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How I Saved History (Fate/Grand Order SI)

Discussion in 'Creative Writing' started by Charles Flynn, Apr 22, 2020.

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  1. Darko

    Darko Experienced.

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    You never do that.

    I'll let this song explain this.



    Was this inspired by the argument between Rin and EMIYA in UBW Abridged?

    Harsh, but fair and true.

    I think these Servants would do well on Jerry Springer.
     
  2. Riptide

    Riptide Getting some practice in, huh?

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    Attila is based AF.
     
  3. wryyyyy

    wryyyyy Getting sticky.

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    well,:( everyone has a little arthur in their hearts isnt it
     
  4. Extras: Lost Files: The Copenhagen Grail War Part 4
    Charles Flynn

    Charles Flynn Not too sore, are you?

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    Loki grins, as my teacher fades away. “Well, Round One is over! The four survivors of the round will be moving on to round three.”

    Son of a bitch, I’m going to have to resummon her again. She’s always incredibly pissy when she dies.

    “Question.”

    “Yeah?”

    “Why are you operating by tournament rounds?” I turn to look at him.

    “Wow, not pissed about your mentor’s death?” Loki asks. “That’s cold. And I should know, I’m a frost giant!” He slaps his knee as a laugh track starts playing.

    “Eh.” I shrug. “I mean, pretty much all of my Servants have been dead for centuries. After a while, you just get jaded enough that them dying isn’t a tragedy so much as a temporary inconvenience.”

    Loki raises an eyebrow. “Huh. Well, to answer your question, the King of Mages offered me a Grail and a chance to screw everybody over as vengeance for my treatment at the hands of the Aesir.”

    “And this is the most efficient way to go about it?” I raise an eyebrow right back at him.

    “Do you really want to know?” he asks, further raising his eyebrow.

    “Yes.” I raise my eyebrow even further, just for the hell of it.

    Loki pouts. “My sardonic eyebrow-raise was bigger.”

    “Yeah, sure, keep telling yourself that.”

    “Oh, you want to play it like that? Fine then, no exposition for you.”

    “Oh, come on- Ugh. Fine. Your eyebrow raise was better than mine.”

    Loki does a victory dance, before sitting back down. “Alright, alright. So, Solomon gave me a Grail, told me to wait here and ambush you, and in doing so, I would screw you over. But I thought to myself, ‘Hey, Loki you handsome devil. What if, instead of following our boss’s orders, we screwed him over too?’ Well I thought that was a splendid idea, so I set up this tournament, and now humanity’s getting screwed over, Chaldea’s getting screwed over, AND SOLOMON’S GETTING SCREWED OVER! EVERYBODY’S GETTING SCREWED! WHILE I WATCH!”

    Right, I’m not even dignifying that with a response. “So, new round. That’d be Siegfried, Duryodhana, Erik, and Sinfjotli.”

    “Indeed it would be!” Loki says.

    “So, I’m guessing that the enemy team is composed of Bhima, Egil Skallagrimson, Hagen, and… hm. Perhaps the Valkyrie Gudmund? Sinfjotli didn’t have a lot of stories that focused on him as anything other than Sigmund’s sidekick.”

    “Three out of four,” Loki says with a nod. “Not bad.” He then turns to his microphone. “All right, now! Round two begins! Get on out there and try not to die too anticlimactically!”

    I sigh, and then focus my attention onto the screens.

    ---​

    “Alright people,” Duryodhana says, looking between the other three members of his team. “We stick together, and use the buddy system. I’m with Sinfjotli, and Siegfried, you’re with Erik. We’ll need a signal, to tell the other team if we need help.”

    “Howl three times like wolves?” Sinfjotli suggests. “My father and I used that one whenever we split up on a raid.”

    “That works for me,” Siegfried says.

    “Right. Howl three times like wolves if you get in over your head.” And with that pronouncement from Duryodhana, the two teams split up.

    ---​

    “Huh.” They… didn’t immediately fracture?

    “It would seem that while Attila is the better strategist, Duryodhana is the better leader,” Loki notes.

    “The natural difference between one who leads by fear and one who leads through a mixture of position and persuasion, I suppose.” Duryodhana may have been a tyrant, but he inspired loyalty. Attila inspired fear. I suppose that it makes sense that the King of the Kauravas would be more well-suited to leading Heroic Spirits.

    There’s a ten minute stretch of silence, as Loki and I watch the two teams make their way through the city, each looking for a fight.

    Siegfried and Erik find one first.

    ---​

    Erik rounds the corner, and there he is. Pale, almost grey skin. Dark, messy hair. Corded muscles, and a blocky, ugly face.

    EGIL,” Erik growls, his eyes flaring red with madness.

    ERIK,” the Son of Skallagrim growls right back, his axe and sword in hand.

    “I… take it you know each other?” Siegfried says questioningly, as the two old enemies glare at each other, readying their weapons as they slowly advance towards each other.

    “You know, I may have forgiven you when you gave me that poem,” Erik says, as the two Vikings slowly circle one another. “But I always wondered who would win in a fight between us.”

    “And I haven’t forgiven you for Thorolf,” Egil says, tightening his grip on his weapons. “Not one bit.”

    “I feel like I’m missing some context here,” Siegfried observes.

    Then, as one, Erik and Egil roar like lions and lunge at each other, reason letting slip the reins as mad fury rose triumphant, axe and sword and axe and sword clashing again and again in a furious dance for supremacy. First Erik swings his bloodstained axe, only to blocked by sword and axe in unison, before Egil breaks the block and steps out of the blade’s arc, lunging in from the side.

