Breo

Fate/Factitious Paradigm

Cleanup Crew

Envoy of the Demon-Killing Clan

Kouga Nanaya

Gender: Male.

Age: 20

---

Biography

Nanaya, the family that rose to prominence as ‘the trump card of the Demon Hunters’, forming the backbone of the organization alongside the Asakami, Fujo and Ryougi.

More honestly put, a secluded clan of killers whose entire purpose from birth was the indiscriminate murder of demons and half-breeds, created to ‘protect humans from that which they cannot protect themselves’. However, time passes, and seldom are the things that stay the same.

As Japan leaves its isolation, as the country steps into the limelight and becomes a nation, those same half-breeds started shifting from ‘an evil that is easy to excise’ to ‘an evil that is necessary’. Among the other three families, whispers started to arise, but —

Indeed, the Nanaya would continue to hunt, no matter what.

It was not a shout of defiance, or the desperate throes of a dying breed. Nanaya hunted, because hunting is all they were good for. Such environment is the one Kouga spent his life in.

Confined and simply taught ‘one thing’ before being left to his own devices, he did nothing but practice it on his lonesome before being taught ‘another thing’ once he had shown he had mastered it. These things were ‘meant to kill people’, which he understood in his youth to be the duty he would have to bear until the end of his life.

He could not find it in himself to complain. It wasn’t that he enjoyed the act — it was simply ‘the way of things’, so he saw no reason to argue against it.

The years of training came and went, and one day he started to be sent on missions with no transition. It was fine, it was expected, and so he carried out the tasks set before him without much fuss. In general, a monotonous — if acceptable — existence as another member of his clan. His latest mission involves investigation regarding the happenings in a small town of Kyushu, and the Holy Grail War occurring therein.

There is really not much of note. He is just some weirdo from a clan chock-full of them, though inevitably, he has picked up his own oddities.

In particular, a penchant for western suits.

Regarding his desire for the Grail, it can be said to be ‘Nanaya’s wish’, or maybe even ‘the wish of Demon Hunters’, rather than ‘Kouga’s alone’ — complete extermination of all demons and half-breeds, to the last.

Perhaps it is the correct path for his family — perhaps it will be what stops ‘them’ before it is too late, even if the consequence is becoming weapons without a purpose.

Circumstances do not matter. Age does not matter. History does not matter. All monsters exist to die.

---

Magecraft:

Circuits: DxB

Origin: Tranquility

Element: Wind

Houjutsu: Binding Edict

Requires unsullied Ofuda, some magical energy, a non-human (demon) target and, hardest of all for savages, calligraphy.

The spell, as its name indicates, binds the target and restricts their movements in order to render them easier to dispatch. The natural friend to any murderer.

It is, however, absolutely useless against human targets, or even those of mixed blood.

Pure Eyes: Determination of Greatest Danger

The ‘karma’ of the Nanaya family, inherited by this man. In his case, the ‘thin thread’ has taken the form of ‘eyes which see the flow of threats around him’.

Fundamentally, it allows him to categorize those that are his targets from most to least troublesome, and work his way around it in the manner he chooses. Shifts in the ‘color’ of people may also indicate their potential as a threat, provided his course of action would rouse such response.

Fundamentally speaking, what a ‘threat’ is may vary. However, the only kinds of threats he knows or cares to know are ‘that which is a threat to my person’ and ‘that which is a threat to my principles as a Nanaya’.

Needless to say, the latter type is the most troubling.

---

Skills

‘To breathe and walk’

It does not refer to the method of Holy Children in earnest, but rather, merely a mimicry of the principle of martial arts of maintaining a proper rhythm of inspiration and expiration during combat without much thought behind it. In Kouga’s case, he uses it in order to control his impulses until the last possible second, muting his intentions and avoiding any murderous disposition to leak out.

For all intents and purposes, the respiration method works as a psychological aid to accomplish such.

Appear, to any that might look upon you, like a normal man. Pass by your prey. Circle them. Refrain until the last possible instant and then—

Murderous Intent

The instinctive Nanaya drive to ‘kill that which is inhuman’, which inevitably kicks in when faced with such creatures. Much like the Pure Eyes he inherited, this, too, could be considered to be the karma of the Nanaya.

While a deadly combatant as-is, once this drive is active, efficiency skyrockets.

Nanaya Killing Arts

Techniques passed down among the clan. Techniques meant to slay something more dangerous than men or magi, techniques that require one to ‘push himself to the absolute human limit’.

Fundamentally, one can break them up into two categories: Sensou, the ability to move faster than the eye can perceive, and Sensa, the ability to attack with that same speed. Used in tandem, one can say that ‘the body of the Nanaya is, in itself, a weapon’. As it is usually the case, he has refined them in order to adapt to his combat preferences and needs.

---

Equipment:

A sword, passed down to him by his father. While a fine tool, it seemingly lacks any power of note outside of good quality, being relatively short for ease of use in close quarters. The traditional tool of a Nanaya, and one he has trained extensively with.

Lengths of talisman cloth.

Assorted suits.

