“Why do things always have to be so complicated?” Morgana bemoaned.

Ren had to agree. They struck out for the city of Lyon, which was directly south of where they camped the night before. However, Archer with his vision could see that Lyon was nothing more than a ruin at that point. However, the map showed there was a town only a small distance away to the southeast, which thankfully was still standing. They were about to set out but stopped when Mash pointed out something:

The group, frankly, was far too suspicious for any regular French citizen. The Dragon Witch was the doppelganger Jeanne d’Arc, so having her head in would only cause chaos. Saber, who was a dead ringer for Jeanne, wouldn’t work either. Ren and Archer looked far too foreign to easily gain their trust for information, Morgana looked too inhuman despite his adorable looks (“I’m NOT adorable! I’m cool and awesome!”), Mash refused to leave Ren, and Mozart was…. Mozart. Thus, by process of elimination, only Marie could be sent in to gather intel.

Thus, when they explained this to Marie and asked her, she simply smiled beautifully as always. “No problem whatsoever!” she chirped. “I do wish to see my people once more and speak with them – this will be a marvelous opportunity! Sit tight and I will be back soon! Mozart, do behave! Au revoir!” With that, she turned and walked toward the town.

That left the rest of the group, resting under a tree on the outskirts. It was a warm afternoon, with both Ren and Morgana staving off sleep from how comfortable it was. Archer kept watch as he always did while Mash sat beside Ren, torn between whether to leave Ren be or ask if he wanted to rest his head on her lap again. The memory of Marie doing so still burned in her mind and she wouldn’t feel satisfied until she could do so again. Mozart didn’t seem to care too much, enjoying the wind and quietly humming a song to himself.

Jeanne and Saber were some distance away, looking over the land. “My condolences, Jeanne,” Saber murmured. “It is never easy to see one’s homeland put to the torch or its people slaughtered. I will do my utmost to assist you in saving your home.”

The saint smiled sadly. “That is encouraging to hear, Artoria,” she replied softly. “I thank you.” Then she giggled, which drew a questioning gaze from Saber. “It’s ironic though – the English were the ones who had invaded us to begin with,” she pointed out. “And now, an English king is here to save it. I must admit, were the situation not quite so serious, it would be rather hilarious.”

Saber blinked, then gave a wry smile as she turned to look back over the land. “Welsh, but I see your point,” she offhandedly corrected. “While I may be the king, the English here served under a different sovereign – I will neither condemn nor defend their actions.” That in turn drew a raised eyebrow from Jeanne. “My time and now are centuries apart. Politics are difficult even in the best of times, and I fought off many invaders during my rule. What reasons they have would be their own, and the reasons for war can be great or petty – often both.”

Jeanne was silent for a moment as she considered. Right, King Arthur was also known for fighting off the invasions of Saxons during her time. “So you do not condemn your people – the English – ravaging my lands and killing my people?” she asked quietly.

Artoria sighed. “War is an ugly affair, Jeanne,” she replied. “It matters little whether you’re defending your home or invading a new territory. For the sake of necessity and the wills behind them people will be killed. And war unleashes a rampant cruelty even in common man – I’ve often seen it turn even the most mild-mannered farmer into a savage individual who lusts for blood, glory, and plunder. It is normally the duty of the officers, generals, and kings to curb such cruelty but… well, such cruelty has its place in forcing an enemy to capitulate.”

Her lips were drawn in a hard line as she remembered the battlefields she treaded. There was heroism and cruelty from both sides. She had captured prisoners of war and had them interrogated for information. Chivalry and valor had their places, but when it came to war, more often than not it was pushed aside. Victory was what that mattered in the end – and too often it was bought dearly with blood.

The saint was silent for a bit. “Be that as it may, I do still have a mandate from Him,” she replied. “I was to lead my people against the English and repel their invasion. To preserve their peace and happiness however I can. Even now, I would do my utmost to lead and inspire them if I could – even if my doppelganger works to do otherwise. I will do so, no matter what. Though… I will need to remember that I must tread on many bodies in order to do so.”

Saber smiled sadly. “To have the courage and passion to defend your homeland despite everything is indeed praiseworthy as it is,” she reassured her. “France will shine all the brighter for your actions without a doubt. I look forward to your success, Saint Jeanne d’Arc.”

