StarDestroyer.Net BBS

This is something of a tendancy of the genus Ford Prefect to write fanfic which can be best summed up as 'Ford Prefect wishes that this was his idea'. As such, I occasionally take established settings and stories and muddle arond with them, Fate-Another Score is one of the results. Based upon a Japanese visual novel (aka. hentai game) with a really awesome premise, I added my own personal touches and changes, getting something that was familiar, yet at the same time radically different. Yet at the same time not.

Many moons ago, I posted this story on this board, but for a couple of reasons I stopped, faltering in my intent. Recently, I got the urge to continue with it, but I was not satisfied. Due to an evolving on the fly plot, some fairly major and important stuff seemed rather forced and a bit out of nowhere. So I decided that I would start again, with a tighter plot this time round, along with more violence, more sex and something of an exploration of what it means to be a mythological hero, in a rather Pratchettian way (or better yet a Grant Naylor-y kind of way, or Douglas Adamsy if I have to be more mainstream). Yeah, blah blah blah, I like author's notes.


FATE-ANOTHER SCORE

PROLOGUE
Thus spoke Zarathustra


February 6, AD 20XX
Fuyuki City, Japan


Rin Tōsaka ran her fingers through her river of glossy black hair, before tying her ribbons in. She laid her hands upon the long, narrow case before her, drumming her fingers against the Tōsaka crest embossed into the dark leather, and stared at her reflection. Wriggling her socked toes against the carpet, she examined her application of makeup; not a lot, just enough, some pink around her cheeks, some red on her lips, some purple around her eyes. Generally flawless. She bared her teeth, her gums still feeling raw and minty. Her unusually bright, cobalt blue eyes roamed about her body, trying to find stray threads or otherwise imaginary dust. Nothing, of course. Not even a crease was out of place; she’d been slowly perfecting herself over the course of hours. There was no longer any way to draw this out.

The leather beneath Rin’s hands was cool. A manicured thumbnail traced one of the circles of the crest. Happy birthday, daughter. In the two days she had possessed it, she had only opened the case once. She had found it difficult to express her gratitude to her father; equally, she found it difficult to look at the item within. Rin closed her eyes and drew back a long breath. She spoke. “You can come in.”

Not even Tokiomi Tōsaka could match his daughter in the art. Though an accomplished mage, Rin had exceeded and eclipsed him in sorcery. The pride and future of the Tōsaka line; until her birthday, Rin had not been sure that he had fully approved of her decision, despite the prestige and potential power it would bring his family in future. It was not until he had presented her with the gift, hidden within the nondescript carrying case beneath her hands, had she fully understood. Tokiomi, dressed in his finest red suit, approached and placed his hands upon Rin’s shoulders. In the mirror, she could see one of his three smiles. Not the expansive grin with which he charmed admirers and partners and the occasional magus, and not the sly little smirk awarded to enemies who are unaware of their imminent and inevitable death; rather, the quiet, gentle half-smile that was rarely – if ever – visible for anyone, even Rin herself. The smile that her mother said she had fallen in love with.

The smile of her father, given more with his eyes than his lips. “You are ready.” He said, firmly, but the light dancing in his eyes was playful. “We have waited long enough. Come along.”

He helped her into her red trenchcoat, which she cinched at the waist. Picking up the case, Rin walked with her father, down the hall and up the stairs to the main level of the family building of the sprawling Tōsaka villa. As they approached the shoji, a traditional number made from wood and paper and not cheap carbon fibre, it glided open without any prompting. Only for the Tōsaka family and their most trusted servants; anyone else would find the door as unyielding as steel plate. Rain was dripping weakly from the grey sky, leaving the expansive gardens moist and green. They padded in silence, approaching a growing murmur. Tokiomi gestured needlessly and the shoji sprang apart. Within, countless scions and associates of the family turned their heads; as one, they rose to their feet. Rin smiled weakly, as her father gave them his trademark grin and urged them to continue to enjoy their drinks. Where was her mother?

Leaving the room open to the garden, Rin took a few awkward steps forward. She knew practically every person here, most of them quite well. And yet each time she tried to make the move towards someone, it seemed as though the distance too great. Look, there was her mundane, if slightly mad, aunt Yūko chatting amicably with her married cousin Shizuka and his wife. All three were relatives that Rin liked, for one reason or another, five or six long strides away … yet five or six long strides would never bring her to them, not really.

“Something the matter, my dear?” asked a voice that carried itself with the inevitable grinding of continents. Rin immediately whirled, and found her self staring up at a wizened face, a gloved hand fingering the impeccably shaped grey beard along the line of his jaw. Aoi Tōsaka was on his arm, looking as graceful and elegant as she always did. Rin was not struck by her mother’s natural poise, however, not looking up at the smiling face hovering almost a foot above her. Patron of the Tōsaka family of magi, Archmagus and Ancestor of Dead Apostles: Wizard Marshal Kishua Zelretch Schweinorg.

Left eye twitching, Rin dropped her upper body in the deepest bow she could muster without making it look like she was trying too hard. She could hear him chuckle, the old bastard. “Master Zelretch,” she managed, straightening. Her knuckles whitened upon the narrow carrying case. “I am honoured to have you here with us.”

“You are not.”

Rin’s eye twitched again. The ‘esteemed’ Wizard Marshal tapped her with his stick and Rin grudgingly moved out of his way, as the party noticed his entry with a mixture of shock and awe evident. Had Elvis himself entered right now with his head on fire, Zelretch would remain the centre of attention, until he had said otherwise. He smiled graciously at Tokiomi, and the family head smiled back; they had long since past the unique form of master-student relationship Zelretch shared with Tōsaka heirs. Zelretch respected Tokiomi.

“Please, friends.” Zelretch said with the calming wave of his hand. “I am here, like you, for Rin.” He gestured towards the young woman, who smiled sweetly. “Now, a speech!”

“Yes, a speech!” Tokiomi agreed, moving up alongside his wife and former teacher. The assembled crowd began to chant.

