Fate/Shattered False – Chapter 8: Icy Overlord

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So, a new servant has been revealed: Rasputin. Yeah, that guy is the enemy. Don’t mess with the witchdoctor of the Czar.

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As Archer prepared her rifle, the atmosphere became cold. It was the middle of April and yet, she could see her breath, rising up into the sky; a sky that had become dark and cloudy. Archer took off her uniform and placed it around her master’s shoulders. She shivered as the temperatures plummeted. Archer looked around, a seal, a mage-art – anything that could provide relief for her master. It was all for naught, though the perpetrator soon appeared as tiny snowflakes began to fall upon Abigail’s jet-black curls and her shoulders.

A being covered in a robe, a staff made out of steel with Russian inscriptions on its side; there was only one man who could make the living fear him. Archer fired at the servant, only to have her shot deflected by a speedy swing from the servant’s cane. The shot zipped from its position, zig-zagging across the air till it found its place through the servant’s chest. The image of the hooded being disintegrated into snow as a snowstorm fell upon Abigail’s existence – she felt cold, a strong unyielding cold that would not stop without consuming her soul. Loneliness and sadness: an emotion that brewed an icy after-taste deep within the structure of every snowflake.

Ice started bursting from the ground, surrounding them as Archer reloaded her rifle. Shot by shot, she tore the towers down as the bullets zig-zagged through the air, striking newer structures as they popped out. Archer fired and fired, destroying anything that would dare threaten them. All to no avail, the icy structures were doing what they were created to do: distraction. Abigail was slowly coming down with hypothermia. Being born in Louisiana, she was a master of the darkest of magecrafts: voodoo. Her powers saved her whole family from the disaster that was Hurricane Katrina, but now, she was trying to maintain her life with a thin veil of magecraft around her body, all the while controlling the trajectory of each bullet and providing her servant with enough prana to use that rifle of hers. Things were looking grim.

As a last ditch effort, Archer propelled herself into the air using a shot she fired directly at the ground beneath her feet. Using the icy towers as a base for her leaps, she jumped from tower to tower till she was high enough to see it. There it was; the servant that was causing all the commotion. Archers had very little magical abilities and senses but their keen sight was more than enough to find even the sneakiest of bastards hiding amongst the urban jungle of the city. She steadied her aim, finger close to the trigger, rifle on her shoulder, eyes on the target; as she was about to fire, her head impacted with something cold and solid – a wall. There really was a wall above their heads. She fell to the ground; the shot missed its target, zig-zagging through the dome, in an attempt to shatter it.

Large shards from the glass-like dome material ricocheted inside the container, falling close to where Abigail lay. As the dome regenerated, something jumped through a wide-enough opening. They couldn’t believe their eyes, it was Lancer! Pietro jumped off, holding a golden cross in his hand, he said the following words, “May the God, Creator of Heaven and Earth, shine thine light upon this icy hell: Rex Deus!”

A bright golden light shone from the tip of his spear. The ice around them melted away, just as the dome collapsed, falling atop their bodies. Pietro walked to where Abigail lay, holding out a jacket, he covered her body with it; smiling he replied, almost in a whisper, “It’s time to go back.”

Those words echoed inside Abigail’s mind. The same exact words her father said before he was killed. How in the world did Pietro copy that phrase? Was that part of his magical abilities or was it sheer luck? Baffled, she gazed into his blue eyes, unable to respond but slowly taking his hand. Archer sat on Lancer’s horse. Lancer gazed into the horizon, probably wishing he had had a chance to battle the servant that had caused them so much trouble.

“He’ll be back, I know he will,” Abigail commented. “He might be looking for something from his past.”

“The old witchdoctor of the Czar… Rasputin.” Pietro pulled her up, “A man who was said to be immortal.”

The tiny stumps of the flowers that dotted the plaza were covered in icy petal-like constructs. Ice-flowers, created when water from within the plant is extracted and frozen on atmospheric contact, now adorned the park. Abigail smiled. This was the only time that Abigail was pleased at something very important: her life.

