StarDestroyer.Net BBS

There is an anime/manga/visual novel (*cough*H-game*cough*) called Fate/stay night. The premise is actually quite interesting; a bunch of magicians get together, summon up the souls of past heroes and go about causing a ruckus over the Holy Grail. I'm really quite fond of it, though I was left somewhat unsatisfied by the anime (which used what could be said to be the least interesting of story elements and made the main charater into a moron). More to the point, the War for the Holy Grail, while at times quite brutal, seemed a little much like a game. Sure, people die (the main character twice in the course of the first four episodes), but the presence of rules and a managing body sort of made it a bit tame at times.

So I started writing an alternate universe based upon it. In some ways it seems very different, when in actuality it is not. Oddly, I named it after an album containing remixed themes from the original visual novel. Go figure.

Fate-Another Score

Chapter One

The pounding of feet against the floor. It’s like some tribal drumming, thumping through his brain. Their screams for blood and violence reverberate through his ears. He’s sweating, as much from nerves as from the heat of the spotlights stabbing down from the invisible roof. Every step is difficult, because it is a step towards pain and humiliation. His robe feels like a terrible weight, trying to drag him down to the floor, and in some ways he wishes to let it do that. In the distance, he sees his executioner; all dressed in black and white, standing arms crossed, badge of office glinting silver.

He climbs to the apex of the podium and cold hands take his robe, leaving him exposed to the baying crowd. The man in black and white flings his right hand towards him and crows “Ladies and gentleman! Measuring in at six feet and a hundred and forty three pounds … The Condemned!” The roar of the multi-headed beast that was the assembled men and women grows to a fervour point. There were no words coming from them now, just a single collective tone of bloodlust. The referee steps to the side, and he sees his opponent, all black gloves and black trunks and black hair and triumphant smirk. He raises his gloves, reassuringly red, as the black fighter takes a step forward. Black nods his head and puts his fists up. They come close enough to touch gloves; then they fight.

The first punch comes from practically nowhere, and it sets a fire beneath the crowd, much as it sets a fire in the muscles of his right arm. He bobs, weaves, and ends up outside Black’s outstretched arm. He throws his own blows, sharp strikes that all manage to miss. He backs off, and Black strides forward.

Every punch feels like piston-driven steel. Each one becomes progressively more difficult to dodge, and practically impossible to deflect. The voice of God is roaring above the bleating of the crowd “Black has Sturgeon on the back foot! Driving him to the edge of the ring!” His fists were battered away, leaving him so very open. The first hit knocked spittle, and his mouthguard, to the floor. The return cross stained the black glove with blood. He was dazed, and the world swam before him. The crowd, the ref, the ring, all were blurred. Everything sounded muffled. The only thing clear to him was the smirk of his opponent – his real executioner. The piledriver of an uppercut lifted his feet from the canvas floor.

Justin Sturgeon shot up from the mattress, drenched in cold sweat. He kicked involuntarily and found his legs tangled in his sheets. He drew in a rattling breath and fell backwards, landing against the sweet softness of his pillow. He pushed against his eyes, and then plucked at the bridge of his nose. A bad dream. That was all – a bad dream. He didn’t even know anyone who wore all black gloves, nor was there any upcoming match to give him worry. The year had only really just begun, and so to the season. Justin looked up at the shadowed ceiling and its recessed lights, then over at his bedside table. The numbers 4:18:32 floated in soft yellow above the projector of his clock then ticked over to thirty-three seconds, and thirty-four after that. Tuesday morning.

*

This is the life of Justin Sturgeon, age seventeen and eight months. Every day, excluding Saturday and Sunday, he awakes, his clock playing whatever new music he has in his playlist. He stumbles into the shower, washes, forces his hair neat and dresses for school. When he's pleased with his appearance, he will descend a floor for breakfast, finding his little sister chewing on some visibly sugary cereal of unnatural colour while intently watching equally vibrant cartoons on the flatscreen closest to the breakfast bar. Often, his mother will be standing in the kitchen, all perfect hair and flawless make-up, slicing a grapefruit into quarters, or whatever she's doing for breakfast. Justin will drop slices of bread into the toaster, wait a few minutes, and catch the pieces as they shoot out.

This is the life of Justin Sturgeon, on the day when everything begins to slip away.

*

Emily Sturgeon may have been eleven and extremely annoying, but she was Justin's favourite person in the world. It wasn't something he had ever openly admitted, but his precocious little sister meant a lot to him. Often, he found, or rather did not find, that he would not admit this fact, simply because she was being an annoyance.

“So, you're going boxing this afternoon?” she asked, lapping coloured milk off her spoon.

“That I am.” Justin replied, without looking up from the newspaper he had snagged from the bench.

“Can I come along?”

Justin did look up this time, dropping his chin onto his fist “You don't like boxing.” he noted with a small smile, which quickly turned to a grimace:

“But it would be funny to see you knocked on your butt.”

A wafting call of 'Emily, language' floated from the kitchen and she giggled. Justin rolled up his newspaper and leant across the table, dealing his younger sibling a short strike to her head. She stuck out her tongue and disappeared from her chair, taking her finished bowl of cereal. Turning back to his paper, Justin read on. His father had made the front page again; sharply dressed in his white uniform and grey hair in the moving photograph. Striving towards the top of the political arena was Matthias Sturgeon: President of the European Union in fact. Popular among the populace (if his school was anything to go by at least) and in a powerful position as a general (to say nothing of the fact he was closely associated with the most powerful banker in New Geneva – Justin's girlfriend's father), it looked as though there would be a new president after this election.

It was not his father's latest interview that interested Justin however. He'd already read that the week before it was published. Rather, he was near the end of the periodical. Sports. A photo showed a wiry man thrusting his fist into a hanging bag, deforming it with each hit. Tszyu was in top form for the oncoming season, after almost being put out by a torn ligament. Third year running he would be in a position to defend the title of welterweight champion. Being a welterweight himself, that was the division he took the most interest in – even if the heavyweights got more attention. He flipped back through a few pages, and then closed the newspaper. He looked at the photo of his father giving his interview, then got to his feet.

Kissing his mother on the cheek, Justin left. He stepped into the elevator and descended down to the ground floor. The doorman tipped his hat at Justin as he passed; Justin returned the gesture with a nod.

New Geneva's morning air was fresh, coming off the English Channel like it did. Justin stood at the top of the stairs to his building for a moment, taking it all in, when a sudden horn sounded, breaking his deep breath. He looked down to the side of the road, where a white convertible sat, a girl with her head propped against the door. Justin waved feebly and jogged down to meet her. Sitting up to meet his kiss, she said: “You're late.”

“I am never late,” Justin retorted, dropping his bag in the rear seat and moving around to the left side of the car “This is the time I always get out, and you know it, Thérèse.” She playfully slapped him on the arm and brought the car to life with a hum, before pulling onto the road. He found his hair swept back off his forehead by the breeze whistling back over the windscreen, and he placed his elbow against the door, looking out over the sea. The water glimmered under the morning sun, and after a while he turned to look at Thérèse handling the car. Her hair was blonde and short, shorter than Justin’s, and her blue eyes were made black by the cherry red lenses of her glasses. He, essentially born from across the Channel, found her, a young, pretty and remarkably independent Valentinois, someone so very compelling.

She changed gears and pulled them onto the highway.

*

The ‘Lycée’ Obsidian College was an expensive looking affair. Purely from the front gate one could see that this was a successful institution. A sculpted garden, a terraced driveway and a marble fountain spitting streams of water into the air; the smoothly designed plains of black glass and shimmering steel of the main building itself. It was for the affluent, and there were a lot of them in their black uniforms, spread out across the grasses, or milling about the main entrance. Thérèse manoeuvred the coalscuttle nose of her Renault around the curved bulk of the fountain, and pulled into one of the parking spaces.

Justin swung his bag over his shoulder and linked his hand with Thérèse. They trotted up the stairs together and entered the hallowed halls of Obsidian College, those halls artistically lined with tiles. The thrum of voices filled the walls, and Thérèse checked her watch, scowling about the time. They reached a cross-point in the hallway and she turned to face Justin, raising herself up just a little bit to receive a kiss. She waved and went her own way. He watched her go and turned to move towards his own class, when a hand seized him by the shoulder.

“Justin,” said a quiet voice, and he turned around to face the speaker. A couple of inches shorter than Justin and with dark hair tipped lighter, his uniform bore the marks of a prefect. “I didn't see you yesterday. How have you been?”

“Fine Nathan. Just fine.” Justin answered with a quirk in his mouth. Nathan was ostensibly his friend; they fenced together on the school team and had done so for a while. Like with Thérèse, Justin had met Nathan through his father – Holland was the name of the chief justice, someone who Justin's father was closely associated with. Neither Justice Holland nor Nathan struck Justin as being particularly trustworthy – as though they were both hiding something. If it was true (and it likely wasn't), Justin had no idea what it could be. Nathan Holland was a high school student, if a popular one – what kinds of dark secrets could he have?

“You'll be coming to practice tomorrow?” Nathan continued conversationally as they both moved further down the hall and Justin replied he would. Nathan smiled and patted Justin on the back “You could be a good fencer you know; maybe as good as me. You're too busy being focussed on your fists.”

Justin shrugged “I can trust my fists more than an épée.” he joked and it made Nathan chuckle. Again he clapped Justin on the back, then whistled.

“Look who it is. Our resident exchange.” he gestured with a jerk of his head, causing Justin to look. Striding straight down middle of the hallway, students parting like water before the bow of a boat, was a girl. She was short by every definition; Justin towered over her by a good eight inches. Her black hair reached to her waist, and she wore black ribbons in her hair. Holding her head high, she exuded an air of ownership over everything she passed claiming the school as her own. She ignored both Justin Nathan as she passed, though the latter did attempt to catch her eye. Undeterred he waved his hands, severing the column of her followers, sending them on their way.

“Ah, Tōsaka-chan.” Nathan sighed “How strangely wonderful you are.”

Justin puffed out his cheeks “I would ask that you avoid using creepy hypocorisms in my presence Nathan. Because, you know, it's creepy.” Justin missed it, but there was a sudden twitch at the side of Nathan's face. It came and went in a flash and was quickly replaced by an amiable smile.

“I think you should head to class yourself.”

*

“Can anyone tell me what 'social control' is?”

A thinned out forest of hands went up across the class, though Justin's wasn't one of them. Tōsaka, model student that she was, had hers up high enough that she was rising from her seat. One of Justin's friends had her hand up as well; Virginie, a year younger but certainly intelligent enough to keep up with the rest of her classmates. Whatever she was, she was 'quiet', and she didn't have half the enthusiasm as their Japanese visitor. In the end the teacher pointed to her; Tōsaka slumped back into her chair but did not once show any annoyance, nor did her composure slip.

Virginie gave her answer haltingly, as if she was trying to get the concept straight “Isn't it ... isn't it the mechanism that controls behaviour, using greater sanctions and rewards?” she looked up at the teacher hopefully. He smiled, ran his fingers through his short red hair and nodded.

“Close enough to the mark,” he said, his face lining genially “Social control may also designate the processes of informal social control such as custom and formal social control such as law of deviant behaviour which falls beyond the bounds set by social norms.”

Justin nodded, and jotted down some notes. Social control; like propaganda he supposed. He printed the word down: PROPAGANDA, and put a question mark at the end. As the lecture continued, he scribbled the piece of punctuation out. As their teacher, going by Mister Scott, continued, he tried to explain the dynamics of the propaganda model of social control. Mass communication was key: “Some of us may be quite familiar with the concept.” Justin didn’t miss his hand sweeping in the general direction of a poster of Matthias Sturgeon on the far wall.

Scott adjusted his thin-lensed glasses and raised a hand, palm-up “We consider informal means of social control vital in maintaining public order, but also recognize the necessity for formal means as societies become more complex and for responding to emergencies.” He clapped his hands together “Some might recognise how powerful a skill social control could be, especially on the interpersonal level.” For a moment, his eyes met Justin’s, only for a second. Scott turned to the board and whipped out a stylus, and started writing his own notes down.

Minutes before class had ended, Justin had packed away his sociology texts, and so was on his feet and at Virginie’s desk before she had even managed to start at putting her books away. He perched himself on the edge of her desk, and watched Tōsaka go up to Scott. “I didn’t know you were so knowledgeable about sociology.” He said to Virginie, turning his face down towards her.

“I like to know about how people work.” She responded simply, clipping closed her book bag.

“You take psychology too, don’t you?” Justin asked, pushing in her chair for her. She nodded and together they left the classroom.

Walking past lockers and students, Justin felt a pair of arms wrap around his neck. A sudden weight bent him backwards and whatever cry of surprise he had coming was choked by the limbs encircling his throat. Thérèse grinned and kissed his cheek. Justin seized her by the elbows and hauled her feet off the floor. He swung his weight around, and her feet moved like a pendulum. “Don't do that!” Justin gasped, scowling at Virginie giggling behind her hand. Justin pried his girlfriend free, took her hand and continued walking, loosing themselves in the wave of students towards the cafeteria.

“I will tell you all now, that electronics is the single most beautiful class ever created.”

Justin and the two girls looked up at the speaker, who stood tall and athletic. He thrust out his hands, showing a series of small white marks. Thérèse sucked absentmindedly on the straw pushed into her bottle of milk and said around it: “They look burn marks.”

“They are,” said a second voice, stepping around the first boy. He wore glasses and his hair was thick and curly, hanging loosely about his ears. “Vandyke was playing with the soldering iron in class today.”

Virginie furrowed her eyebrows, looking to one side. She settled her eyes quite firmly on Vandyke “And why is this a good thing?” Vandyke laughed, sitting down and taking food from the other’s tray.

“Boswell misses the point. It isn’t about the fact I burnt my hands – it’s about what we made and how we got there.” He tore a chunk from his roll and spread his arms expansively. He spoke at length about their task (learning how to use a soldering iron) and their sudden quest – to build a working, electric cattle prod. “Unlike any electric cattle prod ever made. Bigger, better, more powerful. We’re talking soil-your-pants level of voltage.” Boswell sighed and ignored Vandyke’s prattling, rotating his fork around. Justin found himself smiling at Vandyke as the Dutch boy stood with one foot planted firmly on top of the table and his chin clutched between thumb and forefinger.

Justin was suddenly struck by a peculiar feeling. He turned his head and looked across the refectory floor … finding himself looking at Tōsaka, her eyes narrowed. Her face, almost accusing him, was only visible for a moment, until some student quite obliviously broke the line of sight. When she could be seen again, Tōsaka was talking to her friends – quite seemingly having instantly lost interest in him. Whatever interest that might be.

*

The afternoon air was cool, running through Justin’s hair. Reclined back in the corner of Thérèse’s Renault, he tapped his foot in time to the music flowing out of the car’s sound system. Virginie’s long auburn hair was tied under a scarf to keep it in place; the gauzy patterned ends fluttered past her throat. Thérèse pulled the car over, in front of an older styled building; no steel and glass for Sullivan Frazier’s school of boxing. Justin clicked his seatbelt undone and leant forward, putting his arms around Thérèse’s shoulders.

“Thanks for the ride. Seeya ‘Ginie.” he waved them off and turned into the building.

Tugging on the binding of his training gloves with his teeth, Justin strode towards the ring. Two boys were trading blows, while a tall black man looked on, hanging from one of the corners. ‘Pull your hand back faster’ he was saying to one of the two; the new one, Justin noticed. The one who’d been brought in by his father ‘for his own good’, or something like that. The guy he was boxing with was a veteran of the school, who’d been around just as long as Justin had. Every so often he’d thrust out his own probing jabs; nothing lethal, just enough to keep the kid on his toes.

“Hey Sully.” Justin said, standing at the base of the ring near the coach’s feet. The big man waved vaguely, and pointed out something about the kid’s footwork. He clapped his hands.

“Hop in the ring Justin. Norb, watch his feet; and watch Nile’s jabs.” Justin held the ropes apart for Norbert, then stepped through himself. He walked towards the centre of the ring and tapped fists with Niles, his headgear making him look like some ancient Greek soldier. Hands up and Niles’ started to explore what Justin had to offer in terms of defence. Slapping aside the first punch, Justin stepped in and delivered a padded fist into his friend’s bicep, bouncing back out as smoothly as he came in. “Justin doesn’t hit as hard as other boxers do, but he moves better than most.” Niles rushed forward and his punches came hard and singular “Niles on the other glove, knows how to punch. Hits as hard as a middleweight, I’d say.”

Niles did hit hard, even when training. At least the headgear Justin had reduced the amount of cuts he would get, and the gloves were padded for both sides’ mutual good health. Justin knew from personal experience that when he wore real gloves, Niles had a propensity for badly splitting lips. More than that, Niles was a tough guy. Though no bigger than Justin, he could let an opponent wail on him; he’d learnt it from watching a match from over half a century ago, the Rumble in the Jungle. In a professional match it wasn’t going to cut it, but they weren’t professional boxers. Sometimes Sully would call Niles ‘Naseem’, who they later found out was a featherweight that Niles shared some similarities with.

The main similarity was a straight which could really knock a guy on his ass. You really only had too options when fighting Niles; be quick and keep out of his reach or simply get right inside his guard. Both were risky, and over the years Justin hadn’t managed to decide which was better, but today he played the out-fighter, to show Norb how to move his feet.

“Watch how they move; Justin prides himself on his footspeed and his technique. It’s like floating,” Justin circled about and dove in, planting a flurry of punches to Niles’ torso. He leapt back out before the other could catch him with a more powerful hit “Justin may not be the strongest of my students, but he’s probably the fastest.”

Niles launched out his freight train straight, square with Justin’s face. Justin bobbed and tossed out his own right, coming alongside the other arm and crashing into Nile’s jaw. Though his dodge was quick, it wasn’t quite quick enough and he copped the edge of Niles’ fist scraping against his head. They both went stumbling.

*

“That the evening paper Niles?”

“That it is.”

Justin sat down next to his sparring partner and peered at the page, it seemed Niles was reading. A moving photo showed a man standing in front of his house, waving his arms angrily at the enormous chunk right through the middle of it. When the photo began to repeat, Justin read the headline: FAMILY HOME DESTROYED: Authorities baffled as to how. Niles gestured towards the article and said “It was open to this page; Sully’s got others too,” he procured a couple from by his feet “All related to some strange happenings. You might recognise them.”

Holding the papers before him, Justin found that he did. The story was about a seemingly random and incredibly brutal murder: ‘Verney was found severed at the waist, his flesh charred to the point where he could only be identified through dental records’. The second paper was detailing the vandalism of cars in New Geneva; if vandalism included the blackened hulk of a vehicle lodged into the second story of an office building. On further inspection, they found that other pages had been marked, talking about sudden windstorms, broken windows, fires in parks. Just over a week’s backlog of newspapers and a score of different stories relating to unexplainable destruction. It struck Justin that he’d never noticed until he’d had it all pushed into his face.

Niles dropped his daily onto his lap and sighed “There truly is some strange shit going on in this city.” Justin nodded his agreement, then looked up at Sullivan, standing over them both.

“You’re right. There’s some bad stuff happening in New Geneva.” He looked at Niles “You’re getting picked up, right?” when Niles confirmed this, Sully turned to Justin “What about you?”

“Walking coach; speaking of, I should really get going.”

“Can I give you a lift?” Sullivan asked and Justin shook his head.

“No sir, I’m good.” Justin replied, getting to his feet and taping knuckles with Niles. Sullivan rubbed his temple and sighed. He walked Justin to the entrance. As he began to make his way down the footpath, pushing headphones into his ears, he stopped at a call from his coach.

“Seriously now Justin. Keep your nose out of trouble.” Justin waved reassuringly (or so he thought) and turned his FLAC player on.

In the cool, quiet night, walking amongst the empty streets, Justin was quite pleased. Just him and The African Jazz Pioneers in a personal gig, away from the big city atmosphere of New Geneva. A few cars passed every now and then, but nothing like the main streets. Suited him fine, the feel on an evening walk like this one. Undoubtedly in a half hour, he was going to have to endure his sister bothering him, and probably a long story from his father about his day (which wasn’t really that bad, and he might have been present at another weapons test in Germany). And of course there was dinner to look forward too; his mother was such a good … Tōsaka?

The steady padding of his feet slowed as he peered across the street. It really was her; the Japanese exchange student in a red coat hanging to her knees. She was tapping her foot impatiently when she noticed she was being watched. Her eyes met his across the road and she grimaced. Tōsaka clicked her fingers and the entire street went dark, every light being snuffed out for a moment. When they came back up, Tōsaka was gone; Justin had a moment where he wondered if Niles had hit him too hard. He was still standing when he was bowled over, quite literally turned over end. He landed heavily on his stomach, gasping for breath; his lungs felt as though they had been forcibly emptied.

The there was a flash further down the street, and a moment later another on the side of a building. A glowing line appeared on the wall, carving a chunk straight out of the third floor. Justin’s jaw dropped as the chunk of masonry – almost as massive as a car – tumbled free from its originally resting place, orange flame flickering from the cut. It suddenly halted in mid-fall to change direction, rocketing toward the centre of the road. It stopped, and for a moment Justin could have sworn there was a man there, holding the big piece of concrete with a stick; of course, Justin also thought he was crazy, because he also could have sworn that the carved piece of building flew around in a circle and launched itself back the way it had come, only to be split in two. There were more sunbursts and showers of sparks, dancing back and forth across the street like some schizophrenic light show. Justin got to his knees as an almighty crash resounded up and down the street; twin lines of fire sliced into the road. He found himself looking into a pair of emerald green eyes.

The belonged to a girl (a young woman?) with blonde hair and white plates of armour strapped to her dress. For a subjective eternity, Justin stared at her, and knew that she was real, not simply the hallucination of a punch-drunk teenager. Her gaze lingered only momentarily, her attention turning back up the way. Her image flickered and an explosion of air pressure picked Justin up off the ground and tossed him like a doll into a wall. He slid down to the footpath, aching; the fire on the road had gone out, leaving a pair of orange-red streaks. There was one last flicker that he could see, then nothing more.

In my continual quest to garner comments and/or criticism, I post chapter the second. This was actually written a couple of weeks before I posted chapter one. I had intended to wait a little while before posting, but I became impatient and lazy.

Fate-Another Score

Chapter Two

Justin Sturgeon stumbles backwards into his corner, slumping down against the cold steel of the posts. Blood trickles warmly from the corner of his mouth. He blinks sweat from his eyes and tries to clear his head; it’s still throbbing from the pounding he had taken from his opponent. He can see him standing opposite, unblemished from the round. He’s thrusting his black gloved fist into the air, with each upward flying hand, the crowd screams out its delight. Justin leans his head back and sucks in the hot air with his eyes closed. A hand on his shoulder snaps him out of his stupor.

Opening his eyes, he’s looking into a heavy dark face. He slaps his cheek and starts wiping the blood and sweat from Justin’s face. “You’ve got to get out there,” Sully says, making him swallow blessedly cool water. The tribal humming of the onlookers is growing with the anticipation of a new round, where they know that Justin will be executed “You’ve got to get out there, take it and win it for yourself.” With that, he seizes Justin by the shoulder and pulls hard, flinging him out of the corner and into the fray. There’s Black waiting for him, smirk plastered across his face. Justin finds himself filled with a sudden hate for that familiar face, and he launches out a hard cross that crunches into its target like a falling meteor. The crowd squeals in disbelief as Black stumbles away, holding his glove to his face. His eyes reflect those feelings that rush through Justin’s mind and he begins to raise his fists; but Justin is too fast, and he rains down on Black. These are not the wild blows of a madman, but instead the sure and accurate punches of a professional.

Each time his glove connects, the crowd shrieks out ‘No! No!’. Each time his glove connects, Black is forced to take a step backwards. His hands are in front of his face; he cannot parry, he cannot dodge. He must try to weather it. Every hit punctuated by the refusals of the crowd, those same refusals being drowned out by the thunderous impact of his punches. Black was coming ever closer to the ropes; soon Justin would have him defeated, and then he would be free – and the victor!

Justin drew back for the hit that would thrust Black on to the ropes. Crushingly powerful, it lands perfectly – but Black does not move a millimetre. Justin’s face shows naught but disbelief. He draws back and Black lowers his gloves; his face is bruised, one cheek swollen. He stares at Justin and speaks a single world:

“No.”

He hits Justin with the force of a thunderbolt, knocking him all the way across the ring, to hang against the ropes. He sat up, sweat across his body, the sheets of his bed stuck to his skin. He breathed in slowly, one hand pushed against his chest.

Hot water flattened his sleep-tousled hair as he leaned one hand against the wall. The dreams were starting to become rather more frightening; he had had variations on the same dream before, but never had it seemed more real. He turns the water off and shakes his head free of water, stepping out of the shower. The fogged mirror shows a muddled reflection of Justin, and he surprised himself by wiping it clear so violently. He rubbed his eyes and wrapped his towel around him, leaving the bathroom. Walking towards his bedroom, he glanced out the window at the end of the hallway; the sky was pink this morning. He stopped and walked up to the glass, putting his hands against it. He squinted. From his window he could see a building designed in the shape of the Eiffel Tower. There looked as though their might be something on top of the flag pole; it was a feeling more than anything – the tower was a couple of miles away, after all. Justin squished his nose against the glass, fogging it with his breath. After a few minutes he shrugged and went to get dressed, before descending again to the kitchen.

His father was there, cooking eggs. Neither Emily nor his mother were awake yet; Matthias Sturgeon was an early riser. He glanced over at his son and greeted him warmly, offering him some of the eggs he was poaching. Justin nodded and sat down, watching his father go about his business. Looking at him was like looking into a mirror; they were so similar, though Matthias’ hair had long since gone grey. Justin sat, and his father approached, placed down a plate. He sat himself and started to eat. Justin watched him, picking up a piece of toast.

“There’s some pretty weird stuff happening around town, isn’t there?” he remarked.

“What’s that?” Matthias replied, looking up from his plate. Justin, chewing on yolk drenched toast, tapped the newspaper sitting on the bench. The moving photo showed a suspension bridge with dozens of its cables cut like string. Matthias picked it up and frowned “I suppose there has been.”

Justin swallowed “You don’t know anything about it?” his father didn’t seem to have heard “Dad?”

“What? Sorry.” His hand tightened on the paper and he placed it down.

“Have you heard anything about these incidents?” Justin leaned forward and rested his chin on the back of his hand. He gestured with the toast in his fingers. “You’re in the highest echelons of the government. Surely there must be something going around; some theory.”

“It wouldn’t be through the government I’d have learnt about this.” Matthias said softly. Then he smiled over at Justin and ruffled his hair “And if I had any information about this sort of thing, why would I tell you?” Justin laughed a little and turned back to his eggs. His father finished first and gathered himself together. He clapped Justin on the shoulder and said “Have a good day son.” He walked towards the door, and when he reached it, he stopped. Turning, he called out “Justin?” at the sound of his name, he turned around. His father seemed grave with his coat over one arm and his brow furrowed by thought “Always think: ‘what do I need to win’. Keep that in the back of your head at all times.”

“Ah,” Justin cocked an eyebrow “Alright then Dad. I will.”

“Good man.”

*

All through his ride in Thérèse’s car, Justin considered his short conversation with his father. He tapped his cheek and wondered about what Matthias might have meant by his words. They were so cryptic and quite frankly out of no where. Thérèse glanced at him brooding against the passenger side door and sighed. “The wind will change, you know.”

“Don’t you start.” Justin grimaced “I’ve had enough mysterious comments for the day.”

Thérèse puffed out her cheeks. “You’re complaining about other people being mysterious?”

For a moment, Justin didn’t reply. When Thérèse was changing gears, he reached out and took her hand in his; quite naturally their fingers intertwined. “When you look at Geneva, what do you see?” her eyebrows climbed above the frames of her sunglasses “Up until very recently, I only saw a city. But now, now I think I’m missing something real important. I see … faces of people where they shouldn’t be.” He paused and his grip on Thérèse’s hand tightened. She squeezed back, then extricated her hand back to the wheel.

“To be honest,” she said, eyes still on the road “I don’t see what you see. You read about it in the papers; see it on the evening news. I’ve never heard anyone think they were caused by anyone. It’s just too strange.”

“You heard about the bridge?”

“On the radio. They had an engineering expert talk about the construction of the bridge.” She shrugged “There’s video of when it happened; the cables just came apart in the middle. Which, according to aforementioned engineering expert, is impossible.”

Justin frowned and nodded. Such things didn’t just happen.

*

Of all the people Justin knew – and he knew his fair share – he had a thought that Boswell and Vandyke might have some clue. He was quite convinced that everything was not quite right in New Geneva; like Thérèse had said, much of this was bordering on the impossible. When the impossible came knocking, you turned from such verifiable outlets of information such as his father or the papers. Instead you turned to Boswell and Vandyke.

The pair ran the school’s newspaper, ostensibly. Through some weird streak of luck or fate, Vandyke had been made editor by the head master himself. His attitude and ideas for the paper precluded most from staying for more than forty five seconds. Quite frankly, if Vandyke didn’t make him stay, Boswell would have simply left himself, which would have left the paper in the conceptual stages until Vandyke finished school; if not forever.

The ‘Obsidian Inquisitor’ was little more than a tabloid; it came out once a month and was quite often filled with wildly implausible stories, rumours and general obscurity. The only thing going for it was the fact it had moving pictures, was free and was often unintentionally amusing. If anything, Vandyke’s rambling editorials on the nature of school society and that of the world at large were worth price of admission.

Justin stood outside their club room and sighed. He hadn’t expected to be quite so desperate as to visit such a place as this. He could already hear Vandyke saying in a very loud voice: ‘what brings you to the office of the Obsidian Inquisitor!’ from behind his desk with the obnoxious sign proclaiming he was the editor. He shook his head and turned to leave when the door swung open. Justin looked at Boswell, who straightened his glasses. “Vandyke says you should come inside.”

“I thought he might.” Justin huffed and walked inside.

“Ah Justin!” Vandyke roared the very second he had stepped into the room “What brings you to the office of the Obsidian Inquisitor!?” Justin rubbed his forehead and frowned, muttering something along the lines of ‘Why am I doing this?’ which made Vandyke lean across his desk “What was that?”

“No doubt you’ve heard about the various accidents happening around town?” wandering around the cramped and extremely untidy room. He sighted a copy of The Node and held it up. The moving picture was sluggish from lack of sunlight, but it quite clearly showed a grove of trees, leafless and blackened. Boswell and Vandyke nodded in sagely unison.

“As of the incident with the bridge last night, there have been approximately two hundred cases of property damage and as many as thirty deaths stemming from unknown causes.” Boswell reeled off some examples; destroyed homes, the glass shattered all through office buildings. “In the last few months, New Geneva has been struck by a sudden influx of super-vandalism. What’s more, before this, there have been instances of this sort of thing all over the world … for decades.”

Justin blinked as Vandyke climbed over his desk to the far wall. With Boswell, he yanked free a curtain, revealing a board haphazardly covered in pieces of paper; pictures, written articles, hand-drawn notes. “Is that … a conspiracy board?” Justin asked nervously.

“You bet your ass it is.” Vandyke said proudly, tapping it with one knuckle “This basically every titbit we can get our hands on; letters from experts from around the world, news reports and our own speculation.” Justin swallowed – he was quite stunned and rather bemused. He asked them what some of their theories were. To say the least, they ranged from the unlikely to the outright bizarre: secret government tests and old wives tales about monsters and some secret organisation within the Catholic
Church. Through some unknown source, they had full colour holographs of the fallen cables from the suspension bridge; not only had they been severed, but melted. Justin thought of the flying chunk of building from the night before.

“That’s why I think it might be some sort of secret military thing; some sort of experimental directed energy weapon.” Vandyke explained, taking the holograph and putting it back on the board. “Boswell thinks there are problems with that theory-”

“A particle beam or laser is rather noticeable.” He interjected.

“But we’ll know more when we’ve finished getting our hands on the video from the bridge.”

When he finished, Justin massaged his temples “Video … as in the bridge security feeds. That’s illegal, you know.”

Vandyke laughed and Boswell cleaned the lenses of his glasses, then said: “We know that. But this is important. You might have taken a sudden interest in these ‘accidents’ but we’ve been in this pretty deep for a lot longer.” He eyed Justin, then put his glasses on “Actually, why have you taken an interest all of a sudden?” Justin shrugged then checked his watch.

“Call it something my Dad said. I’ll see you guys later.”

*

With each contact of blade to blade, the room was filled with sound. Occasionally punctuated by restrained grunts, swords flashed in the artificial lights hanging from the roof of the fencing club duelling room. Young men and women dressed in white, their faces hidden behind their facemasks, lunged and retreated across deep-blue matting, clashing weapons. Steel screeched together and sweat trickled down the side of Justin’s nose. His opponent whipped his blade around and pushed forward, thrusting the point for his chest. He leaped back and heaved in his breaths. His opponent flicked his épée in a triangle, leaving it pointing at the ground.

“You’re quick on your feet Justin.” Nathan complimented “You’re very quick. But you can’t beat me.” He raised his sword, levelled the point directly at Justin’s heart. “You strike with your blade, when you should be striking with your heart.” Justin cocked his eyebrows at that as he straightened up and readied his blade. “Don’t hold back.”

Justin snapped forward. Nathan’s sword flashed in the glow of the hanging fluorescents, and Justin went sprawling back on the padded mat. His épée clattered behind him. Faceless, Nathan stood over him then extended his hand to help Justin from the floor.

They sat on the edge of the room. Nathan tapped the tip of his fencing blade on the ground, while Justin sucked water from his bottle. They watched the other fencers dash back and forth across the piste. They showed speed, finesse and strength as they parried and lunged. For a moment they were silent, then Justin said “As I recall, you used to be a sabre fencer.” Nathan nodded “I don’t think I’ve seen any of us use sabres though.”

“The school doesn’t allow it.” Nathan shrugged “I don’t know why, but one day we just lost the right. I take in my stride though; I may have been best with a sabre but that doesn’t mean I’m not good with the others.” Justin nodded and Nathan continued, though in the tone of a man asking a question. “Justin, why do you fence?”

“Hmm? It’s a family thing.” Justin replied, putting down his drink bottle “My father fenced, and apparently so did his father. I’ve never met him though.”

“Your grandfather?”

“Yeah. I don’t hear him talked about much; my other grandparents never met him, and Dad’s mum died before I was born.” Justin tossed up his hands “He’s a mystery.”

“I see,” Nathan mused, and he tapped the floorboards more rapidly. He hopped to his feet and saluted Justin “I’ll leave you be. I have some things to attend to.” With that, he practically marched down the room. Justin picked up his drink bottle and poured more cool water down his throat.

The night air was cool and Justin pulled his jacket tighter around him. He pushed one of the headphones of his FLAC player into the cup of his ear but before he could put in the other, a soft female voice called his name. He turned and caught sight of Virginie walking towards him. She was still in her uniform, and she clutched her book bag in front of her. Her hair was out and had fallen to her shoulders. Justin tugged on the cord trailing from his ear. He felt mildly surprised as she approached, the top of her head barely reaching his nose.

“You’re here late.” Justin commented “Studying in the library?”

“Not by choice,” she replied as they both went to sit down on the curb “I’m waiting for Nathan, you see.”

Justin nodded; they lived together as cousins. He didn’t really know all the details but Nathan’s father had apparently taken Virginie in; her parents (or parent, he wasn’t sure) lived towards the south of France and were unable to support her as well as her uncle or something of the sort. He’d never asked – it just didn’t seem polite. “He should be along soon.” He assured.

They sat in silence for a little while, when Virginie finally opened her mouth and asked: “What do you think of Nathan?”

“Nathan’s …” Justin started automatically then stopped. What did he think of Nathan? They’d known each other for years, and what had he noticed? He could be cold and scathing when it came to others – he had no time for the mistakes of those he worked with in the fencing club. Occasionally he could be downright cruel; a dim memory showed Nathan pulling the wings from a wasp – not for some morbid curiosity, but merely because he could. He spoke as though he stood two steps further along than everybody else. He became uneasy when Nathan approached him in in the hallways, and yet … “I can’t help but like him in some way. I don’t even know why; he’s never really struck me as being particularly nice. Yet he’s amiable enough, likable enough.” He paused to look at Virginie’s reaction, but she had simply closed her eyes. “What about you?”

“People look at him when he walks by and they see someone they like. He became a prefect on the back of his charisma and the fact that he knows how they tick.” She said after a moment “People genuinely like him.”

“That’s how other people see him. Not you.”

“Well, I think-”

“Virginie.” Nathan cut in, and they both looked up towards him. He stood in the glow cast by one of the campus lamps, duffle bag over one shoulder. He glanced at his watch and gestured for her to come to him “Our lift is here. Come along.”

Virginie bid Justin farewell and moved to where Nathan was standing. She waved over her shoulder, and they both disappeared around the corner. A few moments later a low black car swept passed, and for a brief moment Justin could have sworn he could see inside. He plugged his headphones in and depressed the play button on his music player. ‘Scuse me while I kiss the sky, he said to himself, sliding the volume up. He dropped back and shoved his bag under his head. He thought for a moment on what he and Virginie had spoken of. Nathan really was quite likable but God only knew why.

A sharp nudge to his side, made Justin open his eyes. Standing over him was his little sister, her hair done out in pigtails. She was frowning at him and he turned the FLAC player off. “You look like a homeless drunk.” Emily said “Lying on the street.”

Justin looked at him patterned shirt, dark blue jeans and suede jacket, he sat up “Yeah, you wish squirt.” He said “Mum here?” she nodded and Justin hopped to his feet, dusted himself off and picked his sister up. “Good day at school?” he asked, walking down the red pavement.

“Yeah. I learnt my five times table today.” She rested her small arms around his neck “It was really easy.”

“I don’t think there’ll be a lot of maths that could trouble you.” Justin said approvingly.

“You think so?” she gasped hopefully.

“Damn straight; you’ve got a future ahead of you, to be sure.”

Emily ruffled his hair as they approached the blue car rumbling on the side of the road. “You know,” she said as he put her down “For a great big lunk, you’re not a bad big brother.”

Justin smiled at her as she walked ahead “Yeah, I hope so.”

Great story, have you considered posting it on FF.net?

I hadn't really. I briefly entertained the idea, but ended up discarding it. I might do so later on in time, but posting it on two webforums is enough for me, currently.

Through the arcance science of editting, I bring forth the third chapter.

Fate-Another Score

Chapter Three

“It’s not about what you’re fighting for, but who you’re fighting.”

Justin had the centre of the ring. That’s how he liked it too; he didn’t have to move so far to cover his angles. It wasn’t that he liked defending – his father had taught him that it was difficult – but rather that he found it put him in a unique location to attack when he wished and where he wished. Where his opponent thought he was on the offensive, in reality it was Justin that had the high ground.

It wasn’t a serious bit of training; it was just Sully keeping two of his boxers on their toes, and taking the opportunity to wax lyrical about his philosophies. He’d done it many, many times over the course of Justin’s career, and he would likely continue to do it for a long time to come “What you’ll find is that when you’re fighting that your greatest obstacle isn’t the man in front of you, but the man inside.” Justin fended off a probing jab and stepped forward, launching out a quick left “You need to cut straight to the heart of the problem; right down to your own image.” Justin saw a fighter with black gloves and struck out ferociously; down went Norbert. His mouthguard bounced across the mat, trailing spittle.

“That was advice Justin, not an instruction.” Sully laughed as Justin hauled Norb to his feet. “At least you can’t hit hard enough that he’d need his jaw wired.”

Justin helped Norbert out of the ring and sat him down on one of the benches, before going to fetch him an icepack. Walking past the front door, he heard someone call out “Sturgeon-kun!” he turned, because there were few people with that name, and none of them were in the building except him. He recognised the accent and the language too; but what the hell could Rin Tōsaka want?

She approached, wearing that familiar red jacket over her school uniform. Tōsaka smiled at him in a way that Justin could not decide was appreciative or diabolical. She brushed back some of her hair with a flick of her fingers and did not mince her words: “Can I talk with you?”

“You can walk with me, I have things to do.”

As he tramped through Sully’s gym, Tōsaka followed him, saying “I have noticed that you have taken somewhat of an interest in the sudden influx of violence in this city.” Justin shrugged as his reply and walked into the change rooms in an attempt to drive her away, but that didn’t stop Tōsaka. “You want to know what’s causing it, ne?”

As Justin considered, he searched through the medical cupboard and pulled out a freeze-pack. As he looked at it, Tōsaka leant against the outer wall of the showers and glanced inside “I get a couple of feelings from that question,” Justin frowned “The first is that you know about the cause; the second that you’ve been watching me.” Tōsaka looked back towards Justin and smiled.

“Call it women’s intuition, if you like.”

“I’ll call it pretty strange.” He said, turning to the door. Tōsaka followed.

She seemed rather intrigued by the young boxers training. When applying the cool-pack to Norbert’s face, Justin could see him looking past him, at Tōsaka. All the boys were being distracted by her, though they tried hard to make it seem as though they were not. To his surprise and mild confusion, Justin found even Sully was keeping an eye on her. She leant by Justin’s ear and whispered: “I may have what you’re really looking for.” Sully hopped down from the edge of the ring and approached. He stood a little away from them, and Justin looked from his coach to the student. Tōsaka bowed and introduced herself as a ‘friend of Sturgeon-kun’s’. Sully nodded slowly.

“Would you wish to speak with me?” Tōsaka agreed and Sully gestured for her to follow him.

*

“So who was the black haired chick?”

“Rin Tōsaka.”

“Who?”

Justin wobbled backwards on his chair, and shrugged “She’s on an exchange from Japan.” He let the chair legs fall flat against the floor “She’s very popular at Obsidian.”

Niles nodded “I can see why. Strange that Coach wants to talk to her. What could they possibly be talking about?” That was an unknown that Justin wasn’t particularly fond of. Tōsaka was an unknown; he had slowly convinced himself that he had indeed seen her two nights ago. She had been standing on the other side of the street before that building had been damaged … before that girl in the armour had appeared before him for that one moment. She had been watching him on that Tuesday as well, hadn’t she? Or she might have been. As Justin had more time to think to himself, he convinced himself more and more that Tōsaka Rin was no ordinary Japanese schoolgirl. More to the point, he was quickly convincing himself that she was dangerous. He’d read Boswell’s comic books. He knew what schoolgirls were capable of.

“What am I thinking?” he muttered to himself, rubbing his forehead. Niles was pacing slowly and he raised a finger.

“You know, Sully’s office is past that wall.” He gestured to the far wall “Maybe we can …” before he had his sentence out, Justin was up against the wall, pushing the side of his head up against it “Hear?”

Nothing really, just a low murmur. No discernable words could be picked up through the wall. Defeated but not deterred, Justin pulled his head away and quite unconsciously pushed his hands together before rubbing one ear. A few seconds passed and he felt dizzy and just a little nauseous, and there was a low humming that hadn’t been there before, but he felt satisfied enough. He pushed his head up against the wall again, and this time he could hear. Sully sounded not merely concerned, but remarkably more business-like than Justin could ever remember him being. Tōsaka herself was sounding more than a little pleased with herself.

“I knew that keeping an eye on that boy would pay off; he led me right to you.” She was gloating, but Sully rebuked her with a snorted laugh (or so Justin thought; that humming had become a ringing).

“You call yourself a top-class Master if you needed line-of-sight to identify me?” he laughed again, this time scathingly “A poor effort.”

“No one has the ability to pin-point an unknown Servant; it’s hard enough to do that when you know who they are!” Sullivan replied with something about excuses “But now I know who you are. You’re not just a shadow in the future anymore; I see possibilities diverging involving you. Nothing too clear yet.” She seemed to pause for dramatic effect “I wonder which one will come to pass.”

“We are agreed then? That he will be left untouched? He knows nothing of this.”

“You can’t fool me; we both know he is listening.”

Justin recoiled, pulling away from the wall as though it had gained a sudden heat. He stumbled, his balance ruined by changes wrought in his ear. The world spun end over end and despite his best efforts, Justin met the floor in hard embrace. Nile’s hands scraped the empty space where Justin had been before gravity had taken him. Maybe his concept of time had been muddled by the fall, but Justin could have sworn that Sully had reached his side practically instantly; while Niles looked surprised, he certainly didn’t look as though he’d seen his coach materialise out of thin air.

“Naseem, what’s happened to him?” Niles blinked and tried to stutter out a reply.

“He just, he just fell over Coach. Damned if I know why.”

Sully turned Justin’s head over, looking at his left ear. He muttered something about messing around with things you didn’t understand; Justin could only get the gist over the ringing. “You’ll deal with it.”

*

In the end, Justin did deal with it. The ringing stopped after a while, and his balance came back. His ear still tingled. He’d done something to himself on impulse, but he didn’t know what. Even more so than the disturbing conversation that Sully was having with Tōsaka, it was this that had Justin wondering wether he was caught up in something … weird. Stranger than fiction, Soviet Russia weird. It was no longer simple curiosity driving him to know what was going on; he was inexplicably a part of it. The overheard conversation and the circumstances through which that conversation was overheard was his evidence.

But just what in the hell was he involved in? He grabbed a hold of his school bag, pulled out a notebook and a pen; he needed to organise his thoughts, take down everything he knew. If it was on paper, he could see it better. He put pen to paper, and his phone began to ring. Justin grunted and placed his notebook down on the bed and answering the call.

“Hello?”

“Justin, it’s Sully.”

Excellent, Justin said to himself “Hey there Sully. You know this is pretty hel-”

“Listen to me Justin. I know you overheard me talking to that girl; and I know you want to know what’s going on.” He paused and smacked his lips “I’m asking you to drop it. Don’t follow it up. Don’t ask me. Don’t ask that girl. Close your eyes.”

Justin scowled “You can’t just expect me to do that. I need to know.”

“Do you? Do you really? Think about this for a moment – look at what has been happening to this city. Do you really want to be a part of that?”

Justin had no reply to that and Sully finished resignedly “Trust in me Justin. Leave it be. You have a future ahead of you.”

*

For the moment, Black had stopped the fight. The crowd was screaming for them to continue, to spill blood. Black ignores them and instead circles around the ring. Justin watches him nervously, keeps his dukes up. Black smirks at him and speaks, cutting through the tumultuous thrumming of the mob. “This is hopeless, you know that, right?” he takes a quick step forward and Justin leaps back. Black laughs “You can’t possibly beat me. You’re just not good enough for it.”

Justin’s mouth is dry and when he replies, his voices cracks “you’re not so good that I can’t fight you.”

“What makes you think this is a fight?” Black snarls and leaps forward. His glove stops just before Justin’s nose, then pulls back. His grin stretches right across his face “This is no fight! This is an execution!” he rams his fist into Justin’s side, who retaliates with a surprising blow out of no where. Black’s head jerks backwards and Justin launches himself forward. The crowd is suddenly silenced, for Black is thrown off his feet and hits the mat hard. Justin towers above him, as though his head scrapes the clouds. He points his glove, big as the red spot on the hide of Jupiter, defiantly down at Black.

“Wrong. This is a fight. My fight. My time.” He raises his hands as Black jumps to his feet. They face each other “There isn’t anything I won’t do to win.”

They came together in a flurry of hard blows and frenetic movement. The crowd was on their feet, their cries coalescing into a single ringing noise that filled the stadium, filled Justin’s head. Through it, he could hear a voice calling to him saying “Get up! You’ll be late!” Justin opened his eyes and squinted over at the door. His mother was standing in the doorway, tall elegant form silhouetted by the sunlight flooding through from the window just outside. Her hand tapped something on the wall and the windows suddenly let light through. Justin’s eyelids fastened down involuntarily.

He hauled himself out of bed to find his mother standing over him. She took his face in one hand and searched his face concernedly. “Are you alright?” she asked softly “You don’t normally sleep in like this.”

“I’m fine,” Justin replied with a smile, and his mother frowned at him “No, really. I slept in. Nothing more.”

Madam Sturgeon spread her hands before herself and sighed “If you’re sure. Now, hurry up and get dressed. You’re late.” She gestured at his clock and his eyes twitched.