Rin turned the dials up on her smile, and aimed it entirely upon Zelretch. His head jerked to the side, as though struck. “A speech?” she began, scratching the lobe of one ear, as the family ad friends continued to hoot and shout. Even the servants had stopped their business to listen. “I think I can do a speech. First of all, I’d like to thank you all for taking the time to come here, to Fuyuki. I know some of you have travelled a long way, and I know that most of you are supposedly very busy people.” There were some chuckles at that. “That you have taken time to witness this is very much appreciated, even if I haven’t been present at my own party.” She winked and there was more laughter. “I hope you can understand. Tonight is the culmination of a decision I have been making for years. I have thought myself prepared, yet when it comes down to it, you’re never really prepared. Tonight, I will sign away my life to a conflict that has claimed more blood than any other. As a mage, I have always been prepared to throw my life away. As a mage, I have learnt that life is cheap. As a mage, I have learnt that my own life is worthless in the eyes of another, that I carry no intrinsic value beyond what I can make myself.” The silence that had descended across the assemblage was absolute, as though the gravity of Rin’s little speech was dragging the very sound away. “I owe it to you all for making my life worth something.” She bowed, her hair falling about her. “I will die before I allow that to go to waste. For you all, I will take the Grand Holy Grail, and I will make it my own.”

She reared up and surveyed her aunts and uncles and cousins and teachers and friends and her parents. And they surveyed her. “Well said.” Zelretch said quietly, his gloved hands coming together. Slowly, the applause swelled to the edges of the room, matched with whistles and shouts and a general roar of approval. Rin could feel a flush creeping up her throat, but she mercilessly suppressed it. This is much more like it. She’s apart, yes, but apart for a very good reason. Tokiomi turns and tells them all that it is almost time, and that those wishing to spectate had best move to their cars.

“Though I am afraid that only magi can be present. And only the adults.” There are some groans from amongst the younger members of the family; for the Tōsakas, being mundane is unimportant if you are among the family. There are just some things they cannot be a part of. Not even Aoi could be permitted as a part of this party.

As magi began to file out and as the mundanes came up to Rin to wish her luck, Rin could see Zelretch crooking his finger at her. She excused herself and walked over to him, and joined him on the enclosed walkway. They kept pace with each other until nearly opposite the crush of humanity, and the Wizard Marshal spoke. “You’re ready. I already knew of course; I didn’t need to hear your speech to know that.” He smirked. “I just want to hear you phrase your convictions. I know you’re afraid, too. Only the most vicious of magi seek the Grand Holy Grail, for good or ill.”

“Wouldn’t that make me one of the most vicious of magi?”

Zelretch smirked, then turned towards her. He placed a hand on her shoulder, and knelt. “Yes, it would. It would.” He seemed to be having some trouble speaking. Rin raised her eyebrows; Zel not being able to speak his mind? She immediately took as much pleasure as possible in his discomfort. He clucked his tongue. “You were born with awesome sorcerous potential. You have matched it with years of study and determination. So serious since the day you could talk.”

“This is unusual for you, Zelretch.” Rin suppressed an urge to giggle.

“Mind like a steel trap.” He replied dryly. “I won’t be present during the summoning, but I do have a gift for you.” with a flourish, he drew sheathed knife from his sleeve, trailing leather straps. Rin placed down her case and took Zelretch’s present, examining it. The sheath did not bear the family crest, but rather the shape of the Seals embedded into her left hand. The concentric crescents. The blade itself was close to ten inches long, and its edge glittered blue in the half-light. The hilt was top with a gem; when she held it up to her eye it was almost like looking through a kaleidoscope. She blinked and very slowly sheathed the knife. Her eye were wide, and it was the Marshal’s turn to be amused. “Don’t get too excited. Azoth is only a minor blade, though I am sure it will serve you well. Now, let me help you with it.”

With the dirk-like Azoth settled in the small of her back, Zelretch rose, dusted off his hands and gave her one last smile. And then he was gone. Rin had long since learnt not to blink at that; instead she picked up her case and strolled back around to where her father was waiting. Together, they sere lead to the Rolls, and driven to the chosen location. Rin wiggled in her seat as the parade of black cars descended from the mountainous parts of Fuyuki in which the Tōsaka made their home. The new knife did not dig into her back. Her first weapon; Zelretch was right – it would serve her well. Azoth will rend flesh and drain her enemies of blood, but it would be a toy compared to her true weapon. Her thumb absently stroked the leather of the carrying case.

In truth, they didn’t really have to go anywhere. The ritual could be performed at any location, but magi traditionally maintained that some places are just too special not to use. There was a monastery relatively nearby that Rin had chosen. The fleet powered forward, engines roaring, and father and daughter sat in silence. Rin watched him from the corner of her eye. They were growing apart with every metre; since she had declared her intent to capture the Grand Holy Grail, their futures had diverged. Once, he had shared the same wish, to fight and die over what one might call mankind’s greatest treasure, but he had chosen to abandon that dream. Rin didn’t need telepathy to know that he was debating whether he had made the right decision then. Perhaps he was evening debating whether allowing Rin to go through with this was the right decision – not that it mattered of course: she’d have killed him if he had tried.

For the caretaker of the monastery, the arrival of half a dozen enormous black cars and the subsequent disgorging of three times that number of men in women in sharp suits left him speechless. He wondered if they might have been tourists of some kind, or if he wondered about it hard enough they might actually become tourists. Some of them were foreigners, after all. He watched the girl in the red coat helped out by the man in the red suit, and immediately forgot they even existed. He would never remember them; as Shizuka Tōsaka gently coaxed him to move out of the way, then patted him on the bald head. He bowed to his cousin as she passed.

The central courtyard was a thing of tranquillity. Tokiomi strode towards its middle, and back again. It held no particular spiritual significance, but it looked nice. He waved his hand, dismissing the curious monks; like the caretaker, their minds are like putty. They forget, and walk away. “Shall I?” he asked, and Rin nodded. He took in a breath and exhaled slowly. The light seemed suddenly odd, as though shining through a layer of water; diffuse and shifted blue. The mundanes were purposefully left out of this new existence. Tokiomi stepped back, and allowed his daughter to take centre stage. Rin unclipped the case, and removed the object within.

It was a sword sheath, ever so slightly longer than four feet, and ever so slightly wider than four inches. No artisan living could have possibly replicated the beauty of the sheath, its curlicues in glittering gold and blue enamel. It felt vaguely unreal in Rin’s hands, as though it wasn’t wholly there. As if it had been dragged from another age. Something ever distant.

There were murmurs from her audience.

Rin blocked them out, and instead focussed upon what really mattered. She focussed upon the universe and saw it dwindle to insignificance. Everything so vast and wondrous about the universe was a trifle, a mote in God’s eye. All that humans had known or would know, all that they had seen – nothing. This was greatness that defied description: the root of all things, Akasha. What Rin and all magi believed to be their birthright; it was this secret knowledge of existence that left them so separate from mundane humanity. Her name would be written there, she knew, wreathed in glories uncounted. It would be hers. All she needed was the means, and it was there on her left hand.

