Shadows of the Battlefield
The city lay in ruins, its broken streets echoing with the aftermath of the first clash. Smoke and dust still lingered in the air, but no further battles had erupted. Each faction had chosen to retreat, to watch, to plan.
But war never waits for the unprepared.
---
Lucian Orsova leaned against a rusted streetlight, absently flicking his lighter open and shut. His sharp eyes traced the jagged skyline, lips curled in amusement.
"That could've gone better," he muttered.
Before him, Lancer—Black Gold Saw—rested her massive blade against her shoulder. Her crimson eyes gleamed with something close to amusement.
"We survived. That's all that matters," she said, tilting her head. "Or are you disappointed we didn't get to spill more blood?"
Lucian chuckled, lighting his cigarette.
"Nah. Just wish I had more time to study that Saber." He exhaled a slow stream of smoke. "That woman… the Empress… she's dangerous."
Lancer's fingers tightened around her blade.
"Power alone does not win wars," she murmured.
Lucian raised an eyebrow.
"You sound like you respect her."
Lancer let out a quiet chuckle, low and dark.
"No. I just recognize a monster when I see one."
---
Within the remains of an old cathedral, Father Elias knelt before the altar, murmuring prayers in the dim candlelight. His breath was steady, but his mind churned.
Perched on a crumbling stone pillar, Archer—White Rock Shooter—watched him in silence.
"You are calmer than I expected, Master," she said at last.
Elias did not pause in his prayer.
"Why would I not be?"
Archer tilted her head, her ethereal blue-white eyes flickering in the gloom.
"You saw that Saber. The Empress. Do you still believe in your God?"
Elias opened his eyes and stood, turning to face his Servant.
"Yes."
Archer studied him for a long moment.
"Even if she proves herself beyond human?"
He met her gaze without hesitation.
"Then I will remind her of what happens when humans challenge Heaven."
For the first time, Archer smiled—cold, amused.
"A foolish answer." She leapt down from her perch, landing beside him. "But I think I prefer a foolish Master to a cowardly one."
---
Beneath a collapsed overpass, Abyss sat in the shadows, her gaze fixed on the cracked concrete beneath her feet. The battle had been brief, but it had revealed plenty.
Saber—Black Rock Shooter—stood beside her, her single blue eye glowing in the darkness.
"You didn't speak much during the fight," Abyss remarked.
Saber's gaze did not waver.
"There was nothing worth saying."
Abyss smirked.
"Even when you fought Lancer?"
Saber finally turned toward her Master.
"She is strong. But strength without discipline is meaningless."
Abyss exhaled softly.
"You've fought before."
It wasn't a question.
Saber's glowing eye burned.
"Yes."
A pause.
Then, Abyss leaned back, arms crossed.
"Then we'll win this war, too."
Saber did not smile, but for the first time, she nodded.
"Yes."
---
In the ruins of an old opera house, Assassin—Dead Master—lounged on a throne of bones, her skeletal hands tracing the air as chains coiled around her like restless serpents.
Her Master, a hooded figure draped in shadow, stood in the darkness beyond the flickering stage lights.
"You let them escape," he said, voice low.
Dead Master smirked, resting her cheek against her hand.
"And?" she purred. "The real game hasn't even begun."
Her Master's voice was cold.
"You are Assassin. You strike from the dark. Not from the stage."
Dead Master chuckled, her chains rattling.
"Oh, but the best assassins know when to let their prey grow comfortable."
Her glowing green eyes narrowed.
"Patience, Master. The moment they let their guard down… I will rip them apart."