*as you can see, I am not dead. DEUS VULT, and Happy Easter. I finally managed to write this shenanigan (it feels off even to myself, but yeah...I tried). let me know what you lot think. Peace out*
Things had come to a pretty stale point where Mark just rolled in his usual routine. There wasn't much he felt like doing besides the usual training sessions, shared conversations with the crew, or walks around Penacony just to get a breath of fresh air.
This same day started all the same, with the warmth of the bed daring him to linger and break what little consistency had formed over his time with the Express. Ignoring it, Mark threw the blanket off himself, springing to his feet to put himself in motion and try—TRY—to avoid the sleepiness. It was hard to do, until he brought his palms together for his morning prayers.
"Did I sleep so deeply that I couldn't feel this?" he muttered, staring at the back of his left palm. Red marks stretched over his skin, gliding in one strange figure akin to a sharp beak with feathers poking out.
"What the hell is this?"
He tried rubbing at it, but the thing had little to no effect. With a sigh, he prayed before walking out and taking a shower. Not even the hot water mixed with a solid scrub could get rid of it.
"Well damn me. That shit sure is a stubborn mark..."
The joke was there, and he had to say it, with or without an audience. His next step of action was to go talk with March, thinking it was some silly prank she'd pulled with Stelle, until the memory struck him.
'Holy grail...fuck me, it's the Fate event...'
All of a sudden the mark on his palm took too deep a meaning, with some repercussions that he couldn't discard that easily. The servant he'd summon would be up to fate, most likely... that or maybe he somehow got a connection to some faraway hero that he has zero clue about. That was how far his memories on Fate went—you needed something to act as a catalyst for the summoning ritual.
Still, it was just the HSR version, so the rules had probably been tossed out the window.
"Now to use it... what the hell do I even have to do with it?"
He slipped on some clothes, the snug fit of his outfit a familiar comfort. It was a game of chance now, one he gambled away on without a care. First he tried infusing the mark with some energy from within, but it didn't seem to react much.
"Hmm... don't tell me I have to go down that route..."
With a sigh, he reached out into empty air, just keeping his left arm extended like something to grab on would appear out of thin air. He grumbled for a bit, tapping his foot impatiently before speaking up with as much seriousness as he could muster—which was a lot considering how acting at random times was a funny little skill he kept sharp at random times.
"Thou who hath been forsaken by the ages, heed the echo of my distant cry."
Strangely or not so, the sigil did react. It began glowing faintly, the red light it emanated only intensifying.
"Upon the strenght of old I call, upon those whom history has long since forgotten or turned to myth. Answer me, oh most noble being."
With a twitch of cringe in his mind and the despairing hope that no one heard it, Mark waited. It didn't take long for the seal to blind him, the red glow it emanated a cold warning.
For a moment, time halted.
He blinked.
It all went dark...a familiar yet distant type of dark.
"This place...where the hell...?"
From every angle at once, countless voices resounded in unison—dissonant, harmonious, ravaged, young, old, human, inhuman. It was a distorted mix that made sense as much as it didn't.
"You know," the voices...voice...went on. "You were about to cause an event the likes of which I try to avoid at all costs."
It didn't sound angry, but the eerie feeling tied to it lingered in the air like emotions made physical.
"That event being?" asked Mark, curious and somehow strangely at ease.
"The universe being no more."
All the voices merged into one perfect sound for that phrase. From nowhere, a white glowing orb moved closer, one silent motion at a time. It was hard to make out that shadowy human-like shape, but in the end, it was noticeable just enough.
"Oh, right, cuz me using a goofy parody of a summoning ritual could ruin the whole universe. Sure."
Pure silence for a bit, no sound at all in the dark place. Mark crossed his arms, just then taking note of how well he could see himself in the lightless plane. Things barely made sense—but then again, so did the being before him.
"It's not neccessarily you who is the issue, but rather some people you've come to know and forgot about."
That earned the shadow-being a strange stare from Mark.
"Once again, you sweep by at the most random times to drop lore, it seems. Is that your whole shebang, Meritas? Toss me in here, then show up when you like it and drop weird bombs outta the blue?"
Meritas stared blankly at Mark, his intentions made clear not through expressions or body language, but rather just by existing.
"I do, sort of. Anyway, I don't have that much time to spend here. I keep an eye on one too many places at once...and one eye is supposedly all I have."
'Capable of jokes, it seems... for a weird thing like that, he...it...whatever sure has some strangely human mannerism.'
Mark's thoughts felt less private in that moment than if Black Swan had been given some metaphysical fireproof suit to barge through his Will.
It knew him, all of him.