The doorman had no chance to tip his hat as Justin burst through the front of the building. His blazer flapped, connected to him only by one sleeve; toast was held in his mouth, fresh from the toaster. He took the last eight steps at a leap and landed on the pavement; he froze as a sharp tingling went up and down his body, starting at his toes and following his spine up to the top of his head. Thérèse scowled at him, tapping her fingers against the wheel of her car. Justin tried to smile around his breakfast, but only succeeded in dropping it. “If you dare pull that ‘I am never late’ engrais this morning Justin Sturgeon, rest assured I will kick your ass.” He bent down to kiss her cheek, but she planted her hand firmly on his face “No time, get in.”

The Renault screeched off onto the road before Justin could get his seatbelt securely fastened. “I mean, you’re always late, but normally you’re consistent.” She scowled again, then smiled. Shifting gears she heaved down on the accelerator. Justin grasped on the door and his seat involuntarily.

“This is illegal, you know!” he shouted “And more to the point scaring me!”

“Relax,” Thérèse encouraged “You’re scared because of yourself. Just loosen up a little and go with the flow.” His grip tightened as the car slid, fishtailed … but straightened back up and kept on going. Justin let out a lungful of air “Don’t swim upriver.” Thérèse stated.

*

Justin twiddled his pen between his fingers and tapped his cheek with the rear end of it. He looked about Obsidian’s extensive library and sighed; he had no doubt that not one of the books there would have what he needed. Not even the massive resource that was the internet would be that helpful. He looked down at his list; he had written the name ‘Sullivan Fraiser’ and next to it the word ‘SERVANT’. Tōsaka was on the page as well, by the words ‘MASTER’ and ‘precognition?’. He’d noted the strange happenings with his ear, and had decided that he’d changed its internal structure. Of course, he didn’t know what the internal structure of his ear actually was, so maybe he’d changed it badly.

That was just silly; how could he have done such a thing? Magic?

“No, thaumaturgy.” Justin dropped his pen and wheeled around. Tōsaka was standing a few paces away, her hands clasped behind her back. She smiled, showing her small white teeth before approaching him and sitting on the chair next to him.

“Pardon me?” he asked finally.

“I don’t want you to get confused; magic isn’t the word to use when talking about Reinforcement.”

Justin blinked “I’m already confused.”

Tōsaka propped her head up on the desk and considered Justin carefully. She came in close to his ear and whispered: “I’m a magician,” she paused and moved closer still “And you, you are too.” Justin narrowed his eyebrows as she moved away. She crossed her legs and gestured at the book sitting on the table. Then pen stood up and moved across the page. He watched it as it wrote beneath his note on his ear; Reinforcement, the act of taking an object and allowing it to function in its purpose to a degree beyond its natural abilities. Justin snagged the pen out of the air, his fist tightening till his knuckles went white. One by one his fingers unfolded.

He looked over at Tōsaka, sweat running out of his hairline. He swallowed and her smile broadened. His thoughts had been focussed upon discovering the truth, and now he had it, he wasn’t sure he wanted it. The pen appeared in Tōsaka’s hand and he realised it wasn’t just going to go away; he’d seen it and it was either real or a hallucination; and really, those things he’d thought were hallucinations had a remarkable habit of leaving traces on the world. Justin reread the little phrase that Tōsaka had written in his notebook and closed it. “I don’t want to say I’m convinced. It’s not that you haven’t made a convincing case,” he coughed once “But rather because I’m not sure I want to know any more.”

“It won’t go away if you bury your head in the sand.” Tōsaka explained, almost kindly “It might even follow you around; that’s what fate is like.”

“I think you can see the future. What do you see?”

“It’s not so simple as that.”

The future was like a desert; its landscape always changed. You could become endlessly lost within the infinite probabilities that the future held; without context or reference points, it was impossible to make sense of the future. More than simply being terminally in flux, the future wasn’t always clear. Even for the most powerful of prophets, there were just some things which remained unclear; not merely unknowns – though they could be troublesome – but unknowns outside the normal understanding of human thought. The better one knew something, the better your understanding of where it stood in the future. Tōsaka claimed that when it came to precognition, most of the future that one saw related directly to the self, and anything one saw could be changed: ‘I’ve seen my death in a thousand thousand ways; but I choose the way that leads to my life’.

Tōsaka shrugged “I don’t know you so well that I see what will happen to you. I see glimpses of how you interact with me, but you’re a magician.” She eyed him carefully “You’re not solidified in fate at all; possibilities don’t just diverge and intersect with you, but you flit between them, as though on some mad whim.”

“I’m not sure I understand.” Justin said slowly.

“I didn’t think you would.” Tōsaka replied, standing up suddenly. She held out his pen “It’s not really important that you really understand. I just wanted you to know a little about yourself.” His fingers fastened around the cool plastic of the writing implement but she didn’t let go “Things might start changing for you. Change is a good thing. Ja, Sturgeon-kun.”

Justin watched her leave, striding out of the library, her hair bouncing with every step. He took a deep breath and wiped his forehead. Looking at his hands, he swallowed again, then wiped them both dry. I’m a magician and you are too. Maybe he was paranoid. Maybe he was delusional. Maybe he was a lot of things, but he didn’t think Tōsaka was lying. Certainly she had nothing to gain except sick satisfaction. Quite tentatively, Justin reached for his notebook and opened it, flicking through till he found the page he wanted.

He snapped the book closed when he noticed Boswell standing nearby.

“I see you were talking to Rin Tōsaka.” He said, the lenses of his glasses gleaming white in the sun.

“Yeah, I was …” he paused thoughtfully and looked hopefully at Boswell “You and Vandyke know a lot; do you guys know about Tōsaka?”

Boswell sat down in the seat that Tōsaka had taken. He made a steeple of his fingers, resting them under his nose. “What’s there to know? She’s here on some sort of exchange program and I think her family might own Tōsaka Heavy Industries. She’s pretty, popular and very intelligent, at or near the top of all her classes. That’s not exactly uncommon information; you’d have noticed most of that.” It was true; Tōsaka was well liked by staff and students. “I don’t think very highly of her. I’m a little suspicious of her, to tell the truth. I wonder how a girl like her becomes so liked.” Justin cocked an eyebrow and Boswell waved his hands “I’m just being paranoid; don’t mind me.”

*

The board represented his battlefield; the carved pieces his soldiers. She was in his territory, clad in pearlescent white to his night black. To be honest, she had him on the run. She had the upper hand, the high ground. His strategy had not survived contact with the enemy and tactically he had been unable to save the situation. A knight leapt his rank of pawns and crushed one of his holy men under steel-shod hooves. Thérèse took her fingers of her piece and abducted his to her side of the chess board. They sat on a very large four-poster bed in a very tall bedroom. Both were in various states of undress, though Justin considerably more than Thérèse.

“Is there something wrong?” she asked “I know I’m better at chess than you, but you normally do better than this.” She shrugged her shoulders, devoid of jumper and blouse. Justin shook his head.

“I’m fine,” Thérèse narrowed her eyes “No, really. I’m just having a bad game I suppose.”

Thérèse tapped her cheek, then crawled around the board to kneel next to him. She placed a soft hand against the side of his face and sighed “You need to shave.” She leant forward and kissed him, before pushing him over backwards.

“No more chess?” he asked as Thérèse sat herself on top of him.

“You’re offering about as much challenge as Vandyke with three hundred percent less inane ranting.” She drummed her fingers against Justin’s chest and frowned “Which isn’t such a bad thing, I suppose.” She bent down and pressed her lips against his. She leant her weight against him and sighed happily. Justin’s arms wrapped about her and he kissed the top of her head. Should everything else change, he found that he didn’t want her to change with it.

*

Justin stood alongside his mother in the kitchen, the handle of a wok in one hand. The smell of beef and black beans wafted up from the stove-top. Grasping it in both hands he heaved, sending dinner into the air. He caught it in a splash and a sizzle and his mother smiled “You’re quite good at that.”

“I learnt from the best.” He replied with a grin.

In the lounge room, his father and little sister were both reading The Node. More reports or death and destruction which made his father grumble. Occasionally Emily would ask for the meaning of a word and Matthias would explain it, pronounce it. This was especially true of the main article, about how waves of sickness were sweeping parts of New Geneva. People had been found exhausted and even comatose. As the paper reported, there was no known cause to it. There were letters about figures in the street at night, wandering the downtown. It had made Justin wonder if it didn’t have something to do with Tōsaka; after all, she could be found on the streets at night.

“I wonder what’s making all those people sick.” Emily mused as she ate.

“That’s not exactly a good topic for conversation sweety.” Matthias said, his mouth full.

“Don’t talk with you mouth full.” His wife scolded and Justin laughed aloud. His father glared across the table at him. Belle Sturgeon rubbed her chin with the back end of her fork “I don’t think you should be walking home from Sullivan’s, Justin.” With food in his mouth, Justin shrugged. “There was some sort of accident on his street. I don’t want you to get caught up in it.”

Might be too late for that. He said to himself, but did not dare utter such a thing to his parents. “I don’t want to worry you. I won’t walk home at night.”

“Good man.” Matthias affirmed and kept eating. Justin smiled and turned back to his own dinner.

Later, when Justin was taking his little sister to her room, she asked “Do you think we could be hurt?” he knelt by her bed and tucked her in. Emily looked up at him expectantly. He thought of Tōsaka’s words about the future and grinned.

“I don’t think so squirt. The future is what we make it.” He kissed her on the forehead and stood up. He walked to the door of her room with its pale pink walls and small girlish things. Standing there he said “Sweet dreams.” And switched the lights off. Closing the door behind him, he headed down the hall and walked down the stairs. His father was sitting on the couch, the big plasma screen showing him the news. As he passed, Justin noticed how intently he stared after the screen, leaning forward on the edge of the leather lounge. Belle was in the kitchen, mixing drinks.

“You’re not going to watch the news all night are you?” she asked, twisting out the stopper out of a crystal bottle. Matthias shrugged. She groaned and poured out liberal helpings of some amber liquid “It’s so depressing really. Your job is hard enough without worrying about all that too.” She picked up the two tumblers and walked across to join her husband. When she passed Justin he caught her attention.

“Can I have one?” he asked, jerking his head towards the bottle still on the bench.

Belle tapped one foot “Make it small.”

“Gotcha.” He rounded the bench and bent down to look for appropriate drinkware. When he straightened up, out of the corner of his eye he saw a flash in the distance. Justin placed the glass down on the bench and leant over it, looking out the window. There was another flash, on a building a few hundred meters away. Half the thought of it being familiar made it through his brain before he was picked up off his feet and flung violently into the double-doored refrigerator. His vision was gone, the flow of blood to his brain restricted. When he regained it a few moments later, none of the windows had any glass in them. He had shards of glass on him, in his hair.

Standing, the first thing Justin noticed was that his mother was lying on the floor, her clothes spotted red. She was lying against a wall, shoved there unceremoniously, punctured by the broken glass of the windows. A howling wind filled the area; even at their great height he couldn’t expect it to be so intense. Matthias was crouched at the far side of the room. He could see Justin and was calling “Belle? Belle!”

“Dad, she’s,” Justin’s voice cracked and he blinked his eyes closed tightly “She’s-”

The roof caved in explosively and amidst the flying debris, there stood a woman. Tall, clad in a small black dress. In one hand she clutched a pair of long thin spikes with a chain trailing between them; her hair long and remarkably purple fluttered in the wind. She seemed to slip out of sight and reappear on the kitchen bench; where she had stood, there was another woman with blonde hair and white plates of armour strapped to her dress. Her eyes, viridian green, could have been said to have been beautiful, had they not glowed with something like hate. Her teeth were gritted. She seemed to move (he didn’t see it) and the purple haired woman was holding a nail stained with blood.

Matthias Sturgeon clutched at a punctured throat, lifeblood flowing violently through his fingers. His white shirt was rapidly becoming red and he fell, unable to support his weight. The two women were lost in a burst of sudden heat that knocked Justin to the floor and set the room smouldering. Embers danced in the windstorm and tables, chairs, lamps, everything not nailed down was destroyed. Crushed. Justin climbed to his feet again and went cold with sudden fear. He spied Emily standing at the base of the stairs. He couldn’t hear her words, and he opened his mouth to tell her to get down, but it came too late. Something hit her little body so hard and so fast that her spine snapped and she flung into the corner of the wall. Her death came instantly and Justin’s arms were frozen outstretched.

Practically no time had passed when his arms came off halfway between elbow and shoulders. Grabbed by the unnatural wind they were thrown across the room, one dragged against a wall, leaving a red smear over the blue paint. He gaped down at his severed limbs, seeping blood from veins and arteries. Shock rendered him without pain, but he fell to his knees anyway. A hot throbbing began to spread from the stumps of his arms and he cried out in pain, thrashing against the floor, splashing in his own blood. He could still see Emily and tried to drag himself towards her. Though his effort was valiant, he had moved no more than half a meter before he could force himself no further. Three minutes passed and Justin Sturgeon bled to his death.

So I've finally gotten not-lazy enough to post the fourth chapter. It's a bit dialogue heavy, and some of it will be rather "Err, what" and all, but the way I see it, it has to be posted, because it's the next chapter. I can't just skip a chapter because of mad whims.

Fate-Another Score

Chapter Four

The man known as Sullivan Fraizer hit the edge of the window, the jagged border of glass remaining crushed beneath his feet. He stepped into the demolished home and put one hand over his face. It was burning, even though made from materials that were resistant to catching fire; the wind flowing through the broken windows stirred the debris that littered the floor in a carpet of broken wood and ceramic. He knelt by Matthias and closed his eyes. When he looked at Emily his hands shook involuntarily and balled into tight fists. He stood over Belle and shook his head. Death had come too fast for them, and it saddened him greatly, but not so much as when he saw Justin lying dead in a puddle of his own cooling blood. Sullivan fell to his knees before him, bowed his head. His great frame bent as though under a greater weight and he howled in pain. Such was the anguish in his cry that reached all corners of New Geneva In later years there would be tales on the Isle of Wight of a mysterious roar coming from across the sea.

“You died too soon, Master.” Sullivan said, rolling his stiff body onto his back. Justin’s face had frozen, twisted so his features were ugly, filled with fear and pain. With careful prodding, Sullivan managed to make him seem at least a little more peaceful. “And because you’re dead, I will be too.

“I had hoped that you wouldn’t be taken up in this; though to be honest you weren’t so much involved as collateral damage.” Sullivan laughed “You were a target and you didn’t even know it! I heard rumours of the Grail being here, and I knew what it would mean for this city, but I still thought that you could be kept safe.” A small piece of his shoulder detached and floated towards the roof. It glowed pale and dissipated into nothing “My time’s already come. It doesn’t seem right that we should both die like this.” He shook his head “No. We both don’t have to die.”

Sullivan placed a big hand over Justin’s face, hiding it. His were closed, his face quietly tranquil. He gritted his teeth.

What passed would be difficult to describe by normal science. Even by the standards of normal sorcery it was difficult to describe. Justin had died; there was no doubt about it. Within certain traditions of belief, death was not permanent inside of forty eight days. It was said that one could send good karma to the deceased while they floated in the limbo between their old life and their new one. Justin had been dead no more than five minutes; he had not travelled far. Sullivan had running from him into Justin the concept of life itself, represented by the odo; it was not a force, not an energy. It was a mystery catalogued and named by ancient philosophers. It flowed within life and unlife and currently flowed through Justin’s face and into the pseudo-nerves that made up his magic circuit. It opened passages ways previously locked closed by neglect, ran like liquid fire through the very idea of his being. Neurons fired. His heart pumped. His lungs heaved. His blood raced through his veins and arteries in an attempt to get oxygen to his extremities.

His body became a superconductor running in a loop the odo taken from Sullivan. His self was inexorably dragged back into its shell and Justin returned to life screaming. He burned from the tips his nose, his toes, his fingers. He could feel – oh God he could feel – in a way he had never felt before. Everything. Not just the breeze against his skin or the unbearably hot cycle of life within him, but the stretching of space, the fullness of time, the march of entropy. His vision was marred by a perfect white light that hurt so much yet was so purely good that all the pain was worth it. His spine arched and his muscles contracted, and he screamed not with pain, but with the pure of joy of being alive that he didn’t understand, nor even realise. He blacked out.

Justin’s eyes snapped open and he gasped for breath. He was staring up at the roof of his house, lying in something wet. His arms tingled, didn’t feel quite right. His arms. Flinging himself into a sitting position, Justin looked at his hands. They were there, right in front of him; he touched face. They had been cut off; he had a distinct memory of his arms being cut off. The sleeves had been severed too … Justin whirled around, saw the state of the room, remembered everything and vomited. He held his weight up with his arms, his arms which shouldn’t have been there. Looking to the side, he saw Sully leaning back against the kitchen bench. He seemed to be asleep, and he didn’t have any arms either.

“Sully?” Justin coughed and the coach opened his eyes, smiling weakly.

“You’re alive. Good.” His eyes slid closed again.

“I was …” Justin found he couldn’t finish.

“Justin,” Sullivan grunted “Listen to me. I have given you arms, I have given you life. I don’t want you to waste them.” Justin dragged himself around to sit in front of his coach. His knees still felt weak, despite the fact that he felt so healthy. “Before I go, I have one thing to say to you: You are in control of your destiny and you alone.” Justin recoiled as parts of his coach began to detach and float up into nothing. “Grab your destiny by the throat and make it what you want it to be. Just do that for me, will you?”

As the decay spread across Sullivan’s body, Justin nodded, blinked his eyes a few times “You stupid bastard. You’re just going to die like that without explaining anything to me?”

“Not everything comes to you on a plater, you know. You’ll have to get it yourself.”

Justin slumped backwards then reached out laying his new hand upon Sullivan’s shoulder. It felt increasingly ephemeral, then gave way after a few moments. He was gone, dissipated into nothing. He rubbed his eyes, and tears ran down his cheeks. Reaching to the damaged bench above, he managed to get to his feet. He stank of blood and shit, but he was alive; and when he turned his head, Justin knew that it was good to be him. He leant heavily against the bench top and shook uncontrollably. His fist thumped against the counter and crashed through the brushed steel bench top. Heavy boots were pounding in the distance and a man burst in, his enormous frame clad in a black and yellow coat. He had no face, and his voice sounded muffled.

“Jesus Christ.” He breathed, sweeping his eyes across the room. He caught sight of Justin and rushed over “Are you alright son?” He grasped Justin by the shoulder “It’ll be alright, we’ll get you down to the ground floor.” The rescue officer said something into his radio, something about a stretcher.

“I can walk.” Justin whispered. He hacked then said it louder “I can walk. I’ll make it down on my own feet.”

“We’ll just wait for the-”

“I can walk.”

Emerging onto the street, Justin was surprised to find the street filled with vehicles. The pulsating red and blue lights of the police cruisers flashed against the night. Men and women in uniforms – the metropolitan police, plainclothes detective, paramedics – littered the road, directing crowds of civilians. Justin was manhandled, if gently, to an ambulance and sat down. Unless the paramedics asked him a question, he stayed silent, sitting on the edge of the vehicle. They wanted to clean his wounds but he didn’t have any wounds. In the end, they just wrapped him in a blanket and left him there.

Justin watched the authorities go about their business. There was a RAID team, he noticed, or at least one of their armoured vans for transport and control. In the air their hovered helicopters and directed-thrust jetcopters. If he wasn’t wrong, there were representatives from military intelligence floating around as well. Undoubtedly they had realised which home had been hit by this sudden attack and had responded in force. Justin was rubbing his eyes when a man in a grey overcoat approached him, his face and steely hair illuminated by his clipboard.

“Justin Sturgeon?” he asked in a gravely voice. Justin nodded “I’m Marius Serge.” He sat down next to the boy “I have some questions to ask.” And ask them he did: Had he seen anything suspicious? Did he have any indication of what had caused the damage? What had he been doing? What had General Sturgeon been doing? What about the rest of the family? Justin dutifully answered them where he could, and Inspector Serge recorded them. When the detective had finished he placed a rough hand on Justin’s shoulder and spat “We’ll get the bastards who did this.” As he left, Justin though that he wasn’t sure wether the police would want to find who did this, if they knew who it was.

*

They kept Justin in his own room in New Geneva’s largest hospital even though he didn’t have any injuries. He said it to his doctor when he found out that he was perfectly healthy and yet they wanted to keep him under observation. The doctor quite plainly stated that not all injuries happened to the body.

Thérèse and her father came to visit the next morning and when the girl entered the room she flung her arms round his shoulders and wept into the green shoulder of the pyjamas that the hospital had dressed him in. He put his own arms around her, placing one hand behind her head. When she pulled away her face was wet. Justin looked up at Chairman Dechesne. He was a wide man, and he shook occasionally. “My boy,” he said hoarsely “My dear boy.” He crushed Justin in his embrace. Tears welled up behind his sunglasses and the sight of this big man, a man who fought on the fields of commerce, weeping broke open floodgates in Justin and he cried as well.

When the large banker released Justin, he sniffed and opened his mouth to speak, but found he couldn’t say anything. Thérèse squeezed her father’s hand and sat on the edge of the bed. Slipping her hand in his, she spoke “What father is trying to say is that we can understand how you feel.” Justin nodded, after all, hadn’t they lost their mother and wife to sickness only a few years ago “Also, he’s trying to offer you a home; isn’t that right, papa?” Chairman Dechesne nodded and wiped his face. Justin smiled and thanked them both, kissing Thérèse’s cheek. He squeezed her tight.

“We’ll take you home when you’re released from hospital, alright, amoreux?” he nodded and she brushed her lips against his. Dechense took his hand in a firm grip.

“You’re doing so well to stay so strong.” He said gravely “Matthias would be proud.”

After the pair had both left, Justin reclined against the bed head. He sat in silence for several minutes and kept the Dechenses in his mind’s eye; beautiful Thérèse and canny Uncle Berenger. They were as much family as anyone else; he’d known them since he was still in single digits. Thérèse had been his for more than two years; with his father, Justin had climbed mountains with Berenger Dechense. His father’s best friend – his godfather; the girl he loved. There was home there.

*

Questions remained unanswered. Every moment that he had, Justin tried to work out who Sully was. Was he a magician? It certainly was some kind of magic used to bring him back to life. More to the point, why did he fell so strong? If he wanted to, he could crush a spoon or fork into a little ball of metal. When no one was looking, he could lift his bed in one hand. He was surprised that he hadn’t hurt anyone yet, considering this newfound super-human strength. Justin supposed it might have been because his new hands were so dextrous; they knew what they were doing.

*

Thérèse visited every afternoon. She said that his friends had attempted to visit, yet had been halted by hospital staff for whatever reason. On one day she brought a card that had been around the school and bore hundreds of messages saying ‘get will soon’ and ‘I’m so sorry’ and variations on the theme. Boswell and Vandyke put together a holograph projector that wrote the words ‘We love you’ into the air. On another day, Thérèse brought with her Nortier Holland, Chief Justice of the courts in New Geneva. Politely, Thérèse excused herself from the room and she threw a black look at Holland’s back as she left. The Chief Justice drew himself up a chair and sat down.

He surveyed Justin for a moment, sharp featured from his nose to his well-trimmed beard. He wore his white-blonde hair long, tied back. Cupping his hands over the head of his walking stick, he spoke “Your father was my friend, much as you are a friend to my son.” He paused and Justin nodded in the stony silence “More to the point, I wanted you to understand that the state is working to the utmost to find your family’s killer or killers.”

“Do you think you’ll find them?”

Holland’s lips stretched into a grim smile, and the lens of his monocle went white in the light “Certainly I do. You’ll find out in time, I’m sure. You understand of course that the apparatus of the state are deluged with bureaucracy and it may be some time; one would hope that you too would do your utmost however – in the hope of accelerating the investigation.” Justin nodded in agreement; maybe the EU would find out who was behind it, maybe, but they’d take their sweet time with it. “Speaking of accelerating, I have finalised arrangements for you to live with your godfather. When you are released from hospital you are free to live with the Dechenses.” He paused and continued in a less formal, businesslike tone “If you wish, I can perform funeral arrangements for your family. If it would be easier.”

“No, that’s alright.”

He returned to the strict voice he had been using before “I am also the executor of your father’s will. You have inherited a sizeable fortune, though it will be held in trust until you come of age. I intend to set up an allowance for you through Crédit Dechense. You will have ample funds for a boy of your age.”

“I see. Thank you sir.”

“You seem to be thinking about something very intently.” Holland noted and his forthright comment startled Justin.

“Sorry sir, I was just … I was just thinking.”

The Chief Justice stood and shook Justin’s hands “There’s nothing wrong with thinking Justin. Certainly you should be doing a lot of thinking for yourself.”

For days Justin was stuck in his spacious, if sparse, room. He combed through newspapers daily, watched the different news reports religiously. As time went on, he became increasingly more convinced that there was no chance for the authorities in New Geneva to do anything of note, despite the Chief Justice’s assurances and as time went on, he became increasingly sure that he could do something. As the days went by, he began to feel increasingly stronger and healthier, quite unlike how he had ever felt before. Never had he felt as though he could remain active for such stretches of time as he could now; sleep was less for recuperation but more for consolidation. His doctor remained stubbornly against Justin leaving the hospital as of yet, despite the boy’s urging. Another week perhaps and he would be free to go. It came to a head in the early hours of a remarkably hot evening, when Justin was visited by Inspector Marius Serge and his partner, a bookish looking man who wore glasses and a smile. He went by the name Linus Delano, and though he seemed harmless enough, Justin had a feeling that there was more than him than met the eye.

Serge took a seat, hanging his coat over the back of his chair. Delano stood by the window. “Do you remember me, Justin?” the detective asked and Justin said that he did “That’s good. We have some questions to ask me.”

“You were pretty thorough on Friday night.” Justin noted.

“We have something new to speak with you about.” Delano stated “During investigation of your home, we discovered a pair of severed arms.” Justin froze inside and mentally began shouting obscenities.

Serge continued “A little analysis of those arms show that they’re yours.”

For a while, no one spoke. Justin tried to keep his face devoid of anything that could give him away. A cold trickle of sweat ran down his temple and the corner Delano’s mouth twitched. “What are you trying to say here?” Justin asked quietly “Are you suggesting that I had something to do with this?”

“We just want to know what really happened.” Delano said kindly.

“Are you suggesting that I had something to do with this?”

“You’re not letting on what all you know, Justin.” Serge added, ignoring him.

“Are you suggesting that I had something to do with this?”

“The doctors tell us that you can’t have a drip,” Delano stepped forward, striding to the edge of the bed “Because every time they try, they can’t penetrate your skin.”

“Are you suggesting that I had something to do with this?”

Serge sighed and leant forward in his chair “You say you don’t know how your family was killed. We find a pair of arms in your home which belong to you, yet you have arms attached to you. You can understand how we-”

“Answer my fucking question!”

The humming of the air conditioning took over in the absence of speech. Serge and Delano watched Justin, their faces calm masks. Justin’s nose was wrinkled with anger and frustration. Serge stood up “I know you’re lying to us.”

Justin flung his sheets aside and swung his feet onto the floor. As he stood, Serge placed a gnarled hand onto his chest. Justin seized it by the wrist and glared at the detective. “Where do you think you’re going?” he asked quietly. Justin tightened his grip and Serge’s face twitched.

“I’m going out.”

“You’re still under observation,” Delano circled around the bed “More than that, we haven’t finished with you.”

“I somehow can’t seem to care. I’m done here. With you and with this place. I need to get out.” He cast a look over at Delano then turned his face back to Serge. “You might not agree, but I get this feeling that there’s nothing you could possibly do to stop me.” Serge stepped away from Justin, and when Delano took a step forward, his superior shook his head. Justin walked to the door and stopped, turning to face the two detectives once more “You two are just doing your jobs, I know. I also know you want to get to the bottom of this and I thank you for it. But take a look around the city – go get some holos of some of the stuff that’s been happening. Take a good long look at them, then at yourselves.” He turned and strode into the hallway. His doctor was approaching and when he sighted Justin he called out and jogged up to him. He demanded that Justin return to his bed. The boy shook his head. When the doctor pressed it, Justin laid a hand on his chest and gave him a little shove; a little shove that knocked him onto his back.

He stopped, turned around and helped the doctor to his feet. It wasn’t really right to take out his frustration on a man who was only doing what he thought was best.

*

The sidewalk was warm under his bare feet. Cool steam rose in thin clouds from the gutter, from supposedly sealed manhole covers. New Geneva was not a city that slowed down in the early hours of the night; streets heaved with traffic continually stopping and starting, with countless bodies strolling through the neon-lit evening. Each person caught up in his or her private world, oblivious to the shoe-less boy walking down the street in hospital owned pyjamas. Where they didn’t notice him or anyone else around them, Justin did. He found that he didn’t want to walk so quickly because there was so much to see, so much to hear. He’d never really seen it before, but each person walked in their own way, had their own little habits that were practically insignificant. One person might come on one side of the heel or the other; another person might swing their arms in time with their feet. The street, the city, had its own rhythm. It was like rain, the sound of thousands tramping as one.

Justin peeled away from the crowded streets into aide alley. It was strangely quieter here, more personal and remote. He walked a little of the way in, turned to the wall and leant against it. His palms, or the ones that Sully had given him at least, felt the cool wetness of rough concrete. He closed his eyes, then took a deep breath. ‘You’re doing so well to stay so strong’ Uncle Berenger had said. His father would have been proud. Justin hissed through his teeth then suddenly cried out and dug his fingers into the wall involuntarily, gouging scars through the concrete. His grief attracted attention.

“What the fuck’s wrong with him?” Justin turned his head and watched as a group of young men in puffy coats walked in his direction. They couldn’t have been much older than him, Justin noted, and he pulled away from the wall.

“Lookit how he’s dressed. Looks like he’s out of some hospital.” One floating to the side said. He walked ahead of his friends “He’s probably some kind of retard.” He bounced up to Justin, his cap backwards, his sunglasses. He was afraid, Justin could tell. Scared of someone different. He sneered and reached out and seized Justin by the scruff of his green shirt. He yanked and Justin let himself be pulled along, stepping past into the middle of a rough semi-circle. All of them had smiles plastered across their faces. Justin held up his hands and they laughed. ‘Check out the ‘tard’, ‘look at him beg’ they said, stuff like that. They closed in, shoved him a little. Justin gritted his teeth. When he’d had enough, he drew his hand back to his waist and thrust it out; all five of them went tumbling back across the concrete for several metres. The sunglasses on their leader’s face slid down his nose. None of them were as concerned as Justin, who stared at his fist in silent shock.

The click of a handgun being primed made Justin whip his head around. Sunglasses had a chunky handgun out, its body all hidden in chrome. Justin shook his head at the way he was holding the gun, one handed and practically upside down. “That’s not how you hold a gun.”

“Shut up!” he screeched and Justin shrugged.

“Right. Well, that’s your choice.”

“What the shit are you?!”

Justin shrugged again “I dunno actually. You going to shoot me? Is that thing even loaded?” he paused and went on mostly to himself “I don’t think it matters anyway.” He clenched and unclenched his fists. Maybe a workout would be good for him. Burn off that frustration. They were getting back up off the ground where he had thrown them. They were terrified – he could smell it on them. In their fear they drew weapons, flick knives that glinted in what little light they had. They stood, rooted to the spot. One of them shouted and charged straight at Justin, who replied by stepping to the side and punching straight out. The blow shattered the jawbone and crashed him into the wall. The others halted in their tracks. Justin did not.

Sunglasses watched as this guy in the hospital get-up went through each of his friends in turn. Sometimes he wasn’t sure if he’d actually moved or not. The pistol in his hand vibrated. His boys were being tossed around like dolls. Every time they tried to get up and get away, he’d grab them and continue beating on them. Blood was on the walls. Each one in turn was left leaking sticky blood onto the dirty street. Sunglasses turned and ran, his gun clattering against the ground. He gasped and screamed and ran harder and faster than he’d ever run before. Out of their, that dark place with that, that … whatever. At the end of the alley, so close, a light. The reassuring, friendly light of the city that washed out its features and surfaces in colour. So close; a few more steps. Steely fingers clamped down on the back of his neck.

Justin dragged him back, tugged on him sharply. He followed a tall ballistic arc and came down on his face, breaking his sunglasses. When he looked up, Justin was standing over him. His tunic was stained black in places; his knuckles red. Down came a bare foot, pinning head to ground. Justin realised that he only had to exert a little more pressure and the kid’s skull would crack like an egg. He noticed throughout laying into each one that had he wanted to, he could have murdered them all. It would have been so easy. So simple. The guy was blubbering; maybe he knew that he could die right here. Maybe he knew that if Justin really wanted it, his head could be smashed open like a ripe melon. Justin took his foot away.

*

Thérèse stepped out onto the top floor. She pulled her coat tighter around her frame to protect herself from the biting, rapid wind this high up. There was Justin, standing on the edge of the building, leaning against the steel rail. Beyond him, there was his demolished home; the fires had long been put out in the penthouse, but the devastation was still there. No windows, a tunnel smashed through the roof. She approached, the heels of her boots clicking against the rooftop as she went. Justin glanced briefly behind him, at her and she stopped a few paces away. She had known that he would have been here; as children they had sat on this rooftop, across from his house. They had swung their little legs over the edge, fitting them through the spaces in the safety fence. Thérèse didn’t say quite so much as that, however.

“I had a feeling you’d find me.” He replied, and she came closer. She took her coat off and put it over Justin’s shoulders.

“When papa got the call from the hospital, I couldn’t really leave you out here.” she became suddenly stern, and pulled Justin away from the fence “That was very stupid of you, you know that?” Justin shrugged, and Thérèse noticed the dark patches on his clothes “You have blood on you … did something happen to you?”

“I’m not sure if anything’s happened to me.” He slumped “Thérèse, I’m not really sure about anything at the moment. I’m not sure why this has happened.”

What point was there in moping about looking for a reason? It happened and philosophising wasn’t going to change. It might have been some planned terrorist plot; it might have been a random accident. Worrying about the reason was just going to make him do just that: worry. What mattered was that he was still alive. He could go on, and he would go on, she knew it. Thérèse took his hands in hers “We’ll cry about it, you know? I miss them too. Letting their deaths dominate your life will do nothing but hurt.” She stood on the tips of her toes and tightened her arms around Justin’s neck “I almost lost you too.” She whispered in his ear. “Let’s go home.”

So it took awhile, but things have come up. I can't promise that it will be without errors in spelling or grammar; Office died on me, so I'm stuck using wordpad, and entirely not in the mood for proofing just right now.

Newly editted!

Fate-Another Score

Chapter Five

On the first night that Justin slept in a bed outside of the hospital, the dreams returned. Though he had been safe from the predations of the boxer with black gloves for almost a whole week, he returned to haunt the passages of Justin’s dreams. He was forced awake once again, and sat up in the large bed set aside for him. He drew his knees up to his chest and laid his damp forehead against the expensive feeling bedcovers. Turning his head, Justin looked to the window, the tall window he left open. The light curtains billowed under the influence of the cooling nighttime air. There was a grandfather clock across the room and despite the dim light and distance; Justin saw that it was about half past one.

Kicking the embroidered covers away, Justin rolled to his feet and padded across to the window. He squeezed the sill, just to reassure his control over his hands. The broad grounds of the Dechense Estate rolled away from the house. The view was good from three stories up. The view was good inside the room as well; he turned after closing the windows and surveyed the exquisitely designed bedroom. Dark oak panels, thick red-gold carpets, fixtures so brightly polished that he could see his reflection in them. It was a beautiful room, no doubt about it, but he felt suddenly lonely.

Justin emerged in his shorts and his singlet and walked down the hall for a few doors. There was no point in creeping; it was a big house after all and only Thérèse and himself inhabited the entire wing. He wrapped his fingers around the fluted door handle. He waited a moment and stepped inside.

The door came open on silent hinges and Justin approached the bed. Her skin glowed in the shaft of light coming in through the window and he sat by the side. Her mouth was partly opened and her chest gently rose and fell beneath the gauzy slip she was wearing. Justin reached out and touched her cheek. Her skin was soft under the back of his fingers and he leant over her face to kiss her. In her sleep, she lazily and automatically returned it, mumbling incoherently in French. Justin pulled himself beside her and pushed one of the straps of her slip back onto her shoulder.

They fit together like two spoons. Justin put his arm around her flat stomach and settled his nose behind her ear. Thérèse’s smile broadened as she put her hand over Justin’s. He slept with no dreams.

*

Justin buried his family on the following Saturday. He had found that when he went about organising the event, which was pounced upon by some woman calling herself Peony Diodorus. She was both demanding and commanding and Justin barely managed to get a word in either way. In fact, all he really got to say was the name of the place where he was planning on burying them, and who he had intended to come along. He had placed down the phone with a sudden apprehension.

In some ways, Justin was justified. Perhaps he had intended for the family funeral to be a sedate affair, but his father was at the head of the European Union's armed forces, a man in the highest echelons of importance. This was a state event. Hundreds of men in dark red suits with golden lenses over their eyes patrolled the little cemetery. Their imposing, statuesque figures made the priest Justin had hired nervous, and he continually wiped his forehead.

"It's just a little, unusual, you understand?" he said to Justin when asked what was wrong with him. Justin patted the greying man on the shoulder.

It wasn't just the Secret Service that was about; enormous seas of journalists were clamouring to get comments and photos. They moved between the walls made by police cars with their lights flashing schizophrenically. When one photographer thought he or she had seen something newsworthy, their camera would flash, followed closely by the rest; a wave of white lights flowing from one end of the crowd to the other. Uncle Berenger had sneered 'vultures' under his breath and clapped Justin on the back, leaving to attend to the final details of the event. In a way, Justin felt honoured, for the President himself was attending, but he was not impressed with the disturbances it caused.

Friends and their family had found it difficult to make it inside; continually checked and harassed as they were. Vandyke, when he arrived, said he found the practices of the paparazzi distasteful and 'not in the proper image of journalism'. His father, a journalist himself, said much the same. It was enough to drive Madam Boswell to tears, and when the plump woman hugged Justin, it was as much an embrace from he to her as she to him. As he greeted his guests one by one, each one dressed in sombre black, he was heartened. When Niles arrived, they clasped their fists together, and Niles powerfully struck Justin upon the shoulder.

"Dammit Sturgeon." he said after a few moments of silence had passed "It's just too much. Your family; Sully too." Justin tried his best to looked surprised, but he found it difficult. He'd seen Sullivan pass on in that strange way, as though consumed - eaten away by an unseen force.

"It is too much," Justin replied "but I've come to put them to rest."

Soon, men and women in the uniforms of the European Union Defence Forces began to assemble, and soon after that, the President himself with his staff. Justin supposed that the women in the dark red by his side was that Diodorus woman that had altered his the simple little burial service into a show for the media; undoubtedly the President's approval rating would go up after this: 'Head of State farewells beloved general; comforts bereaved family'. The was what The Node would say; at least Justin could be pleased that Vandyke's father would probably get the honour of writing such an article.

The attendees stood in a rough semicircle around the gravesite. Justin stood across from the priest as he spoke his words. His hand was interlocked with Thérèse's, Uncle Berenger stood with a meaty set of digits gripping Justin's shoulder. Strong men in impressive uniforms lowered the caskets below the marble. There was soft sobbing and a faintly audible clicking from in the distance; the paparazzi. Justin paid no attention to it, despite the distance. That wasn't important.

When the bodies were sealed below, the pastor invited the assembled inside on Justin's behalf, to share in drinks and in stories of the deceased. In clumps, they pulled away trekking across the flat emerald grass towards the stately building in the distance. Small drops of rain began to leak from the clouds above, sporadically, but gaining in strength. Justin, who had been shaking the father's hand, pulled his jacket off and held it above the old man's head and led him after the others, hidden beneath their black umbrellas. Still the cameras clicked.

"I think my parents would have liked what you said." Justin commented as he slowed his pace to match the greying priest "I don't know about Emily though."

"Hmm, why's that?" the older man panted.

"She was an atheist. Eleven years old and she'd already decided that religion was full of crap." the father grimaced "She used to make fun of Mum and Dad because they would go to Church every so often, and would outright refuse to come along. No matter the religion: 'Faith is a cop-out!' she would shout in open defiance."

"What about you, Mister Sturgeon?" the priest asked, perhaps in desperation.

"Oh, I don't know. Anything's possible I suppose." he glanced back at the graves.

Justin shook the hand of the President. He was no taller that Justin, and rather a bit more thin. Despite his appearance, he walked with a purposeful stride, a charming smile. He and Justin spoke for some time; about how much the President wished that the Sturgeons had not been killed, and how he wished for a speedy investigation into who was behind it all. He mentioned how poor the weather had become, and how it was lucky that the rain relented until the service was over; he commented on how Justin was lucky that he had such supportive friends. The boy nodded and agreed, his eyes flicking occasionally to the red suited Secret Service operatives. Though their eyes were hidden, Justin could tell they were watching him. He knew, could feel it, that they were afraid for the President's life. A high standing member of society had been murdered in an audacious terrorist attack. Perhaps they planned to build to the President?

Eventually, Uncle Berenger arrived and took over for Justin, leaving him to wander off, looking for some of his friends. He found Niles and Boswell standing by a window, conversing quietly between them. The were speaking of Sullivan, but also of potentially what groups would have an interest in harming high ranking members if the EUDF. Boswell sipped from a fluted glass of Champagne, and when Justin arrived, he took it away from his friend and gulped down half of it in one mouthful.

He handed the glass back and Boswell scowled.

"It's a circus today." Justin explained, sliding his hands into his pockets. "Absolute circus. My family should have been buried in peace."

"Rightly so, Justin." said Nathan's voice. Justin turned, looked at him in his black, Mandarin collared suit and nodded. "General Sturgeon was a man highly respected in the public eye. They want to see him put to rest. Don't they deserve that?"

"Maybe they do." Niles interjected "But that don't have the right to it. Those photographers are feeding on grief."

"So they are ...?"

"Niles is fine."

"So they are, Niles." Nathan admitted, "That's what the mass media does. No doubt this incident will be used in the lynchpin argument for all sorts of new anti-terror laws." his mouth was open in mid-sentence when a trickle of blood ran lethargically from one nostril. He put a hand to his nose and frowned. He left rather hastily, and Justin caught a glimpse of Nathan's father - he too was excusing himself, holding a kerchief to his face already soaked red. Boswell's brow furrowed and Niles shrugged. When Justin glanced out of the window, he saw a pair of people standing in front of the grave. One was short and wore red; the other was blonde in contrast to the other one's black hair, and the black clothes she was wearing. Justin cocked his head.

Justin excused himself and left the building. He made a vague excuse to Thérèse and Virginie as he passed them, and headed out onto the grounds. Rain spattered his white shirt as he headed to the burial site in what was effectively a jog faster than most sprints. No one was there and he blinked. Tōsaka. The instinct was settled in his gut. She was good at appearing and disappearing. His face snapped up to the tree line not so far away - sound, movement. He was taken with a sense of urgency, a flash of intuition, a feeling deep in his gut; he took off at a dash. He jarred a tree and it cried out in surprise, that shout mingled with the sound of cracking wood. Justin caught the man who fell by the dirty collar of the shirt he was wearing. He looked like one of the caretakers, but the camera mounting a lens so large it looked as though it belonged on a tank said otherwise. Justin eyed the greasy looking man with distaste.

"My, you are fast, Mister Sturgeon." he said conversationally, his feet swinging above the ground "I'm not sure I actually saw you coming." Justin dropped him, and the photographer staggered under the weight of his gargantuan camera. He took a hasty step backwards, brushing long dark hair out of his face. Justin saw that despite the man's age, he still possessed skin blemishes like any normal teenager.

"You're a paparazzo." Justin stated and the man rubbed the tips of his fingers nervously in response, but didn't bother denying everything. He gave his name as Jaeger Hennings. "You're pretty good, you know, to get through all the security on this event. Or to even find out about it." Hennings' face gained a vague flush and dismissed it out of hand, saying that it was nothing. Justin's temper flared and he grabbed a handful of Hennings' overalls. The material tore, and rendered the effect of dragging Hennings close useless; Justin stepped forward and stood over the photographer. The telephoto lens pressed against Justin's stomach.

"This was the day I buried my mother, my father and my little sister." he bared his teeth and walked Hennings back into a tree. A cloud passed over the weak sun, leaving the little forest darkened. A wind stirred up loose debris on the ground. Maybe it was only a trick of the light, but Hennings thought that Justin was missing the colour from his eyes.

He swallowed "Now Mister Sturgeon, I meant no offence." Hennings hastily put his hands up as though to ward Justin off "To be honest I was more looking for photos of the President. I don't think very highly of him, and I think his attendance was more for show than anything." Hennings went on about popularity polls and how it looked as though the late General would be taking over the position of President within a few years. He held out his camera "Have a look if you like."

Going through the camera's internal memory, Justin found that Hennings was telling the truth. Most of the photos were of the President looking morose. He didn't quite notice that the photos which he appeared in being rather blurred, but he did notice when he came to the last few. It was the family grave, with the two figures standing over it. He couldn't make out any real features apart from shape, but it was without doubt Tōsaka; the way she carried herself was evident even in the hazy photo. Despite the new angle, he had no real idea who the other girl was; just that underlying feeling that not only did he know her, but he intended to know her better.

Pushing the camera back into Hennings' hands, Justin turned away. As he walked away, Hennings slumped heavily against the tree, falling to the ground. He watched Justin push through the bushes and make his way back towards the building were those invited congregated. Jaeger Hennings was used to be the uninvited, the outsider and not for the first time he yearned to be on the inside.

Justin scaled the stairs in his wet attire and saw Nathan standing at the top. He looked mildly lost in thought, leaning against the hardwood banister. One of his hands went up in silent greeting as Justin walked in. He waved Justin over to stand with him. "I know what you're thinking," he said, leaning down against the smoothly polished handrail "You're asking yourself a simple question: 'who did it? Who killed them'."

Through a supreme conscious effort, Justin managed to simply shrug, kept his face clear, even though Nathan wasn't looking. "Am I, huh?"

"You are," Nathan confirmed "And I guess you're angry with yourself, because you don't think you know. Maybe you do though; I remember that you were always pretty good at puzzles. Perhaps you just have to put together the pieces you have already." Nathan laughed suddenly "What do I know? Pieces of the puzzle indeed." he stood up and left Justin sitting against the banister.

The tapping of his foot was chaotic in rhythm as he mused on what Nathan had said. Pieces of puzzle? He knew all these little odd bits of data, and yet he'd never really thought of connecting them all. Justin was more than a little surprised - Serge and Delano had been right. He understood with supreme clarity the obvious truth of the matter: who was responsible for the sudden pain in his life. It was part relief, but it was also part black happiness. Now he knew where to direct his arms; or perhaps his arms now knew where to direct his feelings. They bubbled up within him like a flood; boiling rage and irrational hatred. Black bile went missing in favour of yellow; melancholy rapidly smelted itself into choler.

In his head there repeated the name: Tōsaka.

He rubbed the hard knuckles of one alien fist. He wondered where he could find her, find Tōsaka. All he needed was a location and she would be lying half dead in a growing pool of her own blood. He had no conscious idea of wether he was capable of killing a trained magician, yet that seemed unimportant to the feeling that there was a chance he could do it. No time to worry about it; it was vitally important that he get moving. Justin's first step was interrupted by Thérèse calling out his name.

She approached, walking forward to him, and all that built up anger simply evaporated. All that concern there was too much for Justin, and he accepted her embrace without speaking. "All this is making you angry, oui?" As Justin caressed the back of her head, he bounced his own from side to side. He went with her explanation. "I thought it might have been. You don't have to stay; I'll take you home."

"That'd be nice." he thanked her, kissing her forehead. Tōsaka wasn't going anywhere, he knew. He could find her in time. Tomorrow, maybe.

*

Night was falling, though the city centre didn't care for it. The hustle and bustle was sated by the oncoming evening, though ever so slowly the great monoliths were emptying themselves of workers. As the sky darkened and natural light was replaced with the artificial, broad, sleek cars slipped past traffic, their lights pulsating with the consistency of a calm heartbeat. The multi-hued cacophony ran across their alabaster shells like oil on water. Inside the lead police cruiser, two men sat in disgruntled silence. Members of the metropolitan police, clad in the dark uniform, capes and all. Jean Talbot, long jawed and lean, and his older partner Rance Carel, beard dark grey and his body bulging within his uniform. They both carried internal apprehensions at this sudden call to investigate a disturbance downtown; they both knew well the increasingly dangerous state of affairs that the word 'disturbance' described these days. If they were lucky, the disturbance would have passed already.