    “Okay, um… is this a personal thing? Because if you want, I can back you up,” Siegfried says.

    The axe handle drives into Egil’s side, disrupting his strike at Erik’s flank and forcing him to take a step back, and bring his axe and sword up to block as Erik capitalizes on the opening.

    “I’ll just… stand here, then.” Siegfried looks around, whistling awkwardly.

    The two Vikings glare at each other over their locked weapons. And then Egil headbutts Erik, and sets him stumbling back, before lunging in and scoring a cut across Erik’s chest. Then the Bloodaxe King raises his guard once again, and looks to be on the verge of a counterstrike, so Egil skips back out of axe-range, and the two begin circling each other once again.

    “First blood to me,” Egil says.

    “First blood doesn’t mean shit,” Erik growls, his axe pulsing in agreement. “Only last blood matters.”

    “You can do it, Erik!” Siegfried calls.

    “Oh, fuck off.”

    “Look, there’s not much else for me to do at the moment. Excuse me for trying to be supportive.”

    “Find your own opponent, then!” Erik calls, as he and Egil circle each other.

    “Erik, there’s no one else in sigh-AGH!” And with that, Siegfried falls forward, a spear driven into his back.

    “Sorry, Sieg. But I really do need to win,” the man I’m assuming is Hagen says, as he fades into view behind his victim.

    “Hagen? Why?” Siegfried gasps out as he coughs up blood.

    “When I get the Grail, I’m going to make it so that I never killed you,” Hagen says, before noticing Siegfried’s incredulous look. “Okay, poor choice of words. But once I make my wish, everything will be fine again. We’ll be at peace. Gunther won’t be in danger of looking weak if he doesn’t kill you, and you guys can be friends again. And more importantly, my sister won’t brutally murder me for killing her husband.”

    He looks down, only to realize that Siegfried died while he was monologuing.

    “Shit, did he catch all of that?”

    He’s interrupted by Erik’s axe taking his head off.

    Erik, for his part, turns back to Egil and nods appreciatively. “Thanks for agreeing to a truce while I killed the dishonorable coward.”

    “No problem,” Egil says as he lunges back into battle, sword and axe lunging towards Erik’s throat. “Now DIE, Bloodaxe!”

    “You first, Skallagrimson!”

    ---​

    Loki grins. “Right, then. The other team just ran into their own opposite numbers. I’m going to switch over to them.”

    “I kind of want to see how this fight ends, though.”

    “I have a DVR, you can have the recording.”

    “Wait, how would that even work? I mean, aren’t we watching this via magic?”

    “Don’t question the Wizard DVR, Flynn.”

    “I kind of am, though.”

    Loki bonks me on the head, and the screens switch over to display Duryodhana and Sinfjotli.

    They’re face off against a man who reminds me even more of Hercules than Duryodhana.

    ---​

    “Bhima,” Duryodhana says as he faces off against his nemesis. “To what do I owe this distinct unpleasantness?”

    “I was told that the Grail could grant any wish,” the strongest of the Pandavas says. He’s more than seven feet tall, dark-skinned, and sports a massive handlebar mustache. His chest is bare, displaying chest hair to rival Duryodhana’s. “And I would dearly like to see my sons again.”

    “And I’d like to see me brothers again, and the man who was brother to you in blood, and brother to me in every other way,” Duryodhana replies. “But we both made our mistakes, and we reaped a harvest of sorrow for our follies. The war is over, and we both held responsibility for it.”

    Bhima snorts. “Don’t try to blame me for your evil, cousin. You’re rotten to the core, and it’s your greed and pride that started the war.”

    “I- WHAT?” Duryodhana takes a moment to calm himself, and then continues in a more level tone. “I’m pretty sure that I made a speech to the contrary. You remember, don’t you? I pointed out how you guys weren’t all that much better than me? How you’d broken your own honor code? How your elitism and high-handedness were the birth of my hatred for you? You remember that speech, don’t you? I made it while I was dying after you’d ended our duel dishonorably by hitting me in the dick? I was bleeding out from the mangled remains of my genitals? Is any of this ringing a bell?”

    “Just the whining of a sore loser,” Bhima says with a confident smirk as he crosses his arms. “And the man whose war killed my boy Ghatotkacha.”

    “YOU HAD JUST CRUSHED MY TESTICLES INTO A SOUP! I HAD EVERY RIGHT TO BE UPSET!”

    “Please, you’ve been out to kill me and my brothers ever since we were kids. Why would I ever listen to you?”

    “Oh, excuse me, but when have you ever listened to me?” Duryodhana snaps, all attempts at peaceful reconciliation quite thoroughly abandoned. “Hey, you remember when I told you to stop challenging my brothers to wrestling matches? Remember that? I had to wrestle you, in all your freakishly strong glory, on a daily basis, just so you wouldn’t snap one of my little brothers’ spines in half because you were bored and wanted to show off how strong you were.”

    “Please. Just because they were afraid of an honest competition, you’re treating me challenging the cowards to a proper match like it’s a crime!”

    “You broke Ravi’s arm!” Duryodhana shouts, utterly apoplectic. “HE WAS FIVE!”

    “Old enough to start learning how to wrestle,” Bhima says, rolling his eyes. “And you and your entire brood of dishonorable cowards tried to cheat Yudhistira out of his birthright!”

    “Oh, his ‘birthright?’” Duryodhana repeats mockingly. “Yeah, his birthright. Half the kingdom that my father ruled. And on what grounds?”

    “We are part of the older branch of the family,” Bhima says. “We had every right to the throne, as your father recognized.”

