lunge in, fast as lightning, and Attila counters perfectly, never letting the wolf sink his teeth in. But mere punches cannot break the hide of a Demonic Beast, and so the stalemate continues.

Five passes. And then, Attila makes his move.

On the sixth pass, Sinfjotli charges in, and Attila counters, squatting down, and then flipping Sinfjotli onto his back, wrapping his arms tightly around the wolf's thick neck and squeezing tight, cutting off Sinfjotli's airflow in a textbook chokehold.

Well, not exactly textbook. I don't think they actually make textbooks for beating giant demon wolves to death with your bare hands.

Sinfjotli doesn't go down easy, bucking like a bronco, and desperately lashing out with his paws as Attila squeezes ever tighter. But then, with a mighty snap, his body body goes slack, and begins to dissolve.

And Attila stands triumphant, arms stretching up to the heavens in the universal sign of victory.

"SO!" he roars, pacing about like a caged beast. "WHO IS NEXT? WHO WILL FACE THE SCOURGE OF GOD!"

Silence is his answer.

---​

Back in the control room, I turn to Loki. "I don't think Cursed Arm is there."

"His only chance of winning is by killing Attila," Loki says. "He'll show himself. Or you'll pay the price."

---​

"OH?" Attila asks, still roaring like a lion. "IS THE LITTLE ASSASSIN TO BE MY LAST ADVERSARY?"

He grabs his sword, and then turns about every which way, his voice dropping a few decibels.

"Oh come now, where are you, Assassin? We're at the end of the game. It's time to show your hand."

---​

"Can't you find Cursed Arm?" I ask.

"Not when he's using Presence Concealment," Loki says.

"Really?" I arch an eyebrow.

"Yes, really. Why are you surprised? He's got A+ Presence Concealment! Even Bounded Fields can't detect him!"

---​

"Come on out, Cursed Arm," Attila calls as he begins to make his way through the streets. "Come on, try your luck. You knew you'd have to eventually."

He grins and spreads his arms. "We're at the end of things, and you've got your target in sight. So try your luck! Creep up on behind him, raise that demon arm of yours, and say the magic word."

---​

"Zabaniya."

---​

Attila grins.

---​

I stare in shock as Cursed Arm comes into view, a crushed heart in hand…

Behind Loki.

"H-How?" the God of Mischief asks, blood trickling down from the corner of his mouth.

"It's real simple, Liesmith," Attila says, looking straight at us through the scrying matrix. "See, the other Servants? They were playing your games. Me and Cursed Arm? We were playing you."

"Im-Impossible, you…"

"Cursed Arm, finish the job," I command. "And then cut me loose from this chair."

"As you command, my Master," Cursed Arm says, driving two throwing knives into Loki's skull and putting him down for good. "Attila is already en route to secure the Grail."

"Good to hear," I say. "And well done. I legitimately didn't see that coming."

"That was rather the point," Cursed Arm says, cutting the ropes.

We watch to make sure Loki's body dissolves, and then we head off to rendezvous with Attila, with Cursed Arm helping me down the stairs.

---​

We find him at an abandoned bar, Grail in hand, staring at a bottle of 100 proof whisky contemplatively.

"Hey, Flynn," he says with a nod. "Cursed Arm."

"Attila," I reply, nodding in turn.

"I'm torn. On the one hand I really do want to give this over to you, help the war effort and all that, but…"

"On the other hand?" I prompt him.

"On the other hand, I really just want to chug cheap booze out of the cup of God."

I take the stool next to him. "May I ask why?"

"For the bragging rights, obviously!"

"And why haven't you?"

"Because it might mess things up, and I really don't want to accidentally sabotage you guys."

"Huh." I think it over. "Well, why not hold off, and use the next one as your beer mug?"

"Next one?" Attila repeats.

"Well, there's a lot of other Grail wars out there, obviously. And the Throne of Heroes exists independently of time and space, and can even reach into other dimensions, right?"

"Yeah."

"So, of course you're going to be summoned into another Grail War. You're Attila the Hun. Prospective Master would have to be crazy not to try and get you as their Servant. And of course you'll win, you're… well, you. So really, when you think about it, you getting your hands on another Grail is inevitable."

"I suppose so." Attila says with a grin, handing the Grail off to Cursed Arm. "And, by any chance, would one of those Masters who'd be crazy not to try and summon me be you?"

"Do you even have to ask?"

"Fair enough. Good seeing you, Flynn."

