Fate/Stay Pony

Fate/Stay Pony

Turn Three: Iron Rook

(Archer’s P.O.V)

        Y’know, I can picture a couple of pony detectives sitting over what’s left of me right about now. One, a grizzled, angry, caffeine-deprived veteran, looks at his watch, and says to the other, “What’ve we got here?”

        The new guy, a professional at forensics, looks to my remains, “Fractured hip bones, severe internal trauma, and massive bruising.”

        The vet looks up from his watch, raising an eyebrow, “So… Diagnosis?”

        “Death by snu-snu.”

        … Okay, it was funny to me, alright?

        Alright, for those who don’t understand what circle of hell I just went through, or are stupid enough to consider dancing the vertical tango with my Saber, I feel the need to inform you she has the endurance of an Ussuri brown bear, and the power of a Chuck Norris roundhouse kick. And the drive of a rabbit, while we’re at it.

        “Archer?” Oh, god. She’s poking my cheek. Please don’t tell me she wants a round four. “Archer?” Stop with the poking, can’t you tell I’m in pain? “Archer? Aaarcher?”

        “Nng… Wh-what?” I barely murmur, while my eyelids flutter open. I try to shift to a more comfortable position, but my pelvis glows in pain. “Ow…”

        “Are you alright?”

        “Just… Just peachy, Nero.” I smile through the sheer agony, and put my hand to her cheek, “Just… peachy…”

Good. You have an assignment.

        Wait, what?

Go get ‘em, tiger!

        Oh, COME O-

        -ON! Okay, I see how it is… Might as well go with the flow. Let’s see… I’m on the western continent of- Westeros? Holy shit, am I on Game of Thrones? FUCK YEAH! Okay, let’s see… political history… know this, and some of that… Wait, I’m only in Season One? HELL YEAH! There are SO many things I can fuck up right now! Let’s see… Episode 3? DOUBLE HELL YEAH! Okay, now I’m taking in languages… Oh, sweet! I can speak Drothaki, too? Oh, by Heaven’s Feel, this is too good to be true!

Control yourself, Archer. You still have a duty to accomplish. Your summoners await.

        Summoners? Okay, might as well see what we got here...

        My eyes pry open, and I see a magic circle in the ground, glowing, and formed of cow blood. The glow fades, and with it, the Grail’s summoning power goes with it. I raise my eyes up further, and see… Holy shit. These guys lift.

        “Uh… This supposed to happen?”

        It’s Kenshiro. Motherfucking Kenshiro. And… is that GUTS? FROM BERSERK? What sacred act did I do to deserve getting summoned by Kenshiro and Guts into Game of Thrones? It’s taking all of my effort to not fangasm right about now. Okay, time for me to serious the fuck up.

        “Are you my master?” My voice startles them.

        “Uh… what?”

        “I said…” I rise to my feet, “Are. You. My. Master?”

        Kenshiro shrugs, “If you mean we’re the ones who summoned you, then… yeah, I guess.”

        I shake my head, “No, no, no. Only one of you summoned me. Who was it that did so?”

        Guts instantly points to the martial artist, “He did it. He did everything. The cow blood, the big old speech, and all that jazz.”

        Hm. Interesting. I send a pulse of prana through my magic circuits. Damn, these guys know butt-fuck NOTHING about magic. They have no skill of their own, which means I’m gonna have shit parameters. Let’s see… Strength, C. Endurance, C. Agility, C. Mana, B. Luck… D. Damnit. Everything’s average. Then again, considering what exists in the GoT world, I have little to worry about.

        “Well… I guess that makes you… my Master.” I drop to one knee, “And with that, the contract is complete. I await your orders…” I raise my head slightly, “My Master.” I see a red glow appear on the back of Kenshiro’s hand. The glow fades, and there sits Rin Tohsaka’s Command Sigils.

I’m not feeling particularly creative regarding Command Sigils, so I’m giving the baboons the Command Sigil used by ‘your’ previous Master.

        Meh. I don’t care myself. As long as I’m not forced to kill any babies, I think I’ll be just fine.

Good to know that you’re so pragmatic. I leave you to your duties. I expect an entertaining performance.

        Kenshiro steps back, “Okay… what the hell’s going on? Why do I have a tattoo? I didn’t ask for any of this!”

        I raise my hand, “Remain calm, Master. That’s merely your Command Sigils.”

        “WHAT? I HAVE NO IDEA WHAT’S GOING ON ANY MORE!”

        Guts picks up- HOLY JESUS THAT’S DRAGONSLAYER? BY THE ROOT, THAT’S ENORMOUS!

        … I need to trace it!

        Guts brings the blade down on me. “Trace, On. Dragonslayer.” Iron clashes with iron, and Guts’ blade is stopped by an exact copy.

        “What?”

        “Master, I would recommend sitting down. It’s gonna take a while to explain everything.”

        “So, that’s it, huh? Seems… understandable. Weird, and extremely freaky, but not impossible.” Kenshiro murmurs, stroking the Command Sigils on his hand.

        “Indeed, Master. I’m to obey you as a Heroic Spirit of the Holy Grail. Your will is my command, and if that’s not adequate enough, a Command Sigil shall easily finish that problem. Though, I would recommend not using it on something trivial like… say… keeping me out of your room. That is a flat-out waste.” I swear, why Shirou did that I will never understand.

        “Got it.”

        Guts raises his hand, “Okay, even IF I’m to believe all this crap, which I’m not gonna anytime soon, by the way, HOW did you make a second Dragonslayer? And where were you hiding it? In your ass or something?”