    “You’re not part of the family at all!” Duryodhana roars back. “Uncle Pandu was part of the family. You and your brothers were the sole result of a bunch of gods knocking up your mother and then dumping their bastards on us and telling us to treat you like the perfect, special little snowflakes that you are! YOU ARE NOT MY COUSIN! YOU’RE JUST SOME PUFFED-UP DIVINE CUCKOO BIRD THAT GETS EVERYTHING HANDED TO YOU, INCLUDING HALF OF MY KINGDOM!”

    “You hold a grudge against us, and yet you didn’t mind our mother’s bastard.”

    Duryodhana freezes, and then says, his voice tight with rage, “Karna was worth a hundred times you and your brothers combined. And your egoistical little jackass of a brother shot him in back.”

    “He killed my son. That albino bastard got what was coming to him.”

    Duryodhana’s face goes completely still. “Them’s fightin’ words.”

    And then the two hulking men slam into each other, so hard and fast that the windows around them shatter, mace strikes flying between the two giants, each hit ringing out like thunder.

    Suddenly, I realize something.

    ---​

    I turn to Loki. “Where’s Sinfjotli?”

    “Huh.” He looks nonplussed. “Hold on, let me rewind and look through the footage.”

    Soon, we’re looking at Sinfjotli, and Loki starts to replay the footage.

    ---​

    While Bhima and Duryodhana start to argue in the background, Sinfjotli sighs.

    “Great, they're gonna be at this for a while, aren’t they?”

    He receives no answer.

    “Well, who knows. Maybe my opponent will show up soon.”

    “Sinfjotli.”

    He jumps, and then turns around to stare at the woman who spoke, looking for all the world like he just saw a ghost. “M-Mother? Is that you?”

    “Well of course it is, you imbecile,” Signy Volsungsdottir says as she emerges from the alleyway. She looks like her son, with a narrow, harsh face and silver hair. She’s in her early forties, if I had to guess, and she looks it, the sharp, harsh lines on her face setting off the burning intensity of her eyes as she glares at her son. “I will be claiming the Holy Grail and using it to restore your grandfather and uncles to life. You will assist me.”

    “But-“

    “Sinfjotli,” her calm tone doesn’t hide the menace in her voice. “Do I need to get my sewing kit again?”

    He flinches. “No, Mother. I’m sorry. I’ll be good.”

    She pats him on the head, ignoring how he cringes at her touch. “Good boy. Now heel. We have some hunting to do.”

    She strides off into the shadows of the alleyway, and he follows her, giving a regretful glance back towards the clash between Bhima and Duryodhana before quickening his pace to catch up.

    ---​

    “You summoned Signy?” I ask Loki, utterly disgusted. “Low blow, man. Low blow.”

    “Eh. I mean, the guy barely qualifies as a Heroic Spirit anyways, he accomplished so little with his life.” Loki shrugs. “His mother was the worst of his enemies that I could find.”

    “Still. Not cool, dude.”

    “Yeah, yeah. Back to Bhima v. Duryodhana, Dawn of Dick Shots?”

    “Sure, whatever.”

    ---​

    The two titans smash into each other once again, and, knocking aside his opponent’s mace, Bhima closes in, and then drives his knee into Duryodhana’s groin.

    “I know your weakness and have no weaknesses!” Bhima roars, as Duryodhana staggers back. “MY VICTORY IS INEVITABLE!”

    Duryodhana snorts, and then slams his mace into Bhima’s chest. “You think you can beat me with a cheap shot twice? Joke’s on you, I WORE A CUP!”

    Duryodhana swings, only for Bhima to drop his mace, get around behind his opponent, and hug him from behind.

    And then he piledrives the king of the Kauravas into the pavement, burying his entire torso in the ground.

    “Well, then,” Bhima says, retrieving his mace as Duryodhana kicks helplessly. “Let’s see how strong that cup of yours is.”

    “Bhima, wait, we can talk about this! Please! I don’t want to die like this again!”

    Bhima brings down the mace, and I cross my legs in sympathy.

    ---​

    “Right,” Loki says uncomfortably, as Bhima goes to town on his cousin’s genitals with an eighty-pound mace. “Back to Erik and Egill?”

    Yes.”

    ---​

    The two Vikings lie across from each other in a puddle of blood. Both are covered in bloody gashes, and clearly only alive because of Battle Continuation.

    Finally, Erik rises, using his axe as a crutch, before limping towards his fallen enemy.

    Egill turns his head to look at him.

    Erik breaks the silence. “Good fight.”

    “Yeah.”

    He brings down the axe.

    ---​

    “Huh. Now I’m just disappointed that we missed that fight.”

    “Yeah, me too. But, either way, ROUND TWO IS OVER!” Then the God of Mischief grins. “On to Round Three.”
     
    Last edited: Nov 16, 2020
  5. HelloThereItsMeGeralt

    HelloThereItsMeGeralt Getting sticky.

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    Balls? I was pretty sure it as always Duryodhana's thighs. Please give me the source.

    Bhima behaving typically and forgetting things? Did not speak anything about the poisoning. And forgot about Abhimanyu too.

    A good chapter as always.

    Charles Flynn will you do the pseudo singularities? Or were they handwaved away or something, I forgot.
     
  6. Charles Flynn

    Charles Flynn Not too sore, are you?

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    The weak spot exists because when Gandhari was granted her gaze of life, and decided to use it when she saw her son for the first time, Duryodhana wore a loincloth so as not to flash his junk at his mother. Thus, the areas covered by his loincloth, i.e., his inner thighs and genitals, were the only parts of him not rendered invulnerable.

    And yeah, Bhima is in fact forgetting things. He wasn't the brains of the Pandavas.

