The War of Kings [Code Geass and Fate/Stay Night Crossover]

[Pale Wolf]

How are is C.C. of Justica and Angra Mainyu (I'm assuming that since this is analogous to the Fourth War, the Einzberns stil summoned Avenger in the Third War and screwed things up for everyone) and how aware are they of her? And does this extra factor attached to the Grail effect it's corruption and wish giving abilities?

She and Angra Mainyu are fairly aware of each other.

The thing is that the Grail, due to Angra Mainyu, can only grant wishes through destruction.

Her wish is the destruction of herself. She's especially susceptible to Angra Mainyu's nature. She wouldn't naturally consider 'destroy other things in an effort to destroy myself', but when fused with Angra Mainyu's 'I am where all the douchery in the world comes to stay, I am the victim of every crime'...

Angra Mainyu itself is affected somewhat in reverse - aside from the access to vastly more power (with an Alaya uplink, Angra Mainyu really can destroy the world, even with Counter Guardian deployment, and Counter Guardians can't deploy due to paradox, worlds in a plural sense are threatened), CC's self-destructive strain has come in too.

There really is only so much 'personality' Angra Mainyu actually has anymore. As an entity, it's not really sapient. There was a person there, but his mind's been broken down to the point where it's nothing but hatred. Angra Mainyu is less of a 'colour' at this point, and more of a 'tint'. When interacting with anyone, the only thing Angra Mainyu can really do is emulate another personality, because his is long-gone.

Every time he's interacted with people in any way beyond 'hateglarehatehatehatehateglare', it's best-described as 'he uses another person as a model - Shirou, Irisviel - and becomes them, just, a dick'. And even then he can only be so much of a dick - in Hollow Ataraxia, the hero who saved the day was Angra Mainyu, because in the end, he was still Emiya Shirou, just, a bit of a dick. And Irisvielmainyu was only capable of attacking the man she loved after absolute rejection. It's more of a 'I'm still the person I'm emulating, I just painted it black'.

So that's what's in there - the Grail has obtained both power beyond measure, and 'definition'. That definition is 'CC, painted black'.

When Marianne was talking to CC? The scene, taking both sides into account:



"... really have been treating you roughly, haven't they, CC?" Anya's voice came, an unfamiliar note of laughter in the words. "I'm not surprised you ran off, though why did you go there?"

There was a pause, as if someone inaudible were responding. (*Giggle* "He was calling me...")

"... he? Who?" Anya sounded outright befuddled by whatever the response had been.

Though Archer might just have a guess on who 'he' was. ("My brother, my comrade, my friend..." Laughter.)

"... What happened to you, CC?" Befuddlement had given way to outright disturbed.

Another pause for response. ("I realized, Marianne... we were overcomplicating everything.")

"Overcomplicating...?" Back to confusion.

("We always knew, the problem was not the system. It was not the times. The problem with humanity was... humanity.") The pause here, as whoever she was speaking to explained, was longer.

"And that's why the Ragnarok Connection... we need you to assure it will work, 100%, CC. And then we can complete our contract." She sounded almost desperate.

(*Smile* "You don't need to worry. ~I found a better way...~") Archer could actually hear Anya's small body shivering. She didn't speak further, simply rustling around in the room a bit more.

Then he could hear her footsteps approaching, moving towards the door. He dialled down the reinforcement as she got closer, and as the door opened and she began stepping out, he asked, "So 'Project CC' is a person?"

[Pale Wolf]

Disclaimer: No copyright is mine, thus no copyrighted character is. If you recognize them from something that's not written by 'Pale Wolf', I have no legal claim to them.

Code Geass: The War Of Kings

By Pale Wolf

Chapter Six

The Peace Ends

~~~I========>

"So, Archer, looks like we're partners now!" Archer staggered as the huge Rider looped an arm around his shoulders and rested his significant weight there.

Archer grumbled under his breath, but refrained from shrugging the arm off. "I wouldn't go that far." And he heard the click as Anya got a picture on her cellphone.

"No, no, I gotcha." The red-haired man grinned, releasing Archer - a tall man himself (finally), but this guy was huge - and clapping his paw (the term 'hand' wasn't really appropriate) against his back. Archer at least didn't stagger this time. "Our Masters have a relationship, thus far we don't. We're going to need to establish one."

... Crap. He was Greek.

"Uh... Rider...? 'Relationship' is a bit far too..." the pink-haired girl... well, the one in a dress, anyway... commented, fiddling uncomfortably with her vast lengths of hair.

'Princess Euphemia li Britannia', apparently. The kid had sent out a signal for aid, and since Anya and Rolo were the closest Britannian unit, they'd charged out to the rescue. And, of course, found a Servant. Her Servant.

If this were any kind of normal Servant (then again, there was no such thing as a 'normal' Servant, becoming a Heroic Spirit meant you were a freak to begin with), it would have turned into a fight right there, but Rider had just offered Archer a job. He hadn't answered yet (refusal, of course, the Grail was probably a non-option to begin with, and Archer had never yet called anyone his king and wasn't about to start now), but it had at least given them a chance to talk things over.

"Ahahah, sure, sure, if you say so."

Looked like the little princess had had no idea what was going on, so they'd explained the basics, and Anya and Rolo had called back for orders.

"Regardless," Rolo interrupted, still standing at attention in the doorway to the living room of the safehouse - the 'Geass Directorate' and/or the Britannian SIS (whichever was involved in what here) had a whole number of them scattered around. This wasn't the one out of which the Directorate ran its 'mediator' services, of course. "Orders from High Command are that we are to cooperate for the length of the Holy Grail War," he restated.

The princess nodded, looking up from her phone. "Yes... this must be very important to Father... He does not often speak with us."

Anya didn't look up from hers - she was typing up something again - as she spoke. "Objection?"

"No, just... confused." The princess tugged at her hair. "I mean, magic was a fantasy three hours ago, and now I'm in some kind of magical super tournament. Under orders from Father..."

"Mm," Rider rumbled. "No objections, but I'd like to talk to you in private at some point, kiddo." There was totally an issue there. If Archer had to guess, it was relating to the princess's uncertainty - Rider was obviously used to being 'alpha as fuck', but with his Master having trouble understanding what was going on, that put him on the short end. Fortunately, Archer didn't have to guess, he was exceptional at eavesdropping.

"Eh? Um, okay..."

Anya's eyes rose from her cellphone to look at Archer, who shrugged. "Hey, I'm still with you, Maaaaanya," he amended his address under her death glare, smirking.

She eyed him for a bit before returning to her cellphone. "It'll do."

Rolo nodded. "We will need to meet Princess Cornelia when she arrives. For that purpose, we should act as SIS agents under Dame Alstreim. Princess Euphemia excluded."

Rider waved a hand. "I'm up for that, but later. I want to get a sense for the terrain. I'm going to need modern clothing and maps... especially maps."

Rolo shrugged. "Those can be acquired. ... Why clothing?"

Rider grinned. "Need to get a feel for the terrain, not just a list of salient features. I mean, I wouldn't mind walking around like this," he gestured down at his bronze armour, kilt, and crimson cloak 'Middle Eastern conqueror' getup, "but the way my Master was gibbering, I wouldn't really fit in."

"... You don't exactly seem the sort who desperately wants to fit in, Rider," Archer noted. He hadn't even considered going spiritual, clearly.

"Nah, but there's no point getting a feel for the place if I'm making the place different just being there, y'know? Besides, I think the Grail status thing's telling me something about awesome shirts, and I'm kind of curious."

For some reason, that line reminded Archer of something. It was nothing deeply precious to his self, more of a 'throwaway line he'd once heard', but still, it was strange enough to catch his attention.

Archer hummed. "Minor problem occurs to me. That's going to burn through prana a bit quicker, being physical rather than spiritual. It's not insurmountable, but do you have any coming in? Or are you running off your own stocks?" He wasn't a desperate fan of cooperating like this, but it'd be just kind of embarrassingly stupid if an enemy, let alone an ally, discorporated because he forgot to check on his prana supply.

"Um... what's prana?" the princess asked, hand raised as if she were in school. Which answered the question better than Rider ever could have.

Rider nodded calmly, answering anyway. "I am. I have a solution in mind, as well. Your Master can teach mine basic casting." He turned to the princess. "I won't draw much, but I am going to need a positive inflow, unless the battles turn out hilariously easy."

"Yeah, no, they're not," Archer nodded. "I've seen some of the loons floating around here." Gilgamesh certainly wasn't the sort of opponent you fought with your tank half-empty. He was beatable, but it wasn't the sort of thing you could do without being well-rested and prepared. Or cheating. Archer was a fan of that.

Rider nodded again. "Then I'll need something coming in. So, Master of Archer?"

Anya just waved a hand in Archer's direction, fielding the question to him.

Archer chuckled. "She has the bare minimum of magecraft herself. And you don't want me teaching, I used to use my nerves for it instead of my actual magic circuits."

Rider winced. "... Right then. I'll need to supply a teacher."

"... Supply? Not teach yourself?" Mm. It made some sense. Rider was the class of 'cooperation with another'. It was stereotypically a mount, but stereotypically Archer was a ranged-only class and he had never met one that wasn't at least proficient in basic close combat (extremely basic in Gilgamesh's case). So the stereotypes were pretty stupid to rely on to begin with, they'd been imagined by people who mostly weren't skilled combatants, and couldn't possibly encompass supreme combatants. "Your Noble Phantasm?" There was no chance that was the limit of its capacity - the fact that Rider was willing to show this much meant there was more held in reserve.

"Yeah, I can materialize my comrades. In this case, I'm thinking of a very good magus... not quite sure where I remember him from, but whatever." Rider swung out his arm, draping it over someone's shoulders - and as his arm settled into place, the someone appeared.

Tallish, thin, sharp-featured, longish black hair, eternally cranky expression on his face, cigar settled in a long-fingered hand, dressed in a modern business suit, with a dark red coat and long gold scarf slung over it. The man slowly blinked, puffing his cigar once. "The fuck you doing here, Emiya?" Fortunately, he'd said it in English - a language that only actually existed in Archer's timeline, incomprehensible to native speakers of the Britannian language (a Welsh-ish horror the likes of which twisted his soul to try and pronounce when he tried to do it without the Grail's support, and even with the Grail's support, abominations like King Arthur's Noble Phantasm shield Wynebgwrthucher were... beyond him).

Archer facepalmed. Now he could place that shirt comment. "This was the one you had, Velvet?" Responding in the same language, of course. This was Alexander the goddamn Great? "And how did he call you?" Heroic Spirits weren't supposed to retain memory of the times they were summoned... no, Rider didn't remember it, he'd said as much, but... then how would he call someone he'd met on a summoning?

The man - Waver Velvet, Lord El-Melloi II of Clock Tower back when Clock Tower was actually a thing - smiled, looking back over his shoulder at Rider. The smile alone was a bit disturbing, because Archer did not see such a pure expression on that guy's face very often at all. "I can't say to how. But yeah. It's him."

No, Waver knew exactly how he'd been summoned. Waver was a hell of a lot smarter than Archer, and Archer was starting to put it together himself. But of course he wouldn't say it - he was Rider's ally, he wouldn't reveal the man's secrets, even to an old comrade.

Rider grinned down at Waver, cranking the man closer in a one-armed embrace. "You've grown, boyo! See? Thirty centimeters!" Britannian language - the Grail didn't give him English, Archer supposed.

"It wasn't the height that did it, Rider," Waver deadpanned, switching to Britannian. Apparently the Grail passed it on to him too, good.

"... Really? Huh." The wide face blinked in surprise.

Heroic Spirits retained some data across summonings. Data integral to their natures - data without which the Heroic Spirit would no longer be the Heroic Spirit. Rider was not the sort who would never forget a comrade - he was the sort who could never forget a comrade, who was literally incapable of it. To whom 'memories of a comrade' exceeded the laws of reality.

It was the sort of utterly distorted psyche that gave rise to a Reality Marble. And while Waver had never talked about the precise powers of his Servant's inner world... Archer suspected that if Rider expanded it to override the real world, the Hetairoi would march again.

Waver slipped out of Rider's grip, gesturing to Archer. "I'm going to need to talk to that punk over there for a bit, Rider."

Rider's eyes settled on Archer, narrowing slightly, a cool evaluation in them much more suitable to the general who'd conquered the greatest empire in the world (even if the one he'd built on the ruins had basically been five minutes of shit - that was a different skillset). "Oh?"

"I will explain, Rider, but I need information only he's going to have before I can do so properly."

Rider nodded. "Go for it. And give me a hand figuring out where the heck I remember you from, when you're back. I remember you, but I can't remember the specifics."

Waver grinned his 'I met Tohsaka Rin one too many times' grin of pure evil. "I have an idea or two on what I'd do if I met you again, Rider. Can't say how much it'll help, but I can at least restore some of your memories."

Anya cocked her head, taking a picture of the three. "Friend?"

Archer chuckled. "More of an acquaintance. We were associates in life. Though I didn't know Rider."

Rolo looked between the two Servants, face expressionless. He'd better buy this, because things would turn downright problematic if Archer had to go into real details before things were ready.

Fortunately, Anya, at least, just nodded. "Tell me sometime."

"Will do." Hopefully he actually had the chance. Eh, if not, wouldn't be the first promise he broke. Or the twenty-third.

The princess, for her part, just watched in the polite confusion of someone who had no idea what was going on but didn't want to interrupt.

Archer gave a short wave, and slipped out of the living room, into the adjacent kitchen.

Waver stepped through behind him, shutting the door and exhaling a cloud of cigar smoke onto it. The smoke spread, covering the door entirely, and every wall, floor, ceiling, and piece of furniture of the room.

They could talk freely now.

The house was totally bugged, Archer could see three just from here, but Waver's spell stopped the air from moving - from vibrating. It was bargain-basic magecraft, but sound could not pass through the smoke. He'd used this one many a time in the jobs they cooperated on. Lip reading wasn't a concern either, the smoke would muffle the cameras so the necessary precision just wasn't there.

There were magecraft espionage methods his smokescreen wouldn't block, but Archer generally found those easy enough to detect - the smokescreen would be tighter otherwise, making scrying orders of magnitudes harder (frankly, when the scryable area was the two millimeters Waver could get it to if he was really pushing it, anybody who could spy on them bloody deserved it), but it smelled like shit and required them to be closer than any people not boning each other preferred to be, so Waver preferred to leave it a bit distant when Archer was around to catch the spells.

And really, they spoke a language that didn't even exist in this universe, so the chances of their dealings being understood were low, though translation was a possible concern - the bigger danger was the fact that they were having dealings. He would have to spin it as a habit for privacy without any conspiring going on - and honestly, they did have such a habit, it was just that they were actually conspiring this time too.

Waver gave another puff of his cigar, leaning back against the fridge. "What the hell is with you and the short jailbait, Emiya? This is a slightly disturbing pattern of yours."

"Hey, that is..." Archer raised a finger in protest, before sighing and lowering it. Rin... Ilya... Koliva... Saber... Luvia... Hortensia... Canaan... Renata... Victoria... Sajyou... now Anya... yeah, no, he couldn't really argue it. At least Bazette and Corine were tall enough not to fall in that category without a lot of wrangling. The list was disturbingly long, now that he thought about it.

Waver smirked. "Did this one's parents at least not engage in inappropriate relations with a tank?"

"Nah. Howitzer." Seriously, Anya's relationship with heavy artillery was almost as intimate as his with swords.

"Your talents never cease to amaze me, Emiya." Waver shook his head. "I wish they would..."

"Done teasing now?"

"For the moment."

Archer just sighed, wiping down one of the counters. It wasn't really that dirty, but eh. It was calming. "So what happened after my execution?"

"Not a whole lot I can say on that account," Waver noted. "It was only a week ago from my perspective, I appear to have been summoned from pretty close to minimize paradox. Though, the Russkie was marching on the guys that ordered it, last I saw. ... I didn't ask where she got that damn tank. I'm pretty sure it was her father."

Archer just looked at him, rolling his eyes. "Okay, seriously, let the 'human/tank crossbreed' jokes slip for five minutes, they don't need to be hammered into the ground."

"Sure, sure. She actually did have a tank, though."

"... No comment." Those poor bastards...

Waver puffed his cigar again, inhaling the sweet carcinogens. "You had some damn dedicated friends, Emiya."

"... Are you sure 'friend' is the appropriate word, considering how often we put each other in traction?"

"Yeah, that whole 'Heroes of Justice' thing probably works out a lot better when you can agree what justice is." Waver lowered his cigar. "Speaking of. The Grail."

Archer shook his head. "I haven't managed to confirm yet. This is the Fourth in an alternate universe, so it may still be screwed, it may not. I don't know. Best to assume it is until we can confirm, though." It would only be possible to confirm whether the corruption was there very late in the Grail War, when the damn thing actually appeared. Four or five Servants dead at the least. If those dead Servants included Archer and the actual winner didn't notice, then this world was fucked. It might be fucked anyway, the Grail had burned Fuyuki even when rejected and destroyed at the last instant, and this one had more power in it. "That going to be a problem with your boss?"

"Yes and no. I'm telling him, obviously. But he got burned in life pursuing a prize that didn't exist. He was tentative about the Grail to begin with. And I may have us a win condition or two that gets his wish accomplished, with or without the Grail. I don't have any of my Mystic Codes, but I might be able to rebuild and get something going. If you want another life too, it shouldn't be any trouble, if I manage it once I can do it twice." Waver shrugged. "Not going to offer a guarantee until I've dipped in and seen what I can do. But if you could get me the Grail vessel to work with, the chances go a lot higher."

"... Waver, I'm not letting you vivisect my mother-in-law."

"Come on, seriously? No trust... My experiments don't have to be lethal or even particularly painful. You know I'm second-rate, I at least wait for them to die before cutting them open, and I don't kill 'em either." A first-rate magus wouldn't wait. More useful data could be obtained from a subject that was still alive. To the extent the term applied. Of course, that was how magi put the terms - the greatest magi Archer knew were all considered 'second-rate' by that metric, from Zelretch, down through Tohsaka, Rudahigwa, Velvet...

Archer nodded. "And wear it as a badge of honour... right. I'll keep it in mind. I can't say how practical it is, but if the opportunity arises..." Yeah... Waver was mostly trustworthy. And even if he did have a sudden change of character and carve up the homunculus... securing Rider's aid took priority. It had to. If the Grail blew, they were looking at mass death on an unprecedented scale. Everyone in Fuyuki, at bare minimum, on up to 'everyone on Earth', though the First would probably deploy a Counter Guardian before it got that far - thus killing everyone in Fuyuki, Counter Guardians were not precise instruments. Any one person, no matter their relationship to Archer, was a blessedly small sacrifice in the face of that.

He hated himself for thinking like that, literally to the point he wanted to murder himself for it, but because he thought like that, he'd hate himself even more if he didn't save the thousands of other people who would be saved by that sacrifice. The math was easy, it was just living with it that was hard.

"I suppose it's not practical to go dismantle the Greater Grail again right now, even if I had our win condition in place," Waver surmised.

"Not even. Old Zouken and the Einzberns aside - and that's a pretty damn big aside, you remember how batshit that got last time even without a Grail War on - we've still got at least five other Servants who're gunning for a wish and would rip us up for it, not to mention our own Command Seals if we can't get Anya and the princess on our side."

Waver hummed. "Yeah, figured. Okay, I guess we figure shit out and fight the War as normal, for now. At least, unless Rider's whole negotiation thing works out a bit better this time and we get some Servants figuring out what's up."

"If it comes down to it, I can Rule Break them. I'd rather keep it in reserve, though." He still had no idea who that Caster waving the thing around had been, but he'd have to thank her for the gift. Maybe kill Gilgamesh in vengeance for her horrible murder or something. Ah, who was he kidding, that was a favour to himself long before it was a gift for anyone else.

"What's it look like on the actual Grail War we're supposed to be fighting? Quick summary."

"Zany." Archer shrugged. "It's a Grail War, the only thing that'd surprise me at this point is if one happened without crimes against humanity. We've got local military pulling massacre, assassination of a prince possibly by Lancer, some kind of supernatural power mixed in with the Grail that makes it even stronger, and Assassin is Gilgamesh."

"... That's what I get for asking for the condensed version, huh? Right, I'll explain things to Rider and we'll put our heads together, you can tell the full story and we plan things out in more detail."

"How were you planning on restoring his memories of the Fourth, anyway? Do you even know where they're stored? If they're stored?" Modifying a Servant was an insane proposition, but if anyone could do it, it would be Rin or Waver. And Waver would do it with some rookie spell even Archer could manage, used in some way that made perfect sense only after he did it and explained his process.

Waver grinned. "Not quite restoration, actually. But I was by his side pretty near the whole time. I'll just transplant my memories of the Fourth to him. He ought to be able to figure out the blanks."

"Don't forget you're going to have to do what you were here for to begin with and teach some magecraft," Archer noted. "If that princess doesn't supply Rider enough prana to stick around and keep you floating, your other projects aren't going much of anywhere. She's got the power and more to spare, but you're going to need to get it flowing."

Waver shook his head. "I seriously hope as a Hetairoi I get the same 'don't need to sleep' benefit Servants do..."

~~~I========>

Saber leaned on the railing, face expressionless as she watched Japan's coastline grow larger. A part of her mind highlighted each military facility as it, with help from her 'Grail updates on the modern world', identified them - armoured structures, a handful of long generally-tubular artillery coilguns, and the sort.

The larger part was still working through the implications of what the Grail had told her regarding this world's history.

This had to be the world she had wished for - a world where a better king had taken her place in history. That was clear enough. A world where the Britons had never fallen - her people, the Britons, not that other future ruled over by the English, the thrice-damned Germanic Angles and Saxons she'd fought her entire life to keep out of Britain in the first place.

There was no more appropriate place from which she could fight to create this future. She was just trying to grasp her feelings on whether she should.

Her kingdom prospered. Beyond any dream she'd ever dared. That much was glorious. But... it did so on the backs and crushed hopes of 'everyone else'. They were not, she thought, as bad as the English had been in that other future - but they were her Britons, and that magnified every sin, because they should be better.

And on the positive side, it had still prospered far beyond her wildest hopes for centuries before falling into that. This darkness was, comparatively, a recent development. But... recent or not, did the past really matter, when it ended up like this?

Such were the questions. In the end, it came down to this: should she make the wish that created this future, replace herself with a better king, and hope Britannia could raise itself out of this corruption? Or should she wish to fix this Britannia, and let her own failures stand?

The Britain of the past, and the Britannia of the future... she could only save one. Thus... even if she won, she lost.

'Pretty...' Her Master, watching from the other end of the Servant sensory link (in truth, hundreds of kilometers away), was somewhat less philosophical.

'I suppose so. I do not have good memories of this land, myself.' She did not truly blame Kiritsugu. She did not comprehend his actions, could not comprehend the actions of a man who destroyed the Holy Grail he had sacrificed his own wife to obtain at the very moment it fell into his hands. It had been her own error. As with Britain. As with Lancelot and Guinevere. With her own foolish optimism, she had assumed she understood people - but she had simply been projecting what she wished to see.

Rider was still wrong. The country did not sacrifice for the king. The king sacrificed for the country. Her own failure to do so did not mean her way was wrong. Merely that she was unqualified. In the end, everyone had sacrificed for her. She had failed to live up to her own ideals. That did not make them wrong, it merely made her wrong.

Which was why she did not much like her memories of Japan, she supposed. The Fourth Grail War - or, she supposed, the last Fourth Grail War - had been hellish for all involved. Irisviel sacrificed for nothing, Diarmuid's dream crushed in the cruelest way possible, Maiya dead... and Saber shown just how far short she had truly fallen from the king she should have been.

'Wow... you've been to Japan before, Saber?' Her Master's childlike wonder brought the barest ghost of a smile to Saber's face.

'Not in life. However, I was once summoned for a prior Holy Grail War.'

'What was it like?'

Saber hummed. 'Not pleasant. In truth, I should cut off our sensory exchange for many of its events. It is not the sort of thing a child should see when they have the option.'

'No, Saber! You... you promised... you promised to show me the world...'

Saber pursed her lips, smoothing out the black suit her Master's associates had provided - like the last one, it really was rather comfortable. She wasn't crossdressing as part of a plan, though... more habit than anything else. 'Just the same... I am not sure you really know how bad it will be.' Her Master was certainly far enough, and safe, but the child's innocence was also a concern.

"Saber," her decoy Master clipped out, as he came up to stand next to her, brushing his long, silky black hair behind his shoulders.

Saber nodded. "Xingke." If they were as friendly as her last decoy Master, she would have suggested he tie it into a ponytail like she had, because the sea breeze was already whipping his hair about again. But their relationship was not so casual as that.

"You have the plan memorized." Not a question - an order.

"I do. We are to meet with local officials to secure diplomatic entry into the nation. You and I are to function as guards for the ambassador, drawing as little attention as is feasible. The general intent is to take advantage of the confusion to slip in as the new Governor-General arrives and takes office, and use the embassy as base. When Servants are located, we are to move out and assault them with full force."

The man frowned a bit, but nodded. "Broadly. ... One more thing."

Saber cocked her head. "Yes?"

"It doesn't matter whether you win or lose," Xingke stated, voice frigid. "You are not to pass on the cost of your Noble Phantasm to your Master. I don't care if you dissolve. Your summoning was a pure accident, your Master will not face any danger because of it. Are we understood?"

"We are, Xingke," Saber agreed, unconcerned by his vicious tone of voice. It was a bit odd to hear from a man who sounded so similar to Diarmuid, but it was still nothing like Kiritsugu. ... And who was the one who had summoned her? Her very being had rejected his call. She had not felt such an incompatible summon, even with Kiritsugu. "I will require a generally positive flow of prana to operate." She could run off her inner stores entirely, but it would be dangerous. If the caliber of her opponents was anything like it had been last time, 'generally positive' would be too low, let alone 'no inflow at all'. "But I will not draw more than the bare minimum." She certainly would not harm a child. She would have to make up for the inefficiency with ferocity.

"... Wish I had one of those Command Seal things to put on that. But then, if I had them, we wouldn't be in this situation to begin with."

Saber's hackles rose. "You have the word of a knight, Xingke," she snapped. "You do not require a magus's leash for an unruly dog." The man wasn't even a magus, the most he and her Master knew about it was lore they'd scraped up after her Master's accidental entry into the Holy Grail War, and what she herself had explained. He was a swordsman like her - a swordsman she would have invited to the Round Table in another time, even - he should know that.

"That's nice." Xingke waved a hand, dismissing it. "But I've seen enough oaths of loyalty broken that I don't take words at face value anymore. And if you do, then the more fool you." He pushed off the ship's railing, sharply turning and stalking back towards the ship's superstructure.

'Xingke...' her Master whispered through the connection.

Saber's eyes widened. '... I apologize, Master. I should have cut the shared perception.'

'... It's okay, Saber. I... asked you to show me the world. I shouldn't... complain... just because of what I see.' The girl's voice was... sadder, but wiser.

'... Very well. I will not cut the link unless you ask it. But if this is anything like last time... do not hesitate to ask. There is no shame in it.' Even if another like Caster appeared... she would not cut the link without request. Because her Master may be a child now. But every child had to grow up one day. And it was to them to decide when.

