How I Saved History (Fate/Grand Order SI)

[Charles Flynn]

"Way to go on getting us kicked out, Flynn," Galahad grumbles as we trudge along the streets.

"Well, we weren't so much kicked out as politely asked to find a separate base and stay in touch by radio," I offer futilely, completely aware that yes, we were just kicked out.

We did get a spare radio and some food supplies, along with a summary of the situation at hand before Jekyll told us to leave, so it wasn't all bad.

We also got a direly needed street map, so I guess this whole debacle at least came out a net positive, even if I'm the one who has to carry all of our newest acquisitions.

"So. What's the plan?" Galahad asks.

"Well, first things first, we need a home base, and to reunite with the rest of our party." I stop, and we both duck into an alley as another of those huge, fleshy creature lumbers past. "I actually have a plan on how to do that."

'Caesar, report.'

'We're all alive and well, Master.'

'What's your location?'

' According to the Briton we interrogated, we are in...' he hesitates, trying to remember. 'Barking.'

And Galahad and I are still in... I look at the map and compare it to the street signs. South Kensington, bordering on the City of Westminster. Damn. Jekyll really is loaded, if he has a townhouse here.

'Right. I've got a street map, Galahad and I will find a place to hole up in and then give you directions.'

'Understood.'

"All right, I'm in contact with Caesar, now all we need is a place to stay."

"And where do you propose we find that?" Galahad asks, raising an eyebrow.

I point to an apartment building across the street. "I say we stroll on in there, and have you kick down the door, and then introduce ourselves to the residents as the first of their new roomies."

"That- I would never-" Galahad sputters, before composing himself. "You propose that we are to march in and force them to give us hospitality? That's..."

"Actually fairly in keeping with the great traditions of knighthood." I interject, throwing him off his game. "After all, the weak, defenseless common folk of this fine city have no guarantee of their safety, and must live in constant fear. I, as a military commander of a unit of highly trained fighters will, should this plan go through, be settling myself among them in a position of command, offering them a measure of safety in return for their continued support of me, through the providence of food and lodging, while ensuring that they keep up their end of the bargain through the looming threat of violence." I spread my hands wide and grin. "TA-DA! Feudalism!"

"I... you know, when you put it like that, it actually sounds terrible." Galahad says, frowning.

"Really?" I grin. "Because that entire social model was the backbone of the Round Table, including your king. Are you saying that the entirety of your deeds and exploits, including the very legitimacy of your king, are derived from... an injustice?"

He freezes for several seconds, before breaking into a furious streak of blistering invective directed at me and everyone responsible for my very existence, before finally subsiding to merely glaring at me. "Fine. I know you're playing me, but you're right. And dear God on high do I hate it when you're right."

"Alright then, best buddy!" I cheer, ignoring the renewed stream of profanity from behind me. "Let's get to it! It's Breaking & Entering o'clock!"

"Dammit, Flynn! Do not make me regret this!"

---​

Galahad kicks the door down in one stroke and then enters, and I follow after him, noting the terrified family of four who live in this apartment. Looks like we interrupted their dinner, just as they were gathering around the table to eat. The plates of food fall from the mother's nerveless hands, and the father moves his two children behind him.

"Good morning! Or possibly evening, who can tell in this weather." I grin and spread my arms dramatically as I stroll in. "We're your new roommates!"

"Wh-what?" the father stammers, completely taken aback by our interruption.

"Now, I know what you're thinking, 'how can these penniless, American miscreants from the streets help us pay rent?'" I continue, tossing an arm over the father's shoulder and leading him away, gesturing wildly with my left as I steer him with my right. "Well, my highly skeptical new roomie, boy do I have a pitch that'll knock your socks off!"

"Who are you people and what are you doing in my home?" He shouts looking between us wildly.

"Oh, allow me to introduce myself. Charles Flynn, Acting Field Commander of Chaldea. And this is my acting dumb muscle, none other than the legendary Sir Galahad!" Said dumb muscle flips me the bird. "And we are here to offer you the deal of a lifetime!"

"You're... you're mad." he stammers.

"Quite possibly, although to be fair, my entire family did spontaneously combust a few months back, and I really do think that'd drive just about anybody off their rocker." I admit, still leading him in laps around his family's kitchen table. "But enough about my dubious mental stability, let's talk London!" I spin him around and then sit him down in a chair. "Now, as you may have noticed, not only has the entire city been covered in an even more poisonous than usual fog of dubious chemical composition, but mass-produced murderers both mechanical and synthetic prowl the streets, searching for ever-more victims, and leaving no home, however tightly secured, a safe haven. Indeed, death stalks each and every street of this benighted city, and a man may meet his end at any second!"

The whole family has blanched at my summary of the situation, and the mother kneels down to comfort her children as they start crying.

"Now, I bet you're wondering, 'What does this mean for my family? Are we going to die?' And the answers to those questions are, in order, 'Bad things' and 'Probably.'" I continue, in my best old-timey announcer's voice. "But fear not! Your saviors have arrived!" Galahad quietly groans and facepalms as I strike a pose. "For the low, low, price of room and board, we, the champions of Chaldea, will continue our investigations into the Demonic Fog, and ensure your safety at all costs! Not only saving London, but also ensuring that you live to see the sun again!" I pull a chair over from the table, and then sit on it backwards, my arms folded on top of its back. "So? Whaddya say?"

They seem to recover from their shock, and then scream and retreat from the room.

"So, I think that went well, actually."

"I swear to God, Flynn." he grumbles. "Did you really have to spend an hour rehearsing that stupid pitch of yours?"

"Yep."

He just groans and flips me off before sitting down besides me. "So, what now?"

"We wait for them to accept our offer. You might want to keep that shield of yours handy in case the father has a gun, though." I rattle off. "And I am going to set up the radio, lay out our map, and then start giving Caesar directions."

---​

"Master," Caesar calls in greeting as he walks in through the door three long, long hours later. "It's good to see you again."

"You too," I call back from where I lie slumped over, head down on the dining table. "Come on in."

"The inhabitants of the apartment?" he inquires, looking about.

"Holed up in the childrens' bedroom, hoping we'll go away," Galahad answers from where he lounges on the couch, leafing through a slightly worn paperback labeled Beeton's Christmas Annual. "Not the bravest folk. Decent taste in literature, though."

"What do you want us to do?" Caster asks from behind Caesar.

"Some of you stand guard, and at least one of you man the radio. Caster, ward the apartment, and maybe fix the door. Saber, look over the notes I've compiled, and give me your read on the situation." I rattle off, stifling a yawn. "As for me, I'm getting some rest while I can. Galahad, get off the couch."

"Yeah no. I got here first, and Mash's body still needs to sleep."

"Fine. Guess I'll just steal one of the bedrooms, then. Tamamo, stand guard in case someone tries to kill me." I sigh, then give everyone a once-over. "All of you got that?"

Nods all around, and a lazy thumbs-up from Galahad.

"Alright, then, get to it." And with that I go looking for a guest bedroom.

 

[Charles Flynn]

I lie in the warm, half-awake state between dormancy and alertness, wrapped up beneath the covers, when a hand jostles me.

"Five more minutes, Dad," I mutter. Just because you get up at ungodly hours of the morning doesn't mean everyone else does!

"Senpai!" the decidedly female voice calls as she jostles me, and I sit up, suddenly a great deal more alert.

Gala- wait, no, that's Mash- takes a step back at my spontaneous rise.

Right. Of course it's not him. He's gone.

Everyone's gone.

...

Time to get back to fixing that.

"Mash. Good to see you again, although I'm unsure of the occasion." I say in greeting. Tamamo is still in fox form, lazily blinking and stretching at the foot of the bed.

"Oh!" she looks down. "Galahad switches back over to me when our body needs sleep. He say's it's impossible to get comfortable when you're wearing armor."

"So, why did you wake me up? And how long has it been?" I ask, grabbing my uniform jacket from the chair next to the bed and starting to straighten out the wrinkles.

"It's been four hours, Senpai. Caesar says that Jekyll is on the line, and wants to talk to you, so he woke me up and sent me to fetch you."

"All right. I'm on my way." I start to pull on my suit jacket, then look at Mash. "When do you plan on switching back over to Galahad?"

"Well... I was kind of hoping that I could wait until we had to leave," she says apologetically. "I... want to spend as much time as I have as myself."

"Fair enough." I say, heading out the door. "But I'll probably need him back with us soon. A couple of hours at most."

She follows after me, and I step out into the small hallway connecting the rooms of the apartment. From the sound of it, the children's bedroom is still barricaded from the inside.

Caesar's waiting for me at the dining room table, and wordlessly gestures for me to take a seat in front of the radio. I comply, and clear my throat.

"Charles Flynn, here. Is this Jekyll?"

"Yes, Mister Flynn. I do regret imposing this on you so quickly, but I must ask that you investigate something for me."

"Lay it on me, Doc."

There's a moment of silence, before he clears his throat and carries on. "I am a member of a small community of fellow scientists, who've managed to keep in contact via radio. We've been working together to investigate the Demonic Fog. Recently, one of my fellows, Dr. Victor Frankenstein, has fallen silent. I'm worried for his health. Could you investigate?"

I tamp down my urge to protest the existence of yet another fictional character in this Singularity, and instead ask the more important question. "Will Mordred be joining us?"

"She's already on her way."

I tilt my head slightly at his choice of pronoun, but decide against commenting on it. "Give us the address, and we'll go investigate."

He does so, and we're off, with Mash transforming into Galahad before we step out.

---​

The twisted streets full of monsters delay us slightly, but eventually we get there, and find Mordred waiting for us.

"Sir Mordred." I say in greeting.

He glares at me a little from behind his helmet, but nods slightly in acknowledgment. "Master of Chaldea."

The house of Victor Frankenstein is in disarray. The iron fence is melted and warped, and the door is in pieces, the area around it blackened as if by fire.

"I'm suspecting foul play," I comment as I take it all in.

"Really? what gave it away?" Galahad calls from behind me.

I left Lancer, Rider, and Berserker back in the apartment to hold down the fort, which leaves me with Caster Cu, Cursed Arm, Caesar, and, of course, Galahad immediately on hand.

'Cursed Arm, scout ahead.'

'As you command, my Master.'

"So, are we heading in?" Mordred asks impatiently.

"I sent Assassin ahead to scout. We should wait until he returns, so he can tell us if it's a trap."

He mutters something under his breath involving the word "buzzkill," which I pointedly ignore.

'Cursed Arm?'

'There is no trap inside, Master, but the situation is... unusual.'

'Dangerous unusual?'

'Perhaps. Proceed with caution, but I would recommend that you come to see this for yourself.'

"Alright, we go in, but we try to be polite about it." I command.

And so, I walk up to the ruined doorway, two Knights of the Round Table at my side. As I draw near, I hear from the floor above two voices conversing, one deep and rumbling, and the other deep and prone to laughing fits. I can't make out the words, but from the tone and the occasional bouts of screaming from the higher-pitched voice, I'm assuming it's some sort of hostile interrogation.

I knock on the dangling fragments of the door, and the deeper-voiced man stops whatever he was saying, while the higher-voiced one breaks out laughing. I hear footsteps above me, and start to make my way up the stairs.

"I'm afraid I'm not up for receiving visitors right now!" an entirely different voice from the two I heard before calls out loudly. "Please leave!"

I round the bend, Galahad at my heels. "Dr. Frankenstein, Dr. Jekyll sent us. He's concerned for your health, and-" I stop dead at the sight before me.

There are three men in the burnt, battle-damaged living room, between the splintered wreckage of the various bits of furniture. Only one them has all his limbs.

The first is pale-skinned, his smooth face twisted into a rictus of madness. His arms and legs have been ripped off, and he dangles by his colorful collar from the hook of a battered coatrack, which has a fifty-pound weight dangling from the hook on the other side for stability. He's covered in electrical burns and laughing like a lunatic.

The second is the head of a man who has the look of someone that became far too old far too soon, a heavily-lined face and gray hair staring out through the green-tinted fluid that fills the tank he's in. His body below the neck, however, is concealed in a narrow iron tube, which lets out regular, rhythmic rasps. A speaker and some controls are situated halfway down the tube. His face is slack, pulled back in an unending, soundless scream, as his eyes still dart wildly about him.

But it is the third and final man who holds my attention, who looks up with surprise and growing anger from where he stooped, fiddling at the controls of the life support coffin. He's tall, a veritable giant standing at about seven feet, and his entire body is forged of corded muscle, moving with an unmistakable power and grace. He's clad in a charred button-up, obviously custom-made, and he's unmistakably handsome. But his eyes. They're a deep, predatory yellow, devoid of any pupils or irises. And the more I look at them, the more I realize there is something indescribably wrong about them, even if I can't identify it at a glance.

I know who he is.

"Frankenstein's Monster?"

 

[Charles Flynn]

The Monster starts. "How did you-" then he groans. "It was the book, wasn't it."

"Umm... Yes, actually." I look around awkwardly.

"Ugh. I knew I should have killed that woman while I had the chance," he grumbles. "Jekyll sent you?"

"Yes." Galahad affirms from where he stands at my side, one foot forwards and ready to put himself between me and the potential enemy. "He was quite concerned when you dropped out of radio contact."

The Monster- screw it, I'm gonna ask if he's picked out a name for himself- throw back his head and laughs like a loon. "That? That was because my radio broke."

"You couldn't repair it?" I ask. "I kind of gathered that you were a dab hand with machinery from... well, that." I point at what I'm now guessing is Victor Frankenstein's still-living, near-perfectly preserved severed head in a jar.

"I am, but I couldn't find the necessary components to fix it." he sighs, pointing to the shattered mechanical components swept up into the room's corner. "At least not without dismantling father's coffin."

"Um, yes." I clear my throat. "So, I believe introductions are in order. I'm Charles Flynn, the Master of Chaldea. We go to aberrations in time and resolve them in order to save the world."

He gives a slightly lopsided grin. "Ted Frankenstein. Misshapen abomination of science. I live in a world that fears and hates me because I have no other choice."

Wait… "Your name is Ted?"

"Yes. Short for Theodore, I picked it out myself." Ted proudly informs me, as I sternly try to keep my features still. "I'm still a bit irked that Mrs. Shelley didn't mention it in that book of hers."

I bite my cheek to contain my snickers. "S-So. What happened?"

"Well, the proto-homunculi, helter-skelters, and automata have been launching raids on my house for the past week or two, which haven't posed much of a problem, although that was how my radio got smashed." he recounts, as I mentally take note of the various enemies' name types. "But this morning, the clown on the coat-rack over there showed up at my door, demanding that I join his organization. Of course, I killed his troops, and then ripped off his arms and legs and beat him over the head with them, but my interrogations haven't proved very fruitful, and those damn crawling bombs of his ruined my lawn."

"Love you too, Franky!" the dismembered clown shouts from the coatrack.

"Silence, clown!" Ted- You know what, I'm just calling him Frankenstein from now on- shouts back. "So. You claim that you seek an end to the Demonic Fog, yes?"

"Yes. Although I'm surprised that you're so accepting of this," I comment. "I would have expected you to be more skeptical."

He laughs. "That uniform of yours, from my sight analysis, was synthesized using textile manufacturing processes not yet devised by modern industry, as well as contain some plastics I cannot identify off the top of my head. Further, this isn't exactly the first time I've encountered a time machine." he stares off into the distance. I think I hear him mutter "Damn Morlocks" under his breath.

Right, that raises several interesting questions, absolutely none of which are relevant at the moment. "So, you survived an attack by an actual Servant? And won?" I whistle. "How strong are you?"

"Father," he points to Victor's head in the jar. "created me in no small part as an attempt to recreate primordial man. To reclaim the power and glory humanity possessed in the days of Gilgamesh and Heracles. He didn't exactly succeed, but he didn't fail by much." He snorts. "I can fight on even ground with most Servants, despite my age."

His age? Now that I look closely, I realize that there are grey streaks in his flowing black hair. "And... how old are you?"

"About ninety-eight." he observes nonchalantly. "Don't look so surprised. Father designed me with a one hundred and fifty-year lifespan in mind."

"There's... actually a lot of other questions I'd love to ask you, but..."

"Yes, I suppose that time is of the essence here." Frankenstein notes, already looking about. "I'll have to relocate, won't I?"

"It seems that way." I observe. "If you'd like, we have a base set up. You're welcome to join us."

He stops, looking me in the eye. I feel a wave of fear shudder up my spine as I stare into those inhuman golden pits, but I stand my ground, and meet his gaze without flinching.

"Very well," he says after a moment's silence. "If you will offer me shelter, even knowing what I am, I suppose I must accept it."

"Welcome aboard then, Mr. Frankenstein," I say, offering a hand for him to shake.

He accepts my proffered hand gingerly, and shakes it once, before turning away and marching up the stairs. "If you could, dispose of the clown ands get my father down the stairs and out the door. I need to pack."

Well, alright then. I turn to my Servants. Galahad is smirking for some reason, while Mordred is looking at me in confusion. Cursed Arm is holding his peace. "Cursed Arm, kill the clown. Galahad, you're on head-carrying duty."

They go to their assigned tasks, while Mordred seems to be gearing up to ask me something.

'Caesar, Caster, how's that perimeter holding up?'

'All enemies repelled, Master.'

'Good. It turns out that the good Doctor was in fact just a cover identity used by his Monster. Said monster will be joining us.'

'Understood. Preparing to head out, then.'

I return my attention to Mordred. "You have something to say, say it."

"Why are you so calm about this?" the Knight of Treachery bellows. "He's a murderer who keeps his father's head in a jar! Why are you tolerating him?"

"Because he could be a valuable ally," I note calmly. "In Mary Shelley's account, he never broke his word, or betrayed an alliance. I'm not entirely sure of his intentions or his goals, to tell the truth, but I do believe that he won't betray us, and that he could be vital to this Singularity's resolution. So I'm giving him the benefit of the doubt."

There's a creaking, and Frankenstein makes his way down the stairs, now clad in a business suit and with a large black suitcase in either hand.

"All right, I'm ready to go." he calls. "Everything taken care of?"

"Yep."

"Then let us be off!"

And so we go.

---​

I walk in through the door to our commandeered apartment.

Georgios is sitting at the table along with the family, who look, well, still terrified, but slightly more accepting.

"Ah! Master, it's good that you're back. I've managed to persuade the Andersons that we mean them no harm." the dragon-slaying Saint calls from where he sits. "Mr. Anderson, let me introduce you-"

It's then that Galahad enters, carrying Victor's life-support tube, followed by Frankenstein.

Georgios sighs as the Andersons run screaming back to the children's bedrooms.

"Well, there goes three hours of careful negotiation and winning their trust. Thanks, Master."

I look around, and then sigh. "Damn."

"What?" Caesar asks as he too enters.

"It's already too crowded in here. We need to commandeer another apartment or two." I observe. Not enough beds or space in here for Frankenstein to properly set up. "Oh, and sorry about ruining your work, Rider. Should've called ahead."

He just sighs.

Well, time for more door-kicking. FEUDALISM HO!

 

[Charles Flynn]

Our second breaking and entering actually goes far smoother than our first, mostly because the Cooper family is considerably more accommodating and less prone to running and hiding than the Andersons.

Soon, we're sitting around a table in the Coopers' apartment, Frankenstein and I sitting across from each other while Georgios makes small talk with the Coopers.

"So, I've actually been holding in a lot of questions." I begin, as Frankenstein takes a sip of his tea. The Coopers offered me a cup as well, but I declined. I don't much like caffeine, and I was also slightly concerned they might be trying to poison me. "If you're willing, I'd like to ask them now."

He sets down his teacup. "Very well. I suppose this is as good a time as any." he thinks for a moment. "I will answer three of your questions. The rest will have to wait until after I have set up my lab and you have informed Jekyll of what transpired, and begun your own preparations. Is that agreeable?"

"Very much so," I say, risking eye contact. The radiant yellow pits still inspire in me the same primordial dread as the first time I saw them, but theirs is a familiar fear, now, and I allow not one trace of it to show. "Firstly, how accurate is the account of your life presented in the 1818 novel by Mary Shelley?"

"Very much so, considering she got it from me," Frankenstein observes with a slight grin. "I met her when I was poking around in one of Father's old labs up in Geneva, looking for his notes. She held them hostage in exchange for me telling her about myself. I told her, she gave me the notes, and I thought nothing of it for the next three years, until one fine day in the Fall of 1819 I walked into a bookstore and found a book detailing my entire life. Needless, to say, I was a bit furious at the time, but when I tracked her down and confronted her over it, she offered me a share of the royalties she'd received, so that I would have some means to support myself in spite of my condition." He grins. "I suppose she became my first true friend, after a fashion."

He drifts off, lost in memory, and I clear my throat after a second. "The book claimed that after your father's death, you resolved to kill yourself. Did... did that truly happen? Or was it just artistic license?"

"Oh, I did in fact so resolve myself." Frankenstein relates with a dark grin. "And I gave it the old college try. But have you ever tried to start a bonfire on a glacier?"

Oh, I see where this is going.

"First I had to stockpile up the wood for the damn thing, and make sure it wasn't too drenched, and then I had to heat it up until it would burn, and then, after three days of attempted fire-starting, interrupted only by a bear attack, I finally got it up and burning, only for it to promptly melt the snow that had started falling, and put itself out. Finally, fed up with the whole affair, I resolved myself to live out of pure, petty irritation." Frankenstein recounts, before laughing. "It wasn't very pleasant at the time, but, in hindsight..."

I nod, grinning. "It actually became amusing."

"Exactly." Frankenstein agrees. "And so, having decided to live out of pure spite, I decided that I wouldn't be doing so alone. I ran back, grabbed Father's frozen corpse, and stashed him away safely before heading off to try and recover his notes. Because if I was going to be stuck on this damn mudball, I wasn't going through it alone." He pats his father's tube affectionately. "As you can see, I succeeded, at least partially."

I nod, before asking the most important question. "And why were you working with Jekyll to fight the fog? I didn't think you much cared for humanity."

"I don't." Frankenstein answers, his face loosing his good cheer. "In truth, I deny that I would ever raise my hand in the defense of a human being."

"So why do you fight?"

"The Incineration will claim me too, Master of Chaldea." he says, grinning at my surprise. "Oh, don't look so shocked that I know of it. The clown told me of it. Tried to tempt me into joining them with the prospect of finally taking my vengeance on all of humanity."

"And you still refused?"

"I don't believe that anyone can stop the Incineration," he admits with a melancholic sigh. "Not me, and not you. But this damnable fog is an eyesore. And I should like to see the sun again at least once before I die. That's all."

He shakes his head. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to reestablish my lab. I don't doubt that you have your own duties to attend to. We shall talk again at a later time."

I say my goodbyes and leave, feeling a great deal more somber than I did when I entered.

---​

"All right, team meeting." I call, as Caesar, Galahad, Cursed Arm, and Georgios gather around the table in the Andersons' apartment. "We've gotten a bit of experience on the ground in this Singularity, it's time to revise our team composition."

"Have any of us performed inadequately?" Caesar ask.

"No, but now that we're on the ground, and have the lay of the land, we can optimize our team to better suit the Singularity. And, to be honest, some of us aren't going to be able to properly shine unless we revise our tactics, or just aren't suited for this environment."

"Fair enough, Master." Caesar notes. "May I ask why the Cu Chullains and Tamamo-no-Mae are not in attendance?"

"Tamamo's asleep, Caster's revising our perimeter defenses, and Lancer's out patrolling the surrounding area." I list off. "Beyond that, you are all the most level-headed of my Servants, and the ones I'd trust to hold command in my absence."

"You don't trust Cu?" Galahad asks with a smirk. "And here I thought you were bosom buddies."

"I'd trust him with my life, I'd trust him with my drinks, and I'd trust him with my deepest secrets." I inform him, dead serious. "But I would not trust him to hold command in my absence. I believe that the four of you are sane, disciplined, and level-headed enough to be entrusted with tactical command in my absence. Do not make me regret that."

"Understood, Master." Caesar replies. "What changes do you propose?"

"Firstly, the establishment of an actual chain of command. Caesar, you're my second. Then Georgios, then Galahad, then Cursed Arm." Galahad looks like he's going to protest for a moment, but then seems to realize that he's third place in a competition including an actual saint and one of the Nine Worthies, and promptly backs down. "This will, hopefully, ensure that when I'm incapacitated in the future, people will know who to listen to."

Nods all around the table.

Cursed Arm is the next to speak up. "I'm surprised that you included me."

"I'll be the first to admit that you and I haven't gotten to know each other all that well, but I've seen enough of your professionalism and your straightforward attitude to consider you a responsible commander." I acknowledge, before moving on. "The next time we move out, Caesar will remain here to command the apartment's defenders. It's clear that he's best used as a commander, and is effectively wasted in a subordinate role."

"Thank you, Master." Rome's Dictator-for-Life acknowledges with a bow of his head. "I will do my best to live up to your expectations of me."

"It's just the best move under the circumstances." I demur. "As for the rest, I plan on sending Tamamo and Caster back to Chaldea and calling in different Servants. Asterios and Paracelsus. Asterios' navigational abilities will be incredibly useful, and Paracelsus can use his alchemical mastery to analyze the Demonic Fog. Does anyone disagree with my assessment?"

No one raises any objections.

"Good. I'll break the news to them in person. Meeting adjourned. Assassin, start scouting. Rider, man the radio. Saber, familiarize yourself with the building and its defenses. Galahad, with me."

And with all that said, I rise and go to my work.

 

[Charles Flynn]

"Master," Paracelsus von Hohenheim says with a nod.

"Caster," I reply, returning the nod. Asterios has already been settled in, but I'll be the first to admit that I don't actually know Paracelsus all that well. He'll require a gentler touch.

"Have you set a space aside for my workshop?" he asks, gathering up his kit and uncapping a few bottles. Lumpy white proto-homunculi come spilling forth.

"Yes, actually. We found an abandoned apartment, its owner seems to have perished in the recent unpleasantness." I say distractedly, staring at the homunculi. "May I ask about those?"

"Oh. They're my assistants. Not quite proper homunculi, but quite handy around the lab."

"They look completely identical to the ones that we've encountered elsewhere in the Singularity." I report, still looking at the near-featureless lumps of white flesh. He's probably not going to turn his coat on us, but juuuust in case... 'Cursed Arm, engage Presence Concealment and make for my position.'

'Already there, Master.'

That… makes me feel better and is setting off my paranoia. At the same time, even.

"Indeed?" Paracelsus inquires, pulling out a sword. "If you'll excuse me, I must sample this Demonic Fog."

He steps into the empty apartment we prepared for him, muttering arias under his breath as he approaches the window. At last, he returns, with a grim look on his face.

"It would seem, Master, that I am your enemy."

....

'Cursed Arm, prepare to terminate Caster.'

"Ah! I phrased that poorly, didn't I? I suppose it'd be more accurate to say that another iteration of me is your enemy."

'...Belay that order, but keep your Zabaniya handy.' I realize what I just said and wince. 'No pun intended.'

"So, the enemy ranks include another Paracelsus." I summarize. "You'll have to forgive me if this isn't exactly filling me with trust."

"Oh." Paracelsus bows his head. "I'm very sorry, Master. I suppose I'll have to prove my loyalty via my deeds."

"How do you know there's another you?"

"Well, the Demonic Fog has all the markings of my handiwork." Paracelsus notes. "I would surmise that its purpose is to sap the prana of the population of London, creating a dense, mana-rich fog from which Servants can emerge."

"You… got all that in less than three minutes?"

"Oh. Well, I recognized it as an idea I had when I was still alive. Never could get it to work, and once I lost momentum, my tunnel-vision vanished, and I realized how blatantly unethical it was." Caster recounts. "But now its here, and its working fine! I wonder how he got it to-"

I snap my fingers, and the legendary alchemist pulls himself together. "No hijacking the fog, von Hohenheim." I give him my best Mom Look, and it seems to take.

"W-Well, regardless, this is actually good news for us!" Paracelsus carries on, looking embarrassed. "Since it was designed to work with my Magecraft, I can utilize it to power up my Mysteries!"

"How so?"

"I can use it to power up my Bounded Fields, instead of using your Circuits and Chaldea's engines as a power source." he rattles off, practically bouncing with glee. "Further, I can probably reprogram and take for myself some of the other Paracelsus' proto-homunculi, and use the Bounded Field to keep him from returning the favor. Beyond that, I can get it all set up in a day, and then start producing-"

'Master, Jekyll's on the radio.' Georgios sends.

'Be there in a sec.' I reply, before returning my attention to Paracelsus. "Duty calls, Caster. I need to get to the radio, and I'm probably heading out afterwards. Set up the defences, and run everything you want to add in past Caesar. He's in command when I'm gone, and you should treat his orders as if they were mine. Understood?"

"Yes, Master." Paracelsus says with a grin. "This building shall rise as an unassailable fortress of alchemy!"

"As long as Caesar and I receive step-by-step updates on the process and retain veto power, that's fine by me."

---​

"Dr. Jekyll. Good to hear your voice again." I offer in greeting. "But I doubt this is a social call. What occasion has led you to contact me?"

"I've received reports of a giant book in Soho, breaking down doors and dragging people off."

"A giant... book."

"It's just as surreal for me as it is for you."

"I sincerely doubt that." I reply, taking a second to reflect on the fact that I am currently in Victorian London, talking to a fictional character about how I and my team of legendary hero ghosts need to go and beat up a magic floating book, all while Frankenstein's Monster is in the next apartment over.

Sweet Jesus God in Heaven, I love my job.

"Well," Jekyll seems slightly put out by my brusqueness. "Mordred is already on her way."

"We'll join her." I announce confidently. "This is Flynn, signing off."

I switch the radio off, and get up.

'Galahad, Asterios, Georgios, and Cursed Arm, you're with me. We're heading out to Soho to deal with a magical book of some descriptor that's been terrorizing the locals.' I send off, getting a chorus of affirmatives. 'Cu, Caesar, you're on defence. Keep on eye on Paracelsus, he's under orders to run all Bounded Fields and other Magecraft by Caesar. Cu, since you're the only other one with magical knowledge, you're his fact-checker.'

Some good-natured grumbling from Cu, but they're game.

Just one last thing before I head out.

---​

I knock on the door to the Coopers' apartment. "Mr. Frankenstein? We're heading out to Soho to deal with some sort of evil magic book. Would you care to join us?"

The door opens, and yellow eyes meet mine. "I suppose that'll be novel enough. Let me get my street clothes and my axe, and then I'll join you."

He's back out in five minutes, wearing an Ulster overcoat, a pair of brown-tinted spectacles, and a top hat, with a massive axe resting on his right shoulder, an ugly thing of twisted black iron.

"Very well. Shall we go?"

And so we went.

 

[Charles Flynn]

"So, the leaders are called 'P,' 'B,' and 'M.'" I echo, thinking it over.

"Yes, although I haven't the foggiest as to their true identities," Frankenstein confirms, looking out through the fog as we follow Asterios.

"Well, one of them is probably Paracelsus von Hohenheim," I offer up. "The version I summoned at Chaldea confirmed that the Demonic Fog is at least partially his handiwork."

"Fascinating." Frankenstein comments, stroking his chin. "That's 'P,' which leaves us with 'B' and 'M.' And I doubt we'll be lucky enough to have our own versions of them as well."

