How I Saved History (Fate/Grand Order SI)

[Charles Flynn]

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

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

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

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

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

---​

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

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

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

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

"Yes."

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

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

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

"I myself will head to the briefing room."

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

---​

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

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

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

 

[Charles Flynn]

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

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

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

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

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

"Should we... do something?"

"Probably, yes."

---

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

Unsurprisingly, no one protests.

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

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

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

'It's fine.'

Then the Rayshift takes us away again.

---

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

It never ends.

---

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

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

---

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

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

"Why?"

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

---

"KARNAMANIA 2: ELECTRIC BOOGALOO!"

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

---

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

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

"Eveything hurts, Senpai."

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

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

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

"Sounds a bit like work, honestly."

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

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

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

---

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

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

I look, and there they are.

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

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

"All yours, Mash."

"What? Senpai, I've never-"

"It's all yours. Take it."

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

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

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

"Good. It taste alright?"

"Yes!"

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

 

[Charles Flynn]

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

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

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

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

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

---​

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

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

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

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

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

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

---​

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

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

---​

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

"Same here."

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

"Yep."

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

---​

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

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

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

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

"Stheno?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh.

Oh.

Oh, no.

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

Euryale freezes, fury in her eyes.

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

"Asterios, break the door down."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Euryale gives a wordless scream of fury.

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

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

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

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

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

This… may have been a mistake...

---​

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

[Charles Flynn]

Three weeks since America, including the week from Hell.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"October?" Roman repeats with a raised eyebrow.

"Set up time is essential, Roman."

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

"Alright!" I cheer.

"It's in Jerusalem."

"Always wanted to visit."

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

"That's... less good."

"Can you get a team ready?"

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

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

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

"1273."

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

"Not really."

"Then I'm off."

---​

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

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

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

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

"I'm going with you!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

[Charles Flynn]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"But it is!"

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

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

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

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

"But-"

"SILENCE!"

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

We continue to walk on in silence.

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

"Hundred Face."

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

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

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

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

---​

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Flynn." He gives me a look.

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

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

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

---​

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

[Charles Flynn]

I come to on a hard bed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Destroyed Jerusalem, yes."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Excellent. Cursed Arm?"

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

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

"It will be done with utmost courtesy."

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

They nod in agreement.

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

---​

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

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

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

"What was that?" Galahad asks.

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

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

"But-"

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

---​

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Yeah. So, what happened?"

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

"So, Ramses the Second," Roman says.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Oh, right. Fuck the Romans."

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

"No offense, Romulus," Roman says quickly.

"Some taken."

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

"Of course."

"All I needed to hear. Chaldea out."

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

 

[Charles Flynn]

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

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

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

"Understood."

We peer out at the two groups.

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

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

'What?'

'That's Sir Tristan.'

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

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

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

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

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

…I'm a fucking idiot.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Err… no. I have Sir Galahad."

"Never heard of him."

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

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

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

---

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

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

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

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

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

"Really?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

[Charles Flynn]

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

'What about Merlin?' Galahad shoots back.

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

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

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

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

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

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

'You… don't?' I ask incredulously.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

'Please. I can take him!'

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

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

'Thanks, I try.'

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

The crowd cheers.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Alright, time to retreat.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

How do I get us out of this?

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

Okay, I know just the guy.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"SWITCH ON, AIRGETLAM!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

'Thank you, Spartacus.'

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

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

 

[Charles Flynn]

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

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

"So… Cursed Arm."

"Yes, Master?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Yes, my Master?" he asks.

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

"Really? And what would that be?"

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

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

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

Cursed Arm falters. "Thank you, Master."

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

---

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"He always sends Lancelot," Bedivere says.

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

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

Galahad smirks. "Marital duties? Lancelot."

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

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

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

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

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

"What?"

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

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

"Fine by me."

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

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

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

And so, the march resumes.

 

[Charles Flynn]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"He once lost to Queen Guinevere."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Again, I really am sorry about that."

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

---

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

---

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

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

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

God, I hope that was a warning shot.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

We happily oblige.

 

[Charles Flynn]

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Cursed Arms nod reluctantly.

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

"Yes, Master?"

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

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

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

"Fair. Slightly hurtful, but fair."

"Oh, I'm sorry if-"

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

"I was thinking Scaevola, actually."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

'Somewhat poorly.'

'Shit. Is she not letting you in?'

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"It would be my honor."

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

"Flynn?" Galahad asks, looking nervous.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"LORD CAMELOT!"

And the shining walls cushion our fall.

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

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

Then I get up and cuss Arash out.

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

"Alright."

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

'Siegfried, how goes the battle?'

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

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

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

'Damn. What does his do?'

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

'As you command, my Master.'

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

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

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

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

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

"FUCK YOU! CLAREBT-"

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

"Balmung."

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

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

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

Finally, mercifully, Mordred's body fades.

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

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

"What?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Anytime."

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

 

[Charles Flynn]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And now, I have to figure out whether we're killing him.

I can't decide on this right now, so I get to my feet, get the rest of my uniform on, and then go out to meet with the others. Cursed Arm said that he'd be holding a briefing in the morning. Time to see what it's about.

---

Cursed Arm taps on the map currently being projected by one of Da Vinci's inventions. "This is our target, the Western Fort. One of our number, the Hassan of Serenity, is contained within. She was captured a while back, but we don't think they've managed to properly break her yet. This is a rescue mission, and one that needs to advance on a strict timeframe. We've got intelligence that Sir Agravaine is riding in on his way to interrogate her personally."

Hold on a second. "Wait, he's riding out in person?"

Cursed Arm nods, not seeing where this is going. Everyone's looking at me now.

"This is perfect!" I start grinning.

"I don't follow."

"Well, let's think about this. We have two Heroic Spirits from an order that specializes in decapitation strikes on hand, and one of our most dangerous enemies is going to be travelling and vulnerable." I grin ferally. "Hassan, how many times has Sir Agravaine left the Holy City?"

Hundred Face and Cursed Arm start to answer at the same time, and then get into a staring contest. Cursed Arm wins. "Twice, counting this one."

I can see the gears turning. That's been the problem, here. Serving as a leader of men, looking after the welfare of his village, it's hamstrung him. It's made him soft, made him forget who he is. He's been fighting like a hero, thinking like a hero. Now, though, he's remembering what it is to think like an Assassin.

"How high priority is Agravaine, though?" Galahad interjects, looking annoyed. "He's a shit fighter, and he's probably planning to betray the Lion King anyways. I say the damsel in distress should take priority."

"Of course you do," I say with a sigh. "But, let me answer your question with another question: If Agravaine is obviously the Round Table's Judas, and everyone disliked him, then why did King Arthur keep him as his Chancellor?"

"Because he was good at it," Bedivere answers, shocking Galahad. "I hated him as much as everyone else, I won't lie, but, well, it was only after Agravaine died that I realized how much he actually did. He was the glue that kept the Round Table together, even if it was through hatred, a constant looming threat that kept us as united bloc, kept us from picking fights with each other. And beyond that, he was the King's implementer, just as much as Kay was. He handled the logistical side of King Arthur's ideals and war efforts and took care of day-to-day concerns. He was the most unlikeable man I've ever met, but he was also easily the best chancellor the King could have ever asked for."

Yep, that just about confirms my suspicions. Ever since my stint as the Emperor Nero's personal assistant/quartermaster/favorite sexual harassee, I've been acutely aware that no amount of charisma, idealism, or political power will ever get rid of the logistical headaches inherent to coordinating a large group of people, be it a city, an army, or an empire. Behind every great leader, there is always a bureaucracy of some form. Empires may rise and fall, but paperwork… paperwork is eternal.

Thus, if you can locate the logistics guy, you know exactly who to kill to completely fuck your enemy's plans over. And, well, lucky us, because our current enemy's logistics guy is currently heading our way.

"So, is everyone beginning to understand why this is such a windfall?" I ask, grinning. "When we killed Tristan and Mordred, nothing really changed, save that the Lion King lost a bit of his military might. If we kill Agravaine, on the other hand?" I tent my fingers as my smile turns positively malevolent. "They'll eat each other alive."

"Are you- Are you seriously suggesting we leave our comrade imperiled in order to take a shot at an enemy who's barely worth fighting?" Galahad sputters. "I- this is ridiculous!"

"No," Hundred Face's current spokesman says, sharpening a dagger. "It's an opportunity. Serenity would gladly lay down her life for the cause. Anyone who has earned a place in the Hashashim would, much less one who has risen to the exalted title of Hassan-i-Sabbah. If we pass up this chance to secure our victory, we will disgrace our titles, and bring shame to our order."

"You would abandon your comrade?" Galahad asks disbelievingly, staring between Cursed Arm and Hundred Face.

"Yes, boy!" Hundred Face snaps. "We are not your crusading knights, full of lofty ideals and foolhardy chivalry! We are Hashashim! We are faceless, nameless, and numberless, sworn to defend our Holy Land by any means necessary. If it means that we must sacrifice some of our number, then so be it! If it means that we must slay the innocent, so be it! If it means that we must lay down our very lives, so be it! We will do whatever it takes and let nothing slow us down!" The current Face takes a deep breath, and then retakes his seat. "If it appeases the mewlings of your conscience, boy, then go and save Serenity yourself. She would do the same as us if our places were reversed."

"You dare-" I quickly place myself between Galahad and Hundred Face before this can escalate any further.

"Okay, let's put this to a vote. All in favor of taking out one of our enemies' heaviest hitters, and quite possibly saving the world?"

Hundred Face, Cursed Arm, Da Vinci, Vlad and I all raise our hands.

"All opposed?"

Galahad, Cu, and Georgios raise their hands. Siegfried and Bedivere both abstain.

"That's a hundred and four to three in favor," I note.

"A hundred and four?" Galahad asks sourly.

"Each of Hundred Face's personalities gets a vote."

The current spokesface blinks in surprise. "Actually, if that's the case, then the vote is eighty-three to sixteen in favor. Some of us abstained, and a few of us voted to saved her."

"We'll go to rescue Serenity, Galahad. But only after we've dealt with Agravaine. He's easily the biggest threat out of our current foes. The Lion King, Gawain, and Lancelot are all difficult enemies to beat, certainly, but Agravaine is what keeps their army together."

"Fine," Galahad all but growls. "I'll go along with this. But you'd better keep your promise."

That kills my smile, as I hesitate, not entirely sure how to broach the possibility of approaching Lancelot diplomatically and winning him over to our side.

"Very well," Cursed Arm says, already scanning the map and unaware of my inner turmoil. "Now, how shall we go about this?"

I find myself grinning again, Cursed Arm having been my unknowing savior from the painful conversation still ahead of me. "I might have a few ideas on the matter, actually."

 

[Charles Flynn]

Galahad's not talking to me.

We're sitting pretty high up the rocky, boulder-strewn slope, crouching behind cover and waiting for our target to arrive. He's been making it abundantly clear that he doesn't agree with this. I think it offends his knightly sensibilities.

I want to apologize. Find a way to broach the subject. To apologize, to appease him with a bout against his father, but… If I'm honest, I think that sending Galahad out against Lancelot is basically the same thing as trying to kill Lancelot. And, well, there's the problem. It feels like whatever choice I make; I'll end up alienating one of my Servants and costing us a valuable asset. And I can't help but try to find a third option.

So instead, we sit in silence, him sulking and me thinking, until Hundred Face nods at us.

Our target's almost here.

I peer up over my cover, taking a moment to appreciate my position, high enough to have a clear view of the battlefield, and close enough to still provide my Servants with mana. Agravaine's retinue of knights and men-at-arms is still following its intended route, as the Faces we'd seeded along the route to serve as advanced warning had assured us.