    The Pseudo-Singularities of Epic of Remnant will not be covered. They still happened, but they were handled offscreen by Chaldea's new undead Master.
     
    Last edited: Nov 16, 2020
  7. Silver W. King

    Silver W. King King of Adventures

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    Isn't it a bit boring that all the matches just result in the same outcomes as the myths? I mean, the entire point of Servants fighting it out is to get a second chance to redo things. Sure they have a disadvantage, but that's when willpower or some such kicks in.

    I mean, if the results aren't different, I might as well just go look up the mythologies and see what happened there.

    Heck, Charlie might as well predict every outcome like this and just use that against Loki.
     
  8. Darko

    Darko Experienced.

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    There are high levels of honk in this time stream.

    Eh, yeah I can see why he would want to do that after everything.

    Nice observation Captain Obvious.

    Have you been taking pointers from Sherlock?

    You and most of the people reading this story.

    This is hilarious.

    Nice, one of the most supportive Servants is doing his thing.

    You first, you viking cunt.

    You don't have to excuse yourself Siegfried, you're doing something worthwhile.

    Family drama taken to a whole new level.

    Talking is not a free action.

    My guess is no.

    Well that was a thing.

    Red Tornado Abridged: Because magic you fucking potato.

    Good Loki.

    Okay I did not know this and wish I had never found it out.

    Yes, yes you did.

    Ohh, yeah, a guy with super strength versus a bunch of kids is totally a honest competition.

    Duryo, kill this bitch.

    Harsh but fair.

    There is a story behind this, but I'm too afraid to find out what happened.

    Please make this into a separate story.

    History repeats itself.

    Preparation for the win!

    We are all doing it.

    I really wanna see undead Charles in action now.
     
  9. Darko

    Darko Experienced.

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    Okay, Charles, be honest here.

    Is Loki possessing Jerry Springer, but making it look like Tom Hiddleston?

    This just screams Jerry, family drama, old enemies, loss of balls, psychological scarring.
     
  10. Charles Flynn

    Charles Flynn Not too sore, are you?

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    I'm afraid not.

    Loki did watch a lot of Jerry Springer reruns before starting his plan, though.

    When he was a kid, she would stitch his clothing into his skin, and then rip it off, to see if he'd cry. (He never did, because Volsungs don't cry. If they do, their mothers stitch their eyes shut.)
     
  11. Darko

    Darko Experienced.

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    Ah, poo.

    Makes sense.

    I said I was too afraid!

    Also, sweet Christ chowing down on a ton of hotdogs, that is one fucked up woman.

    Medea officially loses the title of worst mother, or at least has a very serious contender for it.
     
  12. Brenden1k

    Brenden1k Getting out there.

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    not sure what you mean.
     
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  13. JustNewGuy

    JustNewGuy Getting out there.

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    Someone get the Hulk here, we have a puny god to smash.
     
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  14. Ashborn

    Ashborn So bad it's good

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    Right, allow me to explain then.
    =
    Firstly, Shirou is a practitioner of a nigh-suicidal art known as circuit forging, where said practitioner converts their flesh, nerves, etc, into magic circuits. He manages to survive doing so on a daily, or close enough, basis due to having Avalon within himself and being able to heal off the negative effects of doing so, something which would be even more effective in the presence of Saber during the war.

    Secondly, the only reason why his nerve-circuits degrade and have to be re-forged between uses, is due to their existence lacking a foundation, something necessary to avoid them being eroded by Gaia. Natural Circuits are linked to a magus' soul as their foundation, while inherited ones, mostly in the form of magic crests, are built upon a foundation consisting of an artifact and/or magical entity, etc, which acts as an anchor and keystone upon which to build the crest itself.

    Thirdly, Shirou learns EMIYA's magecraft over the course of the war, and also catalyzes the development of his own Reality Marble by fighting him.

    Fourthly, Shirou is capable of both internally deploying his Reality Marble, as well as altering the forms of the swords traced from it, which are themselves projections of the blades which are both contained within and a part of his Unlimited Blade Works.

    Fifthly, Shirou is capable of recording more than swords within his Unlimited Blade Works, something primarily exhibited by his use of Rho Aias, but which also includes spears.

    Sixthly, Saber has memories of the previous Grail War, where she fought Diarmuid, who wielded Gáe Buidhe: The Yellow Rose of Mortality, which causes wounds which cannot be healed.
    -
    Now, Shirou probably doesn't need everything on this list to pull this off, but basically it should be well within his EMIYA-enhanced capabilities to perform alteration on his nerves (, which is how he forges them into pseudo-circuits in the first place,) and have them take on the attributes of the swords within his Reality Marble by Tracing their properties across, linking them to his Unlimited Blade Works in the process, and preventing their degradation as a result.

    It is proven that such a thing would work due to how his weapons within his Reality Marble function, costing nothing to manifest initially when said Marble itself manifests, yet still costing power to replace. Given Nasuverse mechanics as a whole? Said weapons are connected to and passively drawing power from the Root, especially the Noble Phantasms which are recorded in the subsection of the Root known as the Throne of Heroes as distinct concepts associated with the legends of their wielders. This in turn means that using them as the foundation of his circuits would have them passively channel Od in the same manner, reinforcing their existence and preventing degradation due to Gaia.

    If that somehow failed? Have him share a dream cycle with Saber regarding the last Grail War and her battles with Diarmuid, obtaining Gáe Buidhe as a result. Then have him use Gáe Buidhe as a basis for a circuit, granting said circuit the properties of the spear it's derived from, then use the resulting curse-tainted Od to forge additional circuits, breaking the Buidhe-circuit as needed in order to let him heal via Avalon, before re-forging it and trying again until he does so without harming himself, thus allowing the curse to hold the new 'injuries' in place.

