Planet: Earth
Date: June 5 2020
Location: Unnamed forest – Outskirts of Castel Sant'Angelo (Rieti - Italy)
(======)
Mordred exhaled an angry hiss.
She stood still, basking in her anger and in the warmth emanating from the glow of the morning sun that shone in the sky beyond the pine trees around her. The evergreen grove in which the Knight of Treachery stood was lonely and quiet, yet familiar. A large and uninhabited hilly area, typical of the Italian countryside, which extended for several miles to the South, located approximately two or three kilometers from the city of Castel Sant'Angelo and the nearby Aquae Cutiliae. The area was completely devoid of human life, but its position was still close to the inhabited center, allowing people to reach the forest even through a simple walk beyond the borders of the town. Numerous caves and small rivers characterized the woods and the rocky hills of the locality, making the place a small oasis of peace and silence where everyone could retreat to be alone.
But despite the soothing landscape and the comfortable silence around her, Mordred felt no sense of peace and relaxation right now. Instead, her mind was filled with nothing but rage, and anxiety, and worry.
Since the group had reached the hot springs after leaving Venice, the female Knight had "politely" declared to the others that she wanted to be left alone, moving away from her companions and taking a walk in solitude for several hours – even ignoring the concerned looks of Rider and Ruler, who had both reluctantly agreed to her request after no small amount of persuasion – trying to allay the anger and anxiety that were eating her from within. Consequently, for several hours, the wide clearing in the middle of the pine forest had become her new hiding place. A lonely corner where Mordred could retreat to reflect now that she needed it.
And – quite frankly – never before she had so desperately needed peace and solitude. Never before her soul had been filled with dismay and terror as today. After all, what she had learned during the mission in Venice and the clash with the Burial Agency had been anything but pleasant. On the contrary, it had been a unsettling news for her. Such a news, such a sudden and impactful plausibility that it had left her completely stunned, as it had never happened before. A plausibility that Mordred had never considered so far; and which consequently she would never have expected to receive even in her wildest dreams.
That is: her accursed "Mother" had plausibly been summoned back into the world.
The female Knight gritted her teeth at that thought, fists clenching and unclenching with trembling arms.
After nearly two hours of internal fuming and stomping around aimlessly, Mordred couldn't deny it any longer. She was angry. No, even worse… she was livid. But unlike what you might think, she wasn't mad about the news itself. After all, as much as she hated to admit it, the fact that her Mother might have been summoned as a Heroic Spirit made sense. It was a logical, almost foregone conclusion, given the fact that her name and deeds were still remembered both in the Arthurian and her own legend. It wasn't a shocking conclusion, nor a mind-blowing revelation. Even Ruler and Rider had reached this very same conclusion right after Mordred and her father. So, she wasn't angry for the news. That wasn't the reason at all.
No, if she had to be honest with herself, Mordred was more angry due to the fear that the news itself had aroused within her. Of the sheer terror that it had generated inside her. Of the overwhelming feeling of anguish that it had given birth to inside her heart, and that it did not seem willing to leave her mind even after all these hours of incessant reflection and pacing around in solitude.
In other words: she was angry at herself, and at the whole world.
Why, would you ask? Simple: because she wasn't supposed to feel fear. She wasn't supposed to feel anxiety. She wasn't supposed to feel any of these emotions. Mordred was a Knight, for God's sake! Knights weren't supposed to be scared, or terrified, or hesitant. They were supposed to be brave, and resolute, and decisive. They were supposed to face every challenge head on, without any fear but rather with resolution in their hearts. That's what a true Knight was supposed to be. That's what a true Knight had to be, in her opinion.
And right on this moment, Mordred was anything but resoluted and brave. Just the opposite, in fact. She was afraid. Heck, she was actually scared right now. And she hated herself for this.
She had sworn to herself to be a proud and fearless Knight, and yet… now at this moment, she was scared in spite of everything. She, Mordred Pendragon, the proud, fearless and foul-mouthed Knight who had brought down Camelot, the very symbol of rebellion and bravado, reduced to a mass of nerves and tension. One part of her wanted to explode with anger and deny everything. Mordred was afraid of nothing. She was a Knight. She was THE Knight of Rebellion and Treachery. She would not tremble in front of anything, and no one.
And yet, now she was.
Because her Mother was back. And she didn't know how to deal with it.
Mordred gritted her teeth in a growl, feet stomping into the ground during her incessant pacing.
In all honesty, she didn't know how to react right now. She didn't know what to believe, what to say, what to think; even. How was she supposed to stomach such a thing, after all? How could she remain impassive in front of such a chilling, such a nauseating awareness? She was in a complete loss, through and through. It was literally impossible for her to be able to remain calm after this news, and Mordred herself knew it perfectly well, loathe as she was to admit it.
First, she had to deal with her accursed Father and the countless feuds the two of them had had during the course of their travels – which had been a relentless and decidedly unpleasant undertaking (their incoming duel being the very same proof of this) – and now… now, she had to deal with the possibility of having to face her Mother as well. After all this time, after everything that had happened, the Knight of Treachery had to go back to deal with the same woman, the same witch, who had created and manipulated her for almost the entirety of her short life. The same woman who had seen her as nothing more than a tool; a means to achieve her revenge in spite of Mordred's own feelings and thoughts.
Morgan le Fay. Her "Mother dearest."
The most ruthless, cunning and cruel woman Britain had ever seen. The real architect of the fall of Camelot. The hidden mastermind behind the story of King Arthur's rebellious son. And, above all, the dark and terrifying reason why Mordred had come to be, and the reason why her existence was considered a scandal. A horror.
A sin.
Therefore… Mordred was pissed. She had every reason to be pissed right now. She was angry at herself, at the whole world, and at the cruel Fate which once again seemed willing to make her suffer unfairly in one way or another, regardless of the time that passed, the distance she walked, or her own efforts.
It wasn't fair. It wasn't fair at all.
She had never asked for this. She had never asked for any of this.
And consequently, she didn't know what to do.
'Why?' she raged furiously inside her mind. 'Why is it always like this? Why can't things turn out the way I want for once?'
The blonde girl stomped around, wandering through the trees and clearings of the woods like a furious beast without any goal. It was only after ten full minutes of pacing around that she came to a halt, slamming a fist against the wood of a large pine, breaking through its bark with an explosion of red energy and prana. The tree trembled and groaned under the force of the blow, before the trunk began to tilt dangerously to the side and then suddenly break with a loud snap. It slowly collapsed to the ground with a dull thud, causing the forest to tremble and the trees all around to vibrate. Then, silence echoed once again amidst the lonely clearing.
Mordred stood there, trembling and enraged; with her head low and eyes covered by golden bangs. Red bolts of electric prana started to dart around her legs.
'...why do I always have to suffer like this?' the girl choked back a sob with a painful growl, glaring at the world with insurmountable rage. 'First Father, and now even that witch? Why? Why won't this accursed past leave me alone for once?'
Sad, angry tears welled in the corners of her eyes. Mordred fought them back with a growl. Once more, her fists clenched in helpless rage and frustration. That was the real question, wasn't it? That was the real problem. Her Mother, her Father, her past, her evil deeds… all of it, they were always behind her. They would never leave her alone. Her past and her demons would never leave her. They just kept coming back. They kept coming back to haunt her, relentlessly; again, and again, and again, and again. An endless vicious circle, made of nightmares, and anger, and pain, and betrayal. A bad dream, a nightmare from which the female Knight could never wake up despite all her desperate attempts.
It was just like London all over again. Like when she had first learned of her Father's unfair dream, of her wish to completely erase their past, their history, their legend. It was the same. No… actually, it was not. It was almost the same. Why? Because this… this, was much worse than that. Much, much worse. This was another kind of pain entirely. Another kind of anxiety. Another kind of curse.
A curse that never gave her peace, chasing and haunting her until the end of time.
For that was the fate of the Knight of Treachery and Rebellion.
Her Father, her Mother… they were the curse. They were the source of her suffering. They were the reason. The reason she was born. The reason she was hated. The reason she had made all those evil deeds when she was alive. The reason she had fought, shed blood, and rebelled. It had been them. It had always been them, in one way or another. Through manipulation and through indifference, through the dark and through the light. It was them. The reason had always been them. The reason behind it all. The reason behind her pain, her suffering, her choices. They were her never-ending curse.
Yes, they were a curse. And as much as she loathed to admit it, she was hopeless againt thi–
"You're not alone anymore, kid."
Mordred's eyes snapped open, her breath caught in her throat.
Shirou's word echoed inside the girl's head amidst that chaos of rage and pain.
"Whatever happens with your father from now on, we'll deal with it together. Me, you, and Rider. We're in this together."
Even Iskandar's word followed suit.
"A King must never be alone. Even a future King such as yourself. Don't you agree, Saber?"
And then, it happened.
For the first time in a long while, the proud and contemptuous Knight who had brought down Camelot felt a small warmth begin to swell inside her chest. Her lips begin to quiver. Not out of pain or rage, but out of hope. Mordred sniffled a little, feeling her own vision began to blurry. Damn it, Ruler was right. She really was a kid. How could she have forgotten? How could she have forgotten that so easily?
She shook her head, furiously wiping the tears from her face. Her eyes glared once more at the world with decision and resolve.
Her companions were right. No… her friendswere right.
She wasn't alone anymore. She was never going to be alone again.
Therefore, she had no reason to be afraid. She had no reason to be scared.
As soon as she thought about it, Mordred suddenly felt all her previous doubts and uncertainties disappear for no reason. And deep inside her heart, she knew it as a fact, as a foregone conclusion. Even better, as an unshakable certainty. There was no need, no reason to be scared. Not anymore. After all, she wasn't alone now. Shirou and Iskandar had promised to help her. They had promised to share this pain, this quest and this struggle with her. She herself had seen their dedication, their sincerity towards her during their travels. She had finally experienced what it meant to bond with someone thanks to them, after all.
Now, because of that, the young Saber knew she could trust them on this. She knew Iskandar and Shirou had made their way through her heart. And as much as this awareness in itself amazed her, she knew that she was secretly happy with this outcome. Mordred knew the truth, deep inside her heart. She cared for them. And consequently – she couldn't believe she was admitting this – she trusted them. She really did. Just as she knew they trusted and cared for her in turn. It was inevitable, after all they had been through together and all the arguments, battles and conflicted feelings they had shared with one another. There was no shred of doubt on this in both her mind and heart.
So… yes: the evil and bad Mordred was not alone anymore. She had friends and allies now. People she could trust and who could watch her back in spite of everything.
Therefore, she would deal with this curse once and for all. Her past? To hell with it. Her Mother and Father? To hell with them. To hell with all of it and all of them! She had worked and struggled so hard to finally be able to make some friends, people who could accept her and acknowledge her in spite of everything. And now… now, her parents wanted to come back into her life and screw it all up? No way. No fucking way! Mordred would not allow it. She could not allow it. She was going to deal with this curse, and she was going to do it right now, along with her friends and companions. This wasn't the result of her own actions, after all. This wasn't Camelot anymore. She had never asked for any of this.
No, she had had enough. She had no reason to undergo this torture anymore.
As long as Ruler and Rider had her back, she could take this challenge head on without any fear or hesitation whatsoever.
Also, she wasn't the type to back down from a challenge now, was she? She always faced the enemy head on, bold and fearless, just like a Knight was supposed to do.
Therefore, she had no choice but to get this over with.
Mordred steeled her resolve.
No more time to waste.
"To hell with them," she hissed under breath. Her emerald eyes glowed with rage and decision. "Let's deal with this shit."
Right now, the blonde girl knew what she had to do. She would focus on what she could concretely do, and forget everything else. Her Mother, her past, her uncertainties… she would ignore them all for now. Ruler and Rider had taught this to her, after all. And despite what many would have said, Mordred was not stupid. She knew that there was no use in overthinking about something over which she had no control or power. She had to focus on what she could actually do, here and now. Therefore, she would think and deal with that accursed witch later, when she was finally back with her friends.
But now, instead… she had another matter to deal with. Another challenge to overcome.
Mordred Pendragon had a duel waiting for her.
And as it was widely known: it was bad etiquette for a Knight to make his King wait. Even if said King was an emotionless, cruel father who had never even cared about his son.
Mordred felt her blood begin to boil inside her veins. "…Fine, then," she growled.
The Knight of Treachery parted her lips into a snarl, cladding her whole body with her menacing armor. Then, with a deep breath and an expression of feral rage on her face, she stormed off with a powerful leap, her next task clear inside her mind.
In spite of her inner resolve, she didn't know where she went for the next few minutes. Behind her eyes was the thudding of her heart, like a wounded predator looking for something to lash out at. Her mind was full of anger, and decision, and trepidation for the impending encounter. And for the first time – for the first time in a very long time – Mordred wasn't afraid. She wasn't afraid to face her father in a duel once again. This was what HE had wanted, after all. It had been HIS decision, HIS challenge. And Mordred was more than happy to oblige now. Especially if it meant being able to make the person who had ignored and refused to accept her pay once and for all.
'Just you wait, Father,' she spat inside her mind, dashing through the woods at maximum speed. 'I'll show you! I will make you pay!'
There was no time for her as she moved. Mordred did not know how long it took for her to reach the designated location for the duel. The fact is that, after what seemed like an eternity, the young Saber stopped her inhuman race, and the world became still and silent once again.
She had arrived.
The place which had been designated as the location for the duel was nothing too eye-catching. A simple but wide open space in the middle of the forest, about twenty meters wide, open to the sky and similar to a clearing amidst the woods. Said clearing was also located near a hill that rose prominently in the middle of the trees that stretched in all directions for miles and miles, and it was positioned approximately three kilometers from the city. As you can imagine, the distance from the town had not been chosen at random, as neither Mordred nor the others of the group wanted for intruders or civilians to witness the fight. Feud or not, Servants could not reveal their existence without discretion. That was an essential rule for their mission.
But Mordred didn't give a fuck about that right now. Her eyes were more focused on observing the people who were waiting for her in the middle of that clearing. As expected, Shirou and Iskandar were there, observing her with solemn gazes and their arms crossed. Next to them, Waver Velvet, Olga Marie Animusphere and Caren Hortensia were also present; accompanied by Arjuna, Romulus, and Nero who stood aside on the sidelines, guarding the perimeter. As soon as she arrived, they all turned to look at her, eyes narrowed and expressions tense, in a silence that was filled with unspoken worries.
It was just like the old times. Mordred realized it as soon as she felt the eyes of the group land on her. It was just like Camelot, all over again. With her helmet off for the first time, everyone watching her. Everyone seeing her, and for the first time her wanting anything else. The Servants and the humans all knew with a look. Mordred looked way beyond pissed right now. She was livid. Just like a kid. Just like a child, throwing a tantrum. And now everyone knew. A hothead. A bratty child. A problem. At it again.
It felt like she only came to when she stepped into the clearing, dismissing her thoughts.
Bedivere and Gawain were there. They stepped forward.
"Mordred."
She would have none of their nonsense. "Out of my way."
"You can't fight her, Mordred." Bedivere attempted to stop her, his voice dripping with concern. "She is our King, our lord. It goes against our code–"
"I'll do whatever I damn well please!" Mordred snapped, summoning Clarent to hand almost unintentionally. She glowered at the two Kinghts with an enraged snarl, challenghing them, daring them to stand against her a second time. "He's the one who challenged me. Now piss off!"
Bedivere frowned, looking more worried than ever. Gawain, on the other hand, narrowed his eyes on the smaller Knight. He wouldn't back down so easily.
"Please listen to me, Mordred," he attempted as well, his voice hard and stern. "Don't do this. I understand you're angry. I understand you're worried. We are worried as well. If… If Mother is really back, then we need to stand together. We can't let our group be fractured just because–"
"I don't give a fuck about your worries, ape-face. Step aside, right-now," she growled again in warning, rasing Clarent with one hand and swinging it onto her shoulder as if it were no lighter than a feather.
He wouldn't budge. "Please, Mordred. I'm worried about you too."
"That's a laugh!" the female Knight spat, glaring at him with lips parted into a snarl. "You were ready to kill me when we first met. You don't get to act like an older brother now. We both know that deep down you hate me. You're simply too scared to admit it in Father's face!"
Those words cut him deeply on the inside. The Knight of the Sun frowned and pursed his lips, trying to quell the growing resentment. That was a low blow. But loathe as he was to admit it, he knew that his younger 'sibling' was right. Among the Knights of Round Table, Gawain was the one who cared about family and loyalty the most. Therefore, Mordred's betrayal was something he could not – could never – easily accept and forgive, even in spite of their relation of blood. Nor in the past, nor now.
And yet, in spite of this, he took a deep breath and forced himself to remain calm. "Even still, I am your older brother," Gawain scowled. "And a fellow Knight. I'm worried, Mordred–"
The girl cut him off abruptly. She grabbed him by his stupid furry mantle and her voice dropped low. "Get the hell out of here before I kill you again," she threatened, cruel and vicious as ever.
A tense silence fell between the three Knights.
Gawain's face hardened. But a hand alighted on his shoulder and eased him back.
