7:45 pm, A Hotel in Athens
Xander and Chauncey made their way through the vacant hall, returning to their team after a semi-successful investigation.
Xander stepped forward with as much diligence as he'd ever had, ready for whatever that would come. The subtle gleam in his eyes revealed his gratitude, his thankfulness for what progress they'd made, seeing a large step in the right direction.
Three paces behind, Chauncey slumped after Xander, his eyebrows nearly as low as the bags under his eyes, not to say that he was unfocused. No- his eyes were locked on the back of his leader's head, his thoughts full of curses and gripes, not out of hatred, but of confusion and frustration. Contact with one of the war's Masters was a mixed bag, with no guarantee that it would be in their favor, and yet, Xander was content. They'd found no sign or trace of the missing Quayyum, and yet, Xander was unbothered. Their priorities were different, of that there was no doubt, but the question was 'why?'. Why was it that they found themselves so misaligned? Though he worried for the safety of Samman Quayyum, despite their differences, he also couldn't help but feel a twinge of envy for the old man: wherever he was, at least he had the freedom to do as he pleased.
The lights of the hall flickered without warning, and from the shadows stepped the familiar shrouded shape of Radiya, the assassin. "Any success?"
A proud but subtle smile rose from Xander, "I'd say so. We've made contact with Saber and his Master, and we think we could be able to reach Assassin through them."
Her eagle eyes fell to the side as she analyzed the new information, "Hm. Yes. That could be good for us." When her head raised again, her eyes met those of the disgruntled Chauncey. They lingered on him for some time, questioning his attitude, before returning to Xander, "What of the old man?"
He shook his head, "You know how mages are. He's likely holed himself up somewhere for the time being. I'm sure he'll return once he's found something worth mentioning."
She didn't appear so convinced, but accepted the answer regardless, stepping back and out of the way of the door to their room. She gestured for them to enter, and the door clicked, unlocking seemingly of its own accord, "I understand your wife has some revelations of her own. You should speak with her."
"I intend to. Thank you."
The two men made their way inside, the Frenchman and assassin trading concerned looks as they passed, and there the beautiful Egyptian Filza could be seen sitting in the space between the two beds in the room and in front of the TV- off. At her feet was a small terrarium, a clear, plastic bin sealed under a yellow lid. Inside were various plants and herbs growing out of a small layer of soil, as well as one of the recognizable ruby bands, though this was all made slightly harder to see with the thin, vaguely purple haze that clung to the inside. Around her was an assortment of open tomes in various languages, and, in her lap, a notebook that she'd been scribbling in as they entered.
As she noticed the dark face of her husband, her otherwise mature face lit with girlish glee, and she immediately crossed the room to greet him with a hug, "I'm so glad you're okay!"
He held her around the waist, "I told you this morning: there was never any danger."
"I'm still allowed to worry," She pulled away from him to look him in the eye, "How'd it go?"
He smiled, apparently amused by his wife's attention, "Well. We made contact with Saber-"
She became suddenly concerned, "Contact? What kind of contact?"
"A deal."
Her shoulders relaxed, obviously relieved.
"He and his Master will contact Assassin on our behalf, then we can work on a plan."
She stepped back from her husband in some sort of shock, her surprise apparent, "That's... incredible. When should we try to contact Miss Alghul? Surely we should coordinate our plans with hers. I- I know our job is to kill Caster, but Caster is still her Servant, right? We wouldn't want to step on her toes."
"You're right, but we can worry about that once we have something to offer her; something more than 'maybe's. What about you? What have you uncovered?"
She clapped her hands, "Yes! Come over here."
Chauncey rolled his eyes, simply relieved that the lover's 'reunion' was finally over, and that proper business could finally be discussed. They took their positions, Chauncey on the corner of his bed, Xander on his, and Filza between them with the terrarium set on the television's cabinet.
Filza stood like a school teacher in front of them, and thus began her lecture, "So! Firstly, the fog is enchanted with a type of suggestion spell, one that forces the sensation of severe tiredness. In fact, the fog itself is a sort of spell," She gestured to her husband, "-Almost like a curse. It appears suddenly after sundown, and disappears just as quickly with the dawn. In fact, the dew Chauncey collected isn't enchanted at all at the moment, what I've studied is only the residue left in it."
The Frenchman rolled his eyes again, "Yes, we knew that it makes people tired, but does it do anything else?"
Xander hushed him, "Let her finish, Chauncey."
Allowing the awkwardness to settle, she continued, "The second property is a little more interesting. When the enchanted fog encounters a person, it clings to their body, and the secondary effect is triggered."
They both remained silent, paying close attention to what she'd say next.