"Yes, I do keep a sense of humor... to a degree, at least. It's hard to manage the chaos in my mind, but I manage. Anyway, your 'servant' in this case is a face you're likely to recall. A word of advice before I depart: DO NOT question things too much... and I'm saying this for your own sanity."
As if sensing Mark's inner turmoil, which it most probably did, Meritas spoke anew as he departed. The sea of voices rang out in the chaotic, harmonious dissonance again.
"One day it will all be clear, but until then I have to keep silence. Just keep being yourself, Mark..."
Blink.
Mark was back in the Astral Express, staring at the floor like it held the answers of the universe. That random interaction was baffling in both simplicity and depth. More questions, more to take in. It was slowly chipping at his sanity—something he had to give up on more and more.
"Markus, yo! It's been a while, man."
Turning to the side, Mark found himself with a strange new companion. New was, per Meritas' words, more like old but forgotten. How or why?
DO NOT QUESTION IT.
The words thundered in the back of his mind like they got a life of their own.
"Yo..." said Mark, trying to play along like he could remember the strange guy.
The figure stood just a bit shorter than him, with dark, messy hair ending in dark purple highlights. It seemed to reach down to his cheeks, but it was more like a wild untamed beast poking out however it wished while somehow looking intentional.
"Don't worry, man. He did mention that you most likely cannot recall who I am. Just call me DJ."
DJ. Those two damn letters dragged out a foggy cluster of past events that Mark hadn't yet lived.
"DJ, huh? Well... nice seeing you again, if I can put it like that."
The man just threw an arm around Mark's shoulders, pulling him close as he shook left and right.
"That's more like it, Markus. Just relax. We're best bros after all."
Mark went with the motions, quick to just join in on the warm atmosphere.
"Heh, I'm quite the shitty best bro in that case, having...you know...forgotten you and all. I'm kinda surprised that, ya know...a friend of mine makes the cut for a servant. It feels...strange..."
DJ smiled, cackling like someone just popped the best joke there is.
"Oh, don't worry, Marky boy, we both just so happen to get along. We're both suicidal idiots who compete on who can die first. Frankly, if you're at least similar to what I remember, we can just relax."
Mark nodded along, still trying to adjust to it. He expected a lot of variables and possibilities, ranging from a seal that didn't function at all to the most unheard of hero in the history of Penacony. Hell, he even expected to get someone from the Fate universe kind of like Stelle.
"Well, I guess we can both take it easy. I don't sense any danger around for the time being."
DJ just nodded, already helping himself to some stuff Mark kept around the room. He gave the steel pipe a couple swings, spinning it like a staff with quite the level of skill.
"Don't worry, Markus. Even if something were to happen, I'm sure the two of us could handle it. He did give me a short briefing before I was sent over."
Mark walked over to put the pipe back into its place as DJ went on to play with Hoolay's blade, swinging it around like a toy. With a twirl, DJ balanced it on his fingertip, staring at Mark while doing it.
Mark couldn't help but notice the purple eyes staring at him, a reminder to someone he couldn't say a proper goodbye to.
"You keep mentioning a certain 'he'...do you perhaps know-?"
"Meritas? Yeah, I do know him—to a degree, at least. It's a long story I won't bore you with. Maybe another time."
With that, he tossed the sword back to its rightful owner, bolting for the door instead.
"Come on, I want to see the Astral Express. Just tell the others a friend came over, no need to overexplain. Yes, I know you worry about details too much."
It was a lot to take in, but the man did know him. Mark felt out of it to the point of pinching himself again.
"Why must shit like this happen so much?"
DO NOT QUESTION.
That phrase repeated itself, and suddenly the warning made more sense. If he kept searching answers for everything, his path would end in blatant insanity. Instead, Mark stepped out in the hall and walked alongside DJ.
The Express was strangely quiet, more so than usual. It did make sense, with how everyone seemed to be busy doing their own thing. Even what fragments of memories about the event came back to Mark showed nothing but a funky little event where nothing too serious happened.
"Mongrel, what is the meaning of this!?"
Great. Mark burst through the door with DJ at his side, muttering under his breath.
"This pretentious guy again..."
Mark could only nod before shushing him.
"Shh, let me do the talking."
The duo stepped inside only to find Pom-Pom pointing his broom at a rather angry-looking Gilgamesh. For some reason it didn't surprise Mark, even if memories of leaks didn't mention him being present.
"Well, if it isn't Gilgamesh, the King of Heroes."
Pom-Pom stared at Mark, who suddenly walked forward while speaking like the warmest host there was.
"Do you know who this man is, Mark? Is he a friend of yours, perhaps?"
Gilgamesh scoffed at Pom-Pom's question, like the mere notion of him not being known was an insult. Pom-Pom didn't dare ask about DJ, too focused on the most threatening one.
