Dante Fraga POV
The hours went by. Slowly, almost to a crawl. Each minute stretched like taffy.
I could have spent said time putting up more complex bounded fields around me than the ones I already had for the summoning. Maybe some to discourage mundanes from wandering too close, a simple aversion field, nothing fancy. A few for protection would have been wise too.
But I had summoned Rider.
My plan wasn't to sit still in a bounded field, cowering behind layers of defensive magecraft like some frightened rabbit. That was more so for Caster, or perhaps a cautious Assassin. No, my strategy, which little there was required movement.
The rain came to a stop somewhere around the third hour. The drumming against the roof faded to nothing. Silence rushed in to fill the void. The hairs at the back of my head pricked up, standing on end called to attention. My gaze turned unbidden toward the Einzbern Mansion, which I couldn't see but could feel in a way.
I was not quite sure how I knew, but call it a sixth sense. Perhaps it was my origin resonating with something else. Perhaps it was simple paranoia elevated to the level of precognition. Either way, that sixth sense was telling me the Einzberns had summoned quite the powerful Berserker.
"Dante," Rider said, pulling me from my observations. She was right beside me now, her hands reaching out to touch my puffy cheeks in some form of amazement, her fingers gentle. The crimson lines that threaded across her skin from my enhancement almost glowing.
"Yes, Boudica," I replied, wondering what the Queen of Victory was thinking.
"Isn't it past your nap time? A growing boy needs their sleep."
Ah. That made sense. It was indeed past my nap time. Under normal circumstances, I would have been tucked into bed hours ago,but these were not normal circumstances.
"It's fine, Rider. I'm waiting for now. Berserker just got summoned."
Her hands fell away from my cheeks, growing alert at once. "How do you know?"
"Maybe because my own origin is madness and all Berserkers share the madness enhancement skill." I paused, considering. "Not quite sure myself, actually."
"If that's the case, why didn't you want to summon Berserker yourself?"
"Elementary, my dear Rider."
"Call me mom," she interrupted, and the request was so sudden, so earnest, that it actually gave me pause.
I looked over at her, cocking my head to the side, the request was weird even to me.
"No, no, I don't think I'll do that, Rider. I quite love my mama. Either way, the reason why I didn't want to summon Berserker is a simple one. Two people who can't think straight is one sure-fire way to lose the war, and if there is one thing I am not doing, it's losing. Or at least losing in a boring manner."
She seemed to accept this, settling back with a thoughtful expression. Probably didn't matter, I'd gambled everything on a quick war, two weeks at most, and so far Lady Luck seemed to be honoring our old arrangement.
Once more the hours went by. Until my senses once more picked up something else, something from which if I was guessing right came from the Matou mansion, though, I couldn't be quite sure what had been summoned it was difficult to pin down.
Then came the castle located in the city's heart, the grand structure that belonged to the Toshakas. That one I was almost certain, both because I knew the Toshaka family well enough and my sixth sense was screaming at me. They had summoned Saber.
Rider poured me a cup of milk without my asking, the white liquid swirling gently as she set it before me. I drank without discourse, milk's good, after all, and my body was still growing. We spent our time simply conversing with one another about the mundane. The weather (improving). The quality of the fish (acceptable). Whether the corpses at the table were beginning to smell (not yet, but soon).
It was quite boring, to say the least. More than once I summoned Fragarach, letting the short blade materialize in my hand so I could cut myself, play with my blood, or at least try to as Rider stopped me before I could. Such a bore. She'd take my hand gently but firmly her brow furrowed with disapproval.
Her offer for sleep got more and more enticing as the night wore on. My eyelids grew heavy. My thoughts began to blur. But I remained awake through sheer stubbornness.
Finally, when a new day arrived and the sun was beginning to peek over the mountains, I felt the last two presences manifest almost simultaneously. One in the entertainment district, not exactly sure of where though. The other I couldn't pinpoint precisely, which should have been the norm.
The fact that I had been able to pinpoint most summonings even through the bounded fields that were most definitely in place to stop such a thing from occurring was good enough for me. Perhaps I was just that in tune with Prana and the Holy Grail. Perhaps my origin granted me insights that others lacked.
No, I'm quite sure that isn't it.