    Given all of this and Shirou's ability to substitute for any crucial missing steps with a modicum of effort? Having Rin take him under her wing to 'fix' him has done a lot more harm then good, at least where his base attributes (such as circuit count) are concerned. At the very least, she should have helped him complete the half-finished art that Kiritsugu imparted on him, though to be fair she had no way of knowing of Kiritsugu's 'Severing & Binding' origin in order to guess his affinity with Shirou's 'Sword' one, and by extension little way to realize Shirou would strike it rich if he managed to stay and advance upon his current course.
     
  15. wryyyyy

    wryyyyy Getting sticky.

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    can i copy this and put it in the general nasu thread?
     
  16. Extras: Lost Files: The Copenhagen Grail War Part 5
    Charles Flynn

    Charles Flynn Not too sore, are you?

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    “And here we are, folks, the final round!” Loki cries out to his imaginary audience. “Now we get to watch as Attila the Hun, Bhima of the Pandavas, Hassan-i-Sabbah of the Cursed Arm,” He takes a breath, “Richard the Lionheart, Gudrun of the Gjukungs, Signy and Sinfjotli of the Volsungs, and Erik Bloodaxe all duke it out for the Holy Grail! Only one can win!”

    “Wait, Richard the Lionheart? That’s who you picked for Cursed Arm’s opponent?”

    “Yeah, yeah. He was the best Crusades-themed Heroic Spirit I could find.”

    “Yeah, fair enough.”

    The screens fire up again, and they all display… Attila.

    ---​

    He looks off into the distance for a moment, and then licks his finger and raises it up, as if testing the air. Then he takes off like a shot in a completely different direction.

    I’m about to question what the hell he’s doing when he rounds a corner and then socks an extremely surprised Bhima in the jaw.

    “Bet you can’t catch me!” the Scourge of God shouts, before running away in the opposite direction.

    Bhima takes the bait, and the chase is on, Attila keeping in the lead and shouting insults at Bhima to keep his pursuer motivated.

    ---​

    “What the Hell is he doing?” I ask, staring at the screen in blank confusion.

    “Watch,” Loki says, literally on the edge of his seat. “There’s a method to his madness.”

    ---​

    Attila rounds a corner and comes face to face with a confused blond man.

    “All right, partner!” Attila shouts, loud enough for Bhima to hear. “You hold him off while I get the others!”

    “I-what?” the man I’m assuming is Richard the Lionheart stammers.

    “SO, YOU STAND WITH THE COWARD!” Bhima roars, smashing through the corner and almost dashing in Richard’s skull. “YOU WILL DIE ALL THE SAME, BE THERE TWO, TWENTY, OR TWO HUNDRED OF YOU!”

    “Wait, no, I’m not-“

    Whatever else Richard has to say is lost as Attila rounds another corner, and the duel he set off between his enemies passes out of sight.

    Then, he changes direction, unerringly making his way towards some target that I can’t figure out.

    Down a block, turn right, go straight, and then…

    He skids to a stop in front of Sinfjotli and Signy, who’re both leveling weapons at him.

    “Well, good thing that I found you guys in time!” he calls cheerfully, acting like he doesn’t have a care in the world, with no regard for the swords pointed his way. “I want to discuss a team-up!”

    Signy pauses, as if considering the prospects, and then looks him in the eye. “Start talking.”

    “Well, in case you hadn’t noticed, Bhima of the Pandavas is here, and I don’t fancy any of us Age of Man Heroic Spirits against a legendary warrior from the strongest family of the Age of the Gods.”

    Signy’s face turns icy. “We are from the Age of the Gods.”

    “Well, yeah,” Attila says, effortlessly adopting the mannerisms of the reluctant bearer of bad news. “But, you know how everybody talks, and…”

    “They think us weaker than the Pandavas?” Signy screeches, while Sinfjotli seems torn between outrage at his family’s honor being impugned and fear of his mother.

    “Your words, not mine. Anyways, I’m banding the strongest of us normal Heroic Spirits together to take down Bhima, but I understand if you’re too scared to join. I mean, you’re a woman, and Sinfjotli is the son of King Siggeir. Running from battle would be understandable.”

    Signy catches herself mid screech of fury, barely pulling herself together. “No. No. I’m not going don’t trust you, you’re obviously playing us, and…”

    “You’re avoiding a fight?” Attila asks incredulously, before uttering his six-word coup de grace. “Are you sure you’re a Volsung?”

    Signy and Sinfjotli freeze. There it is. The six words no man woman or child of the line of Volsung could ever resist. Signy raises her hand. “Sinfjotli.”

    “Yes, Mother?”

    “Don your pelt. We’re joining him.”

    “As you command, Mother.” He draws forth a ring from his pocket and slips it onto his finger. “ULFSERKER: FLESH OF FENRIR!

    His skin, starting at the ring finger, peels back, and silver fur, the same color as his hair, creeps up his arms, while his bones crack and shudder, bending into new, strange shapes. And then, where once stood a man, there stands a wolf the size of a Volkswagen.

    “Right, this way!” Attila calls out, and they charge back towards the fight between Richard and Bhima.

    ---​

    To his credit, Richard the Lionheart has been holding out well against Bhima.

    “EXCALIBUR!” The golden beam of power pours forth from a broken piece of rebar, and slams into Bhima.

    The wrestler of the Pandavas falls to his knees, but doesn’t seem to be severely injured.

    “Impressive, man of the East!” Richard calls out, picking up another sword. “But no matter your strength, or your durability, no amount of guts will let you beat me. Why haven’t you used your Noble Phantasm yet?”