"Ruler."
"Sir Gawain," Shirou nodded, calm and impassive. "Let her go."
"But–"
"Everyone is watching," the red-head continued, pointing a finger at the group that was watching them from the right side of the clearing. "Nothing will get out of hand. But nothing will be solved by putting a wall between them. Sometimes a feud must be dealt with, don't you agree?"
Gawain looked ready to protest, but he stopped when he saw the King of Conquerors step towards them as well, more solemn and imperious than ever, positioning himself next to Bedivere and preventing him from acting rashly. The two Servants stared at the Knights long and hard, their intentions abundantly clear. There was no way that Gawain and Bedivere could act against them. They lacked both the strenght and will to do that.
In the end, the Knights were forced to relent.
Mordred brushed past them both. She only paused for a moment, sharing a brief nod of thanks to her companions.
The King of Conquerors returned the nod with a serious gaze. "Remember what we've discussed before, Saber. We're in this together," he spoke, decisive and resolute. He offered a small grin to the girl. "If you need us during the fight, just give us a signal. Me and the boy are gonna be there for you."
The blonde Saber felt her eyes begin to sting for some reason after those words. She didn't answer, nor react openly to the statement, not trusting her voice to remain strong under her friends' sincere gaze. She could only nod at them with a stiff motion, swallowing the lump that had mysteriously tightened her throat. Then, she shook her head and marched forward again, towards the middle of the clearing.
A familiar voice stopped her once more.
"Mordred."
The girl halted, her whole body stiff. She turned towards the man who had called her with eyes narrowed and filled with a myriad of emotions.
Shirou's face was stoic, almost devoid of emotions. But his smile, however, was as sincere and warm as it could be. "Think about what it is you really want this time," was all he said.
Mordred paused at that, caught off guard by his words. She should have been angry, but she wasn't. She could have cut him down for that, but she didn't. She knew Camlann had been pointless, and not what she had really wanted. She had discussed this before with him, after all, during their trip to London. She had realized her mistakes. And she knew this duel was pointless, too.
But still, she wouldn't back down from this. She simply couldn't.
"…Just watch me," she hissed back at her companions, turning to face ahead with a resolute frown. "I'll make that old man pay."
Then, with no further ado, she stomped forward and resumed her march.
(======)
Her Father was alredy there, in the middle of the clearing.
Artoria Pendragon. King Arthur. The greatest Saber. The King of Knights. She stood, calm and emotionless. Her eyes closed, her posture rigid, golden sword already in hand and stuck into the ground in front of her frame. Impeccable. Perfect. Evaluating. Always judging.
Always lacking.
Everything Mordred remembered. Everything Mordred hated.
The woman opened her eyes, her face devoid of emotions. She watched her former Knight approach, her body rigid and solemn. She simply stood, calm and collected as always, waiting. Just waiting. Just like Camlann. Just like always. Like nothing could ever touch her in her radiance.
Mordred felt her blood boil once again.
The horned helm reformed over Mordred's face. The Knight of Treachery stepped forward, gripping the hilt of her weapon with so much force that the entire broadsword trembled. "Let's get this over with, old man," she spat sarcastically, raising Clarent and pointing its tip against the older woman. Against her former King. Her words echoed in the distance, loud and clear; reaching even Shirou, Iskandar and the others who where watching the scene from a distance. "Here I am, as agreed. Now be ready to face my wrath."
Artoria said nothing, did nothing. She just stared.
Mordred felt her whole body tremble in rage. "Say something!" she bellowed.
More silence. Every second felt like a strike.
She couldn't stand this. "Go ahead! State whatever you want! Reproach me! Deny me! Belittle me like you always do! Show to everyone and the world how much better and righteous you are!"
"I did not request this duel to show anything of the sort, Mordred," the female King spoke, stoic and cold as ever. Her face did not betray an ounce of emotion, just like it used to do all the time in the past. "As I said, I want this feud to end, once and for all. That's all there is to it."
Mordred sneered. "There you go. Always wise and detatched. You don't want people actually knowing you hate me, do you? Just do me a favor and drop the facade, Father," she taunted her.
"I have never hated you," Artoria countered.
"Lies," Mordred scoffed, her face turned animalistic under the helmet. "Spare me your fake words, Arthur. I'm here to end you. If you won't admit the truth on your own, then I will force it out of your dying body before I kill you!"
"You know nothi–"
"Don't fuck with me!" Mordred spat, stomping on the ground with a snarl. The ground visibly cracked under the steeled boot. A single bolt of electric prana danced around her legs, making the air hiss and moan.
Finally, Artoria's eyes tightened, just a little. "I see. Even now, this is just how you are."
The Knight of Rebellion readied her stance, Clarent trembling in her shaking arms. Its whole blade sparked with red energy.
"You made me like this!" she screamed with rage.
King Arthur just watched. But the Knight didn't allow her to reply either.
With a roar and a powerful burst of prana, Mordred leaped at her father, arms raised and face deeply enraged behind the helmet. In less than a second, Excalibur and Clarent clashed with a bellowing metallic sound, a spray of sparks and energy enveloping the two swords entirely. The air hissed and the ground cracked upon impact, generating a wave of wind and energy that enveloped the surroundings for several meters. The whole world seemed to scream, the trees of the forest shaking and trembling. In the distance, more than two hundred meters to the North, a flock of birds flew away from the woods, frightened by the sudden clash.
Father and son glared at each other, making pressure on the opponent's blade in a struggle of strenght. The ground shattered further beneath their feet.
"You think you can just boss me around like the old times?" Mordred hissed venomously, trying to force her back with her sword. "Don't make me laugh! You have no right to walk back into my life! Not after everything you've done! Not after the way you've treated me!"
Artoria glared at her. Her body did not move an inch under the oppressive pressure of the opponent. "I've treated you with nothing but respect," she countered cooly, her eyes narrowing in a frown. "But as a King, I have a duty to correct your childish and selfish behaviour."
The Knight of Treachery snarled, enraged to the core. Then, the Holy Sword and the mighty Clarent parted abruptly. After that, with unprecedented speed, the two opponents began to exchange blows, slashes and thrusts of all kinds, moving purely on instinct. They clashed again, with an explosion of sparks and metal that caused the air to hiss and the forest ground to tremble from the strength of the two Servants' blows. Mordred spun with her whole body, trying to get past the opponent's guard to hit the female King in the side with a quick swipe, but Artoria didn't move an inch. She didn't even blink.
With one simple step to the right, the King of Knights simply raised her arms and parried the enemy's blade with one quick movement. Then, she countered with a swift thrust, trying to hit her prodigal son on the shoulder. The girl growled and leaped away at the last second, barely avoiding the attack, before leaping forward with an explosion of prana and clashing against her father again.
Once more, their struggle became an endless succession of slashes and blows. Mordred grunted as she parried each blow with an instinct due to years and years of incessant training. "Correct!?" she repeated, ducking under a slash that was fast enough to be invisible. Her whole body was a mass of anger, energy and fury as she attacked angrily. "After all you've done you still think you can act like my King?" she roared.
"I apologized to you," Artoria replied vehemently. "I apologized countless times for my mistakes."
"You think I care!? I don't give a fuck about your apologies! They won't change the past! They won't change anything!"
Mordred parried a slash with her own blade, and then another, and another, and another. Then, with a lightning-fast movement, she roared and charged forward, avoiding a swing aimed to her head and delivering a portentous kick to Artoria's chest. Much to everyone's surprise, the attack hit the target on her breastplate, bending and bruising the armor a little under the force of the blow. The female King widened her eyes and was thrown backwards for several meters with considerable power, her feet shuffling against the ground in an attempt to maintain her balance.
To her surprise, Artoria looked shocked, perhaps even concerned. But Mordred didn't think about it. She was glad to even dent the great King's composure. Her lips parted into a feral grin. Good. She had dealt the first blow. That feat in itself was a huge accomplishment in her mind. She had spent years observing and watching her father's combat style. It seemed that her obsession had finally paid off.
But this was just the beginning. She was going to humiliate that woman even more. She would make sure of that.
Her arms and legs pulsed with red prana. A menacing series of electric bolts danced around her armor. Mordred steeled her mind and banished away her thoughts, preparing herself for a second assault. This wasn't like the old times. This wasn't Camlann. Mordred was stronger now. Ruler and Rider were her companions. Her friends. Their group, their friendship, their bond… all of it, it was one of the best things that had ever happened to her. Perhaps THE best thing that had ever happened to her! They were her home, more than Camelot ever was.
Her Father couldn't just walk back into her life and take control. She couldn't just steal all of this. Not like this. Not again. Never again.
King Arthur had already ruined her once. Mordred would have been damned if she allowed him to do it again.
With one great push the distance was crossed, and the two blades bit into each other with a thunderclap.
"What gives you the right?" Mordred demanded. "To act like nothing's happened?"
"You swore an oath!" the King ground out, pushing her son back and coming in with another swing. Her face was etched with real effort, what could be called anger if she'd had any emotions to show at all. "To me, to Chivalry, and to the Round Table."
"That oath ended when you killed me," the young Saber growled, meeting her father strike for strike. The words had no anger themselves; it was only natural for a Knight to defend himself and meet deadly force with the same.
Artoria narrowed her eyes. With a powerful Mana Burst, she parried Clarent away and forced the younger girl to jump backwards and put some distance between them. "I suppose you're right," she admitted in the end. Her gaze was cold, frosty; her voice devoid of emotions. "But even as you forced my hand that day, you had already broken your oath."
Nothing. Never. Not a single emotion at the killing of her own son. That was what Mordred hated. That was what drove fury into her heart and filled her mind with fire.
If her father thought that he could just walk back into her life and steal her refound happiness after all of that, he was deeplymistaken.
"Forced you?" Mordred scoffed. Then, much to the King's surprise, she laughed. She actually laughed. "What a joke! The people were on myside, Father. They were glad to be rid of you. You didn't even try to negotiate. You weren't a King any longer; just a tyrant."
There. Artoria's eyes flashed, her brows drove further together, and Mordred grinned. Something.
"Well, I suppose I did force you," the younger girl continued, her voice mocking and cruel. "Someone had to force you to feel something, even if it was just the pain of betrayal."
Artoria's face twitched. Finally, her mask seemed to crack. Her brows furrowed, and her lips parted into a small growl. She didn't say anything, but her whole body trembled for a few seconds. Then, she charged again, more furious and outraged than ever. In less than a blink of an eye, she had already stepped in front of Mordred again, attacking her furiously with precise slashes and thrusts. Her attacks were powerful, precise, relentless; loaded with a powerful force that could overwhelm any normal Servant. The Knight of Treachery grunted and struggled to deflect them all, taking one step back with each blow.
"Do you think that was the first time I felt betrayed?" Artoria barked, slashing furiously. The more they clashed, the more Mordred met every blow perfectly, despite her opponent's blade being more powerful and famous. Instinct didn't even come into play; Mordred knew that sword even better than she knew Clarent. Its length, width, weight and balance: all of it, she knew perfectly, by long years of obsessive observation. She could have deflected the Holy Sword even with its Invisible Air activated.
"You didn't even flinch when your best Knight leapt naked out of your queen's bed!" Mordred accused. "When your court sentenced your wife to death! When your son killed your perfect nephew! And all your little minions!"
She batted her father's blade aside brutally in a refound fit of rage. She may never have gotten the killing blow at Camlann, but she had disarmed the King handily. Artoria remembered that well, and she maintained her grip on Excalibur this time. And yet, she was unprepared for Mordred's animal ferocity as she stomped her metal-clad boot against her father's solar plexus.
As Artoria caught herself and slid to a stop, Mordred found herself fascinated by the blood coughed onto her alabaster boot. The King's blood. Her Father's blood. She thought she could just see her own reflection in that blood. Was that all she was?
She clenched her fist. "But that's not all you've felt, is it? Why do you hate me, Father!?"
And she was on her again, attacking. Like a rabid dog, still tangling in the leash.
"I never hated you!" Artoria called back, blocking every wild blow.
"Liar!" she threw her blade harder. There was no form anymore, nothing for Artoria to recognize or preempt. Mordred was fighting on animal instinct, and the only defense was instinct.
"Am I so horrible to you!? Do you hate me so much!? Just because I'm born from a witch!?"
"You were not fit!" the King shouted, taking a glancing blow on her bicep so she could launch a return thrust. It scored Morded in the gap of her armor just under the arm, painting a small spatter of blood across her gauntlet. The pain lanced across her chest. Her muscles tightened, and Artoria's face twisted. It felt like vindication.
But Mordred didn't react to the pain. She kept assaulting her relentlessly, like an animal.
"Say it!" she growled. "Admit that you hate me!"
"I never hated you!" Artoria repeated, avoiding a inhuman slash by side-stepping to the left. Then, this time, she kicked her son on the chest; catching her by surprise. But she didn't give her a moment of respite, following the previous blow with a punch that hit the Knight on the face, cracking the horned helmet slightly. Mordred was thrown away, rolling on the ground for several meters before regaining her balance with a painful growl. A trickle of blood had started to drip out of her helmet.
The King of Knights was panting slightly, her usually stoic face now morphed into a scowl. "I never hated you, Mordred," she stated again, solemn and commanding. Her voice was stern, hard; like the most inflexible metal. "But you were not fit to be King. You are not fit, even now. You are too quick to temper. You're rash, insubordinate, and out of control. This I cannot stand!"
Mordred scrambled to her feet with a growl. Her whole body was shaking – literally shaking – from the fury that coursed through her veins. Her grip on Clarent's hilt became so strong that a trickle of blood came out of her right gauntlet. Then, faster than a man could blink, she dashed forward with a Mana Burst and reached her father again in less than a split-second, her arms and sword raised into a vertical slash.
Clarent and Excalibur clashed again. Their collision generated a wave of energy and air that invested everything around them. At the edge of the clearing, Olga Marie, Waver Velvet and Caren Hortensia covered their faces with their arms to defend themselves from the wave of wind that assaulted them. Shirou and the other Servants watched the fight closely.
"Why, then!?" Mordred roared, furiously attacking the opponent with even more anger and ferocity than before. Her attacks had become so fast that they were now invisible. Artoria visibly struggled to deflect them all. "Why did you treat me like that? Why did you ignore me if you never hated me? Why? Why? WHY!?" she screamed at the top of her lungs, her voice hoarse with pain, and rage, and fury.
Despite her broken voice, her attacks did not stop. On the contrary, they were increasing in intensity by the second. Artoria gritted her teeth, desperately trying to defend herself to the best of her ability. But at some point, in the midst of that furious and confused assault, in the midst of that incessant movement, she was caught off guard. Mordred struck her father across the cheek with an armored hand. Her royal, kingly visage deformed under the fist.
"Why!?" the girl raged. "WHY!?"
And then, it happened.
For the first time, something cracked within Artoria.
And she finally broke her mask.
"Because I never wanted you!"
Every sound ceased. The entire clearing quieted. The whole world stopped.
And all those present watched with bathed breath.
Mordred stopped as well, with eyes wide and mouth agape. The air left her lungs, her arms fell limply to her sides, the grip on her sword almost forgotten. She didn't react to that statement. She wasn't able to react. She didn't even know what she expected, because she wasn't expecting anything. She was hardly thinking, because when she thought all she could see was her Mother, Camlann, the Lance, and the blank look on her Father's face as–
She didn't have time to think as the golden energy wrapping Excalibur's blade suddenly exploded, whipping her back across the entire clearing of the forest.
When she finally regained her senses after an indefinite amount of time, Mordred scrambled back to her feet, facing her father with wide eyes. Artoria stood a few meters in front of her, shaking and gritting her teeth, Excalibur pulsing and glowing gold at her side. Her eyes, her emerald eyes that used to be always blank, stoic and devoid of emotions… now, were different. They were not blank, or stoic, or devoid of emotions. On the contrary, they were filled with a particular emotion. An emotion that Mordred was not expecting to see. Not like this, and not in the eyes of the King of Knights.
Rage.
The same rage from before. The same anger Artoria had shown when she had challenged Mordred on this duel. The exact same one. And now, it was back, and it was as painful and hard to watch as before.
'...why?' Mordred breathed inside her mind, lost. 'Why are you looking at me like that?'
But she did not manage to ask that question aloud. She did not have the streght, nor the will, to do that. The only thing she managed to whisper was a quiet:
"What did you say...?"
Artoria did not react to her shocked expression. And as she gazed upon the enraged face of the King, Mordred realized the truth. A truth that she had never taken into consideration until now, and which consequently left her baffled for some time.
The moment she pulled that sword from the stone, the girl Artoria had vanished, and the King Arthur had taken her place. She had suppressed everything flawed, everything human, so that she could be the ideal King and make the right choices for her country; the kinds of choices which would mortify a good person but which a King could not afford to hesitate on. She had suppressed everything for the sake of Britain, to become its singularly devoted steward and defender.
But that did not mean she felt nothing.
"Did you hope you were the child of ignorance, and spurned passion?" Artoria asked, outraged. Then she stepped forward and demanded. "How do you imagine your Mother conceived you? Answer me, Mordred!"
