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The situation in the Singularity was not getting any better. While losing both Sanson and their base of operations from an ambush was already a huge problem in itself, the neighboring cities of Paris were in no better shape. Ravaged buildings, and fields scorched to the ground adorn the Chaldean party’s trip down to Orleans. Even after three days on foot, the idea of ‘what could have been’ weighs behind everyone’s mind. Regrets were made, but a particularly bitter taste of defeat still lingered on Nagao Kagetora’s parched lips.
“Ah, this is indeed vexing.”
Occasionally, the topic of their failure in taking out the Oni in Paris comes up. Still, that wasn’t the whole reason as to why the Avatar of Bishamonten continues to pace two steps behind her Master. One can pass this off as a Servant dutifully carrying out their role – which is how Kagetora explains to Master when asked. “It is a good change of pace to be on the rear guard, as my life has always been about me being at the forefront,” she easily explains with a ready smile.
“Hah, maybe the rubble actually paralyzed your chicken-thin legs, Bitchamonten.”
Jeanne Alter shoots a smirk at Kagetora’s direction. The Lancer whirls around, smile unchanged, but her cloudy green eyes had narrowed at the Avenger’s remark. “I would prefer you refrain from taking my name in vain like such. And to assure you, my limbs are in peak condition, Dragon Witch.”
Jeanne Alter spits, an act truly unbecoming of a saint. Then again, there was no hiding the fact that their companion was the corrupted form of the real Jeanne d’Arc. “Whatever, Kenshit. Why don’t you shut your trap and start picking up the pace? Any slower and I’m hacking your feet off,” she mimics a chopping motion with her hands, black gauntlets clashing against each other in a loud ring.
“Your empty threats are already quite tiresome to hear. But,” in an instant, Kagetora closes in on Jeanne Alter with an alacrity that the Avenger had not anticipated. A blink later, and the white-haired Lancer was a breath away from a now stunned Alter. If that action wasn’t unsettling enough, it would be the way Kagetora stares down at her with an aura enough to disturb someone titled as the 'Dragon Witch'.
“Is this speed to your liking?” The smile widens all the more, a sense of entertainment at how the Alter couldn’t shoot a snide reply as fast as she would like.
“S-Screw off.” Jeanne Alter manages to bark out, face turned away.
Adjusting from a queen-sized bed to the hard-packed earth had been most difficult on Marie Antoinette. On one hand, she was not vocal about such plight; but surely it had been the reason for her to wake every now and then during the later hours. On the other hand, the princess was indeed very open at inviting her fellow Servant of royalty to rest next to her; sometimes summoning her beloved glass horse to substitute as a cushion for both of them. Chacha would always be more than happy to oblige, their hands remaining linked even after sleep had taken over them.
Momentarily, a shadow casts before the Rider and Berserker – which is replaced by a soft blanket draping over their small shoulders. None of them stir, save for maybe the latter’s mumbling for konpeitou. After making sure that the sheet has been secured, Kagetora’s lips quirk a bit; noting how Chacha’s antics make it hard to believe that she is related to someone like Oda Nobunaga.
Then again, the Demon King herself isn’t much of a threat, nor half as terrifying in Kagetora’s blank eyes.
“Even you can’t do something as simple as night watch?”
The familiar edge in Jeanne Alter’s voice assails Kagetora’s ears. Shifting from her crouched form, she straightens to look back at the intruding Servant. Her smile affixes itself, mirroring the sneer playing at the Avenger’s lips. She puts her white hood down in greeting.
“Good evening. Have you perhaps taken a change of heart to assist me in the shift?” There’s a hint of amusement in Kagetora’s voice, a lilt that only further deepens the scowl etched on Jeanne Alter’s face.
“Your stupid Divinity can be sensed from a mile away. It’s off-putting as fuck and I can’t sleep,” the Avenger growls, teeth ground. “Maybe cut the crap about being some God of War, when you really aren’t one.”
“I don’t see why I should remove myself of a status I earned from my own merit,” Kagetora replies, coolly passing by the Alter with disinterest. Jeanne Alter steps on the Lancer’s loose robes – in the attempt to trip her up. Unfortunately, this barely does anything to deter her balance. If anything, this goes almost completely unnoticed, much to the Avenger’s chagrin.
