Yukitamas

Fate/Factitious Paradigm

@Floodtalon@Addamas@Phonic@Undyingregret@Dosthou

Southern Moors

Power and answers, hmm? Well, as for me. One could say it is a matter of fighting for an answer, or a matter for fighting for recognition. The answer is what is going on in this land? But as for what I am fighting for personally beyond this conflict?

Why, that’s simple. We’re trying to save the world.

Ah, that was what he said moments ago and it certainly was his goal even now. But the premonition that swept all of the city brought him to think that perhaps it would be a bit more of a brute example that would show that struggle than initially expected.

“My. Saber. It looks like that something new has happened, something that seems much beyond any calculation or projected expectation. I don’t suppose that even the great ogres of Japan had anything on this? Looking at all of this, it might be best to instead ask the ones we’re visiting for some help.”

He became silent as he took a gun in hand.

The collapse of bounded fields. The territory of the servant they were hunting was stripped and revealed the moment it faded away. What sort of monstrous phenomena was this? It wasn’t as though it was some sort of mere ritual, or even something that was a Noble Phantasm. No, this reached farther and further than anything he would have known to be possible in Japan. Teodoise became silent for a moment before picking up his pace towards the home of Gilua.

“Perhaps we should go find some others after we get out of this in one piece.”

After all, it seemed that some other entities of a extremely high status were approaching the moors. Idris was prime and his mind began to work even as he made to establish contact with the other participant in the war in the moor.

“Physical make-up, human. Spiritual foundation… Well, that’s certainly worrying. Saber. Mhm, at this point I’d say we should run.”

The concentration of energy and poison best suited for these foes was determined in his mind The shot to kill these foes prepared. Hopefully it wouldn’t quite come to a drawn out fight in the Moors.

Enhancing his vocal chords he addressed the Assassin and magus that they had been tracking while calculating the best escape route for their parties.

“There’s not much time to speak, I’m afraid. But I’d like to ask if you’d like to leave with us and go find some others to prepare for this figurative storm, Saber and I are more than happy to have a new friend.”

The world saw the birth of an evil and all of man reeled. Ah, he would have to fight to preserve this war, this city, this planet. If this world were to be ruined then that man would not come to conquer it. IF he wished to fight that man then this garden, this battlefield would have to be preserved.
The lumbermill was abandoned, the Anathanoi roused to wage war once more.

Although in this case the form it took was again rather unorthodox. In accordance to his order to “pick up Archer” he decided to mimic what he had seen before in this city, the eavesdropped upon moment giving a enjoyable impression of a shape and construct.

Skeletons wrapped around each other and his tomb to form a chassis. But this was no chariot, or even a wagon, but rather… a car.

He slammed his ax, crackling with lightning and green flames into a slot in mimicry of a key, causing the construct of the dead to roar to life. The flames burst out of exhaust pipes formed from soldiers. Where the Anathanoi drove the roads broke under its weight and destructive charge, while what else was left was set on fire. Darius left a ghastly trail of ruin behind him as he made his way to the Archer of Lightning.

One of the Lyaceuses was in his path. With a further explosion of energy and flames the Anathanoi-mobile gained a burst of speed while coating the streets in a foul conflagration. Darius reached out to grab Tesla as he drove by. Plucking the servant from the streets as though casually picking up a choice fruit from the market, they continued to drive away even as his ally was placed in a somewhat uncomfortable metal seat right by the giant of a king. The answer to the liberator did not matter in the end. Even if Tesla were to agree and side with their foe, the berserker committed to the order given. Pick up Archer.

???

The chase of three of those… things was harrowing. Existences that were definitely not servants, existences beyond a servant. Yet they were also incredibly similar to his family-line. Those who took in divine existences into themselves. Well, not that any of them really had the ability for that before, but there was a time where their bloodline was offered as the vessels for the gods.

Still, he could not quite figure out what exactly these beings were. Combined with that ingrained knowledge and understanding that a calamity descended, even if he did not know its identity or its true nature. It was clear that something was at work that would bother even him.

Hmph. If Fuyuki were to be razed completely now, then there wouldn’t be a chance for him to enact his revenge and take what was rightfully his.

He would have felt better if it was something woven by his hand, but it wasn’t as though it was a controlled or intentional consequence of his servant’s wandering.

A explosion ripped through the streets as a demonic spear that was not the arm of Achilles struck. It was not the power of a servant, but it was certainly a weapon that could bring destruction that would make even one take notice.

As though it were simply the introduction and fanfare for his introduction, a call patched through to Benita as a figure revealed itself, speaking into his device as he made his way to those collected at the DDD. Slipping into the premise and out of the streets. As he walked in through the doors, a following floating trail of knives that glowed with the light of the sun, looking as though it were the wing of an angel attached to the man, before they flew off to pelt one of the Lycaeus in a enveloping light that scorched.

Call

“Bentia boy!” The words were airy, giving no impression that he’d been running for his life non-stop for quite a while. The impression was that his voice was filled with a sort of coddling tone, in the manner that a parent spoke to a child from above. Or perhaps more accurately, the way a person spoke to a pet that was a curiosity of sorts. It was the way he always spoke to her. It was a manner that held more affection than when he seemed to deal with people.

The understanding then was that he was a man who disliked humans. His identity was clear to Benita. Codename Quagga. Otherwise known to the homunculus as Braze Dahe. One of the members of her circle.