Saber herself had not been much older when she took up the throne. She certainly had no place to stop someone else who wished to from taking on greater responsibility.

~~~I========>

Rider hummed, folding his arms across his chest as Archer and Waver floated into the room, materializing in front of him. He still wasn't entirely sorted through the memories the kiddo (Could he really call him that? Waver was far older than he'd lived to at this point, and almost certainly wiser... eh, it was fun this way) had tossed him, but he had the gist, he'd pored over the maps, and he'd have to get moving at some point.

"So," he began. "Grail's busted, huh?" It was good he hadn't had the chance to get all set on a few more years of life, but man, it still sucked. "And that's how the Grail works? We're not just competing for it, we're fed into the thing to make it work at all?"

Waver sighed. "Yes... sorry. I only found out afterward."

Rider nodded, rubbing his chin. "Well, that'll present some trouble. Can't negotiate with the other Servants if 'everyone but one' has to die to get it, even if the damn thing worked to begin with." Sure, he could lie, but fuck that. He'd lost a lot of friends trying to reach the ocean encircling the world. Hephaestion. Cleitus (the cool one). Philotas. Erigyius. Coenus, Ptolemy... Far too many friends. He wasn't marching on a prize that didn't exist when he knew ahead of time - and he certainly wasn't pulling anyone else into it. "Sure you can't fix it?"

Waver held up his hands. "I wouldn't dare try. It took centuries of spectacular magi cooperating to get the thing running in the first place, we have two completely separate impurities in it, and I've never actually seen the thing running properly. I'd have to reconstruct the thing from scratch to even consider repairing it, and there's nowhere near the time."

"Mm, yeah, we'll gun for your bypass plan, then."

Archer hummed, leaning back against a smoke-wreathed wall. "The theory is simple enough. Get a container for us, and supply prana. The hardest part was getting us here, but the Grail already did that. A body that's actually honestly material will be a lower prana cost and shouldn't require the Grail, just a Master, but the toughest remaining part will be overcoming the Grail and the Throne's efforts to pull our 'selves' back."

Waver tsked. "You remember any useful details from that Hodgson project your lot helped moderate way back when? Shit, that was eighteen years ago, time seriously fucking flies..."

"No way to know. I remember some things, but whether you can use any of it is another question. Most of my job in that involved stabbing people, not detailed magecraft work. And getting stabbed by fucking Gungnir when Colonel Massenet got compromised, but 'getting stabbed' is my specialty." Archer shrugged. "If you have a question, ask and I'll answer if I can. Why?"

Waver flicked a finger, lighting his cigar and bringing it up to his lips for a puff. "If this were a backup plan, I'd be fine with 'copy the mind and download it into the new vessel', but since this is turning into a primary, I'm going to want to go whole hog. Magi haven't been able to detect relevant differences and flaws between 'copy in a host body' and 'the original', but that doesn't necessarily mean they aren't there. If it were a fallback, the flaws would be acceptable, but if this is the primary plan, let's gun for perfection."

Rider shook his head. "Get the backup going first, boyo. We can still default to that if you don't get the tough part done before everything goes to shit. I'm pretty sure you will, because you were impressive enough as a little punk to start with, but you need the vessel part anyway, yeah?"

Waver paused, flushing slightly at the praise. "Ah... yeah. Yeah, I do."

Rider grinned, clapping the man on the shoulder - and this time, he didn't knock the kid down doing it. "Then just work on the easy part first, and dick around with the laws of reality later." He turned his gaze to Archer. "Besides, we've got our own job to do, yeah? I'm not really a spellcaster, but I can follow the talk, and I seem to have caught something about 'require a Master'. All these whacked plans are gonna need that, and do we really have an in with the pinkettes? I believe you, because one of my Companions said it. But do we have that much trust from the girls?"

Archer hummed. "I... might. I'd want to build it up a bit more before betting on it, but I'd call it... thirty percent. There are some other issues I'm trying to figure out, but if it came down to whether she'd believe me about the Grail and take our side against orders, it's somewhere in that range."

"And I'll have to talk with mine." The girl needed some help anyway, she was in way over her head. It was possible she could grow to match, but she certainly wasn't there yet. He'd need to get a sense for her. "How'd that whole 'meeting the Governor-General' thing go?" Rider would like to meet her, too - get a sense for the people who ruled the world right now to figure out his general path of conquest - but he couldn't get too ahead of himself. He had to save the world, before he could conquer it. And secure his own existence, that part would probably help a little bit. Besides, he'd been sitting around down here working through the memories Waver had loaded into his brain, so there wasn't really the time to go.

Archer waved a hand. "Well enough. She's ticked about leaving it to us, but she'll follow orders. She's going to flip if she finds out princess pink's part of this, though."

Rider grinned. He'd like the chance to see that. Teasing the serious types was way too fun. Probably part of why he'd first started poking Saber in that other War he'd competed in, though the more he found out about that broken little girl, the more personal it got. Certainly, from the memories Waver passed him, it was personal already. "And you? Interested in joining me? I would take you as a trusted companion, and share the world with you."

"Nah," Archer replied, brutally and without an instant's hesitation. "Conquest, kings, and servants have never been my thing."

Rider blinked, cocking his head and blinking a few more times. "... Really? What do you enjoy?" Maybe some really sweet parties?

"... No comment," the Servant replied sourly.

"Come on, you've gotta have some fun in life, Archer. It's short! It's gotta be sweet." He'd actually been surprised that even Waver leaking the name 'Emiya Shirou' hadn't allowed him to look up the identity within the Grail - but then again, maybe it wasn't that surprising. Waver was from the future - a Heroic Spirit he knew would be from the same timeframe, the Grail wouldn't know them. He hoped some of the Heroic Spirits of the future at least knew how to have a good time. He'd have to pick up some stories of the awesome battles of the future from those two, when they could get the chance. Obviously Waver had gotten involved in them - no Companion of his would do anything less - and this 'Shirou' guy had hit Heroic Spirit, so he must've got some sweet battle in, himself. Needed to work that Gungnir story out of him.

Of course he wasn't giving up on getting Archer into his army that quick - he didn't yet know the specifics of the man's abilities, but really, the fact that he'd been summoned as a Heroic Spirit was enough to know they were worth looking into. It was just a bit longer-term of a project than he'd hoped. ... Honestly, the 'I'm Iskander, will you join my army and conquer the world?' direct upfront pitch had only actually worked once, on Roxana, but that was no reason not to state his desires right from the beginning. It had worked that once! Technically, he wasn't Iskander, for that matter - his birth name was Alexandros, he just liked the Persian form of his name more. Hm, maybe he was getting off-topic.

Archer just smacked his face with the palm of his hand.

... Yeah, he was totally going to have to get that guy drunk. Possibly find the guy a good nightclub or brothel, he looked way too tense.

And hm, alcohol reminded him of Gilgamesh. Maybe he could bum a bit more of that wine off him. Waver's-memories-him seemed to have really liked the stuff, so now he wanted a taste. ... No way that guy would let them just go ahead with things, though. Rider was going to have to kick his ass this time... on the plus side, now he knew what Goldie was going to throw at him. Now he could plan around it. Maybe Archer would be a bit of help, but really, he didn't want to wreck the fun by just dogpiling the guy with an extra Servant.

Rider sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Yeah... and we can't risk the world blowing if the Grail's corrupted in this one too. Can't take the risk, so it doesn't even matter whether it is or isn't messed up here. Guess it's a good thing one of my Companions is some kind of great magus." He grinned.

Waver chuckled. "You're going to inflate my ego way too much there, Rider. And seriously, what's with that change of topic?"

"Deep thoughts, kiddo. Deep thoughts." Rider grinned. "I was thinking on something I'd read once, and-"

"You used the Iliad crack last time, Rider," Waver deadpanned.

... So he had. Damn. "... Ah well." He held out a hand. "Even if you're not joining my army right now, we're on the same side until the Grail's dealt with. Let's kick some ass together, Archer."

Archer rolled his eyes, but extended his own hand to clasp Rider's. "I'll accept that contract."

Rider grinned, turning to the television in the room, and switching it on. "So! Let's learn about this world!" He looped an arm around each man's shoulders, and hauled them down into the couch (Waver was settling in, quite familiar - Archer was flailing in surprise), as the smoke pulled away from the television to allow them to hear it.

~~~I========>

[Pale Wolf]

~~~I========>

They'd moved right into the training after the opening salute. It was becoming generally familiar after the past five nights of this, to Kokoro at least - they'd be taught the basic mechanics of a technique, and the concepts it built on, and then two students would be pulled into an exercise against one of the Servants each, while the third student watched and caught their breath. According to Kallen, it was similar to the Chinese chi sao exercise - apparently she had picked up a fair knowledge of martial arts... somewhere. Probably not a surprise for a resistance fighter. As a Britannian noble she probably could have just hired personal instructors... which might have been exactly what she did, for that matter.

For the moment, she was the one resting, having been gently pulled all around the floor by Aon... and trying to cool down her heated body without being caught having her... reactions. Lelouch at least seemed to have been desensitized to the extensive physical contact, and didn't really seem to notice the gender and softness of the girl throwing him around the room (currently, Lancer) any more. He'd been hiding his own embarrassed reactions originally, and Kokoro wasn't sure if anyone but her had been staring enough to catch them, but they seemed to have more or less ceased by now.

Kokoro herself would need to... find someone to attend to matters... in the near future. The very near future, if she let it lie much longer she was not going to be able to keep her... requirements... hidden. Part of her - a rather sizeable part of her - wanted to make good on the ritual 'marriage' with Lelouch. But it was better not to. He deserved better, and she did not want to ruin their current working relationship. She shook herself. It was a problem for another time, dwelling on her body was not going to quell its... needs.

The exercises were generally low-intensity, the idea being, according to Lancer, to have them repeat what they'd been taught properly so many times that it would be their first instinct in a situation calling for it, though the teachers sometimes stepped it up, to force them to pull it together at speed. Kokoro and Lelouch usually failed, but on occasion, it did come together. She was still fairly sure anything they managed was because their instructors were letting it happen, though.

Kokoro sipped her water, as Lancer's arms snaked up over Lelouch's guard, one hand cupping an elbow and the other at his wrist, and twisted, carrying his entire body with the twist - Lelouch winced as Lancer slowly forced him to the floor, and Kokoro knew for a fact that when done at speed and with a Servant's prodigious strength (Lancer had let Aon use her to demonstrate), a person could almost be picked up and flung head over heels by one of those maneuvers. ... Perhaps 'heels over head' would be more precise, the head was normally over the heels, so now her mind was wandering the tangent of 'where did that phrase even come from'.

"Ah... you keep doing that. I must be making some error, but I can't find it... what am I doing wrong?"

Lancer grinned, letting him go. "Take up your guard again."

Aon and Kallen glanced over in the direction of the lesson, but continued their own exercise - clearly not having trouble with this, themselves. Kallen was easily the best student, being 'not physically incompetent'.

Lelouch nodded, standing and extending his arms in front of him, slightly bent, settling on the balls of his feet - one of the basic 'positions to fight in' Lancer had taught the first day.

Lancer nodded. "Look at your arms. That's not the guard." She cupped his elbow with her hand again. "You need these pointing down. When they're pointing outward, there's no structure up there. Look at it this way. Bring your hands together, try to resist my pressure."

Lelouch nodded, and obeyed, long fingers lacing together.

Lancer pressed against the clasped hands - Lelouch's arms strained and quickly bent out to the sides, letting Lancer's palm tap his hands against his sternum. "So, question for the class - why didn't that work? I didn't use supernatural strength on that, to head that one off. That was pretty gentle."

Kokoro hummed, pondering. Lancer was talking about structure, and... wait a minute. She performed a quick structural analysis spell on Lelouch as he took up the guard again to examine for himself, ignoring the more... tantalizing... details to focus on... yes... An expression of 'revelation' crossed his face, but he remained silent and glanced at her - letting her figure it out for herself.

Kokoro held out her own arm, performing a structural analysis... "... It's about the way the impetus flows, right?"

"It is indeed," Lancer nodded. "When pressure is applied against your hands, it pushes your hands back along their natural line of motion. It's the same basic concept, whether you're resisting a push, blocking a blow, or delivering one. When you receive it on extended hands, the pressure moves along your forearm, and out the elbow. The proper guard is with your elbows tucked in - that directs the energy into your main body, and from there, through your legs, and into the Earth. Done properly, you really just have to hold your stance, and let the other guy have fun trying to outmuscle a planet. This is the perfect state, and I'll say this outright - I wouldn't say I've managed it. But get as close as you can."

Lelouch nodded, cupping his chin. "... I see... and when they're outward, the body can't receive the force?"

"Yeah, it goes out into the air off to your sides. And it carries whatever body part it's impacting with it, out into the air off to your sides - as a general rule, most of them aren't meant to bend that way, but they will anyway. And thus the legs can't receive it and direct it into the ground, so you only have your arm's strength to resist with. If they're doing it wrong too, it comes down to muscle - a competition you might have trouble with to begin with. If they're doing it right, you're in even more trouble."

"And it presents... some form of target for you," Kokoro noted, sipping her water a bit more.

Lancer giggled. "Oh, bent arms are great, even more so when they broke structure..." She waved. "Kokoro, get up here, take a rest, Lelouch."

Lelouch gratefully darted over to the set chairs, slumping in it and reaching for one of the glasses of water.

Kokoro put her own water down, and moved out onto the floor. "Should we go into the exercise, or...?"

"Hold out your arm, bent for now. I want to show you some of the bullshit you can pull when you get that."

Kokoro nodded, holding her arm out, and shivering as Lancer's soft fingers laid on it.

"Now, you've seen this one..." Lancer gently pulled her wrist down, guiding the elbow upward into a vaguely chicken-wing-like configuration. "Think about how you'd get out - don't actually try, right now, but think about it."

From here, Kokoro could, easily enough, feel what Lancer meant. To escape, she needed to rotate her arm. But Lancer's hand cupping the elbow from behind prevented it from rotating backwards. The arm couldn't rotate forward, it had already reached the limit of its range of motion. She couldn't muscle out of it even if Lancer weren't orders of magnitude stronger, her arm felt like it had all the strength of a limp noodle here at its limit. "Mm... I can see a few ideas, but none is very good..."

Behind her, Lancer nodded. "You can actually break out of it with footwork, so this particular position is best used to press down. You can do it as soft or as hard as you like - do it hard enough, and you're going to rip something out of a joint."

"Yes, I noticed you crushing me to the floor with it," Lelouch noted from the side.

Lancer grinned. "All in a day's work. So." Lancer rotated Kokoro's arm in the opposite direction - wrist up, elbow down. "Now, this is a generally good position to be in. You have structure here. But if I push it a bit more..." She nudged.

Kokoro winced as Lancer reached the edge of her range of motion. "So you can force someone to comply because it hurts to resist, or..." If Lancer pushed any further, her entire torso would twist to follow.

"Just rip through and break something," Lancer nodded. "Exactly." Lancer let her go, stepping around in front of her and starting up the usual exercise - gently reaching for Kokoro's wrist. "Now, those are the two archetypes, but they exist everywhere."

It didn't look very dangerous, but Kokoro knew from prior lessons that, given a wrist hold, Lancer could and would drag all of them to the floor, so she turned her wrist before Lancer got a good grip, sliding out of it, and pulling her arm back.

Lancer thus demonstrated what she'd just said as her arm snaked around Kokoro's retreating arm, locking in just above the bent elbow, and twisted up as she stepped around, cranking her back around into the chicken-wing position.

Kokoro flushed at the close contact. "... Didn't you bend your arm to do that, though...?" Honestly, it wasn't a deep observation or anything, but she was trying to get her mind off that soft skin...

"Nice catch. Yes, I did." Lancer rewound to the opening stages of the lock. "That's the trick - the counter to a high key like this is a low key. Go ahead."

Kokoro blinked, and brought her forearm upward - pulling Lancer into a slightly folded position to compensate for Kokoro pulling her beyond her range of motion (not something she was actively trying to do, but it was difficult to see that she even had it until she did this much...).

"And vice-versa. It's a question of who gets theirs developed first, with the appropriate structure. Once you're developed, you've done so through their structure, so pretty much by definition, they don't have it. Which is why a bent elbow with bad structure is so dangerous - you've already given away your structure, which puts you two steps behind."

Lelouch hummed. "I see... A rather tactical way of going about things, isn't it? Quite a number of factors to balance." He looked both intrigued and... chastised?

Lancer chuckled. "It's a lot to remember, I know. You're not going to get it all right immediately. Almost no one does - it's a damned miracle if one person in a generation manages that. Just pay attention to it and you'll improve. I don't expect perfection here, but, for the record, here's what you want to do for a key like this. Kokoro."

"Y-yes!" Kokoro jolted, guiltily turning from Lelouch to Lancer. She hadn't been paying as much attention as she should.

"Your posture is generally fairly good. Two more things to note to get it better, though. First, take a step back with your left foot. Whoa!" Lancer yelped as Kokoro complied, pulling her further off her axis. "See? This puts you behind me - not directly behind, but it's a positional advantage, and it makes your lock stronger." Lancer then shifted her weight, resting it all on Kokoro's arm and forcing it down, then snaking her arm up to the back of Kokoro's head through Kokoro's loosened grip. "This is one of the ways out of it, and moving on to a counter - I don't have to demonstrate that, right?"

She didn't. Lancer and Aon had demonstrated, using one another as practice dummies, how a person could be thrown off balance if the head - the top of the mass of the human body - were shifted off its base. They'd showed ways to break such a grip, of course, there was apparently a counter to everything, but Kokoro knew for a fact that she would not be able to manage it before Lancer brought her to the floor if she actually planned on it.

Kokoro shook her head, and Lancer thankfully released her.

"Other thing is, look at your forearm." She held up her own. "Think of it as a sword - do you attack someone with the flat, or with the blade?"

Kokoro blinked, holding her own up to her view. She supposed the thin, bony edge of the arm would count as the blade, while the front and back would be the flat? The comparative width suggested it, at least. "Um... with the blade, but arms are not swords, Lancer," she stated the mind-numbingly obvious, uncertain why Lancer had even drawn the comparison.

Lancer's grin suggested she was somehow wrong. Which wasn't really a surprise, Lancer was the Heroic Spirit out of legend, not Kokoro. "I'll go into the other ways that works later, but for now, Lelouch? You look like you had a revelation."

Lelouch hummed, sipping the water and leaning forward. "It's to do with muscle arrangement, isn't it? The majority of the muscles in the arm are suited to downward or upward motion. Sideways motions are... more anemic. It's built to move along with the elbow."

... Ah. Right. All those medical journals he'd studied. In hopes of helping his sister.

Lancer chuckled. "Not being an anatomist, I couldn't say whether you're right about why - but you're right about the basics. It's a question of strength and structure. Also allows you to grind the bone of the forearm into something delicate or other, but that's more of a side bonus. On which topic, while we're leaving this out for the early stage exercises - you can get your techniques to work a lot better if your target's distracted."

Lancer paused, letting the lesson sink in.

And then continued. "Pain is distracting. Punch them in the face, throat, whatever target looks nice and convenient. Claw. Bite. Use your instincts a bit."

"I'll... um... keep that in mind..." Kokoro wasn't really sure what else to say to that. She hoped they didn't get to that advanced stage too soon. This level was distracting enough...

... Um. Not that she was a masochist... maybe? Thanks to heritage, her body could... get going... in pretty much any circumstance, so it was hard to tell what she actually liked, if anything.

~~~I========>

Euphemia wandered through one of the Governor-General's palace's grandly appointed sitting rooms, looking up at the crimson walls festooned with Clovis's wonderful paintings. It was all... careful. Gentle.

Most of her attention was on the crowning piece of the collection - clearly the one her brother had put the most effort into. The subjects of the painting - and done off pure memory, because they were all dead long before this had been painted - were the residents of the Aries Imperial Villa. Marianne, Lelouch, and Nunnally vi Britannia. It was a small painting, but... it looked like more love had gone into it than the rest of the collection combined.

"... I don't understand." Euphemia laid a hand on one of the paintings. "He was so gentle... he loved his siblings so much... how could anyone accuse him of...?"

"Persona," Rider rumbled, from where he relaxed in one of the seats next to the table. Of course, no cameras - the royal family wouldn't be eavesdropped on.

Euphemia blinked, turning to face... her 'Servant', she supposed. "Persona?"

Rider looked unusually serious for a moment. "The role. You're not the same person around me as you are around that sister of yours. Or your subjects. Or your friends. You show the most appropriate behaviour to the situation."

Euphemia sighed, taking a seat across from the huge man. "What are you getting at? That Clovis was a liar?"

Rider shook his head. "No. He simply did not bring the outside in where it did not belong. Did you tell him about those novels of yours?"

Euphemia whipped around to focus her stare on him, cheeks reddening. "H-h-h-how did you know about-?!" She hid them!

Rider guffawed, slapping the table (it shook). "I didn't. But you're human. You - like any human - are interested in sex. You're going to have something. But that doesn't mean it's the sort of thing you share with the public, yeah?"

Euphemia averted her gaze, staring down at the table, cheeks still red. "I... I see your point." She didn't really like thinking Clovis, the gentle brother who'd loved his family so much, could do something as monstrous as he'd been accused of... but Rider was right, too. Whether or not it was within him, it wasn't the face he'd show to her. And he... certainly wasn't around to ask about it. Maybe she was just chasing circles.

Rider moved to lean the chair back on two legs, but stopped when it creaked piteously under his weight, a momentary pout crossing his broad face. "And don't worry about the War. I'll take care of it."

"Ah... um..." Euphemia wasn't really sure what to say. Obviously, this 'Holy Grail War' thing had nothing to do with her. She'd not asked to be involved, and she'd already done more than anyone would say she owed this man who'd turned up out of nowhere, with the few minutes of 'burning' as Rider's friend Waver opened up her 'circuits'. She didn't have the skills, not in military matters and certainly not in witchcraft and wizardry. The strange Knight of Six should have it well in hand. But... still... "... Does everyone have to fight for this...? Can't it be shared?" Maybe it was just stupid optimism. It was true enough that 'a wish granted' was such an overly huge proposition that she had trouble grasping it.

... Then again... Euphemia's eyes were drawn to that painting of Lelouch, Nunnally, and their mother.

Rider grinned, reaching over and clapping a paw onto her shoulder. "Now that... is a question I've asked before. I'd much rather have all the other Servants in my army than in my wake. But that's up to them. I can't decide it for 'em. And they all have something they want too."

... Maybe she could understand why people would kill each other for such a thing. She... didn't think she could do it. But... Euphemia swallowed hard. She could see how someone could want something so much that the lives of others could be called 'acceptable losses'.

"... Rider." Her eyes were focused on the man's shirt - a white T-shirt with 'The Admiral's Great Tactics' emblazoned on the front in Japanese. She was a little too nervous to meet his gaze. "I... what can I do to help you negotiate with the others?" She understood... that was why she couldn't let these people all kill each other for this prize. If this Holy Grail War broke out, one person was going to have their dream granted - while six more were going to suffer, and possibly die. That... wasn't right. Was it? Didn't that just make the world worse off? Undoing one tragedy, by creating six more? What was the point?

Rider blinked, surprised. And then grinned. "Oooooh? Looks like I underestimated my Master a little bit."

Euphemia blinked, looking up to his eyes. "... Really?" ... Maybe she'd just missed something. But... it was much easier to make sense of it in a smaller arena like the Holy Grail War. Politics and militarism never made sense to her... but she might be able to figure it out here. If she could... maybe she could find a way for this to end with everyone happy. Maybe there was something useful she could do with herself.

"Ride with me, Master." He leaned forward, eyes serious. "We both have a thing or two to say on that battlefield, it seems."

Euphemia flushed under his stare. "A-ah... um... yes... okay..." It was a moment after she'd agreed before she started thinking about how the numerous problems there were going to be in doing it.

~~~I========>

Kallen twirled her finger through a stray lock of hair, mostly to pass the time as she waited for the truck her group was riding to arrive at their new base.

It'd finally happened - Ohgi had polled the team, and they'd agreed to go all-in, and join Zero's - Lelouch's - 'group' (which consisted of four people, and one of them on loan from Kallen... then again, not much point getting arrogant when Kallen's group consisted of eight).

The poll had pretty much come down to everyone looking at Kallen - which underscored the problems Ohgi had with his leadership role. Everyone still thought of Naoto as the leader, Ohgi included. Kallen wasn't in serious consideration for leadership, given her age (or, considering Lelouch... well, she knew she wasn't leadership material, anyway), but everyone else seemed to act as though Kallen were privy to the thoughts of her brother's spirit, so she had a sort of unofficial veto power that she tried her best not to use.

She wasn't entirely trusting Lelouch at this point, but he had played straight with them so far, and the way everyone had looked to her for her dead brother's opinion had just underscored how badly the group needed a real leader. Ohgi wasn't bad in terms of the skills - but he didn't view himself as a leader, so nobody else would. So she'd vouched for Zero, and they were now under Zero's command. She wasn't entirely sold on him, but she didn't think she was going to find out if he had some dark ulterior motive if she kept him at a distance. If he wasn't the help they all needed, she needed to give him enough trust rope to hang himself - just, not enough to hang them too.

She didn't want to replace Naoto. But his place needed to be filled if they were going to accomplish his dream, and Lelouch was the best man for it. If he could be trusted. He still wasn't officially receiving the position, to the extent anything they did could be called official - technically speaking, they were just working together more closely. But in a practical sense, as the strategist and coordinator... whether he took the name or not, he was commanding them. Ohgi was leaning towards making it official and taking that weight off his own back, Kallen could tell, and she was pretty strongly considering it - no point making bones about a word when they were already agreeing to give him command over their operations simply because he did it so much better.

... Looked like they were there - they were heading into an underground parking garage now, the rolled steel door sliding shut behind them.

Kallen sat up bolt-upright in her seat as she saw the first tank. There was a short row of the things across the floor - a mix of old, pre-invasion Japanese and Britannian stock. A Britannian knightmare transport, and three knightmares arrayed around it - a Portman aquatic frame, a Sutherland, and that sweet white-gold prototype he'd stolen on the way out of Fuyuki. There were artillery pieces, APCs, military hardware galore...

"Holy shit," Sugiyama muttered. "He has enough kit to outfit twenty resistance groups our size."

"So, maybe a battalion if we stretch," Nagata pointed out. "Long way to go, but... still a pretty big step forward for us. Which is... kind of sad, actually."

Kallen reached over to pat his shoulder. "There there."

He had been the group's most common wheelman, but after Fuyuki, he'd been banned from driving transport, and was now Kallen's sole subordinate in their budding knightmare division. (She liked having a subordinate. It was sweet - and something she'd earned, not just got because some ancestor of hers had licked the right king's ass to become nobility)

Exactly how fair the ban was questionable, now that Kallen knew he'd had freaking magic (ah, wait, magecraft, magecraft was 'how the shit did you do that?', magic was 'what the shit did you do?') dicking with his mind, but there wasn't much she could say about that without either A: spreading more information than she should at this point unless she really wanted to break Lelouch's cover (and apparently call down the wrath of this 'Association', who everyone seemed to think were total bastards), or B: sounding like a loon. And knightmare operator could be viewed as a promotion.

"Pah, the gear's nothing without people to drive it," Tamaki snorted. "We're supplying that."

"Well, enough to drive two of those tanks, anyway." Inoue had to point out. "Or more like one and a half, since we're running two knightmares."

Everyone sighed heavily, as the truck (driven by Ohgi) came to a stop, and piled out onto the floor of the garage, where Lelouch stood in his black/purple/silver 'Zero' outfit, cloak wrapped about himself, Kokoro standing at his left hand, Lancer and Aon (they'd all agreed she was easier to bring in as 'a member of Lelouch's group' than for Kallen to explain why she was bringing her in) at his right.

The girls flanking him were dressed in a rather snappy black uniform Lelouch had designed and ordered in bulk - black jacket trimmed with pale blue, though their lower sections varied in type while still obeying the basic colour theme (Aon wore a miniskirt, Lancer shorts, and Kokoro had a full-length skirt that, despite the uniform element, almost made it look non-military again). The uniforms also included wedge caps and lavender visors to conceal their faces, though those had been done without for today. When asked about the uniform, Lelouch had explained readily enough - in any force, uniforms served a purpose. They identified the wearer as a member of the group - and they unified the wearers as a group. Not merely in terms of recognition, but in terms of identifying, and taking pride in that identity. And simply looking good had its own benefits for public relations and recruitment. The uniforms looked pretty good next to Lelouch's Zero outfit. He had an untapped talent as a fashion consultant.

Kallen still wasn't entirely sure what Kokoro's deal was, here.

The lavender-haired girl was apparently Lelouch's introduction to magecraft and the Holy Grail War (and the both of them were learning spellcraft from her, though Lelouch was the more advanced student, well into studying reinforcement, while Kallen was barely starting on reinforcing those wood blocks and not blowing them up in the process... it was harder than it looked, though the structural analysis Kallen had finally grasped made it a lot easier).

But the motivation was all weird, on both sides. Supposedly, they'd met when she and Nagata almost ran them over - and then within an hour or two, she'd shared with him deep family secrets, and he'd joined a death tournament on her behalf. It wasn't exactly out of stereotype for teenagers, and from their commentary she'd gathered that they were married which really contributed to the 'love at first sight' bullshit angle - but it seemed very out of character for the taciturn, methodical pair of them.

Kallen was pretty sure she was missing key elements of the story here - seventeen-year-old Britannians didn't wage war against Britanni... okay, maybe she did, but there was a story behind her, so there was probably at least one or two major elements she was missing for Lelouch. And out of the two, she felt she had the better grasp on Lelouch - Kokoro's personality was very... slippery, and Kallen still had no idea why the girl worked for him.

Zero offered a short bow of the head to the group. "Welcome to our current base, and the Order of the Black Knights. The entire building is ours, for the moment, though we may not make use of it all before we move to another location."

Kallen raised an eyebrow. "Well, we didn't bother with a name, but yours works."

Zero raised a finger, and his voice took on the low tone of a conspirator as he leaned in. "A small group does not require a name. But we are not a group which intends to remain small."

"You certainly have enough equipment for a fair bit of growth," Ohgi noted, running his eyes over the rows of military vehicles filling the garage.

"So introductions?" Tamaki asked, glancing at Zero's group. "You really recruit 'em young and cute, huh?"

Zero chuckled. (Aon smiled politely, Kokoro remained expressionless, and Lancer preened. Or mock-preened, more likely) "A fortunate coincidence. What matters to is the ability to produce results, and in this case, the greatest abilities were in just such a package. Race, age, personal history..." He slashed with his hand. "Irrelevant. All that matters is the will to fight against Britannia, and the ability to do so."

Tamaki held up his hands. "Got it, got it..."

Zero held out his left hand. "Matou Kokoro, my intelligence branch."

Kokoro bowed. "It will be a pleasure to work with you."

Zero held out his right hand. "Lan and Aon, my combat specialists."

"Good afternoon."/"Pleasure to meetcha." The Servants curtsied.

"Combat specialists?" Ohgi frowned. "They're... young. I know it's just a two-year difference," he nodded at Kallen, "but..."

"Child soldiers," Zero spat. "I liberated them from a Britannian experimental facility," he began the cover story. Considering some of the things Kokoro had reported in the Fuyuki University after she'd investigated the 'poison gas' or whatever it was that had kicked the whole massacre off, it wasn't even that farfetched. That Code-R group was into some nasty shit, whatever they had actually been working on in there - Kallen's group had first caught wind of them because Japanese people had been periodically 'disappearing' from the ghettoes, and Kokoro had found them inside the capsules remaining in the facility. They were still alive. Technically. If only through extensive mechanical support, in the case of the luckier ones, the ones that still looked human. "We're still not entirely sure what they did to them in there, but... They can't take up civilian life or they'll be caught again, and they're both eager to take vengeance on Britannia. And honestly, better at it than many of us."

"Fucking Britannia," Nagata snarled.

Aon nodded. "There is something rotting at the top. And its taint seeps down throughout the structure. My intention is to destroy it. Is that acceptable to all of you?"

Ohgi sighed. "... We all have our reasons. Okay, objection withdrawn." He turned his attention back to Zero. "More importantly, have you heard of what happened to Samurai Blood?"

"Governor-General Cornelia located their base and crushed it yesterday," Zero responded. "The group no longer exists in any real sense, though some veterans from it have scattered out to join others."

Ohgi nodded. "News hasn't reported it yet... what should we do? They were the biggest group in Chuubu, but even they..."

"We should do absolutely nothing," Zero responded.

"But..."

Zero held up a finger. "If we have been found, a shuffle of our assets will not shake the trail. If we have not been found, a shuffle of our assets will increase our visibility and we may be found. Taking hasty action will simply get us caught. We must trust in our cover and wait for opportunities to perform operations, as usual. There is no point in covering our trail after the fact - we must do it correctly in the first place. If we have done so, we are safe. If we have not, we cannot be saved. I believe we have all done so thus far - am I correct in this?"

Kallen chuckled. "So if we have to worry, there's no point worrying because it won't help anyway, huh? I'm good for that." She was pretty sure he had a brain tumour or something making him this crazy, but it was hard to disagree with his logic when he laid it out.