"Same here. Take care of yourself, Attila."

"And you don't do anything I wouldn't do."

I give him a look.

"Yes, I know how narrow a category that is. Now get going, you!"

And as the light engulfs us, I watch Rome's Bane wave farewell.

 

[Charles Flynn]

I'm halfway to bed from the Singularity we just resolved (and dear God do I hate having to resolve Singularities in Feudal Japan. That is not a fun place to be a foreigner in,) when the intercom crackles to life.

"Hey, Charlie, I'm sorry to call you up like this, but-"

"Roman," I sigh, a note of pleading entering my voice. "Please tell me this is just a routine maintenance call or something. Please."

"I'm sorry. But we both know I'd be lying if I told you that." He does sound legitimately remorseful, which only makes it worse.

"Roman, I just got back from the Kyoto Incident. In the past twenty-four hours alone, I was doused in pig shit, had rocks thrown at me, learned a lot of fun new archaic Japanese curse words that they apparently reserve for foreigners, got punched twice, nearly got eaten by cannibalistic demon ogres, and had to put up with Kintoki's love affair with the word 'Golden.' Please, for the love of God, just… don't. I've showered five times, and I still can't get the pig shit smell off me. I need to sleep."

He sighs. "All right. I guess it's not that important, anyway."

I turn to my bed, my sweet, inviting bed, calling to me with its tantalizing, soft sheets, and thick, comforting mattress as I start unbuttoning my jacket. "I'll head out to retrieve the Grail in the morning, all right?"

"Well…" he sounds uncomfortable, and… NO! No, nononononononononoooooooooooo! Don't do it. Don't you fucking do it. Don't you dare be all apologetic and likeable as you tell me something that'll drag me away from my well-earned rest! "The Singularity will probably have drifted out of our range by then, actually. It's some sort of overlay from a parallel dimension. But it's not like it can affect our own time stream, so it's actually fine if you want to take it easy. God knows I'd be a hypocrite if I chastised you over taking some time for yourself."

My hands stop.

"Does it have a Grail we can poach?" I ask, beginning to button my jacket back up, before deciding not to wear the white jacket covered in pig shit, instead grabbing a fresh one from my dresser.

"Yes, but-"

I give my bed one last longing look as I pull on my jacket. "Where's the Singularity at?"

"Japan."

I freeze.

"Look, you've had a rough day, and not getting enough sleep is bad for your health. Just sit this one out. We'll get more opportunities to collect Grails in the future. It's fine to let this one pass us by."

In my lethargy, my eyes cross the room, alighting on the picture I keep by my bedside.

I'm not important. But they are.

"I'll be at the meeting room in ten minutes."

I tune out Roman's objections as I walk out the door.

---​

"So, what are we facing?" I ask as I walk into the meeting room.

"Some sort of Holy Grail War, we think," Da Vinci answers, looking me over with concern. "Flynn, are you okay? You look even worse than usual."

I take a sip from the thermos Medea prepared for me. "I'm fine. Teacher gave me something to take the sleep deprivation's edge off. I'm proud to say that I'm fighting fit, and ready for active duty!"

Everybody seems to be giving me worried looks all of a sudden.

"Um, Charlie, are you sure that's a good idea?" Roman asks.

"Eh, probably not, but I'm already riding pretty high on whatever kind of Ancient Greek Adderall she put in this thing, and she assured me that just this much will keep me functional for at least three days before I start vomiting blood and pass out. Compared to what she's already put my liver through, this is actually pretty mild." I take a sip from my thermos while they continue to stare at me in silent horror. "So, are we doing this thing or what?"

"No, absolutely not!" Roman shouts. "Look, we need to-"

"Roman. I am already chugging the magic Ancient Greek twenty-four hour energy juice like it's Red Bull." I punctuate the point with another swig. "I'd prefer that, when I inevitably puke myself unconscious in three days, it has served a higher purpose."

He sighs, and then sits back down.

"So, where are we going?" I ask again.

"Fuyuki City, in 1994," Roman says. "Again, it's some sort of alternate universe, so we don't know exactly what we're getting into."

"Sounds like fun!" I say cheerfully, humming to myself as my mind races. Roman's hair is kind of weird, now that I think of it. It looks just like King David's!

"Yes, you'll have to gather information on the ground," Roman says. He hesitates. "You seem kind of out of it, are you sure you're up for this?"

