...
Within the torrent of black fire, ground was reduced to dust, and dust was reduced to nothing at all. In that sun of shadow, it could not be said whether the heat was intense or totally nonexistent as heat exceeding that of our own sun was being generated and then, at the same time, absorbed into a vortex of infinite gravity; those inside being both scorched and frozen at the same time.
Yet, both men stood firm, managing to face one another even through the deafening sounds of solar wind and the shadows that consumed light itself.
Heracles spoke first, "You're still here? I'm impressed. How is it that you managed to withstand an Anti-Light Noble Phantasm?"
"Haha..." His laugh was weak and half-hearted, "'Tis simple, cos, I did not. Mine Spirit Core hast already been destroyed. Yet my son, my one true child Setanta, fought for three days after he had drawn his final breath. What sort of model would I be if I could not last for just a moment?"
"I see," He lowered his eyes into a glower, though his hatred was not pointed at Lugh, but rather behind him, "So you wanted to ask me to avenge you before you faded away? Don't bother. Archer interfered in a fair duel between men, and a damn good one at that. That's a death sentence so far as I'm concerned."
"Nay, though I appreciate the sentiment, that t'would be a quite poor way of spending mine final moments 'fore I return to the Throne."
His features softened with sentimentality, "What is it, then?"
"Though there is no reason for thee to heed the prayers of a dead man, and thine enemy what more, I would be bereft if I did not ask, on the basis of whatever good will may exist between us, whatever honor among men and heroes were communicated in our blows, that you see my Master out of this battle alive. Thou wouldst even have my blessing to make him thine own Master. I only wish for him to survive."
Lugh went to put his hand over his heart, but his hand only hovered over an empty void, his left side already reduced to ash, along with half his head.
"Sounds like I kill Archer regardless."
"Do what thou must. I have already exceeded the bounds of a fair favor, and would not ask more of thee."
"Not at all. It was... fun. Even with the way you defeated my Master, it is clear that you are a good man; a rarity in circumstances like these. If I refused to do good by you while knowing that, I'd have no right to call myself a hero."
His body rapidly dissolving, his mouth and throat turning to dust, Lugh, the Servant of Aaron Sylphus, summoned in the Rider class, managed only a bow before disappearing entirely.
"Let's meet again, Champion of Light- on fairer terms. I take no pride in this strength I ought not have, but while I have it," Blue lightning sparked from his irises, "I'll make good use of it."
...
"What the Hell did you do!?"
Chrysaor yelled with more volume and rage than Athena or any other had heard from his lips, including those who knew him in life.
-But those three, Archer, Archer's masked Master, and Caster, paid no heed whatsoever to the raging Saber. Archer and his Master were watching the black sun in a kind of trance, perhaps seeing if any would emerge from within, silently wondering whether Rider or Berserker or anything else were capable of bearing the force of nine exploding suns. Caster was hardly paying attention at all, seeming transfixed on his own hands as they danced across the arcane sigils he himself was carving into the air.
Distracted by the apathy of their traitorous allies, both Athena and Chrysaor jumped at the sound of a running chain. Lancer, adapting to the circumstances in stoic silence, shot out the head of his rake and wrapped it around the hull of Aaron's ship, drew it taught and, like a balloon on a string, brought above their own and, with a flick of his wrist, tilted the ship starboard-wise, allowing the Master's limp and unconscious body to roll off the deck into the open air, along with his munitions.
Chrysaor understood Lancer's intention without the need for words. As Aaron's rifle clattered across the deck, coming dangerously close to the edge, and his metal box impacting with such heft that the entire ship bobbed in the air, Saber caught Aaron in his arms and laid him down on the deck, placing his hands on the Master's chest with a shimmer of golden mist.
-
Aaron didn't need to be told. His mind dragged unwilling and sluggish from the peace of dreamless sleep, his consciousness laid heavy on his mind, forcing tears to bubble quietly under his eyes and slip out onto the deck beside him.
Rider was gone. In his attempt to thread the needle of allowing his Servant to survive without compromising the mission, he had overestimated the limits of both himself and his friend, and now the place where his Command Seals had been cried out in its loneliness; reaching desperately for something that was not there.
He couldn't bring himself to move. He didn't have the heart.
Chrysaor examined the broken man, "I'm sorry, Aaron. I have to save what's left for my own Master."
The former Master of Rider remained still, looking out into an empty distance.