Exceptional Benefit: Supply Lines.

As is only natural, he counts with the support of the Organization he belongs to for this task, in addition to his family. All that is asked in return is that he gets results.

And if he does not, then he better not come back at all.

Fate/Factitious Paradigm

Cleanup Crew

Envoy of the Demon-Killing Clan

Kouga Nanaya

Gender: Male.

Age: 20

---

Biography

Nanaya, the family that rose to prominence as ‘the trump card of the Demon Hunters’, forming the backbone of the organization alongside the Asakami, Fujo and Ryougi.

More honestly put, a secluded clan of killers whose entire purpose from birth was the indiscriminate murder of demons and half-breeds, created to ‘protect humans from that which they cannot protect themselves’. However, time passes, and seldom are the things that stay the same.

As Japan leaves its isolation, as the country steps into the limelight and becomes a nation, those same half-breeds started shifting from ‘an evil that is easy to excise’ to ‘an evil that is necessary’. Among the other three families, whispers started to arise, but —

Indeed, the Nanaya would continue to hunt, no matter what.

It was not a shout of defiance, or the desperate throes of a dying breed. Nanaya hunted, because hunting is all they were good for. Such environment is the one Kouga spent his life in.

Confined and simply taught ‘one thing’ before being left to his own devices, he did nothing but practice it on his lonesome before being taught ‘another thing’ once he had shown he had mastered it. These things were ‘meant to kill people’, which he understood in his youth to be the duty he would have to bear until the end of his life.

He could not find it in himself to complain. It wasn’t that he enjoyed the act — it was simply ‘the way of things’, so he saw no reason to argue against it.

The years of training came and went, and one day he started to be sent on missions with no transition. It was fine, it was expected, and so he carried out the tasks set before him without much fuss. In general, a monotonous — if acceptable — existence as another member of his clan. His latest mission involves investigation regarding the happenings in a small town of Kyushu, and the Holy Grail War occurring therein.

There is really not much of note. He is just some weirdo from a clan chock-full of them, though inevitably, he has picked up his own oddities.

In particular, a penchant for western suits.

Regarding his desire for the Grail, it can be said to be ‘Nanaya’s wish’, or maybe even ‘the wish of Demon Hunters’, rather than ‘Kouga’s alone’ — complete extermination of all demons and half-breeds, to the last.

Perhaps it is the correct path for his family — perhaps it will be what stops ‘them’ before it is too late, even if the consequence is becoming weapons without a purpose.

Circumstances do not matter. Age does not matter. History does not matter. All monsters exist to die.

---

Magecraft:

Circuits: DxB

Origin: Tranquility

Element: Wind

Houjutsu: Binding Edict

Requires unsullied Ofuda, some magical energy, a non-human (demon) target and, hardest of all for savages, calligraphy.

The spell, as its name indicates, binds the target and restricts their movements in order to render them easier to dispatch. The natural friend to any murderer.

It is, however, absolutely useless against human targets, or even those of mixed blood.

Pure Eyes: Determination of Greatest Danger

The ‘karma’ of the Nanaya family, inherited by this man. In his case, the ‘thin thread’ has taken the form of ‘eyes which see the flow of threats around him’.

Fundamentally, it allows him to categorize those that are his targets from most to least troublesome, and work his way around it in the manner he chooses. Shifts in the ‘color’ of people may also indicate their potential as a threat, provided his course of action would rouse such response.

Fundamentally speaking, what a ‘threat’ is may vary. However, the only kinds of threats he knows or cares to know are ‘that which is a threat to my person’ and ‘that which is a threat to my principles as a Nanaya’.

Needless to say, the latter type is the most troubling.

---

Skills

‘To breathe and walk’

It does not refer to the method of Holy Children in earnest, but rather, merely a mimicry of the principle of martial arts of maintaining a proper rhythm of inspiration and expiration during combat without much thought behind it. In Kouga’s case, he uses it in order to control his impulses until the last possible second, muting his intentions and avoiding any murderous disposition to leak out.

For all intents and purposes, the respiration method works as a psychological aid to accomplish such.

Appear, to any that might look upon you, like a normal man. Pass by your prey. Circle them. Refrain until the last possible instant and then—

Murderous Intent

The instinctive Nanaya drive to ‘kill that which is inhuman’, which inevitably kicks in when faced with such creatures. Much like the Pure Eyes he inherited, this, too, could be considered to be the karma of the Nanaya.

While a deadly combatant as-is, once this drive is active, efficiency skyrockets.

Nanaya Killing Arts

Techniques passed down among the clan. Techniques meant to slay something more dangerous than men or magi, techniques that require one to ‘push himself to the absolute human limit’.

Fundamentally, one can break them up into two categories: Sensou, the ability to move faster than the eye can perceive, and Sensa, the ability to attack with that same speed. Used in tandem, one can say that ‘the body of the Nanaya is, in itself, a weapon’. As it is usually the case, he has refined them in order to adapt to his combat preferences and needs.