The three concentric crescents of her Command Seals, her proof of contract with the Throne of Heroes, some lesser mechanism of greater reality. Clasping the sheath in her hand, the Seals blazed, leaking motes of power in a growing windstorm. All she needed was to confirm the elements of her contract with the Throne, and it would grant her the weapon she needed. Blood leaking from her nose in a lazy rivulet, Rin spoke to it, and it replied.

It was as though a mountainous fist had smote the earth, knocking the unprepared from their feet, driving endless cracks into the structure of the monastery and crushing out a crater with its lip grazing Rin’s toes. Tokiomi was vomiting blood as he attempted to keep his barrier in place, friends and relatives coming to his aid. Rin ignored them and instead focussed upon her demand. The earth was boiling, shattering, the monastery crumbling around her as though it was made from straw. Masonry flew in a vortex, as unnatural light bleed through crack in the skein of existence. There was a shape there, growing, coming closer. Rin held out her hand as the Seals seemed to sink through her flesh. The pain was a buzz in the back of her head, meaningless.

A human form stepped forward, crackling with actinic arcs of lightning that crashed into the ground and threw up plumes of pulverised earth and molten stone some three metres tall. The tatters it had emerged from were knitting themselves back together, and Rin gestured for her father to release his barrier. The flattened monastery and riven earth seemed to merge with the image of a monastery still standing and an earth untouched by violence. The being’s armoured boots, glowing the orange of a sunset, sunk into the white pebbles, before turning her attention on Rin. The young mage was positively giddy; the creature before her was indistinguishable from a human woman, excepting of course the fact that no human could comfortably massage their neck with red-hot armoured fingers. Her stance reminded Rin of a lion, languid and proud and masterful, her features at once delicate yet carved from ice. This, Rin realised, was what it was like to bear witness to a true king.

The kingly phantasm took a step forward, her armour cooling to a pearlescent white. Her quick, emerald eyes took in both Rin’s bleeding left hand and the sheathed gripped in her white. She approached, footsteps crushed into the stone garden, and dropped to one knee. Reaching out, she took the bloody mess of Rin’s hand in armoured fingers.

“I ask you,” she began, her voice soft yet powerful enough to drive thousands before her like cattle. “Are you my Master?”

Woah... this is very nice. A retelling of Fate/Stay Night, but with significant differences. I'm assuming Rin is going to be the main character in this fanfic, instead of Shirō, correct? It certainly seems that way, since she's the one who summoned Saber... hrm. Either way, it's quite nice so far. I want to ask questions, but I don't like spoilers, so I'll simply say "excellent work, and I can't wait to see more".

A good start. Some questions, though. Was the summoning of a Servant portrayed like this in any of the 'Fate/stay night' media, or did you use your imagination to fill in a blank? Is Justin still the protagonist, or did you change your mind and decide to use Rin instead? And what kind of Grail is used in this story? One containing the evil of Angra Mainyu, as described in the first game and the anime? One containing a hapless Avenger, as described in 'Fate/hollow ataraxia'? One that matches its description in Christian legends?

And is Rin going to transform into a magical girl, as she does in 'Fate/hollow ataraxia'?

Oh hey, I thought I hadn't posted this here yet. Oops.

SilverWingedSeraph wrote:Woah... this is very nice. A retelling of Fate/Stay Night, but with significant differences.

Very significant - it takes place in 2052.

I'm assuming Rin is going to be the main character in this fanfic, instead of Shirō, correct? It certainly seems that way, since she's the one who summoned Saber... hrm.

Is Justin still the protagonist, or did you change your mind and decide to use Rin instead?

To answer both these questions at once, Rin is not the central protagonist. However, like the original visual novel, she is the central protagonist of the prologue.

Either way, it's quite nice so far. I want to ask questions, but I don't like spoilers, so I'll simply say "excellent work, and I can't wait to see more".

Feel free to ask questions (I love them) and I'll avoid spoilers. Thanks for the compliment, and for reading.

Was the summoning of a Servant portrayed like this in any of the 'Fate/stay night' media, or did you use your imagination to fill in a blank?

Not really. When Rins summons Archer in the source he does put a hole in her roof, and they tend to mess up the rooms they appear in, but their entrnces are never quite as destructive as these (levelling a large monastery, in this case, though you might recall Virginie's summoning in the original FAS, which was even more dramatic).

And what kind of Grail is used in this story? One containing the evil of Angra Mainyu, as described in the first game and the anime? One containing a hapless Avenger, as described in 'Fate/hollow ataraxia'? One that matches its description in Christian legends?

The Grand Holy Grail is still a little mysterious, though if I were to compare it to others, it would be closest to the original, uncorrupted Fuyuki Grail, which appears in Fate/Zero. However, the true nature of the Grand Holy Grail must remain secret.

And is Rin going to transform into a magical girl, as she does in 'Fate/hollow ataraxia'?

While I always liked thei mage of Kaleido Ruby kicking the crap out of Justin, I don't think she will.

Ford Prefect wrote:Very significant - it takes place in 2052.

2052, you say? Oh-hoh! This should be very interesting!

Feel free to ask questions (I love them) and I'll avoid spoilers. Thanks for the compliment, and for reading.

Okay... uh... damn, need to avoid asking questions that will be too spoilerish, though... hrm. I suppose what I'd like to know the most is if Shirō and/or Archer will make appearances. Also, if Sakura will be in the story, and whether or not her relationship with Rin will be the same...

Anyway, I really like this so far, and am eagerly looking forward to more.

SilverWingedSeraph wrote: 2052, you say? Oh-hoh! This should be very interesting!

The first chapter takes place almost entirely in space.

I suppose what I'd like to know the most is if Shirō and/or Archer will make appearances.

Shirō is a non-existence.

Also, if Sakura will be in the story, and whether or not her relationship with Rin will be the same...

Sakura is sort of present, but she has no real connection to Rin.

Ford Prefect wrote:

Also, if Sakura will be in the story, and whether or not her relationship with Rin will be the same...

Sakura is sort of present, but she has no real connection to Rin.

So Sakura and Virginie are completely different characters? (I thought they were when I read the original version of Fate-Another Score, considering the Wikipedia article on her states that she's Rin's younger sister, whose father gave her up for adoption because he didn't want to divide his attention by training both girls in the use of magic.

By the way, does Virginie's brother sexually abuse her, the way Sakura's does in the original game?

