Medusa

The hero I’d picked waited for me, stoic and patient. Before, back in the beginning, I’d been afraid of her, or rather, afraid of touching those like her who had been physically deviant in their myths. Those with bodies that weren’t entirely human. Now, I grasped her without flinching.

“Set.”

I’d been spoiled for choice, really. Several of the heroes I’d gone and researched had excellent qualifications as riders, as tamers of beasts. Gawain, particularly, was in a very odd place, in that he had no extra skill as a cavalryman, no real talent for compelling the fantastical and legendary beasts of the world, but still had a Noble Phantasm — a set of chains — that let him ride a dragon.

There were others, though, who took it further. Others who had been around in the time when those beasts had been common, when they and their companionship had been features of every myth in some form or another.

Queen Medb and her chariot.

Medea’s bronze bulls.

Achilles’ chariot and divine horses.

They all had different problems. Gawain’s skill might not be enough, and his Noble Phantasm bound a dragon, not…whatever Leviathan counted as. Medb and Medea were both…squishy was the only way I could describe it. They weren’t suited to getting in close with Leviathan, not without their chariots. And Achilles? He was strong enough, but I had the sense that all of his offensive options were costly, if it came down to having to fight or retreat.

In the end, a lot of the options in my current repertoire came down to one of those three problems. Too specialized, too defenseless in close combat, or too draining if it came to a fight.

There was only one I knew of who made sense.

“Install.”

I grew again into a lean, long-limbed form. My bust and hips swelled. A hooded robe, like that of an ancient priestess, settled over my shoulders and head. My hair lengthened and straightened and turned a vivid shade of pale lavender. A pair of leggings stretched up my legs, and a molded sort of leotard covered my body, exposing my stomach and thighs. Over my eyes was a strap like a blindfold, a specialized band designed not to limit me, but to protect the world from my gaze.

A sort of cold, calculating calm settled over me, completely at odds with the hate and violence of her myth. Waiting in the wings, I could feel several Noble Phantasms, including one that would irreversibly change me and even the very scythe that took this hero’s head.

Medusa.

A rider of the highest class, capable of mounting and controlling even the likes of a divine beast. Fast, slippery, agile — if I had to disengage and try again, she was the best choice. Her offense was also fairly weak without her mount, but with her eyes, even Leviathan would at least be forced to pause, wouldn’t he?