The squadron of cars drew to a smooth halt, arrayed before the front doors of one of the many buildings standing proud and tall in New Geneva. Car doors swept open and the officers emerged, looking at each other, at the doors. It was quiet; no lights, no noise. At first glance, it seemed totally empty, but the building was vast - it had thousands of cubic metres to hide people in. It might have looked peaceful, but that was no guarantee. Talbot feared danger, not merely for himself, but for his partner and his comrades. As he and Carel scaled the stairs to the front glass walls, Talbot kept in mind the twelve years he had spent with the police, most of that as Carel's friend. The enormous police officer leaned in close to the front door and peered across the lobby.

"Looks pretty clean." he said slowly, hesitating as he focussed on the front desk. He pulled out a flashlight and sent an arm of light into the darkened room, letting it fall across the desk. A ring glittered upon a young woman's hand. Both men drew their sidearms, almost simultaneously with the sounds of a shattering window. Their car was crushed beneath a massive weight; its windows exploded outwards in a halo of glass shards, its roof caved in. Lying back was something that appeared almost human to Talbot’s eye: two arms, two legs, hands and feet, but it was no man.

He stepped away in fear at the sight of it; it was not its massive stature of almost six and a half feet tall, nor its dark bronze armour, nor even the pallid, bone-like hide, but instead the face. Noseless, both eyes burning like coals in their sockets, its mouth a terrible mess of brutally large fangs latched together. It's angular stony hand clutched at the broken haft of some spear while the remains of a shield were still bound to its off-arm. Talbot's mouth was falling open, and Carel exclaimed 'holy shit!' under his breath. The first officer to react raised his gun, only to have the splintered spear pass through his protect-vest and his flesh, tearing wide open one of his lungs. The monstrous soldier swung him on the end of its stick, flung the fully-grown man like he was nothing. Talbot caught his comrade, and fell through the glass with a crash, showers of glass crunching beneath his weight. Thunderous was their gunfire but it lasted only a few moments; as Talbot watched, Carel was murdered, a furious blur slicing him into four pieces. A sheet of blood coated the glass.

Screaming without realising, Talbot threw the body of his fellow officer off him and skittered away. He had no idea wether or not the man was alive, so taken with his flight was he. He sprinted for the elevator, which opened on his approach. Desperately Talbot thrust his hand into whatever button; he was facing the front now, and the eyes of the monster glowed unbearably hot. The policeman fell away from the closing doors; a bone hand burst through it like paper and caught Talbot a high glancing blow to the temple. The sharp fingers barely brushed him, yet it felt as though his head was almost torn clean off. Talbot fell heavily, grasping at his face as blood cascaded down the side of his face.

"Floor sixty eight." the elevator chimed and Talbot trooped out, pistol in hand. He advanced slowly, quietly. There was some sort of bass thumping and piercing metal screams permeating the building. Calming himself, Talbot reached for his radio, but all he got was white noise.

Angry, he spent a few moments bandaging his head and wiping the blood out of his eyes then moved on. He swept his flashlight out before him, illuminating the hallway before him. He spotted a person lying prone, twisted in a fall. Carried files were spread against the floor haphazardly. Talbot knelt by the body and examined it; still alive, though her breathing was shallow. He rolled the unconscious woman onto her back when his ears were filled with the sound of a passing aircraft. A thump blew him onto his back, and the ceiling gave way in a shower of debris. Talbot glimpsed that monstrous warrior (or was it another?) then he found himself pushed into a side room. Flame filled the hallway and the building shook. Talbot burst back, gun at the read, to find a girl in red standing quite nonchalantly amidst the heat. Before Talbot could even open his mouth, his gun had come apart into its individual pieces. The fire went out and he was thrown violently up against a wall.

A red blur hinting at furious movement killed his vision, a bright flash and that monster tumbled across the floor in six or so pieces. The girl was gone. Talbot stumbled a little closer to the fallen body parts and fell gasping to his knees. Blue light leaked from the dead soldier, and it suddenly crumbled, evaporating. Talbot's last feelings were ones of confusion and surprise, as a passing Spartoi cleaved him from collarbone to pelvis with the edge of his aspis.

The Spartoi's name was Udeus, and he was captain of the deployed familiars. Put quite simply, he was enraged. Throughout the combat he had lost all of his peltasts and many of his hoplites. No fire support, no artillery, no fast shock attack - the operation was becoming a massacre and not in his favour. He smashed through a wall into a stairwell and began to spiral up it, his clawed feet ripping great rents out of the bare stone, filling the place with concrete dust. If he could engage the Master in direct combat, he could bring this into a victory worthy of Pyrrhus. Certainly she was skilled, but he was a warrior spawned from the teeth of a dragon and had the utmost faith in his abilities as a combatant. His grip tightened angrily around the hilt of his xiphos. For his fallen comrades.

Udeus had only a little skill in locating the use of sorcery compared to his fellow captain Hyperenor, but he had excellent tracking skills in general. The girl made noises, changes in her surrounds that he could follow. He directed the nearest unit of Spartoi to converge upon her location; referring his map of the building he had memorised, he realised she was going to pull one of his master's seals apart. His teeth parted in grim parody of a smile. They had the witch now.

Rin had an idea they were coming, but it was a limited one. The Spartoi, by virtue of their existence, were hazy in their future actions. Yet still, when the Spartoi attacked, she was ready for them. She raised her right hand, one finger extended. The curse's name was Gandr, and it was based upon the principle of causing one's health to falter with an outstretched finger. It had differing effects based upon the amount of prana concentrated into the curse; for Rin this was enough to cause actual physical cremation. She was also quite proud of the rate of fire she could manage.

Dozens of burning holes opened up in her line of sight, all within the same split second, all of them large enough to fit a man's head through. The lucky Spartoi managed to take the brunt of the blasts on their aspis shields; those who were unlucky received charred craters in their carved bone skin and were propelled backwards through the walls in showers of plaster dust. A Spartoi leapt in like a missile, glittering Orichalcum spearhead lusting after Rin's throat. She stepped to the side and brought her hand, crackling with blue-white arcs of electricity, into the warrior's face. Streams of lightning cascaded from the Spartoi's body, lashing the room with heat and flame.

Making use of her strikes momentum, Rin whipped around left hand out. Black light gathered at the tip of her finger and zipped into nothing; the Spartoi, off balance, drenched in electrical fire, was blasted apart from the waist up. Two more seemingly appeared, one striking high with his sword, the other with his spear, this one low. Rin, in a feat of supreme acrobatic ability, twisted her small body between the flashing and deadly weapons, thrusting her palms out. Both Spartoi were collected and launched out of the room by her telekinesis. Still in the air, Rin orientated herself so she could touch the floor. Light spread across it like oil atop water and it disappeared, funnelling and forming itself in Rin's hand. When she landed on the floor below, she used the blade of her newly formed naginata to catch Udeus' falling xiphos.

The captain growled and lunged forward, finding that the witch had a practically unassailable defence. The whirling polearm covered over thirty square metres around its wielder. She was skilled too, he had to admit, a match even for him, and with techniques that put her on a whole new level. He might have been faster and stronger, but she could blink; there was no more dangerous enemy than one that could simply appear anywhere in line of sight.

Rin inscribed a circle around her with the curved spearhead, and unnaturally hot blue fire leapt up from the floor. Everything was going liquid including the floor. They all went down and in the falling inferno, Rin lashed out three times in the space of milliseconds - two blows took the heads from the shoulders of his two fellow warriors, and the third just barely avoided cutting deep into Udeus' head at eye level. He fell back as did she. The captain plunged back into the fray, but even as his claws had bit into the floor to launch himself forward, a terrible wound opened on just with no apparent cause. White dust obscured him, as though drills were grinding his torso into nothing.

Udeus' head, arms and legs clattered nosily to the floor. Rin waved her hand and what was left of the fire was quenched by sudden moisture or smothered by unseen forces. The magician smiled at the young woman standing opposite her, clad in white armour and blue dress. "My Master." she said, inclining her blonde head.

Haha, Rin finally got the servant she wanted

That she did. Besides, Saber was always better under Rin anyway. As an aside, there should be a new chapter up by tonight.

And lo, this is a new chapter as I promised. To be totally honest I'm not completely happy with it. It just seems a mite ... strange, in some regards. Anyway:

Fate-Another Score

Chapter Six

Justin glanced backwards at Thérèse entangled in her bed sheets. He smiled at her, and then stepped out her window. The ground rushed up at him in under a second and he did not wait around. The sun was steadily gaining height as he passed over the grass, found the high iron fence and leapt over it. Justin paused to bounce on his heels. He wasn't quite sure what he was doing, but he seemed to be able to control his more powerful body with surprising skill and finesse. He dashed off.

What Justin would not have understood, nor did he have any inkling of, was that he was not directly controlling the actions of his body. Rather, he was simply making suggestions, and his body acted upon those suggestions to the best of its ability. It was all about intent and feeling; Justin knew he wanted to get into the city quickly, so he did. The technique he was using, of leaping along a flat trajectory at hundreds of metres at a push, was not one that Justin had ever practiced, or even considered before that day. It was however efficient and fast, so that is what he did.

As he outstripped cars, he did not think of what caused these new abilities. Even when he saw it with his own eyes, Justin's concept of magic and sorcery was nonexistent. The very source of it permeated his veins, metaphorically speaking, and he cared not for it. He didn't know what a magician could do. He was apparently a magician himself; did that mean he could throw balls of fire or fly? Some might have said he was flying now, considering his speed.

Justin had decided that Rin Tōsaka would die that morning. On any other day, that would have been more difficult; Justin knew very little of Tōsaka outside of her name. He did know, for instance, that she was a practicing Christian. He didn't know what church she attended, but he was sure he could work it out. There weren't that many churches in New Geneva anyway - two or three dozen. He wouldn't have to go through all of them either; he would radiate out from Obsidian, look for those close by. Simple in theory.

In practice, Justin's plan was ridiculous. Why would Tōsaka attend a church close by to her school as opposed to a church nearby her house? New Geneva covered almost a thousand square kilometres; she could have lived anywhere, or chosen a church anywhere. Gut instinct wasn't going to cut it.

Yet, Justin found himself being drawn to a certain location. Gut instinct he would later attribute it to, but instinct had nothing to do with it. Flashes of intuition or prophetic memory, the twisting, ever changing strands of fate unravelling and wrapping themselves into a view of the future where Justin Sturgeon finds Rin Tōsaka's place of worship? Perhaps. In any case, he found himself standing before a church - Our Lady of Justice - and found Tōsaka walking down the sweeping white steps amidst a crowd of other churchgoers. Their eyes met across the long tiled path that cut through the church's garden.

She rubbed the back of her head and tried to smile reassuringly. Justin watched her whisper something to the air as he approached. He gritted his teeth and tensed himself; feet gaining traction against the ground, his fists sealing themselves. An invisible hand hit him in the back and forced him to the ground. The continued pressure began to crack the stone. "Sorry Sturgeon-kun," Tōsaka called from the steps, she waved her hand and those standing around lost all interest and began to walk away "I don't want you to get hurt."

With a roar of frustration, Justin shoved his hand into the ground and watched as the pale stone was split apart, exploding upwards. Tōsaka quite nonchalantly stepped to the side and crossed her arms "Baka." she spat "Instinctual Tracing isn't going to help you." She took a few steps forward and presented her palms to him. The force on his back lessened "We can talk this over, we can-" Justin pushed through the weakening push on his shoulders and leapt at her. Tōsaka swatted him out of the air before he'd moved so much as few inches. She rolled her eyes.

Justin tumbled and hit the ground on his feet, skidding a few metres. He didn't pause for breath and launched himself again, the impact of his foot shattering tiles into shards. Tōsaka raised her eyebrows and then her hand. It shook once and a great trench was carved through the stone and the dirt. Justin pushed himself to the side, hit the ground with one hand and crossed dozens of metres so quickly it was as though he had teleported. His arm hit nothing and Tōsaka's elbow impacted the back of his head. He stumbled away, then struck backwards. She was standing ten metres away.

"I'm somewhat impressed, you managed to pull a Holtzman manoeuvre. I didn't see it coming." she tapped one thigh "More seriously, why are you doing this?"

"Don't you realise!?"

"Well you are very angry, I will ad-"

He cut her off furiously "You killed my family!" he snarled and took off after her again. When she launched a wave of force at him, Justin leapt over it and came down with such power that his fist explosively created a crater large enough to lose a man in. Rin had not been near by, and she blinked forward again, in the process of kicking him in the face. The first blow hit him fair, but the follow up he blocked. Justin went tumbling across the ground.

Dirt and broken white stone rained down upon them both. Justin stood, his breathing heavy. He wiped a trickle of blood away from the corner of his mouth. Tōsaka shook her head and backed away hands up. The boy bared his teeth and Tōsaka frowned. He shouted once again and charge across the path. The tiles exploded behind him as he moved. Tōsaka pushed his first punch to the side, rotated and brought her foot into the side of his skull. As he fell, his other fist, his strong right, hit her in the side. The impact shuddered all through Rin's body and she landed, clutching her side on the church steps. Her mouth formed itself into a toothy smile.

"Where did you get this strength from?" she gasped breathily as he covered the distance between them almost instantly. They were moving too fast for words to pass between them; everything they would have said would have been torn away by the wind they made. Yet still he heard her, deep inside his head. She was wreathed in flame as she whirled and sliced with her hands and feet. The stone melted beneath them, ran liquid orange. His clothes were burning away and he grasped a hold of her. The small girl twisted out of Justin's hands and hit him with another wall of telekinetic force. With a single blow he pushed through it and knocked her up the twenty or so metres to the altar.

A trickle of blood, strikingly red, ran from her nose where she tasted it on her lips. What raw power; uncontrolled, but certainly impressive. Justin drew back his fist again and raced down the aisle. He threw his killing punch at Tōsaka, only to find it clenched in the hand of another. The stain glass windows all throughout shattered and came down in multicoloured rain. Pews were tossed up against walls. Justin blanched as the hand, shelled in pearly armour, squeezed, then sent him skidding out the church door like a missile. He finally came to a halt at the very outskirts of the church gardens, and only because an armoured boot had fallen upon his throat.

Justin gurgled as his throat was steadily crushed. He was being forced into the ground and the pressure was only released when Tōsaka called out in a sharp voice: "Arturia!" Justin began to raise himself up when something ephemeral yet impossibly sharp passed across his throat; not deep enough to kill, but it was as good a warning as any other.

Instead of rising to his feet, Just stayed on the ground and looked up at the woman who had defeated him so easily: though they had never met, she had become so familiar. The dress, the armour, the eyes; she'd been there that night. She'd probably done it personally; killed his family. Should Justin want revenge, it would be against this strange young woman. And yet, looking up at her, he found that though she was within reach, he couldn't bring himself to attack. She towered above him, the top of her head scraping against the clouds. She was ultimate authority and righteous power.

And she was being berated by a five-foot tall schoolgirl. If he hadn't thought it incredibly serious, Justin thought he might have found it amusing as Tōsaka approached this indomitable armoured warrior standing amidst clouds of pulverised stone wafting through the air, had his very life not been at stake. "I told you to stay out of it!" she shouted angrily.

"I was worried for your safety, Master." the woman replied. Her accent sounded ... more than a little familiar. She sounded right out of the British Isles.

"You didn't think I couldn't handle him?" Tōsaka spat.

"Then why didn't you? Unless you let him engage you in direct combat."

Rin looked from the indomitable female form of the knight then to Justin on the ground "He's a ... he's a friend, Arturia. His family was killed as a by-product of our fighting. I couldn't just melt his brain." Arturia sighed loudly and tapped an her foot metallic against the ground "I think we owe it to at least set him straight."

"Very well. You are my Master." she glanced about "We should move on. You can't continue to effect those nearby." Tōsaka nodded and waved at Arturia. The woman seemingly disappeared and Justin blinked as Rin leaned in and grasped him by the charred collar.

"You don't have any choices here. Either you come with me and you listen to me, or I kill you." Justin didn't reply, "I'm the only one who has what you want to know. You can try to kill me again, but if you do, she'll murder you."

Justin considered for a moment. Though Tōsaka seemed sincere, he certainly didn't want to let her live. The threat of the woman, Arturia hung over him. Dying was no way to repay his family. He gave in.

*

Tōsaka lived in a loft apartment overlooking a part of the city some called The Moonlit World; known as one of the largest collections of nightclubs in the European Union. Come the late evening when the sun was down and most businesses closed themselves up until the coming dawn, The Moonlit World came alive with thousands of young women and men and the latest tracks in electronica, Madchester, trance. Justin had recognised the place when they had first arrived, and was somewhat surprised. Nervous, he mentioned it as small talk and Rin replied that she liked the atmosphere. It was loose and easy.

They ascended in a large lift and through the brass mesh Justin could see that 'loose and easy' suited Rin well. It was more than a little messy; there were piles of open books on the low coffee table, jackets and other articles of clothing draped across pieces of furniture. There were numerous objects of art, little curiosities like plaster casts of peoples' faces, vicious looking implements made of from old, old iron. There was a painting, one with a man holding out a golden apple towards three pale women, but Justin's attention was drawn to the table below it. All manner of knife, each one immaculate and polished to a mirror shine, were aligned upon crimson velvet. Some were curved, others serrated. Some were curved and serrated and appeared to have six or more edges.

Rin stopped before the table and reached up her shirt, pulling free a sheathed knife amidst a mess of leather straps. She placed it on the table then glanced over at Justin "Sit." she said, not unkindly and he did as was suggested. To his surprise, Arturia was standing by the window. Her armour was gone, and with it, she seemed less dangerous, though certainly no less imposing.

Sinking into the dark leather, Justin looked up at the rafters and saw that there were words of a sort carved into them. It was no language he'd ever seen before; and if it was a language, it was ridiculously complex. Every letter had enormous amounts of strokes and dots and ... he narrowed his eyes: squiggles?

Tōsaka dropped into an armchair off to the side and swung her legs over one arm. She considered Justin for a moment as he squinted at the runes on the roof and coughed lightly. Snapped out of his examination, Justin turned his attention to Tōsaka. She asked him if he would like a drink, and he said he didn't. The girl shrugged and directed Arturia to pour her a drink. As the tall woman walked towards what Justin presumed was the kitchen, curiosity overtook him and he asked just who she was. Rin smiled as she did "I'll put it simply; that's King Arthur."

Blinking, Justin turned his head to look at the woman as she walked away. He hips swung under her blue dress. He looked back to Tōsaka, and then refocussed on Arturia. "You know, I always thought that King Arthur would look more like a man." he said. The girl shrugged nonchalantly.

"That's what everyone says." she took the stout looking glass which was handed her. Perhaps with a gentle movement of her hand, perhaps with her innate powers, Rin set the orange juice trapped within the transparent walls in ripples and waves. She sipped and waved one hand vaguely "That's who she is, but not what she is, or where she comes from, or why she's here." Rubbing her forehead, Tōsaka huffed "Explaining this going to be difficult. It's complex. There's so much to explain, and you don't have years of past experience with this sort of thing. No point moaning about it though, ne?"

The girl took another sip from her drink then placed it down on the hardwood floor. Swivelling about to face Justin, she leant forward. "When you look at your world, you see something ordinary and normal. What you're beginning to see is the world that exists in the shadow of your own. It's not a world you haven't experienced before; in ways it will have touched you. When something seems convenient, when you read the story of some long dead hero from a long dead story, when your breath catches in your throat in the cold, dark hours of the night, you see it. You might not know it, but it exists right alongside you, between the individual beats of your heart."

There are records within the hallowed halls of magical learning - from the vicious world of the sprawling Association to the academically minded Sea of Estray all the way to the Assembly of the Eighth Sacrament within the Roman Catholic Church - that speak of an artefact quite unlike any other. Some speak of it with fanatical reverence, others with fear, others still with a kind of morbid curiosity. It was the subject of such rampant greed that it was an interesting psychological oddity should one have an interest in that sort of thing. Perhaps calling it an artefact was misleading, for it was a concept, a mystery crystallised.

The Holy Grail.

Legend said it was the cup that held the blood of God. Ancient papers on the Grail indicated that it was true magic, a miracle formed into the fabric of the world. A cup that granted wishes, that held the key to the soul. It was an item of the highest historical significance. She who held it could claim to be the most powerful person on the face of the earth, so great was its abilities.

Possession of the Grand Holy Grail had been for many the ultimate expression of their lives. They dedicated themselves to finding it, making it their own and with it prestige and power quite unlike anything else. Blood had flown as rivers and countless souls had been commended to the endless nothing over the fate of the elusive Grail.

Great armies of men lead by mighty lords had gone into battle and carrion birds had grown fat on their flesh. Terrible deeds had been named in honour of bloody warriors. Yet time dragged on, and the wars for the Grand Holy Grail became dominated by fewer and fewer. Where once stood legions of soldiers and nations, there began to stand sorcerers, those masters of the arcane sciences and oldest mysteries. They separated themselves from their kin by possession of a pact they had made with a place (a thing? A person?) called the Timeless Throne of Eternal Heroes. Through it, through this concept from outside of time and space, they called to their sides the elemental force of humanity.

"Call them Eirei - erm, Epic Spirits - if you like. Figures drawn from the past and future; actualised forces of nature." she tried to convey it as much with her feelings as with her words. Though Arturia seemed human enough - she could be touched, she thought, she felt - she was a shell of human images. Justin could never hope to truly understand what Arturia really was.

“The man you knew as Sullivan Fraiser was a Servant himself; his actual name is Muhammad Ali. I’m quite surprised that you, as a boxer with an interest in boxing, didn’t realise.” Justin shrugged. Sully was Sully. Rin had determined that Ali’s Master had been killed and that he had attempted to produce a contract with someone else “A Servant cannot survive without its Master.” Rin explained “Naturally you were chosen as you have sorcerous blood. I wouldn’t say he was lucky either; this is the nature of fate.”

“Sorcerous blood?” Justin paused “Are you saying my family has a history of magic?”

Tōsaka nodded “Sorcery. I took an interest in you because your bear the name of a once famous magician. Sturgeon isn’t exactly a common family name, ne?” when he queried, Tōsaka told him that his grandfather was known within the worldwide magician community as a mysterious researcher. He had stepped foot into the chambers of knowledge across Britain and Europe, in the east, in Egypt (some spoke in hushed whispers of some sort of affair between him and Madam Atlasia, head of Egypt’s ‘Giant’s Pit’. Hearsay, naturally).

Justin wondered if his father had known about his father’s strange history. Had he known that his blood ran with abilities beyond the human norm? Rin said she’d never heard of any other Sturgeon outside of Julius Sturgeon who dabbled in thaumaturgy within the past two hundred years.

By the contract that Muhammad Ali had made with Justin, he had been drawn into the War for the Holy Grail. His magic circuits had been stunted through disuse and he had no prior knowledge or any skill in sorcery. Normally this would spell his death: normal humans had no way to stand against a Master, let alone their Servants. Yet Justin was no longer a normal human; after his death, fate had intervened. Ali had bestowed upon Justin his fists of heaven.

“Servants such as Arturia possess what we have decided to call Noble Phantasms.” She considered for a moment “Think of them as armaments that are constructed using the imaginations of humans as their cores. Muhammad Ali’s Noble Phantasm manifested itself through his arms. Now that they are attached to you, you possess their great power.”

Justin gazed at his hands and held them up. Rin continued “Don’t think that those are attached to you in the same way as your old ones. They are not flesh and blood, though they appear as such.”

Not flesh and blood? Interconnected to him only through imaginary nerves? Tōsaka could be confusing when she wanted to be. She continued talking about what they had done for him: he had near-Servant physical capabilities, though not their extensive experience and incredible combat skills. The Hands of Heaven would undoubtedly provide him with abilities and skills that only the greatest magicians could bring to bear.

More than that, he could be trained in the principles of Thaumaturgy. Already he was making surprising use of the basic talents of Reinforcement and Tracing; the latter being the rearrangement of the chemical, molecular and atomic structure of matter. Of course, he didn’t know what he was doing, but with training he would. Rin mused aloud that she might even be able to teach him to fly or some rudimentary curses.

“You? You’d teach me?”

“Why not?” Rin asked, suddenly indignant “I’m an exceptional magician, especially considering my age. It might be interesting to have an apprentice.” She paused “Think of it as part of my apology for indirectly killing your family.”

“Pardon me?”

“A galanas,” Arturia offered “A repayment. We have wronged you, and thus we will attempt reparation for this. My Master will teach you witchcraft-”

“Sorcery.” Rin interjected.

“And I will tutor you in combat. So as to ensure your continued survival.” The young woman finished.

Justin sat back in Rin’s couch and looked from one female to the other. He looked at his hands as well, clenching them and unclenching them. “Or I could simply leave. Go on with my life. I don’t need to take part in this war of yours. You fight for the Holy Grail.”

Rin smiled at him in that way that Justin could not decide was angelic or diabolical “But you don’t really want to. You’re intrigued by it all. You want to know, want to take part. Though you know little about the Grail, you want it.” She laughed “Besides, you’re already a part of the War. You’re already a Master; which makes you a threat. It may not be I, but another Master may kill you, to make it simpler.”

Arturia finished “This War does not need a wild card such as you.”

“We can protect you, help you.”

Thoughts and words spiralled through his head. Though she had spoken for some time, he had the feeling that Tōsaka was only scratching the surface. If he said yes, who knew what things he might find. It could all run out of his control, slip through his fingers; people would die. Granted, they were already being killed, though Tōsaka had said that things would become increasingly more focussed as the Holy Grail became more and more prevalent (assuming that it did). And as time would go on, things would become more dangerous; not simply from duelling Servants, but from other entities converging upon New Geneva.

The magicians involved didn't seem to care. Their concerns were with the Grail and with each other. A Servant like Arturia seemed curiously unrepentant when it came to killing innocents. Their own interests took pride of place; as Rin had said: greed. They had no intention of overcoming that. Perhaps he could; after all, he wasn't entirely sure what the Grail was, let alone what it actually did. If he could protect his friends, then that would be worth involving himself in this apparent war. And if the Grail was as a wonderful a thing as Rin suggested it was? Score.

Justin spread his arms "Alright."

Rin clapped her hands together, her smile broadening. Usotsuki." she whispered.

Well, this is pretty good! The story flows very well. Are you going to include more characters from Fate? Having Justin, Rin and Saber ganging up on Berserker would be totally kickass. And where did all those hoplites came from? I found it wierd that Rin revealed Saber´s identity just like that when she made a big deal of it in the series. Not that I think that it makes sense - I mean, it´s not like you´re going to have Achilles as a servant.


As someone else said, I would recommend you to consider posting the fic on ff.net, you know, for a broader audience.

"You know, I always thought that King Arthur would look more like a man." he said. The girl shrugged nonchalantly.

"That's what everyone says."

Fucking golden, dude.

Tyrian2000 wrote:Well, this is pretty good! The story flows very well. Are you going to include more characters from Fate? Having Justin, Rin and Saber ganging up on Berserker would be totally kickass.

Interestingly, a whole bunch of Fate characters have already appeared, just with different names and appearances. Justin is essentially Shirou - I chose the name based upon Shirou's want to be a 'Hero of Justice'. Other than that, there are a bunch of direct characters from the sources material - Ilya, for example.

And where did all those hoplites came from?

The Spartoi was the mythological concept upon which Medea's Dragon Tooth Familiars were based. They're supposed to be high class familiars in the greater Type-Moon universe, so I upped their intelligence and physical abilities somewhat.

I found it wierd that Rin revealed Saber´s identity just like that when she made a big deal of it in the series. Not that I think that it makes sense - I mean, it´s not like you´re going to have Achilles as a servant.

Well actually, I might. One of the things I changed was that there are more Servants - The War for the Holy Grail is less the ritual which the original Heaven's Feels were.

As someone else said, I would recommend you to consider posting the fic on ff.net, you know, for a broader audience.

I'm considering it. I currently post it here and on Spacebattles. I might branch out in time.

"You know, I always thought that King Arthur would look more like a man." he said. The girl shrugged nonchalantly.

"That's what everyone says."

Fucking golden, dude.

Everyone thinks it. Everyone.

Ford Prefect wrote:Interestingly, a whole bunch of Fate characters have already appeared, just with different names and appearances. Justin is essentially Shirou - I chose the name based upon Shirou's want to be a 'Hero of Justice'. Other than that, there are a bunch of direct characters from the sources material - Ilya, for example.

Haha, Ilya's gonna show up too. That's cool. I obviously noticed that some characters are based on some of the series, like the guys playing Shinji and Sakura. Congratulations for making Justin not a cliched selfless spastic moron like his counterpart.

The Spartoi was the mythological concept upon which Medea's Dragon Tooth Familiars were based. They're supposed to be high class familiars in the greater Type-Moon universe, so I upped their intelligence and physical abilities somewhat.

Ah, you mean the skeleton thingies in Medea's temple/whatever, right? Is she still with the kung fu psycho?

Tyrian2000 wrote: Haha, Ilya's gonna show up too. That's cool. I obviously noticed that some characters are based on some of the series, like the guys playing Shinji and Sakura. Congratulations for making Justin not a cliched selfless spastic moron like his counterpart.

"People die when they are killed!" What? That's part of the reason why I decided to write this; I thought Studio DEEN badly handled Shirou. He had a crowning glory when he fought Shinji in the school. That was awesome. The rest of his appearances? Not.

Ah, you mean the skeleton thingies in Medea's temple/whatever, right? Is she still with the kung fu psycho?

Indeed, those are the ones; probably got them off Jason way back when. As for Sōichirō Kuzuki ... just wait and see. I'm actually rather proud of what I did with him.

Now this chapter is one in which I'm both pleased and dissapointed. When you read it, you might see why. Anyway; enjoy.

Also, did you say fanservice?

Fate-Another Score

Chapter Seven

“Why - won’t - you - just - die!” Black roars. His gloves are turning red in the mist he’s making of Justin’s face. His eyes have gone wild, gone mad with the bloodheat. Spittle flies from his teeth as he screams in animalistic fury. The crowd has joined him, their delight defined in their orgiastic squealing. The ring is going red, the claret overflowing, dripping to the floor.

There’s no one here with him. There’s nothing but Black pounding his hard fists into his skull. No one to help him, to protect him. He’s going to die if he lets it go on. Certainly, no one else is going to come to his rescue.

The thudding of balled fist against flesh is getting louder and louder. It’s drowning out the crowd, drowning out Black’s hurled insults. It fills him with its regularity. Like his heartbeat, the steady one-two is almost reassuring. It’s familiar, understandable. Justin strikes back. The wet crunching sound is satisfying.

The crowd is clearly disappointed, robbed of the climax to their orgy of violence. They pant and beat their chests, rend their hair as Justin climbs to his feet. He shakes, blood flowing from his cuts, his broken nose. It’s like some sort of spring, dripping from his chin. Black looks up at Justin from his place on the floor. A hand comes down on his shoulder, and Nathan smiles towards Justin from the other side of the ropes.

Justin’s legs spasmed and he sat up with a shout. His lungs shook with each breath he took. Disturbed by his outburst, Thérèse blinked herself back into the waking world. She spied him from where she lay, his shoulders shuddering. “Miel? Are you alright?” her hands laid themselves against his skin and she drew him close. Thérèse’s fingers rubbed their way through his hair “It’s just a bad dream.” She whispered sweet nothings in his ear and pulled him back down onto the bed.

Even as Justin felt himself laid against her softness, Tōsaka’s words from yesterday haunted him. They were not the only Masters at Obsidian College. Nathan Holland was too.

He clutched her tighter.

*

The school was as it always was. Black glass worthy of its name, shining steel pillars, the normal clouds of students. Yet when Justin stepped through for the first time in weeks, he felt a new apprehension unlike any other. By virtue of their status, Justin and Nathan were enemies. Justin was an obstacle to Nathan getting the Grail. Though he had no Servant, no talent, he could be killed simply to remove him from the running, just as Arturia had said.

They were friends, weren’t they? Closer than Justin was to Rin, certainly, and she’d let him live. But he remembered Nathan’s ruthlessness. The Grand Holy Grail was a prize that Justin knew Nathan would find irresistible. What worth would Justin have compared to the Grail, an object of supposedly unlimited power?

Arturia had said that Justin did have value, however. He was a human with a Nobel Phantasm, a rare occurrence in the not just in the modern world, but in history. Tōsaka had said that you could count the number of such people in the past four thousand years on one hand. He was practically unique, almost an epic treasure himself. It was not reassuring in the slightest.

Though as Thérèse kissed him, her hands clasped tightly around the back of his neck, he thought that perhaps he didn’t have that much to worry about. He was quite powerful now and would only increase in power as his understanding became better, and Tōsaka claimed that Nathan was not a magician of her calibre.

Still, it wasn't Nathan that Justin was really worrying about. Maybe he could handle a Master, but what about their Servant? They spoke of Nathan's contract with Medusa, the mythic Gorgon from Grecian mythology. It had been she that had murdered his father and according to Arturia, the one who had killed Emily by hitting her at high speed.

Justin's jaw clenched as he thought of it. There may have been no malicious intent, just as when Arturia had sliced his arms off, but that Nathan had been in some way apart of his family's death was enough to put revenge back into his mind. He watched Thérèse walk away and pushed such thoughts out of his mind. It would not be intelligent to allow himself to be ruled by emotions such as fear and hate. He headed to class.

It was a class he had chosen to take on ethics. Due to some sort of labour dispute the teacher that had taken the class usually had left the school and taken up work in politics. In her stead came Mister Scott, tall, dark and well built. He immediately approached the board, stylus in hand, purpose in his heart. He scrawled the words 'Meta-ethics' across it and whirled on the class.

"Meta-ethics. Anyone tell me what it is?” Silence met Scott’s reply and he grinned, neatening his red-brown hair. “No, that’s understandable. Meta-ethics seeks to understand the nature of ethical properties, statements, attitudes and judgements.” He stepped closer to the class, his heels clicking on the hard black marble. “It is different from normative ethics in that while normative ethics asks questions of ‘What things are good, and what things are bad?’ and ‘What actions should we take?’, meta-ethics asks us to try and understand what goodness is. We are not seeking to endorse or reject such ethical theories as natural law and utilitarianism; instead we wish to understand their very conceptual nature.”

“Sounds a little vague if you ask me, sir.” Justin suddenly chirped, more spontaneously than out of his own violation. Scott presented an open palm to Justin, and the entirety of the class. It was as if he was showing them he had no ulterior motives.

“Ethics is a vague subject in itself. According to the notes I have been left, you have covered the major ethical theories, yes?” There was a sporadic indication that they had. Scott spent a good five minutes coaxing their names and basic ideas out of the class, and then went on. “Let’s look at this for a moment. Under utilitarianism you could justify the killing of a person, so long as killing them resulted in a greater good for the majority of people.” he was walking down the aisles when he stopped behind Justin “Couldn’t you, Mister Sturgeon?”

“I suppose you could sir, depending on the context.”

“What is that context?” the teacher asked, turning around. His eyes were lost in the glare that rendered his glasses opaque. Justin surveyed the teachers face, lined in the sun and noticed for the first time a pale mark that ran horizontally across his nose and left cheek. There was a second, too, crossing it vertically, coming close by his eye.

“Whether,” he faltered for a moment under the gaze of his instructor. The air was tight there. It was not simply a question for academic purposes, but an interrogation of what Justin stood for. Others may have seen it. “Whether it’s right or wrong.”

“A poor answer, but suitable.” Scott replied, breaking the tension and walking back towards the front of the room “How, if at all, do we know what is right and wrong? When we say something is ‘good’, what do we mean? If we make a statement on this subject, are the values we represent absolute, or are they objective? From what source do these values stem?”

He inscribed a square around his title with his stylus, shrunk it by half and stuck it up in the corner of his board. Facing the class again, he gestured towards the hyphenated word once more with his writing implement “This is a topic which asks a lot of questions. Answer may be few and far between, but” he smiled, in a way which seemed not quite real “I’m sure we’ll have an interesting time trying. Now, moral objectivism. In his Ta Ethika, Aristotle wrote that happiness is the end result of human activity, and honour, pleasure, reason, and virtue are the primary means to that end. Thus if one were to follow those to such virtues will be moral and happy.”

Justin left class with a notebook heavy with writing, but as he was nearing the door, Scott called out to him. Slightly disappointed, Justin turned and pushed through the mass of flowing student, approaching the head desk. “Yes sir?” he asked as the teacher packed his briefcase.

The dull brass clips snapped together with a kind of sharp finality and Mister Scott looked up at Justin "I had heard about your family ... Justin. I wish to offer my sincerest condolences." Justin raised his eyebrows. It had all seemed somewhat wooden.

"Ah, thank you." he replied, uncomfortable. Scott's own eyebrows began to waver.

"Perhaps I said too much." the teacher said, as much to himself as to Justin.

Waving a hand, Justin smiled broadly "Oh no, it's not that. You just seemed a bit, uh, severe when you said it."

Scott seemed to consider. "I'll keep that in mind, Mister Sturgeon."

*

The sun's rays filtered through the transparent roof of Obsidian's pool complex. Justin sat with Boswell and Vandyke, shiny new leather shoes propped on the next seat below his in the stands. He rolled his pen around between his teeth, reading through Boswell's notes on nuclear decay. He mouthed the words he read on the page, the pen bouncing: The half-life of a quantity subject to exponential decay is the time required for the quantity to decay to half of its initial value. He looked over at the smaller student, taking his glasses and fitting them on over his own head.

"I'm still not getting it,” he said after staring at the page through Boswell's glasses. Behind him, Vandyke kept dancing in his seat, eyes closed.

"How can you not? It's a really simple concept." Boswell sighed, leaning over to flip the page or some such, and as he did so, he paused, eyes widening suddenly. Justin looked up over the lenses of the glasses he was wearing and saw Virginie walking up, bouncing in her swimsuit, her skin wet and her hair trapped beneath the white swim cap she was wearing. She went slightly rosy and Justin turned his attention back to his book.

"Good swim?" he asked nudging Boswell in the shoulder. His head shook and he refocussed his attention on the page of the notes in Justin's lap, as opposed to the material clinging to Virginie like a second skin.

She nodded, and sat in the seat by him. "Hey look," she said, one finger rising to indicate the diving tower. Standing atop the ten-metre platform, waving, was Thérèse. Justin raised his hand and she blew him a kiss. Approaching the edge, Thérèse raised her arms above her head, breathed in and flew. She arced high, twisted and passed by the platform; she was grace and style, perfect posture. Thérèse was a fine diver, so it came as a surprise when her leg flailed out and caught the edge of the tower.

In the pool complex, there close to a hundred people going about the business of swimming and splashing, all of them noisily caught up with themselves. Yet as the girl went tumbling out of control, it seemed as though each and every one of them had stopped to watch her. The silence and fear was thick enough that you could taste it. Justin's heart pounded - once, twice, then just stopped. Thérèse was falling, the world rushing up to embrace her. He could see that she was going to hit her head on the edge of the pool. She was going to die.

The seat that had been in front of him crumpled as he vaulted it. Briefly, his feet touched the wet tiles by the side of the pool, and he crossed, gathering Thérèse in his arms and sliding to a halt on the other side. One hand cradled her head and she looked up at him in wide-eyed disbelief. Thérèse reached up and touched the side of Justin's face, then drew herself into him. He held her close, and scanned the far side of the pool. Boswell was standing, mouth hanging open. He kept blinking, and waving his hand through the air where Justin had been sitting. Passing his gaze over his friends, he caught sight of a blazered shoulder, marked with the familiar patch of the fencing club.

Nathan stepped away, his shoulder disappearing around the corner. Justin looked back to Thérèse and tightened his arms.

*

Confrontation was something that Justin had wanted to avoid; yet his hand had been forced. It was no accident that Thérèse screwed up her dive; with a little application of telekinesis, Nathan could easily move her leg out so she clipped the platform. He wasn't going to get away with it either. Against his better judgment, Justin sought the magician out, finding him on his way towards the fencing hall. Before he had thought to call out his name, Nathan had turned to face Justin, standing beside a squat, red brick building.

Caution was lost on Justin as he tramped up and immediately seized Nathan by the throat, lifting him into the air. The bastard smiled and Justin applied some pressure. Nathan creaked.

"You could have killed her." Justin said, surprisingly calmly.

"I would never let that happen." Nathan replied, his voice straining through the crushing hold that Justin's hand was applying to his windpipe "I just wanted to see what you could do. If you had not acted, I would have saved her."

Justin began to close his fist, fully intending to sever Nathan's life at the neck, when he had the feel he should pull away. He did, the tips of his fingers being brushed by something sharp and metallic. Sparks, fat and golden, showered between him and Nathan, who took a step backwards and ended up ten metres away, fixing his collar. He smiled faintly "It was just a test." he whispered right into Justin's ear "Like this."

Turning, he found himself looking at a woman; not just any woman, but probably the most physically attractive woman that Justin had ever laid his eyes on. She was tall, with legs that seemed to go on forever; an illusion helped by the extremely short black dress she was wearing. This woman, with her curtain of thigh length purple hair, left almost nothing to the imagination. Justin shook himself free of her deep cleavage and focussed on her face. Her eyes were hidden, blindfolded, and though her face was shadowed, he could see quite clearly a red marking on her forehead. The nails that had killed his father were clutched loosely in her hands, trailing chain.

"Pretty thing, isn't she." Nathan said from behind Justin "I certainly enjoy her. Perhaps you will too. Medusa."

The woman nodded briefly and whipped her arms around. The chain bloomed out and Justin barely leapt away from it; it caressed him gently, slicing through his shirt and jacket. The blurred chain sawed straight through the corner of the nearby building, cut a slice out that slid away and fell towards the ground. Justin moved away, twisting and flipping away from the crossing arcs of Medusa's chain. There had to be hundreds of feet of it, he realised, as he sprung back on his hands, but that was insane. She didn't have hundreds of feet of the stuff to begin with!

He dived through an opening and skidded forward, fist booming through the air. Medusa breezed out of the way of his rapid-fire punches, effortlessly avoiding him. She frowned at him as he came close in. Her face said to try harder.

Her chain, seeming as though it was dozens, suddenly looped around him, and he tossed himself back on his hands. Pushing, he hurtled upwards. Lost in waves of air pressure, the silvered chain rippled to catch Justin, who tumbled and turned between them. They sliced into the concrete ground as Medusa lead them on a snaking dance, then wrapped around his leg. The chain tightened unbearably, Justin found himself dragged effortlessly through the air, then pulled back down to the earth. He crashed through the roof of the already damaged building, through the second floor, then to the lowest.

Art materials, brushes, paints, canvases covered in months of hard work were crushed, flung about on Justin's impact. The chain, nail and all, disappeared, pulled back through the wall at incredible speed. Medusa rebounded through the chunk she had taken out of the corner of the building, bounced against the floor and drove one foot into Justin's chest. Such was the power behind the blow that the boy skidded back on his heels. He passed through the far wall, taking the whole thing with it. The mass of cinder block crashed into the next wall along and pulled it down.

Justin finally came to a halt, buried beneath several tons of shattered breezeblock and mangled rebar. There was a sharp pain where Medusa had kicked him and a faint ringing in his ears. He shook it off, and could see the purple haired beauty moving towards him. With a burst of preternatural energy, Justin burst to his feet, throwing concrete from his shoulders. He flung a mostly whole block at Medusa, careening at her with a sonic screech. One of her nails sliced it cleanly in half, the two pieces passing by her harmlessly.

Faster than a bullet, the nail shrieked out. If Justin hadn't moved his hand to intercept it, it would have passed through his eye socket. The point, fine enough to be no broader than a single atom, ground against his palm for a fraction of a heart beat then relented. It drew back, then came again, each strike so close together that a lesser person may have seen them as simultaneous. As quick as he was, Justin found it difficult to defend, deflecting them with his fists. Sparks flew as he tried to circle around and Medusa increased her speed of her attack just a little, a single added attack ever second, and that defence broke.

The sharpness of the nail passed over his shoulders, against the side of his face. Blood spurted, and in an instant he realised that his efforts were only marginally curbing any attempt on her part to kill him. His hand clasped down on one of the nails and at the same time he wrapped the chain in his other fist. Gritting his teeth, Justin pulled.

"I don't give a damn if this is some sort of test." he grunted, feeling her tug back on her weapon. Planting his feet, Justin put more effort into it, and Medusa visibly skidded more than a metre towards him. "I don't give a crap what Nathan wants to know. I'm not just going to let you kill me!" She came forward another two or three metres.

"You are," she whispered, anchoring herself "An admirable person." her muscles bulged, turning her lithe female body into one filled with hard, corded sinew. The strength she displayed was positively bestial, so great that Justin came towards her at such speed that he could barely alter position. One balled fist, wrapped in the phantasmic metal of her chained barb, impacted his face with positively seismic force. It cleared the open space completely; every piece of debris went flying away at considerable velocity.

Justin spun in midair. He felt as if he wasn't falling at all, while Medusa turned and brought the heel of her left foot down onto Justin's stomach. The crater he made into the concrete foundation was some three metres across and almost a metre deep. As he bounced up, Medusa's weight came down atop of him. The chain encircled his throat, the two nails pinned against his wrists, holding his arms spread-eagled. Her hair fell about them, shutting him in a veil of heliotrope that increased their proximity to unbearable levels.

Her breath washed hotly over his face. Lips parted, she dipped her face closer, then pulled away. Justin could feel his chest heaving beneath her, and he swallowed audibly. She seemed to be searching him, even though her eyes were trapped behind the blinds she wore.

“Medusa.” Nathan called, and the god-woman got to her feet, releasing Justin from the grip of her weapon. With her weight gone, he breathed easier, more freely. She leapt lightly out of the crater and stood watching him from the edge. Nathan joined her and shrugged “I have to say I’m impressed. For no training or true understanding, you fought well. You have nothing to fear from me.”

They left him lying there, propped up on his arms. After he watched them go, Justin looked down at himself, at the torn up uniform and blood coagulating from the score or more of shallow cuts. They were closing so quickly that it was practically visible. He focussed back on the uniform. He spat.

“Shit.”

*

The ladies at the uniform store might have looked at him strangely when he can in wearing bloodied shreds; he wasn’t sure they believed that he had had a run-in with a lawnmower. It was slightly more believable that ‘got into a brawl with a Greek goddess’.

And she was a goddess. All those myths seemed to indicate that Medusa was one ugly broad, yet the complete opposite was true. He wasn’t sure how that worked (then again, it turned out that King Arthur was a girl); he intended to ask Rin when he got to her home.

The new uniform felt starchy, but he’d get used to it. So long as Thérèse didn’t ask any uncomfortable questions; it was bad enough coming from Boswell. He tugged on the sleeve of his new blazer then rung Tōsaka’s intercom. He waited a few moments and it crackled into life, spewing power chords at him. “Come on up Sturgeon-kun!” Rin shouted over the din, and the speaker suddenly cut out. Bemused, Justin turned towards the elevator, which opened up without his aid.

The sound of the music grew louder as he got closer to the loft. The nobs were cranked up to eleven he found as he stepped out onto the top floor. Arturia was nowhere to be seen, and Tōsaka herself had her back to him, swinging her backside in a tartan skirt. Her left hand crunched down on four different power cords.

“Is that Kurt Cobain?” Justin shouted as he came closer, hanging his jacket over the leather back of the couch.

The stereo cut out suddenly, and he could hear the aftermath of her playing coming from the headphones she was wearing “Yeah, it is. You like Nirvana?” she asked, pulling the cans onto her neck.

Justin dropped into Tōsaka’s couch and shook his head “No, not really.” He pointed at her guitar. “I didn’t know you played.”

