The Grail Games IC

Payne, Illya - Nightclub

That little rat was just too slippery and kept dodging her attacks. Beginning to grow impatient, Lancer ground her teeth audibly. "It'll last a lot longer than you," she replied.

Before she could thrust at him again, Assassin extended his arm. The air began to heat up. Lancer barely had time to pull up a barrier to defend against the fire and the torrent of flames knocked her back. When the smoke cleared, she still stood there, proud and self-assured. Her clothes were singed, but otherwise she seemed unharmed.

"You burnt my hair," she said, sounding dark. This time, instead of rushing in, she stayed put, watching Assassin move along the walls. "That's all you can do, isn't it?" her voice had a slightly amused, mocking tone. "Move around like a sewer rat, waiting for people to get close. You don't have pride. You can't fight like a man."

Even though the area around them limited Lancer with her weapon, she infused her spear with mana and started a rapid burst of short slashes towards Assassin, filling the tunnel with her attack until he had nowhere left to run.

Maou - Berserker [Warehouse]

Maou could only scoff inwardly. Respect. Anything like that was an act. Respect was only a more rational form of jealousy. It was idiotic. Still, she had to entertain his idea. For all she knew, that woman may have actually felt such a thing. It was hard to believe. Maou merely grunted in acknowledgement of the possibility and remained silent.

Payne, Noin - Nightclub

Assassin clicked his teeth in annoyance. Lancer's brash, unyielding spirit was beginning to annoy him, but in a way, it was satisfying. The more assured she was, the more broken she would be when things turned on their head.

"Perhaps," he mused, darting back along the passage, his cloak flapping about like a hideously oversized bat as he dodged away from her rapid strikes. Whenever he found a spare moment, he let loose dagger after dagger in the openings of her attacks in an attempt to slow her down, but it was becoming obvious that this tactic wouldn't hold up for too long.

"Perhaps it doesn't matter," Assassin said, dropping down to ground level and scuttling back insect-like upon the floor. "The Assassin class was never designed to deal with Servants, after all. Perhaps all I have to do is give my Master the opening he needs."

He gave an amused, throaty laugh as he gazed mockingly at her from behind the slits in his mask. The headstrong fools knew they had walked into a trap; they failed to realize, however, how expertly the web into which they'd flown was woven. And by the time they realized, it would be far too late.

Illya, Noin - Night Club

Logan didn't respond to Eames' banter as the other man dropped below his attack, although it was difficult to tell if it was because silence served him better or because he simply didn't want to have a discussion with the other man. Arachne was faster than Logan had originally given it credit for though. Even though it seemed to move awkwardly, it actually reacted very well to pressure.

As Eames shot forward, Logan swung his other sword forward, and it stretched outwards, wrapping around the shafts of Arachne's arms that were approaching him. With a twist, his now whip-like sword entrapped the outstretched arms, pulling them together, and as the drills closed in on him, Logan fired off his spark steps again, leaping over the drills, which maneuvered awkwardly through the air below him because of how they were joined. At the same time, his other sword had shortened back to its original length, and Logan lashed out at Eames' from above as he passed over the man, whipping the flames of his second sword down at where Arachne was attached to his back. Logan also pulled up on the whip that bound Arachne's limbs, dragging the drills towards Eames torso from the front.

"The guiltless point no fingers..." His words rasped as the assault closed in on Eames from either side. "That's what makes them guiltless."

[OOC: I'll have him take damage from whatever you counter with here.]

Eames laughed at Logan's pitiful mask of mystique and eerieness.

"You're an enigma wrapped in a load of -" he began, but the direness of the situation caused him to cut off as he reacted quickly to save himself. With an effortless command, the joints connecting the two front limbs to the attachment on his back popped off, dropping the limbs to the ground. Using the sudden momentum, Eames swung about on the pivot of the two remaining limbs, winding up behind Logan as a knife slipped from his sleeve.

"Surprise!"

