"Uu..."
She nodded up and down. It would seem he was correct.
"And the homunculi in the castle... they're not good enough, are they? I mean, they are pretty similar to you..."
"..."
Berserker simply shoved the flower in her hand into Caules' face. It did not hurt him so much as it surprised him.
"I'll take that as a no, then."
Berserker nodded strongly. In her own way, there were lines that she refused to cross.
Suddenly, she stared straight at Caules' face, her grey eyes peeking through the gaps between her long hair, her hand lightly tugging at him.
"You want to know what my wish is?"
Berserker shook her head up and down. Caules thought. It would be reasonable enough to say that he wanted to reach the Root, and the matter would be settled. That was something that a magus would give up his life for, after all. And Berserker, having been granted a certain amount of knowledge by the Holy Grail, would not find this questionable.
But Caules did not like to lie.
"Well, actually, I haven't decided it yet."
"..."
She was glaring at him. Caules scratched his head, looking apologetic.
"It's not that I don't have one. I'm a magus too, of course I want to reach the Root and all... but, I think, there are some other things I want."
Can the Root be so easily reached, even with an omnipotent wish-granter like the Grail? Caules greatly doubted it. Certainly, it would carve out the first step to reaching the goal. But the path would still be too far.
"Anyway, I won't know until we get to that point. For example, if my sister dies in the war, I may want to resurrect her. Something like that would overwrite my own wish. The sister I have now means more to me than the Root I'll reach in a hundred years."
Well... not that she'd bring me back if I died, Caules thought.
Amidst his absentminded thoughts, Berserker made a low sound. It would seem she approved, at least to some extent.
"It's fine as long as you understand. I'll be going back to my room now."
Caules stood up, but Berserker pulled at his shirt. Turning around, he suddenly found a flower held up to his face.
"You... want me to have this?"
Berserker nodded, and Caules accepted it with thanks. After that, she began picking at the flowers again. And then, seeing her begin to rip the flowers to shreds, one by one, he beat a hasty retreat. There's no lake here - and he wouldn't be able to stop her throwing him, anyway.
---
Chapter 3-7
---
Celenike Icecolle Yggdmillennia's cold tongue slowly crept around the nape of Rider's neck.
"Hey..."
He was lying stretched out on the bed, with both hands bound by leather straps. His mail and parts of his armor were removed, exposing his bare chest, slim collarbones and white skin. It was an incredibly suggestive position.
Celenike draped herself over him, cheeks flushed and gazing with lust-filled eyes at his lashes... his lips... his flesh.
However, Rider's expression was not one of shame or pain, but utter boredom. He said, sounding fed up.
"Could you give it a rest?"
"No. You're just so beautiful... I could taste you for an entire day and not be bored."
"But I will."
"I don't care. All that matters is what I want."
Rider made a noise of exasperation. Every day since he had been summoned, without fail, his Master would have her way with his body. Hers was a perverted love - her fingers and her slippery tongue would trace along his body, but it was never a 'normal' show of romance.
If anything, he felt he was being loved as a work of art - and he doubted many human beings would cover paintings and statues with their own drool.
"You really are breathtaking..."
Celenike sighed in amazement. Normally, he wouldn't hesitate to embrace anyone who said that to him - man or woman - but Rider wasn't particularly happy to hear this from her.
It was a small mercy that she had yet to do something impulsive and foolish like deploying a Command Spell to coerce him... but that could change if they were both still alive once the battle was decided. Being a form of thaumaturgy, Command Spells can be repulsed by his anti-thaumaturgy - but even with his A-rank skill, he would still only be able to go against a single command. If she were to use two, he would have no choice but to obey.
Now, if she could just waste a Command Spell on some other, meaningless order...
"It's such a shame... Why can't my knife cut you?"
Celenike made a disturbing observation.
"I was summoned to fight, you know... Oh, it's nearly time."
Good timing - Rider ripped apart his bonds and stood up. Celenike, pushed aside, pouted in protest.
"Do I really just not interest you?"
"That's not really the problem."
"As the legends goes... Astolfo was quite the ladies' man."
"That's got nothing to do with this! Geez..."
What she said may be true, but all it meant was he would romance the girl he wanted, when he wanted - which could not be further from being forcefully pursued by a single woman.
And most of all, the stench of death that followed the magus was far too thick. She has probably been covered in blood and gore since she was born. She can use perfumes and wash herself from the smell of it, but death itself will never leave her.