Jeanne blinked, then shook her head with a chuckle. “I was a simple peasant girl who was given a mandate,” she replied, shrugging off the compliment.

Artoria chuckled. “And I was a squire who drew Caliburn from the stone. Your point?” she asked.

They looked at each other for a second, then both of them laughed.

A shift in presence caught their eyes – or more that it was unignorable. Marie bounced back towards them, with a broad smile on her faces. “Welcome back, Marie!” Saber called out with a smile. She had already been admonished by her for trying to observe formalities when they first met. “I take it your information gathering has been successful?”

Marie nodded, beaming. “Oui, most successful and productive, I should say!” she happily replied. Saber and Jeanne nodded as they began moved back to the others. Ren and Morgana had lost their fight against the comfiness of the afternoon and were quietly dozing off against a tree. Mash was curled up beside them, try to appear as though she was keeping watch – unlike Archer, who actually was keeping watch but still within hearing distance.

“Ah, welcome back, Maria!” Mozart exclaimed. “I was on the cusp of a new symphony, but seeing your beauty as driven it from my thoughts! Ah, such woe, only to be healed by your soothing words!”

“You and your one-dimensional passion for music scales,” Marie berated without dropping the smile. Then she looked over at the sleeping Ren and Morgana. “Oh my, and here I didn’t expect to see two sleeping beauties!” she exclaimed. Before anyone could stop her, she swooped in and planted a kiss on top of Morgana’s head and one on Ren’s lips. “Bonjour! I am back!” she greeted happily.

Ren blinked in surprise as he quickly awoke. Her approaching presence had already stirred him from his sleep but he certainly didn’t expect the kiss. Morgana’s blush somehow showed past his fur and was holding his head where she kissed him. “Wh-wh-wh-THAT’S RESERVED FOR LADY ANN!” he screeched, aghast.

Marie just giggled. “Ah, forgive me, monsieur Morgana,” she said, petting Morgana on the head who, despite himself, ended up purring under her soft touch. “I had not realized you were waiting for someone else. What about you, monsieur Amamiya? Were there any issues?”

The Master could only blink, then chuckled. “No, but a warning next time would be appreciated,” he replied easily. No girl he had hung out with back during his adventures had been quite so forward. Inwardly he was rather panicking that a girl had so brazenly kissed him on the lips but he managed to slip the mask on. “I’m guessing this is a common greeting in France then?” he asked, glancing over at Jeanne.

Jeanne, who was blushing madly, frantically shook her head which raised an eyebrow from Ren. Mozart laughed heartily. “Sorry, just ignore that,” he explained for her. “Maria has a bad habit of kissing everything. It caused chaos in the palace. There were actually factions formed of people she had kissed and people she hadn’t, after all. It wasn’t recorded though – no playwright would ever write how the palace nearly fell apart before the revolution!”

That was met with stunned silence from Ren and Morgana, as well as Saber and Jeanne as they all looked at the pouting Rider (Archer was very pointedly facing way for some reason). “What? You guys don’t do kisses?” she asked incredulously. “I simply do it when it feels like my heart is being squeezed by someone. I’m sure you do as well, Jeanne!”

Jeanne immediately broke out into a deep shade of red as everyone turned toward the saint. “I d-do no s-such thing!” she stammered. “O-only with someone I was going to marry and – wait, we’re getting off track here! We need the information you had gotten from the town!” Her expression fell back into a more serious demeanor, but it hadn’t erased the blush that still remained on her cheeks. Ren merely smiled without comment, Morgana snickered, Mash just looked between the two confused, and Archer and Saber remained stone faced.

Marie huffed but proceeded to explain the information she had gotten anyway: While Lyon was destroyed, its refugees had settled in that town. It had a protector – a knight that suddenly appeared, defending it from wyverns and monsters of all sorts. However, he had been overwhelmed by the Dragon Witch’s minions and has been missing since.

“Chances are good that’s our dragon slayer,” Archer commented. “But even if it wasn’t, having more help from such a knight would be helpful.” Ren nodded in agreement.

