11:51pm, Lykavittos Hill, Athens
Aaron stood shakily as best he could, doing his best to avoid his habit of relying on his splinted right arm. His body still shook with awe and horror. Every night he'd seen that demonic yet god-like visage in his dreams. How many times had he woken up to that face? How many times had he jumped at the slightest thunder? He had spent every day since that night preparing himself for the second round with Berserker, but he knew then as he knew now, from the deepest core of his being, that he wasn't ready. His hand instinctively moved to his chest, the deep scar hidden underneath his shirt. It stung. That lightning bolt would've killed him if not for his magecraft.
Rider soared back towards the Acropolis, leaving a golden tail of light as he did. It was enchanting in its horror, the light and noise that flashed in the distance, each movement threatening death for the only people he really knew.
But where was he?
He scanned his surroundings. He was on an overlook of some kind, a long, stone bench outlining the deck and acting as both a seat and railing. Behind him on his right was what appeared to be a diner, closed obviously, and on his left what appeared to be an old chapel carved from white rock, a Grecian flag flying high above it. He could see some lights below him, but now wasn't the time for investigation. He turned back to the Acropolis with a faint hope of being able to observe from afar.
"Don't turn around."
A voice he had never heard spoke from behind him. It was clearly masculine, but there was eloquence behind it.
He didn't turn around, but his focus was now entirely on the figure behind him.
"Who are you?" It was difficult for him to speak, the stress of the situation putting his lungs in a vice.
The man behind him appeared to consider for a moment before replying, "Archer."
If he was willing to give his class so easily, then there was only one logical conclusion, "You're gonna kill me."
"You're smart, but that isn't necessarily the case."
"Meaning?"
"I'm here to tie up loose ends, and to determine whether you are such a thing that ought to be tied."
"Fair enough, I guess. What are you looking for?"
In his mind, he called out to Rider, trying to reach him as best he could, screaming for help. He could feel his thoughts leave his mind and disappear into ether, as if splintering against an invisible wall.
"When I was summoned, there were three Servants before me: Rider, Berserker, and Caster. One or more of you is responsible for the creation of this war, and given your workshop at the Acropolis, you seem to be in the best position for such a thing."
He couldn't help but gulp. "Well I'm not. I was dragged into this just like anyone else."
"Is that why your Servant is so powerful? Because you were caught totally unawares? Not because you were planning for this war and had the relic already prepared?"
'Shit.'
He wasn't lying, but it was true that he was preparing for a Grail War, just not this one. But that wasn't a good excuse. It wasn't at all believable.
He was so dead.
'Well, if I'm gonna go down anyway...'
He turned as fast as he could, building as much energy as he could in his broken wrist. It hurt, it stung, it burned like Hell, but it didn't matter. He caught the shadow of the man behind him, sitting atop the small chapel, and released. The bolt of lightning flew at the figure, closing in on his head, before suddenly cutting off, striking the roof behind him.
He gripped his wrist in pain before looking up at the figure, at Archer.
Archer's figure was muscular and lithe, but what stood out was his shadow-like body. It was a deep black, deeper than any he'd seen, such that he looked like someone had pasted him onto the world, a blot of spilled ink on an otherwise beautiful landscape. He was highlighted by orange, his hair and clothing, which appeared to glow in the low light. It was otherworldly, as if he had walked in from another universe.
His face was small and round, with no discernible features except his bright orange eyes. His hair resembled a forest of orange down feathers, and a long ponytail fell behind him. His lithe body may have been muscular, but it was hard to tell; the details of his form seemed to bleed into the darkness. He had two separate orange bands on each arm, one on his shoulder and another on his forearm, which reached up to the fingers to reveal dark talons. Orange flames seemed to bleed up his sides to meet in a large feather which fell down the middle from his waist and similar markings which went down his thighs. Another orange band sat on his shin above his bird's feet. Finally, behind him, was a large crescent, like an eclipsed sun, floating just beyond his back.