    Richard dances forwards, ready to finish his foeman off. But he takes just one step too close.

    Bhima’s hand wraps tight around one leg, and I can hear the crunch of bone. “Because, upstart, unlike you, I need no crutches.”

    Richard tries to break away, but it’s in vain. The strongest of the Pandavas has him by the leg, and he won’t let go.

    And now that he’s got a proper hold on his opponent, Bhima finally starts to get some proper hits in, and unlike Richard, he can make his hits stick. He stands up to his full height, his left hand seizing Richard’s sword arm and squeezing, and I hear an unpleasant squelch from the arm as Bhima, finally having properly seized his opponent, raises him up over his knee, ready to break his back.

    “Goodbye mosquito. You were an annoying opponent to face, if not a particularly memorable one.”

    And that, of course, is when more than three hundred pounds of wolf slam into Bhima from behind, forcing him to drop his crippled opponent in order to deal with the Demonic Beast gnawing on the back of his head.

    “Great job holding him, Rick!” Attila calls cheerfully, even as Sinfjotli and Bhima stagger every which way, locked in a life-or-death struggle between man and beast. “I honestly didn’t think you’d live that long!”

    “It’s… Richard…” the Crusader King groans.

    “Sure. Let me guess, you had him on the ropes with your speed before you got cocky and he turned your left kneecap into a paste?” Attila asks, while nonchalantly sticking out a leg like he’s doing a lunge.

    “How did you…”

    “I’m very observant.” Attila smirks as Bhima, still blinded by the wolf currently mauling him, trips over the Hun’s extended leg. “For instance, I can see that the other three of our merry band, yeah, looking at you, Cursed Arm, Gudrun, and Erik, are hiding there, there, and there.” He points, and they drop their concealment to glare at him. “Way to not help out, guys!”

    “How did you know?” Cursed Arm asks conversationally.

    “You guys couldn’t properly blend the ripple effect in the local background mana levels caused by your increased spiritron density.” He looks nonplussed by the blank looks he’s getting. “What? You guys can’t see those?”

    As Bhima struggles against Sinfjotli, Attila, without missing a beat, drives the Sword of Mars into the wrestler’s chest. Where Richard’s false Excalibur failed, the Divine Contruct, driven home by Attila’s strength, pierces Bhima’s Spirt Core.

    “Right then!” Attila smiles as he pulls his sword free. “Truce over.”

    And like lightning, Attila tosses Richard into the jaws of the lunging Sinfjotli, stuffing the werewolf’s mouth shut as he leaps towards him, and then sidesteps the lunge. And as Sinfjotli chokes, Attila leaps onto his back, and rides the wolf like a bucking bronco, effortlessly dodging the attacks launched at him by every other surviving participant in this farce of a Grail War as he does so.

    Finally, the wolf stills, bent to the will and Riding skill of its rider, and Attila stands tall and proud, easily deflecting another thrown dirk from Cursed Arm.

    “Now then,” Attila says, smiling as he surveys his opponents. “Allow me to properly introduce myself. I am Attila the Hun.”

    He raises his sword to the heavens, and they come. His Hunnic hordes. No. His true Noble Phantasm. And they roar his name as one.

    “And you have sinned greatly, to have earned a punishment such as me.”

    He levels his sword at his enemies, and, as one, the Huns attack.
     
    Last edited: Nov 29, 2020 at 9:36 PM
  17. FourthPear

    FourthPear Frequent Flier.

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    God damn, why couldn't canon Altera be this dope?
     
  18. Darko

    Darko Experienced.

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    Ahh Attila, a warrior version of Grant Morrison.

    Both are crazy, but still extremely good at what they do, and we love them for it.

    Because animes need to change the characteristics of historical characters for various reasons, mostly for the lulz.

    Also containing this much crazy, awesome, insane madness may have been difficult.
     
    Last edited: Nov 29, 2020 at 9:16 PM
  19. FourthPear

    FourthPear Frequent Flier.

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    ...she's...not a loli?
     
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  20. Darko

    Darko Experienced.

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    Ehh, fairly short and skinny girl, so it's easy to make a comparison to a loli.

    Still she's possibly the tallest loli in anime.
     
  21. FourthPear

    FourthPear Frequent Flier.

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    That's because she is a full grown, if rather flat, woman. A teenager at least. That's not a loli in any sense of the word.
     
  22. Darko

    Darko Experienced.

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    Okay, I'll change it to something else.
     
  23. Hammers_Bjorn

    Hammers_Bjorn The Bear with the Hammer

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    I see.

    Incredible. Fucker just fought against an entire Holy Grail worth of badasses, and while limiting his actual participation in the melee to the killing blow.

    So whereas Altera in canon is like a sledgehammer to the face, great power without any real nuance in the approach, Attila is like a greatsword wielded by a bullshit-good swordsman like Kojiro.

    There's power there, of course, but its tricky as all hell, and have a few suprises hidden away.

    Altera is cute, but Attila's a Chad. Hell yeah.
     
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  24. Ashborn

    Ashborn So bad it's good

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    Sure, go ahead :)
     
  25. Silver W. King

    Silver W. King King of Adventures

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    Do you mean the Nasuverse ideas and discussion thread or somewhere else?
     
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  26. wryyyyy

    wryyyyy Getting sticky.

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    meh, im abandoning that idea it will only create chaos
     
  27. Ashborn

    Ashborn So bad it's good

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    But, but Chaos... :(
     
  28. Darko

    Darko Experienced.

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    I must say, this version of Attila has become something akin to the Abridged versions of Nappa and Kirito.