Athena, still rocked with vertigo from the crushing pressure of the cold sun, hoisted herself up using the rail, leaning on it as she shuffled her way towards the bow. The black sun was hot, she could tell, she could feel the heat radiating off of it, and yet the air was no hotter than before. It was as if the heat were reaching out towards her but, like the hands of Tantalus, could never touch her or anything else beyond its sphere.
"Athena," Chrysaor started, leaving Aaron's side without hesitation to join his Master. Lancer was beside them, balancing on the portside rail, "We can run. I can get both you and Aaron to safety before Rider's ship disappears."
Athena turned around, face pale and eyes wet, but the dam would not break, "Why run? It doesn't change what we have to do."
Chrysaor looked between his Master and Lancer, "...You're right, I know you are, but a tactical retreat- just for a moment- would be best. We need to gather our forces and collect our thoughts." He pointed towards Archer and Caster, "They're coming after us the moment they confirm Berserker's death, and-"
The pressure that had been sucked from the air began to return. The vacuum created by the Archer's Noble Phantasm was no longer bottomless.
All eyes turned on to the fixed point, the center of the nucleus, as the black flames cleared away. There was a massive crater baked into the earth, as deep as the sun had been tall, scorched black, and there, among the darkness, was a single spec of white ivory, gleaming with power.
A cold silence fell over the crowd. A mixture of awe, fear, frustration and confusion brought everyone to stillness; thoughtless and unable to move.
Saber, not invested in Berserker's death to start with, was the first to react, seizing his Master by her shoulder and turning her towards himself, "Now's our chance! Let's go while he fights Archer-!"
A white shadow rose up beyond the bow of the ship, his massive blade painted with crackling blue energy. If he swung, the whole ship would be cleaved down the middle, killing Aaron and Athena instantly. It was a breath away, and Saber was too stunned to react.
Lancer wasn't. With a tightening of his chains he swung the ship he'd lassoed directly into Berserker's chest with a resonant gong of gilded wood. The force sent Heracles falling back the way he'd come but, not content to leave with his tail between his legs, he prepped another strike as he fell. Lancer cast his rake aside, allowing it to dissolve, not into ether, but into an array of shifting multicolored lines that seemed to fade out of view. He himself ran up the rail and across the bow, making a glorious dive off the ship's front- making straight for the ivory Adonis. Diving as he was, his flat straw hat flew off his head, fading into the same rainbow obscurity as his rake, and, as well, a small blue light flew up behind him- a flickering light attached to a rectangle across a wire holding two eggs- ejected from his ear. The same dissonant, wavering rainbow began to dissolve his own form-
Athena wrenched herself from her Servant's arms, leaping towards the rail and casting out a feeble hand.
"Echo! No!"
-SLAM!-
A cloud of dust obscured the fallen bodies, and only the flickering of lightning visible from within- until, shot out like a cannon back towards the crater, there was Heracles, his marble armor untainted by sand or soot, who tumbled unceremoniously back into the place where the cold sun had been, then righting himself on his hands and knees to look back towards the plume of dust he'd emerged from-
He saw Heracles, his mirror-image, emerging from the cloud to face himself.
...
Earlier, at Heping's Apartment
The Master of Lancer laid unconscious in her bedroom, Assassin's Master tending to her. Waiting for Aaron and Rider to arrive, Athena, Saber, Monika, Lancer and Assassin all gathered in the living area to discuss their plan of attack.
"No, no, no!" Pigsy stamped his foot, "I won't do it!"
Anger burned in Saber's eyes, this argument had gone on for some time, "Why not, Lancer!? Your Noble Phantasm is the strongest here, I bet even stronger than whatever Rider has up his sleeve. If all goes well you won't even have to fight, but if things go poorly, we need you."
"I ain't doin' this 'cause I'm afraid of Berserker! -Well, that is one reason, but it ain't the main one, dammit! -oink-" He pointed a stubby finger towards Heping's room, "Last time I left 'er alone, she got Master-napped! We all nearly died rescuing her if you forgot, an' she's nearly dead 'erself! I'm not about to let that happen again!"
"Assassin can protect your Master! We were planning on having her stay here anyway!"
"Assassin!? Are you friggin' kidding me -oink-!? She lost to you of all people, and you think she can beat Archer!?"
"You little-"
Athena interrupted in a vain hope to cool heads, though she had no idea what it was that made those two Servants so abrasive to one another, "Pigsy, Assassin can't go out onto the battlefield. Caster's looking for her, which makes her an asset to us. If she were to get kidnapped, or if he were able to get what he wants from her, we'd all be in a worse position."
