The Achaeans

10:45, The Skies Above Athens

Athena, Chrysaor, and Lancer were all aboard a ship flying through the sky. It was made of dark brown, almost-mahogany wood with green along the rail, bow and stern, and, though it was fleeting, she could swear that golden light was sometimes glowing from within, highlighting the contours of the wood, even moving down the grooves like circuits. It was a pretty ship, and it glided effortlessly across the sky. It was oddly comfortable, even oddly familiar.

She leaned on the edge, looking out over the city below. The dark lights of the city mirrored the stars overhead, at least until it reached the hard break between land and sea, where the bright diamonds came to a sudden confrontation with the watery abyss. It was hard to believe that she had once disappeared among those towers. Her life until now, with the problems she had tried so desperately to run from, all seemed so small from here. Maybe a different perspective was all she needed. All she had to do was look at her story from a bird's point of view, if she didn't put it in the rearview altogether.

Looking down and back was easier and simpler than looking ahead. Their discussions with Rider, Lancer and the others had given them a plan, sure, but it seemed as if attempting to grapple with the issues ahead only highlighted their collective lack of knowledge and preparedness. In other words, preparing for the battle had only made her more anxious about it, and suddenly her sister's offer didn't seem so bad.

She absentmindedly looked to her companions. Undoubtedly, they were as stressed as she was, maybe more so considering that they would be the ones on the front lines, but they still pressed on, and she admired them for that. Behind her, towards the back of the ship, she watched Lancer bounce his rake on his shoulder before suddenly going into a spin, jab or swing- silently focusing on practicing with his weapon.

At the front, Chrysaor had adopted a wide stance. He was the one flying the ship, and was still familiarizing himself with the sensation. He moved his hands around, as if across an invisible surface, and when one hand pointed out towards the bow it twitched. He paused, then clenched his fist.

She jumped back as, below her, a section of the lower ship off the side leaped out, and a golden... something, perhaps a turret or a cannon, emerged from within.

"Hey!"

Not too far away, on a ship of their own, Rider's Master Aaron yelled out, "What the Hell are you shooting at!?"

She couldn't tell if he was angry, or just shouting over the wind.

"Sorry!"

Chrysaor finagled around with his hands before eventually finding the proper movement to close the turrets and Aaron moved back to the other side of his deck. On his ship, Rider sat nobly on the bow with one knee up and his other leg dangling over the thousand-foot fall, apparently without a care in the world.

Rider had struck her as someone implicitly trustworthy, but she wished she could say the same of his Master. He reminded her vaguely of a chihuahua: yappy, scrappy, and scruffy with an inflated ego and a tendency to bite off more than he could chew. The one thing she could say about him with certainty, however, is that he had a kind streak, and seemed to be genuinely invested in her best interest. She knew as well as anyone that was hard to come by, and, especially for a situation like this one, she found herself grateful to have him- even if she would prefer that he more closely resembled his Servant.

...

Aaron let out a groan. He was already frustrated by the obvious weakness and inexperience of Saber and his Master. He had thought the 'winds' around Lancer were pretty pathetic, but Saber's really took the cake. Sure, maybe comparing them to Berserker and Rider was unfair, but that was what they were dealing with, so was it really so uncalled for? He wanted to know where that angelic figure he'd first encountered was, and why he had to deal with these knuckleheads instead.

He rubbed his face, "These guys are so dead."

"Relax, Master. If all goes to plan, they should never come to harm."

"Yeah, if all goes to plan. But that's a pretty big 'if', don'tchya think?"

"Perhaps."

He let out the breath he'd been holding. The countdown had begun. It was far too late to turn back, and certainly too late for regrets.

...

The ships glided down into the Olympic Stadium. Chrysaor's landing was shaky, and there was some skidding against the pavement, but all was well in the end of things.

Aaron jumped down from his ship, which had landed effortlessly, and, in tandem, two other ships manifested beside their own. Four ships in all, they were arranged in two parallel lines, as if they were using the racetrack as a runway.

He flicked out his hand and a dagger appeared from a veil of golden mist. With nothing more than a glance up at his guests, he wordlessly began at his own work. This had been discussed already. He was going to engrave runes on each ship which should serve to redirect Berserker's long-range lightning attacks, though he didn't seem to place much faith in his own abilities, which made it all the more difficult for Athena to do the same.