"Tip top shape, Roman!" I assure him cheerfully. "Now let's hop to it, my liver isn't getting any less horrifically damaged!"

---​

My team stands assembled in the Rayshift Room. Fergus mac Roich, Arash, Cursed Arm, Serenity, Medea, and Atalanta. I hum tunelessly to myself as I enter the room, before coming to a stop in front of them.

"All right, folks, you know the deal," I say, momentarily getting distracted admiring my Command Spells before snapping back to attention. "Galahad won't be joining us, Mash needs her sleep and all, so Medea will be on bodyguard duty. Arash, you're our sniper. Fergus and Atalanta, you'll be our melee screen to tie up the enemy Servants, and the Hassans will assassinate the enemy Masters while their Servants are occupied. That clear?"

Nods all around.

"All right, folks, let's get going! We have a Grail War to win."

And so we file into our coffins, to travel to strange and exotic lands and kill new and interesting people again.

And as the lid closes over me, leaving me in the silence with only the erratic pitter-patter of my heart for company, I grin.

I can hardly wait.

 

[Charles Flynn]

"Wait a second," I say, as I take in the view from where we Rayshifted in. "Is this the same place as the first Singularity?"

"It would seem so, my apprentice," Medea says neutrally.

"Huh." I pause, and then switch over to the mental link. 'Arash, get up on top of one of those skyscrapers. I want those impossibly accurate eyes of yours watching for Servant activity. This seems to be a normal Grail War, but we'll want to interrogate one of the Masters, just to be on the safe side.'

'As you would have it, Master.'

As our new eye in the sky heads to his assigned post, I start thinking things over.

'All right, while Arash is getting into place, we'll split up into two teams. Medea and Atalanta, you'll find us a secure base, and then establish it as our stronghold using Medea's Territory Creation. The rest will stick with me. When Arash gives us the signal, we'll move to eliminate Servants, and attempt to capture at least one Master.'

They weigh this over, and then I get a few accepting nods.

'I'll contact you as soon as we've established our territory.' Medea promises.

"Good, and get extra ranch dressing while you're at it," I say aloud, to confuse any invisible observers.

The two Argonauts give me a perplexed look, and then vanish into astral form.

'Good. Cursed Arm, Serenity, enter stealth mode and look for any hidden observers. We probably attracted a few with the light show we put on Rayshifting in.'

They nod, and then it's just me and Fergus. We stare at each other awkwardly.

"Wanna play Go Fish?" he asks after a moment of silence.

"Sure, why not?"

---​

We have just enough time to buy a pack of cards from a corner store that was open (Fergus had to act as my translator, although considering how many times he got slapped by the clerk, he might have taken a few liberties with the translation) and figure out that neither of us really remembered how to play Go Fish, before Arash finally gives us what we were waiting for: a call to action.

'There's some sort of conflict going on down by the docks.'

And like a shot, we're off, Fergus hoisting me over his shoulder in a fireman's carry, while Arash provides us with the play-by-play, and, after a few minutes of running about at random, directions to the docks. The Hassans follow along, silent and invisible. At least they say they do, and thanks to the whole 'silent and invisible' thing, I have to take them at their word.

We get there, and I stagger a few steps after Fergus sets me down.

Once the world stops spinning, I survey the situation.

The two knight Servants whose initial duel Arash spotted are still opposite one another, but now they've they're not actively fighting, having turned to regard us new arrivals with suspicion. The pale Master of the Saber is also looking at us warily.

"Sorry I'm late. I think my invitation got lost in the mail," I say, getting to my feet. "Sir Diarmuid. Your Majesty." I look at Saber's master. "…You."

'Was that wise?' Cursed Arm asks.

'Probably not. But I'm still dizzy. Lay off.'

"Who are you, and why have you intruded upon our duel?" Arturia Pendragon asks.

"Well, you see, I came here to warn you about the dangers of Communism." I say, even as I open a channel to the Hassans. 'Serenity, fall back, and keep an eye on the sky.' Wouldn't do for her to get blasted by Diarmuid's Love Spot, after all. 'Cursed Arm, when I say, 'unsustainably dependent upon idealism,' Zabaniya Diarmuid.' After all, half my team is female, and none of them have magic resistance. Best not to take any risks.

"What?" she asks, looking completely and utterly flabbergasted.