She was born in the Icecolle family, a fairly old bloodline of practitioners of the dark arts. Forced on the run by the devastating witch hunts of the Middle Ages - from western Europe all the way to Siberia - they lost the foundation of their thaumaturgy and eventually fell into decline.
Celenike was the first child to be born of the decaying bloodline in a long time. Her elders, who devoted their lives to perfecting the dark arts, doted upon her and poured every teaching they had into her.
The dark arts require a particular disposition, namely, one who would not hesitate to pull apart living sacrifices. One who would not falter at supplications until the required amount of suffering - from the offspring of beast and man, excellent human beings and kind animals, old men and old pets, the pregnant and the unborn - had been reached.
She was taught to present herself externally, and control herself internally. For only a failure would lose oneself in the joy of the slaughter.
Slaughter, but only when slaughter is required. Pain, but only when pain is required.
Celenike was an outstanding practitioner. When she offered her sacrifices, her iron will suppressed all emotions and allowed her to perform any amount of heinous rituals.
She truly had utter control over her passions. After all, the delight of causing pain and the joy of rendering abuse are the most dangerous things of all to those who practice the dark arts.
That is why all of Celenike's desires are forced out of her whenever she is not acting as a magus. No one has ever spent a night with her and remained in one piece.
She would take a boy, innocent to the ways of the world, and defile and violate every single part of his body, lapping at his tears of suffering. She turned dark arts into a living, walking the line between a magus and a user. She made her employment something which would end with her smeared with blood. Such is the existence of the fiend called Celenike Icecolle Yggdmillennia.
The only reason why she never went beyond 'loving' the Servant she summoned was due to the absolute difference in power between them. Rider is, after all, a Servant - not something she can use violence against. As a magus, she also understood that until the war had been decided, he must be able to use his strength to the fullest.
Once the war has ended, though... she has very little doubt that she will lose all inhibitions and give in to her wants. Using her Command Spells, she would desecrate this Heroic Spirit, for whom only the word 'fair' can describe, and fill him with shame.
She cannot care less for the second conflict that would revolve around the Hol
y Grail. The only thing she wants is to be with Astolfo.
Hers was a rather... extremely... twisted love.
"I've got something to attend to. Excuse me."
Celenike laid on the bed, idly watching Astolfo as he hurriedly changed his clothes.
"You're not thinking of going out again, are you?"
"Mm, something like that."
Celenike's eyes narrowed at the vague reply.
"You haven't been messing around with the people in the town, have you?"
"I'm just out to have some fun. I'm back in the world with a body, after all. What's wrong with playing around a bit until the war starts?"
She could not even begin to tell him how wrong that was. A Servant spending all his time outside playing might as well be abandoning his duty. But Celenike knew this was not something she could fix with a scold. She murmured with some resignation.
"Of course, it's wrong. If Darnic gets mad at anyone, it'll be me..."
"Sorry! I'll be going now!"
Celenike watched as Rider left - and then noticed.
The blushing and hint of shyness on his face made it look very much like he was about to meet someone dear to him.
---
Chapter 3-8
---
"Well, first of all, I think you should get out of this wretched hive of scum and villainy as quickly as you can!"
Rider's suggestion was candid to a fault. They had barely started talking and the homunculus already felt somewhat taken aback, coming to vividly know of Astolfo's lunacy.
But... escape? Escape to where?
"Anywhere but here. It can't be any worse, right?"
He's right, the homunculus thought. But how could he escape?
"Well, let's not waste any time! We can ride out of here on my beloved steed! If we don't get a move on, my Master will probably call for me again."
Use Rider's steed? Yes, that could work... but the steed of Astolfo is...
"Oh? You know of my hippogriff?"
He did, as part of his knowledge on this Great War. Astolfo brought rise to various legends on the back of mounts like a griffin and the famous Rabicano, but particularly famous among them is something inconceivable for this world - the hippogriff.
This phantasmal horse was a magical beast born from the union of a griffin and a mare. With the upper body of an eagle and the lower body of a horse, this spawn between the two ought not have been possible.
Well... this is not much of an issue for the present. The problem lies more in the fact that the hippogriff is most certainly Rider's Noble Phantasm. By using it, Rider will expend an enormous amount of prana - and it will be none other than the homunculi who will have to bear the cost. Even putting that aside, such an expenditure of prana will inevitably point to the use of a Noble Phantasm.
"But it's very fast, you know! It's like, whooooosh! We'll go as far as we can, then I can just whoooooosh my way back! I don't think it'll use up that much prana just flying."