    I now find it difficult to think of canon Attila as being the true Attila.

    Congratulations Charles Flynn, your changing of the character has earned him a special place in my heart, right next to Abridged Nappa and Kirito.

    And I'm sure other readers of this wonderful story will agree.
     
  29. wryyyyy

    wryyyyy Getting sticky.

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    hey, i think you should move your plan to spacebattles
     
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  30. Extras: Lost Files: The Copenhagen Grail War Part 6
    Charles Flynn

    Charles Flynn Not too sore, are you?

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    The battle lines are quickly drawn, every Servant united in the face of the unstoppable juggernaut that was Attila.

    “Buy me time, I have something that can kill him!” Signy shouts, and then she withdraws as the horde closes in.

    “Is she running?” Erik asks incredulously, readying his axe.

    “No.” Gudrun unslings a spear and runs a Hun through. “She’s a Volsung. They’re always as good as their word. I should know, I married one.” She steps back. “You lot delay, I’ll set up a defensive line!”

    Then she dashes back a few blocks to begin desperately carving runes.

    “What is it with Volsung women and telling us to hold the line?” Erik muses, kicking in a Hun’s kneecaps and then taking off the unfortunate fellow’s head.

    Cursed Arm, having disappeared while nobody was looking at him, pointedly doesn’t respond.

    Erik sighs. “Well, fuck my life. Death or glory it is.” And then, as his muscles bulge, his horns grow, and his eyes glow red from the force of his fury, he utters but two words: “BLOODBATH CROOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWNN!

    He becomes a hurricane, a whirlwind of blood, death, and fear as he carves his way through the ranks of his enemies, never once stopping, never once touched by fear. They die beneath his axe, and, pushing himself to the very limits of what he’s capable of, he presses onwards, carving a bloody road five feet across through the ranks of the Huns, pointing straight towards Attila. And then, as his endurance flags, he comes before his goal, and brings down his axe with all the strength he can muster.

    Attila parries it, easily deflecting the blow harmlessly to the right, and then ripostes, taking off the Bloodaxe King’s head.

    “You know,” he says to Erik’s headless corpse. “I’ll never understand why you Northmen were always so enamored with battle-madness. In my experience, it just makes you an easy target. But still, A for effort.” He looks around and finds that his Hunnic horde stopped its advance. “Okay, what the Hell, guys? We have one awesome fight, and everyone stops to watch?”

    “ATTILA! ATTILA!” the horde of Huns chants with almost religious fervor.

    “Right. Forgot. Braindead fanboys more focused on stroking my ego than actually following orders!” Attila snaps. “Really, it’s almost like I never died.”

    He leans out of the way as one of Cursed Arm’s dirks flies past his head. “Nice try. You gonna test your luck?”

    Cursed Arm doesn’t take the bait, so Attila shrugs, and then points his sword in the direction of Gudrun. “ALRIGHT YOU LAZY SCOUNDRELS, YOU KNOW WHAT TIME IT IS! WE’RE MARCHING THATTAWAY, AND WE’LL RAPE, RAVAGE, AND RUIN ALL THAT STANDS AGAINST US!”

    The Huns roar, and then charge, while Attila drives Sinfjotli on at a cautious lope, staying firmly in the middle of the horde.

    Then they come to the wall of fire, with a fatigued Gudrun waiting on the other side.

    “Stealing other women’s tricks, now, are we?” Attila calls out from atop Sinfjotli.

    “If it works, then it works,” Gudrun says with a shrug. “And if I didn’t have a habit of stealing from Brynnhildr, then you wouldn’t have caught me on the rebound.”

    Their hands tighten around their weapons as they face off across the wall of flame.

    “Well, I suppose I’ll have to go over there and fight you myself,” Attila says. “Wouldn’t do to keep a lady waiting.”

    “Really?” she tilts her head coyly, ever-present smile still in full force. “The mighty Attila, coming to see little old me? I’m flattered.”

    “Oh, but what kind of husband doesn’t visit with his wife?” Attila says, sheathing the Sword of Mars and holding out his hand. “SPEAR!”

    One of his Huns passes him a cavalry lance, and he urges Sinfjotli forwards. Gudrun braces herself, her smile eager.

    “Before we start, though,” Attila says, twirling his lance. “I wanted to thank you.”

    “For what?” Gudrun asks, amused.

    “For teaching me what it is to be human.”

    “…I beg your pardon?”

    “Before I married you, I felt… nothing. Or rather I felt strangely. I couldn’t quite connect with regular humans. There was just something… missing. I lacked a point of commonality, a Rosetta Stone, if you will.” Attila takes a breath, and then he smiles. “And then I met you.”

    Gudrun raises an eyebrow.

    “At our last feast together, when you told me that you’d killed our sons, and that they were the mystery meat in those delicious little hors d’ouevres you’d been serving me? For the first time in my life, I felt hatred! And when you barred the doors while I was too drunk to stand, and then set the whole building on fire? For the first time in my life, I felt fear!”

    Gudrun’s smile quivers slightly. “I’m… not sure I understand.”

    “You did what literal gods couldn’t, you made me fear for my life! And suddenly, I had a point of reference! I had my Rosetta Stone for human nature! So, even while I was busy making sure you thought I’d died, meeting up with Bleda, and then invading Rome to get away from you, I knew that you’d given me something priceless.” He pauses, and then looks her in the eye. “So, I guess that what I’m trying to say is… thank you. Thank you for teaching me hate. Thank you for teaching me fear. Thank you for teaching me humanity.”

    Gudrun laughs. “H-Happy to be of service!”