~~~I========>

There were advantages to being telepathic. More disadvantages than advantages, but if he was going to be dealing with the troubles, he may as well reap the rewards.

Honestly, it had been a chance encounter with that princess, and it had been nothing more than pure luck that he hadn't got out of his range when the SIS agents arrived.

But thanks to that stroke of luck, some liberal mind reading, and a bit of elementary deduction, Mao was now A: aware of CC's location. B: a great deal more educated in metaphysics than he had been previously. And C: able to work on the newest problem - pulling his darling CC out of the sum of all human evil.

It was a pity Mao hadn't picked up the data just a day or two earlier. In that time, the last three of the eight Servants had been summoned, according to that Geass-wielder's moderation tools. If he could have joined the festivities personally, he'd have been a bit closer to getting CC out of the Grail than he was right now.

Wasn't insurmountable, of course. He could maneuver himself into a position of control of a Servant if he needed to - knowing everyone's deepest secrets was great for that - but he also needed to dive through a more orthodox, professional magus's brain and see if he could find a way to sever CC from the Grail. Failing a more elegant solution, he could still enter in and get CC free with a wish. Just, a pity, because he would really rather use the wish on something nice, like CC admitting she returned his feelings, or his own immortality so he would never have to leave her alone.

He could have tried maneuvering into control over Archer or Rider, but... it wasn't optimal. Two Servants allied and cross-checking each other made it difficult to squeeze himself in, their associations with the Britannian military made things a bit bigger than he'd like to get, and both Servants were independent-minded assholes with far less 'hooks' in the world than he'd prefer. He'd work with it if he had to, but... well, there were almost certainly better options, and there was no point taking on extra challenge for the sake of it. He'd like Caster if possible, or a Master good enough to have some idea of how to work with the Grail.

Well, whatever. For now he was canvassing Tokyo, where the Servants actually seemed to be congregating, to find his tools. Which mostly amounted to wandering the roads with his mind open to signs.

Roads were nice. People travelling often blanked out mentally, just falling into a bit of a 'one foot in front of the other' trance. Not everyone, even now he was becoming deeply aware of Sandra Waller's failed relationship (Mark was a two-timing asshole, but in his defence, she was a bit of a bitch), and the plot elements of Andre Lupin's next novel (idea, the man had never written past a fifth chapter and Mao doubted he would this time either), but it was still quieter than usual.

He liked roads.

Apparently he wasn't the only one, because there came a small girl, black hair and crimson eyes, dancing and singing as she came from the other direction.

Within her mind, there was an image - it was vivid. Too vivid - she was imagining it, she hadn't actually seen it. Events actually seen tended to be less vivid on the imagery - people simply took the facts in and then mentally translated them into what they meant. Imaginary constructs went the other way around, and the vivid imagery indicated this was just such an end product. It was dark, but thousands of men were clear to view.

"When the dog bites!" she came to a halt, scarlet shoe tapping against the street long enough to arrest her momentum and set her twirling.

Soldiers of an earlier era, clad in chainmail over red-dyed wool tunics, wearing simple brass cap-style helmets and hobnailed sandals, with immense painted rectangular shields in one hand, and elegant wasp-waisted short swords clutched in the white-knuckled grip of the other - her mind forcefully named them as Spanish swords after the culture from which they had been stolen, despite their more famous use among the Roman legions. Espasa, rather than gladius. He certainly wasn't going to forget that now, her mind had been quite insistent on it.

"When the bee stings," she crooned happily, maintaining her twirl as she moved aside to duck around Jacob Ehrmann.

This was a Roman legion, from the time before they had even developed the stereotypical armour and copied the stereotypical helmet of their later period from the Gauls. Or rather, scattered elements of a Roman legion, their javelins already thrown in the previous battle, from which they were now desperately trying to escape, under the command of Varguntius (who, since she had never met the man, was essentially represented as a legionary with the letter V for a face).

"When I'm feeling sad," she darted past Ehrmann, landing on her tiptoes and incorporating a curtsey to the banker's bemused gaze into her dance routine.

They had gotten lost in the dark, stumbling away from the rest of the fleeing soldiers. They had climbed a hill, in hopes of seeing where their allies were when dawn came. Or at least some terrain they recognized. Some hint as to which way the home they had left for this ill-advised excuse for an invasion was. And the sun crept upon them, revealing the scattered brush and scrub of the Fertile Crescent.

"I simply remember my favourite things," she beamed, before cocking her head in distressingly cute confusion at Mao's expression, craning her neck to peer up at him through dark bangs.

And the sun gleamed upon the armour of the knights on horseback, circling the hill like wolves come upon a wounded lamb, long spears trailing behind their pace, casually pointing to the Romans at the center of the circle. The men and women, and men who looked like women in the case of the leader, were grinning up at Varguntius's Romans as their horses prowled around the hill. The expressions of the legionaries, on the other hand, could be best summed up with the words 'despair', 'horror', and 'resignation'. Each expression was a unique mix, and imagined in vivid, loving detail, complete with sobs and terrified screams.

"And then I don't feel... so bad..." she pranced past him with a bit of a shrug, almost humming out the words.

Mao opted to dive deeper into the girl's mind to focus on other topics about when the commanding knight - beautiful and radiant, but vague, another man she'd never met, but clearly admired - raised his hand and snapped his fingers, initiating the slaughter of the invaders, which she was imagining in just as much exquisite detail. Apparently, twenty escaped out of the thousands - the Romans had never surrendered, not expecting kind treatment from 'barbarians' (a word she couldn't even think without sarcasm), especially not after their unprovoked invasion had been so soundly defeated, and had fought to their end.

"Raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens," she restarted the song, continuing her dance as she passed on behind him.

Mao turned to watch Servant Lancer go about her own 'patrolling for Servants' mission. "... Nope." He ignored the odd looks his fervent utterance had earned him.

Lancer and Aon seemed to fit into the same category as Archer and Rider - tightly aligned, access to far more resources than he had, and aggressive as hell. There were probably still better targets out of the last three-four Servants.

Matou Kokoro merited a look, though, if only for her theoretical knowledge and apparent delicate mental state should make her pretty easy to work with, if he had to. Not much of it was practical, apparently, but theory was more than he had, and Lancer seemed to think Matou's grasp of the theory was quite extensive. It should be a useful piece in freeing CC.

Though maybe he should take that look from a distance.

~~~I========>

[Pale Wolf]

~~~I========>

Lelouch hummed to himself, hands sewing while he watched the images (mugshots) scroll by on his monitor. He was doing two tasks at once, at the moment - there were so many to do that even one minute saved was glorious.

For his hands, he was adjusting his 'Zero' outfit to the specifications Kokoro had come up with on the way out of Fuyuki. He'd ordered the basic outfit some time before everything had developed, but Kokoro had basically come up with her own appearance for him along the same general theme before the costume had arrived, and since he now had an appearance, he should make himself look it. Kokoro's spellcraft had altered the specifications of the suit so far, but he should adjust the base physicality so she didn't have to keep doing that. Lancer was taking care of reforming the helmet.

And for his eyes... He'd apparently seen a Master firing that sniper rifle back in Fuyuki, and not a rebel as he had initially thought, if the man was covered in anti-recognition spells as Kokoro had said. Or at least some variety of magus. He'd gone to a sketch artist and had a facsimile of the man's face done up, scanned the image, and set his computer to search for matches on the various databases he'd hacked. (He was no master, but low-security databases were within his skills) The computer had coughed up numerous 'the computer thinks it matches the sketch', and he was having it run them before him so he could narrow down which one he had, in fact, seen.

... There. Lelouch tapped the enter key as the scruffy-looking, blond-haired, narrow-featured man appeared on his screen, stopping the slide show and showing a dossier.

Sorin Decebal, a mercenary from Dacia, in the EU. Gun-for-hire, apparently fairly noteworthy in the modern world - he may not even be a magus at all, Lelouch couldn't tell from the dossier, but he at least had support from one. Very skilled hitman, no particularly terroristic record, but frequently hired by varying criminal concerns and intelligence agencies to 'take care of matters' that they could not handle in-house for whatever reason.

The man had last been witnessed entering the Britannian mainland in the company of an albino woman three weeks ago, and Internal Security was still looking for the pair, somewhat concerned at his entry - the false names they had used to do it had kept IS from catching them before they were out of sight. The woman was still not quite identified - she was identical to Aloisia von Einzbern, but Aloisia von Einzbern had been that age in the Pacific War decades ago, so it could not be her, unless she didn't age (which Lelouch was not discounting, it was either that or a close relative).

Einzbern... one of the founding families of the Holy Grail War. Which confirmed it. One of them was the Master - perhaps Decebal was using the same loophole as Lelouch to stand in the Einzbern entry slot, or perhaps he was simply hired security for the actual Master. Either way, one competitor identified.

How convenient.

Lelouch would have to phone in an anonymous tip to Area 11 Internal Security about Decebal's presence in Fuyuki. IS likely wouldn't catch him, especially not if he had a magical bag of tricks too, but the harrying would impair his operations in the Holy Grail War, and it would tie up resources they would otherwise be using to seek out Lelouch himself. If he played it right, they might even suspect he was Zero - a noted assassin for hire being in Fuyuki mere moments before the assassination of Clovis was just too convenient to be coincidence.

Actually... perhaps he should have Kokoro do the anonymous tip. He had people he could rely on, so he may as well do so, and his voice acting skills were already maintaining his 'Lelouch' and his 'Zero' personas separately. It would be catastrophic if an 'anonymous tipper' persona were recognized as either of his others, let alone if it filled in the missing links to tie them together.

Still, should work rather-

"Brother?" Nunnally's voice came, along with a knocking at the door.

Lelouch turned back to face the door, reflexively tabbing to his homework (already completed) and tossed his sewing under his desk. "Come in, Nunnally." She was blind, so Lelouch didn't have to worry about her seeing something and becoming... concerned... but it was important to maintain good habits.

The door slid open, and Nunnally rolled in on her auto-wheelchair. Her brow was furrowed, just slightly.

Lelouch stood, striding over to his sister. "Nunnally? What's wrong?"

"Ah... nothing, really... just, this afternoon, on the radio..."

... Clovis's funeral. And the Emperor's 'this is proof that we, Britannia, continue to discard weaknesses and dominate into the future' speech. Lelouch had spent a few minutes moping over the memories that man had brought up... he should have considered that Nunnally may have heard too...

Nunnally smiled softly up at him. "... Father is kind of a doody-head, isn't he?"

Lelouch sighed, kneeling in front of her and gently stroking her cheek. "That man is not our father. Parents nurture and protect their children. It's the definition." Charles zi Britannia was a sperm donor. Nothing more - because that was the most paternal thing he had ever done.

Nunnally had an impish smirk on her face as she caught Lelouch's hand. "The definition can't be that loose, Brother. You aren't my father."

Well, there were always redneck jokes, but that wasn't really 'with Nunnally' conversation. "I suppose there are some other aspects to it that I glossed over."

Nunnally held up a finger, releasing his hand, and poked his forehead. "Bad." Her expression was stern. "You should always strive to be clear with your thoughts and with your words," she quoted their mother. Her mock-serious facade collapsed a moment later, and she giggled.

Lelouch pressed his right fist over his heart. "You have my deepest apologies, Your Highness." He managed to keep his own face and expression straight, but it just set Nunnally giggling further.

Nunnally conquered her mirth, and raised a finger to chastise Lelouch. "Also, Brother, you should watch your meals. You're getting a little chubby." She was apparently able to read his shifting mood for an incredulous expression, patting her upper arm to indicate.

Ah. He had gained a kilogram up there. A kilogram of brushed steel, since he had taken to holstering a concealed sidearm in a pocket he'd sewn into his shirts. "Don't touch it." His voice came out a touch harsher than he liked, but...

Nunnally giggled a bit more. "Scaaaary." She waved a hand. "I understand, we all want some privacy and not getting touched everywhere."

Lelouch smiled, patting her hand. "Thank you, Nunnally."

"Oh!" Nunnally perked up, slapping a fist into her open palm. "Speaking of getting touched everywhere," this was not going to be good, "was Matou-san settling in all right?"

Lelouch flushed, and decided not to ask exactly how the two topics were connected in Nunnally's mind. "She seemed to be, mostly. Has she said something to you?"

Nunnally pressed a finger to the side of her lip in thought. "Not as such, but she's always a little moody. And Nina doesn't say there's a problem, but she always gets tense when they're in the same room together."

"Hm. Sounds like she needs an opportunity to socialize a little more."

"Doesn't it?"

"Milly was considering a student council outing to Lake Kawaguchiko. I'll encourage her on it, then exempt myself and Rivalz." He should talk with Rivalz a bit anyway. See how his friend was taking the recent discoveries about him. He'd make sure to keep the Black Knights schedule clear so Kallen and Kokoro had free time.

Nunnally cocked her head. "Don't you want to go?"

"Ah, did you want to, Nunnally? My thinking was that people tend to interact... well, freer, when they're all the same gender. Rivalz and I would just bog down the atmosphere. You know how Milly gets." He reflexively shivered just at referencing the thought.

"Mm... it might be nice, but I'm not that attached. I think I would be a bit of a wet blanket myself." Hm. There was a bit of tension in her voice. As if it were just an invented excuse, and she actively did not want to go.

"Nunnally?"

"This is my privacy, not getting touched everywhere request, Brother."

Lelouch bowed his head. "All right." He did want to know what was going on in her head, but it was her wish that he not know. And that took priority.

~~~I========>

Farah Ansari made no expression of her exultation, as her prana burned through her veins, head tilted back and arms outstretched to touch Farrokh Bulsara's hand on the left, and Shirin Fedayin's on the right.

In unison, the nine men and women of the Zhayedan arrayed around the circle sang out their oath: "Ich bin die gut der ganzen welt!"

This was, of course, not all of the Anusiya's elite force that Farah commanded. Just the unit deployed for this mission. The full ten thousand... well, that would be a bit difficult to squeeze into a confidential mission (or, for that matter, this room), and would leave the homeland much more thinly-defended than anyone would like.

"Ich bin das boese der ganzen welt." It was a bit difficult to utter a line pledging oneself to evil with much conviction, but they all kept up the performance within the required parameters of the spell. And this was Formalcraft, they didn't need to mean it, just say it.

Still, nine - plus their coming tenth to round out the unit - should do. Atar-1 was their best platoon - never once failed. Though it did take casualties in the process - thus why they were down to nine, Javeh would be missed. (Plus one very large dog - Setanta was outside, keeping watch just in case anything interrupted the ritual, and would give a warning bark)

"Du bist der himmel mit dreien wortseelen!" the nine savaran sang in unison, crests blazing bright, and fire filling the circle.

As a cooperative, nine-caster summoning, this should be the ideal circumstance to bring their tenth into the world. It would not enhance them beyond their abilities in life - but it would manifest their abilities in life, in full, without fail. And the nine members of Atar-1 could share the cost of their tenth's abilities between them.

The remaining eight fell silent, as Farah, alone, finished in a clear, lilting voice. "Komm, aus dem kreis der unterdrueckung, der schutzgeist der balkenwaage...!"

She knew, before they began, that there were no errors. The time was ideal. The pronunciation was correct. The circle was precise, drawn out on the rented warehouse floor in molten, still-liquid steel of the highest grade. Their unison was absolute - not one took a step out of place. This had been researched, theorized, and rehearsed over a hundred times. Farah was a perfectionist and had been called anal-retentive about her attention to detail more than once on minor matters, and the use of a theoretical modification to the ritual to call on an already-unstable artifact with more people than normally allowed was far from a minor matter.

That was why the pain caught her by surprise, and she - somewhat embarrassingly - let out a gasp as her legs fell out from under her, clutching at her left arm as... it felt like the skin was splitting open, but it was wrong. She'd been flogged more than once before for varying reasons - and she knew that skin split quicker than this. It couldn't create a sensation that lasted this long, because the jagged track down her arm should already be open.

There were shouts of surprise from around the circle, and everyone jolted towards her - though Farrokh, her apprentice, was the one that caught her. It was fortunate she was relatively short and slim, because the kid was only sixteen, and not exactly a weightlifter - and she wasn't helping much yet.

Her first thought - the still-continuing pain as if her arm's flesh were being torn apart was distracting, but she'd focused through far worse, it was the surprise more than anything else that had floored her - was to gaze into the center of the circle as the clouds of flame parted, at the slender, serene figure standing atop the streams of molten metal, unharmed. That part had succeeded, at least.

... Beyond any reasonable expectation. He - Farah presumed he was male, the cuirass was tight enough over his chest to make that highly likely, though he was more beautiful than any of the actual women in this room - was slender. Delicate of frame. His hair was long, a beautiful rich brown that looked so soft it begged for the touch of a hand, falling gently down his back. Expressive brown eyes, fine features. Gleaming bright, clad in armour from neck to ankle - brilliantly polished plates over shin, forearm, and torso, silvery-steel scale armour visible underneath, soft leather boots and gloves. Apparently not wearing his helmet at the moment - it was, of course, somewhat awkward for meeting one's Master. And a long fur cloak wrapped about the whole assembly - yellow, spotted with black markings. Leopard.

The connection was working properly, and prana flowed to him with ease. Split between the nine of them, she only barely even noticed the drain of keeping him extant in the world.

Perhaps someone from another ethnic background would not recognize the man, but no one in this room - who had dedicated their lives to legends in which he was the grandest of heroes, who had honed their skills to the recitations of this man's deeds - could possibly fail to.

Farah shook herself, rising to her feet and remembering to nod in thanks to Farrokh, but otherwise staring, wide-eyed, at the Heroic Spirit she had summoned. With no catalyst but her own way of life. It was humbling and flattering together until she wasn't entirely sure how to react.

The man smiled softly, looking about the circle. "Well then... you are my Master?"

Farah shook herself again, giving the Heroic Spirit a proper Britannian curtsey. "That is the term. But I would rather consider you a comrade in the Zhayedan. I am a true magus, not one of those Clock Tower spellcasters who claim the name. My name is Farah Ansari, and I would be honoured if you used it." Ah... and she would have to tell one of her historical idols that there was no wish to be had. The downside.

She saw her arm while curtseying, and paused, taking a more detailed look. ... She wasn't actually sure if the Command Seals had formed or not. The blood-crimson colour was correct, but it was a strange tracery all the way down her left arm, jagged lines splitting off from a central branch into thinner and thinner rivulets of red. It wasn't actually damaged, and the pain was fading, finally, but it looked less like the command seals, and more like someone had dropped blood on her arm and let it dribble down.

She'd need a bit more makeup than expected, to conceal this. They might need to restock on it more frequently than planned. At least that explained - partially - why it had hurt so much. Might not function, either, it would need to be checked.

A small frown crossed the Heroic Spirit's face. "As polite as my last Master... I hope you prove more true than he." He knelt shallowly. "I am Rustaham, of the House of Suren." The true man behind the legends of Rostam - the greatest of all the Aryan paladins. The impact on the room was as if Britannian knights had summoned Lancelot or Cuchulainn - Farah was the most composed, and she was only barely refraining from squeeing at just seeing him, everyone else was at least staring (Shirin was giggling).

Farah paused, and just now caught what he had said. "Your last Master, sir? Were you summoned in the past? I was under the impression Servants did not retain memories of such events."

His lips pursed together, and he shook his head. "There were... numerous anomalies. I would be more hard-pressed to determine which of the many irregularities of my last War is responsible for the retention of my memory than to come up with a candidate for that role." He looked about the room. "More importantly."

Farah nodded. "There was a briefing I needed to deliver. I..."

He spoke over her - what he had to say was far too important. "Angra Mainyu rests in the Grail. In a sense."

Her own words had been "There is no wish to be had. The Grail holds Angra Mainyu", so it took them both a moment to realize what the other had said, at which point they both blinked owlishly, staring at one another for a minute or two.

"... Your last War was the Third?" she eventually managed to ask.

"... Well, that is convenient," he noted. "Yes. I was brought to keep him under control. It... did not work out that simply. But it seems the alchemist succeeded in delaying him." He smiled softly... it was brilliant. Beautiful. "That woman was the true hero. I was blinded for most of the War." He turned his gaze back to her. "Our task, then, is to handle him, without concern for the War?"

Farah nodded. "Yes. We are to delay the War's conclusion as long as is feasible - magi accompany our combat unit, and are preparing the land. We will be engaging in combat, but we need to keep it inconclusive where possible, except where managing spellcasters and Servants with a poor conception of the civilian/combatant divide."

The paladin's smile brightened. "The rules of the Grail War are nothing next to the rules of right conduct... and I am truly blessed to be called by one who understands such a small thing."

Farah smiled, herself. "Would you like to use your name or your class, sir? We'll cover more detailed briefing later, but in general I expect us to be operating fairly up-front."

He hummed. "I will use 'Surena'. My given name is a bit of a mouthful, and I have no particular desire to be referred to by the name of his class."

"... Servant Avenger," Shirin cursed, glancing at Farah.

She nodded, tentatively laying a hand on her left arm. "... He interfered. That must be his way of saying... 'Challenge accepted. Come at me.' Well then." She grinned. He remembered the founder's promises she'd accepted atop Mount Damavand. There was something there beyond mindless hatred. Maybe just mindful hatred, but it was something. "I'm all fired up, now."

Farah and Surena would need to be checked on, of course - just in case the scapegoat had planted backdoors or traps of some sort in the Avenger class or her ghetto command seals. But overall, things were looking good.

~~~I========>

Wise Up - Avenger

True name: Eran-Spahbed (a title broadly meaning 'commander of all knights of Iran', most adequately summed up in modern terminology as 'Knight Marshal') Rustaham Suren-Pahlavi. The more strange of his accomplishments and life were recorded in mythology under the name 'Rostam'.

And a fair collection it is indeed. I suppose if you want to read the mythic cycles, you can pick up a book, so I'll use the highlights reel.

The House of Suren was one of the highest noble houses of ancient Iran, and even more so during the period of the Parthian dynasty. The Suren had performed the coronation of the first Parthian king, and the house's scions retained this right - Rustaham himself had crowned the king of the time, Orodes II, twice over (Orodes had been ousted, Rustaham fought with great distinction to restore him to the throne, climbing the walls of Seleucia personally).

The majority of his feats are recorded as myth rather than history. It's a lengthy set of sagas, so as I said, highlights reel. It includes: Slaying an insane elephant with a mace as a child (Why an elephant? I don't know). Killing a dragon on the road (apparently you don't want to wake him up from a good nap). Killing the great demon Div-e-Sepid and taking his skull for a hat (it actually looks pretty stylish, I think). Accidentally slaying his son when he did not know it was his son, Cuchulainn-style (how this happens so bloody often, I will never understand, at least my father knew it was me whenever he put any effort into trying to kill me, and I was concealing my identity better than those kids were... shut up, I was). Defeating a great champion, immune to harm very much like the Greek Achilles, the Germanic Sigurd, and the Indian Duryodhana, by shooting his only weak point (The eyes. Both of them. With one arrow). We could be here for a while, so I'll leave off with that.

Basically, typical Heroic Spirit nonsense. You know the drill.



Oddly, it may be one of his more ridiculous achievements that is actually credited as real by historians. Does anyone remember Crassus, of the Roman Triumvirate? Alongside Pompey, and the even-more-famous Julius Caesar.

Crassus takes a bad rap for being a businessman and politician, but the truth is, he was actually quite a skilled general - Marcus Licinius Crassus personally commanded the Roman forces in the Third Servile War, crushing the Spartacus revolt. However, that had been twenty years ago. And as always in politics, people have short memories. 'What have you done lately?'

So he sought to brush up his military record by expanding Roman dominion through all the lands formerly held by Alexander the Great - Parthia, Bactria, India... This wasn't really popular at home, even Rome had limits on its imperialism, and relations with Parthia had formerly been fairly good, leaving the whole affair feeling rather dishonourable - it's likely this is what led to Crassus taking such a beating in popular history, along with other members of the failed campaign (hello Gaius Cassius Longinus of Caesar-killing fame) trying to push all the blame onto someone else so it didn't damage their own careers. But, well, they went ahead with it, attempting to take advantage of the recent political instability (the ousting and reinstallment of Orodes II) and install his rival for the throne as a puppet ruler.

In 54 BC, Crassus launched his first campaign out of Syria, establishing a beachhead in Mesopotamia and a general invasion route for the next year, and then spent the winter procuring supplies, levying troops, rebuffing Parthian offers of peace, and negotiating with client states such as Armenia. (He was offered very significant support if he invaded through Armenia, but he did not wish to abandon his established invasion corridor, and so had to settle for a somewhat lesser degree of Armenian assistance)

It must be noted that the absolute success of the 54 BC establishment campaign is due to the nature of the Parthian military establishment. The system was feudal in nature, and the standing army was fairly small. It took time to gather the real forces for major operations.

The winter of 54 BC was more than sufficient time - Rustaham himself spent the winter cutting apart Crassus's invasion garrisons.

When the invasion was launched in 53 BC, the forces arrayed were quite astounding - 35 000 of the mighty Roman heavy infantry legions, 4 000 cavalry, 4 000 light infantry, for a total of approximately 43 000 men pushing in through the Macedonian invasion corridor. The Roman legions, which had not once failed in battle since defeating Hannibal over a century ago.

In their path were Rustaham's personal troops - 9 000 mounted archers, 1 000 heavily armoured knights (the term usually used in your world is 'cataphract', but honestly, neither is more appropriate, 'cataphract' is a Greek term, the native term was 'savaran'). Obviously, he was not intended to stop them, merely harry them and prevent them from achieving significant gains, while the main army of the King dealt with Armenia and then came back.

And so Rustaham Suren-Pahlavi looked over an army outnumbering his own more than 4:1, and appears to have shrugged and said "I got this." The Parthians approached with the glittering of their weapons and armour covered, and then whipped off their cloaks as one, releasing the sight of gleaming steel cavalry - a medieval image no Roman had ever seen before.

The Battle of Carrhae was a masterwork of cavalry warfare - the Roman light troops who were capable of moving after the all-mounted Parthians were categorically lower in quality, despite their similar numbers (as a reminder, this small wing of the Roman force was close in size to the entire Parthian force). The heavy troops could not catch up to engage, and had to pick between formations suitable for recieving a charge and formations suitable for withstanding a withering hail of arrows. And both choices were wrong, because whichever they weren't able to recieve well, Surena's Parthians launched, with him at the front of the line at all times.

Roman attempts to counterattack simply could not keep up with Parthian horses, and anything that got close was rebuffed by the knights. But surely, they couldn't keep this up? They would run out of arrows sooner or later, and be forced to either leave, or go into close quarters combat with Rome's heavy, vastly numerically superiour legions. So Crassus waited for his opportunity.

And waited.

And waited.

And waited a bit more, for variety.

The saying 'Amateurs talk about tactics, but professionals study logistics' is pithy and not entirely accurate - but certainly, professionals pay attention to logistics, and Surena was nothing if not a professional. 'Logistics' in this case came down to a ludicrous amount of camels loaded down with an even more ludicrous amount of spare arrows. This party wasn't ending any time soon.

This carried on all day (Roman heavy armour was, obviously, good, so the lethality of arrows was not what one might desire, but it was getting there, eventually), through such features as an attempted breakout charge by the Roman cavalry under Crassus's son Publius which failed before Surena and his knights. Crassus deserves some credit here, for saving his emotional breakdown when his son's death was confirmed until after the battle, trying to raise the morale of the troops to fight. Didn't really yield much, though.

According to the historian Cassius Dio, Surena's Parthians eventually stopped when they got bored. I personally am more inclined to believe Plutarch's somewhat more complimentary 'they left when it became night and there was no more good shooting'.

The official parlance for the condition of Crassus's invasion force is, I believe, 'fucked'. At this point, they were just trying to get out alive. Their force was decimated, and Surena's guard was barely even scratched.

That on its own didn't quite work out for all but a few. Surena's focus was the capture of Crassus - if he were to escape, there would be another invasion with surety. And they pursued viciously, hunting down stragglers when the opportunity arose, and finally establishing a parley. What exactly happened here is unknown by history - but whoever started what, whatever ill motives or confusion there may have been, violence broke out at the parley and Crassus's life was lost. Unfortunate, I suppose, but I'm none too inclined to mourn the man myself, so good riddance.

Unfortunately, Rustaham Suren-Pahlavi, the military genius who had defeated him, was not long in following. With such an achievement, he was too good. His position and achievements were such that he could easily have become Parthia's King of Kings if he wished it.

Whether or not he wished it, King Orodes feared it, and had him executed.



Of course, while you may not have found this out yet in this particular War, your logs of participation in the Third War are open to you, so you already know much of everything he has available. He was not at full power in that War, though - he is a rather difficult Heroic Spirit to manifest in full, because his nature rejects his legend bonus, forcing the full burden of manifesting his statistics onto his summoner (much like you yourself do thanks to your temporal status).

