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    Cruel Angel's Thesis
    Cruel Angel's Thesis

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    Post by JS on Sat Jul 25, 2015 11:06 am

    Fuyuki City, 1994. The mysterious contest known only as the ZZth Holy Grail War has begun.

    Seven mages must now summon seven Heroic Spirits, forming a team composed of the summoning mage, who is the Master, and the summoned Heroic Spirit, who is the Servant. The contract established between each Master and their Servant is symbolized in the Command Spells, three sigils which appear on the hands of each master, allowing the master to compell their servant to perform any action three separate times. Now, forming seven separate teams,  each Master-Servant duo must compete to obtain the power of the Holy Grail, which grants a wish to each member of the winning team.

    Unlike previous Holy Grail Wars, the Heroic Spirits of the ZZth Holy Grail War are not drawn from history, but from an alternate realm - knowledge of which has been imparted to the Masters of this war by the Grail. The reason for this aberration, however, is currently unknown.

    Now, with all seven Servants summoned, the battle for the Holy Grail has commenced...



    Heroic Spirit
    - In the original Fate universe, Heroic Spirits are the spirits of heroes who achieved great deeds in life and became immortalized through them. In Fate/BZPB, Heroic Spirits are the Spirits of BZPB Characters. When a Heroic Spirit is summoned to participate in the Holy Grail War, they are referred to as Servants.

    Noble Phantasm
    - A signature ability, weapon or technique of a Heroic Spirit. Most Servants possess one, but there is theoretically no limit on how many a Servant can possess.

    Command Spells
    - These spells appear as physical sigils on the hand of a Master. They can be used to compel said Master's Servant to perform any act, including suicide. They are a result of the summoning process and therefore act as claims of absolute obedience - no Servant can truly resist the use of one, with even the most magically resistant Servants only being able to struggle for a few moments.

    Class - Summoned Servants are organized into one of seven classes, and each class is represented once in the lineup of each Holy Grail War. The classes are Saber, Lancer, Caster, Archer, Assassin, Rider, and Berserker. The class of a Servant corresponds to their combat abilities and achievements in life.

    Because a Heroic Spirit's identity may reveal a hidden weakness, most Servants will simply use their Class title as their given name for the duration of a Holy Grail War, revealing their true identity only to their Master.
    Cruel Angel's Thesis
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    Re: Fate/BZPB

    Post by JS on Sat Jul 25, 2015 11:11 am

    -PART ONE-
    Fuyuki City, 1994
    Somewhere off the coast

    "...Your noble phantasm, Demon Days, manifests itself passively as an infinite store of mana. Ordinarily, such an outrageously powerful ability would signal an instant victory for the team fortune enough to be afforded it. Unfortunately... You possess nothing resembling an actual combat technique."

    Shepard sighed. In the gloom of the gun workshop, his handsome features were scarcely illuminated, revealed only when he drew his rifle away from the small lamp at his desk, satisfied with its condition. Age had set in as crow's feet running beside his beady, dark brown eyes, and his tanned skin now had the appearance of faintly-wrinkled parchment, folded and unfolded a few too many times. Yet, there was still a vigor to him, in the hushed, curt tone of his voice, and his styled hair, now lined with streaks of silver. Still loading rounds into one of the magazines of his SG 552 rifle, he turned to Lucy, frowning.

    "Honestly, I'm not even sure how you classified as a Heroic Spirit. I feel like I've reached into a shuffled deck of cards at random, and pulled out a joker."

    Still gazing out of the Sea Shadow's window, and at the rolling midnight sea beyond, Lucy shrugged. Unlike Shepard, she possessed a youthful, albeit somewhat tomboyish beauty, signified in the fierceness of her gaze, and the cuteness of her slightly upturned nose. Though the natural golden colour of her eyes would no doubt still draw attention, she was fortunate to have been summoned in an era where they could simply passed off as contact lenses. Likewise, the dark red color of her tousled, wavy, shoulder-length hair would probably not serve as an identifier of her status as an immortal, otherworldly being. She wore a white dress shirt unbuttoned low enough to reveal her pronounced collarbones, under a red-and-black Letterman jacket, the sleeves of which were rolled up to her elbows. Her slender legs were clad in black tights under a dark red, pleated miniskirt which came to her mid-thigh, and she wore a pair of black-and-white New Balance sneakers. She wore a katana sheath across her back like a guitar case, secured in place with a black strap which ran diagonally across her chest. Her katana was in its sheath, its blue-and-white handle visible, rising from behind her shoulder.