Now, then. I wait until just when they're in the process of passing us to signal the assault.

Siegfried and Cu slam into the formation, snapping it in half, as Georgios and Vlad place themselves respectively ahead and behind the formation along the road. We're on a steep cliff, no true object for the Servants, but nigh impassible for men-at-arms, and difficult indeed to traverse for the dim and inflexible Selection Knights. Easily the best possible spot for an ambush. Now that we've got them penned in, divided, and in disarray, with Arash providing sniper fire, and Hundred Face providing numbers as they bury the rear-guard in their bodies.

Of course I expect something to go horribly wrong.

Agravaine start boasting about something, I think, but I can't hear him from where I'm situated, especially since he's sensibly taking cover behind some of his Selection Knights. And then, sure enough, things go wrong.

Several Selection Knights roar in rage, their armor turning black as they attack without restrain or any sense of concern for their well-being, actually managing to go toe-to-toe with Cu and Siegfried, making up for their lack of improvistational skill with pure savagery and overwhelming force.

Now, suddenly, Agravaine's position doesn't look so untenable. I can hear him barking commands, and his forces begin to reconnect, forming battle-lines as best he can, a three-sided wall of steel.

The initial thrust has stalled, which means it's all up to Cursed Arm, now.

"GAE BOLG!"

Oh, Cu managed to break through, that's nice. I watch as he lays into the rank-and-file, cutting his way towards Agravaine and the Selection Knight guarding him.

Agravaine's planning something, but that's about when Cursed Arm Zabaniyas him, concluding the engagement quite nicely. A pleasant surprise, really. I spent every single moment during the fighting expecting something to go catastrophically wrong.

Cursed Arm devours the heart, and then looks up towards me, giving the prearranged signal that he successfully consumed Agravaine's memories.

Seriously, this is great! It's like Christmas! Everything's coming up me, and my plans are all going, well, according to plan.

I immediately begin planning my contingencies for when the Wheel of Fortune decides it's time to kick me in balls.

'All Servants, Agravaine has been killed and all objectives met. Terminate all witnesses, and get a fire going to burn the bodies.' No use giving the enemy actionable intel on our capabilities, after all.

The whole affair is done in half an hour, leaving me jumpy, constantly expecting the other shoe to drop. We polish off the remaining enemies easily enough and burn all the bodies save those of the Selection Knights. Those we keep for dissection and analysis by Da Vinci.

Once we've finished our cleanup, however, we head out towards the fortress.

According to Cursed Arm's stolen memories, Serenity was kept restrained by one of Agravaine's Noble Phantasms. Consequently, we've amended our plans. No longer are we going to try to break in. Instead, we'll be waiting for when Serenity breaks out.

Still, as we leave, I can't help but look over my shoulder.

Call me superstitious, but I can't escape the sense that the worst is yet to come.

 

[Charles Flynn]

"Well, I think I can freely say that this particular fort's been neutralized," I comment as we enter through the western fortress's main gates. The walls and courtyard are all littered with the corpses of the guards. We found a small contingent of them that had evidently tried to flee when Serenity started picking them off. They didn't make it to the Holy City, but there might've been others, so we'll have to be quick about this.

"Serenity?" Hundred Face calls. "If you're in here, it's Hundred Face! We took out Agravaine on the road!"

There's a long moment of silence. Then Serenity de-astralizes. "About time."

"Good to see you too," Cursed says drily. "Anyone else still alive in this place?"

"There was another prisoner, an Archer named Tawara Touta, but he left. Said he had to go find his master and take care of her."

Huh. Tawara Touta… why does that sound familiar? Oh! I summoned him! He's Rice Guy!

Meh, we'll manage.

"Well, I hope he finds her all right," I say, which makes Serenity turn her attention to me.

"Who's the lobster?"

"That's Charles, the Master of Chaldea," Cursed Arm says. "He's been a great help."

"Hm. I suppose he'll do." She walks past us, maintaining a safe distance. "Now, can we please hit the road? I haven't slept in a week, I've been tortured, and maybe of all, I've had to sit through these idiots' laughable excuse for an interrogation. If one of my recruits was as laughably amateurish as this sorry lot, I'd have killed them on the spot."

"Huh."

"What?" She glares at me.

"Normally the version of you we summoned to Chaldea is a bit more polite."

"Maybe she is. But I just went through a week of torture and solitary confinement while surrounded by idiots. I am in a spectacularly bad mood. And, making the matter worse, now my colleagues dragged some random idiot back with them to gawk and ask stupid questions." She turns and walks away. "Now, can we just go?"

"Yeah, we have horses."

"Don't bother, they'll just die if I try to ride them."

We exchange looks, and then follow.

---​

After our sparse dinner at camp the next night, the topic of who we should target next comes up.

"Lancelot." Galahad says firmly, and the rest of them nod in agreement.

"Are you sure?" I ask, realizing that public opinion is against me.

"Yes," Cursed Arm chimes in with a self-satisfied smile. "If we kill him, too, like you did with Agravaine, we'll only have to deal with Gawain and the Lion King. Plus, he's the only one out in the open right now. According to Intoxicating Smoke's surveillance, he's been sent out to hunt us. We can use that to trap him and finish him off."

As I look at them, all eager for the kill, I realize with a start that my choice has been made for me. It's not just Galahad that'll doubt me if I try to negotiate with Lancelot. All of them will.

And so, I have no choice but to begin planning the ambush and execution of a good man whose greatest crime has been borne of a bad situation.

The weight of responsibility has never felt heavier than it does now.

 

[Charles Flynn]

We set our ambush up in a pass through the mountains. Steep cliffs on either side, allowing for us to place our forces above, and, while it's not particularly narrow, Cu's runes and Da Vinci's devices have allowed us to make it impassible if we need to, hemming them in.

The plan is simple: Galahad pulls the old knight on a bridge trick, and shows up in front of them, and attacks, forcing Lancelot to engage him one on one. While that's going on, and the barriers have triggered, trapping Lancelot's knights inside, the rest of our forces descend from above, slaughtering the unprepared soldiers with the element of surprise.

Of course, it doesn't look like things are going to pan out that way.

"Could you repeat that?" I ask the Face serving as my attaché to the Hundred Face collective. We're in my command center, located atop the taller of the pass' two cliff faces. Da Vinci, Georgios, and Bedivere are with me, to act as bodyguards and a reserve force. Cu and Siegfried both stand at the edge of the cliff, ready to deploy.

"Lancelot left his forces behind, and he's making his way to the pass on foot," the Assassin says. "Seems like he knows we're here."

I had thought this might happen. It's why I had Hundred Face act as a surveillance system. I thought Mata Hari might do this. But to find out that she actually did? To find out that she's stabbed me in the back, that she's stabbed Chaldea in the back, that she's stabbed humanity in the back, all for the sake of some stupid fucking crush? That fills me with pure, uncompromising rage.

And so, I turn my attention towards my senses to my still-loyal Servants. 'Attention all Servants. Mata Hari has betrayed us, and Sir Lancelot is aware of our ambush. I'll be informing you of how we'll be changing our deployment shortly, but before I do so, I wish to announce a new directive: Mata Hari has betrayed us, and, in doing so, jeapordized our chances of success, and by extension, the well-being of all humanity, by spilling vital information to our enemy. Consequently, she is a traitor, and should be dealt with accordingly. If you should see her, provide with an appropriate death.'

That gets a round of grim affirmations, although Galahad and Georgios notably remain silent.

'Mata Hari.' I send to her as I stare at the map, and the troop distributions oh-so-helpfully pointed out by Hundred Face.

'Yes, Master?'

'You betrayed Chaldea.' It isn't a question.

'I did.'

'Was it worth it?'

'No. But I couldn't bring myself to betray him.'

'So you betrayed us instead.'

'I'm sorry.' She really does sound like she means it.

'I know you are. But you'll die for it all the same.' I remove myself from the conversation entirely, then, and focus on exactly how I'm going to turn this around.

"Right," I say aloud, shaking my head. "We're going to win this. And Mata Hari is dying, even if I have to kill her myself." I turn to Hundred Face. "Lancelot's position?"

"Three hundred meters out from the pass's entrance."

'Galahad, your father is three-hundred meters out. Advance and engage.'

Hopefully, that'll keep him busy.

I head to the cliff's edge myself, and I see the knight that's making his way at a walking pace towards our now-ruined ambush point.

He's wearing a helmet, and his armor shines brightly in the midday sun.

He's sent tumbling helplessly back when Galahad slams into him, fumbling at his blade as his helmet tumbles off to reveal-

"THAT'S NOT LANCELOT!" I shout, as Galahad stops in his tracks far below me. "THAT'S MATA HARI!"

The newly revealed spy and seductress draws a borrowed sword, holding it shakily with both hands as she faces off against Galahad. And he makes no move against her. Of course he doesn't, that damned chivalry of his won't let him hit a woman!

Shit, shit, shit, this is a classic shell game. "Hundred Face, did you have eyes on Mata Hari?"

"No. We had presumed she was in one of the tents, but-"

"Lancelot could be anywhere right now!" I say, suddenly realizing that I've just been outmaneuvered. "Can you confirm that his forces are still there?"

"Yes, we've checked!" Hundred face snaps back at me.

"Deploy in a search pattern, FIND HIM!"

"Master?" Cursed Arm says quizzically as he pulls himself up onto the rock shelf we're on. "What did you need me for?"

"What are you talking about?" I ask irritably, walking towards him. "You're supposed to be watching Lancelot's armies with Hundred Face!"

Hundred Face grabs me by the shoulder before I can get close to him, though, looking at their fellow Hassan with mute horror. "That's not Cursed Arm."

My guards bristle, and move to act, but Lancelot draws first.

His blade lashes out, and, with a cry of "ARONDIGHT OVERLOAD!" he blasts Georgios backwards off the mesa, before sending Bedivere flying in the opposite direction with a side kick to the chest.

By now, the other Servants have begun to react, with Da Vinci and Hundred Face drawing me behind them, while Cu and Siegfried move in to engage.

Finally, my mind unfreezes, and I begin to react. Come on, how do we take him down?

He's holding his own against Cu and Siegfried, even though its two on one. His every motion is flawless, as he keeps them at bay, taking advantage of his opponents' limited familiarity with each others' fighting styles to make them trip each other up. He's not just holding his own, he's actually winning.

'Cu, use your Noble Phantasm. We can't afford to draw this out.'

Chulainn's Hound leaps back, a wild grin on his face as Siegfried steps in to keep Lancelot occupied, and draws back his lance, the Piercing Spear of Barbed Death glowing with a downright feral light. "GAE BOLG!"

The spear surges forwards. It hits. There is no possibility in which it does not hit.

Unfortunately, it hits the wrong dragonslaying Saber.

Cu freezes as he stares at the spear in his hands, currently driven straight into Siegfried's vulnerable back. "But- I was aiming for Lancelot! How did I miss?"

Lancelot kicks him in gut, wrenching the spear from his hands. "Guess I'm just lucky."

I watch in horror as the Knight of the Lake sheathes Arondight, and Gae Bolg turns black in his hands, red veins making their way up its length. "Nice spear. I think I'll keep it."

He charges in, and Cu goes to meet him, resignation clear on his face as he fights Arthur's greatest knight unarmed.

I only realize that I've been backing away from Lancelot when I nearly fall off the cliff, and Da Vinci pulls me back.

But then, once he's done killing Ireland's most legendary hero with his own spear, Lancelot turns his attention towards us, and Da Vinci and Hundred Face both grimly square up to face him.

He cuts Hundred Face in half as he neatly dances out of the way of Da Vinci's attacks, pushing me off the cliff and then grabbing the front of my shirt.