"Yeah, I know. Equal distribution of wealth, everyone regarded as equals, it seems like a good deal. I wouldn't blame you for falling to its honey-sweet allure. Many people have. Take Thomas Edison, for example. After he was possessed by Andrew Jackson and mutated into a hyperpatriotic lion man in order to fend off the Irish, he had a hard road ahead of him. But-"

"I… don't think that actually happened," the Master of Saber says timidly, raising her hand. "I mean, I'm not exactly a historian, but-"

"Well, Miss, ummm…."

"Irisviel. Irisviel von Einzbern."

"Ah. The Einzbern representative. I should have guessed." I suddenly hit upon a new tack. 'Alright, one and all. When Cursed Arm emerges, we pretend he's not with us. Fergus, you'll be going by your class name. I have a plan.'

"Enough babbling!" a snooty, aristocratic sounding voice says, from some unseen location. "Lancer, kill the interloper."

And Lancer's Master shows himself, after a fashion. I grin. "All right then. Saber! Respond in kind!"

Arturia looks confused, but Fergus lunges in, his mighty blade driving back the suddenly very confused Diarmuid, who doesn't press the attack.

All right! Lights! Camera! Action! "I suppose it's understandable that you'd quake in fear of my Servant," I brag, doing my best impression of Lancer's Master. "After all, he is a card-carrying member of the strongest class."

Diarmuid looks between Fergus and Arturia, his brow furrowed. "I… thought you were the Saber Servant."

"I am," the Once and Future King says, looking halfway between indignant and puzzled. "Knave, whatever base deception you hold, it will-"

"Oh, step off it, Nero," I say, to throw her off balance. "Whatever bizarre part you're playing, it's not fooling me. You can drop the act."

"Wh-What?" Arturia asks. "I AM ARTHUR KING OF THE BRITONS, YOU BABBLING LUNATIC!"

"So… you're not Nero in a corset?" I ask, making myself look as confused as possible. "Well, I was way off, then. Thanks for giving me your identity anyways, though."

She makes a confusing, garbled noise in the back of her throat, at which point her Master steps forward. "Look, she's my Servant, and I definitely summoned her as a Saber."

"Well, we're back at square one, then, because this is my Servant, and I definitely summoned him as a Saber, too! You can't have two Sabers on one Grail War! Not unless…" I take pleasure in the pause, drawing it out, slowing moving my face in the likeness of a dawning realization, before levelling a furious glare at my new scapegoat. "What did you do?"

"I- I don't know what you're-" she stumbles back, definitely not ready for my sudden change in demeanor, and her Servant steps up protectively.

"Don't play dumb!" I snap in feigned righteous indignation. "You're an Einzbern! Your family helped design this Grail War! Of course you tampered with the system to get the strongest possible Servant!"

She tries to reply, but I don't let her. "Who else helped you with this? The Tohsakas?"

"No!" She interjects, looking panicked.

I press the advantage. "So it's a solo effort to subvert the rules of the Grail War, then. I suppose that I'd expect nothing less from the von Einzbern clan."

Lancer's Master, bless his pointy little head, chimes in. "If one of the founding families of the Fuyuki Holy Grail War has actively subverted the Grail War for their own benefit, then it is clear that I must report their misconduct to the Clocktower."

"No, wait! You've got this all wrong!" Irisviel shouts, actually crying, now.

"Spare us the crocodile tears, Einzbern, everyone knows your family can't be trusted as far as you can throw them." Huh. I feel like I'm missing something. Like there's something that… Oh! Guilt! I'm not feeling guilty at all! Huh. That's weird. But I'm not going to say no to getting a Get-Out-of-Conscience-Free card for my next few atrocities.

'Master.'

Huh, speak of the devil. 'Hey, Serenity. I'm going to need you to kill Saber's Master after Cursed Arm makes his move. And remember, act like you don't know me.'

'No, Master, I was trying to warn you-'

At lot of things can happen in the space of a second. A gun can fire. A Noble Phantasm can go off. Or, in this case, a chariot wreathed in lightning and pulled by oxen can land in the middle of the docks, completely pushing all my schemes out the fucking window.

The chariot's main occupant, a huge, hairy redhead with a little black-haired boy at his side, raises his arms and announces himself. "MY FELLOW HEROIC SPIRITS! I AM ISKANDER THE GREAT! JOIN MY ARMY, AND I SHALL LEAD YOU TO GLORIOUS CONQUEST!"

Well, there's a new priority target! Buuuut… just to confirm… "Excuse me, are you planning to use your wish to conquer the world?"

"No!" He calls out cheerfully. "I will incarnate myself! And then I will conquer that falls in my path, with my own two hands and my friends beside me!"

