Beta read by Shigiya, Paragon of Awesomeness and Gamercrusher55
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-Underworld-
From the time she had summoned him, Rias had always wondered about her Servant's Noble Phantasm. There had of course been times she'd asked him plainly to his face. Plenty, in fact. But somehow, without fail, the answer was always sidestepped. Either he'd change the subject, or deflect with such practiced ease that she couldn't find a way to pin him down. After a while, Rias even began to believe that the bow she had seen him wield on numerous occasions was, in fact, the Noble Phantasm in question. That monstrous weapon, enormous and powerful, was utterly beyond the ability of anyone she knew to wield as he did. One time, Archer even allowed her whole peerage to try out of pure curiosity, and they had all failed to pull the string even a quarter of the way back. Koneko might have been strong enough, but her slight build and short arms made the necessary physics awkward at best.
The bow itself was a terror, capable of launching arrows with such speed and force that entire buildings could be reduced to rubble. They were more like guided missiles than arrows, and the explanation he had once given, that a Noble Phantasm often reflected the class of the Servant, seemed to back it up. He was an Archer, and he used a bow. It didn't get any simpler than that. What else could his Noble Phantasm possibly be?
But now, everything had changed.
The world had erupted in a sudden, blinding flash of light, swallowing the forest. The information her Master's Clairvoyance provided her about Archer, still active even amidst the chaos, shifted for the first time ever since she saw it. Where once there had been a blank, hazy spot in her vision that obscured his Noble Phantasm, now letters slowly began to form, appearing one by one, the name of Archer's most powerful ability revealing itself to her at long last.
"Un… Unlimited… Blade Works?"
The words left her lips without thinking as she saw that the surroundings had transformed entirely. The familiar night sky of the underworld, with its false moon and synthetic stars, had vanished. The red moonlight that had last burned overhead was gone. In its place loomed an altogether different sky, its air thick and oppressive, pressing down on her lungs with a chill that sank into her bones.
"Where… where am I?"
Her voice barely escaped her mouth as she stood motionless, drinking in the details of this strange new realm. A dull fog lingered close to the ground, just barely failing to truly cloak the wasteland that stretched endlessly in every direction. Swords were impaled into the dirt upright across the landscape, tens of thousands of them at minimum, jutting out of the earth like the grave markers of forgotten warriors. Each blade was unique; some of them were ancient, others impossibly alien. It was as though she had stepped into a battlefield with untold numbers of combatants, one where not a single survivor or trace of blood could be found.
Towering gearworks drifted slowly down from the heavens, their forms impossibly vast, having to be measured in kilometers, grinding forward with mechanical inevitability. The air itself was dry and even… cold? Not the natural cold of winter, but a hollow, creeping emptiness and absence of warmth that slid beneath the skin.
Despite the sheer volume of weapons surrounding her and the colossal gears that towered overhead, the place felt… void.
Lifeless.
Warped.
And most of all, wrong.
"Archer?" she whispered, scanning the horizon for any sign of her Servant, desperate to anchor herself with something, anything, familiar. Her last memory had been clinging to Tannin's back as they soared through the Underworld, then gazing up at a crimson moon. Everything after that was a blur, a torrential wave of emotion that had knocked her senseless. Anger. Despair. Hatred. The feelings had surged through her with such intensity that rational thought had been impossible, but now no longer, something which made her feel relieved.
"Where the hell is this?"
She wasn't alone in saying it.
Another voice echoed her question, making her whirl around, startled and on guard. Not far behind stood a woman with long, inky black hair and a kimono that barely bothered to cover up a figure that could rival Rias', right down to a bust just as enormous. The only thing that really set her apart were the twitching cat ears on her head and the pair of fluffy feline tails flicking behind her.
She was unmistakably a Nekoshou.
"Nya? The Gremory brat?"
The woman blinked in confusion, clearly as disoriented as Rias. Neither of them could explain how they'd ended up together in this place, nor what had brought them here.
"Hiya!"
Before she could finish her sentence, the Nekoshou's breath caught in her throat, her eyes widening in terror. Rias followed her gaze. Less than an inch from the cat-woman's face was the jagged edge of a sword, gleaming dully in the ashen light.
Her face turned pale white as she landed near another massive sword, this one emanating a wave of murderous demonic energy. Then came another, brimming with holy energy, and more followed, each unique, each radiating impossible power.
"What the hell is this!? Where did all these swords come from?!" the woman shouted, looking ready to run as far from those blades, but couldn't as more of them stretched on endlessly in every direction.
And Rias couldn't blame her.
The chaos before her was beginning, slowly but surely, to make sense to Rias. She stepped closer to the stranger, her voice dropping to a whisper. "This is… this is Archer's Noble Phantasm."
It sounded less like an answer and more like a realization dawning with heavy weight.
"Your Servant's Noble Phantasm? Wait, I remember. The tall, handsome guy with a really serious face, right? But how does this even count as a Noble Phantasm?"
"I… I don't know. I don't know," the redhead repeated, her words thin and stunned. Noble Phantasms were the crystallization of a hero's legend as far as she knew, most often taking the form of a singular, iconic weapon or, on occasion, a spell. But this defied the explanation given to her by him.
"These swords… All of them are Noble Phantasms?" she whispered in disbelief. No matter how far she looked, the swords continued to appear. Their numbers were overwhelming, and each one gave off a pressure that made her stomach tighten. Every single weapon pulsed with an uneasy presence that rivaled if not surpassed the married blades Archer used regularly. She could feel it. A mere scratch from some of them would be enough to kill her outright if she wasn't careful — actual Holy Swords?
"This isn't some kind of Projection like what he showed before, or similar to Sword Birth, is it?" she muttered to herself. These couldn't be mere copies. There was nothing hollow or illusory about the aura of power they gave off. For someone like the woman before her to react so strongly only solidified the truth. They were genuine.
"Wait, what are you doing here in the first place?" The sudden reappearance of a different concern snapped her out of awe. In the storm of thoughts, she had forgotten to question the presence of the person in front of her. "Who even are you?"
The black-haired woman raised an eyebrow but remained still, standing carefully away from the surrounding swords as though not daring to touch them by accident. She cleared her throat and began to speak with forced formality.
"Seriously, you ask this now, nya? Oh well, can't blame you. Hello~! I suppose this is as good a time as any to introduce myself, given that you're my sweet sister's King. I am Kuroka, Senjutsu master and an unfortunate victim who also ended up being kidnapped into this… place, just like you."
"Kuroka?" The name hit like a gong in Rias' mind. It rang alarm bells. A triple-S class stray Devil! Her hands ignited with the familiar crimson chaos of the Power of Destruction, prepared to strike.
But the instinct to attack was immediately abandoned.
Both women felt the tremor beneath their feet, the ground itself giving a warning, and their eyes turned toward a distant, blinding scene that silenced everything else.
"Archer!" Rias cried, spotting her Servant at last. Her relief twisted into horror the moment she saw the sword embedded in his right shoulder, blood streaming down his side as he yanked it free. He raised his other hand high, summoning what seemed like thousands of swords and other weapons that materialized in the sky above him before bringing them crashing down in a relentless, razor-hail on the enemies before him.