I struggle to find my balance, feeling a desperate terror welling up in my throat as I realize that his hand is the only thing holding me up.

"So, Master of Chaldea. Shall we discuss the terms of your surrender?"

 

[Charles Flynn]

I look up at Lancelot and internally panic.

"Tell your Servants to stand down," he orders, his hand not moving in the slightest as he holds me up.

This is... wait.

I push past the adrenaline and the fear, and actually think. He hasn't killed me. The Lion King's orders, as reported by Mata Hari, were for Lancelot to hunt the Chaldea-Hashashim Alliance down and put us all to the sword. But here he is, using me as a hostage to ensure that we surrender. If he was actually following his king's orders, he wouldn't be bothering with this. Just like with the refugee camps Mata Hari mentioned. That means... I've learned my lesson from Attila and Duryodhana. If the enemy isn't killing me immediately, it's because they want me to stay alive. I am the Achilles Heel of humanity's last hope, after all. Killing me stops Chaldea dead in the water. And he doesn't want to do that. He's rebelling against his king's orders, even if it's through deliberately misinterpreting said orders, which would indicate a moral conflict. I can use that.

Of course, all of this is relying on the word of an extremely biased spy and now confirmed traitor. But, well... I know the look of a man who's actually planning to kill me from the look of a man that's bluffing. And Lancelot's bluffing.

Of course, the half-formed arguments crystallizing in my mind won't work if they're delivered from a position of weakness. I need to remove his current power over me. Moreover, I need to gain the upper hand.

I have just the thing on hand.

'Galahad, get ready to catch me.'

'Flynn, what the Hell are you planning?'

I don't answer, instead looking up at Sir Lancelot, my left hand drawing my teacher's first-ever gift to me behind my back. God, please let this work.

I grab his arm to pull myself up, smiling as I do so. "You make a solid case. I guess I have no choice but to say-"

I then drive the poisoned dagger, enchanted just enough to let me hurt Servants, into his wrist, forcing him to release me.

"-No."

His look of absolute shock is far more hilarious than it really should be. I think I might be slightly hysterical.

The cliff's cracks and textures fade into a blur as I fall, gaining momentum as I do. For a second, just a second, I wonder if this how I die.

And then Galahad catches me in midair, before driving his shield into the cliff face to brake our momentum.

"I swear to God, Flynn," he grumbles. "Have you ever thought that maybe, just maybe, one of these days I won't be around to bail your ass out of whatever fire you've jumped headfirst into? Where would you be without me, huh?"

"Dead." I grin as he unceremoniously dumps me on the ground. "So, it's a good thing I can rely on you, huh?"

He looks nonplussed at that. "Well, at least you admit it." He raises an eyebrow. "Where'd you get that dagger?"

"Medea gave it to me. It's enchanted just enough to hurt a Servant, but she didn't bother to enchant it any further. Not much point, really, there's no way I'm landing a hit on a Servant twice. Only way I could ever hurt one would be with a surprise attack."

"Fine." Galahad smiles. "I suppose I'll have to finish the job, then."

"We're negotiating with him." Honestly, this entire idiotic ambush only happened because I yielded to peer pressure, and it's already proved itself to have been a terrible idea.

"WHAT?" Galahad yelps. "Flynn, you promised!"

"And I'm not going to keep it if it means hamstringing our entire war effort against the Lion King." I look at him sternly. "I just saw him in action, and he was an absolute whirlwind of death."

As if to prove my point, Da Vinci is sent flying off the cliff, and lies, groaning, in her impact crater.

"He took on six Servants and won. We just lost Cu and Siegfried, two of our heaviest hitters. I still don't know if Georgios survived. Your father is a freaking juggernaut, and even if we manage to beat him, I'm beginning to suspect any victory we could pull off would be pyrrhic. Thus, we're negotiating."

"You're just going to roll over for him? You're surrendering?"

"Of course not. We're negotiating the terms of his surrender." I walk over to the still whimpering Da Vinci and start dragging her to her feet.

"You're fucking insane."

"Look on the bright side. If my plan fails, you still get your fight in." I struggle to lift Da Vinci, who's babbling something about spiders. "Now help me with Da Vinci, would you?"

He looks at me, still incredulous, before snorting and shaking his head. "I'm not sure if I want to applaud you or just punch your face in."

"Yeah, I get that a lot. Now come on over and help, she's a lot heavier than she looks, and your father is both very scary and very close by."

He snorts, and then grabs Da Vinci's other arm.

'All Servants, converge on me. We're parleying.'

---​

I see Lancelot draw near, a white flag raised high to match my own. Thank God. After what I've seen from him, I'm not sure that even having all my Servants on hand would be enough to beat him.

Alright, then, I've got my improvised ideas lined up into a proper speech that might do the trick.

Almighty God in Heaven, please let this work.

"Sir Lancelot!" I call from behind Georgios, Vlad, and Galahad. "Thank you for joining us."

"Why did you call for parley?" Wow, not sparing any time for pleasantries, is he? Well, I can work with that.

"To offer you terms of surrender, of course!" I say cheerfully. "If you and your men surrender now, we'll pardon you for your previous acts of treason, and allow you to seek your own atonement on the battlefield at our side." Hook...

"Treason?" He repeats with a raised eyebrow.

"Yes. Your harmful and treacherous actions, deleterious to the goals and well-being of your liege lord." Line...

He glares at me. "Even if I have failed my liege, those actions are not yours to forgive."

"Sir Lancelot, who is your liege?" Liiiiiiiiinnnnneee...

"The Lion King."

"An incorrect assumption. The liege you owe fealty above all others is not the Lion King, although I can understand the mistake." He looks confused, but he also looks like he's going to argue the point. Sinker!

"I think I should count myself qualified to know who's my liege."

"My good knight, what is a liege lord?"

He blinks. "It is the king or noble to whom you have sworn fealty."

"And the relationship is quite clearly defined: The liege offers gifts to his vassals, and enriches them, and in return, they serve him in battle. You would claim that Arthur is your liege, for he has so enriched you?"

"Yes!" Lancelot snaps. "And I repaid my king poorly. I will atone with my service!"

"I'm afraid I would have to disagree, Sir Lancelot. I know of one to whom you owe a greater debt."

"And that would be-"

"Humanity."

He looks at me skeptically. "I'm not entirely sure I understand."

"Humanity is your liege before all others, for it has given to you before all others, as it has to every human being. It has birthed you and it has named you, it has seen your deeds and called them glory. It has given you gold and lofty keeps, it has fed you, and it has given you meaning. It has created you, Lancelot, woven you together on the loom of civilization. All you have loved, and all you have hated, your very existence, all of it you owe to humanity! Your every moment, your every joy, your every sorrow, YOUR EVERY BREATH you owe to humanity! Your Lord and Master beyond all others is humanity, for it is a web of a thousand promises, the greatest fealty any thinking being could ever know, and IT NAMED YOU ITS KNIGHT! It raised you up above all others, enshrined as all mankind's defender by their collective will, the only reason you stand here in this moment, centuries after your death! AND HOW DID YOU REPAY THAT GENEROSITY?"

"I-" He's struggling for words, trying to come up with a way to respond to my tirade. He's actually backed up a step, looking like a deer in headlights. But most importantly, he looks guilty. And if there's one thing that Lancelot is vulnerable to, it's guilt.

"You betrayed it for a lesser lord," I say, relishing every word. "You are a traitor, Lancelot. You have betrayed your father, and you have betrayed your mother. You have betrayed those who served you, and you have betrayed those who served beside you. You have betrayed every human being to ever live, every human being who knew you and called you a hero, every human being that trusted you to save them." I snort. "And for what? To slavishly follow a twisted parody of the king you once served, not because you believed her, but because you wanted to prove to yourself that you were still a loyal knight." I laugh outright, there. "Funny way of showing it."

He's buckling, now, my words hitting him like actual physical blows. "I'm... I'm sorry."

"I suppose you are," I admit, making him look up at me in shock. "It's not too late, Sir Lancelot. You can turn back. You can atone for your treachery. Make up for your misdeeds. And the first step? Put down your sword."

He stares at me for a long moment, and I feel myself begin to doubt. Was it enough? Did I screw this up? Did I peg him wrong?

And then Arondight hits the ground.

 

[Charles Flynn]

"Master, why have you not killed the traitorous whore?" Vlad asks without preamble as he de-astralizes inside my tent. It's been a week since Lancelot's surrender, and we've marched into the northern hills. A circuitous route to the Holy City, to be sure, but I've kept my plans to myself.

We'd wrapped up negotiations and accepted Lancelot's surrender, along with the surrender of his men (all of them more loyal to their commander than the Lion King.) But, part and parcel with that was the pardon of Mata Hari, something that stuck in my Servants' craws as much as it stuck in mine. I suppose it just... bubbled over.

"We're talking about Mata Hari, right?" I ask, just to confirm. "This isn't just you trying to get me to have Medea disposed of again?"

He's been making petitions for her termination almost since the day we summoned her.

"No, the kinslayer has been spared my wrath, at least for the moment. Now, my righteous fervor is fixed upon a far more heinous target. So tell me, Master, why does the traitor live?"

I look at him appraisingly, and then sigh, settling down on one of the stools. "Take a seat. Dismiss the armor, first, though, the whole tent's a gift from Lancelot."

"Really?" Vlad looks about at the drab tent, filled with tears in the fabric, and at the ratty bedrolls and spartan stools. "He didn't strike me as a skinflint."

"He gave me two, actually. I set the nicer one up as a decoy."

"Cunning of you," he says with a nod, dismissing the armor and taking a seat. "Be we drift off-topic. Why does Mata Hari live?"

"Two primary reasons. Firstly, Lancelot's fond of her, just as much as she is of him. If we demand her head, it'll put a dangerous strain on our new alliance."

"Bah, do what is right and lawful, not what's convenient! I never hesitated from doing justice, no matter how much my lords mewled and whimpered!"

"And, as I recall, you ended up betrayed by those same lords you never compromised to or made concessions for."

"Watch it."

"I'm not disparaging your accomplishments, Lord Vlad. Your fear tactics were a masterpiece, and your repulsion of the Ottomans was brilliant. But you neglected your image, and the fundamental importance of securing loyalty. I can't afford to do the same."

"Fine. Your second reason?"

"Narrative fidelity, and keeping up our image."

"Layman's terms would be appreciated."

"Basically, I convinced Lancelot to change sides by shifting the narrative. He was caught between two masters: the Lion King, and what he knew was right, The Good. He wanted to do the right thing, but he also didn't want to betray his king. I changed the story, and, in doing so, forced him to view events from a new perspective. I made him think of The Good as his proper king. Suddenly, serving the Lion King was a betrayal, and doing what he knew was right, which he already wanted to do, was the only way for him to atone. Going by that new narrative, then, our offer of an alliance is a gesture of mercy and forgiveness. We aren't just dragging him along because of his strength, but we, as servants of Humanity, are forgiving him and his subordinates for prior treason, and offering them a chance to atone for their misdeeds." I sigh. "Unfortunately, to keep to that particular narrative, it becomes necessary that we forgive Mata Hari. After all, if we forgive Lancelot for his prior treason, failing to do the same for Mata Hari means that we come off as hypocrites."

He groans, massaging his forehead. "I swear, you think in circles." He shoots me a glare. "I have no understanding of the twisted labyrinth that is your mind, but you usually know what you're doing. I still don't like having to forgive her, though."

"Oh, rest assured, Vlad, even if we're forgiving her, we'll be watching her like a hawk," I say with a chuckle. "And, if she ever pulls a repeat performance? Well, you'll be free to dispose of her as you see fit. Just... whatever you do, make sure she suffers."

