Wickedness and Snares

...

Echo's ears gave another twitch. Her lips opened, as if to speak, but whatever she had wanted to say would die with her. She let out a final breath, closed her eyes, and fell forward. Her body turned to blue ether and ceased to exist before her face could even hit the ground.

Heracles wiped the cut on his nose, lingering at the sight of blood on his hand, and stared at the sight where she had been.

"Shame." He shook his head, "There's no honor in killing a girl, no matter how much fight she has in her."

He turned towards the ship in the sky, lightning beginning to crackle around him as his wounds began to visibly close.

"-But whatever honor there is for her killer, there's none for he who sends her to battle. So... is that it, Archer!?" Thunder burst from his body as he strut forward, "You'd send in a girl before you face me yourself!? Are you that much of a coward!? Was Lugh the only true hero among you!?"

Saber was grabbing his Master under her shoulders and hoisting her up with force, this was not time for tears, but his attention was grabbed by the invisible swords sent up in his direction, the sharp aura of hostility/

"Archer? He's after Archer? But then..."

Athena, throat scratched by her wailing, finished the thought, "Why is he coming towards us?"

They marveled in silent awe and paralyzing fear, but were brought to attention by a clack behind them.

There, Aaron was standing with his rifle, munitions box open as he slid a magazine into the clip.

"Doesn't matter. Some fuckery from Caster I'm sure." There was a shift and a click as a bullet entered the chamber, "I'll take care of it. You guys go down there and hold him off."

Saber began to say what he and his Master were both thinking, "Hold him off-!"

But was cut off, "-It's that or we all die, idiot!"

His breath caught in his throat, "I can't-"

Athena squeezed his arm, "We can."

She didn't want to. She really didn't want to, but she had made a promise, to herself, and to Chrysaor, though he didn't know it. She wasn't going to run away anymore. Besides the fact that Aaron was right, and running didn't seem to be an option, she had faith in Chrysaor. More than that, she had faith in Geryon: in both of them working together.

The only way out was forward. Their only hope was faith.

She squeezed his hand harder in a vain search for comfort.

He looked into his Master's eyes, and it was clear that he was as afraid as she was.

"Are you ready?" He asked, wanting her to say 'No'.

She gave a shallow nod, knowing that opening her mouth would reveal how she really felt, and thereby weaken both their resolves.

"Alright." He steeled himself, every fiber in his body tensing with resolution, "Let's go."

In a single motion, he swept her off her feet and, carrying her in his arms, rushed forward, afraid that any hesitation would make an opportunity for fear to overtake them. He leaped onto the bow and took another jump into the open air. Athena clung to her Servant tightly, but his body soon dissolved into blue and gold light that wrapped around her, chasing her like a comet's tail as she fell towards the ground, without screaming, without flailing. She let herself go limp as a doll, until-

Metallic wings made of countless knives swooped out and caught the weight of his own body. He rode the wind, catching the updraft and rising back up to face his opponent, sword in hand. Clad in golden armor, face hidden behind an ivory mask and a blindfold of his own silver hair, he raised a hand towards the raging Adonis.

"Berserker. Heracles. I'm not your opponent here. Please, listen-"

Berserker rushed forward, his massive blade balanced in a single hand that he brought down from overhead and-

-CLANG!- Against Geryon's shield, manifested in the air between them. The angel dashed in a flash of gold and silver, one of his feet scraping against the earth and kicking dust as he turned on his heel and, continuing to skip backwards and away from the ships, the blade-feathers that made his wings turned outwards towards Berserker, shooting forward in a shower of daggers and chains that all pinged harmlessly off his marble and obsidian skin like rain on a metal roof. As the hundreds of blades snaked back towards their place, the hero Heracles chased them down, swiping away those that whipped too close, and charging straight for their source.

He was sailing backwards, and watched as the charging Berserker raised his Atlas for another strike. He was taking Geryon's trajectory into account, timing his shot, aiming for where he would be rather than where he was, so Geryon planted one foot in the ground, coming to a sudden stop while Berserker tried to adjust, but not in time to avoid the slash to his stomach, a longsword wrapping in white light successfully cutting into his ebony torso with a gush of golden blood. He made a reflexive strike back that was blocked again by the shield's sudden appearance. A rush of elation rose within Geryon, having injured the invincible Berserker, which he hadn't even considered to be a possibility, but this optimism was soon quashed as the ivory hero continued to strike over and over again. Geryon went back on the defensive, sailing back and forth, but, fast as he was, he wasn't fast enough to actually dodge any blows, only blocking each one with his shield. What was more worrying was that the interval between strikes became shorter with each strike, and the attacks themselves more powerful. Each block was more difficult than the last, and he could feel the power gathering up within the Berserker's body and around his sword, building up towards a climax.

One strike. He could feel the shield buckle under the weight.

A second. A shallow cut dug into the shield, slicing into the snake's eye in its center.

A third. The shield physically bent under the weight.