Sidewinder wrote: So Sakura and Virginie are completely different characters? (I thought they were when I read the original version of Fate-Another Score, considering the Wikipedia article on her states that she's Rin's younger sister, whose father gave her up for adoption because he didn't want to divide his attention by training both girls in the use of magic.

Tokiomi's motivations for giving up Sakura aside (which are revealed in Fate/Zero volume 3), what I mean't was that Sakura is present in the form of Virginie.

By the way, does Virginie's brother sexually abuse her, the way Sakura's does in the original game?

Nathan Holland is not quite Shinji Matō in that regard, at least.

Notes - Oh god my French! Admittedly, this French was provided to me by a French person, so it might be okay. Might. This chapter flowed pretty well except for one part later on in the chapter. Hopefully it came out alright. I'm still working out how far to take it.

Also, this 20XX is not necessarily the same 20XX that appeared in the prologue. Just sayin'.


FATE-ANOTHER SCORE

ACT ONE
Human, All Too Human

Chapter One


May 17, AD 20XX


Roughly thirty five thousand kilometres above the surface of the earth, Justin Sturgeon was attempting to learn the art of drinking champagne through a membrane glass. Pretty much everyone else in the room had fathomed out the trick of demurely sipping away despite the bloody elastic obstruction. Even Emily could do it, and his sister was half his age. She floated by, sipping juice, and waved. Justin affected a brotherly smile, returned the gesture, before going back to attacking the glass with his teeth.

It wasn’t even glass. It was plastic. Yeah, yeah, broken glass is more dangerous when it floats around the room. Whatever. “Justin, what are you doing?” Why couldn’t they have done something more intuitive with this? Why not a hole in the top? That would work from everyone. “For Christ’s sake Justin, stop that! There’s a reporter coming.”

Justin looked ‘up’ and saw his girlfriend approaching. She rotated and her high heels clicked, and she began to bounce backwards. Justin snagged her by the arm and brought her firmly onto the platform. “Merci. Now, please, please, please do not make us look stupid.” She smiled radiantly as the reporter and his fan-driven camera drifted towards them. He hit the edge feet first, anchored himself and claps his hands together. The camera whirred, barely audible above the general murmur of the room, until it had taken up a position with both teenagers in its lens.

“Hey kids. How do you like it up here?” he said, grinning broadly. Justin gestured with his plastic flute, holding it by the stem.

“I still cannot drink out of these things.” The urge to look at the camera was strong, but he tried to remember the various lectures his mother had given him about talking to reporters. He fixed his gaze on the paparazzi and gave what he hoped was a ‘winning smile’.

“And how are you, Thérèse?” the man said, shifting attention faster than a frog leaving red-hot tin. The camera drone pointedly refocussed on her. “I understand this is the first time you’ve been to space.”

“It is, and it’s wonderful.” Thérèse gushed, and Justin wondered just how long she had to rehearse for it. She reeled off something positive in French. “It really is fantastic to be so far above the earth. And being in freefall!” Justin suppressed an urge to snort. It might have been charming for the voting public, but Christ did it sound insipid.

The reporter changed tact. “And how do you feel being so closely related to what people are already calling the incumbent president?”

“Well, General Sturgeon hasn’t won the election.” She winked a sapphire blue eye conspiratorially. “Yet.”

“But what about the naysayers? The ones who say your relationship is dangerous?” Only severe conditioning stopped Justin’s eyes from rolling right out of his head. “After all, some think that such a close relationship between the son of a powerful presidential candidate and the heiress to one of the largest banking firms in the EU is a match made in power monger heaven.”

“Are you serious?” Justin rubbed his forehead. “Do people really say stuff like that?”

Before he could continue on that track, a sharp heel almost ran his foot through. “Some people will say anything.” Thérèse said diplomatically as Justin fought off the urge to groan. “There’s nothing nefarious here. Just a boy and a girl.” She stealthily twisted her ankle. Justin smiled. It was almost charming. After tilting his head and quirking his mouth, the reporter thanked them and bounded off somewhere ‘below’ the platform. After a few seconds Thérèse snatched Justin’s drink and drained it. “Bastard.” She spat, letting go of the glass and leaving it pinwheeling. “I shouldn’t be surprised, but, but … nique ta mère!”

Justin rubbed her cheek, and she frowned. As he put his arms around her shoulders, Justin could just about hear the click click click of busy cameras. His eyes fell upon his father’s back. He was in the process of brushing his fingers through his shoulder length hair and beaming like a goddamn lighthouse. General Matthias Sturgeon, the shoe-in president. His rival, the currently in power President Hayes, had invited the Sturgeons to the celebration of the fully completed orbital elevator, and subsequently regretted the move. There wasn’t a star in the sky that could outshine Matthias Sturgeon when it came to the public eye.

Even so, it seemed fairly obvious that something was troubling his father. Between the booming laughs and the big, toothy smiles, he kept turning to the panoramic vista of the earth below, squeezing a palm with his thumb. Justin could tell his mother knew as well; Belle Sturgeon could tell instantly when Justin was telling a lie, and while she was the better liar by far, she couldn’t hide everything.

Thérèse drew circles on Justin’s chest with the tip of one finger. “You know, I’ve never been to space before.” She said, her sapphire blue eyes looking up at him through her golden fringe. “Why don’t we get away? I have this room key for a floor down. It’s in freefall.”

She was biting a fingernail, as a sort of added indicator. As if Justin needed it: Thérèse had a voice that could make a complaint about toast seem irresistibly sexy. They were diving off the tethered platform in seconds.

Watching his son leave, Matthias Sturgeon turned his attention back to the enormous window, such a fine piece of work that the hundreds of metres-thick panels blended into a seamless whole. You could almost forget that it was there, if you weren’t concentrating. General Sturgeon was concentrating on the world. The Earth, star-speckled and dark. From the elevator, he felt as though he could almost see his men, hidden in the night. How much of an international incident would this be? How badly would it potentially harm the EU? Shaking his head, he glanced pointedly at his aide. The young woman, her face prematurely aged by stress lines, made a call.

*

“Alright gents,” said a cheerful voice, as its owner stubbed out the glowing stub of a cigar. It was loud enough to rise above the high pitched whine of the aerodyne. “Let’s get a move on. In, out, nice and smooth. Don’t want the MEC to realise we’re playing in its backyard, do we?”