    "You could've used a catalyst, scrub." replied Lucy, annoyance clear in the tone of her voice.

    Shepard slid the rifle magazine to the side, and began checking the magazines for his Five-seveN anti-armor pistol. "The list of possible Saber-class servants for this war seemed much shorter than any of the previous holy grail wars." he said, now checking the pistol itself.  "I was certain that I'd either summon Yenot, or Malak Al-Maut."

    "Yenot's alright, but you wouldn't have liked Malak."

    "How would you know?"

    "No-one likes Malak."

    Shepard finished checking his pistol, and began reassembling the FN P90 he had taken apart for cleaning. "Regardless, given our team's comparatively limited combat ability, we should try and avoid combat during this war until there are only a few servants left, whilst hoping there are no servants capable of increasing their power as the war progresses. My current estimate places Sefer Yetzirah as Lancer, Veras as Caster, Uteriach as Ri-"

    "Hold up, scrub". Interrupted Lucy, reaching for her katana. "Someone's coming."

    The hatch on the top of Shepard's catamaran, the Sea Shadow, burst open as Lucy clambered out. All around it, the calm seas off the shore of Fuyuki stretched on as far as she could see, with the city itself visible only as a distant speck of light on the horizon. As she focused, she could make out a faint silhouette flickering about just in front of the city. After a moment of confusion, she realized what she was looking at.

    Someone was running towards them.

    She slid her katana from its sheath and readied it as the attacker drew near. The sound of footsteps slamming down against the water grew louder and louder, like the continuous, rapid beat of approaching war drums. A bead of sweat ran down her cheek as she settled down into an executioner's stance, her sword held down before her.

    The figure came to a stop just before the boat. Standing at nearly seven foot tall and clad in thick desert robes of cream and dark brown, the dark-skinned man inspected the Sea Shadow, smirking. He was fiercely handsome, with a bald head and a small goatee outlining his thick lips, and his physique was like that of a bull, the raw strength of the man apparent even through his thick clothing.

    "Saber." Said the man, his voice as deep and smooth as his chiseled appearance might suggest.

    "How do you know I'm Saber? I'm standing on a boat. Maybe I'm Rider. Maybe this boat is my Noble Phantasm."

    "In life, I was regarded as a spiritual master equaled by no other. As a heroic spirit, my abilities have been amplified such that I can sense and read the auras of others from any distance. It is because of this that I was able to discern your identity, as well as your location... Lucy Farr."

    Lucy tensed her grip on her Katana. "Well, it hardly seems fair that you know my name yet I don't know yours, scrub."

    He smirked. "Very well. This information puts me at no disadvantage, as you shall not live long enough to put it to use. I am the Lancer-class Servant of this war," he said, materializing a simple wooden Bō staff in his hands. "And my name... Is Cassius Calm."

    At that, he jumped upwards, becoming a blur of flailing desert fabric, like a vast tornado looming above Lucy. The fact that someone so large could move with such deftness caught her wholly by surprise, and she was barely able to raise her blade to block him as he shot down, still spinning, both arms wrapped around his staff. He flipped over her, landing just before her before driving his staff through her back. It exploded from the fore of her chest in a shower of blood and bone as she gasped, dropping her sword and clutching at the wound.

    "I apologize, Saber." said Cassius, sliding his staff out of Lucy, who fell to her knees shortly after. "Had the difference in our power levels been apparent to me before our fight, I would have offered you the opportunity to take your own life."

    "That would've... been very considerate of you, scrub." replied Lucy, her voice strained and her breathing harsh. A grin formed on her face as blood trickled from the corner of her mouth. "So considerate, in fact, that I'm going to offer you that same opportunity now."