"'M' might be Professor Moriarty." Galahad notes, before freezing up as Georgios, Frankenstein, and I all turn to look at him. "W-well, it's how he sometimes signed his letters in the Holmes stories he appeared in." We still keep looking at him. "N-not that I've ever read them, that is, but Mash is a fan of the character, and I couldn't help but pick up a thing or two."

"Fair enough." I turn my eyes back to the path ahead. "Could stand for 'Mycroft,' too. Holmes' brother. They did that in League of Extraordinary Gentlemen."

"Didn't much like that one. Too over-the-top and edgy." Galahad comments, before seeming to realize what he said. "I-I mean, Mash didn't like-" I raise an eyebrow, and he slumps. "Please don't tell my father?"

"My lips are sealed." I grin, and the conversation comes to an end.

'Master. Book ahead. Be cautious.' Asterios sends from where he slowly advances ahead of us.

I take a look at the building ahead of us, and then sigh in resignation.

Of course it's a bloody bookstore.

"Georgios, go in and find the book. Then destroy it. It's purportedly magic-based, and as such, you're functionally immune."

"As you would have it, my Master." the Saint agrees with a solemn nod, before striding boldly off towards the bookstore.

"A bit anticlimactic, don't you think?" Frankenstein asks, leaning back against a nearby wall and pulling a book out of his coat.

"Hey, if it works, it works, no matter how flashy it may or may not be."

"Truly, we stand in awe of your complete lack of anything resembling pride or ethics." Galahad remarks from behind me.

"Remind me again, what did your rigid adherence to being the perfect, honorable knight ever get you? Oh, right, a young death! And the decimation of your king's military." I fire back, appreciating the opportunity to kill some time. "Truly, such lofty deeds are beyond us modern folk, who may hold only paltry echoes of your faded glory."

"Indeed!" Galahad snaps. "We were willing to give our very lives to prove that we were men of worth, and to do what we knew was right. A characteristic I find to have faded and vanished, from the watery character of modern man."

"Well, you know, natural selection and all that." I retort with a grin. "All the stupidly brave people died virgins, leaving us clever cowards to inherit the Earth."

"And we died well!" Galahad replies. "We died but once, where you die a thousand times, casting aside yourself for base survival alone! Better a short life of glory than a long life of dishonor, I say!"

"On that, I fear, we'll have to disagree."

"And what can you claim, o enlightened one? What do you have, that you can say is yours and yours alone? What deeds do you have, hmm? Perhaps the whole is greater than the sum of its parts, but you are a very small part indeed! Come on! Tell me one thing about you that makes you better than me! One thing, one deed, one fact, that makes you in any way better than me!"

I could say a lot of things. I could bring up my education. I could bring up that I'm not a colossally smug, holier-than-thou jackass. But my temper runs hot, and Galahad's taunts are hitting me where it hurts. So I go for the low blow.

"My parents actually loved each other."

Galahad freezes, and I suddenly regret saying it. "Okay, that was too far, I'm-"

At that point, he steps in, grabs me by the shoulders, and knees me in the crotch with the strength of thirty men.

I don't remember much after that, what with blacking out from the pain, and all.

 

[Charles Flynn]

Sweet Jesus on high, everything hurts.

"Oh, good, you're awake." Paracelsus notes, coming over from a table in the room's corner to loom over me.

I'm in a cot in the room we gave Paracelsus to use as a lab.

And...

Galahad.

"How bad is the damage?" I ask, noting Paracelsus' guilty start. "Do I still have.. well, y'know?"

"It was... quite significant, damage-wise." Paracelsus observes uncomfortably, not looking me in the eye. "I... er… had to use a Philosopher's Stone to... um... restock your box and tackle."

He had to- Jesus, how bad was it? No, wait, I don't want to know.

"Where's Galahad?"

---​

He's waiting outside Paracelsus' lab-turned infirmary, arms crossed and staring at the floor. Georgios and Cu both stand between him and the dare, glaring at him with their hands on their weapons.

Of course, that's when I emerge, still walking with a limp (Paracelsus assures me it's psychosomatic).

"Master." Georgios says in greeting, still not taking his eyes off Galahad. "It is good to see you awake and walking once more."

"Yeah!" Cu cheers. "I thought Captain Prissy-Pants here broke your dick!" He pauses thoughtfully. "It still working?"

Galahad and I both wince. "It is still working, yes." I grind out. "Although that's only because Paracelsus is a ridiculously skilled Caster."

Cu pats me on my back, knocking the wind out of me. "Don't sell yourself short, Master! You got balls of steel!"

My mumbled protests of how no, that is not in fact the case are drowned out by my panicked wheezing as I desperately try to refill my emptied lungs. Finally, however, I pull myself together, to see all three of my Servants in the hallway looking at me in concern.

"I'm fine." I assure them, leaning against the wall. "What happened while I was out of it?"

Georgios takes over telling me the story, while Cu takes the brunt of their glaring-at-Galahad-while-brandishing-weapons duties. "I defeated the book, with the aid of a Rogue Servant, one Hans Christian Anderson, and emerged to find you slumped over, unconscious with a broken pelvis, while Assassin and Berserker were doing their level best to kill Galahad, who was only defending himself, while Mr. Frankenstein tried to play peacekeeper and stood guard over you. Sir Mordred arrived just about then, and helped me sort things out." He sighs. "Once I'd defused the situation, we returned to our base as swiftly as possible, and got you medical treatment." He pauses, then adds on as an afterthought, "Anderson came with us, too. Said that this was too interesting to pass up."

Right. That's definitely something I'll need to look into later. But first... "I'm going to need to talk with Galahad. Alone."

That gets the expected protests from Cu, while Georgios simply nods in silent understanding.

"Master, come on! He attacked you! I can get wanting to get along with a good opponent, but-"

"It's fine, Cu." I assure him, grabbing Galahad's arm and leading him off to the guest room I've been staying in. He follows, looking distinctly uncomfortable.

We get there, and I close the door, crossing my arms and looking at him.

"Well?"

"I'm.. sorry, Flynn." Galahad mutters, as if the words physically pain him. "I... failed to properly control my emotions, and lashed out. It was... unbecoming of a knight." He doesn't look up from the floor.

"Well, I'm sorry too. I lost my temper and said something I shouldn't have." I reply, sitting down. Honestly, I should hold a grudge. I really should. But I honestly think I would have done the same thing if our positions were reversed, and how can I blame him for doing what I would do? Not to mention, I've definitely done worse. "So, shall we agree that we both screwed up, and we'll do better in the future?"

He looks at me for the first time since I woke up, and it's in complete and utter confusion, like I just grew an extra head and started speaking in limericks. "But... I failed."

"As did I. We'll do better next time." I repeat, looking at him in concern.

"That's... but... I'm supposed to be better than that..." he says in a small voice, as if the very idea that he could have failed, and have it be dismissed is incomprehensible to him.

"Well..." I'm not really sure on how to get through to him on this. "Everybody messes up sometimes."

"NOT ME!" he snaps, lifting me by my collar and yelling in my face. "I'm supposed to be BETTER THAN THAT! How do you... How do I live knowing that I'm not what I wanted to be! That I am below the standard of what is righteous! My standard!" He realizes what he's done, and lowers me to the ground, his hands shaking. "How do you... how do you live with that? I don't... I don't understand."

"So... let me get this straight." I say in a level tone, trying to wrap my head around it. "You're upset... not because I was hurt.... but because it means you're not perfectly righteous anymore."

"Yes!" he snaps, as if it were obvious, pacing about as if he's trying to burn a hole through the rug. "I mean, I know I'm not entirely upset that you got hurt, you're an insufferable jackass, after all, and it feels like you keep getting worse, but I know it's wrong! You're weaker than me, and you're my liege-lord. I'm obligated to protect you, follow your orders, and never raise a hand against you!" He pauses, looking at me in desperation. "I raised my hand against you, Flynn!"

"Well, more like your knee, actually."

"YOU ARE NOT HELPING!"

"All right, so, you don't know how to deal with failing to live up to your own ridiculously high standards of behavior." I summarize, thinking it over. How do I get the perfect knight to manage something that most normal people learn how to do by the time they're five? Wait... "Galahad, you said that I'm your liege lord, right?"

"Yes. Although you're considerably less virtuous than my previous one."

"Then take this as a command from your liege:" I order, rising and pointing straight at him. "Live with yourself."

"But I don't know how to-"

"When God and glory drove you to seek the Grail, did you falter?"

"No."

"Then, I have commanded that you live with yourself. That you keep going, knowing that you have failed and filled with a resolve to do better, surpassing all your conduct in times past with future virtue, until you may hold your head high once more." I smirk. "Unless this quest is too great for the mighty Sir Galahad, that is."

He looks as if he's about to launch an angry retort at me, before he falters, shaking his head and grinning. "Thank you."

"Anytime."

"I suppose I should get some rest. I haven't let Mash's body rest since we got back. She needs her sleep."

"I'll leave you to it."

'Master, Caesar speaking. Jack the Ripper is assaulting Scotland Yard.'

"On second thought, sleep can wait," I backtrack, grabbing Galahad's arm, and darting out the door. "Let's go!"

'All Servants, assemble in the dining room. We have a situation in progress.'

 

[Charles Flynn]

"All right. Jack the Ripper is active in this Singularity, and attacking Scotland Yard," I note as Asterios carries me piggyback through the streets. Georgios, Cursed Arm, Galahad, Anderson, and Mr. Frankenstein are all with me, while Cu, Caesar, and Paracelsus all man the fort. "Question: Why is this the first I'm hearing about Jack the Ripper being here?"

"I think we might've been attacked by them," Galahad comments besides me.

"What? When?" Oh dear God, does Jack the Ripper have the power to erase memories? How many times have they attacked me? Are they attacking me right now? Fuck it, I'm getting Paracelsus to make the biggest bombs he can, and then we're taking off and nuking this godforsaken town from orbit!

"While Mordred and I were carrying your unconscious ass after you fainted." Galahad notes. "I remember that we were attacked by someone, but for the life of me I can't remember what they looked like or said."

"So, they erase memories of their presence," I note. "A useful power for a serial killer." I then glare at Galahad. "And I didn't faint, I passed out from the pain of you dislocating my arm, Galahad."

"There was a damsel in distress!" Galahad protests, tossing his hands up as we barrel through a few automata. "What else could I do?"

"Careful, Sir Knight. Your Quixote is showing."

"I-" he blinks. "I don't actually know what that is."

"We'll have to work on your reference pools when we get back to Chaldea, then."

---​

Scotland Yard... has seen better days.

At least, I assume it's seen better days. By definition, just about any day is better than the day it looks like a bombed-out wreck, strewn with the hacked and dismembered corpses of its former inhabitants.

Yeah, this one's definitely gonna feature in my nightmares.

And, standing before the shell that was once a legendary bastion of law enforcement, stand Paracelsus von Hohenheim and a little girl wearing...

Dear GOD what is that child wearing? Whoever put her in that ought to be shot! Or drawn and quartered! Or both! Jesus FUCKING Christ!

My disgust and horror for the fact that that five-year-old is wearing a fucking thong aside, I quickly do my best to take stock of the situation.

They've noticed us, which becomes quickly evident as Paracelsus turns to face us.

"So. Chaldea's champions have arrived."

Okay, time for a quick confirmation. 'Paracelsus, you're still back at base, right?'

'Yes, Master. You have encountered my doppelganger?'

'He's in the middle of a field of dismembered corpses next to a five-year-old in a thong.'

There's a moment of silence. 'Are you... sure that's me?'

'Pretty sure.'

'Ah. I'm going to need to... I actually don't know. Is there any alcohol in the apartment?'

'I wouldn't know. I don't drink on the job unless the world goes crazy.'

'Right. Good luck with evil pedophile me, then.'

I return my attention to Evil Pedophile Paracelsus, who's still monologuing.. 'Galahad, what'd I miss?'

'He gloated about Project Demonic Fog, identified himself as P, just standard evil gloating, really.'

"Such sinful beings as you cannot hope to halt the Incineration," Evil Pedophile Paracelsus says with a sigh.

"Said the pedophile!" I interject.

"I- WHAT?" Paracelsus yelps, all evil momentum lost as his face blanches. "I'm not a pedophile!"

"Said the man standing next to a five-year-old in a thong."

"I- no! That's Jack the Ripper! It's not what you think!" Evil Paracelsus protests, utterly mortified. I'm actually getting the impression he's telling the truth, but like hell I'm gonna let a distraction this good go to waste.

I silently order Cursed Arm to circle around and give him the Jalter treatment as I continue to press the conversational advantage. "Jack the Ripper? London's most terrifying serial killer a severely underdressed little girl? A likely story. And even if that's the case, what are you doing hanging about with her, pedo?"

"I was conducting a purge of Scotland Yard in order to retrieve a secured artifact!" Paracelsus answers, looking about desperately. "It was entirely a matter of business!"

"Mister Paracelsus?" the purported Jack the Ripper asks, looking up to him with wide eyes. "What's a pedophile?"

Okay, I like this kid.

"Oh. Well, um..." Paracelsus stammers, his face falling in horror as he realizes what he just signed himself up for.

Anderson laughs, his hearty baritone ringing out through the fog, and Paracelsus turns on him angrily. "What's so funny?"

"You!" the little Caster bellows, a grin splitting his face. "I see, now! Before, I had dismissed you out of hand, but now, I see it! Your character is dull, the saintly alchemist whose single-minded pursuit of his goals undoes him, but now I see its value! You're so laughably Byronic and thoroughly unsympathetic that your misfortunes are guaranteed comedy!"

Holy shit I like this one.

"You DARE!" Paracelsus snaps, raising the glowing sword by his side.

"Delusional Heartbeat: Zabaniya."

And Evil Paracelsus promptly falls, as Cursed Arm's malevolent talons sink into his heart.

'Exceptional performance as ever, Cursed Arm.'

'It was my pleasure to be of service, Master.'

"You think... that this will kill me?" Evil Paracelsus snaps, a glowing crystal in hand. "My Philosopher's Stone has granted me immortality! I will not die so easily!"

He rises, sword in hand, and then stares into the plate-clad chest of Saint Georgios the Dragon Slayer, and feels the hot breath of Asterios on the back of his neck.

The ensuing fight is laughably short, and by the end of it, Evil Paracelsus is quite thoroughly dead.

Right. That's Paracelsus dead. Now where's Jack?

"Are you my Mommy?" the little white-haired demon asks, standing not even a foot away from me.

Alright. Pow-wow time. Moral Charlie wants to say no, and try to find the kid's real parents. Cowardly Charlie wants to say yes, because this kid could eviscerate me in a second if she actually is Jack the Ripper. Pragmatic Charlie wants to see if I can exploit her abilities by convincing her that I'm her mother. Lazy Charlie votes no, because parenthood sounds like considerably more work than getting eviscerated. And Perpetually Bored Charlie wants to say yes, just because it'd probably be hilarious.

Looks like the answer's yes! Now, time to dress things up a bit.

"Young lady, what do you think you're wearing?"

She blinks. "Ummm… clothes?"

"Like hell they are! No daughter of mine is going out dressed like that!" I snap, doing my best impression of my own mother.

"M-Mommy?"

"Well, obviously, now let's get you home before somebody sees you." I insist, steering her away.

The various Servants are looking at me in outright disbelief, and Mr. Frankenstein just broke out laughing.

'Flynn, you can't recruit Jack the Ripper!' Galahad snaps over the mental link. 'Even ignoring her many, many crimes, there's also the matter of her being a mentally unstable time bomb! She's going to kill you!'

'Well, obviously,' I reply as I step over the severed arms of one unfortunate bobby. 'But I'd argue that the best course of action would be to set up a trap in advance, and lead her into it.' With that said, I redirect my focus towards Paracelsus. 'I'm leading back Jack the Ripper. I'll need you to set up a trap to contain and terminate her before we get there.'

'Understood. Beginning analysis of the Servant.'

---​

"Welcome home, Jack." I offer up.

She smiles, unshakably happy, and for a moment, just a moment, I hesitate. But a field of charnel dances before my eyes, of men doing their jobs and seeking to protect the people of their city cut down without mercy or distinction, and my heart hardens once more. My mask of a face doesn't slip, still smiling in paternal kindness as I guide her to her room, prepared by Paracelsus before our arrival, and send her inside to change.

I don't stick around to hear the Bounded Field activate. Or to listen to her screams as the exorcism begins, and she's sent back to the Throne.

Instead, I head to Frankenstein's apartment, and share a drink with him, just one, before heading off to bed.

She awaits me in my nightmares.

 

[Charles Flynn]

"Ah. Good." Frankenstein grunts in acknowledgement as I emerge from my room in the morning. Mash is still fast asleep on the couch. "You're up."

"Ah. Yes, I most certainly am." Caesar's out talking to the still-living residents of the apartment complex, while Cu, Georgios, and Cursed Arm are on perimeter watch, while Paracelsus is turning this place into even more of a deathtrap. As such, the only Servants in the room besides me are Asterios and Anderson, who's manning the radio. "What brings you to the apartment, Mr. Frankenstein?"

"I have a hypothesis, and I require your aid in proving it." the great titan of a man informs me, pulling back a chair for himself and taking a seat.

"Of what sort?" I ask, claiming a chair for myself.

"Tell me, what strikes you about the various enemies we have faced in London thus far?" he asks. "At least, the ones that are not Servants."

I think about it, but the answer is an easy one. "They're all manufactured. Each of them is a form of artificial life, or at least an automated facsimile thereof."

"Precisely!" Frankenstein agrees. "But, a further division became apparent to me when we faced Paracelsus. The proto-homunculi were magical in origin, created through magecraft, while the automata and helter-skelters both cleaved towards the mechanical sciences instead. A specialist in one cannot also specialize in the other. Most especially not Paracelsus. Of those few times in which his magecraft intersected with actual scientific study, he leaned more to the chemical and biological sciences. Nothing that would permit him to create functioning mechanical lifeforms."

"Robots." I mutter, prompting Frankenstein to raise an eyebrow. "Ah... a term for mechanical servitors, popularized by the science fiction writer Isaac Asimov in... I want to say the 40s?"

"Sounds like an interesting fellow," he comments with a grin. "He any good?"

"Fairly, although by the time I was around his books had kind of aged a bit poorly." I offer up.

"Well, at least I can count on some halfway decent entertainment, if you, by some miracle, actually stop the Incineration," Frankenstein notes wryly. "Any other authors to be on the lookout for? I'm rather partial to the genre of speculative fiction."

"H. G. Wells, Jules Verne-"

"He's already a thing, actually."

"Oh, neat. H. P. Lovecraft is a fairly good writer, if you can get past the inveterate racism. Can't really think of any other really good sci-fi writers or works off the top of my head, unless you count Edison's Conquest of Mars, and that one's really only good for ironic reasons." I pause. "Oh, but Robert Louis Stevenson's good, although he might actually be still alive and writing right now, and if you make it to the 60s and 70s, you might want to keep an eye out for this movie called Star Wars."

"What's a movie?" he asks, before holding up a hand to forestall my explanation. "No, wait, we're getting wildly off-topic here. What I meant to point out is that while the homunculi were almost certainly the product of Paracelsus' efforts, I believe that the 'robots' have a completely different source. And I think I know just who it is."

"All right. So, what do you need us to do, then?"

"I'm going to need to take a look at one of the Helter-Skelters, without interruption, in order to determine if it is indeed Charles' work. Can you and your cadre of bodyguards provide that?"

"Without a doubt."

"Excellent. I'll ready my tools." At that, he rises, and hurries off towards his own apartment.

I suppose that I should check in on the others.

'Caesar, how goes the home front?' I send.

'I'll tell you in person, I was already heading up anyways.' he replies.

He returns to the apartment only a minute or two after I contacted him, red cloak trailing behind him, and then takes the seat Frankenstein just vacated. Anderson continues his vigil over the radio, still keeping an eye on us, while Asterios is still sleeping in the corner.

"So, Master, shall we compare notes?" he calls in greeting.

"I led off last time, so its your turn to start us off," I inform him. "How're the defenses going?"

"Quite well, actually. Paracelsus has informed me that they would quite swiftly end the life of anyone who dared to set foot in our domain." He waves a hand dismissively. "But, more importantly, I've managed to win over the complex's residents. They've generally embraced us as their protectors, and, as a result, a sort of communal spirit has formed, under our direction. By pooling our resources, and enforcing eminent domain on one or two hoarders, we've managed to gather enough food to last us a week. A month, if we really stretch it out."

"I'm.,. honestly surprised that you managed to talk them around. I don't think I gave them the best first impression."

"Oh, trust me, you didn't." Caesar says, with an undercurrent of suppressed laughter. "But that actually worked in our favor. Since you came off as an unreasonable, unstoppable force of nature that was at least slightly insane, I could operate as the softer touch. I get to look like the reasonable one, and like I really care about them and am on their side, while the unspoken threat that if I can't manage to properly negotiate, you'll get involved still lingers. Your complete lack of anything resembling tact or restraint has been a huge boon, actually."

"I'm not sure if that was a compliment or not." I mutter. "So, basically, I stay uninvolved, and you keep them happy and all working on the same page?"

"Precisely. Mostly because I presented you as a bit of an unstable loose cannon."

"Yeah, yeah, good cop, bad cop." I sigh. "All right, my turn."

I go over the events to date, and Caesar mostly remains silent.

Finally, once my summary of our recent engagements, and my thoughts on the matter, concludes, he speaks up.

"So, you've disposed of Paracelsus, and neutralized Jack the Ripper." he mulls it over for a second. "And now, you're aiming to shut down the Helter Skelters." He sighs and shakes his head. "I'm still not entirely sure I like this."

"Why?"

"I feel like..." he sighs. "Never mind. Just paranoia, really. Our two sources, Paracelsus and Frankenstein, are just a mite too shady for my liking."

"Fair enough." I agree. "But it's not like there's a plethora of intel to back them up."

"What about the Mage's Association?" Anderson interjects from where he sits. "I rather wished to gather intelligence from there, and if any group in this era could survive under the Fog, it would be them. They might be able to confirm the stories we've been given, and may prove valuable allies."

Huh. To tell the truth, I haven't much liked what I've heard of the Association so far in my time at Chaldea, but I suppose that if there was ever a time for them to step up and actually use those Mysteries they've been compulsively hoarding for generations, it would be now. "It's worth a shot, I suppose."

"Excellent!" Anderson agrees in that smooth baritone of his. "I will wish to accompany you, of course."

"Fine by me. We'll add it to the itinerary after we're done with Frankenstein's examination of the Helter-Skelter." I think it over for a second. "Radio Jekyll and Mordred. Tell them what we're planning on doing, and ask if they're interested in joining us."

"Will do."

I turn back towards Caesar. "You alright with this?"

"Yes, actually. Same team composition as before?"

"Yep. Georgios' EX-Level Magic Resistance could definitely come in handy. Same goes for Cursed Arm's scouting capabilities, and Asterios' navigation skills. You fine with Cu and Paracelsus?"

"Yes. In all honesty, I could probably get by with just Paracelsus, but why chance it?"

"True. Okay then. Let's wake Mash up, tell Frankenstein and the others about the plan change, and get this show on the road!"

---​

The Helter Skelter is easily secured, and Frankenstein's analysis of it is soon over, marked by him chopping the unfortunate machine in half with a cry of inarticulate rage.

"So... do you know who's behind these things now?" I ask from where I stand behind him, as the Servants run interference.

"Yes." he practically growls, turning his unnatural yellow gaze on me. "I know exactly who's making these damn things. The craftsmanship is unmistakable."

"Okay. So, what's got you so nettled, then?"

He grabs my head and drags me forwards, to look at the now-smashed innards of the Helter-Skelter. "Do you see this?"

"Yes, I see it, now could you let me go? This position is very uncomfortable."

He releases me, and I fall flat on my face, narrowly avoiding the jagged bits of broken robot as he turns and paces angrily, making a noise like a boiling teakettle. "It! Should! Not! Work!"

"Well, obviously, you chopped it in half." I grumble as I get up to my feet.

"No, it shouldn't have worked even before I chopped it in half!" Frankenstein rants, gesturing wildly towards the already dissipating fragments of the Helter Skelter. "That utterly ridiculous atrocity against mechanical science was steam powered."

"Wait, what? How did that work, then?"

"IT. SHOULDN'T." he growls, kicking the curb so hard it breaks. "In fact, the entire thing is a massive exercise in inefficiency and terrible design choices. The servos and complex operations necessary, not to mention the difference engine that it would require to function in combat, wouldn't fit in its frame. Beyond that, since it's steam powered, it requires a constant source of heat. It doesn't have the space for a proper boiler, in fact, it should simply have run out of fuel in seconds! The only way to make this thing function would be to somehow invent some kind of device that warps the fabric of spacetime to make it bigger on the inside, and if you can do that, why the flying FUCK are you trying to make automated soldiers with STEAM POWER?"

"So, it's magic." I summarize.

"EXACTLY!" he roars. "It functions exclusively on hand-waving aside the very laws of physics, and is easily the biggest technological dead-end I've ever seen! And there's only one inventor in all the world so singularly obsessed with the scientific cul-de-sac that is steam power that he'd mass-produce an army of steam-driven automata, even if they could only function through BLATANT ACTS OF WIZARDRY! Charles Babbage."

"I take it that you two don't exactly get along?"

"No. No we did not." Frankenstein growls, hands tight around his axe. "And he's dead, I went to the cemetery he's buried in to piss on his grave myself, which means that he actually qualified as a Heroic Spirit." at that point, he just devolves in pure angrish.

"Well, if it makes you feel any better, we don't really use steam power for anything anymore by my time." I offer up, which makes his face brighten considerably.

"Really?"

"Yep. Almost entirely obsolete. It got outpaced by fossil fuels and electricity in the early 20th century."

"So I was right." he gloats, grinning like a loon. "And, better yet, I get to rub it in his face! Never mind what I said before, this is perfect."

"Glad you're feeling better." I say, patting him on the back. 'Alright gents, pack the battle line up, we're heading forwards to the Association.'

"I say!" a familiar voice calls. "That was a splendid fight you chaps put up! You actually look like you know how things work around here!"

I turn, and see the one and only William Shakespeare making his way down the street, towards the rightmost of the two lines of battle, the one manned by Galahad and Cursed Arm.

"I mention your apparently excellent command of the situation, because I'm slightly confused, and would really like to know just what the Hell is going on right now!" the Bard of Avon snaps, looking quite thoroughly strung out.

'He might be a plant from Project Demonic Fog.' Galahad sends mentally.

'You really think they'd bother? It's Shakespeare. Besides, I can't really see him signing on with the villain's team unless they had a really interesting story to them, and I somehow doubt that's the case here.'

'Fine. Then do we really have to put up with him?' Galahad wheedles.

'He's currently a helpless noncombatant. You really sure you can turn your back on him, Sir Knight?'

He stops, mulling it over for a second or two, before sighing. 'I hate when you're right.'

I grin and walk forward. "Well met and welcome aboard, Mr. Shakespeare! We'd be happy to tell you what we've managed to deduce so far, but we are on a schedule, and we really do need to get to the Mages' Association as swiftly as possible. You're welcome to join us, though."

"I do believe I shall take you up on that kind offer, Mister..."

"Flynn."

"Ah! An Irishman! I wouldn't have guessed from that accent."

"American, actually. Shall we talk as we walk?"

---​

The trek to the Association's headquarters in the British Museum takes time, more than enough time for me to get Shakespeare up to speed. With that taken care of, I redirect my attention towards Galahad.

'So, why don't you like Shakespeare?' I ask.

'You mean aside from the fact that he's annoying?' Galahad replies with a snort.

'You don't refuse to save people.' I reply. 'You strike out against them if you consider them unjust, but I don't think I've ever seen you refuse to save an ally or an innocent. You don't do murder by inaction from what I've observed of you. So, if you're initially refusing to defend Shakespeare, in spite of him pretty much fitting the archetype of people you're supposed to be protecting to a T, then it's not just because you find him annoying.'

He doesn't reply for a long moment. 'So. I guess you do actually know me pretty well.'

'You're the Servant I spend the most time with. Of course I actually paid attention to how you behave.' I shoot back indignantly. 'Although I'll admit that most of my initial observation of you was so I'd have some advanced warning if you ever snapped and tried to kill me.' Right, time to get back on topic. 'So. What's your beef with Shakespeare?'

'Fine. If you really want to know, I dislike him because he decided to write Mash out of his play.' Galahad snaps, his shoulders tensing. 'She has enough self-esteem issues without that over-exposed hack adding onto the pile, no thanks to you.'

'Okay, I'll definitely have to talk to him about that, but hold on for a sec. What self-esteem issues?'

'You know damn well-' his angry tirade is cut off by Mordred cheerfully hailing us from where he stands besides Dr. Jekyll, waving in greeting at Galahad. 'We'll finish this later.'

He breaks off ahead to greet his fellow knight in turn, leaving me to contemplate the point he'd raised. Why would Mash have self-esteem issues?

Well, I mean, there was that bit where she lost her Servant abilities, and had to hand over her body to someone who did her job better than she did, effectively taking away her means of contributing to Chaldea's war effort. And how I haven't really paid much attention to her since... well, ever. But that's probably fine, we've only ever been friendly acquaintances at most. Although, now that I think about it, she does look like I just slapped her every time I accidentally call her by Galahad's name. But it's not like I do that all that often! It's only... let me see... almost three times a day, now that I think about it. For the last month.

You know, when I put it that way, I can kind of see Galahad's point. Also, I might be a terrible person.

So yeah. I definitely need to spend more time with Mash, and I might actually be the absolute worst. But I have to set that aside for now.

The Association awaits.

 

[Charles Flynn]

"So." I begin, staring at the caved-in wreckage of the British Museum. "That was the main entrance to the Clocktower."

Jekyll winces, staring at the piled of shattered masonry. "Yes."

"Well, shit. I hope that at least some of the relics survived. That museum has a lot of cultural treasures stowed away."

"And of course you're upset about the artifacts, and not the people." Galahad grouses from besides me.

"Well, obviously, I'm hoping that the museum staff survived and got out, but this all looks to have happened at least a week ago, so I'm not holding out hope."

"And the Clocktower?" Galahad inquires, raising an eyebrow. We start off towards the area Jekyll identified as the Association's back entrance.

"Galahad, there are three things in this world that I unequivocally hate: Luddites, aristocrats, and Nazis. Well, actually, now that I think about it, I also hate people who are insufferably smug about their religious beliefs, whatever they may be, squirrels, Nero, and whoever's behind the Incineration, so maybe that's a bit too reductionist."

"Get to the point, Flynn."

"My point is that the Mage's Association, from what I've seen of it so far, seems to be run by aristocratic, holier-than-thou Luddites, and I'm not really going to mourn the loss of people that occupy at least two circle of my Venn Diagram of Hate."

He looks at me, as do the others. "You have issues, Flynn."

"Trust the Venn Diagram of Hate, Galahad, it has rarely steered me wrong."

"Okay, seriously, what did the Association do to you to make you hate them so much?" Galahad asks incredulously. Frankenstein seems amused, while Jekyll looks mildly horrified. The others seem to be tuning out the conversation.