As one, a half dozen men in black masked themselves and unlimbered no-nonsense automatic weapons. The drone of the engines dropped to a whisper as the aerodyne and its cargo coasted towards the small town. With a jolt, it came to a halt, disgorging the team, who took off at a jog. With unerring precision, they surrounded an outlying home, all dusty stone, crouched in wait. Seconds trickled by. The lights went out, all snuffed at once. There were thumps, crashes and hisses of ‘clear’ through radios. Boots clattered up stairs; Hopkins and Michaels, their vision monochrome through low-light enhancement, halted for a moment, then began the task of searching the upper floor.

“Did you hear that?” Michaels said suddenly.

“What?” Hopkins said distractedly, tapping at his goggles. The picture was bending whenever he turned his head. Everything was twisting out of focus.

“That humming noise.” Michaels explained, pointing to his ear. “Coming through the comm., don’t tell me you can’t hear it.”

Hopkins stopped breathing for a moment. He could hear it. It was like the buzz you got from canister rounds as thousands upon thousands of flechettes scythed through the air at hypersonic speeds. And it was getting louder. Boring into his ears like an infernal drill, like glass splintering in his brain. He clawed at his helmet, ripped it clear and tore out his ear piece. Michaels had done the same. The little radio was starting to smoulder.

“What in the Christ?” Hopkins said, staring at the fizzling earbug on his glove. He touched the microphone taped to his throat. Maybe it still worked – it wasn’t hot. “Captain, there’s something wrong with our comm. Beads. I don’t know if you can hear us, but we can’t hear you. We’re coming down.” He turned towards the stairs, and found himself staring at bare wall. He rotated fully, in case he’d managed to forget, but all he could see was dark hall, dust hanging in the stagnant air. “Oh what the fuck.”

Rifles went up, torches on. Michaels wheeled around, so that the two operators were back to back. He squinted – there was a light up ahead. “Go.” He whispered, and Hopkins broke into a run. Turning, Michaels covered his back, and saw that a light was approaching. When he aimed at it, however, his rifle refused to arm. The soldier blinked: what in the Hell was wrong with their equipment suddenly? He drew his sidearm, hoping that it would prime, but like the assault weapon, it flat out refused.

“Oh what the fuck!” Hopkins repeated, more angrily, lowering his aim. Michaels blinked several times. How did Hopkins get behind him? He ran off in the opposite direction.

Fear began to trickle down Michael’s spine, and he immediately got up from his crouch and went back to back with his mate once more. “What do we do?” he asked, his hands shaking on the grip of his rifle. Reaching down, he picked up a helmet and awkwardly put it in place with one hand. He switched off the visual filters.

After doing the same, Hopkins glanced up and down the hall. “I guess we start opening doors.”

*

With Thérèse trailing behind him, Justin skipped down the hall, like a stone across the surface of a lake. The walls of every corridor were lined with discretely placed hand-conveyers that could have dragged them along like luggage, but Justin wanted to impress. As they reached an intersection, Thérèse said that the room was left, and Justin sprang to the right, hit a far corner feet first and pushed towards the appropriate direction. He tugged at her as they drifted, drawing Thérèse close enough so that they could kiss. As she bit down on Justin’s bottom lip, her hand shot out to seize a grab-bar, and they swung into the door, which handily sensed the proximity of its key and admitted them.

They eventually hit the ground, bleeding momentum into the floor. The room, much like space itself, was soundless. Even the hum of the lights was below the threshold of human hearing. The young couple filled it with noise, the moist, persistent sound of kissing, as Thérèse began to effortlessly undo the buttons of Justin’s dress shirt. She pushed it from his shoulders, and let her hands linger upon his chest. On earth, her weight would have rested entirely upon Justin’s body, but here, even the swell of her breasts barely touched him. In truth, she was very gently drifting away, and when Justin moved his own hands, Thérèse thrust hers against his hard chest. There was such freedom here, much like there had been when she first entered a pool. Had she come to space as a little girl, Thérèse had no doubt that she would have chosen to be an astronaut, much as she had chosen to be a swimmer. Her backside hit a wall, and she watched Justin reach out and thump the floor before he had drifted out of reach. He went straight up.

Thérèse put a hand over her mouth and giggled. Justin was sitting on the ceiling, calmly removing his shiny black shoes and the grey socks with the holes in them. He sat still for a moment, his chest rising and falling visibly. The stylised tiger inked into his left shoulder undulated as he rolled his arm. Thérèse brushed her shoulder length hair back out of her face, at which point Justin uncoiled. He hit the floor feet first and pushed again, this time straight at her. Squealing, Thérèse scrambled and kicked against the wall; sinewy arms encircled her and drew tight. The room went into a delirious spin as she struggled to free herself, laughing as she tried to pry his hands away. Bed, lamp, floor, closet, ceiling, window.

Window.

Earth.

Her giggling stopped, as she stared at the world, her world. Through the vast whorls and twists of cloud, she could see civilisation presented to her. Humanity shone through the night, their cities like seas of light against continents and oceans. Thérèse stared, turning herself in Justin’s arms to stay focussed upon the Earth. She was holding her breath, and Justin took the opportunity to start peeling away her dress.

Justin felt feet upon his chest and he blinked, twice. He was frequently impressed by Thérèse’s legs; they were long, they were shapely. More to the point, they were very strong. As they were thrust apart, Justin flourished the dress in a poor imitation of a matador and grinned. She glanced down at herself, and the strapless, lacy bra embroidered with a multitude of tiny red flowers, then crooked her finger at Justin. “Try and catch me, chéri.”

*

He could feel the solar wind.

It caressed his face, his shoulders. An ethereal touch, present but not, like morning mist. He was standing upon the edge of the world, toes poised above infinity. The final frontier. Quiet and empty and vast, yet so crowded and loud and ultimately so very small. Stars wheeled away above him and below him and around him in their billions, living and dying and being born again. And further, there were more galaxies, with their own breathing and gasping stars, that span space and time in their billions. The universe, like a sprawling, intricate, cosmic mandala. The universe.

Yet all that mattered was the here and the now and the boy. He caressed his knuckles, frowning. Yeah, it’s not a good thing to do, but that’s the only way you’re going to save this sucker. He’s doomed. He pushed hard against the tower, and sailed off into the night.

He could feel the solar wind.

*

“Oh sweet Jesus no!” screamed a voice, and the pilot of the black ops aerodyne froze, her thermos halfway to her lips. “Oh fucking no!” There was an awfully wet sound matched with a dry crunching. There was a silence for a handful of seconds, filled with something low and quiet and sounding like teeth on meat, then a wordless screech, drowned out by a cacophony of gunshots. The pilot turned her head to look at her associate. His face looked as though it was made from papyrus; sweat trickled down from beneath his helmet. There was silence on the radio.