'Serenity, when the fighting starts, and Cursed Arm has finished his job, kill Rider.'

Suddenly, a man clad in golden armor materializes on top of a lamppost. Oh, Joy. Another Servant. Well, at least we've got an opportunity to sow some more chaos. "A foolhardy endeavor. There is but one king of all the world, and it is I."

"Let me guess!" I interject, doing my best to sound exasperated. "Servant Ruler! I mean, we already know that the Einzbern broke the Grail War, why should we assume that they'd limit their misdemeanors to only the main seven classes!"

He gives me a fierce look. "Servant Archer, mongrel. Mind your tone when addressing your betters." Interesting. He almost sounds… amused.

"Well, that makes two Archer Servants I've seen today, then." I slump back, shifting my weight onto my heels. "I guess it's official: The Einzbern broke the Grail War."

Irisviel tries to protest again, but Iskandar drowns her out as he drags everyone's attention back onto him. "All the better! I am gladdened beyond all words that more Servants may share on this second lease on life with us, and in so doing, live it to the fullest."

"Or just endlessly repeat their mistakes. Like you." I am not going to let World War Three break out because history's most irresponsible conquest junkie got his hands on the Holy Grail.

"Oh?" he asks, shifting his gaze onto me. "I chase an impossible dream, boy! Perhaps some might deem that folly, but I-"

"'Chasing an impossible dream' is a funny way of saying 'endlessly running away from responsibility,'" I reply. "And let's be real here. If you try to pull your old tricks again, the Association will hunt you down like a dog. Or any country with an air force will gun you down. Or maybe they'll just nuke you, leaving you and everyone that follows you a grease stain at the bottom of a smoking, irradiated crater. No matter how you cut it, your little plan to drown the world in blood just so you can bask in the praise of your adoring fanboys is set to end ignominiously. Just like your first campaign did."

"You dare," Alexander snarls, his hands already tightening around his reigns as he strives to control that famous temper of his.

"Let's face it, Alexander. No matter how much you conquer, no matter how much you rape, pillage, and burn all that stands in your way, it's never going to change the simple fact that your father never loved you."

You could hear a pin drop in the silence that follows.

Then the Golden Archer starts clapping. "Encore! Encore!"

Well, as good a time as any to kick off the festivities. 'Cursed Arm. Do it.'

And then, as Alexander the Great looks like he's about to leap out of his chariot and beat me to death with his bare hands, Diarmuid gasps in pain.

Everyone look, to see the grim, skull-faced figure behind him, his hand through the knight's chest. Then, with a squelch, Diarmuid falls.

And I, of course, get the first word in.

"OH MY GOD! EINZBERN KILLED LANCER!"

Pure. Unchecked. Pandemonium.

 

[Charles Flynn]

As the clash begins in earnest, it's every man for himself.

Alexander advances his chariot towards me at a lightning pace, while Saber and Irisviel are attempting a hasty retreat, hampered slightly by the fact that just about everyone not named Alexander is trying to kill them. The golden Archer gestures, and swords shoot out of some sort of glowing golden portals in their direction. A screeching figure in black armor charges at them with a cry of "AAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRTTTTTTTTTTTHHHHHHHHHHUUUUUUURRRRRRR!" Even Arash and Cursed Arm are contributing.

I'd be more happy about that if I didn't have Alexander the Great bearing down on me with two tons of divinely empowered, highly electric beef at the head of his chariot, and a war cry on his lips.

'Fergus!'

'No problem, Master,' he says with a quiet confidence, before thrusting his mighty sword deep into the comforting depths of the Earth. "CALADBOLG!"

The glowing rainbow of energy bursts free, and as it does so, I belatedly realize that firing off an Anti-Army Noble Phantasm in an inhabited city might have been a terrible mistake.

The sheer force of the Noble Phantasm's initial release shatters the ground, destroying the docks in their entirety, and firing up beams of brilliant energy from the depths. And then, it is over, and I feel my circuits burn.

Where Fergus drove down his blade, a chasm begins, its border marked by jagged concrete. Everything beyond that boundary has fallen into a great rent in the Earth, filled with rubble, and the incoming sea.

'Arash, did… did that get them?' I ask hesitantly.

'No. Rider survived, as did that Black Knight. Saber and her master managed to escape by walking on the water. I know nothing of Lancer's Master. And Archer is behind you.'

