Fate/Infinity

Soft footsteps announce the arrival of Gilgamesh, her long, flowing hair trailing elegantly behind her as the Queen yawns, running her fingers through the golden locks that cascade down past her pert derrière.

Plopping on the seat next to me, she gives me a sleepy glance.

"Morning, Your Majesty. Eggs?" I greet, all smiles, as if 'last night' didn't happen.

"Runny yolks, seared whites, a pinch of salt." She instructs smoothly, stealing my morning coffee without missing a beat.

Locking eyes with me, she slowly turns the mug so that the side my lips had touched faces hers.

With a playful wink, the Queen takes a sip, lips puckering as she does so.

Already knowing her preferences, I slide the prepared plate towards her, silently demanding the return of my coffee. She can have the food, but I draw the line at sharing caffeine. Satisfied with the exchange, Gil sits next to me, her fork skillfully piercing the runny omelet as if settling an old score.

For the first time in months, we're finally enjoying a proper meal together, and I must admit, having her familiar presence beside me is comforting.

In many ways, Gilgamesh soothes my restless spirit.

Despite my habit of offline shitposting that borders on the verge of absurdity, she never seems to have a problem with it.

With her, I never feel the urge to hide my true self or temper my dark humor, which I will admit can be darker than the darkest region in Space.

People like Saber and Ciri inspire me to strive for betterment, hence why I want their companionship.

On the other hand, Gil accepts me as I am, allowing me the freedom to be unrestrained, which is precisely why I prefer her company over most. Feels nice to be terrible every once in a while.

"Tonight, the Enforcers and Executioners will visit us. Could you lay low?"

With a chuckle, she lazily twirls her fork and replies.

"Why? Shouldn't they pay their respects to their rightful ruler?"

"…Would you believe me if I said I wanted your glorious presence all to myself?"

Gil clicks her tongue, crossing her legs with modesty barely maintained by the oversized linen shirt, and ponders over my words. "You know, that does sound like you."

I twitch. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Shall we address your hoarding problem?" Brows lifting, she tilts her head cheekily and causes a ball of heat to flicker to life in my gut. Ciri and Saber both give me that… That 'want' to protect them; a 'want' to be gentle, but Gil? It is passion…

It is the 'need' to lose myself in lust and my baser instincts.

Furthermore, she's the only person who genuinely rejoices at every milestone I pass, however small.

She's also the first person I met in this Universe, and I'm not afraid to admit I might've imprinted on her like a baby-chick. "I don't hoard things."

"You held onto seven different coffee cups because you couldn't bring yourself to toss them or give them away."

"It's wasteful to throw them away, plus I've got sentimental reasons."

Shrugging, the Queen props her legs on the table and tilts her chair back, still somehow managing to keep everything decent under the oversized shirt.

"The reasons don't matter, Leonis. Hoarding is hoarding."

I purse my lips and snort.

"So, about making yourself scarce…"

"This Queen knows what to do."

The rest of daylight passes by quietly. Gil's in her room, doing God-knows-what, while I sit on the rocking chair that once belonged to the priest, one eye flickering over the pages of House Astrid's research parchments, while the other surveys the Church through Caragor's eyes. Familiars are crazy useful, who'd have thought?

Now that I have 'Transferrence' and 'Storage' down to a tee, I'm trying to extract every bit of knowledge I can from the fallen House, specifically on 'Redirection.'

The Universe is more interconnected than the average Joe gives it credit.

Kinetic energy and potential energy are two sides of the same coin—the former referring to the motion of an object, and the latter to the stored energy due to its position within a force field.

By reversing the potential energy of gravitational force, I have managed to achieve barebone form of levitation. It's still a work-in-progress, of course—the control is too erratic to be useful in combat. But just barely, I can now float.

"Hm?" Before I can celebrate, I—more accurately Caragor—notice a quarrelsome group heading towards the Church.

Without hesitation, I rush to Gilgamesh's room and knock swiftly on the door to alert her of their presence.

Then, I quietly return to my seat in the corner, turning off the light to remain inconspicuous. Seconds later, Caragor joins me, stretching before curling into a cozy fur ball on my lap. What can I say? We both have a flair for the dramatic. "Showtime."

— [Infinity] —

The LeBlanc twins have always harbored a disdain for the Association's direct religious counterpart, so it is to no one's surprise that their initial encounter at the airport with the Executioners quickly devolved into a volleyball match of tongue lashes and thinly-veiled insults.

It's hard to overlook the murder of one's ancestors after all, especially when said ancestors were later driven from their land and forced to seek refuge among their most hated enemy at the time—the British.

While annoying, the twins are experts at their job and are known to incapacitate enemies quickly and efficiently, which makes them quite popular among the new and upcoming Magi.

Their Spellcasting Efficiency is almost as powerful as Lady Barthomeloi's due to their Sorcery Trait, allowing the effects of the twins' Spells to overlap and compound further when used on the same target.