---

Equipment:

A sword, passed down to him by his father. While a fine tool, it seemingly lacks any power of note outside of good quality, being relatively short for ease of use in close quarters. The traditional tool of a Nanaya, and one he has trained extensively with.

Lengths of talisman cloth.

Assorted suits.

Exceptional Benefit: Supply Lines.

As is only natural, he counts with the support of the Organization he belongs to for this task, in addition to his family. All that is asked in return is that he gets results.

And if he does not, then he better not come back at all.

Fate/Factitious Paradigm

’Lancer Prime’

Church Outskirts, Site of the Spear, Shinto

@Yukitamas @floodtalon @Phonic

It connected. The feedback was right there.

So why, he thought as the axes sent him face-first into the mire, why, he thought as he used his freed hands to strike against that inevitability, to deny the miracle he sought to bring forth, why could he feel something wrong?

The blow had certainly been lethal, the renewed vigor of Achilles undeniable, and even an opponent possessing the qualifications for the Battle Continuation Skill at the same rank as his own would not be able to escape death. If the miracle he sought was to strike at his heel, if the miracle he sought was to hit the weak-point of Achilles, he would die for it while Achilles did his all to deny him in turn.

That much should be doable. The momentum imparted by the axes, unable to harm him but able to move him, twisted him slightly downward, and he just needed to follow through without resisting. If the entirety of the mire was concentrated below, then he’d just have to —

Punch.

And punch, and punch, and punch.

Darius’ skeletons, combined, might be able to exert enough power, but they were still far from quick enough to outpace the combat speed of the fastest, and the state of their master would not help matters. Perhaps if he had tried something else, such as holding him down, the ‘miracle’ that was striking Achilles’ heel might have been within reach, but as it was. . .

So strike, and keep at it. That is what mattered, in the end. Even a blow to any other place was fine. Create an opening, a soil you can land on, and then back away from this last-ditch attempt.

And yet, and yet. . .

At that instant, he also understood the source of his bad feeling entirely—!

And then, he laughed, standing in the forest floor, the enemies receding as the monstrosity weaved forth by Darius and his army of undying soldiers sprung forth, realizing his enemy possessed the kind of miracle to overturn that death.

He was a hero, after all. Since when were there any certainties in a battle between such existences?

He guessed that even losers had pride to them.

“Ah, what an interesting situation.”

Achilles was fundamentally a hero who fought other heroes. The loss of his spear had, in a sense, constrained his overall fighting power, but that single truth had not changed, and he would freely admit that this sort of thing laid outside of his realm of expertise. He had killed men of varying sizes over the years, but this was new.

But not unwelcome. To begin with, he had said he needed to forge something more brilliant than his last legend, no? Then this would be a good place to start. Reviewing the options he had in mind —

. . .Yes, there was a way to ‘decisively crush this battle’, but he also had to think on the responsibilities he had as a Servant. Using it right now would be much too reckless considering the circumstances.

Besides, it wouldn’t be much fun.

“Very well, Darius III. May the Olympians bless our future battle with glory and honor.”

Ah, he had addressed him by his name. He had acknowledged this to be a proper battle to the death between two heroes. Just as Achilles had struck with all that he was, just as he had promised himself that each and every strike would carry that weight from now onwards, his enemy had answered in kind.

Being recalled was disappointing, but not unexpected. Considering the circumstances, he would also admit that it was far from an ideal battleground, and testing his Master further might not prove wise. He was one that naturally sought to prevail in flashy manners, but all the same, he had sworn loyalty and accepted the trust of that girl.

So, begrudgingly, he would acquiesce to her request.

“Alright, alright I’ll be—!”

The hair on the back of his neck stood up. His eyes darted toward the church in the distance and the explosions therein.

There he was, that ‘Archer’ from the previous day. This was his intent, then?

. . .But, the Archer that called upon lightning had fallen to a misunderstanding once again.

To begin with, Servants were ‘sprinters’. In terms of close-quarters combat and reactions, they were all monsters in their own right even when compared to creatures such as the Phantasmal Species, even if they could not maintain that speed for long periods or use it in normal movement.

Achilles overtly defied this rule — the Noble Phantasm that granted him divine speed akin to teleportation, the Noble Phantasm that cemented his legs as ‘the swiftest of mankind’ and made his speed unmatched in such regard.

But, at the same time, the speed he wielded in his arms and the sharp reflexes he boasted of were no less monstrous. Whether in combat or in a race, Achilles was the ‘fastest hero’, and even if the former was a closer thing, he still stood at the top of a category populated by monsters.

The speed of a projectile must be much greater that of its target, this is well-known. Furthermore, it must also be strong enough to harm its target. Such things are basic principles.

Because if it were not enough, a difference in speed between two objects can be overcome if one of them needs to move substantially less distance.

Achilles did not dodge. Rather, all he did in response to the bolt of lighting aimed at his head was lift his arm, and carelessly let the gauntlet act as an impenetrable wall for the shots. Archer had done nothing to properly box him in or cut off his options, and now he would be entertained by Darius III, who, it seemed, had completely forgotten about their fight.

Well, he felt better about leaving now. If nothing else, the mood was ruined.