I jump, and then slowly, fearfully, turn to look.

The Golden Archer stands behind us, with ten glowing golden portals pointed my way.

"Your Majesty," I say, nodding politely.

"An excellent performance, Jester. I had feared before that this farce would lack proper entertainment," her turns, and the portals close. "But you have remedied that, I think. Ensure that that remains the case."

"Yes, Your Majesty," I say, and then he's finally out of sight, and I collapse bonelessly to my knees.

Then I hear the wheels of a chariot, and the harsh hooves of oxen, and I turn to Fergus. 'Time for a tactical retreat, I think. They'll all be after us after that little performance.'

'Bah! Let them come!' he says, even as he hoists me over one shoulder. 'I'll take them all on, and win!'

"IONIOI HETAIROI!"

And suddenly, we're no longer on the shattered remains of the docks. We stand in the middle of a vast desert, beneath a harsh and pounding sun. Only the two of us.

Face to face with Alexander the Great and his army of thousands.

'I blame you for this.'

'Yeah, I might have baited the luck-gods a little there.'

'You got another Caladbolg blast in you?'

'Not so soon after my first one. I need some time to recharge my batteries. Maybe ten minutes.'

All right. Switching to general channels. 'Anybody else in here with us?'

It's a long shot, but, well, it was worth checki-

'I am, Master,' Serenity sends via the mental link. 'I am ready to perform the assassination of Rider on your mark.'

I could kiss her right now if it wouldn't immediately kill me.

'Hold off. I'll set the stage, and sow dissent in the ranks.'

And with that, I return my attention to Alexander, who's been monologuing about how his Noble Phantasm is fueled by the power of friendship, and how that somehow makes all the war crimes and genocide okay, because they were all in it together, or something. I honestly wasn't paying attention.

Right then. Time to put those lessons in Greek from Medea to use.

"Mighty Alexander!" I bellow in semi-fluent Attic Greek. Miraculously, everyone in his army seems to hear it, in spite of the considerable distance between us. I suppose it makes sense that the ham's Reality Marble would magically bolster the acoustics of sufficiently dramatic speeches. "I wish to make a deal!"

"And what bargain would you offer me?" Alexander asks, looking peeved at being interrupted mid-friendship speech.

"While your numbers may be overwhelming, as you can see, my man Saber here has a Noble Phantasm that can even the odds. His mighty sword will split your armies asunder, should things come to blows," I say, lying shamelessly. "But, even with the odds so firmly in my favor, I find myself intrigued by your claims! Could the army that abandoned your dreams of conquest to march on home truly be so loyal? Even after you left nothing on your deathbed, save 'To the strongest?'"

"Get to point, before I cut out your tongue," Alexander snaps.

Ah, absolute monarchs. So easily provoked, so incapable of handling criticism. They make things far too easy for me.

"I propose that this battle be decided not by Saber's Noble Phantasm, but instead by strength of bonds," I announce. "If your… 'friends' are truly so loyal as you claim, and you such a persuasive conqueror that you can win over all your enemies, than nothing I say will be able to shake their faith in you, and you should be able to easily win over Saber."

"Very well, then!" Alexander bellows. "It shall be done! I shall go first!"

As he launches into a friendship speech, Fergus raises an eyebrow. 'I dunno, Master. I am kind of tempted. He definitely seems like a fun guy to stick around with.'

I shoot him a look. 'Fergus, if you kill me, you die. And beyond that, if you stick with me on this, then I'll pay for your drinks and serve as your wingman on your next bar crawl.'

'I'm pretty sure he'd do the same thing for free,' Fergus notes.

'But if he did, you'd be left competing with him for attention. Do you really fancy your odds against that much charisma?" I nod at Alexander, who's in the middle of a fiery speech about a trip to the beach or something, I don't really care what he's saying, only that he's utterly impossible to ignore. 'I, on the other hand, am both eloquent enough to talk you up, and pathetic enough that I won't draw attention away from you.'

'Fair enough,' Fergus acknowledges. 'I guess I'm sticking with you, then.'

"So, noble Saber! What say you? Will you join me, and seek out new glory? Or will you follow the cowardly cur whose sharpest blade is his tongue, and die in ignominy?"

Fergus shrugs. "Yeah, I'm still with him."

And while Alexander is still trying to process that, for once, turning up the charisma didn't get him what he wanted, I step up to the plate.