        I hold up my hand, “Trace, On.” I form an Arabian sword that I recall from a natural history museum, “My abilities involve seeing any weapon, understanding its structure and components, and using my magic to replicate it. My specialty is in making swords. Yours, while large, rough, and very, very heavy, is still just a sword.”

        Guts shakes his head, “No way, Jose! You can’t just make something like that from thin air! It doesn’t make sense!”

        “Master... You’re Kenshiro, are you not?”

        “Uh… my real name’s Dillon, but I go by that in front of the noblemen. Sounds cooler, to be honest.”

        “And, if my memory recalls, Kenshiro is able to make people explode just by poking them rapidly and making Bruce Lee kung-fu noises. Am I right?”

        “Very much so.”

        I look back to Guts, “And you’re Guts, who has a demon dog assaulting his sanity, an artificial left arm with a built-in cannon, and wields a sword as big as Marilyn Monroe, and four times as heavy. I’m sorry, but could you repeat your argument?”

        Guts huffs, “Shaddap!”

        Kenshiro holds up his hand, “Let’s give him some credit, alright? C’mon, with what happened to us, it can’t be THAT illogical to assume it didn’t happen to other people, right?”

        I pull a double-take, “Wait, you met the Merchant, too?”

        Kenshiro nods, “That what everyone calls him? Well, yeah, I suppose. He sold my brother here a glove that looked like Guts’ artificial hand. Next thing we know, we’re in Game of Thrones. We’ve sworn fealty to Lord Eddard Stark, of Winterfell.” Kenshiro. And Guts. Serving under Ned Stark? Urge to fangasm, rising. “The problem is, we never saw Game of Thrones, and… never read the books either, while I’m at it…” Oh, crap. That means they have no idea what they’re getting into.

        “Master… you are SO damn lucky it’s me who you summoned.” I project a copy of a crown into my hand, “My Saber and I love watching that series. Right now, you guys are only in the first season, VERY early in, too.”

        “That probably means all the really bad stuff hasn't happened yet..”

        “Oh, yeah. You have… no idea how bad things are gonna get around here, man!” I toss the crown into the air, where it vanishes. “Utter anarchy is going to fall down around us. Let’s just say… people are gonna die.”

        Kenshiro shakes his head, “Oh, we know that. Everyone knows about George Martin’s… literature habits.”

        “Good. However, since we’re at the… third episode, I believe, I need to inform you that around this point, the Targaryen girl Daenerys is now with child. It’ll be a boy. This knowledge will spur King Robert into trying to put the child down. You need to tell Stark about this, and have him make sure that this information is manipulated into being shown in a positive light. If things are let out as they should be, then Robert will have a would-be assassin try to poison her. This will, in turn, cause the Khal to attempt to go across the Narrow Sea and wage war for the sake of his wife and soon-to-be son.”

        “Ouch. Never thought I’d say this, but good thing we’ve got a fanboy on our side.”

        “And this is all in season one.”

        Cue Guts’ jaw-drop. “... Holy shit.”

        “And at the same time, the men of the Night’s Watch are gonna ask for more soldiers. Spoiler alert: White Walkers are very, very real. And they will come to kick your asses unless Tyrion convinces his siblings to help spare soldiers.”

        “Seriously?”

        “Well, yes and no. They come no matter what, and they will probably do so. But having extra troops as the vanguard kinda helps. And besides, you two are here, so that’ll help. A lot.”

        “Okay. Good point.”

        “And another thing. I’m gonna give a guess and say that at this point, you think that Tyrion was responsible for the would-be assassination of Bran? WRONG-O, old sport! In reality, it was Jamie, his brother. Why? Because he and Cersei, the QUEEN, and his SISTER, are fuck buddies.”

        Cue the second wave of jaw-drops. “What.”

        “The.”

        “FUCK!?” Kenshiro and Guts are mad. Better get their attention off of that.

        “Yeah. They did it. But that’s not what you should concern yourself with. You need to make sure Tyrion doesn’t come to any harm. Catelyn’s gonna try to arrest him, and bring him to her sister, who’s more or less… a really crazy bitch right about now.”

        Kenshiro rubs his head, “Heard about her. She’s in the Vale, right? Can’t be that bad, can she?”

        “She still breast-feeds her four-year old. In public.”

        There’s the third wave.

        “Tyrion narrowly survives, but I’d rather he not go through it in the first place. He needs to focus on getting to his brother and moving soldiers up to the north. Every blade up there is one less in the coming battles, and one less corpse.”

        “You’re good at this.”

        I shrug, “Comes with being the Servant of multiple madmen and evil sorcerers. You realize how to plan properly for everything.”

        “Okay. What next?”

        “That… That should actually just about eliminate pretty much all of the problems of the story. What happens after, I can’t say. But seriously, do as I’ve recommended, Master, and this whole thing should mostly solve itself. You needn’t send a raven. Catelyn will be arriving in the city shortly.”

        Guts raises a hand, “What about evidence?”

        I stop. “Beg pardon?”

        “Evidence. These are all some pretty big claims we’re making here. What’re we gonna say to back it all up?”

        I snap my fingers, “Easy. Hair color.”

        The two pull a double-take, “What?”

        “I said hair color. Have your Lord look through the tome of ancient families. You’ll find that Joffrey, and his kin, are all gold of hair. But his ‘father’ isn’t. Three guesses who’s the real dad, and the first two don’t count.”

        Guts snarls, “How did that fatass not notice anything?”

        “Drunk, honestly. Like, hammered off his ass drunk. But that being said, once all this is revealed, we’ll be able to move onto bigger problems.”

        “Such as?”

        “It’s even more beautiful than I could’ve ever imagined.” I’m drooling. What is before me is paradise, plain and simple. Truly refined joy.