The mention of 'Caster' brought a stagnancy to the room. Though no one knew much about him, what they did know shrouded him in suspicion. In a certain way, the fact that they knew so little at this point in the war only placed him under greater apprehension. It was as if he had something to hide, and, moreover, as if the thing he was hiding was his own nature.
"Look -oink-, sorry-not-sorry. I'm a Servant first, and a member of this alliance second. If you remember," he pointed towards Saber, accusation in hand, "That was the condition of our alliance to start with! So long as my Master was safe, I'd do what you asked. Well-" He flumped on to the floor with a huff, "My Master ain't safe without me here, so here's where I'll stay."
Saber's hand gripped at his face, seeming to try and massage the grimace away, and his agony with it. This venture was, more-or-less, a success, and he turned his attention towards the other party in the room.
"Assassin, what do you- Assassin?"
She was nowhere to be seen, but, as the collective gaze of the room fell downwards, they locked onto a twinned Pigsy standing where she had been.
A discordant -oink- reverberated from the illusory body.
"Wow," Pigsy broke the silence first, hopping from his seat on the floor and walking over to examine himself. He looked the echo up and down, finally removing his hat and slicking back the few hairs on his head, "Damn... I didn't realize I looked this good-"
The echoed Pigsy decked the true Lancer under the chin, sending him flying across the room with a squeal suddenly cut off by a slam against the far wall.
Saber examined the situation with a cool head, "Oh, you weren't that strong before. Can you copy the parameters of the people you copy?"
Echo-Pigsy nodded.
Athena, thinking back on her own battle with Assassin in the mall, had another idea, "Can't you copy weapons, too?"
The fake pig clapped his/her hands.
"Wha- Oh!," Athena turned to Pigsy, still slumped dejected against the wall, "Lancer! Rattle your rake around!"
"Huh? Sure."
As commanded, he called his Nine-Tooth rake, shook it like a rattle, ejected the head and then let it slink back into place on its chain. A moment later, forming in the air among rainbow strings, Echo-Pigsy held the same rake.
Saber nodded, and a small smirk etched into his face, "...This could work. But, correct me if I'm wrong, don't you need a constant input of sound to maintain your Noble Phantasm?"
Echo-Pigsy nodded.
Athena clapped her hands together, "Well that's easy! Different problem; same solution! Throw me my bag, Monika."
Her sister, sitting nearer the bar with both her own and her sister's bags, did as instructed, and Athena pulled out her pair of wireless black earbuds.
Assassin flinched back, taking a defensive stance.
"No, no! It's okay!" She pointed at the speaker on one end, "We'll be using the 'out', not the 'in'. Do you understand?" She took out her phone with her other hand, "All we need to do is get some soundbites and you'll be able to maintain that form for at least a few hours, just like we did the other day."
She chuckled to herself, "Though I don't envy you having to listen to Lancer's voice on repeat for all that time."
Pigsy grumbled, "-oink- Bastard."
"Can you say that a bit louder? I'm not sure I got that."
"You're already recording!?"
Monika was following along as best as she was able, "I see... Your plan is to have Assassin fight while disguised as Lancer. This way you can get Lancer's firepower while also keeping Assassin's identity a secret. That's clever."
Saber nodded towards his Master's sister, "That's close, Monika, but not quite. If the worst came to pass, there's no way she'd fight as Lancer. No, there's someone out there with a lot more firepower for her to echo..."
...
Archer pulled back on his bow and turned an eye to Saber's ship; they were all distracted by the battle unfolding below.
He reached out through his mind, 'Caster, should I-'
'No, they still have a purpose to serve. Let's watch Assassin for now.'
Caster smiled devilishly to himself. He had spotted Assassin once and, seeing she was an oread, concocted both a theory and a plan. He was pleased by the fact that Saber's team had managed to reach a similar conclusion.
-
The Legend of the Nemean Lion
As one of his labors, Heracles had been charged with defeating the lion of Nemea, whose hide no weapon could pierce. Even with his strength, Heracles's weapons still failed to damage the creature, and so he cast his weapons aside, wrestling the creature, ripping out a claw and slitting the beast's throat with it. The only thing which could harm the lion was itself, and so he skinned the beast with the very same claw and made a cloak from its hide so that he could carry the same protection with him.