Kagetora continues to pace as usual, and by the time an hour had past, she had combed a good half of the surrounding area. Scouting was not exactly the forte of a war general who carried eight weapons to battle, but Lancer complied; her Master’s commands were few and not hard to follow.
And speaking of orders, she glances back at the Avenger still tailing her.
“You’re making my other job of keeping watch on you easier, but I am also doing you a favor of giving some breadth to the camp area,” Kagetora says, cleaving a path through the thicket with a short sword. “Did you not mention having difficulty in falling asleep within Bishamonten’s presence?”
“Can you stop speaking like some wise old fart of a god? It won’t hide the fact that you’re a fake,” an ironic statement to be coming from Jeanne Alter.
“But it remains that you acknowledge my Divinity. Thus, it only makes sense that I act just like one befitting of such position,” her back remains turned away from the Alter. She sweeps her katana across the thick coppice, bark and green falling into neat piles as each slash brings them down. Kagetora then switches for a double-bladed naginata, giving her more reach in combing away at the knee-deep verdure. She could tell that there was a clearing within a stone’s throw, the moon light leaking brightly ahead. Another circular arc of her spear paves through the underbrush. Even with such a menial task, Kagetora moves just as gracefully as a god—
And a firebolt quickly dissipates all thoughts and remaining work for the Lancer.
“That’s how this shit is supposed to be done,” Jeanne Alter grits her teeth, palm still flexed out in Kagetora’s direction. Smoke rose from the creases of her knuckles, but she clenches her hand into a fist, waving away the stray fires that threatened to lick away even more of the foliage. Silence, save for the dying embers at a distance, permeates between the two; fierce gold clashing against murky green.
“You could have set the entire forest on fire,” condemnation is absent in her voice, but she shakes her head in a way that her black streaks sway with the wind that carries off the evident smell of burning. “Need I remind you that some of our companions are mere humans?”
A peal of laughter echoes through. Kagetora’s smile does not waver at the way Jeanne Alter’s unhinged cackling only gets louder. She buries the blade of her naginata on the ground, resting an arm on its shaft as she awaits for the Avenger’s reply.
“And that’s what’s so messed up with you, Bitchamonten.” Jeanne Alter holds herself in an attempt to quell the revelry behind her smirk. “You consider these humans – heck, your stupid-ass Master – to be your comrades? Your equal?”
“I do not see what is so funny about such.” Kagetora plainly replies, alert green eyes following the Avenger. Jeanne Alter circles around the Lancer, the latter’s feet still firmly planted in place.
“And yet, you consider yourself a god ruling above these useless humans?” There’s that familiar sneer that would entrap anyone to make an enraged reply out of. But Kagetora knows better, given the prior interactions she has already had with the Dragon Witch of Orleans.
“That I am. There’s no mistaking that I'm the Avatar of Bishamonten. But as circumstances may have it, I am linked to a human Master for the time being.” There’s a pause, and Kagetora takes time to scan Jeanne Alter’s face. What she sees are two golden orbs scorching at her, darkened features hardly discreet from how cross the Avenger looks back at her. “While she may not have any power close to Takeda, or any of my former rivals, she is someone whom I can deem as reliable enough a companion in this Grand Order.”
Another streak of fire erupts from Jeanne Alter’s hand as she shoots it up, causing branches to crash down between the two Servants. Kagetora stares back from the other side, indifference being supplemented by a smile that she would make when downing distasteful wine.
“You still cling onto that false hope of being a god?! You’re such a desperate sham!” Jeanne Alter shrieks as she cuts the air with her hand. “Can’t you see that you’re just full of shit about your god crap?”
As Kagetora isn’t under a command spell, she does feel her hand clench tighter against the cool metal of her naginata. No doubt that she was only about to hear more baseless accusations, yet it wasn’t her style to rush up and knock the Avenger down – even though she is completely capable of such to end things quickly. “Dragon Witch, I am not trying to disillusion anyone of the fact that I am indeed the God of War.”
“Had you really been one, would you have been fucking trashed by that Oni, O Great Kenshit?”