The class Avenger makes it even more difficult. The Avenger class is designed to allow 'full' manifestation of all Noble Phantasms, without restriction by class (for instance, King Arthur as Avenger would wield Excalibur, Caliburn, her lance Rhongomiant, and her dagger Carnwennan, and Avalon of course, along with the numerous other toys attested to her in legend - though this would only be 'Heroic Spirit' Arthur, not 'lying on deathbed with only Excalibur to hand' Arthur; Cuchulainn, for his part, would have Gae Bolg, his sword Cruaidin, and his charioteer and horses). But in compensation it is also less efficient at manifesting physical statistics, requiring a higher prana input to reach a given level of statistics than any other class save Berserker (Berserker's own advantage is in Mad Enhancement, which makes it the only class capable of exceeding the abilities the hero held in life - if the prana is available).

The Avenger class was built accepting that weakness - because, of course, the dirty cheaters creating it were fielding a horrendously-powerful magecraft-optimized homunculus as Master, so prana efficiency was not much concern at all. Though no amount of prana and legend bonus combined, save the nature of the Berserker class, can push a Servant above the abilities they held in life (and even Berserkers would most often have had Mad Enhancement in life). Since the original Avenger's 'abilities in life' were broadly that of an average Iranian villager, the whole affair was really rather sad, considering all the trouble they went to - and caused - for it. (This was how that fact was, in fact, discovered - previously the theory had been that legend provided an infinite boost, though whether this episode was learned from varies) Cheaters never prosper, I suppose?

(Lies. We prosper wonderfully.)

Ah! And this is not directly related, but the term 'savaran' has been mentioned. In the current parlance of the region, the meaning is 'magic-wielding combatant', broadly analogous to 'enforcer' or 'executor'. The original meaning: 'knight'.

The predecessors of knighthood, in fact - the Iranian savaran were the first ones to do it, ride a mighty horse in heavy armour, following a chivalric code of conduct, etc. European knighthood may or may not be derived from the savaran, it is quite debateable. But, well, the concept, terminology, and general practice arose in Europe while the Iranians were doing it, and had been doing it for most of a thousand years, well within lands known to the Europeans. Nothing new under the sun, I suppose. (The technology itself was not Persian, but Sarmatian - the savaran brought in the ethos and the training)

And the savaran followed the legends left to them of the great paladin Rostam - leaving him, in a very real sense, the Original Knight.



Master: Zhayedan Platoon Atar-1 - and most specifically, its commander, Farah Ansari.

Alignment: Lawful Good. To the point where it's honestly pure trouble for him. Then again, is it ever not?

Strength: B.

Agility: A. If he has a non-ridiculous Master, they most likely can't manage to get him above B-rank.

Endurance: A. A non-ridiculous Master would probably tank this down to C to keep his Strength up to 'capable of performing well in close combat'.

Mana: A. Again, a Master with 'normal up to Rin' prana capacity would only be able to manifest him with a B ranking. He's a very prana-hungry Servant, both due to his Avenger class, and his nature refusing his legend bonus.

Luck: E. (He qualifies for the Lancer class. Enough said, I suppose.)



Class Skills:
----None. The Avenger class is too much a wildcard to really carry class skills.

Personal Skills:
----Exemplary Arms Mastership A+: Servants, as a rule, tend to have flawless, perfect swordsmanship (/spearmanship/bowmanship/etc depending on weapon of choice). Arms Mastership denotes one that goes beyond flawlessness, and transcends the perfection that Servants can expect as due - there are numerous variant forms, from Lancelot's Eternal Arms Mastership to Karna's Uncrowned Arms Mastership. Within his era, he was unrivaled in the arts of war - bow, sword, mace, lance, horse, and I'm stopping because else I'd continue for too long, not because the list has ended. In skill alone, he has few equals. And that is quite visible when he uses it - mental influence is exerted, bolstering the morale of his allies and weakening that of his foes. This skill also encompasses the Riding ability - in fact, that is most likely his best class qualification, though that largely because he does not have specific arrow/lance/sword Noble Phantasms.

----Charisma B: To quote Plutarch, 'In courage and ability he was the foremost Parthian of his time; and in stature and personal beauty he had no equal.' His position was second only to the King, and his popularity was greater than. Had he wished it, at any moment he could have become King of Kings of Parthia. His qualifications were among the greatest, and his support was overflowing. Even if he had no idea what he was doing, he could inspire the men and women under him until they had a fair chance of pulling it off anyway. And he does have a good idea what he's doing.

----Eye of the Mind (True) B: Like yours, his nature is to stay cool, analyze the situation, and plan his way out. Even when faced with a nigh-invulnerable champion, he was able to determine the man's one vulnerability, and create a plan to exploit it. He is a planner par excellence.

----Military Tactics B: This represents his tactical expertise in large-scale warfare. His entire military record is characterized by general genius and success - the man barely made it into his thirties and crushed the well-attested Roman legions with significant numerical inferiority. No mere musclehead, but a leader of men. No offence intended, of course, Archer.

----Monstrous Strength E: He may actually be a descendant of Angra Mainyu - his mythical persona is reputed to be such (through the dark sorceror, possibly also dragon since the legends are confused on this point, Azi Dahaka), and there is certainly an element of inhuman descent in the man. It may be how he qualified for the Avenger class. Though damned if I have any idea on the specifics, Angra Mainyu has not been particularly talkative regarding his lineage, and the events were aeons ago at the very least, so there's no tracking the trail. At the very least, he holds the gift of demonic strength - his strength can be increased by one full rank for a short time. In his case, the ancestry is faded from a long time ago, and his general rejection of any form of darkness weakens his ability with this - he is only able to activate his strength boost for extremely short, 'one mighty strike' periods. Probably how he killed that elephant as a toddler.

----Vitrification B+: To translate, 'becoming glass'. In other words, forgetting what one imagines, seeing only what is there. A serene state of mind, a dedication to truth and reality above all preconceptions. One must see the world as it is before they can shape it as they wish. This ability is assisted by the remnant magics of Div-e-Sepid (the blood of which was used to cure the blindness of his King), though he does not really need to wear the helm anymore to use it (it's still stylish). In essence, it renders him extraordinarily resistant to mental interference. If he is actively attempting to see through a falsehood, he is peerless in doing so.

----Magic Resistance C: Protection against magic, cancelling spells of C-rank or lower. This is pretty much standard-issue - is there any Heroic Spirit without this to some degree? Of course, Iranian dark sorcerers were generally fond of the 'conjure something up and hit him with it' tactic we discussed last time, so how much actual use this saw is debateable, and it never got much practice.



Noble Phantasm:
----Rakhsh (Two Hearts Are One) Anti-Army C: The Nisean breed of horse was one of the most sought-after of the ancient world. Tall, powerful, utterly beautiful. The mount of ancient Persian nobility. When Emperor Wu Ti was told of the Heavenly Horses to the West, he sent an army to bring some for China. They got thirteen. When he saw the horses, he decided the expedition was worth it. The contact also led to the Silk Road, so, you know. This is a breed of horse that no longer treads the world, and what a loss it was.

Surena's Rakhsh is one of the finest of the breed, highly intelligent, utterly loyal, with the strength of an elephant. (That dragon-slaying he did was with Rakhsh's help, and I don't mean he was mounted at the time, the horse was biting. And what is with all the elephants in these myths? ... I suppose they did neighbour India at the time)

As a true Rider, their bond is peerless. Neither can fall while the other needs them - Rakhsh lived an unusually long life, and they died together. Thus, as long as one of them is alive and they are fighting together, the other gains the benefits of the Battle Continuation skill - they cannot go down unless their partner is gone or they are hammered down.

----Haft-Khan-e-Rostam (The Forgotten Star) Anti-World B+++: The name references Rostam's Seven Labours (which might be more accurately described as Rostam's Really Bad Road Trip), one set of his deeds. But in truth, it is the final encapsulation of his nature as a Heroic Spirit, an innate ability expressing his achievements - in stripping away the myth of Roman invulnerability to reveal the truth: "They can be beaten."

'Anti-World' as a designation does not, to clarify before problems arise, mean that it can blow up a planet. Rather, it attacks Gaia - the structure of reality. Rather than attacking the foe, it attacks the rules, harm to the foe is more of a side effect than anything else. The way in which the Forgotten Star does so is by stripping away lies to reveal the truth - a truth that looks all the grander for being hidden, or all the more tarnished for the lies put in place over it.

For a period of seven strikes, all lies are removed, and their effect inverted for a short period of time, as a wall of atar vazashita ('the fire most swift' - lightning) separates them from the current rules of the world. Imagine a man telling a story in a bar. Every time his fellow interjects 'it didn't happen that way', he sounds worse, even if the actual events were quite impressive already. Even if the truth was spectacular, people wonder why he had to lie about it. The blessing of rumour becomes a curse.

For the purpose of the Holy Grail War, it should be noted that legend bonuses are counted among such lies. Even if every word of the legend is true (which is rare to begin with), a legend carries an implicit lie - 'I am the only one worth talking about'. Which is what the name 'Forgotten Star' gets at - call it the vengeance of the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier. The people who we forget about in praising our heroes of legend - their equally-legendworthy enemies, the people supporting them and the people ground under their heel. Haft-Khan-e-Rostam is a short reminder to the world that they existed, and that they built our world just as surely as those we remember and praise in song and movie did. That actual history is far more exciting than popular history, and that while propaganda may shape perceptions, truth shapes the world itself. Myth and legend are part of the prana structure magi refer to as 'the world' - Haft-Khan-e-Rostam strips them away to show the rock on which that structure depends.

This is the ability with which he was intended to manage Angra Mainyu - for Angra Mainyu is The Lie in Zoroastrian theology, a philosophy fixated on pursuit for Truth. And Angra Mainyu is a lie. A scapegoat for the sins of mankind, a fiction created to absolve us. Even if Angra Mainyu really were the ultimate god of power the Einzberns had been hoping for (what genius summons the God of Evil as a Servant, seriously?), the lie that comprises him is so big that the Forgotten Star could destroy his manifestation. (Unfortunately, the destruction of his manifestation is what caused your problems in the first place, the Einzbern prepared fairly well for their pet god going rogue, but did not prepare for the subtler, more insidious threat he actually presented)

Of course, the dedication to truth which this Noble Phantasm represents also means that Surena himself cannot benefit from legend bonuses, instinctively rejecting them and increasing the prana burden his Master must absorb to manifest his abilities, as detailed above. It takes a truly spectacular Master - or a lot of Masters in this case - to manage him without having to stay in bed all day long, unless they were willing to abandon the Forgotten Star and employ a command seal to force him to accept the legend bonus that is his as the Original Knight. Or make up the excess prana cost by draining people. Would take a command seal either way unless you managed to array a rather large quantity of people unpleasant enough to merit killing, which Lancer is making fair use of even though she doesn't actually require it.

And since your legends have not yet been sung, and never will be in this world, it does not actually do anything to you. Any other Servant can negate its ability to harm them so by letting go of their legend and accepting the same 'difficulty in reaching their stats'. Be careful in spreading that one around, of course. You wouldn't want the enemies whose ultimate Noble Phantasms can hurt you to know how to circumvent an opponent more dangerous to them than you.

~~~I========>

Author's Notes:
First thing's first - thanks go out to prereaders - the list being Sunshine Temple, DCG, Ellf, and Belgarion213.
As always, reviews, comments, corrections, and etcetera are appreciated whether for good or ill, and my email's always open (PaleWLF @ gmail com).

[Knight of L-sama]

Yay!!! More War of Kings!!!

Squeeing aside, a minor nitpick. Archer refers to Iri as his mother-in-law, but wouldn't stepmother be the more appropriate term? Mother-in-Law implies that he married Illya.

Also... nice to see Blue Saber (and her Master is Tianzi!) Also nice to see the black suit back. Though judging from her inner monologue, I assume she was summoned from after the Fourth Grail War as in Fate/Zero, but before Fate/Stay Night's version(s) of the Fifth Grail War? Also, thumbs up on the fact that Xingke and Fourth Lancer had the same seiyuu.

And Waver being summoned as part of the Ionian Hetaroi has much interesting potential. Though its still going to be interesting to see how Euphie's preference for negotiation will interact with Alexander's ideas of conquest (which are not entirely incompatible). Though 'Oh crap, he's Greek.' was a great line.

As for Avenger coming on to the scene... hmm. How is his Noble Phantasm going to affect Blue Saber? Like Archer, her legends are from another world, though unlike Archer, her's have a local analogue. I smell shenanigans! (Especially since being Lancer is indeed suffering... even when you're not Lancer).

And I was afraid Mao was going to turn out to be a Master... though why do I get the worrying feeling he's going to run into Caster's Master? And speaking of which... where's Caster!

[OSMQEP]

Standard updates updates yeah, language. C&C may delayed due to such RL factors as physical condition, mental condition, and urgent pressing business.

Knight,

Caster and Caster's Master are known quantities. You just need to read the entrails of the story.

Caster was very good at making people believe him, was reputed by his followers to be divine, used intelligence well against his opponents and enemies, loved spending the money of others, and gained advantage by using the poorer faction of his native polity. He is really *****.

Seriously, Caster and Master are both very bad people, who have already been mentioned.

Caster was a womanizer. I really hope he doesn't sleep with Kokoro. Doing that, and using that to hurt people fits his MO. (This part of the description does not fit *****. Or rather, I haven't seen conclusive evidence of that sort of thing for *****.)

More fun Caster facts. His name is one letter off some methods of calculating 'The Name of the Beast'. Depending who you talk to, he may have been one of the Prototypes for the Antichrist. I feel sorry for the cast and nameless extras having to live in a world with him and his master. The ones in the original stories had enough on their plates just sharing worlds with Charles and Zouken*. Avenger will be very effective against him, if he doesn't find out about the counter. Where's Caster? He is out there, somewhere, plotting against your interests. If I was him, I'm thinking I'd set up an intelligence network in Area 11, and, probably, if I'm right about remembering that the EU is a democracy, run for office there, and take over. If the other Servants can be kept focused on Area 11, there might not be anything able to counter his abilities.

Caster and Caster's Master, because it was a personal affinity summon, are known quantities. Think of them like mount Fuji. If they are in the background of the view, they are doing stuff harmful, generally, to the world. If they are in the foreground, they are doing harmful things to the cast.

*Some pretty bad stuff showed up this chapter too. Wonderful things also.

[Pale Wolf]

Yay!!! More War of Kings!!!

Goddamn, you have no idea how much of a relief it is to get back into writing on my end...

Squeeing aside, a minor nitpick. Archer refers to Iri as his mother-in-law, but wouldn't stepmother be the more appropriate term? Mother-in-Law implies that he married Illya.

The tie is more 'wife of adoptive father', and I'm not sure there's really a term for that. Technically, the closest term is straight-out 'Mother', but he doesn't feel right calling her that since he's never met her and doesn't really have any direct connection to her. So it's more like 'pick a random term for mother-at-one-remove since the appropriate one doesn't exist'. Stepmother would probably be somewhat more appropriate in the whole 'connection is through Kiritsugu, not personally', but he doesn't really have a set term in mind for her and just used one off-the-cuff - the whole comment in the first place was basically a 'magus is interested in someone, need to discourage vivisection' reflex.

Also... nice to see Blue Saber (and her Master is Tianzi!) Also nice to see the black suit back.

Difference is? She makes this look good.

Though judging from her inner monologue, I assume she was summoned from after the Fourth Grail War as in Fate/Zero, but before Fate/Stay Night's version(s) of the Fifth Grail War?

Yeah. This is basically 'Saber as we first met her', summoned right after the Fourth, but before messing around with Shirou.

Also, thumbs up on the fact that Xingke and Fourth Lancer had the same seiyuu.

There are some hilarious seiyuu ties across anime (including the fact that Rivalz has Shirou's).

And Waver being summoned as part of the Ionian Hetaroi has much interesting potential.

After the bromance that was Fate/Zero, it was almost innate that he come.

Though its still going to be interesting to see how Euphie's preference for negotiation will interact with Alexander's ideas of conquest (which are not entirely incompatible).

They do both agree that there's no point fighting if negotiation works - the point where they differ is that Euphie thinks negotiation always works.

Though 'Oh crap, he's Greek.' was a great line.

It was a cheap shot, but someone had to take it.

As for Avenger coming on to the scene... hmm. How is his Noble Phantasm going to affect Blue Saber? Like Archer, her legends are from another world, though unlike Archer, her's have a local analogue. I smell shenanigans!

Saber is basically sitting on Aon's fame bonus too, since they're the same person. (That's fortunate, because without a fame bonus, she'd be looking at 'Shirou's Saber' stats - that worked for her in the canonical Fifth where basically everyone had a similar handicap, but in a War where everyone's running around at full power, that would not be fun for her)

(Especially since being Lancer is indeed suffering... even when you're not Lancer).

His last summoning really sucked though. He was Lancer that time. So even being the same hero, being summoned outside the Lancer class improves your prospects.

And I was afraid Mao was going to turn out to be a Master... though why do I get the worrying feeling he's going to run into Caster's Master?

It was a valid fear - in earlier conceptions of the plotline, Mao was a Master. Of Caster, in fact - not this Caster, this Caster was in the fic from the start, but originally he was bouncing between Saber and Rider. Then I thought 'wait... War of Kings', and Saber and Rider were filled, so Mao's Caster was butterflied out.

In my take on 'the War as it would have happened in canon, with Kallen getting the gas away to Shinjuku and Lelouch and Kokoro never meeting, thus no involvement in the War', Mao got his Caster-chan, and competed to try and win a wish to angle towards his CC objectives, though he was defeated, shrugged, and resumed stalking her.

And speaking of which... where's Caster!

Caster is an asshole. So he's staying out of it right now, much like Gilgamesh (was supposed to) in Fate/Zero, and will appear when most inconvenient for 'everyone we like in the fic'.

... Oh wow, OSMQEP's description is perfect.

[Pale Wolf]

Disclaimer: No copyright is mine, thus no copyrighted character is. If you recognize them from something that's not written by 'Pale Wolf', I have no legal claim to them.

Code Geass: The War Of Kings

By Pale Wolf

Chapter Seven

Banquet of Distortion

~~~I========>

Nina Einstein didn't really want to watch the Eleven ghetto as it flew by outside the train.

It wasn't a nice place. She'd been out there before... why had they been so stupid, she couldn't even remember what it had been for... and it had been...

They had...

Nina shook herself, stopping her mind from going back there.

... It was a shack town out there. They were living in ruins. The average Eleven looked... almost dead. Skin stretched tight across a worn-out face, eyes always staring at something no one else could see... Half of their time was spent in a drug-fueled haze to escape the despair of their lives, lives that would never go anywhere, and the ones that didn't partake were, if anything, scarier.

She didn't think Elevens were inferior to Britannians. But she did know exactly how they lived. Exactly how much they hated Britannia - and her, for being Britannian.

It wasn't as if Britannia couldn't be blamed, for them living like that.

It wasn't as if they didn't have plenty of reason to hate Britannians - and it wasn't as if some of the comfort of her life didn't come from the discomfort of theirs.

But... that didn't make Elevens any less frightening. Having reasons for their behaviour - reasons she agreed with, intellectually, even if there was absolutely nothing she could do about them - didn't change what that behaviour was.

They did not live like humans. That could be almost entirely ascribed to Area Eleven's colonial policy, it would take an immense stretch to put any of the blame for their circumstances on them.

But people who did not live like humans, who were not treated like humans, did not act like humans.

They took out their entirely justifiable rage on whatever was in the vicinity - each other, Britannian civilians, bystanders... her...

If the way they lived could be changed, there would be nothing to fear, eventually, once the people bitter about the past had finished pouring out their rage. But there was nothing she could do to change that - she had no political pull whatsoever.

And until something changed...

Elevens were very, very terrifying. Just a half-glance at the news, at all the reports of terrorist strikes against banks, convention centers, almost any target as long as it was Britannian and couldn't defend itself, proved that.

The various terrorist groups had even stepped up operations, after Zero had killed Lelouch's older brother Clovis - Zero's violent results had given them all a new high score to compete with.

Nina didn't like being so afraid. She hated herself for being so weak. But... that didn't change the fact that every time she looked at Elevens, or saw mention on the news, she remembered exactly what they were capable of. And she knew that there was nothing she could do against what they were willing to unleash on her.

Nina's eyes, against her will, slid right, looking out of the corner of her eye at the lavender-haired Eleven sitting uncomfortably across from her.

Rationally, she shouldn't be afraid of Kokoro Matou. The girl was even frailer than her. And she hadn't done anything, the whole time she'd been at Ashford.

But Kokoro had come from the ghetto. She'd lived in that horrible world of ruins and drugs and people who might as well be dead for years. So... Nina had no idea what was going on in the Eleven girl's head. She hadn't done anything horrible, but so many people like her had that the uncertainty had kept Nina nervous for the weeks she'd spent at Ashford. She had to know what she was looking at before she could relax.

"This is the first time I've left the settlement!" Shirley squealed from Nina's left, completely oblivious to the tension just beside her that she'd basically destroyed and cheerfully chewing on something from the snack cart. Had she not even been paying attention to the ruins of old Tokyo right outside the window? She was the one with the window seat!

Milly smirked, leaning back in her seat. "Would've been nice if Lelouch had come along, eh?"

Shirley choked.

Kallen, to Nina's right, just snickered. "What do you see in that guy, anyway? Sure, he's smart, but his personality's defective, return-to-sender."

Nina could actually understand why Lelouch was so detached from the world. After the number of body blows it had delivered him - none of which she could talk about, of course, it was a secret and she only knew because Grandfather Albert had been part of the Dream Pod 9 team developing the Ganymede along with Lelouch's mother - it wasn't a surprise he just stopped putting effort and passion in. It hadn't ever been rewarded anyway.

"That's not true at all!" both Shirley and Kokoro protested, before blinking and looking across the train car at one another with slight frowns.

Oh great, a rivalry was born.

What was with that family's genetics? His father had over a hundred wives, and across the school, Lelouch could probably amass a similar number of willing parties, even though she knew he hadn't ever gone looking. Nina certainly knew he was attractive, but... maybe she'd never get it, since she didn't really 'like' anyone that way she was basically just guessing on how everyone felt.

Nina sighed to herself, nibbling on her snack - some kind of candy stick thing local to the Area. Even if she did like someone like that, she wasn't much of a prize. Not much to look at, and so incredibly weak. She wouldn't stand a chance. So probably for the best.

Milly grinned. "Ohoooooo? I see, I see." She scratched at her chin. "That explains much."

Kokoro's frown deepened, and she turned to face Milly. "... No, what explai-?"

The train passed into a railway tunnel.

The sun disappeared, and Nina was plunged into darkness, suddenly and without warning.

Like that day.

Her pupils dilated, her fists clenched in her dowdy jacket, and she let out a tiny gasp, interrupting Kokoro's query.

A moment later, the light returned, and a soft hand laid on hers. Milly was kneeling in front of her, the other three girls staring in surprise and confusion. "It's all right," Milly stated, voice firm and confident, not a hint of her usual laughter. "There are a lot of Britannian tourists in Kawaguchiko, like us, so the security there is solid. It isn't scary like the ghetto."

"But..." It was still outside the settlement, why had she agreed to this, why, why...? She wasn't suited for going outside, and exploration, and...

"We're here for you." Milly's clear blue eyes held hers, rock-steady. "I won't leave you behind this time."

Nina swallowed, and forced a smile. "O... okay." She wasn't entirely, but her bout of terror had been entirely irrational, and Milly's equally irrational assurance had shaken her out of it. From here it was just faking it until it held.

And they were out from under the mountain - Shirley completely abandoned the previous topic to shout out some vaguely wordlike thing of joy at the view outside.

Kallen and Kokoro were still looking at her - concern plain in Kallen's eyes, but the Eleven's expression was... unreadable.

"Um... are you...?" Kallen began, before Shirley latched onto the collar of her shirt and hauled her to the window with a cry of "Look! That's Mount Fuji!"

That left Nina, Milly, and Kokoro silently watching them.

After a long, silent pause, Kokoro nodded once, lavender gaze meeting Nina's as she did, and then turned to watch the view outside. "The mining apparatus is new," she commented mildly.

"Yeah, it kinda spoils the view," Shirley agreed.

Nina wasn't entirely sure what Kokoro had just communicated, but... somehow, she felt a little more at ease.

At least the theoretical part of her personal research was holding up. That was going right, at least. Science, at least, was reliable, and not confusing.