“Ah, well. . .”

He wondered what his Master would say about a new spear.

And thus, he disappeared, using his divine speed not to dodge — but to make it home before curfew.

Fate/Factitious Paradigm

’Lancer Prime’

Church Outskirts, Site of the Spear, Shinto

The loss of treasures, the loss of a dear comrade, the rage and grief following it.

Yes, as Achilles tore a path toward his foe, there were no doubts that his legend was being re-enacted once again. No matter the difference in visage, no matter the order, this was certainly how the hero Achilles would set in his self-destructive course.

Full of anger, misery and regrets. Once more, sing, o’ muse, of the rage of Achilles.

“You dolt, you’re doing it again.”

A half forgotten dream.

“Do you really think he’d have wanted to see you like this you moron? Do you think he would follow someone as pathetic as you look right now?”

A brawl on the sand, the night following the loss of his best friend.

He had won, of course. Even if they had both been trained by the greatest teacher of all, he had been both a natural prodigy and in possession of an immortal body. But no matter how much he beat the man in front of him down. . .

He just refused to stay that way.

He just refused to leave him to those regrets.

“The hero Achilles was admired because he was the brightest star, he was envied because of the dazzling radiance that surpassed even others. Seeing you like this would only make him spit on your face and regret he ever called you ‘boss’.”

The words. . .they had not reached him then. But much later, in the moment of his death, the memory struck him in the same way it had now.

Ah.

So that was another moment burned in his soul.

He had lost a friend. He had lost a precious gift. But, in that hand of his he clutched—

“I’ll leave the heavy lifting to you.”

“Do your best.”

“You can do it.”

Trust.

He could not disappoint. After all, he had already made so many promises and so many boasts. . .

What kind of hero would he be if he went back on them now?

His duty was to wonderfully grasp victory, leaving no room for doubts. All she had to do was look at his back and display the suitable amount of awe before his full-powered sprint.

The hero Achilles lived the life of a comet. Even if it would be difficult, even if he lost things, even if his regrets caught up to him — all that was required of him was to run forward with a smile and shine brighter than any other.

The loss, the rage, then the grief. And then, death. That is how it goes, that is how the chains holding you are made.

And what are those chains then?

The legend you forged with your own hands.

The legend as the great sprinter. The legend as the hero of the rushed life. The legend of a hero who fell to despair.

If those are the chains holding him, then it means. . .

“It means I just have to snap them, right?”

Heroes are slaves to their own stories. Heroes can only repeat their legends time and again.

And who decided that? To begin with, a legend that ended in grief and falling to something like being shot through the heel was plenty ridiculous, wasn’t it?

So here and now — he’d break that and forge a new one, more brilliant than the last.

If the hero Achilles was so deeply intertwined with his great losses that they would follow him, that only meant he would have to surpass that karma and hold on to what he had all the more.

If the Berserker before him had a figure he so earnestly wished to surpass, if he had an invincible wall stretching out before him he would nonetheless challenge, then. . .

How could Achilles be any less?

No, rather, he had to be even more. Burn more brilliantly than anyone else, and keep going no matter what. Because the wall Achilles wanted to surpass—

To surpass ‘that man’, surpassing your own legend was just the entry point—!

A phantom sensation, his shoulder being squeezed, and a voice so damningly familiar. It had to have been his imagination, but just for a single instant. . .

”Then go. Show me that new legend of yours.”

As thunder roared above. . .

It would not do. Even if his charge was not something that could be fully stopped, if they were able to delay him for long enough, against an enemy like this, in a situation like this, it would all come down to the following moments.

That is why he would have to change strategies. At that single instant, when the skeleton fell, he flew forward, slamming feet-first against the wall that protected Darius without a single care. As expected, it held. But all the same. . .

“Sometimes, the shortest path is a straight line. But, a friend of mine once said that didn’t have to be the case, you know?.”

He hadn’t. Not quite, back then. To him and his divine speed, certainly the shortest path was a straight run. He had lived his life trampling down whatever walls were in his way, walking his own road so far ahead of everyone else.

But maybe some walls you didn’t have to break down.

Maybe some walls you just had to—

“—Circle. Berserker, I learned something from this. In this climb I’m going to make—thank you for being my first stepping stone.”

And so, with the strength in those legs, with newfound determination, Achilles employed his divine speed not to absolutely crush the obstacle in his way, but to surpass it. After all, the greatest mistake that had been made here was that, while that wall and that soil would be able to buy an extra instant, nobody said that dealing with them was mandatory.

With the same legs that were hailed as the absolute fastest, he traveled around the obstacle course placed by Berserker to impede his path, using that divine speed to take advantage of the staggering of the skeletons in order to make his way to the side, and then behind Berserker and his army of the damned.

His face had broken into a gleeful smile.

“Hey, Berserker, right now—”

And then, with that same speed, right in front of Darius—!

“—You’re wide open!”

It was a simple punch, aimed right at his torso. Of course, that was all he could do at this moment.