"The first magus I ever met spent his entire explanation of the Moonlit World reminding me I was filthy first-generation hedge mage trash, and at one point described how he was planning to mark my family down as potential test subjects. He also made fun of me because my last name's Irish." I recount. "Needless to say, he didn't leave the best impression. Although he actually didn't threaten to dissect my family until I started breaking out the Harry Potter comparisons." Probably going to have to kill that guy once we've un-Incinerated everybody.

Actually, now that I think about it, I can't think of a single way I could kill him off without my Servants. I talk a big game, but how the Hell do I defend myself once my time at Chaldea is done?

All right. Best to take advantage of my current opportunities and prepare myself as best I can for life (and assassinations) after Chaldea. Maybe I can get Medea to teach me poisons? Something for later, I suppose.

"I... suppose that's good a reason as any." Galahad concedes. "I'm sorry that you had to meet someone like that, Flynn."

"It's fine," I assure him, grinning. "I'm just currently riding high on the schadenfreude of the high and mighty Mages' Association, with all their carefully hoarded and safeguarded Mysteries, and their generations of arrogance and unethical experimentation, getting taken out like punks the minute the Singularity started."

"It is rather amusing," Frankenstein notes. "Although I would wager that this was some manner of inside job. Whoever did this knew where they were, and knew how to take down their defenses. I'd have to guess that the culprit was one of them."

"Fair enough. I don't really know any magi, though, so I don't think that narrows it down in the slightest."

"True. They are rather secretive."

We arrive at the back entrance, which is equally rubble-strewn and caved in.

"It would appear that we'll have to dig up the entrance," Frankenstein observes, grabbing a particularly sizable chunk of rubble and tossing it aside.

It's swiftly finished, and then we make our way into the ruined, corpse-strewn Association, fending off magic floating books as we go.

I have to agree with Shakespeare and Anderson, to be honest. Destroying these things is weirdly cathartic.

---​

"So. We need to read through an entire library to find what we need to?" I summarize, looking at the vault of records.

"Yes. Hopefully Anderson finishes soon." Galahad replies. "For now, though, we need to focus on defending the vault."

"Neat. I will be able to do absolutely jack shit out here, so I'm gonna go join Anderson." I announce, ducking into the records vault to join the pint-sized author, Galahad's cry of 'Flynn you coward!' barely audible through the vault's door.

"Flynn. I didn't expect you to be joining me." Anderson notes, his deep baritone voice bringing back memories of my middle-school principal.

"I won't be of much use out there." I comment. "I figured that I'd be better suited to helping you research."

"Fair enough." Anderson notes with a grin. "Take the leftmost stacks. And be sure to take notes."

"You'll need to loan me some paper and writing utensils, but sure. I'm game." I pause. "What precisely are we looking for?"

"The nature of the Servant Summoning System, and their notes on the Demonic Fog."

"Well, let's get to it, then."

---​

"Holy shit."

"What did you find?" Anderson asks, peering over.

"They tried to assassinate Thomas Edison!"

"Seriously? No way." he looks it over. "Holy crow. How'd they screw it up?"

We'd noticed the pattern pretty quickly, browsing through the Association's records. Whenever some new technological pioneer appeared, at least one of the Association's departments would set up an assassination attempt, which inevitably failed, sometimes through the intervention of a specific hero, and other times through seemingly random chance and bad luck.

"Says here that some local rich man's automobile, one of the old steam-powered ones, broke down and careened into the team of assassins, killing them almost instantly." I look through the failure report. "Supposedly, the cause of failure was a golden ring that somehow ended up jamming the steering apparatus, with nobody knowing how it got there. The Animusphere family took it in to study it for anomalous properties."

"They find anything?"

"It doesn't say. They went on to build Chaldea, though, so I might be able to access their records."

The vault door slams open, and a sweaty, highly irritated Galahad storms in. "How long are you two going to take!?"

After I'm done jumping halfway out of my skin, I offer my temperamental protector a grin and a friendly wave. "Hey Galahad! How's that defensive line holding up?"

He looks at me in irritated disbelief before throwing his hands up and snarling, "It's going just great. Because we finished off the last of the enemies in this godforsaken ruin an hour ago. How long can it be taking you to find what we need?"

"Oh, we found that about thirty minutes in." I report. "We just figured, since we probably wouldn't ever get an opportunity like this again, we should take the chance to read some of the Association's restricted documents for a little while."

I actually talked Anderson into it. The potential for learning was too tantalizing to pass up.

Galahad shudders, his jaw clenching something fierce. "So, you mean to say that I just battled those books nonstop for four hours so you could catch up on your reading?"

"Four hours?" I parrot in confusion, looking at Anderson, who looks equally baffled. "I didn't realize it was that long."

Galahad starts and stops a few times, before finally letting out an irritated groan. "I cannot deal with you right now. We're going home."

"But Galahad-" I whine.

"None of that!" he bellows.

"Very well, then. Leave me with a few Servants, and I'll continue my survey of the records," Anderson interjects.

"You're coming back with us too."

"But Galahad-"

"No buts! You're heading back with us, and that's final." Galahad snaps. "Oh, and Mordred might be joining us."

"Why?"

"Jekyll turned into that Hyde fellow you mentioned, and while he was so influenced, was quite... explicit regarding his desires." Galahad recounts, looking disgusted. "Mordred seemed rather disquieted by the matter, and may wish some distance."

"Ah." I kind of already thought they were a thing, to be honest. Guess not, though. "He's welcome to stay at the complex, if he so desires."

Galahad smiles. "Thanks, Flynn. Now let's get going."

 

[Charles Flynn]

'Caesar? Any problems while we were gone?' I send. The others in the group all seem a bit put out with me. Frankenstein and Shakespeare for not inviting me with them, and the rest for making them fight a nonstop battle for four hours straight. Although, Galahad is really the only one of the Servants who's outspoken about his irritation with us on that particular count. Asterios seems content, Cursed Arm is professional as ever, and Georgios seems more amused than anything. Mordred, for his part, has looked like he's in shock ever since we regrouped and left the Association. I guess whatever Hyde said really threw him off his game. Jekyll, for his part, just looks guilty and crestfallen, staring morosely at the ground and occasionally looking Mordred's way.

' We seem to be under siege, Master.' Gaul's Conqueror replies. 'An army of Helter Skelters has set up shop on our doorstep.'

Well, shit. 'Everything under control?'

' Indeed. They have proven incapable of breaching Paracelsus' defenses, and those few who manage to get into the bounded field are swiftly eliminated by the proto-homunculi.' Caesar replies. 'However, their numbers continue to increase. I fear that, even if they cannot enter, they will ensure that we cannot leave.'

'Oh.' I mull it over for a moment. It looks like they're planning on pinning us down, and like Babbage, who, if Frankenstein is right, created the Helter Skelters, can bring them under centralized control. 'We're still outside the building, in the streets of London. Would you say that the Helter-Skelters are behaving like an army? Following orders and using strategies?'

'Yes. Without a doubt.'

'Can you hear orders, or see a specific commander?'

'No. Although the fog isn't exactly boosting our visual range.'

'They're machines, which means that they can most likely be remote controlled.' I theorize, already running through things in my head. 'We're going to hunt down their controller. Stop them in their tracks.'

'Be cautious, Master. If there is indeed a single controller, then you must bear in mind that he could simply recall his entire army. You lack our defenses, and can be easily overwhelmed.'

'I'll be careful.' I promise him. 'Flynn out.'

"Alright everybody. Slight change of plans." I call out. The others look at me expectantly. "The complex is under attack by an army of Helter-Skelters and automata. They can easily hold out, but if Babbage keeps it up, he can just trap us inside the complex with his endless numbers. Which means-"

"We need to track down and dispose of Charles Babbage." Frankenstein finishes, a borderline feral grin on his face. "Count me in, Flynn."

Jekyll sighs. "How do we aim to do this? I do regret having to come into conflict with such a great scientist, but, if it's necessary to save London, I'll help."

"Yeah." Mordred grunts. "I'm in, too. I really need to just hit something right about now."

I look at the others. "That go for everyone?"

Nods all around.

"Splendid. Frankenstein, I'll need your help in tracking down the signal."

"That's not possible at the moment. I'd need my lab equipment, and, considering Babbage's current state as a Servant, I highly doubt that the signal is in any way technological in origin. Steam power can't be used to make radios, and he'd rather use actual magic than ever pollute his precious creations with any lesser technology."

"Right. I'll contact Caster, then." I say, before turning my attention to Paracelsus. 'Caster? Are you available at the moment?'

'Yes, my Master. We are under attack, though, so I'd ask that you make this quick.'

'I need you to help us track down the signal controlling the Helter Skelters.'

'Very well. I'll get on that.'

About half an hour later, he gives me Babbage's approximate location.

'How'd you get it?' I ask, somewhat impressed.

'I incapacitated and captured two Helter Skelters, stuck them on opposite ends of the complex, and then measured where they were getting their control signal from. From their, it was a simple matter of triangulating the enemy's position.'

'Solid work. Warn us if his position changes.' "All right, crew, let's move out!"

---​

We find him on a roof, just close enough to watch the siege. His massive back is turned to us as he stares out over the fog.

"So. You have come." the titanic figure calls in greeting. He's huge, looking like a Helter Skelter that let itself go. "I expected you would."

"Babbage?" Frankenstein asks incredulously, walking out ahead of us. "Charles Babbage? What the hell happened to you?"

"Theodore Frankenstein. You're still alive. A pity."

"Yes, yes, hate you too," Frankenstein replies dismissively. "NOW WHAT THE HELL HAPPENED TO YOU?"

"Is it the armor?" Babbage asks.

"Yes it's the bloody armor, you damn fool! How'd you get it?"

"This is the crystallization of my dream. The world I sought to create, and devoted my every waking moment to! The DIMENSION OF STEAM! Within it, I rest, forever isolated from the world, in the world I sought to create, within my one true passion." Babbage declares, his armor beginning to creak to life, ready for combat.

"Bullshit." Frankenstein snaps, and suddenly, the tension of the incipient clash is lost.

"What?" Babbage roars, steam venting from his armor. "You dare question my devotion? Steam was my one true passion!"

"No. It wasn't." Frankenstein replies, his voice carrying a tinge of regret. "And I'm beginning to doubt that you're Charles Babbage."

"I-what?"

"Do you remember your wife?"

"Well-" he stops, suddenly looking utterly lost. "I- had a wife. Why would I- I had a wife, though. Why would I have a wife, my passion was steam, and machines, and-"

"A question, Flynn. What makes a Heroic Spirit qualify as a Heroic Spirit?"

I start, having fallen into the comfortable role of the spectator, before answering, thinking back to some of Da Vinci's lectures on the system's workings. "There are five types of Heroic Spirit, each defined by how they qualified for the Throne: Heavens, those of divine origin, Earth, for various folk heros and mythological figures, Man, for those entirely from human history, Star, for those who surpassed all expectation and became the pinnacle of human ability, and Beast, for those that became the pinnacle of human vice and failure."

"And the spirits of Man, specifically? What is their defining characteristic?"

"They're elevated and often reshaped because they usually qualify only through human... memory..." I trail off, feeling my gut sink as I look at Babbage with new eyes.

"Where are you going with this, Ted?" Babbage snaps, great metal hands tightening at his sides.

"Tell me, Flynn, what do people think of, when they think of Charles Babbage in your time?" Frankenstein asks me, his tone grim.

"They think of..." I start to say "steampunk" but then reconsider, redefining it into terms that they could understand, even as I realize, with a deep and profound sense of horror, what happened to this man. "They think of this era's technology. They think of what might have been if he had finished his Analysis Engine, and the world that might have resulted from it."

"And do they think of his wife? His children? His work in economics, natural theology, and even cryptography?" Frankenstein asks relentlessly, his eyes narrowing. "Do they think of his countless campaigns to ban street music and the rolling of hoops?"

"No. Only the steam." I recount numbly.

"And there you have it." Frankenstein notes dispassionately, staring straight at Babbage. "You, more accurately, your incarnation as a Heroic Spirit, is not Charles Babbage. You are a cheap caricature formed by the petty diversions of later generations, stripped of any defining characteristic that wasn't steam-related." He shakes his head in disappointment.

"That's..." the armored titan trails off, denial within every line of his frame. "But... I'm me."

"Do you remember the remark I made which led to our duel?" Frankenstein asks. "The one back on New Year's Day, 1828?"

"You said that steam power would die out!" Babbage snaps angrily, his armor firing up again.

"That's not what I said." Frankenstein interrupts, stopping Babbage in his tracks. "What I said was, 'Your father, your wife, and your son, all in the same year. Maybe your ridiculous insistence on steam will follow them into the graveyard, where it belongs.' You tried to kill me on the spot. I won, of course." He pauses. "I never actually apologized for that remark, did I? I suppose I should now. I'm sorry, that was terribly gauche of me. Entirely disgraceful."

"That... I don't remember that part." Babbage whispers, his glowing red eye dilated.

"Because you don't remember them. You don't remember anything that isn't related to your ridiculously exaggerated fixation on a long-outdated power source." Frankenstein continues brusquely. "And now, here you stand, destroying the city you so loved, including your still-living son's and daughters. Benjamin died in '78, but as far as I know, Georgiana, Dugald, and Henry are all still alive. And you aim to kill them. I knew Charles Babbage. And you. Are not. Him."

"I-" Babbage looks down at his armored hands, as if looking at a stranger's. "No. I never wanted to destroy human history. I didn't want to do this!" Suddenly, his armor lights up, and he begins to move, as if against his will. "He's trying to make me fight!" He lunges forwards, and Frankenstein meets him halfway, stopping him in his tracks with a straight to the gut. "Beneath London! Angrboda! Beneath London!" He roars, and then falls completely silent, not uttering a single sound as he and Frankenstein begin to duel in earnest.

Not a Servant moves to intervene in the clash between the titans of steam and thunder, content to watch and wait as metal fists fly, matched by corded muscle. From the start, it's clear: Frankenstein is winning. He dodges jets of burning steam, his fists raised in a boxer's guard as he bobs and weaves between Babbage's blows, easily sidestepping Babbage's jet-assisted forward charge, sinking a fist crackling with lightning into the armored inventor's side as he passes.

His style is methodical, calculating, polished skill mated with inhuman strength and speed, every blow from his foeman deflected, dodged, or blocked. He doesn't draw his axe for the entirety of their exchange, using only his bare hands, which burn with the crackling electricity wreathing his whole body, to systemically dismantle Babbage, until the King of Steam kneels on broken legs, his arms dangling by threads and his body looking like a crumpled tin can. Then, and only then, does he pull his twisted iron axe free from its sling.

"You know, if I'd had a choice, I wouldn't have wanted to end things like this."

The axe falls, and the inventor dies.

"Thanks for letting me finish that on my own, Flynn." he calls.

I nod in acknowledgement. "I figured you had that covered."

"You heard what he said, right?"

"Angrboda. Beneath London. Then he stopped saying anything, which I take to mean that whoever forced him to fight us also took the opportunity to muzzle him."

"So. That's where we're going." Frankenstein announces, sliding his axe back into the sling on his back.

"All right then, gang!" I call, causing everybody to look my way. "We're heading to the London Underground!"

 

[Charles Flynn]

The mist is thicker in the Underground, as we quickly find out. The entrance we enter through looks almost like a smokestack, the acrid, sickly fog pouring out in an unending stream, casting no doubts that this was the source of the fog.

"And to think I actually considered just trying to take the Tube when we were lost earlier." I note with a snort. "Singularity would've been over real fast if I had."

"It'd make for a poor story, though," Anderson notes.

"Bah! I have no doubt perils and wonders aplenty await us below!" Shakespeare counters. "It will be a glorious tale all the same."

"Less talking, more walking, people." I command, as we file into the dark and fog-enshrouded confines. "We don't want to give away our position."

---​

Apparitions, strange beings of fog instead of flesh, attack us from time to time as we make our way through the empty stations and abandoned tunnels. We fend them off easily as we make our way ever lower, and the fog grows ever thicker. Soon, visibility is reduced to the point where we can't see more than a few yards away, and we have to bunch up just to avoid losing anybody. As we descend, a distant roar becomes audible, one that only grows in intensity as we march ever nearer to the Fog's creator.

At last, however, we reach the end of the newer, obviously freshly made tunnels, and found ourselves staring directly into a metal pipe, its aperture only a few feet away from the tunnel we finished walking through. The Demonic Fog gushes out of it, and the cacophony of sound we've been pursuing reaches a near-deafening crescendo.

We squeeze out through the gap between pipe and tunnel, and find ourselves in steampunk Hell.

The cavern is vast, its vaulted ceiling stretching at least fifty feet up, and its diameter stretching out about a thousand yards. The mist is thin here, and the reason is clear to see: Here lies the contraption that birthed it.

It covers the cavern, a roaring, clanking monstrosity that sprawls indolently within its domain, an endless sea of gears and boilers, pistons and pipes, all writhing in a symphony of chaotic harmony, each arranged in accordance with the beast's own inscrutable order. The cavern is lit by it, by the searing, muggy light of its furnaces, and the golden gleam of its heart, casting the cave into dimly lit shadows, in which it seems all the more sinisterly. It almost seems to live, this writhing monster of gears, and the roar of the pistons intensifies until I can hear nothing but its cries, the unholy ensemble surging to new life, in a frenzied orgy of activity, every belt and conveyer doubling its speed as if to spite me. Seven outflow pipes rise up from the indentation it rests in, each leading to a separate tunnel, and from them spew the vile, sickly fog that has dogged our steps throughout London.

I feel baleful eyes upon me, although I can see no watcher.

"GALAHAD, CAN YOU FEEL THAT?" I shout.

He says something, but for the life of me, I can't hear it. I can't hear anything that isn't the roar of the industrial behemoth laid out before me.

Then, I remember the mental link, and repeat the question.

'I think we found our culprit.' he reports, pointing at something. I follow his finger, and see a man in an Ulster overcoat, with sharply angled features and purple hair, and sad, melancholy eyes. He says something as I look at him.

"I CAN'T HEAR YOU!"

He sighs (I think) and mutters something. Suddenly, the sound of the great machine vanishes, and I can actually hear again.

"Thank you." I say, because it never hurts to be polite. "Now then. Professor Moriarty, I assume?"

"London must fall, by the order of-" he blinks. "Wait, what?"

"Professor Moriarty? I kind of assumed, because, you know, 'M.' But you're not Moriarty, are you?"

"No."

"Mycroft Holmes, then!" Galahad interjects, looking slightly cheerful at the chance to name the culprit.

"Zolgen Makiri!" the purple-haired man snaps, looking profoundly irritated. "I'm Zolgen Makiri!"

That name.. actually sounds slightly familiar. Where did I hear it before?

"Now, your efforts have proven fruitless. London shall be razed, by the order of-"

"Now I know where I heard your name before!" I interrupt as I remember the precise section of the Clocktower's records in which it featured. "You're that guy who blew the Cryptozoology Department's entire budget on trying to classify giant pandas as a Phantasmal Species back in 1772!"

He looks mildly irritated. "That was my grandfather, actually. And he also made numerous discoveries, including the proper classification of the Loch Ness Monster, the establishment of the Association's first unicorn preserve, and the identification and preservation of North America's indigenous Sasquatch population before his dismissal."

"And not a single soul outside your little country club for inbred Luddites actually cares about a single word of that."

He makes a noise like an angry teakettle. "And you call yourself a magus?"

"I don't, actually. I prefer to devote my time to things like having a life that doesn't revolve around doing the exact same thing my every ancestor has done since the dawn of time, but slightly worse, and waiting for the latest bullshit from Apple to render my entire family's legacy obsolete."

"I- YOU-"

He's so incandescently furious that he didn't notice Cursed Arm vanish. He does actually notice, however, when Cursed Arm reappears, and, in one smooth, practiced motion, slits his throat and then drives the bloodstained dagger into his heart, before stabbing him a few more times just to be safe.

"Right, he dead?" I call out, then wince as the noise resurges. I repeat the question over the mental link, and get a definitive 'Yes.'

'Alright team, solid work. That's the last member of Project Demonic Fog dead, now all we have to do is-'

The roar redoubles.

The beast of steam, this Angrboda, has into even more fervent activity. As I watch, the outflow pipes burst, and the Demonic Fog begins to flood the room, so unspeakably dense that it almost feels like I'm underwater.

And then, something happens. The fog begins to contract, drawn in by some unseen reaction, compressing into a single, towering figure.

And then a wave of crackling, irresistible force explodes outwards, knocking us all off our feet.

It is then, and only then, that I see him. Tall and proud, with the thunder as his raiment. He stands above the great engine, Angrboda, the mist halting in its increase, its power spent for the moment from the strain of bringing forth this modern titan.

And then he speaks. "Know, you mortals, that I am among you. I AM TESLA! WHO TAMED THE HEAVENS AND BOUND THE THUNDER! BY MY MIND THIS WORLD OF TODAY WAS FORGED, AND BY MY HANDS IT SHALL BE UNMADE!"

He advances, his every footfall an inexorable harbinger of doom, and I can't move a muscle to stop him. My hair's still on end, and even the Servants look paralyzed by the blast we just endured.

"Charlie? Can you hear me?" Roman asks, his holographic image finally appearing. "Sorry we haven't been in contact. The Fog kept jamming our signal. Listen, you can't let Tesla reach the surface. If he does, he'll ignite the fog, and destroy London in one fell swoop."

"Gablawa," I gibber urbanely, my jaw nearly biting my tongue off thanks to a poorly timed muscle spasm.

"Oh right. Electrocuted." he sighs. "We're boned, aren't we?"

"Not precisely." A deep voice calls out, and I manage to turn my head to look.

Frankenstein is still standing, his axe slung over one shoulder, grinning. "Galahad. Get Flynn out of here, along with the others. Reach the surface, and ready your defenses, prepare to stop him in his tracks. I'll hold him here."

Tesla stops in his march, turning to face the man-made man. "A bold vow. And one doomed to be broken. Only a demigod born of the Age of Heroes, with a mastery of electricity to match my own could ever stand a chance against me!"

"Thbought you... hated us." I manage to get out, as Galahad hoists me up, walking on unsteady legs himself.

"I do. I despise humanity. But you never judged me for what I looked like. You never lashed out, or dismissed me as a monster just because of how I was made." he grins. "If the future has people like you and Mary in it, then I suppose it might be worth fighting for." And then he turns and walks towards Tesla, the lightning rising about him.

"Who are you, to stand against me?" Tesla asks, cocking his head to one side with a look of honest confusion on his face.

"The folly and triumph of man in one." the hulking man growls, as Tesla starts to look annoyed. "You call yourself the Tamer of Thunder? Well I am the Thunder. I am the fire and fury of the gods made flesh, and I-"

Tesla hauls back and punches him into a wall mid-sentence, before shaking his head in irritation. "I was asking your name, idiot, not inviting you to launch into a speech about how awesome you are. Christ." He turns back to the rest of our group, looking annoyed. "Hmph. Well, guess I'll have to finish you lot off as well." He raises a hand crackling with electricity, and is interrupted by Frankenstein tackling him from behind, the two of them slamming into the cavern's wall and leaving a crater behind them as they roll away, grappling on the floor.

And that's the last I see of them, as Galahad helps me away into the tunnel, and away from the clashing titans of thunder.

Our ascent is near-silent, a desperate sprint through the cramped tunnels until we reach the surface, gasping and short on breath.

Once we've made it, though, and caught our breaths, Galahad turns to me.

"Do you have an idea on how we can kill him?"

I pause, thinking it over for a second, reviewing what assets I have available.

And then I grin.

"Yes."

 

[Charles Flynn]

Three hours. That's how long Frankenstein buys us before Tesla emerges from the London Underground, missing an arm and walking gingerly on a still half-broken leg, but still wreathed in seething, crackling electricity that will spell the doom of anyone who draws too close.

Three hours. And we used every second of it.

We can't face him in a prolonged fight. Just getting near him is a guaranteed death sentence. Frankenstein, with his own mastery of electricity, was the only one capable of braving that electric kill aura and living, and he's gone, dead deep beneath the earth.

But the lightning can't just disintegrate you instantly. And, as Frankenstein has so readily proved, behind his thunderous armor, Tesla is still vulnerable.

"You ready for this?" I ask.

Our trump card just grins.

The titan that tamed the thunder strides forwards, his every footfall another nail in the coffin of the world he forged.

And then, a blue bullet shoots forwards, faster than sound itself, face pulled back in a snarl of savage glee. The thunder strikes him, coursing through his body, sealing his doom and charring his flesh, and he never falters, his blood-red spear gripped tight in his hand. Because he's Cu Chulainn. Like hell he's going to die when you kill him.

Tesla starts to react, bringing up his arms to defend himself, but for all his impressive Noble Phantasms and Personal Skills, his Parameters are still shit. And as the Father of Electricity struggles to react in time, Ulster's Hound skids forwards, his stance shifting as he lunges forwards, spear in hand-

"GAE BOLG!"

-and with an accuracy that is carved into the annals of fate itself, pierces Tesla's heart, pinning him to the wall of the station he walked out of.

It's over.

"You… stopped me." Tesla wheezes out, as blood begins to dye his shirt red. "Thank God."

And as the man who tamed the heavens fades, Cu turns back to look at me, bloodied spear resting on his shoulder. The melted, charred remains of his jumpsuit are indistinguishable from his smoking flesh, and I can see his skull, peeking out through the charred remnants of his face, a few of which are still burning. "Really? The first time I actually get to fight a proper opponent that bleeds since you summoned me, and he dies just like that?" He's already fading as he fixes me with a one-eyed glare. "Next time? Let me get an actual fight in, alright?"

And then he's gone.

"Alright. It worked." Everyone else is still staring at where Cu and Tesla stood, just moments before. I don't think that any of them actually thought that my plan would work. To be fair, though, 'buff Cu up to the gills and then throw him at Tesla' isn't exactly a plan that inspires confidence. "Now, we call in another Servant from Chaldea to replenish our numbers, and then head down at full strength to properly dismantle Angrboda, and give Frankenstein a proper burial if we can find the body."

They wake from their stupor, jerking into action. Tesla may be dead, but Angrboda is still a threat, and one we must deal with soon.

I call in Tamamo Cat to replace Cu. She might not be precisely the best Servant for the job ahead of us, but she's familiar, and she was the first Servant I ever summoned. I feel better, having her around.

"Alright. You up to date on what's been going on?" I ask.

"Yes, Master! Dr. Roman let me stay in the Command Room as long as I behaved, so I'd know how you were doing!" she assures me.

"Good to hear. Now let's get ready to head down, people!" I turn and look about, and, yep, every body's ready. I start towards the subway entrance-

'Master. Two unknown Servants are approaching.'

"Change of plans, defensive positions, potential hostiles." I rattle off, turning back and looking around for these Servants.

"Come on, Kintoki!" a familiar voice exhorts. "I need you to help me practice for my honeymoon!"

The two figures emerge from the mist. A blonde giant of a man, and a kimono-clad woman hanging off his arm who's a dead ringer for Tamamo.

"A-Alright. I just thought I felt some strange electricity." he mumbles, before his eyes alight on our own party, more than ten Servants strong. "Oh, hey! Do I know you guys? Because you're looking GOLDEN!"

The woman at his side looks at us in annoyance. "Damn tourists, clogging everything up. I wanted to see the Underground!" Then she freezes when she sees Cat. "Oh no."

"THERE CAN ONLY BE ONE!"

Our departure into the Underground is then delayed for thirty minutes, as we are left with the unenviable task of separating the two fighting kitsune.

 

[Charles Flynn]

The tunnels of the Underground are cramped and cluttered as we make our way through them, navigating by the light of Paracelsus' fire elemental. The walls are scorched and blackened, scarred by the passage of the dueling lords of lightning, and we have to go around multiple cave-ins, which have blocked off tunnels.

We don't find Frankenstein's body.

Finally, however, we emerge into the cavern (through a different tunnel than last time, since our previous way in was blocked off by rubble) and find it a warzone.

Angrboda is ruined, great rifts of scarred, half-melted machinery marring its sprawling features, fires raging out of control from ruptured furnaces in some parts, as boiling water flows between jagged bits of destroyed machinery on the cavern floor. As we watch, another boiler explodes, and I take shelter from the shrapnel behind Galahad.

"Looks like the job's already done." Caesar says with a shake of his head, clearly audible. Angrboda's previous thundering roar has died down, replaced with the flowing of water, the crackling of fire, and the occasional, disorganized thrum of a lone piston or gear rattling to life, kicking away wildly in solitude, the death rattle of a behemoth.

"All that's left is to claim the Grail," I note, pointing towards the now-exposed glowing golden chalice. "So, who's getting it out of there?"

"That'd be me, actually!" an unknown voice calls, deep, and rich with malice. "You're welcome!"

Besides me, Roman's hologram flickers to life once more. "Charlie, we're picking up some unusual readings. Similar to the ones that Nero's projection of the Beast of Revelations gave off. Be careful."

"Thanks for the heads-up." I mutter, before turning to my allies. "Prepare for hostiles."

"Now, now, little man." the voice continues, as the twisted and ravaged metal of the fallen Angrboda liquifies uniformly, collapsing down onto the floor of the cavern, where it solidifies into a smooth floor. "Are you sure you want to try your luck? After all, you're punching quite thoroughly out of your weight class, right now."

"Might I ask your name, then, Mister Heavyweight?" I ask, tamping down my indignation and ego. Keep him talking, go for the kill while his guard's down, or at least gather information you can use to defeat him. Don't jump immediately to trying to kill him just because he called you short and belittled your competence. No matter how much you want to.

"Certainly." the speaker emerges, a white haired, tan-skinned man in ornate, vibrant robes, his face adorned with black tattoos of some uncanny design. "I am Solomon. The King of Mages." He snorts. "I believe that puts me in two circles of your... 'Venn Diagram of Hate,' was it?"

"At least you admit you're an aristocratic Luddite." I say with a smirk, whilst I internally panic. Solomon. Granted wisdom and a thousand gifts besides by God Himself. Widely considered by most Abrahamic faiths to be the only "virtuous" magician, since his powers were granted and sanctioned by God.

"Now, that's hardly fair, little Panda." Solomon says, and I flinch reflexively. "Aristocrat I may be, but I am hardly a Luddite. I made full use of the most advanced technologies available in my time. It was simply that they weren't very good."

"How did you-"

"Know about that adorable little childhood nickname of yours?" he finishes for me with a positively sadistic smirk. "Quite simple, really. The Lord has granted unto me wisdom and foresight second only to His own. I see and know all things, And while I mostly only ever used it to pick up women-" he says that bit with a hint of anger, and Roman's holographic form looks distinctly uncomfortable, "-I do, on occasion, use it for things other than sating my own base desires."

"Functionally omniscient, and you still thought that threatening to bisect a baby was the best way to resolve a custody dispute." I snark, trying my level best to conceal the terror bubbling up inside my chest right now. Omniscience would be a hellish thing to face off against. Then again, maybe he's actually on our side, in spite of the relentlessly evil vibes I'm getting from him. Solomon was a virtuous and righteous king, after all, if you can look past the veritable army of concubines. Still, I'm kind of glad that Cursed Arm snuck off to set up for Strategy Two.

"Yes, that really wasn't my finest moment, even if it worked." he says, with a self-deprecating smile. "It ended up being, all things told, an extremely embarrassing incident that only happened because I ignored the advice of a councilor far wiser than me."

"You mean God?"