There’s a deep sigh that escapes the Lancer’s lips. Avenger half-thinks that her words had finally driven a nail through Kagetora and her unrelenting claim of being Bishamonten’s vessel. She notes how Kagetora dispels her weapons, leaving her arm to stiffen on her side, hand lost in the length of her white sleeves. Another thought worms its way in the Avenger’s mind, making it obvious at how her features distort in contrast to Kagetora’s passive expression.
“Or perhaps it’s all thanks to your half-baked Master.”
There’s a sting in those words, and before Kagetora could rebut, Jeanne Alter beats her to the punch.
“Well then, it should be no surprise on why you were in such a sorry state in the mansion. Your Master doesn’t even know any basic healing spells, and she thinks that holding your stupid hand would make everything alright.” Alter does a mock-rendition of putting her own hands together, and shaking it for good measure. “Plus given how Servants are supposed to be summoned by Masters with similar caliber, it can either mean two things: you’re not a fucking God of War, or your Master is deadweight to unleashing any power you claim to have.”
The widening of Kagetora’s eyes goes unnoticed by Jeanne Alter, even as she approaches the frozen Lancer. The former feels the cold metal of Alter’s gauntlet-clad fingers dip at her chin, roughly bringing her to eye-level with the Avenger.
“So how about it?” coos the Dragon Witch, a tone quiet enough only for Kagetora’s ears.
“What do you mean?” The Lancer answers back, her voice padding its usual edge once more.
“I know you want to fight once more at your full potential, Bitchamonten. I can see how starved you are for that thrill of war – something you haven’t tasted after being summoned, correct?” Jeanne Alter’s lips curve into a sadistic grin.
“Become my Servant, Nagao Kagetora. That is what I’m offering here.”
Jeanne Alter is far from the perfect image of stability, and it shows in how her mood can shift between explosive to a now tamed, yet deadly, disposition. She’s still digging her fingers against Kagetora’s chin, her thumb pressing hard against the Lancer’s lips. She notices how Alter’s breath comes out in stilted intervals, almost hypocritical to how she had called out Kagetora as desperate.
“You could barely keep your shadow Servants on a leash; what makes you think you can handle the God of War herself under your command?” Kagetora once more finds her strength, prying off Jeanne Alter’s hand. The action is first met with resistance, but Jeanne Alter relents when she feels the Lancer’s disinterest falter by a fraction.
“Since that shitty saint is a Ruler, you should know then that I too have the qualities that she possesses,” Jeanne Alter replies to an unspoken question. “With that, I do have the same command seals that she has. They’re not only potent, but you should know how Rulers have enough seals to lord over seven Servants in a Grail War.”
“And your point being?” Kagetora notes the impatience slowly making evident in Alter's voice.
“Imagine how much power you would have, should I grant you all those seals I have. And I’m sure you’ve seen in our past battles that I have latent mana to boast of.” Jeanne Alter stretches her palms out in a dramatic fashion, as if to further her proposition all the more. “Keeping you and I materialized is but an easy task for someone like me. Unlike your Master, who needs to rest like any fucking human; you and I are apart from them.”
“So what if we are? Does that automatically mean I should bow down to someone as immoral as yourself?” Jeanne Alter could not see it, but behind her robes, Kagetora’s fingers twitch at the mention of being different.
“And what, keep up this farce of trying to be like them? Face it, you’re at a fucking contradiction if you think you’re still human. A Servant as yourself should have long accepted this wretched fact.” There’s a brief pause, one that Jeanne Alter would need before continuing.
“If I, a fucking failure of one, could acknowledge this, then so can your shitty ass understand that there’s no way we can be anything remotely close to that Master that you are so doggedly loyal to.”
“… Do you really believe yourself to be a failure of a Servant?” is a diverted reply that only serves to anger the Avenger.
“Changing the topic aren’t we? If that’s how you wish to play it, then I’ll get straight to the fucking point, Bitchamonten.” The wrinkles on her brows only deepen, teeth bared in her grimace.
“I’m giving you the liberty to choose between these two: either you kill that Master of yours, and be my Servant,” Jeanne Alter cleanly dashes a finger across her throat to punctuate her point. “Or I lop your idiot Master’s head, and force you into submission with all these command seals.”