In comparison to the missions the LeBlanc usually undertake, this one can be considered low-risk, but due to the importance of the Holy Grail Ritual as a 'one-of-its-kind', the LeBlanc has been entrusted with the 'repossession' of the Greater Grail; a mission the siblings can't even make a half-hearted attempt to hide.

Racing forth, Analis LeBlanc stares at the Church; her eyes flickering with disgust and hatred. "The house of God is in disarray… The sheep haven't taken care of it."

"What do you expect, sister? They can barely manage their own territory, let alone this far away."

Jacques LeBlanc replies, striding to the door and violently kicking it down.

One can only speculate about the imagery he conjured in his mind given the state the door's left in.

Granted, it was in an abyssmal state already.

"Jasper Hangman! We're here on behald of the Tower; come out and receive the Great Lords' commands!"

The silence that follows immediately raises suspicions, prompting everyone to gear up. Though the Enforcers and the Executioners are mutually disdainful of each other, both groups know how to set aside their differences when duty calls. Seamlessly, they file in one after the other, activating [Structural Grasp] to scan every corner of the darkened hall where a statue of Christ in his last moments is hung.

Room by room, they proceed, until they uncover a trapdoor leading to the basement beneath the crumbling structure.

"You two have been running your mouths for a while… Time to back it up, LeBlanc." Commands the leader of the Executioners. The siblings exchange uneasy glances before descending into the basement together, the glowing Circuits on their bodies just barely illuminating the path ahead, but all the rooms—if one can even call the dusty caves that look like they were dug out with spoons 'rooms'—are empty.

"Maybe he's out?"

"Out where? The First-Gen was specifically asked to meet us in the Church!"

While the two sides bicker, someone has 'appeared' on the rocking chair that nobody has paid attention to earlier.

"We can get the Grail and get out. The Tower will summon the Second Owner later."

"Ehem—!"

The stranger barely clears his throat when a barrage of Black Keys rains down on him and the furry black creature on his lap.

To everyone's amazement, the Black Keys—ordinarily capable of skewering even the most skilled Apostles—collide with something midair and get deflected, swerving until they perfectly circle the chair on which the First-Gen sits.

"Daemon." Annalis mutters, gaze crossing with the cat's briefly.

"Rather quick on the draw, aren't you?" The stranger asks with a smirk.

"…Why were you lurking in the dark? And how is it we don't notice you?" One of the Enforcers demands impatiently.

Cradling the cat, the First-Gen rises from his seat.

The Daemon, following suit, springs from his arms, its golden eyes darting between the Enforcers, the Executioners, and the 'Prayers' twisted into the church's extensively employed Black Keys.

The creature hisses angrily, its fur standing upright as its shape slowly but surely grows more and more abstract, like a paintbrush being clumsily dragged across the canvas. "Caragor, enough."

The stranger warns—his irises a lush, foresty green; hair just a shade lighter than his Daemon pet, and forearms she reckons could wrap quite well around her waist.

His angular and sharp features suggest maturity, but the mischievousness in his eyes betrays a boyish charm that makes her heart throb. "Hello there, handsome…"

Annalis swoons, her feet practically lifted off the ground as she thinks to herself, 'His eyes are so beautiful!' Unfortunately, Mr. Hangman seems more put-off about her advances than joyful. Strange, since men are usually happy to receive her attention.

"Hm… Aren't you afraid?"

"Of you? Why'd I be?" Annalis LeBlanc giggles dreamily, pinching his bicep and taking a few sniffs, which finally grosses the First-Gen out enough to push her away.

"Bitch, I'm getting a restraining order."

"You should. Everyone knows of 'Heiress' LeBlanc's escapades. Might catch something."

Whirling around, Annalis snarls. "You wish you could touch this!"

"The only way I'll ever disobey the Lord's Will is if His Almighty demands I procreate with you."

Roasted and seared.

The priestly Executioner grins, the smirk curving his eyes into tiny crescents that only stoke the embers in the LeBlanc's hearts.

"Remind me again when your God's returning? Been 2000 years, hasn't it?"

Seeing his sister backed into a corner, Jacques instantly switches to Attack Mode, but just before things can escalate, Jasper Hangman interrupts. "Guys,"

— [Infinity] —

Seeing the rising tension, I fill my lungs with air and boldly step into the 'minefield'. "We're amongst friends!"

"""Friends?!""" All nine Enforcers and Executioners echo in unison, as if I had just taken a piss on their plates. That was a pretty poor choice of word from me.

If I handle this poorly, things might get messy. 'Invoke the name of their God against the religious, and the name of rationality against scientists.'

"What would your God say if you can't even perform your duty as the protectors of humanity because you were busy with a non-consequential feud?"

Directing the question at the Executioners who bristle at the 'slight', I then turn to the Enforcers. "Are Magi not pursuers of the highest Truth? Men and women who pride themselves on rational thinking? Why are you allowing emotions to cloud your judgment? We have a Ritual to cleanse." Huffing, both groups turn away from each other, barely containing their rage so as not to prove my accusation of their lack of professionalism right.