"Well then, Master." He grins. "You have my thanks for explaining yourself. It's good to see you haven't gone soft on me."

"I do what I have to. I simply acknowledge that just because extreme measures must occasionally be taken, one shouldn't assume they are always the best option."

Vlad takes his leave, and I'm left alone with my thoughts.

My theory on the Lion King's true identity is dubious, certainly. And the evidence is circumstantial. But I believe I can make a solid enough case to persuade Gawain. Man might be a great knight, but he's not the brightest bulb on the tree. Besides, he's as conflicted as Lancelot, in his own way.

We have the forces for our attack on the Holy City.

But... all the same, I need to set up some long-term plans. Even if we clear the Seventh Singularity, Solomon's still out there. We need a countermeasure.

Cursed Arm appears an hour after Vlad left.

"Are you sure about this?" He looks at me dubiously.

"We are at the ideal point to visit the Shrine you mentioned," I point out.

"Alright. If you're absolutely certain." He sighs. "The First will have my head, you know."

"And, if negotiations proceed as planned, he'll have mine as well." I grin somewhat shakily. "Now come on. We'll have to get going."

And so we depart, along the hidden paths in the light of the waning moon.

To the Shrine of Azrael.

 

[Charles Flynn]

"Where the Hell is he?" I shout, slamming my fist down on the table, which breaks in half. It's my father's, so I don't really care.

"Galahad, we've looked everywhere. Neither he nor Cursed Arm is in the camp," the worthless deadbeat who sired me mewls, holding up his hands placatingly. I consider telling him to go fuck himself, but then reconsider. After all, this one isn't his fault. It's mine. "Wherever he and Cursed Arm went, they definitely planned this out so they wouldn't alert us to their departure."

Damn it, I should have known he was plotting something! He's always plotting something! And now I let him out of my sight, and he's probably going to die because I wasn't there to save him! Oh God, Mash will be devastated if he dies. (Although only God knows why.)

I mean, I wouldn't shed a tear, but I don't want Mash to be upset.

"We have to find him!" I snap, starting to pace back and forth. "He won't last five minutes without me- us to watch his back!"

"Oh, ye of little faith," a familiar, insufferably smug voice interrupts, and I turn at the tent's entrance to find Flynn doing his best to casually lean against one of the tent poles, a grin on his face. "I'll have you know that I made it out just fine."

He's alive. Oh thank God he's alive.

I rush up and begin inspecting him for injuries.

"Aw, worried about me?"

Good. He's unhurt. I straighten back up and start throttling him. "IF YOU EVER PULL A STUNT LIKE THAT AGAIN, I SWEAR TO GOD, I WILL PUT MY BOOT SO FAR UP YOUR ASS THAT-"

He starts making choking noises, so I let him go. Mash'd be upset if I actually killed him, after all. "Missed you too, Galahad."

"I didn't miss you. Not in the slightest. In fact, life seemed brighter without the inescapable shadow of your idiocy hanging over me." I help him up to his feet and start brushing him off. "Now WHERE WERE YOU?"

"About." He smirks as I make a garbled cry of rage. "And everything went according to plan."

"Where's Cursed Arm?" Serenity asks, suddenly, and, with a start, I realize that the Old Man of the Mountain is nowhere to be found.

"Dead." Flynn's smile suddenly takes up that ever-so-slightly too genuine quality he always has when he's faking it. Or about to have someone killed.

"How did that happen?" the current Hundred Face rep interjects accusingly, glaring at Flynn.

"We went to negotiate with the First."

Both Assassins freeze, and I'm left confused. Who the Hell is he talking about?

"Ah. I am sorry to have troubled you, then," Hundred Face says, bowing his/her head respectfully. "Will the First be joining us in the assault?"

"Only if things go catastrophically wrong."

"I'm sorry, who the hell is this 'First' guy?" I ask, utterly lost.

"No one you need to worry about," Flynn says, turning to go. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to catch some rest."

I start to protest, but then I notice something that stops me cold.

Flynn's hands are shaking.

I stay silent as he leaves, and Hundred Face promises to keep an eye on him so he can't slip away again.

The only time I can remember Flynn being so rattled he let it show outside of combat was... Solomon.

Whoever this 'First' guy is, he scared Flynn as much as the King of Mages did. And yet he says that he successfully bargained with the guy.

That raises the question, now, doesn't it? What sort of deal did Flynn make?

As I step out from the tent, and stare up at the stars, I can only come to one, horrible conclusion: Flynn did something stupid again.

And then I sigh. I suppose that all I can do is stay by his side, then. I'll keep him alive as long as Mash's body holds out, no matter how much trouble he ends up in. She'd never forgive me if I didn't.

Abruptly, I realize there's someone besides me.

"Sir Lancelot," I say, perfectly civil, already donning a smile as I reflexively draw the comforting façade of the Perfect Knight up around me. "Is there something I can help you with?"

"Ah," he looks awkward, the worthless buffoon. What, did running out on my mother before I was born and never coming back leave you unprepared for dealing with me? Wow, I'm just so damn sorry for you. Jackass. "You know that I'm proud of you no matter what, right? No matter what sort of lifestyle you choose."

"Er... yes?" The hell is he on about?

"Oh, well, good, then." He fidgets awkwardly with his cape. "Um... Flynn seems like a g- like a ni- like a... person. Who I'm sure makes you very happy."

"More like he annoys me to no end." I snort. "Although I suppose I have to concede that he's good at his job, at least."

"Um... well, I suppose that's really just between you and him. And none of my business." Lancelot turns to leave. "I'll just be going now."

I watch his back as he power-walks away. Seriously, what the fuck was that about?

Ah, well. At least that took my mind off of my previous, heavier thoughts. It would seem that my sire is, at the very least, a passable clown, even if he's a shit excuse for a human being.

I turn my back on the stars, and head for my own tent, returning Mash's body to her as I go. I'll need my rest.

After all, tomorrow we begin our march on the Holy City.

 

[Charles Flynn]

I grin as I look out over our army, marching towards the Holy City.

"An impressive spectacle, eh, Galahad?"

He just nods non-committally, still looking at me as if he's worried I'll vanish the moment he takes his eyes off me. He's been doing that ever since… things happened. Shrine-related things.

Notthinkingaboutit, notthinkingaboutit, nothinkingaboutit.

In any case, the Holy City is now within our field of view. We're getting close, and-

Arash gives us the warning signal, and I turn to Galahad.

"Prepare to block a shot from the Holy Lance."

He nods. "Our glorious homeland, that which heals all wounds, LORD CAMELOT!"

The walls of the shining city rise, and the light of the World's End breaks against them, the shining glare of their clash blotting out the Sun.

And then the glare fades, leaving us all half-blind, and shaken by the realization of how close to death we just came.

"Continue to advance!" I roar. "We don't stop until the Holy City has fallen!"

The rest of the army nods shakily, commanders pulling themselves together and barking orders at their men.

Good. I can't fail. Not yet, at least.

"So." Galahad looks at me with a raised eyebrow. "You never actually told us just how you planned to deal with Gawain. Just said that you knew how to get him out of the way. Since we're, you know, about to go toe-to-toe with him, I was wondering if you'd drop the theatricality and just tell me what you're planning."

Another deflection hangs on the tip of my tongue, but I catch myself. It's Galahad, he's saved my life more times than I can count, he deserves a straight answer. "I'm going to talk him down."

"Gawain." Galahad looks at me incredulously. "You're going to talk Gawain down."

"Same situation as Lancelot. He's too strong to fight head-on without any victory being pyrrhic. Thus, we have to at least try to woo him over to our side."

The new servants I summoned in to replace Cu, Siegfried, and Mata Hari (who we sent back to Chaldea the nonlethal way, to my great irritation) were all handpicked specifically for the fight against the Lion King. If we go up against Gawain, it could leave us fatally unprepared for the fight against the false Arthur.

And I can talk him down. I know that I can. Lancelot, Mata Hari, and Bedivere all pegged him as following out of loyalty alone but disliking the Lion King's actions.

Thus, he can be swayed. He can be won over. I can't fail here. I can't.

"Trust me. He'll come around. Especially when I tell him what I figured out about the Lion King."

"You're not even going to tell me this mysterious discovery of yours, are you? You're just going to find a reason to bail on this conversation, so it's more dramatic when you pull it out of your ass," Galahad says, half amused and half exasperated.

"Well, I was going to tell you, but you just gave me an excellent idea!"

"Yeah, sure I did, you freaking drama queen."

"You know you love it."

"I most certainly do not." He rolls his eyes. "And there's no way I'm letting you talk to Gawain alone. If you're doing this, then I'm going with you."

"I didn't doubt that for a second."

---​

We march on through two more shots of from Rhongomyniad, Lord Camelot's walls unbreakable.

And then, finally, we come to the Holy City's gates. The Holy City's surprisingly under-garrisoned gates. I don't see a single Selection Knight, and there are only two soldiers on the walls.

Right then. "Galahad, have you got the white flag?"

"Yes, although I still think this will be a disaster."

"You always think that." I grin, then add over the mental link, 'Besides, Serenity and Scaevola will be following via stealth. Worst comes to worst, and parley breaks down, I give them the signal and Serenity gives Gawain some sugar, hopefully ending the whole fight before it starts.'

Galahad frowns as begin making our way towards Gawain, flag of parley fluttering in the breeze. 'Why would giving our enemy a sweetener end the fight?'

I can't help it. I start laughing, at least until Galahad lightly punches me in the arm. Lightly by his standards, at least. I still lose feeling in it for a few seconds.

'You're an ass.'

'True.'

'So are you going to tell me?'

'Giving someone sugar is also a euphemism for kissing.'

'Oh. Gross.'

And then Gawain calls out to us, "That's close enough!"

"Sir Gawain." I nod respectfully, looking him over. "We've come to talk."

He looks like shit. In spite of the fact that Servants need no sleep, he still has dark rings beneath his eyes. But more than his apparent exhaustion, he looks… haunted. Like his very soul has worn thin.

"I doubt my king will offer any concessions," he says, trying for polite refusal and only managing 'completely dead inside.' "I think she might just blast you with the Holy Lance and then tell the survivors to go home, honestly. That's what she usually does, nowadays."

"Sir Gawain, are you… all right?" Galahad asks, looking worried. "You don't seem your usual self."

"I don't feel my usual self," Gawain says bitterly. "But I keep my word. It's the only honorable thing I have left."

"We came to parley with you, actually," I interject, trying to steer this conversation back on track. "Will you turn back? It's not too late to do the right thing and stand against the Lion King."

I see it for a moment, a split-second look of hope, of longing.

And then he shuts it away.

"I've come too far to turn back now, Master of Chaldea. And I've done too much to ever deserve redemption." He shakes his head sadly. "Return to your army. I will face you as a Knight of the Lion King. It's all I deserve, in the end."

Right then, time to break out my rhetorical trump card. I smile and, as I turn away, launch my payload. "Very well, then, Sir Gawain. I suppose it's only natural for a son to side with his mother."

He bites. "But-King Arthur is not my mother!" He looks legitimately confused at the thought.

Galahad's already giving me his get-it-over-with look, so I happily comply. "Hm? I thought it was obvious. The Lion King isn't King Arthur. She's Morgan la Fey."

"What." Galahad says, utterly deadpan. Gawain, for his part, is gaping like a fish.

"What, did you really believe that noble and chivalrous Arthur would order women and children killed, merely for the crime of not living up to his standards? Did you believe that generous and beneficent Arthur, who never failed to reward his knights for their loyalty, would treat his best and brightest followers like mere cannon fodder? Did you really think that pious Arthur, beloved by God, would be so blasphemous as to raze the holiest city on Earth and declare himself a god?"

