11:54pm, The Alghul Villa
Aaron watched the house closely as they approached, scanning for signs of movement, or any other indication of what to expect, but found none. Warm light streamed through the windows, but whatever shapes lay beyond that wall of glass were obscured so completely that he may as well have been trying to look through asphalt.
He needed no explanation: magecraft was enough. In the world of mages, worrying about how something could be possible was often fruitless. There were always multiple paths to the same conclusion, and there was never any guarantee that doing the same things wouldn't yet garner a different result.
There was a reason mages often went insane.
Instead, it was better to focus on the 'why'. In this case, the reason was far clearer than the windows: Team Caster was determined to let off as little information as possible. This came as no surprise to him. In fact, he found the unobscured secrecy comforting, even inspiring. In there, the only thing which would be communicated clearly was that each of them had secrets they were unwilling to part with. There was no reason to act like he had nothing to hide, he needed to only obscure what secrets he held.
Rider's reassuring voice came like a friendly clap on the shoulder,
'Art thou prepared, mine Master?'
He cracked his knuckles, "Let's do this."
As the flying boat approached the balcony, it turned parallel, raised so that he stood just above the rail, and dropped a side panel across as a gangplank, allowing him to safely hop onto the metal deck. His mage's mind buzzed with the possibilities of wards, sensors, mines, and similar traps, but he forced himself to be calm: worrying about that was Rider's responsibility.
But his edge still caused him to flinch when the glass door slid open of its own accord, granting him his first glimpse inside the base of Caster and his Master. It was cozy, the kind of lodge one would rent for a family vacation- or the set of a horror movie. He was most immediately drawn to the center of the room where, atop a burgundy rug, were two couches with a table between them sandwiching an occupied armchair. There, with a cup in hand, was a beautiful, slender woman wearing a velvet suit and black tie.
Her violet eyes seemed to glow, but he couldn't tell whether it was malice or curiosity which lit them,
"Welcome, Master of Rider. Congratulations, you're the first to arrive."
He paused. For one, he felt underdressed: his dress pants and shoes with an untucked white shirt seemed slightly too casual compared to her, not to mention that his fuller, uncut hair left him more self-conscious than he otherwise would've been. This was only compounded by the woman herself, whose presentation caught him entirely off-guard, not in the least because she was a 'she', and likely about the same age as himself, no less...
He internally shook himself awake. Now was not the time to be distracted. He placed the blame on Cassandra and resumed the introductions.
"Right... Do I get a prize?"
She gave a single chuckle of approval and sipped her drink,
"Perhaps you've earned a few additional pleasantries. Please, sit."
She gestured to the couch on her right.
He approached as requested, and noted the platter on the center table. There were mugs there, and they radiated with a herbal aroma. Not trusting any aspect of this for even a second, he ignored them completely and plopped onto the sofa.
He looked around, "I don't see Caster. You're his Master, right?"
"That's right. Don't worry, he's around; just keeping things safe. I imagine Rider is doing much the same, isn't that right Mister...?"
"Sylphus. And you?"
"Alghul. It's a pleasure."
The way 'pleasure' rolled off her tongue was far too natural, coming off like the purrs of a tiger, or the smile of a crocodile. It was HER pleasure: uniquely and exclusively, without enough to spare for her company. This was the den of a predator, her words were her teeth, her Servant was her claw, and the secrets he held were the nutrients she longed for so desperately that she could no longer disguise the anticipating growl peeking through her expression.
It made him shudder, and whatever thoughts he had of lust or intrigue found themselves quickly replaced by the grim reality of her piercing violet eyes.
It was suffocating, and he focused so deeply on maintaining his calm, his wall of composure that separated him from the prowling beast, that the passage of time slipped his mind, and left him startled as the patio door threw itself open with nonexistent hands.
Crossing the threshold was a strange sight: golden light shimmered around an ethereal shape only to be consumed by the absolute darkness of the walking shadow immune to light- a blot of ink and paint on the canvas of space. The figure of Archer was all-too recognizable, with his ruffled ponytail of orange feathers and matching bracers and garments, and the stoic, unchanging falcon eyes. His military demeanor absorbed what remained of the cabin's atmosphere, and left the feeling of a war room in its place.
He examined the room, and, ignoring Ms. Alghul's gesture to sit, opted to stand beside the door with his arms folded.