The first to be struck was one whom Rias quickly realized had to be the Saber-class Servant that Rider had previously fought in Kuoh. Mordred, for all her power, was instantly buried under the downpour of weapons. The golden-armored Berserker managed, for a moment, to hold his ground. He deflected, punched, and resisted the storm, but even he began to falter, forced back by the ceaseless assault. His advance halted entirely.
Rias wasn't thinking anymore. She didn't care about the battle, the swords, the danger. All that mattered was reaching him.
"What the hell are you doing?!" she shouted, attempting to run to him. She barely made it two steps before she was yanked back.
"Get away from here! They're not the only ones!" Kuroka grabbed her and pulled hard, dragging her away from the chaos before she could resist.
As they retreated, Rias finally noticed what Kuroka had already sensed: something else was wrong.
The place where they had stood before had grown darker, the air heavier. And nearby, unmistakably, was Tannin, the Dragon King who had escorted them to this region. But something about him now was… off.
"▂▃▃▅▅ーーー!!"
The dragon's cry tore across the land like a shockwave, fierce and primal. Even from such a distance, the sound reached her with crushing force, buckling her knees and making her legs tremble. Fear settled into her bones like cold iron. Yet Kuroka, somehow, seemed able to withstand it.
"It's that red moon," Kuroka shouted, her voice sharp. "Its effect might not have any hold on our minds any longer, but the fighting he's done while in that state… it's driven that dragon into a berserk rage of his own!"
"Let me go!" Rias cried, struggling against the grip that held her back. "I need to get to Archer!"
"Are you insane?" Kuroka snapped. "I don't care who you are or what kind of power you have, unless you're a Satan, then going anywhere near that fight is suicide. And the last thing I want is for my sister to lose her King. I may not like you, but you're a far lesser evil than a lot of the other Devils out there."
Her pulse quickened as her eyes remained fixed on the battle ahead. Despite being down an arm, Archer was fighting with a grace and fury that sent shivers through her. He summoned swords she had never seen before; some gleamed with unfamiliar shapes, others radiated a majestic blue light that split the sky open, slicing through the Blaze Meteor Dragon's wings. More blades followed, conjured from nowhere, each one stabbing deep into Tannin's hide.
But even then, she could barely track his movements. He blurred through the battlefield like smoke in the wind. And yet the dragon, impossibly, continued to sense him. Blow after blow, the mighty beast retaliated, each strike fueled by pure rage, refusing to fall despite suffering wounds that should have killed him many times over. She began to understand, at last, why Dragon Kings were spoken of with such dread.
"My, my," Kuroka purred, eyes glittering. "Are you sure your Servant's an Archer? Because he fights way more like a Saber."
"I can't leave him like this! We have to help, he's hurt!" Rias shouted, heart clenching.
Even though it looked like he held the advantage, she saw the signs. His right arm, where a blade had pierced him earlier, now hung by mere strands of muscle and skin. A wide, gaping wound tore through it, leaving him crippled. If the battle dragged on like this, she didn't want to imagine the outcome.
"Shit, that one's still alive!" Kuroka yelled.
Rias snapped her eyes to the side, just in time to glimpse a streak of golden light moving through the chaos. It was as fast as Archer, maybe even faster. It surged toward him, and then…
Thunder cracked. A shockwave rippled out, ripping through the battlefield. Her breath caught in her throat as she saw Archer hurled through the air, landing hard against a distant hill. And then she saw it.
His arm.
The limb was now fully severed and firmly held in Berserker's grip, for all of one second before it was crushed into pulp right in front of her.
Her stomach churned at the sight. The urge to vomit clawed up her throat. The world dimmed, every sound drowned by a loud ringing in her ears. She couldn't move. She couldn't even scream.
No. No, no, no. This wasn't real. It couldn't be.
This was a nightmare. Her mind refused to accept what her eyes had just conveyed to her. Archer was strong. He would never fall, never die, never leave her. He had promised to remain at her side, always.
But even as those frantic denials filled her thoughts, something inside her knew the truth.
But she didn't want to listen…
He stood again, visible strain on his face from the conjured effort, coughing up mouthfuls of blood but still able to find the strength to keep himself from collapsing again despite the missing limb and the exhaustion in his eyes. A crimson spear now lay in his grasp. He took aim, lunged forward, and with one final motion, drove the weapon deep into Berserker's chest.
But this action brought no joy to Rias' heart.
Her breath hitched as she saw the hand that had pierced through his stomach, saw the red spreading across his torn clothes and armor, saw the blood staining his lips and pooling on the ground.
And then, as if the world was determined to crush all hope, Rias felt and then saw a towering pillar of crimson lightning erupt from the distance, promising to crush both combatants if either were to survive.
And yet, even then…
He looked calm.
Just… at peace.
As if, somehow, he had already come to terms with his own demise.
No.
'No!'
"NO!"
Her scream tore through the chaos, wild and shrill, the kind that dragged everything along in its wake. A dense burst of energy erupted from her body in response, tearing through the air in an uncontrollable tempest. Kuruka, caught off guard by the sudden wave of magical destruction, was forced to release the redhead. Rias' limbs moved before her thoughts could catch up, instincts hurling her forward in a panicked sprint.
"Don't do this to me. You're not allowed to… You're not allowed to…"
She despised the frailty in her voice. She loathed her own weakness, how little her powers mattered when pitted against a Servant, how utterly useless her knowledge of healing magic felt in this moment. She couldn't even rely on the Evil Pieces to bring him back if it came to that. She hated herself. She hated everything. And then her hand began to burn, the back of it glowing with the trio of marks he had told her about. Specifically, a certain conversation where he had stressed how valuable they were, and they were to be used only in the gravest emergencies.
Whether it would work or not didn't matter. It was the only thing she could do to help him. She had to try.
"By the power of my Command Seal, I order you to live through whatever means necessary, Archer! You are not allowed to die!" she cried out, the symbol on her skin erupting with blinding force. It poured through her connection with him like a tidal wave of light, then vanished, just as the outermost of her Command Seals faded.
Rias understood that if all three seals were to disappear, there was a chance her Archer would be pulled back to his world. But right now, with his survival hanging by a thread, she would rather sacrifice anything, everything, just to keep him with her.
Exhaustion slammed into her like a collapsing wall, but she fought to stay upright, determined to see if it had worked. Somewhere, she could hear Kuroka's panicked voice screaming her name, grabbing at her, and trying to drag her away. Archer, still breathing, broke away from Berserker and summoned a torrent of swords that he sent to meet the crimson tower of destruction just as the latter was brought down, leaving the two powers in a deadlock.
He then conjured a blade, a strange and twisted weapon that Rias recognised. It was the same sword he had used once before, the very one that had brought about her final and undeniable victory in the Rating Game and spared her from an unhappy marriage with Riser Phenex. The blade was a warped and jagged creation, as though shards of molten glass had been melted together into a contemporary artist's rendition of a sword that was both monstrous and beautiful. It radiated a searing light, fire clinging to its edges as it was driven into the ground.