Could I have just been delusional and made up the times and locations where each summoning took place, cobbling together coincidence and wishful thinking?
Yes, that made a lot more sense.
3rd Person POV
"Master, please try this."
In a room far from Dante's commandeered household, a voice echoed out. That of a man, holding out some tea in front of a twenty-year-old.
The master's features were average to say the least and nothing worth of note, except for his bald head, which looked like it had been shaven on purpose, the scalp smooth.
And his eyes, two swirling masses of black that filled even the sclera, leaving no white. If any magus were here, they would be able to tell instantly that the man's eyes were Mystic Eyes, though not who they belonged, Balagtas Jigmaire, a man of no renown in the Clock Tower.
A man who saw worthlessness in everything, including himself.
"Assassin," he said, his voice flat and colorless. "I told you there is no need for this."
His actions, however, didn't relate to his words, as he still took the tea his Servant had prepared. The cup was warm against his palm. He looked down into the swirling green liquid, watching steam rise. Assassin had prepared it with the utmost care.
That was why he had been summoned, after all. Not to kill, though he could do that with the best of them. But to take care of his master in all the ways that mattered.
Balagtas swirled the liquid beneath his gaze. He closed his eyes, inhaling deeply, letting the aroma into his nostrils, jasmine. He blew on it slightly, cooling it just enough, then took a small sip.
"So?" Assassin asked, leaning forward slightly, his voice proud and resolute, he knew how good it was. "What do you think?"
"It is perfect."
"Really?" Assassin asked again, if only to be praised a bit more.
"Yes."
"I knew it! You have excellent taste, Master—"
However, Balagtas' actions cut off Assassin mid-sentence. The still-steaming teacup was placed at the table next to him with a soft click, abandoned. The liquid inside continued to swirl gently, heat rising from its surface.
"Master, aren't you going to finish it?" Assassin's shoulders had already begun to slump.
"Why would I? It is worthless."
The words struck Assassin's core. His shoulders slumped even further. "Why do you always say that?" he grumbled. "My tea was always praised before. By lords and ladies, by warriors and poets. Even by-" He stopped himself, old memories clearly surfacing. Then, brightening with forced optimism. "Wait, how about I play an instrument for you? I'm sure some music will lift your spirits. I know several traditional pieces, or I could make something new, something just for—"
"It is worthless," Balagtas interrupted, his tone unchanged. "The sole thing we need to do now is win this war."
"But Master, you need to be taught the finer things in life. Otherwise, how will you become a good lord? How will you lead your family to greatness? You can't simply exist in this void of utility and purpose without beauty, without art, without -"
"Whatever you say, Assassin."
"That's the spirit, Master!" Assassin replied with a big smile on what could be seen of his face, choosing to interpret the dismissal as agreement. "Tomorrow, I'll prepare a different blend. Perhaps something with more floral notes, or maybe a robust black tea with-"
But Balagtas had already turned his attention elsewhere, his black eyes fixed on the middle distance, remembering things, things which should have been worthless to him but somehow were not.
-------------------
Astrea was sitting cross-legged on one of the newly restored chairs, surveying her abode. The shrine-turned-casino had regained its former glory from the charred hell that Astrea had wrought, thanks mainly to Astrea's own Alteration magecraft. She'd spent hours reconstructing the structural integrity, transforming ash back into wood, restoring burnt tatami mats to their original woven perfection, she had even changed the rules on the ceiling.
While she did that, however, Remus and Romulus had set up bounded field after bounded field, layering protection upon protection. Anything they knew that could help protect their Lady. All this took time. Hours of careful work, which would have left lesser mages tapped out.
Time in which Lancer had been sleeping and snoring on the floor, sprawled out like a conquering hero after a successful campaign. Her saliva slowly made its way across the floorboards in an expanding puddle, undignified and completely unbothered by any sense of propriety.
Astrea sighed as she looked down at her Servant from her seat, taking in the details of what she'd been stuck with. Lancer was now wearing a bronze armor instead of the gold blazing one she had been summoned with, the first thing she'd done upon waking from her initial post-summoning collapse was to swap her equipment.
Astrea grabbed a pack of cards she had restored and altered from the charred remains of someone's personal effects. On the table where she sat, the flintlock from the boss she had killed was also placed, restored to it's glory.