And it really was a pretty view.

~~~I========>

Rivalz winced as Lelouch stepped into the student council building's hall, shutting the door behind him with a creak of finality.

He'd thought and thought on it... and he wasn't really sure what kind of conclusions he could come to, still. The truth about his friend was so far beyond belief that it took time to process. And Rivalz had just been running around in circles the whole time. His friend was... was he even his friend, from Lelouch's end? How far had the faking gone?

Rivalz held up a hand. "... Hey."

Lelouch returned the demi-salute. "Rivalz." He pulled off the thin black leather gloves he'd taken to wearing lately - setting the beginnings of Ashford's latest fashion trend - to reveal a crimson sword tattoo engraved on the back of his hand.

Rivalz blinked. "When'd you get that?"

"Hm?" Lelouch glanced down at his tattoo. "Ah. Yes. That old bastard wiped your memory... well, you're in deep enough, this is barely a side element. You remember Lancer's supernatural abilities?" He twirled his hand and wiggled his fingers a bit - probably airing his hands out, since they'd been spending days encased in glove.

Rivalz snorted, stepping over to the staircase and taking a seat on the russet tiles. "Lelouch, I haven't forgotten one detail. Haven't made sense of one detail, but I haven't forgotten a thing." ... Other than this 'wiped your memory' thing. Which being brought up wasn't a comforting thought to begin with... but on the other hand, Lelouch telling him actually kind of was. After all, if Lelouch weren't on the level, letting him stick around amnesiac and forgetting everything would be beneficial - telling him about it would break the whole thing, right?

Lelouch nodded, holding out the back of his hand and kneeling a little to allow Rivalz a better view. "It's a mark of magecraft - denoting my summoning of Lancer."

Rivalz laughed. "Magic? Come on, Lelouch. I'm trying to be serious here."

"Technically, no. Magi are apparently quite particular about their terminology - magecraft is something which is possible achieved via use of prana, magic is something which is impossible achieved via 'nobody knows because they're not publishing their research'." He shrugged, sitting down to Rivalz's left, long legs folding up almost spiderlike. "It's new to me too, and I'm essentially parroting Kokoro on this."

"Lelouch, the joke wasn't funny the first time."

"You know, Mister Cardemonde," a soft feminine voice breathed into his right ear. "I'm a ghost, and I was throwing knightmares - you saw that much. Are you really going to call bullshit on the term used for it?"

Rivalz jolted away (landing halfway on top of Lelouch), turning to face... ah. That girl, Lancer. Shadow and crimson swirled together into the form of a small, deceptively cute younger girl - currently hanging upside-down from the metal-knotwork balustrade of the staircase, stockinged knees hooked over the handrail. Rivalz slowly blinked. "... How is your skirt staying up?!" ... Maybe not the best thing he could have said in the circumstances (or in any circumstances), though it was a fair question, since she wasn't holding it up it should have flopped down and exposed her panties (not that he wanted to see them, just that he was pretty sure the laws of physics dictated it).

Lancer smirked. "Magic."

"..." Rivalz just sighed. "Okay, I give up. Magecraft, magic, whatever."

She cleared her throat. "Also, Lelouch might need air down there."

"Oh, I'll live." Lelouch pried himself out from underneath Rivalz, and moved a few steps higher on the staircase, taking a seat again. "Anyway. It's this complicated involved thing involving shadow cabals, poorly-written amendments to the laws of physics, supernatural death tournaments, reincarnated ghost heroes, and whatnot. I'm hip-deep in it, but it shouldn't affect you - just make sure not to talk about it outside our group, Kokoro keeps warning me about semi-murderous enforcers. She may be overstating the threat, but I believe she is doing so to hammer in good, safe habits, which it would be best to follow - even very rare threats do pop up. And if something triggers your instincts, run and call one of us - there is a great deal of nastiness out there."

Rivalz shook his head. "You just keep piling it on, huh, Lelouch?" He was so busy with the last round of revelations that this one, he barely even cared about. Possibly because Lelouch himself didn't really seem to give a damn about this secret.

Lelouch chuckled, holding up his hands helplessly. "As I said, this was new to me too. I don't entirely believe it myself, but it keeps happening, so I'm just rolling with it. If I'm dreaming, I'll wake up at some point and not be particularly humiliated for playing along, since nobody watches my dreams." He paused, turning to eye Lancer. "To the best of my knowledge."

Lancer just grinned, shaking her head. "I only influence, I don't see. There are the sorts that peep, but I'm not among them." She held up (well, down, technically) a finger. "That said, I'm also not influencing anyone."

"How comforting," Lelouch drawled. His expression shifted - grew more serious. "More importantly, Rivalz - how have you been holding up?"

... Yes. Rivalz grinned, leaning back on the stairs and looking up at Lelouch. "I'm... eh, not fine, but I'll keep." Lelouch may have lied about everything else, but he was his friend. "How're you doing? I'm starting to get the impression you live off secrets, but you've been losing them pretty fast." Probably wasn't physically endangering him, but coming out about a secret was its own kind of trauma - and Lelouch had been far too comfortable hiding everything to be happy being this exposed.

Lelouch snorted. "I'll keep. You are correct, I would rather keep everything secret, but covering them up requires generally distasteful amounts of murder. Lesser of two evils - by quite a significant amount. I've learned to live with it."

"Yes," Lancer snarked, "you'll just have to learn to live with having reliable subordinates and confidantes. Truly, your trials are without end."

Lelouch gestured with a thumb to the upside-down girl. "You see what I mean, Rivalz?"

Rivalz nodded solemnly, still grinning. "I do, I do indeed." He actually did - and from the half-grin on Lancer's face, he thought she did too. Even good changes were still a shock - and Lelouch, in parting with his secrets, had probably taken as hard a shock as Rivalz had in seeing them. It was simply Rivalz's job as a friend to help Lelouch settle in to his new circumstances.

The fact that Lelouch was technically waging war against their mother country was certainly true and wasn't going to go away - but 'mother country' was kind of a remote thing. Lelouch, his friend, was right here, not remote in the slightest.

"So, hey-" Rivalz was interrupted by the ringing of Lelouch's phone.

Lelouch chuckled, held up a hand to ask for time, and drew it from his pocket. As he glanced at the screen, his brow furrowed, and he stood, stalking up to the staircase landing.

Rivalz wasn't intentionally listening in, but he couldn't help but hear Lelouch's opening response: "This is Zero." Very much not his business, and he shut his ears to anything further.

So he was caught by surprise when Lelouch's voice directed itself towards him. "Rivalz. Come."

"Eh?" Rivalz rolled upright, peering up the stairs.

"You probably don't want to see this, but you need to." With no further introduction, Lelouch stalked up the rest of the way to the second floor of the student council building, Rivalz rushing to catch up, and Lancer curiously following without difficulty.

They went a short distance, into one of the nearby side rooms, where Lelouch switched on a television, and began flipping through news channels.

He didn't have to say it - Rivalz saw it. A food storage room somewhere, filled with Britannian, European, Asian faces, huddled on the floor, hands held behind their heads, ringed by gray-green-uniformed Elevens with guns pointing at their hostages.

And in the corner, five familiar girls - the Student Council's female three quarters, Shirley, Nina, Kallen, Kokoro, Milly...

Rivalz couldn't breathe.

Lelouch's voice had turned brisk and cold, as he explained, speaking over the news announcer. "The Japanese Liberation Front. One of the other resistance groups in the area. Largely comprised of pre-invasion Japanese military personnel. This detachment of it is led by Colonel Kusakabe Josui. The Sakuradite Division Conference was taking place at the hotel at around this time - are you familiar?"

Rivalz shook his head helplessly. "Y... yeah." He finally reconquered oxygen. "That's where Britannia and the other nations meet to determine the share of who gets how much sakuradite each year, right?" Yeah... Area 11 turned out about 70% of the world supply, right. So who got how much was naturally discussed there. What did this have to do with...? No, Lelouch was getting there.

Lelouch nodded sharply. "Yes. The JLF captured the hotel, and have been making demands for the release of political prisoners." He exhaled. "... It looks like they picked the hotel because it was already the subject of international attention. They're playing to an audience."

"They're what?!" Rivalz growled. "This group... I'm not really up on the details here, you don't work with them, right?" He didn't think so, but...

"No." Lelouch turned away from the television, facing Rivalz again. "This was my error. I recommended the hotel. I knew about the conference. I... I didn't think anyone would be stupid enough to attack it, I thought any group that could pull it off would have the political savvy to understand how idiotic a move it would be. That hotel should have been the safest place in Japan!" Lelouch half-shouted.

"Idiotic..." Rivalz nodded. "Because the Forces would move in and break the situation? It's this obvious, right...?" Yeah... this wouldn't take that long, right?

Lelouch pursed his lips. "Partially. In greater part, the concern is that people hear about it - which is also precisely what they seem to be going for, the fools." He gestured to the TV. "Tell me, does that look like a group of men with whom you can sympathize?"

"Taking the girls hostage?" Rivalz just shook his head. "No way. I'm cheering the Forces on."

"As am I," Lelouch admitted. "But hostage situations are troublesome. The people you want to save are closer to the people threatening to kill them than they are to the people trying to save them. The villain has the advantage." He turned back to watch the screen. "And Britannian Forces policy is not to negotiate with terrorists. It's a good policy - it's entirely correct. But it's a policy of minimizing losses to terrorism, not negating them. They will go in at some point. The JLF will have a few shots at the hostages. At the very best, some people will die, Rivalz. If we're lucky, it won't be our friends."

Rivalz swallowed, stepping up beside his friend. "Can... can you do anything to improve their odds? You're... some kind of genius strategist, right?"

"I could, if I could get past the Britannian Forces. But I can't get through." Out of the corner of his eye, Rivalz watched a trickle of blood flow from Lelouch's lip, where he was biting down on it. "My Black Knights are not particularly good soldiers. Even if we had a two-to-one numerical advantage, I would be loathe to pit them against the Britannian Forces in a straight-up breakthrough - and the numerical advantage is, at the least, the other way around. Some kind of tactical weight must be in my hands. I could get the Black Knights through the JLF cordon - the mystery of my identity as Zero provides me the necessary leverage. But not through the Britannian. We would die three times over on the way in, and four on the way out." Lelouch started pacing back and forth in front of the television.

There was a tapping sound.

"... Pretend to be with the Britannian Forces?" Lelouch was way smarter than him, if he hadn't thought of it... but Rivalz couldn't do anything but pitch in his own thoughts, however useless they may be.

There was a coughing sound.

Sure enough, Lelouch shook his head. "Considered. Incredibly difficult to get past stage one, relies on too many uncontrollable variables. And that just gets me past the Britannian cordon. The JLF would only let the Black Knights through, not a random Britannian unit. Just reverses the problem."

"Hellooooooo," Lancer finally spoke, leaning her face in between the two boys. Ack! Close! Rivalz jumped back in surprise, though he was mostly ignored. "Forgetting something, Lelouch?" She tapped her red heels against the carpet again.

Lelouch paused, staring at her for a long moment. "... Yes, yes I was. Thank you, Lancer." He pursed his lips for a moment. "Go. I'll bring the Black Knights up behind you, and provide further intelligence as I get it. This could turn out a great deal better than I had feared."

Lancer grinned. "You're just going to have to get used to having people you can rely on, Lelouch."

"It really is novel." Lelouch was striding out of the room, picking up a carrying case on the way.

Rivalz coughed into his hand as he paced behind Lelouch. "Um... I don't want to interrupt much, but... you have an idea, right?"

"Better," Lancer noted, body coiling low, and facing the western wall. "He has a Servant." She leapt westward, vanishing from sight before she hit the wall.

~~~I========>

"They what?!" Darlton roared, head whipping around to glare in shock at the officer's report.

The sensor operator swallowed, and clarified his report. "It seems the enemy has an artillery piece down there. Current reports suggest it's a linear cannon mounted between modified Glasgows."

Cornelia's teeth gritted, though she didn't let it show, watching the display as the JLF artillery fired once more. The knightmare attack had already been halted. This second shot was for the survivors who had ejected.

Cornelia mentally tallied one more crime for which these terrorists would pay, and forced the matter from her mind.

"Are you saying it's impossible to penetrate their defences?" Darlton hissed, audibly enraged - almost as enraged as Cornelia was.

Not impossible. But the preferable methods had all been scratched off.

The Kawaguchiko Convention Center Hotel was built at the center of Lake Kawaguchi's largest lobe, on a foundation block digging down through the 15-meter depth of the lake, and into the lakebed. Completely ignoring the island in the lake, because some hotshot engineer had wanted to show off - and in deference to said hotshot engineer, it was a more secure position, which was precisely the problem.

Three bridges reached out to it, connecting it to land. Two had been destroyed by the JLF following their takeover, leaving a single one-kilometer bridge the only land route into or out of the hotel. One kilometer across a bridge was a suicidal proposition. The JLF certainly had sufficient stocks of anti-materiel and anti-tank weaponry, and incredible amounts of cover to fire from. While the bridge approach offered absolutely none, a complete shooting gallery to charge down, for her own troops. It was the sort of territory infantry forces dreamed of. And that was assuming the terrorists didn't just blow up the bridge as soon as a few dozen good Britannians had started going down it, just to make the effort completely futile. Not to mention the fact that the probe just launched indicated they had squeezed heavy artillery into the tunnel - there might be more pieces holding the bridge.

Air and water were no good. Clear skies, and the JLF were also liberally equipped with SAMs, as the probing VTOL had discovered. And water had been covered too - the water around the hotel was lavishly coated in sea mines, and the water access regions were covered.

The previous leading option had been to send a demolitions team (which in this case meant knightmares - 'shooting it with heavy weapons' was the fastest form of demolitions known to man) down the hotel's lifeline tunnel - which handled the hotel's power, plumbing (large tourist lakes weren't the best place to go for water supplies, even if they were freshwater), and communication utilities, as well as a safe evacuation tunnel in the event of some natural disaster demolishing the hotel, and stock deliveries. Destroying that tunnel was not an option for the JLF - they needed communications, and they'd need power and water unless they'd brought large supplies in themselves.

If the demolitions team could destroy the hotel's foundation block - a task she would rather hand to artillery herself, but there just weren't the angles to take a clear shot from distance - then the hotel would start sinking. Only fifteen meters or so, but it would rattle the JLF. For those fifteen meters of sinking, they would lack stable firing platforms for their SAMs, for their artillery since they had it, for their RPGs and mortars and etcetera - as the hotel sank, an attack could be launched and the JLF would be unable to mount stiff resistance.

It wasn't a perfect plan - the terrorists would very possibly have time to start executing hostages before a commando team reached them. But it was the best plan available - every factor that could be lined up to minimize the amount of hostage-executing time the terrorists had, had been. The sinking of the hotel should put a delay into the hostage guards 'doing their job' - possibly enough of a delay to stop them entirely.

It could have worked - that underwater tunnel was a shooting gallery, but some heavy weapons would be difficult to fire down there without destroying the tunnel as a whole, which the JLF's operation required just as much as her own did. A skilled Sutherland pilot could evade a significant percentage of what could be thrown at him in environs like that - a dangerous job, for dangerous men, not a suicide mission. But the grapeshot fired by the artillery piece the JLF had squeezed in... that was up to the job of killing anything Cornelia could fit down the tunnel for kilometers - the team of Sutherlands she'd just sent in to die hadn't even made it to the lake, they'd been shot to pieces kilometers short of it. And the grapeshot wasn't high-powered enough to significantly damage the tunnel.

That one artillery piece blocked off the one palatable option Cornelia had had left.

What she was left with, now, was human wave tactics - sending people into the firestorm the terrorists had prepared down the tunnel, down the bridge, or from the air, to die, just to occupy one JLF gun one moment longer, so that eventually, five waves later, one team made it to their objective.

Cornelia's gorge rose at the thought.

"... What should we do?" a staff officer queried, voice tremulous. "Should we give in to their demands and-"

"'If once you have paid him the Danegeld, you'll never be rid of the Dane'!" Cornelia snapped. If staff officers couldn't even keep a handle on core principles...

Guilford leaned down, whispering into her ear. "Your Highness... Euphemia..."

Cornelia glared straight ahead. "I know," she whispered back. But she could not give in, not to terrorists. A weakening in that position - let alone one this public - would only increase the amount of terror incidents down the line, as terrorist groups sensed weakness and pounced. Far more civilians would be endangered once the terrorists got the impression that threatening civilians led Britannia to cow and give them what they wanted. If Cornelia was going to play that game, they may as well pack up the settlement and leave the Area right now, because it was going to go there and it would be ugly when they arrived.

And Cornelia, for one, was not abandoning the land her favourite little brother (and second-favourite, too) had died in.

Euphie was in there. But she couldn't give in, or hundreds or thousands more people - citizens, and even honouraries and Elevens, she was tasked with protecting - would be killed in spinoff incidents as terrorist groups tried to hone in on what had led the Governor-General to show weakness.

And to resolve the situation with force, she would have to knowingly send a few hundred good soldiers into a meat grinder.

Three untenable choices. No way out. Not without a miracle.

She wasn't sure if Darlton could hear, but he knew her well enough that he could probably read her mood just by the way her glare bored into the back of his maroon uniform jacket, and he turned around sharply. "They shouldn't have discovered that yet. If they learned that Her Highness Euphemia is among the hostages, they'd definitely use her as leverage in the negotiations." He shook his head. "Since she was just there to listen to the conference, her name wasn't on the member list. She was in disguise to begin with."

Cornelia nodded, standing from her command chair. Perhaps she'd needed that small comfort. "And what have the SIS been doing all this time?"

"Those are not our orders," Agent Halliburton noted, from behind her. Stereotypical intelligence spook. Cornelia hadn't been expecting it, but she still refused to jump, and was even feeling generous enough to restrain the reflex to shoot smartasses who thought it was very clever of them to sneak up on her. "At this time, Zero does not appear to be involved. Our task is Zero and the items he possesses. Nothing more."

Cornelia turned to face the young man, glaring. "And you went to the effort to sneak into my command center to tell me something that useless? There are communication lines, Agent Halliburton."

Dame Alstreim and her own white-haired attendant - Agent Albion, he'd called himself - were next to Halliburton, and Alstreim tugged on her attendant's sleeve.

With an expressive sigh, he stepped forward. "Actually, we snuck in to tell you that one of our agents is moving into the hotel right now. It's not our job, as Agent Halliburton felt it necessary to point out for some reason." The man cast a half-glare at the boy, endearing himself greatly to Cornelia right there. "But we were around."

Cornelia nodded, and focused her attention on the adult in the room. "What results do you expect out of this agent? How can he be contacted?"

Albion sighed, waving a hand randomly. "He can't be contacted. He's good enough to get into the hotel, but not while carrying comm gear. As for results... it can range, depending on the situation and his mood. I don't think he'll solve the whole situation himself - it's within his ability, he has some of that experimental equipment Zero made off with, but that requires violation of official secrets acts and the prompt execution of everyone who saw him do it, hostages included, so it kind of defeats the point of doing it at all. But he can provide close protection of the princess when he gets to her - and I can tell you when he does."

"... Mm." Cornelia nodded. Not good enough to fix the situation - she still needed to find some way to get soldiers in without sacrificing them all - but it certainly made it a little less ugly. Removed the possibility of Euphie being one of the ones killed while they made their breach. But even if this agent of theirs really could just slaughter all the terrorists, if all witnesses then had to be killed, there was no salvation to be found without sending in troopers to resolve the situation.

... They'd reacted remarkably fast to a report of Euphemia's danger. And she'd become involved with them somehow, previously, on that little outing of hers into the ghetto - she'd glanced their way when asked on it. Something to look into, after Euphie was back, safe, yelled at for worrying her so much, and hugged halfway back to death in private.

"Dame Alstreim and I will be providing sniper support to whatever your plan is, so keep us posted." Agent Albion half-saluted, and the SIS agents plus Knight of the Round Table turned to leave.

Darlton snorted. "Spooks. Always dramatic. Two offers came in while you were speaking, by the way."

Cornelia's gaze went back to him. "From the enemy?"

"Our own forces. Two units asking for permission to suicide-charge that lifeline tunnel and its artillery and open the way for us."

Cornelia half-smiled. "Turn them down and give both units a commendation." She would not be playing that game today either if there was one thing she could do about it. But just the offer showed just how good those units were.

Darlton paused, clearing his throat. "... Governor-General, I agree with that order, but I will clarify which units first."

Cornelia cocked her head. "Hm? Which ones?"

"5th Regiment, K Powered Task Company, Knightmare 'B' Platoon - the unit of your homeboy Sir Jeremiah."

Cornelia nodded. She expected no less of a former, quite excellent subordinate. It was still wonderful to see. As long as she didn't have to take him up on that offer. "Who else?"

"Zhayedan, Platoon Atar-1 - an Honourary Britannian unit from Area 18." He didn't need to define it, she remembered the word - hard for any educated noble not to recognize the newer term for the Persian Immortals, of all units, and she'd worked with them before. The name was the sort that stuck in the head. "They were on leave in Area 11, but they returned to posts when the crisis developed and immediately offered themselves as necessary."

Cornelia took a long, slow breath. "I will not rescind that order. They still get their commendation - they did earn it by making that offer. But we will not be using them." Bad enough making Britannians die on her orders. She wasn't going to send Numbers to do it. If there weren't enough Britannians to die for Britannia... there was nothing right in making Numbers die for an empire not their own.

Britannians had earned that right of empire by risking themselves - start risking Numbers instead, and Britannia had no more right to rule them. Sometimes it had to be done, but there was no sense in making a habit of the dirty work.

Guilford frowned, looking up from a side display. "... Darlton, how does a platoon of Numbers have knightmares? I seem to recall that was banned," he noted, tone dry.

Darlton held up his arms in a wide shrug. "Bureaucracy. We were originally supplying them surplus Glasgows as a resistance within the Middle Eastern Federation. Logistical command hasn't gotten around to reclaiming them yet."

Cornelia, Guilford, and Darlton sighed as one. Bureaucrats.

"Frankly speaking, they might be there for good," Darlton continued. "The Glasgow market is saturated with all the old stock left over when the Forces upgraded to the Sutherland, we dished out most of them to the Knight Police and we're using them as training machines and target drones at this point. And there's still enough left over for the terrorists to raid for equipment, like that little 'four Glasgows strapped together' monster in the tunnel down there. So it is likely to be... some time... before logistics starts pulling Glasgows away from extant units, even Honourary ones."

Cornelia waved a hand. "It's irrelevant. I'll confirm them as pilots - they did well opening the ground up for us, so they can have that distinction. They still won't be seeing combat in them." She frowned, hand snapping out and crushing a fly buzzing on her seat's armrest. "And what is with all the insects around here?"

~~~I========>

Kallen was finding it a bit difficult to keep up her 'soft and frail' persona right now. Her instincts were ratcheted up about three millimeters short of turning on her true self entirely - having guns aimed at her just tended to do that.

But it was a bad idea to go. There were four armed guards, each basically posted at a different corner of the storage room.

She could take one, easy. But while she was going for him, three more guards would riddle her with bullets. She may be able to stretch to two, but more was... no. Once they started firing, some of those bullets would end up in the cluster of hostages. And even if she managed to kill or neutralize all four, massively shattering her cover in the process, there was an entire bloody army of them in the hotel. More would come.

And to make matters that special touch worse - her command seals were throbbing. Which meant that somewhere nearby - within the hotel - there was another Master. Which meant there was a Servant in here, on the JLF's side. No specifics on where - the command seals never gave directional or distance indicators, just a buzz of 'somewhere nearby'.

Her own Servant... Aon had apparently intended to stick close to her for the entire breadth of the War. While being watched all the time was fairly creepy, and it had to be pretty boring for Aon too, Kallen could see the value in having a bodyguard around. She'd been able to negotiate a fair amount of 'not being always watched' time, though, since she'd pointed out that while she may not be a Servant, she was, herself, a total badass, and it would take a concerted military attack to take her down before she could get to help, so Aon could go ahead and look around for better Masters on some of their off time so Kallen could get out of this magecraft nonsense and stick to the revolutionary nonsense.

Oops.

Best to wait for an opportunity. If a real attack came in from outside, she could probably stop the JLF from killing the hostages - at least long enough for, hah, the Britannians to come to the rescue.

In some sense, she was torn - the actions of the JLF were loathesome and distasteful, she had no taste for threatening to massacre civilians like they seemed to, but they were also fighting for Japan's independence, in their own way. It helped straighten out her opinion on the matter that the civilians they were threatening to massacre included her and her friends.

Kallen sighed, looking around the storage room. It was pure cold concrete, with about fourty hostages crammed together and huddled on the floor. Assortment of genders and nationalities, though mostly Britannian - tourists, convention attendees, etcetera. A couple children even younger than they were.

The student council girls, Kallen included, were in the forward-most rank, closest to the door - the JLF soldiers had arranged them there for their 'video to show we have the hostages', and the student council girls were young, cute, helpless, and attractive enough to make a good heartstrings-puller, so they'd been put right in front of the camera.

Milly was standing (well, sitting) strong, hugging the much smaller Nina - who was utterly terrified and clutching onto the student council president with somewhat more fervour than a drowning man and a lifeboat. Shirley had her knees hugged to her chest, looking scared as hell - Kallen had heard her whisper a call for 'Lulu' - Lelouch - though she doubted Shirley was actually expecting help from that quarter so much as just thinking of her crush.

Kallen was in a similar position to Shirley - her knees high up hid her expression a bit more, and it was a position that would let her get up in a hurry.

Kokoro... Kallen was never sure what was going through her head. She was sitting placidly, legs folded beside her, no particular emotion heavy on her face, with her eyes closed and hands folded calmly in her lap. She hadn't moved much since they'd been tossed in there, and had apparently completely ignored Colonel Kusakabe when he popped in to say 'even though you're civilians, you are Britannian and thus my enemy and I will cheerfully kill you, so behave', except to shift her face slightly away - keeping the JLF soldiers from recognizing her Japanese features. (Probably wise, they'd think 'an Honourary' and might flip out harder on her)

And then she did move, nestling closer to Kallen, as if for comfort, and wrapping her arms around her in a tight hug.

Kallen blinked, and turned to look down at where the girl's head was nestled on her shoulder. Was she that scare-?

"<Can you hear me>?" Kokoro's voice echoed in Kallen's right ear - itself quite a feat, because Kokoro was on Kallen's left, the only part of Kokoro to Kallen's right was the arms wrapped about her shoulder and partially covering said ear.

Kallen jolted, turning to the right and looking around sharply. She stilled her movement when one of the guards glanced at her, gun barrel twitching slightly in her direction as he checked to see what was going on.

"<Don't answer in voice. This is for secret communication.>" Kokoro nestled in a little tighter, her breathing oddly irregular. "<To answer, subvocalize. Do everything you normally do in speaking, just don't give breath to it.>"

Kallen blinked, settling in and laying an arm on Kokoro's back to make the whole thing look more 'girl seeks comfort in fellow' rather than just sitting there unresponsively. "<Like this?>"

"<Yes.>"

"<... How are you doing this?>" Oh. Right. Magic. Magecraft. Thing.

"<Sound is vibration. At the moment, my sleeve over your ear is vibrating the way my throat would normally make the air do. And your shirt under my ear is doing the same.>"

"<Creative.>"

"<... Not so much. It isn't an impressive spell. More importantly - I wanted to warn you, don't use the command seal to call Aon.>"

... Oh right, that was what she was supposed to do if ever in danger. Or... maybe not, in this case. "<Why not?>"

Kokoro sighed into her shirt. "<Secrecy rules. She could solve the situation, but that will create witnesses to magecraft. Association rule is that said witnesses need to either be killed, or have their memory erased. I can't deal with the memory of this many hostages.>"

Kallen looked down, a little disgusted. "<So just kill them all? I didn't think you were the type.>"

"<... I'm... not. But this many witnesses, the Association will hear about it. They are the type.>"

"<Jerks. Right then. So what are you thinking?>"

"<I was teaching how to communicate through the Servant link. How good at it are you right now?>"

"<I wouldn't bet my life on it. Except that apparently I have to bet all our lives on it.>"

Kokoro tsked. "<Send her to Lelouch. It's a poor communication channel, but it's what we have. She can help us get in touch with him and pass on intelligence.>"

"<Intelligence? We don't have that great a view of the deep workings of the JLF from in here.>"

"<... I have a lot already. Given time I can get us out, but I'd like to be in touch with the outside. I can only do so much without getting obvious.>"

Kallen nodded slightly into the other girl's hair, and focused on her connection to Aon, ignoring the girl curled up next to her.

Meanwhile, Kokoro was whispering to herself - barely audible, even through the communication spell they had at the moment. "Prikhodite ko mne v gosti, mukhe govoril pauk..." she began.

A tiny shift moved Kokoro's voluminous skirt from its position spread across the floor - and Kallen saw a tiny hole bored into the concrete, crawling with insects. For just a moment, before Kokoro smoothed her skirt back over it.

~~~I========>

Rider probably should have slowed down a bit to coordinate with Archer. But that wasn't really his style - his Master had beaten him to the front lines, so now he had to catch up and bail her out. Archer could figure out how to follow up, he was a sharp guy.

Gettting in was easy enough - he was, after all, a ghost, invisible, intangible, a nice variety of good things like that. The problem was going to be what to do once he was in there.

Tempting as it was, he couldn't kill all the rebels. Well, he could, but then he would set off the Association's secrecy policies, and while he would probably be going up against them at some point when he was conquering the world, it was a bit early for that right now, with far too many other issues already on his plate and far too few resources prepared. He already had so many side projects going he and his Master had been doing their own separate things at what turned out to be a really bad time.

But, he could do enough. The goal wasn't 'stop the rebel action', Princess Purple was there for that. His goal was 'keep little Euph from dying in the process', and the other hostages too, if he could manage it - if he could get up to the hostages, he could break them out while keeping his abilities down to a 'no magecraft to see here sir' dull roar. So the goal was to time that so he saved the hostages as Purple started killing the rest of the rebels, so that no hostages died before her skirmishers reached the hostage rooms.

It wasn't really going to be that difficult - all he needed to do was float into the hotel's first floor, and then follow the connection between him and his little Master up through the ceilings to her position. Annoyingly enough, being dead had its benefits.

Calmly floating upward, he poked the link a little. 'Master, can you hear me?'

'Rider!' her response came back, elated. 'Yes, I can. You're here to help, right?'

'Who the hell do you think I am?' He slid up through a patrol of men with submachine guns, ignoring their shivers as senses humans rarely had call to notice told them 'something is here'.

'There's a problem with that. I can feel another Master. Unless that's Anya Alstreim...'

Rider would've sighed if he had a mouth right now. 'The rebels have a Servant.' This was the shameful sort of thing no hero worthy of the term would involve themselves in. But he had Waver's memories of Caster to remind him that there also existed the kind of 'hero' he had no interest in recruiting.

Euphemia paused. 'Can you lure the Servant to somewhere you can talk with him? There can't be any witnesses or else, right?'

'Talk, fight, whichever comes up. If I can find them, probably. Haven't entered detection range ye... oh, well that is awkward.' Rider came to a halt. 'He's in the room with you. Or maybe a nearby one. It's close.' Positioned just right to slaughter the hostages when it came to it. He was getting less and less inclined to befriend this Servant by the minute.

'... Can you lure him out from here?' She realized the danger too.

'Possibly. I would not guarantee it.' The approach of a Servant could set off the 'slaughter the hostages' result. Few Servants had a detection range as crazy-wide as his, but even a Saber's twenty meters-ish would be distance enough to kill everyone in that room before Rider crossed it. '... But I'm gonna try anyway. Anything goes wrong up there, you burn a command seal and call me in, got it?' Even the command seal might not be fast enough. But just leaving the Servant up there unchallenged... They'd kick off the slaughter on triggers other than his presence - when the rescue came in, just when their Master lost patience with the situation... But him - a rival Servant - they might leave to fight. It was a long shot gamble, but it was what existed to work with.

'... All right. I understand.'

Rider zoomed upward, with his fullest speed. Come and get me, anti-hero.

Twenty-five meters. At that distance - eight stories or so - the Servant with the hostages detected him, and with an almost nonexistent pause to process the data, roared downward to meet him.

Success. Now he just needed to win. Which was gonna be trouble under these conditions - but then, he was a hero.

They met and materialized in a hallway four floors down. It was a classy sort of place, gray carpet, cream-coloured wallpaper, rich wood fittings, the occasional painting hanging along the wall... Rider was next to 'Our Yearning', a nicely done piece depicting brilliant, grassy green rolling hills that the Grail told him were characteristic of the British Isles. Abandoned - neither of them wanted witnesses.

His opponent was a small girl, and young - around the age of that Saber from the Waver War. Dark-haired, crimson-eyed, wrapped in a short black dress with red bow, black stockings, red shoes. She certainly looked the part of an anti-hero. And gently pointed ears, and a trident aimed right between his eyes.

Part-nonhuman, Lancer, antihero... would that match the Norse Hagen, the half-elf who'd killed Sigurd? Supposedly Hagen had been male, but then again supposedly King Arthur had been male, history got a few things 'off'. (Of course, they'd also got Rider's appearance hilariously wrong, but in fairness, he'd done that intentionally)

And the expression on her face... oh yeah, that was reminiscent of that Saber too. It was a cast-set of cold, furious rage that Waver remembered damn well from that time she'd gotten ticked off for some reason and chased the two of them down with that sweet motorbike of hers. On which topic, he needed to see if he could find one. Or get a chance in one of those knightmares.

Rider opened his mouth to start with the introductions, but it didn't seem she was in the mood for that, as she sprang at him pretty much as soon as she'd materialized. Soon enough, he didn't have the breath to spare.

The trident bore down on his nose in an instant, and in the same instant his Celtic longsword cut down and landed between the prongs, rebuffing her greeting. From the mere instant of contact, he thought he was stronger, but it was hard to tell.

Because she was much more agile, and rather than trying to overwhelm his sword, she sucked up the momentum, a dancelike step carrying her past him to the right and trident points arcing back over her right shoulder, carrying his sword with them and shucking it past her back.

The butt of her trident slammed into his head as she went, with skull-crushing force - fortunately, he had a pretty hard head, so he was just scrambled for a moment instead of dead.

Unfortunately, she hadn't been counting on it and just carried on the assault while he reeled, elbow arcing up and over his extended sword arm, locking in at his wrist, and then stepped through his elbow, forming an arm bar and hyperextending his elbow for a moment between her chest and trapping elbow before the ligaments simply popped under the strain.

Well that hurt.

He couldn't really get his right side around with her pinning it like that, and she was already trying to bring her killing points back on line, so with a flick of the wrist he tossed his sword to his left hand, and arced it around his front side to stab back at her - it was a pretty weak position, but it was something.

He hit her right shoulder, tearing through and drawing blood, but the butt of her trident was rotating across to the other side of his head, and jerking back to slam into his throat.

The injury to the right arm slowed her down enough that he didn't die from a crushed airway right there, but the force of it from the left arm alone still flung him down the hallway - which he gladly accepted and aided to get some distance and end the less-than-a-second engagement.