"At least one of you mongrels has some manners."
Mark stared at him, looking right into those crimson, inhuman eyes. There was something about them that even a watered-down version of Gilgamesh kept with scrutiny. His presence felt heavy. Still, Mark couldn't help himself. The urge to try his mettle against him, even if Gilgamesh was a far cry from his true strength, itched him in all the wrong places.
DJ just walked closer to Pom-Pom and motioned for the conductor to take a step back. He shook his head, letting out a tired sigh.
"There he goes again... just watch."
And watch, they did. Mark shrugged, speaking in a casual manner like Gil was an old friend—one he did remember.
"Well, if you wanna know, it's YOU who's the actual mongrel. You're what, a mixed breed between a god and a human, so yeah... just setting the record straight."
DJ just sighed, opening the door of the Express before Mark went flying through it, with Gil following.
"You DARE!?"
Penacony was all but ready for the show. While the other members of the 'Grail War' were out having fun, Mark and Gilgamesh locked in combat like there was no tomorrow.
"Let's see you writhe and squirm, vermin."
Gate of Babylon was quick to open, shooting out countless blades from every direction. Mark just grinned, staring around like a child in a candy factory.
"This shit is epic! Finally, I get to see this technique used by the one and only! HA!"
Mark's arms shoot forward, sending out waves of ice that crashed into the blades, halting their flight. Both kept at it for a while, increasing the intensity of their attacks until both realized it's worthless to keep going at that pace. Bathed in ice fragments of all sizes and swords, the ground felt a touch more like a serious battlefield.
"You know, there's something I haven't used in a long time. I tried it ONCE while training then kinda forgot about it, cuz frankly, no situation really needed it."
Thin ice veins sprouted from the soles of his feet, spreading all over the ground. Both he and Gil stared each other down, arms crossed, striking the same exact pose. DJ had seated himself on the Astral Express, chewing on some popcorn he got from who knows where.
"Go, Markus! Show him!"
Gilgamesh just clicked his tongue, shooting a glare at DJ, who simply shrugged and laughed it off.
"Well, I'm sure I'm not the first to kinda copy your technique. Thanks for the ammo, by the way."
The swords, now infused with energy tied directly to Mark, started floating. It was hard for him to focus on so many at once, especially with it being the first time he's tried lifting so many things. That ability he'd discovered on a random night was finally being put to use—at least for show if nothing else.
"Another pathetic attempt at copying my abilities... one that barely qualifies. At least the other one was half-decent."
Mark shrugged, undeterred about the half-assed praise Gilgamesh gave Archer.
"Yeah, yeah, whatever. Let me try this and then we'll see..."
Thus, it was a clash of swords on swords this time. The cacophony created was loud enough to echo far and wide, but no one was crazy enough to approach. It ended quickly, with Mark's newbie barrage forced back at once. To his surprise, Gilgamesh didn't continue to put pressure, instead halting his attack. Every sword simply vanished, returning to their rightful place in his treasury.
"That was pathetic."
The words were heartfelt, meant as literally as possible.
"Well... he's not wrong, Marky boy," added DJ, trying to avoid any bias. "You gotta work on that technique of yours. Still, B+ for the effort."
Mark just nodded, trying to keep it cool.
"Yeah, yeah, got it, you two. I need to train more, just spare me the speech. I haven't used this technique at all in a long time. I didn't expect too much either."
Gil just stared at him, arms still crossed—the epitome of rigidity made casual. Mark glanced at DJ for help, trying to avoid the awkward silence. Somehow the King of Heroes had gone quiet for once, instead looking at Mark with a serious gaze.
"You. You seem to know who I am but do not bow your head as is fitting."
Mark blinked rapidly. It was in character to a degree, but stuff like that still sounded corny—and to his ears, Mark was perhaps the corniest idiot around.
"Why would I? Hell, you're cool and all, but I'm not gonna start kissing your ass or whatever. If you wanna just...dunno...go inside, have a drink, and talk like proper people, then sure. Just don't expect me to go kissing your boots or whatever."
DJ chimed in, hopping off from his perfect seat atop the Express.
"Having a drink sure doesn't sound bad. Let me see if I know my way around the place. I should, technically."
He bolted inside, leaving Mark's gaze the only one to keep vigil over Gilgamesh. That man was pretty hard to figure out.
"I will give you the honor of tasting proper wine. I will not have whatever you mongrels drink."
With that, Gil also walked inside like he owned the place, leaving Mark outside on his own. For a few moments, the whole scene felt like some stupid universal prank played on him, but in the end he stopped trying to reason.
"To hell with logic," he said before following along.