Her report wasn’t done yet, however. Apparently, a general by the name of Gilles de Rais was leading a contingent to retake Lyon. At the mention of his name, Jeanne’s eyes widened in recognition. “Gilles is still here?” she asked breathlessly. Marie smiled and nodded. Jeanne breathed a sigh of relief. “Good, good,” she murmured. “That’s good to hear.”

The Rider’s smile broadened. “Would you like to meet with him, ma cherie?” she asked, her tone teasing.

Jeanne shook her head. “It would be best not to,” she replied. “My doppelganger is currently causing far too much grief in my country. If I showed up amidst the French army, there would be no small amount of complications. No, it’s best if we worked independently from him.”

“And the real reason?” Ren casually asked, looking over from where he sat. He had been with people long enough to know when they were concealing some other reason.

The saint blanched. “Even in the best of times, Gilles can be… much,” she sheepishly admitted, pressing the tips of her index fingers together in a nervous tic. “His loyalty is second to none, but his devotions can be a bit unsettling. It would be better if we didn’t intervene with him unless necessary.”

Marie smiled sympathetically. “Ah, yes, I understand those types myself. Much like Mozart here, only his dedication is to his music with me somehow on top of that, which is only barely tolerable with his rather gross personality.”

Mozart gasped. “Oh, how you wound me, Maria,” he melodramatically exclaimed. Then he grinned. “But yes, I did sell my soul to music so I can understand that sort of fervor.”

The queen rolled her eyes at him again but faced the others with a more serious expression. “That being said, Lyon is currently a den of monsters right now from what the refugees have told me,” she explained. “If we’re heading there, we best be careful.”

Saber frowned. “You said Gilles de Rais was marching on Lyon, correct?” Marie nodded. “The monsters there will make short work of any human soldier. We should clear them out, else we have a slaughter on our hands. We can search for signs of this knight while we’re there.”

Jeanne d’Arc paled at the thought and immediately nodded. Everyone else stood up or got ready in the meantime. With that, they left, leaving the town behind. Morgana muttered again about how he didn’t have his van form. Ren couldn’t help but agree. He wasn’t going to blame Morgana for it but having it to travel would cut down on their travel time considerably – a massive boon given how time was a very limited resource these days.

Their business done, they made their way over to the destroyed city of Lyon, only an hour or so trek to the northwest. As they moved, grey clouds began moving in, shrouding the sun as they approached the city. What they beheld was even worse than La Charite. The city had been charred black and ruined from the work of countless dragons. What should be bodies was now a horde of shambling husks, moaning faintly in undeath as they gripped their broken weapon they once bravely yet futilely held in life. In the middle of the devastated city was the remains of the castle, crumbling and falling away.

Ren and Morgana could only look at the devastation with restrained horror. At La Charite, they were only just a few minutes late from the attack that killed everyone. Here, however, the damage was far less fresh – the scent of blood and ash faint or gone, replaced only with the decay of the rotting corpses from the zombies themselves. The burnt ruins didn’t smoke, the flames that had consumed them long since extinguished from lack of fuel and weather. Jeanne could only lower her head and murmured a quiet prayer for her fallen countrymen.

The beeping of Ren’s watch caught their attention. Tapping it, Roman got through, though his image was staticky and threaten to cut out at any time. “We’ve found traces of the Servant,” he said, his voice heavily distorted. “He’ll be at the castle! Hurry, we don’t have much-!” The transmission was cut off before Roman could finish his message. All of them nodded grimly as they advanced on the castle ruins. The Servants formed a protective cordon around them and cut down the zombies as they approached.

Ren glanced over to Saber. Unlike when they fought the other Saber in Fuyuki, he couldn’t see her sword. The faintest bit of an outline as she swung something and cut through her targets, but otherwise not a thing. Well, since Saber was King Arthur, seeing her sword would be enough of a giveaway as to her identity overall. Maybe during the Metaverse… he discarded it. Their weapons worked because of cognitions, meaning the creatures they fought against needed to be able to properly see their weapons for them to be effective. Invisibility wouldn’t really do much.