Sun Tzu was right.

Know yourself; know the enemy and all that jazz.

After a bit of interrogation which I eagerly oblige so we can get the Half-Birthed Daemon King out the way.

"So Lord Matou's responsible for this."

"There's nothing lordly about that bastard." I correct, sipping on my third coffee of the day.

Some people turn to alcohol when they're stressed; I prefer caffeine to amplify the stress and trigger that massive burst of adrenaline my body naturally produces.

Admittedly, it's a rather useless habit now, since I have near-perfect control over my body's chemical production.

The taste is magnificent though.

Gesturing at the bottle containing the last Crest Worm submerged in a neutralizing agent, I snort. "If you'd like, you can ask it directly, but there's really not much of it left—not enough to form a coherent sentence anyways."

"We'll take your words for it!"

Annalis LeBlanc, a 'Rising Star' in the Tower, saunters over to me grinning, while I retreat. "Behave, please." Shiki's glasses… I need a pair before [Lust Spot] puts me here again. The Frenchwoman is pretty, but the fangirling is too much.

Opposite, her brother glares at me with such baleful eyes I fear spots might burn in my forehead. 'You want to fuck your sister, I get it.' I sass, but wisely keep quiet.

"Shall we get started then?" 

"Hold on… We still haven't decided who will take possession of the Greater Grail." 

"What nonsense…" LeBlanc immediately retorted. "It will obviously go to the Tower. The Founding Families are Magi." 

"Its creation wouldn't have been possible without the Wishcraft bestowed by the Lord, which we lent to the Northern Alchemist." 

"Wait… Wishcraft was the Church's? I thought it belonged to the Einzbern?"

That's what all the fanfictions I read told me.

"Why do you think it's called the 'Holy Grail War'? The original Trait belonged to one of our devoted priests who wanted to realize God's miracles even if it meant associating with the Heretic. The Einzbern has not returned the Trait to us, by the way. We had as much a hand in the Rite's creation as you."

Not surprising since the Trait is required for the Grail to achieve its purpose, and Homunculi who're copies of Justeaze like Irisviel or Illya are pretty difficult to make.

"Wishcraft was merely one small component in a complex system." LeBlanc—the male one—argues weakly, unwilling to concede the prized Artifact to the Church. 

"It is the most crucial component." 

"And it wouldn't have been possible without the System created by the Magi!"

"You think our Lord is so limited?" 

"I believe he's a figment of your imagination! But feel free to prove me wrong. Stage your own Grail War and leave ours alone." The Magi collectively roll their eyes, turning their gazes towards me as if to give me the final say. 

"Don't look at me," I shrug. "I don't care what you all do with it; just get rid of the apocalyptic threat first."

After half an hour of their bickering, I surrender the map to the groups and step back. Whatever transpires from this point on is out of my hands. Whether it's a Great Fire or a Daemon God being summoned—that's now the Tower and the Church's problem. If the worst happens, Alaya can deploy her Counter Guardians.

With the two groups finally gone, I can breathe easy again.

Sitting in my rocking chair, I leaf through the dusty parchments and tap my lap to call for Caragor.

Seven hours later, bored with Magecraft, I shift my attention to my personal notebook in which I've written on things I can improve theatrically.

Apparently, I was going a bit overboard.

The Executioners themselves even offered some advice: The first tip being to enhance the atmosphere by snuffing out candles and letting the wind blow and second is to keep the 'big guns' hidden.

The Magi had their own advices to give, but—

The thought lingers in my mind as someone barrels through the door, their breathing so loud and ragged that I can hear it from the basement. 'That cannot be Gil...' Even in her most dire moments, I can't imagine her ever sounding so... Panicked, so afraid.

Walking upstairs reveals the intruder to be Annalis LeBlanc, looking much worse for wear than earlier. "Hey there handsome. Mind giving a hand to a lady?"

"What happened to you? Was this the Daemon's doing?" Blood dripping down the side of her face, the Magus leans against the doorframe, holding the gaping hole to her side as she heaves. 'Is Angra Mainyu even powerful enough to do this?'

It's technically a non-entity at the moment.

"The Daemon was exorcised, but a third party attacked us while we were fighting over the Greater Grail…"

Who let leak the Holy Grail Ritual's dismantle?

"Is the rest—"

"My brother stayed to stop them, but they were good… Never even revealed themselves."

Exhaling in contemplation, I help the woman in.

Whatever… I may need help in the future anyways.

Getting her to owe me a life-debt will definitely prove useful.

"Oooh! How exciting!"

She collapses in a dramatic faint, settling herself as if preparing for a nap.

I would have tossed Ms. Annalis away myself if not for the extensive injuries she'd suffered.

'Patience, Leo... Patience.'

Still, it is definitely strange.

If their objective was simply the Greater Grail, why the delay?

Or were they just waiting; hoping someone would dismantle the System for them?

"Caragor, I have a new mission for you."