And in the next instant, the world transformed.
Flames burst from the earth and roared into the sky, an unstoppable inferno blooming outward like the wrath of a sun torn loose. Even from a distance, far from the centre of the chaos, she could feel the flames licking at her skin, threatening to peel it off. And yet, despite the blistering heat, all she could think was how beautiful it looked.
{Break}
"You are more durable than I anticipated."
In the place where the battle had first begun — now turned to a scarred wasteland of burning trees and scorched earth — Devil soldiers moved in formation, having been mustered by the order of Sirzechs and accompanied by Ajuka. The remnants of the brutal combat lingered in the air: distant flames, the faint tang of blood, and the acrid stench of smouldering bark that made even the strongest wrinkle their noses.
Archer sat slumped against a weathered boulder, his back resting against its coarse surface. His only remaining hand was pressed firmly to his stomach, keeping the torn edges of his body intact. The sight was grotesque, crimson and brutal, but Grayfia did not balk. She knelt beside him and began casting healing spells without delay, her voice low but focused.
"Saying it like that might make someone think you're the one behind this attack," he muttered, managing a strained smirk. "Besides, I thought I had given you a decent idea of what I'm capable of back during the first time we met."
"That encounter taught me more about your magecraft than your endurance. You were annoyingly adept at evading my attacks," she replied, her hands glowing faintly as the magic seeped into his wounds.
Archer nearly rolled his eyes. "Only an obscenely powerful Servant would choose to remain standing in place without flinching in the face of any attack, unless they're too arrogant to care or too naïve to know better."
"Is that your way of saying you were afraid that I would have pushed you into a state similar to the one you're in right now?"
He wanted to scoff at that remark, but the current state of his body didn't permit him such luxuries. Every muscle throbbed, every joint ached, and the pain from Berserker's blows lingered, especially the one that had made his organs spill out. That last move he'd used to win the battle had taken a tremendous toll, draining nearly all of his and even Rias' combined magical energy. For all his Master's talent and enormous stores of demonic energy, she would have likely felt the strain for what he had done. As for his missing limb, the bleeding had long since stopped, having been brought to a halt by the Command Seal's lingering effects that currently acted as a slightly hastened recovery at best, but that didn't mean something as severe as full limb regeneration would occur so quickly. It would take time and a vast amount of energy to restore him to perfect condition.
"Don't move."
He didn't push the woman away. No sardonic quip came to his lips either. He simply watched her work, silently, as she cast a spell that released a soft glow. It wasn't the same kind of restorative miracle that Asia could channel, but it was effective in its own manner. The pain eased somewhat, the ache dulled, just enough for him to breathe without occasional spasms of pain. Her magic worked alongside the fading remnants of the Command Seal's enhancement, easing his condition rather than fixing it outright.
"It's not working," Grayfia commented with a frown, frustrated with the lack of results.
"What exactly did you expect?" he wondered.
"To at least close the wounds fully and then go from there using regular healing sessions," the silver maid answered.
Archer softly shook his head. "It's not that your spell itself is flawed, and you're not even doing anything wrong, per se. You just have to remember, this body isn't made of regular flesh and bone. It's formed entirely from an immense concentration of magical energy — so what you're trying to heal isn't simply torn skin or damaged tissue. The best approach is to let it run its course. With time, my form will rebuild itself. My spirit core's still intact, thankfully, so once I've gathered enough energy, I'll be back to normal."
Grayfia took in the information, contemplating before sighing. "While somewhat irritating to learn, that is also quite convenient. So you mean to say that as long as this core of yours is unharmed, you can survive anything?"
"In theory, yes. But there are always exceptions. Some Servants can be destroyed without the core itself being directly shattered if our bodies are subjected to enough trauma. There are also… alternative methods. Poison, for example, or just cutting off any access to our Master's energy to have us dissipate. Usually by killing said Master."
For a moment, something flickered across her face, a brief smile, faint but unmistakable, blooming before fading into her usual neutral expression. Archer noticed it, of course. And it piqued his curiosity too much to leave it alone.
"Mind telling me what made you smile like that?"
"I don't know if I should say. It might sound a little offensive to your ears."
That earned her a raised eyebrow and a crooked smirk from him.
"Since when did you start caring about that kind of thing?"
She gave a soft hum.
"I suppose you're right. It's just that… your description of a Servant's resilience and regeneration reminded me of an axolotl. Or a starfish. You know, creatures that don't die just because they lose a limb or two. It instead grows back. Eventually."
Stunned into silence, Archer tried for several seconds to put his thoughts in order in the face of such a comparison. He'd existed for a very long time, crossed countless battlefields, met all sorts of strange personalities, yet somehow, in all that time, never once had someone compared the healing capabilities of a Servant to those of a sea creature. Just when he thought he had gotten a grasp on this woman, she blindsided him with something utterly ridiculous.
"I've been around for a long time, and never, not even once, has anyone compared Servant regeneration to an axolotl. Or a starfish."
Even when he believed he understood her, she always managed to unbalance him with a single out-of-the-blue remark.
"I feel some regret from not asking sooner, but does it hurt?"
Her voice had lowered now. The joking tone had vanished, replaced by something more serious. Genuine concern, perhaps.
He appreciated the shift, even if it wasn't necessary. After all, he had survived, and the enemy was vanquished so far as he could tell. That final moment had been one where death felt almost certain, yet here he was, still breathing. So in the end, he could only consider it a victory.
"Not as much as you'd think."
The woman proceeded to retrieve a small vial, carefully opening its cork before bringing it toward his lips.
"Drink."
Though she framed it as a request, her actions were anything but gentle. She tilted the vial forward and unceremoniously poured the contents into his mouth without waiting for a reply. Despite her forceful approach, he could tell she meant no harm; there was no malice in her tone or expression. This was no poison, but likely some kind of healing elixir.
That brought to mind the time Grayfia had taken the same elixir to heal herself from damage done to her after their fight, and Archer swallowed the liquid, blinking in surprise as a strange warmth spread through his body.
"Oh?" he muttered, feeling an odd but undeniable shift within.
The sensation was, frankly, bizarre; he could genuinely feel the mess of organs that had only minutes ago been ripped out and left dangling by Berserker, then clumsily shoved back in, begin to shift around and settle into position again. It was so precise, so weirdly methodical—it almost felt like something inside him was giving orders, telling things where to go, and everything just started sliding back into place. It wasn't healing so much as it was being rebuilt from the ground up. The last flickers of the Command Seal must've been in play, because the whole process seemed to rev up, moving even quicker than he would've thought possible. A thin layer of skin started creeping over the gaping hole in his gut—not quite closing up entirely, but enough that it didn't look like a disaster zone anymore.
"Fascinating," he breathed, genuinely taken aback from the speed of the healing.
"Tch. Of course it didn't fully heal you," the maid scoffed, clearly more annoyed than concerned. Her voice was calm, but there was a shade of frustration beneath it, as if she'd expected more from the potion.
