CATHARSIS is a non-canon OC fate/series site, loosely based off of fate/apocrypha. Knowledge of the fate/series canon is helpful, but knowledge of fate/apocrypha isn't needed!
mulan recieved her task from the caster of red mere minutes ago, but she knew that there was no time to wonder whether she would even make it in time or not before something happened. there was only duty, and those who were willing to fulfil it. she didn't question the knowledge of the magician, not when she is a learned woman.
she summoned her noble phantasm at the base -- thankfully, the horse is inconspicuous enough in a developing town such as taixuan. her ability cloaks her gender, even though she highly doubts that anyone would be able to pick her out of a crowd. she has no particularly distinguishing features that would give her identity away, just like how she always preferred it. mulan doubts that even the master of caster would be able to identify her without the horse. hopefully that wouldn't make things more difficult.
when mulan arrives at the scene, she sees that nadia has in fact made things rather difficult. xiao di snorts before galloping forward, making the jump required for mulan to grab the falling nadia by the torso. they land safely (of course they would, with the rider at the reins). the horse slows to a trot, and they are several good strides away from the other servant.
there is no disappointment in her voice as mulan speaks with a gruffness that she had trained on the northern battlefields. "she wants you to return." mulan doubts that nadia needs much elaboration. Hector of Troy (tell me if any part of this post is not ok)
Had Hector been a tad luckier, his opponent might have had the chance to land and find herself skewered upon his spear. Even before his eyes had fully cleared, he could hear her coming, and he could see her form and guess her pose. Simply shifting stances and holding his spear point steady and upward might have ended in the girl becoming happily impaled as a result of her own momentum. But even as he began to swing the weapon around to meet her, he could sense that something was amiss.
At first, Hector almost did not register the blur that snatched his kill right out of the air. With a reaction a split second too late, he let out a snarl of rage, battle lust coursing through his veins. Quickly, he re-adjusted his stance to face the new threat, anger boiling his blood.
And what a threat it was.
Thickly muscled arms bulged impossibly from the man’s biceps and thighs and though very nearly ridiculous in appearance, the newcomer was unmistakably the envy of bodybuilders everywhere. The Heroic Spirit before him was tougher-looking than Hector could ever hope to be, and that fact irritated him more than it probably should have. Since the Spirit was riding a horse, it seemed safe to assume that he was a Rider as well, and that only added to the heightened sense of competition he had invented for himself.
It was only when the other Servant spoke that he snapped back to the situation at hand. “She is not going anywhere, and neither are you.” Prana gathered around the weapon as he spoke, causing it to feel heavier as it grew bright enough to rival his helmet. This distance gave him the advantage, even if they did not realize it. Upon impact, the Noble Phantasm would discharge prana corrosive enough to dissolve most defenses, a blast he was confident would destroy both the Master and Servant targets.
He raised his weapon above his shoulder, cocking his arm back for the throw. At the last moment, he regarded Nadia with a small amount of regret. “I do not think you will get to see my horses, magus.” And he launched the spear.
Nadia felt herself pulled out of the air, and that set her blood, what little that remained, boiling. Her senses were fogged, the Todestanz ended with her spitting out what looked too thick and coagulant to be blood. It also wasn't boiling; it looked pretty dead.
Still, when she looked up at Rider and saw a person that was obviously not Rider, she was--to say the least--confused. She assumed she was hallucinating a bit, a not unlikely scenario given her blood loss.
An open-faced young man, honest in appearance with the rough but trained poise of a footsoldier, had grabbed her by the waist, and even his voice wasn't Rider's.
"Caster?" she gurgled, moving a skeletal hand to close over a rotted hole in her throat, so that it could channel the air for her to speak. "I--" she gasped for air and stopped to spit out crumbling teeth that Avalon was hard at work to replace, "busy. G'way. Tell hrggh I need faiff mor minutes."