"...more or less." his grin ratchets up about ten degrees of pure smug at that, for some reason, and then he shakes his head, spreading his arms wide in the manner of a man stretching to greet the rising sun. "But enough about the various embarrassing escapades that illustrate why I should always have listened to the people smarter than me, let's get back on that Venn Diagram of Hate you call your guide!" He laughs, strolling towards us at an angle. "I believe you've failed to correct my math. You see, I fill two circles of it. How can that be?" He turns on his heel and paces back the way he came, gesturing wildly with his hands. "Well, I'm an aristocrat, born and bred, practically marinating in privilege, so that's one circle for you! But where's the other?"

He turns again, beginning to count off on his fingers as he talks. "I'm no Luddite, I worked with the breaking edge of my time's technology, so that's out. I'm certainly not a Nazi. I don't talk much about my religious beliefs, so there's that off the table too, and I certainly think I'd have noticed if I was a squirrel. Or Nero, for that matter. Now, what does that leave us with?" He stops for a moment, face screwed up in mock contemplation, before shooting up straight, an over-exaggerated look of pure revelation on his face. "Ah, that's it! I caused the Incineration."

'Cursed Arm, KILL HIM!'

"Delusional-" he appears, his twisted, fiendish hand drawn back and ready to plunge into his target, and is immediately vaporized by the wave of raw magical energy that erupts from Solomon's back. The King of Mages tilts his head to look back over his shoulder, keeping us in his field of vision, before turning back towards me with a wry grin. "Did you really think that would work?"

"Kind of." I say, hating my voice for how it squeaks at the admission. Current tactical assessment? We're boned.

'Making a small tactical retreat to keep as many of our own Servants alive as possible.' Caesar informs me. 'I slipped away with Cat and Paracelsus. They're the most fragile Servants on our current team, and the ones that he'll most likely target to demoralize you. We brought Jekyll with us, too.'

'You're abandoning me?' I ask incredulously. 'You know that you guys all die if I die, right?'

'Do you honestly think that any of us could actually stop that man if he was seriously trying to kill you?' Caesar shoots back.

'Fair enough. Godspeed, Caesar.' I return my attention to the battlefield, where Solomon is watching me with amusement.

He claps his hands. "Done with your little telepathic pow-wow with Mr. Hairy? If so, I have a question for you." He snaps his fingers, and I hear an explosion in the distance. "How many of those fleeing rats do you think I just killed?"

I- He-

Well, I guess this is where I die.

It was a good run, all the same.

"You don't have to answer me," he continues with a smirk. "I already know. But I'm not telling you, it's important for young men like you to find these things out for yourselves.. I'll give you Jekyll as a freebie, though."

Mordred lunges at him with an inarticulate howl of pure, unbridled hatred, and he waves his hand.

Pillars rise from the floor of the room, five in all, and their eyes flash as one, a wave of pure, destructive fire and death rushing towards us, spelling our doom-

"LORD CAMELOT!"

-before it breaks against the walls of Arthur's shining city, raised anew by his most virtuous knight. Mordred dies outside that barrier, baked alive in an instant.

"JESUS CHRIST, WHAT THE HELL ARE THOSE THINGS?" I scream in a collected, eminently manly fashion.

For the first time since he first appeared, Solomon actually looks annoyed about something. "You- You don't recognize them?"

"No! Why the Hell should I?" I snap, still staring at the writhing columns of black flesh and red eyes in disgust.

"You killed three of them!" he snaps, beginning to look affronted.

"...I think I'd remember killing something that ugly."

One of the pillars wails, and then sinks back into the floor. Hold on...

"Dammit. Now he's going to be like that all day." Solomon grouses, looking supremely irked. "Now why'd you have to go and say that? He's very sensitive!"

"To be fair, he did just help to try and kill me." I note. "I think that a few harsh remarks pale in comparison."

"Fair enough." He concedes with a restored grin. "But I think I'll take my pound of flesh all the same." He snaps his fingers again. "Oh, artillery!"

A thousand eyes or more burn with a vicious light, and just as many arcing beams of pure death lance towards us. Galahad barely manages to cover me in time, the heat from a near-miss singing my uniform's shoulder.

The others die, unable to stand against the unrelenting, infinite barrage. He toying with us. I can see it in his eyes. He's toying with us, and he's still slaughtering us.

Finally, he holds up a hand, and the barrage comes to a halt. "Pathetic. I suppose that really is all that you can-" He stops, looking surprised.

Georgios is still standing. After a moment, the dragonslayer seems to realize it himself, and his face breaks out into a grin.

"Well, perhaps your little saint survived my Demon Pillars, but no matter. You still cannot even hope to stand against me." He glares at Georgios, who's charging in to attack the pillars on Bayard, Ascalon in hand. "You will fall in the Singularities to come. Your body and spirit will be- OH FOR FUCK'S SAKE, HOW HARD CAN IT BE FOR YOU IDIOTS TO KILL HIM?"

The knight comes to a stop at charging distance, facing on of the Demon Pillars. "O beast and fiend, damned by all, know the will of God. Shed thy flesh and don thy scales, thy soul and flesh be one. ABYSSUS DRACONIS!"

It warps and twists, its flesh shifting to black scales, countless half-formed wings and draconic maws emerging between the glaring red eyes, a monstrosity that I don't doubt will be stalking my nightmares tonight, if I live to have them. Georgios is undaunted, though, and charges forwards with Bayard, dodging or emerging unscathed from every last shot of the renewed volley the Pillars send his way.

"Oh God above, hear my prayer, and let all the world know peace. INTERFECTUM DRACONES!" Ascalon glows as its wielder cuts across the newly-dragonized Demon Pillar, the light reaching through all the way to the other side. And when the Saint's charge is complete, the newly bisected Demon Pillar topples to ground, already dissolving.

"That hard, apparently," Solomon notes with a raised eyebrow. He turns to look at me, his former amusement replaced with some slight semblance of respect. "Perhaps you do have a chance of making it through the Singularities, after all. I suppose I'm practically obligated to let you try your luck, now. The prospect is just too entertaining to pass up." He claps his hands, and the pillars sink away, the smooth metal flooring rising up to wall Georgios off from our half of the cavern. "In any case, I think I'll be taking my leave. I've had my fun." He stops, and then tosses me the Grail. "A token of my appreciation, for an excellent show."

"Why?" I ask.

"Hm? I believe I made my motivation for giving you the Grail clear."

"No, why the Incineration?" I ask again. "You're famed as the wisest king to ever live, given the wisdom to rule your people by God. Why destroy all of humanity? What made you think that was necessary?"

"Curious as ever, aren't you?" he asks, grinning once more. "Well, I'll make you a promise. If you manage to make it to the end, I'll tell you. Have fun."

And then he's gone, leaving us in the increasingly unstable cavern with Georgios.

Tamamo and Caesar survived, it turns out, which was a relief. Paracelsus felt the explosion coming and used all five of his Elementals to shield the two furthest from its epicenter.

Galahad secures the Grail, and we confirm that the fog is dissipating before we Rayshift out, but I don't think I can really call this one a win. Sure as hell doesn't feel like a victory.

 

[Charles Flynn]

After our return, I climb out of my Klein Coffin, brush off any attempts to speak with me, and head off in the direction of my room with the intent of passing out and getting a decent night's sleep, as is my custom after the completion of a Singularity.

Unfortunately, that plan is interrupted by a familiar purple-haired figure placing herself in my way.

"What is it now, Gala- sorry, Mash." Dammit. Even when I know it's her, I still call her by his name on accident! Dear God, I'm turning into my grandmother. Who I just now remembered is dead. Just like the rest of my family.

Dammit, now I'm sad. Quick, happy thoughts. Let's see what we've got.

Puppies?

All dead in the Incineration, non-starter.

My books?

Well, my entire personal library burned up in the Incineration, as did the vast majority of all printed literature.

Solomon with his testicles in a vice?

….Okay, that one works.

Gala- Wait, no, Mash, dammit, now I'm doing it even in my head, raps her knuckles against my forehead. "Enough daydreaming, Flynn. We need to properly debrief."

Wait, hold on a sec. I actually look at him, and yep, that's still Galahad, fully armored and equipped, shield and all. "Why haven't you given Mash her body back?"

"I need to report what I noticed about Solomon." Galahad informs me, heading off towards the commanders' briefing room. "I can't just let her relay my findings, her bias would get in the way."

"What bias?" I ask, following after him. "I would have thought she'd dislike Solomon as much as the rest of us."

"No, she doesn't dislike him, although she does acknowledge him as an enemy," Galahad shakes his head. "Honestly, she barely dislikes anybody. The girl's too nice for her own good. But I was actually referring to her bias towards you. I noticed a lot of similarities between you and our enemy, and she might be reluctant to share those. For some reason, although for the life of me I can't figure it out, she actually likes you and thinks you're a good person."

"Yeah." I sigh as I follow him into the briefing room. "I don't get it either."

Georgios, Caesar, and Tamamo are all waiting for us in the briefing room, along with David for reasons that quickly become obvious when I think about them. Tamamo's already in fox form, fast asleep and curled up into a fluffy ball. The others are all alert and look at me as I enter.

I take a seat next to Caesar, near the head of the table, sighing as I do so. There's really nothing quite like the pure sense of catharsis that is returning from a Singularity. When you sit down, you just feel every muscle in your body relax as the weight falls from your shoulders. Nothing else even comes close. Galahad takes the seat opposite me, and, after we've made ourselves comfortable, we set our eyes to the door and wait.

We only have to wait a few minutes before Roman, Da Vinci, and Romulus join us, and we begin the meeting, with Romulus taking the minutes.

"I believe that you all know what we're here to discuss," Roman begins from the head of the table.

"Solomon." I say.

"The entity claiming to be Solomon, yes." Roman stresses, looking around. "As you yourself pointed out, the act of incinerating the entirety of Humanity seems wildly out of character for someone commonly revered as the most virtuous and wise king to ever live. We should at least consider the possibility of an imposter."

"Bit overly superlative, there." I remark.

"Let's not restart this debate." Georgios interrupts, placing himself between us before Roman can make a retort. "I don't think that any of us have three hours to kill."

"For what it's worth, I agree with Roman wholeheartedly," David says. "I may not have gotten to know my son as well as I should've, or spent as much time with him as I ought've, but I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that my son would never do something like this. He was a good man. That much, I know with absolute certainty."

Roman coughs. "I- I'm going to need to get some water. Da Vinci, take over." He hurries out, leaving us all staring after him in confusion.

"Well, okay, then." I say after a moment, drawing all eyes towards me. "Let's look to see if Roman's imposter theory is correct." I turn to Da Vinci. "Do you have recordings of our encounter with Solomon?"

"Yes, actually. Putting them up on the screen now."

After the recording is done, I look at David. "So. King David. How does his behavior match up compared to your memory of your son?"

"I didn't know him as well as I should have, to be honest. Nathan and Bathsheba did the lion's share of raising him while I was off running the kingdom. I was… barely around." He sighs, lost in the regrets of yesteryear. "But, all the same, whenever we met, he was always polite and considerate. Nathan told me about how Solomon would plan out every minute of his day, even when he was a toddler, using each and every second to better himself and bring happiness to the people around him. It's why I chose him to be my successor. I whole-heartedly believed that he would be a responsible and virtuous king." He chuckles. "Unlike his old man."

"So, you don't think it's him?"

"No. I didn't think that was him before, and I'm even more convinced that it isn't him now. The Solomon you met moved and talked like a showman, and nothing like my son."

"So. Imposter theory is looking more likely, now." I observe, thinking things over. "The most likely candidate would be the demon Asmodeus. There are stories concerning how he impersonated Solomon."

"I'd also like to point something out, here." Galahad says, raising his hand. "I noticed that for the entire conversation, Solomon, or Asmodeus, or whatever, was copying your usual body language when you're on one of your over-exaggerated speeches. Beyond that, the way his inflections and pronunciation matched yours almost perfectly. He was even acting like you."

"I don't- well actually," now that I think of it, he did sound kind of familiar. I just didn't notice because I was scared shitless at the time. "Okay, so, he was copying me."

"And Georgios." Galahad adds. "When he started actually paying attention to Georgios, instead of just dismissing him as window dressing like he did with me, his body language, behavior, and inflections shifted. He started acting more like a mix between Georgios and you. He was calmer, his movements and expressions less frantic and exaggerated, and he actually treated you with more respect. From this, I'd have to gather that he tends to unconsciously mimic the mannerisms and personality of those he's engaging with."

"That's actually a decent hypothesis. And one I might be able to exploit. Alright, let's keep going, people. What can we infer from what we've observed thus far?"

We continue to discuss what the entity posing as Solomon's true nature might be, and finally devise a working theory: The demon Asmodeus, who's most likely some sort of incubus, must've hijacked Solomon's body after he perished. I also brought up the high probability that Solomon was a Grand Servant (so glad I read through those files alongside Anderson,) and so the resulting incubus-human hybrid, if he successfully inherited Solomon's abilities, might also qualify for the Grand Caster position, significantly boosting his abilities.

I have no idea why Roman started laughing when we told him our theory, though.

---​

The days that follow are slower-paced, and I certainly feel more relaxed than I did before. I go through my routine of resummoning our losses against Asmodeus/Solomon and surveilling/checking up on my various Servants (Mozart's lounge is actually open for business now,) accompanied by Mash. I only call her Galahad twice. Progress! Mostly, though, I study, go through the motions, and try to work up the courage to ask Medea to teach me poisons.

But my routine is thrown off-kilter when I open my door in the morning and find myself face-to-face with King David, Spartacus, Erik Bloodaxe, and all three of the Chul Kids.

"Is this a mutiny?" I ask, already thinking over which of my escape strategies to use. "Because I'm open to petitions, no need to resort to violence immediately."

David, the obvious leader of this possible insurrection, blinks in confusion before shaking his head. "No, actually. I was getting some of the guys together to help me with something, and I was wondering if you'd join us."

"Is this a sex thing?"

"Nah. Well, maybe. But not for me."

"I'm closing the door now." I begin to do so, but he catches it before it can slide all the way shut.

"Wait!" he takes a deep breath, looks me dead in the eye, and tells it to me straight. "I want you to help me get Roman and Da Vinci together."

…

…

"What."

"I think they'd be really good together, and they're obviously attracted to one another, but they won't get together unless someone gives them a push. Mostly because Roman doesn't have the balls to be honest about his feelings, and Da Vinci's waiting for him to ask. Come on, man!"

"And… why are you doing this?" I ask pointedly.

"Didn't I just-"

"You told me a lot of things. But you didn't tell me about why you care enough to do this."

"He feels like my son, okay?" David admits after a long, uncomfortable silence. "I know it's irrational, but he just reminds me a lot of Solomon. The real Solomon, that is. He's giving everything he's got, everything he has, all to help the people around him, but I'm worried he's not happy himself. I just… I don't want him to end up as some burnt-out, basement-dwelling nervous wreck that can't even go to the bathroom without asking his creepy nihilistic internet idol for advice, you know?"

"That's worryingly plausible. He's already so attached to the damn thing that it's borderline disturbing."

"So, will you help me?" he asks hopefully.

"Sure. Two conditions, though: One, we bring Mash in on this, because it sounds like something she'd have fun with, and two, we run our plan through Mata Hari. She's pretty good with this sort of thing."

"Done and done." David agrees with a confident smirk.

"So, what's the plan?"

"We don't have one, yet. That was actually what I needed your help with."

"Okay, yeah." I sigh, pushing my glasses up so I can pinch the bridge of my nose. "Let me get out of my sleepwear and into my uniform, and then we can go talk to Mata Hari."

---
​

We run into Mash along the way, and she's easily persuaded to help. Mata Hari is even more easily persuaded.

Our plan swiftly takes shape, under Mata Hari's sage tutelage. David's original suggestion of locking the two of them together in a closet somewhere is refined and reformed into something far more likely to succeed: We'll lure them out to a table we've reserved at Mozart's new lounge by telling each of them that the other wants to meet them there.

"I'll talk to Da Vinci." David says as we finally begin deciding who does what. "The Chul Kids-" so glad that nickname caught on- "will be in charge of setting up the reservation and making sure there'll be absolutely no interruptions." He turns to me, face grave. "Charlie, Mash, Spartacus, and Erik, you'll be responsible for getting Roman. Toss him in a sack and drag him back, if you have to."

"That's way too much!" Mash objects with a gasp.

"I concur. Seems a little too extreme, if you ask me." I say, nodding in agreement.

"He hasn't taken a day off in months." David informs us with a frown. "He's been working seven days a week nonstop to keep Chaldea afloat, and it's taking its toll. This is for his own good."

"Alright. I'll bring the sack."

Mash is looking a bit uncomfortable, but honestly, I'm looking forwards to this whole thing. Win or lose, this is gonna be fun.

---​

"So." I look at the Berserkers as we make our way over to Roman's office. "How'd David talk you two into this?"

"He informed me that Dr. Roman was oppressing himself, and that he was worried for his health!" Spartacus bellows. "All oppression must be ended, especially that which is self-directed! There can be no greater oppressor than one's own self."

"RAAAAAAAAAAARG! MURDER! BLOOD! BLOODY MURDER! GUNNHILD THOUGHT THEY'D BE A CUTE COUPLE! EAT ALL THE SPLEEEEEEEENS!"

"Fair enough." I look back to the hallway. "All right, there's his office up ahead. Mash, you're with me. Spartacus and Erik, wait outside with the sack."

I swing the door open wide and walk right on in, noting with amusement how Roman jumps at my entrance.

"Hey Doc!" I call in greetings. "Got a message from Da Vinci for you."

"Is it another request for a budget increase?" he asks, eyes bloodshot. He looks like he hasn't changed his clothes in days. Or shaved, for that matter. "Because I keep telling her, even if we don't really have a money economy anymore, things still have value. I can't do it!"

"Nope. She wants you to clean yourself up and meet her down in the new lounge. She has something important to tell you."

"I'll go there, then." He says, rising.

I hold up a hand to stop him. "Not now, around five. Take some time, change your clothes, shower, shave, and maybe a]get a little shut-eye, then go and see her."

He stops, staring at me suspiciously over the bags beneath his eyes. "This is David trying to set me up again, isn't it? He's trying to get me to stop working."

"He has good intentions in mind." I protest. "You really don't look all that well."

"I'm fine!" he snaps.

"Romulus, when was the last time he left this office?"

Roman's assistant looks up from his desk in the corner, the corner of his mouth quirked ever so slightly upwards in amusement. "When he left for the debrief after the London Singularity ended. He's been stuck in here ever since. He uses the private bathroom to do his business, sleeps perhaps two hours a day, and has been making Romam bring him donuts and coffee to keep him going. In truth, Roma was beginning to grow deeply concerned."

"Right. SPARTACUS!" As the Berserker kicks down the door and proceeds to stuff Roman into the sack, I turn to Romulus, who seems to be holding back laughter. "Hold down the fort while he's out, willya?"

"Of course."

"Erik! Guard the door. Don't let him back in for the next twenty-four hours."

"BLOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOD!"

"I'm not hearing a yes."

"BLOOD MEANS YES!"

"Good to know. All right gang, let's roll out!" And with that, Spartacus, Mash, and I all head off in the direction of Roman's room, with a struggling sack full of Roman slung over Spartacus' shoulder.

When we get there, we let Roman out of the sack. He lies on the ground sputtering for a bit, before getting indignantly to his feet.

"I don't care if you think this is for my own good, I'm NOT GOING!" he snaps. "I have work that needs to be done, I don't have time to go on a date."

"Alright then." I concede easily, prompting a shocked yelp from both of my co-conspirators. "If you really don't want to go out with Da Vinci, I suppose it would be unethical to force you to do so. Shame, too. I really do think she cared about you. She'll be fairly disappointed."

"Oh. W-Well, it's not that I don't want to date her, it's that I, well, I just don't have the time for that sort of thing." He stammers out, looking completely thrown. "But, well, I guess I should go back to the office, then."

"Sure. I'll just go and tell Da Vinci that you'd rather spend your time with Magi*Mari than with her." I say as he walks past me, doing my damnedest to hide my smirk.

"Wait, what?" Roman yelps, turning on his heels with a look of absolute horror on his face. "It's not like that at all!"

"Are you sure?" I ask, my smirk breaking its bonds and shining forth in full bloom. "It certainly seemed that way to me. But, well, if you're certain it's only because you don't have the time and not because you don't have feelings for her…" he's nodding along vigorously. "…I'll just have to tell David he's free to make his move on her." He freezes.

"WHAT?"

"Oh, you didn't know? He's had his eye on her for a while. He just wanted to make sure he didn't cut you off." A patented lie, of course, but jealousy is a powerful motivator. "But, if you're too busy, I guess he's free to press his suit."

"LIKE HELL HE IS!" Roman snaps, opening the door to his room and storming on in. "HE THINKS HE CAN JUST MOVE ON IN BECAUSE I HAVE AN ACTUAL WORK ETHIC? JOKE'S ON HIM, I'M GOING! AND I'M SHOWING HER THE BEST DAMN NIGHT OF HER LIFE!"

I wait until I hear the shower start running before I turn to Mash and Spartacus, who are both staring at me for some reason. "Alright, I think that's our mission accomplished. We'll escort him to the date, of course, but the hard part's pretty much done."

"You're scary, Senpai."

"Nah, I'm nothing special. You guys want to hit up the cafeteria after this? Tamamo's trying out a new buffalo wings recipe."

And that's that. From what I hear from Hundred Face (who hears all the gossip,) the date goes pretty well.

They go on another one the next week.

 

[Charles Flynn]

Two days after David showed up at my door, I've finally mustered up enough courage. I tell Mash that I'm not going to need her help today, and that, if I die horribly, it was probably Medea's fault.

Then, after having to spend about an hour calming Mash down and reassuring her that I was just being overly dramatic, I head off to visit Medea.

She answers on the second knock. "Another document you need help translating?"

"No, actually." I say, and she makes a noise of discontentment. "I actually wanted to ask you for a favor."

"Oh?" her eyes harden. "What sort of favor?"

"I need you to teach me poisons."

She looks at me appraisingly. "and why, pray tell, would you want to know this?"

"Because, as it stands, I'm helpless. Especially once this whole business wraps up, and Chaldea cuts me loose, without any Servants. I need to know how to defend myself. Force of arms is out of the question, I'm not strong physically or skilled with weapons, and I'd be outclassed by any Mysteries they brought to bear. Magecraft's out too, it's a pointless, dying art that needs ten generations of eugenics or some ridiculously improbable bullshit coincidences to do anything remotely impressive. The only thing I've got going for me are my wits and my ability to talk my way out of things. I need an equalizer. And what's poison if not the universal equalizer?"

"As good a reason as any, I suppose," she notes, a grin creeping its way across her face as she turns and bids me to follow her in. I do so, albeit cautiously. The room is dimly lit, and larger than it was on the floor plan. Various components are scattered across the steel tables she's set up, which I'm pretty sure she stole from the cafeteria, all the ingredients methodically organized and lined up by type. It's honestly a lot more tidy than I pictured it being. In one corner, a row of three large glass tubes stand, each filled to the brim with a sort of thick, black fluid that almost seems to writhe when I look at it.

Medea rounds on me. "If you are to enter my tutelage, then it will be as my apprentice. You will refer to me as 'Master,' and abide by the rules I lay out for you." She points to the tubes. "First rule, no touching the hydra blood. Ever."

"Okay, a few quibbles. First, calling you 'Master' might get confusing. Second, why are you cultivating hydra blood in here? That stuff's insanely poisonous!"

"No, actually."

"What?"

"Consider this my first lesson to you, my apprentice: Hydra blood isn't deadly because it contains some form of poison. It's deadly because it possesses the same healing factor as the rest of the hydra." she walks up to the tubes, rapping her knuckles against the glass. "It goes inert and dries up when it's outside a living creature, but the individual cells can remains alive for years. Then, when they're introduced into a living organism, the healing factor reactivates, and they grow and multiply until..." she mimes an explosion. "Pop. Because it's not technically a poison, it can actually bypass most resistances." She pauses. "And you can call me 'Teacher' if 'Master' would be too confusing."

That's... honestly terrifying and incredibly useful. "So, how are these lessons going to work, teach?"

"Well, meet with me each morning, at... shall we say ten?" she seems to think it over. "I'll teach you the same way I learned. I'll show you various poisons, and teach you how to make both them and their antidote."

"Alright, sounds good."

"And then I'll try to poison you once you've left, and are going about your day."

"What?"

"I'll try to poison you, and you'll have to either avoid it, or make the antidote yourself. I'll expect you to return the favor once you've grown sufficiently confident in your skills."

"This seems wildly unsafe!" I protest.

"Oh, don't worry, I won't let you die." she assures me, actually smiling. "But I wouldn't recommend letting that soothe your caution. Most of my poisons are very painful."

"....is it too late to call this off?"

Her grin rises to a whole new level of pure sadism. "Yes."

This… may have been a terrible mistake.

---​

And so my new routine begins. Wake up, greet Mash, get breakfast (with utmost caution,) and then head to Medea's room for my lessons.

Afterwards, make my way through the day, managing and keeping an eye on the Servants, studying in preparation for later Singularities, and, of course, summoning reinforcements/more staff. All while keeping an eye out for poisons, of course.

She still gets me more often than not, but I'm getting better at spotting them.

And as I settle into this new order of monotony, punctuated by daily assassination attempts from my utter psycho of a teacher, I do manage to summon a few new Servants. (And get kidnapped by a dragon and fight a Grail War in my dream. That was a weird one. On the plus side, though, I did get Sieg out of it.)

---
​

"Lancer. True Name Houzuin Inshun. My spear, honed through countless years of seeking inner peace amidst a world of conflict, will strike down your enemies for you."

"Welcome, then, mighty spearman." I say politely, whilst internally screaming. Seriously, how many different masters of hitting things can this damn system throw at us? It's great that we're basically getting together an army of the greatest heroes of all time, but having an army doesn't mean shit when you can only field them six at a time! Instead, most of them just end up sitting around doing busywork at Chaldea, and I'm stuck running around between them, soothing tempers and making sure our army of special little superhuman snowflakes doesn't end up doing us in, with more at every summon! I can guarantee right now that I will most likely never use this guy. Because there's only so many real variations on master of sticking pointy bits of metal in the enemy until they die one can follow before they become completely redundant!

But we need to try and get some more people actually good at things other than killing aboard, so here I am, summoning away. And no matter how much I want to, I can't just kill a guy for being annoying and redundant. So instead I keep up my smile, and direct him to Doctor Roman, whilst internally praying that the next one is either somebody useful or someone I can kill without anybody giving me shit over it.

The next Servant we summon is Lu Bu. Thank God.
​

---​

"Servant Saber!" the broad, muscular man with no shirt announces at the top of his lungs. "True Name Fergus mac Roich. I go wherever the wine and women are worth my while. Try not to disappoint."

…we are going to get so many lawsuits. And we're probably going to run out booze again. At least Cu'll be happy. "Save us all some time and just go straight to the bar, all right? Because you're probably not going to be able to do any of the jobs that are still available." I pause hopefully. "Unless you're willing to work as a janitor?"

He gives a great booming laugh. "The only reason I'm not killing you for even suggesting that is because you're offering free booze. Don't even think about asking that of me again."

"Yeah, thought as much."
​

---​

"Mister Flynn. It's good to see you again, I suppose." Jekyll notes. "I have been summoned as an Assassin."

"Good! We could definitely use a few more doctors around here. Roman's overworked enough as it is."

"So I see. Are you aware that your uniform is covered in dry blood?"

"Yeah, I was vomiting it up for an hour this morning. My fault really. I should have expected that she'd poison my glass, instead of what I was drinking. Anyways, I didn't have time to change, since I was already running late. Sorry if it's unprofessional."

"You were poisoned?" Jekyll asks, a single hand over his mouth in genteel dismay. "By who?"

"Medea. It's no big deal, really, she does it almost every day. You get used to it, after a while."

Jekyll is staring at me in blank incomprehension, so I decide to speed up the onboarding. "Anyways, welcome to Chaldea. Go see Dr. Roman for your work assignment."

He does so, keeping an incredulous eye on me as he leaves. Cu is snickering from where he stands guard.

"Alright Marjani, fire it up!"
​

---​

The redhead in green materializes on the summoning pad, looking thoroughly exhausted. "Servant Archer. True Name Robin Hood." He lets out a sigh, a fairly involved one that goes all the way to his shoulders. "Try not to work me too hard, alright?"

I squeal like a little girl.
​

---​

"Charles-Henri Sanson." the pale, stoic man announces. "I'm not much of a good man, to be sure, but by your order, I will stand besides you, and destroy all wickedness which stands against you."

"Excellent! We needed another doctor." I say cheerfully.

He looked a bit perplexed at that. Or maybe he's just confused by the rampaging unicorn which is currently goring Cu (spandex Lancer,) sliding him up and down its blood-slicked horn.

"Do you... perhaps need help with that?" he asks cautiously, as Georgios and Cursed Arm take out the beast's rear legs with practiced ease, and Cu gouges out its right eye with his bare hands.

"Nah. It's the third one this week. By this point, we've basically got killing 'em down to a science." I pause. "Might need you to patch up Cu after you're done, though."

"And you.. didn't let a rampaging unicorn interrupt your summoning." he observes, looking at me with newfound caution.

"'Course not. This isn't even the worst summoning mishap we've had. That position would actually be a tie between the time we accidentally summoned the Red Sea, and the time the system tried to summon a Reality Marble." I pause. "Turns out that trying to independently manifest somebody's mental world just makes the summoning matrix explode. Da Vinci patched that, though, so now it's mostly safe."

"You seem remarkably calm about this." he says, looking at me with outright concern. "Almost cheerful, actually."

"Yeah, well, I am kind of riding high on not getting poisoned today." I say with a grin. "Of course she'd poison my shampoo! That's textbook her!"

He mutters something about crazy Americans under his breath in French. "I'll just go see Dr. Roman, if that's alright with you."

"Fine by me." I turn back to the ongoing struggle. "GO FOR THE THROAT, CU!"
​

---​

"Servant Saber." the tall, white-haired man in ornate silvery armor says, his features solemn. "My True Name is Siegfried, son of Siegmunde, and slayer of the dragon Fafnir." he dips his head. "My apologies for burdening you with so weak a Servant as myself."

"You? Weak?" I break out laughing. "Sorry buddy, but I've read the Saga of the Volsungs. Don't sell yourself short like that."

This is great. Sure, Sigurd was my second-least-favorite Volsung, but at the same time, he's easily one of the strongest heroes I could've possibly summoned, even if he seems to prefer the German version of his name for some reason.

"Ah. I'm sorry, Master. I am the hero of the Niebelunglied alone. I have no connection to the greatest of the Volsungs."

"WHAT."

"Sigurd and I are two entirely separate people." he reiterates. "I'm sorry to disappoint you."

"HOW? YOUR STORIES ARE ALMOST EXACTLY THE FUCKING SAME!" I rant, my eye twitching as I froth at the mouth.

"I'm afraid I don't know how." Siegfried says. "Perhaps we were originally the same person, but the various cultural interpretations of our legend caused us to diverge into separate individuals?"

"Yeah." I say, managing to calm myself down. "I guess that makes sense."

"I'm glad, Master. I'm sorry to have troubled you so."