But she couldn't. She couldn't answer. She wasn't able to answer. Because despite the shock, she had always known. Mordred had always known the truth, deep inside her heart. Even though she had never dared to admit it, she knew the truth. And the truth was that she was an unwanted child. A bastard. A mistake. Or even worse: a tool. A means to an end. The fruit of a disgusting scheme of which she was only the final result. She knew that. She knew her father had never wanted her. She had always known that, deep inside.
She was an unwanted child. A mistake.
However, even if she knew this, even if she had expected this... hearing those words from her father's lips was... hard. It was a hard blow to take.
And it hurt just as much.
"I never wanted you, Mordred," Artoria repeated, cold and unmerciful. Her emerald eyes were boring holes into the younger Knight, filled with resentment and anger. Each word felt like a stab inside the girl's heart. "I never wanted an heir. I didn't even wish for it at that time. Your birth was something that was imposed on me. I did not have a choice!" she stressed, outraged.
Mordred felt her limbs go numb. Her mind became blurry out of the blue. A painful pressure began to build behind her eyes. She tried to speak. She tried to say something, anything, to reply to her father's accusations... but the words simply wouldn't leave her lips. She was rendered speechless. For the first time ever since London, she had been rendered speechless.
She felt like her whole life had been for nothing.
But Artoria did not seem to notice her turmoil. And even if she did, she did not stop her rambling. "And yet, I accepted you among my ranks when you came to me, and you destroyed everything I had worked for," she accused again, solemn and enraged. Her face and voice were a stark contrast to the King's usual aura of detatched impassiveness. "Everything we had struggled for! As soon as things didn't go your way, you chose to rebel and destroy, only caring about what you wanted. Everything always had to be about you. You were heedless of everything and everyone. You betrayed your oath and dishonored the Round Table and your King, just because you were too petulant to understand the nobility of duty and sacrifice!"
It was true.
"Nevermind what your fellow Knights felt as they watched you turn on your King and tear Camelot apart. Nevermind what your siblings felt as they watched you belittle everything they had loved and strived for," Artoria said, her anger building like a crescendo. "It's always about you, Mordred. You want everything to go just how you like it, never caring about what others want. That's not a behavior befitting a King."
It was true.
Mordred felt it in her body. In her bones. In her soul.
Every word her father – no, King Arthur – was saying was true. It was the truth. The pure, simple, hard truth. She knew it, deep down. She had always known it, inside her heart. As soon as her father had rejected and disowned her, she had been blinded by rage. She had been overwhelmed by outrage and thirst for vengeance. She had chosen to destroy, heedless of the past. Regardless of the position of the others. Careless of everything. And she had no way to deny it. She had no arguments to justify her terrible actions. It was true to the core.
Artoria stared down at her, cold and unmerciful as a judge. "And yet, in spite of all of this, you still pretend the Throne," she sneered. Her lips were curled into a scowl. "You act as if it is only me the one who has made mistakes. What gives you the right, Mordred? What makes you think you're better than me? You caused all of this! You're just as guilty as I am!"
It was all true.
The Knight of Treachery felt her whole body tremble in shame. Once again, hot, angry tears welled in the corner of her eyes. They didn't seem to stop even when she took a shaky breath to steady herself. She could literally feelIskandar's and Shirou's sad eyes gaze upon her back, but for the first time... their presence and silent support didn't seem to help at all.
And the King of Knights glared down at her with a cold, mighty fury; her eyes and voice as sharp as a blade.
"You are nothing but a petulant child throwing a tantrum," Artoria declared, her voice filled with disdain. "Grow up, Mordred."
The silence around them was deafening.
Mordred tried to react, but she soon realized that she didn't have the strenght, the will, to react.
However, her father didn't give her time to think. She didn't give her time to recollect her crumbling mind. In less than two seconds, she closed the distance between the two of them again, longswords colliding in a shower of sparks and blinding flashes of gold and crimson.
"And still I have never hated you, Mordred!" Artoria repeated, hammering her sword against her son's. "But I have known you."
Mordred gritted her teeth, swallowing the lump in her throat. She choked back her instinct to cry, forcing her mind to quell every form of thoughts and emotions. She crushed every form of shame and sadness within her bosom, trying to remain strong. The duel was not over yet, and she refused to show weakness. Not like this, not right now. And especially not in front of him, of all people.
Fury, rage and betrayal returned to cling to her aching heart. "You have never known me!" Mordred spat in response. "You never acknowledged me even as a Knight!"
Instinct answered instinct. The King of Knights bore down on the Knight of Rebellion in a frenzy not even the Battle of Camlann had pushed her to. One borne of a lifetime of solitude and suffering, and now extended even beyond death, through this fruitless Holy Grail War where she was only a killing instrument. A future where all of humanity was on the risk of being destroyed. Where her failures, her sister and her son still haunted her.
"I acknowledged you the moment you stepped foot in my court!" Artoria hissed. "I showed you every kindness I could in taking you in!"
"Kindness!?" Mordred bellowed, and slid her blade around Excalibur to hit Artoria's temple with Clarent's pommel. "You showed me nothing! You never once even looked at me! You rejected my very existence!"
"And I apologized for that!" the woman stated, recovering from the pain. A trickle of blood trickled from her temple down her right cheek, staining her golden hair as well. She regained her balace, moving again to exchange blows with the younger girl. "I know I made mistakes! What else do you want me to do? What am I supposed to do when you keep dismissing my attempts? When you refuse to accept my apologies?"
Excalibur hit Mordred on the forearm. The armor bruised upon contact, making her hiss in pain.
"I don't care about your words!" she screamed with rage. "Your pathetic excuses won't erase the past!"
Clarent parried a lunge from the left. A growl escaped the King's lips as she ducked under a slash.
"I tried my best!" Artoria roared. "I did what was necessary!"
Mordred assaulted her father with a furious charge. "You ruined my life!"
Artoria defended herself with visceral desperation. "Let me make up for that!"
The evil Son gritted her teeth as her father's sword cut her right leg.
"You don't deserve to be redeemed!"
The emotionless Father winced as her son's blade cut her cheek slightly.
"Neither do you!"
"Shut up!" Mordred roared. Her lips curled back behind the helmet, like a lion baring its fangs. "I don't need you anymore! I just want you to leave me alone!"
"Why are you so stubborn?" Artoria stepped back, then reengaged. "Have you forgotten everything of Chivalry?"
Raw fury momentarily crossed the girl's features. "I won't fall for your tricks anymore! I will never forgive you!"
"You are a selfish child!"
"You are an emotionless monster!"
On and on it went. On and on Shirou and the others watched as father and son kept fighting and yelling and clashing with each other. It was a gruesome sight, truly. A view that none of the Servants and none of the humans were enjoying. Quite the contrary, in fact. It was sad, and depressing, and demeaning. That was not something they would forget easily, none of them.
Because no father and son should ever fight so fiercely, after all. No father and son should ever have fought so horribly with each other.
Bedivere and Gawain looked downright panicked and ready to intervene by now, and it was only thanks to Iskandar who kept guarding them with a stern eye that they decided not to rush into the battle and put an end to that scene. Lord El-Melloi II and Olga Marie were as worried as they could be, looking quite uncomfortable about that whole situation; just like Arjuna, Romulus and Nero. Only Caren Hortensia was looking at the fight with rapt interest, looking both bored and intrigued by the angry exclamations of the two duelists.
From his part, instead, Shirou remained stoic and collected on the outside. But on the inside, he was quite worried as well. Worried not just for Mordred, but also for Artoria. He cared for the kid a lot, of course, but he was also friends with her father. He didn't want to see them suffer more than they already were. And with each of their shouting, with each resounding of their insults and angry words, Shirou continued to observe. And the more he observed, the more he realized the truth.
And the truth behind that scene was one and one only.
That is: Mordred and Artoria were irreconcilable. Incompatible. Discordant. Diametrically opposed. They always had been, ever since the beginning. And that was the reason behind their clash and downfall.
Because Mordred was just a kid. A child. A selfish, stubborn child filled with hatred, and anger, and fury. A child unable to contain her emotions, unable to cope with her issues and problems. Unable to cope with her mistakes and sins – pretty much like him, in a sense – and who only ever wanted to be loved. She was a child who had been broken because of love. An unconditional love for her father, which had never been reciprocated. That was what had broken her. That was what had destroyed her dreams and her innocence, replacing them with the ferocity and cruelty she was showing now.
And Artoria… Artoria was the exact opposite of that. A woman who had given up everything. Her identity, her gender and her happiness. A woman who had denied everything flawed, even her own emotions, for the good of the people. For the good of the kingdom. A King who chose to throw away and trample every emotion, every desire, every flaw. An impenetrable mask where humanity, emotions and weakness could not exist. An idol, basically, in all respects. A life completely sacrificed for the good of the people so they could live instead.
Mordred was the emblem of Rebellion. The representation of selfishness. The human attachment to something selfish, and egoistic, and stubborn.
Artoria, on the other hand, was the simble of Sacrifice. A total, complete, unconditional sacrifice. A complete and total renunciation of the concept of identity and personal fulfillment for the sake of others. The polar opposite of selfishness and stubborness that her prodigal son represented.
Two opposites. Two concepts extremely different. Opposite representations of two antithetical and irreconcilable concepts.
And as a result: they did not understand each other. They will not understand each other. They could not understand each other, because they were two contrasting and divergent opposites. Totally unable to reconcile.
Yes, they were irreconcilable. Completely irreconcilable. They always had been.
Peace was not an option between the two of them. It had never been an option.
That, was their fate. That, was their truth.
An emotionless King and his prodigal Son. Both unable to understand each other. Both destined to suffer until the end of time. Both destined to destroy each other.
Both victims of a Fate they had never asked.
Shirou clenched his fists, watching the fight with concerned eyes and a sinking feeling inside his stomach.
And still, the clash continued again. Mordred and Artoria continued to fight, desperate to prevail on the other, without allowing themselves to falter or pause. They didn't even give the other a moment of respite. They kept exchanging blows, relentlessly; in spite of their surroundings, their internal suffering, and even their own feelings. They just kept going on and on, withouth a stop, until their duel became a battle no longer. Just a struggle, raw and brutal and feral; where anger, pain and betrayal were the only constants. Where there were no winners, but only losers.
But they didn't seem to care at all.
Father and Son charged at each other, roaring their battle cries.
Their lives were incompatible.
There could be no coexistence.
Peace was not an option.
Clarent coursed with red lightning, reacting to its wielder's heightened and turbulent state. It thrummed with Mordred's anger and despair, and it raged against Excalibur. Mordred fought like a Berserker, showing the raw ability that had bested Gawain under the light of dawn, and she loosed untamed, volatile strikes against her father.
She swung with unimaginable strength with one hand, throwing punches with the other, forcing Artoria to answer in the same manner. She blocked Clarent with a gauntlet, parried Mordred's fist with the blade of Excalibur. On instinct she twisted past an overreaching blow and raised Excalibur to deliver a reprimand of steel... until Mordred's helmed visage slammed into her nose. Then, just like the old times, Clarent mercilessly smashed against her fingers, sending the Holy Sword of Promised Victory scattering away just as it had on that day of tragedy.
On that day, Fate had been written.
King Arthur was legendary for a great many things. She was strong, wise, and feared. A perfect leader, an impartial King, and a powerful warrior. Even as a Servant, she was almost unrivaled. One of the best. The greatest Saber, perhaps. She could rival any Servant, and best nearly most of them. And yet, even as she had hoped it would be otherwise, no matter how hard she fought, there was one thing it seemed she could not overcome: the legend of the hand that slew her.
Mordred and Arthur were destined to kill each other. They were destined to destroy each other. It was something that could not be avoided, could not be denied, even in the eyes of the World. Their legend, their past, their end… it was engraved within them. Etched too deeply into their bodies, into their story, into their souls. It was an inherent and inevitable consequence, reinforced by widespread recognition. And because of that, no matter how powerful she was, no matter how strong and famous she had become, Artoria realized soon enough that she had no chance of winning this battle.
Because against her, Mordred was not an enemy like many others. Against her, the Knight of Treachery seemed faster, stronger, tougher. She was the embodiment of her inevitable failure, the manifestation of her incoming end. The living result of her countless failures. Therefore, no matter how powerful or skilled she was, and no matter what she tried and said, Artoria was not able to best her. She could never be able to best her completely. Because Mordred had been designed and created for this very same purpose. She had been designed to reach her father and, eventually, destroy him. That was her role, her purpose, her core. There was no escape. There was no way to stop this outcome.
The legend of their mutual destruction, manifested in a rather one-sided fashion.
And so, as soon as she lost her sword, Artoria knew that her end was coming.
Disarmed, the King of Knights widened her eyes, and a mighty punch landed on the right side of her face. She fell to the ground, her vision blinded by pain and shock.
With a movement that was almost mechanical, Mordred picked up Excalibur from the ground, keeping it out of her father's reach. She knew it was a useless effort. She knew she would not – could not – use that sword. But she wouldn't take any chance. There was no way she could give her father a chance to grab it back and fight again. This was her moment. Her victory. Without the Sword, her father was powerless against her.
And this time, with no accursed Lance to stab her out of the blue, Mordred would finally have her revenge.
And yet...
Mordred stepped forward, panting and sweating, leveling Clarent at her father's neck. She stared down at her disarmed figure, eyes wide and stunned, her breaths coming out unevenly behind the helmet. The sword trembled within her grip.
And yet...
Artoria squirmed and bared her teeth, waiting for the blow to fall. "Finish it, then, if you must," she said with her cold, emotionless tone. "Go on. Keep your promise. Rip my heart from my chest–"
Something cracked within Mordred. Something snapped insider her mind.
Until, she couldn't hold it any longer.
"I loved you!"
Mordred's scream shook both heaven and earth.
The world stopped once again. Time itself seemed to pause and ponder.
Silence descended upon the battered and broken clearing.
And Artoria stared with wide eyes.
As the Knight of Treachery broke and revealed the deepest truth hidden inside her, her voice hoarse behind the emotionless helmet. Clarent shook in her hand, the point wavering before Artoria's eyes. Her grip tightened gradually around the hilt, then slackened suddenly, the muscles of her fingers convulsing as if fighting themselves. Excalibur shook and trembled in her other hand.
"I loved you…" Mordred repeated, much, much quieter. So quiet, in fact, that it was difficult to hear how broken her voice sounded. Something wet dripped on the ground, falling from her eyes. "Everything I did, I did to make you proud. To make you notice me. I-I just wanted to be close to you. All that weight, all that sacrifice... you didn't have to bear it alone. I wanted to help you."
For once, the King remained completely stunned, watching her son with mouth agape while her breaths became more and more frantic as she continued her rambling.
"But you never once talked to me. You wouldn't even look at me! The only thing I've ever gotten from you is this sword… and I had to steal it!"
With a wounded cry, Mordred tossed Clarent aside, and then kicked it to the left side of Artoria. The Royal Sword clattered on the ground, and Mordred shuddered as if in death throes, staring at her father's golden blade which now remained alone in her trembling hands, its tip still touching the ground. The blade was shaking completely in her graps, as if it were too heavy for her to wield.
"I never wanted the Throne!" the girl screamed, voice hoarse and broken by sobs and pain. "I didn't even care for it! All I wanted was you! I wanted to be loved by you! You were my role model! My idol! My goal!"
Artoria looked at her, stared, fists balled against the hard, dirty ground and eyes as wide as they could be. All around her, silence and tension echoed completely; and not even the sound of birds, of wind, of the world seemed to exist at that moment. The others were watching the scene, staring, but she didn't care. She didn't even notice. For once in her tortured life she didn't care at all of what her Knights, her allies and the others would think. She just kept staring at her son's broken figure, her mind blank and unable to form coherent thoughts, completely shaken and baffled by what she was witnessing.
Mordred didn't seem to care either. Her hands gripped Excalibur's hilt, her whole body shaking as if she was suffering from a horrible fever.
"Do you know what it feels like?" the girl's voice continued to say between shaky sobs and breaths. "Being told you're the son of the hero you've admired your entire life, the hero everyone's admired, only for said hero to spit in your face and reject you? To tell you that you're a stupid child and not worth his damn time and attention? Do you have any idea, Arthur?"
…No, she did not. But Mordred's pain, her regret, her guilt... those the King of Knights knew extremely well. They were all too familiar to her. And when she learned this, when she heard the exact same pain and regrets that plagued her echoing in her son's voice, Artoria realized something. Something that she had always known, perhaps, deep inside her. Something that had always been hidden; buried inside the very same heart that she had thought to have cast away. The same heart she thought she threw away a long, long time ago.
It hurt.
It hurt so much. So, so much that it was almost unbearable. And Artoria had no way to deny it anymore.
Her heart clenched painfully inside her chest.