Archer tilted his head, "And what was that supposed to accomplish?"
Aaron began to back up. Once again, he reached out his mind to Rider, but felt the same interception.
Archer let himself fall off the roof of the chapel, landing elegantly on his two feet and starting towards Aaron. "Honestly. Whatever power you have, it doesn't matter if you can't use it."
"Stay away from me!" He began to fling lightning, one after the other. Each arced towards the shadow of Archer before suddenly and supernaturally bouncing elsewhere, as if deflecting against an invisible shield. He was desperate. He was scared, but Archer marched undeterred.
Aaron, in his desperation, turned back to the Acropolis, hoping with all hope that he would see the familiar golden light of his Servant, but before he could make out anything, Archer seized him from the front by his collar, lifting him up into the air.
Archer narrowed his thin, pointed eyes, "What am I to do with you?"
He struggled, not thinking anymore, fear overwhelming him, "Put me down!"
Archer's glare only became more heated as he seemed to weigh his options regarding his half-captured prey.
Thunder. A sound like a thousand lions.
They both went still, acknowledging the development that neither could see, but both could understand.
Archer looked off to the side, as if hearing a voice that Aaron couldn't.
"Dammit."
The shadowed phoenix threw Aaron to the side like a doll. He tumbled across the stone platform, pulling in as best he could to brace himself. The cold stone cut into his flesh through his clothes and he could feel the bruises form the second he landed. His mind was overrun with pain, and he could feel blood emerging from the side of his head. Aaron raised himself up as best he could, his whole body trembling with effort, pain, and cold, in time to see Archer let his arrow fly. An arrow like black flame flew off, soundless as if it never existed.
Archer was distracted.
Archer's eyes were focused on a point beyond the walls that covered Aaron, and his mind listened intently to a voice he couldn't hear. Archer watched with interest what Aaron couldn't know.
-What Aaron wasn't bound by.
He summoned all his energy, all that which lied dormant within him, and pushed off the ground. He stumbled across the cold stone as he ran, but his anger pushed him forward. Here, now, determination overshadowed his fear of death, and indignation assured its own righteousness. Right or wrong didn't matter; he wasn't going to be a victim. He raised his broken fist, charged with electricity, and sent it directly into Archer's cheek, lightning flashing through the air and across their connected flesh even as his wrist swelled with sharp pain.
...
It was odd.
His skin, Archer's skin, felt more like a pillow than anything else. It was light, practically weightless, like a frame empty of filling.
"Was it worth it, Master of Rider?"
Aaron couldn't help but pause- but just for a moment. He went for a second strike-
In a black flash, Archer planted his bird-like foot in Aaron's stomach, sending him back as if fired from a cannon.
Time seemed to slow for him as the distance between himself and Archer grew and grew.
Was it worth it?
Was it worth it?
He felt the base of his spine touch the cold stone of the bench that bordered the overlook. He felt the rest of his back press against it, the pain seeping into his flesh, until there was no more stone to take his momentum. His back bent over the iron bar, the bench cutting into his spine as his body spiraled back.
He was looking up now. A black sky painted with pale blue clouds.
Stone.
Rock.
His body tumbled and tore down the face of the hill until-
Ground.
More accurately, a stone pathway that circled up the hill, but he lacked the awareness to know such a thing.
He landed on his back, his speed and force brought to a sudden stop.
The blue clouds spun and shifted above, in the distance, the wail of wild thunder could be heard.
He felt pain spread through his body, black and red vines slithering through his stomach and burning with hot-cold flame. He tried to breathe and felt the vines squeeze his chest, closing off the air, squirming into his lungs and up his esophagus. He felt it encompass him, red mud which coated his form in cold fire. He felt it pull at his mind, at his eyes, at his eyelids. He felt himself sink, sinking into an abyss which seemed to open in the cold blood around him...
Was it worth it?
....