"So you've said. Repeatedly. It's rapidly getting old." I push my glasses up to pinch the bridge of my nose, in an attempt stop my growing headache. It doesn't help, which is making me think Medea might've poisoned me again. Or it might be tied to the fact that I didn't just summon the second-most boring Volsung there was, I summoned his overly-apologetic German knockoff.

At least his stats are pretty good, and that Armor of Fafnir of his is an extremely valuable asset.

"Go see Dr. Roman, he'll get you set up." I try to turn back towards the summoning platform, and then promptly fall flat on my face as the world goes all spinny. "And carry me to the infirmary. I've been poisoned. Again."​

 

[Charles Flynn]

It's been three weeks since London, and that's more than long enough for another staff meeting.

I walk in and take my seat amidst the hostile and fearful looks of my coworkers. Roman arrives not long after, taking a seat at the head of the table.

"All right, people," Roman begins. "It's been a while since our last meeting, and since then, a lot of issues have cropped up."

"And all of them are almost entirely his fault!" Tom interjects, pointing at me.

"What?" I exclaim, raising an eyebrow. "Name one example of a problem I've caused."

"Medea." he says with a glare. One that most of the table joins in on.

"Hey, I'm as much of a victim in that one as you are."

He laughs. "Hey, Flynn, remember that muffin you gave me yesterday?"

"Oh, yeah. I wanted to see if it was poisoned."

"It was."

"Oh. Neat. Could you please describe your symptoms for me?"

"I think what they're trying to say is that these... volleying master-apprentice poisoning attempts of yours have gone too far." Roman says, doing his best to be soothing. "Too many people keep getting caught in the crossfire, and even though you say they're all only Medea's, I'm pretty sure that at least half of them are yours."

"Outrageous slander," I protest. "Name one incident that you think I might've had a hand in."

"That time every showerhead in Chaldea except yours was poisoned?" Roman's voice is dry as the Sahara as he accuses me.

"Lies and calumny. Come on, would I really lie about something like this?" I ask.

"YES!" Everyone at the table shouts.

"And it's not like the war of the poisons has done any real harm so far. Once I figured out the unicorn trick, the poisonings could be cured almost instantly with no damage to the affected system." Which actually played a big part in my 'poison everybody and then cure everyone but Medea' strategy.

"Sarah Davis is pregnant." Roman announces.

"What?" Isn't she one of the bridge staff?

"She started drowning her sorrows in alcohol and sex after the Incineration," Roman informs me. "We ran out of contraceptives two months ago, and she didn't stop."

A few of the other staff members, male and female alike, are looking suddenly terrified.

"She's not sure whether she wants to keep it, yet, but if you keep up those poisoning wars of yours, she won't get a choice." Roman says, his eyes hard as he looks straight at me. "So stop."

"Message received. I'll tell Teacher."

"Good. Now, on to the next issue: We're running low on supplies again. Mostly because of Charlie and Medea burning through them in their constantly escalating attempts to kill one another."

"Would it help if I said I was sorry?"

"Shut up, Charlie."

"Shutting up."

"Good. Now, we've identified a new Micro-Singularity to raid..."

---​

"Teacher, I've got a cease-and-desist order from Roman." I announce when Medea opens the door. "We have to stop poisoning each other."

"What? Why?"

"One of the bridge crew got pregnant, and he's worried we'll get her in the crossfire."

"Who?"

"Sarah Davis." I pause. "I don't know precisely who she is, to be honest."

She grabs me by the wrist and drags me inside. "Assemble a bouquet while I go get changed."

"Um... why?"

"We need to go congratulate her, of course!" she says, walking over into her bedroom and closing the door.

I look over what's available. "Do you have any flowers in here that aren't poisonous?"

"No! Just pick the least poisonous ones!"

I shrug, and get to it.

---​

"Sarah Davis?" I ask.

"Yes, who's aski-" she turns and freezes.

"Hey! We just came to congratulate you!" I say with a smile and a wave that, for some reason, don't put her at ease.

"Ah-That's... nice..." she squeaks out, her face still pale as she limply accepts the bouquet of nightshade and poinsettias I press into her hands. "Who's 'we?'"

"Oh, we haven't been introduced!" Medea chimes in, grabbing Susan's other hand and shaking it. She's changed out of her hood into a turtleneck and a set of jeans that suit her fairly well. "I'm Medea. It's a pleasure to meet you! If you ever need any help during the pregnancy, feel free to ask. I've been through it myself, six times, and I know what it's like, but I also know a lot of remedies that can ease the whole thing along."

Sarah lets out a prolonged whimper, and then keels over in a dead faint.

Medea and I look at each other.

"Do you think she's not eating enough?" Medea asks at last.

"No idea. Let's just drop her off at the infirmary, and then head on over to the Servant Briefing."

---​

And so it is that I step out onto the stage, Mash at my right hand as always.

"Alright. people." I say, looking out over my audience. "You know the drill by now. Chaldea needs supplies, and we're off to get them, by force if we have to. As to the location..."

The screen behind me flickers on, showing the Seven Hills.

"We're going back to Rome."

 

[Charles Flynn]

We file into the Rayshift Chamber. My team for this mission, Georgios, Cursed Arm, Yan Qing, Romulus, Caesar, and Medea, all climb into their Klein Coffins.

We're heading back to the time of Imperator Caesar Augustus. When Rome was unified, with the most singularly capable emperor of the entire Julio-Claudian dynasty at its head. No wonder this Singularity would have resolved itself without our intervention.

But we need supplies, so here we are, sticking our noses in and meddling when we're not needed.

"Senpai!" Mash calls out.

"Mash! Are you joining us on this one?" I ask, a bit uneasily. I remember damn well what happened the last time she went along on one of these.

"Galahad insisted," my self-proclaimed assistant says. "He said that letting you go off without him to keep an eye on you would be a mistake, and he needs to talk to you anyways."

"Oh. Well, the more the merrier, I suppose."

And then we're on our way.

---

Ah, Rome. The heart of the Empire and easily the largest city in Europe in this particular day and age.

It still smells like shit and looks like a chaotic mess. Is "still" the right word, though? The last time I was here was about seventy years in the future.

"Ah. She's still as chaotic as ever." Caesar notes with a faint grin, looking out at the city that birthed him. "It's good to be home."

"Roma must concur, nepos Romae." Romulus says, standing besides him. "It is good to see that the seeds Roma has planted have grown such plentiful fruit." He gives him a pointed look. "Even if it was after several civil wars."

"Again, Holy Founder, I am very sorry about that."

"And Roma forgives you. As long as it is not repeated."

"So." I turn my attention away from the Romans to look at Galahad. "You wanted to talk to me about something?"

"Yep." And then he slugs me in the gut. He pulls his punch, and only knocks the wind straight out of me, but that's more then enough to bring me to my knees, gasping for air.

"Thought… we… were past this," I wheeze out.

"We were. Then you poisoned Mash." The other Servants are all looking at us in shock, and Medea in particular has to be physically restrained by Georgios. But they stay back, and don't interfere.

"I… What? No!" I didn't do that…

Did I?

I don't really remember exactly who I poisoned, now that I think about it. Just that I wanted to win. If I inconvenienced somebody, then I'd cure them, and think it was funny how they were so upset about it. Did I- Did I really go that far out of line?

"Unless you really weren't the one that poisoned all the showerheads," Galahad notes, his face set in righteous fury. "But I sincerely doubt that. The others? They'll let you get away with your shit because you're the last Master we've got, or because they're afraid of you, or because they think you're just secretly a good person that's under a lot of stress. Me though? I know you. And I am one hundred percent done with putting up with you."

"What're you-"

"You screw things up. You inevitably do. And not because of some deep-rooted trauma, but because there's something deeply, fundamentally, wrong with you. You don't care about people. You just see us all as some sort of obstacles or tools, or what have you. And maybe I'm wrong, maybe you do care, but I don't doubt for a second that you'd sacrifice the people you actually seem to care about if it'd give us an advantage." He's breathing hard, looking straight at me. I can't look him in the eyes. "And you know what?" He sighs, seeming to calm down a bit. "That's fine."

"Huh?"

"I'm not going to lie. It's pretty obvious that, whatever your malfunction is, it's what keeps you going, even if it is what leaves you an insensitive, unlikable jackass." He sighs, looking around. "Most of the other staff in Chaldea would just break down if they had to deal with half the shit you do. Hell, they'd probably break down just from the trauma of having Medea as a teacher."

"First you hit my apprentice and now you insult my teaching methods? Watch your tongue, or-"

"Shut up. You're not helping." Galahad says, shooting her a death glare. My teacher complies. "My problem with you isn't tied to your apparent inability to form non-shallow bonds, Flynn. It's tied to your inability to see the results of your issues. You're unbearably smug, worryingly ruthless, and so easily blinded by the tasks in front of you that you completely forget the big picture. You have a moral code, that much I can tell, but you'll violate it at the drop of a hat if it'll give humanity the advantage. When you're invested in something, you give it your all, and completely forget about the people you trample underfoot in your headlong rush towards the finish line. And it feels like you don't ever actually change your ways."

"So tell me." I interrupt.

"What?"

"Tell me when I'm going too far. Ask me what I'm doing. Force me to take a step back and actually think about what I'm trying to accomplish." I grin. "Be my Jiminy Cricket."

"I don't know what that is." Galahad admits.

"My conscience."

"Well, it's not like you have one of your own," he grumbles, before sighing. "Fine."

"But if changing my ways and doing the right thing means compromising our chances of success in the slightest, I'm not doing it." I look him dead in the eye. "I'd rather have the world I've saved denounce me as a monster than die the moral victor and the last human to ever live."

"Fair enough." Galahad observes. "Just know that if you ever hurt Mash again, I'll kill you where you stand."

"Fair enough."

"And when we get back to Chaldea, you're giving out apologies to everyone you poisoned."
"Fine."

He nods, and then walks off. "I'll ask around the city. See if I can find out what's going on."

Once he's gone, I shakily get to my feet. Honestly, after that, I'm not exactly sure what to do. Evidently, so do the rest of my Servants. The Romans evidently didn't stick around to watch. Georgios is looking at me with… hope. Yan looks like he'd just got whiplashed about as hard as I did, Cursed Arm is unreadable as ever, and Medea…

"Are you all right, Apprentice?" she asks, hurrying over to my side. "Oh, I am going to kill that man."

"Don't." I order. "And I'm fine. Just winded, is all."

"I don't care if you can still use him, he hit you." She helps me steady myself and starts looking me over for injuries.

"He also had a fairly good reason for it and said something he felt needed to be said. I'm not going to kill a man just for noticing my failings and doing his best to direct my attention towards them."

"You're too forgiving, Medus." She seems to realize what she said and flinches. "I-I mean Apprentice. I'll go and find him and- "

"Not kill him."

"Fine. But if he raises a hand against you again, I'm killing him, and I'm telling him that."

"You're being awfully tender, considering all the times you tried your luck at killing me yourself." I note with an arched eyebrow. "I distinctly remember you laughing while I was trying my damnedest not to choke to death on my own tongue in front of you."

"And I still gave you the antidote," she reminds me primly. "Besides, you're my apprentice. I'm the only one who's allowed to kill you." And on that note, having delivered what was possibly the most weirdly sweet death threat I've ever received, she marches off after Galahad.

Yan speaks up, looking as utterly exhausted as I feel right now. "Does anyone else feel like dropping a bombshell on us, or can we table the soap opera and get back to work."

"Yeah." I mutter. "Work sounds pretty good right now."

"Are you sure?" Georgios asks, raising an eyebrow. "It's actually proving quite entertaining for me, at least. Perhaps we might call in another Servant or two from Chaldea for some more personal drama?"

"No."

"Very well," Georgios concedes with a faint smile. "Onwards, then?"

---

"Personal drama straightened out?" Romulus asks as we approach him and Caesar.

"Yes. Kind of annoyed that you two didn't stick around to see how it ended after Galahad punched me, though." My stomach is already feeling tender, and there's definitely going to be a bruise there tomorrow.

"Roma used Romae Imperial Privilege to give Romam Clairvoyance, and then used it to see the end of your conversation," Romulus informs me with a lofty wave. "Then Roma began to use it to survey the area and found out what's going on."

"You- you can just do that?" I ask incredulously.

"Of course." He says without missing a beat. "Although Roma mostly just uses it to speed through paperwork."

"…What."

"It's quite simple: You resolve yourself to read a document thoroughly, activate your Clairvoyance, and then use it to look ahead through the timeline to what you will know after you've finished your reading. Then, you sign everything that needs to be signed, and then move on to the next document."

I gape at him for a moment or two, and then say the only thing that comes to mind. "That is easily the single pettiest use of Servant powers I've ever heard of."

"Jealous?"

"…Yes."

"Holy Founder, could we perhaps go into what we've discovered about the Micro-Singularity before we talk about how you use your unparalleled abilities to get out of having to read paperwork?" Caesar asks, looking far more worn than he did a few minutes ago.

"Ah, yes." Romulus clears his throat, and then launches into an explanation. "You see, Roma discovered that, while peace and libertas had been restored under the just and righteous reign of nepos Romae Augustus Caesar, a great disruption suddenly occurred, five years after the battle of Actium. Cleopatra was raised from the dead, Grail in hand, and, with an army of undead Egyptians at her back, used the Grail to summon a set of five Heroic Spirits that would aid her in casting down the man and the Empire responsible for conquering her Egypt, and killing both her and her children."

Oh. No wonder Caesar looks utterly miserable right now. "And this is one of the Singularities that'll resolve itself without us?" It seems like a fairly deadly one, in all honesty, and it's hard to imagine even as skilled a leader as Augustus pulling off a win against an undead army and six Servants

"You didn't let Roma finish. Cleopatra's summonings through her Grail allowed the Counter Force to summon a few Servants to serve as counters for the ones she summoned. Further, she didn't quite get the Servants she wanted. Lastly, and most damningly of all, the last Servant she summoned, Attila the Hun, immediately betrayed her. He called his Hunnic hordes to join him and has been a complete and utter wild card ever since."

"How many Servants are left?" I ask, thinking it over.

"Two stand with Augustus: Menelaus, the husband of Helen, and Roland, Paladin of Charlemagne. Two still stand with Cleopatra: Hector, Troy's greatest guardian, and Paris, Troy's biggest fuckup. Attila, for his part, is still fairly unpredictable, attacking whoever seems to have the upper hand, and reveling in the havoc he wreaks."

"So we need to-" I realize, suddenly, that the street we're on has grown quiet. I look around. The Romans have backed away, forming a sort of perimeter around us as they stare at us with reverent awe. No. Not at us. At Caesar.

"Make way for the Emperor!" someone shouts, and suddenly, a section of the crowd parts, revealing a litter, borne aloft by four hardy slaves and curtained in Imperial purple. On either side of the litter, two men stand guard, one in burnished bronze with wild eyes and a thick beard, and the other in plate armor that I'm willing to bet is anachronistic even in his time.

Then the curtain opens, and out steps Augustus. My first impression of him is that he's easily one of the skinniest people I've ever seen. His expression is welcoming and jovial as he looks out over his awestruck people, and then shifts over to religious awe as he sees us. More specifically, when he sees Caesar. I take a step or two back, trying to distance myself from Romulus and Caesar. Something tells me that my presence might cause some awkward complications.

And then the Emperor bows on his hands and knees, and the entire crowd follows him. "Oh, Divine father, who has descended to this lowly earth to guide us, I beg of you, aid us against our enemies! We, your people, beg this of you!"

Caesar, to his credit, doesn't even miss a beat. "Little Octavian? How well you have grown, my son."

"I am known as Augustus, now, Great Caesar. By the will of the people I have been raised up to lead them and bring peace and prosperity to Rome as their Emperor!" even his self-abasement is bombastic! I'm impressed. "I beg of you, what god has afflicted us so, by raising up the witch that ensorcelled you whilst you yet lived, and what offerings might we make, that you might see fit to aid us?"

I think I'm the only one who notices how Caesar's smile turns ever-so-slightly brittle when Augustus calls Cleopatra a witch. But he doesn't falter in his showmanship. "The gods which afflicts you are many, for a Vestal has been defiled, and priests have been lax in their duties. But you need make no offerings to me, nor to Quirinius at my side, for we are the gods who most deeply love Rome and have come to her in her hour of need. Now take us and our entourage to your palace, that on the morrow, we might guide you in the appropriate sacrifices, and lead our troops to glorious victory!"

What follows can only be called an impromptu, hyperpatriotic religious festival that takes three hours to navigate.

---

Finally, we reach the Imperial Palace, and Augustus leads us into a planning hall, Menelaus and Roland still at his side, dismisses the slaves, and then turns to look at me.

"Alright, Master of Chaldea, what in Hades' frozen halls are you doing here?" he asks all his previous bombastic joviality entirely gone.

"How'd you-"

"Do I look like a fool?" he snorts. "When these two first showed themselves, I made sure to interrogate them quite thoroughly on the situation. You were mentioned, but, as victory drew ever closer, and you refused to show yourself, I assumed that you wouldn't be appearing, and planned accordingly. But now, with both my enemies on the ropes, you appear. Why?"

"We were rather hoping to lend you our aid… for a price."

"Ah. Mercenary work?"

"We need to get our supplies somewhere, and our base is in Antarctica, so we can't grow them ourselves."

"Antarctica?"

"Think of the coldest place you know. Multiply that by a hundred, and then spread it out to cover a land as big as the entire Roman Empire."

"Sounds rather unpleasant. Why would anyone go there?"

"To prove that we can, of course."

He snorts. "Very well then, Antarctican. Let us discuss your terms."

We do so.

Unsurprisingly, he isn't nearly as naively generous as Nero. I'm fairly sure that a sucker that gullible only comes around once every thousand years or so. Instead, he drives a hard bargain, and I swiftly find myself utterly outclassed. Finally, it's agreed: in return for his payments of food and materials only, we'll deal with Attila, while his Servants, Menelaus, Roland, and Assassin, wipe out the remains of Cleopatra's faction.

"Assassin?" I ask when he mentions that.

"A surprise for later."

Caesar, for his part, looks utterly relieved to know that he's not going toe to toe with the woman he might have loved.

And so, we settle down for the night.

 

[Charles Flynn]

'Flynn!' Galahad shouts at me through our mental link, and I sit up halfway in my current bed, feeling woozy. 'Flynn, you have to wake up and get out of there! He's coming!'

I shake my head in the hopes of bringing clarity. 'Who's coming? What are you-'

That's when the wall explodes, and a stocky man with black hair, a thick moustache, and a thoroughly crazed expression breaks through the shattered bricks with a cry of "AND HEEEEERE'S ATTILA!"

As I'm still reeling, he grabs me by the arm and chucks me over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes, before turning and running out through the new door he just made.

'All Servants, HELP!' I send as I feel my stomach start to churn from how I'm bouncing up and down on his shoulder as I run. 'I'm being kidnapped by Attila the Hun!' And chalk another one up on the list of sentences I never expected to hear myself say.

Did I forget to post guards? Is that why this is happening? Sonnuva- This is why I have to be more paranoid! Because when I'm not, shit like this happens! Or Medea poisons me.

Attila dashes like a madman through the streets, ducking every which way and turning corners at speeds only a Servant can manage. I think I feel my ribs strain under the G-force as he rounds one particularly sharp bend without slowing down in the slightest.

Eventually, though, we reach the outskirts of Rome, and he tosses me down to the ground.

I lie there for a moment, completely and utterly exhausted and feeling like I've just been tenderized.

Then Attila kicks me in the ribs. "Get up."

I comply, wincing as do so.

He points at a horse waiting for us. "Get on."

"Where are you taking me?" I ask, deciding that I should at least try to get some information out of this.

He blinks in surprise. "Why, my camp, of course, where we can celebrate our new alliance!"

Huh? "What new alliance?"

"Why, the one Chaldea and I just entered into!" Attila explains cheerfully. "The one where your Servants have agreed to unconditionally obey my orders and help me, forfeiting all of their share of the loot, in exchange for me not killing you!" His eyes harden. "Now get on the damn horse, Master of Chaldea, or it's back over the shoulder for you."

I reluctantly get on the horse behind Attila. 'He's planning to use me as a hostage to secure your compliance.'

'Can you get away?' Caesar asks desperately.

I think back to the madcap dash through the streets of Rome. 'No.'

'How'd he know we were here?' Yan Qing asks in frustration. 'Hell, how'd he even manage to sneak past us? Who was on watch?'

There's a moment of silence over the link, before Galahad reluctantly speaks up. 'Actually, I don't think anybody was on watch. Flynn didn't assign us any.'

'I thought Augustus was providing us security!' I protest. 'We were in his house!'

'Hold on.' Romulus orders, settling the brewing argument. 'Even when it isn't assigned, Cursed Arm usually takes up guard duty. I can't see him with my Imperial Privilege-granted Clairvoyance.'

'Then…' I falter. How the Hell did Attila kill Cursed Arm with anyone noticing? 'I'm beginning to think that we have greatly underestimated Attila.'

That gets a chorus of agreements.

'We're trying to get you out, apprentice.' Medea says, her voice determined. 'Stay strong.'

And so, I try to make myself comfortable, as I ride away from my allies, and deeper into the grasp of the Hun.

---

I hear the full story, or at least as much of it as we know of, as I ride behind Attila.

The first thing any of my Servants knew about Attila's smash-and-grab was when Georgios, Galahad, Medea, and Caesar all suddenly felt a powerful Servant's presence near my chambers. Galahad tried to warn me, but... well, I know how effective that was. Yan Qing was in a brothel halfway across the city in the opposite direction. Romulus was out reassuring the people and couldn't be seen to leave abruptly. To do so would be a grievous blow to morale.

The Servants at hand simply weren't fast enough to keep up with Attila's break-neck pace through the city. Beyond that, the Huns launched a sneak attack that covered his escape.
We've been completely outfoxed. Now, all I can do is wait and watch for when my captor slips up.

So glad I brought a few vials of my poisons with me.

---

After a few hours of uninterrupted riding at speeds no horse should be able to sustain, our destination comes into view. It's a sprawling mess of a tent city, various Huns carousing as they go from tent to tent, speaking in a tongue I don't know.

As soon as we ride into view, the city's inhabitants pour out of it to meet us, chanting, "A-TTI-LA! A-TTI-LA!"

He dismounts, raising his hands in the v-pose of a triumphant athlete. The minute he gets off, the horse keels over, stone dead. "My people! Once more, as it has always been, and as it shall always be, I HAVE TRIUMPHED!"

"A-TTI-LA! A-TTI-LA!"

"I have taken the commander of Chaldea! I have walked the very streets of Rome, and NONE COULD STAND AGAINST ME!" he roars, beating his chest, and then, to my confusion, pulling a human skull out of a pouch tied to his belt. "Oh, come on, Bleda, bitch at me. Pull that Roman dick out of your mouth and complain about how awesome I am."

He holds up the skull, and then, to my confused horror, starts moving its jaw with his thumb and talking in a high-pitched falsetto out of the side of his mouth. "'Oh, noes Attila! Now the Romans will never pay us all that tribute money, and I won't be able to pay off all my boyfriends! I'm gonna go cry myself to sleep, and then write you an angry letter, you hear me? A VERY ANGRY LETTER!'"

Attila casts the skull down in the blink of an eye, shattering it against the ground. "Shut up, coward!" He frowns. "Okay, somebody get me a new skull. I want to mock my dead brother some more."

"A-TTI-LA! A-TTI-LA!"

I look around in confusion. Did… did they not just see that? The great crowd of Huns still stare at him with admiration, not a single one letting any sort of doubt and dismay creep onto their features as they chant his name with blind adoration. Attila the Hun just used his dead brother's skull as a hand puppet. Am I the only one who finds this weird?

"Now then! My guest and I have had a long ride back from Rome! PREPARE THE FEAST!"

"A-TTI-LA! A-TTI-LA!"

"And knock off the chanting. It's getting old."

"A-TTI-LA! A-TTI-LA!"

"Next person who says 'Attila' is getting my sword rammed straight down their throat."

Dead silence.

---

"So, Mister Flynn, how are you liking your accommodations thus far?" Attila asks me, gnawing on a leg of lamb.

"Can't say I much care for the looming threat of death, Lord Etzel, but the food, at least, is good." I reply, chewing on a Roman pastry that they apparently stole from a cookshop along the Via Appia.

"Glad to hear it!" he cheers, before holding up the skull. "'Don't mind my brute of a brother. He has no appreciation for the finer things in life.'" The skull/Bleda is thrust uncomfortably close to my face. "'I, on the other hand, am fully capable of appreciating all of life's… subtler pleasures. Tell me, Master of Chaldea, are you married?'"

I do my level best to keep smiling, even as I scream internally. How do I come up with a way out of this? Attila the Hun propositioning me through a human skull he's using as a hand puppet and pretending is his dead brother is not remotely something my life has prepared me to respond to.

Let's see, what sort of response would Attila be pleased by?

Okay, this one's a bit of a gamble, but… "I would rather stick my dick in a rabid badger than ever have sex with you."

Attila gives a great, shoulder shaking belly laugh, and slaps me on the back (which isn't doing my ribs any favors.) "Well, you heard the man, Bleda. You've been rejected! Time to drown!" he then dunks the skull in the wine barrel. "'Oh noes! I can't breathe! Help me, Attilaaaaa! I'm droooowniiiiinbrglbrglbrgl."

'Galahad, is it normal for a grown man to use a human skull as a hand puppet and pretend it's his dead brother?' I ask over the mental link, desperately trying to cling to some semblance of reality as the Huns on the benches laugh and applaud their leader's performance.

'Flynn? Thank God. We haven't heard from you in hours. Some of us were starting to get worried.' Galahad replies. 'And no, that's not even remotely normal. Why are you even asking me that?'

'Because Attila's doing it, and it's really starting to wear away at me. And everyone in the camp is just treating it like it's completely normal. I was honestly starting to question my sanity for a while, there.'

I get an overwhelming sense of resignation from my Shielder. 'This is the guy that outsmarted us.'

'Yeah. I'm starting to think he might just be doing it in order to make losing to him even more humiliating.'

'Just stay alive, find out what you can, and contact me if you feel like you're losing your grip on reality again.'

'Will do. You guys got a plan to get me out of here?'

'Not telling you. You might accidentally give it away.'

'Fair enough.'

Attila is looking at me, his face a few inches away from mine.

"Lord Atli?" I ask, leaning backwards in my seat to get away from him.

"You can call me Attila again, I already executed Bleda for doing so, so the rest of you are in the clear."

I look, and, sure enough, Attila's prismatically reflective sword has been thrust down through the keg he drowned "Bleda" in, its blade driven between the skull's jaws.

"Is there a reason you've been staring at me?" I ask with a pained grin.

"We're going to see the witch. And strategize." He pauses, his eyes narrowing even further as I wilt under his gaze. "Is my nose bleeding?"

"No."

"Good. It'd be embarrassing to die of a nosebleed twice." He grabs my hand. "Come on."

And so, I'm dragged out of the feast hall, towards the abandoned hut, which Attila kicks down the door of.

"Honey! I'm home!"

"Etzel." A woman's voice says in greeting. Its owner walks out of the shadows, a full-bodied woman of German ethnicity, dressed in black. She stares at us with hateful eyes. "Why have you disturbed me? Have you found Hagen? Speak quick, before I decide to rip out your tongue."

"No. I have not yet found your brother, Kriemhild." Attila tells her with a forced smile. "But I have found the Master of Chaldea!"

"I care not for Chaldea," she snarls. "Find me Hagen! I'll cut him down with my true husband's blade."

"Yes, dear, but I just thought you should know that he's very important for our Hagen-finding activities, and you shouldn't kill him. Just making sure we're all on the same page, you know?" Attila's smile is a bit forced.

"Yeeeesssss," she says, smiling in a manner that in no way whatsoever reassuring. "He knows, doesn't he? He knows where my brother is. He knows where Hagen is!' She lunges for me, pinning me to the wall by my collar. "TELL ME, BOY! WHERE IS HAGEN?" Her mad, wild eyes stare into mine, and I find that I can't look away. "Tell me. Tell me, or I'll boil the flesh from your bones, and bind your soul into the slurry, an eternally screaming, self-aware cauldron of simmering meat."

"Ah, Kriemhild, he doesn't actually know where Hagen is." Attila interrupts, prying her clawing hands away from my throat, and then flinching when she looks at him. "R-Remember? I told you when I was asking you to scry for him. His Servants can find Hagen for us, since there are six of them, and they aren't caught up in the war effort."

"Hm?" she seems to think about it for a moment, and then releases me, softly petting me on the head like I'm a cocker spaniel that's been good. "Yes, that'll do. That'll do quite nicely." She smiles, and it's a beautiful, broken thing. "Be a good boy, little Master, and find my brother for me soon, won't you?" She leans in to whisper in my ear. "I don't think that I can wait much longer."

Then she turns about and stalks off into the dark and shadowy depths of her lair, leaving me and Attila to shakily make our way out.

We both let out a sigh of relief when we're out of sight of Kriemhild's cabin.

Then, Attila turns to me. "You wanna go get drunk together?"

"Hell yes."

 

[Charles Flynn]

"You know what I want?" Attila asks, staring at me through bleary eyes. We've both had a bit too much to drink in our attempt to forget the living nightmare that was Gunnhild's hut, Attila drinking considerably more than me due to his Servant status, but we're about even as far as drunkenness is concerned. Although I'll admit I was trying to watch how much I was drinking, so maybe he's a bit drunker than me.

"Is it to burn Rome?" I ask, manfully containing a hiccup. Time to cut myself off, I think.

"Naw, man. Fuck Rome. Fuck burning shit, I do that all the time!" Attila looks me dead in the eye, our souls, in that moment, bound together in the sense of deep, universal brotherhood restricted to fratboys and the extremely intoxicated (but I repeat myself.) "I wanna be a florist."

"What?"

"I wanna be a florist." He repeats, his voice as thick with sincerity as his breath is thick with the smell of booze. "I just- I've spent my whole life doing nothing but destroy stuff, and I'm really good at it, but I just can't help but wonder, is this all there is to life? Am I just… throwing away huge opportunities just because destruction is all I know? I mean… I'm an awesome barbarian warlord-"

"Hell yeah, you are!" I cheer, giving him the complementary back slap that is expected from me.

"-but, that's all I am. It's all I do." He stares at the heavens, currently obscured by the ceiling of the drinking tent. "Oh, if you ever tell anyone I said this, I'll kill you."

"My lips are sealed." I assure him with a solemn nod.

"I'm great at destroying things, yeah, but it's all I know how to do. Always has been." He groans, taking another shot.

"Even when you were a baby?" I ask, leaning in.

"Yeah. I used to break all of Bleda's toys." Attila notes with a fond smile, which quickly turns into a frown. "And that's just it! I was trying to be nice to him, but I always made him cry! I can't create! I can only destroy!"

"Gonna be honest, was not expecting this many personal confessions." I say, looking at him uncomfortably.

"Don't care." Attila grunts, downing another bottle. "I'm sick of this shit. I need someone to vent to, and you're the only person in this entire camp that isn't a mindless kill-bot created by humanity's cognition of the Huns or Kriemhild."

"They're mindless?" I repeat questioningly, looking at our bartender, who's not really reacting to our conversation.

"Flynn, I did a puppet show with a human skull in front of them, and they still treated it like it was the greatest thing since the invention of war. Of course they're mindless."