"HELLENES!" I bellow, and every eye lands on me. "Macedonians! Athenians! SPARTANS!" That gets a cheer. "And all you myriad sons of the city-states that dot your sea-swept land of TEN THOUSAND SHIPS! WHY DO YOU FOLLOW THIS MAN?"

Dead silence. Alright, it's a tough crowd, but that was just my opening pitch.

"You followed Alexander!" I proclaim, pointing at the man himself. "He promised you riches and glory beyond your wildest imaginings! And you won them!" That gets a cheer. "All the world knows that! You won them in Persia, and in Egypt, and in India!" A louder cheer. "And while each and every one of you brave soldiers was out fighting for Alexander, half a world away, ANOTHER MAN WAS FUCKING YOUR WIFE!"

Dead. Silence. The whiplash has them, now. They're off balance, disoriented. I press the advantage.

"And you were not there to catch them!" I crow, as I continue to press upon that misogynistic paranoia festering away in the backs of their minds. "You were not there to end that philandering coward's life, as the justice of men and gods demanded! YOU WERE NOT THERE!"

I begin to pace, gesturing wildly with my hands. "YOU WERE NOT THERE! You were not there while thieves plundered your property! You were not there while your slave and your neighbors ripped your sons limb from little limb! YOU WERE NOT THERE! AND WHYYYYYYYYYY WOULD THAT BE, YOU ASK?"

I round on Alexander and point accusingly at him. "Because of HIM! Because he lured you away, on a war of conquest that would never end! And you knew it! You knew you would never see your homes again when he forced you to marry Persians and set your good Greek wives aside! You knew it when he killed Cleitus!"

Alexander winces at that. "And when you finally stood up to him, WHAT DID HE DO?"

The once uniform ranks are now far more divided, angry mutterings now audible, as ephemeral loyalties and dreams are pitted against half-formed fears and old grievances, and found wanting.

"HE LED YOU HOME THROUGH A DESERT, LIKE A CHILD THROWING A TANTRUM!" I shout, looking about wildly at the ranks. "HE TRIED TO KILL EVERY! SINGLE! ONE! OF! YOU! And THEN, HE HAD THE GALL TO DIE ON YOU! YOUR DEEDS HAD ACCOMPLISHED NOTHING! HE ACHIEVED NOTHING! HE STRANDED YOU HALF A WORLD AWAY FROM HOME, JUST SO THE HISTORY BOOKS WOULD REMEMBER HIM!"

Alexander looks like he's about five more words away from making an appeal to force, so I decide to wrap things up. "HELLENES! WHY DO YOU FOLLOW THIS MAN?" 'Serenity, now!'

He charges, while his army dissolves into a riot behind him, discipline forgotten as each man made his choice between loyalty and hate. And then…

"Zabaniya."

Four slender fingers drift across his bicep, and a delicate mouth smiles beneath a skull-shaped mask. And then, she is gone, leaping from the chariot and vanishing into the dust cloud behind it. It matters not where she goes. She has sealed his fate.

His master yelps at the unexpected passenger, but Rider charges onwards. Straight towards me, while his army falls apart behind him.

"Saber, by the power of my Command Spell, STOP THAT CHARIOT!"

"AS YOU COMMAND!" Fergus roars, and then, he does something unexpected. He jumps.

In all honesty, I thought he would just use his Noble Phantasm, but that works too.

The son of Roich hits the chariot head on, his mighty blade smashing through the oxen's' yokes and splintering the front of the driver's platform and sending both of the chariot's occupants tumbling forwards.

Rider rises. His master doesn't.

He looks me in the eye. "You cowardly Sophist! YOU HAVE ROUSED MY WRATH! YOU WILL DIE KNOWING THE RAGE OF ISKANDAR! TO ME! TO ME, MY ARMIES! TO ME, MY COMRADES!"

There is no answer. The venom of my tongue has turned them against one another, and deafened them to their commander's call, even as Serenity's touch slowly kills him.

Still, he lunges, roaring, ever louder, "TO ME! TO ME!"

Fergus meets him as he charges, and the dust flies beneath their feet, as their blades flash in the harsh sunlight, and the world breaks apart into blue flame about them.

Until at last, Alexander falls, sweat pouring from his skin, and blood leaking from his eyes and his ears.

"So. I am forsaken." And so saying, he perishes.

I look at Fergus. Fergus looks at me. I hear a groan from Rider's Master.

"Bar crawl?" he asks hopefully.

"Sure. Grab the kid, we can use him for a sympathy ploy."