Fingers skittered down the neck and across the body and though the sound was tinny coming from a pair of headphones, he recognised that she sounded pretty damn good “I sure do. I’m a Gibson girl.” She unplugged her headphones from the guitar, slipped it off over her head and lent it against the coffee table. It knocked some books to the floor, but she ignored them “You want a drink?”

He nodded and she walked off. “Where’s Arturia?” he called and she replied that she was asleep. Servants hibernated when not needed, regenerating lost Prana at a much quicker rate. They ate a lot too, able to convert mass to energy, and then convert energy to Prana for storage.

She knelt on the sofa and handed Justin a glass filled with amber liquid “Servants can have enormous reserves of Prana. Humans have magic circuits, which limit how much we can create and store, but a Servant can have a much larger equivalent. Because they’re essentially just Prana, Odo and idea given form, they’re constantly trying to keep themselves topped up.” She sipped at her drink. “But Servants, like magicians, are not created equal. Some have less capacity; some have more.

“Speaking of, you met another today.”

Justin narrowed his eyes at her, swallowed some of his Scotch and frowned. “How’d you know?”

“It’s running around and around in your surface thoughts. Medusa Medusa Medusa - Christ you’re horny.”

“Shut it.” He replied, going a little crimson around his cheeks “And stop reading my mind. It’s creepy.”

"But it's more empathy than anything."

Justin shook his head "It bothers me, alright?"

“Oh, sou desu ne.”

They drank silently for a few moments, in which Rin drained her glass of Scotch. She held up the glass and asked Justin what it was. He spent a few seconds considering wether it was some sort of trick question then decided to be blunt. He said it was a glass. She nodded and replied that he was correct. It was a glass, but that wasn't it.

It was a uniform amorphous solid. It had no long-range order on the position of atoms. Common glass contained approximately seventy-weight percentage of silicon dioxide, while its major raw material was sand containing almost a hundred percent crystalline silica, in the form. There were impurities of course, less than a single percent of iron oxides that would discolour the glass; enrichment processes in factories would lower this further; as low as a hundredth of a percent. More than that it served as the focal point of the concept of being a glass, but that was somewhat abstract. Tōsaka dropped the glass, where it shattered into a hundred and forty nine separate pieces of varying size and shape.

"You could fix that glass, you know." Tōsaka said, gesturing at the cloud of pieces "There exists the ability within you to take the atomic structure of the glass and reshape it to your will."

"How?" Justin asked, suddenly enthralled. Rin stood and gestured for him to do the same. Shoving the sofa away, it left a clear space. Justin could see the entirety of the shattered glass. She tried to explain that Tracing was a very simple magic, only a step or two above Reinforcement. Not everyone Traced in the same way, but in generally it was nothing more than the application of a very strong magnetic field over a limited area of space. It was simply a matter of regulating the field strength so that the bonds between atoms were significantly weakened (if not broken) so that they could be manipulated, but assuring that it wasn't so strong that it went out of control and completely obliterated the matter you were playing with.

Justin rubbed his head. "I really hate to say this, but that sounds mathematically impossible." he paused, and crushed his eye closed "I mean, the kind of field strength you're talking about is enormous ... you'd have to start measuring it in the hundreds of millions of teslas." he looked Rin up and down "You're a girl, not a bloody magnetar."

"It's more subtle than just brute force application of electromagnetics. Think Higgs field."

"Tōsaka." she cut him off to correct his pronunciation, and then let him continue, "You're fond of claiming that sorcery doesn't do anything impossible, but what you're claiming is positively insane. I mean, even if you aren't producing an electromagnetic field so strong that it-"

Rin placed a finger over his lips, cutting him off in mid-tirade. "It very much is possible. If it wasn't possible, how would I do it?" Justin opened his mouth to protest the circular logic inherent in that sentence, but she pushed against his mouth harder. "You're cute when you're disbelieving. Now listen to me. A magician is a superconductor of sorts; this is the source of our ability to fly, though an application of a physical concept you might know as the Meissner effect. You start expending Prana to run it in a loop, and you can get a magnetic field strong enough to starting playing with atoms; you keep pushing hard enough and you can warp reality. But you aren't doing anything impossible.

"It's all about concept. I could lecture you endlessly on the mathematics and physics behind thaumaturgy, but that's just going to confuse you. The practice of thaumaturgy is magical in its very nature. Sorcery does nothing impossible, but the source of its power is pure fantasy. Its not a thing you can hold or even truly understand; you won't be able to express it in equations." she took his hands in hers and held them up "You're wrong in thinking that this is mathematically impossible. You are technically correct; such abilities are beyond humanity at this time. What is sorcery if not a way to cheat? We're talking as much will and belief as magnetic flux density." Letting go of Justin's hands, Rin placed her fist on her hips. "I can see we'll have to never speak of thaumaturgical theory ever again, if we can avoid it. Your conceptions about the universe are falling apart."

Justin was staring off into space, but after a while he blinked "If I fail physics this year, I'm going to blame you. But about thermodynamics-"

"A wizard did it." Rin replied confidently, stepping around Justin's back and seizing his wrists. She laid one cheek against his back. "You can already Trace, albeit without any sort of direction apart from your emotions. What you need to get through your head is that idea and image are vital. If you hold the image of what you want, then it'll be practically automatic." he could feel her breathing, and ever so slowly he joined in time with her "It'll be practically reflexive. You'll cast spells without even thinking of the how, only the why and what."

Picture the shards of glass.

Reach out and touch them.

Take them, the picture in your mind of what you want them to be.

Make it happen.

A pale glow emanated from the pieces. After less than a fraction of a second it was gone, leaving a dishevelled looking lump of transparent material. It might have been usable as a glass, if one had a preference for the abstract and had no problems with it not being able to stand up at all. Justin looked crestfallen, but Rin was encouraging. For a real first attempt it was very promising; her first attempt at Tracing had brought down much of a house.

“You have a knack.” She explained “Now, let’s try again.”

It took him a while and dozens of attempts, but in the end, Justin managed to make it into a usable glass. He found that it was easier as time went on and he became more focussed, more able to keep an image of what he wanted to make. As a proving piece, he took the glass and warped it into an image of Rin. She giggled delightedly saying things like: “It must be genetic for you to pick it up so quickly!” and “I have a feeling you could Trace just about anything, even a Noble Phantasm.” She poured drinks to celebrate, and dragged the couch over with the wave of a hand.

The touching of the two glasses sent a harmonious ringing through the room and they drank. Rin started talking about how he would find Reinforcement even easier and if his natural talent extended further then he would have no problems learning more advanced sorceries. “I wonder what sort of elemental leanings you might have. It’s all so exciting.” She sipped and looked at him slyly out of the corner of her eyes “You know, you’re a lot more serious about this than I thought you would be.”

Justin shrugged “What can I say. I need to learn if I want to survive.” He clenched and unclenched a free hand “Fighting Medusa today showed me that I have to get better; I couldn’t even defeat you.” Tōsaka snorted into her drink “I mean, if one of you Masters decides that I should be dead, what am I going to do? An Epic Spirit would tear me apart.”

“You could always try summoning one, I suppose.” Rin mused “But that’s very, very advanced sorcery, and not for today, or tomorrow, or the day after.”

They sat, and Justin finished his drink. "I've been wondering. You know that Nathan is a Master. Why don't you go after him?" Tōsaka shrugged.

"I only know two Masters and their Servants, and I'm not entirely sure what the Irish woman can do yet." she held her glass up on the tip of one finger. "It could be that there are more hidden away in Holtzman shadowpoints. We're playing a game right now; trying to draw the other into confrontation while not putting ourselves into the open."

It was dangerous to preemptively strike against the enemy. To wipe out another Master-Servant pair was not at all an easy act; your greatest skills would be tested in such a battle. Anyone watching would have information about you and you would not have such information about them. You couldn't let your enemies have such an advantage. A Master had to be careful; find out what their foe could do without showing what they could do in the process.

"When you were fighting Medusa, did you feel as though she could do so much more?" Justin nodded in reply "What?" that simple question left Justin completely speechless. He had no idea what fraction of her power she had been using. Just that sense that if Medusa had wished it, he would have died again. The Servant had carried with her the ultimate right to cause death. It was what she stood upon the face of the earth to do.

Justin leant back into the sofa, crossed his legs. He held up his glass.

"Another drink please."

Chapter 8 commeth! It might be a bit weird in places as it needs proofing (which I plan to do on the morrow) but I felt the need to give it to you all.

Fate-Another Score

Chapter Eight

The phone call came the next morning as Justin was distracting Thérèse from getting completely dressed. She squealed as he tickled her sides and tried to escape across the mattress of her bed. The rich, deep ringing of Thérèse’s bedside phone cut off their playing and they looked at it. Resignedly, Thérèse crawled over the bed and picked up the handset. After greeting one of the butlers, she stood up straight, and then held out the receiver.

“It’s for you. An Inspector Delano.”

Justin hid his surprise and concern from himself well and strode over to take the phone. Putting it to his ear, the butler said ‘just a moment, monsieur’. A monotone marked the changing of connection and Justin said “Hello, Inspector.”

“Good morning, Justin.” Delano replied amiably, his voice sounding uncomfortably close “I’m calling to check that you’re alright.”

“Alright?”

“Surely you’d have heard about your school.”

Justin wondered for a split second how Delano would react if he discovered that the destroyed art studios at Obsidian were his fault. If Delano knew that the building with chunks carved from and its walls torn down was the end result of a short battle between Justin and a Greek goddess, what would he do? What could he do? Justin shrugged “Yeah, I saw it on the news.”

Delano spoke about how there would be police teams on the ground there, and how it looked as though the case was similar to his own. The President had sent a message to Delano saying that he would be sending special agents to guard Justin. That made Justin angry, but before he could vent, Delano pointed out that it wasn’t his doing.

“Besides, it’s for your own good. Have a nice day, Justin.” He hung up, and Justin quite calmly placed the handset into its cradle. Special agents? Protect him? The act was flattering, but he didn’t need the added attention that would be made by a bunch of redsuits following him about. Thérèse wouldn’t need it either and besides, her best protection was Justin. He slipped his arms around her waist and whispered it in her ear.

She was pleased, so Justin scowled at her.

Tramping outside, there was a black limousine there, with a pair of red suited Secret Service agents standing at either end. It sat low on its hydraulics, probably as a result of being armoured like a tank. They approached the car and one of the agents greeted them professionally, holding open the door. They stepped inside and were immediately shut in.

Light filtered in through tinted windows, and Justin immediately raided the mini-bar and stole out a bag of salted nuts. Thérèse punched him in the shoulder and he offered her the packet. She took out a small handful and started to work through them. Justin said that if he was going to be inconvenienced, he should be allowed to make thorough use of it. He handed her the packet as they started to move and went back down on his knees, muttering about crisps. He glanced up at the blanked out window towards the front end of the car.

“How long do you think it would take them to get to school?” he asked casually.

“It takes me twenty minutes.” She replied, taking his hand as he held it out to her “Why’s that?”

Justin’s reply was to pull her down onto the floor with him.

*

The school was abuzz with activity, humming with the frenzied gossip of students and punctuated by the wailing of art students who had lost almost every piece of work on the go. Deep within the territory of the school, members of the elite GIGN surrounded watched the site, supported by members of RAID. Detectives headed up by Marius Serge from the direction centrale de la police judiciaire, or the Central Directorate of Judicial Police, were spread throughout the school, questioning staff and students. Serge himself and his partner Delano were in the office of the headmaster, coordinating from there.

Justin didn’t yet know this, as he emerged dishevelled from the limousine. Thérèse, looking impeccable, followed close behind him. She observed the school from the side of the car, and then looked up at helicopters swinging by overhead. Noticing Justin staring callously over at the special agents, she slapped him on the backside.

“Garde la tête haute, mon chéri.” She said lyrically, taking him by the hand. As they walked towards the front door, Justin could feel the two agents behind him. They stayed close, but not too close. Still they drew attention. Justin rubbed an eyebrow and let out an exasperated sigh. It was compounded when Nathan called out his name, jogging down the hallway.

He pulled Justin away from Thérèse and to the side of the hallway. He grinned "Didn't think you'd cause this much attention, did you?" Justin shrugged, trying to keep his distance without alerting the agents, or Thérèse "We need to speak of the future. Wednesday, just before midnight at my home. Come alone, and speak not of it to Tōsaka." he began to move past, but Justin caught him by the arm. He briefly considered putting him through the wall, though the consequences would be too great.

"Why do you think I would do that?" Justin asked, "You tried to kill me."

"Quite the contrary." Nathan stated bluntly "I had no intention of killing you. I want to help you."

With that he walked on, somehow pulling himself out of Justin's vice-like grip. Shrugging, Justin went back to Thérèse, who asked what Nathan wanted. Justin replied it was about a club meeting. It seemed to satisfy her, though the idea of telling her an untruth was mildly distressing for Justin. He supposed it was unavoidable if he wanted to protect her.

*

The sun shone bravely overhead and Justin tried to enjoy it, lying on the grass. His free periods were mostly peaceful, but the atmosphere at Obsidian was anything but on that day. There were still helicopters droning overhead, and with his eyes closed he could feel the concern passing through the halls. It was hard to ignore, that omnipresent feeling of something being wrong. Unable to shake it, Justin remained on the hill uncomfortably. When Marius Serge arrived, his discomfort increased. He considered ignoring the inspector, but in the end gave up.

"Hello Inspector."

"May I sit?"

Justin nodded, and the older man joined him on the grass. They sat in silence, when Justin asked if the detective had any more questions for him. Serge laughed shortly at the comment and shook his head "What could I possibly ask? That damaged building has a chunk cut straight out of it five metres wide. What the Hell would you know about that?" Justin raised his palms to the sky "It's just another in the series of bizarre instances of property damage." he pulled out a holograph and handed it to Justin. It showed the crater he had caused with his final impact. Turning the holo about, he realised that it really was deep.

"There's a girl lucky to be alive; she was lacerated by glass fragments." Justin froze, staring at the three dimensional picture. Someone had been hurt, almost killed? Serge was talking, but Justin had been drawn immediately into his own thoughts. He supposed it should have been expected; human lives were so fragile when you looked at it. Their bodies broke and burnt and tore. Justin considered the massive resilience Sully had given him and thanked the man for it. His body would not yield where theirs would. "It's terrible. A young woman may die, and for what? Some asshole smashing buildings up." Serge turned his eyes, framed by the lines of age and experience, towards Justin, who was still staring intently after the holograph.

"You told me to take a good long look at this whole thing. You were right, you know; I have no idea what's doing this. The media spins it as being terrorists, while I fumble about just trying to get some sort of indication of who's behind it." he shrugged "I may never find out. I have to keep trying though. I owe this city that much." he took back his holograph and stowed it inside his jacket, standing up. Giving Justin a farewell wave, he turned to leave.

"Inspector," Justin called, and the old man stopped "I think you're doing a good thing. If it's worth anything."

Serge smiled "Oui."

*

On a whim, Justin did not go to class, or to lunch. Instead, he left the school and his minders behind, passing into the streets of the city. His friends tried to contact him, sending him messages and attempting to ring him, but Justin’s phone had been destroyed the day before. He walked on, oblivious to the concern of those far off friends. No one noticed him or his uniform, and for the moment, Justin didn’t notice them.

Passing a newsstand, Justin dropped a few euros into it and pulled out a copy of The Node. Obsidian had made the front page, and he began going through the details of it all. There was no clue as to how it happened. The girl’s name was mentioned - Eliane Getman - as well as her condition. Though she was stable, as much as thirty percent of her skin and flesh had been either removed or deeply lacerated. Much in the way of The Node, there were rumours that she would never live a normal life.

Suddenly depressed, Justin discarded the paper quickly. He spotted a bar (the Westchester) across the street and removed all mentions of his school from his clothing; he tore the pocket from his blazer and pulled his tie off. Both carried the crest of Obsidian. He crossed and climbed the short flight of stairs to enter the pub.

It was dim, dusty and quiet. The sound dampening materials in the walls left the city-sounds softer than the music emanating scratchily from the positively ancient jukebox (were those CDs?). There were a few patrons, some in the booths, a couple at the bar, and a pair at one of the billiards tables, punctuating the building with the hollow clicking of balls coming together. Crossing the floor, Justin took a stool at the bar. He glanced a few spaces up at the woman drinking a glass of Guinness. Her hair was short and dark red. He turned his attention to the man behind the bar, who was looking down at Justin expectantly. He pointed up at the top shelf.

"That bottle and a glass."

The barman stole a look over his shoulder and huffed "That's a two hundred euro bottle of whiskey." he turned back and found Justin holding out a pair of notes between two fingers. The man grinned behind his heavy moustache and fetched Justin his new bottle of alcohol.

As he was pouring, the barman leant down so he was at Justin’s eyelevel "It's a bit early to be drinking, isn't it?"

Justin shrugged "It's just one of those days, you know?" he raised his glass "You'd have read the papers." he drank. The barman said he'd read it all, seen it on the TV. He said it was a damn shame about that girl from that rich-kids' school. "You know, sometimes you feel responsible." Justin continued, keeping it vague "Like you're not doing enough."

"What are you going to do?" the bartender reared back up and started to move off to the women with the glass of Guinness "Who can do anything?" Justin drained his glass.

Over the course of a few minutes, Justin had gone through almost sixty euros of his whiskey. On any other Tuesday afternoon, it would have left him light headed; but today it was no more annoying than water. He could have appreciated the taste, but he had more on his mind. He took it as an indication of his power; he didn't even know this girl was around and he'd probably killed her. It was certainly impressive, and he wondered if he could use that to prevent further instances of that happening. More to the point, he wondered if as time went on and he gained greater understanding, whether he could be strong enough to fight a Servant on equal terms. If he could, the Grail was his.

As he poured himself a semi-celebratory glass, the woman with the glass of Guinness sat herself down in the stool next to Justin. "You're quite a drinker,” she said in accent that reeked of Ireland. Justin held up the half-filled bottle and peered at it.

“Barkeep!” he called “A glass for the lady.” He poured her a drink, then lifted his own towards her. She met him with a surprisingly rich ringing. After that, the level dropped much more slowly.

They drank in silence for a moment then Justin introduced himself, using only his first name. The woman’s name was Bazett. She said she was from London, and visiting relatives in the capital. They made idle chat, about New Geneva and the strange terrorist attacks, and the EU at large. She mentioned an article in the news that Justin hadn’t noticed; the Russian Federation had launched the first of its torchships, putting it into the same league as the European Union, the Asia-Pacific Combine and the American powers. She thought that Russia might have been finally back on the rise.

In the end, when they’d finished the bottle, she invited him to play billiards. Quite happy to pass the time away, Justin accepted and followed her up to one of the tables. Bazett was just placing the triangle onto the table, when a new man arrived. He stood taller than Justin, and his dark hair was gathered into a long ponytail hanging down his back. As he climbed up the stairs, Justin found his eyes drawn to the case over his shoulder. He leant against the stair rail and grinned, wolfishly.

“Care for a bod to join in?” he asked in one of the thickest accents Justin had ever heard. Bazett turned to Justin.

“Justin?”

“Yeah,” he replied, “That’s fine.” The man began to release the clasps on his case. Each one seemed unbearably loud, a cracking shot straight to the brain. Time seemed to slow for Justin as the man opened the case and retrieved his cue. Shaking his head, Justin turned back to the table. He wasn’t sure that the man needed such a long case for a cue only a metre and a half long.

The man gestured at Justin and Bazett in turn, saying ‘First shooter and second shooter?’ They nodded in agreement and Bazett set the balls into the rack. The man gestured for Justin to break.

The impact of the cue ball scattered those numbered all across the table in coloured blurs. The white ball fell into one of the pockets and Justin’s nose wrinkled in disgust. The man laughed heartily and had Justin drop one of his set of balls, one to five, into a pocket. He removed the three ball, sitting dangerously close to a pocket. This was cutthroat, after all. Bazett took her shot, rebounding the white ball off one ball and leaving it in line with one of the newcomer’s.

He smirked and knocked his own ball in. Cutting his own throat, it left him in a position to take his second shot and hit Justin’s one-ball into a corner pocket. His third shot seemed to be set up so that Bazett could be taken down a notch. Annoyed, Justin took a shot at one of Bazett’s mid set, but hit the ball too hard. Her ball simply bounded between the two cushions while the cue ball rolled to a halt at the other end of the table. She sunk one of Justin’s balls, then one of the newcomer’s, then one of her own, then another of Justin’s.

The man with the over long cue case dropped Justin’s ball with no discernable effort. With his next four shots he won the game. He smirked at Justin as he took the final ball; a smirk that said that he had it won from the beginning. In the end he sauntered round and shook Justin's hand. The tight squeeze lasted only a few seconds then the man walked off, collecting his case as he went. He stood briefly at the base of the stairs, snapping his case closed then moved off to the bar.

Bazett leant back against the billiards table, one hand curled around the wooden haft of her cue. “Unlucky.” she said, somewhat airily.

“I’m not the luckiest bloke around.” Justin replied, tipping out the contents of the pockets onto the smooth felt surface of the table.

“You aren’t?” she asked conversationally, seeing genuinely interested, and Justin shrugged. Her mouth twitched “No, I guess not.” They were silent for a time, broken by Justin closing up the balls. “Are you going to be in much trouble?”

“Pardon me?”

“For running out of school.”

Justin laughed through his nose shortly “You’re pretty quick. How’d you know?”

“In the local papers they tell me that Justin Sturgeon is a boy in his final year of school.” Bazett replied. She grinned at him and he couldn’t help but grin back. “Though you try to hide your face, you can only keep the ignorant and the weak from realising." Justin's smile dripped slowly off his face. Maybe Rin had something when it came to fate, or perhaps it was all coincidence. If he had a deeper understanding of the nature of quantum probability or the mechanics of that which is yet to pass, he could have been certain.

However, it was worth noting that Justin was rapidly becoming less and less enamoured with Bazett. Turning his eyes to the bar, he looked at the man lighting up a cigarette. She asked him if something was the matter and Justin shook his head, making some excuse about the time. She nodded and bid him farewell; Justin made a point of appearing calm, though he really wanted to go straight through the closest wall.

The sky was turning pink as the sun began to drop towards the horizon. Checking his watch, Justin cursed; it really was late, and Thérèse was going to kill him. Granted, he could get back to the Dechense Estate within five minutes if he pushed himself, but he had been missing for a good two hours, longer even, since he didn't show up to lunch. He stepped to the edge of the street, preparing to cross, when a fluttering white something caught his eye. Justin gazed across the street, peering as hard as he could. Though he spotted nothing unusual, he was unsatisfied and used his hands to create a frame. Staring through the little box he had made, Justin finally found something that wasn't quite right.

For the most part, she seemed relatively normal, though everything about her was pale; her skin, her hair, her dress. She was tall and very slim. Justin moved the finger-frame back and forth, as though he was trying to get her in focus. It only took her a few seconds to turn around and look at him back through his little box; the instant they made eye contact, Justin knew she was wrong. Conceptual, even. She felt almost like a Servant, though arguably more and less real at the same time. She opened her mouth as though to sing and in the brief second before she uttered her note, Justin saw that the inside of her mouth was white and gilled along the walls of her cheeks. She had no tongue. Her mouth-gills spread.

She uttered nothing but thunderous silence. It was a sound so loud and of such a frequency that quite instantly every pane of glass Justin could see exploded. Glass rained from the sky. The world was shuddering and people keeled over, clutching at their heads as blood streamed from their ears. They were screaming, though any noise they made was drowned out by the wail. Justin was screaming himself, sliding backwards on his feet. He could feel his blazer being torn at, and around him men and women were starting to rupture, popping like blisters against the side of the road. Cars crumpled under the torrent. When it ended, Justin experienced a kind of relief he had never before.

Wasting no time, he immediately leapt towards the woman, fist drawn back to crush her into the building behind her. If someone blinked, they would have missed the movement. The woman, the banshee, did not. She caught him with another note with his flashing fist within a hair's breadth of crashing through her skull. More intense, more focussed, the shockwave sent him tumbling back across the street, passing through several walls before halting. The road was cleared of matter, blown away by the song. Justin sprung back into action, back out into the open. Again the banshee sung, a keening note so powerful and so focussed that it created waves of heat broiling off it like fire.

Hand outstretched, Justin caught the force of the note. The road deformed beneath him, forming a smooth hemispherical crater wider than Justin was tall. Flame and sparks rained from his palm as it glowed in the heat. His feet were sinking into the tarmac, and when he couldn't keep traction any longer, he flew backwards, tumbling back a good hundred metres. His path was marked by shattered asphalt concrete. Jumping to his feet, Justin could feel blood pouring down the sides of his head. The banshee opened her mouth to deal him another sonic blow.

Out of nowhere, he was wrapped in a pair of arms. His brain shouted out when he realised it was Bazett. She had one hand extended, clad in a rather normal looking glove. The air rippled and a strange shape blazed on the back of Bazett’s glove; somewhat akin to a pair of mirrored M's meeting on their sides. The wave of force split before Bazett's hand like a breeze, cutting a deep vee-shape out of the ground that stretched across the street and into the buildings. Enraged, the banshee's mouth stretched wider, and the note became a worthless scream. A red flash split both Justin and Bazett's vision and the fae woman was crucified upon a crimson spear. It ran her though from throat out through the base of her spine, attaching her to the ground. She clawed at the weapon sticking through her, gripping the shaft tightly enough it seemed as though her knuckles would burst through her skin.

Justin looked up at a relatively undamaged street lamp, looked at the man who had won their game of cutthroat. He stood, grinning wolfishly, clad in some bizarre body-armour. Arms crossed, he raised his head a little "Finish it lad." he said. Justin broke free of Bazett's protective embrace and pushed off against the ground. He covered the distance to the banshee in no less than a third of a second.

The banshee had not been idle and wrenching painfully at the bloody barb she tore it through her flesh. She brought her mouth in line with Justin's charge; her sonic gills fluttered and she sang one last time. The sound was concussive and it ripped the jacket from his body. He was within inches off her, but her desperate keening held him back. Roaring silently within the vibrating vocal torrent, Justin pushed through, hand plunging into her body. Her cry became one of pain as Justin's fingers clutched at the spear inside her. He pulled, spun the weapon and split her messily in two. The two lifeless parts fell wetly to the ground.

"My spear?" asked the man, standing a few paces away, hand out to receive it. Justin was staring at the polearm, blood red from barbed head to the solid butt. It seemed to hum in his hand, vibrating with its own thought. He told himself that this was a Noble Phantasm, human memory and thought given shape and purpose. It felt powerful, and it felt as though he wasn't truly experiencing its actual power. He handed it back to the man, who slapped him on the shoulder. "Not so bad at all, for a lad."

Turning to look at Bazett as she approached, Justin couldn't help but notice the grave look on her face. He took a step back; that man was a Servant, and she was a Master. She raised her hands placatingly "I'm not going to kill you." she said immediately "I just want to give you some advice." she gripped his chin, cupping it in her hand, forcing him to face her "Give it up. Don't take another step towards the Grail." she paused for a moment "Please." Justin grabbed her by the wrist and jerked her away defiantly. She opened her mouth to speak, but her Servant cut in. "Please." she repeated, before being tugged up into the air by her Servant.

Justin watched them bound away out of sight, then turned his attention to himself. "Jesus Christ!" he exclaimed. The only part of his school blazer was the left sleeve, and the right sleeve of his shirt was gone completely as well. Looking at the soles of his shoes, they were mostly worn away; he could see toes. It was just about then he noticed that he was standing in the middle of a totally destroyed section of road killed with exploded bodies "Shit." he spat, and dashed off into the closest alleyway he could find.

*

Nathan Holland watched the sunset from his vantage point atop the world. Through the faultless transparent wall protecting him from the high altitude winds, he saw the passage of time as he was swept backwards from the golden life-giver. He pulled his face around, to look at his father. The Chief Justice was seated centrally amidst a garden sculpted to resemble some fallen classical ruin. He drank from a fluted glass a red liquid, taking notes down on paper, the pen easily moving across the paper, almost of its own accord. Nathan's eyes passed briefly over Virginie's body, sprawled and naked, floating above a black slab. She was asleep, or unconscious if one preferred. A tube ran from a hanging blood-pack into her arm.

Using a pair of fingers, Nathan brushed a few strands of hair from her forehead. Intrigued, he examined the auburn strands more closely. "Her hair is changing colour, Father." he mentioned. Looking up he caught sight of Medusa standing beneath a tree. Her eyes may have been trapped within the grasp of the eye-blinds, but still she stared him down.

"Yes, I noticed." Holland replied dismissively, as Nathan shifted his vision to a set of shadows too deep and too endless. He narrowed his eyes "I had expected it, though not quite so quickly. She will begin to consume herself at a much quicker rate, and her emotional state will become increasingly unstable." he drank deep, draining the glass. Its walls were stained bloody. "However, her potential continues to climb. Resistance, durability, processing power. Yes. Excellent." he stood, wiping his mouth demurely and collecting his book. "I trust you will clear the room when you're finished." He strode to the door, and as he passed Medusa, he held out his hand. She took it and sparing Nathan one last glance, left with the Chief Justice.

Sighing, Nathan gestured at the electrical generator connected to his slab of superconductor and ever so slowly Virginie descended. The drip extracted itself from her flesh and the tiny pinprick closed instantly. The girl moaned quietly and Nathan placed a hand on her face to placate her. He began to unbutton his shirt when out of nowhere, harsh laughter assaulted Nathan's ears. He straightened up and glared at the empty space. "Something to say?" he snarled.

"I find you extremely amusing Nat,” the voice, bordering on hysterical, returned, circling around Nathan "Look at you. You disgust me; an abuser masquerading under a veil of loving affection. You call me scum, call me evil." he whirled around, trying to locate the source of the merry go 'round of abuse. "You've had that hottie of a Servant beat the crap out of me on more than one occasion. You get this smug look on your face when you do it too; like I deserve it. Like you're meting out divine punishment on behalf of some god." The voice appeared behind him, and Nathan turned to find a dark body leaning over Virginie. Sharp, shadowy fingers traced the line of her jaw, drew down to cover one of the girl's full breasts. She moaned urgently.

Nathan peeled the fingers back and then seized the red-black wrist. An invisible force dragged the dark one into the air, and Nathan tramped forward to gather Virginie in his arms. As he walked away, he called out "If I find you touching her again, I'll kill you. It really is that simple."

"You can't." it spat back, the hiss turning into a scream punctuated with a wet ripping sound. Virginie was spattered with blood, and Nathan clutched at his throat. He didn't notice it through the sharp pain, but his blood soaked in through her skin.

UPDATE: As I editted this and cleaned it up, I felt the need to bump it.

Here we go boys and girls, another update for your perusal. Things really heat up this chapter.

Fate-Another Score

Chapter Nine

With night finally hitting the city, Justin decided that dropping by Tōsaka’s place before heading home would be pertinent. He could report to her the banshee, Bazett and give her some information on the spear-wielding Servant. He could probably coerce her into fixing his clothes and letting him clean himself of dirt, carbon and blood. Bounding along the rooftops, keeping himself hidden from sight, he was caught out by the familiar armoured glove belonging to Arturia. The Servant halted him in mid-flight, drawing him into the shadows.

“My Master sent me to intercept you, lest you lead our enemies to her residence.” The king-woman paused, forcing a chain hung with a bone mark over his head “I have also been directed to protect you. The Lancer is not a foe to be trifled with.”

“The Lancer? You don’t know his name?”

“He is the Irish hero Cúchulainn; his Gáe Bolg makes him unmistakeable.” Arturia replied dismissively. She eyed Justin in the dark “The Irish witch has done well to summon such a Servant.” She grabbed Justin around the waist, tightening him in a circle of strong arm. Arturia leapt away from the roof, hurtling them both at the tall bulk of a nearby skyscraper. She landed feet first and pushed away a fraction of a second later. The glass rippled and exploded though they were both long gone.

The sheer speed was incredible. Justin could feel his skin being pulled back against his bones as they bounded across the city. Though only fifteen seconds had elapsed, they covered miles and miles of city, hopefully throwing off any physical followers. Unceremoniously, Arturia dumped Justin on Rin’s floor. He rolled to his knees, looking straight up at the Japanese girl. He smiled.

“You look like shit.” She said after a good twelve seconds of examining him. Justin shrugged as he got to his feet.

“Could be worse.” He noted. Tōsaka shoved a finger into Justin’s chest.

“Baka. You could be dead.” Sighing, she grabbed Justin by the wrist. Levelling her gaze at Arturia she set her face “Do you think you can find him?” Arturia nodded “Then go do what you do best.” The Servant strode forward and took Rin’s small hand gently. Raising it to her lips, she kissed the tips of Rin’s fingers. She disappeared from sight; her passing marked by a sudden howling that blew their hair out of their eyes and sending loose papers into a frenzy.

Justin watched Tōsaka curiously as she brought her fingers to her mouth, staring out the window. “Are you alright?” he asked, though with amusement, not concern, in his question. Rin replied by using the grip on his arm to toss him across the room. Standing over him, Rin narrowed her eyes.

"You should shower. And yes I'll fix your clothes."

The bathroom was interesting, Justin decided. Brass pipes scrawled up and down the walls, and the shower had no less than seven taps. After stripping down, he fiddled with all of them until he got the requisite streams of scalding water. Steam rose and clouded the bathroom and he scrubbed the dry blood off the sides of his head. "So you fought a banshee." Tōsaka noted, picking up the articles of clothing that Justin had left on the floor. He jumped in surprise, cried out in sudden shock. If he didn't have preternatural balance and reflexes, he would have cracked the shower open with his head. "Relax Sturgeon-kun. In a master-apprentice relationship, there shouldn't be any sort of ... embarrassment." she smiled wickedly, and Justin turned his back on her.

"No, there should be a sense of closeness and intimacy..." as she spoke, Rin held up Justin's boxer shorts and cocked her head. She had trousers smaller than what the gaijin called underwear. She tossed them aside and seized his damaged shirt, pants and almost worthless shoes. She left.

Stepping out of the shower, Justin shook himself, throwing all the moisture from his body with a single movement. His reflection was left blurred by the fogged up mirror; he wiped it clear with slow swipes of his hand. Looking at himself, he saw nothing fundamentally different to the Justin of a few weeks previous. Poorly shaven maybe, but that was more a result of his stubble blunting his razor, not his neglecting it. He pulled his shorts on and walked out into Tōsaka's loft. She held up his shirt, devoid of blood and dirt and tears. He couldn't help but be impressed.

As he dressed, Rin mused, “So you ran into a banshee?” she paused “Did you pick up a silver comb or something?”

Justin snapped his fly closed “That’s mermaids.”

“The Irish Master,” she searched the surface thoughts of Justin’s mind “Bazett. I haven’t seen her sorcery in action. You have about zero knowledge, but could you tell me any of her abilities?” Justin thought about, and was silent for long enough that Rin said “Before I’m old.”

He told her about the shape on the back of Bazett’s glove and the shield she had formed with it. Tōsaka clapped her hands together and exclaimed “Ah! Runic sorcery!” the idea was simple; there were hundreds and hundreds of different rune letters, each with their own meaning and purpose. Combinations of runes in association with specific rituals could produce the camouflage that Rin used to hide her presence.

But some magicians possessed the ability to lay down runes that possessed their own power, and often that power was great. The Association was not fond of runic sorceries; preferring instead its own spheres of arcana. “The Lords of the Association have a habit of looking down on those who stray outside of what they consider the 'right' thaumaturgy. Unenlightened they call it. Speaking of," she cocked an eyebrow at him "You really need to learn to Reinforce, consciously. Otherwise you're just going to end up with more ripped up clothing, and more ruined shoes."

"One of your books said that Reinforcement was considered one of the most ordinary sorceries." Justin retorted. He had more important things to worry about; things he could use in combat. Rin clapped one hand down on top of Justin's head. Wagging her finger under his nose, she berated him for dismissing even the most basic of abilities. Reinforcement was simple, yes, but it could seriously increase his chances of survival.

"After all, I highly doubt your ability to pick up more complex thaumaturgy; at least not outside the realms of Matter." she shook her head in sudden exasperation "You know what annoys me most about you Sturgeon-kun?" Justin shook his head amusedly "You're so full of yourself. You've been caught up in this War for a tiny fraction of time compared to me, but you seem to think that you don't need me." even as he opened his mouth to reply she cut him off "Don't even try to make a smartassed comment."

They glared at each other across the couch and Justin relented, looking away. "I really should head home." he said, "Thérèse will be pretty damn mad. I've been missing for hours."

"It shouldn't take you long to get home."

"Two minutes in a straight line, but it's not like you can make it in a straight line." Justin tightened his tie about his collar and walked past Rin. He paused for a moment "Thanks." she smiled and held up the charm Arturia had passed on to him. Taking it, Justin walked up to the broad window. The city looked both inviting and frightening; the densely packed stars trawled down by man to light the world seemingly calling him in. Yet at the same time, they also seemed to push him away, telling him that stepping out into the night would be a mistake.

He ignored it.

*

Cúchulainn leaned against his spear, using it to prop up his impressive, perhaps heroic, frame. The wind whistled blue across the impossibly sharp edge, his ponytail swinging with the breeze. He straightened and rolled his shoulders, his muscles bulging against his thick armour. The woman came to a halt a full two metres to Cúchulainn's left. "I thought you'd come."

"I didn't think you'd be waiting." Arturia replied, swinging her arms experimentally. The spearman shrugged. If anyone had been watching, it would have seemed the two disappeared, reappearing on the roof of the next building over, red spear locked with air.

Arturia pushed, her hands clasped around empty air as though it was the hilt of a sword. Cúchulainn was grinning and he stepped backwards to avoid a white streak of air that sliced cleanly into the concrete. A toroidal wind began to surround Arturia’s invisible blade and she leaped forward, meeting the lancer in a flurry of clashing blows. They were furious movement, whirling death from hundreds of blows dealt in the space of a heartbeat. Where Cúchulainn swung his spear, thunderous explosions of sound followed.

It was as if he carried five spears in ten hands, his fury a rain of piercing strikes and gutting slashes with the barbed head of Gáe Bolg. It was a crimson tide, a wall of spiralling murder that would have taken the souls of hundreds. But the Knight King was unassailable high above the city streets. Her sabatons bit into the hard, rough ground, her footwork leaving her in constant motion. No such movement was wasted; everything she did designed to deflect the bloody spear’s thirsting tip.

It was unnatural as they passed across roof after roof, every swing impossibly fast. Marked by smoothly curving arcs of blue light and hot golden fire, they carved air and stone and atom. Such was their speed that bystanders felt only the repercussions of their battle without acknowledging the cause. Glass shattered and steel warped seconds after they had left it long behind. Debris rained deadly upon the citizens, though their screams did not reach the ears of the duelling Servants.

Sparks flew as Cúchulainn brought himself to a halt, his toes touching the edge of the open air. Arturia had leapt on, dropping to halt across the way. For the moment, they stood still, watching as the force of their fighting finally caught up with them. Beneath Cúchulainn’s feet a hundred stories of windows popped outwards like a translucent boil. His Gáe Bolg was glowing hot and when he crouched and propelled himself across the void he kicked up a wave of molten material.

Screeching out with the speed of an air-to-air missile, the Lancer roared with rage and sheer happiness. Arturia felt a pang in her chest and she flung herself backwards. But she could not escape, Cúchulainn followed like a hound. The truth of the matter had already been decided. The flesh of Arturia's heart would feed the steaming spear. Though the blow seemed so simple to fend away despite its speed, she could not. It warped, it twisted and the sun-hot tip kissed the unblemished surface of Arturia's breastplate.

It was armour quite unlike anything the world had ever conceived of. For all the high-tech composites and advances in materials science, mankind would never achieve the perfection found in that snow-white chest piece. It would turn aside most any man-made catastrophe, and few earth-bound forces would blemish its surface. But the touch of Gáe Bolg, the spear of impaling barbed death, was no man-made catastrophe, no earth-bound force. In it's flight it warped the laws of cause and effect. It could not hope to miss Arturia, despite her efforts, because it had already hit her. It was a weapon which bypassed the natural order of the universe.

The pressure wave caused by the strike sent a hideous shudder through the spine of the building down to its very foundations. Cúchulainn's lips peeled back over his teeth as the spearhead began to ever so slowly sink through the crystallised image. Though the time was subjectively an eternity, it only lasted the barest fraction of a second. Arturia's armour cracked and the javelin drove through her body, emerging on the other side dripping blood and radiating luminescent blue steam. Light spilled with her blood and Arturia glared at Cúchulainn, trying to step forward to strike at him with her blade. The Lancer roared with laughter and swung her over his head and smashing her through the roof.

Wrenching her out in a shower of shattered masonry, Cúchulainn swung Arturia on the end of his spear, crashing her into the concrete. With a mighty swing, she was wrenched loose, her armoured body being tossed into some office building. She tumbled through glass and floor after floor after floor. When she halted on a dangerously sagging floor, she placed a hand over the ragged hole in her chest armour. As a construct of thought, her heart was not a vital part of her cardiopulmonary system, but rather the location of one of her spiritual cores. Needless to say, it hurt, though it had not been destroyed.

Cúchulainn touched his face, and then looked at the blood sticking to his fingertips. She really was good, King Arthur. She was a fight, a combat worthy of the Hound of Culann. He pressed on, following her ragged path through the offices and hallways, and clashed the Gáe Bolg against her hidden blade. They fought on through walls and offices and photocopy machines and burst through the other side. Falling could not hinder them as they dropped forty stories, two stars of light and fire that hit the ground with the force of a meteor. Passers-by on foot or in cars were launched flying by the shockwave. Those still conscious noted that there was nothing in the impact zone.

Cars had begun to split as their back-and-forth passed up hundreds of metres of street, their weapons effortlessly slicing through their bodies. For the innocents looking in that direction, there was no cause, and panic spread amongst the people. Cúchulainn kicked an SUV towards Arturia as she hurtled backwards, feet skimming the ground. She swung her empty hands and split it in two, both pieces glowing hot where her weapon had cut. Her sabatons touched the earth for a moment and gravity was once again meaningless. The King practically flew to the rooftop of a so far undamaged skyscraper.

Beneath the comforting aegis of her armour, Arturia found her dress sticky with blood. Her skin had long since closed over, though she felt drained by the exertion needed repair her secondary core. If she didn’t end this quickly, she would die. Cúchulainn was too powerful to trifle with, too agile, too enduring. Watching him bound up the towers, she saw that his spear was radiating that killing light again, but hotter this time, more intense. It was so palpable that on the ground, people began to sweat uncontrollably, glass cascading downwards as a glowing orange waterfall. The Lancer sprinted across the face of a building, so fast that even to Arturia he seemed a blur.

Arturia was only half turned when Cúchulainn bounded up towards her like a streak of hot red lightning. She could not physically deflect him or dodge him and this time her spiritual core would not be merely damaged; it would be utterly destroyed. He ripped upwards through the building, burning through on a wave of bloodheat. He emerged, thrusting the spear forward. If Arturia could see that which had yet to pass, and her sense of instinct bordered on perception of the future, all she would see was her death. It was inevitable, decided. Cúchulainn had cut all strands of fate but one.

Yet luck was a force. Probability was a psychic phenomenon documented by magi down through the ages; it could change fate, warp future history. Some magicians would say that there existed no man with the luck required to survive the barbed flight of Gáe Bolg. Arturia was not a man; she was a force of human nature. In her life she had won out against fate, performed miracles.

Gáe Bolg drove against her at a steep angle, showering a plume of sparks into the heavens. Cúchulainn’s face drooped as he failed to spit her on the end of his cursed spear. Though she had cheated death, Arturia had not avoided all harm; the barbed head bit deep into her face as she pulled away. It scarred bone and ripped flesh, punctured one of her eyes. Her hands flashed and the spear flew on, Cúchulainn’s arm still attached. It landed a good three hundred metres away, standing straight, severed hand still gripping the shaft tightly.

A heavy foot thumped into her armoured belly and Arturia careened backwards, sliding into a crouch. Cúchulainn had dashed over to the rooftop where his Gáe Bolg had landed. He saluted with his left hand and dashed off into the night.

Straightening, Arturia watched him disappear then touched her face. Frowning, she began to withdraw, heading back to Rin.

*

Justin cruised into the Dechense Estate at relatively high speed. With a mile of driveway, he used it to skim like a stone across the surface of a flat lake. He breezed through the light cast by the dozens of tall brass lamps, a shadow that flitted in and out of existence. When he halted, he adjusted his clothes and hair (it was difficult to keep tidy at subsonic speeds). Behind him there was a vaguely familiar fizzling sound, and glancing around, he watched in horror as each lamp popped in a short sparkle of electric embers.

That was something to keep in mind for future forays into the realms of critical mach. His mind began to wander onto aerodynamics, only to be cut short by the butler saying “Oh, it’s you, monsieur.” he was polishing his monocle, and put it in to peer across at the driveway lights. "Mademoiselle Thérèse is not terribly pleased with you." Justin shrugged as he reached level with the butler "Monsieur, do you know what caused that?"

Justin shrugged again "Power surge?"

"Absurd." the butler replied, gesturing for Justin to step inside ahead of himself "But I will make a point of examining the generator."

He hadn't made two steps when Thérèse called his name from the next floor up. He turned what he hoped was a charming smile at her rigid figure, but he quailed. More than anger, there was fear. Her eyes were red and Justin was filled with a sense of regret. As he climbed up the stairs, he could see her bottom lip just barely quiver. Thérèse swallowed and opened her mouth to berate him, but Justin seized her, drew the girl into a warm embrace. Though initially startled, she responded by sinking her face into the crook of his neck.

Stroking the back of her head, Justin apologised for what he had done. Thérèse responded by shoving him away and slapping him around the face. He saw it coming, more so than any other slap he'd gotten off her before, and turned his head so she wouldn't hurt her hand. "Espèce de connard!" she snapped and backhanded him. "What the hell do you think you're doing! You run away from school, ditch the agents the president sends to look after you. You could have been killed!" Justin through up his hands, palms to the sky. Thérèse half-snarled in disbelief and grabbed him by the tie "Don't you fucking dare dismiss it Justin Sturgeon! You survived where your family perished, don't you think about wasting that!" Thérèse released him and he straightened up proper. Eyes clamped shut, Thérèse spun on one heel and practically marched away.

Frowning, Justin watched as she walked away, then called out "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have worried you." she glanced back and he tried to smile reassuringly "I'll try to be more careful in future."

"That's good Justin," she smiled back "But you can sleep in your own bed tonight."

She walked off with a definite bounce in her step. Justin tried to frown and smile at the same time, but found that he wasn't capable of such a feat.

*

Nathan rubbed his head, then glanced back at Virginie. Her eyes were closed and her lips parted. He pulled her covers up to her chin, dressed, and stepped out into the hallway. Medusa was standing by the door. "You're injured." Medusa noted "I have told you that you should not attempt to fight in my place."

"You were occupied." Nathan replied, voice dead. Medusa frowned, reached forward and placed her hands against his shoulders. The pressure stopped him from walking and she encircled him in her arms.Closing his eyes, Nathan let himself slump against the comforting warmth of Medusa's body. With one hand she pushed his hair from his forehead. "Ultimately, I can't stand against father. He'll just kill me. Virginie has the power, but neither the experience or inclination." Nathan turned into her, resting his face against the gentle curve of her shoulder "She needs some way to protect herself. She needs ..." Nathan stepped back for a moment and examined Medusa. Without a word he turned and dashed off like a bullet.

Medusa found him in the library, zeroing in on a single volume out of thousands with the precision of laser guided artillery. He placed the book reverentially down on one of the desks in the room and opened its dark, leather bound covers. He dabbed his tongue against his fingertip and began to flick through the yellowed pages. Medusa stepped around to the other side of the desk until Nathan found just what he wished, smiling broadly. "Sometimes I amaze myself." he whispered, making a point of engraining the details "It is a complex process, but we can push her through it. It should only take a day to get a hold of what we need."

"Master?" Medusa asked, not quite curiously.

"When it comes down to it, Virginie has the power, the right." his smile softened "She will be safe."