As they reached the castle, the roars of wyverns filled the air. Archer turned and his eyes widened. “I see the dragon Martha was talking about,” he commented. “It’s huge. And I’m also seeing the doppleganger Jeanne d’Arc on top of them, lots of wyverns and… Servants.” Archer did a count and his eyes widened. “She must’ve summoned more – counting the doppelganger, we’ve seven Servants coming down on us.” Ren paled. It seemed the doppelganger wanted all of them dead as fast as possible and brought out all possible stops in order to do so.

This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

“Should we take shelter in the castle?” Morgana asked desperately.

Saber shook her head. “Not with the dragon present,” he pointed out. “With the castle in its current state, it can easily just collapse it on us. No, much as I loathe to say it, it would seem our best opportunity would be open combat.”

Ren scowled. “That doesn’t mean we have to make it easy for them,” he growled. The doppelganger already knew they were here, and with such numbers that would mean hiding wouldn’t do much. Nor would it be effective with the streets still as populated with zombies as they were. The sky cracked as it started pouring down rain, sheets of it splattering against the ground. Ren scowled. Great.

“Archer, provide cover fire,” he commanded. “See if you can scatter them and make it harder for them to land and gather. Once the dragon gets closer, get its attention away from us as best as you can.” Archer nodded, summoning his bow in response. “Mash, Jeanne, you’ll be with me. We’ll head into the town and try to pick them off as best we can. Hit and run – if the situation goes bad even slightly, we’ll turn and head off!

Mash gripped her shield tightly as Jeanne nodded. “By your lead.”

He turned to the others. “Morgana, head with Saber,” he continued. “You’ll be doing the same thing. If either of us are in a bad situation, we’ll fall back and rendezvous at the castle gate.”

Morgana nodded, his large eyes narrowed in grim determination. “Alright Joker. But you better be careful yourself, okay?”

There was one last bit of orders. “Marie, Mozart, head into the castle,” he ordered. “Comb it as fast as you can for the Servant. We’ll buy you as much time as possible.”

“Oh, how considerate of you, monsieur Amamiya. The rain does terrible things to my hair after all,” Marie joked with a light smile. “We shall see it done. Do stay safe – France and the world will have need of brave men like you before all is said and done, I should think.”

Despite the seriousness of the situation, Ren had to smirk. “When does it not?” he asked rhetorically. His smile faded as a much deeper, powerful roar filled the air. He felt shivers of fear up his spine despite himself. The roar of the creature felt primeval, activating the evolved instinct of fear within all humans when faced with a supremely more powerful predator. One that made it clear that, in a head on confrontation, there was no match.

But still, his mask slid over his expression. Once more, Ren wasn’t needed for the battlefield. It was Joker that would see them all through, just as he had done through countless palaces. “One last order: No one is to die here,” he said sternly, looking at all of them. “This isn’t an all-out battle. Once we have the Servant, Marie or Mozart will signal us and we’ll retreat. We’ll need whatever strength we can accumulate and a better battlefield.” This was the first time Ren was commanding people against such overwhelming forces, but it still felt familiar nevertheless: discussing plans and issuing orders to a small group of people on the field.

A faint pang rang out in his heart but there wasn’t any time for that.

“Let’s go,” Ren commanded. The group, sans Archer, Marie, and Mozart dashed into the town, splitting off in different directions. The latter two Servants quickly ducked into the castle on their own mission as Archer summoned swords and drew his bow. He swiftly fired off a volley of arrows towards the swarm rapid approaching them – and his eyes widened as his shots were all intercepted and exploded well before they closed the distance. There could only be one explanation: the doppelganger had an Archer class Servant with hem.

Ren looked up. Seeing through the rain, he quickly noticed none of Archer’s shots were hitting. He scowled. They needed a distraction. He glanced at two Servants with him for an idea and noticed something. Jeanne’s weapon was a flag. And flags could be used for many things – especially for grabbing someone’s attention. “Jeanne, Mash, come with me!” he ordered. They both blinked but immediately nodded. They ran through the streets, swiftly killing off whatever zombies were in their way. The rain was pouring down, making it hard to see as water ran down from his hair in front of his eyes, but that didn’t matter.

Once they were a good distance away to the side, he looked around. There was a building that was still relatively intact, with the roof more or less in one piece. “Mash, get me up there,” he said. “Jeanne, you come up too!” Mash nodded, grabbing hold of Ren and immediately leaping up. She grabbed on to the edge without too much trouble and threw Ren up onto the roof, a feat easily done with her Servant level of strength. Jeanne quickly hauled herself up as well.