The XIIIth Immortal Magix Competition – 00 – It Begins

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This is a project depicting the various battles of our protagonist in his attempt to seek revenge on the man who killed his cousin. A competition that places the many magical arts within a city to battle it out – from alchemists to wizards and sages to chamans, there can only be one winner. Let the games begin!

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Golden powder, falling from beneath a tower now leaning over the edge of the roof; my life had been spared. The dirt that now covered my back, as I lay on the floor, crackled with my slow shifts in weight. I needed to get out of here or I’d be crushed like a pancake. Pieces of roof falling on the ground, carefully evading the clay projectiles, the ground beneath me became unstable. Was the ground giving in? Sinkholes dot the landscape but to think that one would be beyond this stone floor was too far-fetched – even for my bad luck. Cracking; this isn’t good. The tower creaked; that can’t be good either.

Rolling on my side, the tower fell, shattering the roof that gave way to the sinking behemoth. The structure fell on the floor, as it sank and dropped into an abyss of darkness along with the Wizard that perished within those walls. The competitions had just begun. I nearly lost my life and this was just the first of many battles. Grabbing my Clarice – my trusty side-kick that happened to be a rifle – I patted myself for a small silver coin I had stolen a while ago. “I guess that’s one for me and zero for Mr. Wizard, don’t you think?” I whispered to the coin. “By the looks of things, you’re coming with me.”

The Mage Wars had just begun.

Fate/Shattered False – Chapter 7: Call to Arms

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Okay, finally chapter 7! We have two new legendary heroes, so start your bets! Who do you think they might be? I’ll give you a hint: a lady with a rife and a knight on a horse. Not very good hints but I don’t want to spoil the fun.

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They slowed their pace; this was no time to rush into things. The enemy could be nearby, though their job was to scout potential locations for bases. Sunlight raining down on them, the sky was cloudless, save for a few white patches that could very easily be ignored and the deep blue color of a warm sky. Traffic was terrible; cars and trucks, rushing to the destinations, making crossing a street as dangerous as their own job. El Obelisco, that’s where they were, a small park lying between four intersections and plenty of car-infested lanes.

Abigail sat on a small bench, sighing at their fruitless find. She had wasted all morning trying to look for a hint of magic, a speck, a scent; anything that could point them to where the other masters were hiding. As Pietro leaned over to pick up what seemed like a small coin, Abigail sensed something. Archer revealed herself and fired up at the sky. A large glass-like barrier shattered around them. Pietro’s Lancer appeared as well and pierced the coin with his large golden spear. The rest of the dome came crashing down.

“Pietro, I think we’re in some sort of a Reality Marble.” Abigail examined the fragments. They were soft to the touch, warm with a faint heartbeat – somehow it seemed alive. “It… It… has a pulse?”

“Calm down Abigail, there is no way a spell can have a pulse, not even a weapon created using Projection Magecraft can have a heartbeat.” Pietro rode atop Lancer’s horse. “I’ll go take a look, you stay here, sniper.”

“Don’t let your guard down; they are here… watching us.”

“I know.” Pietro tossed the coin at her.

Her small fingers traced the outline of the metallic artefact, squinting to see what was inscribed on its surface. Goosebumps ran up her spine; a Russian coin? Somehow, he was impressed, knowing that there was only one person with the magic necessary to create something of this magnitude. Archer’s careful gaze monitored their surroundings, holding her rifle well in a steady grip. Abigail’s mocha skin was battered by the mighty sun, now at its highest place in the sky. She calmed down, Pietro would return soon.

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Pietro held on to the horse’s saddle, readying a piece of paper in his left hand. “Lancer, you wouldn’t happen to sense anyone around?”

“No master, who ever made this seal is long gone.” Lancer’s helmet hid his face but Pietro could feel the urgency in his voice. “Magic of the darkest form: necromancy.”

“Necromancy? That narrows down the list of Caster servants that could do something of that proportion.”

“Master, may I suggest returning? We are just outside the boundary of Archer’s rifle. Her services are well needed as I am not equipped for long-range battles.”

Pietro looked around, trying to sense anyone’s presence but to no avail. “Perhaps, the battle has already started.” Taking out a small dagger, he readied his spell. “We have yet to realize it but it’s our move.”