[h1]Rocco Moretti[/h1]
[h2]A Baseball Field[/h2]
Teeth clenched around a cigarette filter, digging into the paper as the unnerving cry of the alien monstrosity assaulted Rocco’s eardrums. His hand tossed away a spent magazine, grasping for another to continue suppressing fire. Too slow. An unknowable smell inflamed his nostrils as slick, misshapen fingers boiled away, constricting themselves numbly around the smoking barrel of his weapon. Another twisted limb emerged from the amorphous mass, malformed talons reaching out, grasping, greedy. 

The flash of runelight saved him. Saber’s barrier halted the creature’s advance on the spot, tearing slimy limbs from bubbling body. Rocco shook ruined, wriggling digits from the barrel of his weapon as the abomination swung out with its writhing arms, hungry hands slapping harmlessly against the shield. Rocco slammed another magazine into his rifle, the charging handle coming back with a satisfying metallic click. The Magus nodded appreciatively to his Servant.

Saber’s blade struck out with animal savagery, rending flesh and steel, cutting away the ruined body of the vehicle and separating twitching hands from their limbs. As the prison of the Town Car was cast aside, however, Rocco became aware of the halted reality that surrounded them. Figures froze in place, staring blankly in an infinite moment. Something was very wrong.

Steely eyes hid a primal terror as Rocco surveyed the convulsing mass before them. Fingers tightly gripped polymer. Another burst of gunfire barked in rebellion against the otherworldly silence. [i]“Saber, get ready to drop the barrier. I’m gonna to give you some space. Kill this… whatever the fuck it is.”[/i]

The Magus closed his eyes and focused. His father had always accused him of focusing on the wrong elements of Magecraft. The old man had been critical of his pragmatism, only picking up the bits and pieces of magical learning that seemed beneficial. He’d never been much of a scholar, but in those early days his father had taught him some things of note. For once, he’d do the old man proud.

Runelight faded. The creature drew back before them.

“Raffica.”

Magical energy surged through the ex-hitman’s body like ice-cold water slipping through his veins. An explosive gust of wind surged from beneath Rocco’s feet, sending him sailing backward as the monster lurched forward.

“Piuma.”

Rocco floated harmlessly to the ground several yards away, his body drifting easily through the air. As his boots met with the pavement, he let out another volley of lead from his Kalashnikov before making a beeline for a nearby alley. The weight-reducing effect of his previous magecraft still held, and each footfall propelled him several feet forward. He looked back as he reached the alleyway, watching as the hero stared down the monster.

[hr]


[h1]Rider[/h1]
[h2]The Winter Palace[/h2]

Marble crumbled under savage footfalls as Berserker flung himself across the dimly lit foyer. Damaged as he was, his determination would not be quelled. For the smallest moment, the Empress felt a tinge of respect for the mad warrior’s refusal to retreat. Whether drenched in madness or not, such a will was something worth admiring… and worth testing to its fullest extent. Gleaming gold eyes watched as the floor cracked beneath the approaching viking.

[i]One.[/i]

Borrowed tactics informed the Empress’ plan. It would have to be at the perfect moment. The slightest hesitation would doom her, a impatience and haste would do the same. Rider clutched the broadsword, holding it aloft before her. The blackened steel of the cannon glowed red in the darkened room, magical energy pushing them to their limits. Electricity crackled over the shuddering barrels, arcing across the smooth marble of the floor. 

[i]Two.[/i]

The diamonds on Catherine’s crown cast an aureole of crystalline light around her face. Embers awoke into a flourish of golden flame across the Rider’s tattered uniform, replacing it with a flowing dress of silk dyed royal purple. Jewels gleamed like snowflakes across its surface. Despite her battered state and utter exhaustion, the Empress stood steadfast as the charging madman drew nearer and nearer. A proud smile fell upon the queen’s face, lips curling in monarchic arrogance, even in the face of sudden death.

[i]Three.[/i]

[i][b][color=ed1c24]“Огонь!”[/color][/b][/i] Like a storm cloud split asunder all four of the guns roared to life. The oversaturation of magical energy send deep cracks branching through their bores. The heat collapsed their forms. The barrels burst under the sheer overcharged force of the blast, propelling their payload with the desperation of a final breath tempered into a defiant shout. An avalanche of appropriated steel flooded the air. A grapeshot of Noble Phantasms exploded from the bores of the guns. Swords, daggers, spears, and arrows sailed through the air, their steel glowing white-hot. The very weapons that Berserker had rained down on the crowd had now been turned against him, his gifts returned in a thundering delivery.

The flashes of the exploding guns illuminated the image of the Russian queen, framing her against a backdrop of flame. In that singular moment of blinding light, lips shaped unhearable words, and Rider’s golden irises met the gaze of the charging Berserker.