"So, the puppet show was you trying to provoke a reaction? You didn't do that while you were alive?"

He full on laughs. "No, I actually did the puppet shows when I was alive. With Bleda's actual head, even. I wanted to test how feared I was, to see if I could do a goddamn puppet show in front of my entire army without a single one of them having the balls to call me on it. And they didn't say a single word. It was fucking hilarious." He pauses, looking a tad melancholy. "I kept doing it, afterwards. I wanted to see how far I could take it before they'd call me on it. They never did." He looks at me sharply. "Is my nose bleeding?"

"No."

"Good."

"So, if you're so sick of war and bloodshed, why don't you quit?" I ask, deciding to try my luck and take his newfound talkative mood for all it's worth.

"I can't. Destruction is all I can do."

"You're being a bit melodramatic, aren't you?"

"I'm being entirely literal, Flynn. Destruction is all I can do." He sighs, looking down at his hands. "I tried cooking, once. Just… to see if I could, you know? Try to make something, anything. Prove to myself that I'm more than just a tool of destruction."

"And did you?"

"I can't make a fucking sandwich, Flynn."

"What?"

"I can't even make a sandwich." Attila repeats, looking down at his hands. "I can't even make a sandwich. Scourge of God, and the Terror of Rome, and I can't even make a sandwich." He breaks down sobbing, "I can't make a fucking sandwich!"

I awkwardly pat him on the back as he weeps. "I mean… maybe with practice?"

"It's pointless. I just…" he at the bar with a sigh. "…I wanted to be something more. But I guess that's not who I am." He raises his next drink with snarl. "So, here's to me, Attila, Breaker of Shit. It's all I am, and it's all I'll ever be."

I join him in taking a drink, which is of course when he turns to me and asks, "So, how's your sex life?"

---

"So then, she did this thing with her tongue, and I was all like-" Attila recounts, lost in the haze of pleasant memories.

"Can we please stop talking about this?" I plead.

"Just trying to point out what you're missing out on." Attila says, slapping me on the back.

"Look, maybe I'll find some nice girl somewhere and settle down, long after this whole mess is over. But for now, I'm not going to emotionally compromise myself and potentially complicate my working relationships for short-term gratification."

"I mean, depending on your stamina, it can actually be some pretty long-term gratification. I mean, I remember my third wife. She could go on for hours. Real screamer, too, though that might have just been because I kidnapped her."

"Oh, hey, how about we talk about literally anything else," I beg. "Like your ransom demands! How do you aim to use my six Servants to come out ahead and win?"

"I don't, actually."

"What?"
"I don't aim to win." Attila says, taking another drink. "I just want to fight."

"So, you don't want to destroy Rome?" I ask cautiously.

"Nah, I want to destroy everything." Attila says with a small smile. "Rome included. Every time I see something, it's like there's this little voice in the back of my head telling me to fuck it up. But I also want to stop being a conqueror and become a florist, and to become the first man in history to ever walk on Mars. I want a lot of things. Just because I want to do something doesn't mean I immediately have to do it."

"Why Mars?" I ask curiously.

"Because Mars is the shit, dude." Attila answers, as if it were the most obvious thing ever. "But that one's about as far out of my reach as being a florist, so I can consider it impossible, too. Anyways, it's pretty clear that destroying things is all I can do, no matter how utterly sick of it I am. So, I just have to make do with what I have, and have what fun I can with destruction alone. And how the hell am I supposed to do that when Humanity's been Incinerated?"

"So, you want Augustus to win…"

"But I also want to stretch things out as long as possible." Attila finishes for me, grinning merrily. "I don't fight to win anymore, Flynn. Winning is boring. I fight to fight. And also to win, a little, but mostly to fight."

"So, you want us to stretch things out for you."

"Nah." He pokes me on the nose. "You don't get to figure out my plans that easily." He strolls off, swaying slightly as he goes. "Keep him under watch, boys."

'Galahad?' I send over the mental link. 'You there?'

'Yes.' He replies.

'I think Attila might be playing a longer game than any of us thought.'

'Are you drunk?' he sends back, along with the impression of a raised eyebrow.

'Only a little.' I say. 'He sort of appointed me his new drinking buddy. While we were drinking and shooting the shit, he gave me the impression that he actually has a real plan in the works. And I have no idea what it is.'

'Look, he's clearly underestimating us.' Galahad assures me. 'And I haven't seen much of a tactical mind from him thus far.'

'Except when he completely sucker-punched us and kidnapped me. Don't underestimate him. He's got another Servant here backing him up, too: Kriemhild. I'm not sure if she's a Caster or a Berserker.' I pause, thinking it over. 'There's a free spot in the Servant roster, right? Find a way to summon Siegfried.'

'Um, about that.' Galahad seems a bit sheepish all of a sudden. 'You might want to find a place to hide.'

I hear the barricade serving as their gate explode.

'You're already starting your assault?'

"Excellent!" Attila says from behind me. "I thought I'd have to wait until tomorrow!"

I turn, looking at him with dread. "Are you going to kill me?"

"Don't be foolish, boy. I wanted them to do this. It's why I had Kriemhild set up the Bounded Field to eavesdrop on your mental link, and not to block off the communication." He grins at my expression. "What, you thought I didn't know about that? You really did underestimate me." He pauses. "It was the hand puppetry, wasn't it? Nobody ever takes the guy with the hand puppet anywhere near as seriously as they should."

"Y-you what?"

"And from there it was just a matter of predicting their assault." He grins, spreading his arms wide. "And now here we are. Come on then, pal. Let's get moving."

And with that, he grabs me by the arm and drags me towards the sound of the fighting.

'Guys, full alert. Attila- ow- planned for this!'

And then we emerge into the battlefield.

The Huns have grouped up, but my Servants, with a Roman legion at their backs, are cutting them down easily. Medea soars on the wings of her cloak, while below, Romulus and Caesar fight side by side, exhorting their troops to further glory. And at the forefront of the battle, the vanguard consists of the wedge of Siegfried, Georgios, and Galahad, splitting the Hunnic ranks wide open. I can't see Yan Qing, but since he's an Assassin, I'm probably not supposed to.

And then Attila laughs. "Well, well. They brought in my competition. What a surprise."

"Jealous?" I ask, rubbing my arm.

"Nah. Kriemhild and I both knew it was no more than a business arrangement when we entered the marriage. And besides, I know for a fact that I've gotten more action in a month than that poor sap has in his entire life. I'm not going to begrudge him one woman who wasn't really much of a catch anyways. Crazy bitch."

Steel rings on steel, and Siegfried is suddenly directly in front of us, Balmung pressed hard against the sword of Mars. "I'm sorry. My hearing isn't exactly the best, these days. Would you care to repeat what you just called my wife?"

Attila's released me, both hands on his sword as he grins wildly. "Now this is what I like! Two men fighting with all they've got! Almost makes battle seem worth the trouble again!" he sets his feet firmly beneath him, hands tightly gripping his sword as he breaks away and then goes in with a strike of his own, starting off their dance of steel.

"You're the one she remarried to, aren't you?" Siegfried asks as they duel, the shockwaves of their blows slamming me back against one of the tents and setting buildings toppling down around them. "Thank you for taking care of her when I couldn't."

"It was a mere business arrangement, no more. Kriemhild was more than capable of taking care of herself," Attila says, licking his lips. "But she always did say that you were better than me with the sword. Let's see just how right she was!"

Galahad helps me up, while Georgios fends off the few Huns that are daring to venture close to their leader's duel. "You alright, Flynn?"''

"Yeah. Better now that you're here." I start thinking. What the Hell is Attila's endgame? What does he want? He said himself that he enjoys destruction, and is almost compelled to take part in it, but also wants to try his hand at something else. How does this plan, this invasion of his camp by a superior force, fit in? What is he trying to accomplish?

Suddenly, I feel a chill down my spine, and turn to look at its source.

She's coming.

Clad in black, her eyes wild, and her mouth peeled back in a sickly, hateful grin, Kriemhild walks down the street, the shadows deepening as she goes.

She's coming.

"Hagen!" she screams out. "Show yourself, you coward!"
"That's Siegfried's wife?" Galahad asks incredulously.

"I think she was a considerably more mentally stable person before she ended up a widow." I say, hiding behind him. 'Now stay quiet, and hold very, very still, and she might not notice us. I think her vision might be based on movement.'

'That makes absolutely no sense.'

'You've never seen Jurassic Park, have you?'

'Of course I haven't. I lived in the Sixth Century A.D.' he pauses. 'Mash hasn't either.'

'If we make it through this alive, I'll organize a movie night.'

"Face me, you coward!" Kriemhild bellows, dagger in hand. "No matter if you've caught me off guard, I'll kill you with my husband's blade again and again and again until you stay dead!"

The Attila/ Siegfried duel broke apart on her arrival, and Siegfried stares at his wife in disbelief. "Kriemhild?"

Her head turns, and she stares at him in confusion. "Sieg…fried?" And then she lunges at him. "I hate you! IhateyouIhateyouIhateyouIhateyou!"

She's crying as he grabs her arms and forces her to stop trying to stab him. "And I still love you, all the same."

"You left me," she's sobbing full-force, now. "You left me, and it hurt. How could you do that to me? How could you just leave me behind like that?"

"I didn't have a choice," he protests. "Brunnhilde was threatening war. The only way for the kingdom to be saved was for me to die."

"No, the only way for Hagen to get what he wanted was for you to die," Kriemhild replies, looking utterly forlorn. "And you bought it hook line and sinker. Hell, you would've just rolled over and died for him even if he hadn't bothered with his excuses, because you'd do anything if someone asked you politely enough. Without a care in the world for the people that loved you."

"Kriemhild, I-"

"You don't love me. Because if you did, you wouldn't have hurt me worse than I've ever been hurt before." She collapses into his shoulder sobbing as he looks like she just ran him over with a truck. "I hate you. I hate you so damn much."

"Kriemhild, I'm sorry," Siegfried says, open desperation in his eyes. "I'm sorry I left you behind. I'm sorry I didn't think about how you'd feel. Please, let me make it up to you. Please."

"Too late for that." She breaks away from him, revealing her own dagger embedded directly in her heart. "Let's see how you like it, you stupid… selfless… bastard."

I don't think I've ever seen a man look as devastated as Siegfried does, staring at the dissipating remains of his wife.

Attila clears his throat. "So, um… could we maybe get back to the important stuff? Namely me? Because, I mean, we were kind of fighting before our crazy mutual wife interrupted, and…"

What emerges from Siegfried's throat as he outright lunges at Attila can't be called even remotely human. Instead, it's the primal snarl of an enraged dragon.

His form, previously tight and controlled, vanishes as he throws himself at his adversary. Attila, for his part, doesn't lose his cool. For all his showboating outside of combat, when he's fighting, his swordsmanship is perfect. It's calm and methodical, with nary a wasted motion to be found. Against the rage-blinded Siegfried, he's now unstoppable.

Finally, he baits the dragonslayer into a charge, and sends him flying at least a mile away from the camp with a swing from the flat of his blade. Then, for some reason, he tosses the blade on after his opponent, before putting his hands on his hips and smirking.

"Was there a point to throwing your sword away?" I can't help but ask, before flinching as his eyes fall on me.

"Of course there was!" he assures me enthusiastically. "Did you know that Mars likes to wear frilly pink dresses?" From out in the distance, in the direction he tossed Siegfried, there's a great roar, and a massive eruption of prismatic energy. "Or that he likes to braid his hair with pink ribbons to make himself feel like a pretty, pretty princess?" KRAKATHOOM! "Or that his favorite hobbies include textile work, tending to olive trees, and planning out his battles in advance instead of just running in like a fucking dumbass?" KRAKATHOOM! "Oh, wait, that hobby list I was just describing? That's actually Minerva's. You know, the better war god." That one gets the biggest explosion yet.

"What is happening right now?" I scream in frustrated confusion.

"That's just my Noble Phantasm," Attila brags. "The Sword of Mars. So called because it was his sword before I stole it from him."

"You robbed my father?" Romulus asks incredulously as he and Caesar join the perimeter around the Hun, alongside Galahad and Georgios. Medea is hovering overhead, her glowing runic diagrams at the ready.

"Yep. I was, I want to say twelve at the time. He just showed up out of nowhere and started rambling on and on about some sort of White Titan, and some guy named 'Sefar' and how he wouldn't let me bring ruin to this world once more." He pauses. "And then I kicked him in the 'nads, stole his sword, and started beating him senseless with it." He shakes his head, seemingly unaware of the wary stares everyone in the perimeter is now giving him. "Boring fight, really. He never recovered from the initial sucker punch."

"Your Noble Phantasm… is from when you mugged a god," I say disbelievingly.

"Poor trade, really. It still only really works for Mars. But, at least I can manage to use it as a reusable bomb by taunting him."

"You may have incapacitated Siegfried with my father's stolen sword, short temper, and terrible aim, barbarian, but you will not pull off a second victory," Romulus announces, his eyes hard. "We outnumber you six to one, and you are currently unarmed. Make your peace with whatever gods you hold dear. You will be seeing them shortly."

"You're right." Attila concedes. "This is the end of the line. I'm outnumbered, and outgunned. As such, there's only one last technique left to try."

"Don't even think about it," Romulus commands, his hands tightening about his spear as he readies himself to lunge forward and end the threat.

"Oh, I think it actually has fair odds of succeeding, even if I've never before in all my life been pushed to the point where I'd have to use it," Attila says with a smirk, and then he throws up his hands and- "I surrender."

"What?" I ask, not quite believing what I just heard. Romulus stopped his spear inches from Attila's chest, and he's looking just as flabbergasted as I feel.

"I. Surrender." Attila repeats, still grinning. "Are you familiar with the concept? I have conceded defeat and stated that I will make no attempt to resist you any further, placing my trust in your mercy." He laughs. "Unless, of course, you fail to meet my one condition of surrender."

"Which would be?" I prompt, feeling completely and utterly lost.

"I want to help you guys out!" he says, prompting several indignant squawks from my Servants and myself. "I'm one hundred percent on Team Chaldea right now!"

"Are you serious right now?" I scream at him.

"Deadly. For your enemies."

"You freaking kidnapped me," I snap, one eye twitching. "If you think you can just WALTZ BACK IN AND JOIN US-"

"I'd be completely right," Attila informs me. "After all, didn't we already have an alliance going on? Just think of this as rearranging the terms."

"We didn't- you- you- YOU!" I shout, pointing at him accusingly as my right eye begins to twitch and my words start to come out all jumbled. "KIDNAPPED ME!"

"In my culture, it's a gesture of utmost respect to show up unannounced at your new ally's place of residence, kick down one of their walls, toss them over your shoulder and ride off." He raises an eyebrow. "Are you disrespecting my cultural heritage?"

"I-you!" I take a deep breath, and then collect my thoughts. "And what's to stop me from just killing you anyways?"

"Absolutely nothing." Attila says, with a grin that practically screams that he's going to turn the tables on me yet again. "Except, of course, that I was able to learn enough about you and your actions in other Singularities to accurately predict your behavior."

"Which means that…"

"Anyone else could learn, if they know how to look like I did, exactly what you do here." He grins. "Killing an unarmed and helpless opponent who's surrendered to you? Do you really think that'll go over well, especially considering all those times you've killed your enemies mid-parley? Can you honestly say that won't influence whether enemies will be willing to surrender, and turn their coats?"

"Even when you already planned this?" I point out, regaining my footing.

"Except I've already stated that I have no intention of destroying the world, or in any way harming the world's safety, and I'll say it again before as many methods of lie detection you care to provide." Attila counters. "So, by inference, my plan cannot cause any harm to you or Chaldea, but instead will perhaps aid it immensely, particularly since you gain the benefit of another Servant out of the mix." He grins. "So really, the choice is simple: Your ability to do your job, or your pride?"

"I-you-I-FUCK!" I start furiously swearing and punch the nearest tent. "FUCKFUCKFUCKFUCK!"

"I'll take that as you agreeing to my terms of surrender." Attila says with a satisfied smile. "Well, then, my new boss and comrades in arms, would you all care for a celebratory drink to commemorate our newfound alliance?"

Medea screams something unintelligible in Greek, which sounds quite similar in spirit to my own sentiments, while Romulus and Caesar both look like they have no idea what just happened. Galahad is laughing his ass off, and Georgios just sighs.

I take a deep breath, and then take my newest ally up on that drink.

 

[Charles Flynn]

"So." Augustus looks at me coldly after I've finished my report. "You're telling me that your presence in this entire Singularity has only served to get me even more Servants than I really needed in the first place, somehow play into the master plan of Attila the Hun, and extort me out of my money."

"I… suppose you could put it that way," I say, cringing as he looks at me.

"I'm beginning to sincerely worry for my continued survival, then, if my empire's existence is dependent upon your success."

"We normally get considerably better results than this." I protest.

"Hm. Fascinating. It's almost as if your presence here is completely redundant, and you're only here to profit off of me." Augustus observes mildly, leafing through a ledger as I continue to stand uncomfortably at attention in front of him. "Now what's a word to describe such a thing as you, that contributes nothing and leeches off the resources of more successful creatures? Ah, yes, a 'parasite.'"

"…are we still getting paid?"

"Get the fuck out of my office, Flynn."

---

I sigh and look at Roman's holographic image. "So. Good news and bad news."

"You do realize that we can see everything you do from the command chamber, right?" Roman asks with a raised eyebrow. "We already know."

"Well, on the bright side, at least we're still getting some pay, even if it is half of what was initially agreed upon."

"How's Siegfried holding up?" Roman asks, as I sit down in my new room.

It was a surprise when, on the detour we took to retrieve Attila's sword, we found Siegfried alive, flat on his back and embedded in the ground at the bottom of the blast crater. "He's… not been doing so well. Hasn't really said anything and hasn't really done much. He's probably going to need counselling after this is over."

"And Attila?"

"Cooperative, disarming and affable. Although, to be honest, he tends to be cooperative, disarming, and affable even when he's trying to kill you." I shake my head. "I think it might be that he just doesn't consider violence to be that big of a deal."

"Keep an eye on him."

"Well, obviously." I settle down for the night. "We're moving out in force tomorrow to crush Cleopatra's troops."

"Well, I suppose you should just sleep tight, and try not to be kidnapped again."

I flip him off as his holographic image vanishes, and then settle down to rest.

---

I wake up a few hours later to the sound of someone knocking on the door, which, after a bit of fumbling to get properly dressed again, I answer.

Caesar looks at me, perhaps the most profoundly exhausted fellow I've ever seen.

"Master. May I speak with you?"

"Certainly." He asked in English, so I respond in kind.

He takes a fortifying breath. "I suppose that I should be forthright with my desires on this matter: I do not wish to take part in tomorrow's military action."

"May I ask why?"

"I…" he looks uncomfortable. "May we discuss this matter inside?"

"Sure." I step aside and let him enter. Once he's inside and seated, I ask the obvious question. "Is this because you don't want to fight Cleopatra?"

"Am I really that obvious?" he asks wryly.

"Not really. I just spotted that you seemed a little off, and Galahad, who's considerably better at reading people than me, confirmed it. Considering our enemy, the cause was easily deduced."

"Fair enough," he concedes. "I suppose that my relationship with her wasn't exactly a secret." He looks at me with tired eyes. "I want to protect Rome, and humanity. But, even so, I can't bring myself to fight the woman I loved on the behalf of the man who killed both her and our son."

"You don't like Augustus very much, do you?"

"No. I'm grateful to him for carrying out my legacy. I respect him for ending the wars and bringing Rome peace. But I don't think I'll ever forgive him for having Caesarion killed."

"Can't really blame you. If you don't want to take the field, I won't force you to."

"Thank you, Master."

"Though, could I ask you something?"

He looks at me with an upturned eyebrow. "Ask away."

"Why did you fall for her?"

He snorts. "You don't ask the easy questions, do you?"

"Sorry if that's too personal."

"No, it's fine." He looks at the wall for a bit. "I don't think I've ever really put it into words, but… from the start, I always had to keep moving forward. First, it was because I wanted to be consul, and erase the disgrace my father brought to the family name. Then, it was because I'd committed so many crimes in the process of becoming consul and working with the Triumvirate that, if I stopped moving forward, if I stopped taking more and more power for myself, I'd probably be executed. I just had to keep moving, no matter what. Consulship runs out? Go on a multi-year campaign to subdue Gaul. Gaul runs out of barbarians to fight? Go to Britain. Senate doesn't renew the generalship? Cross the Rubicon. I marched forward, always escalating, always seizing more, until all my ambition had been replaced with a creeping dread that I had climbed so far up, that if I let go for even an instant, I would fall to my death."

"And then you met Cleopatra."

"And then I met Cleopatra," he agrees with a soft smile. "and the first time, I felt as though it might not be a bad thing to just… stop. I wanted to stop the endless pursuit of more power, and just… rest. Finally find comfort in what I had, because what I had was more than enough." His face hardens once more. "And then I died at the blades of the people who only lived because of my mercy, and my heir brought about the death of both her and my son. So, I suppose that my fears were accurate, in the end. For a man such as me, to stop is to die."

"I'll keep that in mind."

"See that you do." He gets up and leaves, leaving me to try and decide whether to try and catch a few more hours, or simply consider sleep a lost cause and make an early start to the day.

In the end, I settle on the latter.

---

"He's still sleeping," Lady Livia informs me. "Most people are. It's still an hour before the dawn, which means it's another three hours before when he usually gets up."

"I'm surprised. In all honesty, I thought he'd be up at the crack of dawn," I say, my hands held behind my back. I asked around after the Emperor but was informed that he was still sleeping. So, they sent me to his wife.

"So does he. He utterly hates having to sleep. Says there's barely enough hours in the day already without having to waste seven of them every night." She smiles fondly. "He works well into the night, and never sleeps soundly. But then, I suppose that's why he's Princeps. Sometimes it almost seems as though his body can barely contain him."

"A man of virtuous industry indeed, it seems."

"Yes, he most certainly is. I suppose that, since you're in charge of saving humanity, you must keep to a similar schedule?"

"Well, almost. I've had similar sentiments, before, though. Never seems to be enough time." And I just realized that I really ought to hit the eject button on this conversation soon, before she really starts grilling me. This is Livia, the woman who stood behind two Emperors that wouldn't have been half as effective without her. If not Augustus' right hand, then at the very least his left. She's certainly not someone to let your guard down around.

Fortunately, salvation comes quickly. Unfortunately, that salvation comes in the form of Attila. "Master! Good, you're up. I have some ideas for tomorrow!"

"I really do have to go," I say apologetically, as I turn to follow him.

"I certainly understand. Do tell Lady Medea to visit me again, though. She was an absolute delight to talk to." I try my hardest not to shudder at the implication of that.

Attila starts talking as we make our way to the map room. "So, what's left of Cleopatra's army is currently up against the Apennines, and honestly, she's been getting completely shredded throughout the whole campaign. Against Roman legions, her army of zombies, well, it doesn't do so great."

"Why?"

"Have you ever tried to get a group of zombies to form a coordinated battle line? Or do anything more complex than just charging the nearest enemy, even if they're behind a defensive emplacement? Because trust me, it is not easy." He snorts. "As long as the Romans stay in formation and keep their shield walls up, they can win against almost half again their number in zombies. Beyond that, Cleopatra isn't much of a military thinker. She's well-educated and intelligent, certainly, but she isn't versed in tactics. She always maintained her rule through political and economic power. Bit like Augustus, now that I think about it."

"He still beat her at Actium," I point out.

"Only because he had Agrippa," Attila counters, and I can't really argue with that. "And at the time, she had Antony with her. Augustus still has his greatest general, right now, and Cleopatra is on her own."

"So… what's your plan, and how sure are you that it's necessary?" I ask. "Because from what you just told me, I'm getting the sense that, even if Chaldea doesn't help Augustus, he'll still win."

"True, you are currently about as necessary and useful to Augustus as an extra toe, but that's what my plain aims to fix!"

"How?"

"I've planned out the best possible troop allocations to make sure that Chaldea comes out of this engagement looking like you actually contributed to the victory in a meaningful way, instead of looking like the band of utterly unhelpful kill-stealers you are."

"Hey!"

"You knew full well that the Singularity would have resolved itself without you before you went in. That makes this kill-stealing."

"Fine. What's your plan?"

He lays it out before me, and I honestly can't find fault with it. Which is just making me more worried.

"I'll need to make a few modifications."

---

"So." Hector stands ready before the palisade to Cleopatra's encampment. "You've returned to finish our duel at last, Sir Roland."

I count less than a hundred zombies milling through the encampment behind him. An Archer that looks wussy enough to be Paris stands atop a sniper's spot, and behind him is-
-Oh, that's just Helen, she's not important-
-absolutely no one important. According to Augustus' Assassin, who I still haven't seen yet, Cleopatra is in the small farmhouse at the encampment's heart, trying to summon another Servant.

"I'm afraid not, noble Hector. The Emperor has forbidden me from engaging you in a proper duel."

"Yeah, you better run!" Paris shouts from up on the tower. "My big brother's gonna kick your butt!"

Hector's friendly smile becomes considerably more pained. "I don't suppose it's because someone else had a prior claim, is it?"

"Nope!" Attila interjects cheerfully. "It's because Captain Chivalry over here just wouldn't be able to stand the thought of us all ganging up on you!"

"Bring as many as you want!" Paris crows from his perch, while Hector seems to quietly wish he was an only child. "My awesome big brother is completely invincible! Only Achilles could ever hope to take him down! And with me backing him up, he's twice as invincible, so you losers are completely-"

Menelaus snarls, and Paris screams like a little girl and hides.

"Dammit, Dad, you already had almost a dozen of us, learn to pull out," Hector mutters, before straightening his shoulders and setting his feet. "Let's skip the speeches and get to my inevitable demise, shall we? I already know how this song and dance goes."

And just like that, the battle begins. Hector doesn't even have the chance to move before Siegfried hits him with Balmung point-blank- and I can feel my circuits pinch from the strain. And then, while Yan finishes him off, the rest of Servants sans Menelaus and Yan flood into the camp, cutting down every zombie that gets in their way as they make a beeline for Cleopatra's last redoubt.

"I- I WON'T LET YOUR DEATH GO UNAVENGED BIG BROTHER!" Paris shouts, drawing back his bow. "Hey, who cut my bowstring?"

Then-
-Helen pushes him. Wait, that's impossible, Helen's too unimportant for something like that. Obviously-
-he trips, falling end-over-end like someone pushed him from behind, and landing right in front of Menelaus.

"You know," Menelaus says thoughtfully as he looms over the sprawling prince of Troy. "After this I don't think I'll have a wish for the Grail anymore."

"W-Why would that be?" Paris asks, his entire body shaking as he looks up at the Spartan king.

"Because this? Right here? Just you and me, no tricks, no Noble Phantasms, and nobody to interfere?" Menelaus is grinning wildly at this point. "This the one thing I wanted more than anything."

"Would it help if I said I was sorry?" Paris asks, his voice squeakier than a rusty hinge.

"I think I might forgive you, actually." Menelaus' grin just widens as Paris' face, for just the briefest moment, lights up. "With my fists." One foot suddenly kicks up, smashing in Paris' nose and leaving him a weepy mess. "Oh, yes, we're going to have to do a lot of forgiving. Don't worry though. I have plenty of time to spare."

I turn away from the ensuing carnage and make my way towards Cleopatra's villa, when the whole thing suddenly erupts, an enormous pillar of eye-encrusted, blackened flesh sprouting from its ruins.

'Master, slight problem.' Georgios sends over the mental link. 'Cleopatra turned into a Demon Pillar.'

'WHAT? How is that even possible?'

'Unknown. We're falling back to regroup and strategize.'

Soon, my Servants (and Attila and Roland) are all back with me, and we desperately try and figure out what to do, over the background noise of Menelaus clearly having the time of his life beating Paris to death with his bare hands. Paris' bare hands, to be exact.

"You know," Attila finally says, after thirty minutes of arguing. "Personally, I think we should just do what Mars did back when Diomedes made him his bitch and run away." KRACKATHOOM!

I turn towards the blast crater, so close that I can still feel the heat. "You left your sword behind when we retreated, didn't you?"

"Yep."

"And you didn't tell us, leaving us to debate for half an hour on how best to kill that thing for what reason exactly?"

"I figured Menelaus would want to take his time beating Paris to death." He has the audacity to smile as he says that.

"I…" I sigh. "So. Singularity's resolved, then."

"Yes, it most certainly is!" Attila says. Around us, the other Servants begin to dissolve.

"So, what even was your plan?" I ask, my headache growing.

"I wanted to make sure you'd summon me to Chaldea!"

"I'm sorry, what?"

"I figured that working for Chaldea might be a nice change of pace," Attila explains cheerfully. "I mean, even if all I can do is destroy, at least I can use my prodigious talent for destruction for a good cause! So, I prolonged the Singularity in the hopes that you'd show up, and when you did turn up, I nabbed you and made sure to show off what I can do!"

"So, you're telling me that ever since you were summoned to this Singularity, you've been planning to use it as a JOB INTERVIEW?" I shriek.

"Did it work?" he grins and- you know? Before this horrific misadventure, I would've probably dismissed Attila as just being an unstable barbarian warlord, probably had him offed the minute I summoned him. But… now that I've actually met him?

"Yes. And I'm still not sure if I want to applaud or throttle you for it."

"I get that a lot." He starts to fade. "So, you'll summon me at Chaldea?"

"That's not up to me, really. It's all the luck of the draw."
"So, even if I impressed you, it still wouldn't give me better odds?" he laughs. "Well, at least I'm not the only one who missed a crucial detail."

"Wait, what do you mean by that?"

"What were the terms of your agreement with Augustus?"

"He'd pay us in food and materials for helping him, a tenth in advance, and the remainder… after the Singularity was over."

Oh, that cheeky motherfucker. He stiffed us! He fucking stiffed us!

And so, still snarling profanity while Attila laughs his ass off, the Rayshift carries me away.

 

[Charles Flynn]

After the absolute disaster that was our second trip to Rome, the next two weeks keep to the routine, albeit without any poisonings, and with the addition of a weekly movie night that does wonders for morale.

Additionally, the summonings prove in equal parts fruitful and irritating. Fruitful because we got some good servants out of the mix, and irritating because we summoned the Red Sea again, set back repairs by weeks and leaving everyone soaked and miserable.

But still, I don't doubt that the Servants will prove useful.

---​

He stands tall and proud, encased in bronze armor, with a hoplite's shield on one arm and a bronze spear in the other.

"Servant Lancer! True Name Leonidas!" he bellows, his cape fluttering behind him. "If you command it, I will hold the line against all the world."

"An honor to meet you, King of Sparta," I say. It's cool to meet him, and all, but I don't think he has all that many non-combat skills. "Please go see Dr. Roman for your work assignment."

---​

The purple-haired, utterly-insane-looking Servant we just summoned looks down on us with a sinister grin and laughs. Wait, isn't he that clown Frankenstein was torturing back in London? "Oh, you've been a naughty, naughty boy to summon someone like me. Servant Caster! True Name: Mephistopheles."

And that is a whole lotta nope. "Cursed Arm!"

---​

"Servant Lancer, True Name- Oh. It's you." Hector of Troy sighs as he looks down at us from the summoning platform. "Well, at least I'm on your side, this time, so you can't turn me into a human pincushion again. Or have your Servants all jump me and beat me into a paste."