Eames jabbed the knife into Logan's back, spurting blood onto his hand before giving him a rough kick in the back, sending the Executor plummeting to the ground.

"Ah, thanks for the souvenir," the magus laughed, pulling a small vial from the inside pocket of his suit and allowing blood to run into it from the knife before capping it and placing it inside the suit once more. "Now, I think I'll make my exit."

Eames clambered back toward the doorway leading up, the two remaining puppet limbs grasping for surface as he kept his eyes on Logan while making his escape.

"Assassin, let's go," he called out.

[OOC: You can have Logan kill Eames here. Yes, you read that right. Just don't do anything with the vial of blood.]

Illya, Noin - Night Club

Logan winced as he felt Eames' knife jab into the back of his shoulder. He'd managed to twist his body just enough to avoid it driving into his spine, which wouldn't have ended well, but that didn't make it hurt any less, especially when a kick followed immediately after, sending Logan flying into the ground, where he rolled forward once before coming to a stop on one knee.

Why did the man seem to think it was over though? It was a deep cut, but it hadn't hit anything vital... Poison? No, Logan didn't feel the effects of poison running through his veins. Could it be that the man didn't realize he'd missed Logan's vitals? It didn't seem likely, but that wouldn't stop Logan from finishing this.

Flames lashed out as Logan rolled to one side, slinging the whip-like body of his sword out to catch Eames by the leg. The fire crackled and spread along the man's pants leg as Logan pulled it tight, just a touch of pain to distract the other man... Logan's other sword caught Eames square in the chest, blasting him backward in a wash of flames that lit up the dark corridor.

As the heat receded, Logan stood over the other man, as if he'd been standing there the whole time, looking down on Eames. His swords gone, Logan reached up to pull the halo from around his head. It flickered eerily for a moment, and then Logan wrapped his fingers around it, crushing it into a glowing spark, far smaller than an actual flame.

"May you burn for your sins..." He muttered, dropping the spark into Eames' mouth.

For a moment, there was no reaction, and then Eames' body twitched violently. Fire spewed from the man's mouth, from his nose, even from the sockets of his eyes as he burned from the inside out.

Payne, Noin - Nightclub

Assassin received the call. It was time to leave.

"I expect we'll see each other again soon, Lancer," Assassin said with a croaking laugh, melding into the darkness and vanishing. Making it back to Eames' side would be easy, and he had no doubt he would reach him before Lancer could return to her Master.

Several daggers whizzed through the air, driving Logan back from Eames' corpse. Assassin arrived at his the body's side, stopping short at the sight of his fallen Master. The surprise - moreso from how his Master had died than the fact that he had died - flickered by in an instant, and the Servant was already by the fallen magus' side, rifling through the suit jacket to retrieve what must be in there.

"Ah ha..." he murmured, slipping out the vial and placing it in his cloak before turning to face Logan.

"Well done, Master of Lancer. Enjoy your victory, for however long it lasts."

Assassin vanished from sight, the skull mask lingering in the air for a moment longer before it too faded from sight.

[OOC: I can end the day in my next post, so you guys will probably want to wrap up things for yourselves and get back to the yacht.]

Payne, Illya - Nightclub

Lancer hesitated when she heard Assassin brag once again. His words made her suspicious if what their plan really was.

Then it happened, Assassin disappeared. Lancer frowned and returned to Logan as quickly as possible. However she was a bit too late. The other Servant had already frisked his fallen Master.

Slowly Lancer stepped up to Logan. "What the hell happened?" she asked. "Did you get hurt?"

Illya, Noin - Night Club

Logan growled as Assassin's blades slipped through the air, forcing him backwards and away from Eames. The Servant skittered over the burned out corpse for a moment, sifting though Eames' coat, and then he pulled back, disappearing from sight. Strange... Normally, a Servant would vanish when their mana supply disappeared. Was Assassin capable of surviving for a time without mana?