"When the fog encounters a human, it sticks to their body and activates what can only be called a beacon. It creates a magical frequency, but for what purpose we can only guess."
Xander nodded, scratching his chin, "Right. And this beacon has no ill effects? None?"
She shook her head, "None that I can tell. Granted, my sample is weak, but all I can tell is that it creates a signal, one that can only be detected if you know the frequency. However, there is another effect. The fog, passively, even before clinging to someone, enhances the effect of suggestion magic generally. But- when it does cling to someone, it acts as a conductor for all sorts of hostile magic, anything that would seek to alter the physical or mental state of the target."
Chauncey fell back onto the bed, Cheval jumping up onto the bed and laying down next to his master, "That checks. His specialties are suggestion and transmutation, right? The fog picks his targets and makes them more vulnerable to his magecraft."
Xander went to speak, but his wife raised her hand to silence him, "Right. Which is why its reaction with the ruby band is so interesting." She gestured to the terrarium, "When the spell within the fog senses the presence of the band's mystic signature, it gives it a wide berth."
Her husband spoke up, gesturing to the Frenchman across from him, "So those with the band aren't targets."
"Seemingly. At least, we can assume the fog doesn't have any direct effect on them."
Chauncey's face contorted with confusion, reaching a mental roadblock, "I'm not sure I buy that. That band is the same as being a 'Master', right? If he can cast this spell over the whole city, why would he leave out the people he's supposed to be fighting? Seems like it'd be better to just have it affect all people, and handicap the opposition."
Xander scratched his chin, "Maybe... maybe Caster really does just want to maintain the secrecy of the war. All the Servants and Masters value the hidden nature of magecraft, at least in theory. Perhaps this really is meant to be a neutral force."
"Or.." Filza started with a worried expression, "Maybe he doesn't want to draw attention to himself. If the fog doesn't affect Masters and familiars, then there's no reason to target him in particular."
Chauncey sat up, picking up where she left off, "- In fact, there's less reason to target him, because he's the one allowing the war to happen in the first place. He's made himself the cornerstone of the whole operation."
They all sat there in quiet for a few moments, each being forced to question their position in all this. If Caster fell, then the veil that had kept the war from public view would also fall aside. Those who were kept awake by the thunder in the night could also think back with fear, they knew exactly what was happening, even when they couldn't see anything. How much worse would it be for those who could? The Acropolis, the hill that was decapitated. For one reason or another, it seemed that the stages that were routinely set for these battles were always where the fighters could be seen throughout the city. If the veil were to fall, especially before the defeat of the massive Berserker- the secrecy of all magecraft would be at stake.
She broke the silence, "We need to contact Miss Alghul."
"Yes... the defeat of Berserker has to happen before we can remove Caster."
Chauncey punched the soft bed, causing his dog to stir slightly, "Dammit! He's untouchable!"
"Well-" Filza did her best to arrange the information they'd gathered into some kind of plan, "We have contact with Saber and Assassin, yes? Maybe we can try to rally the other Masters into fighting Berserker, and try to arrange for Caster's removal behind the scenes."
"The problem with that is we don't want to draw too much attention to ourselves. The more of a splash we make, the more likely Caster will notice us, and take precautions against us. Berserker will fall eventually, all we need to do is keep our finger on the trigger for when that happens."
"Dammit. Where is that damned necromancer?"
Xander stood from the bed, flattening out his jacket, "You're right, Chauncey. Things are escalating quickly, we need all our resources."
His eyes narrowed, but he said nothing.
"Quayyum's absence can't be excused any longer, he needs to be on the same page. And without the band, we can't guarantee his safety. I'll go out tonight and try to find him."
"No, honey, it's too dangerous-"
Chauncey raised his hand to cut her off, his eyes oozing suspicion, "No. No, Filza. I've been making this argument from the start, but he's been holding us up. It's only fitting that he takes responsibility."
Ignoring his wife's clear offense, Xander responded directly, "Chauncey's right, honey. I should take responsibility. I haven't been taking this seriously enough, and I'm the only one here who has any hope of finding him, unless either of you have changed your minds about wearing the bands?"
The other two exchanged glances, both clearly uncomfortable with the idea, even now.
"Right. Filza, where are the other bands?"
She gave him a timid look, worried for what would come, but still pointed at a chair in the corner of the room, the small, cardboard box from last night stored away underneath it.
He gave her a determined nod, pushing past her to the corner of the room, where he grabbed a band, tossed it in the air, caught it, took a final, examining glance, and shoved it in his jacket pocket.
Her arms pulled together, a comforting self-embrace, "Don't be gone too long."