Still, the woman said nothing, did nothing, unable to speak. She tried to say something, anything, but no words managed to leave her lips. It felt like her mouth was made of lead, her tongue numb to response. It was just like all the other times, all their previous discussions. The cold and proud King Arthur, ruler of Britain and King of Knights, rendered speechless by his rebel child. Utterly unable to answer and speak in front of the girl who looked so much like her. The child she'd had without a choice. The one who killed her. The one who brought down her kingdom. The girl who was her own flesh and blood, and who never really had a choice about it. Just like her. Exactly like her.
They were both victims of a cruel and twisted fate. Utterly unble to break this curse.
Mordred continued to cry, her body still shaking and trembling. "And now, now you're here again... and you pretend to walk back into my life as if n-nothing has happened," she sniffled through shaky breaths, weighting the Sword of Promised Victory in her hands. The golden blade was trembling in her grip, shaking furiously with continuous vehemence. It was struggling, fighting; refusing to be held and used by someone who had not been chosen by it.
Immediately, a soaring pain cursed through Mordred's hands and arms, making the girl hiss and flinch in agony. A pain that was scorching, overwhelming, shattering. And yet, despite the pain, she did not release the struggling Sword. She did not yield under its outraged protests. She knew it was a useless attempt. She knew she couldn't wield that Sword. Excalibur did not belong to her, it would never belong to her. It belonged to King Arthur alone, and therefore it would never answer to another Servant― especially not to a monster like Mordred. And yet... she just couldn't help it. It just felt right in that moment.
She steeled her resolve, dismissing the pain in her arms and hands. And so, the horned helmet of the Knight of Rebellion turned towards Artoria, staring at her for a long, eternal second. Tears kept dripping from the holes and cracks on its frame.
"I won't let you ruin me this time," she spoke with a cold, broken voice. "You already broke me once when you rejected me. I can't let you do that again. I won't let you steal my friends. You cannot destroy my happiness a second time."
Her father's lips opened and closed, struggling to find the words. But there were no words to find. There was nothing she could say.
Then, the Knight of Treachery did something unexpected.
Artoria widened her eyes and held her breath in shock…
…as Mordred raised the Holy Sword with trembling arms, struggling to wield it against its will.
Her broken and pained voice echoed with haunting pain.
"You will not steal my second chance."
Then, her arms fell, and so did the the golden blade.
And the King of Knights closed her eyes, awaiting her incoming end.
Blood sprayed the grass and dirt.
But death never came.
...
Artoria opened her eyes, only to widen them in stunned, panicked shock.
Mordred looked as shocked as her, her entire frame shaking completely.
While Shirou Emiya grunted and flinched, eyes narrowed in pain and teeth gritted in a growl.
He was blocking Excalibur with his left forearm, a shattered sword crumbling in his right hand and his face twisted into a grimance of pain, shock and regret. The golden sword had completely destroyed his Projected blade, shattering his guard and advancing with disarming ease. The Ruler had had no choice but to parry the slash with his other arm, barely managing to block the blow before he could be hit on the chest. And now, much to Artoria's and Mordred's chargrin and shock, the blade was stuck into his left forearm, cutting deeply through flesh and sinew and bones.
But all they could see was blood. Hot, crimson blood pouring profusely from the wound, pouring rivers to the ground and drenching the air with its metallic stench. So, so much blood that it was almost shocking to see.
Mordred and Artoria screamed as one. "Ruler/Shirou!"
The man hissed in pain, his cheeks wet with tears. In a frantic, almost jerk-like motion, he tore Excalibur away from his forearm with wide eyes and teeth bared into a snarl. The blade glowed and shuddered as he stumbled back, covered in blood, detaching itself from the flesh with a sickening squelch. As soon as it was released, Artoria's sword shook and trembled in the air – it shook and howled and shuddered, almost as if it had a life of its own – glowing with a blinding light that invested everything for a single split-second. Then, when the light dissolved, the Holy Sword finally clattered on the ground with a metallic lament similar to a howl of pain, dissolving itself into nothingness and returning to Artoria's side.
Once again, silence returned to reign.
Shirou fell to his knees, clenching a hand around the wound. His eyes were filled with tears, his face a mixture of pain, regret, and overwhelming sadness.
Mordred and Artoria did not understand. With eyes wide and filled with panic, they rose from the ground and moved towards the wounded man while everyone else did the same and rushed to him.
"Shirou!" Artoria exclaimed, kneeling and checking on him with obvious concern in her face. "Are you ok? Shirou!"
The red-haired Ruler grunted, swallowing a howl of pain with a hiss as he forced himself to keep one hand over the wound to stop the bleeding. His face was entirely contracted into a grimace of pain, his body trembling and sweating profusely, as if the pain was too much for him to bear. "D-Don't worry," he muttered in the end, opening one eye and offering them a dark, pained grin. "I... I'm fine. I've suffered worse. T-This is nothing."
He was lying. Mordred and Artoria could clearly see it. He was lying, badly. The amount of pain and suffering on his face and eyes were too obvious to miss. The tears, the sweating, the bared teeth… it was all too obvious. Shirou was not fine. This was not nothing. He was clearly suffering way more than what his words implied. It was almost as if he was suffering not only physically, but also internally. And this… knowing this worried both father and son immensely. This was what they were struggling to understand. Because it made no sense. It made no sense whatsoever. It was almost too illogical to believe.
Yes, the cut had been direct and the wound on his forearm pretty deep – it had shattered and cut even the bones – but still... such a wound shouldn't be a big deal for a Servant. It shouldn't cause so much pain or suffering to a strong warrior like him. Especially not to him. Such a simple wound was nothing compared to what Servants were able to withstand and dismiss, even during a battle. So, it was weird. It was strange, odd, eldrich. It made no sense.
How was it possible, then? How did it happen? How could Shirou – Shirou, of all people – be injured that badly by Excalibur? How did he get hurt so much by a single slash? How could such a weak slash destroy a newly projected weapon and get past his guard? The guard of a Ruler-class Servant, moreover? The most powerful warrior of them all? The one who was supposed to be able to best and defeat every one of them with little to no effort?
It just… it was weird. It was impossible to believe. There was something suspicious about this. Extremely suspicious. Mordred, Artoria, and even the others who had rushed to their side noticed it immediately. There was simply no way they could miss something like this.
But unfortunately for them all, however, now it was not the time for such matters.
"Praetor!"
The red-haired Ruler flinched when he saw Nero, Lord El-Melloi II and the others rush to him and the girls, concern and shock clearly present in their eyes. He immediately regretted his impulsiveness as soon as he realized what he had done. Curse his own foolishness.
Iskandar let out a sigh, grabbing the fellow red-head by the arm and helping him to his feet. "By the gods, this is not what I had in mind," the gigantic Rider stressed with a frown, fixing Shirou with a stern eye. "We were supposed to move together, boy. Why did you rush on your own so suddenly? Good grief, you're just as reckless as Saber," he scolded him with a shake of the head, exasperated, while Olga Marie and Caren moved next to him to examine the wound on the Ruler's arm.
Shirou chuckled and flinched, using every fiber of his strength to hold back the pain he was feeling both on the inside and the outside. "I guess you're right, Rider," he reproachfully admitted to himself, his voice dripping with self-mockery. "I just… before I knew it, my body moved on its own. I couldn't stand what I was watching. I guess I paid the price for my foolishness. My apologies."
Olga Marie scoffed. "Indeed. You were extremely foolish," she agreed in full, clearly dipleased with what she had just witnessed. The entire group, for once, shared her opinin on this. Even Nero, Arjuna and Romulus looked downright worried and confused by now. The only ones who seemed more concerned about Artoria were Bedivere and Gawain, but even those two kept glancing at the God with confusion from time to time.
Mordred stomped to her companion, her whole body shaking. Whether it was because of anger, pain, or worry; the others had no way of knowing yet. "Y-You... You!" she hissed into Shirou's face, grabbing the taller man by his white cloak in a fit of pained rage. Her voice sounded both enraged and worried as she yelled at him. "Why did you― What were you...?"
"Kid, calm down," he tried to reassure her.
"Shut up!" she screamed. And when she did, she sounded so hurt, so worried, and so angry that Shirou couldn't help but wince and stare at her in silent stupor. "I-I hurt you! I almost c-chopped your hand off! Why? What is wrong with you? Why did you do that? Why did you interfere with the duel? I thought you would understand! I thought that you, of all people, would not interfere! So why? Why!?" she frantically hissed, growing more and more panicked with each word.
The man swallowed, glancing at the throbbing wound with a pained expression. It was as clear as day that he was feeling quite remorseful for his behavior and actions. However, after an initial moment of uncertainty, his hesitation vanished completely in a flash.
Mordred widened her eyes when she saw an infinite determination shine inside his amber orbs.
"I'm sorry, kid," he apologized sincerely, for once looking at her in all seriousness. "But I couldn't just stand by and do nothing. You are my friend. I care about you. There was no way I could watch you make a mistake that you would have regretted for the rest of your days without doing anything. I... I just couldn't allow it. I can't stand to see you suffer, Mordred. You know I can't."
The Knight of Treachery flinched. She physically flinched after his words. For the third time in the same morning, she felt a lump forming inexplicably in her throat. Her previous rage and her fury were completely dissolved in the face of the honest affection that Shirou was showing to her. Because she knew that he was right. She knew that she had almost made a gigantic mistake during the battle. Mordred hadn't really wanted to kill Artoria. She didn't really want to kill her father. And yet, a couple of minutes ago, she almost did. She had almost succumbed to that horrible temptation. And if it hadn't been for Ruler, she would have seriously done it. She would have seriously committed the gravest crime a Knight – no, the gravest crime a son – could ever commit against his King, and his parent. She really would have killed her father.
She knew that wasn't what she wanted. She knew Camlann had been pointless. And yet… and yet…
Once again, she had been blinded by rage and fury. Once again, she had acted like the selfish, untamed brat she was. She had proved to be a hot-head and a rebellous kid, unable to restrain herself under the awareness of being a mistake. A tool. An unwanted child.
And it was only thanks to her friend that now the worst had been avoided.
Mordred swallowed the growing gratitude inside her and shook her head, her whole body trembling slightly. Her grip on the Ruler's cloak grew weaker. Something wet and hot dripped on his chest.
Until, she ceased to struggle with her rage and finally allowed herself to be honest.
"…thanks, hard-ass," she whispered with a shaky voice. Despite the questionable choice of words, her tone was low – extremely low – compared to her usual behavior, and filled with sincere and honest appreciation. The girl even lowered her horned helmet on Shirou's chest in a gesture of affection and gratitude soon after saying that, almost nuzzling on him without realizing it.
Artoria, the Knights and all the others gaped in stunned shock at the scene, staring at the evil Knight as if she had grown a second head out of the blue. Sheer silence fell on the clearing in the woods for several seconds. Even Shirou looked baffled right now, but his face soon settled on a relieved smile after a few seconds, sharing a silent nod with Iskandar as he put his good arm around the girl. The King of Conquerors was looking quite pleased with that outcome as well, despite his friend's injury. His raised brows and face-splitting grin were too obvious to dismiss, after all.
Caren Hortensia snorted with an annoyed frown. "Ugh… what a sickening sight. I think I'm going to puke," she spat, turning away with a sick face and stepping towards Romulus and Nero (much to the latter's horror).
No one paid attention to her antics. And no one spoke for quite some time. Until, after a while, the Knight of Treachery released her grip on the man and raised her helm once more. Her armored hand moved to gently touch Shirou's wound, clearly displeased with the way the blood kept pouring out of it. The God of War flinched a little at the touch, but he did not move to stop her.
"But you had no right to interfere," the girl spoke again after a while, her voice still soft but filled with decision. "It was my fight."
Despite the pain, Shirou's eyes softened. "This is all our fight," he said, looking around at their little motley group. "But Mordred… no matter what, the one to slay a King should not be the heir. Don't you agree?"
Mordred made a face under her hemlet, obviously displeased with the way he chose such a time to pay her such a nicety. But the Ruler pulled away from her grasp, and Mordred didn't try to stop him. He let out a sigh, dismissing his tumulted feelings and focusing his gaze on Mordred and Artoria.
"I… I know that I have no right to say this... but after everything that's happened, I think it's necessary to make it clear," he began to say, speaking for both father and son. The King of Knights and the Knight of Treachery were staring at him intently. Next to them, Gawain and Bedivere watched the scene with rapt interest as well.
The God of War ignored the pain coursing through his arm and body, his eyes solely focused on the two duelists. "I'm sure I've already said this to both of you before, but I'll repeat it again: this whole feud needs to end," he said. There was no accusation in his tone, no anger or irritation inside his words. Just pain. And yet, Artoria and Mordred tensed visibly, as if they had been slapped by his words. "We can't let our group be fractured because of you two. I know that both of you know this. I know that both of you are better than this."
Father and son clenched their fists, lowering their heards. Artoria looked blank and uncertain, and Mordred kept her face her hidden behind her horned helmet.
Shirou Emiya stared at them with a gaze filled with compassion. He took a deep breath.
'I know I'm in no position to say this, but here goes nothing.'
He steeled his mind. And then, trying to be as discreet as possible, he began to say the words that he had always wanted to say in front of them.
"Please. Just… just try to get over your past. Try to sort things out. I know that both of you have your own issues, your own faults, your own regrets… but in the end, all of that is in the past. You're not in Camelot anymore. It doesn't matter who is right. It doesn't matter who is wrong. The only thing that matters is that you two are suffering right now. And this can't go on any further," he said to them, his eyes softening as he saw Artoria and Mordred lower their head further in shame at his words. Even Bedivere and Gawain wore a sad grimance on their face.
Shirou smiled a sad smile as he spoke his last words of encouragement to them.
"Both of you: try to think about what it is you really want."
Then, he shut his lips, and spoke no longer. He took a few steps back, hand clasped over his bleeding wound, and watched. Iskandar nodded and did the same; followed by the others, stepping back once again and watching them with serious eyes and arm crossed.
Sheer silence descended upon them all again.
Whatever happened now, it would have been entirely up to the two of them.
And so, silence stretched for an eternity of tense anxiety.
Until...
"Mordred."
The female Knight startled. Slowly, fearfully, she turned to stare at the older woman placed a few feet next to her. Her father was not looking at her, her emerald eyes glued to the ground as she tried – and failed – to form a coherent sentence. The young homunculus didn't rush her.
"You… you said you loved me," she managed to say at last, after a long while of failed attempts. "T-Then, do you..." she paused. Pondered something. Clenched her fists. Banished her doubts. Inhaled. Tried again. "Do you... still... d-do you...?"
Artoria fell into a tense silence. She didn't finish the sentence, but there was no need. Mordred knew what she was asking. She wasn't stupid, despite what many believed.
But still, she took her sweet time answering.
"I don't know," she admitted in the end, her eyes glancing between Artoria, Shirou and Iskandar. "I... I-I don't think I... need you anymore, Arthur."
Even behind that menacing helmet, the stare from her own son drilled into Artoria's back, hot lances twisting and churning themselves towards her heart. The King of Knights shuddered slightly under that pressure.
"…I see," she whispered.
Mordred hesitated at her wounded tone. Then, all of a sudden, she turned towards her, staring again. What she was about to say, however, was interrupted by Bedivere's and Gawain's odd stare. She did not speak, opting to watch in silence instead. Her green orbs, exactly the same as Artoria's own, searched her father's face for something. Artoria could not be sure, but at least it didn't appear to be covered in hostility. Until, she finally found the strenght to talk again.
"It's odd..." Mordred murmured.
Artoria watched in silence. "What is?" she softly replied.
The Knight of Treachery pondered in silence for a long, long time. "I've spent so much time yearning for your love and recognition, and yet... now, I hate you just as much." She cocked her head to the side, asking with a strangely innocent voice. "Is it strange?"
The words were as sharp as swords, piercing a heart as easily as spears. The pain was there, but blunted by her kingly mask, perhaps to a good effect. Artoria felt her fist clench in order to remain calm. Despite her blank face, the pain in her heart was unmistakenly true. She did not know if she could bear it without her cursed mask. And, quite frankly, she didn't even want to try. She feared the consequences of such a–
She paused. Shirou's words echoed inside her mind.
"You need to allow yourself to be human. You need to learn again how it is like to feel and connect with others. Grieve, accept what has transpired, and be more human in the proper balance."
Artoria turned to the right, looking at Shirou. He was staring at her, without saying a single word. Her eyes wavered under his gaze. She did not know why he was so concerned for her well-being, but the way he looked at her… he knew. Somehow, he knew. Her choices, her pain and her wish, all of them. He knew, as if they were his own. Worse, surrounded by the faces of her own Knights, by the stares of the other Servants… she was starting to listen. She was starting to crack. She was starting to hope.
And so, once again, with refound courage, Artoria looked at Mordred, at her son, fists balled on her sides, and she tried her best to follow the advice.
She smiled a sad smile. "No," the King said. "No, I don't think so. After all I've done to you... I think it's fair for you to hate me. I deserve it, Mordred."
The younger girl startled, snapping her horned helmet towards her. She looked baffled, stunned; as if she'd never expected to hear those words from Artoria. From the King who had always been cold, and proud, and detatched for all her life. She couldn't believe what she was hearing, quite literally, and she could do nothing but stare as Artoria kept talking like this to her for the first time since... for the first time ever, actually.