    And then Attila urges Sinfjotli into a charge, and then, just as he draws up to the fire’s edge, the Bastard Wolf of the Volsungs leaps. He clears the fire and bears his rider with him into Gudrun’s domain.

    The first three exchanges are like lightning. Sinfjotli almost moves faster than the eye can follow, and Attila is nearly his equal in agility. But Gudrun manages to keep up, as Attila’s spear sparks off her shield.
    It becomes a pattern, and I can almost see glimpses of the larger whole, from where the fight’s participants are visible, instead of mere blurs of frenzied motion. Little snapshots between the clashes. Here Sinfjotli, low to the ground, snarling in tune with his equally savage rider, skidding to a halt after his first pass and turning back around for another go. There Gudrun, her shield in her left hand, her sword in her right, bracing for another exchange. And there Attila, atop his snarling steed, spear in his right hand, braced for another charge.

    Three passes in six seconds, and the daughter of Giuki stands.

    And then, on the fourth, Attila charges in, and she raises her shield to deflect his strike… only for the spear now in his left hand to pierce her heart.

    The battle grinds to a halt, as Gudrun falls to her knees, and Attila pulls free his spear.

    “Didn’t see you… switch hands,” she chokes out.

    “It’d be a poor trick if you did,” Attila says, before chopping her skull open with the Sword of Mars.

    She fades, and he’s silent, staring down at the ground where she faded. And then he pulls himself together and tosses his spear back to one of his Huns.

    “ALL RIGHT, BOYS, TWO MORE TO GO! LET’S FUCK ‘EM UP!”

    ---​

    “Hot damn.”

    I stare at the screen in awe, before turning to Loki. “All right, I guess that this show might be worth the price of admission.”

    “Oh, trust me, it gets better,” Loki says with a smile, and I turn back to the screens.

    This is gonna be good.

    ---​

    Attila and his horde are advancing at a steady trot when it happens. The world shudders, and is replaced by a dark forest, leading up to a towering mead hall.

    Attila raises an eyebrow. “Huh. Bounded Field.”

    He opens the doors to the hall, and sees a great wooden table, with thirteen men seated about it. And they are Volsungs, of that there can be no doubt. Their hair is white, but more than that, they have the very same mania I saw in Signy. An unchecked vigor, a will to live wholeheartedly and without restraint, and refrain from nothing in the pursuit of their goals. A strange species of self-destructive obsession which elevated them above the petty trifles of lesser men.

    And the man at the head of the table is the greatest of them all. Upon his brow rests a crown of iron, and he is old, with wrinkled skin over corded muscles, and a beard that comes down to his waist.

    And Signy kneels before him.

    “Father, please! They’ll be here any moment!”

    “I will not join in your endeavors, Signy. This foolishness is yours, and yours alone,” King Volsung says, not even deigning to look at her.

    “WHY DON’T YOU WANT THIS?” Signy screams, tears trailing down her face. “You could live! You don’t have to die to Siggeir, you can live, and we can be happy together again! As a family!”

    “Happy?” Volsung repeats, looking at her directly. She shrinks beneath his gaze. “HAPPY? Foolish daughter, I AM VOLSUNG, SON OF RERIR, SON OF SIGI, SON OF ODIN, AND I AM A WARRIOR, FORGED FROM TRIUMPH AND TRAGEDY ALIKE!” He slams his fist down against the table, and it breaks beneath his blow. “Happiness is for lesser men than me.” He waves his hand in a clear gesture of dismissal. “Go. Pursue your folly elsewhere. You are no longer welcome in my halls.”

    “But… I… I did everything to avenge you!” she screams. “I just wanted to go home! Why wouldn’t you let me stay with you?”

    “Because I believed that you ought to outlive this old man. A decision I regret, having seen what an unsightly creature you’ve become.”

    That, of course, is when Attila makes his entrance. “Hi! Attila the Hun. I’m here to ask for your daughter’s hand in marriage.”

    Everyone stares at him in silent confusion for a few seconds. Then Volsung speaks up. “Your request is denied.”

    “Shoot. And after I brought all my barbarian hordes along for the wedding party!” Attila mimes a sudden epiphany. “But waaaaaait, what if, and just hear me out here, because this is gonna sound crazy, but what if me and my army just killed you all, and I married your daughter anyways?”

    Volsung draws his sword, and around him, his twelve sons do likewise. “Signy.”

    “Yes, Father?”

    “You are permitted to join us.”

    I don’t think I’ve ever seen a woman cry more tears of joy at being invited to a hopeless last stand.

    The mead hall erupts into a sea of fire and blood, with the united Volsungs killing Huns by the score. But even the Volsungs could not stand against Attila.

    He faces King Volsung on foot, having been knocked from Sinfjotli’s back by the press of bodies. Twelve times his sword draws blood, and Volsung’s drinks once in return, before he is slain.

    Volsung’s children, on the other hand, are barely a challenge, until, at last, he comes to the twins.

    Sigmund and Signy, Volsung’s youngest, fight him side by side, one locking his blade so the other can strike, but the Huns around them flank them far faster than they could flank Attila.

    Sigmund falls, and then, there is one.

    A borrowed spear through Signy’s chest pins her to the ground, and the now-burning hall begins to fade.

    “Well fought,” Attila says with a grunt.

    “Thank you.”

    “I’m… sorry?”

    Signy smiles, and it’s like the sun coming out after a rainy day. “You let me die with them.”

    “It was nothing.”

    “Everything… to me. You’re a kinder man than you seem.”

    And then she’s gone.

    “Well then,” Attila turns to face his foe. “Just one Volsung left.”

    Sinfjotli snarls.
     
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