His thoughts were disturbed by Lancer's voice, and Logan turned to see her approaching through the dark. "Eames is dead." He responded gruffly. "He got me with a knife right before the end, but it's nothing a few stitches won't fix." Logan gave her a weak smile before turning towards the door. "I'm afraid you'll have to sew me up this time though. I can't see or reach my back very well."

Something wasn't right... Even though the battle was over, Logan still felt like Assassin had won somehow. It would bother him for the rest of the night...

Warehouse

"Did you retrieve it?"

Assassin nodded slowly, removing the vial from his cloak and placing it in Eames' hand.

"Master, your Mystic Code... the puppet..."

"I'll retrieve them later," Eames said with a careless wave of his hand as he turned back to his project.

"A spitting image of his ugly mug, wouldn't you say?" Eames laughed, inspecting his newest doll. The red eyes that stared back were as judgmental as the man's on whom they were modeled.

"Blind fool," he sneered at the puppet's vacant face. "Fighting was never my style anyway. All I need was a generous donation from you."

Uncorking the vial, Eames dipped a pale finger into the blood and swirled it about before removing the digit and slowly sucking the glistening red liquid from it.

"Tomorrow, Assassin," Eames said, turning and grinning with a glassy-eyed, maniacal expression. "I'll give you a show you'll never forget."

Transition - Day XI

City Hall

"Are you sure you're going to be up to this? It's going to be a hell of a fight."

Dowth looked up from his desk at Saber's searching expression. If that Master of his had been involved, Dowth would have been far more concerned. As it was, with just a battle between their Servants, Dowth felt assured.

"I should be asking that. You've seen Berserker's Noble Phantasm," Dowth said lightly, enjoying the tick in Saber's cheek. Doubting Saber's chances was something of a taboo.

"I'll win."

It was not a boast or a declaration of pride; it was a fact. Saber wouldn't lose. Not to anyone.

Dowth smiled. He'd chosen well his Servant.

"The arrangements have been made then?" he asked after a pause, turning away to the window. Saber gave a grunt of acknowledgement.

"The runt was here to say they'd give a signal before they act. We should be able to time it to pull them apart," the Servant reported. Dowth nodded, pleased, as he turned back to look at Saber.

Today was their day. They were going to take the Games into their own hands.

--------------------

Docks

Assassin lurked in the darkest corner of the small, largely uninhabited apartment complex by the docks. He was thinking hard. Very hard.

He couldn't return to Caster; not now. His Master was paying far too much attention. He had to wonder how much the magus Servant knew of what had transpired. His potentially useful alliance with Caster could be jeopardized by all this.

And Eames... He'd be lying if he said this transformation hadn't caused him some manner of alarm. Sadistic pleasure was no foreign concept, but to allow it cloud one's judgment...

"You have all you need," Asssassin had tried to reason in his oily voice. "You could do it now, with Lancer's Master none the wiser."

Eames had laughed at that, grabbing the face of the doll he was once more studying - as though memorizing exactly what he was going to do - and giving it a shake.

"It's no fun if I can't be there to see his reactions - the winces, the grunts of pain, the eventual cries, shrieks, tears... begging."

That was all well and good... intriguing, in fact. But the idea of Lancer there, in all her righteous fury...

Yes, Assassin had a lot to consider.

[OOC: Just mostly doing a little build-up for the events tonight.]

Payne - Yacht

It was still in the early morning hours and Lancer walked about the main cabin. Looking through the cupboards she pulled out the first aid kit and prepared some bandages. There were still bloody bandages in the trash from last night when she had stiched Logan up.

Her thoughts were spinning, wondering what Assassin was up to. The fact that he was still around after Eames had died gave her an odd feeling, especially when they looked at what happen with Berserker's Master.

Grabbing two cups of coffee that were on the counter, she walked over to Logan's bedroom and knocked on the door.

"Are you awake?" she asked quietly before opening the door slowly. "How are you feeling?"