"In trying to avoid fate, I caused it," Artoria murmured. She turned fully towards her son, gazing upon her armored frame with a sad face. "It's my fault. Your pain. Gawain's. Bedivere's. The fall of Camelot. All of it. I don't deserve your devotion. I was not a good enough King, not a good enough–" she faltered, and could not bring herself to say parent. She was still unprepared to truly acknowledge the connection. "...anything. As you know, my one wish was for it to have been someone else who drew the sword from stone."
Mordred stared, long and hard, her mind completely blown. She did not understand. She had heard her father apologize to her several times before. But… why was it different this time? Why were her words reaching her right now? Why was she feeling like she could understand her, when Arthur and Mordred had never been able to understand each other before? She didn't know. And it didn't matter.
Just because she didn't know, it didn't mean it wasn't happening.
"I know, Father." Mordred did not look at Artoria. She could not look at her. "But there is no one else. There is no greater King."
Artoria widened her eyes. She stared at the Knight for some time. "Doff your helm," she said, without knowing what came over her.
The Knight hesitated. Attentive and tense, as always. Her posture said that she wanted to run away. But that was not who she was. Therefore, after a few seconds of hesitation, the helm separated into fragments and folded back down neatly into Mordred's armor. Her face was flushed with adrenaline and emotion, streaked with sweat and tears. Her flaxen hair, cut and tossed messily but also carefully braided, was matted to her forehead. Her eyes were brilliant jade and flickered around, unable to look at her former King in the eyes. She was still unsure she was worthy to look at her, even.
Artoria paused. She swallowed. Then, much to her own confusion and shock, she smiled. Mordred looked like her. She already knew that, of course, and she had already seen her face before. Besides, she was her clone, her offspring, but... by the Gods, she looked like her. Had her own hair been that messy in those days as a young girl? Were her own brows so severe like her child's? Was her own nose so petite and cute? Her eyelashes were plainly Morgan's, though. They were too fair by far for the King's face.
But still, she looked like her. Younger, but almost near identical. Mordred looked like her. Because she was her clone. Her offspring. Her unwanted, bastard child.
Tears welled in the corner of the King's eyes. "If… things had been different," Artoria said. She stopped. Thought of Shirou. Of the words he had said to her at the lake. Of the dreams of a young farm girl with an odd tutor in white robes, before she even knew what the sword in the stone was. "I think… perhaps… I would have been proud to have a child like you."
Mordred blinked hard, gulped at nothing, and turned away again, her hair hiding her eyes. "Y-You really... don't hate me?" she asked.
Sometimes, she could sound so small.
Artoria shook her head, blinked her tears away. "No, I don't," she answered truthfully.
"…I just tried to kill you. Again," the other insisted.
She shook her head. "Perhaps I deserved it," she replied cooly, with much more certainty behind those words than what her Knights liked.
Mordred was speechless. "How can you say that?" she hissed, her voice more hoarse than angry.
The woman smiled. Good grief. She really was dense, wasn't she. Her eyes softened slightly as her smile disappeared. "I have accepted my past and my mistakes, thanks to a certain someone," she replied. Artoria did not miss the Ruler's hopeful smile at her words. Her son glanced back at her as she spoke. "I have never, not even once, thought ill of you or your birth. But… know that my acceptance of our fate doesn't mean that I lack remorse for what passed."
Mordred clenched her fist again as her eyes glued on the ground.
"I will not lie. Your rebellion costed Britain dearly and caused a great deal of suffering, Mordred. I did not, and still do not condone your rebellion; just as I remain firm in my belief that you were not ready for the throne at that time," Artoria continued, her voice stern but tinged with pain. "Regardless of that, however, I came to understand your motives with time. And now... I can say in all honesty that I do regret how our ties were severed. And I'm sorry for that."
"...me too."
She would never know. Artoria would never know how hard it had been for Mordred to admit those two simple words. Mordred was not good at apologizing. On the contrary, she was extremely hopeless when it came about her own feelings, her own dreams, and even her own issues. But still, she had done it. She had taken the first step towards redemption. She had managed to say what she wanted to say to her father for the first time ever. And that alone was something Mordred had never expected to do, not even in her wildest dreams. And now, it felt like a huge weight had suddenly been removed from her shoulders.
And as soon as she realized this fact, Mordred began to tremble. Tears began to drip from her eyes, even as her face remained morphed into a shocked, stunned expression. Then, immediately after, she started to cry in silence.
Artoria watched her, her mouth curved into a smile. With a deep breath, she stepped forward and outstretched one hand towards the Knight.
Mordred just stared at her, stunned and confused. She tried to say something, anything, but never managed to finish the process. After a moment, then, she finally reached for the King as well. Her hand outstretched towards Artoria hesitantly, plainly wanting to draw back, but the King clasped their gauntlets together. Mordred shook the hand once, then quickly turned away, but Artoria held fast.
The Knight of Rebellion looked back down at their hands, uncertain.
"You fought valiantly, Mordred," the King of Knights said. No, Artoria said. She was a King no longer. Today more than ever. "You won. The victory is yours."
Mordred stared at her, eyes wide and mouth agape.
Artoria smiled at her rebel child. "As promised, I will keep my end of the deal," she promised, honor and duty echoing strongly within her voice. "From now on, I will leave you alone, and never bother you again. And should you have other reque–"
"No!"
Artoria blinked at Mordred's sudden outburst. Her eyes widened considerably. The younger Knight had suddenly pulled her hand away, staring at her with eyes filled with despair, and fear, and pain, and so many things mixed together that for Artoria it was almost too painful to watch. Because she saw a lot of herself reflected in those green orbs. A lot of her own pain, her own regrets, and her own cries.
She could do nothing but stare as Mordred began to ramble and panic, looking as panicked and desperate as Artoria herself had looked at the end of her life, when she had been left alone above a hill of blood and corpses, with her own failures and regrets as her only companions.
"F-Father, please!" Mordred was pratically shaking in front of her, as if she was deathly ill. "Don't! I-I do not want that! I... I just... I was so angry and... I n-never really... we can't... w-why were you... I thought...!"
In that moment, just like during the previous duel, it happened again. Something snapped inside Artoria, and the woman broke her mask. She did not know what came over her. She didn't know why she did what she did next. She simply did it, without thinking, and without caring for the consequences. She didn't even realize what she was doing it. She just did it, as if it was the most natural thing in the world. As if it was the only thing to do for her in that moment.
She raised one armored hand, and gently placed it on Mordred's shoulder.
Her reaction was immediate. The Knight of Treachery abruptly stopped and blinked as soon as she felt the contact, staring at the woman in front of her with wide eyes flowing with tears.
Artoria smiled with a reassuring expression. "If you want... you're always welcome at my side, Mordred."
Father and Son stared at each other. And for the first time in their life, not in a hostile way.
Until, Artoria blinked and regained her composure, the full weight of her actions and words slamming heavily on her mind. She retracted away from the rebel child, and her cheeks became flushed as soon as she realized what she had done and said. Not even a second later, her mind blanked and her whole body began to feel light and dizzy.
"I-I should go now," she stammered suddenly, casting wild glances between Mordred, her Knights and Shirou. "I... I don't know what came over me. G-Goodbye, Mordred. You fought well," she said, making a hurried retreat. She needed distance. She was being foolish. Such things were unnecessary for a King and certainly unnecessary for a Servant who–
"F-Father," Mordred stammered from behind her. Artoria stopped this time, and listened. "I'm... no good at this crap either. But... well, Ruler said that... uh... I'm... sorry, Father. What I did, was..."
"Mordred."
The Knight of Treachery halted. Her eyes widened out of all proportions when she saw her father turning to her again with a smile.
Artoria gazed softly upon the girl's stunned face. Her son. Her daughter. The child she'd had without choice. The one who killed her. The one who brought down her kingdom. All that was the past. And perhaps Ruler was right. Although the divide between them was still great, perhaps it was better left in the past, returned there piece by piece through gradual effort, in service of some kind of future; a concept which Artoria was still trying to come to terms with.
But still, she smiled all the same. "We'll deal with your Mother together," she said, speaking with resolute conviction. Something warm flashed inside her emerald eyes, and for Mordred the whole world seemed to disappear under that gaze. "I promise."
Mordred said nothing. She wasn't able to react to those words. She simply stared, nodding dumbly with a dumbfounded face.
But then, despite her disbelief, her lips slowly parted into a small, hopeful smile.
And from the sidelines, Shirou, Iskandar, Bedivere, Gawain and everyone else who had witnessed the scene finally grinned with relief and cheers of joy.
Because now, at last, for the first time after two months, the feud between Arthur and Mordred had finally been halted. It had finally been overcame, even if just a little. It wasn't over yet, of course. There still were many things to discuss, and a lot of unfinished business to deal with for the two of them… but it was a start. It was a small, but important accomplishment, for both father and son. The first step towards their redemption and – perhaps – even a possible reconciliation, hopefully. That was a huge victory in Shirou's book.
Because Mordred and Artoria were finallystarting to be honest with each other, and with themselves.
And that was something none of them had dared to hope until now.
There was no way Shirou could deny the pride he was feeling at that moment. "Well done, kid," he said, moving towards Mordred and patting her shoulder with a nod and a smile. "I'm proud of you."
The blonde girl blushed and nodded, turning away from his gaze with a hasty movement. But the smile on her face was still too obvious to miss.
And so, for the first time in a long while, the tension dissolved completely from the group.
"My liege, are you ok?" Gawain asked, immediately moving to fret over his King.
Artoria just nodded, offering a smile to both him and Bedivere. "I am well, don't worry," she reassured, sighing with a fond expression at her Knights' antics. "Thank you, my friends, for caring for me every time. And I'm sorry to always make you worry."
"Nonsense. There's nothing to apologize for, your majesty. We're just glad that you're fine." Bedivere said with utmost loyalty. Then, he turned his head towards Mordred, offering her a nod of acknowledgment as well. "Both of you," he added with a smile.
The Knight of Treachery turned away, trying to hide her growing blush.
A boisterous laugh grabbed everyone's attention. Mordred turned to watch with flushed cheeks as Iskandar walked towards her and Shirou, offering a nod and a wide grin to the girl. "I must say, that was very interesting to witness, Saber," the muscular Rider laughed, exhaling a relieved sigh. He outstretched his arm, ruffling the young Saber's hair with one hand, much to her growing protests. "But I'm feeling quite disappointed, to be honest. I thought I was your favorite King! What, you're going to desert me now that you've finally started to talk with your father?" he asked with fake hurt, offering her a childish pout.
"W-What!? I never said that!" the girl exclaimed indignantly with eyes wide and frantic, trying to justify her actions. Then, upon seeing Rider's amused grin and Ruler's trembling shoulders, she began to fume in irritation and embarrassment as soon as she realized that he had only been teasing her with his words.
Artoria raised a royal brow. "Do not bother her too much, King of Conquerors. Mordred's choice on the matter is up to her alone," she said, trying – incredibly – to defend her rebel son from the other King's teasing for the first time.
The Macedonian Emperor smirked. "Hoh? Are you finally starting to be protective, King of Knights?" he teased with a sly grin.
The woman just shrugged. "Perhaps. Thanks to a certain someone," she shot a silent glace to Shirou, and the red-head scratched his cheek sheepishly under her amused stare. "I started to realize a lot of things during the last few days. And after everything me and my Knights have been through, I believe it's fair to allow ourselves a small measure of happiness. Don't you agree?" she asked back.
He snorted. "Heh. I consider that an unnecessary justification for being human, but at least you're acting more like a King to me now," Iskandar replied, for once nodding at her with approval.
"Alright, alright, that was nice and all, but can we please move on now?" Caren Hortensia interrupted them suddenly, massaging her temples with an irritated expression. "All this sweetness and kindness is making me sick."
For the first time in a long while, the group of humans and Servants shared a laugh.
When everyone finally began to relax, Shirou sighed in relief, staring with a fond gaze at Mordred while she kept arguing and bickering with Iskandar and the others. His eyes softened once more. He was glad, really glad, for that current development. The last few days and hours had been nothing but stressful for everyone, (and especially for him, given the whole mess with the theft, Tyr's stolen records, and even his own nightmares) so… he was really relieved to have finally witnessed to a small reconciliation between her young friend and Artoria. It was a small accomplishment, true, but still something worth of celebration. It was the very first good thing he had seen in a long while. The only concrete reassurance he had received among that situation filled with tension and anxiety about the future.
The God of War smiled, allowing a little sigh to escape his lips. Then, while everyone was distracted, he shot a glance to the wound on his forearm, and he immediately regretted his choice. The cut was deep and pulsing, his bones completely shattered, and the blood showed no signs of diminishing even now. As soon as it took notice of it, a flash of pain went through his arm and body once again, and he almost grunted under the soaring pain that threatened to blind his sight.
Yep, it was pretty bad.
Shirou felt like he deserved it.
It didn't take long for the others to notice his pain.
"Ruler… the wound is not healing," Lord El-Melloi II pointed out, looking at him with obvious concern. Mordred, Iskandar an the others all turned to him as well while the young Lord was visibly paling at the gruesome sight of the throbbing cut. "How is it possible?"
Indeed, it was quite strange. After all, Servants were supposed to heal from almost any type of injury as soon as their Mana began to regenerate after a small rest. Even Mordred and Artoria, who had been fighting until ten minutes prior and who still looked quite battered and weary, were looking much better than him now. All of their wounds had already disappeared or were almost completely healed by now. Shirou's injury, on the other had, hadn't changed at all, making everyone very, very nervous at that realization.
After all, as we know, the God of War was not a simple Servant.
Shirou just sighed inside his mind, even as he felt the wound throb once again with an ancient and nostalgic pain. The sudden contact with Excalibur had been painful – extremely painful, more than words could ever describe – and his body was still trying to recover from the previous shock that had almost overwhelmed him. Not to mention, of course, that he was feeling extremely disappointed in himself. To actually choose to put himself in danger against that blade – THAT blade, of all blades – in order to spare a painful future to a selfish kid and her misguided father… he had been a fool. Again. He had acted rashly. Again.
It seemed that, despite all the millennia and experiences of his life, he really was slipping with old age.
However, if he had to be honest with himself, despite his reckless move from before, he did not regret his previous decision. If the cost of saving Artoria and Mordred from a miserable path was to arouse the others' suspicons a second time, then he would gladly face it. It's not like they didn't suspect him already. He could live with their suspicion, he decided. He was already a liar, he was already a lost cause, and his friends were more important than his reputation. There was no need to show kindness to a monster like Tyr.
…Heh. Good grief. He really was the same, foolish boy of his youth. What a pathetic sight.
He cursed his own foolisheness. 'Damn it. I knew I wouldn't stand a chance against that Sword in my current condition. Not even a fully-reinforced blade could withstand a single slash from it. And yet, I just had to jump in and recklessly make a fool of myself once again. I should have been more careful.' He sighed, shaking his head in disappointment. 'Well, no matter. There's nothing I can do to about it now.'
Way to go, Shirou Emiya.
Artoria moved next to him, looking quite worried. "Shirou, are you ok? You wound is still…" she pointed out as well, staring at red-haired Ruler's arm which was still bleeding. As soon as he remembered that, almost on instinct, Shirou tried to move his arm and cover the wound from his friends' sight, only for a jolt of pain to course through his body at the sudden movement. Artoria was visibly saddened when she saw him wince in pain. "I'm deeply sorry, I should have–"
"Don't apologize, Artoria. There's no need," he cut her off, gently, raising his good arm with a smile. His face twitched a little for the pain that cursed through his body again, much to her growing concern and shame.
'How troublesome. As expected from Tyr's best weapon. Its effects are quite heavy on my current body. I knew I should have stayed away from it,'the God of War sighed inside his mind.
On the outside, instead, he donned another smile and tried to reassure the others. "Don't worry, really. This is nothing. The wound will heal in a few hours, and the bones will reform in a few days. I'll just need to be careful for a while, and everything will be good," he explained slowly, laughing nervously and trying to dismiss that argument as quickly as possible. The others watched him with silent concern, trying to make sense of his words.
Among them, Olga Marie stared long and hard. She narrowed her eyes.
Then, she stepped forward. "Here. Take this," she said to him all of a sudden, snapping her fingers.
Out of nowhere, in a wisp of smoke and prana, a small object covered in Magecraft appeared in the young girl's hand: a rectangular piece of red cloth, no larger than a meter, imbued with energy and invisible spells. The Director of the Atlas Institute solemnly stared at the God of War's questioning face, offering the piece of cloth to him with one hand.
Seeing his hesitation, the girl sighed under his confused gaze. "It's a Mystic Code," she explained in the end, closing her eyes haughtily. "This cloth is imbued with Healing Magic. If you wrap it around your arm, it'll make the wound heal faster. None of us here are versed in Healing Magecraft, so it's the best solution we have right now."