Rider licked his lips as he eyed the girl, across the hallway, sword held up in his left arm in a basic interposing guard position.

Yeah, that had gone about as well as expected.

He was a Rider. Fighting on foot was not his talent. He was a total badass all around, but that was the minimum entry level to be a Servant to begin with - Lancers and Sabers were much better than he was in close combat. He needed a speed advantage, so he could keep the fights down to the short bursts in which he could match more close-combat-oriented Servants. Problem was, fitting his chariot in this hallway? Not gonna happen. Bucephalus wouldn't fit either.

But he did have other options. He swung his arm backward, letting reality bend around it.

He didn't really call on the Army of the King. He wasn't a spellcaster, he didn't have that kind of mastery of what he did.

No. It was the other way around. His Companions called him. Ionioi Hetairoi was just the result of the dream he and his comrades had shared - their collective wish to fight together again rended reality.

Smaller activations, without calling on the whole, were much the same - a Companion wished to help him, and only needed his consent to supply the prana.

He felt the dry desert wind blow past his wounded arm as Waver healed it from his ready position beyond the world.

Damn, Lancer was healing too. The hole in her shoulder was being knit together layer by layer by... vines? As it reached the surface, the vines knit the hole in her dress too. And a shadow bubbled over the whole assembly for a moment, before leaving it pristine and untouched.

The lights above flickered, weakening.

This was going to be tricky. Rider swapped his sword back to his right hand as Waver finished healing the arm, and made a short cut to test the feel... good to go.

Lancer burst forward again, the three tines of her trident swirling together into a single long point, thrust for his breastbone.

Rider's sword snapped across his body, deflecting it off to his left, and taking a step back to keep her from closing in again.

Before he could muster a counterattack, Lancer's spear displaced around his sword, locked on, and tore in from the right.

He deflected again, in much the same way as before, continuing to back away. After that first exchange, he knew he couldn't outmatch her. Not right now. But he could keep this up for a while... if he could outlast her, there was a chance he could turn this battle his way later on.

It was pretty nice having a battle style that let him fight for a long time. He got to enjoy himself.

Lancer continued to lightly probe him down the hallway, sparks flying as their arms met, Rider's sword cutting long tracks in the wall as it moved to deflect, his sandals and her heeled shoes tearing sharp divots in the floor with their every step.

Then she stepped it up, and started bouncing off the walls to come in at him from different angles - soaring in from the left, and as he deflected her lance off to the right, she used the tiny pressure from that contact to launch herself onto the opposite wall, coming right back in...

This girl was good. He'd faced great spearmen in his life, but she was even better than Darius. Better than Spithridates, who'd come so close to killing him that Rider's hair remembered the feel of his steel.

Rider could only barely keep off the twisting, viperous lance, and that while constantly backing away for extra distance - extra time to defend himself. He was faster in a straight line, so he could dictate the range, but there was no range at which he had the advantage.

As his constant retreat brought him past the aluminium (plated, even a swanky place like this couldn't afford that much solid aluminium) doors of one of the elevators, Lancer seized the advantage, thrusting her spear at his nose one-handed, stretching her body out to full extension to throw an attack even longer-ranged than usual...

Rider's sword tore up from below like a boar's tusk, slapping the point aside, just barely. It shot under his right arm, and he grinned, clamping the arm down to trap it, and cutting down to split her head. He had it.

He didn't have it. A step left and past him to his right carried her head and body out from beneath his sword stroke - instead, his sword took her arm as it travelled to the floor, and she offered him a blood-filled grin, leg snapping straight up in a kick for his head.

He leaned back - but it had been a feint. Sort of. It would have really hit him had he not evaded, but since he did, she moved on to the second plan - her left hand caught the trailing stump of her right arm where it was still clamped onto the spear, spun the spear around his shoulder... Her raised leg hooked on behind the point of the spear, holding it in her left hand to the back of his shoulder, and in her right ankle to the front of his shoulder.

Her leg and arm snapped down to the carpeted floor, and carried him with it, creating a thunderous crash and leaving an artistic relief of his handsome face engraved in the concrete underneath.

He was on the ground. Her next move was going to kill him.

So he rolled through the precious aluminium-plated elevator doors, crumpling easily under his weight, and out into free-fall in the elevator shaft. Twisting in the air and a glance showed that the elevator itself was above him.

This probably hadn't been his best plan.

He was able to prevent the humiliating 'death by falling' by reaching out with his left hand and catching hold of the elevator cable, skidding to a stop shortly. (Then again, he'd probably just go spiritual when he hit the floor and come off fine... ah well)

Lancer was after him, quick as a breath, standing sideways on the shaft's wall because apparently she just didn't gravity, while her left hand held her right arm back where it belonged, and it fused in place. Then she was bouncing off the walls and back down at him.

And then shadows sprung up around her, swirling out like great, bestial wings and pulling her aside as the first arrow rocketed up past her, so fast the arrow disintegrated into plasma and almost rattled the hotel as it crashed into the shaft wall.

Below, at the bottom of the shaft, a thin girl with short-cut purplish-pink hair held in a patterned headband, dressed in a tunic of similar colour and undyed trousers reaching just a little below her knee, frowned slightly, plucking a second arrow from the quiver at her waist and loading it into her bow.

Her displeasure wasn't surprising. Not many people survived arrows fired by Roxana, his first wife. It was an inherited talent, as a descendant of Arase Swiftarrow (technically of his brother, Arase himself had died young and without issue), and it expressed itself magnificently in her.

Lancer was still coming, a swirling mass of black shadow and the girl at the center...

"Roxana, catch me!" Rider called, as he let go his hold.

"Y-yes!" She nodded sharply, leaping up, arms outstretched.

... Lancer was falling faster than him, shadows stretching out ahead of her, her body shifting as she fell - growing three sets of... sort of wings, though the ones on the right were more like scythe blades and on the left, more like snakes. Gravity wasn't supposed to work that way.

"Cover fire?" Stateira, eldest daughter of Darius, and his second wife, asked from where she was nestled in a side alcove further down. She was a beauty, with long pale brown hair tied back from her face by a white ribbon and otherwise left to spill freely down her shoulders, clad in a golden yellow short dress.

"Please!"

She nodded agreeably, and rose, longbow raised up and aimed at Lancer. And then the machine gun began to fire, arrows whistling past so fast that no air could be seen between them. It was a solid stream of 'arrow'.

Lancer's flight path swirled and shifted, staying ahead of the trail of archery - but it had done its job, her descent had slowed as the growing mass of shadow moved to evade the arrows.

With a thump, he landed in Roxana's arms, and she laced her ankles into the elevator cable, slowly arresting both their fall.

... Okay, it'd be safe to fall the rest of the way from this distance.

"Wait, hang on, Iskander!" Roxana interrupted, as he was about to jump down.

"Hm?"

"Um, no... those were two separate thoughts... I don't mean wait, I mean hang on. Um... literally. I can get us down faster."

Rider had no idea what she had in mind, but shrugged and wrapped his big beefy arms around her small frame.

That freed up her own arms, and she brought her bow up from her back, letting go of the elevator cable firing another thunderous arrow up the shaft. Hah. Physics! Equal and opposite reaction and that sort of thing. The immense force Roxana's body unleashed in propelling that cannon-like arrow upward also propelled her body - and his since he was hanging on as ordered - downward.

It didn't hit Lancer, but the hotel rumbled again, dust shaking loose and falling down the shaft, as Roxana's arrow (or rather the stream of melted fire that had been her arrow before it touched her bow and was subjected to the stresses her shots put on it) hit the shaft wall. More arrows roared upward, the impromptu thruster sending husband and wife down to the floor of the elevator shaft.

As they hit the ground and could maneuver again - Rider took care of the landing, though Roxana probably didn't need the help - Stateira's unending stream of arrows ended, and she leapt down to join them, easily finding small pieces of footing in the elevator shaft and navigating a simple enough descent that it was easy to forget Rider himself would find such a descent completely impossible. And then resumed fire.

Hm. Lancer was having trouble advancing while dodging those two streams of arrowfire.

Even as he thought it, his other second wife, Parysatis (youngest daughter of Darius's predecessor, Artaxerxes III, he'd married the two Persian princesses at the same time), stepped out of the bottom door's alcove behind him, crossbow (she'd developed a taste for the Greek ones he'd brought along) raised up and aimed towards Lancer. She was the oldest of the three, a trim young woman with dark hair tied back into a short ponytail, dressed in dark green short trousers and top.

The contribution of Parysatis's bolts... hits were being scored, Lancer couldn't just dodge all three. So she gave up bothering, and simply accelerated downward at fullest speed again, completely ignoring as a dozen of Stateira's arrows clustered into her thigh and the wound healed over almost as fast as it formed, as Roxana blew off her left arm and a new one grew to replace it...

... And ugly as it looked for her, he was losing this exchange. He was spending more prana on bringing three Heroic Spirits into the world than she was on healing the wounds they dealt her, and they weren't scoring killing blows. Euphemia provided one hell of a supply, so he might be burning down his resources at a slower ratio than she was, but he couldn't count on that.

Hm. He tapped Parysatis on the shoulder, indicating the elevator cable. The odds were low, but it was worth gambling on before moving to the next stage.

She didn't receive Grail data updates, so she had no idea what it was, but she nodded sharply, and brought her crossbow up, sending a single bolt through both sides of the cable and severing it in a wink. The reason Lancer had prioritized evading her arrows over the other two was because hers had almost uniformly been going for the girl's eyes.

Lancer was barely even visible within the mass of shadow around her as she kicked off from wall to wall, accelerating her way down the elevator shaft...

She detected the falling elevator, of course, and he could see her grin from down here as the 'wings' of shadow flared out, slowing her fall, and flapped, propelling her back upward. She was planning to kick off the falling elevator and really increase her striking speed.

So Rider tapped Roxana, and pointed at the elevator with a grin and a raised eyebrow.

A single cannonball-like 'it had been an arrow when it was fired' bolt of burning plasma shattered the elevator into crumbling fragments, raining down on Lancer.

The odds were low of any of that doing anything to Lancer, really, but he tended to be lucky enough that it was a shot worth firing just on the off-chance.

... Wow. The shattered fragments of elevator bounced off the inner walls of the shaft, collating together into one long column of metal shards, and almost all of them crashed directly onto a wide-eyed Lancer. That was the worst luck he'd ever seen.

Not like it had killed her, though, and the edges of shadow surrounding her were already blooming from the falling mass of debris as she crawled out.

"Thanks, ladies!" Rider said over his shoulder as his wives vanished from the world, and he barreled down on the elevator door, cutting it open with a stroke of his sword and charging out...

... into the hotel's parking garage.

Another stroke of his sword tore a hole through space with a thunderous crash, and Rider jumped aboard his (formerly not his - he had not stolen it, he had looted it) chariot without missing a beat, snapping the reins and taking command of the true Noble Phantasm, the mighty Gordian bulls who drew the chariot, and drove the chariot across dozens of cars, crushing them all under hoof and wheel as he made his way to the far end of the parking garage and turned around.

With another crash, the remnants of the elevator landed at the bottom of the shaft, choking clouds of dust and smoke roiling out the open doors.

The first part that was visible was the shadows licking out of the clouds, tasting fresh air like a serpent's tongue.

And then Lancer stalked out of the dust clouds, small body pristine, as if never injured, as if never having entered a dust cloud for that matter, darkness roiling about her, the strange wings she'd grown flicking and snapping as if with a will of their own.

She had a very, very scary glare. There was more hate in her fingernail right now than Rider had ever felt in his entire life.

Rider grinned anyway. He was now riding. It was on. "Hya!" He snapped the reins, and his bulls charged the shrimpy Servant as he roared his battle cry. "AAAALaLaLaLaLaLaie!"

~~~I========>

[Pale Wolf]

~~~I========>

Serving as communications relay was, perhaps, somewhat below the dignity of a Servant.

But losing to opposition like this was even more below Aon's dignity. They were not strong, but the situation was tricky. It required strange hackjob solutions like this. Kokoro's evaluation was correct, and the Grail data on the modern world agreed - saving the hostages with her full power would simply make them a target for more killers. That was less of a defeat than letting these killers murder them all, but it was no victory.

True victory would take irksome, fiddly maneuvering that Aon had never counted among her talents. So it was time to see what Zero was made of. If it was 'nothing special', then she would have to settle for 'less of a defeat' and jump in with her full power (though, Lancer had already been placed in that position... still, it did not feel right to leave it entirely to that one). Until then, she would give him a chance to bring victory.

After this, Aon would have to keep close to Kallen. Really, Kallen was a very good candidate as Master, and she did not have a particular desire to find another. Kallen did, though, so Aon had made a show of examining other candidates just the same (in actuality, she had been going to observe the Britannian princesses in this land, to see for herself a bit more of what was going on in her nation, though both had left, presumably for just this crisis, before she arrived at the government building).

At the moment, Aon and Zero were alone together in the cab of a truck, driving up the road towards the hotel in question. Darkened road, night had begun to fall. The more 'normal' members of the Black Knights were in the back, unable to hear them. They might not actually know Aon was here, she had located the truck while it was in transit and floated into the empty shotgun seat.

"Do you have a plan yet?" She did not blame him for not having one immediately - she did not have such a plan, after all. But this was his chance to shine, and they were almost there.

He was wearing his mask, and there should have been no way for it to communicate a smirk. He did it anyway. "Yes... Lancer has spotted the critical detail I required. And Kokoro's intelligence report indicated it as well, but now I know where. There is a hostage present that the Governor-General will protect at all costs. She will let us in, if only to serve as a distraction to aid her own rescue plan. Vengeance for Prince Clovis is a dim candle indeed next to this one." He nodded. "And that hostage will ensure our escape route, as well."

Aon glanced sharply across at the young man. "Emulating their tactics now?"

"No," Zero denied. "I have no particular intention of harming that hostage." He took a hand from the steering wheel, gesturing at her. "If I tried it, you would eviscerate me, and rightly so. However, Cornelia does not know that. If she calls my bluff, the hostage does not die - I do. It defeats my purpose here in more ways than one to carry through. The hostage is to prevent her from calling that bluff."

Hm. Her ability to read people was almost without par. And he was not lying. In fact... his voice had softened up when he spoke of the hostage. He had some affection for them of his own. He would not kill them. His plan was a little distasteful, but she had nothing better. "... Very well. I dislike it, but-"

Zero jolted, stiffening up in the driver's seat.

Aon frowned. "What is it?" Was something happening on Lancer's end?

For a few seconds, Zero was silent, before he began to explain. "... The Japanese Liberation Front have a Servant."

Aon's eyes narrowed.

"... Large red-haired man. Features cognate with the Near or Middle East... manner of dress indicates Iron Age. He's riding a scythed chariot... most likely Cyrus the Great, legend claims he invented that and it originated in Iran. Could also be Cuchulainn, such chariots were common in Ireland around his period and he often rode in one, but he shouldn't look fit for the East."

Aon hummed. "... Such acts do not fit either of their mythical personas very well." Though, they were both wolves, so the Servant could be playing along and looking for an opportunity. Or he could be under a command seal.

Zero shrugged. "One way or the other, we are looking at an enemy. Lancer has engaged, the battle has moved to the underground garage. No witnesses thus far. I am not an expert on such things, but Lancer has reported that the current status of the battle is inconclusive either way." He paused. "It is also possible that said Servant belongs to the Britannian SIS team hunting me that Kokoro mentioned. They were purportedly sending an agent into the hotel, and that could be it. Still an enemy, though."

Aon nodded - she knew it, she had passed it on to him, but he was remarkably quick in putting it all together. Part of her wished to join the battle, ensure that the Servant in the way of her Master's safety did not provide trouble, but it was disrespectful to Lancer. A hero could fight their own battles. To imply otherwise was beyond rudeness.

"I cannot stop you from joining in, but I would rather you did not," Zero agreed with her, strangely.

Aon blinked, and glanced across at him. "Why not?" She had been expecting to have to explain chivalry to him using very small words. And hand puppets.

"There are no witnesses, but Rider's Master is as aware of their battle as I am. We must presume the JLF command is on alert for Servants - the Master may not be among the JLF, but we have no way of confirming that, so we must plan for the worst case. As long as victory is in sight for them, they will not slaughter the hostages. If a second Servant were to arrive in the hotel, victory would disappear from their view. The order for the death of the hostages will come." He glanced across at her. "That and I need someone to keep SIS snipers from killing me. We can bring you in as part of my entourage - that will likely aid us in getting in with the JLF - but if you went in on assault..."

Aon tsked. "It is fortunate that I was not intending to interfere, then." She could get to the hostages before they were all killed, but that was, again, far from a victory. One of the rooms of hostages, at least. Kokoro's report had indicated three such rooms. "I suppose that prevents me from replacing Lancer as the last-ditch guard, as well." Kallen could call her in with command seal, so it was not a catastrophic loss, but it was problematic. She would prefer to reserve those for the future.

Zero's plan would just have to succeed.

~~~I========>

Gilbert G.P. Guilford hated hostage situations.

Like any military operation, they were comprised of long stretches of boredom as both sides refused to give way, interspersed with moments of sheer terror. But unlike proper military operations, that terror was never for oneself. It wasn't soldiers that died, it was innocents.

He was used to them. The Middle Eastern Federation had grown fond of such tactics during their invasion, leveling heretic ghettoes in attempt to stop or slow the Britannian advance. That did not mean he liked them any more now than the first time.

Nor had they found a magic bullet to solve them. The closest thing to it was simply ignoring the threats. Push in as fast as possible, and destroy the killers before too many of their hostages died.

It had not been as bad as it could have in the MEF - their allies on the ground had done excellent work in cutting down the amount of civilian casualties, though Cornelia had pulled them off the line when their positioning as a resistance movement had ceased to be useful, and the MEFAF had been pushed from the cities. Still... he was glad to be out of and done with that hellhole.

Regardless of his mood, he did not let it show on his face. The Princess needed his solidness. His stern faith that she would deliver victory once more - so that she could have that same faith. And it was his duty, pride, and pleasure to provide it.

Gilbert frowned slightly as two notifications arrived at the G1 mobile headquarters - one from Dame Alstreim, the other from their Eighteen auxiliaries. The Knight's was checked with priority, of course - and it indicated a section on the uppermost floors of the hotel.

The optical sensors zoomed in on that location - it was essentially above the main floors of the hotel, the point where the main structure ended and the arrangement of structural supports loomed higher, up to the penthouse suites.

Standing on said roof, lit in the night sky by floodlights, were four JLF soldiers, and one civilian - the range was too great to tell much more about him other than that he wore a blue shirt and was tied up by thick rope.

And then the civilian was shoved off the roof by a terrorist behind him.

Across the command bridge of the G1, there were vicious glares, and one young advisor spewed the rations he'd squeezed in for dinner back out over his console as the falling form disappeared into the pine trees, arranged around the hotel for decoration.

Gilbert didn't let his expression shift. But his blood was boiling, and his fingers itched for a knightma... no, a sword, he wanted to feel it as he did it.

After a suitable pause, a message came in from the hotel.

"Put him on," Cornelia growled. It took a while for someone to compose themselves enough to do so, but it happened soon enough, with the Princess emitting palpable waves of rage from behind them for motivational effect.

The communications window came up on the main screen, and the grainy, colourless image within that was the best the decades-old Japanese equipment the JLF was using could manage. It was the same as usual - a background of a wall, an old 'rising sun' Japanese flag stretched across it. And in front of the flag, Colonel Josui Kusakabe - a fit Eleven man, with a neatly trimmed beard and hair that seemed to have gone a little wild in back, dressed in an old Japanese military uniform with some manner of decoration itemized on his left breast, and a Japanese-style sword held in front of him, in his clasped hands, like a walking stick. Bad habit to have, the sheath protected it but getting into a habit of grinding the point in the floor was just going to ruin it.

Kusakabe's voice was flat, and firm. "If we continue to receive no responses to our demands, someone new will fly every thirty minutes." He bowed his head. "It is my hope that you can make a sincere effort on behalf of the hostages." The window closed, his piece said.

The Princess stood, fury radiating from her body, and she turned to exit the command room, a jerk of her chin indicating for Gilbert and Darlton to follow her.

Gilbert set in at her right, and the three strode from the G1's command room, heels clicking against the deck plating as the doors slid shut behind them.

"Killing someone just to show they're serious," Darlton rumbled as the three of them strode down the metal-floored-walled-and-ceilinged hallway of the G1. "Barbaric."

"Could we proceed with the negotiations?" Gilbert suggested. "Request they set free women and children first?" Britannian attitudes didn't really care a whit either way - women were not to be protected, they were to be kept up with, and Cornelia provided an almost unattainable ideal for both genders - but Eleven attitudes tended more towards 'men protect, women are to be protected', so the request could have some traction with them. And 'women and children first' would, at least, assure the safety of Princess Euphemia.

"No," Cornelia growled. "If we give in, we only reinforce the terrorists' position." Over the long term she was correct, but Princess Euphemia was only endangered on the short term. Negotiation would sacrifice the long term of future incidents for the short term resolution to this one, but Gilbert could tell she wanted to do it, regardless.

For today, her duty and her sister were enemies. It was therefore Gilbert's role as Cornelia's Knight to advance the position of her wishes, as long as they opposed the duty it was her own role to advance.

"Then we storm in by force?" Darlton queried. It seemed like that was what Princess Cornelia had in mind, if she was leaving the command center.

"We should only do that when we have confirmed Her Highness's safety, right?" Gilbert pointed out. She could survive the process. The chances were difficult to calculate, but he believed they could get commando teams to the hostage rooms before their massacre was complete. The problem was, she might be among those the commandos were in time to save. Or she might be among those for whom it was too late. Call it fifty-fifty.

Ahead and to his left, the Princess's body simply tightened like a spring, teeth gritting.

The grand promises offered by the SIS had turned to ash. Apparently their agent had successfully infiltrated the hotel, but was entangled in trouble and unable to advance to the hostage rooms. Not that Gilbert blamed the man - getting into the hotel at all was better than anything their own forces had managed thus far. But 'better than expected' still fell under 'not enough'. There was no close protection for Princess Euphemia. She would be fully exposed when their assault went in.

Behind them, an officer in Britannian Forces dress blues ran out of a side corridor, panting for breath. "Governor-General, Zero...!"

The three turned.

"Zero is here!"

~~~I========>

Jeremiah Gottwald sighed in his knightmare, watching as Zero, standing atop a stolen news van - #3, apparently - advanced slowly, calmly, through the Britannian Forces cordon.

Jeremiah wanted to avenge Clovis. Do something to take back all the losses this land had inflicted on those he served. He wanted it more than he'd ever wanted anything, short of resurrection.

But he couldn't. He had an imperial order to the contrary.

And so he simply stood there, teeth grinding against one another, as the murderer of the latest Britannian Prince to die in this hellish land calmly, arrogantly drove by... close enough that Jeremiah could reach out with his Sutherland's arm and crush him, if he were only permitted...

"Should we take the shot?" Viletta queried.

"... No," Jeremiah sighed. "Surround him for now. The goal is capture." Or at least, that was the story, to keep the actual orders from filtering too far down the chain of command. It wasn't a deep secret, but as long as it could be kept from the rank and file, Zero himself would not know the actual status of his pursuit. That was why his unit was being used for this shadow puppetry - he was already in on the secret, so no one new need be informed.

"Do you have the shot?" the Governor-General queried over the command channel.

"... Yes and no," Agent Albion reported. "We can engage him at this point. Sniper fire won't finish it, he has his experimental toy in close protection. We can do it, but the collateral damage would be immense. You and all your troopers here could be expected to die if we took the shot. Depending on how it goes, the hotel could go up too."

"... Then please do not take the shot."

"The situation's tricky today," Albion responded. "No worries. More important than how to shoot is when not to. He gets away for today. We'll get him another time."

"... Very well." Cornelia sounded quite displeased by it, but it made sense. No point losing the best the royal family had remaining to kill one terrorist. "I will keep up the shadow play. Let us hope Zero has some actual plan to get through, if he is taking the front like this..."

Her knightmare's landspinner hissed, throwing her, and her two accompanying knights, in front of the advancing news van, blocking off the bridge leading to the hotel in the distance.

Zero's news van came to a halt, surrounded - Jeremiah's knightmares on either side, Princess Cornelia herself in front, and the G1 HQ rolling up behind it.

Cornelia's cockpit hatch hissed, unsealing, and she stood up over her Gloucester's shoulders. "It is a pleasure to meet you, Zero." She cocked her head. "Are you a member of the Japanese Liberation Front? Or were you simply joining the party?"

Zero remained unmoving, letting her speak. What were his intentions in coming here? Did he just not want to let the JLF get all the 'credit' for this loathesome little operation?

Cornelia shrugged. "Regardless. Before you join them, we have business yet unaddressed." From her hip, she drew her sidearm - a finely crafted long pistol, nestled into the blade of a sword, a popular form of combination weapon among skilled knights so they would not have to switch between the two - and leveled it straight at Zero. "I have not yet extracted from you an apology for my half-brother Clovis."

Jeremiah supposed she didn't have to act much. This was what she would have wanted to say and do, if the Emperor had not called her off. Now, what did Zero have to get through this...?

Zero didn't shift, simply standing, stately, wrapped in his cloak, but Jeremiah had the impression of a smile. "I will save her, Cornelia."

Cornelia jerked back, eyes widening, though her gun remained aimed at Zero.

Her...? Jeremiah frowned. Was someone else in there...?

Cornelia regained control of herself, and her voice was as imperial as ever when she responded. "Zero. I have no idea what you are saying."

Zero's mask tilted forward, just slightly. "Euphemia. Saving her is within my power."

Princess Euphemia?! She was in there? How... how had Zero known?! It had not even been reported down the chain of command - Jeremiah hadn't known about it!

Cornelia gritted her teeth, and her knightmare and attendants moved aside. "Let them through," she spoke over the command channel. "Zero is to pass unmolested."

The news van accelerated once more, passing her by - Zero did not turn to look at the Princess as he passed her - and making its way onto the bridge.

The feeble hope in Jeremiah's heart - the hope that the JLF guards would shoot Zero from the van as it approached on the kilometer-long bridge - died stillborn as the hotel's wrought-iron gates parted open, allowing their fellow terrorist in.

That mask and 'man of mystery' air about him made too many people too curious. Jeremiah would have just shot him.

Cornelia sounded quite a bit happier as she tapped her communicator. "Zero's arrival should create a disruption in the JLF chain of command, whether he is joining them or trying to save the hostages or what. Their reaction times will be slowed. Even moreso if their commander takes the time to meet him. The prerequisites to storming the hotel have now been cleared." She turned to face his knightmare. "Lord Gottwald. I will be having your team perform the primary assault. It will be your task to defeat the JLF in force, and it will also be your task to not engage Zero. We cannot afford the collateral damage of such an engagement - is this clear?"