Noin - Yacht

Logan grimaced as he rolled to one side so he could see the door. Stitches were such a dastardly invention... If you moved too much, you'd tear them, and they made sure to protest whenever you moved them at all. If not for the fact that they were holding his skin together, he might have just ripped them out to save himself the discomfort.

"Yes, I'm awake." He grumbled, rolling back onto his back, where he was more comfortable. "And considering the shape I left the other guy in, I guess I've not got much to complain about."

He paused at that thought, unwilling to let it go. "Did Assassin look like the type of Servant that had just lost his Master last night? He shuffled over Eames' body, but there wasn't any sort of fear about him. Something about how calm he seemed bothers me... Almost as much as these forsaken things called stitches..."

Library

Jacques sat in silence in his study, pondering the midday sky. According to Archer, one of the bounded fields constructed by Berserker's usurping Master had been destroyed. That was two now. But there was no telling how many she might have built up in all this time.

Well, that was up to Dowth now. But still, it might be prudent to send Archer to observe and possibly act as backup.

"I wonder if Saber is really strong enough to challenge Berserker," he murmured thoughtfully. Archer materialized a moment after Jacques had sensed his presence.

"Either way, we stand to gain," Archer replied, sounding uncharacteristically harsh. Jacques didn't care much for Saber or Dowth, but he had to admit that he preferred to have Berserker and his Master out of the way more.

"Just remember whose side we're on... for the present," Jacques reminded him. Archer said nothing, and vanished from sight a moment later.

--------------------

Abandoned House

Shiyan stared at the reflection in the mirror. The person looking back at her had an elegant painted face, accenting the high cheek bones and the curve of her jaw. The long lashes were delicate and framed the colored eyelids. Her lovely figure was garbed in a costly kimono that accentuated her form. She was a beautiful sight, equal parts dazzling and bold.

But it was a lie. All of it. Shiyan bit her lip, then seized the washcloth and removed the layers of makeup and accents, brushing away the façade and all the lies. For tonight... for tonight she was going to put aside the face of the magus and all its attachments. Tonight, she wanted to be Shiyan.

"Sister..." Ro said, taking in a breath as she left the bathroom and removed the extravagant kimono for the more simple robe beneath. Somehow, she appeared more lovely and refined without all the layers of commitments, burdens, and self-sacrifice.

"Ro... for the last time," Shiyan tried to say, her eyes averting his gaze, but he stopped her short.

"I'm not leaving you sister," her brother replied firmly. "We're all we have. I'm not going to go back without you."

She had known that would be his answer. That didn't make it hurt any less.

Maou [Warehouse #1's other neighbor]
Rebuilding the Devil's Castle was not easy, but it was possible. The movement of Mana was slow, but meaningful. Even an attack from a Servant couldn't destroy what she had built. Only ravage it. But it was still there. The pieces that had been completed, and those that she had been working on. It was a much faster process than building a new one. Pick up the bits and pieces then move them into play. She had two destroyed to work with. She timed it to be done late day tommorow or early night.

For tonight, she would have to survive with only one. Given Archer had only destroyed one, that was at least one more than they thought she had. But it wasn't enough. If only there was some way to get her more time... Perhaps she should fake her own death. As long as it was not against Servant Archer, whose eyes were impossibly keen, or Servant Caster, who needed no eyes, it would be possible. There would still be things needed though, of course.

A rumble inturupted her plans. Her stomach. Ah yes, Demon King as she was, she was still flesh and blood. Although she could amass mana like a Servant, she still needed to eat. Digging out a wad of euroes, she threw the paper at Berserker like he was a stripper. "Go get us some food, please. There's some more money hidden over in the first warehouse, if you need more."

Please. Said the DEMON KING. The glazed over look in her eyes was a mix of anxiety and hunger. But also one that he would have suspected Meira would have taken away. Her eyes reflected receptive and welcoming desire. Not of any particular origin, but it was there. Certainly, there were no causes. It was simply how her body was conditioned. A memory that was now gladly gone. As well as the one that taught her how to hide it.