The man in question turned off his communication device as he made his way into the meeting room of the various masters of the war that had assembled. A rare smile of sort was on his face as he made his way directly to the one who had gathered them all here.

It seems that despite the dire straits all in Fuyuki found themselves in, his mannerisms and base nature hardly changed. “While I could say you have been performing admirably, doing nice for yourself what with making such a nice attraction that hardly matters now in the face of what’s come about, hmm?”

And then he turned to Altera.

“Saber, less standing around, more chopping and slicing. Chop chop… I mean that literally even.” Directing the woman revealed to be his servant, Braze then made to look over the gathered servants and masters. “Well. We certainly have a possession problem. Let’s get to work then.”

Fate/Factitious Paradigm

@Dosthou @Undyingregret @addamas

Southern Moor Shinto

Mmhm.

What a strange town this is.

"This is your land, right? Well, maybe not this city itself, but this island as a whole." He asked the opinion of his servant as he walked. The words he exchanged with her were surprisingly devoid of their business, other than a brief introduction of his purpose, of Atlas and a few requests he mainly had been asking about inconsequential things such as her thoughts on certain things they saw such as cars, or even the snacks peddled on the streets in what few places were still open as they passed by. Traveling in Shinto, New City, it was certainly busier than the western half of Miyama that was host to all that chaos. So there were a few things to spark up some idle thought.

While visiting the ground zero of all the happenings seemed like the most logical of things, the lack of accessible mana in many places of the city, along with the pollution of the river he noticed interested him first of all. He doubt that the problems of Miyama would disappear before they could be analyzed, so he went chasing trails that were a bit older before they were completely washed away.

As for his servant herself. Well, he had a few choices that he had been debating between. A slayer of heroes, a slayer of monsters, a great leader of men, or even a insightful detective.

In the end he decided to go with something native. A hero who slayed the threats to Japan, who overcame mysteries and great monsters. In a sense it could also be said that she overcame herself. It seemed a good choice then for this investigation that would have the potential of opposing a countless number of legends. Both that of heroes and monsters.

Well, it didn’t quite turn out the way he expected, but it was something he ended up taking up in stride. Perhaps it was only natural with his origin that she’d end up summoned at this fork in her life. Perhaps he’d get to see which path she walks down. But there was no real time for leisure either. Little or not, immature or mature as long as they would complete their mission there was no real problem.

A master who did not chase after the grail. There was a strange air to him as an investigator and intruder both in this ritual. But that air always came from him. It simply so happened that it was most definitely a correct impression. Even now with a hero summoned he seemed to take things rather casually. Perhaps there was no use trying to surprise a member of the Giant's Pit who could put to form the events of the future in their minds. But how long would that last in a war such as this? To begin with there were too many things for him to take into consideration. He had done his research into the city and been given some information, but there were too many factors unknown for him to map a concrete image or prediction.

Only one way to fix that.

“I think that whoever who did that work did it expecting visitors. While a head-on assault might be a bit silly… well, it’s a good test for sure. “

Narrowing down the possible location of the party that added their poisons to the river, analyzing the taint and substance with Idris, taking it into Saber’s blade. He felt prepared enough for a fight, and certainly had enough of a trail to find the lair of this magus or servant.

It was a means that was leaning towards bruteforce to simply enter another’s territory or hideaway looking for a fight. But with a Saber it was as good a method as any to get the information he needed. Tonight was a hunt, of the poisoner of the river.

In The Woods Lumbermill

GRgrgrgr, hrg.. Haaaaaaah!”

The king shouted at his vassals and soldiers despite being unable to speak, and having servants that could not hear. To begin with there was no need for verbal instruction.

Nor was there a need for the helmets of the immortals to be changed into hardhats. But they were, with even Darius wearing one of his own.

During his adventures, scouting and pillaging through the city he came across a man who held such a hardhat, taking a break from the work on the hotsprings that was now the host to the meeting of the various masters of the war. Instead of throwing it into the door he instead took it, recognizing its worth and purpose as it was.

So he was using it quite properly as a good young boy does, following the rules. A workplace needed proper protection for all the workers, even the managers.

Another tree fell.

In short the pillaging of the Persian Empire turned upon the land itself. The forest around the church was being slowly converted into magical energy, tree after tree chopped down and pushed into the door by the working soldiers.

While he had magical energy to spare due to the spear of Achilles it was important to gain even more. This was indeed a means and method of a king, not a hero, who encompasses an entire realm and works on a different scale.

Still no matter how macabre a lumbermill of the undead was, it was in the end just a lumbermill.

What a silly thing.

Fate/Factitious Paradigm

@Breo@Floodtalon@Scallop@Kyoka@Reflection@Enterthehero@Phonic@Manythings

In The Woods Church Outskirts

Birth of a Hero's Struggle

The shining comet rose again, but he would bat it down. This time he loomed over Achilles, this time he would be that which could fight a great hero.

Iskander, Iskander, Comet… Achilles!

The words melded together, the comet of Iskander that guided Iskander that he chased. The trails of glory that spread across the world. The tale that spread beyond Okeanos, beyond the oceans, beyond the mediterranean. In a sense it was a story that exceeded the world by filling the world.

He recognized Achilles. He recognized the comet. The relation to Iskander was deep, and what truly boiled his blood, but for this moment, for this frozen second, the berserker whose mind was twisted into a madness that saw only one man saw another.