"I can understand being a bit frustrated that it didn't quite perform as well as you'd hoped, but I certainly do appreciate the effects it did have. This is the same kind of elixir you used to recover from that attack I used on you toward the end of our skirmish the first time we met, isn't it? You called it… a Phoenix Tear?"
Grayfia nodded. "Correct, though it is not from a true phoenix, nothing that mythic," she clarified. "These healing elixirs are actually produced by the House of Phenex. This one was a gift from Riser Phenex's father to me as thanks for being the one to pull his two youngest children out of the fire during the Rating Game with Lady Rias. His tears are said to be unusually potent even when compared to the rest of his bloodline."
"I get the feeling you should've saved it for someone more important than me," Archer muttered with a furrowed brow.
"Unfortunately for you," she replied flatly, "you're currently the only person on the battlefield lying on the ground with a missing limb or two, and you're also the closest to death. If you know someone in worse shape, feel free to point me in their direction. Otherwise, kindly keep quiet and let me see to your care."
Archer raised an eyebrow, especially when looking at the unconscious dragon in the distance whose wings were currently little more than tatters, and had several bleeding deep gashes in his flesh from all those Dragon Slaying Noble Phantasms Archer had to send his way, on top of whatever Saber had done to him before she unleashed her own Noble Phantasm on him and Berserker. "Are you blind?"
"Lord Tannin is not my responsibility; a member of Lord Mephisto Pheles' peerage is already on-site to heal him. No doubt they already have a Phoenix Tear of their own as well. If not, then they can always ask for whatever aid they require."
"Let me guess, he does not want to let Sirzechs use this as an excuse to even out the favour the Satans owe him for allowing his Queen to help us in this?"
He did not get an answer, but the silence was quite telling. He hadn't had to deal with Devil politics for that long since his arrival in this world, but clearly they were no different from humans in many regards.
"Your arm seems to be the part struggling the most," she went on clinically. "Looks like it wasn't cleanly severed. Most of it was cleanly sliced through, but the last little bit was forcibly ripped off."
"You don't need to narrate every grisly detail," he said dryly. "There was a sword embedded in it. Made it easier to tear off when Berserker got a hold of it, I guess."
She frowned, stepping closer to examine the wound more carefully. Though his shroud hadn't been completely destroyed, and most of it still clung to his shoulders, she didn't hesitate. Reaching forward, she gripped the fabric.
At once, he heard a sharp hissing, like flesh searing against metal.
"What are you—"
In a single motion, she tore the holy shroud free, letting it fall to the ground. Then, without warning, she grabbed several pieces of clean cotton from her pocket, pressed them to the exposed wound, and began wrapping his arm with bandages in smooth, practiced movements. Black smoke curled from her fingertips, the holy nature of the shroud having burned her skin. Red marks bloomed across her hands, but she showed no reaction; only the faint smell of scorched flesh gave it away.
"Are you insane? Why would you touch that!?" he demanded.
"It was in the way," she said, flatly.
"You could've just asked me to take it off."
"We've done enough talking today," she countered, pushing him back down as he tried to rise again. "Holy energy may be a weakness to me, but it doesn't mean I'll die from brushing against it. Yes, it's a holy shroud, but I won't drop dead from a little pain. And the burning isn't even as severe as you imagine."
She repeated his own earlier words back to him with stoic precision, a ghost of dry humor flickering in her otherwise expressionless eyes.
"There. All done."
"Then," Archer grunted, slowly pushing himself up again, "can you really let me walk, dear and dutiful maid? With such grave injuries, perhaps you should bring out the golden stretcher."
Though it was mostly meant as a teasing jab, a small provocation to needle her pride, she took the words with surprising seriousness. Her reply came calmly, without hesitation, and it immediately made him regret opening his mouth. "That might be a smart idea. Walking in your condition could worsen your injuries, and as a highly important guest of the House of Gremory, I cannot permit such a risk to your person, Lord Archer. Unfortunately, we do not have such a thing on hand, so I'll carry you instead."
"Oy, you don't have to go that far! I was just joking!" he snapped, a touch of alarm creeping into his voice. He wasn't particularly proud or concerned with appearances most of the time, especially about matters he found trivial. But there was still some kernel of pride when it came to certain things. And this was one of them. The way she extended her arms, hands prepared to scoop him up, told him everything. She intended to carry him like some fairytale princess. Absolutely not. He was still a goddamn Heroic Spirit, badly wounded or not.
"Don't start whining. It's only for a little while. No one's watching," she said.
"I wouldn't care even if we were completely alone in some dead world without another soul to be found for miles," he grumbled. "I am not letting you carry me like that. I can walk. I just lost an arm and broke a few bones, the latter of which the Phoenix Tear took care of. It's nothing that bad."
"That's what they all say," she replied coolly. "And then, the moment I glance away, they suddenly die on me."
"I feel like you're making that up. Is this revenge for being a better cook than you? Are you seriously that petty?"
"I have no idea what you're insinuating, Lord Archer. And I suggest in not making such outlandish slander to my person," she said smoothly, her hands now nearing his shoulders with quiet insistence.
He raised his good arm to block her, trying to resist her grip. She actually proceeded to force through his defense. In any other condition, he would have overpowered or evaded her with ease, but now? That wasn't the likely outcome. Not even close.
"I'm not joking, Grayfia."
"What makes you think I am?" she retorted evenly.
Somehow, within a single day, he had gone through multiple moments of genuine urgency, wildly different ones at that. One had involved his life, his Master, and her peerage. This one, absurdly enough, threatened the last fragile pieces of his dignity.
Seeing no other path forward, knowing this was his only remaining option, Archer reverted to his spiritual form, vanishing just as the maid's arms swept forward. She grasped at nothing, her hands finding only air where he'd been leaning a heartbeat before.
He had escaped. Perhaps he looked like a fool in the process, but that was far preferable to being cradled in her arms like a wounded child and paraded back to the Gremory manor in full view of everyone. The image alone made him wince.
But instead of disappointment or frustration, Grayfia made an expression that stunned him. A sound slipped from her lips, so soft, so light, he almost doubted it had happened at all. A faint chuckle. Her stoic expression cracked, revealing for a fleeting second a young woman who had just pulled off a clever prank.
"Thank you for keeping Rias and the others safe," she murmured, unaware he could still see and hear her.
"I see her as nothing less than my own little sister. The same goes for the others. They're my family, and for protecting them, I owe you a debt I will find a way to repay, Archer. Next time, come by and allow me to cook for you. Not as a competition, just as thanks."
This woman… At this point, there was no anger, no exasperation. He couldn't even pretend to feel that way. She was being genuine, and it disarmed him completely.
He watched as she prepared a teleportation circle, her gaze drifting toward the horizon, where Sirzechs and Ajuka emerged from the distance holding an unconscious Diodora.
Next to them was a small woman who had the woman that Berserker nearly killed in restraints, curiously enough.
He sighed. Had he still been in physical form, a faint smile would have formed on his face when he looked back at Grayfia.
"Fine. You're more than welcome anytime."
