FATE\Deus Decipit

Chapter 32: Softly

11:55pm, Glyfada

Monica, rolls of thunder behind her, stumbled as if drunk through the door to her apartment. She and Chrysaor had spent the afternoon traveling across the whole city of Athens. Between that, the confrontation and following fight with Assassin, mental and physical exhaustion was to be expected.

-But not to this degree.

Her mind was little more than white noise, barely able to even comprehend the environment around her, without even enough awareness to turn on the lights. Her consciousness, which she had spent so much effort to maintain, felt like little more than a phantom, a ghost that threatened to leave her body at any moment. As the weighted door shut itself behind her, she felt a sensation like a coffin lid closing, or perhaps, a trapdoor opening underneath her. Her knees buckled and she fell, the static of her mind filling her vision and drowning out even the faded shadows of thoughts.

-She fell into the arms of another, the static beginning to lift from her mind. The sensation was somehow both alien and familiar, the unique combination leaving her sure of his identity even with her addled mind.

"Chrysaor?"

"Yeah, it's me. Are you okay?"

Her weary mind, anxious for some comfort, the comfort of a pillow, of rest, of safety, lead her to lean deeper into his chest without realizing. "You're back. I was worried-"

"I never went anywhere." He hoisted her up, bracing her on his shoulder so she could walk. "But you should rest. You did a lot today; you should be proud."

"Did you see? Did you see what happened?"

They began to walk together towards the back of the apartment, slowly and deliberately as Monica stumbled and struggled to summon what was left of her energy, "Uh- no, afraid not. But the fact that you're alive and well speaks enough. Not many humans can fight a Servant and survive."

She whimpered slightly, "Man, I don't even know. She was this weird girl, purple and blue. Kinda cute though."

"Purple?"

"Yeah. She had purple skin- or was it gray?-and she was wearing-like- nothing, dude. Just this weird sash-thing. Her hair was white, and her eyes were big and pretty."

Chrysaor remained silent, allowing his half-conscious Master to continue her ramblings.

"-She was like- really quiet, too. You couldn't hear her move, she didn't even talk. I'm not sure she even can talk. When I cut her, she screamed, but didn't scream; no sound came out. The weirdest thing is, I think she -like- was sound, you know? That's how she ghosted us, and I think that's how she transformed, too."

They reached the bedroom, and Chrysaor gently opened the door for her while continuing to brace her. "That's- a big deal, Monica. Her appearance, her powers..."

He looked at her, and she looked back with a half-vacant expression. Even in the dark, a smile, somehow both softer and wider, with more sadness and more joy than was usual, could be seen on his face.

He ruffled her hair. She grunted in half-hearted frustration, but said nothing. "You really did a great job. Hehe. I'm sure you two would get along."

"What?"

The smile remained, "Nothing."

In another time, she would've pressed him, but for the moment, her weary mind and body were drawn irresistibly to the bed. As he sat her down, she couldn't help but immediately roll over. She didn't even notice when he pulled the covers up over her.

As he started out the door, she became suddenly possessed with revelation, "Wait!"

"Hm?"

"Shouldn't we... talk more about this? I feel like- like this is important."