After all, no matter what realizations he had, his spear’s loss was no less painful, nor had he magically gotten it back. But at the same time—

What he had crammed into that blow was more than just strength. It was more than just power. It was not something he could have been taught.

It was based on how he had lived his life. It was based on the memories he had crammed, and the ‘truth’ he had reached following this path with his head held high.

It was a blow that exemplified the hero Achilles, delivered with the same hand that held the message of a particularly troublesome little miss. And in that moment. . .

It was a radiance that equaled—no, a radiance that surpassed even a Noble Phantasm.

@Yukitamas

Fate/Factitious Paradigm

’Lancer Prime’

Church Outskirts, Site of the Spear, Shinto

The replacement was swung. Another skeleton fell.

He was a comet, quick and raging and perhaps beautiful in a sense. All who approached were struck down, all who tried to retreat were cut down.

But there was no excitement to be found here. For one, his enemies were not the sort he could have fun with regardless, and the situation was not a fun one either. Anger had given place to grief, rage had given place to mourning.

The spear was a part of it, but at the same time, he mourned for much more. For the memories it held, for what it symbolized, for the incalculable value it possessed, for the friend he had lost, for the friend he had not even been able to speak to, for the irony that the fastest hero was once again too slow.

Always too slow, always a step short, always, at the most critical time. . .

The enemies were different, but this was all too similar, wasn’t it? A slain comrade without him being able to do anything, a lost treasure that only served to remind him of his failure. The faces were not the same, the names were not the same, but even so. . .

Pathetic

—Heroes, it seemed, were destined to repeat their tales no matter what. To Achilles, who hated the idea of fate, the knowledge that came crashing down on him, the fact that his actions — his rage and grief — mirrored those of days long gone. . .

Pathetic.

Was this all there was to it? Doomed to lose, doomed to fail those he cared about, doomed to always have precious things slip through his fingers when he could have stopped it?

Indeed, what a pathetic fate to be bound to. Was there meaning in that struggle, then?

Such were Achilles’ thoughts, though that did not stop his carnage — it had not stopped him in life to begin with. If his tale was to be repeated, at least the perpetrators would die by his hand once again, and then. . .

. . .And then, he would run forward. Even if his regrets caught up to him, even if his grief was the one thing he could not outrun, the hero Achilles would continue to run forward.

”You’re being really pathetic right now, boss.”

A voice whispering at the edge of his consciousness like a half-remembered dream, almost drowned out by the grief that had at last come to swallow him.

”Is this really all the hero Achilles is worth?”

His enemy was running. His spear had broken. But that did not matter.

The obstacles he had placed between them did not matter.

Without delay, he analyzed the sea of bodies between himself and Darius. Without delay, he devised a plan.

To begin with, if it was just a matter of running, no hero could oust him, no matter the skills at their disposal — after all, he was the swiftest.

To begin with, obstacles had been nothing to him in the first place.

To begin with, turning your back on him and trusting an army to stop him was a mistake—!

He jumped, and landed on a skeleton’s head, eyes transfixed not on Darius, but on a point beyond the hulking Berserker, extending his arm outward.

That is right. No hero could beat him in a proper race, and regardless of obstacles, he could close the distance with the same quickness. The army of Darius was not terrifying due to its soldiers alone, but due to their nature as beings who would always get back up, as well as the ways their leader could control it. Individually, a single one would not match a Servant, even like this.

They could not keep up with Achilles if he ran properly, if he found the single instant of an opening between barrages, if he found the moment to strike.

With his arm outstretched, he ran forward, with the speed that might as well have been called teleportation. And with that same speed, avoiding the obstacles in his path he —

Hooked the enemy with that arm in a lariat, and took him on a trip far away from the army.

@Yukitamas

Fate/Factitious Paradigm

’Lancer Prime’

Church Outskirts, Site of the Spear, Shinto

As he made his way and stepped through the treeline, he could tell something was wrong.

Achilles was not one who possessed instincts that stepped into the realm of precognition, nor someone who could hear the voices of the gods, but nonetheless he could get the general feeling that something very wrong would greet him when he made it to his destination.

He was right, but not in the way he expected. The skeletons plundering the place were not something he had thought to find, but they were summarily ignored.

The giant of a man, too, was ignored, his grumblings — the roar which shook the earth — gone unnoticed. No, what mattered was what was in his hand.

Ah, ah, what are you doing? That is not yours, not yours, return it this instant —!

Achilles could only watch, baffled, as his precious gift was consumed, taken away right before his eyes. He could say nothing, he could not even twitch a muscle, features frozen in an expression of shock.

A heartbeat passed.

There was no rage, no vengeful scream. Darius’ roar of his enemy’s name went unanswered. Achilles shivered.

Then he laughed.

Bringing a hand up to his face, the greatest hero of the Trojan war laughed in the face of the army that gathered before him. He laughed in the face of Darius III, but it was not a kind thing, nor did it carry any amusement.

It was cold. It was cruel, and it perfectly fit Achilles’s expression as his hand lowered, looking straight at his quarry as though the sea of bodies between them meant nothing.

“Oh, you should not have done that.”