Grayfia paused, glancing toward the spot where he had stood just moments earlier. She gave a small nod.
"See you soon, Archer."
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(A day later)
"It has been a pleasure having you visit us and stop by the house for a bit. I'm only saddened it couldn't be for a while longer."
Akeno smiled warmly at Venelana's kind words, standing by the open door of the train that was ready to depart back to the human realm. Lady and Lord Gremory stood nearby, along with Sirzechs, all of them having come personally to bid their farewells as the travelers prepared to return to Kuoh.
Venelana's gaze drifted to the passenger compartment. "I hope Rias is feeling better. And I do hope we get to see Sir Archer again soon. Speaking of him, how is he?"
"I am doing fine." The reply came not from Akeno, but from a figure that appeared beside her as the Heroic Spirit in question materialized. Archer now wore a casual outfit rather than his usual combat attire and looked much better than he did yesterday, with the arm even showing signs of regrowth. The grievous wound on his stomach was no longer visible either, and he was steady on his feet.
Venelana brought a hand to her lips, her eyes wide with concern as she whispered, "Dear Satan… I'm so very sorry, Archer." Her tone was low and full of genuine sorrow. Though this was not the first time she had seen his condition, her reaction remained heartfelt. He didn't take her concern as a bad thing; if anything, it was a sign of their consideration.
"I told you, didn't I? It will grow back. So there's no need to worry about it any longer," he reassured them, his voice calm and even. "As long as my Master is still here, I'll always be able to recover. That's how this works." He spoke lightly, almost flippantly, in an attempt to dismiss their concerns, but it only deepened the sadness in their eyes.
Zeoticus was the one to respond this time, stepping forward slowly with his hands clasped behind his back. "You misunderstand the reason for our reactions. We're not worried about whether or not you'll heal. Even if you weren't a Servant, regeneration through other magical means would still be possible," he said, his expression heavy. "What saddens us is that you were injured at all. You came to the Underworld as a guest — an honored one of the House of Gremory at that. It was our responsibility to ensure your visit was a peaceful and enjoyable one."
"No, it's not your fault, Mother, Father. It's me who should be apologizing." Sirzechs shook his head, the exhaustion lining his face making him look older than he had just a day before. He turned to the Servant, guilt flickering behind his eyes. "I was the one who asked you to investigate that area. I knew the risks and still sent you. If anyone should've gone, it should have been me."
"While the sentiment is appreciated, you forget that while we took advantage of the opportunity to visit my Master's family, the reason we came here in the first place was always to hunt down a rogue Servant — a Berserker at that. Defeating a Servant is a difficult task, even with a Servant of your own, so let's just be grateful that all of us came out of this alive and with no deaths on our side," Archer replied, his tone no longer casual. "We could sit here all day discussing what might have happened, what should have happened now that we have the benefit of hindsight. That kind of talk never ends. The truth is, there were many ways this could have gone differently depending on how things were handled — just like anything else in life. But what happened, happened. We can't change it. What we can do is make sure we get that man, Diodora, to wake up from his coma and learn how exactly this came to be in the first place. Get as many answers as you can out of him and the woman you captured, any details about other groups or individuals who still know about the summoning ritual."
Archer's tone was no longer that of a guest, but someone delivering a command. He would not let this go — not even for Sirzechs. The incident had happened because of his and Ajuka's failure to guard the information they had sworn to protect, from a member of their own families at that. Now, he expected them to put in the effort needed to track down every remnant and destroy the information before it fell into even worse hands.
"I promise," Sirzechs said, extending his hand, which Archer accepted as a final gesture. "I'll bring you everything I can find. Soon."
"Good."
After that, they shared a bit more small talk before the train doors slid shut and the vehicle began its steady journey back to where it had first collected them, requiring only a few hours to return to Kuoh.
"You should have let me handle speaking to them," said Akeno after a long pause, her voice finally breaking the silence that had settled between them. She hadn't spoken much during the earlier exchange with the rest of the Gremorys. "You're not in any condition to feel obligated to talk to them after all this."
"Well, everyone is still exhausted from the aftereffects of the Noble Phantasm, aside from Issei, surprisingly. You don't look much better yourself if we're being honest."
Even though a full day had passed since the battle and all of them had received treatment from the finest healers in the Underworld on top of Asia's own care, the damage wrought by a Noble Phantasm that turned them all against one another was not something easily undone or forgotten. Even in peak physical condition, the strain on their minds lingered, and not even multiple vials of Phoenix Tears could wash that away. Time, slow and stubborn, remained the only true remedy.
Their ravenette Queen, for instance. Her eyes were still bloodshot, and she looked as though she hadn't managed a single hour of sleep.
"I'm not the one with a missing arm," she said flatly.
At that, he just rolled his eyes. "Everyone's going to keep bringing that up again and again, aren't they?" he muttered, walking down the hallway inside the train and into the lounge compartment, which had clearly been upgraded since their last journey. Now it looked more like a luxurious living room, complete with a full-sized sofa and a mounted television screen. The others were likely still sleeping, having finally found a moment's peace after being unable to rest all that soundly the night before.
"I'll make you some tea, and don't you dare try to help. Today, I will be the one to take care of you," said Akeno, not even giving him the chance to respond before turning on her heel and heading toward the kitchen.
Archer merely shook his head and let out a quiet exhale. "I suppose, once in a while, it's not so bad to let others handle such things."
The moment he settled onto the sofa and tried to make himself comfortable, a small white blur launched toward him. Within a breath, the small figure of a silver-haired Rook clung tightly to his waist, her arms wrapped around him with surprising strength, her forehead pressing against his chest.
"I couldn't sleep," she whispered. Her voice was strained and weary, much like the rest of the peerage.
"I'm sorry," Archer offered as his hand found its way to the top of her head, where it gently patted her hair in slow, reassuring motions.
"Why are you apologising? I should be the one saying that. We've once again become a burden to you and made you handle everything yourself," Koneko said, her voice trembling. "I wasn't able to do anything. Even after all that training we did — even after pushing myself to the limit to strengthen my powers, it meant nothing. I was useless."
"We both know that's not true," he replied calmly. "I heard from Yuuto what happened after Berserker's Noble Phantasm was unleashed. You did well. Had you not been there, he might have done something that would have haunted him for the rest of his life. So don't downplay what you did. You were just as important in protecting everyone as I was."
"We both know that's a lie," she murmured into his chest.
"Agree to disagree," he chuckled. "I did say to my Master that as her Servant, I would be the strongest if she wished it. As you can see, I am still very much alive, as is everyone else."
Rather than answering him, the girl simply nestled in closer without shifting much at all. Her breathing had grown longer, quieter, and softer, and he could feel the way her muscles had gradually relaxed, the tension fading from her small frame. Time passed slowly, and he continued to stroke her head in gentle, steady motions until at last she drifted off to sleep. Her final words before slipping fully into the pull of drowsiness were faint but clear.
"Don't do anything dangerous like that ever again. I don't want to lose you, Nii-sama."