Geryon scrambled back, fear rising and churning the ocean in his mind. He began to rise into the air, instinctively attempting to fly away, but realized he lacked the time and the speed. A last ditch effort rose in his mind, shooting through him with so much speed that you couldn't even call it a thought. He fired off the chains in his wings and turned them back towards himself, wrapping them around his blade.

Atlas, charged with blue mana, crackling with electricity, fell with the weight of a thousand worlds. The shield manifested, but in vain. It absorbed some shock, yes. Some speed, sure, but the blade cut through it with ease. White light burst from Geryon's sword, shining through the chains that bound it, as it met Atlas. With a boom of thunder, his grieves dug into the ground, his elbows and knees shook and threatened to buckle. But more than the fear, more than the searing pain, was joy: the joy of taking a hit from a god and surviving.

Heracles was equally aware of the feat's implausibility, "Impressive- for an Archer."

"I'm not Archer! Your real enemy is behind you! I don't want to fight!"

He reared back and made another swipe. Geryon mustered all the energy he could to leap back with his full speed and kick off the ground into the air, gaining a new perspective on his opponent.

'It's like he can't hear us at all!'

'It's like he can't see us!'

'Maybe he can't...'

Thinking back on what the Master of Rider had said, his gaze drifted back towards the flying ships. Between Aaron and Archer was a barrage of golden bullets and black arrows, Aaron's ship blasting down while Archer aimed his arrows upwards. Nothing could be seen among the lights, so he looked to the final ship and saw there-

Someone he, Athena or Chrysaor had never seen before.

He could still see the Egyptian man there, but, like stained glass, he could see through him, inside him, and saw that the Caster he thought he knew was nothing but a façade, a disguise, a lie... an illusion. He was too far away to make out any discerning features of the new man, but that much was clear.

'Caster... That's what Aaron meant.'

Was it an illusion? Was it hypnosis? Was it Suggestion? Did it matter? In any case, it was clear that Berserker was living in an alternate reality, a false one. But how to wake him up? How to clear the misconception of a god? Of a monster?

Berserker shifted a foot towards his target, gazing up at him in the air, "Do you really think you can escape me by going into the air?"

'Not really, but I was kind of hoping so,' Geryon mused to himself,

He took a step and, with a crackle of static from his feet, zipped into the air, fast as lightning, as fast or even faster than Rider had been before, and swung his sword, faster than his opponent could perceive, seeing only a speeding white and blue bullet-

-CLANG- against Geryon's shield again.

He gave an internal sigh of relief. He hadn't known whether his shield would return or not.

Action gave way to equal and opposite reaction, propelling Heracles back the way he came. Geryon hoped this meant a moment of relief, but in vain. The moment he fell away, he disappeared into a flash of lightning. Geryon couldn't even see what happened next, he could only feel the pressure, the hostility, coming from behind him.

He netted the blades in his wings together, creating a flexible barrier that bent with the strike without breaking. His late reaction left him turning towards the winged wall, drifting away from it and the bulge that broke out towards him, but by the time the thunder from his first jump began to roll, he had appeared next to him again, another swing primed-

-CLANG-

Another jump. Another shield. Another jump. Another wing-wall. Attacking from all sides, Geryon was trapped in place by a prison made by his own defenses.

The inner sea of Geryon's mind tossed and turned with thoughts that struggled to tread water; flailing to keep themselves from drowning in panic and hysteria.

'We can't keep this up forever!'

'Maybe we can...? He doesn't seem as strong as he was.'

'His Master's dead. He must be trying to conserve his mana- trying to find a weakness that he can exploit. Or maybe he's just losing strength because he has to work to stay in the air. Either way, he's stronger, faster, more powerful and more skilled, and Caster's just waiting for us to slip up so he can take all of us out! We can't get cocky!'

'Dammit! We can see through Caster's illusions, so why can't he!?'

'If only there were a way to make him see things from our perspective...'

'...There might be.'

His chances at victory were too slim. He had to make a Hail Mary.

He raised his wings to block another attack. As they bent inwards like a trampoline, he allowed the chains some slack. With the motion of the incoming force, they all moved to wrap around Berserker like a sprung trap, binding his arms and legs. They wouldn't hold for long and, without his wings, Geryon would soon fall himself, but he only needed that second. His silver hair writhed and twisted like a nest of snakes, rising around and behind his face, eventually pulling his blindfold apart to reveal two, glowing white orbs that shone like spotlights into the soul.

...

His eyes began to crack open, the bright light of a clear sky piercing his half-closed eyelids to bring him to reality while the rolling waves tried to pull him into a yet deeper sleep. Through his lashes, he could make out a few shadows against the noonday sun.

"Ugh... he fell asleep on the deck again."

"His snores are an insult to my sister's presence! Wake him up immediately!"

"Castor, please, it's not a big deal. I'm more worried about him getting a sunburn."

"A sunburn? How boring. Couldn't he have the decency to at least injure himself in an interesting way?"

