CHAPTER TEXT

Loki sighed as they relaxed in the forest. The sun filtered through the leaves, allowing for a soft illumination for the ground below. A small breeze gently slid through, giving a lovely bit of relief from the warmth of the day. A distant bird chirped its song before fluttering off. It was fairly quiet overall – a peaceful day before the march would continue. Yes, it looked to be the beginning of a peaceful day…

Barring the bandits that were below them who were hurriedly making plans. Loki looked down from his perch in the tree casually as they muttered their plans to assault the Roman camp only a small distance away. Their plan boiled down to… charge like mad before they could fully wake up, kill the emperor, then bolt the hell out. Even for Loki, that plan sounded so idiotic that it was utterly boring.

They sighed. Well, might as well step in, if only to prevent things from being any more asinine.

“I could think of less stupid ways of dying, to be honest, and more entertaining ones.”

The bandits immediately whirled about as Loki landed easily among their midst, brandishing their weapons: worn out gladii and farming implements. How adorable. “Storming a Roman army encampment, even in the dead of night, is already a hilariously terrible idea at the best of times,” they commented casually, not giving a damn about being threatened. “But now as they’re waking up? There’s less painful methods of suicide, I’ll have you know, like hanging upside down while being stabbed with a spear.”

“Who the hell are you?!” one of them barked, stepping forward while brandishing a crude spear. “Some damn foreigner?

Loki raised an eyebrow, straightening the collar of their detective prince outfit. “My, your deductive abilities are most impressive for one such as yourself,” they commented, their clear sarcasm dripping from their voice. “Bravo! And here I thought I would be dealing with cavemen, but it seems I will have to upgrade that to mere idiots. Well done!”

The bandit clicked their tongue, irritated, and motioned to his three other comrades. They all spread out, surrounding the trickster god who couldn’t look any less concerned. “Well, now that you’ve seen us here, we can’t easily leave you now, can we?” the bandit asked, a malicious grin forming revealing rotten teeth. “Tell you what – drop your cloths and surrender, we’ll spare you – a pretty thing like you oughta fetch us a nice price when all’s said and done.”

The rest of the bandits chuckled at the remark. “It’ll be a nice bonus when we bring them the emperor’s head, eh?” another commented, eliciting another round of eager chuckles.

The Avenger could only sigh in disappointment. How annoying. They had expected them to at least be a bit more creative and ambitious with what they were going to do but frankly, it was the same humdrum stuff as always. Well, they’d have to find their own entertainment in another way. “Well, I had come to see what was going on but frankly, all of you simply bore me,” they replied frankly.

They shot a deadpan look at the group of bandits. “So instead, I will counter you with another offer,” they continued. “If you leave right now, I promise I will only hamstring you and leave you crawling. Otherwise, well… who’s your underworld deity? Hades?” Loki immediately shook their head. “No, no, that’s Greek,” they muttered, snapping their fingers. “Pluto! Yes, that’s it! I will personally grant you a one-way pass to see him. Generous of me, don’t you think?”

Loki smiled again, their auburn eyes flashing red. “I shall give you ten seconds. Do start running.”

The bandits’ jaws fell apart, then they all began guffawing. “Ha, look at the mouth of this one!” the lead commented to his fellows. “Hey, shut them up for us, will ya? It’s gonna be great breaking her in!”

A bandit stepped forward and raised a fist to punch Loki from behind – and missed as Loki dodged without a care. “Eh?” he muttered, blinking, before raising a fist and lunging again. The trickster god once more dodged while glancing at their fingernails without a care.

“And by my count, that is… fifteen seconds,” they remarked, lowering their hand while gazing with disappointment. “I was even more generous than I planned in hopes for a bit of entertainment, but you all simply disappointed me on all levels. Well, I suppose I should bring this farce to a close.” Their red, serrated blade appeared in their hand, immediately causing the bandits to shift from their smug demeanor into shock.

“Farewell. It was not a pleasure.”