The air leaves Jeanne Alter’s lungs as she feels the flat of a blade press against her chest. The Avenger finds her footing gone, as she skids out into the clearing behind her. There was now a fifty meter gap between her, and the entrance of the foliage: the same distance she was from the emerging Tiger of Echigo.
“Do not misunderstand, Dragon Witch,” Kagetora spoke with a gravity that locked Jeanne Alter in place. “I could only tolerate your foul mouth as much, but to propose such absurdity is no short of blasphemy.” Lancer finally opens her eyes, now decked with ominous swirls across muddy green. “Surely, you of all people should know not to incur the wrath of a god.”
These words only send Jeanne Alter into another laughing fit, her banner and sword materializing in each of her hands. “Fine, I revoke my earlier options.” As the Dragon Witch steps forward, a trail of fire begins to engulf the edges of her darkened blade. Her standard unfurls, revealing the wicked emblem of her moniker. With a final cry, no different to that of a dragon declaring war, Jeanne Alter rushes forward.
“Your only choice now is to die by my hand, along with your shitty Master.”
The sound of metal meeting metal reverberates through the field. Kagetora has her tachi deflecting the sharp of the banner, while her left is occupied with parrying Alter’s sword with a wakizashi. She then twists her arm to reverse the force applied on her right, pushing the Avenger back to where she was. Before she could charge once more, Kagetora once more closes in, and delivers an upward slash with her katana. Avenger narrowly evades this with a reflexive jerk of her neck. A second late and it wouldn’t just be her cape’s chains that would be cut off from Jeanne Alter’s shoulders.
With recovered vigor, Alter dives in brandishing her darkened St. Catherine. The once pristine La Pucelle now comes into contact with Kagetora's Himetsuru Ichimonji. Sparks fly from the contact, with equally burning fervor on both Servants. A flaming fist catches the peripheries of Kagetora, and she nimbly takes out Tanikiri, knocking the hilt squarely against the Avenger’s engulfed palm. Her own sword then counteracts Alter’s with a maneuver that allows her to run the katana edges against the blackened teeth of Avenger’s blade. Digging to the hand guard, Kagetora flicks her wrist to realign her sword free from the downward slash that Jeanne Alter continues with. The latter then stomps down, catching herself from the missed strike, and finds Kagetora towering before her, a dagger raised and coming at full speed.
Jeanne Alter knew she could have dodged it, but an opening had presented itself just as the Tanikiri’s blade sinks into her forearm. Hissing, she takes hold of Kagetora’s arm and channels a burst of flame from her fingers. Lancer staggers away, smiling down at her mangled sleeve, hem burnt and a great contrast to its once white hue.
“That was not a bad hit,” Kagetora turns to face Jeanne Alter, crazed eyes still having that manic look.
“Oh yeah?” Jeanne Alter dislodges the dagger in a rather crude fashion, allowing the streaks of blood to drip down her bracers. “Why don’t you just stick to your goddamn class, Lancer?”
“Is the power of the Bishamonten too much to handle?” Kagetora gives a small tilt of her head, her bangs now framing her face with shadows that only accented her deranged green orbs. “But as you wish, my own hands will only be able to use this spear.” The Lancer links her palms together, and in a white flash of lightning, her six-pronged lance materializes.
“Do you wish to continue this aimless battle?” Kagetora angles her weapon in a defensive stance, almost as if to taunt the Avenger.
“My answer is right above you, Kenshit.” Is what Jeanne Alter replies with a snap of her finger.
Several black lances had started to rain down, some of which Kagetora could block; but most had impaled to the ground, indiscriminately. The fresh burns on her hand prevent the sure grip that Kagetora once had on her weapon, causing her deflects to come out as penetrable. A wicked howl of flames then kicks up per spear that snags onto Kagetora’s robes. An endless chain of conflagration ensues, fueling the Dragon Witch’s mirthless laugh.
“And should you have survived that,” Jeanne Alter approaches the ghastly purple flames with a nonchalance unexpected from her. “A little present from me.” With a quick thrust of her corrupted blade, and a full-forced channeling of mana, the fire morphs into something akin to an explosion of orange and red-hot combustion. Warmth radiates from how the sparks dance against her skin, against her blackened armor. But it’s only temporary, ephemeral at best; as she feel something deathly cool slide at her neck.
