FATE\Deus Decipit

Chapter 63: Politics and Religion

...

Lancer's beady eyes went wide, "I can't reach her."

Aaron froze. He remembered the night he was injured, and the one who injured him; the one who nearly killed him. He remembered the sensation of his thoughts running into a brick wall, then unable to alert his Servant.

The words touched his tongue: 'It's Archer. Archer's attacking!'

-But he didn't say anything. He only looked on, dumbstruck.

Rider, ever quick on the draw, turned like lightning to face his Master, "Master! Permission to aid the Master of Lancer!"

-But he remained frozen. He didn't want to fight Archer again, and, in the back of his mind, the possibility of this being a trap occurred to him again and again. But he wasn't so deaf that he couldn't hear his Servant's plea, the panic and the desire to help, and so he gave a pale-faced nod.

"Go ahead," He murmured, hardly more than a whisper.

Rider, without any concern for his Master's hesitance, nodded in return and, fast as ever, scooped up Lancer like a football-

"Whoa- What are you- Ack!"

-And sped off into the distance, golden light trailing behind them.

Aaron stared into nothing, stumbling backwards and back more, reaching a low-cut wall and collapsing onto his bottom, his head falling into his hands with all the weight the world. He wondered if his suspicions were correct, and if, while his Servant followed this rabbit trail, Archer would send an arrow through the flesh of his exposed neck and end his suffering.

"But then-" He thought out loud, "I've never been that lucky."

The falling rain flicked his forehead as he rose his face to the sky. It was a light rain, and the droplets mixed well with the haze that already clung to the city, bringing the fog from indigo to silver.

It disgusted him.

The way the rain washed away the fog of the war turned his stomach in a way he couldn't describe: an ire directed at God Himself. This was no longer the fog of the war, but the fog which had followed him through all his life. Then again, perhaps there was never a difference, and the rain only washed away the façade to reveal its sameness: to reveal how nauseatingly typical it all was.

How typical that the moment he resolves himself, the moment he goes to try- the moment he goes to escape the chains of his life, that would be the moment when God comes to smash what hopes he had with His own fist.

Such is life.

Melancholy turned to rage, but before his anger could break from his chest and lash out at the falling rain, Rider returned, and faster than any had expected- including the Servant himself.

He was out of breath, and Lancer, who he set respectfully on the ground, was frazzled as well. He almost looked like he was in a stupor, and who could blame him? Who could guess the profound embarrassment, shame, and fear that made its way through his small heart? Only Aaron, but he was never one for empathy.

Rider turned to his Master, unable to look him in the eye, "Master of mine, I... I couldst not find Lady Heping, Master of Lancer. I-I doth not know wherest she has awayed to, nor who hath taken her."

Aaron took a deep breath, swallowing the screams of anger that had filled his throat, and returned his eyes to the earth beneath him, "It was Archer."

Rider jolted straight, "A- Aye? Art thou certain? Could it be so?"

"Mhm. Something similar happened when he attacked me. He has some... something that allows him to block telepathic communication. If he can block out magical information... he can probably prevent himself from being tracked, too."