A step forward. Not a charge with the divine speed that was the greatest among all heroes, but rather, a single step that nonetheless carried a terrible weight. Achilles’s mutter was nonetheless heard as loudly as though he had shouted the words.

“Madness accompanies the Berserker class, of course, but this is a first. I did not know some idiot would actually summon an outright suicidal fool as a Servant.”

Another step.

“Tell me, do you think this army will protect you, Persian? Do you think that I will be easy pickings just because my weapon is lost to me for now?”

He approached with calm strides, and delivered his words in a matching tone. The Noble Phantasms he had been shown had reduced his identity to but one possibility, and if someone had to define Achilles’s feelings about that fact now. . .

‘Impressed’ would not be one of them.

“So, a loser king of dredges thinks he can get to his enemy though me? You idiot. You could not hold your lands, you could not hold your people, you could not even hold your own family, and you think you will hold on to that spear for long?”

The last step.

“Ah, but I’m willing to give you a shot. If you’re so earnest in your obsession that you will go this far, then I will answer it. Come, king of failures, throw your soldiers at me, swing your weapons with all your might and prove, here and now, the brilliance of your legend.”

And then, he finally acted — a lightning fast punch was his opening move, tearing through one of the soldiers of Darius as he willingly clashed against the enemy lines, an engine of destruction to tear a path through his army like a hot knife through butter, coming for the King himself with no regard for anything else.

And indeed, why should he care?

“And then, I will show you that your blows mean nothing. I will crush and grind every one of your legends to dust, and make you understand that you would need a hundred times this much to have a hope of winning here. Before I take your life, I’m going to make sure you understand the difference between us — and between me and that man you so hate. So come.

Come, I’ll show you the radiance of my own legend.

Come, howl at the moon like the starved wolf you are, unable to ever reach it."

There was no point. To an enemy like this — a Berserker, one who had lost his sanity — the words themselves would not reach him. At least, it was not likely.

But the intent was clear. He should be able to understand that much. And so—

“Come here and die, Loser King.”

@Yukitamas

Fate/Factitious Paradigm

’Lancer Prime’

Spooky Place, Forest behind the Church, Shinto (Again)

Back again. Achilles sighed and ran a hand through his hair, determined to take it slower this time around. To begin with, perhaps attempting to simply dart around the forest at full speed and hope for the best was not a conductive strategy, and he could not afford to mess this up.

Else Chiron might actually kill him. Or ground him. Either or.

He took a deep breath and concentrated this time, sharp eyes scanning the terrain for any signs that would point him in the right direction. There came an abrupt point, however —

“. . .Huh, someone actually fought here?” He brought a hand down to inspect the tracks left on the earth from the impact of weapons, trees uprooted around him. “Recent, too, from the looks of it. . .”

Something cold dawned on the pit of his stomach, but he ignored the feeling.

It was absolutely fine. His spear would still be around here. Surely.

It couldn’t not be. That was impossible, unthinkable, so there would be no need to fly into (another) homicidal rage. He was calm, he was cool, everything would go smoothly and he would be able to show himself before his teacher without needing to fear for his life. . .much.

He exhaled.

“Right, let’s get to it.”

Ignoring those thoughts for the moment, he concentrated on finding his lost treasure, inspecting the path before him as well as any signs that would paint a clearer picture of what had happened recently.

At the very least, the fact that there was something meant it was automatically better than trying to find his way blind with only nondescript trees for company, so he would take it as a good sign and continued wading deeper into the forest.

“I should also make sure he never learns that all this came about from a botched throw, else. . .I don’t even know what he’d do.”

Perhaps some would consider him foolhardy to walk into potential enemy territory so earnestly and almost distractedly, focusing more on looking for clues than potential attacks even though he was a Lancer that had lost his spear, but he would just say that his Master had offered a fine replacement and there was no point in avoiding it if he suspected his father’s gift was around here.

Fate/Factitious Paradigm

’Lancer Prime’

DDD Hotsprings, Benita’s Room, Foreigner’s Lowlands

“. . .No need to beat me while I’m down, you know?”

It had been the first thing to come out of his mouth since the previous night, and perhaps an understandable request. Truthfully, the way his head seemed to hang ever since the incident and the aura of depression that seemed to accompany him made even the glow of his armor dim ever so slightly.

He had muttered something or other about ‘Agamemnon laughing wherever he is’, as well as shivered when the bar had been brought up for reasons that — for once — were entirely unrelated to the memories of his youth and more toward how his teacher would react if he so much as. . .loosely implied that he had lost his spear.

His spear. The wedding gift he’d given his father, Peleus, and that had been passed on to Achilles by the man in question. His spear, which he had been taught to care for and always cherish. His spear, that had accompanied him wherever he went, for the better part of his life.

It would not be pretty.

But! That didn’t have to be a problem, right?! That could totally be avoided if he just got it back right?! Teacher did not have to know anything! At all!

He coughed into his free hand, the other holding the ‘gift’ he had received from Benita — a sort of ‘patchwork fix’, if you will, to get him out of sticky situations if he ran into an enemy while searching for his actual weapon. He inspected it for the umpteenth time, and let his eyes go over the messages written in it.