“How thoughtful of you, Jeanne Alter.”
On instinct, the Avenger launches another wave of fire at the apparition behind her. Again, something does catch on fire; if only the tachi that is left behind.
“You fucking cheat!”
A storm of white lightning descends upon Jeanne Alter’s feet – a sea of swords and blades alike blocking any form of escape. Seven weapons, and a piercing war cry looming in the air now rushes through Avenger’s senses. She could not detect which direction Kagetora was coming from, but she knew the Lancer was upon her when she had caught a glimpse of three black streaks whirl past her in a flurry.
“Got you.”
By the time the air has settled, Lancer has her spear firmly pointed at the Avenger’s chest. It’s close enough that exhaling brings her to contact with the tip of the blade; the prongs no different than a tiger’s claw ready to claim her heart. Jeanne Alter’s sword is likewise positioned on the offense; having cut a gash down at Kagetora’s cheek.
The moon light now gives Jeanne Alter the full picture of Kagetora’s face – a strange mix of tranquility and fierceness. Crimson pours from the wound; and had her eyes not twitched open, one would have perceived Kagetora to be asleep.
There’s that familiar clarity back in her green orbs, coupled with a smile that lets Jeanne Alter’s guard drop only by a fraction.
“I win,” Kagetora declares, placidly rubbing off the blood from her face.
“W-What. Wait!” Jeanne Alter’s protest falls into deaf ears, as Kagetora retracts her spear, and tucks her hands behind her back to dispel her plethora of weapons around the Avenger. They disperse in the same white lightning as they came, not leaving a single trace behind.
“Ah, Master would probably be worried if I showed up like this,” Kagetora mumbles as she makes her way back to the forest. Whether she was really just occupied with these thoughts, or pointedly ignoring the angry stamps behind her, she finally gives her undivided attention to Jeanne Alter as she is rammed against a tree bark.
“What the fuck do you mean you won?!” Jeanne Alter practically yells in her face. “You cheated, you filthy liar!”
Kagetora raises her brows, as if expecting this accusation. “I kept clean to my word. Those weapons never came into contact with my hands. What you saw were different copies of myself; but none of them were the real me.”
“Then, did you use those weapons just to divert my attention?”
“Well, putting it that way would be too formal. If anything, it was more or less of a way to scare you into backing—“
A loud crack, followed by a small whine comes from Kagetora as she rubs the back of her head. “I may have the body of a Servant, but even I can feel how hard this tree is.” Jeanne Alter prepares to slam Kagetora back against the wood, but the latter finally uses her height to root her sandals firmly on the ground.
There’s some bemusement in Kagetora’s lips, if not for the smile that now reaches from ear to ear. “But in the end, I believe you and I both understand fully that carrying on that battle would just run us both dry.”
“Fuck you.” A low whisper, and she repeats the same slur for another time before meeting Kagetora’s now mild eyes. “I already told you: it would take me more than picking a bone with you to drain my fucking mana,” Alter finds both her hands grasping on the Lancer’s hood with a strength enough to make her knuckles ache.
“Would you have preferred I stabbed you at that very moment?” Kagetora’s voice is not that of mocking, but of genuine curiosity.
“You would have put this failure of a Servant out of her misery, Bitchamonten.”
There’s a shaking in Jeanne Alter’s buried fists, inaudible mutters of curses escaping her dry lips. Unlike earlier, Kagetora does not move to extricate the Avenger’s hands from her. She allows the cloth laced in Alter’s fingers to twist and crumple into forms that could only be the start of what is brewing inside the Dragon Witch.
A familiar memory does eventually draw Kagetora into action. When the tension and adrenaline has died down, she finds herself wrapping an arm behind Jeanne Alter’s head, hand slotting itself neatly on the crown of the shorter girl. Kagetora has only been on the receiving end of these acts – one from her mortal life with her older sister Aya, and the other being more recent with Nobunaga.
The shake in Jeanne Alter’s arms culminate with her releasing Kagetora from her hold. However, Kagetora herself does not stop the rhythmic strokes she threads through the Avenger’s ash-gray hair.