Then came the crash of lightning. The lightning of Zeus, the lightning of that thunder god, the lightning of that chariot…

It could only mean one man.

▄▅▆▇!!!“ISKANDER!”!!! ▇▆▅

His world narrowed, his world blossomed. His madness surged, overwhelming him. It was rage and yet it was not rage. It was excitement and yet not excitement. What he felt, or rather what Darius found himself mantling was a complicated emotion, a complicated burden of his existence.

But the expression of it was simple.

He would fight, he would struggle against and defy Iskander.

The giant’s head had shaped into that of a lizard, evoking the Hydra of Greek Legend. The beast that would not die, the beast that would lay low the greatest of heroes. A perfect stepping stone for one such as the Comet. He had already committed to an action, a massive shield like the gate of a giant city swung towards Achilles. But his priorities changed.

He had to match Iskander as soon as possible. He had to clash his existence against his immediately. Everything else did not matter.

So he dropped the shield and swung his hand forward, sending a blast of individual warriors in the mimicry of cannon shots at the church, aimed at Archer. The shockwaves from the force uprooted the ground and left a desolate churned land. The trees at the site of the battle between the two legends crumbling and turned into mulch. What was a fertile forest became a ruin of dirt. Or perhaps it was more like an inversion, what was underground rising to the surface and the forest above being mulched and buried underneath. To ruin what existed and create the fertile grounds for a greater empire and legend. Perhaps it was an expression of the Loser King to the fullest.

Like a dozen missiles the skeleton warriors flew towards the church, projectiles overflowing with magical energy and sailing with the power of the giant.

Yet would that legend be able to match his expectations?

Darius moved, charging towards the Church, rabidly searching for his rival. Where was he, where was he where was he where was he? Iskander where are you?

Your lightning is here, your god is here, yet you are not here. Where are you?

His eyes did not see the Archer of Lightning, whether or not he perished from the barrage of the Immortals. Nor even if his ire was directed towards the giant.

Fight me, conquer me, slay me. I will defy my death, I will burn out my lands, I will crush your dreams.

So please, show yourself.

Fate/Factitious Paradigm

Man with a Mission

Teodosie Tomas Istaairyf

Character Information

Title(s): Coined Gun, Made-Man
Gender: Male
Age: 57
Alignment: Chaotic Neutral
Rank: Cause

Personality
A man who does not live too properly, which is perhaps proper as his place as a deviation from the norm. He recognizes both the values of normal people, and that of his fellow magi. Yet he does not quite live in a way that chooses either. In a sense he has a feeling of being an outsider, a deviant. Or perhaps it would be better to call him an observer. Someone who can see the shape of something in its whole without devoting himself to it. His ability to discern and analyze is therefore rather wide. Oddly he does not seem to consider his path an obligation or a duty. To save the world, to prove his family’s directions worth is something he personally enjoys. Related to such, he holds himself in a high esteem. One could say that he is prideful in himself, yet to take pride in something one was given, born with rather than one's work may be something that twists him away from most people and their values of worth as well.

All in all something about him can be a slight bit offputting, making him perhaps a bit hard to trust.

Objective for the Grail
If he were to attain the Grail then it would likely go towards used towards a project. However his concern is not the Grail War, but rather to be a scout for the institute, while also searching for information on the status of the first agent sent, Peregrinus. If need be his duty is to destroy any traces of Peregrinus, along with the products of Atlas that said unit has brought outside of the Pit.

..But maybe, now that he thinks about it. He could do That

Bio
A member of the Istaairyf of the Atlas Academy. He is both a product, and member of the family, born as part of the pursuit after the beginning of their deviation from being those who make weapons to those who make themselves into weapons. A designer baby. A child born with modified DNA. In a sense it is the designing and creation of a human with desired traits. A specialized existence. Yet one cannot confuse it for the coining of a homunculus. For the results are undoubtedly a human. Having gone on tasks before for the Academy, both as a means to see more of the world, and also to try and prove the validity of his family’s direction, and by extension, his own existence in the field. With the line of contact with the unit designated as the latest Peregrinus lost, a new set of eyes in Fuyuki to evaluate the situation that has grown to become a concern for the supernatural community was seen as needed.

Command Seal

Magical Information

Magic Circuit Switch: The computation required to adjust his own measurements into the ideal human proportions.

Number of Magic Circuits: D
Quality of Magic Circuits: C

While his magic circuits cannot be called amazing, compared to many of the Atlas Academy they are of a quality that could be said to be above-average. It is a result of investing into circuit quality, but not holding it as the highest of priorities. Furthermore his are specialized for the purpose of being utilized with the body, and as such his body parts are better than average as catalysts. In a way it could be said it very well suits his purposes.