Why had they only heard through the radio? They weren’t close, but close enough to hear rifle fire. Her hand wavering, the pilot gently shifted a switch. “Captain Banks.” She swallowed. “Captain Banks. Do you-”

There was another series of gunshots, successive bursts, punctuated by a thunderclap. High explosive. Banks’ voice cut through the sudden, oppressive silence. “Reload you bastards! Jones, did you see it? Did we kill it?”

“I’ve never seen anything that fast before.”

“Did we kill the fucker!?”

The microphones were high gain. The crew could hear boots falling, hear the creaking of floorboards. Then a smooth sound. Smooth, moist and loud. Banks cried out as though in pain, and his voice was drowned out by the fire of twin rifles. It stopped suddenly, and the captain was shouting. “You won’t take me without a fight! Not like Jones, not like Harry!” Boom, boom, boom went his handgun. Crunch, crunch, crunch went some part of his body. “Not! Without! A fight!” there was a whine of blade against air, and a laboured creaking. Captain Banks was gurgling, growling. Snap. Static. Dead.

Very slowly, the pilot screwed the lid onto her thermos. Her hand quivered above a switch. She found herself realising that this was the last. Her voice was a whisper. “Sergeant Hopkins?”

Hopkins was still breathing. As he gasped, the pilot could hear something else. Something else breathing. She could hear Hopkins blubber, hear the priming of his sidearm. It exploded in their headphones. As the ringing faded, they heard a very small voice, as distant as the moon. Hopkins’ voice. He was pleading. “No, oh God, no. Please … don’t.”

Then the screaming started, and it just wouldn’t stop.

*

Arthur C. Clarke once said that ‘Weightlessness will bring new forms of erotica. About time, too.’ As Thérèse clung to Justin’s shoulders, his lips on her throat and a hand attached firmly to one of her full breasts, she marvelled at how true this was. Long since naked, they were seemingly anchored in midair, and to each other. The room continued to turn about them, a gentle whirl that went unnoticed. Though they were drifting, they could otherwise push and pull at each other at will, their centres of gravity now mutual. Thérèse could feel him, hard and insistent, and she eased Justin into her, legs locking about his waist. Cupping Justin’s face in one hand, she exulted in the tightness, whispering into his ear. Something soft, meaningless and sweet.

It was gentle, at least at first. That sensation, the slow plunge into her warm depths, cascaded through Thérèse, radiating from between her thighs, up the length of her toned belly to squeeze at the pleasure centres of her brain. Soft moans became increasingly animalistic, matched by faster and faster thrusts. Justin’s grip on her body became tighter. She was panting in the heat, so drenched in her own sweat that it was like she’d stepped out of the bath; with no gravity to drain them away, all their various fluids hung around them like a moist blanket. Her hands slipped against his slick shoulders, and she dug her nails in to keep her grip. Just to her left, her bra turned end over end. They were orbited by discarded clothing.

Grasping at the back of Justin’s head, Thérèse arched herself involuntarily, crying out. Still bucking against him, she tried to suck in lungfuls of air. “Oh, wow.” She laughed as Justin’s boxers floated buy, furling and expanding like some weirdly shaped satin jellyfish. “This is so, so,” the world floated back into view, silencing her. Her voice was suddenly very small, her lips against his ear. “Beautiful. Tu es merveilleux. Je t’aime, Justin.”

“Je t'aime, ma petite minette sexy.” He said through a toothy grin. Thérèse stuck out her tongue, and flicked him between the eyes.

“Not only is that awful, your pronunciation is still craaaaaaaap!” she thumped him square on the top of his head. “Don’t do that while I’m taaaaaalking!” they rolled, as though Thérèse was trying to pin him down; a difficult task when there really wasn’t a down as such. Even the room didn’t conform to traditional views of which way up was up, let alone the elevator itself. Regardless, Thérèse managed to force Justin into a fair imitation of what it would look like if she was straddling him, albeit if she was straddling him in mid-air.

Fingers digging into his chest, Thérèse ran her pink tongue across her full lips, wiggling her hips. Justin’s hands drifted up her sides, tracing the inward sweep of her waist. He covered her breasts, attacking the pale brown nipples with his thumbs. Growling, Thérèse bent down to seize his bottom lip between her straight, white teeth. Fingernails dragged across skin; Justin grabbed on to Thérèse’s firm backside, while her fingers tried to scrape his shoulder blades. Moans gave way to screams, her teeth clamping into the flesh of Justin’s shoulder. Her body heaved along the length of his shaft, sweating not merely running in rivulets but instead misting from her body.

She could see the world below, so huge and far away. She wanted to reach out and touch it, and as her entire body went taut and it felt as though she would snap, a mote of light touched her retinas. It was small and short-lived, but it was bright. She shied away, her toes curling; an aurora played across the upper atmosphere in sheets of green and red. Justin had stopped moving. “Did you feel that?” he asked, shaking his head. He glanced behind him, out the window, as the strobe dulled rapidly to nothing. A calm voice started to speak out of discretely hidden speakers. A panel in one wall slid open, vomiting out a rack hung with a series of one-piece suits and helmets.

“Guests are asked to please don emergency pressure suits as a precaution.” Said the female voice, the tone suggesting that this was a fairly benign suggestion, as opposed to an order to save lives in the event of depressurisation. “And to please follow the emergency floor lights. If you are having trouble, do not hesitate to ask for help over the internal network – a crewmember will be dispatched to you as soon as possible.”

Justin pushed Thérèse towards the bed, which she grabbed a hold of. “What’s going on?” she asked, as Justin hit the floor next to her, grabbed her and jumped towards the spacesuit rack. As he made her hold onto the cold metal frame and started to thrust himself into one of the suits, Thérèse kept staring out towards space. “Was that an explosion? Justin, was that an explosion?” she stared at his face through the fishbowl of his helmet, as he forced her arms and legs into the suit. He shrugged with his eyebrows. He sealed Thérèse in, touched a control, and the somewhat too loose suit tightened around her. As she opened her mouth to speak, the glass sphere of her helmet cut her off, and snapped into place. There was a crackle, and Justin spoke to her through the suit radio. Her breathing was suddenly very loud.

“If I had to hazard a guess, I’d say that was an explosion.” He sounded non-committal. “In any case, we should at least accept the possibility that something just exploded. Just in case.”

“In case of what?”