“Battles tend to teach me a lot of things, mostly lessons that I would least imagine to learn.” Kagetora starts. Jeanne Alter finds herself peering back at the Lancer, trying to conceal any hints of red from her eyes.
“For instance, my time in the monastery had taught me how to regulate Bishamonten’s power in me. And the Siege of Odawara also gave me a the idea of thinking ahead, and to expect that Takeda could ambush me – which mind you, is not very fun.”
A sigh warms Kagetora’s chin, which prompts her to gaze below.
“I’m not one for long, drawn-out monologues, Kenshit. Get to the point,” Jeanne Alter groans, shaking the taller girl’s hand off her successfully. It’s a cold night, yet Jeanne Alter still feels warmth pool at the back of her skull, and strangely at the front of it as well.
“Well then, today has taught me two things.” Kagetora readjusts her hood. “I’m surely Echigo’s God of War.”
There’s an audible click of Jeanne Alter’s tongue, as if ready to refute that claim for the nth time. The verbal barbs die at the tip of her mouth; much to both of their surprise.
“And the second would be that you, Jeanne Alter, are by no means a counterfeit.”
There’s a moment of silence, a moment of understanding to dawn upon Jeanne Alter’s features. Had Kagetora only understood the change in the girl before her, she would have known that her words did strike a chord deep into her blackened, bitter soul.
“You… you just contradicted yourself again. To call me an Alter—“
“Is just a name, and up to you how you want to make of it,” Kagetora cuts in just as quickly as she does in action. She takes in a breath, pushing aside the memory of Nobunaga exchanging the exact same words to her back at the mansion catacombs. “It’s your choice if you want to take up Jeanne Alter, or even the title as Dragon Witch. Regardless, the power you demonstrated earlier, your rage, is all yours and yours alone as a proper Servant.”
Jeanne Alter staggers back to an arm’s length, as if struck by an attack – which isn’t far from the truth. She finds herself clutching onto her own arms, as if to ground herself in place. Shivering, these words ring in her ears, incessant and only serving to fester her hatred. And of all people to point out such, a Servant who could not let go of her self-proclaimed divinity. Is this a semblance of how God’s punishment would be? Jeanne Alter knows to reject it, to outright shut down any thoughts of accepting Kagetora’s words.
Yet what stops her train of thought is how a familiar fluffy white hood drapes around her shoulders.
“Are you cold?” Kagetora asks with almost a child-like innocence; a far-cry from her demeanor during the fight.
“What gave you that freaking idea?” Jeanne Alter balks, trying to undo the warm cloth wrapped around her. “Get this off me!”
“Truth be told, I don’t particularly need it, but it’s the least I can offer after I snapped your cloak’s chains off awhile back.”
“Are you even listening to me?!” The Avenger shoves away the Lancer’s hands from the white robe. A chortle escapes from Kagetora’s curved lips. “Just take it as proof that you won today.”
“Haaaah? I thought you just said you won the fight!”
“Well, I never said you lost in it, either.” A playful grin now dances at Kagetora’s lips. “Let’s just say we both came out as winners, and a proper rematch can come when your arm isn’t bleeding buckets,” the Lancer eyes the Avenger’s gauntlet drenched in clotted dirty crimson.
“How does that even work?!” Jeanne Alter pulls at the hood’s cloth. “The fight’s conditions were hinged on whether I get to fucking kill you, or if you become my Servant or—“
A light tap on Jeanne Alter’s nose breaks her from the heat of rage. The same finger now goes to Kagetora’s lips. “Now, you need not worry. For no matter how strong you claim to be, or try to over-power me; I’ll always be there to take you out, Jeanne Alter.”
The Avenger’s speech is long but gone, and it doesn’t help how Kagetora’s laughter replaces the dead air between them. The journey back to the campsite is filled with mostly Kagetora talking to herself, and Jeanne Alter drowning out her monologue – a stark reversal to what had transpired in the night.
“Oh, but I never did get a particular answer to something. I was hoping that battle would give me some clarity, but it still does not add up,” Kagetora gives a sideways glance to the Avenger behind her.
“And what might that be, O wise Bitchamonten?”
“Of all the people in the Singularity, why did you choose to invite me to become your Servant?”