The results were less of a battle and more of a massacre. Loki simply moved among them with incredible ease, cutting down the bandits before they had a chance to raise their weapons. They shouted in fear and terror for a split second before they were silenced. They didn’t even bother to change clothes, and their expression never deviated from dispassionate disinterest.

Thus, within seconds, they stood among the dismembered corpses of the bandits and utterly soaked in blood, yet they weren’t any more entertained. “Well, I shouldn’t have expected so much,” Loki sighed as their blade vanished in their hand.

“What the hell happened, Avenger?!”

Loki glanced over casually as Joan stomped forward, giving a horrified stare at the remains of the bandits. “A minor annoyance that I dealt with,” they replied casually as their figure blurred for a second before solidifying, all traces of blood on them gone. “They wanted to kill the emperor and bring her head to the United Roman Empire, thinking they would get a vast reward for it. I tried to warn them, but they simply did not listen.”

They gave an exaggerated sigh and raised their hands helplessly. “Really now, they should be thanking me,” they added, gazing in disappointment at the bodies. “I gave them quick deaths. Their idea would’ve ensured their suffering for far longer. Fools to the very end, it seems.”

The Lancer glared at Loki. “That wasn’t necessary,” she snarled. “You’re a goddamn Servant – it would’ve been piss-easy to just scare them off! Why the hell did you tear through them like some goddamn animal?!”

Loki raised an eyebrow. “And leave them to terrorize some poor countryside?” they remarked. “No, I think not. Our Masters may not enjoy killing but some blood has to be shed every now and then. All to make sure things progress swimmingly.”

They nudged a dismembered arm with a foot. “They do not cause a disturbance in the camp, ergo we are free to continue our march,” they continued. “They died here, ergo they do not threaten some innocent civilian. All at the cost of a few measly lives.” The Avenger shook their head despondently. “A shame our Masters refuse to comprehend that,” they lamented.

The trickster god glanced over Joan and noticed how horrified she seemed as she stared at the corpses. “Is something the matter?” they asked. “If I recall from what our Masters said, you had caused similar amounts of butchery during your tenure at Orleans. This shouldn’t be anything you’re unfamiliar with.”

Joan scowled and turned away, forcing herself to look at the corpses. Loki wasn’t wrong – she had regularly committed such atrocities back in Orleans. She reveled in the bloodshed and death, genuinely believing every single person deserved to burn in hell for all they did to condemn her. Or rather, the actual Jeanne.

Loki observed her with a mild curiosity. From what he heard and noticed from mission reports about the first singularity, Joan, who was originally a Jeanne d’Arc doppelganger created by Gilles de Rais, had basically butchered as much of France with darkened Servants, wyverns, and other monstrosities. Frankly, even to them, seeing someone who committed such acts balk at these corpses was an interesting difference.

“It wasn’t necessary,” Joan repeated through ground out teeth. “Just… clean up or something, I don’t know. Just get this shit out of here.”

The Avenger watched as she turned and began stomping away. “What did our Masters do to you, I wonder,” they wondered out loud, causing the Lancer to freeze. “Such a change in personality is uncommon, especially in Servants – even in artificially created ones. What they have accomplished is quite remarkable – it’s something I truly should explore more.”

Their eyes lazily glanced over at Joan. “But then, what would that make you?” they pondered. “Are you still you, or simply yet another personality someone foisted upon you? First Gilles, now Ren and Morgana. It’s just that you now are more palatable to most common people than that of the legendarily depraved Bluebeard.”

Loki could only shrug as they turned away. “Ah, but you are right – I’m sure the Masters would object to this,” they concluded. “Even if they never find out about this in the first place. I hardly want to deal with their lectures so early in the morning – breakfast is always a terrible time for lectures after all.”

There was a moment of silence from Joan. “Just do your fucking job,” she snarled, then stomped off.

The trickster listened to her armored greaves crunching against the undergrowth, the sound eventually fading away. They could only smile to themselves. Well, it would certainly be an interesting conversation between the Masters and Joan. Perhaps they would be around to hear it – they had some questions themselves about the whole affair, and they had a feeling that neither Ren nor Morgana would ever answer willingly.