She saw the spear. She couldn't do much about it. Feebly, she pushed at Mulan with the force of a newborn infant, trying to shove her out of the way with no effect.
everyone present at the scene was probably pretty sure that nadia wasn’t going to get those five minutes, whether it was by mulan’s hand or hector’s. she wasn’t even mulan’s master, so she had no qualms about disregarding nadia’s wish.
mulan gives a quick glance at the master’s condition. it doesn’t look pretty, but it seems that she will live. if she’s still alive after these holes, then she can probably last the ride back. after that, it’s all in caster’s hands.
she’s been sent here for a reason. she’s been sent here because she has the ability to succeed in her task. with her back to hector, mulan doesn’t even turn around, making sure that her angle is enough to cover nadia. all she can do is have faith that her bond with her ally is strong enough to be recognized by her noble phantasm.
her faith is rewarded when the spear strikes her in the back and only throws the rider and master about an inch forward. prana explodes from the weapon (dat phallic joke), but mulan manages to retain her spinal cord.
when the last of the magic dissipates, mulan doesn’t even stop to ask about nadia’s condition. instead, she summons her other noble phantasm while the spear still needs to be retrieved. suddenly, dusty winds start gathering at one spot, faster and faster until they fall away to reveal a rather regal-looking camel, all adorned in fine silks and expertly weaved cloths.
“can you sit up?” rider asks, ignoring hector entirely.
It was a direct hit, and Hector came close to shouting his triumph to the heavens before he saw them. Alive. Unscathed. He blinked once. Twice, trying to make sense of the scene before him. Anyone hit by his Noble Phantasm should pretty much be disintegrated, even those who boasted heavy defensive abilities. No matter how muscular the opposing Servant was or how incredible the magus’s regenerative skills, neither should have survived a direct hit from his fully charged Phantasm. And yet there his opponents stood, not even giving him a second glance.
Hector bellowed his outrage like some enraged bull about to charge, demanding the attention he so deserved. “Do not ignore me, Rider! This is my duel, you coward!” Still, he had enough wits gathered about him to recognize an escape attempt when he saw one. It would mean an even sharper blow to his pride if his Noble Phantasm had failed and he allowed a mere magus to leave a duel alive.
The Heroic Spirit did not waste another moment before holding up his outstretched palm for the spear’s instant return. At the same time, he began to summon his third and final Noble Phantasm. The wind stirred and the earth moaned, and out of the cracks in the dirt formed a ghastly chariot with its immortal, deathly horses at the helm.
The chariot of Achilles had certainly seen better days, though its usefulness had not yet dimmed. Hector leapt lightly into position, as if he had born to do it. He had practically grown up in a chariot much like this one. At the crack of the reigns, the horses lunged forward at a terrible speed, flesh tearing against the harnesses and bones creaking. As soon as Hector felt the spear in his hand again, he brandished the weapon with an ugly laugh.
"Faiff minnus," Nadia repeated, more or less an accurate summation of whether she could sit upright or not--minus the part where she admitted she couldn't, not now. Again, she tried shoving at Mulan, this time with all the force of gentle summer breeze.
She heard Hector, although his voice seemed distant. All the world seemed distant at the moment, her consciousness clinging tight to reality only because there was a fight at hand. She would not surrender. She would not flee. That was not something that could be done; that was not honorable.
Nadia heard the chariot more than she saw them. She felt their presence, ghastly and twisted. There were no ponies, she realized, but here was Rider's mount out in the open at last. How could she respond to that by hitchhiking back home on a camel? How dare she?
Like a dog that absolutely under no conditions wanted to take a bath, Nadia flopped out of Mulan's grip and onto the ground. For a second, her legs sustained her, then she crumpled. Putting her weight on her sword, Nadia pulled herself back up. She felt her body stitching itself back together, her stance and balance improving as she drew breath.
Five minutes, she was certain now. Maybe less. She didn't need five minutes to properly lose a duel. The five minutes were only needed for her to stand half a chance at winning a duel, but she could settle for noble closure of any sort.