"Ah. Yes, sorry about that." I smile uncomfortably. "Well, at least we're on the same side this time?"

"Yeah, sure, whatever." He heads for the door. "I'm off to talk to Dr. Roman. Try not to summon Paris or Achilles."

---​

"Servant Archer," the gun-slinging cowboy I just summoned announces, twirling his revolver. "True Name Billy the Kid."

Oh my god. A Servant with a gun. I can do so much damage with this! He's definitely going on one of my away teams. "A pleasure to have you, Mr. McCarty. Please see Dr. Roman for your work assignment. I'll contact you myself if I need you on a deployment."

As he goes, I can't help but grin to my myself. He may not be able to do much against some of the monsters we've faced, but he'll be incredibly useful against human enemies and Servants.

"Marjani, fire it up!" the rings spin once more and-

For a moment, just a moment, I stare for the second time at two great columns of water, a ravine in the middle of a sea. And then the Red Sea unparts, and pins me to the wall as I struggle to breath, pouring out through the door and flooding Chaldea again.

---​

"Servant Rider, True Name Medusa," the ridiculously attractive, blindfolded Gorgon says, before stopping and staring.

"Y'know, I'm kind of disappointed that you're not a hideous, snake-haired monstrosity. Is that weird?"

"I- um-"

"Hey, no being rude to the lady," Cu chastises me, before walking up to her with his best smile. "Hey. Welcome aboard, Miss Medusa. I'm Cu, want me to show you around?"

"Don't make me get the squirt gun." I warn, to which he flips me off.

"You have a squirt gun?" Medusa asks, looking completely baffled. "Is that why the floor's flooded?"

"Y'know what, I still have a headache from being pinned to a wall and nearly drowned, so, yeah, go with Cu, he'll give you the tour, if he gets fresh with you, tell me or Roman, we'll straighten him out." I wave her away. "Have fun."

Cu leads her off, still looking confused.

"Marjani, fire it up."

---​

"MAIM, BURN, DESTROY!" the scantily clad Servant shouts.

"Lady Atalanta? What happened to your clothes?" dammit, I liked her! Having to kill her would be a pain.

"Shed them! Donned the pelt! BECAME THE BOAR!"

"Well, could you maybe un-become the boar? Because this is very awkward."

"NO!"

"Well, I'll probably be bringing you along on some of our deployments. Until then, can I trust you to abide peacefully within Chaldea's halls, and abide by my rulings, and the rulings of my superiors?"

"Yes. I will obey. But if you, or any of your fellows harm children, I will show you no mercy."

"We won't have any children here for the next eight months or so, so that's fine by me."

"There is a child here?"

"Unborn, but yes."

"Take me to it."

And that's how I end up introducing another maternally inclined, mentally disturbed Servant to Sarah Davis.

---​

"Servant Assassin. True Name, Hassan-I-Sabbah."

"Okay. What's your gimmick?"

Her shoulders hunch. "I am a master poisoner, and my very skin constantly secretes a deadly toxin. It is for this reason that I am called the Hassan of Serenity."

"Cool. Teach me your ways." Wait, that might actually be a problem. "But first, I'm gonna need you to put on a parka, facemask, and pair of gloves. For safety purposes."

---​

"All right, thank you all for coming." Roman says. "You're all probably wondering why I called you here."

"It's kind of obvious," I point out. "We're still running low on supplies."

"No, actually. We're here because we've located the next Singularity."

"Where is it?"

"America."

"Okay, and where in America is it?"

"The entire Continental United States." Roman announces.

I feel the bottom of my stomach drop. "Well, fuck."

 

[Charles Flynn]

I stride into the Rayshift Chamber. Atalanta, Billy, Serenity, Robin, Arash, and Siegfried all await me.

"All right, then. This is easily the biggest Singularity yet. Be ready for anything to go wrong." I sigh. "Time to go home now, I suppose."

We file into the Klein Coffins, and the light carries us away.

---​

We're on a wide, seemingly endless prairie, and-

Is this South Dakota? It feels kind of familiar. I don't remember the place smelling this bad, though.

Then, I see the bodies.

They dot the prairie, the buffalo and the people that hunted them, all cut down and hacked apart without mercy, and left behind to rot.

"Flynn? What are you-" Galahad freezes when he sees them. "What did this?"

"It's 1783. The genocide of the Native Americans by the colonists hadn't started in earnest in proper history," I point out numbly, staring out at the seemingly endless sea of corpses. "Beyond that, these bodies were hacked apart. Not shot." I think I see a family, a ways away. A mother, carrying a baby in her arms, both killed with a single stroke of the sword. The father, dead in front of them, trying to protect them to his last breath.

"So-"

"Whoever's behind this is most likely the cause of this Singularity." A raven lands nearby, and plucks out one corpses' eye. "So we bury the bodies. And then we go to make some more."

---​

As we travel, we find more. Colonists and Natives alike. All cut down without mercy.

Eventually, though, we find a military camp.

'Right. Be ready to go for the kill, if necessary. They might be the ones behind this.'

"Ahoy the camp!"

As soon as I say that we're surrounded by-

Are those red, white, and blue Helter Skelters? With guns for hands?

 

[Charles Flynn]

"Are you the Master of Chaldea?" a dark-haired woman asks, stepping out from behind the hyperpatriotic robot army. She wears a dark dress, and a shawl. At her right hand stands a tall, pale man in golden armor, who stares at us dispassionately.

"Merely a humble traveler." I say, making sure to stay behind Galahad. 'Arash and Robin, fall back. Arash, set up at sniping distance. Robin, set up traps between us and the enemy position. If combat breaks out, Galahad and I will fall back towards Arash's position, while Atalanta, Billy, and Siegfried engage them. Serenity, stealth and target the armored warrior with your poison. Billy, the second the fight starts, use your NP and shoot the woman.'

They all tell me they understand, and I return my attention to the woman and the albino.

"A 'humble traveler,' huh?" the woman repeats, sounding amused. "Well then, Mr. Gagngrad, myself and Mr. Karna will still have to bring you in. I think the king will want to see you all the same."

Did she just say Karna?

Okay, we might be stuck with acquiescing to their demands. If it means not having to fight against the greatest warrior in the Mahabharata, then I suppose just going to see their king isn't too much to ask.

Wait. 'King?'

"Ah. This king of yours wouldn't happen to be a duly elected official representing the people of the United States of America, would he?"

She looks slightly uncomfortable. "Well, no, but there wasn't really time to go through proper procedures when the Celts invaded, so he just sort of declared himself Presi-King of the United States of America in the interim."

"I'm sorry to say it, Miss…"

"Madam Blavatsky."

"Madam Blavatsky, but I don't think we'll be going with you."

"We really weren't asking, to be honest."

"I have seven Servants. Do you really want to try those odds?"

"We have a Karna. Do you?"

'Serenity, now.'

My Assassin, who was already moving to get into striking range, lunges at Karna. He kills her with a single thrust of his spear, of course, splitting her in half, but by doing so he ends up drenched in her blood.

'Now!'

Atalanta tears into the knockoff Helter Skelters, while Siegfried crosses blades with Karna. Billy, for his part, draws faster than the eye can see and shoots Madame Blavatsky just below the collarbone, producing two sonic booms in less than a second. As for me, I'm already running, with Galahad covering my retreat.

No pursuit, so I'll call the plan a success.

Arash is waiting for us a mile away (Galahad just up and carried me after the first two hundred yards,) his bow thrumming as he shoots down Helter Skelters..

"Master." He looks at me, bent over and panting. "There are more enemies approaching to the south "

"More of this… 'Presi-King's' troops?"

"No. They are all in various states of undress and wield ancient weaponry. They're led by two Heroic Spirits, and from the language and dialect of their internal chatter, I would surmise them to be Irishmen from the region of Connaught, all from around the First Century A.D."

"Okay, I need to bring you along more often. You're easily the best information gatherer we have."

"Thank you. It's always nice to know you're appreciated." He launches off another five arrows in the time it takes him to say that.

Wait… Medieval weaponry… Oh. Well, at least now we know who's behind the mass slaughter… and it's the army of superhuman warriors. Who are heading towards the army of my countrymen whose fighting strength I just crippled.

'All Servants, fall back!' What the Hell was I thinking? I just heard 'King' and automatically lashed out! Who the hell cares what he's called, he's probably the only reason this whole nightmare of an alternate history hasn't been worse! FUCK! And if the enemy has Servants, I might've just crippled the entire American front by killing Karna!

"Galahad, I may have doomed us all."

"What?" he looks at me in concern.

"I jumped to conclusions and was a bit too trigger-happy. If that's the case, and this American King is not in fact this Singularity's biggest threat, as I first assumed, and is instead the defensive line keeping the genocidal Celts at bay, then I just put us on a timer."

"Yeah, I was wondering why you were so immediately hostile."

"Because he's a king. In America. As an American myself, I can firmly tell you that we. Don't. Do. Kings. It's kind of our schtick." I push my glasses up to pinch the bridge of my nose. 'All Servants engaged in combat, fall back. We have bigger problems.'

Dammit, this means I completely wasted Serenity. As I mentally cringe at the wasted resource, Galahad looks at me, perplexed. "You know, I never really understood your country's issues with the idea of monarchy. Camelot had a king, and you didn't see us complaining."

"Having a nigh impossible paragon of goodness and virtue who was spoken of in reverent awe for over a thousand years after his passing at the helm doesn't mean that your system, by itself, is functional. It just means you won the proverbial lottery. And frankly, if your system needs someone like King Arthur to work properly, then catastrophic failure is inevitable." 'All Servants, fall back.' "Arash, how close, and how many?"

If they're coming from the south, they're going to trap us in a pincer movement. We need to relocate. And my forces are overcommitted against… against my own country's army.

"Less than a mile away. The generals are ahead of their troops, making their way towards us."

Why would they- Oh. Right. Thank God for idiot Celts and their goddamn battle fetishes.

"Cease fire on the American Army. Galahad, prepare to receive enemies." 'Robin, start trapping and set up for guerilla tactics. Atalanta, Siegfried, and Billy, how well have you managed to disengage?"

Atalanta answers me by landing next to me. "Master. I have returned."

"Good."

'Can't get away. That crazy Blavatsky chick is keeping me pinned down.'

'It is much the same for me,' Siegfried informs me solemnly. 'I cannot retreat without exposing my vulnerable back.'

Son of a-

'Master,' Arash sends, interrupting my mental tirade. 'I can get us out from between the two armies.'

'Do it.'

'Tie this rope around your wait while I line up my shot,' he says, filling me with dread.

"Well. If it isn't the Master of Chaldea," an unfamiliar voice says. "And I didn't even have to suck my thumb to find you."

I turn, and two unfamiliar men, one blond and holding a single spear, clad all in white, and the other black-haired, with a mole on his left cheekbone and a spear in each hand. Clearly Servants. While my forces are split, I'm sandwiched between two armies, and my escape route is still in the works.

Silver tongue, don't fail me now. "Ah! Would you be Fionn Mac Cumhaill, by any chance?"

"Oh? And how did you guess?" he's preening. Bit of an ego. I can exploit that. His sidekick is probably Diarmuid Ua Duibhne, and already looks to be gearing up for some sort of correction or complaint. Beleaguered assistant type. I can use that too.

"It was clear from your hair, and all the clearer from the wisdom you claimed to hold in your thumb," I say, turning up the flattery. "From these things, it was indisputable that you are Fionn, son of Cumhaill, king of the Fianna, that legendary godslayer second only to Cu Chulainn himself."

"Oh, please, go on," Fionn says, fanning himself.

"Lord Fionn, we are under orders to kill him, are we not?" Diarmuid points out, looking exhausted. "And besides, he is blatantly exploiting your pride to buy time for something."

"And as for your companion, I would have to guess from his duel-wielding, his mole, and his cowardice that he is Diarmuid Ua Duibhne, the man who stole your fiancé and got killed by a pig," I continue. Best to drive a wedge between them as quickly as possible, and I get the sense that Fionn considers Diarmuid annoying. "May I ask why you're keeping him around?"

Fionn busts a gut laughing, while Diarmuid turns an interesting shade of red.

"You DARE to besmirch MY HONOR?" the First of the Fianna roars, his hands tightening around his spears. "I will cut you down WHERE YOU STAND, you insolent pup!"

"Now, now, Diarmuid, he's not wrong." Fionn admonishes, an amused smile on his face.

"Lord Fionn!"

"I've forgiven you, certainly, but the actions still happened."

"Still, my honor has been besmirched. I demand satisfaction!" he levels one spear at me. "I challenge you! Face me for your insults, that we may duel as men!"

"How many have you killed?" I ask, deciding that a quick change in subject is in order before Diarmuid completely wrecks my shit.

"What?"

"How many have you killed? I don't mean warriors, mind you. I mean the woman and children. I mean the people who didn't fight, who weren't trained for battle. Who wouldn't stand a chance against you. How many did you kill?" I keep my tone friendly and conversational. I can tell that the dissonance is unnerving them.

Fionn's enjoyment seems to have waned, and Diarmuid looks distinctly uncomfortable. "We…"

"It's just that, well, my family traces back to Ireland, and I always considered the two of you to be heroes. I actually admired you. So, it's been a bit of a wrench to find you here in this Singularity, leading an army that I'm fairly sure has been orchestrating the genocide of Native Americans and colonists alike. Really kills the respect and admiration, you know?" I tilt my head. "So. How many did you kill?"

"I have abstained from the slaughter of the defenseless, as has my lord. There is no honor to be found in killing those that cannot fight," Diarmuid says, his back proud and straight.

"But you haven't stopped the armies you've led from killing the noncombatants once you're done killing their defenders, now, have you?" I arch an eyebrow. "A mighty feat indeed, to murder by inaction."

Fionn winces. "Our queen commands that this land be cleansed, so that we may make of this place a land by us and for us, and only us. To deny the orders of our liege would be dishonorable."

"Wow. Committing genocide so you can steal their land. Real original. And 'just following orders' hasn't been a valid excuse for crimes against humanity since the Nuremburg Trials." I pause in mock surprise. "But those haven't happened yet, now that I think of it! And, if you succeed, they'll never happen, mostly because you'll have served as an accomplice to the extermination of humanity! Way to skirt that legal loophole, guys!"

As if to emphasize my point, the charging hordes of Celtic- no, no, let's be honest here, Irish warriors finally reach us, parting around their commanders and running on in pursuit of the crippled American army.

"And what would you have us do?" Fionn asks, gritting his teeth. "We are bound by our honor to serve and obey!"

"You are bound by honor to stain your honor?" I ask. "I believe the answer is clear. Your honor is stained regardless. It is merely a matter of choosing which will bring you greater shame: Breaking your fealty to this queen of yours, or being an accomplice to genocide?"

"Lord Fionn," Diarmuid turns to his commander. "He has a point."

"I know."

"Whatever you decide, I will follow. I swore never to fail you again, and I will keep my word."

Fionn stares at the ground for a moment, before looking up at me, his determination clear to see. "I will be party to this no more. If you will have me, Master of Chaldea, I will stand with you."

Wait, did that actually work? I was flying by the seat of my pants for that entire conversation!

'Master,' Siegfried sends, cutting off my sense of accomplishment with cold, hard reality. 'Karna is almost dead.'

'That's a problem.' Also, there's still the army of Celts. If I don't help, the American forces will be overrun.

'He is employing his Noble Phantasm.'

Wait, that would obviously have to be Vasavi Shakti, wouldn't it? That's great! It'll take out the entire army!

And… we're directly behind that army. I turn and stare as Karna, divested of his armor and glowing with all the fire and fury of the sun, rises, three blades slotting into place on his left as he raises a glowing, golden spear with his right arm.

"GALAHAD!"

"OURGLORIOUSHOMELANDTHATWHICHHEALSALLWOUNDSLORDCAMELOT!"

The walls rise against the thunder incarnate, and the thunder breaks against the doors of home, and a single knight's will to protect. Behind the walls of Arthur's perfect city, I close my eyes, but the glare is still blinding.

Finally, it fades, and I look out at the devastated wasteland. Everything not protected by Galahad's walls or behind Karna is just gone. In its place is only molten stone.

'Robin? Billy? Siegfried?' No answer. Which means that I lost over half my Servants on my first day in this Singularity. Fuck.

In the distance, I see Karna collapse, and Madam Blavatsky run to his side. And I hear her wail of grief as he fades.

"We should go."

The Servants, our new friends Fionn and Diarmuid included, nod shakily in agreement.

 

[Charles Flynn]

"So," I finally say, after half an hour of walking in silence. "Is there a faction besides the Celts and the Americans?"

"There's the Resistance." Fionn says, turning to look at me.

Besides me, Arash readies his bow, and changes direction. "Master, chimera three klicks to the south-southeast."

'Atalanta, chimera, three clicks south-southeast.'

As Atalanta runs in to attack the Phantasmal before it can become a problem, Arash's bow begins to thrum, firing his deadly arrows with perfect accuracy.

The early warning and interception system was Arash's idea, and easily one of the best strategies we've implemented thus far. Monsters are dealt with before they even see us, and threats we can't take out are avoided.

"The Resistance?" I repeat, feeling hope begin to well up inside me. Maybe there's an actual good-guy faction in this whole mess! One which I didn't just royally piss off!

"They formed in response to the war crimes of both the Celts and the Presi-King. They strive to protect the people of the United States of America, regardless of race, class or creed, and resolve this Singularity."

"And you know all of this because…"

He holds up his thumb, and I nod in understanding. Then I frown as I remember something. "Wait, how is there even still a war going on? Your Noble Phantasm gives you infinite access to perfectly accurate intel, why haven't the Celts already won?"

He grins. "Well, that one was easy. I just played the fool as convincingly as I could. Nobody really thinks about what you can do and makes you work according to your actual ability when you act like an uncontrollable womanizer."

Diarmuid blinks. "Wait, WHAT?"

"You didn't really think I was THAT much of an idiot, did you?" Fionn asks, raising an eyebrow as Diarmuid boggles at him. "I realized that, if I actually acted serious, they'd make me do more work, and then I'd just stain my honor even further."

"So… this whole time…" Diarmuid starts to tear up and then hugs his lord. "Lord Fionn! You acted like an insufferable ass in order to preserve your honor, and the lives of those around you?"

"Um, yes?" Fionn says, patting his weepy subordinate on the back awkwardly. "I… just said that."

"My king! I should never have doubted you!" Diarmuid continues, while Fionn shifts uncomfortably in his arms. "I had begun to question if you were truly the virtuous and wise lord I served in life when you made me fight off that army of robots single-handedly while you visited that brothel back in Missouri, but now it's confirmed beyond the shadow of a doubt!"

"Errrr… yes." Fionn says, silently begging me to save him from this unspeakably awkward moment with his eyes.

"Hey, Diarmuid, Atalanta needs a wingman to help her fight some of the monsters." He jumps to attention and lets Fionn go. "Could you go with her on interception duty?"

"As you would have it, Master of Chaldea!" Diarmuid says, running off, and leaving me with just Arash, Galahad, and Fionn.

"Thank you." Fionn says when Diarmuid's out of earshot.

"No problem. You know, I wouldn't mind a heads-up on who's who, and what Servants are in what faction. Also, you know, the general strategic overlay."

"No problem." He seems to think it over for a second, clears his throat, and then begins. "The whole Singularity started after the Revolutionary War was won. Medb of Connaught was summoned and gained the Holy Grail."

"That's your queen?" I ask to confirm.

"Yes. She used the Grail to wish for Cu Chullain to become a cruel and powerful king that could rule by her side as an equal. Then, together, they launched into a brutal war of conquest, birthing an army of warriors and summoning various other Celtic mythological figures to aid them. That's when Presi-King Thomas Edison showed up. With Karna and Blavatsky at his side, and working together with George Washington and the Revolutionary Army, they managed to hold off the Celtic onslaught long enough to retreat to the West Coast. Along the way, the French, Spanish, and Native American tribes they encountered were forced to join them, or else killed at Edison's order."

"What." That's… that doesn't make sense. "Edison did that?"

"Yes." Fionn says, looking at me oddly. "Why is that so hard to believe?"

"Thomas Edison was a pacifist." Seriously, what would make him do something like this?

"Huh. That's strange. Wait let me check something." Fionn sticks his thumb in his mouth, and then stands stock-still for a few seconds, before pulling it back out. "Huh. Okay, you're right. He was a pacifist, but apparently the spirits of America's presidents decided to possess him in order to strengthen him and get rid of his pesky moral hangups."

"Wait, how is that even possible? Did all of America's Presidents qualify as Heroic Spirits?" I swear to God, if Warren G. Harding qualifies as a Heroic Spirit, I will probably die laughing.

"Most of them are Wraiths, actually. The only two in the Edison Collective who qualify as Heroic Spirits are Theodore Roosevelt and Andrew Jackson."

"Yep. That'd explain it." And by God is it depressing that Andrew Jackson is on the Throne of Heroes. "So. Continue?"

"Ah. Yes. Edison managed to hold the Celts off long enough to get an industrial production chain up and running, forcing every last non-combatant to work day-in and day-out. That's when the Revolutionary Army and most of the Heroic Spirits that had previously supported him broke off and formed the Resistance, partnering up with the Native American tribes of the plains."

"That sounds promising. Now, then. Use that thumb of yours to lead us to their nearest base and tell me some more about the Singularity."

---

Fionn has just finished confirming for me that yes, Darth Cu still has the original's geasas, when Arash speaks up. "Master. There is a patrol of men armed with muskets. Judging by the quality of the patrol's uniforms and equipment, I would have to say that we may have found the Resistance."

'Atalanta, fall back to my position and take Diarmuid with you.'

Right. Time to figure out how I want to present myself on my initial approach. Peaceful and willing to cooperate is certainly the best way to go, certainly, but should I have Fionn and Diarmuid conceal themselves?

No, that's just going to end up alienating them. Best to be open and honest.

But first…

"Fionn, what are the chances that they'll cooperate with us if we approach them openly and honestly state our intentions? Taking all possible factors into account, of course."

He sucks his thumb. "Approximately 92.4% chance of successful cooperation."

"I'll take those odds. All right people! Weapons away, hands in the air, we're going to meet them!"

Seriously, I love having Fionn on my side. It's like having the internet back! I can look things up again, and instead of my primary source being Wikipedia, it's Ireland's answer to King Arthur!

The patrol comes into view soon. Five men, two black, two Native American, can't really tell which tribe from context, and one white. The white man looks like he's their commanding officer. Not really surprising, considering the era. They start when they see us, all standing with our hands in the air, completely unarmed. Wish we had a white flag to wave.

"Could you take us to your camp? We wish to parley with your leader and offer our assistance."

After about ten minutes in a huddle, talking in hushed voices, they do so, keeping their guns pointed our way at all times.

---

The camp is a ragtag affair, tents and teepees interspersed, with no particular sequence defining which one will appear next.

We're led into the command tent, where-

Oh. OH MY GOD!

A man in war paint, in the garb of a chieftan, stands at what's clearly a planning table. Across from him is George Washington himself.

I'm in the same tent as the father of my country! I can die happy now.

"So," America's first President begins, looking me over. "You're the Master of Chaldea, correct?"

"Yes!" I say, trying desperately not to squeal like a little girl. "Charles Flynn, and it's an honor to meet you, sir!"

"Oh, Creator, not another one," the Native American chieftain grumbles. "I'm Geronimo, although I doubt you actually care about who I am. Coyote's teeth, it's Billy all over again."

"An honor to meet you as well, Mr. Geronimo." I affirm, remembering my manners. "I've heard a great deal about your exploits, even if I'm more familiar with Sitting Bull."

"Of course you are," he grouses. "Everyone is. But thanks for being polite, I suppose." He looks back at the map. "Are my reports correct? Have you killed Karna?"

"Errr… yes, but, in my defense, it was… well, in my own defense. He and Blavatsky were insisting that I come with them to meet their king. I suspected foul play, so I shot first."

"All the same, son, you've dealt us a heavy blow," General Washington says, his face grim. "Karna was one of the only people who were keeping this war a stalemate. Now that he's gone, we're in serious trouble. It's only a matter of time before Medb and her armies overrun us."

"I kind of figured as much," I say with a guilty wince, before perking back up. "But, all the same, I come bearing gifts." I pull Fionn up to stand beside me. "Ta-Da! I present to you none other than the one and only Fionn Mac Cumhaill! Formerly aligned with the enemy, but I managed to get him to admit the error of his ways and join us. One of his Noble Phantasms is the Salmon of Knowledge, with grants him omniscience whenever he sucks on his thumb. In short: With him on our side, we have unlimited, real-time actionable intel."

The two legends, one living, the other dead, look my offering up and down and then turn to each other.

"I'm not entirely sure about trusting a former enemy, but that sounds tempting indeed," Geronimo says after a moment.

"True. With that sort of active intelligence, we can finally put our Hail Mary into action." Washington says with a nod. He turns to look at me. "Excellent work, Flynn."

"My thanks. May I inquire about this 'Hail Mary' you're planning?"

"I'd prefer to keep the information between Geronimo and myself for the time being. We'll need all hands on deck, though, so I'm afraid that I must ask you to aid us once again."

"In what respect?" I ask. If they aim to embark on this plan without telling me what it is, President or not, he's got another thing coming.

"I'll need you, and whatever Servants you can summon to make your way between the various Resistance cells and tell them to make their way to the rendezvous point. We'll need them assembled within a single week."

Oh. Oh, that's going to be tough to pull off.

"How many, and how far apart?"

"Don't worry, you won't be going to all the Resistance cells," Geronimo interjects. "We'll plot a route to gather a good number of them ourselves."

"Alright. What route would you have us follow?"

They look over the map for a moment or two, before Geronimo traces out a path on one large map, and then hands it over to me. "Here. This will take you through all the Resistance camps you need to visit, and then back up to the rendezvous point in Nebraska."

I look it over and- Oh, dear God Almighty in heaven. "This takes us through nine states, most of which seem to be in enemy territory."

"Well, you have a smaller group than we do. Unlike us, you can avoid notice."

"Fair enough."

To cover that much ground in a week, though…

Jesus, this is going to be a living hell.

"Let me summon up the Servants I need, and gather some supplies, and I'll be off." I pause. "I assume you'll want Diarmuid and Fionn to stay with you?"

"Yes. We have greater credibility with the rest of the Resistance, and as such, should be in charge of introducing them and explaining their role. If they go with you, they may lead to Resistance members mistaking you for an enemy."

"Is that acceptable to you two?" I ask, giving the two knights of the Fianna a look.

"Fine by me. As long as I have a chance to fight, and help out, I'm good." Fionn smiles as he says that.

"I concur with my lord." Diarmuid says. "A worthy battle in service to a righteous cause is all a knight like me can ask for."

"Then I have no objections," I say, folding up the map. "I'll go and make my preparations."

---

"So. Atalanta? Galahad? Arash? Your thoughts on the matter?"

"I believe them to be truthful, and have good intentions," Arash volunteers. "From what I can see, they aren't plotting anything behind your back."

"Yes. Although I'm not entirely sure I'm alright with them dropping the biggest workload straight onto our shoulders," Galahad says with a huff. "I saw the route, same as you. We'll need to ride day and night if we want to pull something like that off. Horses can't do that."

"You have the riding skill, right?" I ask.

"Yes, but I can't push a horse beyond its natural limits."

"Damn. Atalanta?"

Her ears twitch, and she suddenly looks at me with a start. "Yes?"

"Do you have any thoughts on how we should do this?"

"Not really. I kind of drifted off when you guys kept on talking."

"Alright. Let's contact Chaldea. I need to ask some questions before I decide who to call in."

---

"So, first off, is it possible for me to resummons fallen Servants while I'm in a Singularity?"

"Theoretically, yes."

"Good." I'm going to want to get Serenity back. Terrible mistake or not, she proved capable of killing Karna. I'm going to definitely want that sort of utility available when we go up against Medb and Cu V: The Empire Strikes Back.

Roman sighs. "You're planning something, aren't you?"

"Yep. Who knows? It might even be fun."

"Flynn, when you have fun, people die."

"That is blatant slander, I tell you. I enjoyed movie night, and nobody died there!"

"Barely."

"The zombie unicorn was in no way my fault, Roman!"

"Okay," Galahad interjects, sliding between me and Roman. "While I enjoy mocking Flynn as much as the next guy, maybe even a little more, now really isn't the time."

"Fine, fine. Here's my main question: Does Bayard have the same properties as the horse of the same name in the Matter of France?"

Georgios steps into the hologram. "Yes, although he can only carry up to four riders. Beyond that, he becomes somewhat unwieldy, and has difficulty turning."

"Good. I know who I'm calling in, then."

Soon, the team's assembled: Georgios, Tawara Touta (because we need to get our provisions somewhere,) Medusa, and Cursed Arm. I contemplated calling in Sanzang as well, but with her sense of direction, she'd get us all lost.

And then, once we've gathered provisions, we ride out, letters from Washington with us to vouch for our allegiance.

---

The ride is hellish. Georgios, Arash, Galahad, and I all ride on Bayard, who it turns out really does grow bigger and longer to accommodate each new rider. Medusa and Touta both start out on a horse given to us by Washington, but, after a run-in with a manticore pack, trade up for on of the vanquished Phantasmals. Atalanta, for her part, simply lopes along at full speed, loping along on all fours as Agreus Metamorphosis reshapes her limbs. I don't know where Cursed Arm is. He said he'd stay with us, and then activated Presence Concealment.

We ride through the night and the day alike, with occasional short breaks for food and water, going at speeds no normal horse could ever manage. After the second such break, I start riding side-saddle. Galahad laughs at me for it, but he starts doing the same when I point out that Mash has never ridden a horse in her life and won't be ready for the saddle sores.

The first Resistance cell we check in on is gone, their camp a burnt-out ruin. I sleep soon after, still on the saddle, while Galahad does the same next to me, Arash making sure we don't fall off.

The next camp we visit, on the other hand…

---

"There are two archer Servants there," Arash announces, his Clairovoyance coming in handy once more. "The mortal Resistance members are all long since dead, but Robin Hood and Billy the Kid are both still alive, and under siege."

'Atalanta, head in. Kill the Celts and break the siege. Cursed Arm, look for a commander. Medusa and Touta, keep to the skies and snipe the enemy from above.'

"Galahad, Archer, and I all get off here. Rider, head on in and give 'em hell."

"As you command, my Master."

Galahad catches me in a princess carry before I can fall on my face when I roll off Bayard.

"Put me down," I grunt.

"Gladly."

I then promptly fall flat on my face when I try to stand, which leaves Galahad howling with laughter.

By the time the enemy's been finished off, ten minutes later, I've just about gotten the hang of walking again. Just in time too, because the two Servants we just saved have come to meet us.

"Thanks for the save," this Singularity's version of Robin says, Billy the Kid at his side. "You with the Resistance?"

"Yes. Master of Chaldea," I say through gritted teeth, standing rigidly. My pelvis isn't numb anymore. I really wish it was.

"You're not very talkative, are you?" Billy comments with a grin.

"Rode 24/7 to find you. Getting back in the saddle after. Take the letter and go." I offer them the letter with a pained grimace. Everything hurts right now.

They mercifully comply, and I'm left staring at Bayard. Come on, Charlie. Get back in that damn saddle. Do it for America.

