[h1]Rider[/h1]
[h2]Franz Burine Plaza[/h2]


For a moment, she was consumed in the novelty of fighting in a war herself. Her heart fell in with the rhythm of the hoofbeats as Brilliant rounded the plaza for another charge. It was in this state of excitement that Rider failed to notice the intense exclamation of the club-wielding madman across from her. 

Brilliant rushed forward, arcing around for a return charge with renewed fervor. Catherine leaned forward, tightly gripping her musket, a wide grin emblazoned across her lips. In the next moment, a number of things happened: A toxic cloud eclipsed Assassin from sight, the arrows piercing Berserker erupted into flame through some feat of magecraft, and… Brilliant suddenly fell forward. Catherine had not realized it yet, but a falling broadsword had skewered her steed’s right foreleg. The mighty warhorse came tumbling forward at an inopportune moment: right as Berserker charged forward. It was a peculiar blessing of sorts that the stallion’s leg had given out when it did, however, as the fall allowed Berserker’s swing to land only as a glancing blow, narrowly striking the Rider. Glancing or no, however, the force of Berserker’s blow was enough to send both horse and rider flying.

For Sophie, the sound was artillery, a cannon shot ripping through her hearing followed by a bright flash of white. In the next instant, she was toppling through the air, her musket turned to splinters by some unseen force. She hit hard against the concrete. The world rang like a sounded gong and a thick haze enveloped her vision. A deep numbness consumed her right side, indeed, she couldn’t feel her right arm at all. Her hearing was overpowered by the incessant post-impact ringing for a few moments longer. As it faded, the blurring world was accompanied by a distorted mosaic of sound: the shouts of Berserker, the exclamations of Caster, a chorus of clanging metal, a distant whinnying… and an awful crying.

As her vision returned, she noticed them for the first time. The crowd of survivors had attempted to flee the hellish massacre, only to realize that they were trapped by some unseen force. Now, they struggled helplessly to avoid the weapons pouring from the sky. 

[i]“This isn’t what I wanted.”[/i]

The scream of another bystander was silenced by a falling blade.

[i]“A good Queen would never allow this.”[/i]

A spear plummeted toward a tight group of the survivors before being knocked off course at the last moment by a streak of pale red. The spear clanked harmlessly to the ground a few feet away from the crowd.

Catherine smiled, smoking pistol held tightly in her grip. A falling blade narrowly skimmed her cheek, answered by a flash of steel as she drew her sabre. Rider’s eyes gleamed gold as she carved a few more armaments from the air. Her right arm hung uselessly at her side. She appeared badly battered, and a trickle of blood flowed slowly from her lip. Brilliant lay nearby, fumbling violently against his sudden crippling. Catherine deflected a falling great axe, her blade shattering into a mist of metallic dust. Dropping the broken hilt, she raised a hand.

“I claim these people, and this land, as my own.”

Magical energy began to flood out from Rider at an alarming rate. The temperature began to plummet, and a gust of frigid wind whipped out from the Empress’ location. Snowflakes ran through the air, glittering like stars. A crown materialized on Rider’s head, the diamonds casting a crystalline shimmer around her. Brilliant let out a worried neigh. Weapons continued to rain down, but they were being reflected by… something. An invisible construction had formed a barrier around Catherine and the survivors. With every blade that fell, the shape of the building became more certain, the structure was threatening to come into being.

Sophie smiled, her eyes shimmering gold.

“As I’ve said, this land is now under my rule. I invite you to leave.”

She closed her eyes for a moment.

[i]“Master, I intend to use my Noble Phantasm… partially at least.”[/i]

Rider’s hand cut through the air in a dramatic fashion, as though to introduce something.

“Zimniy Dvorets!”

Magical energy emptied out of Rider in a surge. Pale walls crystallized from thin air. Gold flashed into the world from nonexistence. The structure forced its image onto the surrounding environment with a flash of incandescent arrogance. Immediately, a room large enough to comfortably house Rider and the dozens of survivors behind her burst into being, shielding them from the hail of arms that still poured from above. Inside, a feeling of warmth and comfort washed over the crowd. Those who had been injured during the attack noticed their pain waning. Catherine herself noticed a tingling in her shattered arm.

From the basic structure that Rider had set, a “shadow” or “puddle” of blue-green light expanded in a wide circle, shimmering for a moment before additional structures began to plunge upward and adjoin themselves to one another. One such structure plunged up from the ground beneath Berserker.

Rider laughed weakly within her palace, conjuring a scepter to support her injured body and leaning upon it. The interior of the room was extravagant. Priceless paintings lined the walls, gold and marble gleamed softly in warm candlelight. Her fingers gripped the scepter weakly. In her injured state, summoning even this much of the palace was draining her rapidly. If it anchored itself, the Winter Palace would quickly recover her mana reserves, but in its current state it was quite a burden to maintain. Soon she might become taxing on Naoko, and that was a concern, especially given whatever situation the Magus might have gotten into with Berserker’s Master. For the moment, though, the palace brought a sense of ease and control. Catherine’s eyes burned a paler shade of gold.

The crowd of survivors were understandably perplexed by this newfound irregularity that had thrust itself into their ordinary lives, but they also unanimously agreed that it was better than having swords fall on them.


[hr]


[h1]Rocco Moretti[/h1]
[h2]A Baseball Park[/h2]
[h2]Intermittent Homicidal Disorder[/h2]

“Let’s get to- the fuck is that?”

For the first time in a long time, the ex-hitman’s heart skipped a beat. His eyes grew wide as he peered into the inky horror that pulsated mere inches before him. Luckily, even in such a state, his body reacted, drawing a knife from the interior of his coat and sawing rapidly at his seatbelt as the window disintegrated. The double-edged blade severed the last of the fabric as the car slammed onto its side. Rocco felt his head hit the dash, the jingling song of broken glass chiming in his ears as he was thrown against the far side of the car.

His consciousness waned for a moment, and in that moment he noticed it, if only temporarily. There was something intrinsically wrong about this situation. Whatever it was he had just looked at, he shouldn’t have. The thing struck him as a being far to alien to be a Servant. No, it was something that defied identification and denied the very basis of reality he knew. Of course, Rocco Moretti didn’t recognize any of this directly, but it was all encapsulated within a singular sense of dread that had crept into the back of his mind. 

Rocco, however, was not one to be panicked, even in the face of entities that shouldn’t exist. Rocco’s teeth dug into his still lit cigarette, blood running down his forehead in a webway of tiny streams. As the abomination came into view in the front window, he took a deep drag, directing the barrel of his assault rifle towards the nightmare’s shrouded eye. 

“Get us outta here Saber.”

The middle-aged Master nodded toward the guitar case that had held his Servant’s sword and, turning his attention back toward the thing that both demanded and denied the possibility of attention, squeezed the trigger of his rifle.

The Kalashnikov barked to life, sending a storm of jacketed bullets ripping through the windshield and out toward the monstrosity. While the war machine emptied its salvo toward the enemy, Rocco began trying to right himself in the overturned Town Car, waiting for Saber to strike so that he might escape the wreckage. Pulling himself into a crouching position, Rocco flipped another magazine into the well and prepared himself. Wind began to swirl around him, whispered chants scarcely discernible amongst the cacophonous rhythm of gunfire. He waited for any chance of the monster’s attention being averted, any chance that he might be able to escape free from the grip of the grasping arms.