[center]
[h2]Phoebe "Annie" Mosey [/h2] 
[h3]The Swirl, Summoning Circle[/h3]
[@Phonic]
[/center] 
It was always fate.

Phoebe always loved that word. 

That was because fate was absolutely something one could define on their own. One could forge any destiny with practice, overcome any obstacle with sheer force of will. That was the definition of her existence, the definition of what it meant to be a Heroic Spirit. She had been nothing more than an actor, hadn’t she? What is the greatest sharpshooter compared to the son of any God? And, yet, she was one of the last to find a resting place in Elysium. 

No, perhaps it would be better to call it Purgatory- or, maybe. . .Hell. After all, ‘that’ abyss was merely just a state of mind. And what she had been put through, definitely, was ‘Hell’.

Losing the sense of ‘Touch’.

Losing the sense of ‘Self’.

Losing the sense of ‘Me’.

Yes. By tampering with records, you fundamentally change what was recorded. That is a rule of this world, and of course memories were a record too so-

Archer felt it all fade away in a swirl. It was like watching a rotten apple get peeled and mulched up by a blender- wait, what was a blender? 

But this her was embracing even that, wasn’t it? Ah, that’s what she hated. It was not fate, but perhaps the rule of the world behind it. And that rule had only owner, that is to say- Humans. Archer remembered that deep and fundamental disdain for a brief moment before it was no longer relevant. Ah, yes, she was definitely coming from Hell.

After all, she was a Devil.

[hr]
[center]
[h2]Watanya "Oakley" Cecilia[/h2]
[h3]High-Rise District, The Burbon Hotel Penthouse[/h3]
[/center]

In the end, she was a performer a heart. Or, at least- that was her excuse.

An overwhelming magical energy that could make even a great Mage look like nothing was suddenly on display at the summoning circles center. Inside, a young woman had begun to materialize. It seemed that Enzio’s prayer had been answered by this Holy Grail.

Or, perhaps. . .?

“Kuhuhu. . .” The figure was obscuring part of her face, but the expression of superiority under was more than distinct. If confidence showed the power of a Servant, then there was no doubt Enzio had summoned the strongest Servant. A normal person would no doubt be taken aback by their smug aura, which seemed to mock anyone who laid eyes on them. 

In a flash of movement that no human could track, she pointed a hand toward her master in a shape almost like a gun. Almost.

“The names Watanya. And don’t you forget it.” Archer approached her master in a confident stride that almost defied her young age. There couldn’t be any doubt- she was more than a decade younger than him. Grabbing a firm hold of his arm(unfortunately, the one holding his cane), she made her way toward the Penthouse window.

Ah. It seemed she was acting her part as Archer. Surveying the landscape with her superior eyesight, Watanya would scope out the war and prove the strength of her class.

-Except, she just ended up jumping out the window dragging her master along for the ride.

Ah. Time to do what she loved.

What was it that she loved?

⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛. Of course.
 
[b]----> To Be Continued[/b](In the [i]Latin District[/i])