Fate/Last Forge
Prologue
“Discretion. There is such a thing as discretion, you know.” The voice said. It filled the ears of the man tied to the only chair in the room, starting to sweat profusely from the brightly burning lamp just an inch above his head. “I'm sorry, is that uncomfortable? I wasn't really expecting you to be so tall.” The voice was conciliatory, its owner fidgeting sympathetically just beyond the swath of light. His (her? its?) form could only be seen vaguely, a weak assurance it was human despite evidence to the contrary.
“Bullshit! You let me go this instant you bastard!” the man snarled, chomping at the bit as he shifted his weight futilely. “Don't you have any idea who I am?” The man flinched and rocked back when an arm shot out from the darkness, brown leather glove gripping the rim of the lamp.
“Hey, hey don't shift around so much, it causes problems.” The voice spoke casually. It had to be a woman didn't it? No, on second thought, that sounded like a man. A boy, maybe? “It's a rickety building, you know?” A single firm tug on the lamp and a cloud of plaster fell from the ceiling onto the man's face, wires loosened.
“Are you listening to me? I'm going to have your head for this, I'm—” Then, a forceful push, and the lamp sailed into his face, the rim scraping against his scalp, one of the white-hot bulbs searing and shattering against his face as he was tipped to the floor.
“Oh, I know exactly who you are, good sir,” the voice said grandly, apparently deaf to the shrieks rising from before his feet. “Punjit Rasharl. Born May 8th, 1983 in Mumbai, India. Three sisters, two brothers, divorced, one son. You are President of Brahmin Electronics which has become quite prosperous as of late—”
“God, I have glass in my eyes you crazy son of a bitch!” Rasharl said, clawing at the fragments in desperation.
“—and you have glass in your eyes.” The voice paused, then the figure stepped into the halved lamplight, stooping down over the prone man. “But what I'm more interested in is the reason your company is suddenly so prosperous. It's the processor you've developed. It's quite a fancy piece of work. Maybe too fancy...for a normal human?” These words stopped Rasharl cold just as he'd finished removing the shards. When his one survivng eye opened, it was wide and fixed on the featureless gray mask, encircled by tattered scraps of brown leather. Even in the light, the form seemed a mockery of humanity.
“You...what are you saying? We've been—”
“Secretly developing that chip for eight years, right? I know that little PR cover well enough, I helped you cook up the details, Mr. President, sir.” The voice suddenly carried a lilting, feminine note of familiarity, and the prone man felt the last of his will to struggle leave his body, forced out by shock. “See, this brings me back to my main point. There is such a thing as discretion. Because I employed some, you never gave a second thought to how strange it was that one of your board members should happen to find just the right adviser for your needs right before you shipped the new hardware. Because you didn't employ any—” the gloved hands suddenly wrapped around the throat of the listless Rasharl, closing tightly “—it's absolutely pathetic how obvious magecraft was in your design. Miracles of science happen, but not on your R&D budget and not on your time frames. Did you even think of the consequences if normal people were to discover magic exists because—oh, I suppose you're dead now, aren't you.”
The figure released the crushed throat, leaving the body to lay in ruins while it stepped back into the shadows to retrieve a can of oil and a box of matches. After opening the can and dousing the surroundings, it hands retreated into the mass of rough leather scraps the concealed its body and produced a still-boxed pre-pay phone. It tore open the box indelicately and quickly punched in a few numbers with one hand while it stood the chair upright with the other and sat in it, swinging its legs back and forth.
“It's done. I just have the cleanup left. ...No, he didn't even have any spells to try, enhancement is all he knows—well, knew. ...Yeah, it's safe to do a wipe. ...Good, I'll expect my pay in three days. ...No, you'll have to find me all over again if you need me. Goodbye.” It shut off the phone, throwing it carelessly to the floor as it rose from its seat.
“Hey, guess what?” it asked the still body at its feet. “That was the board member that introduced us two months ago! Good times, good times. So, listen. Turns out he's a magus himself, and he called me in to try and put some hush hush on this whole processor thing when he found out about it. Remember when I told you to dumb it down a bit? Yeah, I was trying to prevent all this. So I don't want you to take it personally that some guys are going to destroy everything related to your research and life, so it will be just like you never existed. But, you know, it was your fault. Toodles!”
The figure crossed the shadows to the rotting wooden door, struck a match and threw it, turning its back as the room went ablaze.
--- --- --- --- ---
The sun had just begun to rise, the first rays of white filtering in through the library window, falling upon the seated form of an elderly woman. She sat there serenely, eyes closed, hands folded in her lap, her posture practiced and upright.
“Madam,” she heard her butler say as he entered the room. “A guest has arrived for you, a young lady, it seems.” That puzzled her somewhat, and she opened her piercing ice-blue eyes to study the butler's face a moment.
“I see. Send her in.”
“Certainly.”
She turned her head to peer out the window and heaved a sigh, her body aching as she shifted about ever so slightly in the cushioned seat. The unexpected always exacerbated her weak condition, and she had to confess that she'd been expecting a man from the voice she'd heard. The butler returned with the guest in tow and...
A man was exactly what she saw. A proud man with something of the aristocracy in him. His face full but not overly, with a healthy color and an angular jaw. He had a broad-built frame in an immaculate black suit, that took confident strides towards her. The woman looked at her butler in shock for a moment, then repressed a look of understanding.
