The Prodigy

An elegant girl hums a melody as she struts through the city streets, unafraid of anything and everything. Astraia has long come to the point of outclassing any other possible opponent. Humans or Magi, demons or familiars, it matters not. Nothing can really stand up to her at this point. There’s always a technique, a weapon, a location she can use to gain the upper hand, even if the enemy is theoretically stronger than her.

That’s just how it is. That’s also just how Astraia thought she liked it. Sure, she can’t really get any stronger if she keeps fighting small fries, but there’s no reason to aspire for more power if she’ll never need it, right? She definitely wouldn’t have joined this Holy Grail War under any normal circumstances, even considering the wish at stake. It wouldn’t be something that interested her.

Then, incidentally, she considered just what the Servants summoned in such a ritual would be like. If her contractors’ descriptions were right, then she’d be faced with supernatural Heroes brought to life from the distant past. Impossible strength, endurance, speed, and who knows what else, all in one package. Astraia heard this, and promptly agreed impulsively.

She thought her position in life to be satisfactory, for the most part. But the bright red Command Seals resting on the back of her hand challenged that notion. The inhuman presence following her like a loyal retainer challenged that notion. This entire damned War challenged that bloody notion!

The only possible reason to accept this offer and join this hack of a ritual was the opportunities that it offered for a good fight. Astraia wanted to fight these Spirits supposedly far above her level, just to experience what it would be like. But why?

The thought that she’d be excited for a fight just sounded alien. Or, more correctly, like a memory. A long-forgotten picture of her life, brought to the forefront of Astraia’s thoughts. Polaroids of a little girl, now unrecognizable, shouting in frustration as she and another girl, taller than her even at their young age, fought in the dirt.

To think that at some point, Astraia found genuine joy in battle. It was enough to make the young woman laugh. Those days were different, to be sure. She didn’t have to fight and struggle for jobs with her clan. She didn’t have to look towards future encounters with her...counterpart with a scowl.

And that particular thought brought all the others, hidden within Astraia’s subconscious, tumbling out. Was she truly content with what she did? Was that life one she was ready to experience, over and over, daily, for all her life?

Was she happy?

The answer was unclear.

Yet again, why? Why now, of all times? Why would Astraia come to such a realization in such a time? It was outright bizarre! Frustration built within her as she continued her purposeful stride, considering the consequences for her introspection, only to be interrupted by a simple noise. “Stop.” The echoing voice is harsh, yet quiet.
The murderous intent behind such a voice is palpable, as Berserker of Black spots what lies beyond the path he and his Master tread on. The two of them have gotten sufficiently far from any buildings that no people should be around, under regular circumstances. The very obvious sight of the Red Castle floating in the far-away distance acts as a constant reminder that things are anything but normal.

Irregardless, Berserker hisses out a few more words. “An enemy. A girl with a gauntlet. She’s just sitting there.” Every sentence is perfectly calm, but distinctly unnatural. Something about the way the Servant speaks incites a pure animal fear within the listener. Astraia has strengthened her will since Berserker’s summoning. Her heart does not skip a beat, nor does she flinch. She would not be intimidated by her own Servant.

The Master shakes her head and confidently strides ahead, her keen eyes on the look-out for those her Servant spotted. “Hold, Berserker. That description is familiar. Let’s get a look at them before we kill them.” She has a bad feeling about this. Even ignoring Berserker’s bloodthirsty attitude, a woman wielding a gauntlet is the last thing Astraia wants to deal with right now.

And yet, despite all her hopes, the Prodigy discovers exactly what she expected.

Kalonice rests ahead of her, hand on her hip and one foot tapping on the ground out of boredom. The tanned woman spots Astraia at the exact same moment the shorter Master does so to her. They didn’t train together for nothing. “Hey, Astra, been a while, eh?” The grin on the Red Master’s face is friendly, but the motion of cracking her knuckles betrays the fighter’s intentions, as do the Command Seals inscribed on one hand.

“Not long enough, I’m afraid. Really, what are the chances we’d both join this stolen ritual?” Astraia can’t help but join the banter, even as she enters a fighting stance, taking control of her breathing and focusing on the sound of the two wooden containers strapped to her belt grinding against each other. This opponent is strong, but with the scrolls, or more accurately, the techniques on the scrolls, Astraia might just win.

“Die!” It is only then that she is reminded the two aren’t alone, the monstrously tall figure of Berserker taking physical form beside her and lunging towards her opponent. Just as Astraia shouts to stop him, her Servant is interrupted by the appearance of another. This Servant of Red, too, is unbelievably tall, with the appearance of a glorious knight, his armor a mix of shining metal and expensive cloth. The implications of his identity are only enhanced by the greatsword held in his hands, blocking the enemy’s attack. “I think not, madman of Black. Your fight shall be with me!”

With great strength, matching even Berserker’s own, “Caster” of Red shoulder checks the madenned monk a great distance away, leaping after him with the intent to do battle, leaving behind both Masters.

Kalonice looks at Astraia, and her counterpart does the same.

Barely a second passes before the two opponents begin their final duel.