*

Outside of the city proper, Justin himself was within a library belonging to his godfather. He had found an old book about electromagnetics and was currently reading through it. Considering the reliance most magi had on electromagnetics, he wished to fully understand it. If he couldn't express it in equations, then he didn't understand it. Sorcery was as much science as anything else; tempered by reason, logic and the universal constants. He still wasn't quite sure thaumaturgy actually jived with some laws of physics, but that's where learning came in. Physics was important; if he wanted to be successful as a magiciian he was going to need more than a B-average in college level physics.

He was trying to locate buzzwords that he had heard Tōsaka droppng about like candy, and now was elbows deep in the Aharonov-Bohm effect and the implication in regards to Dirac. It wasn't that he didn't like magnetic monopoles; it was just that thinking about the Dirac string made his head hurt. There had to be some easier way to understand all this - the musty old tomes that Rin had brought from Japan were even more complex and seemed to be nothing but dense equations and spiritual jibba-jabba. Rin said sorcery was all about cheating.

It felt more like pointlessly hard work.

He closed the book and put it down on the low table in front of him. Maybe he'd come back to it later. Sinking into the chair, Justin stared up at the ceilling; Rin made it seem so effortless. While he could Trace with surprising skill, she could do that and a whole lot more. She could Effect; allowing her to tamper with complex machines ranging from (in her words) 'quantum computers to human brains to your average graphics calculator'. She implied that her telekinesis and telepathy - including her annoying ability to read minds - were simply applications of that ability. She could fly, she could teleport,. If Rin had the need she could deploy sensory and anti-sensory that would rival the most advanced electronics packages used by first-world superpowers.

It was barely the tip of the iceberg; she had a rather annoying habit of implying that her abilities were far more broad than what little Justin had witnessed. She had let him in on what she called a 'family tradition'; the transfer and storage of energy. Calling her the ultimate crafter of batteries scored Justin a knife in the back of his knee, but it was worth it for the look on her face. He was quite impressed when she showed him her jewellery, each stone charged and practically overfollowing with pure spiritual force. The process was complex, she had said, but resulted in a frozen shard of potential sorcerous power. Some were ancient and priceless with years worth of prana crystallised, while others were more disposable. She did warn him not to get on the receiving end of one regardless.

Though lost in his recollections and rambling train of thought, he noticed Berenger Dechense approaching. The large man greeted him jovially, a wide ribbing grin flastered on his face. Justin returned his gaze bemusedly and asked what he found so funny. Uncle Berenger began poking at him from across the room and said in a sing-song way "You're in the dog-house!" Justin rolled his eyes in an exargerated fashion and his godfather laughed heartily "Drink?"

Justin nodded and Berenger filled a pair of snifters with Armagnac and delivered it to Justin. He sunk his nose into the glass and enjoyed the aroma and said "What was it that Samuel Johnson said?"

"Patriotism is the last refuge of scoundrels?"

"That wasn't quite what I was thinking." Berenger replied, sipping demurely "What are you reading?" Justin held up the book so the title could be read. Berenger blanched as he murmured 'The History and Formations of Modern Electromagnetics'. He disputed why Justin would be reading such a thing when he had thousands of texts at his disposal, many of which far more pertinent to him.

"I'd think that the force governing basically every phenomena I encounter daily would be pretty pertinent." placing his glass down he listed them off on his fingers "Every interaction between matter is simply an expression of intermolecular forces - pushing, pulling, touching, plus all forms of chemical interactions - all of those are based upon the electromagnetic force."

Scoffing, Berenger drained most of his drink in one gulp and flung himself on to his feet. He stomped over to the book cases, muttering. He ran one thick sausage-like finger along the spines of the books and scowled with disappointment, marching off to another wall. After a few more moments of searching, he found what he was looking for and brought it to Justin, dropping it into the boy's lap. Justin read the title aloud: The Book of Five Rings.

"Be careful with that. It's a special copy I found at great expense. Hand translated into english." with great care Justin open the book. Though the pages were starting to crack, it still seemed rather hardy. His godfather sat back down and resumed drinking.

Out of nowhere, Justin had the urge to ask "Hey, Uncle B, how much am I actually worth?" though moderately surprised, being a man of finance, Berenger responded in kind.

"You have about thirty eight million euros to your family name."

"Hypothetically speaking, could you make money out of that? Investments and the like?"

Berenger Dechense donned a pair of tinted glasses and pulled out a PDA. The cerulean glow lit up his features, turned to sharp angles by his sudden excitement "Your father was never interested in letting me invest his money. How many times do you want me to multiply it?"

"Make me a billionaire within ten years and I'll suck your cock on live television." his godfather roared with laughter.

"Careful what you wish for my boy." he finished his brandy and stood up. Ruffling Justin's hiar, he bid him goodnight. Alone again, Justin began reading through The Book of Five Rings while slowly emptying his glass of brandy. It was an interesting book, and he worked through the first chapter remarkably quickly, commiting to memory certain phrases to be mangled and regurgitated at his leisure. Part of the reason he had asked Berenger about his monetary assets was because he had fallen across a certain line running: 'There is timing in the whole life of the warrior, in his thriving and declining, in his harmony and discord. Similarly, there is timing in the Way of the merchant, in the rise and fall of capital.'

As he finished the Ground Book, he was visited by Thérèse. She was dressed in a short silky nightdress and as she approached Justin could hear the frcition of her soft white thighs rubbing together. Gently he closed his new book and placed it atop his book of electromagnetics. She leaned over him, giving him full view of her naked breasts, but captured his attention by kissing him. "I thought you weren't talking to me." he remarked when she finally pulled away.

"That is not what I said." she replied, sinking into Justin's lap. His hands went to her shoulders, determined to push the straps of her gown off her shoulders. Thérèse circled his fingers around his wrists to stop him then, eyes closed, dipped her head to latch her mouth to his. "You taste like brandy." she murmured "I hate brandy." as she alighted her fingers on Justin's chest and began to undo his buttons, he didn't bother to argue.

*casts raise thread* An update, at last. Finally. Here's hoping I manage to get some comments. Hopefully.

Fate-Another Score

Chapter Ten

Justin Sturgeon spent most of his morning in sociology daydreaming in the heat. It had become strangely hot over night - the news that morning reported not only the incident with the banshee (A mysterious sonic attack by unknown terrorists, though at least four groups had claimed responsibility), but also the fight between Arturia and Cúchulainn (so Rin told him, the national news called it yet another terrorist act. Tabloids said otherwise, but the tabloids always said otherwise) and the ridiculous fluctuations in the weather. That morning Thérèse had awoken him with a heavy, well-placed kiss, and had said that if the heat kept up they should go to the seacoast. He wasn’t in a position to disagree.

In other classes the heat had demolished teachers, leaving them as droning statues vomiting facts to rooms full of unengaged students. But not Mister Edward Scott. Even as temperatures soared and necklines plunged in an attempt for relief, he was animated, describing in great detail the processes of collective behaviour. He seemed completely unaffected by the forty-one degree heat, though to be fair he always looked as though he’d come from somewhere warm. His dark skin had always been popular among the girls.

After trying to make an effort but ultimately foiled by the lethargic atmosphere, Justin let the information about Park and Blumer and the examples from around the city in regards to recent events flow in one ear and out the other. The information pooled on his desk in a puddle of babble. Some had their heads screwed on right though; Tōsaka endured, bright and perky, as did Virginie, though her posture was still slumped. Even she had undone several of her blouse buttons; there was a thin sheen of sweat over her skin.

He wondered briefly, straying to matters of school, whether they would be allowed to leave school. It was just too hot; even if his unnatural endurance meant he could go for a thousand mile run and barely be bothered by it, he didn’t like the heat. It made him lazy at much lower temperatures (Thérèse had only made him get out of bed by pushing him on to the floor).

On the other hand, Justin wanted something to occupy him, keep his mind off his coming meeting with Nathan. It made him nervous and as a rule Tōsaka had a habit of monitoring emotions of everybody in a room. If she sensed him being worried about something, she could delve into his mind and tear the reason from his skull. There were techniques for resisting such things, but they were applications of Effect. A human couldn’t hide his or her thoughts from a magician; if you tried, she might start permanently damaging neurons.

It was simply a matter of trusting in his ability to pull through. Thinking about it, he was more or less sure that Nathan had no intention of harming him. He seemed sincere enough; it wasn’t as if he couldn’t. His encounters with Servants had Justin on the back foot at all times; he highly doubted that as he was now that he could even put up a fight. Dismissing it, Justin vaguely attempted to pay attention to Mister Scott and his treatise on the mob mentality until lunch. Then, linking up with Virginie, he headed to the cafeteria.

Both Thérèse and Boswell seemed as lethargic as Justin felt, though Vandyke … Vandyke was, as always, boisterous. Not for the first time, Justin wondered if he was a little more insane than eccentric. “This heat wave is gloriously mysterious, don’t you think Justin?” he asked loudly. Justin shrugged.

“At least it’s good beach weather.” Thérèse noted slowly.

“The beach would be nice.” Virginie sighed, leaning across to steal a sip Thérèse’s drink, catching the straw between her lips. Both Vandyke and Boswell had their eyes inexorably pulled to her ample cleavage, then started coughing.

“I don’t like your chances, to be honest.” Boswell replied to them both after he had regained his composure and Virginie had taken her weight from the table. "The weather keeps on fluctuating so rapidly. It might snow tomorrow, for all you know." Justin doubted that, but someone was changing the weather. He knew it was being done via sorcery; technically it could be done with modern technology, but the government would notice an array of parabolic mirrors up in space, or planes seeding the upper atmosphere for clouds. On the other hand, they probably didn't have any means of detecting a magician doing the same. Probably; would they keep that sort of thing a secret? It was a governmental superpower after all, they often had lots of secrets.

He nodded, replied to his friends, but he was occupied. The news always spoke of terrorists and foreign insurgents. That was the governments stance as well. He'd heard it straight from the mouth of the President, of the Chief Justice, from members of the police, the armed forces ... all positions where lying was compulsory. Was the apparatus of the Association, the mighty governing and military body of magicians across the globe, so great that they could hide most everything from the mundane world? Rin always implied that it was a large organisation ... but this speculation was pointless. The world of sorcery was so complex that he, with his limited knowledge, would just end up confusing the situation. Was controlling the weather a difficult ability; thinking about it, was it even possible? The world's ecosystem was a very tetchy thing. You created a storm and you might as well kiss the planet goodbye.

And besides, what possible advantage could there be? Forty degrees celsius was about as worrying as a light light breeze.

*

Justin sat on the corner post of the ring, working out his new mobile phone. He was going to end up making himself sound like a moron explaining why he had a new phone number; after all, what sort of person lost their cell? Idiots, that's who. At least he had one now and Thérèse wasn't going to pester him about it. He slid the little machine shut and pocketed it, knowing that it wasn't going to last very long. He'd have to make copies of his SIM for those future phones. At least he only had to pay for his own damage - who knew how many millions of euros of collateral he and the banshee had caused. All those people, those cars, the surrounding buildings, several hundred metres of road ... he wasn't sure he could afford that. Yet, anyway.

Leanning backwards, Justin surveyed the old plaster roof of Sully's gym. The whole place was inscribed with spiderweb cracks. A deathtrap, he'd said several times before. The whole place could go up in smoke, catching alight like paper. Sully had always laughed when that came up. The old materials made him feel safe, he said. Justin didn't understand how. How could you feel safe in a building without the structural benefits of carbon nanotube supported building materials and firma-concrete? New Geneva was an artificial island built on carbon structures, designed to survive tidal waves and uncountable centuries - where the Hell did this place come from anyway? Justin raised a foot and planted it by his backside, pushing himself in a lazy backflip. He landed with a hollow thump on the ring surface. At least Sully had been inclined to buy modern equipment.

Justin tossed his weight around for a few moments. Even though he knew much of the extent of his current power, he could not help but be surprised by how well he could restrain it. To anyone watching, they would see an extremely fit young man showing off some talent at boxing. They might be impressed by his footwork. If they so much as twitched the wrong way, he could have reduced them to so much bloody mist before they or anyone else in the room could percieve it. Clenching his fist, Justin eyed it, then swung his arm out. The wall off to his left thumped, a cloud of plaster erupting from it. The cracks had intensified and through the dust he spied a sunken crater. He waved his arm backwards, sucking much of the loose plaster-dust into the vacuum he had created with a thundercrack. Working his fingers, Justin considered his handiwork. Frowning, he leapt the ropes and laid his palm against the wall. You could Trace at long distance if you were skilled enough. Justin was not.

He patted the flattened wall. It may not have weighed the same as it used to, but at least there wasn't a curious crater. Justin beamed and brushed his hands together. Spinning on one heel, he prepared to make a single leap back into the ring, but a feeling in his gut told him not to. He kept rotating as Niles walked into the room. Justin waved.

"I didn't think you'd be here." Niles said. Justin replied much the same. What point was there in coming to this gym if there was no Sully? There were no other coaches or mentors. At least to Justin, Sully had been the greatest. Man had taught him how to box since he was six, after all. "I just thought I'd check it out. I didn't think I'd get in though; the door was unlocked." he raised an eyebrow. Justin grinned sheepishly. No need to tell him that he'd Traced the lock open. Or that he'd screwed it up and left it unlocked forever.

"It feels empty." Justin remarked airily. Niles blinked for a good four seconds, watching Justin climb into the ring.

"That's because it is empty, dunce." he said, swinging over the ropes. They circled each other, fists half-clenched.

"I was trying to be metaphysical," Justin grumbled "You know. Philosphical. Referring to the extistential meaning of the building without its owner and master. That without the person giving it drive and purpose it is..." as Justin searched for the word he wanted, Niles interjected.

"Purposeless? You don't even know what 'existential' means, do you."

Justin laughed loudly and hung himself against the elastic cords. Niles rested an elbow on a corner rod. They stared at each other for a moment.

"Are you alright?" Niles asked.

"I'm fine."

"You can tell me you know. We've been punching each other in the face since we were seven."

"I'm good."

"You just didn't strike as being particularly cut up at the funeral."

"I've just had to accept the fact that my family are dead. No point in dwelling on it."

Niles narrowed his eyes "That's bullshit Just. You just don't want to confront it." the corner of Justin's mouth twitched in response. Just his upper lip, showing a canine. Had he normal bones in his hands they would have clicked audibly in the silent air. Waving a hand in front of his face he laughed again. Again it was too loud. Niles sunk. "Honestly, you're family was murdered. You'd have to be a psychopath - or is it sociopath? - to brush it off so easily. I don't think you're one of those." Justin shrugged.

"No, I don't want to confront it. I saw..." he rubbed his nose, looking towards a far window. It was pretty dusty. "It's just, well," whole place was real dusty when you got down to it "I watched them," he coughed "I saw."

Niles was quite obviously surprised. He rubbed the back of his neck and looked off in his own direction "Ah, wow. I didn't know that." he said finally.

"It's not something that you tell the press." Justin said as Niles approached. The weight of his hand was somewhat comforting, though as the larger boy drew Justin into his arms, he almost gagged.

"I'm sorry man." Niles proclaimed. It really was a proclamation, as he crushed Justin.

"Why do you sound like Elvis?" Justin asked pushing Niles away. He had gone pink around the ears and he tried to smile.

"Sorry."

Justin blinked a few times, then covered his face. His palms were wet and a shudder went through him like electricity. Niles draped an arm across Justin's shoulders and let him cry. The sobs were grating, but he stuck by Justin until he was done. If he'd noticed Rin in the room (he did not), he would have immediately left the building and had a long cold shower. Steam would have risen from his skin. Justin wasn't nearly finished weeping, but Rin's tittering made him shove Niles off his shoulders and onto the mat. He bounced once.

The laughs got louder as Justin swiped at his face. Niles rubbed his temple and rose to his feet. Justin apologised, glaring towards Rin. Controlling his friend's perceptions of the room wasn't something she was going to get away with, that was for sure. She waved, flapping her fingers at Justin. He didn't want to give Niles the idea that he was completely insane, so he ignored her. Niles' heel rubbing against the surface of the ring drew Justin's attention to him once again.

"Hey, you want to go get something to eat?" he asked and Justin shook his head, saying he had things to take care of. Niles nodded and clambered out onto the main floor. "I'll see you round then. Look after yourself." he headed towards the door, paused to glance at the perfectly smooth wall then left. Justin spent a good ten seconds exhaling. Rin leapt lightly over the ropes and grinned at him, the pink tip of her tongue peeking out from between her teeth. Justin launched out his fist and hit nothing but air. That air hit the windows and blew them outwards. He ducked beneath her high snap-kick and spun to deliver his crackling fists at almost the speed of sound. She was so much slower, but if he measured her reaction time, it would be in the negatives. She saw everything he was going to do and intercepted it. Justin didn't quite understand the Holtzman effect or the concept behind it, and so he couldn't use it against her.

Tōsaka held up her hand and accellerated Justin straight out of the building in a shower of red rubble. He was still on his feet and he stared nervously at Niles, who himself was staring slackjawed at the hole through the walls. "Justin!" he cried out, racing inside. Justin raised his hand, but Rin placed her hand on his shoulder.

"Let's go."

*

Justin's problem was that while he appeared to be lucky and while he appeared to have talent, he was inexperienced. He had protested this idea; as he had said, he had ten years of boxing experience and over half that in fencing. However, compared to ten years of thaumaturgical experience, the abilities granted by his Noble Phantasm were not all that impressive. Tōsaka theorised that Justin wasn't even making use of the full potential of the Hands of Heaven, though she noted that he was currently at his limits. If he pushed too much his body would begin to break down under the stress of the energy flowing through him. All magi had to worry about it; overflowing Prana and high intensity spell-casting could be detrimental to one's health.This applied doubly to Justin, and he did not have years of training to counteract this.

"It doesn't help that your stores of Prana are miniscule in comparison to mine." Tōsaka mused, perched on a stool. She was instructing him on how to alter the atomic structure of materials into others; lead into gold was the preferred method of teaching this more advanced form of Tracing. "Tracing something like this isn't eaxactly that draining, but larger objects and more complex Traces will take it out of you. When you run low on Prana, you're likely to draw on your Odo. That or your Noble Phantasm will attempt to compensate for you, which your body cannot survive without injury."

The lead rod expanded, took on a new lustre and twisted itself into a spiral. It quivered and Justin fought to keep the field under control. He pushed too hard and the Trace ran out of control, forming into a tiny hedgehog of gold. The wickedly sharp points shot out and shattered on his hand. He had little to no subtlety, which was important with the complex processes of atomic transmutation. Despite his surprising talent for Tracing, he wasn't making quite the inroads he wanted to, and after his embarrassing failure to make use of Rin's Gandr curse in any way, he needed to prove that he was good at some magic.

"Never mind." Tōsaka said gently, jumping to the floor. She patted him on the shoulder "I'm sure you'll manage with a few months of practice. I never really expected you to get a hand of it this quickly. Sorcery is a complex science." as she started to walk away and Justin cracked his hand down on the slab of stone that was Tōsaka's workbench. It almost shattered, but has is hand came down the deep gray stone glowed with a pale light and warped. It became something like a liquid, something like a gas; boiling in a short lived whirlwind. A few objects around the room crumpled and deformed in the presence of the intense electromagnetic field. The room shifted off axis.

Clamped in his fist, Justin held the heavy metallic handle of a very large hammer. It's head was massive, so much so that it was doubtful than any normal man could even lift it, let alone use it as a weapon. Justin gave it an experimental swing, rolled it around his wrist, then tossed it into his right. It was a weapon, that was for sure. He could do some damage with a bludgeon like that. Rin stepped forward and pried it from his loose grip. Holding it at its neck, she ran a finger across the grey-black head.

"You intruige me Sturgeon-kun." Tōsaka grinned, stepping back and swinging the hammer around. Even for her it was an unwieldy weapon. "This is an articficial form of matter several times denser than iridium." she swung it over her head and Justin caught it, yanking it from her grip.

"Is that possible?" he examined the hammer.

"Oh, it is. It's just that you don't have the technical knowhow to do it." Tōsaka tapped her chin as Justin expertly twirled the mighty maul around. "No, you seem to Trace best when you're making weapons."

"Actually, speaking of the possible, what's your stance on weather control?"

"Ridiculous. It would take actual magic to make any actual meteorlogical changes without utterly destroying the planet's systems." she clicked her fingers "Ah, you've realised there's something wrong with the weather."

"It was just a thought."

Rin shrugged. It was certainly possible to alter air pressure and wind flow and create storms and the like, but the particularly random changes that hand been going on was not the handiwork of any Master she knew of. Weather control without any consequences was not even in the province of the Wizard Marshals or Lords of the Association, nor for any of the cataclysmic scholars of Atlas. As she Traced Justin's hammer back into a work desk, she spoke of an older sort of sorcery, mythic in its origins and scope, without the true bounds of science. "That would achieve it, though that's beyond modern magicians." she tweaked Justin's nose "Especially someone like you, Sturgeon-kun."

Sticking out his tongue was the only response that Justin could muster, and the small girl reached up to ruffle his hair "You show so much promise though in terms of power." her hand slid down to the side of his face and she fixed his blue-grey eyes, with her own, startling sapphire and faintly luminescent. Between their skin passed something almost electric "Do you feel that tingling? That's our infinity circuits reacting to each other. It's so intense, more so than any other I've felt. You have all the power of a magnitude ten, earthshaking mage. Locked away and hidden. I should really have expected no less from the Sturgeon line." Justin rubbed his cheek and frowned "I guess we should just focus on what you've got right now, which is direct combat ability. Arturia?"

"Master." the Servant replied, stepping silently from the shadows. Justin had been sure that only he and Rin had been in the lab. Blue dress flowing about her legs, the king made her way around to bow to Justin. "If you would."

Justin gave the blade a few short slices and pointed it at floor of the chamber. Its Reinforced edge gleamed in the diffuse light. He whipped it around in an arc designed to set off a shower of sparks and looped it to point directly at Arturia's throat. Had it been mortal steel it would have melted from the friction. Arturia raised her weapon with a minimum of fuss, holding it straight and frozen. Justin blinked forward and filled the room with a defeaning chainsaw screech of swords meeting. He fell back, panting. Arturia opened her eyes and smiled. One foot pushed into the ground and she leapt forward with speed and prescision of a rifle bullet. Her blade swept towards him, rippled in heat. Justin ducked, thrust forward. His blade passed through Arturia's body like air, and he followed it.

On instinct he dived forward, feeling the wind of her downward arc slice into his clothes. He rolled to his feet and turned to face the knight, her body totally unmarked. She smiled at him, complimented his quick reflexes. He didn't reply, and instead lashed out, trailling swirling tongues of flame behind him. He struck at her with flashing, impossible speed; so quickly that it all happened within the blink of an eye. Ten, twenty, thirty times he struck, and Arturia moved out of the way of each one with inhuman grace. Her feet barely brushed the ground, crossing this way and that with the swirling blurs that Justin made with each swing. She made a lazy slash at Justin, and he raised up his fist to catch its falling edge. The tip of his weapon rushed forward like an oncomming freight train.

Arturia stepped to the side and let the hot, Reinforced steel inch past her. She let go of her hilt, stepped the side and reached over Justin's arm to reaffirm her grip. With one effortless movement she had the blade of her sword pushing against the skin of his throat. He blinked hurriedly, and darted backwards in a gale, but Arturia stil had him, a pressure on his neck that he couldn't escape. One shapely white hand pried free his own sword.

Sucking down his first breath since the fight began only seconds before, Justin stumbled backwards. His left foot crushed the stone floor and he reached forward with his fist. Arturia stepped back and let him flow past. She tossed the swords into one hand and brought them down on Justin. He whipped his right hand up, catching them. One squeeze shattered them both and he pushed forward. Arturia bypassed him and grabbed his chin, pitching him into the far wall. Even Reinforced reinforced concrete couldn't resist such an impact, and Justin sunk into it in a shower of fractured stone.

"Well." the Servant stepped forward and bent down so that she was eye to eye with her vanquished foe "You're not a complete failure. Perhaps if you possessed some modicum of advanced witchcraft, you would have a chance against a lesser spirit than I."

"Sorcery." Justin corrected her and she rolled her eyes.

"Please, I get that enough from Rin. Maerlin was far less pedantic than you current wizards." their hands latched together and Arturia hauled Justin to his feet "Though admittedly you're both ... easier to get along with." there was a heavy metal ring hanging from one wall, and Arturia siezed it. She pulled and dragged free a block of firma-concrete a good five metres thick. In the space behind that was a door. Rin had carved this chamber, like all her others, straight out of the solid foundations of the city. They climbed back up through dozens of metres, through the tunnels bored out by Tōsaka sorcery. Justin glanced above him as they went vertical; despite himself, he tried to see through Arturia's skirts. She suddenly dropped, heel stomping down on his face.

"Oh, sorry about that." she said, before continuing upwards. Justin smiled a little, and followed.

This took me a while to do because of some nasty writer's block. Then I found the cure: Fanservice. Here's a warning as well; this chapter is one of the less nice ones I've written as of yet.

Anyhoo:

Fate-Another Score

Chapter Eleven

Justin Sturgeon chewed quietly on his thumb, sitting across from Nathan's building. One foot hung in void high above the city streets, swinging back and forth in time to some silent melody. He had briefly considered leaping across and scouting it out up close, but if Nathan, and possibly his father, were half as paranoid as Rin, then he would just trigger some arcane security system and get his nervous system fried sunny side up. It would not pay to try and sneak up on a magician in the night. Justin rose to his feet, tugged on his nose and headed towards the shadowed sides of the building.

*

Virginie nursed her aching body silently, nestled amidst her damp bed sheets. She felt raw and slippery; the initial satisfaction replaced again with the familiar hunger. She sighed inwardly and turned her eyes, once a clear blue but now darkening to a bloody violet, towards her cousin's bare back. Nathan held his chin in one hand, keeping his head suspended in the air. Briefly Virginie considered how he would react if she grabbed a hold of the letter opener on her bedside table and plunged it into his back.

You'd be dead before you'd gotten half way towards it. She said to herself. Well, not dead. She was too important to Uncle Nortier for Nathan to kill her. He'd be angry though, and he'd take it out on her. Uncle Nortier wouldn't mind that.

Drawing her legs up to her plump, heavy chest, Virginie squeezed her eyes shut. She tried to wring her mind free of everything around her, from the present, past and future. She didn't want to see Nathan, sitting there, or looming overhead, heaving into her, or standing and leaving the room. Leaving her. Her teeth, straight and white from constant care and expensive dentistry, met and locked, even as she felt a fluttering touch at the back of her mind. She did not drift into sleep; Virgine was torn from being awake and thrust instantly into unconsciousness. Nathan had done it as an afterthought as he buttoned up his shirt. No need for the girl to struggle to sleep, really. The magician stopped to consider himself in Virginie's mirror and ran his fingers through his ruffled, dyed hair, trying to bring them under control.

Leave it. he snapped to himself, and walked into the hallway. He closed the door behind him, moving it silently. He did not have to glance to the right to know that Medusa was standing a sightless vigil, but he couldn't help himself. Her palms showed, and her shoulders were relaxed. "Medusa, Justin is going to arrive in a few minutes. Go meet him for me, then bring him to my study."

"As you wish, Master." she nodded, turning gracefully and walking away. Nathan watched her leave, then turned away, heading towards his room. He needed to produce an image that would impress; there was no point in meeting Justin as the Nathan that he had known for years. No, this was the time to produce the image of the great magician; not some ordinary person but instead a being of unreal power and knowledge. And what better way to present this than with something curiously subtle? As he pulled his signet ring onto his right hand, Nathan drew in a breath and held it. He had considered how he was going to handle Justin for a while now. It wouldn't prove to be too difficult. He was a very predicatable sort of person.

The door between his room and his study swung openly with nary a whisper. It was well-furnished and fairly spacious, though it lacked a desk; it's main feature were the low leather counches facing opposite each other, over a hardwood table. Nathan did his business, meeting with potential partners for future, profitable ventures. New Geneva was a big place, and like his father, Nathan believed in having the maximum amount of contacts as was possible. Contacts under his control, even if they didn't know it yet. He stood before the floor to ceiling windows and whiled away the time watching mankind scurry in its determined yet ultimately chaotic nature. After a few minutes, he called out "Enter." The door opened.

Justin came in first, his eyes imediately flickering from Nathan's back at the other side of the room, to the table and couches, then to Medusa, standing off and holding open the door. He took four steps in and stopped. Nathan, clad mostly in black, turned on his heel. Standing before the lightscape of New Geneva, he was a blotch devoid of light. He blurred away into the negative space behind him, framed by the almost prismatic display of illumination stabbing up from the surrounding buildings. Raising one hand, he gestured towards the couch closest to Justin. Justin sat.

The couch half devoured him into it's comfortable embrace. Nodding to himself, Justin rested one ankle on the other knee and draped his arms across the back of the sofa. Nathan offered him a drink and Justin nodded. Medusa ghosted towards a cabinet in the corner while Nathan approached, stepping around and seating himself opposite Justin. The only noise in the room was of mixing drinks; the quiet crystalline twinkly of ice on glass. Medusa set the two glasses down onto the table, and Justin picked his up. Sipping, he thanked her. Nathan leant forward, pushing the tips of his fingers together and resting them beneath his nose. His Servant took her place behind him; the countless artificial lights from behind her, only washed out the milky hue of her skin, and made her brightly lavender hair all the more absurd as it was stained green and gold and other shades.

"How have you been feeling?" Nathan asked, not touching his drink. Justin rolled the gin around between his teeth. He shrugged, said he'd been alright, all the while thinking that was a strange question to ask. Nathan smiled, clasped his hands together "That's a misconception on your part. You have not been alright."

Justin frowned "I've never felt healthier or stronger." he replied, putting his glass down. His frown deepened, and with it the lines in his forehead "And how would you know, exactly? Have you been watching me?"

"Occasionally." Nathan explained, waving his right hand, a glint from the ring he was wearing catching justin in the eye. Totally on purpose, though Justin did not flinch "No, I know you aren't alright because I'm an expert. Your body has not yet acclimatised to your new found power. Should you undertake too much sorcerous exertion, then you will rapidly deteriorate." he raised his palm "We'll discuss that a little later. Right now Justin, we're going to dicuss your mental health." Justin's lips quirked; not a frown, though certainly not neutral "You died Justin. I know it; Medusa saw your wounds. Your blood flowed from you and with it your life."

"What does that matter? I'm alive now."

"Obviously; Sullivan Fraiser emptied all his odo into you, even gave you his arms. The last noble act of your loyal Servant." Nathan paused "Did you hnestly think you could get away with that with no consequences? Death changes people, Justin. It irrevocably changes us. Have you been sleeping well?" Justin wiggled his hand "You're haunted by the spectre of your own death. It's a paradox that could drive others to insanity: 'I have died, but still I live'. Your subconscious is already unstable."

Shifting his weight, Justin uncrossed his legs. He placed his weight on his knees, bringing himself eye-to-eye with Nathan "I'll tell you about a dream that I have every night. It's in Kodachrome, not black and white. When I sleep on my own, I dream I'm in the ring, fighting a boxer in black trunks and black gloves. Endlessly. We're still in round one and he's still beating up on me." Nathan's smile broadened behind his hands, as did Justin's. "Your psychobabble rap means shit Nathan. I've been having these dreams for months. Probably years, just infrequently."

The leather squeaked as Nathan sat up suddenly, snatching his own glass of gin. As he drank, he frowned behind his glass. He sighed as he put the stout glass back down. "That's all well and good, but you've never been frightened of the dreams before." he tried but failed to supress a smirk as Justin remembered that if Tōsaka could read minds, why couldn't Nathan? "Never has their content stopped you from closing your eyes at night. Not even snuggling with the lovely Miss Dechense keeps them at bay any more." He showed surprisingly sharp teeth "Frankly Justin, your blustering means shit."

"It's rude to read minds, you know." Nathan dismissed it, taking another drink. "Actually, I've been wondering. What exactly do you do?"

"I search for the Grand Holy Grail."

Rapping out a short rhythm on his knee, Justin shook his head "Yeah, so does Tōsaka. Except, you two don't seem to actually be doing much. I just don't get how this Grail War works."

Nathan laughed and shook his head "No one knows. All we have is rumours and vague stories. The War for the Holy Grail is al about eliminating the competition, those with the potential skill to find the ultimate prize. We examine the past and present, track changes in the world-wide magical climate. We experiment. Get messy. Make mistakes."

"Kill each other."

"Essentially." shaking his head, the magician continued "The War for the Holy Grail - the quest, if you like - is not for your ordinary mage. Merely making the contract that puts your life down takes great amounts of power and knowledge. You have to be one of the best and brightest; a genius, basically, in the thaumaturgical arts. You might have skipped over all that because of your encounter with Ali when you were a child, but that doesn't mean you're ever going to find the Grail." he shrugged, showing both his palms to Justin "Raw power doesn't cut it. All that means is that you might survive."

Straightening up, Justin crossed his legs again. "Is that a threat?"

*

Half a city away, Rin Tōsaka juddered into consciousness. She pulled her face away from Arturia's warm lap and sat up. Her Servant immediately inquired if something was the matter. "Someone's fighting." the Japanese mage breathed. Arturia nodded. Rin stood up and started to pace around the table, covered as it was in her notes and theories "Should we go see?" she asked, stopping to look over at Arturia.

The king, smoothing out her blue dress, shook her head "While it would be helpful just to see the capabilities of the Master-Servant pairs currently in combat, I would not suggest putting yourself into danger." she stood and strode around to take her Master's hands. Rubbing the back of Rin's fingers, Arturia pointed out that observing a battle of Servants was simply to include yourself in it. "We must remain as hidden as possible. At least for now."

After pulling away, Rin nodded. She approached the windows looking out into the Moonlit World. How interesting were humans, that they could continue to go about their lives even as their world was falling apart. "You're right of course. I was simply curious. I came to Europe on a rumour, but I'm sure now." looking back over the shoulder, she couldn't help but smile "The Holy Grail is in New Geneva. Soon other Masters will know it too. I don't think it's ever been so tangible before." Arturia approached and Rin turned into her, lacing her fingers behind the taller woman's neck "I will find the Grand Holy Grail. Will you take it for me?"

"Of course, Master." Rin smiled, closed her eyes, and raised herself up on her toes. Arturia's kiss was sweet.

*

Nathan laughed "No, it's not a threat. You're my friend Justin." the other boy grumbled quietly to himself. Nathan had a funny way of showing his friendship, that was for sure. "Actually, that's one of the reasons why I brought you here. I've known you for years Justin, and I feel as though I can trust you. Medusa happens to like you too, and I would be a poor Master to ignore my Servant's judgement." leaning forward, Nathan hardened his face. Without blinking he locked his eyes on Justin's "I'm willing to take you under my wing."

"That's a nice offer Nathan," Justin said dryly "but that would mean betraying Tōsaka, which isn't exactly high on my list of things I want to do."

"You cannot continue to trust her. The girl may be cute, but she's a cold hearted murderer. You currently serve her a purpose because of your unique status. She is merely using you."

"Unique status?" Justin cocked and eyebrow. Nathan waved his hands, and told him that the Grand Holy Grail was an object out of the reach of humans. It took astral entities like Servants to actually take hold of it. His dual nature meant that he could actually touch it. "Tōsaka is training you, making you her apprentice, in case something happens to her Servant. If it does, she can use you to gain access the Grail, making it hers. You really should take control of your own destiny." he paused "I'm willing to make you my partner. I have a full cabal of my own, formed from those I have found that have thaumaturgical potential or experience. As a gesture of trust on my part, I will bring you to our next meeting, take you directly into the circle. Should you wish it."

Justin laced his fingers into the hair at the back of his head. "That's ... good of you, I'm sure."

With the air of a man adding a set of steak knives to his offer, Nathan gave Justin that rougish grin "I'll even give you the oppurtunity to strengthen your body in regards to your new powers." compared to meeting a bunch of Nathan's friends, this offer was actually enticing. Justin bid his friend to go on "I mentioned earlier the idea of 'acclimatising' yourself. It's as simple as it sounds; gradually introducing yourself to more energy. I even have the perfect method of helping you with this."

"Well, out with it."

"Very recently, a man entered New Geneva. His name is Linck Mayal, and he is a Dead Apostle."

"Dead Apostle ... a vampire?"

"Indeed. As far as bloodsuckers go, he's actually quite impressive. I can guess his motives; he and his cronies intend to take New Geneva as his territory, the mark of a truly successful vampire. Land holdings."

Nathan went on: he spoke of a small convoy entering the city two days previously. They crossed the bridge from the mainland, one big black Cadilac accompanied by four men on motorcycles. Excepting Mayal's right hand man, all of his thralls wore full body suits and blacked out helmets at all times, unable to to survive in the sun. A Dead Apostle such as Mayal did not fear the sun's light. he was too powerful for that, and certainly powerful enough to have a total monopoly over the millions of people living in the EU's capital. Such a location would also put him in the perfect place to alter the course of the whole Union, with access to the higher-ups in government. "In short he could become very dangerous, very quickly. He's notrious for being a hedonist, however. For another Dead Apostle, two days here could mean hundreds of thralls. I doubt he would have any yet."

"You think I should kill him." Justin frowned "Unlike the Roman Catholic Church, I don't equate the drinking of blood with evil. I mean, I hear that it varies from vampire to vampire, but for the most part, don't humans survive having blood taken from them?" Nathan nodded "On the other hand, I hear generally bad things about Dead Apostles. They're old and powerful, and start looking at humans not as the source of their nourishment, but as playthings."

"It's not exactly universal, though it's not far from the truth." Nathan shrugged "If anything, Mayal himself is dangerous. He would prove to be a formidable adversary for you."

Not able to keep the smile from his lips, Justin asked: "So, where can I find him?"

"You should be able to do so of your own accord."

They stood and faced each other across the table. Justin extended his hand and Nathan took it. After a tight squeeze, Nathan had Medusa take Justin down to the street. With the click of the door, Nathan dropped unceremonially to his couch, undid a couple of his shirt buttons and swung a leg over one arm. His face warped into a pleased smile. His success pumped epinephrine and endorphins through his body, and when Medusa returned he could barely contain himself. Nathan leapt off the sofa, crashing directly into her, his arms encircling her waist. The Servant barely moved, even as he buried his face into her hair, even as his hands slid down over her velvet-covered belly to her silky thighs.

"Master," Medusa said, ignoring Nathan's hands as they took the weight of her breasts. "Do you think it was wise to send Sturgeon up against a fully fledged Apostle?"

"Hmm?" he replied, pushing up against her. His fingers and palms squeezed and pulled at her, spilling her out of her dress. Nathan stopped and sighed heavily. "You said yourself that he had the physical capabilities of a homunculus." he plucked slowly at the ties of Medusa dress through her hair.

"He is not particularly experienced."

Nathan shoved her away, turning himself from her. "Go and watch him then." he commanded, his whole body throbbing. Medusa pulled her black dress back into place. Her lips curled, then she bowed her head. She left without a sound or word. After she had gone, Nathan crushed his table with a single downward strike of his foot. He took a deep breath and calmed himself. Medusa was not the only female in the house, after all. But even as Nathan took one step towards Virginie's room, he saw his father stumble and fall against the roof. Nathan was there in seconds.

It was a full minute before Nortier Holland arced towards the roof, and Nathan was there to catch him, feeling a sticky wetness against his chest. Justice Holland winced, his monocle missing and blood caking his hair. Deep lacerations leaked blood and showed internal organs. He smiled weakly. "Sorry son." he said.

"It's not a problem Dad. Let's get you fixed up."

*

Even as Justin waved Medusa a weak farewell, he tried to work out where he should be heading. He recalled what few facts he knew about vampires and tried to apply them; unltimately useless. Justin knew very little about vampires, other than the fact that the most powerful few were on a similiar level to Epic Spirits. He certainly didn't know enough about a Dead Apostle's habits to work out where such a creature would hang out. Justin flickered to the rooftops, bounding between walls. Linck Mayal sounded like he was an upper-crust sort of person. This wasn't particularly surprising, as even lowly Living Dead have the sheer will to dominate a person's mind; for a fully fledged Dead Apostle, their charisma was overwhelming, much like a magician's.

Soaring through the night air, Justin thought about Thérèse. She would be asleep now and hopefully she would not awake and come looking for him to warm her. That would be awkward, and even as he automatically formulated lies he rebuked himself inwardly. This hidden life was rapidly becoming a problem. As he came down on the next rooftop he leapt against it more angrily, sending objects a few floors down from their desks and shelves, while pushing Justin over a hundred metres into the air. The wind pulled at his jacket and hair, and he sundered the firma-concrete of the unfortuneate roof he landed on. Crouching amidst the broken stone shards, Justin slumped. Keeping his secret was necessary. He did not intend to pull Thérèse into this mess, or any of his friends, for that matter.

Any of my friends ... Justin said to himself, and he remembered with a start that one of his friends was Nathan's cousin. To what extent was Virginie involved in the War? that was a frightening thought; what if she was a Master. Justin shook his head. He would resolve to ask Nathan about it when they met again. Right now, there were more pressing matters to attend to.

Finding the Dead Apostle and his cult proved to be as random, though just as accurate, as when Justin went hunting for Tōsaka. While the feeling was strong, it was the big black car and the equally large motorcycles that did it. The right number and make. Three people, two men and one woman loitered, smoking. They wore padded body suits, replete with gloves and collars that clung to their necks. Though they looked casual, slumped against walls or perched on the hood of the Caddy, you could tell they were guarding the front entrance to an ... aquarium? Justin had lived in New Geneva for most of his life, and he'd never even heard of any aquarium.

Of the three differently living guards, it was the youngest who spotted Justin crossing the road first. Youngest was a relative term, for this vampire, O'hara, was over a century old. He moved away from the wall Justin approached. in the darkness he took in ever feature, from the kid's tall, solid build to the automatic handgun clenched in his fist. O'hara smiled as justin raised the psitol, cupping it in both hands. The aim was good; dead centre on O'hara's chest. He turned to his comrade guards, who hadn't bothered moving yet. He gave them both a look which spoke of his contempt. O'hara turned back to Justin and flicked his cigarette towards the boy. He flinched, and O'hara flashed his enormous teeth.

"What are you supposed to be?" the vampire asked "What, are you holding us up? You're out of your league kid. Way out."

Justin responded by pulling the trigger. The bullet spiralled from the barrel on a direct course for the vampire. O'hara passed it by as he went in for the kill. The kid was frozen; he wouldn't even know what killed him. As O'hara launched himself forward he grinned, spittle instantly evaporating in the sonic wind. The kid's eyes rolled to look straight at him. O'hara's inner scream hadn't even started before Justin had hit him in the face. The thunderous boom fought to keep pace with O'hara's body as he sailed directly into the Cadillac, crumpling it and shoving it backwards at a rate of knots. It hit the aquarium entrace moments after the bullet did.

The female vampire landed lightly on her toes, her seat reduced to scrap metal. She met Justin mid-charge, lashing out in an attempt to rip his head from his body. Her flashing speed wasn't fast enough as justin weaved backwards, avoiding scything claws. Justin fell backwards avoiding both the woman's whirling attacks and the sound-fast punch-dagger of the other male. Justin slapped the ground, cracked it, and propelled his feet straight into the vampiress. Together they tumbled through the air, till Justin gave her a jab that embedded her into the road below. O'hara blurred into midair, and Justin caught his wrists, delivering a headbutt that shattered his skull and caused him to fly back to the car below. He left his hands in Justin's care.

Feeling his feet touch the wall of a building, Justin let go of O'hara's appendages, and kicked off. He hit the older male vampire with explosive force, his punches letting off waves of air pressure that staggered both the female and O'hara, even as they pulled themselves to their feet. Justin broke the big push-dagger with his right fist, then follow up immediately with his left. The vampire skidded backwards; the inevitable follow up was halted by O'hara and woman attacking Justin at the same time. His hands powered through to grab their faces, then he closed them with the force of a heavy-duty hydraulic press. Their heads completely shattered into expanding clouds of shattered skull and stringy grey matter. Though their bodies twitched, they weren't getting back up.

Whirling, Justin threw his strong right directly into the sprinting vampire's chest. The force of the blow was enough to split him in two. The upper body flipped end over end, arms flailing, blood spraying. The vampire was alive for as long as it took for Justin to smash his head into a fine paste spread along the road, which was about three milliseconds. Justin wiped his hands clean of the brains and blood, then walked towards the stairs leading down into the aquarium. He paused to pull a good thirty or forty kilos of black cadillac away. What was left of the car and the bikes all rent themselves out of shape.
He was quite proud of his new weapon.

*

The aquarium, he was sure, had to have been long since abandonned. As he descended, there were no real signs that the place had been used as a tourist trap for years. however, there was some indication of life below. Ruddy light seeped from under the main doors. Justin placed one hand on the doors and shoved. They flung apart and Justin stepped into the lair of the vampire. He cocked one eyebrow. The red light came from the lamps set inside the fish tanks, shining through gallon upon gallon of blood. Everything was seeped in the mephistolean glow. Mayal wasn't just dangerous, he was nuts.

Justin strode forward, enormous four pointed throwing weapon over one shoulder, his boots squeaking against the shiny black tiles. He was left unmolested, in silence. As he walked, Justin couldn't help but notice that only the free-standing tanks had been filled, while the much larger pools had been left empty. So only hundreds of humans had been drained, not millions. As he walked, he tried to work out what would have possessed Mayal to decide to live in an aquarium. How could Justin possibly take this so-called lord of the night seriously when his lair was a goddamn aquarium?

Still, as he emerged into what passed for Mayal's throne room, that was unimportant. The Dead Apostle sat in the corner of a large, expensive couch, flanked by two of his men and with a young woman kneeling before him, her head in his lap. As Justin entered, he removed his hand from her hair and clapped. "Beautiful." he said, as others of his group stepped out of the shadows and into the light from the blood tanks. Without warning, the woman at Mayal's feet screeched and scampered towards Nathan with the inhuman speed of the ghoul. Justin swung one of the blades of his weapon though the woman's body, sinking a second into the tiles. The crack ran straight up the thirty metres of room to end in front of Mayal. His female ghoul twitched in two pieces behind Justin, spilling out on to the ground in a wet, steaming mess. "Beautiful." Mayal said again. The vampires leapt forward.

Justin whirled his weapon into action. He'd seen it in something Boswell had shown him, and it was essentially a giant shuriken. Whipping his arm around, Justin took it into a blurred spin that tossed the air currents all throughout the room into a frenzy. He let it loose and it circled the room in a quarter of a second. As Justin caught it, all of Mayal's vampires came apart in some way, loosing limbs and in some cases being cut clean in half. The back of Mayal's couch, and all the tanks of blood in the room slid in two. Waves of blood burst from the glass tubes to flood the floor. Justin walked forward, sloshing through the blood, the buzzsaw spin of his massive throwing star churning it into currents. Linck Mayal had his chin propped up on his fist.

Justin took a half step back as a one-armed vampire sliced at him, parting the red sea before him. Justin cut him in half, then whipped around as the other six (that wasn't right) came at him from all angles. Using both hands to keep up the spin of the shuriken, he whipped around with them, moving in a frenetic chaotic dance. The silvery disc rippled through tough dead flesh, and in mere moments the beasts came apart, this time into big, meaty chunks. The floor for ten metres around had been cleared of blood, blown back by the force of combat. Justin whirled to face Mayal, blood trickling from one cheek. Through the uprising wave of claret, their eyes met, and Justin leapt backwards.

Almost imperceptibly thin knives exploded towards him, formed from the plasma killing the room. They whistled through the air, razor sharp cords that sliced through the ground as Justin barely avoided them. He bounded, sliced his Traced weapon around him. But there were hundreds. Had he been human, the flesh would have been flayed from his bones almost instantly. Even still, the blades sliced his jacket into ribbons and bit through his more heavily Reinforced shirt. His own blood joined that already staining the fabric. Mayal stood up, clapped his hands again. "You did well. Took my entire group out of comission even, though not permanently." Justin glanced towards dismembered, carved corpses. It looked pretty permanent to him "But honestly kid, to attack the lair of a Dead Apostle, at night no less is just the height of folly. I might not be able to rip the blood straight from your body, but I'm not without my tricks."