"But- that doesn't make sense!" Gawain finally says, his tone in stark contrast to the hope beginning to creep across his face. "The Lion King has Rhongomyniad, the Sacred Lance! It would accept no master but Arthur!"

"Really?" I deliver my trump card. "And did you ever see Arthur use said lance?"

"No."

"Really, what's more likely: That Arthur secretly had a reusable nuke in lance form that he, for some reason, never used, or that Morgan used her magecraft to create something that would give her an edge? Because I get the feeling that the ability to turn any town you don't like into a smoking crater might've come in handy during your war against the Saxons." I only have circumstantial evidence, of course. But Gawain wants to believe me. He wants to believe that the monster he feels like he's been trapped into following isn't the king he so deeply admired. I did too. It's why I came up with the theory in the first place.

"I… I was wrong." Gawain says it like it's the most beautiful sentence he's ever heard. He's crying now, the tears streaming down his cheeks. "I was wrong. I failed my king. Oh, thank God! I can atone! I can atone!"

I walk up to him and offer my hand. "Will you join us?"

"Yes!" He takes my hand and I help pull him to his feet. "Stand back! I'll make an opening for you!"

Galahad and I both make a strategic withdrawal while Gawain fires up Excalibur Galatine.

"Do you really believe it?" Galahad asks once we're out of Gawain's earshot. "What you told him?"

"I want to. So did he. Sometimes, that's more important than if something's true."

He gives me a look. "I don't think I'll ever really understand you, Flynn." He turns to where the fires of the Sun burn away the walls of the Holy City. "But thank you."

"What's that for?"

"For helping him. Even if it was for your own benefit."

"No problem." And with that said, I give our army the signal, and the invasion begins.

 

[Charles Flynn]

The Selection Process continues to deny me. It continues to maintain that the previous batch were all Lawful Good. But that can't be right, because they rose up in rebellion against me. If they were truly righteous, they would have known that my commands and actions are entirely just. I have seen the coming threat, and I have taken what measures I could to preserve humanity. I am right, as I always am, and if they cannot see that, the fault lies in them.

One of the new Selection Knights, the ones I made without Agravaine's help, bursts in, interrupting my reflections.

"My KING! The HOLY CITY is under attack by the ARMY OF CHALDEA!" it says.

Hm. "Didn't I administer punishment upon them with my Holy Lance?" I think I remember doing that.

"HOLY PUNISHMENT has been administered on the ARMY OF CHALDEA."

Wait... "How many times have I done so?" I think that I remember punishing the fools more than once, but I can't be sure.

"HOLY PUNISHMENT has been administered on the ARMY OF CHALDEA." the Selection Knight repeats.

Right, I didn't account for the possibility of someone surviving multiple Holy Lance strikes when I was programming this batch. Something to fix in the next batch, I suppose.

"Gawain will deal with them." I can't waste time dealing with petty trifles. I need to fix the Holy Selection. The Holy City is almost entirely empty as is, and my entire timetable has been thrown off-balance.

"GAWAIN-" it seems to freeze, before devolving into an endless loop. "GAWAIN GAWAIN GAWAIN GAWAIN GAWAIN GA-"

I vaporize it. Yet another thing to fix in the next batch, I suppose.

Alright. How do we further purify the purest of the pure?

I'm still contemplating that question when the entirety of my palace is suddenly smashed in by my nephew's blade.

Establishing Holy Rotation.

The rubble doesn't touch me. Not a single speck of dust mars my appearance as I emerge from the rubble, Rhongomyniad in hand

Sir Gawain has betrayed me. I cannot comprehend how he failed to understand my righteousness, but no matter. His Gift will destroy him for his treachery.

The army arrayed against me is massive indeed. It would seem that Chaldea's Master has done well for himself in gathering together his forces.

Then something catches my eye and stops me dead in my tracks.

At the head of the army stands Sir Gawain. And besides him are Lancelot and Galahad. I feel a sudden pain in my chest, and I immediately check to see if I've been shot. My search proves inconclusive, leaving me no closer to finding the pain's source.

Very well. I'm no stranger to fighting through the pain. Now to address the traitors, and then dispose of them. I can summon a new batch of my knights to aid me in my work afterwards. I raise my lance, and-

"LADY MORGAN OF THE HOUSE OF PENDRAGON, ALSO KNOWN AS THE LION KING!" Chaldea's Master bellows from behind Galahad. "Your crimes have been exposed, and your reign of terror is at an end. Surrender, and you will be granted a swift and painless death."

They-

For the first time in centuries, I'm at a loss for words. They think I'm Morgan. I- I don't know how to respond to that.

The pain in my chest grows stronger and more insistent as I see Gawain and Lancelot glare at me, and I have no idea why.

They're wrong. They're all wrong, and not worthy to call themselves my knights, and I- I need to punish them. I need to make them go away.

Maybe then the pain will stop.

"RHONGOMYNIAD!"

"LORD CAMELOT!"

My light of judgement breaks against the walls of my own city, and I call up my Dun Stallion. If they will stand against me, then they must be crushed. I'll-

My horse collapses beneath me as two arrows pierce through both of his eyesockets with deadly accuracy, killing him instantly, and sending me to the ground.

I don't have time to find the Archer, however, because be the time I've gotten back to my feet, Lancelot is upon me, attacking me with reckless abandon. Gawain waits in the wings, ready to take his place the very moment he falls.

And neither of them is dying. My Gifts aren't working, and now I'm stuck in close combat against the greatest swordsman of the Round Table, on foot, while I'm only armed with a cavalry lance.

This could be an issue.

Very well, my lance begins to spin and-

"ARONDIGHT OVERLOAD!" Lance roars, and suddenly, I can't feel my arm anymore.

I- I'm unarmed. I can't fight one-handed, and Lance knows that. We sparred together often enough that he knows my weaknesses. (Why does remembering that just make the pain in my chest worse?)

"Why?" I ask, my voice still calm. I'm... I'm losing. "How-"

"Because you're not Arturia," Lance growls. "You're not my friend, who I was proud to call my king, and who fought tirelessly for everybody, no matter how righteous she thought they were. And I'm ashamed that it took me so long to realize that." He advances steadily. "This is the end of the line, Morgan. Paracelsus' Philosophers' Stone allowed me to survive your curse, and Andersons' story allowed me to grow to face you properly and win. And now? Now you die, and I lay my friend's body to rest."

I stagger back. I can't- I- The pain in my chest has grown, and it dwarfs everything now. My eyes- I can't see. They're clouded, for some reason. I can't think, because it hurts. It hurts like Camlann hurt, like the pain I felt only once and never again. Why? Why does it still hurt?

I barely see it as he sweeps his blade, and, in one smooth motion, decapitates me.

---​

I'm still alive, even after that. They leave me behind, think I'm dead, as the holy city begins to break apart, and the Singularity begins to dissolve.

I'm still alive, even after the Master of Chaldea and his Servants have vanished.

The Crusaders put my head on a spike, and burned my body, and I'm still alive.

I can't move. I can feel myself suffocating without lungs to pump my air, but I still don't die. I still feel Rhongomyniad in the distance, sustaining me.

Everything hurts. The spike is through my skull, and I still feel the tearing. I feel like I'[m suffocating and being ripped in half at the same time, and I'm still alive.

And my chest still hurts. Even though it was tossed into a bonfire, my chest still aches, and I don't know why.

And so I hang there, helpless, eyes lolling helplessly in my own personal Hell. I've failed. I've failed and all my knights have betrayed me, and I don't know why.

I've failed. And now, I'm alone again.

"My King."

I try to look up, but I can't. All the same, I see him.

I don't recognize him, this strange knight with the silver arm, but he seems familiar. And kind.

"I'm sorry." He sighs, shaking his head in frustration. "I suppose that doesn't cover it."

I manage to raise an eye to look at him, straining all my muscles to do so. He doesn't look surprised when I manage to look him in the eye.

"I figured as much. Rhogomyniad didn't seem inclined towards letting its victim go, after all." He begins uncoupling his arm from his shoulder. "I'm sorry, my king. I'm sorry that I failed to return Excalibur to you before. I'm sorry that I didn't try to correct Flynn when he pulled out that idiotic theory of his. I'm sorry I let them hurt you, all the while ignorant that they were doing so." He starts crying. "I'm a poor excuse for a knight, aren't I? Always failing you." The arm warps in his grasp, as he offers it to me. "Please, my king. I am not worthy of your forgiveness, but I beg that you take back your blade."

That's... Excalibur. My old friend. I feel my soul embrace it, leaving Rhogomyniad behind, and suddenly, I feel myself begin to fade, even as Bedivere- oh, loyal Bedivere how could I forget you?- begins to do the same before me.

One of my knights was loyal. One of my knights forgave me for my failures. I think... I think I can.... live with.... that....

 

[Charles Flynn]

The staff meeting post-Lion King is... less celebratory than we anticipated it being.

"It's hopeless," Tom mutters, holding his head in his hands. "It's hopeless!"

"Hey!" I snap. "This is just a setback. We're still saving the world, no matter what it takes."

"Really?" Sara asks, looking pissed. "Because that's what we thought when we first set out to face the Seven Singularities. But here we are now, seven fucking Singularities later, and the planet is still on FUCKING FIRE!"

"And we're still here," Roman interjects in a tone that brooks no argument. "In the company of an army of some of the greatest heroes in history, in a mountain fortress staffed by the UN's best and brightest, armed with top-of-the-line equipment from both the UN and the Mage's Association. The Incineration might not be over yet, but neither are we, not by a long shot." He looks at each of us, and we rise to meet his gaze. "So let's stop looking at the task ahead of us, and start focusing on how we're going to do it."

That shuts them up. Shuts me up too. They hate me, but every last man, woman and child of Chaldea's human staff would follow Roman into the gates of Hell, me included, and we all know it. After all, without him, we probably would have just given up under the weight of the impossible task before us, before we cleared a single Singularity. Well, we had cleared a Singularity by then, Fuyuki, but... wait, maybe that's the problem?

"Roman, I had a thought."

"I'm listening."

"What if we've been looking at this the wrong way?"

Everyone's looking at me now. "How so?"

"Well, we've been assuming that Fuyuki was counted among the Seven Singularities Lev mentioned. But what if we got that wrong? Remember, he wished us good luck clearing the Seven Singularities. Fuyuki was already as good as cleared, so maybe he didn't include it in the Seven."

"So you think we missed a Singularity?" Roman raises an eyebrow. "Well, it's worth a shot."

A holographic representation of Chaldeas appears, and thirty-two dots appear on the globe.

"As some of you may already be aware, this is the map of all the Singularities we've detected that we think Solomon made," Roman says, pacing around the map. "The reason we've only resolved eight of them so far is because the other twenty-four were all resolved on their own, either by the Counter Force, or by the inhabitants of the Singularity's time period, in the same way that the one in the time of Augustus was already halfway done when we got there."

Nods all around.

"Now, the only weak point in Chaldeas is that it can't scan the Age of Gods." He continues to pace about. "I remember Solomon mentioning seventy-two Demon Gods, and each Singularity we've encountered has had a Demon God in it."

"Allegedly."

"Flynn being terrifyingly skilled at killing people before they can pull out their trump card aside, I had a thought: What if Solomon sent out thirty-six Demon Gods to make Singularities?" He turns to face us, a confident grin on his face. "That would mean that the remaining four Singularities are all within our Age of the Gods blind spot, including, presumably, the Seventh."

Now, people are smiling with him, hope starting to grow in all our hearts.

We've got a chance. It might be a slim one, but it's better than nothing. And we might still be able to do something.