There were several thoughts swirling in his mind as he listened to that. Some were fleeting, half-formed things that vanished as quickly as they came. Others lingered, stubborn and weighty. This entire brother-sister act had only ever been intended as a cover for his true identity, nothing more than a convenient story to explain his presence as a teacher since Rias had decided to give his public identity the same family name as her Rook. Koneko had even joked about it early on, laughing as she accepted the role with a shrug. But over time, things had changed. She had started placing real importance on it, treating it with a sincerity that had crept up on both of them.
Hearing her words now, it was impossible not to acknowledge the truth: she truly saw him that way. It was ironic, really, that he now bore the same responsibility again—one he had failed so terribly in the past. His feelings hadn't changed. He still didn't believe he deserved that kind of bond, that kind of trust. But he said nothing. Saying it aloud would only sadden her.
"You and Illya would have gotten along quite well, I think," he murmured, more to himself than anyone else, picturing a scene that would never be. Perhaps it was said out of boredom, perhaps something else. He wasn't sure anymore.
Several minutes slipped by before he heard the soft sound of footsteps approaching. He didn't even need to turn his head to know who it was. A warm aroma of tea drifted into the room as she appeared, a porcelain cup cradled in one hand, which she set down carefully on the table in front of them.
"Looks like our little Rook couldn't sleep without her big brother after all," Akeno said gently, brushing a few stray strands of hair away from Koneko's face with careful fingers. A small, playful pout then spread across her features as she added, "I wanted to steal a bit of time with you myself, but I don't think I have the heart to push her away."
"Really? Well, that works for me. Gives me the idea to start using her as a shield whenever you and your King get too clingy."
"Using our dear kitten to ward us off? Have you no heart? Oh wait, don't answer that."
Akeno came to his other side and rested her head against his chest. Archer then felt her hand tenderly trace along his stomach, then moved up to his chest and then his chin, turning his head to face her.. She leaned up even more, making it impossible for him to shift even if he had wanted to.
Then, her lips pressed against his, brief but full of feeling.
"I already know you have a heart," she whispered. "A heart that beats, a heart that cares for us, even if you keep insisting you're dead. But to us, you're alive, and that's what truly matters."
Koneko may have claimed his side that still had an arm he could use to embrace her back with, but Akeno was able to make do as she settled on his other side, nestling against him with a quiet sigh as she kissed him again. Smiling as their lips parted, Akeno rested her head on his shoulder, using it like a pillow as her gaze drifted to the window and the quiet world that passed by beyond it.
"Quite bold of you."
"On the contrary," she replied with a smirk. "I don't think I went nearly far enough. Not even close. But for now, I suppose I'll allow our dear Koneko to have her moment of peace with her brother. I'll make that sacrifice… and make up for it when we're alone."
"Hmph, would you look at that? I've apparently become everyone's emotional support Heroic Spirit," he said dryly, a comment that Akeno did not seem the least bit bothered by. In fact, she even started to chuckle at his choice of words.
"Oh, stop it, you," she replied, feigning exasperation but smiling all the same. "We both know you like that kind of attention. But personally, I'd say you're much more than that. Still… if you prefer being more than just emotional support, perhaps you could instead help me relieve some stress that's been building up for a while. I'll be sure to do the same for you."
"I'll think about it," he replied simply.
"Fufufufu~ That's all I ask, Emiya."
Not long after, sleep claimed her as well. No matter how she tried to deny it, the girl was just as exhausted as everyone else, mentally and physically. Staying awake became a losing battle. Her posture slackened, her breathing slowed, and her head tilted gently to the side.
Watching the dim countryside pass beyond the moving window, Archer considered, not for the first time, that perhaps this wasn't so bad. Letting himself enjoy a moment of peace, fragile and fleeting as it may be.
"I've still got a few hours left before we reach town," he murmured to himself, leaning back slightly.
With nothing else to occupy him but the endless tug-of-war in his mind, sleep seemed like the preferable option by far. Better to let his mind rest for a while than remain a prisoner to spiraling thoughts.
{Break}
-???-
It had been some time since she had felt such an unsettling combination of weightlessness and helplessness, intertwined like strangling vines, clinging tight around her core. The life she lived now could still be called that of a goddess, for she was one, in both name and memory.
But she was also a victim, caught in the petty squabbles of deities, drowned in the consequences of divine arrogance.
"You're certainly growing into a beautiful woman, Medusa! At this rate, people will be coming to the island just to ask for your hand in marriage and forget about the two of us entirely!"
"I'm honestly jealous of your chest," one of her sisters chimed in with a playful pout, shameless fondling them that had her blushing to her ears. "Any bigger and I'll have to stitch you an entirely new wardrobe. Maybe you should go with something… lighter. Less fabric, more skin. It'd be cute! Sexy, even. What? Don't you trust your own sisters? We only have your best interests at heart."
"She's right. Now stop being so shy and hesitant. Don't run away from us," the other added.
By now, this teasing had long since become part of their daily routine. It hadn't faded with time, but the tone had shifted slightly. Their comments evolved, now focusing on her increasing height, her maturing figure, and her shifting beauty. Her body, now more sculpted with every passing season, seemed to transform month by month. They would play with her hair for hours, styling it as if she were a living doll, brushing it until it gleamed like starlight.
And the less said about their fascination with her ever-growing chest, the better.
And yet, only through this ritualistic teasing that was their normalcy could Medusa find a sliver of calm. Because everything else, everything within her, was changing far too quickly. Not just her looks. Not just her stature or skin. Her very self was changing in ways she couldn't understand.
Her thoughts, her instincts. Her psyche.
There were nights when she felt something awaken deep inside her — something primal, something hungry. A creeping, predatory presence, oozed of bloodlust.
It wasn't easy to explain. She didn't know how to tell them. How to admit that her once graceful features were slowly giving way to something else entirely: scales, feathers, slitted pupils, even vestigial signs of tails and claws. All of it inching forward like demented shadows.
What was once a gentle goddess, who mirrored her sisters in radiant purity, was being overtaken by something darker. That image, that girl, was fading. In her place stood something else — what others would eventually call a monster. And as these features became more prominent, legends began to take shape, distorted and shared by sailors and fishermen who spoke of two breathtaking goddesses trapped on an island watched over by a fearsome, man-eating beast. They whispered tales of brave men who ventured to the island to slay the monster and rescue the girls, only to never be seen again.
They never tried to understand. They never asked questions. They came with glinting steel already drawn, hearts thumping with delusions of glory. And so she met them not with words, but with force, violence born from desperation, from the instinct to protect that which she held most dear.
She was forced to use the power of her more twisted side to destroy the ones too stubborn to listen, too blinded by greed to see the truth. It became the only way to quiet that rising storm within her. But she never told her sisters. Never let them see. She was too ashamed. What if they stopped seeing her as Medusa and started seeing what all the humans and even the gods of Olympus did?
A beast.
A danger.
A monster.
She couldn't bear the thought of that. They were her pillars, the only things keeping her anchored. If they ever looked at her with fear instead of love, if they flinched instead of laughed when she sought their company, she wasn't sure what would be left of her.