        “You wanted to get into the throne room and see the throne?” The Iron Throne of King’s Landing, forged by Targaryen and his dragons. Built in their fire. And it’s made of swords… Which means I can trace it! It’s official. I’m having the biggest fangasm right about now. I have the Iron Throne in my inventory.

        “Hell yeah, man!” I look to the two, smiling my ass off.

        Kenshiro and Guts chuckle. The Black Swordsman shakes his head, “Good to know you’re enjoying yourself. Now, I think we need to focus on-”

        “Who is this? What’s he doing in the throne room?” Oh. Ma. Root. It’s Ned Stark. He looks so fucking awesome!

        Guts turns to Stark and bows, “M’lord, this is a… friend… of ours. He’s the one I called you here for. He has some… vital information that needs to be heard.”

        Lord Stark looks right at me, “What would that be?”

        Now I serious up, “Follow me. This information had best remain behind closed doors.”

        “So, that’s it, then.” We’re in Ned’s office, and I’m leaning against the wall, in a regular James Dean Rebel Without A Cause pose.

        Stark shakes his head, “This… This is absolute madness. You expect me to believe all of this? That Prince Joffrey isn’t King Robert’s son?”

        I shake my head positively, “Indeed. Think about it…” I place my hands on his desk a la Phoenix Wright, “House Baratheon has always had black hair. It’s a dominant gene for them. Robert, his father, his father before him, and every other father before that, has had black hair. And I know you’ve scoped out a few of his bastards. You know that all of them have black hair, too.” His face lights up in recognition. “So… Tell me, Lord Stark…” I lean in closer, “How is it that a child of Robert can have golden hair?”

        Guts pushes me off, “As much as I’m afraid to say it, sir, he does have a point. His logic is sound. What of that book? That has a record of all the family lineages? It should tell us something, shouldn’t it?”

        Stark looks between us, “Are you serious?”

        I look him dead in the eyes, “Eddard Stark, you are a wise man. Mayhaps not a smart one, but a wise one. Look at me. In my eyes. Am I joking? Is this a jest?”

        Stark groans, “What… What am I supposed to do with this information?”

        I raise my hand in the ‘Tohsaka lecture position #1’, and reply. “Simple. So you can understand better why someone tried to murder your son.”

        His head snaps at me, “What?”

        “Well, is it not obvious? A long golden hair was found in the tower where your boy was launched from. Guess who has long golden hair? The queen. Guess who has a big secret? The queen. Clearly, the boy saw her doing something in the tower.”

        Stark slams his hand on the desk, “That’s enough! Your insane rabble has gone on long enough! I refuse to-” That’s when I raise Needle at his throat.

        “Lord Stark. I am not your average warrior.” I spin Needle around, and hand it to him. “Look that blade over.”

        Stark takes a gander at it, “This… This is Needle! Why do you have this-”

        I raise Kanshou and Bakuya, “I don’t have it. I Traced it. I’m a magus, Lord Stark. I specialize in swords. Any blade I see, even for an instant, I can imitate. That is not your daughter’s Needle. It is my copy of it. Perfectly recreated.” He gazes at it, and how the light reflects it. “Any weapon I create, I can control.” It dissipates, and I make it again, now more aerodynamic, as if I would fire it from my bow. “I can alter.” I dismiss it again, and then recreate it, and make it into a Broken Phantasm, glowing with power. “I can enhance.”

        I dismiss the creation, and my standard blades. “So, with that in mind, Lord Stark… Are you truly going to listen to what I say from this point on?”

        He stares at the space where the blade was, then turns to me, “Yes. Yes I will.”

        “That… Is a lot to take in.” I’ve basically repeated all I said in front of Guts and Kenshiro, with modifications to avoid talking about the future. No need to go any further. Or sound like a time traveller.

        I spin a nameless dagger around my hand like Riddick, “Yep.” I catch it, and crush it, sending it back to my Reality Marble. “The Lannister siblings are screwing each other behind your king’s back, the Targaryen’s got a bun in the oven, and White Walkers are very, very real. Long story short, get the Lannisters’ heads on pikes ASAP, leave the Targaryen alone for now, and get more men to the North. Your little creed is now a fact, Lord Stark. Winter is coming, and it’s bringing a few friends.”

        Stark stands up from his desk, “How… do you intend for me to accomplish this?”

        I shrug, “Well, if you get the Lannisters on the chopping board at the right time, the fervor from that should distract Robert from caring about the child. Hell, he may even want to let them take back the throne. Rob has so little truly left for himself, y’know. You may need to look past all the drinking… and the fat…” Ned smiles at that, “He is so empty. He’s in a loveless marriage, and he can’t do anything without a dozen guards breathing down his neck. This is going to ruin him.”

        Ned looks at Guts and Kenshiro. Kenshiro sighs, “M’lord, sometimes you have to break a friend’s heart to help them. I’ve seen it plenty of times before. Of all the fates that can befall him, this is possibly the best. Would you rather this be slipped under the rug, and Joffrey become king under false pretenses, as a tool for his mother?”

        Guts nods, “Indeed. Joffrey, brat he is, is still his mother’s tool. He does what she commands, without realizing it. She’s primed him all his life. He may be on the throne, but she’ll be the true ruler.”

        Stark drops his head into his hands, and groans.

        At that moment, the guard opens the door, “Lord Stark, it’s your daughter.”

Arya runs in, “Daddy!” She jumps up, and hugs him. “Daddy!”

Stark forces a laugh, “What is it, sweetheart?”

“There’s something in my room.” I stop at that. That’s not how the show goes.

Nothing is certain to go along the path you remember, EMIYA.

Ned looks at us, “Well… We better check it out, eh?”