Elemental Affinity: Earth and Fire

Origin: Intersection and Fork

Magecraft

Witchcraft
A section of Witchcraft centered around using parts of his own body. Hair can be turned into deadly needles, teeth can become a explosive fragment grenade. Nails can be turned into bullets. Teodosie is specialized in the arts of utilizing one’s body for magecraft, and also using one’s body as a medium to deliver magecraft. Not in the sense of angels and how they preserve mystery, but as actual vessels. It is similar to a certain Japanese girl, or fox’s arts in a way. With fire he is able to convert life energy into heat/generate heat within his body parts. With his earth affinity he better binds curses, magecraft, and other attributes to his bodyparts to make them into specialized tools. The creations of the Istaairyf are weapons. Their weapons are their own selves. Primarily he is focused on the utilization of his nails as bullets, both as the vehicle to deliver curses and also as cursed bullets themselves. His body, and nails have been treated so as to regrow and be prepared to fire as an automatic process. The concept is related to the Scandanivan Curse of Gandr, but not the same. It is also similar to a certain freelancer magus and his bullets derived from fingers. Augmented and permeated with magical energy, the sheer force alone is comparable to the ordinances of the modern day. As an aside, while it already is implied, he also holds the ability to cast curses in general.

Necromancery
Rather than the art of bringing corpses to life as servants and beings, it is the repurposement of the body parts into artifacts and spells. While this could be said to overlap with his witchcraft to an extent, the underlying principles are more rather bringing out the potential of the body, and utilizing its meaning. A hand will ward off curses. A finger will curse and bring illness. A heart will contain life within death (underworld). A liver would regenerate or show the future. Rather than something that utilizes the body as a medium, it is something that treats the parts of the body as potential tools and brings out their meaning along that vein as the forefront. As such it is no surprise that the Istaairyf mix with such a craft perfectly.

Flash Air/Displacement
Derived from western alchemy. It is nonetheless something that Toto has decided to take use of as a tool for his talents. While not on the level of a family that specializes in this magecraft to the extent that the container of the soul, or one's mental energy/spirit can be exchanged with ease, what Teodosie is able to calculate and analyze can be displaced. Often it is utilized with his nails as anchors and beacons to help facilitate the process better. It is also possible to transmit the effect of one's body to an area within one's "line of sight" (perception)

Atlas Staples/Thought Acceleration and Thought Partition
To divide the body and the mind is a thing considered foolish. The brain does not exist as a control unit for the body. Rather the body exists to increase the effectiveness of the brain's functions. So is the philosophy of the Atlas Alchemists who utilize all parts of the body, and the soul along with the mind as a unit for calculation. In other words they are living computers. The power of the human brain is an obscenely powerful calculation unit, and in this time there is no computation device born of science that can match it. In its optimized state the ability of the human body as a computation device would stand supreme even in the modern age of the early 21th century.

The maximum partitions capable by Teodosie numbers four.

Crest: N/A as an Atlas Alchemist.

Weapon: Himself. To elaborate on that... The hardware, or rather the parameters of Teodosie are, without a doubt, human. However he has been made to ensure traits that are useful for his purpose, including a reflex and reaction time that could be called higher than average, exceptional natural eyesight, and a generally fit and healthy physiology.

Mystic Code(s)
Analysis:Idris Graft (Foreign-Interior Psuedo-Spiritron Machine)
A gift/tool given to Teodosie as an agent who has left the Giant's Pit before, and the support deemed suitable for this mission at its current level. The alchemists of Atlas do not use magic crests, the means of preserving mystery of the west. In the first place it is simply not something that is required for them. However as part of his specialization Teodosie has integrated something foreign into his body for a function. It is not a matter of having something to calculate in place of the mind, but rather a analysis machine that works together with the body. Together with his own mind and capabilities it is also able to give birth to what he considers his trump card.

Further information is currently sealed.

Exceptional Benefit: Supply LineAn agent of the Atlas Academy. With the loss of contact with the first sent agent, and the growing worries about the ritual in the Giant’s Pit . Teodosie has been sent as a second agent, on a mission that is more than just a scouting mission. However the news that has spread to the magical world must be verified first-hand. With further information and analysis required the level of need and extents of support are still kept to a lower level.

A contact/information line is provided. Along with the supplies of a rudimentary budget, and a starting set of code support.

While the Istaairyf are considered oddities within the Atlas Academy, it is precisely because of their nature that Teodosie was sent as the second agent. In a sense the body of Teodoise could be said to be his weapon, yet the fact remains that as a member of the Academy that it is their knowledge and creations that are what defeats strong foes. It can simply be said that his creations are based around the self. That they are not men that are machines that create weapons for a purpose, but rather men that are machines that modify themselves as weapons. Such is the deviation that they have taken after the discovery of the most terrible inevitable truth. One could say it is running away to deviate in such a manner.

Setting

1 The Weight of The World

???

2: The Unavoidable/Promised ***

???

3: Gift of the Prophet (Idris)

???

Fate/Factitious Paradigm

@Breo

In The Woods, Church Outskirts

Fall of a King

The wall crumbled.

Ah.

He was defeated again.

He knew that even before the hit landed.

This would be a ruinous blow, a blow to kill, to destroy. It is a blow that would be fatal to a servant, a blow that would break him even if he rallied all his strength against it.

So knowing that he would be defeated he struggled to the end. Darius swung his axes, the blazing spiral of blue light of lightning and fel green flames raining two comets upon Achilles. It would not hurt him, but rather his actions were like a stake pounding a hammer. The full force of Darius who accepted his defeat and paradoxically struggled against it slammed into Achilles while the fist of the great greek hero blew through his chest.

Drive him lower and lower. If this great hero would climb past himself, he would push him down even further and smother him. A parting gift. Together they would travel the path to ruin.

The speed of Achilles and the strength of achilles was that even the singular moment needed to strike his heel was one that could not be attainable. Indeed, to hurt Achilles was in a way a miracle.