Justin sprinted around the circumference of the room, driving himself through the bloody projectiles that Mayal formed from his manipulation of blood. He brought the whirling blades down, intending to carve the Dead Apostle from shoulder to hip. Mayal took the blow on his claws, stopping the cross-shaped weapon in mid-spin. The shockwave rattled Justin through to his teeth and blasted the ankle deep sea of plasma to the walls. Falling ever so slowly to his adrenaline fuelled mind and superhuman reactions, Justin lashed out, sparks flying from the contact between blades and claws. Mayal tossed Justin towards the exit, and the boy bounced high up towars the roof.

At the Dead Apostle's command, the blood all collected and snaked upwards at Justin in a facsimilie of life. A gaping red maw lined with thousands of needle-like teeth reached to devour him. The windmill blade flashed through it, flashed through Mayal, then passed on into the darkness. Justin came down with the bloody rain, and he watched Mayal's body slide apart ... then slide back together. The Dead Apostle showed his fangs, even as blood trickled down his face. He flashed forward, teeth bared. The impact drove Justin directly backwards, until he applied his own force. Their hands latched together and they struggled. Beneath them, tile and concrete broke apart.

Justin Traced, and Mayal's arms exploded. In the toniest fraction of a second Justin implanted his right fist into Mayals face. The body rapidly became headless and leapt backwards, friction with the air leaving it smouldering in a heap. Justin flicked his hand to try and free it of Mayal's lifeblood, when the headless body rose to its feet. Justin stared at it, mouth falling slowly agape "No fucking way. I punched your head clean off."

Something like a swarm of tiny black insects surrounded the blasted shoulders, forming themselves into perfect, unharmed replacements, sleeves of his suit and all. Red eyes met gray-blue, then glowed gold. Linck Mayal's face split into a horrific grin filled with rending teeth, while orange fire still licked from him. Justin took a full step back. This was insane. Impossible. Mayal let out a cry that set dogs all through the city howling, then he blitzed forward.

He was eviscerating claws to Justin's crushing fists. They traded blows back and forth, booming punches and flashing slices punctuated by streaks of light. Around them the entire room began to fall apart, chunks of masonry and steel falling from the high roof, tossed willy-nilly by the violent forces being directed between the combatants. Justin was faster, but Mayal was as versatile as a magician, fading into intangibility, launching attacks from the pools of blood. They left trailing flames in their wake and the blood boiled away into mist, in a flash Justin saw the previously dispatched Living Dead stirring. Distracted for a microsecond, Mayal laid open his face to the bone beneath. Staggering, Justin kicked backwards to take himself out of Mayal's reach. Even as his skin began to close over, he realised he needed to obliterate Mayal entirely, but he had no idea how.

These vampires just would not stay dead.

Glancing at his fists, he wished not for the last time that he knew how to trigger their massive, hidden abilities. He had no doubt that the Hands of Heaven could get him out of this situation, though he also knew to unleash them would probably leave him a lifeless husk. Just a little. Please just a little.

He clenched his fist tight and drew it back as thick arcs of light rippled down his arms, burning his shirt away. He knew Mayal was waiting for him, so he decided not to disappoint. He launched forward, stepped back from a blow that would have torn him messily in half and then rammed his fist directly into Linck Mayal's stomach. There was a resounding sonic boom and a blinding flash of light and the Dead Apostle outright exploded; Justin stumbled through, fell to his knees and coughed up gouts of blood. Black spots danced in front of Justin's eyes and blinked, but they wouldn't go away. The black spots collected into a mass, and that mass became Linck Mayal. Justin despaired as the thralls surrounded their master. Justin skittered backwards to the exit, but one of the vampires brought her foot down on Justin's ankle, pining it, and the owner, in place.

"Like I said kid." Mayal sighed, picking at one fang "Height of folly. Dani, kill the little cunt."

The vampiress grinned and drew back her hand, sharp, deadly looking nails jutting forwards. Justin readied himself as well, coughing up blood from between his lips. Dani's grin grew even wider. She still had that violently happy smile on her face when she came apart into seventy seven different pieces. Chunks of bloody meat rained down on Justin as he stared at the space, dumbstruck. The vampires were staing too, until Medusa stepped around Justin. Mayal took a step back, as did his group. They did not know who this new, beautiful women was, nor did they know she had already killed them.

Around Mayal, his men were slowly dismembering themselves. He realised too late that he was as well, when the woman raised the long spike she held to her face, fitting the very tip beneath the eye-coverings she was wearing. Medusa uncovered one of her eyes, and Mayal was able to appreciate just how beautiful they were before he turned to stone.

Justin blinked several times, looking from Medusa to the statues in the process of falling into pieces. Medusa turning people into stone; how surprising. The Servant turned about and reached out her hand, then helped Justin to his feet. She brushed him free of ribbons of vampire flesh, then touched the scars on his face. "Are you alright?"

"Oh, those. I'm sure they'll clear up in a little while."

Medusa frowned and used to palm of her hand to wipe most of Justin's blood from his chin. Justin's eyebrows quivered as she dipped her hed a little and took some of that blood into her mouth. He took a sudden step backwards that moved him all the way into the first room of the aquarium, lit as it was by the blood tanks. "I am known as a monster that devours men, Justin Sturgeon." Medusa explained, grabbing his chin between thumb and forefinger "And though you taste as sweet as ambrosia, I have no desire to devour you. I think you are a good person at heart."

"Stop it, you're flattering me." Justin said dryly and Medusa straightened up, standing over him by a full five inches. The demi-goddess was truly built upon a legendary scale. "Thank you though. For saving me."

"Think nothing of it. You owe me nothing, only my Master." she paused "Though perhaps ... I have grown very fond of Virginie. I understand that she is your friend?"

"One of my closest."

"Then please, will you watch her? Will you protect her where I know I cannot?" Justin raised his eyebrows, and Medusa turned on him, siezing him by the shoulders. Though surprised, he did not move, and the Gorgon's hands moved to cup his face "My loyalty is to my Master, but right now, my body is free to give. Take me if it would please you enough to protect her." Her skin was stained pink in the light. Justin grabbed her wrists and pulled her hands away, shaking his head.

"That's ... basically the hottest thing anyone has ever said to me. But, you don't need to seduce me or anything like that. Virginie is my friend, and I will look after her, as best I can." he looked her straight in the eyes, and felt that it would probably be nice to see them, though he would die if he did. "'Sides, my girlfriend would kill me if it turned out I let anything happen to Virginie." she smiled and stepped around the Servant "Thanks again, for being my deus ex machina." he started towards the exit, and waved over his shoulder.

Medusa bowed her head as he left. "You really are an admirable person, Justin Sturgeon. Don't ruin that."

Too. Much. Fanservice.


Nice.

I got a reply. Oh happy day!

Happy New Years update!

Fate-Another Score

Chapter Twelve

Marius Serge pulled his waders on, then grimmaced. He stepped through and sloshed towards Delano. The inspector's partner was standing a foot away from the centre statue, frowning heavily at it. Like Serge, there was confusion to be had. In all their years, they had never seen anything quite like this. An aquarium full of blood? Statues of men frozen in the process of falling into pieces? Delano's first statement quite aptly summed up the general feeling about the whole situation: "What the fuck?"

This was far too strange. Serge leaned forward and tapped one statue on the cheek. Quite unsurprisingly, its face was twisted in pain, undoubtedly meant as a reaction to the way its arms and legs were coming apart at the knees and elbows. And the way it had been bisected at the waist. And at the nose.

Sighing, Serge backed away, his legs parting the tides of blood. This really was getting out of hand, and extremely rapidly. He carressed his temples and ground his teeth together. He needed to talk to forensics outside, about all those craters, and about the bodies. The headless ones, and the one that had been messily scissored in half as well as being headless. They'd already collected enough pieces to make at least one whole person, and they were pretty close to a second. Serge left red imprints of his feet upon the tiles as he moved through the aquarium, pushing through the crowds of investigators going about their business. He heaved in a great breath as he reached the outside, very early morning air. Passing by the crumpled remains of the mysterious vehicles, the ones which weren't registered to anyone, he approached a short man with the shoulders of a bull. Marius Serge pulled up alongside him, and glanced at the light-board in his hand.

"So tell me, Donald, what we are looking at."

"The crater was caused by kinetic impact. Something fell down pretty damn hard." he gestured and Serge guessed the crater to be at least two metres wide and probably half that deep. "The big caddy too. Something hit that as well. Something else odd too boss, about the bodies. Coroner says they don't look like they've been dead just a few hours."

Something. As time went on, Serge began to suspect someone, but that was equally useless. The higer ups, the clamouring masses, they didn't want speculation, they wanted hard facts and reassurances. They wanted to know who was causing all this trouble; the property damage, the murders, the missing persons. They wanted to be told that whoever was behind all the bizarre crimes was known and within reach of the police. For Marius Serge, he needed to know as well. For him, it wasn't just a matter of stopping the crimes, but it was a case of asserting order. For Marius Serge, solving this would allow him to rest at night; he would have the knowledge that the just thing had been done.

But as he approached the aquarium again, following the shouts of his name and his title, he sighed inwardly. Solving this case might not be his concern for much longer. Even as he assembled a taskforce solely for the purpose of combating the inexplicable destruction, rumours were spreading. Word was spreading that the President was going to call in the Vanguard Foundation, an international organisation that seemed to do a little bit of everything. It was big, rich, powerful and popular, well known for solving the problems of even the largest countries. If the rumour was true (and Serge had a feeling it was), then the police would be shunted aside, replaced with the investigators and specialists of the Foundation.

So long as this all stops, Serge said to himself as he descended the stairs with a junior officer It doesn't matter who solved it.

Serge's mouth opened to speak, but he couldn't bring himself to actually start. His eyebrows wavered and he caught Delano's eye. Bodies, and lots of them. They looked pallid and limp, bloodless was what Serge and several others thought quietly. Delano preferred dead, and a cursory investigation into their bodily functions would prove this to be the case. He stood, fists planted tightly on his hips, watching them lower an older looking man from above. The body was in a suit, looking illfitting on that dead frame. Undoubtedly they had been cleared to move by the coroner, after countless photos had been taken. Serge smiled; intact bodies would be a whole lot easier to identify than the crushed messes outside. He was still smiling when the old man's eyes flew open, rolling in their sockets.

Delano, standing over the white haired socialite, was the first to notice. Though the eyes were moving, it was almost as if they were looking past everything. Not processing. He had barely began his sentence when the man's fingers lashed open his belly and spilled Delano's guts onto the floor in front of him. The young inspector, and indeed all of the inspectors in the room, was still staring agape as the dead man leapt onto the closest police officer at hand. Jaws snapped shut on the unfortuneate officer with steel-trap force. Blood gushed and sprayed with his screams.

It was then that the men recovered and Delano fell to the floor. Guns flew from their holsters, a good dozen drawing a bead upon the old man eating a civil servant. No fire came, no noise, for there was one of their own men in the line of fire. The first shots were fired by Marius Serge himself, his long barrled revolver in hand. His skin seemed hard, the lines angular and sharp. When the old man's face came up, a face coated red, Serge unloaded. All six shots entered in a cluster no larger than egg, so close together that it was almost like machine gun fire. The back of the man's head exploded outwards, and he stumbled away.

The were more blue flashes as Serge fed more rounds into his gun and opened up again. Red mist obscured the white haired man, and when it cleared, all that was left were some chunks of meat clinging to shattered bone. Marius Serge walked forwards, ignoring the dull glowing of spent ammunition on the black floor and stood over Delano, his hands frozen in the act of trying to push his guts back into his body. The big, smoking revolver clattered against the tiles and Serge spat.

"Fils de pute."

*

With his fingers loosely laced together, Nathan Holland kept a silent vigil over his grinning father. Though his old man was laughing and joking, and though the Chief Justice claimed he was perfectly fine, Nathan had decided it would be best to stay and watch over him. He had Traced the major tissue damage back together, so there were no more open wounds. Nonetheless, it wouldn't do to get complacent. "You should have seen it Nathan," Nortier practically gushed it out "She's a trained mage-killer and I was still on almost even terms with her. I even went toe-to-toe with her Servant." Nathan could feel the air in the room tighten a little - a little contracting that went with amusement. His father gave no indication of noticing "I may not be whole, but damn if I don't have the talent!" He laughed richly and Nathan's mouth stretched in imitation of a smile. Nortier frowned "Is there something the matter?"

Nathan unhooked his fingers and spread his palms "I have a lot on my mind, that's all." he sighed "The War, Virginie, Justin Sturgeon, all the vampire business. Some things I can't just unload onto the cabal. Actually, speaking of, I handled our problems with Linck Mayal. He might have been useful to us, though in the end I just had him killed."

The Chief Justice reached up as though to ruffle his son's hair, then thought better of it. "No, killing him was the right move. Mayal was alway proud and arrogant; he couldn't stand the idea of being beneath another. Not even one of the Twenty Seven Ancestors, and certainly not a broken Apostle and his bastard son, eh?" his lips peeled back to show his teeth, and Nathan couldn't help but smile as well. The right move. It was extremely important that he make the right moves. He needed to guage everything right now. His father liked knife-edge analogies, though Nathan thought it more appropriate to use the edge of a piece of paper.

Precarious yes, but also extremely fragile.

"Nathan, I have a meeting early tomorrow morning with Bradley. He's been hinting that he's going to call in Vanguard, which may cause problems for us." Nathan nodded and his father continued "I'd have you leave me now."

"Do you want me to send Medusa to you?"

"No, no. That's fine."

Nathan nodded, stood and left his father reclining above the grass. When the door had clicked shut behind him, Nathan let his shoulders droop.

*

When Justin was no more than a hundred metres from the front door of the Dechense Household, he felt a tingling across his face. He knew that it was just the wounds that Mayal had given him clearing up and he gently placed his fingers against his skin anyway. As he pulled his hand away, he looked at the dried blood clinging to him like a second skin. There was flesh caked under his fingernails and his hair was soaked in brain fluids. There were flashes in his mind; the wet crunches of bones and flesh giving way ... the sight of a persons body collapsing into pieces ... that almost electric thrill. He swayed, tottered to the side of the driveway and tried to vommit his guts out.

It was nothing but dry retching; his body operting far too efficiently to leave anything in his stomach but acid. He stared after his own (not his own) reddened knuckles and gasped. His shirt was stiff, soaked through just like the rest of him. He drew in a breath through his nos and he could smell it on him. How hadn't he noticed that before? It was hot, metallic, rancid. He smelt like a fucking abbattoir. He clambered to his feet and stood, breathing through his mouth, but that was just as bad; now he could taste it. He needed to get it off him. It just needed to come off and he started down the drive again.

Steam billiowed and filled the bathroom. The tap spun free of the wall, but Justin payed it no heed. His fingers stumbled against his buttons a single time and he didn't bother trying again. His clothing came off in scraps; shirt, trousers, boxers, socks. All drenched through with all that red stuff. His shoes were ruined as well, but all that mattered at that moment was the hot water. Scalding really; had anyone else else stepped in the would have come out looking a whole lot more boilled. Justin scrubbed, fought to get it out of his hair, off his skin, from under his nails. Time began to slip away from him, but eventually he twisted the water off using his fingers. He'd have to put the tap back on, though that was a dim thought. Justin stumbled out of the shower and leant up against the wall, dripping onto the floor. He wiped the mirror clear and examined himself.

Outwardly, he still looked the same. Almost, at least; examining his temples, he noticed a few strands of gray hair. He brushed at them with his fingers, then glanced at his hands. That had cost him, and he wasn't sure that was right. He sighed. No, excluding the few pale hairs, it was the same Justin looking outfrom the mirror. The nearly guant shape of his face, his heavy bones, the way his nose was bent from having been broken a few too many times. He touched his nose and smiled briefly; Thérèse had always teased him about that, saying that if he hadn't gotten his nose crushed he might have actually been good looking. Really, no change at all.

Yet ... he had changed. That much was obvious. How many people have you killed in the past week or so, Sturgeon? a voice, his own voice, asked. How many have you broken with those hands? And for fuck's sake, why are you enjoying it?

There it was.

Justin had not been disgusted by the act itself, but rather the idea of actually taking pleasure in it. He shivered, and only partly from the cooling water on his body. Standing straight, he flicked the water out of his hair and shook himself dry. He took up his clothes and slowly Traced them into a variety of gasses: nitrogen, oxygen, hydrogen and so on - the components of normal air. Wrapping a towel around his waist, Justin padded out of the bathroom and down the hall. The metal of the door handle was smooth and cool under his hand, and Justin let it go. He stepped down to another door and entered his own, empty room.

He dropped the towel, sat in the corner and waited for sunlight to seep through his window.

*

"Why am I dressing for snow?" Virginnie asked, rubbing at her eyes with one hand, the other holding the covers over the impressive swell of her breasts, though not well. Nathan was standing in the doorway, and he was dressed for a day in the white stuff. His trousers were thick, his boots were sturdy, and his best saber - the one Virginie and Uncle Nortier had given to him on his fifteeth birthday - was wrapped in a heavily padded jacket. The hilt glittered. "Wait, it hasn't actually snowed here, has it?"

Nathan shook his head "We're going on a trip."

"But we have to go to school!" Virginie called out earnestly to Nathan's back as he closed the door behind him. She pouted "I can't miss sociology today; I have an essay to get back."

Still, she did as she was told and fished out her winter clothes from her chest of drawers before stepping across the room and into her bathroom. Relaxing under the warm streams of water, Virginie tried to work out what Nathan was doing. He had been hopelessly busy recently, rushing about doing one thing or the other; though she suspected, as she worked up a lather, that it had something to do with the books that she had been cajolled into reading. They weren't the sort of books that Virginie liked to read either. They were the sorts of books, bound in leather and cornered with iron, that reminded her that she wasn't normal. As she read through them, they were a silent affirment that Virginie Holland was different to other sixteen year old girls; that she had secrets, ones that she didn't want to share. As she wrapped herself in a towel, she caught sight of herself in the mirror. That was what she wanted people to know about: the smell of her hair, the shape of her body, the colour of her eyes, the sound of her voice, the texture of her skin.

The other things, the things that Uncle Nortier and Nathan were involved in, they needed to be hidden. They could hidden too, if Nathan didn't keep trying to drag her into that tarpit. What if it came out? Virginie shuddered at the thought. The fear that she would be abandoned was strong, though perhpas it was irrational. I can't risk it. Virgine said to herself, fitting herself into her underwear. It would disgust them, scare them. They wouldn't be able to look at me anymore.

And Virginie wanted to be looked at.

According to Nathan they didn't have time for breakfast, so she sat in the car while Nathan Medusa loaded boxes and things into the boot. If there was something Virginie did like about Nathan's secret life, it was the tall woman with the masses of purple hair. She was quiet and sweet and tender, not at all like the monster portrayed in stories and myths. Maybe that was beneath her facade as well; hidden, just as he eyes were hidden beneath her hat. She barely fit in the car, and Nathan had bought it primarily because she didn't fit in his old one. Virginie wasn't sure she liked this car all that much. It was too big and too loud; at least it didn't have the overwhelming smell of leather like the interior of Thérèse's Mustang. They rumbled out onto the street.

Apart from Virginie asking for Nathan to turn the radio on, they didn't speak. Nathan drove them to the dock end of town, then left Medusa with Virginie. He strolled off, hands in his pockets. When he was out of sight, Virginie reached out and put her arms gently around Medusa's shoulders. She placed her face by the Servant's and asked "What's Nathan doing?"

What Nathan was doing was picking up a package from warehouse twenty two. He shook the hand of the foreman, Ter Heide, who lead the young magus to his prize. Though it was only a big case, it was not inconspicuous; it was big enough to hold a Dobermann and built like a tank. As he approached, a smile touched his lips. His kabalites were efficient and subtle, and for that they would be rewarded. However, there was also apprehension, and as he touched the warm surface of the case, he sent a fluttering touch into Ter Heide's mind. Nathan sighed. "So you've seen the contents."

The big foreman didn't seem to realise that it had been a statement, and he lied. "We most certainly did not." he spat. "Now if you'll just-"

"I count myself lucky that though you are a curious man, you are also a coward." Nathan stood up, taking the great box in one hand, stunning Ter Heide. None of his brawny men had been able to lift that, at least not without power-assist. He completely fogot his bluff, and Nathan continued "Three other men: Benat, Aditya and Varocher." a widening of the eyes and little beads of sweat that froze instantly met this statement. Ter Heide took a step back "I'll just remove their memories of the contents. While you will never tell, I cannot be sure that they will not."

"Wha ... what about me?" the foreman managed, and only after Nathan had passed him did he reply. Ter Heide's temperature fell so far that individual atoms collapsed into a lower quantum state. Scant nanoseconds later, the frozen man exploded into a monatomic gas that burst windows and shoved at the very shape of the warehouse, bloating it.

Five minutes after the thudding sound had reached them, Virginie and Medusa could see Nathan approach. The car visibly dipped on its wheels as he placed the case in the boot. He was smiling as he got into the car.

*

Wind whistled overhead as Thérèse powered her Renault at nearly two hundred and fifty miles per hour. They didn't have the radio on, partly because Justin got the news he wanted from a far more reliable source. She wouldn't let him put any music on either, partly because she said his taste was crap. Justin kept himself entertained by tapping a beat against the white shell of the car's door. They were rounding the last bend of coast before the town of Cherbourg, known as the southern gate of New Geneva, when Thérèse spoke. From the first syllable, Justin could hear the nuance; her voice was as breezy as the wind coming up off the ocean.

"Justin," she began, hands firm on the steering wheel, "We haven't been spending that much time together, have we?"

"I wouldn't say that." Justin replied, taking his weight from the passenger door. Thérèse frowned.

"I don't mean fucking. I know we do lots of that."

"Well, if you've got a problem, then I'm sure we could lay off it a bit."

"I didn't say that at all!" Thérèse snapped, twin roses blossoming in her cheeks. Justin laughed, then smiled. After she had shifted down gears, Justin reached out and placed a hand just above her knee. Bare, because it was uncommonly warm at that time. He told her that she was cute when she was angry, and her expression softened. "Petit con ... but you understand, don't you? What I mean?" she glanced towards him, but only briefly, not wanting to take her eyes off the road in the middle of a town.

"I understand. I'll tell you what: how about I take you out to dinner on Saturday night? We haven't done that for a while." she smiled and nodded her assent. Justin's hand drifted up her leg, under the hem of her skirt and onto soft, warm thigh. Thérèse giggled.

"Stop that." she told him, but made no effort to stop his fingers trail along the place where leg met body. Her chest tightened and her thighs parted as he applied some gentle pressure. It was hot there, but wasn't she always heated when driving? He became more persistent and Thérèse's hand wrapped around his wrist. Her grip was shaking, as though she didn't know whether to pull him closer or push him away. His face was pink through the lenses of her glasses.

"Thérèse."

"Yes?"

"The road."

The cherry blossom pinkness drained from her cheeks and she whipped her head around, breaking eye contact. Deftly she regained her control, both over the vehicle and herself, panting. Justin laughed heartily as she blew blonde hair out of her face. "Baiseur de mère." she growled under her breath, and Justin laughed louder. He was still tittering when they had rolled onto the massive bridge out into the English Channel. Five lanes over, he caught sight of Nathan, one hand hooked loosely on the wheel of a big blue hotrod. Sitting next him was the enormous beauty that was his Servant, and behind her was Virginie. Justin's eyebrows rose, then met in the centre of his forehead. That was interesting, and he kept note of it.

*

There was a clicking of heels as Justin and Mister Scott walked down one of Obsidian's many hallways, gleaming in their polished blackness. Who knew how many thousands of dollars the administration spent monthly on all that polish; undoubtedly a student in his socks could take a step out and slide on forever, as though friction had taken a leave of absence. Vandyke long suspected it to be a ploy on the part of the school to produce upright citizens with impeccable balance, though Vandyke had also long suspected that the Mars landings had been faked. Still, the professor handled himself with surprising amounts of grace; more than once he had narrowly avoided some sort of impact, or directed people so that they didn't involve themselves in a crash on Obsidian's treacherous floors.

This was actually an impressive feat, as Edward Scott had been reading through one of Justin's essays he went. He handed it back to his student and shrugged "My marks and comments seem in order."

"Well, maybe they are sir, but could you explain for me?"

Scott adjusted his glasses a little further up his nose. "I'll put it quite plainly to you Mister Sturgeon; you are not a bad student. You pay attention in class, you take lots of notes. But you're a very simple person." Justin cocked his eyebrow at that, but Scott continued as though he hadn't insulted anyone "I think it's quite admirable, actually, that you can maintain such a plodding sort of efficiency." his hand whipped out and he took back Justin's essay and hit him on the head with it "This essay is the perfect example. It's factually accurate and well written. However it's extremely straightforward."

"Sir, sociology is a science, not a branch of philosophy." Justin crossed his arms as he spoke, and Scott heaved a sigh.

"Yes, it is. However, sociology is a science which focusses upon human social processes. Interaction, whether it be between anonymous persons on the street to movement of entire political blocs, is often in shades of grey." he flicked off his glasses and gestured towards Justin's somewhat confused face "You can't just treat it like you would an experiment in physics."

Frustrated, Justin threw his arms wide "But what's the point in examining patterns and so in if you can't present numbers in a logical and reasoned way?"

"There's something else you're good at, Justin. Jumping to conclusions." eyes closed, he rolled his hand and placed his glasses back on. Scott placed the essay back in Justin's hand "I didn't actually say that we should discard empirical evidence and the gathering thereof. Have a good afternoon, Mister Sturgeon." his heels clicked against the gleaming stone floor and Justin silently jabbed at his teacher with the essay. After a moment when Edward Scott had dissappeared around a corner, Justin stormed off in the other direction. He didn't stop until he had reached the offices of the Obsidian Inquisitor. By that point he had calmed down enough not to toss his report in Vandyke's face when he greeted him. Justin had not calmed down enough however, for Boswell not to notice.

"What's wrong with you?" he asked. One hand was tracing the circular frame on his glasses, while the other was manipulating holographic capture software on the club computer. Justin thudded into one of the old rolling chairs with the squeaky workings that Vandyke liked, then explained. Boswell's mouth opened in a silent 'oh' and he nodded "Yeah, Edward Scott's a bit of a strange one." he took his left hand and opened up another window with school personnel files on it. This, Justin realised dimly, was against several major school rules and broken at least four or five different laws. Undoubtedly Boswell had done it on the crest of Vandyke's almost absurd beliefs in freedom of information. A certain file of expanded and justin scanned what information there was about Scott almost automatically "In case you're getting paranoid, that all matches up." he sniffed "I think I'm spending too much time with him."

"Huh." Justin replied as Boswell closed the holographic window with the squeeze of his gloved hand.

He shrugged one shoulder "While Scott is somewhat ... strange in how he handles his subjects, he's just a teacher. His wife's a total milf though."

There was a sudden rusty squeaking as Vandyke's chair went rotating towards the wall. It lasted a half rotation, then his hand came down upon his desk with enough force to topple what papers and boxes had been stacked. The other two looked over at him "She's dies her hair blue! And she dresses goth loli! How crazy hot is that!?"

"I wouldn't know Virgil, I've never seen her before." no inflection, no nuance. Anything else was likely to send Vandyke through a wall. He flung his head back and inhaled hard and loud, both hands curled into claws. Boswell laughed, and Justin turned his attention back to the smaller, quieter, saner boy. That and his work, hanging in the air, though not really material. He recognised the northern bridge and realised that it was from the security video that Boswell had downloaded from some shady site on the electrosphere. He asked them what they were doing.

"Vandyke's decided that we should do a special on the stuff happening in New Geneva. You know, speculation and facts and pictures and stuff." Vandyke nodded, sitting himself down on the edge of his desk and held up what he was working on himself. Justin could read it clearly from across the room. It was an editorial, and this one looked quite serious. Justin's eyebrows hoisted themselves.

Using his other, free, hand, Vandyke drew Justin's attention to the conspiracy board. "People in this school, like people all across the country, are ignorant of the facts. We are not. We have a broad spectrum of information and notes and research." he stroked one eyebrow and gave his patented heart-melting, get-into-a-girl's-pants smile. "We're going to bring the truth to the masses." he went back to work.

"And I guess you're making moving pictures for it." Justin noted, and Boswell nodded.

"You know, I've watched this video a lot." he said "I've played it in slow motion, backwards, forwards, sideways, with more filters than your average cigarette factory and yet ..." he lowered his hand and sighed "There's really nothing there. Two thousand frames per second on the bridge security cameras in multiple spectra and I can't find anything." he showed his palms and went on to another set of holographs "At least there's physical evidence at the most recent crime scene. Oh, have you heard about that?"

Justin put a hand to his mouth and grimaced behind it. "Yeah. I heard about that."

*

On the TGV maglev from Cherbourg, the trip to Mont Blanc lasted no more than an hour. Nathan had always liked the almost omnipresent web of train lines that stretched across the European Union; they provided convienient and fast travel across whole countries. While he was capable of more convienient and faster travel across whole countries himself, transporting Virginie had been made so much easier because of the efforts of the National Railway Company. Sunlight almost drifted into the Chamonix Valley and for the moment Nathan was filled with an old sort of boyish excitement that set him bouncing on his heels. Not least of all because he was going to climb a mountain, which he hadn't done in some time, but also because of how he was going to shake things up. He glanced over his shoulder at his two girls. Medusa was drawing some eyes, but not nearly as many as one would expect. Nathan noted that it was not because of her striking appearance, but rather that those who saw her were those with some measure of sorcerous blood. People with the touch, or those who used formalcraft; simply those who saw further than a normal person.

Yet where Medusa was almost like a pillar of stone, Virginie was shuffling from foot to foot. Almost constantly she readjusted the strap on her bag and Nathan tried to give her a reassuring smile; she winced at the thumping of slo-trans engines driving the trains out of their cradles. Her hair gleamed in the sun, almost a plum colour.

He waved for them to follow, climbing towards what was one of the most popular tourist attractions; the Telepherique d'Aiguille du Midi. As they approached the cable car, all those who were boarding decided otherwise, and instead went about other business. At the other end, on the panoramic viewing platform almost three kilometres above, tourists suddenly abandoned their holiday snapping and immediately moved to descend on either side of the mountain. Even further on, at Point Helbronner, a similiar mood took men, women and children from the Italian side. Those incharge took the notion that no one should go up for the rest of the day.

Nathan sat down, placing the armoured suitcase by his feet. He crossed his ankles and gave a satisfied sigh. One popular tourist destination: emptied with a thought. Virginie took her seat next to Medusa, shifting so they were joined at the hip. With such a smooth movement that a normal person wouldn't have noticed it, they began the climb long, impressive climb up the Aiguille du Midi's side. Virginie sat with her hands clasped, then turned her attention outside the carbon-fibre egg. Her lips parted and she wished that she had brought her camera. The green spread beneath them, then sharp stone outcrops, then finally startlingly bright ice and snow.

Two pairs of footsteps echoed throughout the barren restaurant-viewing platform-gift shop. Virginie felt the urge to take a step closer to her cousin and chose to not follow it. Right now, she didn't particularly want to be around him. She searched for Medusa, but the Servant was not at hand. "She'll be along soon." Nathan told her, and Virginie's jumped, heart in her throat. He laughed, turned on his heel with flickering speed and squeezed Virginie's shoulder "What are you worried about? We're here for your benefit."

"Well," Virginie bit down on one full lip, then shifted the strap of her bag into the exact same spot "I'm not exactly enamoured with this magic stuff."

"Nonsense. And it's sorcery." Virginie rubbed at her cheek and jumped again when she noticed that Medusa had appeared. she let her bag slip to the floor, her heart trying to burst through her chest. When Medusa's arms were free of boxes, she immediately went to wrap her arms around the Servant's waist, leaning her face against the demi-goddesses comforting warmth. Smiling, the Gorgon stroked Virginie's hair, the other removing her absurdly wide hat.

"I would suggest that you quicken your preparations, Master." Nathan made a noncommital noise, punctuated by the whipcracks of his case opening. Virginie took a step back from Medusa, or more accurately a step back from Nathan and the container he held. Rather large, it was darkly red, and even if she wasn't aware of her relatives' odd habits, she knew it too be blood. She instead skipped straight to what it was for.

"Why, it's for you." Nathan replied, and Virginie found her toes dragging against the floor. She kicked and fought, but there was nothing to fight against. Nathan placed a hand behind her head "I'll need you nice and strong, so I had one of my subordinates go and drain for me a couple of litres of sinless blood. A difficult task, though she rose to it admirably. A pity she has no talent for anything greater than formalcraft." Nathan held her head back and forced the jar to her lips. The stink flooded her, and she spluttered, sending thick rivulets of the stuff down her chin. Virginie gave out a few muffled squeals, eyes wide, then slowly gave in. Her eyes closed. The blood on her skin seeped through into her system.

Chest rising and falling steadily, she reached for the second of the bottles, skipping over the ones filled with stolen organs. Satisfied, Nathan went on to other business, pulling out documents and notes and endless equations "Something you might know, 'Ginie," he began glancing over at her gulping down her second litre of blood "Is that summoning is a whole lot of lawyering around with the Rules. Sorcery isn't about spells or rituals or that sort of thing, it's all about imposing your own will upon reality." there was a hollow series of thuds as Virginie's discarded jar bounced away. She reached for a third "As magicians, we can tell the universe to do something and it will do it. The only limitations we have are our own understanding of how it all works and whether or not it's actually impossible to do. And some of us don't care about that, either." he swung Virginie around to face him, slapping her out of her stupor. She blinked several times, disorientated, but also somewhat confused "You have the Akashic right to alter the world as you see fit."

"Master, this is all very interesting," Medusa stepped forward, curling her hands into fists "but I suggest we begin the process immediately."

Nathan nodded and produced his sabre from the inside of a guitar case. It flashed from its scabard, flashing in an acute silvered arc, almost humming. He dropped the sheath and walked towards the tall windows ringing the observation deck. Medusa gathered Virginie in her arms and stepped along after him.

They cut through and bounded from the Aiguille du Midi to Mont Blanc, heading upwards almost too quickly for Virginie to follow, even if her eyes hadn't been tightly closed against the biting wind. Her feet crunched against the ice and snow of the glacial dome that was the great mountain's summit and her breath came in a mist. Dressing warm had been good advice, and Virginie tightened her scarf. Both her cousin and his Servant took a step back, letting the girl take centre stange. She took a deep breath and looked towards Nathan. He twirled his hand and Virginie frowned. What had those books said? What had Nathan said?

She looked to the clouds gathering above, and thought.

*

Bazett Fraga MacRemitz tugged against the hem of one glove, gave her hand an experimental flex. Satisfied, she picked up her box of tricks and beckoned for Cúchulainn to step forward. "Interesting choice of location." she mused "Clever boy."

Well, here we go! This took me a while, but there's a reason for that - it's incredibly long. A fair amount actually happens though, which would explain why it's so long.

Also, I came across a picture on 4chan which struck me as being perfectly Thérèse.

Fate-Another Score

Chapter Thirteen

Thérèse Dechense sat on the bonnet of a 2012 Charger, a pen clamped firmly between her teeth. She had unbuttoned her stained coveralls and tied the sleeves around her waist. In her lap was a thick reference book, by her side a considerably thinner notebook covered in neat, orderly numbers. Waggling the pen up and down, she flicked back and forth between important chapters, glancing to the side as rubbery footfalls told her someone else had shown up. The girl, as tall and strongly built as Thérèse herself, contrasted in that her skin was dark and her hair light-devouringly black, long down to her backside. She was wandering around in her gym shorts and tank top, and curiously picked up the note book. She took one glance and blanched.

"Why are you doing these calculations? You know you can't legally install a deuterium engine yourself."

Thérèse shrugged and pulled the equations back "I think it's good practice, Mana." she said around the pen, jotting down some minor note. The other girl cocked her eyebrow and settled her backside on the edge of the car. Leaning over, Mana watched Thérèse doing sums in her head - you could always tell when she was thinking hard by the way she sucked on the tip of her pen. It was such an absentminded act. She help up the pad in front of Mana's face and asked "Does this look right to you?"

"It looks like a lot of gibberish to me." Mana replied, sitting back up and smoothing her hair. Thérèse went back to her lines of numbers, fully engrossed. "You know, you seem a bit preoccupied. And not just now, either." a pause. "Hello?"

"Sorry, what?"

Mana rolled her darkly chocolate eyes. "I was just saying you've seemed rather preoccupied recently. Not yourself."

"Oui?" Thérèse closed her books, then took in a long breath through her nose. Letting it out, she locked gazes with her friend and smiled, though only faintly. "I have, haven't I. Things are just a bit strange at home, so they're getting the best of me, I suppose."

"I've always wondered why you don't just fall apart under all the pressure." Mana rubbed her forehead and muttered about how it was just plain wrong. "You're a schoolgirl. You weren't even legally an adult until all that long ago." Thérèse shrugged and Mana threw up her hands in exasperation. She siezed Thérèse by her upper arm and dragged her off the smooth, semi-polished hood of the hotrod. "I'll tell you what. Tonight, you're going to come out with me. No worrying about how the household is running or checking that your father hasn't absentmindedly lost important files or stopping Justin from being an even bigger moron than he normally is."

"But it's a schoolnight."

"Who cares!?" Mana half-screeched, gripping Thérèse by the shoulders "What is wrong with you? You're Madam Dechense, mistress of her own will; or so you say. Do as you please!"

There was a moment where Thérèse stared across at her excitable friend. She considered for a moment then, nodding slowly, agreed. It really wouldn't hurt to just let go. For a little while, at least.

*

Glancing back and forth between Nathan and Medusa, Virginie felt a sudden sense of urgency take her. A pair of sharp looking spikes had materialised in Medusa's hands, chain pooling at her feet. Virginie could see the muscles in her body tightening, bulging almost. The girl tightened her scarf once again, her breathing coming in little, squeaking gasps. Nathan stepped forward, told her to calm down and, miracle of miracles, she did. Nathan gave her a smile, and nodded for her to continue. As she opened her mouth to say something, there was a dreadful ringing sound - Nathan had drawn his sabre up and caught a smooth, sharply pointed projectile upon its side. It rebounded away and lost itself within the side of a distant mountain. Virginie did not see him move as such, but there was a series of blurs that might have been Nathan. Sparks raised up in wave-like crests, followed by ear-splitting shrieks.

Deep within himself, Nathan was cursing in at least three languages, whipping his blade around to intercept the deadly barrage of flickering bolts. Medusa had already pulsed out of sight, rippling down the face of stone. She intercepted the opponent Servant in an impact that shook the spine of mountains. In a flash of prescience, Nathan bounded backwards, over his cousin's head. There were hundreds of the rune-woven projectiles, but still he battered them away, inducing them to accellerate off into the distance. They would come down, only a few fractions of a second later, upon the valley below. A silvery, deadly rain that tore men to shreds and levelled houses. Immense devastation, including no less than the snapping in half of an incoming maglev train and the raised track beneath it. At that moment, Nathan was far too occupied to care. His toes had barely touched the ground when Bazett had impacted him. Runes burned on the back of her gloves and Nathan could feel the incredible strength pushing against his sabre.

Some move he could barely follow and that wasn't supposed to happen twisted his sword out of the way. Her foot with its sensible shoe knocked him flying, launching him into the side of the Aiguille du Midi. Snow shook free of the moutain and began to cascade downwards - in a blossom of light, Nathan burst from the great crater and careened towards Bazett, hitting her at speeds approaching that of a combat fighter plane. The mountain shuddered beneath their feet and Bazett left a considerable explosion of noise and rubble in her wake. She turned in midair and landed feet first upon an outcrop of rock - pulverising it into heat and vapour as she leapt away.

Nathan stole a glance towards his cousin. She was still standing there, totally unharmed, barely even buffetted by the furious windstorm brought upon by the duelling magicians. It brought a surge of joy to his heart, for Nathan knew that she had protected herself with thaumaturgy. His plan was coming together. He teleported past her and dragged his blade through the ice. A knife nearly a quarter of a mile long stretched out in a quarter of a second, and had Bazett been any slower it would have spilled her guts into the cold air. She skidded along its magnifciently sharp, paper-thin edge, leaving steam in her passing, before leaping backwards to avoid a second of Nathan's ice-born blades. Frigid tendrils snaked out from this spire of ice with the same supernatural speed, hounding her, their almost invisible points within millimetres of filling her with more holes than a sieve. She sketched a 'w' turned on its side and vapourised the ice. She bouyed backwards on the wave of steam, twisted and slapped away Nathan's sword. One foot on his chest knocked him away, and she used the momentum to land against Mont Blanc, feet sinking four inches into solid rock.

One hand flashed to the box upon her back and swung out a curved, silver blade. It crashed into Nathan's saber, runes blazing across its surface. They both skidded apart across the almost vertical mountain face. They sprang back together, bounding back up the side of the mountain in scant milliseconds. Nathan's sabre came in precisely timed arcs utilising information about the future to his advantage. Yet even though Bazett lacked precognition, she was so much faster that even the flashing, almost sonic blows were lethargic. Even worse, Bazett was not without her temporal countermeasures, emulating the Holtzman effect and leaving her presence in future probability only a shadow.

Nathan realised as he crashed through the visitor's centre atop Aiguille du Midi, that he was loosing. He altered his velocity and landed atop a piece of the building drifting towards the ground under the influence of gravity. For a moment, Nathan surveyed his opponent, just as she surveyed him. She was tall, and wore a reserved black suit. He sensed the other-worldly nature of her weapon's box as she settled it into the snow. Had he the time to draw breath, it would have been rattling in his chest. Lights on her hands, sun in her hair, death in her eyes. He knew where she had been sent from, what she was.

Rune master.

Mage killer.

Sealling Agent.

The case sprang open, unleashing a veritable hail of knives and arrows and other sharp, nasty objects. Too many for the box to contain. They flashed across the open space between the mountains, glittering like crystals in the sun. Nathan bent his will towards protecting himself - tons of force, chunks of the visitor centre, freezing the very air around the projectiles. He hesitated for just one moment and Bazett was on him.

But their conflict could not compare to the combat between their Servant's, crossing miles of mountain range. Back and forth, the red spear of Cúchulainn spinning in elaborate counter-arcs to the whistling attacks of Medusa. The pair bounded across stone and ice and air; sundering the rock beneath their feet and setting the air around them aflame. Medusa's chain whipped around, criss-crossing in blurred arcs, slicing free great hunks of rock to tumble through the air. Despite himself, despite having to constantly move to avoid being tron to shreds, Cúchulainn was grinned. He wheeled Gae Bolg about to deflect the nails driving towards him. Stone shattered like brittle glass as he weaved back and forth and Medusa fought to keep up. Though she was the faster of the two, his agility was almost unmatchable.

Two demi-gods met in close combat, Cúchulainn finding a space to move in past Medusa's rippling chain. It was almost a dance; a dance that turned the ground to smooth glass then shattered it utterly. The Hound battered her aside and sliced forward; the barbed head missed her cheek by the merest microns, sheared strands of purple hair from her scalp. She lashed out, blind but not and Cúchulainn was taken back by the sheer ferocity, sheer power, sheer beauty of his opponent. She moved like liquid, struck like a giant and though he knew he could very well be killed here, Cúchulainn relished the oppurtunity. Strong women! How he did love them.

Gae Bolg was entangled by the chained spike and Medusa's muscles almost tore through her skin. She swung Cúchulainn around and flung him away, sending him soaring with such velocity that a tank cannon would have been envious . He righted himself easily and drew back his spear, crackling with energy. He flung it away, the sound of it popping eardrums in the towns below. This was Gae Bolg, the pinnacle of thrown weapons, perhaps the ultimate spear. It passed faster than thought, with more killing power than it carried when piercing the bounds of casuality. Medusa swiped open her own throat with her weapon, spurting blood into the air.

It did not fall in random patterns determined by blood pressure, but instead twisted and wove itself into a dome, a fortress of blood. The perfect curve took the flashing light of Gae Bolg against it, and the mountain's back snapped. The very range itself shook as though in fear as clouds of monatomic plasma spread into the air with a spray of supersonic debris. Several million tons of rock, ice and snow began to slip away from its solid foundation. Cúchulainn, a blue flash against the red of Medusa's barrier, perched for a moment and seized his spear. He leapt backwards as Medusa emerged, teeth bared. The fortress desolved into liquid, dispersing with the wind.

With pops of inrushing air, Nathan blinked from place to place reflecting Bazett's tossed blades that moved of their own accord. They were not aimed for him, but rather at Virginie, her near-baseline body and brain unable to even percieve something was wrong beyond blurs and thunderclaps and flashes of light. Nathan reached out and subjected the half dozen blades to sudden, multi-vector inertia, crumpling the rune-inforced steel like paper. The hunks of metal zipped like bullets directly at Bazett; they cut nothing but stone. Waves of green light, flickering like flames, leapt at Nathan's feet and he crashed into Bazett. They passed each other and skidded to a stop. Nathan's sabre turned lazily end over end, planting itself firmly into the mountain. Nathan's eyes flashed as red as his blood spattering the snow. It poured from the stumps where his fingers used to be, from a new hole in his side. And yet, Nathan smiled and turned to look at Bazett's back. His blood dripped from the knife she held and he laughed at her.

"Too late." he said, his fingers drifting back up to his hand. He reattached them in bursts of gold light and laughed again. Too late.

*

For Virginie Holland, the battle between her cousin and an agent of the Association was a distant, worthless triviality. Her mind was in other places, seeing other things. Things more vast, more beautiful and more important than mortal minds could ken. Standing atop Mont Blanc, Virginie finally opened her eyes and, as though emerging from a deep sleep, she finally saw. Perhaps she had dreamt of it, but now it was within reach. It was the universe, spiralling away beneath her feet. Each galaxy seemed like a turning cog in a great cosmic clock, marching on into the endless swathes of time between now and the end of days. Each galaxy seemed so tiny in comparison to what she saw, something which those teeming billions would never see, a greatness that went unnoticed. It pierced through the heart of the universe like an axis upon which all things, in this cosmos or any other, turned.

It was there, yet it was not.

The root from which all things came, and which all things shall return to.

Akasha.

Tears welled up in her big brown (violet) eyes and spilled down her cheeks. Never in her whole life had she experienced something so purely wonderful, not merely the sight, for it was out of reach, but instead the understanding. For a realisation came to Virginie - everything was hers. Matter, space, time and all the souls across the universe were hers. It was her right to take the laws which God had written and bend them to her very will. No, fuck God, the rules were written by her and applied at her leisure. Beneath her feet, the glacial peak of Mont Blanc boilled off into steam, and she floated amidst a windstorm of her own making. It tore the ribbon from her auburn (violet) hair. Virginie shook, lips parted, as blood leaked from her like tears.

Light blazed against the curve of Nathan's protective bounded barrier as the rocky peak of Mont Blanc crumbled away. He hadn't expected anything quite like this, nor had he seen anything like this in the future. He was stunned, but so pleased, for Virginie was standing at the nexus of such raw power. Shapes that may have been letters etched themselves into a complex arrangment of circles and split open the hides of whole mountains. Blood trickled down his face in the presence of such incredible, uncontrolled power. The clouds were swept away, and took all of Nathan's strength not to be tossed away with them.

Virginie reached for that ultimate origin, stretched out her hand, but found that she could not take it. It would be hers, it had to be, and she realised that there was a key.

The Grand Holy Grail.

If she had that, she could take Akasha and experience it directly. Nothing would make her happier. All she needed were the means, and she would have the means, even she had to tear asunder the fabric of reality. Upon her outstretched hand, her proof of contract etched itself. Cocentric crescents, all glowing hotly on her skin, burning away the sleeves on her left arm. Before her, flickering into multi-hued existence, was a shape like that of a man. Half a mile away, standing in awe, Medusa and Cúchulainn mouthed together the words "Timespace convergence phenomenon." before bounding to their Masters' sides.