Kenshiro cracks his knuckles, “Indeed, m’lord.” The martial artist takes the lead, and we march as swiftly as possible to Arya’s room.

I’m thrown off the second I reach the doorway. There’s something here that definitely shouldn’t be. A magical presence. I reach into my cloak, and draw Kanshou and Bakuya, creating the illusion that they were hidden under it. “Everyone, stay back.”

Guts reaches for Dragonslayer, “What is it, Archer?”

I narrow my gaze, and begin analyzing everything. Not even a speck of dust passes my vision. I can’t see it, but I can feel it. And that’s the problem.

And then the dresser is destroyed. Wood flies all around, and I pull Kenshiro back. I turn back to Arya’s room, and see a beastly form, lunging forth. Fangs and wild, primal eyes are all I can see before it’s already on me. I raise my blade, and let the beast fly right at it. Much to my surprise, the thing moves in midair, and curves around Bakuya. As it flies past me, my eyes widen in disbelief. It can’t be…

The thing drops, just under Guts’ swing of Dragonslayer, and leaps again over the man, its fangs aimed at Arya.

“DADDY!”

*THUNK* The beast is now pinned to the ceiling by my arrow. It keeps flailing its limbs, reaching and clawing in the direction of the girl, but now I see it in full.

A woman. A woman screams and roars, hisses and snarls, at the young Stark. But not any woman. A Dead Apostle. I generate a Black Key, “Stay back. Don’t want this thing biting you…” The Dead Apostle only stops its hissing at Arya to start roaring at me. I jab it between the eyes, and it disintegrates. The dust left behind piles on the ground, and the arrow pinning it to the ceiling vanishes at my command.

Stark stares, and levels his blade at its remains. “What… was that?”

“A Dead Apostle.” They all look to me.

“A what?”

“Call an official meeting. Not just with the council. I want this in front of the Iron Throne.”

        “What is the meaning of this meeting, anyways? And who’s this moron?” Robert shouts, pointing at me accusingly.

        Stark looks to him, “Your Highness, there’s a problem. This man is known as Archer, and he’s going to explain what it is.”

        I look around, “Thank you, Lord Stark. Council, please pay attention, closely. A few minutes ago, a rabid woman made an attempt on Lord Stark’s daughter’s life. She leapt past us with skill that no ordinary human could ever hope to possess. I had to pin her to the ceiling with an arrow, and even then, she did not register the pain. Instead, rather, she continued to claw after Arya, like a wild animal.”

        Robert laughs, “What’s that supposed to mean? One madwoman managed to breach our defenses? You want us to up security or something?”

        “No. It means that we have a little something called Dead Apostles on the loose.”

        “What in the bloody hell’s a Dead Apostle?”

        I rub my forehead, “A living corpse. Animated by magic. Guided by raw instinct and hatred. Maintained by the blood and flesh of the living…”

        “A WHAT? HAHAHAHA!” Robert chortles. “Look at this! Stark, you brought us here for a jester?”

        I sigh, and look to Kenshiro, “May I?”

        He nods, “Go ahead.”

        I then proceed to trace a sword. The room goes dead silent. “This…” I spin it, “Is a gladius. A sword wielded by the average soldier in the Roman Empire.” It disappears, and I create another. “This is a short sword, wielded by your average British Army soldier.” I dismiss it, and make the sword that Barristan Selmy is wielding, “This is the blade your head of the Kingsguard wields. Check it.”

I toss it to Barristan, who compares the two. “This really is my weapon! Exactly the same… What in the…”

I conjure a nameless blade, and use it as a cane, leaning against it. “I am a magus. A sorcerer, if you want to use your terminology. I, for one, have battled countless Dead Apostles in my time. The one which attacked Lady Stark is but one of many, ladies and gentleman. There are three stages of Dead Apostles. The first is the kind that attacked Arya. We call it… a Ghoul.” I throw my blade at Robert, and it disappears just as it touches his beard.

“A Ghoul is, in short, a mindless beast. Pain doesn’t stop it. Compassion doesn’t falter it. It only exists to feast, and feast, and feast.”

Cersei laughs, “Ridiculous. Robert, dear, you don’t actually believe this fool, do you?”

I proceed to shoot an arrow into her hair arch. “Those words don’t mean much from one who bears her own brother’s children and calls them the king’s. But, before we change the subject...” I dismiss my bow, and turn my gaze back to the king.

“A Ghoul is in no way intelligent enough to have hidden itself and waited for Arya, let alone for Lord Stark to come, too. Which means it’s being commanded. And for every one Dead Apostle you see, there’s at least six more. A Dead Apostle is made when an older one eats from a human victim, but doesn’t quite finish the job. Now, think about it… How many people go missing in this cesspool you call a capital? Take that amount, and then triple it. Dead Apostles can last extremely long lives, as long as they have a steady supply of flesh and blood. The first twenty seven Dead Apostle Ancestors we know of are over ten thousand years old, at the least.” I let that information sink in.

Robert leans forwards, “And… what’re you saying, boy?”

I stare right back at him, “I’m saying that there could be hundreds, or even thousands of Dead Apostles waiting in the shadows. Quite literally, in the shadows. Dead Apostles burn in sunlight. Like… this one.” I throw a dagger into the air, and hit a figure on the ceiling.

“YAAAAGH!” He falls, and is hit by the light filtering through the window panes. He rises to his knees, “YOU… YOU… I’LL… GYAAAAAGH!” He quickly becomes ashes.

“You need any more evidence, Your Majesty?” I raise an eyebrow.

Robert swallows nervously, “What… What just happened?”