Despite Rider's gracious attempts to confer the speed of his hippogriff through a variety of bodily gestures, he cannot accept this plan.
"Oh, okay. Hmm, what shall we do, then? Maybe we should discuss it with Chiron."
He suddenly blurted out Archer's true name. When the homunculus pointed this out, Rider's face quickly turned pale. It seems he does realize, to some extent, that that was a bad idea.
"Huh? Oh, right! Sorry! Forget I said that!"
The information wasn't particularly useful to him in any case.
"Phew. Good, good. Don't let the others know, okay?"
He could see little regret in Rider as the Servant roared with laughter. If an opposing faction can manage to restrain this Servant, they will definitely dominate their enemy on the intelligence front. So the homunculus thought.
After some thought, Rider gave a suggestion.
"What about this? This war between Servants will begin in earnest soon. In the middle of all that fighting, it'd be a bit hard spotting one escaped homunculus, don't you think? And even if we do get exposed, they won't have the resources to come after us anyway. So, I'll wait for the right moment to lead you out of this place."
It was a solid plan, a complete turnabout from his previous idea.
"Yes, that should do, Rider."
The homunculus tensed at Archer's words. The Servant had opened, gone through and closed the door, and moved behind Rider without the homunculus ever realizing.
On the other hand, Rider showed no surprise and seemed to have known about his presence. He turned his head towards Archer standing behind him.
"You think so, too, Archer?"
"Yes, I am Archer... please do not call me 'Chiron' by mistake again."
"All right, I get it... Sorry. I really do feel bad about it."
Archer took a seat at the writing desk and gazed at the homunculus.
"You are afraid."
"Well, of course. Who wouldn't be afraid of people like us?"
Rider interjected. Actually, the homunculus wasn't very afraid of Rider any more, but he decided not to argue the point.
"As such, I will put one more fear in you. I speak very clearly - at most, you only have three more years to live."
Archer dispassionately confirmed the cruel reality. The homunculus nodded in understanding. Archer's declaration at his bedside carved itself into his mind.
"If you were but a child, I would lament and give my sympathy. However, you are a homunculus - in a way, you were born complete. That is why you must now consider for yourself."
Consider what? The homunculus asked. Archer stared directly at him with his sharp, piercing eyes.
"Consider how you will live."
To the homunculus, this seemed a task that would prove impossible within his lifetime.
Life itself is already a miracle to him. How can he possible know how to spend it? However, Archer declared sternly.
"Even so, you must consider it. If you do not, then how would your life be any different - or end any differently - even if you were to survive this war? There would have been no meaning to any of this."
"Well, I think being alive is already a blessing..."
Rider muttered as an aside.
"That will not do."
Archer brushed aside Rider's opinion with a single, short reply.
The homunculus could not respond to Archer's words. He did not know how. What can he possibly think about? How should he think about it? He felt like a fallen bough, set adrift at sea.
"Well... you could always ask others. Luckily, Rider is here to help you. Ask him, if there is anything you are unclear about."
"Wait, why does this involve me all of a sudden?"
"That is what it means to take responsibility, Rider. Oh, yes, and one more thing - start by learning to walk. Your feet have become far too soft. Once you can walk, you may be able to use some simple thaumaturgy. That should lessen the strain to your physical being."
The homunculus no longer felt as burdened in mind, perhaps due to the clear and understandable goal he had been given. After all, his walking around won't bother anyone. He can even start right away.
Archer stood up and patted Rider on the shoulder.
"Let us go, Rider. I will lock the door. No one will dare barge into this room during the meeting."
"All right..."
Rider stood up as well, looking annoyed. He was clearly dissatisfied, but the homunculus could not tell what the cause was.
"See you later, then. I'll be back, okay?"
Be careful, said the homunculus as he saw them off, and Rider shook his hand, looking strangely pleased. As soon as the door closed, he began to act. For now - he must begin to walk.
His two feet firmly gripped the floor. They were small and soft, but they could support his body - for a short while, at least. He took a step and felt some slight pain. His feet were dirtied. However, this time, he was not being driven by franticness. With walking as his only goal, he will not be lost.
Meanwhile, Rider promptly became annoyed again as they walked down the hall.
"Aren't you being too hard on him?"
"And you are being too soft. I only wished to strike a balance."
Archer smiled as he replied, but Rider sulked and grumbled.
Fate/Apocrypha - Volume 1 Page 18