Kneeling, clothes hanging from her in tatters, in cooling liquid glass was Virginie. Standing over her, draping a red coat over her shoulders was a man. His hair was white, like the bleached bone of old skeletons. He straightened, held out his hand and something black, half-liquid and half-gas, formed itself into a bow. In a movement that only the other Servants could follow, he took aim at Bazett and loosed a shaft. The Sealling Agent only realised something was amis when Cúchulainn's spear interposed itself. The golden arrow shattered and the great hero had to flick away the spiritual sharpnel before it swiss-cheesed his Master. And all the while, Virginie's Servant did not let up for a moment, launching off a hail of arrows that would have put a whole army to shame.

Medusa herself launched towards Cúchulainn and he only barely managed to dodge her attacks, leap over her head and bound from her back. Chained spikes snaked after him, while yet more of the new Servant's arrows followed. For the three magicians, it was Bazett who recovered fastest, and she drove her knife into Nathan's throat. Surprise coloured his features as she knocked him down the side of Mont Blanc. Not even pausing, Bazett pushed through towards Virginie, only to be cut off my Medusa's chained nail. Wrapping around her, it dragged her away, cut into her flesh and tossed Bazett overhead.

Cúchulainn threw her a glance and gritted his teeth. He lashed out at the new comer in his black skin-suit, who stepped to the side and caught Gae Bolg with matched blades. A deft movement saw the cursed spear slip out of Cúchulainn's hands, and he pulled backwards as the white sword hissed out. He was upon him, working the black and white blades like a whirlwind. Making use of his superior agility, Cúchulainn dodged past and took a hold of the shaft. The feel of the spiralling ivy pattern under his palm was comforting. I have to end this, quickly. he said to himself. Within the stone ground, the spear tip burst into a hellish heat, and it exploded free in a cloud of plasma. Hissing forward at hypersonic speeds, Cúchulainn could see Bazett cartwheeling through the air, trailling blood. There were blades in his chest, and he was facing in the wrong direction. He could see the Servant's back, and the hole there, steaming blue light. Cúchulainn blinked. What the hell just happened?

No time to contemplate, just time to save his Master, tearing the blades free as he went.

Virginie had crawled till she could see her Servant, clutching at his chest, She blinked doefully, blood dripping, and the white haired man looked up at her. He smiled, and she couldn't help but smile too.

*

In the course of summoning herself a Servant, Virginie had caused severe damage to the Alps, and just prior to that, the towns of Chamonix and Courmayeur had been destroyed and heavily damaged respectively. La Dame Blanche herself had dropped in topographic prominence by three places, loosing almost two hundred metres from its height. It would be true to say that the mortal world stood frozen in disbelief; while the supernatural world looked on with consternation. When word reached the ears of Bradley Hayes, President of the European Union, he was meeting with Nortier Holland. The Chief Justice had quite successfully convinced the President that they did not require the assistance of the Vanguard Foundation. They both stared at the video feed being delivered to the office, both with different kinds of horror evident on their faces. Holland had excused hismelf immediately, and so did not catch the incoming telephone call. The conversation lasted a full minute, and the end results were rather simple - the Vanguard Foundation was coming.

Word spread through the data seas of the electrosphere like some sort of plague. Rampant speculation and mindless conspiracy theories converged in more than a hundred million chatrooms and between almost three billion users. All the while, they were monitored from deep within the labyrinthine halls of the Association; magi not looking for indication of what caused the destruction, nor clues, nor information shared by governmental offices. No, they already knew what had happened. Instead they were looking to immediately wipe out any information that would suggest it had been caused by sorcery. Their concern was not the damage caused by tidal waves and tectonic movement. Their concern was that the world remain ignorant.

For Justin, making his way towards class with Boswell at his side and Thérèse's hand in his, he already knew. He didn't need to speculate. He could see quite clearly from the live feeds that this was the result of some magician playing at God. He also had an instinct that it was directly related to the War for the Holy Grail, and he was growing ever fonder of his instincts. For Rin, not only did she know it was sorcery, she also knew what that sorcery was bent towards with total certaintity. Unlike the Association, she saw the happenings as an immediate threat to her personal safety and had called Arturia to her side. Indeed, across the globe, those chosen few Masters brought their Servants to their sides. Perhaps it was a new step in the millennial war? Perhaps an end was within sight?

Schools of thaumaturgy, empires of the dead, bastions of the Church, they all steepled their collective fingers and watched extremely carefully. Submerged into the static compressed space of Medusa's Noble Phantasm, Nathan healed. Here, Medusa's rules were more absolute than the entropic rune-curse that Bazett had inscribed upon her blades. Virginie knelt a few feet away from him, hands tightly clutching the big red coat around her. In the diffuse red light, her newly electric violet hair was something closer to Persian indigo. Nathan marvelled at how colourful she was now. "Isn't this amazing? It's called Andromeda. Even though there are all those aerodynes out there, they're never going to find us, because we're inside a whole different phase-"

"Nathan, I am freaking out here." she said in a surprisingly level voice. Neither Servant, standing to the side, batted an eyelash; though admittedly it was impossible to tell either way with Medusa.

His shoulders drooped a little, and he gave her a soft smile. One hand reached out and caressed her face "You poor thing. Let's get you home."

*

The four of them approached the cars - Thérèse's Renault and Boswell's solar-powered two seater. Vandyke made to lean against Boswell's car, and shorter boy shoved him away "No asses on the quantum dots." he said, and it sounded as though it was a sentence he had said many times before. Mostly to Vandyke, considering the molasses thick exhaustion dripping from the line. He opened the car door and sat down, feet still on the tarmac. His car gleamed, drank the sun into its nanocrystal solar cells. Even at that time few cars sported solar power ('Give it a few years' Boswell said, whenever the old argument came up), preferring instead fuel cells of one kind or the other. Though New Geneva itself was covered with solar cells, in transparent films covering skyscrapers or designed with heliostats in mind, it's primary power source was fusion ('And rightly so' Thérèse would say, not quite smugly, whenever the old argument came up).

"So, what are you two boys up to this afternoon?" Thérèse asked, hoisting herself up onto her car's door.

"Actually, we're going to meet someone. Got a message from him earlier actually." Vandyke replied airily. He twirled his hand in the air, a meaningless gesture.

"A journallist." Boswell explained, "A one Jaeger Hennings. He says that he has some information that would interest us."

While Justin considered that, and wondered whether it had anything to with Vandyke's father. He was distracted when Thérèse snapped her fingers "You've met a Jaeger Hennings, Justin."

"I have?" he wiggled his eyebrows "Oh, that's right, I have. I wouldn't really call him a journallist."

Turning his head, he saw Tōsaka approaching. Her bag and blazer were being carried by Arturia, and Justin started, actually jumping into the air. She walked by and wrapped her slim fingers around Justin's wrist, saying "Come along, Sturgeon-kun." He came along, and as he walked away, he turned to watch his friends. They were seemingly oblivious, as though he wasn't being dragged away by an outsider and her lackey in the blue dress. Thérèse blew him a kiss. Justin shook his head and turned to look at Tōsaka. "Don't say it. We have to sit down, and we have to talk. About you and the vampires, about you and Holland," smilling, she rubbed her knuckles into his scalp saying 'anata wa baka yaro desu', before continuing in a language that Justin could understand "And most of all, we need to talk about the Alps. This way you don't have to worry about awkward explanations and telling lies."

Arturia clipped closer, Rin's smart school blazer over one arm. "This is partly a precaution." she brought her mouth close to Justin's ear and whispered, softer than the beating of a mosquito's wing "The Master is moving you for your own protection." she pulled away, and when Justin turned to question, she smiled softly. He found that he didn't need to ask any more questions.

*

In the end, it was a safehouse that Tōsaka lead Justin to. It was a deli, located a considerable distance from her loft, in a part of town that had respectable amounts of traffic, though nothing like that around the Moonlit World. Rin explained as she bought a sandwich from the unseeing owner, a crooked little man with a big smile, that she had ownership of both properties, though not legally. Eliminating the paper trail was suspicious, but so was having her name on documents for others to find and trace back to her. "It would be highly embarrassing if I was tracked down not through sorcerous means but legal ones." she took a bite out of her sandwich "So I spent some time crafting up some plausible backgrounds and found some people happy to help me out. Chavez-san downstairs, for example, owns this place. He found the money from a winning lottery ticket, and the idea was to do something in his retirement."

She waved her hand at the door at the end of the upstairs hallway, and Justin imagined that the gesture was to release the lock - not to highlight Rin's attitude about using people so easily. The interior was not nearly as plush or explensive looking as her actual home, though it was cosy. it was also even more heavily immersed in sorcery. As Tōsaka passed, line after line of text reacted to her presence and shined out. He could just barely feel as though he was enclosed or on the verge of enclosure. "You're just feeling the isolation wards, Sturgeon-kun. They're not active, but I find their presence comforting. This whole room is a thaumaturgical stronghold. The oji-san doesn't know this room exists." she paused "Bless him."

Justin sat on the squishy, though somewhat moth-eaten couch and felt himself relax. This was his kind of style. Rin sat opposite him in the only armchair and squimed, until Arturia cupped the back of Rin's neck. Before he could open his mouth to speak, Rin beat him to the punch "You're a moron, you know that? You went against me and consorted with our enemy, and then accepted his suggestion that you fight a Dead Apostle and all his thralls. You might lack skills as a magician, but I didn't peg you as being actively stupid."

"I didn't think he'd be so troublesome. I was pretty sure that if I vapourised a person, they'd be pretty much dead." Justin shrugged "I couldn't kill him ... well, I killed him several times. He just kept on coming back."

"As a Dead Apostle, Linck Mayal possessed regenerative capabilities beyond that of simple cell renewal," Arturia explained, almost disspationately "Assuming it was not temporal in nature, it would have likely operated on atomic dispersion movement. Linck Mayal was essentially immortal, at least to the methods at your disposal. Considering that you lack true ownership over your Noble Phantasm, and have limited stores of Prana, I think you did quite well."

Justin blinked and Rin continued "More to the point, your memory shows you using a thirty four kilogram fūma shuriken, or close enough." she paused and slumped slightly before continuing "You might have highly superhuman dexterity and incredible control over your own body, but that isn't the sort of weapon you just pick up on the fly. Where did you learn that?"

"Oh, that." Justin tapped the tips of his fingers together. He smiled, somewhat sheepishly "I saw it on TV once."

The pair opposite blinked for a long, slow moment. "You saw it on ... television?" Rin gritted her teeth, and Arturia squeezed, rubbing gently. Tōsaka's teeth loosened "You're not lying either, which ... mukatsuku." Arturia's caress became firmer "Well, leaving that aside for a moment, because let's face it, talking about that will actually make me stupider." Justin rolled his eyes and Rin brightened considerably. "Have you guessed what the sorcery was yet?" she asked.

He shrugged "Earth-shattering." his voice was dry, like a snapping twig.

"Quite." Arturia agreed, reaching down to take Rin's partly eaten sandwhich. "It was a summoning, indicating a new Servant walks the earth." there was a crunching, the sound of teeth through crisp lettuce. It was surprisingly like bones being crushed.

Justin shifted uncomfortably. "That was ... a pretty huge event. It was felt all over the fucking world. I don't recall any other massive seismic events like that one."

"That's because generally, a summoning doesn't do that much damage. If you don't take precautions you might level a building or a small city block." she laced her fingers together and skewered Justin with her gaze "What does that suggest to you, Justin Sturgeon, when a mage produces such side effects?"

Comprehension dawned on Justin and his mouth swung open like a falling drawbridge. A magician capable of blasting the top of a mountain into dust, dust currently raining across the east of France and the north-west of Italy, by accident would be powerful indeed. Tōsaka had once said (or alluded) that there was considerable stagnation in regards to the War for the Holy Grail - it was all research and skirmishes. With a player this big now involved, it could easily erupt. Rin smiled in that familiar way, a way which Justin pegged as completely devious. He considered whether she was totally lucid at that point in time.

"Do you have any idea who it might actually be?" Justin shook his head and Rin's smile broadened. Justin his arms folded tightly and told her that he bet she didn't know either. She was grinning now. Ear to ear. "Actually, I do know. It's Virginie Holland." Justin's eye widened and he sat straight up. Rin showed him the palm of her hand "She is of sorcerous blood. She was missing from school, as was her cousin, known to be an active magician in the War. The chance that their being missing is for mundane reasons is low; the Hollands have no relatives to be sick, apart from the Chief Justice Nortier Holland. You even saw them arrive on the mainland."

"Virginie has relatives in the south of France; her mother or father live in Montpellier." he was almost hopeful, wringing his hands together. "They could have been visiting them."

"You might remember your girlfriend travelling to the south with Holland," thinking about it, Justin did remember that - they went sometime towards the end of last year. That Tōsaka knew was slightly disturbing "They did not go to visit anything more than graves. I make sure to do my research about potential opponents; you can call it creepy if you like, but it is certainly useful."

Justin rubbed his face with the rough palms of his hands, then swept his fingers back through his messy hair. Rin wasn't smiling any more. Perhaps she understood; Nathan was bad enough, but Virginie too? He couldn't even begin to consider her as an 'enemy'. Hell, Justin had trouble perceiving Nathan as an enemy, and Nathan had actually directed deadly force towards Thérèse. Nathan was morally ambigious and arrogant; Virginie was sweet, kind and innocent. He had memories of Thérèse and Virginie asleep together, the younger girl's head resting in Thérèse's lap. It was that sort of memory, along with a score of others like it, that made him question whether Virginie could possibly be a ruthless magician.

"You don't have to believe me." Tōsaka said quietly "But when you see her next, there will be physical evidence. A change in hair and eye pigment, probably." her eyes swung to look at Justin's temples, but only for a second. "Sturgeon-kun," she continued, leaning back into her chair "Have you considered summoning a Servant?"

"Only briefly. It seemed like complex sorcery to me, and I can't do complex sorcery."

Rin shook her head and stood up, walking around to join Justin on the beaten couch. She was still for a moment, then seized his left hand. "Seals manifest themselves on the back of your left hand. You might be missing your original left hand, but this one should do nicely." she hefted him up by the wrist and sat her own left hand by his. He was surprised by how small and delicate her hand appeared, especially compared to his own, with its enormous knuckles and thick fingers. After a few seconds of close proximity, shapes rose up into the light. Upon the back of Tōsaka's hand, it was angular, pointed shapes producing an intricate cross. The way it sat, with the longest point facing up towards her fingers, Justin might have called it a sword. It was difficult to see, but it was in three pieces - hilt, guard and blade.

On his own hand, the seal was more clearly in three. Looking at it, he preceived it has a pair of wings flanking an elongated diamond, starting wide in the centre and tapering out beyong his knuckles. The black etchings did not appear to be firmly connected to his hand, as though they were floating above his skin. Rolling his wrist, Justin watched the seals dissappear from sight. When he turned his hand back, they were visible again. It was not a gradual transition between visible and invisible - it was there or it was not, depending on the angle. Proof of contract, Tōsaka called it, evidence that Justin had written his name into the Akashic Record as a Master. Or rather, that someone else had transferred to him the right to be a Master. The act of a Servant.

"All the really hard work has already been done for you. I'll be willing to help you out with the other fine details." she crossed her legs and placed her hands over her knees. "And about your meeting with Nathan this coming weekend."

"I'm going." Rin's eyebrows slid up her head a little "It's a good will thing."

"It's stupid." Tōsaka sighed, caressing her forehead "Enough of this. Would you like a sandwich?"

*

The sun began to droop when Edward Scott arrived home. He lived in what was essentially a ziggurat of appartments, a stepped building that had front gardens for every tennant. Not large, but enough space for someone to plant a small tree or water feature, if they wished. Scott stood by his own bamboo seesaw, listening to it click as it was loaded with water. He looked up at clouds the colour of fire and smiled, removing his glasses, storing them in his front pocket. Her turned and moved silently to the front door, opening it without moving for a key - it was generally unlocked. They rarely left the appartment.

As he stepped through, there was a woman waiting for him, a smile on her gorgeous face. There was a braid in her cornflower blue hair, sitting snugly behind her left ear. As she stepped forward, the frills on her dress fluttered softly. She rose up on her toes and kissed him on the cheek, before withdrawing and saying "Welcome home, Master." he smiled in a way he thought might have been warm, and the effort pleased her. She tipped her head back and their lips met. She took his hand and led him down the hall. He glanced sideways as he passed a door and saw a man with neat black hair and a kimono fiddling around with a computer. "Things have started moving, Master. I believe it is time that we started to move ourselves."

The school teacher stepped towards the bed and loosened his tie. He stood, and was silent. He placed down his briefcase, free his tie and loosened his shirt buttons. Only then did he speak, and it was in althogether different voice than that his students had heard.

"Medea." Edward Scott said, and his voice was like the cold echo of dropping a stone into a well. "The time is coming."

"That is correct, Master." she breezed towards him and placed her hands upon his broad shoulders. "With my familiars, we are capable of striking at any location across the globe." she smiled and she placed her forehead between her Master's shoulderblades "We possess a proxy Servant who will be capable of engaging in direct combat with all but the most powerful of heroes. And then there is I. I will bring you the Grand Holy Grail, my dear Master."

Edward Scott dipped his head once, then closed his eyes. He turned and embraced the beautiful sorceress. She heaved a great sigh of contentment.

*

Mana Pulithevar watched as her friend tipped her head backward and quite literally poured her drink down her throat. She wasn't the only one watching Thérèse toss back the alchohol, and when she slammed down the Maßkrug she held out one hand, rubbed her thumb against two fingers. Two young men scowled and put money in her hand. Thérèse grinned and held up the cash - drinking money. Mana herself scowled as the two young men walked away, possibly frightened by the display. Thérèse couldn't help but roll her eyes, blinking slowly, rubbing at the bridge of her nose. "You're pathetic, you know?"

"I am certainly not pathetic, thank you very much," she snapped back, feigning hurt. She pouted, and Thérèse laughed "I know you don't care, but dammit, I could have had them." Thérèse laughed loudly (somewhat too loudly) as Mana flung herself to her feet and bent over her drink "Am I not beautiful enough? Is it the colour of my skin? Are my boobs too small?" she turned to face her friend and grabbed her ample bust, pushing her breasts up and together. Thérèse chuckled, rubbing a finger underneath her nose.

"Stop being stupid Mana. You'll never get anyone like that." Thérèse held up one finger, cutting off Mana's reply and calling over the bartender. She thought for a moment then said "Two sevenths Gin, Wolfschmidt, Dry Vermouth and one seventh lemon juice. With a little red embrella in it, with a slice of lime on the side. No ice." the older woman nodded, and Thérèse pointed at her friend.

It was Mana's turn to roll her eyes "Obviously. Where the hell is your sense of humour, Thérèse?"

The French girl shrugged as her cocktail arrived. She pulled off the slice of lime and sucked the flesh from the rind. "Well, you won't." she sipped, then set the umbrella rolling about in a circuit "Did you really intend to pick up both of them?"

"Maybe," Mana replied taking a sip of her own drink "I don't see why I shouldn't. Not all of us have long standing, steady relationships filled with copious amounts of sex. Christ knows how infrequently I get it. Count your blessings."

"Then why don't you get a boyfriend?" Thérèse asked, cocking her eyebrow in a manner that Justin had stolen years ago.

"They're high maintenence."

"They're boys. The only maintenence they recquire is a steady intake of food." Thérèse pointed out and Mana flapped her hand. They drank in unison and Thérèse sighed. "Mind you, it's not all fun and games. I love Justin, but lately he's been acting rather odd." intruiged, Mana leaned in closer, twirling her hand "It seems these days I don't see him as often as I used to, even though he hasn't boxxed and hasn't fenced since, well, you know. Fuck that, we live together now and I don't get to spend that much time with him. He doesn't think I know, but he doesn't sleep very well, and some nights he doesn't stay in my bed. It's under the pretense that he stays in his own, but I know he goes out late at night.

"Let's get it straight, recently the sex has become incredible. He's still sweet to a fault, too. But he spends so much time distracted, as if he's wrapped up in his own little world outside of everyone elses."

Mana slowly bobbed her head up and down, ordered another drink and smiled, broadly, at her friend. "So what you're saying is, you think he's cheating on you."

Colour rose in Thérèse's skin, sending her face and throat pink. One could almost see her hackles jumping up in response to Mana's suggestion. She barred her teeth to speak, and Mana placed a finger in front of Thérèse's lips. "I'm not being serious. I honestly don't think very highly of Sturgeon, but I honestly don't think he'd cheat on you with another girl. I mean, he's pretty stupid, but not that stupid. Now, a toast!" she raised her short, stubby tumbler and Thérèse tapped it with the lip of her cocktail glass. "To us; for being just slightly mad."

They drank.

*

Rin Tōsaka stood, shoulder against the wall of her safehouse. Had she not warded the building so heavily, she would have been quite visible from the street, which would have completely defeated the purpose of the deli being a 'hide'. From her vantage point, she could see Justin walking down the road, talking into his cell phone. She gave a cursory thought to hearing the conversation and picked herself into the line. '...on't be coming home tonight?' 'No, neither of us are legal. I miss you.' 'I miss you too.' Rin cut herself out of the conversation and glanced over at Arturia, who was quite heartily digging into a variety of cold-cut meats and cheeses. "Are you almost done?" Master asked Servant "You only have one or two minutes."

The king picked up an olive, tossed it into the air and directed air currents to slice it into ten. Arturia caught the morsel and watched, happily, as it slid into its seperate slices. "I'm always ready, Rin." she stood and swallowed the olive.

On the street, Justin was finishing his conversation with Thérèse, a sickeningly sweet string of back-and-forth 'I love you's. In the background, Justin could hear Mana gagging and he smiled, and said his last goodbye. He looked at the screen of his latest phone and watched it indicate Thérèse had hung up, then moved to snap it closed. In a remarkble display of synchronicity, the very instant it clicked shut he was hit by an incredible force, the shock front of a terrible explosion. His phone was instantly destroyed, firma-concrete melting from the shock heating. It had come and gone in microseconds, as Rin's deli and the surrounding few buildings errupted into the night sky in a pillar of superheated plasma. The flash of light was so bright that those few on the streeth and in their cars had their optic nerves burnt out. For a few insignificant moments those people had been blind, before they and their vehicles were crushed by the shockwave and tossed through the air.

Debris in the form of shattered steel and a pattering rain of tranparent carbon polymers rained across whole city blocks. Recovering, Justin watched in awe as a family sedan devoid of windows and deformed from its normal sleek shape hurtled towards him. From his accellerated point of perspective, fed by cycling prana triggered by a supernatural defense mechanism, it appeared to rolling in slow motion, ascribing a gentle ballistic arc. A gentle ballistic arc aimed through completely random chance, at Justin. The boy, skidding backwards with his Reinforced loafers cutting into the road, drew back his fist and kicked against the ground. The already battered car bent and tore like paper, bouncing in two parts against the road.

A sudden flash of the two girls in his mind's eye made Justin start towards the white-hot epicentre. A second flash of inuition had Justin turning, raising his arm, and catching a blow on it. In an instant he saw a young woman, snow-pale, snow-haired and red-eyed. Her polearm hit him in an almost invisibly quick blur and Justin Sturgeon hurtled down the road, fifty metres in a tenth of a second. He pushed with one foot, cratered concrete and halted himself, sending himself towards her. They crashed together, fist meeting halberd-blade and the pale woman swept her weapon away. Justin stumbled past, managed to turn and catch the silvery blur. The impact smashed out a smooth crater a half metre deep, then the white-haired woman jerked Justin out of the ground and swung hard. He tried to Trace the weapon into gas, but founf the relic-blade surprisingly resistant. The boy went tumbling.

He hit a building too fast and burst through its side. Reaching out with one hand, he managed to to touch and Reinforce the ceilling before he went smashing through it with the speed of a bullet. He pushed away and followed his path of destruction, collecting up a wash of gold light as he stole seven kilos of matter and Traced it into five-foot longsword. There was the woman, halberd behind her back, its moon-like curves glowing in the orange fire-light. The ground quaked as they hit and their blades flashed together. She moved like a dervish, swinging her enormous polearm in arcs and counter-arcs that lasted only tens of milliseconds. As Justin matched her move for move, the air pressure in the street grew so great that the buildings around them began to deform. Half a kilometre, a hundred blows, one second. Thumping walls of sound picked up cars from the street and tore the flesh from bones. Mangled half-liquidised remains were sucked into the vacuum left by the two warriors.

The woman's halberd aliced towards Justin in a attempt to cut him in half at the midsection. He put his hand upon the broad blade and vaulted across, swinging his foot at her face fast enough that even she percieved it as a blur. She barely managed to move her head clear, when the the sharp edge of Justin's longsword laid open her face down to the teeth. Blood spurted, slow as molasses through the air. He grinned, matching the Devil in his smile.

Before his feet had even begun to move towards the road, an invisible force touched him and crushed him into the ground. Eighty square metres sunk down with him, and amidst the billowing dust and chunks of black firma-concrete, he could see another pale woman, hair long to the other's short. Retina-searingly bright lights swirled about her, her hand out stretched. Then she was obscured by curtains of hot plasma, bursting about her in an almost nuclear firestorm. Nearby buildings, or the remaining storeys, melted and Justin was hit by a wash of liquid, glowing concrete. There was a white blur rushing forward; seventeen stories of appartment building skidded out of place to block the way. It popped like a boil, raining even more havoc.

Justin stood almost knee deep in orange concrete, when Rin floated down. She alighted on the surface, sending ripples out from her toes. She reached out electromagnetically and set the stuff solid. Justin had to tear himself free. "Who the fuck was that?" he panted, "And where have you been?".

"I was waiting for the sorceress to show herself; she was well-stealthed." Tōsaka explained, though Justin grumbled, "As for who they were, they were impressive examples of the constructs known as homonculli. Artificial magic circuits given human shape. Given their highly advanced make-up, I'd say they were servants of the Einzbern family."

"That means precisely shit to me, Tōsaka." Justin snapped, smashing concrete from his legs. He softened somewhat, then asked: "By the way, where's Arturia?"

"Spain. Speaking of, I really need to get moving. Those two are long gone, so you should be fine if you dig yourself a hole." she paused "You did well, Sturgeon-kun. I'm proud of you."

Fate-Another Score

Chapter 14

Rin Tōsaka stood, arms crossed tightly, amongst the devastation that her Servant had caused. Arturia had riven great rents into the skin of the earth, deformed part of the coast, but Rin knew the truth, could feel it. Arturia had been beaten back by her enemy. The cracks in the crust, the earth-shaking rearrangement of a northen coastline? They had been made when Arturia had been driven backwards by every blow, when she had desperately tried to escape her opponent. She felt her lip curl, and Tōsaka's normally pretty face was twisted with anger. It was almost a reflection of that uncompromising moster holed up inside Rin's body. The magician part of her. Arms still grasping across her body, Tōsaka began to lightly move off into a heavily forested area. Her Servant had hidden herself, and well at that, but Rin knew that she could be found.

By the right person, at least.

In a way, Rin recognised the forest. Not from having been there, for Rin had only been to the south of Spain, but rather because it held a sort of pleasant stillness. It was a stillness that Tōsaka had felt when exploring a dreamscape that had belonged to Arturia. This forest had taken on some aspect of Arturia's own pattern, becoming a temporary haven. Rin had an incredible range of theoretical knowledge about Epic Spirits; she understood that they were such a powerful elemental force that reality itself was often subject to warping in their presence. Not to any particular end, simply conforming to them. In her fear, Arturia has instinctively reached out and changed this place; perhaps that had been vitally important for her survival.

With tiny, smooth pebbles crunching beneath her heeled boots, Rin approached the edge of a lake. Was it an illusion? Some sort of seperated, closed space? Rin surprised herself by not actually knowing, and that actively scared her, even more than the knowledge that Arturia had been in great danger. After all, if the Knight King was capable of this, matching even the great True Magics, then how powerful would her foe have to have been? Tōsaka's heart stopped, and she almost moved to cross herself. "Arturia." she whispered, and heard no reply. She waited, and did not call out again. After a few moments, ripples formed on the surface of the lake. The waters parted, and Arturia rose up, dry and swathed in a protective field of air. She alighted on the dark water, waves flickering from her feet. Rin softened almost immediately as she saw the extent of Arturia's physical damage.

The right side of her face had been collapsed, her eye crushed and the socket closed off. One arm was snapped out of shape, bent at an angle that was all wrong. Blood caked her hair and stained her dress, while tiny wisps of blue light curled off her wounds. Rin shuddered at the knowledge that if she still sported injuries, then her original damage must have been truly heinous. The magician took a step back to let the knight step on to dry land. Rin tried to tell herself that the torn flesh and shattered bone was nothing, just superficial damage; she tried to tell herself that Arturia wasn't really hurt, and that she would recover easily. And though this was true, for Servants were astral constructs and difficult to cause any real hurt, they were also made incredibly human. The wetness in Arturia's one eye, the way she was biting at her nails; it highlighted for Rin a vulnerability that she had never seen in her stalwart knight. She immediately latched herself on to Arturia's body, immediately caught Arturia's lips with her own. Heat rose in her body, the summoned flow of prana in her Magic Curcuits, but also the unbidden rush of blood to her extremities.

A popping sound marked Arturia's skull inflating to its normal shape, and flesh knitted back. Her arm twisted wetly back into place, and blood in her dress and hair slurped back into her body. Whole again, her long hair streaming down her back, Arturia wrapped her arms around Rin's body. Finger's combed through silky black hair. Even when her Master broke off their extended kiss, Arturia did not release her; she felt that Tōsaka didn't want her to. And really, neither did Arturia. "He was powerful, huh?" Rin said, voice half muffled, for she had buried her face in the crook of Arturia's neck.

"There is no doubt, Master." Arturia said softly, nuzzling against Rin's scalp, "He is the greatest of heroes. Skin of adamant, wrapped in the hide of the great lion ... indestructible Heracles."

"So it really is Einzbern. I had hoped they had finally died out." Tōsaka stepped away, wringing her hands together. "Kuso! I left Sturgeon-kun on his own when someone as dangerous as Ilyasviel von Einzbern in in the city? Anata baka chibi ike ike! The homonculi were targetting him! Kuso, kuso, kuso!" Rin grabbed a hold of her hair and was on the verge of yanking out the handful she had. Arturia wrapped her cool fingers around Rin's wrist and eased her fingers away.

"Let's not tarry."

*

Photographer Jaeger Hennings had been hanging up his developed photos. Unlike most of his peers, Hennings was into chemical developing, as he found that he related better to a photo taken with his positively ancient film camera. He had been pegging pictures of his newest interest, Justin Sturgeon, when the news report flashed onto his big screen. His brother, a successful fashion photographer, had bought that for him, and Hennings loved it, if only because he was able to keep an eye on multiple news channels from across the room of his somewhat dingy flat. Living expenses were high in New Geneva, so his home was small.

When he sighted the picture of the mile-wide crater on the coast, Hennings dropped his photo of two blurry figures standing over the Sturgeon graves, and focussed on just that one channel. Sound flooded the room, and as the announcer gave his grim assessment, about multiple fusion devices and escalating terrorist tactics, Hennings sat on the edge of his one armchair. He bit down on his thumb. Hennings was a cynical man by nature, so he could not attribute such explosive attacks to terrorists as the government had. One could not call nuclear weapons proliferate, even though the primary anti-shipping weapons of space-borne warcraft were mighty hydrogen flare warheads. No, treaties and promises had been made, as Hennings knew, and so nuclear weapons in terrestial arsenals were rare. Considering the scope and scale, the only way that terrorists could have managed was if they, often ideologically opposed to each other on the most basic of matters, had joined together.

The was the government's stance. The President made his statements short, and took no questions. Hennings bit down on his thumb harder, opening up new windows for new channels. He'd have to get in contact with the boy, Maurice Boswell, again. Incredibly, his sources seemed better than Hennings', and Hennings wanted a better perspective on things. There was no doubt that the government was lying, and there was much more to it than simple terrorist bombings. Jaeger Hennings slumped back into his chair, sinking his head into the soft foam. His last channel change brought up a news program covering a landed plane. The volume went up: "...arking the arrival of Doctor Freeman Jones, head of the philantrophic Vanguard Foundation." On the screen, a man with dark grey hair and a well trimmed, though heavy beard was descending down to the tarmac of a distant airport. His every step was measured and precise, showing effortless control. He was shadowed by a pair of men, one darkly dressed and the other in paler clothes, though Jaeger Hennings payed them no heed. They were just bodyguards.

*

Using a blade he had Traced out of the ground, Justin Sturgeon shaved in the park. He had a mirror set up before him and a brass bowl of hot water at his side. A little girl with ribbons in her hair was watching a few feet away with her mouth halfway open. The morning ritual was something he'd taken to heart; while he could have easily swept the hair on his chin and neck away with his limited sorcery, he preferred to carve it free with a length of warm steel. It was calming, which was interesting considering that shaving involved placing sharp (and in Justin's case, Reinforced) blades near throats. He finished, gave the girl a show of turning his portable bathroom into an enormous cloud of butterflies and turned to don his blazer. The girl squealled and wheeled through the fluttering swarm.

The uniform was new as well, Traced since Justin had not returned home the previous night. After Rin had left for Spain, he had run from the site of his most recent battle and found a payphone to let Uncle Berenger know that he was Vandyke's. That was a lie - he had spent the night curled up a good hundred and twenty metres under the sea - and while it hurt to say, it had been for the big man's protection. While Tōsaka had seemingly sent them running, he had been afraid that the albino chick with the halberd would find him again. Cute though she was, insanely dangerous didn't really cover what she could do.

Walking back through the city, Justin bought himself a new phone, planning to collect one of his duplicate SIM cards from his locker at school. That done and with some time to go until the beginning of school, he dropped into a café for some breakfast. As he waited for his poached eggs, bacon and coffee with almost absurd amounts of cream in it, he thought about Thérèse. He knew that she and Mana would have only rendered themselves somewhat tipsy as opposed to staggeringly drunk; he knew from prior experience that the two girls shared such an incredible resistance to alchohol that getting them smashed cost far too much money to be worth it. As he sawed through one of his eggs, he wondered if they had slept in the same bed, then grinned as he imagined them snuggling under the covers.

"Entertaining lesbian fantasies about your little girlfriend?" asked a female voice brimming with jeering sarcasm. That had been exactly the thoughts he had been entertaining; milky white Thérèse coiled with coffee brown Mana was a popular set of mental images. An inner voice screamed magician without him even needing to think. It threw up a name too: Einzbern. She stepped forward and sat in the iron seat just opposite Justin. A waiter came and placed down a cup of tea. She smiled at him, and Justin spent a few moments sizing this woman up.

She looked young; if Justin had to guess an age he probably wouldn't have pegged her above twenty. But in her red eyes, her smiling red eyes, he saw that she was much older than that. Her skin was as snow-white as the homonculi he had encountered the night before, as was her hair. But her complexion was more perfect, clearer, cleaner, and her lips were red red red; full, wet and bloody. She was clad in purple, from her scarf to her dress. Justin couldn't help but think she was positively gorgeous; he did not respond nearly as carnally as he had when he had first met Medusa, but she carried a positively bewitching beauty. A strange beauty.

"My name is Ilyasviel von Einzbern, bruederlein." she said, before sipping at her tea. Justin speared some of his bacon and coated it in orange yoke. He chewed slowly, trying to scrape up what German he had learnt over the years and was pretty sure this Einzbern had called him brother, or little brother or something like that. "It's baby brother, actually."

Justin placed down his fork and slipped his hands together. "I can only assume that you have some offer to make me. If you wished to kill me, I have no doubt you'd have already done it."

Ilyasviel pouted, her cup tinkling musically as she placed it back into its saucer. "That's right, I could have just killed you, but I didn't. Showing a little respect would be advisable." She paused and smiled broadly "As if I could kill you though, bruederlein! Just because you're a fellow Master doesn't mean I have to treat you like I would others."

"Why are you calling me that?"

"Wie bitte?"

"Bruederlein. Baby brother."

Ilyasviel laughed, a pretty sound like charming bells. "Why, because you and I share blood! Though to be honest," she lowered her voice and leaned forward, and Justin moved over his plate despite himself. "I'm not really your sister. If anything, I'd be your half-aunt. Papa was your grandfather."

Justin leant into the hard back of his chair and blinked long and hard. Ilasviel sipped her tea and smiled softly. She splaced down her cup said, just as softly as she had smiled: "He did not father me in the 'traditional' way. I am a thaumaturgical construct. Julius Sturgeon, when he was still associated with my family, donated genetic material and I was formed from it via the processes of sorcery. You might think it's tangential, but we are related, though our births were almost a hundred years apart." she waited a measured moment so that she could watch Justin's abject confusion colour his face. She winked. "I've been watching you for some time, actually. Curious to see what papa had created."

Eyebrows rippling, Justin remembered, quite suddenly, a feeling of being watched after he had left the bathroom one morning. Ilyasviel grinned, and that was confirmation enough. He strung her motives together as best he could: "So you've been keeping an eye on me because of some sort of shared heritage. I guess then the two chicks last night were to-" he sighed heavily enough to sink the Titanic "-test me. Am I right?"

"Close enough. I feel quite strongly about you and I want to offer you the chance to sit at my hand. I would be far more effective a teacher than that little Japanese girl." Ilyasviel's hands flowered open, showing her palms. Justin looked at her hands, then shifted to her face. "I only want to help you."

Justin rubbed the bridge of his nose. "No."

"No?"

"No."

Ilyasviel did not twitch with anger. She did not frown. Justin had been around enough magicians to know they were very rarely surprised, especially by mundanes. Or Justin. It was somewhat unnerving having a conversation with a person who knew exactly what you were going to say and do ahead of time; not for the first time, Justin wished he had mastered the Holtzman effect, twisting the strands of fate so he did not appear in them. "But you can't even produce pattern-disrupting curses on command, let alone the Holtzman effect." Ilyasviel mused, examining her smoothly curved, unpainted nails. "That girl - Tōsaka - doesn't have nearly my level of resources or my experience. I could make you as Julius Sturgeon intended!" she waved her hand and Justin picked up his knife, stabbing it towards his eye. He had Reinforced it, sharpened it, and he would have driven it through his eyesocket and into his brain, had Ilyasviel not seemingly caught his wrist. "You're like a puppet waiting for a magician to come along and shove her hand up your arse to make you squawk."

The magus let go, and Justin lowered the knife. No one around him had noticed his suicide attempt, not even the waiter who had just passed by. Ilyasviel had touched all their minds, the minds of anyone within earshot and eyesight of them both. "You could just take me if you wanted." Justin said as levelly as he could manage "You don't need to ask. You could just say 'come along' and I'd follow you like a lost little puppy."

"I'm not going to treat you like some mundane fleshbag."

"That's sweet, fräulein." Justin noted, half rolling his eyes. "Forgive me if I don't think your sentiments pure."

Ilyasviel curled her fingers across the nape of Justin's neck and reeled herself in. Her lips were awfully glossy and awfully close. "Perhaps they aren't." the sorceress said softly, though Justin could hear carefully measured heat under her breath. "Möchten Sie mal probieren? I have a lot to offer you." Justin yawned, and turned back to his mostly eaten breakfast. Picking up a bacon rind, Justin chewed on it absently, pulping it between his teeth. As he swallowed, Einzbern reached up and turned his face towards hers and their eyes met. Justin blinked a few times, but he could have sworn he saw something floating in the darkness of her pupils. Something like a light. An endless light. The perfect light.

He shook and tried to push her away, but his blow was weak; pale sparks leapt at her feet and stopped Ilyasviel from tumbling backwards. Justin stood suddenly and his chair went spiralling away on one leg. He was bent over, hand cupped around his nose and mouth. Blood was pouring from his nostrils and, though he didn't know it, pooling in his brain. He staggered sideways and glanced over at the mage with her shocking white hair; her scarlet lips were parted in a bemused smile. He took one step towards her and the promise of light she had put into his head, then tore himself away. It was like pulling himself from the grasp of giant, one who wasn't really willing to let go. Ilyasviel stood and watched him go, reaching out for her undrunk tea. She finished it, then walked away.

For Justin, his vision was becoming increasingly blurry. He swooned as if drunk, and he thought to himself, rather absurdly, that he needed to fix up his reception. People swung out of fucus and out of his way, and it was only on pure instinct that Justin was able to break off into a cool side alley. He counted almost a thousand steps, though he only managed twenty, then collapsed. He lay on his side, back against the wall. His eyes were unseeing, and blood ran from him like treacle.

*

Virginie sat naked on Uncle Nortier's cold examination block. He backside had gone numb from sitting still for so long, and she shifted uncomfortably. Over by the writing desk, Uncle Nortier was fussing with Nathan, who kept glancing over with a frown on his face. She smiled and though it was weak, Nathan seemed to respond well. Granted, he still seemed upset, even if he didn't look it. all at once, Uncle Nortier turned on his heel and strode forward, book open in one hand, a meandering in slow circles. He stood over Virginie and adjusted his monocle. He let go of the book to poke and prod behind her ears and inside her mouth; with his fingers pushing around her tongue, Virginie watched the floating book, and the pen writing in it. She smiled despite herself, as she effortlessly took over. Nathan took a double take, both at the book and at Virginie. He walked away, fingers clamped firmly around his scalp.

The Chief Justice reared up and grabbed the pen, halting its scritching. He raised his eyebrows and Virginie frowned. Her face shadowed, she apologised and Nortier Holland reached down and heavily patted her head "You were just playing, and look!" he grabbed the book and held it in front of her face. The words that Virginie had written, large and clumsy, the work of a child, seemingly lifted from the page. "Easily fixed - no harm done. Now, may I continue?"

She nodded absentmindedly, sending her supernaturally coloured hair bouncing. She was becoming increasingly fond of it, but as Uncle Nortier peered into her eyes, she decided she was especially proud of them. Looking in the mirror she had decided that the new eye colour was absolutely beautiful. She saw her Uncle make some contact with the compact generator connected to the slab. She felt electromagnetic ruminations and Virginie floated upwards, swinging her feet. The Chief Justice's hands shifted her breasts, parted her legs and buttocks, then left her be. Smiling, he wrapped his arms around her and lifted her away from the superconductor slab; automatically she encricled his neck. "Is there anything wrong with me?"

"No, nothing at all." Holland replied, pulling out his monocle. "You're perfect. But you must be all worn out. You've been very busy recently. I have some things to ask your Servant, if you don't mind."

"No, I don't."

"Then I'll leave you with Medusa to relax for a while." he dragged over her gown and set her down on the grass. She padded away, glanced backwards with her almost crystal-bright eyes, before linking hands with Medusa. Holland watched the two purple girls leave, pulling off his gloves, before turning to his son. The boy's handsome features were pinched and his fingers tips were practically sinking into his skull. Nortier reached out and dropped his hand heavily upon Nathan's shoulder. The younger magician lowered his own and shook himself free of the contact, whirling around and pointing out the door.

"How the hell can she do that!? How can she possibly use telekinesis with any sort of control?" he jabbed his finger more incessantly, and Nortier could see vibrations running through his son's arm. "I can't see her in the future at all. She's not hiding in a shadowpoint, she's just not fucking there!"

"Calm yourself. It is unbecoming of a thaumaturge to loose his self-control." the Chief Justice's words came with all the harshness of an arctic waste; it was the voice with which he brought down judgement on the guilty. Nathan lowered his hand and loosened his muscles. "I understand; you have learnt that understanding is paramount to success with sorcery. While it is possible to perform some basic thaumaturgy without proper knowledge, it is weak and ineffective. One would have to be specifically designed to do anything notable with instinctual sorcery. Virginie is designed. Is it not the nature of the Grand Holy Grail to make the impossible possible?" he clapped Nathan heartily on the cheek and grinned broadly. Nathan returned it, though it wavered on his face. "Now, to our new arrival!"

With attention drawn to him, the Servant walked towards them. His red coat billowed as he halted and he locked the two magi with silver eyes. Nathan's eyes narrowed slowly and the Servant gave a mock bow. Nortier Holland coughed. "Your name, spirit? I do not know you; you appear to be from a relatively later time than this."

"Something like that." the Servant replied with a dismissive shrug. Nathan perked up one ear, listening carefully to the somewhat gravelly voice. "As for my identity, I am-"

"You're fucking Justin Sturgeon!" Nathan burst out, taking a step back. Nortier Holland swung his head around and took a good look at his son, before taking another look at the Servant. After studying him the Servant rubbing his nose, his face suddenly mirrored that of Nathan's. The same wide-eyed, almost slack-jawed look of complete bafflement. He recovered quickly and tried to shake it off; the little niggling feeling was still there. While not readily recognisable, with hindsight there were similarities that immediately seemed obvious. The part of his hair and the shape of his eyes, the somewhat crushed nose. Nortier laughed and walked towards his desk. He needed a drink.

Nathan didn't find it vaguely amusing. The Servant in front of him, the Epic Spirit engraved upon future history and pulled from outside of time, was someone he knew. More than that, it was Sturgeon. Sturgeon. Justin motherfucking Sturgeon. It was one thing after another and he suddenly wanted a drink himself. Something strong, like pure alchohol. As he sighed, a self-satisfied smirk grew across this Sturgeon's face. "I haven't heard that name in a long time. It's a dim memory, like you."

"How did you manage to become an Epic Spirit?" Nathan snapped, stepping up onto the superconductor block to rise above the Servant's considerable height.

"Same way Medusa did. Contract with the world. I never really got the mechanics."

Nathan sniffed; he understood the mechanics, and he had a feeling that this version of Justin Sturgeon did too. Servants always knew more than they should have done. Nathan also knew why Medusa had formed that contract, and he wanted to know what had caused Justin in the future to do it. Of course, not being Justin's Master, Nathan could not get the truth out of him. He considered fetching Virginie and getting her to ask - a Servant could not refuse their Master, one way or the other - but he didn't think that was a particularly prudent. Best her Servant's identity remain secret. He leaned forward and looked the smirking, adult Justin in the eyes. Would that even be possible? After all, while he certainly looked different, there were still elements of Justin Sturgeon there.

"I don't think it matters how I became an Epic Spirit, or that I'm Justin Sturgeon." he said, holding out his hands and displaying the empty palms. "Unless she asks, I won't tell."

Nortier laughed again at some private joke. "Then what will we call you?"

"We could always just name him Archer." in response Nortier cocked an eyebrow. Nathan explained: "He had a bow and looked as though he knew how to use it."

"How remarkably anachronistic." the Chief Justice mused, sipping at his drink. Thinking about for slightly longer, the corners of his mouth drooped downwards. Why exactly would a Servant whose origin was in the future have a bow? He asked the Archer to bring out his Noble Phantasm and the Servant smiled broadly, as though the request was some old, hidden joke. Some kind of black light resolved itself into that recgonisable shape. Nortier took a last draught, emptying his glass. His lips formed words, quietly, more to himself than the other two: "'Ninth came Teucer, stretching his curved bow. He stood beneath the shield of Ajax, son of Telamon.'" he bit down upon the pad of his thumb, then let a smile matching Sturgeon's - Archer's - spread across his face. "That's very impressive. My son has done me a true service."

*

Justin Sturgeon awoke to the sounds of cracking bone, and when he opened his eyes, he saw a man falling in horrifically slow motion. His left leg was twisted out of shape and blood stained torn clothes. Justin sat up and rubbed his throbbing forehead. He looked over at the man who he had attacked while unconscious, who shouted out more in outrage than actual pain: "You broke my leg!"

"I just had a freaking brain haemorrage." Justin replied, massaging one temple.

"What!?"

"Yeah, I know." he paused and looked up at the sky. It was rather dark. "Hey what time is it?"

The man, his eyes slowly sliding out of focus, shook his head "I dunno ... about half past eleven?"

"Shit. Uh, sorry about that." Justin said, gesturing to the deformed limb. He draged himself over and Traced the leg back together. This ellicted a scream of surprise, but when the gold flash dissappeared, the torn flesh had knitted itself back together and the bone was whole again. He blinked.

"Who the hell are you?"

"Jesus." Justin replied, standing up and brushing his hands against the seat of his trousers. He stood still for a moment and dissappeared from the man's sight. There was a bass drum thump from the inrushing air, but already he was passing it off as delusion and already was his subconscious mind producing viable excuses to replace the kid in the school uniform. Justin, eighteen stories up, watched as the man got to his feet and wobbled his way towards the street. The boy smiled, then frowned, remembering the time. With a series of expletives running thorugh his head in two languages, Justin bounded off in the direction of Obsidian. It took a handful of seconds to get to school and drop inside the grounds. He was still shaking concrete dust off his feet when familiar faces rounded a corner. Bright red rose in Thérèse's cheeks so fast that Justin took a full step back and missed Boswell looking curiously at his friend's shoes.