I glare at the ashes, and kick them. “A Living Dead. The second stage of Dead Apostles. After a Ghoul has eaten enough human flesh, they have a chance to regain their human mind and memories, but they’re still driven by hunger. A Living Dead can act, think, and feel like a human, barring some slight modifications. They are also able to command the Ghouls they make, and whenever a Ghoul eats someone, the Living Dead also receives the energy without lifting a finger. The Ghoul that attacked Arya was supposed to also attack Lord Stark. Turn them both into Ghouls, fill them with human flesh and blood, and make them Living Dead. They would likely proceed to attack you, Your Highness, and then destroy the system from within from there.”

The room enters an uproar. Noblemen and court ladies begin to panic and shout at the guards. “QUIET, QUIET, QUIET!” Robert screams at them, “You bunch of cowards! You hear about something like this, and you immediately rush to the guard, hopin’ they’ll protect ya.” He turns back to me, “So… Archer… What’re we supposed to do?”

I shrug, “Normally, the only option I can come up with would be to have all humans walk out of the city, into the sunlight, and leave the professionals, in this case, me, to clean it up. Unfortunately, as a single man, I cannot run through every house and exterminate all the Dead Apostles. I’m bound to miss a few, and then come nightfall, they’ll rush out, and either find a new hiding place, get more victims, or both. The only option I’m brought down to is flat-out destroying the entire city.”

Robert stares, “Ya mean ya want us to burn it?”

I stare back at him, and trace Caladbolg II. “No, I mean I want to destroy it all at once. Quite a few of the blades I possess are capable of destroying entire castle-sized structures. in one fell swoop.”

More wild protests. “DESTROY HIM!” “KILL HIM NOW!” “STOP THIS MONSTER!”

I simply generate another Dragonslayer, and let it hit the ground. The loud crash silences the court. “Really? Fucking… really? I claim to wield weapons that can destroy castles, and you think a few of your puny guardsmen and butter knives can hurt me? And with my arsenal in mind, do you honestly think you’d the chance?” They all look among themselves, appearing to realize their stupidity. Probably not.

“Anyways, that’s one of our only options. I’m gonna be really honest, this is probably the best one. If there’s any Dead Apostles of the third stage, then this place is already forfeit.”

Stark looks at me, “What is the third form of a Dead Apostle?”

I look to the tile, “It’s called a Vampire. And it’s the worst thing you can imagine. At first, they’re little more than stronger Living Dead. But, the older they grow, and the more minions they possess, and the more blood they drink… The closer they grow to godhood. They can walk in the sun. They can survive for whole months without feasting. Sometimes, a vampire can even transcend mortality.” Hushed gasps run through the throne room.

Robert gapes. “So… you think that you can destroy them?”

“Maybe… Maybe. If I destroy King’s Landing, then that’ll force the Dead Apostles out of hiding. Any vampires will be forced into the sunlight. If there are any that are able to survive in sunlight, I’ll destroy it with my own weaponry. I have a few tools that can resolve that.”

Robert leans in, “And… what if it’s immortal?”

“Then we do the only thing we can. Seal it with everything we have, put it into a coffin, chain said coffin down, and throw it into the Narrow Sea to sink to the bottom of the ocean, and hope that the lack of fresh blood keeps it weak enough to never escape.” I dislike leaving anything capable of destroying civilizations alive and sealed away, unlike some alicorns I can name, but I have no other options. “However, the chances of a vampire actually having achieved immortality is minute. That requires thousands upon thousands of years. There’s nothing in your legends and mythologies regarding anything like that, barring the White Walkers… SON OF A BITCH!” HOW COULD I HAVE BEEN SO STUPID?

Robert looks around, “What? What is it? What of the White Walkers?”

“White Walkers can make anyone they touch into an undead servant of theirs! A Dead Apostle is just an undead with some of its own soul clinging to the body! ROOT DAMNIT! The White Walkers CREATED the Dead Apostles!”

“What? What’re you implying, boy?”

“Assume that White Walkers have always been able to make undead servants. How long ago did mankind first meet the White Walkers?” Everyone in the room turns pale. “Indeed. White Walkers are ancient. Probably even older than mankind. If one of them made a Ghoul, and it ate lots of flesh and blood, and it ascended to become a vampire, then we’re dealing with a vampire anywhere from a little over a hundred years… To eight thousand.”

Nobody. Moves. A muscle.

Cersei moves, “You… You’re sure about this?”

“Positive. If they’re that old, then we have a serious problem on our hands..”

Robert glares, “So, what’s the plan?”

“Evacuate everyone. I’m blowing up King’s Landing tomorrow. Not enough time to do it today. I want this entire place evacuated early morning. No exceptions. And every wagon is to be checked. If someone’s wearing a hood, tear it off and let the sun beat down on them. Have all guards remain in the light, and in groups of four, at the minimum. This must be done with haste.”

Robert nods, “So shall it be.”

Cersei looks to him, “You can’t be serious! You’re going to let this… This monster destroy our home?”

“Better it be DESTROYED than infested with WALKING UNKILLABLE CORPSES!”

I nod, “Wise choice, Your Highness. I’ll trust you to have everything organized. And, for crying out loud, stay in the sunlight.”

        The moon hangs high in the sky. Tomorrow, we evacuate. So far, only those in the court know, and all of them have been checked. But that doesn’t mean I won’t take chances.

        I sit atop a tower, letting the breeze flow through my hair.

        ‘Archer. Need your help.’ Kenshiro calls to me. Oh, joy. I turn into spirit form, and pass through the walls until I reach him, sitting at a window looking across the courtyard.

        “You called, Master?”

        He nods, “Yeah. Look over there.” He points, and I see a small series of figures moving on the other side of the courtyard. With no light. I use my Clairvoyance, and notice that the figures are moving at normal, human speeds. But that doesn’t mean they aren’t just taking their time. I look closer, and see that one of them is trying to say something to the others.