"My lady," Remus began, his tone apologetic but firm. He stood at attention behind her right shoulder, posture perfect despite the long night of labor. "We are sorry. It seems the catalyst we acquired wasn't the real one."
The admission hung in the air. The Melaustea family had paid considerable sums for that catalyst, following a trail of rumor that should have led to authentic Trojan War memorabilia. Clearly, they'd been sold a clever forgery. Or perhaps the Grail had simply chosen to interpret the catalyst loosely, summoning a related hero rather than the intended one.
"Don't worry about it now," Astrea replied with a sigh, her fingers already moving through the motions of shuffling the cards. The familiar snap and whisper of cardstock against cardstock was soothing. "Lady Luck has always been on my side. I'm sure whoever this is, they will grant us what we need." She paused, frowning slightly. "Still, I wonder why I can't see her parameters and skills."
Lancer's eyes groggily opened at the noise of conversation, orange irises focusing slowly on her surroundings as consciousness returned. Her gaze tracked around the room, noting the lack of corpses and smokey smell, the two butler-guards standing vigilant, the cards in Astrea's hands, before finally settling on her Master's face. "Good morning, Master," she began, rising up from the floor, completely ignoring the puddle of drool she left behind. She claimed a seat opposite from Astrea without asking permission, sprawling in it. "So, who are we killing?"
"Before that," Astrea began, setting down the cards with deliberate care, "we must discuss strategy."
"Ugh, strategy." Lancer groaned, the sound equal parts disgust and boredom. "You sound like that pompous bastard."
Astrea had no clue who Lancer was referring to. She decided not to ask, steering the conversation instead toward two other more pressing matters.
"Why can't I see your skills and parameters? What is your true name?"
Instead of replying immediately, Lancer's right hand went over to the left side of her head as she stretched her neck, first one side then the other. The vertebrae cracked audibly, a sound like snapping twigs. "Oh right, parameters," she finally spoke, as if suddenly remembering a minor detail. Her bronze armor began to flicker rapidly, and in an instant the blazing gold armor she had been summoned with took its place. Flames rolled across the metal, ang again Astrea wondered how they worked as she could tell the flames weren't hot, it was more like an illusion than anything else. "Can you see it now?"
Astrea nodded, her inner sight finally registering the full scope of her Servant's specifications. The parameters were impressive, high across the broad, even her skills were quite good, Lady Luck had been good to her, she had summoned quite the powerful servant.
"As you can see, that bronze armor allows me to hide everything about myself. Even from my own Master." Lancer's tone was matter-of-fact. "Put it on because I didn't want you peeking while I was asleep. As for who I am-" She paused for dramatic effect, then grinned widely, her fists striking the table hard enough to make the cards jump. "Who else could I be but the greatest hero of the Trojan War, Diomedes!"
Behind Astrea, Remus and Romulus stared at each other, a silent conversation passing between them, a link between twins perhaps. Neither of them voiced their thoughts, Astrea however, compelled to speak in rebuttal, did.
"Achilles is the greatest hero of the Trojan War."
The very instant those words left her mouth, a crushing weight flooded the room. No, it flooded the entire shrine compound. Pressure descended, dense and suffocating, the wrath of heroes made manifest.
Remus and Romulus fell to their knees without being able to do anything to prevent it, their legs simply giving out beneath them as if the ground had risen up to meet them. Not even with reinforcement they could put any effort to stand, it was as if their bodies had been frozen still from fear.
As for Astrea herself, sweat began to bead on her brow, trickling down her temple. Her arms began to shake despite her best efforts to control them.. The cards in her hands slipped from her grasp, fluttering down to scatter across the table in a random spread.
Lancer spoke, and her voice was quiet. "Master, what did you just say?"
Before Astrea could reply, before she could even formulate words through the crushing pressure, Lancer's spear was drawn and grazing Astrea's neck. The bronze tip pressed against her throat, exactly enough force to break the top layer of skin. A single drop of blood slid down her neck and onto the collar of her dress.
"Did you just say that whiny fucker was the greatest hero of the Trojan War?" Lancer's voice rose now, wrathful. "He wasn't even in it half of the time! What in Athena's name do you mean he's the greatest? He got beat by a damn river god! I'm the greatest of the Achaeans! I fought every day! I didn't sulk in my tent because someone took my war prize! I won against Ares himself! I struck Aphrodite!"