“In case this places blows up next, you know?” he said, going over her body, checking under the arms and behind the knees and between her thighs. Seemingly satisfied, he began to drag her towards the door.

“Justin, I’m getting kind of bewildered here.” Thérèse managed, as they emerged into the hallway. Men in black suits and tinted helmets came around the corner. Thérèse blinked – she didn’t know the Secret Service had their own style of spacesuit. “Can we just stop for a moment, I need to, I need to, I need to …” her breath shook in her throat, and Justin took one of her hands in his. She couldn’t really feel it, but when he squeezed, her heart started towards settling down and not trying to push its way out of her chest. The Secret Service men (probably – you couldn’t actually tell what gender they were, but the Secret Service tended to be uniformly male), seized the two teenagers and then retreated. Thérèse had been impressed by Justin’s manoeuvring in the weightlessness of the elevator’s corridors, but these two faceless men proved he was an amateur.

They were lead through dizzying hallway after dizzying hallway, up lifts and escalators. Men, women and children teemed in their dozens and hundreds, all uniform in their bright orange survival suits. EU Spacy officials in their black, white and gold were directing them like sheep, using men with guns as indicators that the civilians should be heading in other directions. Fan driven robots floated in open spaces, watching with unblinking camera eyes and electronic prerogatives to protect and serve. Justin and Thérèse were taken further and further up, towards the highest floors of the orbital elevator’s counterweight station.

“If they’re evacuating us,” Thérèse began, her head turning restlessly, her feet twitching above the ground. “Shouldn’t they take us down? To the train?” she looked up at the monolithic Secret Service agent, who was holding her off the floor. “I mean, what’s up?”

“The space planes.” Justin said aloud. And the torchships. He reminded himself. The counterweight was so vast that it could accommodate even the largest of armed spacecraft in squadrons. You couldn’t hide in space, but you could certainly put enough nuclear weapons between you and any potential assassins that new careers started looking extremely palpable.

The steel doors concertinaed apart and left Justin and Thérèse staring out into space. Hanging from gantries and frames constructed from elephantine ribs of steel were all manner of vacuum craft. From the orbital interceptors with their cavernous thrust nozzles and the sleekest single-stage-to-orbit (and back again) spaceplanes all the way up to the EU’s most massive capital torchships. He’d seen them before, but even so Justin could not help but stare at their hulls like black spears, flanged with endless arrays of metallic brambles. He stared incredulously at the raw power they contained; the ships were mostly fuel and fusion drive capable of generating hundreds of billions of watts at will. Justin had been interested in spaceships when he still found it difficult to stand up for longer than four seconds, yet every single time he saw a space warship, he was boggled.

There was only one appropriate emotion for staring at a nuclear armed space-going death machine the size of a smallish skyscraper: awe. When Emily bumped her helmeted head into his, all she managed to do was break his line of sight. She pushed her helmet against Justin’s and grinned broadly at him; he grabbed on to her arm and did not plan to let go. After a moment, she squirmed, but he was resolute. “You’re not going anywhere, kiddo.”

“Aww, don’t be like that.” She said, sticking out her tongue. “Everybody else is uptight. I don’t need you to do it too.”

“Listen to your brother, Emily.” Their mother said from another corner of the little waiting room. She was rapidly drumming her fingers against one wrist, and barely blinked. Using one of the secret service goons as a stable launching pad, Justin straightened his legs and pulled both his sister and his girlfriend towards Belle Sturgeon. She clearly wanted to chew on her fingernails, a habit she could never kick and which cost her hundreds of euro a month to combat. Wrapping her arms around Emily, Belle pulled her into an awkward embrace.

“Where’s Da-” Justin began, before he spotted his father standing in an EU Spacy suit, angrily arguing with someone invisible. Technically it would have been possible to work out what he was saying by reading his lips and face, except that Justin lacked the necessary skill. Suffice to say, his father was angry. He turned back towards his mother. “Do you know what exploded?” suddenly it seemed as though more than one set of eyes was hooked on him. Paranoia, of course, but talking about the odd explosion didn’t just induce them. Belle shook her head, her lips pursed. Justin managed to grab a hold of Thérèse, and switched to contact radio. “You okay?”

She was staring out into the space-dock. “I have just realised that I am not wearing any underwear beneath this suit.” She watched as suited men and women careened outside the window, driven by timed bursts of compressed air. “This could be problematic.”

Justin took a moment to picture the scene. Click click click. There was always at least one camera floating around, just waiting to pick up on you doing anything newsworthy. Admittedly, no matter how good she looked, Thérèse turning up naked should never have been important enough to put on the public channels of the Infocosm. Then again, Justin was a celebrity, which in itself was some sort of crime.

“We’ll be fine.” Justin said, nodding sagely. However, his mind kept on playing out the sort of death brought on by space-based weapons; nuclear warheads would be instantaneous, of course, but beam weapons at the right frequencies to produce pair production would kill him over the course of hours and make his corpse radioactive for decades. Unless they were lasers of the more typical high-energy pulsed mode-locked kind, which would probably spill their bodies into a decaying orbit around the earth, eventually dragging them into hellish spiral of cleansing fire and assuming he somehow survived the curtains of hotter-than-the-sun plasma he would still have to survive an impact with a planet at terminal velocity. “We’ll be fine.” Justin repeated.

He couldn’t seem to blink.

Before long they were being hustled through a nondescript white tunnel and pushed into comfortable seats, their contours altering to better fit their new occupants and the rather irregular shapes of the pressure suits. Justin strapped himself in and clumsily laced his fingers in Thérèse’s. The seats were incredibly comfortable, but he fidgeted. “You alright son?” his father asked, and Justin jerked his head around. General Sturgeon was half bent, half hanging over him. The creases in his face seemed deeper. Craggier.

Justin nodded, and Matthias wrapped his knuckles across the helmet, before pulling himself over to speak face-to-face with Thérèse. After squeezing her hand, he pushed himself out of the alcove and Justin snagged him by the upper arm. On the private contact band, he asked him the question which had been pushing incessantly at his teeth. “Dad, what in the hell is going on?”

There was a moment where it seemed like Matthias eyes had slid entirely out of focus. Justin’s eyebrows came together as his father shook his head. “The Russians have just lost one of their habitats.” Justin nodded slowly; the Russian Federation had almost as many orbital habitats as the EU. Optimists called them the first stages in a glorius ‘glitter band’ that would ring the earth. A bracelet of manmade worlds like a captured halo of stars. Justin wanted to rub his eyes.