‘Go get them!’

‘You can do it, Achilles!’

‘Do your best!’

. . .It’d break. The length was a bit awkward compared to his usual, as was the weight. In a battle between Servants, it might, might work for a bit but. . .

Still, why did she have to look so damn earnest when she presented it to him? Rejecting it would have been impossible. So instead he had simply praised it as a fantastically cool gift worthy of a hero and said he’d wield it with pride.

He always did have a weakness to things like this. But he had promised, and he could not — would never — back down from a promise.

. . .Besides, he would admit that the name she had come up with was just the tiniest bit cool. Still not as cool as the name of his actual spear, but cool.

“Well, I’ll get going. I can find it and then we can discuss where to go from here.”

Maybe when he got his treasure back he would try dual wielding them? Thinking about the possibilities, he stepped out and ran toward the place he had last seen his spear falling toward.

---

Forest behind the Church, Shinto. . .?

Detective Achilles Is On The Case

He found. . .trees.

A whole lot of trees.

An amazing number of trees.

Looking around the forest, he scratched the back of his head as he wondered where, exactly, his spear could have fallen. To begin with, he had thrown it with all his strength, so it had to have made a dent on the earth or other, even if whatever the Archer had done to deflect it had lessened the impact force somewhat. Still, he supposed there was only so much ground he could cover, only so many places it could have fallen into, so —

Well, there was always the option of searching the entire place as quickly as possible. It had to be somewhere around here, after all!

So thinking — or perhaps hoping desperately that it was the case, he broke into a run, the rough terrain inconsequential and promptly ignored as he dashed from place to place so that he might catch a glimpse of it.

Nobody said divine speed could not have mundane applications. Hmm, where was another place he had not looked into yet. . .maybe that direction? Again, he broke into a sprint. Again, he stopped so suddenly a normal human body would have been turned to mush from the forces involved. This time, however, the sudden stop had come from the presence of an all-too-odd trench right before him.

“Who’d even take the time to carve this?” He wondered aloud. Something nagged at the back of his head, but he could not tell what it was — instead, he continued on his search and stumbled across a nearby crater.

And the one near that one. And the other one. And the other other one.

. . .Wait.

Wait, wait, wait.

Come to think of it, this place was familiar.

But that couldn’t be right, could it? Although. . .Patroclus had sometimes commented that his sense of direction did the oddest things at times.

But it couldn’t be that bad, could it?!

He turned to the side, and ran to the edge of the treeline, to be met with—

—the complex he had left a little while ago. The very same one that was supposed to be on the other side of the city, past the river.

His head turned almost mechanically to the right — and to the church in the horizon.

A shaking hand was brought up to cover a burning face. He shivered, once then twice.

“WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH ME TODAY?!”

Ah, there he went. Again.

Maybe he should take it slowly next time, hm?

Fate/Factitious Paradigm

’Lancer Prime’

Ajax’s Grave, Foreigner’s Lowlands

“. . .Very well.”

Last request of a dying woman, even if she was someone he himself hated—what was a man to do in the face of such a thing? Furthermore, as far as he was concerned, she had paid the price for her transgression already.

Therefore, her form asking him for mercy, not for herself, but for someone else, was noted.

“If you must, at least die knowing I will fulfill that—!”

Ah, so that was meant to be her end? He supposed he should expect little else from opportunists like magi.

He supposed he should also have felt empathy for her plight at this moment.

He supposed—he should have felt great anger toward the thing that had robbed her of peace.

However, at most he could only muster a measure of annoyance that he had not been the one to snuff her life out with his own hands. Frowning, he glanced back at the interloper.

“Maybe not. Consider yourself fortunate that these were the circumstances you took her in—otherwise I would have had another target for my ire right about now.”

Speak of the devil, too. . .

The new arrivals were welcome enemies, but at this point, Achilles’ main worry laid with his Master, and so, he turned to break into a full sprint in her direction, and not a moment too soon. At the very least, he was confident in his ability to make it.

Achilles’ divine speed, which stood at the top of all heroes, was now employed toward the purpose of reaching his Master before it was too late for her.

Luckily, his fight with Saber had not drained him, and she was close by that, for all the difference it made, it might as well have been the teleportation that could be accomplished by a Command Mantra. Picking her up, taking note of the bruises and wounds, he decided—it was not time to continue fighting. At least not for now.

So he ran forward, out of the line of fire of the mortars that had been shot against them, lowering his speed to something still inhuman, but not able to turn Benita to mush from the velocity alone. Run, run, pass by the one who already is, the girl that had been his Master’s opponent thus far—and presumably the girl that was the late Saber’s Master, in a run of her own.

The odd thing was, how had a human managed to reach that sort of speed? Though it was not too pressing a matter at the moment. She was fast, but he was still faster so—

To begin with, passing her by, he was thankful for the small frame of his Master (though he would never say it to her face), since it allowed him to hold her easily with one arm, and use the other to get a hold of the girl he had sworn would see to safety.