So she kept killing, whether it be a single adventurer or groups of them, heedless of how many or how often they came, and so blood continued to spill on the island's shores, and her hunger managed to stay satiated. Yet this only started to make the growing sense of darkness within grow stronger by the day.
Rationality began to slip more often, letting animalistic instincts take hold more frequently, the stronger she became. Her power grew the more she used it, but at the cost of her own sanity. But she couldn't stop, for the gods of Olympus had become involved and declared slaying the monster that guarded the Shapeless Isle to be a task worthy of a hero, and now more humans came than ever. What was worse, the more this went on, the less she wanted to stop, as the taste of blood became more and more delicious, to the point that even fish no longer held any taste.
"You look so beautiful, little sister~! Even your hair has grown more exotic!"
"But of course she's beautiful. She is one of us, after all."
"Now that we are done with the hair, maybe we should get around to dealing with the clothes? She's close to outgrowing her current ones again."
"Excellent idea."
Those moments of laughter, of joy and comfort, were the last things she recalled as she reached her limit.
"Medusa? What's wrong?"
"Are you okay?"
"Can you hear us?"
"Medusa?"
Run away. Don't come any closer. Stay away from me.
These were the words she wanted to say… or maybe she did say them, but was no longer aware of even that much. And just as inevitable as the setting of the sun, the last layer of her mind crumbled before the monster's hunger, and darkness took over. Ruled by instinctual hunger, it all happened in a moment that felt no different than a blink, just a fleeting second, but in the outside world, no one could truly tell how long it lasted.
The next thing she remembered, when consciousness finally returned, was the metallic taste in her mouth… oddly sweet. The stench of blood covered her hands and face, which she had been lapping at.
Before her was the sight of her sisters… or what was left of them, their bodies, drenched in blood and mangled in ways so horrific they defied description, sat burned into her memory.
But most heart-wrenching of all was the way both of them were huddled against her, their arms still wrapped around her in a final embrace, even as the last embers of life had long since left their bodies. A faint smile remained on their faces, the only sign of their final emotions toward her. Still accepting. Still loving. Even willing to suffer the burden of the monster's hunger that had taken control and devoured everything in sight, if it meant bringing her some fleeting comfort.
"No…"
Her sole pillar of support and the only family she had ever known.
"NO!"
Her cry of despair shook the Shapeless Isle itself. It was no longer the shriek of a monster, no longer just the scream of a Gorgon. It was the grieving wail of a sibling who had lost everything, whose beloved family had been slain by her own hands. A girl who believed that the people she loved had paid a price for her sake, one which she had never been worthy of.
Becoming the monster that she had always feared.
And so, the tragic tale of the youngest Gorgon had truly begun.
.
.
.
Slowly, Sona's eyes opened to the sight of the grain of the wood that formed her desk. She had fallen asleep in the middle of her paperwork.
"Urgh," she groaned, the pain behind her eyes sharp and immediate — like a sudden stab of a headache that came from nowhere and faded just as fast.
But this time, she couldn't just dismiss it as some blurry recollection. The details of the dream remained vivid, as clear as daylight.
"You seem agitated," said a voice calmly.
It came from the sofa opposite, where Rider sat reading a book with quiet poise, not even glancing her way.
"You think? What gave it away?"
"The fact that you're covered head to toe in sweat," she replied dryly.
Sona couldn't argue. Her clothes were soaked, clinging to her like she'd walked through a storm and had only just begun to dry off.
"It's nothing major. I believe I had another one of those dream cycles."
Memories of one's own Servant's younger days bleeding through their shared connection. All Masters experienced it to some degree, and likewise, some Servants would catch glimpses of their Master's life — though rarely, given they didn't need sleep.
"Stheno and Euryale… You really loved them, didn't you?"
"I did. They were my sisters."
Medusa's sisters… Even when their interactions mostly seemed to consist of teasing or flat-out bullying the youngest because of her transformations, Sona had to admit that the affection between them had always been genuine.
A moment passed in silence. Sona stared down at her hands before finally gathering the nerve to speak.
"I'm sorry if you feel I'm intruding on a private matter. But about what happened to them. It… it wasn't your fault."
Rider, who had been quietly absorbed in a book, came to a stop. Her eyes drifted away from the pages, lifting to meet her Master's. For a few long seconds, Sona remained silent, unsure of what kind of expression she ought to be wearing.
Sona had known the tale of the Gorgon long before summoning Rider, and she had since read its many variations, seeing how each one ended in tragedy. But none of them had ever made her feel as she did now. Watching the transformation from goddess to monster, being forced to use the monster's strength to defend her family from so-called 'heroes,' and the tragic deaths of those Rider loved at her own hands unfold through her Servant's memories, had been more raw, more tragic, than she could have ever imagined. Experiencing those moments as if she were the purple-haired monster herself, tasting the iron tang of blood on her tongue, and drowning in the unrelenting tide of horror and remorse that surged through the Servant's soul — Sona nearly found herself overwhelmed. She could scarcely imagine the agony someone like that must have borne.
"I can't say I really understand, even though I just saw it," she said finally, voice soft but steady. "There have been… similar cases here as well, I've had to deal with. Stray Devils who attempt to leave their King and return to their families, only to lose control of their powers. They fall into madness, becoming wild, mindless creatures. In most of those cases, recovery is impossible. Our duty leaves us no choice but to end their lives."
She paused, her eyes searching Rider's face. "I can't imagine what it must have been like for you… after that."
"You don't need to guess," Rider replied calmly. "My story is known well enough. Anyone could piece together what happened after. I became a monster in truth — a full Gorgon who devoured humans and whose very name spread terror across the lands surrounding the Shapeless Isle. I was feared by mortals, cursed by the gods, and embraced by monsters. Many came seeking salvation for goddesses who no longer lived. Some sought vengeance for others I had slain in the past. And finally, there were those who yearned for the glory of defeating a monster of legend, having been sent by the gods to destroy me."
"Perseus," Sona murmured.
Medusa nodded. "He was a deeply flawed man. You would not have liked him, Master. I didn't either. Yet as much as I disliked him, it would be dishonest to say I felt no gratitude for stopping me. He ended a monster that had to be put down. The Medusa who once found joy living in isolation with her sisters had already died. All that remained was the Gorgon."
"Is that your wish upon the Holy Grail? To bring them back?" Sona asked.
"Not really." To Sona's surprise, the answer came with unexpected calm. "I do not believe I have the right to face them again. I've accepted what I've done. I cannot forget what I had done to them. Unlike those who wish to be reborn, those desperate to return to their own time and gain a second chance, or those clinging to hope after failure, I never held any strong wish when I answered the call of the Grail."
"But let's say, hypothetically, we did find the Holy Grail or some other wish-granting power, and you had the chance to make any one wish come true. What would you do then?"
Rider exhaled through her nose, then smiled faintly. "During my last summoning, the one who called me forth was a pitiful soul I could sympathize with. There wasn't a speck of evil in her, yet she suffered terribly at the hands of truly vile monsters in human skin. And despite it all, she endured everything — just to keep smiling for the one she loved. I wanted to protect her. I wanted to make her happy. And now, I know a part of me still exists there, staying by her side… along with another person who means a great deal to me. So in a way, I suppose I have already had my wish fulfilled."