So he would accept death in exchange. The mire concentrated its strength, aiming for that miracle that Darius attempted to bring forth in exchange for accepting the punch that he could not deny.

The wall faded away, the army faded away. All that was left was the mire that was the last bit of defiance of Darius.

He was not a normal servant who would immediately stop fighting, or fade away even with damage to his core.

He flew. His chest exploded, his spiritual core damaged and the a full quarter of his body blown away. Yes, this battle was without a doubt a loss for the king who knew only defeat.

But he didn’t stop.

No, to simply kill him, to defeat him was not all that it took. He was the king who ruled over the immortal army who knew only defeat. To lose again and again and again, to be defeated so many times that he was sick of it, that it was the only aftermath he knew. Yet he was still alive, he was still able to fight again and again and again.

To simply defeat Darius was a matter of course.

To slay Darius was a given.

But this fatal damage too could be returned from. What should be death was not death to him. He was no great king, and yet the symbol of his legend were the famed Immortals. The warriors who were the never diminishing, never weakening elite force. The most famous soldiers of the Persian Empire in this modern day.

The armor he was granted broke. Not that it mattered with his body shattered as well.

Yet his skill, Battle Continuation which gave him the tenacity needed to shrug off such a state, to keep his army present in even such a state, to fight until he was extinguished kept him in this world.

The wall crumbled, the comet shined through and the dream of the warrior stood supreme. So what? He would try again. He would build that wall again. For most men it would be an empty boast, but for this stubborn king it was simply his reality and existence.

With his disengage his retreated, the power of Achilles added to his will to survive and ability to flee from battle, not that this was truly a fight anymore. Darius retreated to his tomb, entombing himself in his place of death, of his ultimate defeat.

Yet it was a symbol of life for him as well. For a man who abandoned his own hopes and ideals and dedicated himself as a wall, what could truly be said of his life. It did not live to fulfill passion, but to deny it. Yet that denial held as strong a passion as the actualization of a dream.

Was that not beautiful in of itself? To create the ultimate struggle, to make something beautiful into something truly admirable? It wasn’t enough, it wasn’t enough. He wasn’t done yet, his foe wasn’t done yet. Iskander was not done yet.

His broken body that was dead repaired itself. Spiritual Core damage, fatal damage. None of that mattered. In this place, where he was entombed he would be reborn to fight again. He had been slain, he had been defeated. But that was a given.

He rose from defeat. He was not one who overcame, but rather one who forced himself to be what others had to overcome. A stepping stone he was called? How true it was. How laughably true. What pain was there in being told what one was? Especially if that’s what he himself consciously made himself into. No, it was a reaffirmation of his existence. What should have stung to any legend, to any hero was simply a validation of his purpose.

Ah, he had been seeing a dream. A dream in which he could overcome himself. Or was he simply looking at himself the way his foe saw him? How he wished to be seen? For a moment he dreamed that he was the challenger.

Achilles was indeed a great wall, while he was a mere stepping stone. But that was not proper at all, that was not how it was supposed to be. The hero does not block the ascension of others, the hero was one who had to rise. He’d been making a blunder.

He was never about victory.

The energy of the tomb, gathered from the spirits that had been harvested and the vast power released from the conflict between the Persian King and the fastest hero was almost overwhelming.

If Achilles had armor who would deny his injury, that would deny harm and deny defeat. Then it was only perfect that he held an army that would accept harm and embody defeat, only to rise up again.

Both were immortal in the polar opposite of ways. Yet for Achilles it was more than just his armor, it was his body, his own self as well. So he had to match that didn’t he?

Darius accepted defeat. With that his path became clear. A moment of clarity brought by the damage of his saint graph, by the overwhelming push that was Achilles, by his own thoughts reaching the conclusion that they sought all this time. He knew what he then had to do. A new path was opened.

As soon as he had entered the tomb the army remanifested. Or rather, the Anathanoi took upon a new meaning, a new shape in accordance to his resolve that swelled up in the face of that hero that he could absolutely not defeat.

The Athanatoi surrounded the tomb, or rather, they became part of the tomb, part of Darius. His army was never about the army itself. He was not the Conquerer who stood with equals and friends. He was a king who stood alone, who defied greatness by himself, when all others would not. It was a defiance that went beyond common sense, it was a defiance that went against even his own dreams. It was indeed a form of defiance that could be called madness.

This Athanatoi then was him. Death, death, death. He would accept death and strive with the vigor of life. The Athanatoi wrapped around his tomb, became one with his tomb, with Darius. It was no longer an army.

His army was for facing that man, upon the field and in the manner of combat that he shone in. That glorious conflict was for him and him alone. It wasn’t proper. IT wasn’t proper at all. He had to fight Achilles in the way that best suited him if he was to be the ultimate obstacle.

So ten-thousand became one.

The mire disappeared as they too were called to Darius after spending all their strength to maim and hold Achilles. The complete Athanatoi became a garb of defeat and death for Darius who was entombed. His entire legend, his entire self would become one to become Achilles’s foe. His standards in walls were high, after all… that city known as Troy. Was there a city with walls as great as that? It was impossible to match them, wasn’t it?

Well, good thing he wasn’t a city.

Monachikós Athanatos Darius

Lonely Deathless Darius

Nikiménos Éndoxo Táfo

Glorious Tomb of the Defeated

“ISKANDER!”

The roar shook the forest as a birthcry came from Darius.