When Lancer was finally done, her fury spent for the moment, the crushing weight that had appeared in the room disappeared without a trace. The pressure lifted as if it had never been, leaving only the memory of suffocation and the rapid breathing of those who'd endured it. Lancer's spear was no longer materialized, having vanished back into spirit form.
Instead, Lancer reclined back in her chair and placed her feet on the table like some kind of delinquent. As if she hadn't just threatened to kill her Master over a perceived slight to her reputation.
"You got that, Master?"
Astrea's hand went to her neck, fingers finding the small wound where Lancer's spear had nicked her. The blood was already clotting, but the message was clear. "I got it, Lancer."
"Good," Lancer replied with a nod of satisfaction. "Anything else you wish to ask?"
Remus and Romulus, who had finally gotten up from their knees, their legs still shaking beneath them, stared at Lancer. Their eyes filled with wrath for just a split second, killing intent directed at the Servant who had threatened their Lady, before the feeling disappeared, instead, expressions of worry replaced the anger as they turned their attention to Astrea.
Both of them were going to ask if she was okay, mouths opening to voice their concern, but before they could, Astrea raised the hand that had gone to her neck, stopping them with a simple gesture. "I'm fine." Her eyes returned to Lancer, and she began gathering the cards that had spread across the table. She shuffled them, the snap and whisper of cardstock filling the silence as Astrea and Lancer stared into each other's eyes.
Neither looked away. Neither blinked.
Finally, Astrea placed the stack on the table in front of Lancer.
"Cut it."
Lancer's head cocked to the side, confusion evident. "With my spear?"
"No." Astrea's tone was patient. "Grab two piles and put them to the side."
Lancer, unsure of why her Master was doing this and a little annoyed by the fact that she had blown up against her Master because someone had invoked Achilles' name, did as she was asked. Her hands moved to the deck, dividing it roughly into sections, grabbing two stacks and placing them to the side.
Astrea nodded approvingly, then grabbed the two piles and placed one below and one on top of the center stack with fluid efficiency. "I'm guessing Achilles is a subject you aren't willing to discuss rationally. So how about this: we are going to play a game. Each time I win, you will answer one of my questions without blowing up in my face like you just did. If you win, however, well, you can choose what to get. Information from me, perhaps. Or demands about how I conduct the war. Whatever you think fair."
Lancer's eyes went over to Astrea's hand, finding the tattoo shaped like a balance that marked her Command Seals. It reminded her of the scales of Justice, of Dike. "You got a deal, Master," she replied, her grin returning, wide and slightly feral.
"We are going to play a very simple game called blackjack. Let me explain the rules."
So Astrea went on to explain the rules of the game, how numbered cards held their face value, how face cards counted as ten, how aces could be one or eleven depending on what benefited the holder most. How the goal was to reach twenty-one, or as close as possible without going over. How the dealer had to hit on sixteen and stand on seventeen. How winning against the house meant beating the dealer's total without busting.
Remus and Romulus maintained their silent vigil from behind Astrea's chair, wary of the Servant. Finally the explanation was done and Astrea dealt out the cards. The two which Lancer received were a seven and an ace, soft eighteen, a strong hand by any measure.
Astrea, however, acting as dealer, had only one of her two cards face up, a three. The hidden card remained a mystery, face down on the table. Lancer's grin widened as she looked at her hand. "Hit or do you stand?" Astrea asked, her voice neutral, betraying nothing.
"I stand," Lancer replied confidently, keeping her cards close.
Astrea nodded, then turned over her second card with a flick of her wrist. A seven. Nine in total. She paused, considering, then pulled another card from the deck. A jack. "Nineteen over eighteen. I win."
Lancer's grin faltered slightly. "Ask away."
"Why do you have such contempt for Achilles? According to legend, you two fought and Achilles beat you. You are not the strongest, Achilles was."
Lancer gritted her teeth, the sound audible. Her hands clenched into fists on the table. Behind her, Remus and Romulus tensed, raising their arms defensively, palms opened and positioned toward Lancer in preparation for defensive Magecraft.