Ah, it will be a most delectable time. But in the meantime…

How to get rid of all this carrion?

----------

Joan was silent as she stomped back towards the Roman camp. A few soldiers tried to greet her but she ignored them all – or rather, she didn’t even notice them. The shielder came out of the corner of her eye, but her demeanor became worried as she saw Joan’s stormy expression. The Lancer had no end to her troubles, but what the Avenger said settled in her thoughts like a thorny burr within her mind.

They weren’t wrong. Back when they were merely a doppelganger, she relished in sending out her Servants, wyverns, and other monsters to butcher the people of France. The people who had condemned her – no, not her. The actual Jeanne. – to burn at the stake. Their terror, their despair, their blood; they were all things she craved and demanded, all to satiate her bottomless rage. Even if she had known at the time it was Gilles who forced that upon her, she couldn’t give any less of a shit. No matter what, France deserved to burn.

That was until the Chaldeans showed up. Through some sort of… witchcraft, they had changed her. Before she would’ve either been indifferent at best about the killing, but now she was genuinely horrified and revulsed by it. Even after hearing the debriefing from her Masters, she genuinely had a hard time comprehending it. They changed her heart? What did they change exactly? What did they do?

She had to ponder now – if these changes were forced upon her by the two, was she still… well, her? Or did they simply shape her into something they wanted from her in the end? If that was the case, who was she in the end? As much as she wanted to get pissed about it, she couldn’t deny that Ren and Morgana had made her… well, as odd as it sounded, a better person. No one could’ve done what she did. No one with even an ounce of humanity in them, anyway.

But then, was it still acceptable just because it was more palatable to everyone else? Was that how it worked? Was she to be dangled like a puppet from her creation to the rest of her existence, her thoughts dictated by whatever manipulated or changed her from within at the time?

This was getting nowhere. She needed answers.

Trudging through the tents, she eventually came upon her destination and pounded on the tent frame. “Masters,” she called out. “Ren. Morgana. I need to speak with you immediately.”

There was a rustle of movement and the tent entrance flapped open, revealing Ren’s concerned face. “Joan? What’s happening?” he asked immediately, ready for action. “Has the United Roman Empire been spotted? Or is something else going on?”

Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

Joan shook her head, her expression grim. “Nothing of the sort, Master,” she replied curtly. “I wish to talk to you about Orleans. Specifically, what you did to me.”

The statement caught Ren by surprise, but his face quickly matched Joan’s in seriousness. “It’s a long topic and even I’m not sure about everything, but I’ll explain the best I can. Would you like to step inside?” So saying, he stepped aside to allow her in. Joan hesitated for a second before walking into Ren’s tent.

Ren's tent itself was relatively bare, with just a bunk standing on the side. Given how Romans could both camp and leave within the night, it made sense for everything to be so spartan overall. Ren looked around for a chair for her to sit on but Joan shook her head. “I’ll stay standing,” she said simply.

That took the Phantom Thief by surprise, but he nodded in response and sat down on the bunk. “So, what did you want to talk about?” he asked, trepidation clear in his voice.

Joan stared down at her defenseless Master. Although she was angry, seeing the worried eyes of Ren tempered her rage somewhat. Her Master was many things and far beyond ordinary, but at his core, he was a good person. At least, that was what she believed. Or led to believe? She was just making things even more complicated for herself now.

At the very least, the cat wasn’t around. Trying to get answers from both of them at the same time would just leave her even more lost than before. She needed clear answers. “Explain clearly,” she demanded, her yellow eyes boring into Ren. “What did you do to me then?”

The Phantom Thief frowned as he considered how to answer her. “We removed the Treasure from your Palace to remove the distortion of your heart,” he explained. “A person develops a Palace when they have distorted desires. A Treasure is at the core of it and is the source of the distorted desires. In this case, your Treasure was a Holy Grail – a copy of the one we found in Orleans.”

Joan’s eye twitched as she tried to hold on to her patience. “And what the hell counts as ‘distorted desires’?” she asked.

