Fate/Resistance pt. 6

Laura had taken Aaron to her safe-house, Berserker and Saber just behind her. Once inside, they put him in a bed. She looked at Berserker, a scornful expression still on her face.

"He should be fine. He's just exhausted."

"Hey, I needed to crush that Rider guy as quickly as possible." Berserker said, defensively.

"And DID you?"

"Trust me, he barely missed." Saber said, "It was a good trap, honestly. But here's the problem--THAT Rider probably knows whatever trap you've got. He's Hannibal friggin' Barca, the King of Generals."

"So...that's one enemy we know." Laura murmured.

"But I think he figured out who I was, too." Saber murmured.

"Big whoop. We meet Elephants again, we'll just-"

Laura quickly interrupted, "What? Go in gung ho, not thinking that he might have a trick up his sleeve? Or that his Master's got a plan already? I fought that Jason man. He was able to put up a bounded field with just four knives. In fact, he only let me out of that alive because he didn't feel like it. We can't just make things up on the go!"

"I did it in my last life and I ended up just fine." Berserker scoffed, folding his arms.

"Really? Then who WERE you in your last life?" Laura asked. Berserker turned his back on her, not answering, "Since you're CLEARLY bad at strategizing, I'll need to know who you are to help with that. Trust me, no one's breaking into my mind that easily."

Berserker remained silent. He slowly lowered his arms. He didn't turn to face her, knowing it wouldn't matter. He was blind anyway.

"My name...is Samson."



PART 6: Planning for Tomorrow

He was standing on a chair, adjusting the picture his wife had set up. He wasn't sure how it had happened, but it had gotten crooked. He knew what would happen when he heard the all-too-familiar click of the hammer of a Colt Revolver being pulled back. His eyes bulged as he realized in the next second that he had made the rare miscalculation by putting his guns on the sofa, which would now cost him as the only two he trusted prepared to kill him. The younger was the one who pulled the trigger. Before the hot lead punched a hole through the back of his head, he saw it all.

A young boy watching his father waste away and die from consumption. His older brother teaching him how to shoot, then to ride. Everything went off the rails, however, when his stepfather was attacked by some of their pro-Union neighbors and hung because of his views on slavery. His mother was later arrested by Union officials and held in prison until she swore loyalty to the Union's cause.

"Boys, never let those Yankees take one thing from you--your pride."

He would later be recruited by a band of guerillas, led by Bloody Bill Anderson. He was a hero to the young boy, a man who wasn't afraid to rip his enemies to pieces or to riddle them with bullets. In Centralia, he led an attack on a train that left twenty-four of the Yankees on the ground, mutilated for good measure. Then a month later, he died in combat, like a man. He had his boots on.

When he became a man, after his fellow men of the South lost their balls, he was there to reignite their spirit. He, his brother, and thirteen other men who shared their ideals rode to rob Northern-owned banks and trains. To make the South feel powerful and to line their own pockets, he was happy to do both. He was forced into hiding now and then, but the thrill of riding in, guns blazing, was always too much. His brother lost his taste for adventure, but that was his call. The constant attacks and Yankees hounding him every step of the way, however, meant he had precious few people that he could trust. He had his wife, his children, and the two brothers...

He had made a mistake in the latter.

He felt the bullet pierce through the back of his head, the force of it slamming his head into the picture and fell onto his back.

With a yell, Saki sprung up in her bed.

"Had a nice dream, moron?" Archer asked, sitting on the other end of the room, drinking a cup of coffee. He came back looking pretty beaten-up from the night before, but he seemed to have healed nicely.

"N-none of your business!" she snapped. She laid on her back, thinking, 'That was his story, wasn't it?'

She had no idea that this would happen, but figured that it made sense. She and Archer were bound by a contract, so his thoughts and feelings entering her through dreams wasn't that out of the ordinary. She looked at her Servant, Jesse James, and suddenly realized she didn't know as much about the American King of Outlaws as she had thought. She pulled her covers over her and fell asleep again.

--

In the base of Falco and Lancer, the shaman was sitting in the middle of a one-bedroom apartment. He looked at his Servant, who was looking out the window, watching the sunrise. Falco had been staying up for long hours since he began his training in shamanism. And Servants didn't fatigue as easily as they would have in their previous lives, so she made for excellent company.

"Turns out that Rider is Hannibal, the man who nearly destroyed Rome."

"Sounds like the kid of person I would have seen eye-to-eye with." Lancer commented.

"If he hadn't died about two hundred years before you were born." Falco murmured, "Saber and Berserker are both mysteries. I might be able to narrow down likely candidates for Archer and Assassin, since they both seem to come from relatively modern times."