Her violet eyes flitted to the closing door, then back to Archer, "Will your Master not be joining us?"
All eyes, visible and invisible, turned to hear.
"No. I will act as his representative."
"Oh?" She leaned forward, "And what if I don't accept those terms? How can I rest assured that my words reach your Master's ears?"
He raised his chin to look down on her more effectively, "Then I can leave, not that you'd accept that."
She leaned back, "Then you know your value at least. That'll simplify the bargaining."
He nodded.
She glanced at the mounted clock, "Then I suppose we should get started."
Aaron hadn't noticed the time, but, sure enough, it was midnight exactly. Archer's clockwork punctuality scared him, but not as much as the sudden reminder of what he was there to do in the first place: buy time.
"Are you sure?"
It took all his effort to speak at all, knowing the grim consequence of saying something he shouldn't,
"Last I checked only three teams were accounted for- if you can even call Archer a 'team' on his own."
He felt Archer's gaze narrow on the back of his head. He gulped.
"Well," She clicked her tongue, "Mages are prudent by nature: they show up on time or not at all. Besides, the presence of a familiar- especially a Servant- should be enough. So long as it can speak on its Master's behalf?"
She looked to Archer with a raised eyebrow, and, at his nod, turned back to Aaron,
"Besides, the primary three have gathered. Our forces should be enough, and if they aren't, then we may rest easy knowing that their assistance wouldn't have helped in the first place."
Her confidence- arrogance- was not something to be taken lightly, but he continued his appeals to reason, hoping to yet break through her defenses,
"But do we know that for sure? We're talking about three Servants! You said it yourself: three Servants can easily change the course of the battle."
"No, Mister Sylphus, THESE three Servants will make the battle a contest, or do you know something about these Servants that could be of use to us?"
He hadn't expected such a pointed counterattack, but he had the best defense on his side: the truth,
"No- I don't. But isn't that exactly the point? Three Servants with unknown powers, and we're not gonna take a chance on them? What- we're just gonna assume that none of them could rival the Servants in this room?"
"If I may," Golden light floated around Aaron from behind as Rider made himself apparent, "Lancer, for his case, wast able to bind Berserker with Divine Chains. I doth imagine such a skill may be of great use- especially for our ranged combatants."
Even behind his visor, Aaron couldn't miss the subtle turn of the head as Rider gave Archer his sharpest side-eye.
"I'll have you know I always hit my mark." Archer spat, "Lancer would only get caught in the crossfire."
"Hoh? But why should that be a problem if thou truly 'always' make the mark...?"
Light sparked behind Archer's eyes, but another manifested before them. The muscular form of Caster, with his bare chest, hair like combed wire, and wraps like sheet metal across his body appeared between the bickering Servants.
"Enough. We come here today in the spirit of cooperation. Save your slings and arrows for the battles ahead- both of you."
Rider put one hand to his chest and gave a half-bow,
"Prithee, dear Caster, do not dismiss mine complaints as the braying of a common ass, or the nagging of an ignorant woman, for mine words are all-but aimless. Mine argument is exactly thine own, except that I hath noticed a distinct and troublesome lack of this spirit- especially by the far wall thither."
Caster opened his mouth to speak, but was cut off by a squawk from behind,
"And what of it? Did you forget this was a war? Did you forget that only one of us may have the Grail? Everyone in this room will betray or be betrayed, and I, for one, do not intend to be betrayed."
Caster turned to face Archer, but Rider spoke up before he got the chance,
"Ah, yes. Only one may have the Grail, that be true. But how many to defeat Berserker, I must wonder, when those present be so lacking in resolve?"
"Did you really think I wouldn't notice you dodge the point? I wonder if your Master knows-"
"Enough!"
Caster's voice seemed to echo across a thousand invisible walls.
"Are you children!? This night is dismal enough as-is, are you trying to make it a complete failure?"
That's when the bell rang across Aaron's mind. The exchange had left him floored, and it moved so quickly that he couldn't think of anything except 'why is he doing this?' or 'this is so out-of-character'. The secret was that Rider did want tonight to fail- at least in part. He wanted to make tonight last as long as possible- to make the discourse deliberately unproductive until it lasted forever.
He almost smiled- almost.
Rider repeated his gesture, "Apologies. I doth not mean to offend thyself or thine hospitality."