The red-haired Ruler blinked, taken aback by the girl's sudden gesture of kindness. Then, after a few moments, he smiled and bowed his head a little in a gesture of gratitude. "Thank you, Marie. I appreciate it," he said sincerely, offering her a smile.
The girl scoffed, then turned her head away as he wrapped the cloth around his wound. "Just be sure to give it back once you'll be healed," she said.
Caren Hortensia stared at the Mystic Code with a scrutinizing gaze. Her eyes narrowed. "That's not a simple Mystic Code, it's a Holy Shroud," she realized, rounding on Olga Marie with an inquisitive expression. "Where did you get that? Only the Church owns this kind of Codes." Her golden eyes glowed with a strange and twisted glint as she stared at the other girl's face with an emotionless gaze. "Don't tell me... you actually stole it from us?"
"Of course not! My father gave it to me a long time ago. I just happened to have it with me." Olga Marie defended vehemently, glaring at the priestess with a raised chin.
As the two girls began to bicker and argue among themselves (much to Waver Velvet's exasperation), Arjuna turned to Shirou with narrowed eyes. The other Servants also seemed to stare at him. "But still, this is weird," the Indian Demi-God said, clearly determined not to relent about that matter without receiving at least a small answer. "You're a Ruler. The strongest Class among Servants. How can a simple wound have such a heavy impact on your body? I thought you were stronger than that."
Shirou chuckled nervously, trying to ignore the annoyed look Mordred was throwing at the Archer after that question. "You forget that I'm a Pseudo-Servant," he defended himself, lying to his advantage and trying to find a credible excuse to get out of that situation. "This body is not my own. Unlike you guys who possess a spiritual body, I'm just a foreing soul occupying a human body. Therefore, even I am restricted to the rules of this mortal vessel. And Excalibur is an extremely powerful Divine Construct, perhaps one of the strongest. My current body cannot dismiss its hits like nothing. Pain, fatigue and wounds will always have a huge toll on me, as loathe as I am to admit it," he said, trying to sound convincing.
Sure, he was lying. He was not a Pseudo-Servant, nor a real Servant at all. Also, he was not weak to every kind of wounds, but only to those inflicted by… by that blade. Not that he could do anything about it, though. He simply couldn't help it. His weakness against that Sword was something he could never avoid, no matter how much time passed or how strong he was. It was something he could not escape, because it was not due to his current body or his physical condition. On the contrary, it was due to something more deep. More visceral. More twisted. Something due to countless and endless years of fighting side by side with that blade, and the fact that his very own soul was reacting to its other half each time they came in contact. Not to mention, moreover, that Arthur's sword was the very same weapon which had killed hi–
...no matter. There was no reason to dwell on these thoughts any longer. He had already suffered enough for a day.
Besides, Shirou would not – could not – say all of this out loud. Not even under threat.
As much as it pained him.
Arjuna widened his eyes, pretty much like everyone else. "I see. So even you have a weakness, after all," he realized, mulling inside his head with a thoughtful expression.
Iskandar sighed. "Of course he has, Archer. There's no entity who cannot be bested in one way or another," he declared with a knowing tone, crossing his arms with a frown marring his chiseled features. "No one is invincible, no matter how powerful they are. That's why we should always be wary of our enemies and never let our guard down."
Romulus solemnly nodded in agreement. "Well said, King of Conquerors. Well said."
A contemplative silence fell among the group.
Until, Lord El-Melloi II sighed and addressed everyone once again. "Well then. Now that this feud is finally settled, we should leave at once," he said, grabbing the group's attention. "Let's reach the jet and return to base. The others are still waiting for us in Rome. We have other things to discuss with them."
Shirou, Iskandar, Mordred and the others shared a silent nod.
Then, without wasting time, they finally departed from the silent woods; ready to reach their next, and last, destination for the day.
(========-========)
REVERSE SIDE OF THE WORLD
Planet: Earth
Date: Classified
Location: Classified
(======)
"You didn't need to accompany me for this, Ishtar."
"Hm? Dismissing me so soon? You've become quite cruel with me, Vivian."
The Lady of the Lake shook her head in exasperation, already fed up with the Goddess' teasing.
"That's not what I meant. You know that coming here is a huge risk for you. If your father finds out, you'll be in a lot of troubles."
The Goddess just brushed the warning off with a laugh, still following her Fae friend along the abandoned road that led to Elphame, the Fairy Kingdom.
"As if! Father doesn't care about Fairies. And even if he does find out, I can always come up with some excuse at the last second. He would never dare to hurt his favorite daughter. Hohoho~"
"You can't always rely on luck," Vivian admonished her.
"It worked so far for me."
"And that's one of the reasons why everyone thinks of you as impulsive and reckless."
The Goddess visibly faltered even as she floated in the air.
"Ugh... you know I can always hit you, right?"
"It wouldn't change anything. We can't hurt each other."
And she didn't mean it figuratively, but literally. It was true. Gods and Fairies couldn't harm each other. Well, not directly, at least. Why? Because their powers and existences were connected. Extremely connected. If Gods were the living embodiment of a concept born from Nature, Fairies were extensions of Nature itself. A sense of touch of the Planet, basically. Thus, their powers, their mysteries and their existence were closely linked and correlated. That was the main reason why those two races ended up on the same Side of the World after the Separation.
In fact, as it was widely know: Fairies, unlike most of the other fantastic species, had chosen not to go to the Other Side of the World as many other creatures did at the end of the Age of Gods; opting to lock themselves up in the Reverse Side instead. And they did so preciselyto stay close to the Gods – the living embodiments of their powers and mysteries – in order not to lose their powers and their connection to the human race. It was thanks to this decision, also, that some of them had managed to endure and remain connected to the Real Side even throughout history.
Just like Vivian herself.
"But enough of that," the Lady of the Lake suddenly said, a deep frown now marring her beautiful features. "This is bad, Ishtar. Extremelybad. If we don't do something, Shirou is going to be in danger. We need to warn him."
Ishtar fell into silence. Even she couldn't help but scowl at the reminder. "Yes, you're right. We must do something," she agreed.
"And are you sure about what you said before?" Vivian asked again, looking as serious as never before. "The Gods… are they seriously planning to go that far? Did they really unleash the Avenger?"
The Goddess withered with sad resignation. Thinking back to what her race was doing right now only served to further worsen her foul mood.
"Unfortunately, yes," she sighed, barely holding back her irritation. "Hades and Quetzalcoatl confirmed it this morning. That annoying smart-ass even went as far as spying on the group during their last… you know. He saw it himself. I doubt he would lie to me, not when Shirou's safety is involved. So, there's no way it can't be true."
Vivian withered further upon hearing the confirmation of her fears. "No wonder King Oberon is so worried, then. The other Fae grow restless with each day. By the Gods, this is terrible…" she muttered.
"I know," Ishtar nodded, looking no less concerned than her Fairy friend. Her lips parted into a sneer. "Hon-est-ly! I can't believe that woman! To go that far and to these lenghts only because of her selfish wish for revenge…" she narrowed her eyes and huffed in distaste. "Now I see where Shirou got it from."
"That's quite something, coming from you."
"Hey!"
"I'm kidding, Ishtar."
The Goddess huffed and pouted. Then, she let out another sigh.
"And you said you can't reach him?" Ishtar asked again.
The Lady of the Lake grew more worried than before. The very act seemed like a crime against nature, in the Goddess' opinion.
"I tried several times, but I just can't seem to reach him," she forcibly confirmed, distressed. "I tried to use Excalibur's light to reach the King and warn her as soon as I received the news, but... it didn't work. My connection with the Holy Sword has been compromised all of a sudden. I can't use it anymore."
"How is that even possible?" Ishtar questioned, unable to understand.
Vivian's expression grew grim. "I... I believe Shirou has somehow made contact with the blade," she answered, her complexion paling even more when she saw Ishtar's face fill with panic. "There's no other explanation. He must have touched it for some reason."
"Oh for the love of–" the Godddess stopped her swearing. She furiously ran a hand through her raven hair. Took a deep breath. Tried again.
"What do we do now?"
Vivian looked as lost as her.
"I don't know. We don't have many options left."
"Then send me there," the Goddess replied.
Vivian halted. She widened her eyes. Her lips parted in shock.
"What?"
"You heard me. Send me there. Send me to the Real Side!" Ishtar stressed with a furious frown. Her eyes were literally gleaming with a mixture of panic, worry and steeled resolve all at the same time. "I will personally warn Shirou after beating him into a pulp!"
"Y-You can't do that!" the Fae replied, stunned. "You know Gods cannot reach the Real Side anymore! It's impossible!"
"Oh, come on! If you could do it, there must be a way to send me there too! Even if just temporarily!"
"It's impossible, listen to me. Gaia and Alaya would never allow that! There's no wa–"
Vivian paused abruptly, her eyes going wide. She went through every hypothesis. Every information. Every memory.
Her eyes widened further.
Ishtar stared at her in confusion. "...huh ...Vivian?"
The Fairy's eyes were as wide as they could be.
"There is a way," the Lady of the Lake whispered. Her gaze returned to the Goddess. "The girl. The girl!"
"W-What? What are you talking about? What girl?"
"When I met Shirou at the lake, I saw his memories!" Vivian revealed, growing more and more frantic with each word. "I touched him, and I saw everything he went through before our encounter. And in his memories, I saw something. A girl. A girl with black hair and aqua eyes. A girl who is extremely compatible with you, in both looks and personality!"
Ishtar stared, long and hard, unable to understand. Then, her own aqua eyes widened as well when she finally connected the dots and realized what Vivian was implying.
"And that means... that we can use her!" she exclaimed in emphasis, bouncing a little as she floated in the air. "I can use her as a vessel! That's it! It's perfect! It's brilliant!"
Vivian nodded with a wide smile. She hadn't felt so relieved in a long while.
"Then we can't waste time!" she declared. "I must prepare a Ritual at once! Without Alaya, it should be worth a shot. I should have free access to the necessary assets now that the Counter Force is gone; and if I focus on that memory I should be able to find the girl and link her body to your–"
Then, she paused, and her eyes slowly turned to stare at the Goddess of Love, War and Harvest.
Ishtar returned her stare with sheer confusion. "Huh? What? What is it?" she inquired, tilting her head to the side.
The Lady of the Lake stared at her, long and hard, her gaze piercing inside her soul. "Ishtar... are you sure about this?" she questioned in all seriousness. She had never been so serious about something in front of her before. "If you go, there's no turning back. It's going to be dangerous, and your powers will be diminished once your soul will occupy the girl's body. A human mind and body cannot withstand the full power of a God. You will be extremely weakened once the Ritual is over, and you could also face extreme harm in the War. So…are you really willing to go that far for him? Are you sure?"
But Ishtar didn't seem to care. On the contrary, she dismissed the Fairy's worries with a laugh and a haughty expression.
"Hah! Who do you think you are talking to? There's no way I could ever be in danger! I'm one of the strongest Goddesses, after all!" she exclaimed boldly, trying to look smug. "Who cares if I'm going to be weakened a tiny bit! At least I'll be able to do something exciting after all this time! And besides, I can't wait to see Shirou's face when we'll finally meet again! Can you imagine the scene? He's gonna go crazy with joy! I shall be his long awaited ray of hope!"
Vivian fixed her with a flat stare.
"Ishtar, I'm pretty sure he hates you."
The Fairy watched the Goddess' pride explode in slow motion. Her flinch was extremely amusing to watch.
"W-Well, anyway, it doesn't matter!" she replied stubbornly, tossing her hair and pretending that the blush on her face did not exist at all, almost like a child who refused to acknowledge her faults. "I'm waaay over my past crush on him now, and I'm going to do it whether he likes it or not! The stability of the entire world is at stake here! And besides, you said it youself: we don't have a lot of options left!"
Then, the Goddess huffed, staring at her with a haughty expression and her hands placed firmly on her hips.
"Now, are you going to help me or not?"
Vivian hesitated, trying to take a decision on the matter.
Seconds passed, followed by minutes.
Then, logic overruled fear.
"Alright," she sighed, finally agreeing with a nod. "Let's do this."
Ishtar smirked widely.
"Excellent," the Goddess said, tossing her hair over the shoulder. "Then let's move. There are a lot of things I want to say in that idiot's face once I'll be there. Hohoh~"
Vivian shot her a stare. "What do you mean? What are you planning?"
"What else?" Ishtar grinned, wide and proud. "I'm going to fix his messed up life!"
(========-========)
Planet: Earth
Date: June 7 2020
Location: Vatican Archives – Vatican City (Rome - Italy)
(======)
Almost two days had passed since the day of the duel. Ever since Shirou, Mordred, Iskandar, Artoria and the others had returned to Rome after the mission ended, the small group of humans and Servants had decided to take a day off. After all, despite the situation being more tense than ever, Shirou and his friends had felt like they deserved it. Yes: the accursed Holy Grail War was still continuing its course; and yes: the threat of Morgan and Tyr still loomed over the whole world. Despite all of that, however, they felt like they needed it. Servants were machines of war, no doubt, but even them needed to pause and recover after days and days of traveling, endless missions and continued fighting. They too had their limits.
Also, not to mention that Waver Velvet, Olga Marie and Caren Hortensia were humans. Unlike the Servants of the group, they needed to recover much longer. So, although Shirou hadn't been very keen on the idea, he ultimately had had no choice but to relent. He had allowed Iskandar and Mordred to let off some steam after the days of stress and tension they had been through, taking advantage of the opportunity to relax as well and let the wound on his body – the cut inflicted by Excalibur on his forearm – heal completely before he could go back in action. And thinking about it now with a clearer mind, it had been the most reasonable choice. By now, his wound was completely healed, thanks to Olga Marie's Mystic Code, and the red-haired Ruler was back at full force. He had healed way faster than he had expected. He had even given back the Holy Shroud to Olga Marie already. It had been more than useful to him.
Therefore, it was with a satisfied but resolute sigh that Shirou and his friends followed Lord El-Melloi II into a room located inside the basement of the Vatican Archives. The same elegant and gigantic room they had used several days ago during their last meeting when they had met Nero, Romulus and Caren for the first time. And as soon as the humans and Servants sat around the round table placed in the middle of it, a tense and nervous silence began to fall among those present. The moment had finally come for them. The moment to part ways and start traveling again to resume their desperate mission: stop this Holy Grail War.
But they still had some matters to discuss before leaving.
"I think there's no need for us to waste too much time here," Waver Velvet began to say immediately. His narrowed eyes stared at all the Servants seated around the table with utmost seriousness. "We all know the situation. The only thing left for us is to decide what to do from now on."
Shirou, Artoria, Nero and the others shared a glance with each other, nodding slowly and urging the humans to continue.
Caren Hortensia sighed. "As much as I hate to admit it, I agree with our foolish Lord," she said in her usual monotone, leaning on the table and holding her chin in the palm of a hand. "The situation has been peaceful here since the Burial Agency was destroyed, but our task is far from over. It's a pain in the ass, but we'll have to keep searching for clues."
The red-haired Ruler merely raised a brow. "Then I assume that we'll have to split up in order to find our target," he deduced, already seeing the direction this discussion was taking.
"Exactly," Olga Marie confirmed with a solid nod. "Me, Lord-El-Melloi II and Caren have our own bussiness to attend to. Therefore, working together for a long period of time is impossible for us. We must return to our duties as soon as possible."
"You really do, do you?" Iskandar noted with a small measure of amusement. His red eyes glanced at the young Lord from the Clock Tower. "Then I assume that means you'll have to return to your homelands."
Waver Velvet gave him a nod of confirmation. "That's right. I must go back to London and report to my colleagues at the Clock Tower. Shameful as it is to admit it, I've left my phone there and I haven't received news from my students in a long time. I care about them a lot, and I need to make sure they're safe," he explained, sighing a little under the disappointed stares of Caren and Olga Marie. The others merely smiled in amusement. "Besides, I also need to explain the situation to the higher-ups of the Tower. They must be informed of Tyr's threat as soon as possible. I cannot stay here any longer."
Artoria just shook her head. "Worry not, Mr. Waver. We understand," she reassured him with her stoic voice. Then, her eyes hardened as she glanced at the whole group. "Besides, I believe this is the best course of action. The world is a wide place. If we split up, we will increase our chances to find our target and stop whatever they're planning. Sticking together under these circumstances would be disadvantageous for us," she stated, deadly serious.
Everyone shared a nod to that reasoning. They all knew the King of Knights was right, and even Shirou agreed with her on that matter. Since they hadn't received any information about Morgan's plans or her movements after the theft, the only option left to them was to look for clues and hope to find something as soon as possible. That witch could be anywhere right now, so splitting up and looking in different places was the best choice. Staying in a single country would have been disadvantageous and it would have greatly diminished their chances of finding clues on this matter.
And they certainly couldn't afford to waste any more time. They had no idea of what Morgan wanted to do with the Acheulean Stone and the records related to Tyr; but whatever it was, it couldn't be anything good. Shirou was sure of that. He felt it in his mind, in his bones, and in his soul. He had to find that witch and stop her plans before it was too late.