He always was a sucker for dying requests.

“Don’t mind if I drop you both nearby, do you?”

And so, completely unphased by the two bodies, he continued on his path, reaching the edge of their base before leaving them both on the ground, gently enough in Benita’s case.

He frowned at the wounds once again, but his angry glare passed right over Sophia and was directed toward the church on the hill.

He was not someone that possessed the Clairvoyance Skill—but the quality of his eyesight was top notch, and he did not need to be able to count the number of cracks on the wall to make out the form of a stationary building.

“Play nice for a second, will you? I have something to do.”

Materializing his spear, he twirled it, holding it in a reverse grip instead of the stances he had used previously.

If Saber’s Master had listened to her dying moments, at least she should know he had agreed to the request, so he himself would not harm her unless she made to attack Benita again. No, this was meant for someone else.

“I’d try to find an appropriate line to use for the situation, but the truth is, my imagination’s running a bit dry.”

One step, two steps back.

“You see, my Master needs to get to bed, and this girl is someone that is under my protection right now, so what you just tried to do is in my list of things I take issue with.”

Holding his weapon parallel to the ground in his right—

“I’m in a terribly foul mood right now, all considered. So, Archer, I take it?”

—He broke into a sprint forward, faster than the eye could follow, reaching the highest speed before digging his feet into the ground and transferring all the momentum to the spear.

“Fuck off.”

It left his hand with the crack of the sound barrier, the black spear followed a direct path right toward the source of the mortar shots.

Turning, he shot a glance toward his Master.

“Right. We are getting you into bed, by the way,” Almost absentmindedly, he gestured at Sophia. “You can come with, too. . .

. . .But you’ll need a hard hat.”

@phonic @addamas

Fate/Factitious Paradigm

’Lancer Prime’

Ajax’s Grave, Foreigner’s Lowlands

Some would call it a bet. Others a prayer. Others still would deride it as a cornered rat lashing out.

Achilles would do nothing of the sort. His enemy had chosen to place her life on the line and commit to her course fully, with no hesitation, looking at the end of the road and facing him head on.

His blood boiled, and he hated that he had to show this to the killer before him, but, begrudgingly. . .

Even if it was to escape, even if she had killed his cousin, even if she was an enemy he absolutely cannot forgive, he would not mock that determination. Rather, in her last moments, he would acknowledge it and answer on his own.

To have held off his hundred blows.

To have evaded his killing strike by a hair’s breadth.

To possess the determination to trudge forward.

I will acknowledge you, then. The determination in those eyes, the gleam of one who strives to live just for one more second, the commitment to one’s path. I will respond to it in the only manner I am allowed to now.

It is the only gift I can give — to an enemy I hate, but that I will not disrespect, to an enemy that is about to die, this is my farewell.

I will answer your every attempt and absolutely—

“—Shatter them all right before your eyes.”

Saber had managed to avoid death once again. That, in itself, was commendable and something that spoke highly of her abilities as a warrior. But she had made one fatal mistake.

To begin with, Achilles had nothing to fear even if she did get close for a variety of reasons. Beyond even his confidence in his skills, the fact was that close range was where ‘Achilles absolutely held the advantage’.

Tackling an enemy is not a strategy that will work if you cannot make them so much as budge from their spot. Her mistake had been attempting this against someone that was as an unyielding wall, right before her.

The key of the matter was in Achilles’ divine armor, the greatest work of the Olympian blacksmith, Hephaestus, that was doubtlessly one of the many proofs of how beloved by the gods he had been during his lifetime. Beyond even the unfair effect it had working alongside his immortal body, the quality and protections built into the craftsmanship made it an absolute first-rate Noble Phantasm worthy of the second greatest hero of Greece. In terms of pure defense, it outweighed even the skin of a certain hero from Germany that had bathed in dragon’s blood.

Furthermore, the mistake had only been made worse by the fact that what she was attempting counted, for all intents and purposes, as the appropriate situation to trigger its second passive effect of enhancing the abilities of someone that was already a first-rate hero to their absolute limit.

Defenses that even the Rank of A would fail against.

Strength that approached that of monsters absolutely beyond man.

The bravery to try such a course of action without flinching, confident to the point of absurdity.

What she had attempted to tackle could not be said to be a man anymore — rather, the more fitting term would be ‘moving fortress’. And so, crashing against him, Achilles’ free arm came to envelop without so much as budging backwards, trapping her.

“Come to think of it.”

Ah, so this is it, then?

“When you killed my cousin he could not even move to escape his death, could he?”

The arm pressed—

“I guess it’s only fair, then.”

—and pressed—

“Now, stay silent, and enjoy the sunset. This is your requiem.”

—and pressed—

“I’d normally go for something more dramatic, you know? But as it is, well, I’m really angry right now, so this is the best you’ll get. Maybe if the circumstances were different. . .”

—and pressed.

“Maybe then we could have had a fun fight. But, sorry. This is an execution, you see.”

And Yamato Takeru, Saber of the Second Holy Grail War, died.

@addamas