    Cassius chuckled heartily. "What vigor. I've broken your spine clean in half, girl. You are already dead." She turned her head to the side, staring back at him out of the corner of her eye.

    "Oh? And you think that's going to stop me?"

    A furious expression took hold of Calm's face before Lucy kicked herself upwards, turning and driving her fist into the center of his chest. He shot backwards across the water, which parted in his wake, subsiding as he came to a rest fifty or so meters away from the boat, hovering above the water. Lucy stood on the boat, facing him, and wiped the blood on her face away with the back of her hand. The wound on her chest had completely healed, and a faint golden aura now surrounded her.

    "Impressive, Saber." replied Calm, taking hold of the robes about his right shoulder with his opposite hand. "Your Noble Phantasm, Sympathy for the Devil, not only regenerates your wounds, but increases your attack power after having done so. The more I hurt you, the stronger you become. It appears I shall have to go all out to -" He stopped. Lucy raised an eyebrow. "It appears someone is trying to interrupt our battle." said Lancer, his eyes turning skywards. "If shrapnel damage is a weakness of yours, I suggest you seek refuge within the hull of your ship." He added, readying his staff. Lucy stood in confusion, before the gazes of the combatants turned upwards, a deafening roar emanating from a opening in the clouds above. A firebolt shot towards them at blinding speed. Frowning, Lucy readied her Katana. Great, she thought. Now I've got to fight Caster, too. Only when the firebolt altered its course, curving around towards the Sea Shadow, did Lucy understand the true extent of her predicament.

    It wasn't a firebolt. It was a cruise missile.

    Without a moment's hesitation, Calm shot upwards, a blue aura suffusing him. Materialising his staff and closing in on the missile, his weapon held above his shoulder like a javelin, he let out a primal roar from the depth of his lungs;


    An explosion of the purest white engulfed the entire scene, as Lucy raised her eyes to shield herself from it. She felt a burning, tingling sensation across her entire body before the boat beneath her was ripped out from underneath, as she and it were flung in the air. Then came the terrifying, gut-wrenching roar of Lancer's Noble Phantasm activating; it flooded her ears so instantly that it dazed her more than the explosion had, and as she phased out of consciousness the last thing she could recall seeing was a solid pillar of white light shooting up through the night's sky, cutting through the clouds above.
    Cruel Angel's Thesis
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    Re: Fate/BZPB

    Post by JS on Sat Jul 25, 2015 11:16 am

    -PART TWO-
    Fuyuki City, 1994
    City Outskirts
    The Following Night

    The location for the meeting was an abandoned multi-storey carpark on the outskirts of Fuyuki, in the middle of the night. Shivering, Lucy cursed Shepard for choosing such a late hour, but realized her current predicament probably wasn't helped by the fact that she was still wearing her skirt. She had, though, to her credit, swapped her jacket for a thick black hoodie, which was probably a few sizes too big for her by virtue of being Shepard's. He didn't appear to mind.

    "I'll warn you in advance." said Shepard, turning to Lucy. "This guy's... tricky. He's the trickiest person I know. He's somewhere between a mortal enemy, and a lifelong friend... so don't trust anything he says. And don't believe for a second that he won't betray us given the opportunity. With that said... we do need to work with him to have any chance of winning this war."

    "How'd you know him?"

    "He's an old classmate. From the Clock Tower." replied Shepard, turning his eyes to the length of the car park before them. "It's a school, for mages." he added, after realizing that Lucy probably had no idea what the Clock Tower was.  The sound of footsteps coming from the length of the car park before them announced the arrival of the person they were here to meet. A slender figure emerged from the shadows, possessing an elegant appearance that resisted any traditional form of gendering, clearly marking them as a homunculus. They were dressed in a dark green snakeskin suit over a black shirt, unbuttoned to the center of their chest. Their skin was pale - nearly white, as was their long hair which reached to the middle of their back. Two pointed, Elf-like ears poked out from the sides of the homunculus's hair. They possessed an androgynous beauty, looking something like a young Bjorn Andresen, though with an unearthly appearance generated, in part, by a pair of crisp, cherry-red eyes. The homunculus came to a few meters before Shepard and Lucy, before offering a slight bow, a sly smirk on their thin lips all the while.



