[center][h3]Franz Burine [color=6ecff6]Plaza[/color][/h3][/center]
[center][@LukasVolkov] [@King Cosmos] [@ERode] [@DrowsyPangolin] [@Reflection][/center]

The constant clang of falling equipment retreated from the desolated plaza, the wet thunk of Noble Phantasms crushing bodies beneath or cracking against the rising palace lost to the steady drumbeat of those still aimed at the Caster above. It was almost quiet, quiet enough for the engine noise above to become apparent. Rotor blades whipped through the air high overhead, the sound of a helicopter in flight joining the sight of green and red navigation lights. A black body moved among the clouds, lit charcoal gray by the city light underneath when it was not lost in the eerie glow of a light polluted sky. Their ghostly watcher orbited the plaza, the glinting bulb at its nose turning an infrared-sensitive eye into the zone of snowfall that replaced the haze of Berserker's Noble Phantasm.

Those still high above the fight would see the other guests. The ring of red and blue lights slowly coalescing around the block. Far down the streets feeding into the plaza drab painted armored trucks pulled into intersections, white and blue BPD patrol cars joining the blockades as the powers that be did their best to establish a cordon with which to understand the nonsense fed to them by witnesses and Observers. Dark suited soldiers danced at the periphery, pulling people from buildings and facing rifles into the snowy mirage of the plaza down the road. Glistening steel rained from the sky, buildings sprung from the Earth, and the thunderous clashes of spirits beyond reality all echoed from the dark, the absurdity offering the revelers that much more time to stage their party.

Those higher still, the familiars, the eyes set out by magicians to broaden their senses. Buzzing, stealthy insects of the rose witch, noble hawks of the Caster Servant, and those yet to be noticed were surely the first witnesses to the mobilization of Boston's peacekeepers.

A passing whisper blew one of those hawks apart, the magically controlled body disintegrating as a bullet passed through. The crack followed, already heard by those on the ground. 

[hr]

The lights of the hotel had dimmed. Falling weapons had crumpled her shield, the Assassin, and perhaps even her target as the Proxy Master was ordered to turn and retreat... When the rain relented, and her senses slowly dripped back into to her, Assassin was not capable of determining what had become of the Proxy, the creature she still believed to be the Master of the rampaging Servant. At any rate, they were no longer pressing the attack. She pushed herself off the ground, groaning at the weight of the Noble Phantasms piled atop her. They slid off noisily, joining the other pyre offerings covering the floor. Some of them [i]stuck[/i], embedded in her flesh. Her hand wrapped around the handle of a dagger lodged in her forearm and pulled, inviting a sickening hiss as the blade wrenched free of meat. 

Blood and steel fell to the ground around her as she staggered towards the blown-out doors, dropping stained weapons that had found their mark behind her. Her leg still moved with a limp, numbness set through it even though the Grasper tip at her ankle had expired and fallen away. A wheat colored palace stood in the plaza, walls scraped and decorated with Berserker's bounty. Instead of armament, snow fell from the sky. A cool winter wind flowed by. Rotor blades whirred overhead. The eyes of the mundane world had finally caught up to their fight.

The frayed Assassin strode out of the hotel, head turning as she surveyed the situation. The hulking form of Berserker jumped out of sight, his disappearance followed by splintering of wood and a challenge made against the Palace's doors. The archers had fallen silent. That saved some work. The Servant's position, though, was obscured momentarily behind the absolute focusing of the Berserker's noble phantasm. She wasn't one to pass up an opportunity. Her left hand reached under her arm for a weapon unseen, pulling the cheap wooden stock of an unremarkable hunting rifle from nothing before turning it skyward. Someone was still watching, she could feel it. More specifically, she couldn't disappear so long as an eye remained upon them. A bird that hadn't left the area, a tool or simply unfortunate. Her eye selected it from the sky and without requiring the scope of her weapon its aim followed, sending a shot straight through the device's feathered, fleshy body.

The feeling of being watched did not recede. The rifle fell into the crook of her arm and she cycled the bolt with one hand. As the bird plummeted the Assassin continued to walk, hobbling around the perimeter of the fort with their smoking gun. They ambled towards the high rises where gunshots still echoed from an unseen, unfelt fight and the Caster servant contended with peril.