        “I’ll check into it.” I turn into spirit form, and hover over the courtyard, until I arrive behind them. I take extra care to manifest a weapon before becoming solid. “Halt if you know what’s good for you.”

        The figures turn to me, and I see… “Prince Joffrey?” Joffrey, Sansa, and a few guards.

        “What do you want, wizard?” Damn. Someone’s feisty.

        I lower the nameless blade, “I could say the same thing about you, boy. You’re wandering about at night, with only two guards? Last I recall, I specifically instructed all guards to travel in groups of four for minimal security. You and Sansa don’t count as guards. C’mon, Sansa. Your father’s probably worried about you.”

        He raises his blade. “You stay back! My Queen isn’t going to be anywhere near here when you destroy everything!”

        I smile, “Aww, you really do care.” I mock. “Cute as it is, you’re still an idiot. What, you think you can escape a Dead Apostle in the middle of the night? Creatures that aren’t limited by fatigue or stamina? Who don’t even register pain?”

        He roars, “DON’T YOU DARE QUESTION ME! I AM YOUR PRINCE, AND I-”

        I slap him. “I bow to no kings, or their brats. I am trying to save your world from an undead apocalypse, and this is how you repay me? You scream at me and demand that I step down? Boy, you need to take a minute to think before you speak next time. If anything, you shouldn’t question me. I’m the one who knows what he’s doing. So, when I say ‘stay in your rooms, bar your windows, and don’t do anything stupid’, it’s for a good reason. Ever thought of that?”

        Now he jabs at me. I turn aside, and grab it with my forefinger and middle. “Try that again, and see what happens.” He does. I take the blade from him, and swing it hard enough to shatter against the stone wall.

        “Don’t test me, boy. I’m doing this for your own good.”

        That’s when something jumps on my back. I feel a set of fingers digging into my skin. Reflexively, I drop on my back, and let my assailant suffer the whiplash. I hear a head strike the stone floor. I summon a dagger, and slice its hand open. I jump up, and pull out my old Kanshou and Bakuya. I look at the assailant. It’s a Living Dead. Movements are too coordinated to be anything else.

        “GRAAA- UUUAAAAGHHH!” Its battle cry is cut off by a Black Key to the forehead. Fairly certain that’d cut off most other people’s, too.

        A loud hissing noise and a feminine scream joins it behind me. “SANSA-”

        … I never thought that a boy could achieve such a high octave in all my life. Joffrey, still screaming, turns and runs down the hallway. I look to the guards, “What’re you, idiots? STOP HIM BEFORE HE GETS HIMSELF KILLED!” I stab the Apostle, and toss it into the wall. “I’ve got Sansa. Now, RUN!”

        They follow, quite obediently at that. Good. Now I have two less necks to worry about. Much easier to focus on only keeping one intact. But, just so I don’t look like an asshole… ‘Master! Prince Joffrey tried to make a break for it with Sansa! And there’s Dead Apostles vying for their necks! Right now, I’m covering her, but he ran off. Two guards are following him. Raise the alarm, quickly.’

        ‘Got it.’

        Another leaps at me, fangs bared. Damn thing’s dead before it even hits the ground.

        Another leaps at Sansa from the hallway. The beast is rendered into a pincushion before it even realizes it.

        I grab the Stark girl by the hand, “Come along. Let’s go, get you to your father.”

        Another small squadron of them cut us off. One steps forwards, a malicious grin on her face. “Let’s not be hasty… Just stop right here, and we’ll make it nice and quick, see?”

        I frown, “I just took down three of you imbeciles faster than you can perceive. You honestly think that you’ll be any different?”

        She frowns, and then lunges. Dead. I take the liberty of decapitating her comrades, too. I push Sansa, “Come on, don’t be stupid!”

        We head into the courtyard, and a small horde of the Apostles emerge from the woodwork.

        “... You assholes multiply like Catholic rabbits.” I raise Kanshou and Bakuya, “Meh. Gives me more things to cut.”

        Five lunge at us. Four at me. One at Sansa. I cut through the first two, and then jab the one going for Sansa in its leg. I proceed to use the one I jabbed as a weapon, and throw it into the other two, tossing the lot of them against a wall. Then I throw the set of Kanshou and Bakuya at them. I generate another set, and toss them into the crowd of beasts. They all dodge, as I expected them to. I raise my hand, and snap my fingers.

        In it, a handle to a sword.. But not just any handle. The handle of this blade… is the only thing there. It’s just a handle. A katana handle, with a crossguard shaped like a Y.

        “Trace On…” I wave the handle around, while the undead chortle and cackle at me.

        “A sword without a blade? That won’t save you, little sorcerer!” One leaps out at me, fangs bared, and grinning maniacally, victory assured in his mind.

        “Yukianesa.” Ice ejects from the crossguard, and impales him in the head.

        “... Huh?” The Apostle looks to the space between his eyes. Then he becomes a popsicle.

        I raise my free hand, and flick him, shattering the brittle form completely. I swing the blade around, “Every sword I have traced is a deadly weapon all its own. And I am more than capable of killing you all with each and every single one of them.” Well, maybe not Scimitar #4582, but certainly the rest of them.

        “A fascinating display, I must admit.” A white-haired woman emerges from around the corner, clad in a brown cloak. “However, the game ends here. We will claim the Iron Throne, and you will not stop us.”

        I scoff, “I’m assuming you’re the vampire in charge?”

        “That I am… However, this isn’t about me, you know. Right now, it’s about you… and that Stark girl.” She points a long, thin finger at Sansa. I raise Yukianesa, and its blade reforms, shielding her.