Assuming this legend had been inscribed into his Spirit Origin...
-
Heracles manifested his blade and leaped like lightning into the crater's center, mana running down his blade and empowering it with an engine's hum.
-
Then the only thing that could be reliably counted on to defeat Berserker, or even weaken him...
-
Ethereal strings manifested a copy of the same blade as Echo- in the guise of Heracles- raised the false Atlas in defense just as fast as he himself fell his blade atop her. Thunder rolled as unstoppable force met immovable object, electricity exploded from the crash and, like two magnets of the same polarity, they were pushed apart from one another, her feet digging into the earth while he was forced back into the air.
-
...Was himself.
-
With the blade already out, she had to do little more than step forward and swing. Moving with as much force and speed as he, there was nothing he could do as a false blade slashed into his exposed chest, scattering golden blood onto the scarred earth. For just a moment, the Adonis's face matched the same snarl as his colossal form.
Caster's smile was only disguised by the thin veil of his illusion, but, behind it, his teeth were shining through his lips from one ear to the other. He congratulated himself on his own genius... such genius that even the unexpected, the unforeseeable, played exactly into his plans.
The other ship was not so pleased.
"Monica..." her false name slipped from his lips.
"We're not leaving her."
"I guessed as much, but we're helpless here... Echo included."
She turned on her heel, frustrated by reality itself, "Saber! Turn into a sword! Let's kill those two over there while Berserker's busy."
She reached out and seized his hand, but he squeezed hers gently back, "That's two Servants, Athena. It's suicide."
"You may not remember, but we kicked Archer's ass! We can do it again!"
"Two Servants at once, and then Berserker afterward. It's not realistic."
"So what!? Do we just stand around and do nothing!?"
"It's fine. Be patient-"
Both Saber and Athena turned around to see Aaron raising himself up on shaking legs, wet eyes looking out into nothing, holding onto the grip of his rifle with loose fingers.
"Everyone will have their moment to shine, but this battle won't end until Berserker dies."
"But-"
"Let me put it this way: would you rather win, or force a draw? Have everyone who's died so far, who suffered and sacrificed to the end, including yourself, give it all for a prize that no one ever claimed?"
They turned their eyes to the battle below in silent agreement.
The scratched Berserker lunged back with a hefty swing that the other blocked even as his feet dug deeper into the crater. They braced themselves against one another, their matching snarls purred like thunder, their matching muscles bulged with effort, matching eyes staring into the soul of the other. Whatever thoughts, whatever motivations had haunted his mind previously, there could be no doubt that this battle had become a truly fatal one, and neither could take their eyes off the other for so much as a moment, lest a blade heavier than the sky and faster than light cut him limb from limb.
In mirrored motion the thunder boomed from between their blades as they pushed back against one another, putting distance between them, priming their blades and rushing in again.
The next moment was both a second and a century.
Within the black crater blue comets bounced back and forth; it was less than a millisecond before those overhead, even Archer, lost track of which Berserker was the original and which was Echo in disguise. They were moving so fast that a wind began to stir; a vortex that slowly brought in the scattered dust and grass below to the sound of clanging metal and rolling thunder. It was a hopeless effort to try and keep track of the two monsters as they dashed back and forth. All that could be seen was a web of blue light laid out to guard a black canvas increasingly colored with streaks of gold.
The web broke and there were the two heroes, impossible to tell which was which, and one had the other in a hold, grappling him by the shoulder and heaving him into a throw. In a blink, the other Heracles was a white meteor crashing into the side of the crater with a burst of rock and dust, and, before the cloud could clear, the first dashed ahead into the cloud. Crackling lightning emerged from the dust as if a storm were brewing, and clarity saw the thrown Heracles upside down and half-buried in the ground, gripping the other's sword with his bare hands, desperately pushing back the point from the center of his chest. Both of their faces were locked with strain, their bodies carved with cuts over all corners; the one with the blade had a cut across his nose, the other had a split lip.
The point of Atlas inched closer and closer towards the fallen's chest, but, with a defiant roar, a surge of energy from within that echoed in his aura of grinding stone, the blade was pushed back with just enough distance that he was able to roll away even as- just as fast- the sword dug deep into the place where he had been. With the higher trapped, the lower turned onto all fours and pounced, planting his knee into the abdomen of the other, sending him flying, sword in hand, to the other side of the crater, just as he had done to him in the first place. Rather than pursue, he remained where he was, calling his own Atlas to his hand. The other rose out of his fall, and adopted a similar stance.