------------------------

Jack [Outside the Warehouses]

It was a stakeout. It had been a long time since he had done one, but his nerves didn't seem to care. They slipped into a silent anticipation, ready to jump once something happened. An out of the way spot, where he could only inspect the warehouses. He had even rented another car and parked it nearby, so his didn't raise any suspicion. This was something big, after all. A monster was lurking in the shadows, and he was on the verge of uncovering it... hopefully. Sam and Twitch were nowhere to be found. Even though he had told them. Even though it was obvious something was going on. The excuse this time wasn't a gas pipe explosion, but a freak weather incident. Indeed, A few witnesses had seen some flickering blue lights in the sky.

But Sam had given Jack some donuts for company. He was munching on one now, his stomach forcing the food down through controlled nervousness. It was bigger than the local underground. It was bigger than the police. Whatever he found, he would either die, or be on the run for the rest of his life.



He smiled at the thought that someone might miss him. And he kept watching.

Payne - Yacht

Lancer stepped into the room and handed Logan his cup of coffee.

"You should get up so I can check the stiches," Lancer said in a voice that made clear it wasn't a request. She turned around to leave the room but stopped when Logan began to speak again.

"No," Lancer replied and turned back around. "No, he did not." A frown creased her forehead. "It bothers me too. He was far too calm. Are you absolutely certain that you killed his Master?" she asked.

She took a sip of her coffee and after tasting it she just managed to keep it down, coughing in disgust that was reflected in her expression. It didn't taste well. Apparently making coffee wasn't high on the list of Lancer's skills unless this brew was supposed to taste so bitter.

Noin - Yacht

Logan sighed, taking the cup of coffee from Lancer and pushing himself up into a sitting position. He grimaced as he stretched his arm around, testing the limits of his range of motion while the stitches were in. Satisfied with the knowledge of how much he could bend, Logan brought his coffee to his lips and took a long sip. Taking a deep breath, he pushed the sheets aside and slid onto his feet.

"I'm certain that I killed whatever it was that confronted me last night." Logan responded, reaching under Lancer's arm to snag her cup of coffee. "The question lies in whether or not that was truly Assassin's Master." He continued as he sat Lancer's cup on the bar and opened the fridge. After a moment of rustling around, he pulled out a carton of milk and poured some into the cup. Without looking back at the fridge, he replaced the milk, and then dipped a spoon into the honey jar on the bar, filling it with the golden liquid. He dropped the spoon into Lancer's cup and pushed it back towards her with a smile.

"Stir it up and see if that's better." Logan said, taking another sip of his own coffee. "I'll sit down and let you look at the stitches in a minute. First, I want to stand for a bit."

Payne - Yacht

Lancer threw Logan a sceptic look and took another careful sip of her coffee. Her face lit up when she realized it tasted much better. "I don't know how you can drink it just like that" she muttered and took another sip of her sweetened coffee.

Her expression became serious again. "After the events involving Berserker's Master, I think we should check to make it absolutely certain. We don't want things to end in a mess," she suggested. "But first things first. Let me look at the stiches. The fact that you're moving around is good though."

Waiting for him to pull up his shirt, she laid out the fresh bandages.

Berserker looked about in surprise at the sudden activity from the Demon Lord, who had been restless but silent for quite some time. His gaze fell on the discarded money, cast carelessly toward him, before looking back at Maou.

Her words and expression were unusual, but Berserker decided not to dwell on it. A conqueror did not mourn his losses, and Meira was gone. He could not afford to try to catch her spirit in every word and glance the Demon Lord made.

Nodding, Berserker retrieved the euros and observed the money. It seemed unnecessary to exchange currency - after all, he could just plunder the food establishment. But perhaps, under the circumstances, it would be wiser to use some discretion and pick and choose their battles.