    "It's been too long... brother."

    Lucy raised an eyebrow. "Wait, this guy's your-?"

    "No." Interrupted Shepard. "Well, Yes." he added, sighing. "My younger broth-"

    "Older." corrected Mal, flicking him on the end of the nose playfully. "And, whilst terms like 'brother' may have held some relevance in our childhood, in my present state I am well above such classifications." they added, folding their arms. "Still going by that dreadful sobriquet, are we, 'Shepard'? You may not have inherited the family's magic crest, but that doesn't mean you have to abandon the family name."

    "'John Alygos' doesn't have much of a ring to it."

    Mal turned to Lucy. "And, seeing as you are as far removed from old Shep-Shep's taste in women as one could possibly imagine, I can only assume that you're his Servant - Saber, is it?"

    "Actually, it's Lucy." She replied, grinning. This stopped shortly after Shepard elbowed her in the ribs. "Hey!" she replied, elbowing him in the ribs in return. "You said we have to cooperate with him, so it's a bit shitty for me to go and hide my identity."

    Mal chuckled. "Well, she's certainly a character."

    "And, as for your Servant? Did you summon Veras?" Asked Shepard, hurriedly drawing and lighting a cigarette. It was quickly snatched out of his hand by Lucy, so he proceeded to draw and light a second.

    "I summoned Caster." replied Mal, scowling at the cigarettes. "But not Veras."

    At that, Caster materialized beside Mal. She was a young woman, slightly taller and older than Lucy, and possessed of extraordinary beauty, though with a dark, seductive demeanour. Her thick ginger hair was pulled into a lofty ponytail behind her head, though a length of it hung loose along the left side of her face, trailing to her collarbone. Her fierce red eyes stood out against a backdrop of heavy black eyeshadow, and her lips were covered in a glossy, dark red lipstick, and pushed together in a small, wry smile. She wore a pair of thin-rimmed glasses, which she pushed up with her middle finger, her eyes focused on Lucy all the while. Blushing nervously, Lucy turned her face away, frowning. Caster wore a slim-fitting red turtleneck, which served to highlight her curvaceous figure, under a hooded black leather jacket, which came down to the base of her ribcage. She also wore a tight-fitting black leather miniskirt over a pair of black tights, and knee-high black boots.

    "Rejoice." she said, her deep, husky voice as sultry as her appearance suggested. "You have the honor of addressing Lady Cassandra Thorne, the Red Queen of Malchior IV."

    "Caster-!" Interjected Mal, annoyed at her revealing her identity. Cassandra raised a hand to silence her Master.

    "Lucy revealed her identity, so it's only fair that I reveal mine. Especially if we're going to be working together."

    "I like this girl!" said Lucy, reaching into Shepard's breast pocket for another cigarette. He batted her hands away, and reluctantly gave her his to finish off.

    "So, what information have you gathered?" asked Mal, expectantly.

    "Lancer's identity is that of Cassius Calm, the warrior monk." replied Shepard. "He possesses the Noble Phantasm, Noble Eightfold Path. It's an incredibly powerful, close-range, explosive Noble Phantasm - my ship was merely caught in the backblast of the attack, and was completely destroyed. I'm not sure about the exact workings of it, but it'd be wise to keep your distance from him."

    "And his Master?"

    Shepard shook his head. "He didn't reveal himself. However, we were also attacked by another Servant last night. I don't know who they were, but they were able to use a cruise missile to attack us. Either that, or the JSDF is practicing by taking pot-shots at random civillian vessels."

    "It could have been fired by a Master. Or... someone allied with one." said Cassandra.

    "No." replied Lucy, shaking her head. "Cassius warned me about the risk of shrapnel damage. A normal weapon - even a cruise missile - can't cause serious damage to a Heroic Spirit. Only a Noble Phantasm can do that."