He survived simply so he could be defeated and slain again and again.

He was never about being alive. But with that dedication, with that madness. It would be an insult to his way of life to say that Darius the Third did not live.

Overflowing with energy and passion to match the fast-burning comet, he loomed over the forest as a giant.

This was the final round.

Fate/Factitious Paradigm

@Breo

In The Woods, Church Outskirts - Site of the Spear

The comet descended upon Persia. It was an inevitability, and so even in his madness he prepared himself for that inevitability.

Even in his madness the truth of what Achilles was something apparent to him. It was a tale branded in the acknowledgement of even those who drifted from common sense or sanity. There was no human that could not understand what that comet meant. To defeat Achilles was to overcome the fastest. In terms of trickery the king was nothing like the clever Archer at the church, nor did he have the gift of the gods, or even the ability of a great hero. What he held were the stations and gifts of the empire.

In the face of that strength why then did he run instead of marshaling his entire army? Why did he run when it was impossible for a mere king to escape that comet? Surely even he knew that the man’s ire was roused. That Achilles would stop at nothing and descend upon him with no mercy. Or was he so blinded by his battle against “Iskander” that he could not see the truth of his foe? It was true, an army could not simply stop Achilles.

No, that was not the case. The flight of Darius was not an attempt to escape. Rather it was part of the battle. It was inevitable that the great noble phantasm of Achilles would blaze through the Athánatoi in pursuit. So the Athánatoi would have to take its original place as a obstacle that struggled against a greater legend and being.

A wall met Achilles to separate him from the King. Prepared, waiting for this exact moment, able to block that speed that was practically teleportation by that virtue, along with the work of the wheels and fodder that funneled Achilles. The giant Berserker was covered by the frames of soldiers even larger than him. Seven legions had been shaped into giants, a hundred skeletons for each woven together to become titanic warriors carrying shields equally as large. Locking together to support each other they pushed against Achilles’s charge, preventing him from reaching Darius for the lariat, able to block his flight. They slammed into his form, flaring with their overflowing magical energy that came from the Lancer’s spear in a battle that resembled more the charge between two magical beasts than a battle of humans.

To compete with the speed of Achilles and his charge was impossible, so it was matter of making sure that he would run straight at the wall, at Darius. The enraged Achilles funneled by the army. A rampage and self-ruinous drive was something that he know too well. Yet this time it became his weapon, rather than his defeat.

They could not stop him forever, and four of them crumbled from the sheer impact from his charge. Yet it was enough. For they were intended to keep Achilles there before the king. The ground itself had become a pit of death, a macabre land of the undying presented enveloping the one who was immortal. Thousands upon Thousands of warriors had been mixed as the soil of Darius’s persia. Mired in it like mud, it would restrain even the Achilles who wore that god armor.

But it was more than just an attempt to weigh him down and halt him.

A king stood above their men, supported by their empire. If so to challenge a king was to challenge the weight of that empire. Achilles was one who led the fight against the legendary Troy. But he was a slayer of people, not nations. In the end Troy fell after his death, and in the end he was not one who conquered a kingdom. To snuff out a lands heroes, its warriors, was different from taking its throne. The kind of battles that Achilles fought were different from that of the one who admired him.

Mixed in together as a mire, as soil, as mud. The legend of a loser king sought to grab, to stop a star for a time. Grabbing at it with the passion and desire that he could not voice. They covered the bright shine of that legend with their own desire. Persia would break the Comet. The soil did more than try to combat the light of the fastest star.

Perhaps he would be called a sore loser. Perhaps he was a mad man trying to defy that which he admired himself. He was not a avenger who burned with resentment at the world, he was not a despoiler who dragged things down to his level. So he tried to rise, rise and rise. Rise and conquer, like that man, overcome the obstacles to your dream and ideal.

He was simply a stubborn man. So he wouldn't admit defeat no matter what, even against this greatest of lancers.

Darius raised and brought down his axes, swirling with crackling lightning and their blazing green flames as the three giants continued to push against Achilles, striking while protected by his wall and the mire.

The weight of an empire crushed and pierced the exposed heel, and the feet of Achilles with strength that could confront even that armor. The power of that soil and the energy that overflowed doing more than just holding him down

The felling of his immortality, the crippling of his speed, the strike of a king, the restraint of a wall. One may call it a crippling blow. For many servants the individual components of this clash would be enough to threaten or even destroy them.

But to Darius who lived his life struggling against a radiance that was greater than him knew. That such a “loss” would only mark the true beginning of his struggle. To strike the heel of Achilles was simply something that lowered him to the level that made him defeatable. It was not a victory in of itself.

That radience shined the brightest in one of the greatest wars in human history. He could not quell it with just the hell. He could not reach that man with just the first opening blow.

Retreating after his blow, even as his forces continued to battle with Achilles, he prepared for the next encounter. For he was never a king who finished a war in one climatic fight. A most unheroic way to wage war.

But that was how one defeated a great hero.

Fate/Factitious Paradigm

@Breo

In The Woods, Church Outskirts

Loser king.

Defeated king.

A rain of arrows that could not harm him splintered before they could even reach him in the wake of his speed. A dozen soldiers were scattered like toys in his wake, not even having the chance to disperse into magical energy as Achilles passed through them.

The sound of bugs and the forest disappeared as the army of Persia swarmed.