Still, Lancer kept true to her word. No outburst came.
"He cheated," Lancer replied, forcing the words out through clenched jaw. "He cheated with his divine body. I would have won if he wasn't invulnerable. He was given everything from birth, divine blood, Thetis' blessing, that cursed invulnerability that made him untouchable. He was taught by the greatest teacher of Greece, Chiron himself. It was unfair. I was better with the spear than he could ever be, more skilled, more dedicated. He even took my glory from me afterward, he killed Hector, which I should have done. He killed Penthesilea, someone who was my prey, my opponent to face. That's enough of a reason."
"Good," Astrea said simply, gathering the cards.
They played another match, and again Astrea won. This time Lancer went over twenty-one, busting with a frustrated curse.
"Why are you a woman? You were always depicted as a man in the Iliad."
"How should I know why my gender was changed in the records?" Lancer's shrug was eloquent in its indifference. "I never hid it during my life. I fought openly, I even exchanged armor while on the battlefield."
Again they played, and again Astrea won, her cards aligning with suspicious consistency.
"Why did you ask who we were going to kill when you woke up?"
"This is a war, isn't it? We are meant to kill, to find glory and have our names be known. What's the point otherwise? If I'm summoned to fight, then I want to fight the strongest opponents, test myself against the greatest heroes. That's what war is for."
Astrea nodded thoughtfully. They played another round, and Astrea was once more the winner, pulling a perfect twenty-one.
"What is your wish for the Grail?"
"You're cheating." Lancer's eyes narrowed. "I don't know how, but you're cheating."
"Lancer, come now, don't be a sore loser." Astrea's smile was slight but genuine. "Your eyes would tell you if I was cheating or using Magecraft to manipulate the cards, wouldn't they? Those divine-gifted eyes. Now come and answer the question."
Lancer stared at her for a long moment, then relented. "I want to fight the greatest heroes in history. That's my wish. To test myself against Heracles, against Achilles whom with my new spear I can finally injure, against every legendary warrior. To prove once and for all who truly deserves the title of greatest."
"You're quite battle-hungry," Astrea replied, her smile widening slightly.
"I wasn't called the Lion of the Achaeans for nothing."
Astrea once more shuffled the cards, but just as she was about to start dealing them out for another round, Lancer's hand shot out, stopping her. "Let me do it."
Astrea shrugged her shoulders at that, handing over the stack of cards without protest. Lancer shuffled them even better than Astrea has surprisingly, and dealt them out. But as she flipped Astrea's cards, Lancer froze.
A blackjack. Ace and Jack of spades. Perfect twenty-one. Astrea smiled
"What question should I ask you now?" Astrea muttered, staring at the cards. "Wait, would that count as a question? It would, wouldn't it? Then I'm not asking that. Let me ask something else..."
Finally Astrea quietened, a question in mind. She outstretched her hand across the table, and in that smile and in that hand, Lancer blinked. For just a moment, her vision seemed to blur, and she rubbed her eyes with the back of her hand.
Why did her Master look so similar to...
No. It couldn't be. But that expression, that confidence, that sense of measuring an opponent and finding them worthy, it was familiar in a way that made Lancer's heart skip a beat.
"Will you follow me, Diomedes, greatest of the Achaeans?"
Lancer's eyes fell to her Master's outstretched hand. The question hung in the air between them, and she was back on the beach of Troy, hearing words which drove her to be the best, daughter of Tydeus.
And just as she had back then she took the hand in her own.
"I will," Lancer answered, her face tilting up to meet Astrea's gaze once more. "Just don't bring up Achilles."
At those words, Astrea laughed heartily. "Don't worry, I won't test my luck there. Now come, we aren't killing anyone yet, but we have some intelligence gathering to do. Remus, Romulus, you stay here. Try to get this gambling den running properly. I'm sure some people will come by today looking for their usual vice. We might as well take advantage of that." She paused, turning to her senior butler. "Remus, you knew how to make golems, right?"
A/N: Sup new chapter, new me. Hope you all enjoyed it, Diomedes is my favorite greek hero if you couldn't tell but this is a Diomedes in the newer parts of the Trojan War, so she's a bit of a hot head. She is also a she because this is Fate and we need some gender swapping lol.
Thx for reading. Author out.