In a graceful leap, Rider joined Saber's ship from his own.

"Greetings, friends. How goes it?"

"Well." Chrysaor greeted him like an old friend. Rider seemed to have that effect on people, "-But maybe you could show me how to fly this thing better? I thought I had a handle on it, but it seems like the more confident I get the rockier the ride becomes."

"Of course, allow me-"

"No you don't!" Aaron yapped from underneath the ship, "You can wait until I'm done!"

"Prithee, Master, but is there any reason thoust could not begin with the other ship?"

She couldn't hear his grumble, but she was sure there was one.

"Fine. Make it snappy."

For the next few minutes, Rider and Chrysaor glided around, and, although there were a few moments that made her heart leap, such as when the ship went nearly seventy degrees vertical, she watched Chrysaor as he played with his new toy; a certain gleam in his eye. It was a distinctly male, even boyish glee of having some new curiosity to investigate; some new game that he could play. It also occurred to her that she had never seen him interact with another man for so long, or on such friendly terms. It was relaxing, even adorable in a certain way, and she found great joy in simply watching him in his 'natural habitat' so-to-speak, not that she'd ever admit it.

Eventually, Aaron would call them back down, and things returned to a semblance of quiet. Chrysaor even left the ship so as to avoid any movement, leaving only her. Lancer had long ago gone to ground and was still practicing with his rake. From her position on the deck, she was the first to notice the golden cloud appear above them and form into a figure. He was muscular with pale skin, black, wire-like hair that turned red near the ends with matching bandages across his body. He had a pharaoh's beard- she didn't know what it was called- that, combined with his distinctly European air, created a paradox she couldn't quite rectify.

All eyes were on him instantly, and she felt a cold pressure wash over her. Only Aaron gave the figure no regard, and he continued to silently carve his runes into the hull.

The ends of the figure's lips raised ever-so-slightly into the smallest, subtlest smile she had ever seen.

"Well, well, well. I'm sorry for ever doubting you, Team Rider. One may be absent, but two of the missing three have been gathered? Impressive."

Rider gave a polite half-bow, "We art men of our word, Caster. We deliver as we promise."

So this was Caster? For some reason that didn't sit right with her. She had a hard time imagining the man before her summoning an army of zombies or a tranquilizing fog. The powers she had encountered were subtle and eldritch, while the man before her was stoic and sleek. Mages were capable of just about anything, sure, but she couldn't help feeling there was more than met the eye. The disconnect between his appearance and abilities left her thinking that there had to be deception on at least one end.

"You surely do." He looked over to Chrysaor and Lancer on the ground, "Assassin, Saber, and Lancer. Those were the Servants I had yet to encounter. Which are you two?"

Both were glowering at Caster with distrust of their own.

She supposed that Chrysaor may have picked up on her anxiousness via their link, but he nonetheless answered, "Saber and Lancer."

Caster nodded and his eyes turned over to Athena herself, petrifying her in a way more severe than Chrysaor or his mother had ever managed.

"And you would be Saber's Master, I presume."

She managed a stiff nod.

"-And," Chrysaor interrupted, "Where's your Master?"

A regal air rose around him, seeming offended by the question, "What of it? My Master has more important things to attend to, and besides that, what Servant would I be if I allowed my contractor into the line of fire?"

"Rider's Master is here. My Master is here. What's your excuse?"

"Why do I need an excuse for your stupidity?"

Before Saber could respond, a shadow, two shadows, emerged from out of view. One was the walking blot himself, Archer, looking the same as he ever had. Beside him-

It couldn't be.

His face was hidden behind a mess of dirty, pus-stained bandages to hide the burns, but his figure and clothes made him unmistakable. It was Archer's Master. He wasn't right-as-rain, but he was a lot healthier than he had any right to be only one day after their battle.

She felt a pull at the back of her mind, an empathic burst from Saber as he, too, reeled back, but he did a far better job at not letting it show.

"See, even Archer brought his Master."

"What about Lancer? Why should I be the only one held to this standard?"

Lancer muttered under his breath, "Bastard."

The air around Caster turned cold, "What was that?"

Saber continued, "Why don't you ask Archer why Lancer's Master is absent tonight?"

Archer stepped forward, "We don't have time for this," he addressed Aaron, "Aren't you done yet? I thought you'd be finished by now."