The pharaoh exhaled and gave a sharp look of 'I don't believe you as far as I could throw you', although it was possible that he could throw Rider fairly far all things considered.
"Listen. I will be the first to admit that I do not share your faith in the three truants, but let me also be the first to say that your Master makes his point well."
Aaron blinked.
"By all means, Rider, if you can herd those cats in the next twenty-four hours, do so, and I myself will help if I can. For now, however, we work with the materials we have, even if those materials displease you."
Archer shifted his glare to Caster, before seeming to decide it wasn't worth it and moving his hatred back to its original target.
"Aye. Thoust speak truth. I shall watch my tongue henceforth."
With the situation defused, Caster went to his Master's side and, after allowing a moment of silence to test the patience of her company, Ms. Alghul straightened herself in her chair.
"Very well. With that out of the way, let's move to strategy." She took a deep breath, "Cutting straight to the point, I will ask clearly and definitively: do either of you have a way of killing Berserker?"
Archer shifted back against the wall, finding comfort in talk of hunters and their prey,
"With certainty?"
"Preferably."
"No."
Her violet eyes moved to question Rider and Aaron.
Both Master and Servant shifted awkwardly, but the Master graciously allowed his Servant to bear the burden of bad news, "Nay. Not with perfect chance, in any case."
She appeared unfazed, "Then cooperation will be crucial."
Aaron briefly considered poking the bear. This could be a moment to sow more chaos with calls to ally with the missing Servants, but he thought better of it. He had to be annoying without being outright disruptive. He had to make problems without making enemies. He would need to find a new nail for his hammer.
It was Rider who found what they were looking for.
"True enough, I doth believe all of us came here with that in mind. Were any of us enough for this threat alone, then this council would not be."
"True-"
"With that in mind," Rider turned to his company one-by-one, lingering on Archer, "An immediate exchange of worthwhile information is in order."
Archer narrowed his eyes.
"You beat me to it, Rider," She leaned back in her chair, "So, who first, then?"
"Hold on," the shadow raised a taloned hand, "Why are we the ones under fire? You began this little bargain, so you should start the bidding."
"Come now, Archer. Where is thine 'spirit of cooperation'?"
"Go to Hell."
"I will-" Aisha interrupted, "Make a deal. I will give you both information to start with, and will continue to match whatever you give in return. Is that suitable?"
"Verily. So long as all are agreed."
He wasn't subtle in the direction of his voice.
"Just start already."
"Firstly, gentlemen, the woman you look at is the one who organized this war. I, Aisha Alghul, am chiefly responsible for this conflict."
Archer raised his voice, "If you caused our problems then shouldn't we demand more information?"
"Your problems, yes, and yet also your salvation in the Grail, if you've forgotten. Which leads to the second point: the object of this conflict is not the Grail- not per se."
Rider's armor clanked as he adjusted himself. Aaron and Archer furrowed their brows in unison.
"Rather, using the unique leylines of the city, this war is connected, not to the Root of all Magic, but one of its branches. Specifically, the branch of magic which we call 'Divinity.' The winner of this war will not receive a wish- some genie in a bottle- but, instead, pure, raw, unadulterated divine power." she waved a hand flippantly, "Godhood."
It was a lot to process at once, but the thought that kept bobbing up to the surface of his mind was 'What the Hell did I get myself into?'
Getting involved in any conflict was one thing, but to think he had stumbled face-first into a battle for Divinity- a war for the creation of a new pantheon to replace the truant gods. She was so casual in her description, even downplaying it as if a battle for Divinity was somehow less than the usual format of the war. No, in fact, it was far more dangerous. In the first place, it required that Servants with powerful Divinity be summoned. Summoning Servants was already playing with fire: either noble heroes who had no reason to support the causes of ignoble mages, or with the greatest monsters in history who would make mincemeat of their so-called Masters. But to guarantee Divinity was to guarantee power: to guarantee a war where the only weapons were tactical nukes, and where victory gave the winner the arsenal in its entirety.
What's more, knowing what you were getting in exact terms made the bargain much simpler. A wish is such a fickle thing, and its results depend as much on the granter as the wisher. There was the issue of wish's true intent, the granter's true intent, the subtext of the wish and the necessary steps to the goal. What this did was side-step all those concerns. Rather than making appeals to an all-powerful, half-sentient ball of magic, they would instead become all-powerful. Rather than having a wish granted, they would be given the power to grant their own wishes.