It took a while for Berserker to return. It was not feasible to order one of everything, as he had at the ice cream parlor, so it was necessary to demand the expertise of the food handlers. After receiving the bag full of "burgers" and "fries" he made his way back to the warehouse and placed the rather greasy brown parcel before his Master.

"I hope it is to your liking, Master," Berserker murmured, eyeing the bag with some uncertainty.

Maou [Warehouse]

Shifting at his arrival, she opened the bag. Burgers and fries. "I'm surprised you didn't get any for yourself, but I suppose smashing a car is better than eating a burger for you. But for me, I need food. And any food is food." That said, she opened up the tin foil with the burger, careful not to spill anything on her dress. The Demon Lord did not have ketchup stains. With that out of the way, she simply went to take a bite out of the burger...

...and stopped. As if remembering something but not quite sure what, she stared at it for a moment before lifting the top bun. She grumbled as she picked out the green slices. "But I hate pickles." Something she didn't know. She flung the two wet slices into the far corners of the warehouse, and proceeded to visciously bite into the burger. A small thing like that. There were probably many more of them. What else had that woman forgotten to forget?

Noin - Yacht

Logan glanced down at his own coffee cup and shrugged before taking another sip. "It's an acquired taste..." He responded softly, his words rumbling with the low tone, rather than cracking as they normally did. "And it covers up any other unpleasant flavors that you may have on your palate..."

Offering only a grunt in response to her other statement, Logan made his way around the bar and sat down on the couch, turning his back to her. It felt weird to be up and moving without the chains that normally bound his arms. He wasn't accustomed to how light his own limbs were, and the muscles rippled as he reached over his head and peeled off his shirt. At the center of his back was an intricate half moon that flowed out into a sea of clouds. The design was woven into his flesh, no his magic circuits even, and just to the right of it, there was a puckered red gash where Lancer had stitched him up the night before.

Logan had peeled the bandages off when he got out of bed. The bulky packaging made him limited in movement, and he couldn't stand it for any longer once he actually got onto his feet. Judging from the fact that she was holding more of the bandages, odds were good she'd probably reprimand him for taking it off...

"Get it over with..." He grumbled, taking another sip of coffee.

Payne - Yacht

"Weird," Lancer said and shook her head, not completely convinced.

After Logan sat down, she went over to check his stiches. She didn't comment on the fact that he had taken off the bandages. The wound looked well enough to be on the air before it was wrapped up again.

"It looks good. Unless you rip them, there shouldn't be any infection," Lancer said and applied some healing ointment.

"I'll just apply a thin layer of bandages to protect the wound and keep your shirt from sticking to it," she added and immediately went to work. Her movements were fluid and it was done in a few minutes.

"What's next?"

Gedo - Warehouse

Berserker watched Meira consume every bit of each burger - sans the pickles discarded haphazardly in the corner - before moving on to the next. It reminded him, albeit on a far humbler scale, of the feasts on the eve of battle that his armies would partake in to celebrate what might be their last night on earth.
The idea felt ominous somehow. He was not unaccustomed to the prospect of death, but...

He glanced at Maou, brow furrowed. More so than his own dream to conquer the world, he felt obligated to fulfill Meira's last wish. He owed it to her.

Moving and sitting across from Meira, Berserker seized a burger and bit half of it off at once before shoving a handful of fries into his mouth.

"Today, we feast. Tonight, we battle!" he declared, his red eyes shining with fervor. When the sun fell behind the horizon, he would cross blades with Saber. And then, after a battle the likes of which the Games would not see before or since, only one of them would be walking away - bloody, beaten, and gloriously victorious.

Transition - Night XI

Gedo - Warehouse

A small puff of white escaped into the night air as Shiyan released a sigh. Ro was silent behind her, tense and alert. She knew this was personal for him, vengeance for her imprisonment. But for her...