They both looked at Ren for further orders. Ren himself was looking. Shielding his eyes from the rain splashing in front of his eyes, he could still somewhat see the wyverns and the dragon. He nodded. This would do. “Jeanne, wave your flag and get their attention!” he commanded.

Jeanne blinked. “Will they be able to see it as this distance?” she asked.

Ren chuckled. “Oh, they’ll be looking in our direction alright,” he replied. “I’ll make sure of it.”

The saint hesitated, the nodded. Unfurling her flag, she raised her flag – the symbol of the monarchy of France and the crown of Heaven - and waved it proudly. Ren stood beside her as he tore off his metaphorical mask once more.

“Metatron!”

The great metallic angel’s presence was felt immediately. The holy aura was almost overpowering to both Jeanne and Mash who barely resisted falling to their knees in awe. About the same time, they could feel the killing intent radiate from the enemy party straight towards them. Despite the overwhelming presence of their enemies, Ren smirked. He knew there was no way they could ignore such a powerful figure, and even less that the doppelganger would ignore seeing such a powerful angel at the side of Jeanne d’Arc

Before they could rally, from the other side of the contingent came a gigantic gust of wind. It seemed Saber and Morgana had the same idea of grabbing their attention as well, though in a more direct manner. The gust blew the wyverns off course, even causing the dragon to turn around and roar in that direction. However, it also had one further consequence that they had forgotten about:

Archer’s arrows were no longer intercepted by the enemy Archer. They rapidly swarmed in, seeking out exposed necks and wings of wyverns, with several of them exploding amidst the heavily grouped air force, causing them to collide and crash against once another, with a good deal of wyverns shrieking as they tumbled out of the sky.

As the contingent tried to make up their minds on where to strike first, several exploding arrows hit the dragon directly in the face. The dragon roared in sheer rage and anger and began taking off towards the source of those arrows. The doppelganger mounted on its back screamed at it to turn around, but the dragon paid no heed. All it cared about was going after the insignificant speck that dared to offend it. Taken away from the main force, she was unable to properly give orders, only left screaming fruitlessly at her greatest asset now liability.

The red-mantled hero smirked as he began moving from rooftop to rooftop, clearing to clearing, keeping away from the dragon’s wrath and maintaining his range as he continued to bombard and taunt the dragon. This would be his battle from here on out.

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Ren, Mash, and Jeanne barely got down from the roof in time. A wyvern had barreled straight toward their direction, its wings punctured by several of Archer’s arrows. It crashed headlong into a building past them, turning the ruined structure into nothing more than rubble. The rubble then shifted, and something – or rather, someone – burst through, climbing out of the rubble.

A young woman with green hair climbed out. Her features, normally beautiful, were twisted with rage and bloodlust as her green hair, ending in gold, matted against her body from the rain. Her light turquoise dress was soaked and clung to her lithe figure, but instead of any allure, it only accented her movements, which were more akin to a coiled beast ready to spring. In her hand was a bow, gripped so tightly Ren wouldn’t be surprised if it broke under the strain.

“Kill, I’ll kill you, I’ll kill you!” she snarled out. Her grass-green eyes only reflected sheer hatred. No reason or conversation would ever get to her.

Jeanne scowled. “Madness enhancement,” she stated simply, raising her flag. “To think, my doppelganger would force such a thing on other Servants so they would serve her. She truly isn’t me after all. Ren, Mash, please assist me – I wish to break the madness of the Servant and grant her peace.”

Mash nodded, stepping up beside her with her shield raised. “Of course, Jeanne,” she said, ready.

Ren smirked behind her. “A dance in the rain with three ladies? Who could say no to that?” he joked. Jeanne and Mash blushed but their expressions didn’t change, nor did they turn away from the snarling Servant. There was a time for jokes, but they all knew he was serious. They would deal with her and move on.

The green Archer drew her bow, and Jeanne and Mash charged.