Lancer nodded, not shifting her gaze from the rising sun. Falco remembered that Servants had their own reasons for seeking the Holy Grail.

"Lancer? What would you use the Grail for?" he asked.

Lancer didn't look at him, but took hold of her left elbow. It was a gesture that he hadn't expected to see from her. It was a bit of a surprise to him.

"I would use the Grail...to regain something that was taken from me." She slowly turned to him. Her expression was still stone-faced, hardened by anger and abuse, but her vivid, green eyes betrayed a hint of tenderness, "My family."

Falco was taken aback by her answer. He was expecting violent retribution, considering who she was. Her statement that it was for reunion was something that made him feel wrong-footed. She turned to face him fully.

"And what of you, Falco Sky? What would you use the Grail for?"

Falco looked at her, thinking for a bit, "I...don't know. I was just pulled in here and then it happened. I guess...I'd stop my tribe from its massacre."

"So, you would use the Grail for a purpose other than your own?" Lancer's face didn't shift, but it seemed to soften a bit, "An admirable quality, Falco Sky."

Without another word, Lancer faded from view. Falco felt that he needed a rest and promptly got onto his bed to rest.

--

"Why did you just run?" Victoria asked.

"Rider fled from combat. Saber and Berserker would have come after. I didn't like my chances." Jason simply said, looking over his knives. They had burn marks on them. He walked over to a table and took a knife sharpener, "Twelve knives total used. Need to play more conservative..."

"Not all fights are won in a single fight." With a shower of sparks, Rider appeared, "This was little more than a scouting mission. My victories were only possible because I knew my enemies better than they knew themselves."

"You heard him, Victoria." Jason murmured, sharpening his blades, "And I'd trust him in this regard."

Victoria scoffed. She then turned to the window of the warehouse and thrust out her hand. A barrier of golden light appeared as something flew through it, slamming into her shield. It shattered on impact, but the worst was blocked. The object landed next to Jason's chair. He looked over and picked it up--a small scroll.

"There are easier ways to deliver a message." she stated.

"I'll be sure to bring that up." Jason murmured, opening it. He quickly read it, "It's Jade. She's calling for a dialogue. And to...take my baby-sitter with me."

"So, how's it feel to be the one who gets burned?" Victoria asked with a smirk.

"Might be a trap, but it gives us a chance for a talk of surrender." Jason commented, pulling on his coat as he stood up, "To be safe, Rider, I want you in spirit form."

Rider gave a short nod before fading into the air once more. The two walked out, looking at the slowly rising sun.

--

As the sun rose, Arieh heard the sound of a whistling tea pot. He looked around for a minute before Assassin walked in, carrying a tea tray.

"Well, last night was certainly eventful." He commented, setting it down on a chair as he poured some of the beverage into a cup, "Two fights in one night. Have some tea while I tell you about it."

Arieh took the cup, watching the content swirl. He gave it a small huff of air, blowing the steam away, before taking a sip. It was hot, but still good.

"I don't think you need ME to tell you of the first real fight of this Secret Grail War, between the Three Knight Classes of all things." Assassin said, taking a sip of it, "But it appears as if the seventh Servant, the Berserker, has been summoned. And it turns out that he and Saber are in cahoots with each other, since they both fought Rider just outside the church. Barely missed a serious rule break there."

Arieh sighed, looking at his reflection. The strongest physical class allied with the most powerful? This only made it harder. But there was a question on his mind...

"Assassin?"

"I told you, Arieh, call me Dietrich." Assassin corrected.

"Sorry. Dietrich, Servants are only summoned to the Grail War to get their own wishes granted, right?"

"That is true, yes." Assassin nodded, sipping some more of his tea, "If one had unfulfilled desires in life and obtained the right amount of praise and worship, then they would be summonable as a Heroic Spirit. I'm glad to be counted among those great souls..."

"Then...what would you ask from the Grail?" Arieh asked, "I want it to end the conflict between my people and their neighbors once and for all. But what about you?"

"Me?" Assassin asked. He cocked his head to once side while looking off, as if this was something he had never considered before, "Well...I never met Gandhi, but really wanted to. Guess I would ask for that."

Arieh had the distinct impression that he wasn't being completely honest with him. He didn't pursue the subject, though. He was entitled to his secrets.

"Well...what should our next move be?"

"Hmm...haven't thought about that." Assassin said, putting a finger to his chin, "For now, I say we lay low until an opportunity presents itself. With me keeping watch over what I can, of course."

"Well then," Arieh raised his cup, "To lying low."

He took a drink as Assassin opened his Bible, which began to glow with a faint light.