"Yes, Your Highness!"

~~~I========>

Farah put down the headset, turning to face the rest of her platoon, Atar-1, with a half-smile on her face. "We have been released. Time to charge down the tunnel and destroy that foundation block."

Surena raised an eyebrow. "Really? My impression was that they believed this a suicide mission." The beautiful Servant Avenger sounded a little disapproving.

Farah nodded. "They do. We're not actually supposed to accomplish it, just put up a good show. We're a distraction so the real assault can go in slightly less molested." She smiled. "It's unnecessary to the operation that we succeed. That said - there's no point slacking off."

Shirin chuckled. "Overachiever." Pah, like she was even less so. The dark-haired woman, softly smiling, was practically Farah's rival, they'd been leapfrogging each other up the Zhayedan command ladder when the Anusiya's component organizations had merged and reformed the noble regiment. It was a pity Farah was going to get called out of their game.

Farah grinned back, and turned towards her Glasgow. "I'll run the mission. It's too cramped down there to have us all go. Surena, may I ask you to come with me? I'm going to create a bit of a show, to which I would rather there were no corroborating records, so if you could destroy the battle recorder of that linear cannon..."

Surena kicked off his seat, falling into step behind her. "A small task," he noted.

Farah shrugged. "A small opponent. Not worthy of you." And she kind of wanted to show off for her idol. "Besides, there are three Servants in the hotel now. You may end up fighting all of them, depending on what part all of them intend to play tonight. Best to save your strength."

Surena nodded. "It would be better not to advance the Grail's progress by destroying Servants. Let alone so many." It wasn't that he was sure he could defeat three Servants at once. It was simpler than that - if he had to, then he would simply have to perform the impossible because it had to be done, and there was no sense making an issue of it. "But if so many are already willing to bring evil into the world..."

"Um... isn't it possible they're under command seals?" Farrokh queried. The boy - sixteen or so, with a broad, expressive face, and dark, tightly-curled hair - nervously looked up at the Servant. "Or not actually involved? That third one went in with Zero, right?"

Surena smiled. "Quite possible. But we cannot cast everything on hope of the best-case scenario. And if they are under command seals, they will still need to be fought. And they will wish to be - I am relieved beyond measure that the alchemist fought me when I was."

Farah climbed up into the cockpit, strapping herself in and initiating the startup sequence.

The Glasgow was the basic configuration issued out to Britannia's Knight Police - RPI-11L, which was essentially a 4.5-generation knightmare frame, with improved cockpit and landspinner configuration comparable to the Sutherland, and remodeled, curving armour plates reflecting the growing experience in armour coverage on knightmares, the Glasgow's classical elongated head atop the whole affair. The Glasgow had been refitted by its manufacturer, AVR, as the fifth generation came under way, in an attempt to provide the improvements of the fifth generation without having to completely replace Britannia's entire knightmare arm to keep up with their own technological advances - though in the end, the design had lost out to the Sutherland as the primary knightmare of the Britannian Forces, so the RPI-11L was mostly in the hands of Britannian police and sponsored militant groups such as the Zhayedan.

The armament was a little different as well - two machine pistols holstered in the hips, two anti-knightmare combat knives in quickdraw holsters over the forearms. And the Zhayedan equipped with an anti-materiel lance (it would probably get some serial number strapped on at some point - their own industry really wasn't developed enough for there to be a need) - somewhat like a rifle with a mounted bayonet, except inverted, a spear, with an integral gun riding sidecar next to the lance's shaft and hard alloy blade. Not an autofire weapon, but the long rail gave its shells a fairly respectable impact velocity, making it a rather reasonable single-shot weapon at semi-extended ranges (though, that was far from the point of such a weapon to begin with).

Of course, due to the final differences in Atar Platoon configuration, much of that would pass without notice. The Glasgow was equipped with sand panels over its legs, for one - essentially hover skates for operation in sandy or muddy terrain, originally developed in the Middle Eastern Federation and one of the primary advantages the MEFAF had had over Britannia in the desert terrain of the region (the knightmare-equipable variation had been codeveloped by Britannia and the Anusiya independence network Farah was a member of). Sand panels alone provided less speed and motive power than landspinners, which was why they remained an optional attachment.

And beside the hips and above the shoulders were mounted long, rounded rocket thrusters with integral fuel tanks - not that the rockets were required by an Atar Platoon, but they could get better results if there was something actually physically there to begin with, and the presence of the thrusters provided a visible, obvious explanation for why they were moving under rocket propulsion.

Farah could feel Surena, in spiritual form, settling in next to her. 'I have been requested to ensure that you make it back alive,' he commented, smile in his voice.

Farah smiled. "Well, let's hope your assistance is unnecessary."

'Indeed, let us hope so. You have good troops.'

"The best."

The Glasgow shook slightly, as the crane holding it began moving it from the ground, and across the access shaft for the hotel's lifeline tunnel.

"Ma'am," Farrokh came across. "Harun has set up. He is currently fuzzing the telemetry sent back to headquarters for you. There will be reports of a Glasgow exceeding its specifications, but there will be no corroboration for them. The data will not be detailed enough."

"Good work, thank you." The crane began to steadily lower her.

He sounded like he was flushing slightly. "It isn't a problem. Um... I could sing the prayer for you. It might be easier if you could focus on the charge instead of the prayer."

Farah smiled. "Sure." She didn't think she actually needed the help, but it was nice to have. And Farrokh could do with the practice. "Yasna 60. You remember the words?"

"O-of course!" Of course he did. She was just teasing - frankly speaking, Farrokh was beyond mere magus qualification in long form prayers. He had already outshone Farah, his teacher, in that respect. "At hvo vangheush vahyo na aibi - jamyat ye na erezush..." he began. His singing voice was actually quite nice on its own - he had a talent for this in all respects. He was going to be a truly amazing magus when he had matured. She'd just have to discourage him from joining the Gyan-Avspar as she had, so he survived to maturity. The initiation rite had far too high a fatality rate for older entrants - Farah had been significantly younger than he was now, when she had drank the fire of Atash Behram, and she had been too old for it.

The knightmare thumped down in the tunnel, Farah's eyes glancing over her sensor boards to evaluate - roughly... ten meters wide, smooth steel, lit with a dim red glow from various running lights scattered around.

Farah nodded, retracting the hakens she'd been lowered into the tunnel on, and crouched low.

"Twelve minutes... mark," Shirin reported. "Initiating countdown. Allah be with you, in whichever form you care for."

"I'll take the Zoroastrian form, thank you," Farah chuckled. "See you on the other side."

"Only if I let you."

"Was that a challenge you're issuing to my eyes, Shirin?"

"A challenge implies there would be a challenge."

"Hah, now we are going to have to straighten out whose eyes beat whose stealth when I get back."

"Looking forward to it. Shirin Fedayin, signing off."

Farah adjusted the Glasgow's communications array. Could it reach the ten kilometers to the linear cannon in this tunnel... yes! It could. She opened up a channel. "To the Japanese Liberation Front linear cannon ahead of me. This is Farah Ansari."

There was a pause, presumably while the crew goggled at the fact that she was opening up a conversation on what was about to become a battlefield, before a male voice responded - the signal was a little faint, and there was a bit of distortion and fuzz as if it were several people speaking the same words in the same voice at roughly, but not quite, the same time, but it was comprehensible. "Got something you want to talk about, lady?"

Farah's lips parted slightly, and she sighed. "I know your desire for a free nation. But you must understand that you have aligned yourself with evil. To fight for independence is everyone's right, but your commander and comrades have killed innocent civilians, and threaten to slaughter more." She paused. "It is not yet too late. Withdraw, and I will not pursue. If you make a better choice of allies and come back into the fight, then we will be opponents once more. But today, we are enemies, by the actions of your comrades."

"... Fuck off, Brit." She probably could have expected that. "You don't know shit."

"I am not Britannian," she pointed out. Technically she was a half, but she didn't identify that way and the Britannian half of her parentage had never done anything for her or her mother since contributing sperm. She'd never even been to the mainland, though she would have to be. "I am Iranian. An 'Eighteen'. I did not lie when I said I know your desire for independence. But even if these methods were successful, would you want a nation built on murder?"

"We had one, 'till your little masters came calling. I don't know why you're quisling for them," Was 'quis' a verb? "but you fuckers don't get to roll in on top of someone and then say things have to be done your way."

"If the massacre of civilians is Japan's way, then I have no wish to ever see Japan." Farah sighed, leaning back in her seat. "But it is not. If it is your wish to bring back Japan, then you should keep the Japan you wish to see alive in your actions." She kind of envied these people their hope. She knew too much about geopolitics to share it. She doubted she would ever live to see an independent Iran - her duty was to keep Iran alive until independence was possible. "The innocent are not in your way. There is no need for them to die in your war."

"We'll be the judge of that. What's with this talking, anyway? Afraid to come at us?"

Farah chuckled, resting her spear's tip on the floor ahead of her. "Not in the slightest. In fact, now that you have refused, I can come at you full force." She felt comfortable classing them with the scum who threw civilians from rooftops, now that they had refused to disassociate themselves. They may not perform such acts, but they defended them. It was always easier to fight an enemy than an opponent.

The man in the linear cannon snorted. "Bring it, dog of Britannia." He had most likely meant it as an insult. He couldn't have known that in Zoroastrianism, dogs were venerated. "Go ahead and charge into the cannon fire and die for people that don't even think you're human. Have fun with that."

Farah's lips curled into a smile. "When it is time." She closed her eyes, and began spellcasting. Reinforcement to enhance the purpose and performance of the Glasgow's systems - actuators grew stronger and more precise, the factsphere's sensor reception improved markedly until she could actually pick up a visual of the linear cannon ahead if she cared to, the armour plates hardened... Firecraft in the rockets... just a little modulation to the fuel composition to maximize its performance, load it with additional energy, saturate...

Ten minutes. Mark.

~~~I========>

The spell was flawed. Kokoro should have expected as much, from something of her creation.

Having to be this close to Kallen... it was... agitating her. She had not considered that.

And even as her familiars crawled and hissed through the foundations of the hotel and beyond, she was completely helpless when that man - she'd never even caught his name before he was hauled out of the room - had been thrown off the roof.

She could have crumbled the roof underneath, sending his killers to join him - her hours of preparation and the degradation spell Lelouch had suggested and she developed allowed that much (basically reinforcement, but done in reverse - all the points reinforcement was to avoid in favour of empty spaces, degradation targeted, causing the deleterious effects of over-reinforcement with less prana cost than simply overdoing the base spell). But that would not have saved him. Her four circuits could not put out enough power fast enough to weave a cushion of air to catch him, or... anything.

She was slowly preparing something now, as not to overstrain her circuits and prana capacity - she was getting very low, and would need to go trolling for someone to calm her body down tonight, and that if she lasted to the end of this crisis without collapsing - so that, at least, the next faller would survive. It would be an inexplicable miracle, as his downward velocity was stolen from him by the greedy magecraft of the Matou family, but it should not expose the secret.

Around her, the expressions of the other hostages were grim. Nobody in here really knew the man in the blue shirt that had been dragged from the room had just flown off the hotel's edge, lacking a network of familiars laced throughout the building as she had. But there was something suggesting it. Perhaps just an instinct.

Nina's soft crying filled the room. Milly was trying to comfort the smaller girl. Shirley's gaze was directed at the floor, and blank.

Kallen was growling. "<You have no goddamn idea how much I wish I could kill them all right now.>"

"<I... have some. But he is in the building. They do not have long left to live.>"

Kallen closed her eyes. "<So this is terrorism from the other side, huh... We weren't as bad as this, but we didn't really give a shit if a Brit civilian, or two, or three hundred, were caught up in the collateral damage. It was us and them.>"

"<Zero is different.>" Perhaps that was the best hope. That Lelouch engrave his example upon the world. So that someone would follow in his footsteps, when Matou Zouken caught up with him. That... that was a hope Kokoro could dare to hold, wasn't it?

Kallen chuckled softly, leaning into her. "<Faithful, eh? I can't say I totally get it, but... y'know, I'm starting to see his potential as a leader. First thing he ever said to us was condemning crap like this... If he hadn't taken over, would this hoteljack have been the sort of thing we aspire to?>"

In front of them, one of the patrolling JLF troopers came to a momentary halt, eyes scanning the room. A sharp-faced man... no, his features weren't sharp, they were tired and weary... with short-cropped dark hair under his uniform cap.

Nina's breath caught as she stared at the man's calf-high boots, and the hours of fear and stress caught up with her, causing her to say the one thing she shouldn't. "E-eleven..." She probably didn't have a coherent thought behind it. Her brain-to-mouth filter had just broken down under the strain.

The man's face twisted, eyes shooting down to glare at her. "What was it you just said?!"

Nina gave a faint squeak of terror, as Milly protectively pulled her closer.

"Eleven?! The word is Japanese!" The man turned fully on her, gun aimed directly at the tiny girl.

"We understand, so stop!" Milly barked, trying to get him to lay off. Defuse the situation before it escalated.

It was no good. "Take that back! We aren't Elevens!"

A second guard started to circle towards them, perhaps to see what the fuss was.

Kallen was shifting.

"<No! Don't get yourself killed, Kallen.>" Not this close to a resolution.

"<I'm not going to let this happen.>"

"<If you can kill them all, do it! But if you can't, it's going to happen over your corpse!>"

Kallen stilled.

"We take it back!" Shirley snapped, looking up at the man.

This was getting worse and worse. Everyone's stress had built up and fuses had run short, anything could have set off this powderkeg and Kokoro wasn't sure if anything would cool it down...

"What's with that attitude?!" The soldier seemed vaguely offended that the people he'd been holding a gun on dared to talk back to him. Well. No. Rather specifically offended, actually.

Shirley cringed back as said gun waved in her direction. And Kallen... Kallen was probably not speaking up because she was trying to restrain her urge to kill the man (which was completely within her ability, but then she would die in the process and all the other hostages might as well).

"Come with me!" the soldier barked down at the shivering, cringing Nina. "I'll teach you a lesson in the next room!"

... It had gone there. Kokoro wasn't exactly sure what lesson beatings, or rape, or exactly what he intended to do to her, was supposed to impart. Such people were never exactly clear about it. But perhaps that was the lesson - 'don't anger me, because I have the power to do whatever I wish to you'.

How could she prevent this... how, how, how...?

"No!" Nina shrieked, clinging tighter to Milly. "Please, no!" she sobbed. "I'm sorry!"

None of the other hostages dared to look. The man right behind them had his eyes squeezed tightly shut and his face down at the floor, in a desperate attempt not to catch the rampaging trooper's attention.

Hm. But one behind them - pink-haired, wearing glasses, and long, delicate opera gloves, Kokoro could not see with her eyes, but several of her familiars had a view - had started to rise, but was halted by her companion.

... That could work.

The soldier was in no mood to be gentle. And the other that had arrived in this corner, also holding his gun on them, seemed to have no interest in stopping him. "Stand up, bitch!" He stepped down, grabbing Nina's thin wrist, and hauled the flailing girl up to a standing position.

He wasn't going to cool down.

Kokoro had to redirect it.

Anger them so much they forgot about Nina.

"No!" Nina was still panicking, sobbing, trying with all the might in her thin frame to pull away. "Nooooooooo!" She tried to pry his hand off hers, almost completely blind to the situation, just trying to get away...

She could take it.

Kokoro stood up sharply, grabbing hold of the man's 'grasping Nina' arm. "Is this what 'Japan' is supposed to be?!"

She seemed to have beaten the pink-haired girl to it by a fraction of a second, and the girl half-stumbled as she stood bolt-upright and then had her reason for the action interrupted.

Kokoro gave her a half-shake of the head, before turning her full attention back to the soldiers. It was appreciated. But Kokoro was better-suited to this. She had the tools to really draw the man's rage down on her. And she was... used to such things. Better no one new suffer it.

... Good, the girl's companion had been able to use the distraction to drag her back down and cover her mouth. The pinkette was safe.

The man blinked, and his glare turned on her. He blinked as he took in her Japanese features. "What do you mea-?!"

"Disgusting," Kokoro hissed. "If you're an example of what 'Japanese' is supposed to be, then you should take pride in no longer being called by that name."

"What did you say?!" More importantly, the man let go of Nina - more like tossed her away to land painfully on the floor, staring up at them, but it would do.

Kallen was staring up at her, mouthing, "<You cannot be serious.>" She'd figured out Kokoro's 'plan', to the extent such a lofty term applied.

"<Don't worry about me.>" Kokoro's tone implied that she could take care of it once in private... if she hadn't been spellcasting all night from her already-limited abilities, she probably could. As it was, she would only be able to cast to such a level again after the deed had been done. But the lie would keep Kallen's heroic tendencies from getting herself killed. "You heard what I said." She released his arm, meeting his gaze directly. "If 'Japanese' put me in the same category as you, then it's better to be 'Eleven'."

He was still staring in blank amazement at her.

Kokoro pushed it a little more. "Frankly, Britannia did us a fav-"

Her head jerked back, hair flying around her, as he slapped her, and she stumbled and fell to the floor.

Success.

~~~I========>

Lelouch stood calmly in front of Colonel Kusakabe. The man's numerous guards stood at firm attention, but with no weapons readied - sidearms remained holstered, and they didn't carry anything heavier. Naturally. They only faced one man.

Of course, that one man was Zero, with a plan.

That and they were, at the moment, negotiating. "I was here to ask: would you like to work together?" Lelouch queried.

Kusakabe had taken a suite to be his command post, naturally. It was a very nice room, with soft-coloured walls, comfortable furniture, plants and greenery for decoration... It didn't stand out, either, it was towards the upper portion of the building, but it was randomly selected, not the uppermost - good decision. The television had been field-modified to serve as an HQ display, and a red-globe-on-white-background Japanese 'rising sun' flag had been spread across the back wall. And the lights were on dim - most likely to establish a desired 'ambiance' for their meeting.

An unwise decision - Lelouch's helmet was outfitted with a factsphere sensor suite, ripped off Britannian infantry helms. He could see perfectly.

Kusakabe was the only one seated, katana held vertically in front of him, straight-backed and stern on the room's couch. "Then shouldn't you be showing us your face, Zero? Anything else is insolent."

Lelouch nodded. No mention of Servants. A good sign. "I understand. However, there is something I would like to ask, before that." He didn't wait for permission. "What do you intend to achieve with these actions?" Slaughtering civilians, sacrificing the JLF's good name to join the rabble of terrorists... Was there a plan involved, or was he just an idiot?

Kusakabe cocked his head. "Isn't it obvious? I want to show the world: Japan, the Japanese people... they are still alive."

"Outdated," Lelouch sighed. So, idiot. And 'I'. He was taking these actions separately of the JLF itself.

Kusakabe's expression tightened, left eyebrow twitching.

He was hoping to stir up international intervention. He must think that China... no, the EU... cared a whit about a small island nation. No, if they involved themselves, it would not be to create Japanese independence - they would annex it for themselves. And even that was unlikely. He had attacked an international conference filled with their dignitaries. Lelouch lowered his gaze, body tensing, as he felt the crown lower onto his brow. "You're obsolete. To the last. Obsolete and unusable."

One of Kusakabe's adjutants, to the man's left, raised a fist. "How dare you?!"

Kusakabe remained calm, however. "What is the meaning of this, Zero?" Then again, if he couldn't remain cool for a goodly period of time, he wouldn't have lasted this long in a hostage situation to begin with.

"It's simple enough a high-schooler could understand, Kusakabe. Who would want the 'Japan' you have showed today? Today's Japan is the Japan of the First Pacific War, a nightmare which we are all glad to have esca-"

Then Aon's report filtered into his communicator.

Lelouch's eyes widened, and his head jerked aside. "She what?! Aon, get in there!" If Kokoro thought she could handle that one situation, she probably could, but the tension in the hostage rooms was growing uncomfortably. More issues could arise in the time until his teams had secured the room.

Kusakabe sighed. "Conspirators launching an attack? You should have done it from outside, Zero!" He barked, drawing his katana from its sheath in a flash.

Lelouch grinned. He'd been expecting to have to provoke Kusakabe more to get this. "Show me..." he whispered.

Kusakabe's katana was up at shoulder height, and coming around, rotating and coming back down to cleave Lelouch's shoulder as he leapt over the coffee table separating them.

"... what truth lies within you!"

To cleave Lelouch's armoured shoulder. It wasn't like Lelouch would wear a 'please shoot me' sign like the Zero suit without the entire thing being made of layered silk much like a medieval knight's gambeson, with reinforced trauma plates slipped in between the layers. The Black Knight uniforms were similarly armoured, though using second-best 'economy' options at times - the silk was harder to maintain, for one. He'd be glad to point them to where if they wanted better armour, and were willing to pay and maintain it themselves, though.

Lelouch's left arm shot up to clamp onto Kusakabe's sword arm with reinforced strength, pinning him in place, wide-eyed as his sword bounced off armour plate. "Try harder," he hissed, right arm drawing his pistol - one of his many stolen Britannian Forces service sidearms - and aiming to his left. There was one JLF man there - already drawing his own sidearm - and Lelouch turned his head to look and aim as he gunned the man down.

Shoulder, it wasn't a kill, but it was a mission kill, he wouldn't be back up and fighting before this was over.

And all the other JLF officers were behind Kusakabe - which was to say, their commanding officer's bulk provided Lelouch with cover around which they could not shoot. And while his melee skills were lacking and he was basically just hanging onto Kusakabe by virtue of inhuman strength and what pieces of Lancer's instruction he had retained in the heat of battle, his marksmanship was better than most military snipers.

Now that he wasn't quickdrawing, was facing in the proper direction, and had time to aim, two headshots rang out per second. Gunfire rang out, a single bullet ricocheted off the rounded corner of Lelouch's helmet - aside from his outstretched gun arm, the only part of him peeking out from behind Kusakabe, and it was remarkable accuracy or luck to have hit it - and within two seconds, Lelouch and Kusakabe were the only combatants left in the room.

Responding to the gunfire, the door burst open, a soldier darting in with submachine gun at the ready. One of the two door guards.

Unfortunately, between the well-lit hallway and the darkened room, his eyes took a moment to adjust, and Lelouch had been ready for him, taking a step around so as to keep Kusakabe between him and the gunfire, and fired two shots even as the man burst in, leaving the man to crumple in the doorway, never having seen his killer.

The second guard took cover by the wall instead of rushing in to die. Unfortunate.

Lelouch brought his gun back as Kusakabe was drawing his own sidearm with his free left hand, and shot the man in the kidney. Again, not a kill, but it would keep him harmless until one could be applied. The kidney was just easier to get than the head from here.

As the last remaining guard took carefully aimed shots with his submachine gun - glancing off Lelouch's supernaturally reinforced armour at the few points where he could even be seen past the JLF Colonel - Lelouch reached under his cloak with his left hand (holding Kusakabe up with his gun arm), pulled out a grenade, snapped the pin off, and casually lobbed it out into the hallway, pulling Kusakabe's broad back up to shield himself against any shrapnel.

All that was left was finishing off the wounded, moaning around the room.

Plan it out and win before the battle was ever fought. That was Lelouch's way.

~~~I========>

There wasn't a whole lot left of the hotel's underground parking garage. Their rampage had trashed the entire thing within minutes, and it was only cautious steering on Rider's part that had kept the hotel's foundations from shattering.

Lancer wanted to kill him now, so dead that not even history remembered him, but she was used to working rationally under that level of rage. There were video cameras scattered throughout the garage. Even if she won, the odds were too good that use of her Noble Phantasms would be recorded, and that would allow people to decipher their nature and use them against her. There was no way of knowing who would get the footage.

But evading Rider's (she presumed Rider, he was a bit weak with his sword to be the second Saber) chariot charges? The bulls crackling with lightning? Not exactly easy, but doable. She could take a shot or two at him along the way, but mostly, she was tying him up. As long as he was down here, he couldn't harm the hostages, or interfere with Lelouch's operation. Success, except for the large, nagging part of her conscience screaming for him to cease to be, and trouble the world no more. But it would have to learn to deal, so that he could die at a better time, when the seeds were properly planted.

And if he turned off to go mess with the hostages or Lelouch? She wasn't above taking a free shot at a back willingly turned. With such good odds of a kill, she'd even be willing to uncork her spear - a full activation, not just reshaping its material.

The bulls bore down on her once more, thunder flashing with their every hoofbeat, and Lancer ducked aside, running up the garage wall. Rider would have to slow down unless he wanted to call this battle off on account of 'we don't breathe seawater'.

And yes, he abandoned the charge, snapping into far tighter a turn than rationality would dictate a chariot pulled by divine lightning bulls could really do, and running parallel to the wall, just next to it - close enough to cut at her with his sword as he passed.

Lancer's right-side, scythe-wings intercepted the blow, one blade shearing out to meet his sword, the other two arcing down at Rider for the moments her run kept her alongside him.

The blades fell short as Rider snapped the reins, pulling just a jot more speed out of his bulls, and drawing a trickle of blood from Lancer - she had to call on the fullness of her heritage to match his strength, and she had never really mastered technique with the 'extra' limbs that popped out when she got really into a fight, so her bladed wing had not quite deflected his oncoming blade, and it had bit just slightly into her thigh. She didn't even bother healing this one, it was a papercut.

She had a shot at his back for a moment, but then he jerked his chariot at right angles again, and shot off towards the opposite end of the parking garage.

Lancer's run across the wall had to come to an end as she reached the open door, and she dropped lightly to stand on her toes, spear resting in her hands - reformed to the three-pointed trident style, she needed the defensive properties of the crossbar more than she needed 'difficult to deflect a single oncoming point' like back in the hallway.

Rider's human friends were coming up behind her, finally. A half-dozen armed men of the JLF had come to investigate the odd noises coming from down here over the past few minutes of the Servant battle.

What a senseless waste of human lif... oh wait, she wanted to kill them just as much. Lancer grinned as the hapless fertilizer ran up behind her, guns raised and shouting meaningless things.

Rider's chariot came to a halt for a moment, and he scratched his chin with his sword hand, looking confused. "Allies that weak aren't much use in a fight like this, Lancer. Your Master shouldn't have brought them out here to die."

Lancer blinked slowly. "What the hell are you talking about, Rider?" She turned her head... possibly beyond the human neck's rotational limit, she always had trouble keeping track of these things when she was heated up... and glared at the approaching JLF soldiers, a blackened swirl of her hatred lashing out and leaving not one trace of their bodies, clothing, or personal effects for the failures that had raised them to bury as it washed over them. She turned back to Rider. "Aren't these yours?"

"... Oops," was the great hero's only comment.

"... You're with one of the hostages," Lancer felt the need to point out, flatly.

"... Ditto," Rider agreed in the same blank tone.

"... Team death match some other time?" They'd have to get there at some point for the whole Holy Grail War thing, but it seemed they didn't actually have a grudge tonight.

"Actually, about tha-! Hey!"

Lancer hadn't really waited to listen to him speak (he seemed to do it a lot), she was already in spiritual form and shooting upward to rejoin the operation.

~~~I========>

[Pale Wolf]

~~~I========>

Inoue Naomi had to admit, she was impressed. She wasn't sure what the other girl, Lan, was off doing, but Aon...

The Britannian girl in the Black Knights' uniform had completely eschewed the offered submachine gun, and had stuck to a heartbreakingly beautiful golden-hilted sword. And despite that, it was Naomi's team that was struggling to keep up with the girl, blade flashing out with impossible speed every time a JLF soldier stumbled across them, taking head, neck, and arm without discrimination. Only a bare fraction of the targets encountered had bullet holes in them, and the team hadn't had to slow down at all to engage - it had been a pure jog straight through the hotel, right from the point where the Black Knights had been held to wait patiently for Zero's meeting to finish (which they had violently broken out of), arrowing straight up to the hostage rooms.

Zero's specialists, at the very least, knew their stuff.

Naomi still didn't really trust the man. But it wasn't like this was his operation that they had been dragged into - Kallen had been in there, Ohgi had called him up in the first place, asking what they should do.

Naomi had had serious doubts when they ran straight at the front gate, but she thought she was starting to get a sense of the man after he had, through some dark sorcery, got them through. He may be untrustworthy too, but more than that, he was a showman. He wasn't keeping them in the dark so he could betray them (though he may do that eventually), he was keeping them in the dark so they could appreciate the dramatic effect.

She was still going to punch him in the face the moment he pulled that mask off so she wouldn't bruise her hand, but the tension was almost worth it. She was going to go prematurely gray dealing with this guy, but she might just go prematurely gray in a free Japan.

Aon tore through the hall ahead of Naomi and Sugiyama, leaving a bloody trail of bodies for them to follow after. They were drawing close to their target hostage room.

Ah! Something to actually do. There were a few soldiers coming around the corner at the far end of the hallway, too far for Aon to reach and cut them down.

Naomi signaled with her left hand to Sugiyama, and sidled to nestle up against the right-side wall, Sugiyama setting up on the left. She pressed her submachine gun's folding-wire stock to her shoulder, made sure there was enough distance from the whirling blender of death at the center of the hallway to take semi-safe shots, and started lightly tapping the trigger, unleashing short, controlled bursts into the JLF troopers even as they tried to bring her weapons on-line.

Probably didn't even have a 30% hit rate, but she and Sugiyama sent enough bullets downrange that the trio of JLF soldiers died before they could bring their guns up.

As usual, before they could even contribute to Aon's fight right in front of them, her half-dozen JLF soldiers were dead.

Naomi tsked, and ejected her magazine, slipping it into a pocket, and reaching down to take a mostly-loaded one from Aon's targets as they passed by at a jog - the Black Knights and the JLF were both using the same weapon, the Howa Type-00 submachine gun.

And they were there, Aon passing through an open door into a food storage room, and a chorus of screams erupting from the doorway - by the time Naomi arrived at the doorway, three JLF guards across the room were cut into ribbons, and the unharmed civilians were splashed in blood, screams just now quieting as they realized the violence was over and they weren't dead.

Naomi scanned the hostages... there. Kallen was intact. She gave a tiny nod of acknowledgement, and forewent everything else so as not to break her cover. She aimed her gun's barrel at the floor, ie 'away from anyone and generally unthreatening', and spoke up. "We, the Order of Black Knights, are here to rescue you." Most Japanese spoke the Britannian language fairly well, now that it was the official language of their homeland. "Please remain calm, follow instructions smoothly, and we will have you out of here shortly."

The placid acceptance of the hostages probably owed more to sheer shock and mood whiplash than to her warm bedside manner, but she'd take it.

There were exceptions, though - a pink-haired girl towards the back shot up to her feet. "Please! The other room!"

"Kokoro!" a green-haired girl wearing glasses at the front of the room shrieked, cutting through the pinkette's delivery. "They took her! Please!"

Naomi traded glances with Sugiyama. Another one bound for the roof? Probably not worth trying, but the hostages were getting restless... they might have more trouble handling them if she didn't at least make a token effort. "Escort them in accordance with the plan. I'll go look."

Aon followed as Naomi stepped out, making her way down the hall in the vague direction the girls had pointed. ... Even if this friend of theirs was on the same floor, searching every room was going to take longer than they had. Maybe they'd hear a noise as they passed by.

A short distance ahead of them, one of the doors opened - Naomi brought her gun to the ready, but it turned out unnecessary. The one stepping out was a familiar girl, with incredibly long lavender hair falling around her, hand at her throat clasping shut a long, torn dress. Zero's intelligence chief, Matou Kokoro - that Kokoro. Well that explained how he knew some of those impossible things... had he predicted the attack, or was it pure bad luck?

Naomi quickly stepped up to the girl. She was bruised and going blue over most of the skin Naomi could see, but she didn't seem to mind, nodding to her and speaking in a polite tone. "Your gun, please."

Naomi handed it over, still mentally processing, and was jolted out of her fugue when Matou aimed it into the room she had come from with her right hand, and clamped her finger down on the trigger, holding the gun rock-steady as it roared, for the four seconds it took for the sixty-round helical magazine to click dry, expression still polite and placid.

Matou politely handed the gun back, bowing slightly - pure engrained manners had Naomi return the bow. "Officially, you killed him. Is that acceptable?"

Naomi blankly nodded as she took the gun, hands automatically swapping for a new fresh magazine. "Yeah... uh. What actually...?" She peered into the room to see a JLF soldier - or the remnants thereof, after an entire magazine had been emptied in his general direction - in uniform, with his pants about his ankles. Naomi's eyes widened, and her gaze shot back to where Matou stood, holding her dress shut. "Are you-?!"

She tapped her lips. "Poison. Weakened his heart, it failed under the stress of what he was attempting to do. He did not succeed."

Aon eyed the older girl... wait, where had her sword gone? That was an impressive ability to hide weapons. "Matou..."

She met the gaze calmly. "He did not succeed."

Aon pursed her lips. "... If you need to talk to anyone..."