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Saber and Morgana moved, her armored feet splattering against the soaked stone streets as Morgana easily ran lightly beside her. They had also seen Archer’s shots were being intercepted and had been looking for a good spot to engage the enemy themselves when they felt that holy aura, even over such a long distance. Saber was the first to shake out of it. It provided her with an opportunity: it distracted the enemy formation considerably. Raising her blade, she lashed out, using the gusts of wind that normally coated her sword to form a hurricane wind.

“Strike air!”

Morgana blinked, shocked out of his reverie, but took his cue as well. “Zorro!” he called out. The musketeer persona appeared once more. Tracing a pattern with his rapier, it joined Saber’s wind and amplified it, causing the gust to be even stronger as it slammed into the wyverns, causing havoc among them. The enemy Archer, jostled by the winds and the other wyverns crashing into her couldn’t maintain a good firing position, allowing their Archer to pelt them with anti-air fire.

Both Saber and Morgana smirked. Saber had qualms at first on working alongside a Master that shared the same name as the witch who had led Mordred into destroying her kingdom, but Morgana had been nothing less than capable and loyal. Maybe a touch arrogant, but frankly she had dealt with far worse with the Round Table.

“Ha, nice going, Saber! That got them messed up!” he crowed.

Saber smiled. “Same to you, Master,” she replied genuinely. “But our work is not done. Come, we should move to-“

“AAAAAAARTHUUUUUUURRR!!!!!”

At the scream, they both turned to look. A dark shape jumped out of the contingent, landing on the rooftops before crashing down to the ground. With a wild scream, the dark figure moved in a blur, holding a long cylindrical shape. Saber barely reacted in time, raising her blade to intercept the blow. Her poor footing combined with the slick streets forced her to give way to the blow, her feed sliding for purchase. Saber scowled as she beheld the figure in front of her: A pitch-black knight, with smoke radiating from its masterfully crafted armor. The only sign of life was the red gleam from its eye ports.

Saber gulped. This knight called her name and she could feel familiarity with it, even though nothing about it was clear to her for some reason. All she knew was that it was most likely a Knight of the Round Table, which meant only one thing: This would be a difficult battle for her.

“Saber!” Morgana called out. He was about to race over to her side when his instincts flared into hyper drive. He dodged to the side – and barely moved out of the way of a thin rapier, slicing his cheek. Sliding away, he looked to see one of the Servants he had originally saw: the elegantly dressed Servant in blue. Holding a rapier, they blinked as Morgana took out his cutlass and rallied himself.

“Oh, you’ve sharp instincts, monsieur cat,” they commented. “I am impressed. It is not often in my line of work that one is able to detect my presence, nor react so quickly.”

“Yeah well, moving about stealthily is my bread and butter, so I’m used to it,” Morgana retorted. “Who the heck are you anyway? If you’re gonna duel me, you might as well tell me who you are.”

The Servant smiled. “Normally, I’m not the type to bandy words about – information is quite deadly, as you most likely well know,” they commented lightly. “However, the other Jeanne forced a Madness Enhancement on me so I would obey her orders, so I will tell you what I can: I am Chevalier d’Eon, Saber class. The Knight of the White Lily and a spy. I shall not ask who you are, else I am compelled to report it.”

Morgana smiled sadly. “Heh. A spy as elegant as you, huh?” he asked. “A shame – I think we’d get along. But sorry, I gotta take you down here.”

D’Eon smiled. “You will try,” they replied, raising their rapier.

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“Non, not here either.”

“Ah, this din of battle assaults my ears! Oh, woe is me!”

“I will personally box your ears if that’s what it takes for you to search faster, Mozart!”

“Maria, anything but that!”

Marie and Mozart quickly ran through the crumbling hallways of the castle. The roars of the dragons and wyverns, combined with the clash of weapons, echoed all the way even into the innards of the castle through numerous holes in the architecture. They opened another door, which led to the ruins of a sitting room. Nothing there either.

The Rider clicked her tongue in annoyance. Though the Servant was somewhere in the castle, they couldn’t find them even after searching through heaven knows how many rooms. She wasn’t about to give up, however. Their allies were counting on them. And Mozart, despite his whining and complaints, had been searching just as hard as Marie was, even trying to pinpoint any sounds through the noise of battle.