    "So, how many other masters have you located?" asked Shepard, sliding his hands into the pockets of his thick winter coat. Mal reached into their blazer, retrieving three photographs and handing them to Shepard. The first was taken in a hotel restaurant; a severe-looking silver-haired man - perhaps fifty or sixty years of age - was reading a newspaper.

    "Only one. David Robert Jones." said Mal, folding their arms. "A mysterious politician who flew in from Belgium a few nights ago. I couldn't find any real information on him - he's held a few minor government roles over the years - but no family, or even a date of birth. I'm not even sure if he's Belgian or not."

    "And you missed the fact that he's using a fake name?" Replied Lucy, folding her arms.


    "David Robert Jones. It's David Bowie's real name." Replied Lucy. Mal turned away, annoyed at the exposure of their oversight. Shepard almost looked impressed. Almost.

    "How'd you know that?"

    "I once dated a guy who looked a lot like David Bowie. And by that, I mean that I was fairly sure he actually was David Bowie at quite a few points during our relationship." she said, shrugging. "But he was cute as fuck and the sex was great, so who cares?"

    "...Too much information." Replied Shepard and Mal, simultaneously.

    "Actually, I could stand to hear a little more." Replied Cassandra, raising an eyebrow.

    "This is neither the time, nor the place." Interrupted Shepard, looking at the second photo. His eyes widened. "Wait, is this... Bill Clinton?"

    Mal nodded. The photo was of a white house dinner; the man seated across from President Clinton was undoubtedly the same man from the preceeding photo. "Our Belgian friend isn't just some low-ranking government official, it seems. And if you think that's shocking," said Mal, "then wait until you see the next photo."

    Shepard hurriedly slid the last photo out from underneath the others. Nothing could have prepared him for what he saw; The photograph was in black and white, and taken in the streets of some war-torn African town, perhaps in the early 1950s. A group of guerilla warriors, wearing armbands, stood around a group of captured prisoners, rifles trained on them. Their leader, wearing a beret, was holding a flag to the photographer; Shepard could make out the words "Mujahadeen" and "Revolution" written in Arabic around the outline of the African continent. However, the most disturbing part of the photograph was a man located in the edge of the image - observing the entire affair from the passenger seat of an open-top Jeep. Though he was wearing thick sunglasses, his appearance, and smirk, was unmistakeable.

    "Then... either one of Mr. Jones's ancestors was involved in a Millitant Coup in Africa..." said Shepard, his hands shaking.

    "...Or one of the Masters of this Holy Grail War... is a Vampire." finished Mal, smiling. "And, seeing as my Servant is a Blood Mage, you and Saber will have to take him out."

    Lucy frowned. "Oh, I'm sorry? Do I have 'Fuyuki City Trash Removal' written on my shirt somewhere? You can't just unload all the teams that are remotely difficult onto us, Mal."

    "I'll take you somewhere nice to make up for it." replied Cassandra, winking. Lucy blushed, and looked away.

    "I... I don't swing that way, scrub. And even if I did, I'm not so unscrupulous that you could bribe me to do your dirty work with sex."

    "You totally are."

    Lucy sighed. "Okay, you got me there."

    Shepard grumbled, eager to turn the conversation back to something purposeful. "Where's he staying?"

    "The Tom Johnson Hotel, in Room 108." replied Mal, turning to leave. "Make sure not to cause a scene. Caster and I will... look for the other Masters in the meantime."

    "Very well." said Shepard, pocketing the photographs. "I... Stay safe, Mal."

    "You too, brother." replied Mal, walking away into the shadows. "You too."
    Cruel Angel's Thesis
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    Re: Fate/BZPB

    Post by JS on Wed Jul 29, 2015 8:57 am

    Fuyuki City, 1994
    The Tom Johnson Hotel
    The Following Day

    Lucy pressed the silencer of her P90 against the door, her finger readying itself around the trigger. She looked up at the room number - 108 - one last time, before knocking against the door.

    "Room service."