        “I know for a fact you heard what I said in that throne room. I know there were other agents hiding in there.”

        She scoffs, “And you let them live so they could report to me… why, might I ask?”

        “So I could kill you.” I dismiss Yukianesa, and conjure a nameless blade, coated in holy symbols. “This blade was made during the Great Crusades. It’s coated in symbols and a passage of scripture. It was forged alongside with the singing of gospels. A single cut from this sword will kill anything unholy. And you, little fang-face, are on that list.” I raise it, and firmly grip its handle with both hands.

        “You think you’re so clever, do you?”

        “No, actually.” My response surprises her. Now, for the kicker… “Think means there may be evidence to the contrary. I know damn well I’m clever. Significantly more than you.”

        The vampire scowls, “You dare to mock me, mortal?”

        “Well, if by ‘mock’, you mean ‘set up a big-ass ambush’, then… yes.”

        She turns around, and is greeted with her fellow undead becoming target practice for the castle guard. The Mountain charges forth, his blade carrying no less than three of the still screaming bastards.

        Kenshiro’s fist slams into a Living Dead, and Guts’ blade knocks four Ghouls sky-high, before being incinerated with a well-placed cannon shot.

        “Hoo-rah.”

        The vampire turns about, “You… You think this will stop us? There are many, many more out here… and these pathetic men’s tools won’t kill us!”

        Then the screaming and incinerations start. “Yeah… about that… See, we may have kinda… dipped these weapons in holy water…” Kenshiro chuckles, “It’s a thing we do back home if something unholy needs to go back to the Nth circle of Hell or whatever. Holy water, blessed silver, or reading off Bible passages. Normally, at least ONE of those kills evil things. Or a fuckton of bullets.”

        I look to Kenshiro, “You watch Supernatural, too?”

        “Fuck yeah, man!”

        “WHOO! WINCHESTER BROS FOR LIFE!” I air-high five him, smiling. Can this day get ANY more awesome?

        The vampire snarls, “You… You… HHHRRRRAAAAGH!” She leaps at me. I sidestep. Off comes the leg.

        She lands on her side, at an awkward angle. Ouchie. She leaps again, although without any real power behind it, falling on her face again. I walk forwards, and place my boot on her head, “Vampire, thou have committed the highest form of treason, conspiracy to not only assault and dehumanize the king, but also his Hand and both their families, as well as conspiracy to throw all of the Seven Kingdoms into havoc. How doth thou plead?”

        The vampire snarls, lifting her head up, “T-t-treason? This… This is VENGEANCE, you insolent fool! I am simply removing this… FAt BASTARD from the throne of MY descendant, Viserys Targaryen!”

        I step back, “Wait, wait, wait… Your WHAT?” Rookie mistake. The vampire leaps out at me, and fangs impale my shoulder. I roll along, and throw her off, breaking some fangs in my shoulder. That’s gonna smart.

        The undead wipes blood from her mouth, snarling. “I am Rhaenys Targaryen, wife of Aegon the Conqueror, and it is the members of MY house who deserve the Iron Throne!”

        … By Heaven’s Feel… If this isn’t an M. Night Shyamalan plot-twist, I don’t know what the hell is.

        The guards are rather dismayed at this curious development. I know better than to let it get at me. I dash forwards, intending to finish the fight in a single stroke. “Fascinating story, but sleeping with your brother doesn’t make for very good kings, does it, now?”

        She rolls, “My line is meant to sit upon the Iron Throne! And yet they sit across the Narrow Sea, exiled and bound to be a Dothraki barbarian’s whore!”

        “... Okay, I think I’ve about had enough of this. Time to die.” I lunge forwards, and swing in a wide diagonal arc. Rhaenys lunges aside, and slices at my side. She misses. I let go of the blade, and use my free hand to create a Kanshou. I hold it up, and smirk at her. “Hey, you might wanna duck.”

        Rhaenys turns, and sees the Bakuya I hurled earlier coming back for her. She falls to the ground, letting me catch the white blade. As she rises, smirking, the other Kanshou lands in her shoulder. “I never said ‘stand up’, did I?”

        She snarls, and rips the blade from her shoulder. As she swings it down at me, I dismiss it, leaving her wide open. I slice her stomach open, and give her a powerful kick, making the ancient queen tumble backwards. I dismiss the Kanshou and Bakuya pair, and reach for the holy sword I left by my side. A single slice, and it’s all over. The blade’s sticking straight through her side, mere millimeters from her vitals.

        “I could end you with a single twitch, Rhaenys. Now, I’m only going to ask you this once… Where are the other Dead Apostles? I know someone else had to have turned you. Tell me, now!” I twist the blade, and its holy symbols begin burning her flesh.

        “AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHH!” She screams and struggles, but I keep my grip firm.

        “Tell me. Or I will end you, here and now.”

        “STOP IT! PLEASE, STOP IT! AAAGH, IT BURNS! STOP IT, STOP IT!” I tear the blade out of her, and let her drop to the ground.

        I stare at her coldly, and place the tip of the sword at her chin.

        “We’re right here.” Oh, boy. I turn around, and see another white-haired woman, and a white-haired man, too. A guard on the railing raises his bow and arrow, but another Dead Apostle gets the drop on him, and tears him open.

        “I’m assuming… you’re Aegon the Conqueror?” The man nods slowly. “Good. And I assume you decided to bring in the big guns to kill me?”

        “You have moved along exactly as we expected. You attacked our weakest, and drew them out to be assaulted. Now, we have brought our best to annihilate you.”

        I scoff, “So… you planned a trap… for my trap?”

        A small nod, and a smirk with it, “I suppose you could say that.”