"Ro," she said softly, turning to face him. "Whatever happens, I want you to know I was always happiest... when I was just your sister."

Ro's expression strained, as though he were in physical pain.

"Shiyan..." he murmured, taking her hands. She kissed his cheek softly before pulling away, knowing her resolve might weaken if she didn't move now.

"It's time, Ro," she said, her voice quiet and resolved. Ro said nothing but stepped back, activating the spell that would signal like a flare that they were ready. With determined steps, Shiyan walked straight at the doors to the warehouse, her head high. When she threw them open, she allowed her eyes to linger on the two figured before she stilled her breath.

"Hello, Meira. Or should I call you that anymore?"

--------------------

Dowth lingered in the shadows, Saber's presence dense beside him. He could sense his Servant's eagerness for battle, but was not quite so enthusiastic. Still, if all went according to plan... he'd be lauded as the top Master in the Games. Finally, all that recognition for his talents...

The signal went up, and his eyes narrowed as he watched move up into the sky.

"Let's move, Saber," he declared. The knight of the sword materialized beside him, blade poised. With a surge of mana, Saber swung the blade, sending a shockwave smashing into the side of the warehouse. It only took a moment before Berserker appeared in the whole, his sword in hand and his red eyes gleaming with bloodlust.

"I'm ready, Saber. Let us do battle," Berserker declared.

--------------------

Payne, Noin - Docks

If Logan's hunch was correct, it certainly didn't seem like it. The strip of cubicle-like apartments along the docks seemed deserted and utterly devoid of mana. In the silence, coming here seemed like a waste of time.

No, wait, there was a sound. A slow, measured clap as Eames strolled casually into view from behind a corner, a briefcase in hand.

"You know, I'm not sure if I should call you clever for figuring out the truth or stupid for coming anyway," Eames said, smirking at them. "Either way, I guess I should thank you for sparing me the trouble of looking for you."

Assassin materialized beside his Master, skulking close to the ground as he watched Lancer and Logan, tensed for any movement.

"Oh, and I should thank you for this little gift," Eames continued, pulling out the now empty vial of blood and dangling it from his fingers. "Came in very handy."

He tossed it carelessly aside, the tinkling of shattered glass muffled by the sound of the briefcase, which he dropped to the ground in front of him. With a kick of his expensive, designer shoe, the lid popped open and a red-shrouded figure emerged. It took a moment after the figure had moved to its full height, red eyes staring menacingly at the duo, before they realized who they were looking at.

Logan himself.

Maou [Warehouse]



What greeted Shiyan was nothing more than plain darkness. The fact that it had form of a woman with two glowing red eyes meant nothing. Shiyan's own gauntlet clicked as it tapped fingers against the hilt of the sheathed sword. "Bad move, little woman. Coming here, your only rational option is to join me. 'Meira' may have forgiven you, but I still bear a scar." She casually ran fingers down the scar on her left eye. Meira had left out the event as a favor torwards Shiyan, most likely, but it was easy to connect the scar to Shiyan's favored wires. "I often find myself bored, waiting for opponents stupid enough to attack me." She didn't even need to shift her eyes. The meaning was clear that she was talking about both Shiyan and Saber. "You'll be fine entertainment, if you don't break." She did not consider Shiyan an opponent. Her eyes said as much. They were bright with menacing amusement, as if watching an ant that could talk to insult her. One she could stamp out at any time.

Her left hand fell to her cheek, and she rested her head on it. A sign that she was willing to accomadate the little ants needs, if only for amusement. "Though I suppose I can spare you the pain. Tell me Meira's true last name, and I will. I suppose I can let your brother live too. He's too pathetic for me to even look at." A fact Shiyan would know from going through Meira's files. The name she had before a poor fate ripped it away. Meira Ling.

"Though if you persist in battle, may I suggest next door? I did give Berserker permission to go crazy." An option stated as if it meant nothing. Whether she killed the woman here or there, it did not matter.