Ren paused. That was something the Thieves never truly discussed the details of overall. He cast his mind back to their targets and tried to find all the common trends that led to them having Palaces. “It’s hard to define precisely,” Ren admitted truthfully. “But they are desires that are so overwhelming and twisted that they trample over all others, even yourself, to achieve them.”

That caused Joan’s eyes to narrow as she considered. True, what she had done could certainly qualify as that. By anyone’s standards, she needed to be stopped. Even now, the weight of her guilt from all she had done pressed down on her. But then…

She glared at Ren. “And what makes your desires so pure?” she growled. “In order to restore humanity or do what you have done, you would also need to trample over others, do you not?”

That gave the Phantom Thief pause. “We don’t trample over others if we can help it,” he answered carefully. “Our targets were people that needed to be taken down when normal methods wouldn’t work at all. We do what we have to – no more and no less.”

Joan scoffed. “Is that right,” she grumbled.

Ren quietly watched Joan. “What’s going on, Joan?” he asked. “Did something happen?”

The Lancer whirled on him. “I’ll tell you what the hell’s going on,” she snapped. “You fucking changed me. I don’t give a damn whether it was for the better – Palace, Treasure, distortion, whatever the fuck you said, they were still all me. And you changed all that, changed me, because that’s not what you wanted.”

The Phantom Thief’s mouth dropped in shock. “Wha- no, that’s not what we wanted to do at all!” he immediately spluttered. “For one thing we couldn’t reach you – or rather, who you were before – and had to go for your Palace! Also, that’s not how that works – distorted desires aren’t supposed to be there in the first place! By removing them, the closest thing I can compare it to is resetting everything!”

His grey eyes met Joan’s gaze without wavering. “Everything you feel right now is all you, Joan,” Ren emphasized. “Not Gilles or even ours – it’s all you.”

“And what the fuck am I?!” she roared as the dam finally broke. “All I know is that I was some fucking mockery Gilles created to take revenge against France, and I did so happily. I tortured and burned people, butchering them and making them suffer like I thought they all deserved. Is it wrong? Sure, but at least I knew what the fuck was going on and what to do!”

Her yellow eyes burned into Ren. “Then you all came,” she snarled. “After that, I have no idea what I should do or who I even fucking am! You guys call me Joan instead of ‘Jeanne’ or ‘doppelganger’, but who or what the fuck is ‘Joan’?! Can your illustrious powers answer that?! Huh?! Can you tell me that?!”

Ren could only sit in silence as Joan unleashed her tirade against him. He had forgotten – Joan was not a normal person, even by Servant standards. She had been created for a purpose, with a distortion practically built into her. Their targets were still people with lives before their Palaces ever formed and even after their hearts got stolen.

He remembered when they delved into the depths of Mementos and found their targets in the prison cells with the rest of the public. Kamoshida still hit on Ann and tried to dismiss it as a bad joke, and Shido still rambled about how the public needed to be controlled even if it wasn’t him. Who they ultimately were didn’t change – they just lost the will to continue forward with their more heinous actions.

“We… we can’t,” Ren admitted lamely. “Our powers can disperse Palaces and steal hearts, but they can’t put things there.” He remembered Maruki’s cognition manipulation abilities and how they gave Sumire an overlay of Kasumi as a patch job. It would’ve broken down sooner or later, so it was fortunate she came across Ren when she did. There was also Futaba. Once they removed her Palace, it was a matter of helping her through her issues, but the problem was that Futaba had still been a person that existed before and after the Palace.

Where did that leave Joan?

The Lancer scoffed once more at the answer. “Of fucking course you can’t,” she muttered. “It’s not enough for all of you to take that away from me, but you can’t even give me something to fucking work off of?! What, am I just to be tossed around like some goddamn fucking puppet to whoever encounters me next and is able to do so!? Then what the hell is the point of me doing anything?!”

As she ranted, something began happening that caught Ren’s attention – and his eyes immediately widened. Blue scales were growing in a pattern all over her body. But moreover, Joan was still ranting and rambling, not even noticing what was happening to her. She didn’t seem to be in any sign of (physical) distress or pain but still, what the hell was happening.