        I laugh, “Quaint, but you forget that I, for one, specialize in killing things like you... Did you honestly think I would destroy King’s Landing? The entire point of this was to draw you imbeciles here. I knew you wouldn’t want a rogue element like myself to run amok, so I set myself up as the biggest threat imaginable. Now that you’re here, I’ll use my secret technique…” I lean forwards, tensing my muscles.

        “RUN AWAY!” I dash up the side of the wall, and leave the lot of them staring, wondering what exactly the point of that was.

        ‘ARCHER! WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT?’ Kenshiro screams into my head.

        ‘Master, I implore you watch. Trust me. I have a plan.’ I clamber atop the roof, and make a new set of Kanshou and Bakuya. I hear Aegon leap up behind me, and hurl Kanshou in a wide arc through the air. I slam Bakuya into his arms, but he dodges, and headbutts me. I rub my forehead, and slide past his fangs. He slices and snaps, and I keep dodging, and pecking at his defenses.

        “You… PEST!” He lunges at me, and I duck. He falls over the side of the building, into the streets. I leap down after him, and begin jabbing with Bakuya. He dodges constantly, and swipes at me repetitively. We keep jumping and swinging, before I break into a dash down the street, with him in hot pursuit. We eventually reach the city wall, and I dash up the side. I continue my game of tag with him, making small incisions and moving around his attacks.

        Aegon, tired of my antics, juts his claws out, and swipes at my neck. I knee him in the stomach, and back flip. Quite a bit. I land, and throw Bakuya at him. He grabs the sword, and smirks at me. I point behind him. He turns, and stares in awe as the Kanshou I hurled came right for his stomach.

        “GAH! Urk… You… are an annoying brat, aren’t you? No matter, I’ll kill you, and then I’ll-” I dash forwards, and knee his jaw in. I grab Bakuya from his hand, and slam it into his shoulder, wrenching it around for a bit. I dismiss both blades, and grab him by the arm, twisting it until the mangled body part comes right off. I raise it into the air, and smack him in the head with it. Hard.

        “I’ve played enough games, vampire. This is where it ends.” He tries to get me with his good arm. It comes off.

        “You… How can you possibly do this? You are just a man! A mortal man! I am better than you, and I-” I kick his jaw clean off.

        “Roadhouse.” I knee him in the stomach again, and as he collapses, I raise my leg high, hammer kicking him into the ground. I grab him by the hair, and begin spinning in a circle, before hurling him out into the open air, over the ocean. I generate my bow at its greatest size, and plant it on the ground. I reach into my Reality Marble, and find a single weapon. A sword, of course, but a specific one. One that is best fit for destroying this monster. Needle, the blade of Arya Stark. But now it’s been altered, and made sleek, and aerodynamic. Along the side, I project holy runes and markings, burning along the entirety of the weapon. I’m taking no chances.

I press it against the drawstring, and pull. Hard. I pour as much od as I can manage into the weapon. Needle reaches its breaking point, and od begins to flow out of it wildly. It became fragile. It became dangerous.

        It became broken.

        “I am the bone of my sword.” Needle flies. The sky burns.

        A new sun is born. Its birth-cry is Aegon’s death scream. And then, it vanishes. I glare at the space for a moment, reinforced eyes analyzing any potential remains. I see nothing left, and dismiss the bow. I turn around, to see Guts and Kenshiro, in awe at the sight.

        “The vampire is dead, Master.”

        He stares, “Uh… Kinda figured…”

        Guts levels Dragonslayer to me, “You could’ve done that the whole time, and chose not to?”

        “A technique of that scale would’ve annihilated a portion of the castle. I needed a target in the open for it to work. This was my chance.”

        “Well… Uh…”

        “What’re your next orders, Master?”

        Kenshiro sighs, “I really don’t have anything else in mind… To be honest, I expected this to be a whole saga of its own or something.”

        “The world isn’t that simple, or awesome, Master. It needed to end in one night. I did just that. Now, what would you have me do next?”

        Kenshiro is taken aback. “You’re still gonna stay and listen to me? Don’t ya wanna, like, go home or something?”

        “I am your sword, Master. Whether you choose to retire me or continue to wield me is your own decision. I can influence it, but in the end you must decide to send me home.”

        “Well, I honestly have no real reason for you to stay… We can manage ourselves from here, I believe.”

        I nod, “Thank you, Master. My team is probably ripping themselves apart without me.”

        Kenshiro nods, but then stops, and turns his ear, as if listening to something. He nods again at an invisible force, “Got it. That was the Holy Grail. It just told me how to send you home. Ah-hem… Servant Archer, I hereby abolish our contract.”

        I bow to him, “Fare thee well, old sports.” I fade into the Void.

        I feel my feet hitting the floor of our cavern, and my blurred vision shows only a mismatching blob of black and white moving at high speed.

        Next thing I know, I’m on the ground, and I feel a small pair of arms wrapping around my chest. “Papa, papa! You’re home!” My eyes recover, and I see Jackie, clinging to me, smiling and giggling.

I pat her on the head, “Yeah. I just got called in for work… Sorry for leaving without any warning. I’ll make sure to get some notice next time.” I glare at the gold chalice on the table.

Hey, I just do my job. People call, I respond.

Yeah. That’s all you do.

Rider scoffs, “Yeah. Cute. If you’re done arguing with the talking wine glass, I think we’ll get on with the next series of events that are occurring.”

I look to her with a raised eyebrow, “Those would be… what, exactly?”

“Twilight Sparkle’s time travel incident…”

Try saying that five times fast… “How bad’ll it be?”

“The bookworm tries to make a problem so she can fix it.”

“... Get the popcorn.”