Strange weapons were brought upon achilles. A storm of lightning raining down upon him as various skeletons fired guns that shot echoes of the Archer of Lightning’s own shots. Spraying across the ground, only part of them actually were aimed for the heel. The distinction was clear. The truth of his heel was known, yet in madness it was not an overwhelming truth that the heel must be struck no matter what. It was a piece that shifted the flow of a river, but it could not dictate the entire flow.

There was no hero of the bow who were behind these volleys. Yet it was as much of a danger of not more. Even to Achilles the blows that rained down upon him had a small risk out of sheer volume. The emperor held the yolk of madness, and yet his army still wove together as a singular unit worthy of the title of the legendary immortals.

A blast of lightning struck his thigh uselessly, a blow that he did not need to parry or block.

Yet every once in a while even that great hero would have his hand forced to block, to dodge, to acknowledge the blows of the anathanoi.

No matter how mad he was not the berserk hero who charged in with only himself. Darius ran, as he often did in the face of overwhelming odds. Yet it was not a matter of simply running away. Using his disengage skill he retreated, all the while more and more soldiers emerged between Achilles and Darius.

Balls and wheels of skeletons rolled out, faster than any car of the modern day, with weight and power to strike fear in any army of chariots. Of course he outsped them, but he was one comet surrounded by an army. Crowding him, surrounding him. They both struck at him and funneled him, both directing his attention towards Darius and slowing him down so that he could not simply reach the king. Egging him on, distracting him. It was inviting the recklessness of Achilles, a costly attempt to invoke in him the small errors that could be capitalized upon made by him in such a state.

A trio of worm-like monstrosities rose from the ground, hundreds clinging together, magical energy and arms both overflowing from them as they crashed into Achilles to bear the strength to attempt and force past the protection of the armor, not satisfied with just stopping his charge.
Even as Darius retreated more of his army gathered up, preparing for clash after clash with Achilles.

If there was one thing that Darius could pride himself upon without any hesitation, then it was his ability to survive and return. His battle was not that of a single climatic clash.

No.

To face him would be an entire campaign, even for the fastfooted.

Fate/Factitious Paradigm

@Breo

In The Woods, Church Outskirts - Site of the Spear

The army of Persia swarmed over the forest, swarming like locusts and devouring all that was present. Idols and talismans were thrown into the door. Skeleton warriors clutched various spirits in their hands and dived into the tomb that was the final resting place of Darius the Third, adding the energy of the spirits to their liege. More and more the Athánatoi regrew, warrior after warrior manifesting in response to the magical energy claimed, plundered and redistributed.

But it all paled to the grandeur of one prize.

He stood before the spear, a ragged growl of a breath coming from him, his chest heaving for a bestial growl. The spear was a work of beauty. A peerless treasure among treasures. As a relic, as a legend it was certainly unmatched. Connected to one of the greatest heroes in the world whose name was celebrated everywhere the light of civilization reached. Any would hold it in awe, and any hero would hold it in high regard out of respect for that man. Even those who held him as enemies, those who absolutely detested him and died with their last moments dedicated as a grudge to him would feel awe at the weight of his legend.

Yet what he saw was something that was more poginant, more valuable to him.

What was a legend? The muddled thought went through his mind.

Iskander…

Iskander..

Iskander. . .

A legend was something that struck awe, that one admired. The spear before him was indeed a legend of humanity.

But more importantly it was a legend to that man

"ISKANDER!"

His roar shook the forest, sending a few of his men flying. Passion, absolute passion was filled in him as he took the spear in hand. This time he would strike at what was valuable to him. This time he would plunder that which formed his dreams.

To go beyond his legend.

To go beyond opposing the dream of okeanos to plunder the dream of the man who dreamed of the Iliad.

The spear sunk into the door. Achilles saw the spear.

It disappeared.

In its place came the legend of Darius, in full strength. No, exceeding the power that it held as a legend.

The magical energy that surged was enough to blind as suddenly the ten-thousand immortals walked the earth once more. Wreathed in a potent magical energy that exceeded their normal limits. He would become more than just a wall that withstood the dreams of that man.

No.

Darius turned towards the man who would no doubt come to avenge the plundering of his spear.

He would destroy the adored dream of that man.

He would never accept that king's authority. He would never allow him to conquer and win peacefully. It was not a matter of hatred, it was not a matter of jealousy as that man ruled in the way that he himself admired and longed for. In a sense he opposed his own ideal, that man similar to the First King that he saw as the station of a ruler to emulate as an ideal.

He became a king that existed as something to turn his emperor into an engine of war.

He was the final wall, the wall that contained an ocean, the world.

So long as he lived the man who conquered so much of the world would be denied and defied.

That was his hatred.

That was his love.

His axes crackled with electricity and his army formed themselves into a menagerie of monsters. Twisting the various works of Persia into that which slaughtered, that which warred.

The door that held the riches that allowed him to defy the greatest conquerer. The tomb where he rested after that long endless battle, undefiled even as he was slandered by all the people. The mercy, the respect and acknowledgement that he earned from his rival with his life.

The army that stood before him as an endless sea of war. Undying, unrelenting. If they had to match the endless war of the Illiad they would do so. If they had to overcome it they would do so.

Athanaton Ten Thousand

Immortal Ten Thousand Soldiers

The noble phantasm’s name was declared. It was not an invocation for the army was already there. But it was a challenge. This was his power, this was his empire that would conquer the dreams of the conquerer.