Joan whirled on Ren to rant some more when she noticed he was staring with eyes as round as saucers. “What?!” she demanded.

“Y-you’re…” he stammered, pointing. Joan blinked, looked… and barely held back her own shock as she saw the blue scales on her arm. Feeling something odd, she reached up and felt the blue scales growing out of her headpiece as well. They weren’t attached to her, yet they felt as much a part of her as any other part of her body. But these blue scales. Why did they appear…?

The answer slammed into her mind like a wyvern. She glared at Ren once more. “Summon Satan,” she growled.

The demand caught the Phantom Thief by surprise. He was about to protest, but seeing the sheer rage, desperation, and most importantly, the fear in her eyes forestalled any arguments. With a sigh, he stood up. Even though he switched out his other personas, Satan was one of the ones he kept as a trump card just in case.

He was about to suggest that they head out so the persona’s aura didn’t disturb the camp when he caught sight of one of Tamamo’s talismans floating outside the entrance. No doubt they were ready to interfere at any time, and the Caster most likely blocked off any sounds or sensations out of Ren’s tent. It certainly would explain why no soldier or even Nero came to check up on them given how loud Joan had been.

Well, that was nothing else for it. He reached up to his face and brought Satan to the forefront of his mind, steeling himself for the strain of summoning him as his circuits began warming up once more. “Satan,” he called out. In a flash of blue flame, the monstrous persona appeared once more in all its glory.

Joan inadvertently took a step back in fear before willing herself to stand strong, meeting the persona’s gaze with her own glare. The being in front of her was monstrous beyond imagination, with multiple arms and breasts, a demonic visage, and serpentine body. However, it was no beast. Satan’s eyes and demeanor was calm yet stern, weighing her sins. It was an existence that she fundamentally feared still, and for good reason.

But the most important aspect was its scales. Both the coloration and the pattern it had been growing on her were eerily similar to the persona’s.

The Lancer’s hands slowly balled up into fists. “So,” she ground out. “Another fucking thing you engraved into me. Is that all that I am? A fucking… blank stone to carve into, wipe away, then carve again until there’s nothing left for any of you lot to use?!” So saying, she took a deep breath and willed the scales to vanish. Slowly but surely, they vanished off her body.

Both of them released the breaths they had been holding as Joan stared at her hands, especially where her scales had been. Satan faded away as Ren released his power. A moment of uncomfortable silence passed between the two. “Joan-“ he began.

“Don’t,” she snarled dangerously, glaring daggers at her Master. “I don’t want any explanations or reassurances or apologies. Just shut. The fuck. Up. You’ve done enough. I don’t want to talk about this anymore right now. I need to think. I’ll still fight if I have to, but don’t expect much more than that. However, let me get one thing straight to you right here and now.”

She moved forward until she towered over the sitting Phantom Thief, who was ready to once more ready to draw a persona if necessary. “If I find any of you lot screwing around in my head ever again,” she whispered, each word burning in icy rage. “Make absolutely no mistake, I will end you.”

With that, she stomped out of the tent – almost walking headfirst into Mash. She stopped, walked around the flabbergasted shielder, then continued on, soon disappearing among the crowd. The shielder looked between the tent and the Lancer before turning to the former, approaching it and knocking on the tent pole gently. Tamamo appeared beside her, her expression grim. “Senpai?” she asked gently. “May we come in?”

Ren looked up for a second then sighed. “Yeah, yeah, come in,” he murmured, running a hand through his hair. He noticed as the two girls stepped in that the talismans Tamamo had set up were still active. He nodded in thanks to the Caster. “Thanks for the quick thinking,” he noted gratefully.

Tamamo smiled coyly – though it looked a bit strained given the situation. “Well, reading the situation isn’t quite as different as you’d expect from reading the moods of gods – but you’re welcome nevertheless,” she replied with a slight bow. “That being said, Master, may we ask what happened? As short-tempered as Joan is, that is perhaps the foulest mood I have seen from her yet.”