Aaron raised with a glower and let the blade he was holding slip out of his hand and onto the ground, "Oh, would you look at that! I'm done. Master of Saber, you go ahead and get off, this ship belongs to Archer and his Master."

She smiled at that.

Rider raised his hands to stop everyone, "Prithee, gentlemen, decorum. There is work to be done."

...

Later,

Above and around the skies of Athens, many birds flew in the clouds and among the buildings, flitting about in anticipation. Among those going to war, some knew better and others were ignorant, but each of these, ravens, crows, even some seagulls, were familiars watching on behalf of mages from afar. Like vultures, they circled above the flying ships, waiting anxiously for the death that would follow.

Most of these came directly from the Clocktower. Secretive as it was, secrets tended to flow far more liberally among the ancient halls than they did to the outside world, and Artorias's report was no exception.

In a place far from Athens, but nowhere near London, the very same man sat in a recliner watching the feed from his own familiar on a big screen while chomping loudly on popcorn. Beside him, a man with curly, unruly blonde hair and a plaid shirt sat in his own chair. His face was totally obscured by a black mask, as were his hands.

His accent was a mix of English and French, the perfect combination for expressing dissatisfaction, "Could you not?"

Artorias stifled a laugh, "Sorry, lad. Dinner and a movie is too much to turn down."

He grumbled, but said nothing to the point.

The avian familiar continued to hover above the flying ships, going over one-by-one. Passing over one, there was a man in Egyptian garb flying silently on his lonesome. On the next was a bandaged man and the shadowed form of Archer, who seemed to glare at them even through the familiar, casting a cold shadow over the room that made even the brash Artorias stiff until he was out of frame. The next ship, further to the back of the pack, showed Artorias his old friends Aaron and Rider, Aaron having a black rifle slung over his shoulder and a matching black box behind him, while the final hosted first a pig with a rake, which caused both the men to raise an eyebrow, and then panned to a young man with pink hair standing with a clearly human girl with blonde hair that fluttered in the wind.

The masked man leaned forward with hands clinging tightly to the armrest of his chair.

Artorias took a handful of popcorn, "What's your problem? You know her?"

He settled back into his seat, "No, no. I just... had a bad memory. That girl... is almost certainly going to die."

He shrugged, "So what? Nothin' you can do about it."

He grumbled, but said nothing to the point.

...

Without a need for a familiar, Yanni Iole gleamed the same sight through his crystal ball.

"One, two... eight? I thought there were only seven? Maybe they called in reinforcements? Or maybe..." He examined the blonde girl and lanky, black haired man, "Or maybe some of them are human? No matter."

He turned around, and faced the behemoth that he called 'god'.

"It is time. Go! Wreak havoc! Once these sentries are gone, there'll be nothing in our way!"

Thunder rolled through the underground cavern, echoing off the stone walls as the false god dissolved into gold ether.

...

As the ships flew above the open plains beyond the city of Athens, the tension was thick enough to cut with a knife. Those with phones or watches checked the time over and over, never sure when the awaited moment would come. Saber paced back and forth. Caster, Rider and Lancer all stood stoic, watching the ground and sky with diligence.

Above, the clouds began to swirl in the sky. The wind picked up, raising Athena's hair, and all eyes turned up. Thunder rolled, light began to flash, and-

-CRASH-

Lightning as thick as a tower and bright as the sun shot to the earth like a meteor. Static filled the air, dancing off the hulls of the ship while the light and sound left the human Masters disoriented. As they came to their senses, ears ringing and vision blurred, they found that their vision was obscured by a cloud of avian corpses, birds falling from the sky, and the dust rising from the crater below. All they could hear was a steady rolling, like the grinding of stone against stone, reverberating across the empty plain. When the rising dust and falling birds both faded away, everyone could see the titan below them, his massive stature belied by the distance between them. With skin like marble, hair like wire, a stony face locked in a lion's snarl and a massive, circular-bladed axe, he raised his electric eyes to his opponents in a gaze that they could feel pressing against their bodies with all the pointedness of a spear's tip. Energy skidded across his body and died on the ground below him.

All of them, even the courageous Rider, were frozen in place by the force of his presence.

The colossus let out an earth-shaking roar.

The battle had begun.

....