He granted his wife a soft smile, before pulling her in for a kiss, the soft, heartfelt touch of two people long in love, "I'll be fine. You know I've been through worse."
"I know. I'm going to call you every hour to check up."
He chuckled to himself, "That's fine by me. Just don't keep Chauncey up, he needs his beauty sleep."
The devil mage rolled his eyes.
Xander took one, last, long look at his wife, running his hand through her short, soft, cream hair, and giving her a peck on the forehead, "Be safe."
"Shouldn't I be the one saying that?"
He gave a sarcastic smile, "Perhaps." He cast his voice to the far side of the room, "Did you catch all that, Radiya?"
The door to the hotel room opened, the burqa-clad assassin revealing herself behind it, "Yes. I heard everything. Good luck."
He met each of his teammates eyes one-by-one. The tired, suspicious eyes of the devil mage, silently challenging him to fail at his task. The worried, loving eyes of his wife, fraught by fears of what could be. And the sharp eyes of the assassin, quietly questioning the logic of his actions, but who admired his resolve too much to stand in the way. Unworried by the inconsistent support, Xander shoved his hands in his pockets and trudged out into the hall, disappearing behind a closing door.
...
Filza's eyes were locked on the closed door, desperately worrying for the fate of her husband, but Chauncey was unmoved, "So, anything else about the bands?"
She took a deep breath, still looking at the door, but he could see clearly that she had heard him, he could tell by the way the fear rose in her expression, "...Yes. Something you'd be interested in."
The devil dog's ears perked, as did his master's interest, "Oh?"
"...Yes. The bands are a crystallized pact. It's not exactly my forte, so I can't say for sure what their nature is, the details of the agreement, but, when you wear the band, the contract is sealed, that much is obvious."
The mage exchanged glances with his hound, whose blood eyes shone with a certain intelligence, one that had remained hidden to that point, before speaking, "You don't know what sort of creature the pact is with? Each type of phantasmal has its own type of contract, I imagine you ought to be familiar with some."
"Of course I'm aware... it's just that I've never seen this sort of contract before, I'd say it's most similar to a Geass."
"Would it be too much of a reach to suggest that the creature is a Servant? A heroic spirit?"
She shook her head with sadness, "No. No it wouldn't."
His eyes were vacant, staring into the realm of infinite possibilities and arriving at the only conclusion, "So, it's likely that those bands represent a contract with our Caster?"
Tears touched the corners of her eyes, "Yes."
Cheval rose to his paws and jumped down from the bed, his master watching the woman closely, "You're his wife; have you seen any obvious changes in his personality? His behavior?"
She covered her face with her hands, her chest trembling as it rose and fell with her shaking breath, unable to even say the words.
Something like red fire rose in the mage's chest. It was partly vindication, the frustration of knowing he was right all along, even when no one else would listen. It was partly self-hatred, the hatred of not seeing it sooner, not calling it out, his mind taunting him with all the things he could have done up to this point. It was partly chivalry, the proper reaction any man of even semi-quality has when faced with a woman's tears; all the hatred in the world for those who harm her, for Caster, and for Xander, who unknowingly danced in the villain's palm. His eyes flashed red as the laughing of his devil grew louder and louder, pushing his anger further and further to the front of his mind- but no. Now was not the time for rash action. He cast a fierce look at his familiar, Cheval's wagging tail revealing his malevolence. He and the devil often saw eye-to-eye when it came to self-destruction, he was never one for caution, or for patience, but now was not the time for a devil's influence.
He sighed deeply, pushing his frustrations as far aside as he could, unfortunately not very far given the man as he is, "I'm gonna follow him; see where he goes."
"Don't hurt him," She whimpered.
He stood up, and headed for the door, "No promises."
As he reached for the door, it opened of its own accord, the familiar shadow standing there.
"Any objections?"
She shook her head, "None, except that I may be better suited for work like this."
He raised his chin, "You have a way to ignore the fog?"
"... No. But I imagine Filza could-"
"We don't have time for that. We have to act now," He nodded his head towards his shadowing dog, "Cheval can guard my mind from influence, I'll be fine."
"And the undead?"
His eyes flashed red, "Cheval can help with that too."
"... I won't condone this, but I will wish you luck."
He nodded. He couldn't disagree. The action wasn't responsible, it was short-sighted, and disproportionately driven by anger. But still, he couldn't stomach the thought of staying still, of doing nothing. Even the thought of setting a trap for Xander here in the room felt wrong. He had to be caught red-handed, his pride would allow nothing else, and he supposed the same was true of Xander, and of the man on the other end of his strings. And so he returned down the hall the way he'd come- his devil's collar jingling all the way.
....