"So." All eyes turn to me, with less hostility and more tolerance. We're comrades again, after all. Brothers and sisters in arms, struggling to save the world. "How do we upgrade our equipment so we can reach the Age of the Gods?"

"We're going to need more Grails," Da VInci interjects. "Our current problem isn't infrastructure, it's simply how much power we have."

And then the discussion begins in earnest, with everyone chiming in.

And afterwards, once our new raiding pattern has been decided upon, we go our separate ways, all ready to advance Chaldea's mission.

We'll be going after the lesser Singularities, as many as we can, in order to secure as many Grails as possible.

And once that's done, the Age of the Gods awaits.

 

[Charles Flynn]

The grand quest to gather up Grails has a… less than auspicious beginning.

---

"So," Ozymandias says with a chuckle as my Servants and I all come to stand before him. "The prodigal Master returns."

Right then. Egoistical God-Emperor to deal with, which means that it's flattery time.

"Oh glorious Ozymandias, your divine majesty eclipses all the world. Your will wins the waters, your generosity gives us grain. Truly, Your Majesty, your most humble of servants is pleased beyond what words can express to have been granted the unspeakable boon of your existence, much less the indescribable glory that is to stand before you. He, however, must reluctantly ask a further boon of you. Not for his sake, but for the sake of all mankind, of all who are your subjects. He must ask that-"

"Enough."

I stop my speech in its tracks, keeping my head respectfully bowed.

'Wow.' Galahad whistles appreciatively over the mental link. 'Just when I thought I knew how absolutely shameless you could be, you hit an entirely new low. That's almost impressive.'

'I swore that I'd sacrifice anything if it meant saving humanity, Galahad. My dignity is far from the most important thing I've discarded.'

"I see why you like him, Nitocris," the Pharaoh says, laughing appreciatively. "The man certainly has a clever tongue."

"I- I simply granted unto him the benevolence of a pharaoh!"

"Certainly," Ozymandias says, impeccably deadpan. "All the same, I find myself offended, oh Master of Chaldea. You have partaken of my hospitality, and yet, the moment you heard of Jerusalem's fate, you departed in a rush, not even bothering to thank me in person." I'm suddenly acutely aware of the fact that we're inside his Noble Phantasm, where most of my servants won't be able to fight at full power. "Furthermore, when you gathered your forces to go after the Lion King, you did not even think of me, either to consider me an enemy or to try to recruit me as an ally. Indeed, I feared that you had entirely forgotten about me."

"Lord Pharaoh, nothing could be further from the truth." A lot of things could be further from the truth, considering that I actually did forget about him. Still, got to sell the lie. "For the first, how could I ever consider you an enemy? You are the just and merciful pharaoh, from whom all earthly goodness and justice is derived. You exist, and have walked among us, and no greater proof of your selflessness could ever be found. And as for why I did not seek you as an ally, I did not wish to trouble you petty concerns. What can be handled by men should be handled by men, without troubling your august self."

He raises an eyebrow. "I don't think I much like you, Master of Chaldea."

Dammit. "That is, of course, your right."

"And there it is." He shakes his head. "You've cast away your pride. You've cast away your morals. You lie and use those around you without a shred of shame, letting others do your work for you. And to top it all off, you lack pride! I cannot understand you, Master of Chaldea. I may follow you someday, since your cause is just, but I doubt that I will ever understand you."

That hurts. It really does. And I did have the off moment of pride, when I was younger, but… That died. It died in the Grand Order. It died one piece at a time, surrounded by people better than I ever could be, forced to make choices that no good man would make. There is nothing admirable about me anymore. Nothing to be proud of.

"Pride, Lord Pharaoh, is the domain of better men than me."

"And again you prove my point," Ozymandias says, looking almost sad at the fact. "But very well. I will permit you to take the Grail, if you, and only you, perform a task for me. No help from your Servants."

Right. That'll be hard, but I can do that. "Very well. Name your task."

"I want you to pluck for me the feather of a griffon."

Oh. Shit.

---

I return five hours later, with a gash on my shoulder, and a foul mood gripping my heart. My Servants are still restrained,

"Lord Pharaoh. I have done as you asked." I present the feather with as much ceremony as I can muster.

"Excellent! And how, may I ask, did you come by it?"

"I found the nest of a griffin." Nitocris gave me directions, but I'm not going to rat her out. "The mother was absent, having been forced to leave her eggs momentarily unguarded so she could hunt for food. I then seized two of her eggs, drew my knife and established a hostage situation. I was forced to kill one of the eggs to make a point, but, fortunately, that was the full extent of the killing required. Then, I traded the egg's safety for one of its mother's feathers. I held on to the egg as I retreated, of course, it was the only thing keeping its mother from killing me. Then, when I came within the final stretch of the palace, I tossed the egg into a ravine, forcing its mother to dive and save it, while I retreated to the palace as swiftly as I possibly could."

Ozymandias has stopped laughing. "Disappointing. You really are a dishonorable coward through and through, I suppose."

"Oh. Really."

"I had aimed to have you face the griffin, or perhaps take the feather by stealth and nimbleness. Perhaps you could have even befriended a griffon. But instead you chose the path of treachery and manipulation." He sighs, and it's the most condescending fucking thing I've ever heard. "But, all the same, you've fulfilled my terms. Congratulations. You're free to go, and you may take the Grail with you."

I should calm down. I should just take the Grail and go. I should do a lot of things, but instead I step up to the most powerful man in Egypt and speak my mind.

"Oh, so I'm a dishonorable coward, am I?" I practically snarl the words out. "I don't meet your standards, do I? Well, you know what, FUCK YOU! I'm not some fucking king, or any other kind of Heroic Spirit, and I'm not STUPID ENOUGH TO FORGET THAT! I'm dishonorable, am I? May I ask why? Is it because I actually take every opportunity, pull out every stop, in order to ensure that I win, instead of just charging into battle trusting in my own invincibility and indefatigable tactical mastery? Because I've got news for you, Ramesses! Every time you went into battle doing that? The other guy was doing the exact same thing. And it DIDN'T WORK OUT FOR HIM, NOW DID IT?" I'm up in his face, now, and I know he's going to kill me. I don't care, though. I'm sick of this. I'm sick of them judging me. I'm sick of them all looking down on me because I'm not some idiot warrior king, tossing himself out onto the front lines. I'm sick of them looking down on me. I know that I'm a worthless nobody, and I know that I've discarded every ideal I ever had. AND I'M SICK OF IT! I'M SICK OF THESE MURDERERS, WHO'VE KILLED MORE PEOPLE THAN I COULD EVER EVEN DREAM OF KILLING, LOOKING DOWN ON ME FOR NOT MURDERING IN ACCORDANCE WITH PROTOCOL! "YOU WANT ME TO SAVE HISTORY, and THEN YOU LOOK DOWN ON ME BECAUSE I DIDN'T DO IT THE WAY YOU WANTED? GO FUCK YOURSELF! IF YOU WANT TO LOOK FOR A FUCKING HYPOCRITE, LOOK AT THE JACKASS WHO WANTS ME TO SAVE THE WORLD, AND THEN GIVES ME SHIT FOR USING THE ONLY TOOLS I FUCKING HAVE!"

And then I'm done. Everyone's staring at me, as I stand inches away from Ozymandias, waiting for death, all because I couldn't control my fucking temper.

And then Ozymandias starts laughing his head off, leaving me staring at him in confusion.

"By Ra!" he crows, wheezing with laughter. "The boy has a spine after all! And here I was beginning to lose hope!"

"Indeed, Pharaoh Ozymandias," Nitocris says, smiling slightly.

"Take your Grail, Master of Chaldea! Take it and allow nothing to stop you from saving humanity! Your Pharaoh commands it!"

I comply, still not entirely sure what the fuck just happened.

Nitocris escorts us out of the temple, all to the sound of Ozymandias' gales of laughter.

"Pharaoh Nitocris, may this humble one ask what just happened?"

"The Pharaoh Ozymandias wished to test you. He wanted to see if you had some measure of steel in you. Some measure of pride. So he decided to push you, and see what lay at your core."

"I see."

"And… Master of Chaldea?"

"Yes, Divine Pharaoh?"

"What you said about having to resort to dishonorable means, because they're all that you've got?" she gives me a small smile. "I just wanted to make sure you knew that I understand."

"You do?"

"When I had to avenge my brother, I couldn't go about it with strength of arms. I had to use every bit of guile I possessed. I had to use poison, and witchcraft, and treachery, all because it was all I had. And even though everyone agreed that it had to be done, they called me dishonorable for doing what they were afraid to, the only way that I could." She looks me dead in the eye. "So, um… this is embarrassing, but I just wanted you to know that I understand. And I don't think you're dishonorable, or a coward, or anything like that."

I smile, as the Rayshift begins to carry me away.

I suppose it's a relief, in the end, to be reminded that somewhere, in all corners of the Throne, I have kindred spirits.

 

[Charles Flynn]

Of course, not all the Grail retrievals go so smoothly.

---​

"So, Sinfjotli, Brynnhildr, the rest of your team is inside?"

My guides both nod, so I open the door to the bar.

And then immediately close it.

Nope.

"Flynn? Is that you?" Attila shouts from inside. "Come, join us!"

"Yes!" Duryodhana bellows. "We need someone to judge our arm-wrestling competition!"

Nope.

---​

"So," the towering, muscular oni begins, his rumbling voice echoing throughout the cave. "You're the Master of Chaldea! How splendid! After all, you look good enough to eat."

"Shuten-Douji," I say with a nod of acknowledgement. "May I ask, before you eat me, that you wait until tomorrow? My faith prohibits being cannibalized on holy days, and this is one of the big ones. I really don't want to end up in hell over some minor infraction, you know?"

Okay, not my best material, but I'm not really doing so well at the moment. It's fine, though. All I have to do is wait for Kintoki to get here, and then-

"Now that's just stupid. What are you trying to do, buy yourself some time?" Shuten rises, looking me over more carefully. "So, who are you waiting for? What rescuer are you hoping will spring up and-"

"GOOOOOOOOOOOLLLLLDDDDDDDDDDEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEENNNNN!" Kintoki roars off in the distance, freezing Shuten in his tracks.

"Boss!" one of the lesser oni shouts, running in from the front of the cave. "Golden Boy's here!"

"WHAT?" Shuten-Douji yelps, all plans of eating me suddenly forgotten. "But- But I'm not ready for him! Damn, damn, damn, damn, DAMN! Alright, fine. You lot go up and delay him, while I prepare to face him myself!"

The grunts all rush out, and Shuten ducks into another antechamber out of my line of sight, no doubt to secure his arms and armor for his fight against Kintoki.

'Galahad, how're things going on your end?'

'We're making good time, Flynn. Your idea on how to find Shuten's lair definitely worked.'

Having Yan Qing disguise himself as an oni, pretend to take me captive, and then trick an oni patrol into leading us to their hideout was a solid plan. Now, all I have to do is wait for my Servants and allies to dispose of Shuten, and-

My train of thought is interrupted when a well-figured young lady with oni horns steps out of the antechamber Shuten went into and fixes me with a glare.

"You. Human. How do I look?"

"Umm... good?" Seriously, what the hell is going on here?

"Good enough for Kintoki?" the woman, who can't possibly be who I think she is, asks.

"Yes. Definitely."

"Oh, thank the kami!" she says with a relieved smile. "I was a little worried that the dress might be a bit too much, but, if you're sure, then I'm definitely going with it! Anyways, there's a spice rack in the back of the cave, so please sprinkle a little paprika onto your clothing before I get back. It really sets off the flavor of humans."

And then she sashays on out, humming cheerfully to herself.