    "Come in." ordered a voice, on the other side. Lucy slid open the door, and crept in. Jones was sat on a sofa, his back turned to the door as he talked on a phone. A smirk fell across Lucy's face as she snuck up on him, holding the barrel of her gun just centimeters from the back of his head, her finger tensing on the trigger.

    "Excuse me, Mr. Blair." said Jones, leaning forwards. "There's some business I have to take care of."

    At that, he shot his hands backwards, grabbing hold of the barrel of Lucy's gun. She was momentarily stunned, before he lifted her upwards by it, throwing her over his head and slamming her into the coffee table before him, which broke in half beneath her. Ending the call, he stood up, grinning.

    "What the-?"

    "Thought you could sneak up on me, you little bitch?" he said, adjusting his cufflinks. Dazed, Lucy looked up at him in confusion. He roared with laughter. "I'd bet that right now, you're wondering something like - 'how could a man of his age possess such strength?'"

    "Something... like that." she said, regaining her composure as she kicked off against the sofa, sliding across the floor and spinning upwards into a crouch. Pulling a dagger out of the waistband of her skirt, she kicked off the ground towards him, drawing the dagger towards his neck. He caught the dagger by the blade with one hand, and twisted sideways, pulling it out of her hands before he drew his leg up into a roundhouse kick, throwing her across the room and through the wall. She slid across the floor of the next room, a scared couple fleeing as Jones walked in through the Lucy-shaped hole in the wall, removing his blazer. Lucy realized the reason for her underestimation of him as she sat up against the wall - a thick, ill-fitting Italian cut blazer had been enough to disguise a bodybuilder-tier physique underneath, which was at odds with his greying, elderly apperance. His shirt could barely contain the mass of muscle beneath it. A shit-eating grin formed as he caught sight of Lucy's shock, and he raised both arms, flexing them.

    "The Secret? I work out - five times a day, every single day. No exceptions." he said, reaching down and grabbing her by the neck. She was powerless as he lifted her up, choking the life from her. "None of that Crossfit bullshit, either. Five-hundred pushups, every single morning - I'm as fit as fiddle."

    "Yeah." replied Lucy, gasping. "I... bet you are." she added, driving her knee up into his crotch. He didn't flinch. Her eyes widened, as she tried with the other knee - then both - and then trying alternating them as quickly as possible. She could elicit no reaction from him, save for his grin intensifying.

    "I'd bet that right now, you're wondering something like - 'does he actually have one?'. The truth is - yes. But what I don't have is time. I don't have time for pain. Or time for uppity, saucy little bitches who want to play in the big boys league, with the real men, like me!"

    He turned, throwing her over his shoulder like a javelin. She flew through the hole, back into his room, and then through the opposite wall. As she stood up, she was caught in a rugby tackle by a charging Jones, who then carried her through yet another wall. She lay on the floor, gasping, and felt as if every single rib in her chest had been crushed by him. Jones climbed to his feet, dusting himself off. His shirt was torn to shreds, so he removed it with a single pull, throwing it to the side.

    "What the fuck are you, scrub?"

    Jones grinned. "What I am is the pinnacle of what a single human can be. A modern Hercules." he said, as he walked towards the fridge, catching his breath. He opened it, retrieving a bottle of beer. "I became the strongest man alive decades ago. But even then, I wasn't satisfied. I needed more strength. That's why I first got into politics." he said, smashing the cap off against the side of the fridge and taking a drink. "But I found the power to command armies, and to end lives without having to lift a finger, was jack shit compared to the satisfaction of destroying my enemies with my bare hands."

    Lucy climbed to her feet, clutching her chest, as Jones downed the beer, sounding a loud sigh after having done so. Then, he squatted down, taking hold of the base of the fridge with both hands. "And so, Lucy, I'm going to break you in half... with a fridge!"

    "Oh, for fuck's-"

    "USELESS-!" he roared, throwing the fridge at her. Her, and it, shot out of the window. Thinking quickly, she rolled around the fridge, grabbing onto the window ledge just in time to prevent the momentum carrying her away from the building. She looked down, unable to see the streets far below as a thick fog had set it, obscuring the skyline. All she saw was the fridge tumbling away, disappearing ominously into the mist.

