Fate/Legion

Lancer Division

"How about her alter counterpart? Wanna fight her?", the blue haired lancer mused.

I shuddered at the thought, nearly losing my grip on my crimson spear.

"I'd rather not if it's all the same to you. She's not like Artoria", I stated.

Ah, Artoria. Such a graceful and honorable knight she is. It is nothing less than a miracle that we were summoned in the same war for a second time. Not only can we finish our duel, but perhaps I can become better acquainted with her. If earlier this week was any indication, she has certainly accepted her femininity. Though I guess that may be that Caster's doing more than anything. I guess either way would work. Very few souls can offer up such a fulfilling fight and be such pleasant company.

I quickly lose myself to my thoughts as I remember the King of Knights. Unbeknownst to me, Cú Chulainn was getting irritated by my wanderings in my mind.

"If you're done day dreaming about Saber, can we get on with it already?"

I smile beside myself. Taking hold of my twin spears, I enter my battle stance.

"So eager to be humbled again, Chulainn? Very well. Hold nothing back", I warned.

He bit a cheeky grin my way, blood lust filling his eyes. Jumping down from a tree, he summoned his Gáe Bolg and made ready to fight. We'd been fighting daily for some time now. He loved every moment of our duels. He always loses and possesses the scars and gashes to prove it. I told him to heal up, but he wears them as a reminder. Even though I always win, I can sense how close he gets each time. With every fight he gets more and more ground against me. Sometimes I think Cú Chulainn actually wants to kill me, a rather unsettling thought.

Elizabeth Bathory looked on from behind the same tree Chulainn leapt from. I've noticed her for a while, often wondering what has made her so shy as of late. Whatever the case, she has been watching our duels ever since the Bell Witch was summoned. Something about the Berserker made the girl timid.

"Let's go pretty boy!"

Barely registering the insult, I reared Gáe Dearg in a vertical stance, blocking the crimson arc Chulainn's spear crafted as it struck at my right. He pulled back Gáe Bolg, no doubt ready to thrust ferociously at my center. Throwing aside Gáe Buidhe, I parry his blows, fully understanding dual wielding is of little use if his attacks hold more weight. In the torrent of strikes and counter strikes, I manage to find small pockets of openings in his defense.

I swing low, intending to strike his kneecap. To my surprise, rather than parry fruitlessly or attempt to dodge, Chulainn takes the hit, busting his kneecap and shattering the bone. My utter shock at the hit caused me to pause. Chulainn quickly took full advantage of my shock with a swift thrust into my stomach.

I fall to my knee, holding tightly to the wound to prevent bleed out. It hurt. I have forgotten how much it hurt. I want to congratulate him, but the pain is unbearable. Every time the pain subsists, a single brush against the gash spikes the nerves. I was only barely able to make out the pair of undead reaching out to tend to the injury.

To say my master's undead were capable of medical practice is a stretch. False life has granted these green eyed corpses little in the form of knowledge. I often wonder how any could properly use the daggers they are given, even more so how they are practitioners of the healing arts. The pair that came to treat my wounds unceremoniously wrapped my lower abdomen with an elastic linen cloth. No, not bandages, just linen cloth. Obviously, the blood didn't stop. I think I now know why Cú Chulainn was so adamant about a rematch. If this is the pain of a legendary spear's wound, then it certainly explains the sailor's mouth my companion has adopted.

"Gah! You b*tch!"

How I wish he wouldn't speak like that. I pull myself up, albeit painfully, to see what the matter was. Needless to say, I was rather disturbed by the sight before me. My master's favorite, the Bell Witch, was attacking Chulainn.

Ireland's child of light was being absolutely pummeled. Though he lashed out rabidly, his spear seemed to pass through her. Worse, he was beaten and tossed about by a seemingly invisible entity, all the while he was struck by a long, twisted needle that Berserker had whipped out. Left and right, up and down, Lancer was tossed around like a rag doll, incapable of fighting back. Panicked rage was plastered onto his face. I don't blame him, he can't recover, he can't fall back. I pushed myself forward, desperate to stop her from going any further. It was then, as he was knocked to the left by the unknown force, that she appeared behind him, an unsettling grin the seemed to stretch to both her ears. Grabbing hold of his forearm, she ripped his left arm off with crazed glee. Cú Chulainn fell to ground a writhing mess.

"Chulainn!", I called out. I glared horribly at the witch,"What is wrong with you?"

Tossing Lancers arm aside, she tilted her head like a dog trying to understand. She disappeared to my astonishment only to reappear standing over me, a condescending look in her black eyes.

"Did that man not just try to kill you? Is he not the reason you're lying on the ground bleeding?", she hissed with an unnatural echo.

"It was an honorable duel between me and him! Lethal intent had nothing to do with it!", I barked.

Had this mad woman seriously not understood so basic a concept, or is she just a  bloodthirsty monster? The vile creature gave away no hints of caring. Instead she glared at my very being. With the glare came a long passing silence, broken only by the occasional hollowed breath of Elizabeth, still hiding behind the trees. Beads of sweat began to form across my forehead. Something about the air flared my instincts. I was in no position to challenge her, and yet I dared to stir the hornet's nest. What should I do?

Suddenly, she vanished, only to reappear a mere few inches away from me, her black gaze still upon me.

"And yet you're on the ground bleeding. What else could it mean?"

Before I could answer, she recoiled as though a force was pushing her away. Her frightful demeanor had been utterly replaced with an expression of surprise. A foul aura seemed to cover the area as a set of footsteps marched upon the scene.

"Damn it, Berserker", a rough, coarse voice berated,"Now I only have two command seals left. It's bad enough trying to fuel your crap, but now this? And look at the mess you've made. Fix em up, you hear?"

I turned to see the voice of the man who was obviously my master. My eyes widened at the sight of my master's condition. Darkened bags underneath his eyes, sickly pale skin, and a reddened throat indicated clearly that something ate away at his health at an alarming rate. Even with the worried Atalanta keeping him standing, it's rather clear that he is in severe need for medical attention. Could this be the result of Berserker? No, that can't be. We're supposed to have limitless prana in this Grail War.

Heeding her master's command, the Bell Witch quietly made her way to Cú Chulainn. Taking him and his hacked off arm, she summoned a set of prana made needles. They quickly wove in and out of Lancer's flesh, hooking together the arm and shoulder well enough.

Things here are becoming unstable. I'm more than eager to see Artoria again. Now, I'm in need of it. I'm in desperate need of an escape.

__________________________________________

This was it, the great moment I've waited for for far too long. Erickson, Emiya, Matou, and Bismarck stand beside me, servants at the ready. Across from us, on the other end of the Fuyuki bridge, stand Yggdmillenia, that old b*stard, with his ally, Forrest. Their servants are also ready and waiting for battle.

Yggdmillenia and I have already made arrangements for the battle: the sandy field of the Ionian Hetairoi will serve as the battleground, master kills are fair game, and neither he nor I will leave the battle unless either one of us is victorious or dead.

I look back to Alexander. He beams a proud grin my way, telling me all I need to know. I nod permission, and wait for all hell to break loose.

With a great and triumphant cry, Alexander unleashes his noble phantasm,"IONIAN HETAIROI!"