The God of War banished his internal fears with a shake of the head. "Then we'll do it that way. It's the only option we have right now," he declared, as serious as he could be. "We'll keep searching for that woman in separate ways, and we'll get in contact as soon as we learn something useful."
They all silently agreed with his decision. Among them, Bedivere nodded vigorously. "We shall do as you say, Ruler. If Morgan is really trying to do something with Tyr's artifacts, then she must be found and stopped at any cost," he stated as well, his green eyes shining with resolve.
Shirou watched as Mordred visibly tensed at the mention of her mother, lowering her eyes with a deep frown on her face. No one at the table missed it. His eyes softened as he saw Mordred clench her fist and grit her teeth in worry. The poor girl's concern was way too obvious to miss. Shirou and Iskandar did not blame her one bit.
Despite his concern, however, the ancient Hero couldn't help but ask. "Kid, I know that what I'm about to ask may hurt you, but we need to know this," he said, grabbing his young friend's attention. Shirou's eyes instantly narrowed under her frowing face, his senses heightening. "Your mother… what kind of woman was she?"
Mordred scoffed. "A bitch," she cursed immediately. There wasn't a single pause in her response. And despite the vulgar insult, no one moved to scold her, not even Artoria. But Shirou could see it: Mordred was frowning more and more as she spoke, her lips curved into a sneer. "She was the kind of mother you'd only call 'Mother' to avoid any harsh beatings or punishments. 'All for the sake of the future,' she would say." Mordred's eyes appeared vacant as she spoke those words, as if recalling rather unpleasant memories.
Then, she shook her head and tried – and failed – to dismiss those unpleasant memories from her mind. "Why are we talking about this, anyway?" she asked him, confused.
It was evident that she wanted to change the subject. She was fidgeting with obvious signs of distress, and Shirou could see that she'd kept a lot of resentment bottled inside her. He could have chosen to relent, but it was probably better for Mordred to have someone to confide in. The Ruler knew very well how hard and painful it was to keep secrets and bad memories locked within yourself.
Yes, he knew extremely well. How ironic.
It was only thanks to the reassurance from his gaze and eyes that Mordred allowed herself to go on despite her obvious distaste for that argument. The girl sighed and balled a fist on the table, trying to ignore Iskandar's piercing gaze from her left. "My earliest memory was being told that I was nothing more than a tool…" she revealed, closing her eyes and trying to keep a snarl away from her lips.
Once again, she failed miserably. "She was the kind of woman who never cared for anyone but herself, and who would do anything to achieve her goals. But that's all I know about her. We… never really had many interactions during my… stay, with her," she said with an uncomfortable tone, and then promptly shut her lips with a pained frown on her face.
She could still remember it. The way her mother looked at her in contempt. The way she would sing about thrones and betrayals all the time. The way she would lock her inside a room and not show up for hours, or even days sometimes. If not to feed her, then there would have been no contact whatsoever with most of her childhood confined inside that dark room. The only moments she had felt free had been during the training in the later years, and even those memories were anything but pleasant for her.
So… yeah. It was not a fond memory for the Saber, nor a pleasant subject. Not one bit.
Mordred lowered her head again, and refused to speak any further.
There was a solemnness that began to spread out a soon as she fell into silence, a gloominess in the air as everyone watched Mordred's shoulders tremble in rage and sadness. In less than a second, the entire room had fallen into a heavy silence. The others did not react well to this, looking quite upset and nervous by those revelations. Waver and Marie were visibly hesitating, glancing between Mordred and Gawain – who had chosen to close his eyes with a scowl marring his stoic face – clearly unsure of what to say. Even the boisterous and jovial Romulus and Nero seemed at loss right now. Iskandar was gazing at the young Saber with a bit of sadness, similar to Bedivere and Arjuna; and the only one who looked bored and disinterested as ever was Caren Hortensia.
From his part, instead, Shirou was not upset. He was not hesitant. He was not even worried. On the contrary, he was livid. He was literally fumingon the inside.
The more he heard, the more he realized the truth… the more his thoughts and judgement on Mordred changed. In fact, now that he knew this, he felt his affection and sympathy grow exponentially for the poor girl in front of him. Because Mordred was a selfish and rebellious child, no doubt… but she was a child all the same. And no kid, no child should have experienced such a cruel and twisted childhood. It wasn't fair. It wasn't right. It was no wonder that the young Saber had grown into this troublesome homunculus after all of that. Her past and origins had been anything but pleasant.
Another thing that the two of them had in common, much to his growing anger.
And at the same time, in contrast, he found it harder and harder to tolerate Morgan's actions. That woman was even worse than what he'd imagined. She hadn't tried to raise a child. She had tried to raise an obedient puppet. And that... that was exactly what Shirou couldn't stand. That was exactly what he couldn't forgive. To actually use an innocent child as a tool for vengeance… not even him during his misguided past had been that cruel. It was just too inhumane and twisted. It was a sin too great to be forgiven. And that meant something, coming from a monster like him.
Therefore, there was no way he could allow such a woman – no, such a monster – to live again. He could not allow her to act and roam free on the world. Especially if said monster was the same one who had stolen the finds and the Artifact related to his past. He had to find her. He had to stop her. He had to kill her and make her pay for everything she had done to Mordred, Artoria, and their entire kingdom.
That, Shirou swore. He will see it done. He would not rest until that day.
Eventually, he couldn't help himself any longer. He raised himself from the chair and moved to reach his friend in order to reassure her… but he soon realized that there was no need.
Much to everyone's surprise, in fact, it was Artoria the one who moved to reassure the rebel Knight. The female King leaned on her seat as soon as she saw her son lower her head, placing one hand on the girl's shoulder and squeezing it with a firm grip. Mordred's eyes snapped up at the sudden contact, staring at her father's face in stunned silence, similar to everyone else in the room. The silence among them was definitely absolute.
"Don't be afraid, Mordred. I won't let that witch hurt you this time," Artoria promised to her, fire and steel shining inside her emerald eyes. "I won't allow her to hurt you. To hurt us. She will not play with the two of us a second time. She she will not destroy our lives anymore. Not again. Never again. You have my word on this."
The young Knight swallowed and stared at the older woman, her face visibly filled with amazement. From the other side, Shirou relaxed and allowed himself to smile with relief.
Iskandar grinned as well and scratched his beard. Then, he leaned in and patted Mordred's head from the left side, nodding with approval at the fellow King's words. "Indeed. Your father is right for once, Saber. You won't have to deal with that weight alone. We'll face this so-called witch together, as we did with every enemy and challenge so far. You, me, Ruler. All of us. That's what we must do."
"That's right! Not even Morgan could be able to stand against all of us," Gawain encouraged her as well, offering a little smile to his younger 'sibling' from the other side of the table.
Mordred hesitated for a few seconds after those words, taken aback by the sudden support he was receiving, before nodding with renewed vigor. Despite the blush on her cheeks due to being touched by her father, everyone could see a refound decision starting to blossom inside her eyes. Then, after a few seconds of hesitation, the Knight of Treachery banished her fears and nodded with decision, sharing a resolute glance with Artoria, Iskandar and Shirou.
"Let's do it," she said. "Let's find that witch and kick her ass," she hissed, her eyes shining with decision.
Shirou hid a little smile behind his hands. Attagirl. That was the spirit.
There was no hesitation now.
"Then we know what we need to do," the God of War spoke solemnly. Everyone's eyes turned on him once again. "Our target is Morgan le Fay. We must search for this witch, and stop whatever she's trying to do with the Artifacts. There's no reason to hesitate and ponder anymore."
Lord-El Melloi II, Olga Marie, Caren and the Servants shared a nod of resolution.
The hunt had begun.
"How are we gonna split up, then?" Arjuna asked at that point, his dark eyes fixed on the Ruler's face. "Should we keep the same groups as before?"
Olga Marie nodded. "Yes, I believe it's the best choice," she answered easily for everyone. "Ruler and his group will continue to travel everywhere they're needed and search for clues on their own. At the same time; you, me and Edison will go back to America and look for clues there with Geronimo and the others. Mr. Waver will do the same back in England. Given the enemy we face, that place is of utmost importance, and we need an expert like Mr. Waver to check on things there. We cannot rule out the possibility that Morgan le Fay somehow went back to her country for some reason. If she did, our Lord and the Clock Tower will find her."
The Indian Archer accepted the news with his usual stoic and impassive face. Even the others seemed satisfied with the unanimous decision. Next to Arjuna, Caren Hortensia exhaled a sigh. "Then I have no choice," she groaned, glancing at Nero and Romulus. "I'll keep these two with me and use them to keep searching and keep things in check here... even if they've been quite useless so far," she said, shaking her head with a bored look.
"Hey! How dare you!" the red Saber protested with her cheeks puffed, outraged. The muscular Lancer simply shrugged off her insult. "Me and Pater are not useless! We are the best Rome has to offer!"
"I will also inform the higher-ups about this development," the white-haired priestess continued, completely ignoring Nero. She glanced at Shirou and his companions with her golden eyes. "You've done a great favor to the Church by destroying the Burial Agency. Therefore, if you need help from now on, our members will be willing to offer you support wherever you are. Should you feel the need, go find our priests and priestesses scattered around the globe. They'll offer you sanctuary in the churches, and make sure to help you in any way they can. I can guarantee that," she said, monotonous and bored as always.
The red-haired Ruler nodded in gratitude. It was always good to have more help. "Thanks, Caren. We appreciate tha–"
"But," she cut him off, undeterred, feeling no small amount of pleasure watching him frown in confusion. "I have one last request for you, Ruler."
Shirou stared at her, completely lost on what to think, pretty much like everyone else. He hadn't been expecting this. His eyes narrowed slightly. "What kind of request?" he asked, attentive and careful as always.
Caren Hortensia just smirked. Then, she raised one hand and snapped her fingers with a smug face.
Not even two seconds later, something happened. The door at the back of the room was suddenly opened – it would be more accurate to say that it was slammed – and Shirou and his companions turned to stare with wonder at the tall and imposing figure who entered the room. Thomas Edison stepped inside with a quick step and a theatrical movement, his arms raised to the sky and his white mane fluttering with each movement of the body.
"Bwahahah! I have done it! I have finally fixed him!" the Caster exclaimed loudly, closing the door behind him and exulting with a boundless emphasis. His lion face was married by elation and euphoria, his fangs bared into a wide grin.
Shirou and the others looked at him with plain confusion.
"Huh? King of Inventors?" Iskandar mused, raising a brow. "What are you doing here?"
With no further ado, the Caster turned his lion head to them, his grin widening even more than before. "I have done it!" Edison repeated, his boisterous voice echoing into the room. "I have fixed the mad Berserker! It took me a long while and no small amount of efforts... but now he's back! He's good to go as he was back then!"
The group just stared at him in confusion, unable to understand what he was saying. Then, Shirou's eyes widened slightly when he started to realize what he was referring to. "Wait… a mad Berserker? Are you talking about the Servant we fought when we arrived here? The one who was supposedly being controlled against his will?" he asked, connecting the dots.
It was Olga Marie the one who answered. "That's correct," she said, moving away a lock of hair from her forehead. "His name is Antonio Salieri. As you know, before we left for the mission, I had asked Edison to check on him and make sure he was fine. What you don't know, however, is that I also asked him to see if there was some way to quell his sudden fit of frenzy. And now, it seems that Caster's efforts have finally paid off. Am I right?"
"Indeed. Indeed! I have done it!" the strange-looking Caster solemnly explained, extremely pleased with his own accomplishment. "I've managed to bring him back from the cursed trance he had fallen into! Kehehehe! To actually restore a Berserker after such a frenzy… I've reached a new level of genius!"
Nero smiled widely at the news, infected by the euphoria of their ally. "Umu! Umu! This is most exciting!" she exclaimed as well, bouncing a little on her seat.
The others did not react so much to the news, choosing to simply exhale a sigh of relief instead.
Shirou raised a eyebrow. "So?" he asked again, turning back to Caren Hortensia. "I assume that your request has something to do with Berserker. Am I right?"
The white-haired priestess did not answer. She just shared a nod with Thomas Edison. "Let him in," she ordered.
Edison nodded and grinned at the command. Then, without wasting time, he stepped away from the entrance and opened the door with a slow movement.
Shirou, Artoria and the others stared with narrowed eyes as Antonio Salieri entered the room amidst a tense silence.
The first thing they noticed was the most obvious detail of all: the man looked different compared to when he wore his armor. Extremelydifferent. Now, without that menacing armor covering his body and face, he appeared like a tall, elegant and refined man in his thirties. He had a handsome face with sharp gaze and silver, ash-like hair; and he wore a stage black stripe suit under which was an elegant white shirt with a crimson tie. And despite his red, glowing eyes – a trait due to his peculiar Class, no doubt – he looked as an elegant and refined man from the late nineteenth century, his entire frame wrapped in an aura of elegance and dignity.
An aura that, however, was completely ruined by the dark and twisted glint that shone inside his eyes.
The whole room stared in silence as the Berserker stepped inside, his eyes scanning every single human and Servant with an unnerving intensity. He did nothing upon entering the room, said nothing, choosing to remain stoic and motionless like a statue, much to everyone's confusion. Not even his face betrayed a single flicker of emotion or thought.
Seconds passed, followed by minutes. And still, Antonio Salieri stood unmoving as ever.
Until, the King of Conquerors raised a brow, looking torn between being bored or just plain confused. "Say, Caster... I think you broke him," he said with his deep voice, glancing at Edison. "He's not moving at all. Is he ok?"
"No, he's fine," Caren intervened with a weary sigh. The priestess ran a hand over her temples under Shirou's inquisitive stare, looking more tired than ever for some reason. "That's just how this idiot was, even before the frenzy. He's always been like that since the beginning."
"That's right! I fixed his brain and returned him to his previous stage! Splendid, right? Just splendid!" Edison laughed, nodding to himself with a smirk.
Romulus smiled, apparently used to the Berserker's silent behavior. "Hahaha! How amusing. This must be due to the might of Rome!" he exclaimed.
"Wrong! It was due to my American genius!" Edison roared in defiance.
Mordred stared in irritation during that whole scene. She looked completely lost right now. "Couldn't you just fix him completely, then?" she asked to the Caster, confused.
Shirou sighed. He could already tell that this whole thing was going to be a gigantic pain for him. That, and also the fact that so many Servants in the room were acting like a bunch of kids was already wearing him down. "He's a Berserker, kid. There's no way to completely remove the effects of the Mad Enhancement from a Servant," he patiently explained to the young Saber, his eyes still focused on Salieri's face with unnerving intensity. Next to him, Artoria, Bedivere and Gawain were doing pretty much the same, their eyes narrowed and bodies tense, ready to act; studying the newcomer from head to toe.
"Unfortunately, that is correct," the Caster with the lion head confirmed, his face assuming a pensive expression. "There's still a long way to go for my inventions. Not even I possess the means to perform such a miracle. Not yet, at least!"
Shirou sighed, cursing his luck. Good grief. What a bother. "Well then, I guess that some introductions are in order," he said, deciding to cut this whole thing short. He focused his attention back to the man, offering him a nod. "I'm Shirou Emiya, a Ruler. And who are you?"
The man did not answer immediately to his question. He remained stoic and motionless for a while, without reacting at all. Then, suddenly, almost out of the blue, he seemed to snap out of his trance, and he offered a smile to the ancient Hero. "My name is Salieri," he answered, his voice deep but soft, like the notes of a violin. Then, he blinked once. Twice. His face twitched and scowled. He blinked thrice. "No... no, it is not. Who... who am I?" he pondered aloud, confused and lost, more to himself than the others.
Shirou and his companions of him stared at him in complete loss.
The mad Berserker resumed to talk after a few seconds of moaning and groaning. "The Servant the Grail has summoned is... not Salieri. Antonio Salieri is dead. He remains dead. Do not misunderstand," he stated in absolute certainty, staring at them with narrowed eyes. Something dark and mad flashed inside his red orbs filled with hatred and pain. "I am nothing but a forgotten husk. An empty shell left behind by that man's memory. That's all I am."
Shirou observed him carefully. He glanced at his eyes, noticing all too well the madness that flashed within them from time to time. That had to be the influence of a powerful Mad Enhancement, no doubt. "That man?" he repeated, careful. "Are you referring to Salieri? Your former identity?"
The Italian Servant nodded, his eyes narrowed and filled with pain. "Salieri... he was a respected musician who had many disciples among other musicians and their children. Heh. Heheheh. He was just an ordinary man," he answered.
Then, his face twisted, his hands twitched, and his lips parted into a sneer.
"But one day, a rumor began to spread," he spoke suddenly. His eyes were wide now, as wide as they could be; his gaze unfocused and staring at everything and nothing. "'Salieri murdered Mozart,' they said. 'He killed him out of jealousy', they wrote. And with time, that rumor spread like wildfire. But that's not the truth. It's a lie. Hearsay. It was no more than slander dripping with malice. But the cruelty was like the blade of a sharp knife. It was enough to wound the psyche of an ordinary man."