Each examined the other from afar, taking deep breaths and considering his next move.
It was obvious.
They rushed forward, each with his own warrior's scream, and clashed blades where the sun's center had been. They pressed into one another for a moment before relenting and moving into a torrent of attacks, once again too fast for the naked eye, each deflecting off the other, and a shallow cut appearing on one or the other's body every few seconds.
-
In his mind, Heracles saw a broad, blue sea. In front of him, lazing on the bow as he was wont to do, was a blonde haired man, his captain. He was both the most honest and most dishonest man he'd ever met, and he said something he'd never forget.
"You know what your problem is, big guy? You think too much. Maybe it wouldn't be a problem, except that you're too damn stupid." He tapped his head, "Your mind's about as sharp as a river rock, so just swing your club and don't think about anything except protecting me, got it?"
As usual with that capricious and contradictory man, it was both the best and worst advice he'd ever received. Rather than thinking with his mind, he learned to think with his body, and to learn with his hands. He could have rerouted a river by aqueducts, or clever use of rocks, but no, he just picked it up and moved it on his own. He could have attempted to trap or tame the demonic horses, but he solved the problem by feeding them their own keeper. Why bother luring or tracking the bronze birds when you can just shoot them out of the sky? Thoughtless instinct has a funny way of leading one to the correct answer. Thus, he had chosen to study his opponent by fighting him, learning two things of note.
Firstly: he had the same physical prowess as himself.
Secondly: he was not as skilled with the blade. He did appear to have an ability which allowed him to mirror any attack he threw at him, but, when operating freely, without copying, the swordwork was amateur at best. Of course, amateur swordplay in the hands of a god was still formidable, but it gave him an idea- or, more accurately, it gave him a gut instinct.
What if he threw an attack which required skill his opponent didn't possess? One whose finesse and precision couldn't be fully replicated even with an exact copy? A skill which only he knew how to use to its full potential?
Even if his idea failed, the brute force alone would end the battle. It may end him with it, but then-
That was going to happen anyway.
-
One hero raised his blade above his head.
The other Heracles did the same.
He placed his foot firmly ahead of him, his blade humming with energy.
The same stance looked back at him.
In his mind's eye, he saw clearly what would come: nine simultaneous strikes, as if nine separate swords were manifesting at once, nine different realities combining into a single attack that negated escape. It was an attack as powerful as a Noble Phantasm, although he, in this form, could use it as a skill- this would be the third time he unleashed it.
Both swung their swords.
Eighteen blades cleaved into the earth, causing the crater to more closely resemble a shattered bowl, rocks and boulders shifting, sliding and bursting from their resting places along with the dust and rubble.
In the center, one Heracles, with a cut across his nose, stood with a deep gash in his shoulder, another two deep cuts in his chest, and another cut on his thigh and arm apiece. The other was met with similar wounds. A deeper cut in his shoulder, three cuts forming a bloody pentagram in his chest, a cut which nearly reached the bone of his thigh, and, if that weren't enough, the next moment saw the sinews holding his arm to his torso snap, and a bloodied arm fell- still holding onto Atlas in a death grip. The blade would disappear into rainbow strings-
Though her body was made of sound, Atlas could overcome anything, including her.
The soft, harmonic hum of the blade was wholly consumed by the aura of the ivory hero, as was the crunch of the ground under her knees as she fell. These strings continued to unravel around her body, revealing Echo's flawless purple skin, her beautiful and nigh-irresistible feminine form now cut to bloody ribbons, her empty arm socket gushing onto the ground next to her, and even her soft and freckled face tainted by a split lip. Her round, wide eyes looked up to her opponent, her killer, and her downward ears gave a final twitch, searching for any sound of comfort.
Above, Athena slammed a weak fist onto the rail next to her and wailed into an uncaring sky.
"No! Please!" She fell to her knees as sobs racked her chest, "No... dammit. Why?"
Echo's ears gave another twitch. Her lips opened, as if to speak, but whatever she had wanted to say would die with her. She let out a final breath, closed her eyes, and fell forward. Her body turned to blue ether and ceased to exist before her face could even hit the ground.
...
Across the city, a lonely woman grabbed her chest, accompanied only by a girl who made more noise asleep than her friend did awake, and curled into a ball on her chair. She cried quietly to herself, just as her friend had when she thought her Master was asleep.
....