No. No way.

'Flynn? You still there?'

'Yeah, yeah, I'm fine. Just... Oni are weird.'

---​

The Fuyuki Grail stands before us.

This Grail War was a veritable odyssey. Identifying the Servants was easy enough, but the Masters were a much more difficult task. As was piecing together the situation, and what the hell that weird Assassin in red was up to. But now, we're on the home stretch. The King of Conquerors has fallen, as have Diarmuid, Bluebeard, Hundred Face, and Artoria. Gilgamesh was... well, bribing him into helping us win the Grail was difficult. Very difficult.

But in the end, he decided to help, in exchange for us killing his old Master. Apparently our cause was amusing enough to merit his aid.

And now, we stand at the final hurdle. The Grail is within our reach! Only Lancelot stands against us, commanded by a withered shell of an old man, who I swear looks uncannily familiar.

"Now! Now, the Holy Grail War finally reaches its completion, outsider, and there is nothing you can do to stop it!"

"Well, yes, that's kind of obvious." The damn thing is spurting black tar, for some reason, and Gilgamesh mentioned something about it being infected by the Zoroastrian answer to Satan, so, honestly, I'm probably not going to take it back with me to Chaldea. But by that same token... I can't let this Zouken guy win it.

"Yes, finally!" he laughs with a sort of twisted, perverse joy. "The Makiri's dream will be fulfilled!"

Wait, hold the fucking phone. "Makiri? As in... Zolgen Makiri?"

"Yes, once I was Zolgen Makiri, so very long ago." He stares off into the distance, lost in the memories. "So long ago..."

"OH MY GOD!" This is the best day ever! "YOU'RE THE PANDA GUY!"

He's jolted out of his reverie with a look of absolute horror on his face. "W-What? No! I don't know where you heard that name, but I am most certainly not-"

"Mongrel, what are you referring to?" Gilgamesh asks, in between chucking swords at Emolot like there's no tomorrow.

"Oh, you're going to love this one, King Gilgamesh. See, this dumbass used to be part of the Clocktower's Cryptozoology department. Then, he blew his entire budget-"

"SHUTUPSHUTUPSHUTUP!"

"-because he thought that pandas were a type of unicorn."

Gilgamesh breaks out laughing, even as he forces Lancelot to stay at range. "Truly, a clown without equal!"

"I know, right? I mean, when I first got to this parallel timeline, I could barely believe that they'd run this whole Grail War three whole times, and still nobody had managed to win. But now that I know he's involved, it make perfect sense!"

"If I was in Uruk, I would name this man my court jester! No man would be more fitting for the role than this bungler!"

"True, milord! Indeed, we-" "CALADBOLG!" Fergus, having taken advantage of the distraction I provided, ambushes Zouken from behind, disintegrating him as he drives his spiral sword into the decrepit old man's back.

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRTTHHHUUUURRRRRRR!" Lancelot roars, suddenly beginning to fade. Gilgamesh turns him into a human pincushion in the blink of an eye.

"Oh, just shut up, thief. Your inane, endless repetition grows dull."

"Well said, King Gilgamesh. I think the screaming was really starting to get on everybody's nerves."

And then, of course, the grail fires up in earnest.

"MAKE YOUR WISH."

Hm. Definitely not bringing this one back to Chaldea. Of course, there's also absolutely no way in Hell that I'm going to leave this thing primed. That would just be an unabashed disaster in the making.

"I wish that, in the Tohsaka Manor's backyard, there was a swimming pool, thirty feet in length, twenty in width, and ten in depth, filled entirely with lemonade."

"WHAT?"

Gilgamesh, for his part, is laughing like a madman, while Galahad just facepalms.

"You said to state my wish, so I did!" I insist, barely keeping a straight face. "So, lemonade swimming pool. Hop to it, Lucifer."

"FINE."

Okay, note to self, he definitely poisoned the lemonade.

All the same, we Rayshift out once Gilgamesh finishes incarnating himself.

Maybe we didn't get the Grail, or save anyone, but I made a lemonade swimming pool. That's a net win no matter how you slice it.

 

[Charles Flynn]

Of course, even amidst our madcap quest to gather more Grails, life still goes on within the walls of Chaldea.

Or, in some cases, ends.

---​

I stare up at the body dangling from the ceiling, quietly reflecting on the fact that, as of today, I'm one of only twenty-three human beings left alive on the planet.

"I can't believe- I didn't see this coming." Roman's crying as he looks at the fleshy former residence of one Tom H. Morrison, Chaldean bridge tech and section head.

It doesn't make that much of a difference, in truth. All the human staff save for me and Roman could be safely replaced with Servants by this point. All the same... it's still disheartening.

It's almost a betrayal, of sorts. After all, we were all in this together, the last humans on the planet. And he abandoned us.

Part of me wants to rage at him, to cuss him out for not standing with us to the bitter end. But then, I catch myself. He's dead now, and the living.... the living come first.

I put a hand on Roman's shoulder. "I don't think any of us saw this coming. Trust me, if anyone should be kicking himself over not spotting this in time, it should be me. I'm the one in charge of security, after all." And I have a massive spy network that I use to constantly monitor Chaldea, but that's best left unspoken.

"Yeah. Maybe so. But I still feel like I failed him."

"Did he leave a note?"

"No. Probably figured that writing one would just give away his plans." Roman sighs, and slumps into a chair. "How do we break this to the rest of the team? It's going to be hell on our morale."

"That, I leave up to you. God knows that I'm not good with normal people, even if I can manage Servants." I sigh, and take the chair besides him. "Are we holding a funeral? I know that we didn't for Jack, but that was mostly because, well..."

"There wasn't enough of a body to bury?" Roman finishes. "We held a memorial service, but you were on deployment at the time."

"So, where and when are we burying him?"

"I was thinking we could put him in one of the spare Klein Coffins. Preserve his body so that his family can send him off according to his wishes."

"You know wasting power on refrigerating dead people decreases our odds of actually winning, right?" I raise my eyebrow sardonically. Much as I respect Roman, he's still a little too sentimental for everyone's good. "Kind of hard to hand the body over to his family if we're all dead, you know?"

Roman shoots me an unimpressed look. "Really? You're on about this now?"

"Hey the issue's not going away, why should the debate?"

"Flynn, I don't care how many times you ask me, I'm not taking the A-Team off life support."

"All right, fine. Waste our electricity and mana on keeping Lev's #1 victims alive long enough that they can all die instantaneously the second you defrost them." I roll my eyes. "But don't say I didn't warn you when it all comes back to bite us."

"I won't ever regret keeping them with us, Flynn. You can count on that."

---​

Tom's death casts a shadow over Chaldea for weeks. We all knew him, after all, so we all mourn him. I mourn considerably less, of course, but then, I've never really been one to feel all that bad about someone's passing, a fact I prefer to keep to myself, since it tends to make people look at me funny.

But we proceed onwards. Always onwards. Deploying to secure more Grails, and, of course, summoning more Servants.

---​

"Servant Archer, True Name Gilgamesh!" the cheerful little blond boy announces, making me do a double take.

"Ah- Um- W-Welcome, Your Majesty!" I finally manage to get out, still slightly in shock at having summoned the chibi version of humanity's oldest hero. "I am honored beyond all measure to welcome one so magnificent as yourself to Chaldea."

"You don't have to suck up to me," the mini-Gilgamesh says, looking ever-so-slightly disappointed. "I'm not a total jerk like the older mes."

"Oh, thank God," I say, sighing with relief. "Well, then, Prince Gilgamesh, it is my pleasure to welcome you to Chaldea. If it's not too much of a bother, we'd love it if you could help out around the observatory. We're always understaffed, and your help would be welcome."

"Glad to help!" he says cheerfully. "Dr. Roman's office, right?"

"Yes."

And so he leaves, leaving me profoundly grateful that we didn't get an older version. Overwhelming power or not, that would just be a nightmare.

---​

"Servant Saber, True Name Bedivere," the silver-armed knight says crisply. "It would seem that fate has chosen me to assist you."

"And I can hardly fault that choice," I say with a grin. I actually liked Bedivere, after all. "We're glad to-"

"I wouldn't wish to waste your time," Bedivere says, all apologetic politeness. "If it's not too much of a bother, I would prefer to go to the Acting Director's office, so that I may be best integrated into Chaldea. Is that permissible to you?"

"Well, yes."

And with that said, he's off, leaving me utterly confused as to what I did to deserve the cold shoulder.

---​

"Servant Ruler, True Name Sherlock Holmes," the dapper detective says, professional and dashing as can be. I think Mash is hyperventilating as she looks at him. "I suppose that I'll take your case."

"It's an honor to have you with us, Mr. Holmes," I say, and I really do mean it. Looking at his stats, it's readily evident that, even if he's only a detective and investigator, his incredible deductive skills effectively make him a budget version of Fionn. And I've never been more effective in destroying humanity's enemies than when Fionn Mac Cumhaill was on my side.

"I suppose so." He takes a puff on his pipe. "May I ask where I am to be quartered?"

"I can't step away from the summoning, I'm afraid, but I'm sure that my assistant here, Mash Kyrielight, would be happy to show you around Chaldea."

"Senpai!" she squawks, looking simultaneously enthused and mortified. "I can't-"

"She's just being self-deprecating. She's more than up to the task."

"Very well then," Holmes says with a nod of acknowledgement as he makes for the door. "Miss Kyrielight? Are you coming?"

"Um, yes!" she gives me a half-glare as she make her way after her personal hero.

And now nobody can say I never did anything nice for her. "Alright, Marjani, fire it up!"

The circles spin and the light flares, revealing-

"Ooh. Hydra blood dagger! Score!"

 

[Charles Flynn]

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

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

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

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

"Good."

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

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

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

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

"I'm well aware."

"You finished rerolling yet?"

"Yes, you freaking psycho."

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

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

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

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

"Not particularly, why do you ask?"

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

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

"And how's that going?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Yep."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"That's…" Roman looks stunned.

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

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

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

No. But I can lay seeds for future threats.

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

"Do tell."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Thank you."

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

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

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

"What? That's ridiculous!"

"What did Marjani eat for breakfast this morning?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

---​

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

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

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

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

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

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

And I can hardly wait.

 

[Charles Flynn]

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

They all nod grimly.

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

The Rayshift fires up, and we're off.

---​

OH FUCK WE'RE FALLING.

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

"LORD CAMELOT!"

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

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

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

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

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

"Like you read my mind."

"Right then. One… Two… Three!"

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

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

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

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

---​

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

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

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

"I WILL BRING YOU DOWN! BALMUNG!"

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

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

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

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

A very revealingly dressed woman.

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

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

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

Shit, she's noticed me!

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

"Please don't kill me."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

[Charles Flynn]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I have the weirdest boner right now.

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

---​

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

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

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

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

"Y-Yes."

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

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

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

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

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

"I'm going to open the gate?"

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

The gate rises, and we pass through it.

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

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

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

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

---​

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Holy shit."

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

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

 

[Charles Flynn]

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

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

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

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

---​

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

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

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

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

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

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

---​

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Finally.

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

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

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

Oh, thank God.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

'Cursed Arm, get into position.'

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

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

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

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

'Cursed Arm-'

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

---​

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then we're back on the road.

 

[Charles Flynn]

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

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

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

---​

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

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

I shift uncomfortably. "Ah, no. I was kind of hoping that Holmes knew."

"While I'm not sure, I would have to wager that she's at her temple on Mount Ebih," Holmes offers up, breaking his previous silence.

"Right then. So we approach her, and offer her the rest the gold we got from Nero in exchange for her helping us."

Everybody nods in agreement, or at least acceptance. It's a decent enough placeholder, as far as plans go.