To reject a wish… any wish, when the Grail stood ready to grant it without cost, was something not easily done. Sona felt a quiet respect for Rider settle over her, bordering on awe. She doubted she could have made the same choice. As much as she liked to believe she had tremendous self-control, the temptation of such power would likely unravel that belief. Deep down, she knew she would use that wish, putting herself ahead of everyone else. How could she not?
"Truthfully though, now that I've been summoned here and settled in, I won't lie and pretend I don't have other desires that have since taken root," Rider continued, her words immediately capturing Sona's interest.
She leaned in, curious. "And what would those desires be?"
But instead of answering, the purple-haired woman only smiled, raising a single finger to her lips.
"That depends," she said quietly, "on a certain someone and the choices he makes. He can be quite the contradiction, after all."
"Rider…" before she could even continue the conversation, the door opened with Saji walking in with an irritated expression while holding onto two familiar troublemakers among the student body.
"Kaichou, I caught these two again hiding in the infirmary, making creepy noises and disturbing others. They claimed they had permission from the secretary to be there, but I'm not just going to take that at face value, especially when they used it as an excuse to harass other students multiple times," the Pawn said while sounding quite exhausted himself. The duo within his grasp was none other than two-thirds of the Perverted Trio, Matsuda and Motohama—who had also been another source of her headaches recently.
"We're not in the wrong this time!" the bald one, Matsuda, shouted, looking much less scared of her. "Secretary Kala gave us permission to hang out at the infirmary as long as we don't feel good, and your gang only worsened our mental state! You people should not be getting involved in matters of personal health, especially when you're also meddling with the words of a member of the school staff!"
That damned Fallen Angel, making her work even harder than it already was! That woman had finally returned to work yesterday with a message from the Grigori's Governor General, Azazel, proposing to her to continue working here as a way to establish a working alliance and get each side familiar with one another on neutral grounds—which happened to be the school. She did not like the idea, but her sister, on the other hand, was the one making the decision, given her role as the one responsible for handling foreign affairs.
"Having permission to rest there or whatever mental health issues you're going through does not mean you are allowed to hide inside closets or under the beds in order to peek at girls who go over there for actual medical checkups! Try that again, and I'll make sure to have both of you expelled for good this time, and have you arrested! I don't care if she has the principal wrapped around her fingers, I will find a way, and you know it!" Sona was more than happy to take advantage of Rias's absence to make such a decision. For a long time, dealing with these two had been something she had to endure because her rival always gave them another chance.
Granted, it worked out for her given one of their members turned out to be holding a Longinus class Sacred Gear, but these two, on the other hand, certainly did not have anything of the sort, or any talent with magic, or really anything that put them above the average student.
"…"
"…"
That managed to shut them up, thankfully enough. For now, though, having them suspended for a couple of days would suffice as far as consequences went. So she sent Saji away, hoping to continue her conversation with Rider, only for the door to once again be opened with her Queen stepping inside. But rather than carrying more paperwork or complaints from other students, Tsubaki instead brought her King some interesting news.
"The Gremory group has returned; they will be arriving at the station in a few minutes."
"I see." Truthfully, ever since their departure, the girl had gotten little information about whatever they were doing in the Underworld and how or even if they'd managed to deal with the initially discussed issues concerning Diodora Astaroth's apparent use of the Servant summoning ritual. It would be a lie to say she was not a bit stressed and worried about this knowledge spreading around and facing a possible future where, rather than armies, people would just keep sending out any number of Servants to fight on their behalf.
That kind of scenario was nightmarish no matter how one chose to look at it, and would potentially cause more damage to the world than the previous wars if a Master were to utilize their Command Seals in a truly destructive manner.
Deciding to leave her conversation with Rider for another time, the bespectacled girl wasted no time in having Tsubaki prepare a magic circle, which both them and her Servant used to teleport right to the station just in time to hear the sound of the train tracks hissing and the sight of the locomotive slowing down in front of them.
"There is no need to worry, Master. With Archer accompanying them, there is little chance of any of them dying or being seriously hurt." Rider mentioned, obviously being able to sense her feelings, even though she was careful not to let such emotions show on her face. "And I can sense his presence, meaning Rias Gremory should be fine as well."
Sona nodded, "I know, I just had a bad feeling when they went radio silent. She should have at least kept me informed."
Soon, the doors opened, and rather than being greeted by the Gremory heiress and her Queen as usual—instead she found Issei and Kiba as the first to step through the doors. The former was pulling along a sleepy Gasper with Asia also close behind, looking quite pale, with Kiyome following Kiba. Though most of them were silent, Issei, on the other hand, kept grumbling something under his breath as he walked by. But all Sona heard was him insulting someone and saying 'bastard' several times.
"Ah, Yuuto-kun…" Tsubaki called out, also noticing something wasn't right with the group, "Is everything alright? Where are the others?"
The blond pointed inside the train with a faint smile on his face, "You can go look for them. Archer may need some help getting them off. Also… um, you might be surprised by how he looks right now, but don't worry. It will fully heal soon enough, according to him."
'Eh?'
Confused by what he meant by that, Sona stepped inside the train, expecting something exasperating like Rias being too clingy with her Servant as usual and making things unnecessarily difficult for the man. But instead, the first thing she found upon walking into the lounge froze her in place.
The three remaining girls were sleeping on Archer peacefully with Konoko on his chest, Akeno leaning against his shoulder, and Rias using his lap as a pillow. As for the white-haired man himself, he was just reading a book calmly. But that was not what caught her attention and shocked her.
"Oh my," even Rider was not prepared for what she found, her eyes locking with Archer as she tilted her head at his missing arm. "…Did you do it again? I would like for you not to make this a habit."
"I did not. If you must know, Saber was also there for some reason in addition to Berserker, and she just about cut it off completely. Then Berserker managed to tear it off and even destroyed it for good measure. So it's not getting grafted onto anyone."
"Still feels weird how it happened twice, though I suppose it evened out by being the other arm this time."
"You certainly have a grim sense of humor, though I can't deny that you have a point. Still, let's hope that marks the end of such instances. I quite like having both arms." Archer chuckled, then waved the small book in his hand. "By the way, this is a nice story you recommended, and it will serve as good material to use for my next lesson. I'm sure my students will hate me for it."
Sona, meanwhile, was dumbfounded. Were these two seriously making jokes and small talk with one another at a time like this!?
"Archer… w-what happened to you!?"
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The next 5 chapters of Snafu, and my other Fate fics (Fate Coiling Sword with 3 chapters, A Fake Familiar Reborn with 3 chapters, Steel Eyed Faker soon to be 3 chapters, Hound having 3 and To love a sword having 4 chapters) are already available on my P@treon. With 4 more Broly chapters at /NimtheWriter. Also, I post commissioned arts on each story, already posted a few on an Archer's Promise, Broly and Snafu.