The Phantom Thief sighed once more. He was already beyond tired. “It’s… nothing I can really tell you,” he replied. “It’s a deeply personal matter for Joan. Not my place to tell you guys, unfortunately. I’ll tell you guys when I can, but for now… I’m sorry, guys.”

Mash blinked in surprise and shook her head. “Not at all, senpai,” she quickly reassured him. “If there is a reason you aren’t telling us, then we believe there is a good reason for it.” Ren smiled apologetically and appreciatively; an expression that was matched by Mash’s unsure one in turn.

Tamamo looked less than pleased with the answer herself, but only sighed as well. She knew there was little to be gained from pushing the matter. With a wave of her hand, the talismans that surrounded the tent vanished. “Shall I keep an eye on her?” she asked, the only sign of her annoyance once more being a telltale twitch of her ears and tail.

Ren nodded. “If you could,” he said. “I don’t think Joan’s going to really do anything, but just keep tabs on where she’s going so she doesn’t get into any trouble.” Tamamo nodded and exited the tent, vanishing as she did so into a shower of golden dust.

The shielder looked nervously at Ren, then put on a reassuring smile. “Sh-should I grab breakfast for us, senpai?” she asked, trying to break the silence between them. “Ritsu-senpai has done the same for the emperor and nutrition is important, after all!”

That caught him by surprise. Then again, he should’ve known Ritsu would’ve done so. Her energy levels and enthusiasm to do things was beyond the pale. The girl practically bulldozed through every single problem she came across.

He had to wonder how she would be if she had been part of the Phantom Thieves – and laughed to himself. He doubted even Ryuji or Sumire would’ve been able to keep up with her endless font of stamina.

“Yeah, that sounds good, Mash,” he replied with a small smile. “I’ll wait here for you to come back.”

Mash nodded enthusiastically and bounced out of the tent as well. As soon as Ren was alone, he buried his face in his hands. He had miscalculated what to do with Joan. He honestly should’ve talked with her earlier about what had happened. She was a special case where dealing with her Palace and removing her Treasure possibly had more problems on her psyche than expected. Not even Futaba’s Palace had such repercussions.

Ren rubbed his eyes with his fingers. Of all the times for Morgana to be gone… and he worried for him once more. Was Morgana doing alright? Was he safe? His hand toyed with the communicator on his wrist to contact him but decided against it. It had only been a day or so. No doubt Morgana would be safe with his capabilities, especially having both Archer and Medusa at his side.

Taking a bottle of water, he down a large gulp, feeling it cool and soothe his throat. No matter what he told himself he could only hope that Morgana was okay.

Loki simply smirked from behind the tent. They had been within the protective cordon of the talismans (and even if they weren’t, there were ways to get around that) and heard everything. This power his Masters wielded was quite… flexible. And given his host body had quite an association with them and their powers, most likely they did too. Hell, they had already been using it quite a bit, but perhaps not to their full potential.

The trickster god raised a hand in front of them, and at a whim, sent a surge of malice through. Dark energy crackled and sparked from his fingers – power he was both familiar and unfamiliar with. All they needed now was a plaything and a situation where he could test it out and see how it went.

Their smirk broadened in excitement. It seemed their plans bore fruit after all. How exciting.

—-------

The cloudless, warm day was blanketed by clouds of soot that flung into the air. Small fires still crackled and blazed, lighting the ashes in small embers. The smell of charred cloth, wood, and flesh hung heavy in the air. Fresh corpses lay alongside charred bodies, spilling their lifeblood to the dirt below. A burnt piece of a palisade cracked and toppled into the ashes, sending it flying upward in an explosive report.

Among it all stood a single, small, solitary figure. The ash covered his fur, staining it grey. Tears streaked from his eyes, clearing a path as they washed away the grime. He could only stare in horror at the desolation that was all about him. Surrounding him were Roman soldiers, cheering his bravery and resourcefulness for an easy victory. However, the cheers rang hollow, his much-coveted praise falling on deaf ears. He could only see the carnage in front of him.

They had secured victory. They had established a beachhead. But what did it cost? What would the future be like? Morgana only had one thought through his mind as he witnessed the ruin in front of him.

‘What… have I…?’