"Where have you been?" she asked, taking a measured step forward. Boswell nd Vandyke took steps back, though theirs were considerably larger. Justin rubbed the back of his head and put on his biggest, most charming smile.

"Well, I was just finalising some things. Remember how I said I'd take you out to dinner on Saturday night?" she nodded, her face brightening. "Well I thought that I'd go a little bit further, get some tickets to a nice show, buy out the presidential suite; you know, just flaunt the fact that I'm a rich bastard." he trailed off for a moment. "You know. In Vienna."

For the next two and a half seconds one could see gears working behind Thérèse's face, her thoughts churning. Then she leapt upon Justin, arms tight around his neck, laughing. "How did you ever get tickets?" she exclaimed, her disbelief submerged well beneath her happiness. "They've been sold out for months, and papa couldn't possibly get any himself. Oh this is far too much Justin!" she smothering him with moist, lip-glossy kisses. "You didn't have to buy tickets to Wagner's Ring! Je t'aime!"

Justin nestled his nose in her hair.

*

Slipped half a heatbeat out of normal time in a chamber that may or may not have existed, a sect of the most powerful men and woman in the world met. Each sat in a high-backed, jet chair, each along the side of a long table that resembled nothing less than an upended black pyramid. Six to a side, with a thirteenth at the head. The highest, and in some cases most powerful, from within the Assembly of the Eighth Sacrament. From the head of the well balanced table, a man with a face crinkled like paper and weathered by the long passage of time set his one eye upon his subordinates. Though bordering upon ancient, he was still a giant, and in his eye there could still be witnessed a determined flame. It was an eye which promised that Jethro Gantin, seventh Cardinal-Bishop and most senior prelate of the Catholic Church, would stay strong until his inevitable death.

As a sanctioned magician, an Executor in his younger years, he could feel the flow of unprotected thoughts among his officers. There was anticipation in some, a kind of disconcerted apprehension in others. He huffed through his heavy moustache and spoke in a voice so deep to rvial the darkest ocean. "The Grand Holy Grail." he said.

"A foul relic." said one in a half sneer. He was a Cardinal himself, though lower ranked than Gantin; Henri Robespierre, in charge of Internal Doctrine. "A reverser of entropy and granter of immortality. It has never been a concern of the Eighth Sacrament, excepting the Near-Heretic." There was a sharp snort from the woman at the opposite corner from the Cardinal. Robespierre narrowed his eyes at her. A few seats down, the Inquisitor Generalis leant forward. He was new to the post, and young considering the importance of the position. Despite his age, Antonio de Sotomayor had shown his skill, which was why Cardinal Gantin had appointed him to the position.

"The Church has not concerned itself regarding the Grand Holy Grail simply because it has always seemed that capturing it always seemed a vague possibility, not a probability." there was uncomfortable shifting at this from some parties. "Examination of the Mont Blanc Incident indicates that it was in fact a convergence phenomenon like that recorded by Father Quintus," the name set teeth on edge, particularly those of the Pontifical Council for Internal Doctrine. "when he summoned an Epic Spirit twenty years ago. Considering the effects caused by this summoning, well beyond the norm for those recorded, it is the indication of a highly powerful magician."

He left too long a pause and Castellan Dermont Rogers, a Paladin looking as though he was carved from a rough piece of granite, added his own observations. "So the Inquisition has determined that there is a high probability that the Grand Holy Grail may actually be found?"

"That is why I have called this council, Castellan." Gantin rumbled. "It is our duty to now interfere."

"That will cause problems." hissed a small man with a tiny pair of glasses clipped to the bridge of his nose. A diplomat, James Yelude. "If we step in with military force then the Association will not be pleased. We have worked for a long time to produce this fragile peace; if we intervene with this 'War' then they will take it as an act of aggression. Barthomeloi will act accordingly.&"

Robespierre curled himself over the table top and stroked his thinck eyebrows with one hand. "I am loathe to have to cater to the so-called 'enlightened'," he said quietly, managing to hide his anger. "I am also loathe to provoke them. The Pope -" he glanced, as did everyone except Gantin and the woman, at the empty fourteenth seat. "- does not need the Eighth Sacrament causing any more problems for him as he continues to enforce our paradigm. Getting the Association on openly hostile terms again would be a political disaster. Open engagement is impossible."

There was a glass-shatter crack, and all turned to face the woman. She was leggy, blonde and had a positively stunning figure. But bending over the table-pyramid, with her wine coloured lips pulled back to show off teeth studded with gems, she seemed almost manic. A beast on a short chain. "If you're worried about political ramifications old man, then send us. Ciel's a little busy, but there's always Judas or, well, me to go deal with your problems." she straightened up, flicked her hair back over her shoulder and smiled charmingly. "After all, the Burial Agency is good at this sort of thing. We're -"

"Narbareck." Gantin said, one eye closed.

"- well known for operating outside of the bounds of the Church." the woman called Narbareck continued, sounding for all the world as though it wouldn't have mattered if Gantin had undressed and giggled like a dolphin. "More than that, we're the-"

"Narbareck!" Gantin repeated, and those closest him winced in pain. "We will not be authorising the Burial Agency at this time." she sat down, but was still visibly perky from the last three words. "We have chosen a different path, one which the Association cannot legitimately condemn. Not even Lorelei will act upon it." as the prelate had spoken, Robespierre's face had tightened, ever so slowly into a snarl. It had already started close there when Narbareck had spoken up, but now it was etched into his face. "We intend to allow Executor Father Quintus Leo to partake in the War for the Grand Holy Grail. His intention two decades in summoning a Servant and making the contract was to ultimately protect the interests of the Church paradigm, and by extension, the world. He was branded a heretic," he did not have to glance at Robespierre, and the other Cardinal did not dare speak. "yet it seems that his precautions have brought forth fruit."

Having a Servant, indeed, simply having the seals of command, was a legitimate enough reason to take up arms over the Grand Holy Grail, regardless of affiliation. A Master was allowed to make use of whatever assets were available to them, regardless of the source. "Luther," Gantin said, and the Executor General sat up straighter. "You are to inform Father Quintus of his reinstatement to the rank of Executor, First Class. Also, where is Father Quintus? He has not been in Rome for some time."

"To my knowledge, he should be in Austria." Luther Fremont replied. The Cardinal-Bishop raised his unscarred eyebrow a hair and the man continued. "He's hunting Gransurg Blackmoa, as I understand it."

*

'Hunting' was what Quintus Leo had been doing for the past half decade. The Lord of the Black Wing was cautious even by the standards of the Twenty Seven Ancestors of Dead Apostles. Lesser vampires were not even sure he truly existed any more; they had spilled what truth they had at the feet of Father Quintus before he had shown them the mercy of the Eighth Sacrament. Five years of following nothing more than rumours and lies of others; of tracing even the merest clues. He had gone to those Dead Apostle Ancestors within the Burial Agency and listened to their ravings and their ambiguities. He had travelled to Britain and taken tea with the Wizard Marshal Zelretch. Five long years of piecing together the puzzle pieces that had no point of reference.

Now that he was at the end of it all, Father Quintus Leo felt nothing more than a soft sort of melancholy. Over the years he had a feeling that he struck up a sort of rapport with Blackmoa, even though they had never actually encountered each other. Considered untouchable by the Church, Leo had made this game of cat and mouse his purpose, the only thing in his life that he could do where no one else could. Internal doctrine called for the protection of the innocent, and Quintus Leo would protect the innocent. He stood at the lip of the valley, then stepped forward, cassock billowing around his ankles, his thirty-three skull buttons glinting weakly in the fading sun. He gestured with his left hand, as though calling up reinforcements. He was.

At his behest, a kingly man approached. His thick dark beard was heavily curled, and his eyes flashed with quick wit and intelligence. His robes were threaded with gold and studded with jewels, and he bowed his head in deference to the priest. Quintus stepped to the side, allowing his Servant to stand at the valley mouth. Searching with his greater senses, he could feel the expert manipulation of spacetime - a bounded barrier so subtle that a lesser magician would have missed it entirely. Indeed, even a magician such as King Solomon would not have felt it if he had not been looking; as expected of the ancient magus, Gransurg Blackmoa.

Solomon extended his hand, palm down. On further inspection the Servant discovered that it was almost certainly anti-entropic in nature; designed to help maintain the Black Wing's immortality. Of course, there was no question, simply the confirmation of the fact. Solomon tenuously touched the barrier then thrust his 'fingers' into it. The barrier was shocked, though it was not so shocked that it didn't send a warning to its creator. An automatic response at lightspeed. At once Solomon felt the vampire's will meet his - there was a stuggle measured in times too short for human comprehension. The barrier was open for no more than half a second. Master and Servant moved in.

They were on a staircase, basalt compared to the marble of the churches Quintus had known. They were flanked on either side by thick trees, each one home to dozens of birds. Millions of birds, their beady little eyes following the intruders. At the base of the steps was a cultivated terrace garden, dominated by a manor house. It was an impressive building, some three hundred metres to a side dominated by a tower equally tall.

As they approached, Quintus looked up at the sky and saw the stars shifted blue by the odd flow of time within the valley. It was night here, with the full disc of the moon overhead. What light there was was the blue glow of the barrier itself; the moon and stars nothing more than elaborate lies for the sake of comfort. Halfway down the great staircase, there was a rustling in the trees as all the bords took flight. Quintus sensed murderous intent, then death as his Servant reached out and slew them all. It rained in Blackmoa's valley in that eternal twilight.

There was a barrier surrounding the manor itself. A less subtle one than the primary defense, this one designed to keep intruders out with brute force. They didn't need any special senses to know it was there - the falling bird-corpses bursting into steam and ash, the faint blue sheen from impacting atoms and the whiff of ozone was enough to give it away. Without a word of order, Solomon drew out a blade with a curve like a lion's tail and an ivory hilt. Encrusted with emeralds, Solomon swung the blade, the sharp tip hitting the churning intersection of magical shield and earth. There was an ear twisting shriek as the sphere was split by the Shamshir-e Zomorrodnegar. The field failed and Quintus did not hesitate.

Quintus left two impressions of his boots in the basalt path; two foot-wide craters of shattered rock twenty metres apart. Beasts that looked as much like birds as they did hounds leapt, but made no more than inches before rods of pure coloured light impaled them and tore them asunder. The enormous front doors, a foot of Reinforced heavy metals, were consumed by bright flashes. Quintus pushed through the expanding bow wave of disassociated atoms. Argent flame twisted in his hands as he summoned Black Keys; the first vampire died with four sorcerous blades bursting through its chest. It truly did not know what hit it.

There was a pause, so short that even a muonium particle would have lasted longer, and a dozen vampire-things screeched forward. They were messes, mixtures of bird and man, talons and feathers slicing forward at inhuman speed. With an almost casual, practiced flick of his left wrist, Quintus let his rapier-like blades lance off. Four bird-things were impaled through the throat and killed instantly. A creature whose hands had curved into claws and whose nose and mouth had fused into snapping beak turned the air red around its slashing hand. Quintus took a step back to the other side of the room, in front of a pillar thicker than he. A wave of his hand made a curving arc of silvery, celestial fire that sliced three monsters into ashy ruins. A taloned hand stretched out, faster than its own sound, reaching for Father Leo's heart. Stone pillar shattered, the pieces tearing down the wall behind, and the vampire fell apart into five pieces - right arm and head disconnected from the rest of the body and split in half.

Another gesture and the four Black Keys still sitting in bubbling remains flashed in different direction, bisected the remaining vampires and returned to Father Leo's left hand. He stopped himself in the middle of the room, shards of marble leaping from where he planted his boot. Time since his explosive entry? Less than time it took for a person to blink.

Up the main stairs and through the wooden doors, setting them alight from the friction. There were more vampires here, but like before they were amalgams, mutants - though regardless of their shape, they all shared a characteristic: huge, round eyes. Some glowed red, but there were three whose eyes glowed with the gold of the Dead Apostle. Soaring in, Quintus released his blades and summoned another eight. Telekinesis nudged them forward into screaming streaks, leaving concussive shockwaves and lines of fire. Limbs and heads burst from bodies, and sparks flew from where the Apostles deflected them. Quivering blackness and shivering spears of light tore apart the room. Using his left hand, Quintus' drew geometric shapes in flickering energy so hot that it turned even the hardy vampires to vapour. A Dead Apostle was caught by such a blast but in moments had repaired the damage done.

The melee passed into new rooms and parts of the manor. They were on the ground level again, the floor giving way. A Black Key in each hand, the Executor sheared vampires into finally sleeping corpses. In half a second there was only Quintus and the Dead Apostles, those greater monsters able to survive or deflect the Priest's sorcery and counter it with their own. With the sweep of a wing, the manor's roof errupted into the frozen twilight sky. Hovering above, Solomon the Wise noted that they had passed into another wing, before flicking a bolt of energy aside, knocking it away from him. It errupted into a fireball at the other side of the valley; the overpressure wave snapping trunks and tearing leaves free. His return gesture blasted the vampire caster, and the surrounding half acre of forest, into a blistering column of heat and light.

Drawing on inner strength, Quintus tossed one Black Key through the orbit of one Apostle while landing feet-first on the chest of another. Two Black Keys flashed - one in his hand and the other almost of its own accord - and a Dead Apostle fell into two pieces. The other, his feet still on its chest, looked up at him with outrage plain on its almost human face. It still stared up at him even though it was already dead, immortality severed by the sycthing Black Key. Quintus leapt away and the headless body went from drifting slowly to slamming into the marble floor in a spray of dust. The Dead Apostle moved with liquid speed and backhanded him, knocking the priest through the building and out into the inner courtyard. The tower loomed and he landed feet first as the golden eyed shadow followed him. Bellow it was a veritable sea of red eyes, all clambering upwards.

Left hand across his body, Father Leo dragged out another dozen of his weapons and launched them off. But this Apostle was powerful, fast and cunning; the spray of flying swords tore the doggleganger and much of the building behind it to shreds. Quintus turned to meet the flanking attack only barely in time. Blood sprayed from rips in his cassock. There was a burst of silver light and Quintus danced backwards, still standing on the side of the tower. He and the Dead Apostle crosscrossed the enormous tower as the sea of bird-like vampire-things drew ever closer. A sudden storm of light filled the open air as Solomon struck from the heavens. A lance of energy for each bird-thing, turning them into organic bombs of flesh, steam and bone shards.

Directing his will, the Executor submerged as much of it as he could into the celestial fire; against its defenses he managed an arm and part of its torso. And yet, before his eyes he watched as time seemed to twist and the Dead Apostle was as it was before he had attacked. Time curse, and supported by the nature of this space. Quintus cursed to himself as the Dead Apostle swept upwards, only for it to disappear in a sudden blur of pure colour. He glanced up at Solomon hovering several hundred metres away, before leaping down to the bridge connecting the tower to the rest of the house. Hooking the Black Key over his left thumb, Quintus reached up to examine his wounds. Four deep lacerations that had chipped away bone. He reached down and siphoned off enough matter from the bridge to make repairs. Then he summoned back his thrown Keys and sliced open the door.

He passed through the only portal in a wall as thick as he was tall and approached a brass cage elevator. It slipped open as if of its own accord, and Father Quintus stepped inside.It began to rattle upwards, climbing almost all of its three hundred metre height. Halfway, shadows peeled free of the floor and struck out a thousand times faster than any snake. Effortlessly, Father Leo diced the unusual creature apart, and continued his ride up in silence.

It was not a dark room. There were orbs floating about providing ample light. Even still, there were shadows that seemed positively tangible, hovering in corners and stretching from the bases of statues. The whole top floor was itself a garden, mirroring that surrounding the manor and within the inner courtyard. There was at last a water feature here; a mass of stone birds frozen in the act of flying off in all different directions; each one let loose a stream of water from an open beak. Quintus looked past it and at the figure sitting in what one could not really call a throne. It was more wicker rocking chair. Quintus smiled.

"It's a nice fountain." he said, walking around to stand no more than twenty metres from Gransurg Blackmoa.

"Perhaps it will retain some of the majesty of the birds that you have slain." replied the vampire, and despite being a shifting mass of beak, feathers and shadows, his eyes remained remarkbly human. Coloured, of course, gold. "So you have finally found me, and at last intend to bring me mercy."

"I have." replied Quintus, and the fountain exploded. Water turned instantly to steam and the garden was flattened. Father Quintus went tumbling outside, breaking through the wall of the tower in a shower of chunks bigger than his body. Using a Black Key, he latched onto a piece of basalt and swung himself onto its surface; he was only there for a tiny moment before he had to leap to another chunk, then another. He conjured up another handful of sorcerous blades and let them loose like a shower of falling stars. The black shape blurred and Quintus passed through the almost unmoving, car-sized shard of tower positively exploded into supersonic shrapnel. Father Leo soared like a bird, righted himself in a spray of spark-flares and opened up swipes of silver flame a hundred metres long. The inscribed beautiful cursive patterns, but Grasurg was fast and magically adept; he dodged and counter-casted, so that all that caught him was the tiniest tendril of flame.

He burst it apart, but he was paused for a maluable instant, and blurs of colour obscured him. Blackmoa's tower snapped like a twig and began to topple, slowly as though through a thick, gelatinous mass. There was a glowing slice cut thraight out of the manor proper, and Quintus flashed over to it. Solomon popped out of thin air and the both stood over the smouldering mass that was the Sixteenth Ancestor of Dead Apostles. Even struck by such a terrible force, the vampire was drawing to his feet, and he made to lunge forward, but found he could not. Blackmoa openedan extra eye and saw the glittering rapier skewering his shadow. Quantum uncertainty held him fast. More bright flashes and there were blades in his hands and knees. Quintus bullrushed the Lord of the Black Wing and drove him into the ground.

The blade gleamed in the blue light. A Black Key. Wholly conceptual, named for its incredible ability to unlock immortality; in essence, it could end the perpetuity of existence that was so important to Dead Apostles and other intruiging entities. A highly complex sorcerous phenomenon simply represented in the falling arc of its blade-like shape. The Black Key was the Assembly's proof that there was no such thing as true immortality.

For a moment bordering on seconds, cool blue eyes met with liquid gold, then Father Leo drove the sword through Gransurg Blackmoa's throat. He twisted, and briefly commended the vampire to the comforting oblivion of death. The Black Keys slipped away in twists of smoke and Quintus adjusted his cassock. "We're done here." he said and together Master and Servant made their way towards the edge of the valley. Solomon turned back briefly to call down wrath on the manor, erasing it with colour and thumping heat. Then he opened up a hole through the enduring barrier, and they stepped back out into the normal sunlight again. Quintus saw the man standing no more than five metres away, ignored him, then checked his pocket watch.

"Father Leo." said the man, who had the look of an important Executor. An envoy right from the top. When the erstwhile priest inored him in favour of seeing his watch wasn't more than two minutes behind or damage, he became more insistant. "Executor, First Class, Quintus Leo."

"That's not my rank." Leo replied pointedly, stowing his watch. "It hasn't been for quite some time."

"It is now. You have been called in the name of the Assembly to stand in the War for the Holy Grail. Your fears have been realised, as has the importance of your precautions."

Faded eyes took up a lively spark. He wasn't without direction after all.

Welcome true believers and new comers alike. Assuming you are a new comer, go back to the first page and start from there.

This chapter is important. It marks a change in our not-exactly-titular hero. It's also over the top, but that's how I am - the only reason Elvis isn't a Servant is because he'd win too easily.

Fate-Another Score

Chapter 15

Virginie Holland twitched her gloved fingers and changed the channel. Another depressing news report. She swirled her fingers again; this time a television special. Again. Another news report, this time international, about nasty happenings in Asia. Again. Yet another news program, talking about thousands streaming out of cities in Spain. Again. This time an electrosphere discussion, throwing around theories and commentary about the government's slow investigations. Again. A governmental broadcast, asking for calm. Medusa reached out and expertly manipulated Virginie's fingers. The screen went inert and Virginie glanced over her shoulder at the demigoddess.

"It's not the time to bother with the tribulations of the world." she turned Virginie's head and began kneading the muscles in the girl's shoulders.

"But shouldn't I?" Virginie asked, half groaning. "There are whole populations of people in exodus. In New Geneva especially. Isn't it our fault?"

"It is the fault of magicians, yes, but not you." Medusa wrapped her arms around Virginie and dragged her close. She whispered: "You're a victim too. Now you have the ability to protect yourself, you should concern yourself with that."

Virginie turned her face from Medusa's, turned away from the twitching lips and tightened muscles. "I can't do that. I know what would happen then, and I don't want you to be hurt."

Medusa's arms tightened almost unbearably and Virginie grabbed a hold of forearm. She gritted her teeth together and squeezed her fingers into Medusa's flesh. It was a battle to stop the tears.

*

Hung limp across Rin's couch, Justin Sturgeon watched the evening sky. A glance would lead a person to believe that Justin was dead; he was pale and his chest did not rise and fall. He did not blink or move in any discernible way. Arturia knew better of course - she could hear his heart beating, but his state was curious. She circled a finger around an avocado and skinned it, then sliced it into smaller chunks. The big seed clapped against the cutting board and inscribed a slow hemisphere across it. Collecting her pieces of fruit, she tapped the edge of the board, sending it sliding along the bench, dumping the detritus into a bin in the process. Chewing thoughtfully, Arturia approached Justin and peered down on him. He did look somewhat familiar. He acted somewhat familiar too.

"Where have I met you before, I wonder." the young king asked herself, before popping in another chunk of yellow-green flesh. She looked up at a door and Rin burst through it. The poor door's hinges bent and snapped, though the small magician didn't heed it. She stopped at the other end of the couch, flicked one of her ponytails over her shoulder and planted bother hands on her delicate hips.

"He's still being lazy." Tōsaka sighed, and at that, Justin slowly reeled himself up at the waist, looking up at Rin with tired eyes.

"Give me a break. I feel like shit."

"You look it too. You're even going salt and pepper."

Justin groaned and rubbed his upper arm. "I'm pretty sure I had a brain hemorrhage this morning, and it's just started a whole heap of other crap. I feel exhausted and I ache." he paused and tried to give a pointed look - difficult when one could barely keep their eyes any more open than 'hooded'. "I haven't been tired in weeks, and I almost forgot what 'ache' was until just recently." In response, Rin but a bare foot on Justin's chest, pushed him onto his back and jumped slightly. Standing tall on his chest, Rin tutted.

"I do believe I warned you something like this would happen. You're killing yourself." Justin rolled his eyes. "Yes, I do actually have a solution to your problem." with the flourish of a stage performer, Tōsaka produced a spherical diamond as wide as a ten cent euro coin. "My family, for a long time, has more or less perfected the art of transfer of energy, resulting in a horrifically high, though obviously not perfect efficiency. As a matter of course, I spend lots of time charging precious gems - like this one - with excess prana." she dropped down to her knees and held the diamond in front of his eyes. "I am loathe to give some to you as they're excellent weapons, but I need a quick fix. Granted, there are side effects, but I think we can ignore those."

"I don't like the sound of 'side effects', Tōsaka."

"It's either that or you die."

"You make a very convincing argument." Justin conceded, propping his weight up on his elbows. "So what do I do? Crush it between my teeth?"

"It's not a normal diamond, so no. Assuming you did manage to crack it open - you can't, by the way - the release of energy would atomise your head, and ..." she looked up to the ceiling, going through a series of rough calculations. "Two blocks or so. Give or take. You just hold it in your mouth and it will seep into your Magic Circuits." without waiting for another word, Rin forced open Justin's mouth and slipped the gem inside. He felt a strange little tingling, like something bristled rolling around. Rin dismounted and left Justin in a sort of stunned silence. "Good, isn't it?" he nodded. "Now, you wanted me to do you a favour?"

Justin nodded again and started to speak around the expensive marble in his mouth. "I need a presidential suite at a good hotel in Vienna and two good tickets - not box - for Der Ring des Nibelungen showing tomorrow evening and over the next few days."

"I can do that. But," she paused, as though consulting some far off piece of information. "Won't that end up conflicting with your meeting with Nathan? Vienna isn't exactly close by, and the show starts at half past eight."

"I don't intend to be with him long." Justin replied, rubbing his head. "Uhh, Rin," her lips twitched. "I really have to thank you. You're doing a lot for me, and I feel a lot better already."

"So that's why you're so loyal to me?" Justin tugged on his nose, colour flushing his cheeks. "That's so ... comforting. Maybe I can make you feel even better, by telling you that you popped a vein in your brain because you overloaded yourself trying to prevent Einzbern subverting you. You managed an important sorcerous ability, and a vital one at that."

Justin opened his mouth to gloat, but Arturia reached around and shut it for him. "Remember: you learnt it by accident. Not skill."

*

Virginie was sitting on Zeus' nose, watching Nathan whistling as he went about his business. 'Zeus' in this case was the head of a statue that Uncle Nortier had stolen in his youth. The enormous head - it was at least five times as tall as Virginie was - was the eye-catching centre of Nathan's study. All of her cousin's books and furniture encircled a wide, knee-deep pool where Zeus resided. Considering the room, Virginie mused on whether absurd architecture was just a trait of magicians, their egomania shining through. Granted, she wanted a strange room too. Maybe she could have a room that was upside down.

Archer was was half stretched out on Nathan's extravagant couch, Medusa sitting at the other end, a full four metres from his feet. Her Servant seemed almost asleep, with his eyes closed. If he hadn't been tapping out some rhythm on the arm of the couch, Virginie would have said that Archer really was asleep. She was running the tip of one finger over her lips when her seat shifted suddenly. She cried out and grabbed hold of the edge of Zeus' cavernous nostril. She saw Nathan, palm up and she scowled at him. He laughed, rubbed his nose and the head began to roll, a metre from the floor. With a sharp gesture, Virginie shoved the stone head back down, sending water rippling in foot tall waves. "What was that for?" Virginie snapped, brushing her hair roughly back into place.

"Still can't see the future, can you?" Nathan shook his head and wandered to the edge of the water, before leaping up to join her. His balance was impeccable. He waved his hand and ice rose from the water, forming a staircase. Nathan swept his hands in front of him, indicating that she should walk on down. "I'm going out for a while tonight. You'll be fine here with Archer?"

Virginie half slipped, but steadied herself, nodding "I think I'll find something to occupy my time with."

"You could probably do some theoretical learning." he put his hand on Virginie's head for a moment and called up Medusa. They left together. Virginie watched the double doors click together metallically, then rocked back and forth on her heels.

"Archer!" she half-shouted, and after a significant pause, the Servant got to his feet, adjusted his coat, and sauntered her way. Tapping one foot, she glared at him. "You know, Archer is a very stupid name."

"I think it's highly appropriate." he yawned. "Now, did you actually want something?"

Elegant eyebrows crashing together like oncoming trains, Virginie turned towards the doors and strode towards them. Lips curling, Archer followed. The twin doors, inscribed with artful, snaking helix-shapes, sprung open and Virginie stepped out into a decidedly ordinary hallway. It seemed rather impossible to have built the Zeus room on this hallway - it was easily twenty metres across, yet just five metres to either side there were more doors. Virginie knew better to question the rather odd dimensions of the house, and instead turned her attention back to Archer. She chose not to face him, however.

"I want to go out." she explained as they made their way through the various richly furnished halls to the floor that had been called 'home' as long as she could remember. "Get out of the house. Nathan and Uncle Nortier won't be home, so I want to do ... something. I want to go to the Moonlit World."

"They won't really be gone that long, you know."

"I don't think I'll need very long." Virginie said quietly, more to herself than her Servant.

Archer smirked, then suddenly grabbed her, one arm around her waist and the other on her shoulder. For a vital second, Virginie froze. The swathes of coat fell about her, and Archer's face was too close. She could feel the hard nub of his nose trace the line of her jaw, slide behind her ear. "What exactly do you need to go out for?" he drawled, cracked lips brushing the cup of her ear. Her words caught in her throat, though she managed a high-pitched squeak. She shivered; half because gentle fingers were flowing across the heavy curve of her breast, and half because there was something standing just out of reach of sight. Something devouring her. Involuntarily she crushed her thighs together and made to throw Archer off; sensing her intent, he relented.

He saw the shadowy intensity also, and he ignored Virginie's flushed cheeks and breathless panting. He strolled past and shrugged. "I'll take you out tonight if you like. I don't fuck around with children."

"I am not a child." Virginie hissed and almost immediately regretted it. It was so petulant that it disgusted her.

*

The great king of wisdom, Solomon, drew strongly upon his five-euro milkshake and held up the intelligent paper file. "There's not much to go on here, Master." Solomon noted, placing down his creamy, delicious beverage. "It's not like Masters are registered or recorded officially, but it's the best I can do." he handed the file across to Father Quintus. The priest scrolled through it, stroking his almost crystalline beard. He watched Solomon cut off a forkful of mudcake and applauded.

"You have still given me an impressive list. The Chief Justice of the European Union and his son? The heiress to Tōsaka Heavy Industries, the son of the now deceased General Matthias Sturgeon? Probably Hollands niece as well ... you may not know their Servant's but you've still managed to get a hold of remarkably juicy information." he tapped the side of his face with Solomon's report. "Combined with the knowledge of the obvious players like Einzbern and Jones ... with any luck my request for an Assembly taskforce will be approved."

"Before you summoned me, did that happen very often? I don't imagine that you were the strongest adherent to the internal doctrine, even back then."

"More often than certain departments would like, even though my requests came only rarely." Father Leo smiled, reliving an old set of memories. "Back then, I was a well known maverick - the best in the business, as Cardinal Gantin had moved from active service by that time. A had a string of successes as long as even the Burial Agency or the Disciples. Back in my prime, everyone had at least some sort of respect for my abilities, especially Narbareck." his smile grew broader, and he chuckled. "But ultimately I always skirted to close to the edge of what was considered appropriate. And this was all almost forty years ago! As I got older, certain higher-ups looked for more and more excuses to declare me a heretic. They got it, but my service record stopped them executing me."

Solomon nodded, sipping on his shake through a straw. "You never expected to get your rank back, did you."

With the shake of his head, Quintus sighed. "I am always worried about what 'may' happen in the future. It was why we went after Gransurg. It was my reason for summoning you." he shrugged, and turned back to faintly glowing sheet in his fingers. "Can you track down the Tōsaka girl?"

"Not really. I tracked the data trail to three locations in New Geneva under her name. They are very likely red herrings." Quintus grunted a strange kind of laugh and Solomon continued. "The Hollands should prove simple enough to track down, however their home is going to be a fortress and we are in no position to fight two or perhaps even three Servants. Sturgeon, on the other hand, is in a uniquely exploitable position."

Quintus arched one incredibly thick eyebrow.

"He's just recently booked a room at the Grand Hotel Wien and will be checking in tomorrow evening; he's also purchased tickets to the Ring Cycle being shown over the next few days. Amusingly, the suite had been reserved for the EU's president, but with everything blowing up in his face, he must have decided that now wasn't really the time to visit the opera for four days."

"Tomorrow night." Leo mused, stroking his beard again. He gave it a sharp tug and grinned.

*

With the moon risen and his train to Vienna leaving in sixteen minutes, Justin Sturgeon entered the grounds of Obsidian Academy. He glanced over at a few cars parked, as well as a very large refrigerator truck. A few teachers or admin staff, doing important left over work, he supposed. Setting his eyes on the fencing hall, he nearly redoubled his pace, but forced himself to be calm. He didn't need to work himself up, not right now. He distracted himself by entertaining notions of why Nathan would choose such a place. He doubted it was the true meeting place, but instead just neutral ground for the two of them. Not really, though. Justin said to himself, stepping up towards the doors. They slid open and Justin stepped through, his hands twitching when he saw the two, black robed figures at either side. Glancing at their masked faces and the blades in heir hands, he knew this place was Nathan's, and always had been.

Speak of the devil and he shall appear; Nathan stepped into what passed as a lobby. He was dressed much as he had been during their last meeting - all in black, broken only by the rather intriguing silver snakes on his cufflinks and belt buckle. Tiny sapphires glinted in their eye sockets, much as Nathan's eye glinted, flashing with a sort of predatory success. "Welcome, Justin." he said with no pomp, no drama. He stepped to the side and held out a hand, showing him the way through to the main hall. Tugging on the lapel of his brown jacket, Justin stepped through.

Twenty seven more hooded figures were waiting, hands cupped over the hilts of sabers. As one, they had turned to face him, not one mask the same. Some were positively monstrous, with sharp angles and maws of iron teeth. Others were almost cute - in the shape of kittens or adorned with feathers. A few were flat, lifeless. Blank white things with gaping black pits for eyes.

With the whispered of crushed fabric, Nathan put his hand down on Justin's shoulder, again holding out his hand. "My friends. You must understand that only the magister or magistrix may know all their names, and those names will pass with me into death before I betray them. Dedicated and loyal all." together they walked towards the centre of the hall, floorboards stained with age creaking underfoot. "None are true sorcerers, lumbered with the ritual weakness of formalcraft. But I do not believe this is a valid reason to dismiss them. Each has proven themselves to be worthy of admiration. Will you?"

Justin linked his hands behind his head. "If you've got a way, I've got a will."

Teeth flashed. "Do you know of Mensur?"

There was a style of fencing that was sometimes called academic. In essence, Mesur fencing was not about winning or loosing. Each bout was intended to build character and personality. The two combatants, known as Paukanten, would stand at arms length, and they would fight. The target for their flashing Schläger? The face. The head. There was to be no dodging. No flinching. One was intended to endure a strike. Apparently, the character of a person could easily be judged by watching him fight with sharp blades; to see how the reacted in dangerous situations. It sounded like macho bullshit to Justin, and that suited him fine. Nathan's smiled broadened, obviously pleased, and he snapped his fingers. Justin's hand snapped out and he caught the weapon, the blade vibrating. He reached up and quietened the humming, and he could feel approval, hear it in the rattling of chainmail.

No masks or goggles or chainmail for magicians, however. They would test their flesh against Reinforced steel without protection. This was the nature of thaumaturgy, after all.

Blades kissed, and they saluted, giving Justin an eyeful of Nathan's beautifully made weapon, the flawlessness of the craftsmanship. Flowing lines from its intricate wire hilt to the patterns on its Damascus-forged blade. Real or imitation? The product of human work? Or a magician flaunting his obscene powers? The sabre whistled out and clashed against Justin's guard with the ringing purity of a silver bell. Shouts and laughs rose among the spectators, and Nathan grinned as well, before again striking. Justin was on the defensive, rushing his sword to meet every hissing move.

You'll die as you lived in the flash of a blade, he hummed to himself, and suddenly realised that he could actually hear that tune. Nathan was playing it with each impact. Lips curling, Justin struck hard enough that the building rattled and cultists stumbled. The blunt edge of Nathan's sword crashed into his face and there were whistles, increasingly more sluggish. Justin pushed forward, grinding Nathan's own sword into his skin, when the magician suddenly pushed himself - but not forwards. There was a horrific screech, showers of sparks and a howling wind. Both swords parted and sliced cleanly through the heavy floorboards. Twin silver blurs met from opposite directions and clattered together; a humming passed through his body and shattered the wood beneath his feet into splinters. It was like someone had shoved an impact drill into his teeth. Around them men and women grasped at their faces and ears, trying to block out maddening intensity and pain thrumming through their bones.

Justin had lost his footing and was falling, even if it felt slow. Nathan didn't up, and he could see chips of steel flickering off his sword. One foot lashed out and caught the edge of solid ground; he wedged himself in the hole and struck back. For the onlookers, it was far too quick, a single note radiating from inhuman blurs. There was a sudden burst of pink steam that was quickly whipped away in the artificial whirlwind. My goddamn nose! Justin howled to himself, as Nathan had just carved it almost clean in two.

It seemed like the perfect time to strike, and so he did. Nathan's blade jabbed forward like a bullet and Justin deflected. But the blades were sinking together, the steel of Justin's sword parting, then grasping. With an appropriate display of brute force, Justin fair yanked the sabre out of Nathan's hands, Traced his own sword free, then proceeded to drive Nathan's own Damascus steel into his chest. A hard left impaled Nathan to the hilt and smashed him through the far wall. Justin landed rather lightly on proper ground, and rolled his shoulders. The cultists were staring at the spot where Nathan had been, left with retinal after and Justin stuck up his thumb. They rushed him in a wave of broiling black and flashing silver, and they all died. Nothing more than a footnote, they came apart in under a second, a shower of blood and loose bodyparts.

“You killed them all.” Nathan said, a ragged hole in his shirt. His wound had been knitted back together and the pain had long since passed, but his head still spun. There were dim memories of futures now slipping away, sucked through the plug hole opened by Justin Sturgeon. His voice rose to a screech. “You fucking killed them!”

“I did.” Justin replied, scratching the edge of one nostril with his smallest finger.

“I brought you here in good faith, my childhood friend, with the intent to make you my ally and equal!” Nathan roared, frost crawling around him in strange patterns. “You betrayed me! You murdered those loyal to me, people who would be loyal to you! For what?! For that stupid Jap bitch?”

“For the Grail.” Justin finally turned his full attention to the mage standing in his own personal blizzard. Ice had covered half the hall by this time. “Surely you have to understand. You're a magician too, after all.”

Blue ice cracked. “What?” Nathan whispered.

“First comes smiles, then lies.” he rested the blade of his sword on his shoulder. Justin's face split into a jagged caricature of a grin, baring bestial teeth. “Last is killing.”

Everything seemed to happen at once. Justin charged as sudden as a lightning flash. Nathan grabbed him in an invisible fist. Justin broke free. The building began to collapse. In a fraction of a second it was nothing more than twirling debris, blown apart in the collapse of atomic states and shivering bullets. Nathan arced through the night air and landed heavily in the shadow of the refrigerator truck. He felt the surrounding geometry, the contours of the truck, the road, the entire school. He felt the pulsing of electricity through underground conduits, the thumping of water through pipes, the panic of some poor fools nearby. Most of all, he felt the future slide down like millions of oiled threads through his fist. So many, all convalescing in his grasp.

Nathan was standing there, then almost instantly, Justin had replaced him, crater beneath him. Behind him, the container had torn and rippled, marking Justin's fall. The boy looked up at Nathan, standing a good fifteen metres away. Justin leapt forward, striking out with all his great speed and strength, leaving visible rings of turbulence in his wake. Nathan, blue light at his feet, was shifted onto the defensive, not fully able to deflect Justin's blows. In a single move he was over Justin's head, just barely swiping off the top layer of dead skin cells from his neck. When he landed, Nathan found Justin's elbow compressing his chest.

Newton took over and they came apart as if a spring was between their bodies, white waves of air pressure engulfing them, stone splinters ablating hotly from the friction. Nathan reached out and split open the road, cracked open the pipes. Beneath their feet, water boiled up in a tidal surge, so fast it boiled into steam. In the same moment, it underwent phase change and came back down. Ice lances shivered from the slow falling ceiling, crisscrossing in the place Justin had been the very instant before. He skittered backwards, ice shards raining down upon him with the ferocity of cannon fire. It took only a moment for him to be almost totally overwhelmed, so he escaped upwards.

With all the power and grace of a rising whale, Justin burst through the carpet of falling water. He twisted his body as frozen missiles inscribed delicate traceries of steam in the night air. With a kind of preternatural agility that would have impressed Newton, Justin half-weaved between and half-smashed aside the swirling mass of ice-bullets. He kicked against air and hit the ground at roughly the same time the water did, again leaping in a cloud of steam and water some five metres high. With incredible suddenness, more and more wickedly sharp outcroppings of ice emerged to impale him, and it was an acrobatic struggle to even make it to Nathan; the fact that the mage was moving himself made it practically impossible to get within range.

Fingers brushed tarmac in the middle of a life-saving flip. Fingers of stone pushed up towards Nathan with startling speed, and the magician spun, flipped, sliced. Tendrils of black firma-concrete wheeled away in slow arcs, leaving cherry red blurs. Nathan watched Justin plant one foot into glowing stone, then they crashed together. Nathan skimmed the water once, righted himself and slashed upwards before Justin was within the thunderous arc. Justin grinned, seeing the opening. Almost immediately he recoiled as something sheer and white flashed before him. Something sharp opened up his chin and he stumbled. It was Nathan's turn to smile, and he plunged his sabre through the water a second time.

It was almost like white light, Justin decided as he pushed away, hurtling backwards. Ice rose behind him and he made use of his godly hands to pull himself through gaps and spaces – the white blade-light sliced through undaunted. It was too close now, and Justin barely managed to move out of its way. The poor refrigerator truck fell in two.

Crouched low, Justin leapt again, then again. Nathan was flicking them out with absurd frequency; though Justin was fast enough to dodge, every time he landed, it seemed that one of the sorcerous water-blades was within inches of hitting him. In the midst of an almost uncontrolled tumble, Justin watched the white fifteen feet tall, solid white distortion follow the sheet of water thrown up in his wake. He landed and swiped one arm horizontally. The pressure he generated caused water to ripple up into a wave over his head. The deadly stream traveled with the contour over his head, and Justin took a marvelous microsecond to praise his own genius. Then he drove himself forward, leaving a hemisphere in the black concrete. He emerged in steam and shifted direction so quickly that Nathan was attacking a retinal afterimage. Justin whirled, striking for the back of his opponent's head with a blow that would rival the discharge of a tank cannon.

Nathan, one corner of his mouth upturned and one canine glinting, finished his back swing, and the blade-light erupted right before Justin's eyes. His piledriver right managed to interpose itself, taking the brunt of the blow. Still, he went skidding backwards on his heels, water pluming behind him. He crashed into some teacher's car, instantly blowing out its windows and crumpling its shell. Together, car and human went tumbling onto the pavement, halted by the presence of a sturdy building. Pulling himself out of the wreckage, Justin angrily shoved his hand into the car's bodywork, engulfing it in golden light. It rippled like something half-liquid, half-gas, and resolved into the shape of a sword.

A large sword.

Nathan couldn't help but quirk an eyebrow in the short lull before Justin swung his Freudian monstrousity, spun it through the wall behind him and charged forward, eyes luminous and cobalt blue. The thick, incredibly heavy edge of the sword did not cleave but crushed through the asphalt, throwing up a twenty foot high wave. A solid blur of artificially dense matter came within millimetres of Nathan's face. His flesh rippled and he flickered away as chunks of concrete burst into the air. A second wave and a flash of sparks; Nathan had his toothpick of a sword against the ridiculous bulk of the Traced weapon. Beneath his feet, pale light churned, but Justin's sheer brute momentum tossed him backwards like a toy. He impacted a building and it crumbled.

It was a mechanics workshop. With the flick of his blade, Nathan directed the chunks of rubble, tools, a spare engine and two whole cars to leap out at Justin. Gargantuan chunk of metal on one shoulder, Justin smashed objects from their trajectories with his left fist, before clamping it down on the hood of one of the flying vehicles. He pulled it out of the way, using his momentum to cleave the second car asunder. He kicked one half and completed his spin, returning the Charger to sender. He had a suddenly bad feeling, and it had nothing to do with Nathan bounding from the soaring hotrod.

Monolith-sword bared down upon the nimble magician, blundered explosively into tarmac, before carving through. Nathan, still in the air from his dodging leap, rolled over the broad expanse of blade, landed, sidestepped a practically instantaneous thrust and returned the move with his smaller weapon. Justin battered him away, the elongated pyramid of the swordtip pulverising stone into dust. The earth was rumbling with each swing and each contact; water rose in waves and spray. Nathan placed a foot against one such wall of water and pushed away from it; Justin followed, evaporating the watery curtain.

It was as if a fire was in the sky, blue and green and white. Blood boiling from his nostrils, eyes a brilliant blue, Justin struck with nothing more than animalistic fury. It was like heavy rain and even Nathan's superhuman perceptions were having trouble discerning individual movements in his opponent. In essence he was fighting blind, relying upon his precognitive senses to just barely intercept the meteoric strikes. With a triple whip-crack, Nathan ploughed through the roof of a two story classroom and almost shook it into pieces. Prana fanning about him like the grand feathers of a peacock, Justin really did resemble a falling star.

Blood seeping through his clenched fist, Nathan gritted his teeth and blinked, just once. His eyes went from dark brown to startling, incandescent red. With the flick of one hand he immediately overwhelmed Justin's pitiful, instinctual defenses and tossed him back into the water, a bubble surrounding him and popping into cascades of rain.

The absurd geometries of Justin's sword sunk into the earth, and one of his knees buckled. He felt sluggish, and his eyes and nostrils were rimmed with crimson frost. Brownian motion was slowing, and only the sweep of prana through his body saved him. In his Infinity Circuit, that resting place of the light of his soul, odic force swirled in an invisible dance, drove Nathan's pattern from his. Asserted his own reality. Integrity protecting prana, he mumbled silently, giddily. Duchenne smile on his face, Justin one-handedly tore his blade from the ground and intercepted shearing fire-light.

Eyes of red met eyes of blue.

Prana coiled around Nathan like closeting wings, each one an intricate mandala of light. The brilliance of his own tail was dwarfed by the new, hot, red sun crackling from ankles to his fingers. Justin spent a full, frozen moment watching thick leads of solid ruby hanging and tangible. Watching archaic symbols halt in mid-twist. Watching Nathan's teeth, his snarl, his raised hackles. Justin began reach forward one hand, and that moment dissolved. Swords clashed again.

In an instant, the shin-deep film of water bubbled and burst into white clouds of vapour, pulled and formed like clay. Thick clouds parted with the duelists. Nathan landed and flickered from sight, teleporting from the path of Justin's zweihander, one, twice, a hundred times. Glowing particles rippled from the blade in helical spirals; not even the Reinforced, superdense sword had come away unscathed. Slivered blue lights opened up great orange blossoms of flame in their dozens.

Tattered shreds of jacket lost to the wind, sleeves long since gone, Justin struck like a hurricane, with gale force winds to match. But Nathan ... but Nathan was just too fast. No, not fast, sorcerous. Justin was the faster, Justin was the stronger, but Nathan was the better. He needed just one moment, needed a moment where that didn't matter.

So he pushed, and prana did not flare harmlessly, it opened up his flesh. Skin and fabric was flayed from his back into constituent atoms as burning blue-green blades erupted into existence. Then he clutched, he held, and Nathan stopped. He hung in mid air, not even his hair moving. Gold light flashed and Justin held two blades.

Justin crossed over Nathan. Light flared. Surrounding buildings shook. Windows shattered. The school crumbled. What had once been a carpark, though cratered and battered, there was now a mess of solid chunks of firma-concrete and pipes and fibre-optic cable. Justin's fingers twitched around the hafts of his now twin zweihanders. They twitched and failed. Both blades fell.

“Still breathing?” Justin asked, blood flooding over his bottom lip. He felt raw inside. He turned and his shoulder crashed into a menhir the size of a small car. Nathan seemed intangible, he switched from being there to not being there. One arm curled around his body, while the other kept him up from the ground. His face turned and he smiled, blood running between his teeth, running in columns to the earth. His eyes had lost that furious radiance, and Justin knew that he had lost his as well. He pushed away from his resting place and stalked forward.

Each foot came down shaking and unsure. Only his right fist had the strength, and it tightened, drew back to his waist. He stood within striking distance. Within the space of one blinking eye, there would be death. Nathan shoved himself onto his backside and slumped against a stone wall. He was soaked through. The claret was flowing.

With bloody eyes he looked at Justin dieing before him. “So you carry the Right Hand of God.” Nathan's grin was crimson. “Do you know what you're going to send me to?” Justin shook his head. “Nothing. Sweet oblivion. I find that remarkably comforting. I will die, and it will be for no greater purpose.” his lips softened and fell. He closed his eyes. “It's better like that. The universe and all others will continue to spin around Akasha, cycling through life, death and rebirth with no fate.”

“Now's not really the time for philosophising.” Justin hacked, settling back on his heels.

“This is it. Kill me if you can.”

By then, it was too late.