"Sunburn!? Did somebody say 'sunburn'!? Hold on, let me ready a healing spell!"

"Don't worry about that, Medea. Monsters don't get sunburns. Ain't that right, big guy?

"C'mon, you lug. It's time to wake up."

...

At the sound of his captain's voice he opened his eyes, but the white light fizzled out into a pure black sky: a starless night further darkened by the thick clouds overhead. Dazed and confused, he rose himself off the dry, scorched earth.

In front of him, floating down as if descending from heaven, was a man with long silver hair, tied in a blindfold over his eyes, golden armor with a marble mask and two matching pauldrons in the same shape as his face, and wings made of platinum blades. A gold longsword with a winged guard sat in his hand.

"Who are you?"

"My name is Geryon. I'm the Saber-class Servant in this war."

"What? Geryon was a massive, three-headed monster. I fought him, I remember him. He was nothing like you."

"Does it matter? Whatever happened in your life, I'm not your enemy." He turned and pointed his sword towards the ships, "-But they are."

However, looking back into the sky revealed a sight as harrowing as it was confusing. One ship, sank through the air as if it were destined for the bottom of the sea, charred and half-destroyed, and the other was missing entirely. Archer couldn't be seen, and Caster-

Where was Caster?

"Good evening, brother. Or perhaps I should say good night."

-snap-

Heracles took a sharp breath, teetered on his feet and fell to a knee, gasping for air as his eyes, usually sharper than his own Skycutter, became empty and unfocused. He coughed and sputtered weakly, drawing Geryon's full attention as the beast, the god, the monster who had already killed two Servants with hardly a scratch fell to an attack that couldn't be seen at all.

"Do you like it? It's the same wine I brewed for dear old dad when he wanted to get hammered. You've been breathing it in for the last few minutes... and your reaction is better than I could've hoped for."

Both the heroes looked up towards the sound of the voice, and there, floating in the open sky, was Caster. As before, Geryon saw the illusory body, but also through it to the man inside, although this illusion soon melted away as Caster dropped all possible pretenses.

He was naked except for a skirt made of leopard's skin that fell from his waist. His skin was tanned, though from ethnicity or the sun it couldn't be said, and although his body was dainty, like that of an artist, it was also chiseled with muscle. Violet tattoos slithered down his arms like vines or snakes, and his face was sharp, almost avian with a prominent nose. His hair was dark, though a certain purplish tinge couldn't be discounted. The same was true of his goatee, and emerging from the unkempt hair atop his head were two horns that curled forwards as if reaching for those in front of him. What drew the eyes the most, however, were the glowing, golden irises that seemed to protrude from his face and enter uninvited into the minds of those who lingered on them for too long.

Geryon bore his sword, placing himself between Caster and Berserker.

Heracles made a sound somewhere between a growl and a groan, "What are you doing here, Dionysus?"

Caster's nose turned in disgust, "What else? Did you forget what we're fighting for?"

"But- but you already became a god once. What's the point? You already got what you wanted."

"The curse of being a Servant is that you have to live your life all over. All your accomplishments have to be redone, and all your failures have to be relived. The blessing-" A mean, snarling grin etched into his face, "Is that you get to learn from your mistakes."

He flung his wrist and the ground burst underneath them. Vines, shrouded in the illusion of metal mummy-wraps, wrapped around Berserker's arms and legs and brought him fully to his knees, even bending him backwards to fully expose his chest to Caster.

Geryon shifted his weight, getting ready to rush at Caster before he could do anything else, but as Dionysus's hand fell, a black shadow rushed around him towards Saber, who winced back and summoned his shield, protecting himself and Berserker behind him from the arrow and its resulting explosion.

The moment had come. The moment that Archer and Caster had prepared for and Saber and Rider had feared. Every effort they had made had played into someone else's plan, someone else's trap, and, what was worse, there was never any way to avoid it. The unfairness, the evil, weighed in Geryon's mind, indignance rose in his heart and his mind went aflutter with strategies and plans. It was still a two-on-two after all-

"Run."

Berserker took another shuddering breath and repeated himself, "Saber. Run."

"What!? No! We can-!"

His attention was grabbed by another shadow. He blocked it with his shield, but the explosion rattled him to his core and cut off whatever thought had been building inside him.

"We can't. He knows my weaknesses in-and-out, and my Spirit Origin is almost gone as is. You need to find the last Servant. Go. My fate was decided the moment my Master died."

"But-"

"Go!"

His booming voice echoed across the empty plains, inspiring fear even when the words were meant to bring comfort. Geryon's heart rattled, his mind threatened to tear apart, but were only brought together by the flick of Caster's wrist and a nest of vines that rose up to capture him.

He dashed in a blur of white light, his wings and feet both moving as fast as they could go while his mana propelled him even further, his speed bringing him off the ground in a take-off as another arrow collided into the place where he had just been standing.

He sped off towards the city, only one thought managing to pierce the turmoil of his mind:

'Where's Aaron!?'

...