“Ah, yes, come in!” She gestured for the striking visitor to approach. “That will be all, Pieter.”
“Certainly, madam.”
Both elder and visitor watched as the butler excused himself, closing the great mahogany door behind him.
“My name is Hildegaard Kroner,” the woman began. “My butler said he saw a woman. You must be quite a clever illusionist, Mister...?”
“Mister, Miss, for all you know either one works. It's not that clever. We spoke on the phone before and I was using a specific voice to influence what you'd see of me.”
“Oh, so what I see is a trick as well?” The woman inquired, narrowing her piercing eyes at what she perceived as a kind of challenge. She mustered the mana to her eyes for a true sight spell, but the form before her did not so much as flicker. “That's quite something. You are as good as the rumors say.”
“Hm. What else do the rumors say?” the man asked, forcing a polite smile as he cast his eyes to the carpet.
“That you tire quickly of negotiations. So, then, the reason I...or rather, my
colleagues and I wish to hire you.” She gasped as pain needled her every nerve when she made the effort to rise.
Especially after using mana like that. Once up, however, she walked towards the man and spoke in a low tone. “You exclusively deal with magi who make spectacles of themselves, yes?”
“Absolutely. For a fitting price. Just because I think it's right doesn't mean it should be free.” the man said, arching a brow knowingly.
“Naturally.” Hildegaard nodded. “Then I have a name in mind that should spark your interest. Mugen Ken. I trust you know of him?” she said, smiling enough for her white but crooked teeth to show.
“Know of him?” the man asked, looking amused. “Who doesn't? The superhero of Japan, a man who doesn't die even if you kill him. The name means 'Unlimited Blades' in English, I think. What about him?”
The woman frowned at this, wondering if that question was in earnest, or sarcastic, and liking neither possibility. She regained her composure and locked eyes with him.
“We want you to deal with him. He's the greatest spectacle of them all. You see, he uses proje—”
“Yes, projection magic, I know. He's quite liberal with it. Distressing, really.”
“So you'll do this?”
“Of course not.”
“Excelle—what did you say?”
“I said I will not go after Mugen Ken.”
“But—”
“Listen, I know how older magi tend to lose sight of reality with all their politicking, but first off, that's an incredibly high-profile target, and a controversial one. A lot of people would be happy to have him dead, but even those people would be asking questions because he's such a hot topic. Second, the man is insanely powerful. Sure, anyone can beat anyone given the right circumstances, but those would be hard to come by here. Third and most importantly, I don't see the threat.”
“But he blatantly uses magic every day with news cameras watching! Millions of people have seen it!”
“...except that he's so fast that nobody except a skilled magus—such as yourself!—would ever notice he's replacing his swords. To everyone else, it just looks like he keeps using the same ones. He knows what discretion is.”
Hildegaard's face soured considerably. The rumor mill had painted a picture of this person in her head that was clearly exaggerated. He was supposed to be a monster, a fanatic begging for handouts. Resistance was the last thing she'd accounted for. Yet, all was not lost if she were willing to be just a little flexible.
“Well, I had not intended to tell you this,” she said, closing her eyes and heaving a great sigh to punctuate her disappointment, “but my colleagues and I have it on good authority that another Holy Grail War is soon to take place in Fuyuki City. We believe very strongly that Mugen Ken will assert himself in it to try to contain the situation. This will, of course, greatly increase the risk of the War becoming a public event, which would be...” she let the sentence hang in the air, and that seemed to perk the man's interest.
“I see. Well, that clears up all my objections, but raises one last question.”
“If I answer it to the best of my ability, will you take this job?”
“For that and fifty million Euros, yes.”
“You are a costly man, but very well. Ask.”
“Why do you think Mugen Ken will get himself involved? How do you know he's even aware of the Grail? He doesn't have any connections to the Mage's Association or the Catholic Church, last I heard.”
“Ah, certain information in our possession suggests that he was a participant from the previous Holy Grail War.”
“A master?”
“Likely, but possibly a servant.”
“...well, you certainly aren't making it much easier on me, but that should be enough.” the man said, raising a hand to stroke his chin. “I'll do it.”
“Excellent.” Hildegaard reached into a sleeve with the opposite hand and produced a folded piece of paper for the man. “The supply point will be in Fuyuki City itself, the particulars are written there, and more information will be waiting for you when you arrive.”
“Right, right. You can call me Cloth,” the man said, stuffing the paper into his shirt pocket. “I'll contact you as soon as I get to Fuyuki.”
Hildegaard nodded and watched him walk to the door, studying him with uncertainty. Was someone who asked so many questions and complained so much really the beast she'd been described? For a moment she wondered if she'd simply hired a different person altogether.
Still, his illusions are powerful... For some reason, an idle thought passed out her lips at that moment.
“Cloth, I suppose it would be futile to ask what you actually look like?” She thought herself frivolous for asking, but could only watch as the man suddenly stopped at the door. Without a word, he turned to look over his shoulder, and on that handsome face was a smile like an infection, twisting its away across his features. His eyes were hungry, and she had to resist the strong urge to collapse from the sudden change. When she regained control of herself, he was gone.