"I will not have it said, Rider, that I feared a loss so much as to withdraw against an honorable opponent," Nadia spoke, more clearly now that new teeth had grown into her mouth--she stopped and spat out the ones rotted gums had expelled. It wasn't entirely clear which Rider she spoke to.
Nadia pulled Krimhild out of the ground, standing on her own two feet at last. She looked like a stiff breeze could knock her over. That was fine; she readied her blade. "There is nothing more glorious than a duel against a hero of old. Nothing more ignoble than needless flight against the same! Five minutes--let a brother earn his victory if he deserves it."
Her vision focused at last. Hector was still a blur off in a distance haze, but Mulan was clearer at her side. She turned her head, glancing back to Rider of Red. "You just make sure to take my undying corpse back home safe and sound, mmkay? I'm sure Caster will have no complaints. I know I won't."
"Caster would have plenty of complaints." The voice carried through the woods, reverberating through the trees and leaves, disembodied. The fallen tree withered and dried, creaking its protest, and the water rose out of it to form a dark silhouette. The silhouette became a person, whole and tangible.
Caster of Red surveyed the battle: her Master, beaten and bloody; Mulan, a hulking man among all men; Rider of Black, for who else could that be?
She raised a hand, and a shimmering veil appeared between the servant of Black and her allies; it wasn't a barrier. It was only a bluff, but Caster needed to reserve her prana for bringing her companions back to the meeting. There was none to spare for an actual barrier. "I thank you for retrieving my Master, Rider of Red. I am not here to rush you; however, my Master's presence is required posthaste--and we should not be passing time with idle battles at stage of the war."
Caster whispered an incantation, divine words that sounded like no human language. The grass beneath their feet twisted and braided itself, forming a magic circle in the grove. It was no difficulty for her to keep her focus and address Hector at the same time. "Rider of Black, I thank you too. It seems that you've kept my Master's attention for far longer than I've managed on my own. Commendable; you must be a great hero."
In a flash of light and what sounded like a splash of water, they were gone, but Caster's voice lingered. "I apologize for cutting your duel short, but fear not--it is not over. I understand the sanctity of battle. If I find time for the two of you to complete your duel in the course of this war, then it shall be done."
Post by Hector of Troy on Sept 21, 2014 5:16:23 GMT
The horses reared at the sight of the shimmering barrier winking into existence. Deathless or no, the beasts had gained no aversion to instinct over their many years of immortal life. The chariot they pulled came to a sudden stop as well, and perhaps that is what saved the group of Red, because the Rider was nearly thrown from the vehicle without the opportunity to utilize his Noble Phantasm again. He kept his grip on the rim of the chariot, but only barely. It gave Caster enough time to whisk her teammates away, leaving Hector staring as they blinked out of existence. So this was the girl’s Servant, Caster. It was odd that she would be so inclined for melee combat when she had summoned a Servant class known for rather underhanded tactics.
Regardless of the reason, his target gone, out of his reach. The battle was over. An echo of disappointment resounded through his chest as the world began to catch up, the syrupy slow progression of time that always seemed present during battle once dissolved into bitter normality. Colors lost their luster. Hector’s ears began to ring.
He shook his head to clear it, listening to the fading voice of the Red Servant with a set scowl clearly engraved upon his features. Her reassurances did not help his current situation; he would be forced to return without a satisfactory amount of blood to stain his hands. But there was nothing to do to change that now. Hector’s shoulders dropped ever so slightly, though his voice was steel. “You will die another day, magus. For now, I give you permission hone your skill so that we will perchance meet on more equal footing in our next duel.”
The horses whinnied as they dissolved into dust, stirred away by a parched and whispering wind. Hector’s armor slowly began to fade, his helmet disappearing to leave disheveled hair and wild, bloodshot eyes visible to the world. Fevered heartbeat calmed, and Hector began to pick his way through the forest, back to the Yggdmillenia base with the bloodlust in his heart hardly satisfied.