“Which one?”

“Priroda.” Matthias said, after a moment, his eyes hollow.

The general moved up a row to comfort his wife, and Justin’s hand tightened; both on the armrest of his cushioned seat, and on his girlfriend’s hand. He knew the name Priroda, much like most children in the first world did. That was the name the Russians had given to the first of their Island One habitats; Bernal spheres some five hundred metres in diameter. Not very large compared to the mile wide Stanford tori, of course, but the difference in scale was irrelevant, when you remembered that just over eleven thousand people lived on Priroda. And now were all dead.

Seems very interesting, so far. If not for the prologue and the title, I'd have no idea it was even related to Fate/Stay Night, but that's good. Taking bits of an idea and telling your own story with them is always interesting. The writing is excellent, though there are so minor mistakes here and there. The pacing in some places felt slightly off, too, but I can't exactly tell why, so it's probably nothing worth worrying about.

All in all, it's excellent work, and I am eagerly anticipating the next chapter.

Also, I thought I'd share with you that this story has inspired me to begin work on an idea for a Tsukihime fanfic that I had been pondering for a while.

SilverWingedSeraph wrote:Seems very interesting, so far. If not for the prologue and the title, I'd have no idea it was even related to Fate/Stay Night, but that's good. Taking bits of an idea and telling your own story with them is always interesting.

All in all, it's excellent work, and I am eagerly anticipating the next chapter.

Excellent! Thanks very much for reading.

The writing is excellent, though there are so minor mistakes here and there. The pacing in some places felt slightly off, too, but I can't exactly tell why, so it's probably nothing worth worrying about.

I should really proof my stuff some more. I always seem to be impatient to post my stuff when it gets finished, and I pay int he long run.

Also, I thought I'd share with you that this story has inspired me to begin work on an idea for a Tsukihime fanfic that I had been pondering for a while.

Kickin' rad; I'd certainly like to see what you plan to do with it. I don't know enough about Tsukihime or Kara no Kyoukai (yet) to touch them myself, but rest assured that all their analogues exist in the FAS world. But yes, keep hard at work and post your stuff! I'll read it.

That was QUITE a change from the original version of the story. Now I'm wondering whether Therese will survive, or if she'll die and add to Justin's angst. (Are you planning to make Rin and Justin a couple?)

From the destruction of the Russian habitat, may I assume Saber and her peers can survive in space, i.e., they don't need oxygen and their bodies won't be fried by the intense radiation?

Sidewinder wrote:That was QUITE a change from the original version of the story. Now I'm wondering whether Therese will survive, or if she'll die and add to Justin's angst.

I'd like to think that I have the guts to kill anyone at any point in this story.

(Are you planning to make Rin and Justin a couple?)

Nope. Justin is totally not Rin's type, in the sense that Justin is a man.

From the destruction of the Russian habitat, may I assume Saber and her peers can survive in space, i.e., they don't need oxygen and their bodies won't be fried by the intense radiation?

Servants have no actual biological functions as such, being elemental forces. The lack of oxygen or presence of radiation holds no fear for them. Short of another Servant (or something like an Ancestor of Dead Apostles, a Shinso or true magician), they fear nothing.

Though I have no chapter, I did put together some 'character material'. I have decided that each chapter shall come with one of these, detailing specific information that I otherwise don't need to put into the narrative.

Justin Sturgeon

Title: ‘The Iron Chancellor’
Nationality: European Union; Nouvelle Genevois
Gender: Male
‘Species’: Mage
Date of birth: 23rd November, 2034
Occupation: Generic shōnen action protagonist
Height: 185cm/6’2”
Weight: 84.6kg/185.5lb
Eye colour: Bluey-grey
Hair colour: Mud brown
Distinguishing features: Tiger tattoo on left shoulder, artificially Roman nose
Major relationships: Thérèse Dechense (fiancée*), Matthias Sturgeon (father), Belle Sturgeon (Mother), Emily Sturgeon (sister)
Likes: Thérèse, spicy food, fighting (particularly boxing)
Dislikes: The media, sour drinks, politics
Favourite 80s action film: Predator
Favourite person: Al Pacino (especially in Carlito’s Way)
Cocktail: Black Velvet (half Guinness, half champagne)
Animal anima: Tiger

Little known secret: The knuckle of Justin’s right index finger contains a carefully crafted shard of the Black Rock from the Grand Mosque in Mecca. The shard was recovered during the social upheavals in Saudi Arabia, during the Middle Eastern Combine’s rise to power, during which the Black Rock was destroyed. Like the other pieces, it has the entirety of the Qur’ān lasered into its surface. Justin received it from a family he met during a trip to the MEC with his father when he was seventeen, and had it surgically implanted upon his return. Though not a practicing Muslim, Justin does not eat pork, will not drink till intoxicated, fasts during Ramadan and donates a significant portion of his personal wealth to a variety of charities. The spiral shard, which is vaguely visible when Justin clenches his hand into a fist, essentially marks Justin as a member of the Nation of Islam. Only Thérèse and his boxing instructor Sullivan Fraiser (who is a practising Muslim), know that he has it – apart from the doctor who implanted it.


*Though not actually engaged to be married, they might as well be.

The knuckle of Justin’s right index finger contains a carefully crafted shard of the Black Rock from the Grand Mosque in Mecca.

Is this detail important to the story? Does the rock grant him magical powers or enhance the powers he already has? Is the Nation of Islam a powerful secret society that will aid Justin at some point in the story? If my guess regarding the magical powers is true, then Justin has been aware of the Holy Grail Wars and was also preparing to participate for some time before the beginning of the story.

Sidewinder wrote: Is this detail important to the story? Does the rock grant him magical powers or enhance the powers he already has? Is the Nation of Islam a powerful secret society that will aid Justin at some point in the story? If my guess regarding the magical powers is true, then Justin has been aware of the Holy Grail Wars and was also preparing to participate for some time before the beginning of the story.

He's not the only one who has done it; it's a moderately common practice among Muslims, assuming they can get a piece of the Black Rock (it's not very big). The reason why he does it should become clear to you if remember who Sullivan Fraiser is.

It's not plot important. It gives him no special powers, as it's just a piece of rock with the Qur'an written on it. It's just a funny character quirk Justin has.

I totally enjoyed that space bit and I really hope you can mesh up that magical stuff with the sci-fi stuff with the Muslim fist rock stuff without making it too... disorientating. Then again, this is coming from a person who likes sci-fi nukey laser stuff way more than mystical stuff.