They were about to continue when a presence filled the hallway. Turning around, they saw a Servant appearing before them. White haired, dressed in a black coat with high white pauldrons. His ice-blue eyes were serene but filled with a bloodlust that sent chills down their spines. In his hand was a black greatsword, tipped with a large piece at the end. It was a terrible sword: It couldn’t slash well, and with the piece in front neither could it stab. As a tool of war, it was impractical and useless.

But it could do one thing, and one thing well: It could chop and sever. As an executioner’s weapon, it was ideal.

“Sanson, so you’re here,” Marie said, recognizing the Servant immediately. After all, she could hardly forget her own executioner. “To think this is how we’d be reunited – it is less that auspicious, no?”

Sanson smiled. “Ah, perhaps to you, but for me, it is indeed auspicious,” he replied kindly. “An execution requires qualifications. As such, I am the only one fitting to execute you. My blade has been honed time and time again, just so I can bequeath to you my gift again, this one singular bliss I can share with you. Tell me, Marie, did you not feel that rapturous pleasure as my blade descended on you?”

Marie shuddered. “Sanson… you took my execution seriously,” she murmured, her cheerful demeanor gone. “And for all your heartlessness, you never looked down on criminals. For that, I thank you gratefully and cherish you. However, as you are now, you are nothing more than a killer – a tormentor for criminals as opposed to their savior as an executioner. And besides –“ Here she pouted. “I already know enough men with perverse hobbies! I do not require yet another!”

Despite Marie’s rejection, he smiled. “Ah, Marie, to hear your love from your lips still gladdens me. But rest assured, I’ve only gotten better since then. Please, allow me to show you.” He then turned to Mozart, who had been watching with a scowl on his face. His smile turned to a frown. “Though I do agree with what you stated about men with perverse hobbies. I doubt Marie would ever indulge in your fetishes, Mozart.”

Mozart scoffed. “She would no doubt partake in my perversity than deal with your insanity, Sanson,” he snapped.

“Speak such nonsense one more time and it will be your last, Mozart,” Marie growled.

“Sanson, we both wished for Marie’s heart,” Mozart continued, ignoring her. “But a woman’s heart doesn’t come from her beheading – what kind of twisted logic is that? For someone as pragmatic and rational as you, such a speech might as well have been spun by the devil himself! And indeed, we just met him less than a day ago!” Marie shuddered as Sanson blinked, confused. “So kindly perish by our hands! I will be more than happy to play a requiem for you, in hopes you shall come to your senses!”

The berserk Assassin frowned. “Mozart, my blade right now is strictly only for Marie’s neck,” he stated. “I do have one more companion with me, though he might have gotten lost in the hallways. Please entertain yourself with – ah, here he comes now.”

“Ah, Christine, Christine. Even now, I can hear your dulcet tones. Oh, Christine. Are you here, perhaps?”

Another Servant appeared behind them. A hauntingly beautiful young man, dressed elegantly in a black suit with a tattered cloak. His handsomeness however was marred by a smile that was tinged in both madness and sadness. A white, bloody mask and bandages covered half his face, with his hands tipped in bloody claws.

“Hm, your song, I wish to hear it,” he murmured, looking over at them with a similar serene smile as Sanson had. “Are you Cristine? Is your tones as melodious as hers? Ah, I wish to hear it! Your song! Sing for me as I shall sing for you! I, the Phantom of the Opera, shall swear it! Christine!”

Mozart scowled as he moved to intercept the Phantom. “My, certainly not how I expected to encounter a fellow musician!” he remarked. “Though I sold my soul to music, you, my good friend, certainly do take it to extremes even I find distasteful. I am not Christine, but if it’s music you wish to hear, I shall certainly oblige! Your requiem!”

“Not… Christine?” the Phantom asked, his held tilting. His faced twisted into an ugly snarl. “Then I wish to hear no song from you – it will be as wretched as nails on a chalkboard, as ugly as I! Ah, Christine, let me hear your song once more, after I kill these wretched creatures who would dare defile your notes!”

“Well, I have to say I’m quite offended now!” Mozart growled. “Come now, Phantom of the Opera. Let us see who here is best at the end of the day: Your song or my compositions!”

And thus raged the battle of the ruined Lyon.