After I'm done screaming like a little girl, Galahad and Arash join me on Bayard, and we set off once more.

Two more bases that day, both empty. I sleep just as poorly the second night as I did the first.

The day after that is little more than a pain-filled blur. Circuits burn. Bathory found, sent to Washington, more horse. I fucking hate this horse.

On day four, I pass out multiple times. Finally, they make me get off the horse and sleep, setting up camp.

---

"You shouldn't have done that," I grouse as I get back onto Bayard. I'm properly fed, watered, and rested, which just means I'm now cognizant of how much time we just wasted.

"Not much point of getting through it in a hurry if it means you end up riding yourself to death in the process." Galahad points out, and I have to reluctantly concede the point. "Besides, you're not the only one that needed rest. Mash hadn't gotten proper sleep in days."

"Fine, fine. Let's just go."

We actually made pretty good time. Because we stopped so infrequently, and our chosen mounts didn't really need to rest, we managed to make most of the circuit in four days. Albeit, I nearly killed myself in the process, but still, God damn I'm good. Although, the fact that almost all the bases we visited were charred ruins probably contributed to our alacrity. We didn't have to stop very often.

We have one last stop left, and then we can go on our merry way.

---

"All right, people, fan out and search."

The camp is empty, for some reason. And I hear singing. Terrible singing.

Galahad and I follow it to its source, Galahad taking the lead. Upon rounding one row of tents, however, he blanches, and turns back.

"Why did you stop?"

"No reason. In fact, there's nobody there. At all. We should go."

"If there's no one there, then who's singing?"

He looks panicked. "Absolutely nobody. There's ummm… a phonograph! Yes, that's it."

"I'm pretty sure that those haven't been invented yet," I say, trying to proceed. Galahad blocks me.

"Look, why don't we just turn back? Go on to Washington, tell him we tried. We did try, after all. We've gathered plenty of Servants!" Galahad's chattering like a chipmunk, waving his hands about wildly and grinning just a bit too forcefully.

"Why don't you want me seeing this Servant?" Actually, for some reason, now that I think about it, this singing sounds ridiculously familiar. And for some reason, it fills me with a creeping sense of irritated dread.

"Because I know that if you see her, you'll do something stupid. So, can we please just go?"

"Well, alright, I suppose-" I pull up the corner of the tent we're against and roll under the gap mid-sentence, then get to my feet and sprint towards the direction the singing's coming from. Galahad tackles me after ten paces, though.

"Alright, I'll say it plain: We're leaving." He frowns when I don't respond. "Flynn? What are you- Oh no."

He follows my gaze.

In front of a makeshift stage, three Celtic warriors sit chained to posts. One of them killed himself, the other managed to file off his own ears using the chains wrapped around him, and the third seems to have gone completely and utterly mad. Judging by the two other posts with empty chains around them, there used to be more in the audience, but they managed to escape.

But that's not what I'm looking at.

I'm looking at the prima donna at the center of the stage, singing her heart out while singularly oblivious to just how bad she is. Blond, busty, and clad in a grotesquely perverse mockery of a wedding dress, there's no mistaking her for anyone but Nero Claudia Caesar Augusta Germanica.

"Oh, this is not going to end well." Galahad mutters above me.

 

[Charles Flynn]

I push myself up, shaking Galahad off of me, and make my way towards the stage, examining Nero over more closely. She looks younger than she did in Rome. No bags beneath her eyes, less lines on her face, and she actually looks like she put some effort into her appearance, unlike the Nero I met in Rome, who always looked fairly unkempt. It's her eyes that are the most different. They aren't bloodshot, and lack that look of desperate mania I came to associate with her.

She doesn't seem to recognize me, which I can only count as a boon, especially as it allows me to do this.

"You must be the Servant that Washington sent us to find!" I call cheerfully. "No, no, don't tell me who you are, I think I can guess." I rub my chin in contemplation. "That blond hair, so clearly born from the line of Germanicus, that imperial air of command and control, in spite of your gender, why, there is only one person you could be!"

"Yes!" she cheers smugly. "It is I-"

"Lady Agrippina!"

I don't think I've ever seen someone's face fall that fast before. "What?"

"Oh, no need to be so modest, my lady! In spite of your sex, and the ruthless means by which you seized power, you ruled justly and righteously, to the point that, if your worthless, ungrateful excuse for a son hadn't gotten too power-hungry and stabbed you in the back, you would likely have been called a second Augustus!"

"I- you- I AM NERO, YOU IMPUDENT TROGLODYTE!" she snaps.

"No you're not." I manage to keep my face completely still as I lie to her face.

"I think I would know."

"I've met Nero. He was a fat, greasy, effeminate man. Unpleasantly sweaty and lecherous, too."

"What?" she seems to have no idea what to make of that, but then marshals herself. "Well, no wonder so poor an imposter deceived you, seeing as you lack even half a brain, you wretched little toad."

"Yeah, whatever." I hold out the letter. "You going to take the letter or not, Fake Nero?"

She stalks over and snatches it out of my hands. "Irrumator."

"Specta tua verba, scortilla Graeca."

She stops, staring into my eyes with naked hate. I just smirk back at her, while she takes great panting breaths, visibly restraining herself from strangling me.

Down boy, this is serious.

"If we were in Rome, I would have you crucified."

"Wouldn't you be a bit busy fiddling while it burned?" I ask mildly.

She snarls, and is about to lunge at me, when Galahad places himself between us. "Okay, that's enough out of the both of you!"

"Keep your Master properly muzzled, knight, and we will have no issues."

"Now why'd you have to butt in when I was winning?" I complain, rubbing the back of my head irritably. I think I might've picked up lice somewhere in this Singularity. I wonder if I could get rid of them by having Medusa use her Mystic Eyes.

"Winning?" Nero repeats incredulously. "I was about to beat you senseless!"

"Thereby conceding defeat," I reply, feeling the smugness course through every vein of my body. "After all, only witless, inbred fools with more muscles than brains have to resort to physical violence to win a verbal duel. To do so is to admit that you can't beat me with words, so you have to use force instead. Or, to put in words your pitiful little excuse for a brain can grasp, that I'm better than you."

"I will end you!"

"Oh, such temper! So quick to jump to the death penalty! You really are your uncle's daughter."

She takes a deep breath, and then smirks right back. "Well, at least I can actually fight my own battles, Master of Chaldea. How does it feel, knowing that a woman is more of a man than you?"

"How does it feel knowing that the only reason you aren't just another in a long line of identically named Roman nobodies is the machinations of the mother you murdered, Lucia Domitia Ahenobarba?"

"Oh my God, just fuck or kill each other already!" an unfamiliar voice shouts in exasperation. Well now that I think of it, it's actually slightly familiar.

"Ah. Fergus mac Roich," I say as I turn to look at him. "Figures you'd be working for Medb." 'All Servants, we have a hostile enemy actor on hand at my position.'

"Yes. Today, I regain the honor I lost from my indecision at Cualigne!" he boasts, thumping that absurdly phallic sword of his against his chest. "I will follow my queen's orders without question, and without hesitation."

"I take it that you're the one who destroyed the Resistance cells we ran into on our way here?" I ask, stalling for time. Wait. 'Cursed Arm, what's your current position?'

'Right behind Fergus mac Roich.'

'I freaking love you, man.' I send back, grinning wildly. 'Zabaniya him when I say "assuredly," all right?'

'Understood.'

"-but he left when he heard about Karna biting it. Said it wasn't worth it anymore, and without the chance to face him, it would just feel empty." Fergus sighs. "Shame too, he was a handy guy to have around."

So, he was partnered with Arjuna. Good to know.

"While the strongest of the Pandavas was almost assuredly a major force multiplier for you, I don't doubt that you could have pulled it off without him."

"Delusional Heartbeat: Zabaniya." Fergus' eyes go wide, and he tries desperately to turn about and face Cursed Arm, only to fall on his side, desperately gasping for air, and then perish.

Yes!

Flynn & Arm Heart Extractors LTD is back in business!

"Right, that's Fergus dealt with. Good work team! Except you, Nero. You were pretty much useless."

"Like your loins?" I actually wince at that one, which just seems to encourage her. I don't mind, though. It's only fun if she thinks she can win.

Sadly, Galahad, buzzkill that he is, just has to break up our little verbal sparring match, and so we trudge our way back to the horse in silence.

---

Nero joins us on our way back to the rendezvous point. Although, honestly, now that I don't have to keep my opinion of her to myself or do all her paperwork, I find myself not minding her company, bizarrely enough. She's fun to argue with, at the very least.

It takes us a day to get there, and when we do, the camp is bustling. It's twice the size of the one we departed from six days ago, at minimum.

"Incredible!" Nero says as she looks at the hustle and bustle of the camp. For some reason, quite a few of the Resistance soldiers run when they see her. "My camp was never this large!"

"Probably because no one wanted to put up with your singing," I say.

She turns angrily, hands on her hips, while, at my side, Galahad quietly groans. "Not again."

"OH? And like you could do any better?" she fires back.

"Of course not. In fact, I would have to say we're equally terrible. The difference between you and me is that I, at least, don't make a fool of myself by acting beneath my station out of the delusion that I'm something I'm not." I grin. "Unlike you, I'm not one to give myself out to any passerby in a desperate bid for approval."

"Are you calling me a whore?" she asks dangerously.

"Wouldn't be the first time, but no. I'm calling you an actor and a performer, which anyone in Rome would tell you is just as bad." I smirk. "Are you sure you're even Roman, scortilla Graeca?"

"I am Rome, mongrel," she sneers back.

"Careful, there. Your father's showing."

"And your father is- Dammit!" she tosses her hands up in frustration. "This isn't remotely fair! I barely know anything about you, while you have evidently studied every last facet of my life religiously, like some kind of stalker!"

"I mean, I did write a paper on you."

She sighs. "Was it any good?"

"I got an A on it, so yes. It wasn't very flattering to you, though."

"Of course it wasn't." She looks down, and then smirks. "Your fly's unzipped."

"Wait really?" I look down to check, and the next thing I know I'm flat on my back with my ears ringing as Galahad looms over me anxiously.

"Flynn? Can you hear me?"

"Yeah," I manage, shaking my head and getting unsteadily to my feet. "What happened?"

"You finally pushed Nero too far and she decked you," Galahad reports, looking supremely irritated. "And I honestly don't blame her. Now, I hope you've learned your- WHY ARE YOU LAUGHING?"

I manage to quell my laughter long enough to talk. "didn't think she had it in her to swallow her pride like that!"

"…You have issues, Flynn."

"Yep. Still, I think I might actually have to call her a friend, now!" I say, grinning like a loon.

"I- What?" Galahad squawks. "Did you- Did you here anything I just said? Setting aside what she put you through in Rome, ever since you met in this Singularity, you've done nothing but bicker, you've taken every chance you can get to insult and pick fights with her, and she's returned the favor, up to and including physically assaulting you! How do you take all of that into account and come out with 'friend?'"

I just look at him.

"Why are you looking at me like that? It's a legitimate question! None of that even remotely sounds like any friendship I've seen! WHY ARE YOU LAUGHING?" he finally snaps. I just point at him. "Why are you…" His face goes slack as the penny finally drops. I just laugh harder.

Then I'm flat on my back again, with my ears ringing even harder, and Galahad looming over me again, frustration writ large on his face.

"Cold-cocked me, huh?"

"Yep."

"Feeling better?"

"Much. Although you're still the most infuriating person I've ever met." I throw an arm around his shoulder and he pulls me to my feet.

"Help me to the medical tent?" I ask. "I don't think getting punched out twice is doing my brain any favors."

"Don't worry," Galahad says, matching my stumbling pace so I don't just get dragged along as we make our way to the tent. "I don't think any amount of brain damage could make that garbage fire you call a personality any worse."

"Hate you too, buddy. Hate you too."

---

After I've received a clean bill of health, I make my way to the command tent. I can hear voices coming from inside. "-and beyond that, he is the single most disrespectful person I've ever met! He bears my imperial majesty no reverence, and has not the slightest care for my greatness, or respect for my imperial position!"

"Really?" a semi-familiar, girlish voice says from inside the tent. "He seemed alright to me. Bit brusque, but not all that bad."

"Liz, you haven't had to deal with him like I have! He's an ass!"

I push my way in to the tent. Nero's still ranting to… is that Bathory? She's in this Singularity? I kind of remember something like that, but it's all fuzzy. Well, good to have her here. Anyways, Nero's back is still to me, although Bathory looks like someone who just realized they're watching a train wreck in progress.

I walk up behind Nero.

"He seems to take pleasure in infuriating me, and never misses an opportunity to provoke me!" Nero continues, oblivious. "And I can never seem to beat him! He always has a comeback, or just gives one of those insufferable smirks of his, and it just makes me want to strangle him! And every time, the urge just gets harder and harder to resist!"

Ooh, that's an opening if I ever heard one.

"Wow, struggling to keep your hands off me every time we meet?" I say from behind her. "How shameless."

She freezes, and then rounds on me, hissing like a cat and hoisting me by the collar. "HOW MUCH DID YOU HEAR?"

"Enough."

That one makes her hands tense around my shirt as she lets a strangled shriek. Huh. I can actually see down her dress from here.

Down, boy. I get it, she's actually really attractive when she's angry, now go away before someone sees you.

Nero hovers in front of me, her face a few inches away from mine, struggling to bring herself under control. The moment seems to stretch into an eternity, with neither of us seeming to want to break it.

"What is going on here?" General Washington demands as he enters the tent.

Nero drops me. "Absolutely nothing. Just a mild interpersonal disagreement."

He looks at me. "Flynn?"

"On that, and only that, she speaks for us both."

He sighs. "Very well. Stay in attendance. Now that you're here, and fit to attend, I've called the others to order. They'll be arriving soon."

He steps up to the map table, while Nero and I move to opposite sides of the tent.

'Flynn? What the hell was that?' Galahad sends as we walk to the corner opposite Nero's.

'Hell if I know.'

Regardless, the various servants enter, one at a time. First in after Washington is Geronimo. The next two are Billy and Robin. After them-

Oh. No way. No way that's really him. I have to restrain myself from squealing like a little girl when I realize that yes, it is in fact him.

Into the tent walks none other than Abraham Lincoln, dressed in a snappy suit, with his top hat securely wedged atop his head. He goes up to the map table besides George Washington.

"General."

"Mr. President."

I straighten my back and walk up to the map table, suddenly feeling like I've been childish. Galahad follows, looking confused.

"Are we waiting on anyone else?" I ask.

"Yes, two more."

"Very well." I turn to face the man widely remembered as America's greatest liberator. "It's an honor to meet you, President Lincoln."

"Please. The pleasure's all mine," he says with a smile.

Okay, okay, Charlie. Breathe. Don't say anything, you'll make a fool of yourself. Just… Just breathe.

Awkward silence reigns for a few more moments, before we're mercifully interrupted by the last two to arrive: Fionn and Diarmuid.

"Very well," Geronimo says, bringing all eyes to him. "We can begin."

"Indeed," Washington picks up. "I would like to begin by thanking you all for coming here. Today's plan will be a risky one indeed."

He rolls out a new map, this one apparently colored to represent who holds what territory. "This is the state of the war today. As you can see, things aren't looking good. Edison's been pushed further back, up into the northwest. He's lost Blavatsky, and in another week, they'll overrun him."

That gets a wave of concern.

"So. What do you propose we do?" I speak up.

"In a straight clash of armies, we can't beat the Celts. However, we do have a great number of Servants." He looks around between us approvingly. "Thus, our strategy. We go for the decapitation strike. Take out Medb and the corrupted Cu Chullain and the whole front collapses."

"I can work with that, actually," I interject. "I don't really do fair fights. An assassination is straight up my alley."

"Well, then." The General steps back from the table. "Do you have any suggestions?"

As I step up, I feel a grin burst into full bloom on my face. This is going to be fun.

 

[Charles Flynn]

"You know," I say thoughtfully. "I've never actually been to the top of the Washington Monument before."

"Really?" Fionn asks.

"Yeah. Lived in the DC area my whole life, but I've never been up here."

We're in the uppermost chamber of the Washington Monument, just me, Fionn, Galahad, and Medea. Galahad, Fionn, and I are just standing around waiting while Medea sets up the scrying matrix and activates her Territory Creation.

"That's a shame." Galahad offers. "The view from up here is incredible."

It really is. It's incredibly high up, and you can see the teeming Celtic hordes as they camp out in the swamp. The only real buildings are the monuments and the White House, though. I actually think I might be able to see my house from here! Or, at least where my house will be built in a few hundred years.

This- Being here hurts worse than anything in the Singularity thus far. Being here, being somewhere so familiar, it leaves me feeling like I can just hop in the car and drive, and in less than an hour I'll be at a painfully familiar house, painted blue, on a street I know like the back of my hand. But I can't. I can't go home now. Maybe not ever.

"Hey, Fionn, do you know why the monuments are all here?" I ask, latching onto the obvious plot holes out of a single-minded longing to think about literally anything else. "Is it some sort of nonsense from human cognition, like, people always picture D.C. with all the monuments, even if technically the whole city doesn't even exist yet? Because it doesn't. We're in Articles of Confederation years, and the city's existence was approved during George Washington's presidency. The terrain is shit. Without the incentive of it being the nation's capital, there's really no reason for people to be here."

"True enough," Fionn concedes with a grin. "But… well, are you entirely sure you want to know?"

"Yes," I say irritably, my curiosity well and truly engaged now. "I mean, it really doesn't make sense."

"Medb had the monuments built and made sure to line all of them up exactly the way they looked in the proper timeline," Fionn reports.

"Seriously? How'd she do that, especially so fast?" I ask. "And why would she even bother?"

"Well, she had her druids use their magic to accelerate the construction. As for the labor she used to build it, well…" FIonn scratches the back of his head.

"She used slave labor, didn't she?"

"Yes." Fionn sighs, looking really uncomfortable. "Honestly, none of us were all that on board with it except for her. Just felt wrong. But, well, she already treats everyone around her like she owns them, so it really wasn't that much of a departure from the norm."

"The more I learn of this woman, the less I regret that we are planning her assassination," Galahad notes drily. "And considering that the first thing I learned of her was that she was the leader behind a campaign of genocide, it's actually quite remarkable that she managed to make my opinion of her even worse." He pauses. "But you still haven't answered Flynn's second question. Why'd she bother building the monuments?"

"Are you sure you want to know?" Fionn asks again.

"YES!" Galahad and I shout at the same time.

"She wanted to use them as set pieces in her victory orgy once she's finished wiping away the last remnants of the United States of America, and then never clean them and move to another capital, leaving them as a monument of shame to her fallen foes while she builds a new nation." Fionn says, before sighing as he looks at our now-green faces. "I did warn you."

That's… That's just wrong on so many levels.

"Command room's done!" Medea calls, and Galahad and I both eagerly leap for the distraction.

It's been set up according to my specifications, multiple individual scrying matrices operating independently, allowing me to coordinate and keep an eye on all my Servants independently.

"You really outdid yourself, teacher," I say, already checking on the various images.

"Of course I did, Apprentice," she preens as she says it. "I am one of the greatest magi to ever live, after all."

"All right. Fionn? Where are our targets?"

He sucks his thumb. "Cu is currently in the War Room. Medb is bathing." He looks shiftily from side to side. "I'll just… monitor the situation, shall I?"

"Ugh. Fine."

He grins as he goes back to sucking his thumb, and I turn back to the screens.

"Teacher, set Matrices One through Four to observe the War Room, and Matrices Five through Eight to observe Operative Green Aardvark."

"Which one is he?" she asks, brow furrowed.

I sigh. "Yan Qing."

"Alright, on it. I'm still not sure why you insisted on all those ridiculous code names, though."

"To preserve OpSec. Like I said in the briefing, we only have one shot at this, we cannot afford to screw it up."

"Fine." She rolls her eyes and starts adjusting the scrying matrices.

While she does so, I focus on my mental link to Yan. 'Green Aardvark, are you ready to commence the operation?'

There's a moment of silence on Yan's end. 'Oh. Is that me?'

'Yes, that's you! We covered it on the trip here! Five times!'

'I mean, honestly, I just stopped listening after you had that back and forth argument with yourself over whether or not presenting ourselves as a surprise inspection was too cliché, and then had a panic attack over it.'

'We're on a mission to assassinate one of the most legendary badasses to ever badass, and also Medb, assigned to us by George Washington himself, with my country's very existence and even the fate of the world at stake!' I snap, feeling my blood pressure rising already. 'I'd like to see you stay calm if you were the one running all of this!'

'Okay, Boss. No need to bite my head off. It's just that I've never actually really seen you get all that overwhelmed on a mission before.'

'Yeah. It's just… this is my home that we're saving, right now. And I usually don't have nearly as much time to think about all the different ways my plan could go wrong.' I sigh. 'It's fine. I'm better now. You ready to go? Got the package and the condom?'

'What the hell are you talking about?'

I groan and push my glasses up to pinch the bridge of my nose. 'Fine. Do you have the cookies and the earrings?'

'Oh. Yeah.'

'Good. Then get into disguise and make your way to the War Room. We're beginning Phase One.'

On the screen, a figure identical in both form and mannerisms to Fionn Mac Cumhaill begins to navigate his way through the White House. The act is so spot on that if the genuine article wasn't still sucking his thumb in the corner and giggling perversely, I might have actually believed that the Fionn making his way to the War Room was the real deal.

…although I kind of wish I could believe that. Sitting and watching the King of the Fianna giggle like a twelve-year old while he uses his literal omniscience to watch a woman bathe is just depressing on so many levels.

Huh. You know, I was kind of thinking of this as a heist movie the entire time I was planning it out. It's kind of weird, though. I keep expecting some sort of unfolding plan montage to kick in, but-

---

"I'll be honest, General, I've been planning this out for a while. It's pretty clear that we can't beat the corrupted Cu Chulainn in a straight fight, and while ganging up on him might work, I don't want to risk it." The others at the table look at me impatiently. "There's a point to this, I swear. Now, fortunately, like most people on the Throne of Heroes, Cu Chulainn died. Even more fortunately, he died due to a weakness we can exploit. Clan Calatin, a group composed of the family members of all the people he killed in his short and exceptionally bloody career, tricked him into a situation where, no matter what he did, he would break one of his geasas. The two geasas he was caught by were that he swore to never pass up a free meal, and also to never eat the meet of a dog."

"You want us to kill a dog?" Billy asks incredulously.

"Yeah, I'm not okay with that either," Fionn agrees. "I love dogs! Some of my brothers were dogs!" Everyone just stares at him. "…It's a long story."

"Don't worry. We're not offering him a meal of dog meat." I say, which gets a sigh of relief from our two objectors. "Instead, we're poisoning him."

---

-I guess that'd just be ridiculous. Wait, why do I feel like I just missed something?

Ah, never mind. I return my attention to Yan as he goes to the War Room, stopping to ask a soldier where Cu is along the way, just to keep up appearances. He has the basket of cookies tucked under one arm.

Finally, however, he reaches the door to the War Room.

There's no one else in corridor, so Yan takes the moment to steel himself, while, inside, Dark Cu paces about the map table, muttering to himself.

My Assassin takes a deep breath, pulls one of the cookies out of the basket, and takes the tiniest nibble. Then, when he doesn't keel over stone dead after a minute, he sighs in relief and takes a few more bites, now confident that his protections actually work, before pushing open the door, his mannerisms once more completely identical to Fionn's.

I already tested the unicorn horn method on myself, but it's still a relief to see that it worked. Still, convincing him was-

---

"All right." I look over between the members of my assassination team: Cursed Arm, the freshly resummoned Hassan of Serenity, Yan Qing, and Medea. Georgios and Medusa are staying on to serve as our transportation. "The basics are that we have Yan impersonate Fionn, and offer Evil Cu some cookies, handmade by Serenity and thoroughly infused with her poison. Yes, Yan?"

He lowers his hand. "Won't he be suspicious?"

"Most likely, yes. He can still refuse the food, even if it'll break his geasa, which will just mean we're in for a ridiculously hard fight, even if we'll probably win. Which is why you'll be eating the cookies first."

"I'm sorry, WHAT?" Yan Qing asks incredulously, and Serenity looks to share his sentiments. "You want me to eat the poison cookies?"

"Don't worry, I've already figured out a way for you to eat them and survive," I assure him, pulling my own unicorn horn out of my antidote pouch. "See this? It's a unicorn horn. When it's even partly inserted into a specific vessel, be it food, drink, or even a human being, it absorbs the poison into itself. It's how I was dealing with all the poisoning attempts towards the end."

"So, I use that like an epi-pen?"

"No, we use it like a piercing. Medea and I have tested it, and it turns out that it actually works as well when used as a form of prevention as it does when used as a cure. We do that, and no amount of poison will be able to do you in."

"All right!" Yan cheers. Serenity, for her part, has gone from disapproving to… hopeful? "So, how do we do this?"

"Well, that's the hard part," I admit reluctantly. "We have to stick it in you. It only works when it's inserted into the vessel it's purifying, so we need to stick it in like a piercing, so it stays inside you." I brighten up considerably. "The good news is, since you're a Servant, your biology is highly redundant. You only really need your Spirit Core to stay alive, so we can stick up to five of these puppies in you."

He takes one look at the foot-and-a-half long horn in my hands, and then runs away screaming.

"Oh, come on!"

---

-one hell of a doozy. And there's that feeling again. Weird.

Yan opens the door, and Cu turns to face him, his face dark and his shoulders tense. "Fionn. You're alive. I had thought you perished with your troops in Karna's last stand."

"No, but it was close," Yan says. "I only survived because I was fighting the Master of Chaldea at the time. His Shielder Servant's defensive Noble Phantasm covered me only because I was in close proximity at the time."

"And Diarmuid?"

"Got fired, I'm sad to say."

"Of course you are," Cu says, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "You've failed me once. Try not to do it again."

"Understood." Yan holds up the basket. "Want a cookie?"

Dark Cu hesitates. "Where'd you get those?"

"Ran into a bakery a few hours before I got here. Think the owner's been bribing the troops with baked goods to keep them from killing her," Yan lies, munching on another cookie. "Look, I'm just asking to be nice, if you don't want one, I'll finish them off myself."

"No, no, I'll take one," Cu backpedals, snagging one from the basket and taking half of it in a single bite. "Ugh."

"What?"

"These taste terrible."

"I know, right?" Yan says, improvising like a champ. "They're easily in the top ten worst baked goods I've ever tasted, but I know for a fact that they're the only reason that baker's still alive! They're terrible, but at the same time, I just can't stop eating them because I keep expecting to find some sort of redeeming quality to them."

"Huh." Dark Cu eats the rest of his cookie. "Hand me another one, will you? I was only accepting because of my geasa before, but now I legitimately have to find out whether I need to execute a few soldiers for the good of the gene pool."

They sit down and start eating their way through the cookies.

"I think she used salt instead of sugar," Yan observes, munching on his fifth cookie. "And… vinegar for some reason."

"True," Evil Cu notes. "It's strange, though. The more I eat of them, the more I pick up on this… bizarre aftertaste. It's sweet, but also almost sickening, in a way." He coughs. "Huh. I think they're disagreeing with me. I didn't…" Then he keels over, stone dead.

Yan calmly stands, closes the basket and leaves his half-eaten cookie on top of it, and then books it. Behind him, Dark Cu's corpse dissolves into glowing motes.

'Excellent work, Green Aardvark. Rendezvous with Blue Badger outside the bathing complex and proceed with Phase 2.'

'Can I at least take these spikes out of my back?'

'Better to play it safe, really, since you'll be working with Blue Badger.'

'Right.' He pauses. 'Who's Blue Badger again?'

'Just go.'

He doesn't reply, so I switch my focus to Serenity.

'Blue Badger, do you copy? King Mutt has been neutralized; we are now proceeding to Phase 2.'

'Understood, Mission Control,' Serenity sends back without a hint of mockery. 'Should I proceed solo, and attempt to neutralize Queen Bitch myself?'

'Negative, Blue Badger. Green Aardvark has been dispatched to provide you with backup. Wait for him, and then, once he's there, proceed with the neutralization.'

'Understood. Blue Badger out.'

Well, I think Serenity just became my favorite Assassin.

I turn to Fionn, still sitting in the corner and sucking his thumb. He's not giggling anymore. "Fionn? Things have been going smoothly so far. We're about due for something to go catastrophically off the rails. How's Medb?"

"I think she felt her corrupted Hound die," Fionn says, pulling his thumb out of his mouth. "She stiffened and started crying when it happened, and then started getting dressed. She grabbed her Grail, too."

"Shit." 'B Team, you're up! Time to drop the subtlety and just fucking kill her! King Mutt is down, find Queen Bitch, drop her in the Domus Aurea, and end this!' I turn to Medea, only to find she's already tuning the scrying matrices onto Medb. She gives me a nod, and I smile. Regardless of whether I can trust her in the long-term, at least for now my teacher's got my back. If only so she can stab it when she wants to.

The pools all show Medb, with the Grail cupped between her hands, staring into its depths. Then she looks straight at me through the scrying matrix.

"You won this round. But this isn't over." She grins. "I wish Thomas Edison had this Grail right now."

It vanishes with a pop, just as the B Team breaks through the wall.

I sit down hard. "Fionn, what will Edison do with the Grail?"

"He'll use it to move America to an alternate timeline where it can prosper, destroying the rest of the world in the process." Fionn says.

"Immediately?"

"No. He'll want to kill you first, for killing Karna." In the scrying matrix, Medb vanishes into Nero's Nobe Phantasm, along with the B-Team.

"Then let's get moving," I say, already planning out our journey. "We'll need to hurry to get there in time."

"I won't be going with you," Fionn says, his face grim.

"What?" I ask incredulously. "We need you! You're honestly the only reason this entire plan went as smoothly as it did!"

"Yes, well, Medb, powered by the Grail, was the one who summoned me. Without her around, all the Servants she summoned will fade away. Including me and Diarmuid." Fionn grins, as the B-Team reappears on the screen, and he begins to fade. "Still. It was fun while it lasted. Take care of yourself, Flynn."

And then he's gone. The man who was functionally carrying our entire side is gone. And we're an entire country away from where we need to be.

Well, can't say I didn't see something like this coming. Still, fuck you, Medb.

 

[Charles Flynn]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What?"

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

"Like wha…?" I look down.

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

My entire family is dead.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Took the words straight out of my mouth."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Oh, fuck you!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And so, the Archer is led into the camp.

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

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

"You're cleanshaven."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Dick.

---

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

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

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

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

---

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

[Charles Flynn]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I was not!" I assert indignantly.

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

"Sure." Dick.

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

We step out into a cheering stadium.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Elite Four?" I repeat.

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

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

"KARNA ARCHER!"

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

"KARNA RIDER!"

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

"AND ASHWHATTAMA!"

"Yo."

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

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

We are so boned.

 

[Charles Flynn]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Galahad just gives me a look.

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

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

Then Geronimo steps up. "TSEGO DEGI NALEYA!"

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

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

'Medea? Are you okay?'

'Everything hurts right now.' she replies.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh no.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"SHUT UP, SHUTUPSHUTUPSHUTUP!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then he's gone.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Uh-Wha?"

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

"Yeah, oka- Wait, WHAT?"

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

---​

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

I stare at him for a long minute.

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

"No. Bar."

"Yeah, that's fair."