In that reality he found much to desire, much to anticipate, and much more to fear.
"Do you really think we're that stupid?"
All eyes turned to the far wall.
"Perhaps Rider and his Master may be so inexperienced, but myself and my own have no such problems. We were already aware of your involvement, and of this war's nature. Surely that isn't all you have to offer."
The cynical hero had a point. He and Rider knew from the start that only Caster or Berserker could have started the conflict, and Yanni seemed very unlikely. Still, he couldn't complain, not while the second revelation still took space at the front of his mind.
"I commend you, Archer. You and your Master have shown yourselves very capable. Have you and he discovered Berserker's True Name as well?"
He averted his eyes, "We have theories."
"Allow me to put them to bed then. His True Name is Heracles. He's a champion of Greek Myth. I'll be happy to explain all his adventures as they become relevant."
"Such as his death?"
"Hydra venom. I don't suppose you have any on hand?"
"...No."
"Right."
"Well," Aaron ventured, "We knew his True Name already. If we had a solid means to defeat him, we would've."
He intended for this to act as impetus for deeper scrutiny of Archer, but Aisha seemed to breeze past it, perhaps thinking that the slight had been towards her.
"No matter. Both of you have received one piece of information which you lacked before. I believe that's enough to start the conversation."
Rider nodded, "Aye. As mine Master hath said, we doth not possess any singular weapon or tactic capable of felling Berserker, hence our insistence on the absent allies..."
Caster nodded. Aisha narrowed her eyes. Archer rolled his own.
"...But, of what we may yet offer, I may yet have some things of note- beyond being the only one who may be capable of engaging in direct combat."
He paused, waiting for some objection, especially from the far wall, but, finding none, continued his diatribe, "My spear, my hound, and my fleet in particular."
The host waved her hand, "Go on."
"My fleet of ships, of which you all should be familiar, do not have any offensive capabilities, but are nonetheless flying ships with supplies fit for an army. In the coming battle, I see them as an overlook from which our Masters can perch themselves at a safe distance whilst still able to offer their support."
"And why should we trust our Masters with your ships? Seems awfully like a trap."
"Hmph. Thine history as a hunter betrays thee. Mine fleet wast made for an army of phantasmals. While 'tis true that I may control them, the fleet will ultimately heed the will of the passenger with the most powerful mana. Should anyone seize the reins, I would lose all influence."
"The influence even to recall the ships?"
"Aye."
"I don't believe you."
"Believeth what thou wilst, but thou shalt not change the truth."
"-You said there were no offensive capabilities?"
Rider ignored whatever words were building on Archer's tongue and turned to Aisha.
"Aye, there art cannons, true, but the artillery hardly rivals Archer's arrows or Lancer's rake, and, being blunt, as he who shall engage Berserker, I doth not trust in thine accuracy- meaning no offense."
"None taken, though the cannons are an option to keep in mind. What of the other two, or do you need more from us first?"
"Nay, my lady. In the spirit of cooperation I shall give all I have offered, in hopes of building a firmer foundation."
Aaron bit his lip. Rider had been presented with a crossroad. He could've played hard-to-get, withholding information and dragging out the meeting further. Or he could've been overly generous, placing pressure on Archer to be more friendly, which he absolutely wouldn't, and causing more drama. The advantage of the former was that the goal was guaranteed. The advantage of the latter was that, although a risk, it allowed them to maintain friendly terms while providing grounds for additional drama from Archer.
Rider had chosen the latter. Being someone who disliked games of chance on principle, and who had been nearly killed by him once before, the idea of pissing off Archer seemed like the worse option. The best-case scenario was better, sure, but so too was the worst-case scenario worse.
It didn't matter anymore. The choice was made. He needed only to buckle-up.
"My hound is reliable, and, so long as the sun doth not shine, will prevent any kind of escape from Berserker. As a weapon of war, 'tis lacking, but is yet still reliable, however slight of an advantage it may offer."
"We need every advantage we can get. What of the spear?"
"Aye. Mine spear is unique, possessing the unique distinction of having harmed Berserker once before."
"Hoh?"