"I do not, but the offer is appreciated." Matou turned to Naomi. "We should catch up."

Naomi nodded, and set a jogging pace towards the elevator, where Sugiyama should be taking the hostages.

Aon kept pace easily, but Matou broke into a wheeze only a short part of the way, so Aon scooped the larger girl up in her arms, and kept jogging after Naomi without even noticing as her weight more than doubled. Yeah, she had definitely been altered from human baseline in those super soldier projects Zero had pulled her from...

They caught up swiftly enough, and Aon set Matou on her feet in front of the girls who'd been so concerned for her - Kallen included, oddly. Was her cover identity close to Kallen's?

The girls generally had horrified looks on their faces at Matou's bruises and state of dress, and an orange-haired girl spontaneously hugged her. "I-i-it'll be okay! Oh God..."

Matou jerked slightly at the physical contact, but shook her head. "I'm okay. She arrived before anything... much... could happen."

"B-b-b-but...!"

The green-haired girl just stared at her, eyes wide, and repeatedly swallowing some mostly-imaginary lump in her throat.

The older blonde of the group laid a hand on the orange-haired girl's shoulder. "If she doesn't want to think about it, don't make her. Just be there for her if and when she needs it."

"Erm..." Kallen began, in a soft voice that sounded completely wrong. "She is... right here, you know. She can hear everything you say..."

The blonde waved a hand over Matou's eyes. "Silent!"

Matou smiled faintly. "I'll develop spontaneous deafness for now... but really, I'm all right. Let's focus on getting out of here."

"See?" the blonde pointed out. "My spells work fine!"

The girls slipped away into the tide of hostages, the pinkette stealing the occasional glance at them.

Naomi cradled her gun, and settled in as rear guard, as the hostages began to crowd aboard the elevator.

And then Lan jogged up behind them, followed by the thumping footfalls of... wow, that guy was big, and it was downright shameful in the context that Naomi found her gaze drawn to his powerful biceps (his outfit was fairly outlandish, but she'd been dealing with Britannians for long enough that it didn't really raise an eyebrow).

The guy came up to a sharp halt, eyes wide, as he caught sight of Aon - did he know her?

Lan turned to face him, whispering loud enough for Naomi to overhear, but not loud enough to reach the hostages. "I don't think either of us wants it to turn to a fight right now?"

"That is contrary to everyone's objectives here," the red-haired man rumbled.

"Okay. We need to give the impression that we have taken hostages to escape from here intact. I swear on my father's grave, your Master - whoever they are - will not be harmed."

"I will swear the same, on my honour as a knight," Aon chimed in.

"Is that acceptable?" Lan finished.

"No," the man pointed out. "Not in the slightest. But if I don't agree, we're going to have a fight right here. I get it, you need to get yours out." He held up his hands. "And I'm a little outnumbered."

"As if that had meaning," Lan snorted. "All right. I appreciate it."

The man held up a thick finger. "In exchange, I need to speak with both of you at length." He nodded to Aon. "You especially, Saber."

Aon blinked in confusion, and glanced at Lan. "I do not think we have time."

Lan glanced upward, and nodded. "We don't."

"Of course, of course." The man waved a hand. "Not a great location anyway. But next time we meet, you two owe me, separately or together, the chance to be heard out until I am done speaking. Tack that onto your oath and we have a deal."

"As long as speaking is the only thing you do," Lan noted.

"Deal."

"Deal."

"Deal."

The three laid their hands together, and shook them once.

Naomi blinked. What had that been about? Was the guy another graduate of their supersoldier program? Context suggested he was at least halfway an enemy, but... not for now, at least.

Nothing to do but carry on and keep ready for the knife in the back. This was becoming a sad habit.

~~~I========>

What madman had decided to strap rocket boosters on a Glasgow?!

... He might be related to the madman who had decided to strap four Glasgows together and put a linear cannon between them, Asada Hiroto admitted, in a moment of honesty.

"She's broken through the third wave!" Hiroto reported.

It was insanity. While it was probably physically possible to find sufficiently large gaps between the balls of grapeshot their Raikou fired to evade, it wasn't humanly possible. Certainly not in an obsolete knightmare like a Glasgow... A Glasgow's sensor suite shouldn't even be up to detecting the grapeshot at such speeds!

But riding the plume of fire, the knightmare serving Britannia, in royal purple and gold livery, factsphere armour plate open, continued to bear down on them, spearpoint not once wavering from the center of Hiroto's camera, the networked factspheres that served as sensor suite for the Raikou, even as the knightmare ducked and danced around the steady spearpoint.

She'd found the counterintuitive 'weakest' point of the Raikou's barrage - the grapeshot was sized to spread out wider than the tunnel walls actually allowed. So the outer edges of the spread slammed into the wall and bounced back in - meaning the outer walls, where one would instinctively go to find cover, actually received a double dose of grapeshot. It was at its most sparse right at the center, charging right down the barrel - though this was nothing anyone could call a weak point, and single waves had torn down knightmare after knightmare, let alone three waves.

"I have seen your Japan," the young woman's voice came over the intercom again, sounding invigorated by the exercise she was getting. "I am unimpressed!"

"Don't panic!" Daichi Uchimura, seated behind him, snapped. "Keep firing!"

"Let me tell you of my Iran!"

Hiroto's teeth chattered as he keyed in the loading sequence... "Shot loaded!"

"In Iran, all children are taught three things!"

"Superconducting Maglev Shrapnel Cannon..." Uchimura hissed. "FIRE!" The cannister of grapeshot tore loose from the Raikou's barrel, arcing out across the bare kilometers of distance yet remaining.

"To ride swiftly!" she barked, barreling straight down the center of the barrage of grapeshot, spear twirling around her dancing knightmare, impossibly deflecting what shot balls made it that far away from her with the shaft. Hiroto wasn't sure whether or not his eyes were messing with him, but he thought he saw shot glance off on angles that should have torn through, he even thought he saw two balls that should have been on perfect course to hit her converge, hit each other, and bounce away harmlessly.

"Spread the secondary guns!" Uchimura commanded. "We must defend this place, even to our deaths!"

Hiroto growled, and hit the button - the four heavy cannons replacing the 'off' arms of the Raikou's component Glasgows raised, taking aim under his control. In other words, she had already closed in to point-blank range.

"To shoot straight!" Before he could even fire them, with unnatural quickness, the Glasgow bearing down on them reached its left hand across to its right hip, drawing one of the machine pistols holstered there, and firing four short three-round bursts - trashing the arm guns.

"One last shot! Fire it!" Uchimura roared. "Doesn't matter if the barrel melts! We have to stop it, no matter what!"

Hiroto nodded, slamming up the power dial as far as it went, and finished the loading sequence. "Good to go!"

"FIRE!"

"And TO ALWAYS SPEAK THE TRUTH!" their enemy roared back.

... They had been too late. The rocket-powered Glasgow had come too close. Even now, it leaned back, rockets pulsing and ripping a trench in the tunnel floor as they countered its fall and kept it just barely off the ground... as it slid through underneath the Raikou's shell.

A millisecond too late, the Raikou's shell cracked open, releasing the grapeshot to scatter uselessly behind their enemy.

The rockets flared, bringing the Glasgow back up to rest solidly on its feet as its unstoppable charge continued. The machine pistol in its left hand centered dead-on the linked dual cockpit on the Raikou's right side, completely ignoring the identical decoy cockpit on the left.

She fired a burst. Hiroto and Uchimura only barely had time to scream.

~~~I========>

Diethard Ried watched, whistling, as, foundation block shattered, the hotel began to slowly sink beneath the lake.

He didn't really care one way or the other, personally, but he had to admit, it made for great footage. Hopefully this story, at least, he'd be able to tell.

Hm. There was slightly more delay than usual, for Princess Cornelia's operations, before the purple knightmares of a Britannian Forces knightmare platoon began charging across the bridge. Her forces were normally better drilled than that - better coordinated. Reportedly, if they weren't, she would run them through intensive training cycles and operational matches against her personal guard, a procedure already becoming known as The Week Of Suffering, until they did match up.

Which meant the foundation block's destruction had not been part of her plans. Had someone else done it, or just one of her subordinates deciding to be an overachiever? It had been mentioned as an accessory detail to her other assault plans.

Maybe it had been Zero? Now there was a story and a half.

Diethard had been dreaming of weaving wonderful, magnificent stories with everything that crossed his desk, when he'd first graduated from university - long before, in fact, it had been why he had selected such a career to begin with. Stories that would make his audience laugh, smile, weep, dance, rage... And even more wonderfully, stories that did all that whilst real.

It turned out, the business wasn't like that. His artist's soul screamed, at the exquisite torments Hi-TV's executives had him inflict upon the raw material. So many wonderful stories to be told, lost, in favour of one, monolithic, boring tale of Britannia's success and 'righteousness'. Sigh.

But the painter within him awoke, when he had seen Zero's footage, as the man - no, the new era made flesh - tore out of the Fuyuki Ghetto, having assassinated Prince Clovis and escaped without even a scratch. Oh... to have the chance to work with such material... Diethard did not even care whether the stories Zero wove were true or false, they were so powerful either way...

Just as a swordsman dreamed of wielding King Arthur's legendary Excalibur, just as a pilot... drooled over Zero's seventh-generation Lancelot or something... just like that, Diethard could tell that filming Zero was the reason he had been born in this boring world.

Diethard smiled, as an explosive detonation tore from the upper floors of the sinking hotel, and it began to... crumble, teetering backwards. Smaller explosive charges near the bottom, perhaps? He shook his head, stepping into Camera Van #2.

Diethard paused and blinked as a knightmare mounted with rockets burst up out of the hotel basement and parking garage, rising high on plumes of flame as it dove into the firebursts, choking smoke, and kilometers-spreading dust clouds of the shattering hotel. Hopefully the idiots he worked with had caught that on camera, that was another excellent piece of footage.

But secondary. He stepped up behind... whatever his name was. Styled hair, square glasses, white office shirt, basic tech nerd and Diethard didn't really care.. Diethard leaned over the man's shoulder, watching the camera displays. "How's camera #3?"

The nerd glanced back over his shoulder at Diethard like he was the idiot. "Zero... Took... It." He explained, in very small words.

"That's why I'm hoping for some reaction!" Diethard cut him off, eyes still focused on the camera - it was nothing but static, and visible through the hotel, nothing but clouds. That man... that man had not just stolen a news van because he needed a ride. No... not at all. Not the bombastic performer who had proudly announced his killing of Prince Clovis, and then circulated the tapes as far as they would be watched.

... There. There was a mechanical squeal, tearing through the static.

And Diethard's long drought was finally rewarded, as Zero's face stood on the screen, live. Diethard absently hit a switch, sharing that live feed with the world - or at least the world watching Hi-TV desperately for updates on the hoteljacking.

"People of Britannia," Zero's royal voice rolled out, smooth and calm. "There is no need to panic."

The camera feed shifted, panning across an arrangement of bright safety-orange inflatable lifeboats. A glance at the other camera feeds explained where Zero was transmitting from - the large yacht, the property of Chairman Albert James of the Sakuradite Division Conference, that had been docked at the hotel's wharf for the duration of the incident. 'Borrowed', apparently. Yes, there was Chairman James himself in one of the lifeboats, looking a little grumpy.

Hm, hadn't there been mines in the wat... he had dropped the hotel on them. The yacht was floating where the hotel had sunk into the water. The one route clear through the JLF minefield.

"The hostages held in the hotel have all been saved. I shall gladly return them to you," Zero stated, gently.

Ho-ho, and that bright pink hair looked like Princess Euphemia had been inside the hotel...? What a scoop. ... Sigh. If he'd ever be able to report it.

The camera's image returned to Zero, standing lit by an artful arrangement of lights - there were shadowy humanish forms beside him, but they were not under the light. And then the floodlights snapped on, showing a collection of people at each of his flanks - all dressed in the same uniform, black, white piping, wedge cap perched atop their heads, faces covered by visors.

They stood together, in solidarity, Zero at their center, most of them at attention, and the two on either side of him - a curly-haired man with an open jacket, and a tall, rail-thin man - standing in the prelude to a courtly European bow, right arms reaching across their waist.

"I speak to all people!" Zero began. "Fear us, or seek us! We are to be called The Order of Black Knights!"

Hah. Diethard grinned. How interesting. He was marketing himself with Britannian lore, not Japanese.

"We, the Order of Black Knights, are the allies of all those who do not take up arms!" His voice quieted, into an intimate whisper, that regardless, all could hear. "Be they 'Eleven', or Britannian."

Oh my word, this was exciting. Interesting. For this broadcast, he had switched to calling them 'Elevens', instead of his previous insistent 'Japanese'. But then, he had addressed this to the people of Britannia. Any performer played in accordance with his audience.

"The tactics of the Japanese Liberation Front were deplorable," Zero's whisper continued. "They took Britannian civilians as hostages, and in cold blood, murdered them." Zero's head shook, sadly. "It was a vicious action without meaning. Thus, we punished them."

Someone was speaking into Diethard's headset, but he was only half-paying attention. He didn't want to miss any of the speech. "Of course you should keep relaying it!" This was far too amazing to miss! How could he deny it to his audience? The man on the other end burbled something, so Diethard cut him off. "Responsibility?! I'll take it all!" Now shut up and let him watch the show...

"The prior Governor-General, Clovis, was the same," Zero continued. "He happily massacred unarmed Elevens. Cruel acts such as these... they are intolerable. Thus, I punished him."

On a whim, Diethard added in a reference number where interested audience members could access Zero's original, uncut, Fuyuki broadcast. Only proper that they see the claim he was referring to, after all.

"I have no wish to fight," Zero pointed out. "However... the act of the strong, completely and utterly crushing the weak... Unforgivable!" Zero's hand slashed out in a terminating gesture. "Only those who are prepared to die are permitted to kill!" Zero's voice calmed back into the quiet, intimate tone. "When the powerful tread on the powerless, we will appear. Again and again. No matter how great the powerful believe themselves."

"Hero of justice, huh..." a cynical voice remarked from behind him - Diethard half-turned to see a tall, white-haired man dressed in a Britannian Intelligence uniform, leaning against the door.

His quizzical look was answered (not really) by no less a personage than Dame Anya Alstreim, the tiny pink-haired girl standing half-behind the man not looking up at him, just entering something into her PDA. "Your voice bothered him. Came to check."

"Those with power..." Zero continued, Diethard returning his attention to more important matters. Zero cast his left arm out. "To you, I say, fear us!" His right arm reached out. "Those without power... seek us out! Since none other have stepped forth, we, the Black Knights, now claim the right to judge the world!"

Dame Alstreim snapped a picture of the Black Knights on the TV screen, before the transmission cut out.

Dame Alstreim's attendant sighed heavily. "Fucker means it. He might even think he's lying, but nope... he's for real." A twisted grin crawled across the man's tanned lips. "I look forward to the day I get to kill him."

~~~I========>

Wise Up - Rider

True name: Alexander III of Macedon, more commonly known as Alexander the Great. Though he insists on calling himself Iskander, the Persian form of his name, for whatever reason.

You're familiar with this one in broad strokes already - inherited a very capable army from his father, proceeded to use it to destroy the greatest empire the world had yet known, and catastrophically failed to put anything of even the same order of magnitude of value in its place.

Honestly? Personal opinion? He's one of the greatest generals the world has ever known, and I award him that title without qualm. But his record as a king is, at best, mediocre.

A king is not rated by what he faces - a king is rated by what he leaves behind. And Alexander faced a world superpower... and left dust and ashes behind him. His own kingdom fell apart in less time than it would have taken him to die, had he had a full lifespan. And the empire he crushed casually reformed in the ashes and continued to outlast further superpowers, while his own? Never came back, even once.

Of course, I suppose when set up against competition like Gilgamesh and King Arthur's (your side) catastrophic mismanagement of their kingdoms (seriously, Gilgamesh's legend is 'he stopped being a bastard for once and went around getting into drunken brawls with his buddy instead'), he can still look pretty good.

That said. There are... anomalies. His position in the historical record is unflattering, but it is also in radical disagreement with his observed character. The historical Alexander the Great left a trail of massacre, slaughter, and general horrible war crimes from Tyre to India.

Most tellingly - the true Alexander values his companions so highly that his love for them transcends the laws of reality. The recorded Alexander killed one of his closest companions in a bar fight.

I cannot tell you exactly what went on there. Perhaps some malicious shadow in his court influenced everything to go to hell in his absence. I really don't know.

So a true evaluation is impossible. I can only say this much - the recorded Alexander is unimpressive as king, though remains wondrous as a general. But the Alexander I see here? Matches the recorded Alexander only in the vaguest details.



Master: Euphemia li Britannia, though I suppose you already know this.

Alignment: Neutral Good. Yes, neutral, not chaotic. I'll move on while you shepherd your heart attack.

Strength: B. Solidly strong bugger, though I suppose you could tell with a glance at his arms (I think either one of those arms might be thicker than my torso...).

Agility: D. This man, will never have a career as a dancer. Of course, his style as a Rider can obviate this glaring weak point - he can afford to only do reasonably in the first exchange if he's immediately far past his opponent and every clash of blades he makes is the first exchange.

Endurance: A. I don't really have anything particularly clever to say here (other than general curiousity as to how a sickly man who died of disease ranks an A for endurance... perhaps he sacrificed his immune system to be able to take a punch better, no it doesn't make sense but nothing about these people ever does).

Mana: C. Surprisingly low, given his purported parentage. A good solid average for a magus, but a little anemic for the son of the king of the gods.

Luck: A+. He's one of those ludicrous luck types. Things work out for him far more often than they rightfully should..



Class Skills:
----Magic Resistance D: Pretty much standard for a Servant. Cancels spells of D rank and below - classically, 'Single Action' spells, the sort of thing an average caster can cast without an incantation, just a dirty look.

Honestly, this barely does anything, but it does protect him against the 'easiest to use in a fight' spells, which makes such a low rank of magic resistance significantly more precious than it may look. The lower ranks of Magic Resistance are, in that way, much more precious than the higher.

----Riding A+: This is more or less self-explanatory again. He is Rider. He Rides. His most excellent skill is Riding. As usual, his skill with his conveyance of choice is updated by the Grail to match more modern conveyances. A+ rank is among the highest - even divine beasts can be ridden, the only thing he can't manage is bloody dragons.

And in terms of how well he rides them, well, A+ is the point where one ceases to count as 'a good Rider', or even a ridiculously good one, and picks up a strap-on to begin violating the laws of physics. (Seriously, what the hell, Kallen? ... Heh, name went through. All right... I think I see the nature of this paradox now.)

Personal Skills:
----Charisma A: Charisma is, simply put, the ability to command. Not, mind, the ability to know what is a wise action - but the ability to inspire. This is a truly spectacular level thereof, suitable not just for a King, but a King of the people, one beloved by those they lead. I should say, this is a very dangerous skill. Inspiration and enthusiasm can sometimes carry the day. But without wisdom, it becomes very difficult to tell when you are wrong. And with charisma, no one will tell you.

Yes, I am aware I used this word-for-word before. They were good words and they still apply.

----Military Tactics B: This is the 'know what is a wise action' part, at least as regards large-scale warfare. It doesn't apply to any other part of kingship, but as a general, Alexander is one of the great study cases. Once more - no mere musclehead, but a leader of men. (Yes, really. Your eyes can deceive you)

Not that this means he develops new tactics on his own, of course. Quite frankly, the principles of warfare were all generally grasped by the time we left the Stone Age. Genius is not in invention of wholly new concepts - it is in actually managing to make existing concepts apply, because the world is not cooperating with you.

----Divinity C: This measures precisely how close one's nature is to that of the divine - one of the primary benefits being that one's divinity weakens the defences an opponent is able to put up against you, due to the primacy of the divine. Essentially, the rule of the world that the gods are not to be denied.

The man's C ranking denotes the claims that the man is descended from Zeus, though there is no reliable evidence to support the claim (quite frankly, the man had issues with his father, the flesh-and-blood one, that make me look well-adjusted). The closest thing to evidence is the fact that the bulls he drives around all the time, which he claims to be associated with Zeus and if they're not, throw around enough power and lightning that nobody is particularly eager to challenge the claim... well, let him.



Noble Phantasm:
----Gordius Wheel (Wheel of Heaven's Authority) Anti-Army A+: You may be familiar with the tale of the Gordian Knot. I'm not exactly sure how 'cheating is perfectly viable', as a concept (of which I heartily approve!), relates to what has been described as 'giant death chariot what the fuck', but, well, there you have it.

The chariot is not actually the Noble Phantasm, though - which is not to say the immense scythed chariot he rides is not a Noble Phantasm, merely that it is not Alexander's Noble Phantasm.

Alexander's Noble Phantasm is the bulls which draw the chariot - apparently the bulls were an offering from the king of Gordium to Zeus (I would presume they were actually an offering to Sabazios, for the Gordians did not worship Zeus, though Greek and Roman syncretic tendencies said 'you worship a sky father god, we worship a sky father god, wow, it's the same guy' and ignored the details - for instance, the bull was a symbol of Zeus, but Sazabios's association with bulls was as vanquished foes), and Alexander claimed them by severing the legendary Gordian knot.

Where exactly the ox-cart that was supposed to be at center of the Gordian Knot tale fits into this, I couldn't begin to say. Heroic Spirits in general twist history around them in unnatural ways that don't ever seem to be properly recorded, and Alexander was, as mentioned, exceptional among them in this.

(By the myth, the knot was used to tie an ancient ox-cart, on which the peasant farmer Gordias - father of the somewhat-more-famous Midas - rode into ancient Phrygia's capital, fulfilling a decree that the next man to enter the city would become king.)

Regardless of what actually happened or did not actually happen to get it - the bulls are immensely powerful beasts, capable of carrying the large scythed chariot at remarkable speeds which certainly reinforce their status as divine beasts, whosever they happen to be, and also, well, emitting lightning as they walk, and for that matter walking on said lightning (I'll just let it pass, honestly).

----Ionioi Hetairoi (The Army of the King) Anti-Army EX: This is the deadlier by far of Alexander's Noble Phantasms - the proof of his qualifications as commander.

It is a Reality Marble - the mark of a twisted, unreal perception being projected upon the outside world - but is an abnormal one even among Reality Marbles.

Because it is not his twisted, unreal perception. Not only.

It is the twisted, unreal perception of his personal guard, the army of heroes that rode forth with him in conquest, to see the wonders at the end of the world, the dream he had shared with them all - the dream he can bring forth not because of his magical skills, but because it is shared.

The dream that did not exist. But legends need not be true to be worth fighting for.

Now, not every one of the Hetairoi - the Companions - is a Heroic Spirit. This is an army, and even Alexander the Great would be hard-pressed to scrounge up a platoon of true Heroic Spirits who followed him, let alone the thousands who march forth with him.

Though, they are still, as the vernacular goes, 'total badasses', at bare minimum. None of them is, alone, a match for a top-rank Heroic Spirit outside specialized circumstances - not that they were not necessarily in life, but Alexander's own limitations keep him from manifesting a hero mightier than he, and his straight-up might is, while fairly respectable, not exceptional among heroes. A disadvantage of being a strategist rather than a meathead. Of course, setting up the required circumstances is merely part and parcel of the art of tactics.

The full activation summons both the land - the endless deserts in which their battles were fought - and the entirety of the army.

Of course, this is somewhat of a blunt tool. Smaller, more precise uses are more useful overall - just as you can summon up individual Noble Phantasms, Alexander can call forth individual heroes from his army, as suit his needs.

And desires. I'm not watching and I'm glad of it, but I really doubt the man doesn't occassionally make use of the ability to semi-resurrect his wives and boyfriend. It's not like Heroic Spirits need to sleep.

And I'll leave off now that you're trying to manually extricate that image from your head, Archer.

~~~I========>

Author's Notes:
First thing's first - thanks go out to prereaders - the list being Sunshine Temple, DCG, Ellf, and Belgarion213 (all of whom are of the opinion that this chapter could also be titled 'Banquet of Ham').
Of course, Nina ascribes obliviousness and ditziness to Shirley's 'changing awkward topics as they become uncomfortable'. She's not exactly a master of the social arts.
As far as aluminium, Rider's thought about it being expensive comes off as odd - but it's worth noting that aluminium's ultra-cheapness is very modern in our world. Napoleon III reportedly gave a banquet where the most honoured guests used aluminium utensils - everyone else 'made do' with gold. CGverse's chemistry is behind ours. This is one of the ways it manifests. Similarly, the Zero suit would have been woven of kevlar if kevlar existed.
(Also. Inoue is thinking Aon is freakishly fast. She's actually wrong, though it couldn't really fit in narration. Aon is completely withholding her prana burst, and most strength boosters, to fit within 'completely unenhanced human limits so that the secret of magecraft is not violated'. She really is wielding the strength and speed of her slim, girlish frame right now. Aon's just using proper technique. She creates the impression of being freakishly fast, because unlike lesser combatants, she goes to where she needs to be immediately - sometimes a bit ahead of time due to her instincts - rather than fumbling about. The level she's uncorking in that scene? Inoue could actually beat her in an arm-wrestling match)
And in the Wise-Up - 'personal opinion' is just that. The narrator of the Wise Up is rating the Three Kings of Fate/Zero by his own standards of kingship. Of course they fall short - he'd fall just as short by their standards. Now what value you place on those standards - that's a personal question.
As always, reviews, comments, corrections, and etcetera are appreciated whether for good or ill, and my email's always open (PaleWLF @ gmail com).

[OSMQEP]

Nice. Sadly, I'm still at least a few days away on the last chapter's C&C. (At least, if I can't sort out the most recent screw up on the secondary RW project, which makes me tired just thinking about it, but that may just be how late I am past my bedtime.)

Good clean fun here, lots to say.

I actually caught the Aluminum thing when I saw it, remembered 'Pale Wolf has Geass chemistry worse than ours', and went on. Interesting how the big engineering metals are so absurdly cheap, huh?

[Pale Wolf]

Nice. Sadly, I'm still at least a few days away on the last chapter's C&C. (At least, if I can't sort out the most recent screw up on the secondary RW project, which makes me tired just thinking about it, but that may just be how late I am past my bedtime.)

Heh, no problem, whenever you're ready for it.

I actually caught the Aluminum thing when I saw it, remembered 'Pale Wolf has Geass chemistry worse than ours', and went on. Interesting how the big engineering metals are so absurdly cheap, huh?

Well, if they weren't so absurdly cheap, we probably wouldn't use them for large, material-intensive engineering processes.

[Knight of L-sama]

She'd lived in that horrible world of ruins and drugs and people who might as well be dead for years.

That's not nice. Leaving large piles of irony just lying around like that for poor innocent girls like Nina to trip over.

'Who the hell do you think I am?

... he'd fit right in wouldn't he?

Dame Alstreim's attendant sighed heavily. "Fucker means it. He might even think he's lying, but nope... he's for real." A twisted grin crawled across the man's tanned lips. "I look forward to the day I get to kill him."

Look, Archer. Just because you're not in your version of the Grail War doesn't mean you have to find a substitute for your own younger self.

And desires. I'm not watching and I'm glad of it, but I really doubt the man doesn't occassionally make use of the ability to semi-resurrect his wives and boyfriend. It's not like Heroic Spirits need to sleep.

And I'll leave off now that you're trying to manually extricate that image from your head, Archer.

And thus does karma repay Archer for his 'Oh Crap, he's Greek' line.

And I can't find it scrolling through at the moment... but I assume that Lancer getting hammered by the elevator debris is the legendary bad luck of the Lancer class rearing its ugly head.

Still, nice to see a new chapter up, and so quickly too since it seems that it's longer than previous chapters.

The only questions are, how long can Caster be kept out of the story... and how is Archer going to react when he realises there are two versions of Arturia running about. (His greatest dream or his worst nightmare?)

[Pale Wolf]

That's not nice. Leaving large piles of irony just lying around like that for poor innocent girls like Nina to trip over.

Well, she was right that Kokoro lived in a ghetto for the past seven years.

Just that, the ghetto was probably the nicest, happiest part of her living conditions.

... he'd fit right in wouldn't he?

It felt somehow appropriate for Rider.

Look, Archer. Just because you're not in your version of the Grail War doesn't mean you have to find a substitute for your own younger self.

There are other elements sticking in - for one, he's got a touch of sourness regarding 'heroes' at the moment. (Probably for Kiritsugu-like reasons. "Fuckers create a path I wanted to follow, and look where that path got me.") And while he isn't consciously aware that he's looking at the same guy who commands the Counter Force (regrettably, the First does not set policy, he only has the power to implement it), there are similarities he's detecting that grate on his nerves.

And I can't find it scrolling through at the moment... but I assume that Lancer getting hammered by the elevator debris is the legendary bad luck of the Lancer class rearing its ugly head.

Yeeeeep, she's Luck E.

Worse, actually. She has Protection of the Fairies - the same skill Lancelot has, which improves your luck in battle situations.

She hates the fae.

So her Protection of the Fairies is inverted - her Luck tanks below E when it activates.

Still, nice to see a new chapter up, and so quickly too since it seems that it's longer than previous chapters.

It's a little shorter than 6, I think, but this appears to be becoming my new chapter length. ^^;

Was good to manage it, though.

The only questions are, how long can Caster be kept out of the story... and how is Archer going to react when he realises there are two versions of Arturia running about. (His greatest dream or his worst nightmare?)

Both?

(Of course, we know how Gilgamesh is going to react. "I MUST HAVE THEM BOTH!")

Caster'll be dicking around in the background and setting his ducks in a row for a while. When he shows up in person, Life Worsens.

[Knight of L-sama]

(Of course, we know how Gilgamesh is going to react. "I MUST HAVE THEM BOTH!")

Gilgamesh: King of Heroes and Blue Thunder of Furinkan High?