So he turned towards Achilles.

Even if he could not put it to words. Even if it was a twisted thought. Earnestly for this moment he believed fully. “I will defeat you.”

Fate/Factitious Paradigm

Church Outskirts

What remaining soldiers remained had taken to looting a number of houses with their lord as they waited for further instructions. To be a servant was to stand as an exemplar of humanity as a star, yet subservient no matter how many lands one owned in life to a modern man.

Well, whatever the case it hardly mattered whether or not he was subservient or in-charge. With more than half his army decimated in mapping out the marshes, Berserker faced a large deficit that needed to be covered. In the short team he would be able to fight, even if he would be a pale shadow of the heights he could theoretically reach. But a solution was required, either one for the long-term or of a plunder great enough to take care of all such issues.

...and there so happened to be a treasure, a great weapon that was a peerless weapon. As a spear alone it was priceless, but as a crystallization of myth, a piece of a legend it was beyond simple monetary value.

Berserker moved without any hesitation, taking the straightforward-most path, heedless of who may notice him, and bulldozing even homes in his wake as he charged for his prize. It would not matter who came, even if it was that hero who was the fastest and the mightiest of one of the most famous wars in human myth. The power of that spear would give way to the power of Persia, and even with his mind clouded, he was certain that even that man could not stand against his immortal army.

It was certainly reckless.

Yet a charge like that was only fitting to grab at the spear of the man who lived life as a comet.

Fate/Factitious Paradigm

@BlueHelix@Reallydumb@Kyoka@reflection

In The Woods, Southern Moor

Athánatoi Number 3001

Directed by that man he marched forth without fear in a batallion with a hundred more of his allies. In a sense they were unlike the men of that one general, being one of many, indistinguishable from each other. They held a willl and could easily meld together, yet could also become individual soldiers. The undying army that held a form that was not strongly defined. What shaped them then was the will of their Emperor.

Various pit traps were revealed by the careful poking of soliders, and the ground-shattering shots of Archer. At times boulders that rolled into their ranks were repulsed due to advance warning by the Athánatoi gathering and forming massive giants to push back against them.

Yes, thanks to the guidance of Archer things were going well.

Athánatoi Number 236

The snapping of bones, the whine of metal. Darts that punctured through them and broke them apart came from the bushes. Darts that killed invading soldiers. Laid by a heroic spirit by that virtue they were tools that struck as a mystery. Even with all their sweeps, various Athánatoi walking in one by one, they could not quite clear it all. No easy path existed and so each meter was gained at the cost of shattered soldiers, fading into wisps of ether as they felt the terror of the defiance of a hiding lord.

Athánatoi Number 7449

A most dangerous stretch of land that the Emperor certainly could not have discovered. Even if it was something that he would have figured out soon enough after the first wave of casualties, there was little he could do to find where this stretch of land that was hostile to those who advanced into the heart of this territory ended in a spot of respite.

But with the guidance of that man they knew. With that knowledge they crossed.

Giant towers rose into the ground. Macabre and yet prideful. They had no will and yet they held a sense of luxury and regality that carried the power of the Persian Empire. Giant pillars of bone and metal of soldiers clinging together. Thousands gathered to form a construct with their bodies, one that cast a shadow over the horizon of Fuyuki. Silently it arched, falling with a large crash that sent a powerful shockwave through the moor that ripped through the land and sent cracks and fissures that broke apart various traps, and drained pits of mud and quicksand.

But that was not its purpose.

The elephant of the Emperor crossed first, then came the rest of the soldiers. Holding the weight of the rest of the army, the bridge formed out of the Athánatoi.

The army was the might of the empire. The empire grew by supporting the reach of the one who stood as the man who reigned above it. It was only natural then it could support his march as a bridge.

Athánatoi Number 3862

It walked forward as a scouting party. Searching for the master, searching for the servant. Slowly they were mapping out the moor.

Number 994 disappeared. Number 13 found itself bashed to bits by a launched log.

It walked forward.

It also disappeared as the world became a murky brown as it sunk into the trap that hid a pit filled with water. As he fell his body crumbled at the holes edges and caused a reaction of the tumbling of rocks that buried him inside.

Number 3862 dispersed.

Athánatoi Number 391 disappeared.

Athánatoi Number 2501 disappeared.

Athánatoi Number 33 disappeared.

The numbers of the Athánatoi were whittled More than half of the army had faded away and the mighty elephant that Darius rode upon was now but a chariot pulled by two “horses” made out of a number of skeletons forming a mimicry of the beasts..

The invasion was by all means a most costly one, but also one that was going better than expected.

But-

There was a matter even more important.

He was the emperor. But the emperor had a cornerstone that he could not do without. His master. The situation at the church, of the Archer who was their ally who engaged in hostilities with that shining hero who was known as the fastest.

The heart of the war-effort of Darius was under incredible danger. Despite the losses that had be incurred, despite the fact that the battle was over he made to retreat. Taking his leave of the marsh. The Athánatoi left in the shame of defeat.

But defeat did not matter. As long as they remained, as long as he could rebuild it did not matter.

Leaving the land of Rider, Darius made to pillage a number of homes, taking cues from the riot that now rampaged through the city.

To recooperate and to be close enough to protect his master. The campaign was that of loss, but it was information that they could use for another invasion in the future.