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"What IS that thing? Why does it smile like that?"
"It was normal for a second and then it just — why does it smile like a ghost?!"
"Something in my closet just moved. I'm done. I'm OUT—"
"Maverick! Behind you! BEHIND YOU!"
Facing the enormous bearded Columbus — and the two additional ones materializing from somewhere behind it — Saber Artoria and Lancer Artoria moved with the unified instinct of two people who had been the same person at some point. Artoria licked the last trace of dessert from her finger, switched into her knight armor, and led the three Columbus figures out through the broken glass and into the street with Lancer right beside her.
One sword. One spear. Three figures.
Maverick had the Glock up. A-bro had recovered his submachine gun from where it had landed when his chair went over.
"Are you about to shoot me?" A-bro said, eyeing the barrel.
"We're allies. Don't you start."
"Right. Yes. Okay." A-bro exhaled. "What are these things? Is it a Noble Phantasm? Can someone create infinite clones?"
"They weren't in story mode?"
"Definitely not in story mode. Someone summoned them. But look—" He nodded toward the café windows. Outside, through the broken glass, more figures were visible in the street, moving through storefronts. "They're not attacking civilians. They're grabbing them."
"Why grab NPCs?"
Neither of them could answer that yet.
The back door, which something had been patiently working through, gave way entirely.
The Columbus with the beard and the smile stepped fully into the café. The scimitar came up.
Both of them opened fire simultaneously.
The result was not what either of them expected.
The scimitar caught some of the rounds — a few split neatly in half, which was impressive. The rest found purchase. The figure staggered. Stumbled. Dissolved into golden particles before it hit the floor.
Maverick and A-bro looked at the space where it had been.
"That was easy," A-bro said.
"That was extremely easy," Maverick said.
"Servants don't go down like that."
"No. They don't."
[Chat]: okay they're NOT Servants — the "mass-produced" label is literal. lower stats, no Spirit Core.
[Continuing]: that's why bullets work. that's why there are hundreds of them.
[Worried]: easy to kill individually. hundreds of them is a different problem.
The laughter started building from outside.
Not one voice. Not three.
"Uh hahahahahaha!"
"Uh hahahahahaha!"
×100
[Chat]: OH NO
[Counting]: the laughs are overlapping — there are so many they're overlapping
[2AM_Reality]: it is 2 AM. I am alone. this is coming through my speakers. I have made a mistake.
[Under_Blanket]: I pulled my feet under the blanket. fully under. both feet. I don't know why. instinct.
[Blanket_Theory]: the Human-Blanket Non-Aggression Pact is the only thing standing between us and this game
[Pact_Honored]: pact honored. feet under blanket.
Maverick and A-bro made the front exit.
The street was worse.
The laugh at scale was its own phenomenon — not individual voices anymore but something ambient, the way crowd noise at a stadium worked except with all the joy removed and replaced with something that made the back of the skull register an opinion. Storefronts broken open. NPCs being grabbed and carried somewhere with methodical purpose. Two Artorias fighting at full capacity in the middle of it and barely making a dent in the numbers.
[Checking]: how many are there
[Estimate]: can't count. the street is full. both directions full.
[The_Math]: three was terrifying. this is...
[No_Word]: yeah
Maverick counted his remaining ammunition. Nine Glock rounds. Five Walther rounds. Thompson Contender with its single shot. Three grenades. Two smoke grenades. One flashbang.
He was running the numbers on the grenades when three Columbus figures broke from the main group and locked onto them directly. The smiles came first — the signature facial arrangement that had somehow become more disturbing in quantity rather than less.
"Uh hahahahahaha!"
They charged.
The sound of hooves arrived before the visual did.
Then the chariot cleared the end of the street like something that had been given permission to ignore the laws of physics and had decided to make a point of it. Three warhorses — brown, black, white — with the specific cadence of animals bred for exactly this. The voice preceding it by half a second:
"Let your eyes engrave this, you petty thieves! This is the divine speed that ravages the battlefield — Hurricane and Angry Waves, Undying Chariot!"
The three Columbus figures between Maverick and the chariot ceased to exist. Not violently — cleanly, efficiently, the way a lawnmower went through grass rather than the way a fight ended. Golden particles drifted. The chariot completed its first pass and went back into the main body of Columbus forces. Each subsequent pass left another trail of particles.
[Chat]: WHO IS THAT
[Identifying]: long green hair, silver armor, black bodysuit, long spear, chariot — RIDER CLASS
[Watching]: she's mowing them. in rows. like a lawnmower.
[Abs_Report]: the black bodysuit
[Focus]: we are watching exceptional Rider-class combat and you're looking at—
[Not_Apologizing]: yes
The chariot decelerated enough for the Servant to assess the situation without stopping. She called across to Artoria mid-pass:
"Master, the immediate area is clearing. But more are converging from every direction. Rough estimate — over a thousand."
Artoria reported this to Maverick.
Maverick looked at the Glock with its nine rounds.
He looked at A-bro.
A-bro had gone completely quiet.
"..."
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