    "So long, space fridge." she muttered, as she began climbing up the wall of the hotel. By the time she had scaled three floors, she allowed herself to look down again, and gasped in horror. Jones was casually walking up the side of the building, as if gravity did not affect him, his hands in his pockets as if on a summer stroll.

    "HOW?" she screamed, clawing at the edge of the roof and pulling herself up onto it.

    "It doesn't matter how!" he roared, grinning. "Like a child who has waited two hours to ride the tallest slide at a waterpark, only to find it closed just before they are allowed on, you need only accept your impending doom! NOTHING ELSE IS REQUIRED!"

    Having pulled herself onto the roof, Lucy climbed to her feet, limping away from the edge. Turning, she readied her Katana, preparing herself for the oncoming onslaught. Jesus shit, she thought. And this guy's not even a servant.

    Which means his servant's probably nearby.

    Which means... he's probably behind me.

    I hate my life.

    Jones leaped up onto the roof, grinning. "Archer - you take it from here."

    "With pleasure."

    Lucy turned, and gazed at Archer. Her eyes widened in horror as she realized his identity. His appearance was that of a man - perhaps in his fifties - wearing a close-fitting, royal blue turtleneck and cream chinos. He wore a leather harness across his chest, with a single pistol stored in an underarm holster. He had handsome features, in spite of his age, with ice-blue eyes and neatly kept short brown hair. Yet, in the deadness of his gaze, and the menacing smirk on his lips, Lucy knew there could be no doubt about his identity.

    "Edward... Allman..."

    He smiled, and unloaded the clips of his twin assault rifles into her. She stumbled back momentarily, before falling backwards against the floor, seemingly dead. She had been so focused on the single pistol in his holster that she did not notice him materializing two assault rifles via his Noble Phantasm. As quickly as he had drawn them they disappeared, turning into black shadowy wisps which quickly faded away.

    "Yes." he said, coldly. "I am."

    "Well, that takes care of that." said Jones, grinning. "Now, I have a phone call I need to-"

    A tremendous explosion engulfed the roof of building. Archer was able to shield himself with a force-field of shadow energy, and it was apparent by this point that Jones simply wasn't going to take any damage, but still, the entire roof of the hotel was obliterated. When the smoke cleared, the duo found themselves standing amidst a pile of rubble, the roar of approaching jet engines flooding their ears. Allman turned as  SU-27 Flanker made a close pass near the building. The pilot - a humanoid wolf with a lycanesque appearance - met his gaze momentarily, before shooting off, preparing to come around for another pass.

    "Jones. I'll take care of Assassin." announced Allman, who ran towards the edge of the building, and jumped. As he fell, faint wisps of shadow appeared around him, before a cloud of the dark magic formed, quickly taking a definable shape. The weapon that Allman materialized this time was not a rifle, but an advanced Tanari fighter jet, its appearance like some terrific hybrid of a formula one car and an X-wing starfighter. Its sleek gunmetal hull emerged from the shadowy energy of his Noble Phantasm, as he pulled hard on the control stick, pulling the jet up. A neon blue glow emerged from its engines as it shot off after Assassin's jet, leaving the hotel far behind.

    "Boys and their toys, eh." muttered Jones, heading towards what was left of the roof stairway exit, when he felt a tap on his shoulder. He turned, as Lucy's fist impacted his jaw, sending him flying across the roof, landing just short of the edge. He stood up, slightly gobsmacked, but his confused impression soon settled into an impressed smirk.

    "You know what they say, Scrub." she said, wiping the blood away from her mouth, the golden aura surrounding her intensifying as her Noble Phantasm regenerated her wounds. "What doesn't kill you makes you stronger. And that very nearly killed me."

    Jones grinned. "You know, I like your spirit, kiddo. Come on. Let's finish this."

    Lucy nodded, and shot towards him.

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    Re: Fate/BZPB

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      Current date/time is Mon Jan 21, 2019 7:18 pm