He paused again, stared at nothing, fixing the world with a mad frown under everyone's stunned eyes. His body shuddered, and a heavy sigh escaped his lips. Then, he began to chuckle out of the blue.
"That's right, a blade," he resumed to explain, chuckling with a mad laughter. "And the dark blade that I wield… was molded by such cruelty. Thus, the being in front of you was born. An innocent monster, born from the legends people passed down. The Man in Gray! The forgotten shard of Salieri's ego! In other words...!"
Again, he paused, and his frantic speech halted completely. The Berserker furrowed his brows, blinking hard, swallowing with a lost expression. He touched his forehead with trembling hands, lowering his eyes with a conflicted face.
"Ahh... Just, who am I?" he asked, sounding torn and confused like a madman.
Shirou stared at him with an impassive frown. He did not care for the Berserker's wounded and broken tone. His mission and role to safeguard humanity left no room for sentimentality for the enemies. And besides, whether he was aware of it or not, that man had killed civilians in the past. He had endangered the city with his actions. Even worse, he had attempted to kill him and his friends when they had first arrived here in Rome.
He had to answer to that, in one way or another.
"Answer me this, then," the Ruler inquired, raising from his seat and moving right in front of the mad Servant. His golden-brown eyes stared down at Salieri with a cold and menacing solemnity. "Is it true that you've been controlled during your frenzy? Had you really no control over your body and actions?"
Antonio Salieri did not answer. His mouth twitched, a pained hiss escaping his lips.
Shirou did not care for his apparent turmoil. "Answer me," he ordered coldly. His eyes were literal steel as he glared at the man. "Were you conscious during your fit of madness or not?"
For the second time, the only answer he received was a hiss of pain and madness. However, to the astonishment of many, at one point Salieri slowly began to shake his head in answer. His hands began to clutch his temples and his face began to morph into a frown of pain, and rage, and confusion. Even his whole body was starting to shake for some reason.
"N-No…" the mad Servant moaned, his voice cracking and filled with pain. The ancient God stared at him long and hard. "I... I... I did not... I haven't... I wasn't..."
What he said next, the others did not uderstand. The words were incomprehensible as he fell into a sensless fit of mumbling and muttering. The red-haired Ruler stared at the man for a long while. He watched with narrowed eyes as the Berserker continued to clutch his temples in pain, studying him in complete silence as he moaned and groaned with pain. Next to him, he could feel that Artoria, Iskandar and the others were doing the exact same thing. And the longer he stared, the more he began to understand. And he did not like what he realized. He did not like it one bit.
Antonio Salieri was not a normal Servant. He was a cursed existence, probably summoned by the remnants of the Counter Force. The distorted and twisted manifestation of a man, a musician, corrupted by human hatred. A man who originally possessed a thoughtful, composed personality, and who probably had been nothing but a gentleman in life. But now, however, due to turning into an innocent monster and a Berserker-class Servant, Salieri had been broken in full. Hence, his personality was constantly cracked. Being fused with the "Gray Messenger" whose legends portrayed him as similar to the Grim Reaper, along with his Mad Enhancement… it had been a bad influence on him. It broke him. It had twisted and corrupted everything left of his soul and legend, reducing him to the abomination in front of them now.
The Servant they were watching was not Antonio Salieri. The real Antonio Salieri was dead. No, this... this being was nothing but an empty husk, twisted and deformed due to human hatred and anger. He was nothing compared to the real man, the true self behind that horrible curse.
And the more Shirou understood this, the more he pitied him. Because it was a sad sight to behold. One that reminded him of the Gigantic Horror he had fought in France, or even the cursed entities he had met during the Age of Gods. And this was bad. Extremely bad. Even worse than what he had seen with Napoleon and Hessian Lobo during his travels. Because despite having regained control after the frenzy and his so-called manipulation, this Servant was still victim to his own demons. He was still submitted to his own madness. And that was a gruesome truth to watch, because this being in front of him had been a man, once. It had been a wise, well-mannered man during his life. A man now rendered to nothing but a twisted husk with no self-control and will of his own.
It was sad, truly. And Shirou pitied that poor soul.
'To think that the Grail would summon such a Servant… this just proves once again how twisted this War is,' he mused with a mental sigh.
But despite his personal feelings, the truth remained one and only one: that man was dangerous. And given his role, he could not allow him to endanger the world with his presence.
There was only one thing for him to do.
Shirou wasted no time. With a mental command, he Traced his faithful weapon to his side. A long and sharp katana appeared in his hand in a flash of prana. The Berserker did not react in the slightiest.
Tension exploded in the room.
"Wait!" Olga Marie suddenly exclaimed. She raised herself from her seat, one hand outstreched towards the Ruler before he could make any sudden movements. "Don't do it! Do not hurt him!"
Shirou stopped. He glanced at the girl, his face blank and his expression impassive. "This man is dangerous," he simply said, addressing everyone in the room. "It doesn't matter if he was manipulated or not. It is clear that he has no full control over his mind and body. Besides, he has killed a lot of people and endangered many others. As a Ruler, I need to make sure that something like that never happens again. He must answer for his crimes," he explained.
"And you're right," Marie replied vehemently, her eyes glaring at the Ruler. "You're absolutely right. But we cannot lose him yet. Salieri is a valuable ally, and after everything we've seen so far, we cannot lose one of our own. We need as much help as we can. You know that, Ruler."
Artoria frowned. Apparently, she was as dubious as Shirou himself on that matter. "How can you guarantee that he won't fall victim to another frenzy?" she questioned.
It was Caren Hortensia the one who answered this time. The priestess shook her head. "We can't guarantee that," she said, grabbing everyone's attention. "What we can guarantee, however, is that Salieri has always been a well-mannered Servant ever since the Church made contact with him. And despite his questionable Class and his troublesome Mad Enhancement, he has never fallen victim to any fit of madness except for that one time. Killing him would be pointless, as well as disadvantageous."
"That's right! We would only end up losing another ally!" Nero exclaimed, nodding with emphasis.
"He was devoted to our cause, and he repeatedly expressed his disappointment with this Holy Grail War, given that his only interest lays in music," Olga Marie confirmed soon after the Roman Emperor. Her brows furrowed together, her eyes glaring at the red-haired Ruler. "We've discussed this before, remember?"
Shirou fell silent, glancing at this troublesome Servant. The man did not react at all, looking both pained and ashamed at the same time.
He did not like where this talk was going.
Iskandar exhaled a weary sigh. "Then what?" he finally asked, narrowing his eyes on the two girls. "What are you planning to do with him?"
"I think that is simple, Rider," Waver Velvet answered at that point, taking a cigar out of his pocket and bringing it to his lips. He kept his eyes closed as he finally connected the dots and began to realize what the two girl had decided to do. He shook his head in exasperation. "They want to do exactly what Ruler had asked them to do on your first day here. Nothing more, nothing less."
Iskandar, Mordred, Artoria and the Knights stared at the humans and Salieri in wonder.
Romulus and Arjuna smiled knowingly.
Edison and Nero shared a laugh.
And the God of War cursed his own foolishness, struggling to quell the growing migraine.
And for the second time after several days, Caren Hortensia gave him a smile that was anything but reassuring.
"As you requested once, we will hand our dearest Salieri over to you," she said, enjoying the clear irritation blossoming on the Ruler's face.
"Please treat him well in the future, Emiya Shirou."
Planet: Earth
Date: June 7 2020
Location: Via Nazionale – Piazza Venezia (Rome - Italy)
(======)
Later that same day, Shirou cursed himself again. He could already feel his eyebrow twitch for the umpteenth time.
"So let me get this straight," Mordred spat next to him for the fourth time – literally the fourthtime, he had counted them – her voice a mixture of disbelief and irritation. His friends and fellow Servants sighed with weariness at her outburst. "Not only we ended up with no answers about this whole mess with that Tyr guy... but now, after all we've been through, we're also stuck with a crazy Berserker for God-knows-how-long?" The irritation was clearly perceptible in her tone.
Said crazy Berserker ignored her words completely, continuing to follow the group of Servants in an almost mechanical way with a cold smile on his lips and a completely disinterested expression.
Bedivere sighed, clearly exasperated as well by the incessant question. "Yes, Sir Mordred," he answered for the whole group after a long while of frustrated pondering. Neither him nor Gawain seemed to like the current situation either. "That's the gits of it. We need to keep Mr. Salieri with us in order to monitor him and prevent him from going on a rampage again. That's what the Church has tasked us to do."
Sheer silence greeted that statement. Clearly, no one in the group was happy with the current development.
Again, Shirou's eyebrow twitched. The God of War let out a ragged sigh. He had to restrain himself in order not to curse and scare the kid. This was his fault. He should have seen it coming. Even worse, he should have chosen his words better. Why the hell did he say 'you will give him to me' during that past discussion? How stupid. How incredibly stupid. He should have stayed quiet. But nooo... he just had to say that, huh? He just had to make demands against those sly, accursed Mages. And now, now his stupid and foolish choice of words had framed him and left him stuck with a Servant with obvious issues and mental problems.
That was great. That was simply great.
Gods damn it, he really hated this job. No, fuck it, he hated his life. He just wanted his peace and quiet. He wanted to retire and live in peace. But then, why did he always get stuck with the icky jobs? Why did he always end up in these absurd situations? Was it a curse? Was this karma? Had he offended someone recently?
Damn it all. He was too old for this shit.
Clearly, the world disagreed with him. He merely shook his head, continuing to walk along one of the main streets of Rome at a brisk pace with Iskandar, Artoria and all the others, immersed in an irritated silence under the afternoon sun. They only decided to stop for a quick pause when they arrived near a gigantic square called 'Piazza Venezia' – oh, the irony – at the end of which stood one of the largest and most famous monuments in Rome: the so-called "Altare della Patria" (also known as Mole del Vittoriano or simply Vittoriano in Italian). They took a quick glance around, trying to appease their current disappointment and distract themselves with the beauty of the city around them. And it worked, a little, since the place was breathtakingly beautiful.
But in the end, despite the beauty of the city, Mordred couldn't hold back her irritation. "Tch. What a joke. This is stupid," she muttered. "I bet that psycho priestess just wanted to get rid of him."
Antonio Salieri smiled at her irritated face, speaking for the first time since he had 'joined' the group. "Quiet. Accept your punishment with honor," he said, his voice soft despite the clear irony in his tone.
The Knight of Treachery rounded on him with a glare. "Huh!? Punishment?" she repeated, incredulous.
"Give it up. This is your punishment for being a warrior beloved to God. You must accept your Fate!" he declared. Then, he broke into a fit of mad laughter for no reason at all, arousing the attention of some passers-by in the middle of the square. "Kuhu... hahahahahahahaha!"
Mordred, Shirou and Iskandar stared at him with a sweat-drop. Artoria and the Knights shook their heads with disbelief.
"...can I kill him, Ruler?" Mordred spat after a while, seething in anger.
Shirou just donned one hand over his face. Good grief. These Italian Servants had been nothing but a pain in the ass. Was there at least a normal one among them? He sighed. "Leave him be, kid. Just try to ignore him. He won't bother you unless you provoke him," he said.
Even Iskandar agreed, albeit reluctantly. "I must say, though… not even I was expecting this kind of development," he mused in the end, still trying to be optimistic about this whole situation. "I guess this is also the beauty of challenges, huh? You never know what you might expect."
Artoria sighed as well. "Enough. What's done is done. Let's try to focus on our task, instead. We cannot afford to waste time," she said, trying to bring everyone back to focus.
The red-haired Ruler inwardly agreed with her. Artoria was right. It was a pain, but they had to focus on their next destination now. And besides, the situation was not too bad. On the contrary, it could even play to their advantage. Salieri had a lot of issues, yes; but he was also trying to behave for now. Not to mention, moreover, that he was also a powerful Servant. Shirou and the others had seen firsthand the Berserker's strenght and powers during their fight against him. They had seen what kind of skills and abilities he possessed, and those were not easy to dismiss. Having a Berserker as an ally could be a great asset for their future battles.
Plus, keeping that mad Servant close would allow them to prevent him from going insane or – in the worst case scenario – stop him during a fit of frenzy. Therefore, loathe as he was to admit it, this was the best solution for now. If he'd behaved, fine. If he'd stepped out of line, he would kill him. But as long as Salieri proved to be on their side, then Shirou would tolerate his presence and make the most of it. He didn't want to kill a Servant when he seemed to be willing to make amends for his sins, after all.
It was a win-win deal. The only price for that: his patience.
…ok, maybe not entirely a win-win situation.
"I can also provide you with music, if you're interested," the Italian musician offered slyly, as if he had been reading his mind.
The Ruler ignored him. Instead, his focus and that of his companions was suddenly captured by a particular event. A wide television screen had been built in the middle of the gigantic monumental square, presumably used to broadcast videos, films and political speeches during major national events or holidays. And right now, as everyone could clearly see, the big screen was broadcasting the news of the day, revealing the news of events happening all around the world on national direct.
And among those news, there was one that immediately caught Shirou's attention.
' 7.3 magnitude earthquake hits the coast of Egypt. No major damage reported. '
' Massive explosions in the cities of El Ayyat, Ismailia and Ashmoun. Paranormal phenomena filmed in the skies of Alexandria and Cairo. Witness reports several attacks in the desert by "living statues." '
Shirou and Mordred stared in disbelief. Artoria and the Knights parted their lips.
' Military forces struggling against unidentified creatures. The government of the Republic on the brink of collapse. The entire Country braces for a brutal assault. Is another crisis similar to Edinburgh and Paris coming? '
' Egypt closes airspace to civilian flights amid the chaos spreading in the Country. '
Iskandar and Salieri narrowed their eyes.
"…and here we go again," the King of Conquerors spoke with his deep, powerful voice. He crossed his arms on his chest, shooting a glance at the red-haired Ruler with a serious frown. "It seems that we know where we're headed, boy."
Shirou swallowed his fears and shared a nod with Mordred and Artoria. Then, he glared at the world, steeling his resolve as he resigned himself to face the umpteenth wrath of the Holy Grail War.
They had found their next destination.
Planet: Earth
Date: June 7 2020
Location: Sky – Approximately 11.000m above sea level (Atlantic Ocean)
(======)
"Do you think it was the right choice?"
Olga Marie Animusphere raised her eyes from the report she was reading, glancing towards the Indian Archer with a questioning gaze. Arjuna stared back at her with his stoic, dark eyes, sitting on the seats on the left side of the private jet flying in the sky nearing sunset.
She dismissed his stare with a wave of the hand. "I have no idea of what you're implying, Archer."
Arjuna did not buy it. "Do not play coy with me, Lady Marie. I know that you're plotting something," he shot back seriously, narrowing his eyes on the young woman as he watched her turn again to stare at him with an unreadable gaze. "Why did you and Caren agree to this? What is it that you're planning?"
His only answer was blunt silence. The white-haired girl returned to focus on the report in her hands.
The Endowed Hero kept his eyes glued on her frame. "Why are you so suspicious of him?" he asked her directly.
This time, her fingers twitched slightly under his obstinate stare. They both knew very well what – and who – he was referring to. With a small sigh, the Director of the Atlas Institute placed the papers back on the small tray table on her right. Then, she clapped her hands twice. "Caster," she called.
A few seconds of silence. Finally, the door on the aisle of their private jet slid open.
"You called me, my lady?" the tall Servant stepped inside, his fangs bared into a wide grin.
Olga Marie ignored the Archer's suspicious gaze. She focused her eyes on Edison. "Is Project TRISMEGISTUS ready yet?" she asked with utmost seriousness.
The Caster blinked, tilting his lion head to the side. "Hmm? You mean the Engine you made me work on before our departure?" he mused, caught off guard by the question. He shrugged his shoulders, running a hand along the white mane under his chin. "Why, I believe it is, yes. I might have to take a final look at it once we're back to the laboratory, but both the Engine and the machine are fully operational."
"...good."
Olga Marie snapped her fingers. In a wisp of smoke, a certain Holy Shroud appeared in her hands, its red cloth now stained with blood. Arjuna narrowed his eyes on the small object, recognizing it instantly.
"I see," he mused, hiding his growing disappointment with a sigh. "How sad. Is that why you've left Berserker with them?"
The girl didn't answer the question. Instead, she tossed the blood-stained piece of cloth at Edison, ignoring the Archer's piercing stare.
"As soon as we're back to base, I want you to analyze the blood on this Code," the girl ordered, her voice firm and cold as never before. "Its type, density, molecular properties and plasma residues. Every detail and information you can find. I want to know everything about our so-called 'Ruler'," she said.
Thomas Edison stared at the stained Code with a puzzled expression. "Uh… fine. Sure. But, can I ask why?" he asked, confused.
The Director of the Atlas Institute stared back at Arjuna with a challenging glare.
"Because I have some suspicions," was all she said. "And I need answers."
YOU ARE READING
Fate: Opression
AdventureAlaya is gone. The Counter Force is gone. Without them, the Throne of Heroes released all the Heroes on Earth against the planet's will. When Gaia sensed that the World is on the brink of collapse, she sent its First Hero to fix the mess. Now, Shiro...