Suddenly, Roman's hologram flickers to life. "Are we getting through?"

I nod.

"Right, so, there's a problem with the plan you just suggested."

I sigh. "What?"

"We already gave Ishtar all of our money."

"Ah- THAT WAS ALL OF OUR MONEY?"

"Well, yeah. We only had twenty-three cubits of gold left," Roman says. "Although I'm beginning to think that you weren't keeping track of our gold supplies. And maybe that you don't know how big a unit of measure a cubit is."

"I was mostly using it for dramatic effect," I admit sheepishly. "So, we're broke?"

"Completely."

"Shit," c'mon brain, it's planning time. "Wait, wait, wait. I have a plan B." If we can't appeal to the goddess' greed, then we'll exploit her other vices. I already appeal to her pride through my flattery of her, but what other vices does a goddess of war and fertility have?

I turn to Cu. "Cu, buddy, I'm gonna need you to take one for the team…"

"Not entirely sure I like where this is going…"

"…by seducing the Mesopotamian goddess of sex and violence."

He's silent for a moment.

"…I'm listening."

"Basically, we're going to set you up as a honeypot. We set you up, you hook up with her, and hopefully, when we move out to save Mesopotamia and resolve the Singularity, she'll tag along. She's capricious enough that it's a possibility, and, hopefully, she has a positive enough impression of us from that first donation and me buttering her up that she won't mind helping us out."

Everyone just stares at me for a few seconds.

Then, Roman breaks the silence. "This… seems a bit flimsy."

"Maybe, but I've seen the power she can bring to bear, and the power Gilgamesh can bring to bear too, for that matter. If they're on Uruk's side, then the fact that enemies still remain would indicate that the opposition is at least as strong. We need Ishtar if we're to have any hope of winning."

"He has a point," Medea says, drawing everyone's attention. "We need her on our side to stand a chance, and right now, the only thing we have to offer her that she might want is Chaldea's biggest manwhore. If any of you have a better idea, I'd be happy to hear it."

"To be fair," I interject. "Everyone who's ever slept with Ishtar has come to an untimely and messy end. If you don't want to do this, Cu, I'll understand."

"Eh, with my luck, a messy death was kinda inevitable. At least this way I get to sleep with a literal sex goddess."

And with that, Operation Doggy Style is born.

Roman immediately vetoes my name for it, but I'm still calling it that in my head.

---​

The basic plan is, well, a gamble. We send Cu on ahead to challenge her to a spar. Then, well, Cu was very insistent that we not overcomplicate things. Purportedly, his "mojo" will take care of the rest.

I guess tight, revealing spandex coupled with a fight that gets the blood pumping is a surefire recipe for seduction.

"This is going to backfire horribly," Galahad mutters.

"Don't worry," I say, putting a hand on his shoulder. "I have faith, if not in our luck, then in Cu's ability to get into anyone's pants. He'll pull through for us."

"And beginning to seriously question whether saving humanity is really worth anyone knowing that I was party to this," he grumbles."

"Oh, we're definitely scrubbing this one from the books," I assure him. "I don't want my name associated with this any more than you do."

Everyone breathes a sigh of relief at that.

"So, how're things going?" Roman asks.

"I'll check." I fire up the mental link. 'Cu? She take the bait?'

'Oh, she's definitely hooked at the moment,' he sends back.

'Really, dude?'

'Hey, considering what you wanted to call the op, I don't think you have a leg to stand on, here.'

'Fair enough. When can I expect you back?'

'An hour. Maybe two.'

'Right. I'll just… leave you to it, then.'

And I sever the mental link. "All right it worked. Now, anybody got a deck of cards? We're probably going to be here for a while."

---​

We've just managed to remember how to play Go Fish when the goddess Ishtar, looking a bit flushed and with her clothes conspicuously ruffled, graces us with her presence.

"Be grateful, Master of Chaldea!" she announces. "I have decided to accompany you."

"We are honored beyond words, milady," I say dutifully. "Truly, we would be blessed to have you with us as we strive to save all of Mesopotamia, including your most favored city."

"Save Uruk?" she asks incredulously. "Like I'd ever do that. If they want to reject me, then they can see how they fare without my help."

"Well if you don't want to depose Gilgamesh, that's your business."

"Wait, what?"

"Hm? Oh, I simply thought that, if you were the one to save them, they might realize the error of their ways, casting out Gilgamesh and reinstating your place as the supreme goddess of Uruk," I say, affecting nonchalance as I try to remember when you're supposed to say 'Go Fish.' "I thought that the idea of Gilgamesh booted out into the street as the cheering people of Uruk exalted you as you so rightly deserve might appeal to you."

She grabs me by the arm and pulls me to my feet.

"Milady?"

"C'mon. Let's go save Uruk."

 

[Charles Flynn]

They're swarming the walls.

Waves upon waves of Demonic Beasts clambering up the walls, no matter How vigorously we push them off. The sea of beasts stretches out as far as the eye can see, and I can find no end to it. I kick another one off the battlements, and then groan as five more of them fight to take its place.

"This is the end, isn't it?" I ask Sigmund, standing at my side. "We're going to be overrun."

"Yes." I can't see it through that absurdly thick moustache of his, but I can tell that he's grinning. "A good death, even so."

Crazy Norsemen. I return my attention to the field of battle, cutting down another Urdimmu, when I hear one of the soldiers shout out. "Girtablilu! Girtablilu is commanding the enemy!"

"Where, soldier?" Sigmund asks, storming over to the man that spoke. He points and Sigmund turns towards where the scorpion-bodied woman stands, at the heart of the enemy, over a mile away from the front lines.

Sigmund draws his blade. "All the world shall know that unborn I spoke but one vow, that I would flee neither fire nor iron from fear, and so I have done until now. I will not break it now."

"Sigmund?" I ask, as the swarm starts to clamber up the walls. "What are you doing?"

"Hold the walls, Perseus! And I will take her head!" and then he takes a running start and jumps into the sea of demonic beasts, moving like lightning as he carves a path towards Girtablilu.

I almost lunge in to help him, but then-

---​

I wake up to the seventh murder attempt on me by Uruk's stray cat population. One of them is curled up on my face, blocking off my airways in an attempt to smother me for being late in feeding them. I pull the little bastard off, yawn, and get up out of bed, before I go to my morning routine, which mostly consists of feeding stray cats, and the occasional stray dog. After all, I'm a Servant, it's not like I need my food rations. Strictly, I don't need sleep, either, but it's good for my mental health.

I frown as I make my way to the ziggurat, to check in with my Master for today's assignment. I haven't dreamed of the day Sigmund died in a while. I have to wonder, now, why is he back to haunting my subconscious?

An answer comes to the fore, as I use the Sandals of Hermes to bypass a traffic jam. The Master of Chaldea.

I didn't see much of him, during our failed attempt at a welcoming party last night. But what I did see… what little I saw of him reminded me of Sigmund. Driven and half-mad. Significantly less impressive facial hair, though, although it is kind of hard to top the guy whose moustache functions as a Noble Phantasm.

Well, the similarities probably become less striking once you get to know him, and I do hope that I'll actually get to introduce myself to him the next time we meet. He just brushed us off when we set up that welcoming party. I mean, I do understand, I heard from Siduri that he had a very trying day, but still, it was a bit hurtful, even if I'm sure he didn't mean it that way.

Soon, I'm back in the ziggurat. (I did stop to help a few people, which slowed me down a bit.) King Gilgamesh is already at it, lines bearing countless petitions to him, which he reviews himself.

"Perseus." He glares at me. "You're late."

"Oh, well, I was making good time, but there was a cat-"

"Save it. I'll need you back on the ADF. We're anticipating another assault within the next two months."

"Will the beasts' bitch of goddess be showing her face?" Diomedes growls as he steps into the room, his face split into a feral grin. "I've been wanting to take a stab at her."

"No, Berserker. Merlin has deemed that unlikely."

I clear my throat. "Um… will Merlin be joining us today?"

"No. He's been formulating plans to deal with a separate issue since yesterday afternoon," the King says. "Now, you are free to meet with Chaldea before you leave. They will…"

"My King!" Siduri shouts as she runs into the throne room, sweating and panting. She looks utterly terrified. "Chaldea- Chaldea-"

"Siduri!" Gilgamesh bellows, rising to his feet and steadying her. "What happened?"

"Chaldea left."

The room goes silent. I think that particular revelation caught even Gilgamesh by surprise. Eventually, he breaks the silence, his voice more subdued than I've ever heard him. "What?"

"Chaldea left," Siduri repeats. "when I gave them their work order, they took it as an insult and stormed out."

"I see." Gilgamesh makes his way back to his throne and sits down hard. "Then we will make do without them."

I'm not sure even he believes that. From the start, the plan was always to hold out until Chaldea arrived. They were the cavalry, and now? Now they were here, and they'd deserted us.

"Perseus." I snap to attention as my King looks at me. "I have changed your assignment. You will seek out Chaldea, in the guise of a traveler. In that same guise, you will feed them information. Even if they will not work with us, I will not have them blunder around in ignorance. Try to direct them towards Kutha, and the jungle to the south."

"Sir, Odysseus still hasn't reported back in since we sent him there," I remind him.

"I doubt that he would allow himself to die so easily," Gilgamesh insists, with a negligent wave of his hand. "And the same applies to Chaldea. If they are above proving themselves to me, then surely such obstacles are beneath them."

"If you say so, sir."

"Afterwards, you will return to me, and tell me what you have observed of Chaldea."

"Understood."

And then I'm off.

---​

It takes me two days to find the Chaldeans. When I do, they've set up camp a ways away from Mt. Ebih, so I land, switch over to the traveller's disguise I made sure to bring with me, and walk up to them on foot.

"Hallo the camp!" I shout, prompting a brief commotion as the Servants draw their weapons. "I mean no harm, I simply wondered if you were willing to share a meal with a weary wanderer!"

"You're welcome to join us!" the Master of Chaldea calls after a brief deliberation.

I join them at the campfire, and they pour me a bowl of stew.

"This is good," I note, after I've had a taste or two. "What's it called?"

"Urdimmu stew," my host says, utterly deadpan, before smirking as I spit-take. "So, may I ask if this weary wanderer has a name?"

"I'm-" shit, can't give him my real name. Persi? No, too similar. Ah, screw it. What was the name of that one-eyed traveler in the story Sigmund tried to tell me that one time? "Gagngrad."

The Master of Chaldea raises an eyebrow. "Well, then. Tell me Gagngrad, since on the hall-floor you wish to test your skill, what brings you to this place?"

"Oh, just a love of travel," I say blithely looking askance at him. Seriously, why is he talking so weird all of a sudden? "May I ask your name?"

"Charles Flynn," he says, looking a bit disappointed. "So, mind telling me what you know about the region? Since you seem to be rather knowledgeable."

From there, he picks my brains for every detail I can give him. I slip up once or twice, but I don't think he noticed.

"Well, it certainly sounds like we should head to the jungles of Eridu, then," he says at last.

"What's this about Eridu?" the goddess Ishtar asks us as she flies into the camp, and I try my damnedest not to shit myself.

"Oh, Gagngrad here was just telling me about the jungle that's sprung up around Eridu, and I thought that perhaps we should pay it a visit to see what we can see." Flynn smiles at me. "Isn't that right, Gagngrad?"

"Um… yes," I manage, trying not to stare at Ishtar as I sweat bullets. A goddess. Flynn recruited a goddess. I've got to tell Gilgamesh. "But I really have to get going now. People to see, places to be. Thank you for the stew." And then I book it, my sandals sprouting wings once I'm out of their view.

Gilgamesh must be told.