As Rider and the tuxedoed woman went back and forth, Aaron took the liberty of examining Archer's response. Did he know about the spear? Aaron didn't. What would be his reaction? Fear? Jealousy?
Oddly, disappointingly, there was no reaction at all. If anything, his mind seemed entirely elsewhere.
"Aye. 'Twas but for a moment, to be sure, but a blow nonetheless. The only-er, hiccup, as it were, is that I be the Servant Rider rather than Lancer. My spear can manifest but for a moment, and is limited in what damage it can deal, but it will pierce his thick hide without error, that is most certain."
"If it isn't too much, what are the properties of that Phantasm? Perhaps we can replicate it."
"'Tis a spear of lightning fit for a king. Once thrown, it will always strike true. That is all."
For whatever reason, Aaron was brought to remember the time when he'd analyzed Rider and Lancer using his vision as a Master. Lancer was inferior to Rider in all but one category: his Noble Phantasm, which far surpassed Lugh's. Put another way, Lugh had an almost entirely utility-oriented skillset. He was a warrior and an athlete, that was for sure, but beyond that, all his abilities seemed to be supportive rather than offensive.
This realization led him to consider his company with more scrutiny. Looking first at Archer, he allowed the billowing winds to manifest in his mind, finding a proper storm waiting for him. Less than Rider in most categories, but not by much, and still surpassing Lancer. In fact, not unlike the pig, Archer's Noble Phantasm also surpassed Lugh's by quite a leap.
He shifted his analysis to the stone-faced Caster- and found nothing. No winds manifested. He must've had an ability that obscured that sort of information-gathering.
How obnoxious.
She bit her lip, "Lightning and king- is it that simple?"
"Meaning?"
"Heracles, in life, used the hide of the Nemean lion as his armor. The hide repelled all weapon attacks and was only vulnerable to its own claw. With his Divinity so high, perhaps your weapon rings with the signature of his father, Zeus, the source of his Divinity. In other words, your spear is no different than himself, and so can pass his defenses." The crocodile smile returned to her thin lips, "That's very valuable."
"I say. But the limitations must not be forgotten."
"Of course, but it would seem that we have a goal now. We can weaken Berserker, waiting for the right moment, and then finish him off with your spear. How's that as a plan?"
"'Tis a fine place to begin, however-"
-SHOON-
Violet light refracted across the far window-wall, echoing the sound of a cello with tin strings.
Archer stumbled back, but quickly spread his stance as shadows and dull embers moved from his hand into the shape of a bow. His burning eyes bored into Caster and Alghul, "What's the meaning of this!?"
Caster extended a reproaching hand, "Don't react so abruptly, Archer. It's not a matter of hostility but urgency. There are still matters to discuss."
Archer was trying to leave?
"There isn't. I've wasted enough time. Look, my Noble Phantasm is Anti-Fortress, and so is useless in a unified front. I have nothing else to offer, so I take my leave."
"Don't be so reckless. Stay awhile."
"No! Let me go before I cut this alliance short!"
Caster lowered his head and stepped back. In his place, Aisha stood and brushed out the creases in her outfit.
"Mister Sylphus. Thank you for coming tonight, and I'm sorry to end things so abruptly. Why don't we plan to meet at the Olympic Stadium at ten o'clock, then fly out using your Servant's fleet? I trust that's good enough for now?"
"W-wait. You're kicking us out?"
It came as a shock mentally- he hadn't expected it at all. But, moreover, it was an emotional shock: a strike directly to his pride. He was getting kicked out? For what? For behaving himself? But what choice was there, really?
A voice rang to confirm his suspicions, 'Master, I doth believe our job to be done. Let us heed the woman's words.'
He nodded with an awkward meekness, suppressing his rebellious urges, "..Alright. See you then."
As he and Rider filed past Archer, the doors opened for them, and he swore he could spot a vein bulging in the infinite darkness of Archer's forehead.
"Wait just a minute! Why are they the ones leaving!?"
'You're telling me, man.'
It was Caster who responded, "There are things we'd like to discuss with you in particular. If you're in such a hurry, I'd rather speak now than later, seeing as Rider has already offered his relevant information."
As the doors began to close, Aaron caught the shadowed form deflating, "Make it quick."
And, just like that, the war council had ended. Aaron checked his phone.
The time was 12:12am.
....