"What is that?" Ritsuka's voice cut through his spiraling thoughts. She'd paused her own activities, amber eyes fixed on the box in his hand with curious intensity.
Griswald opened it wordlessly. The individually wrapped condoms gleamed dully in the firelight, arranged in neat rows that suddenly represented far more than simple contraception.
They represented a solution to the exact problem Ritsuka had just articulated.
Mash's eyes went wide. Her flush, which had started to fade slightly during the pause, returned with renewed intensity. The crimson spread down her neck, across her exposed breasts, painting her pale skin in shades that rivaled the dying light filtering through the ruined buildings.
"I..." Her voice came out strangled. "Master, are those—"
Ritsuka made a sound between a laugh and a gasp, her eyes widening as recognition dawned. "Condoms."
The clinical word hung in the air, somehow more shocking than everything they'd just done. Griswald's fingers tightened reflexively on the box, his face burning hotter than the corrupted fires consuming Fuyuki's skyline.
"These would actually solve our problem." Ritsuka sat up straighter, her analytical mind already working through logistics despite her flushed state and the glistening evidence of arousal coating her inner thighs. "Gris can finish inside them, and Mash can consume the contents later. During combat, between engagements—whenever she needs a quick mana boost without requiring privacy or time for oral transfer."
The pragmatism of her assessment clashed violently with the vulgarity of the actual mechanics. Griswald's throat worked soundlessly as his brain struggled to process the image her words conjured—Mash in the middle of battle, shield raised against corrupted Servants, pausing just long enough to tear open one of these packages and swallow his—
"Wait." Ritsuka's analytical expression shifted into something far more mischievous. She leaned forward, breasts swaying with the movement as she studied Griswald's mortified face with renewed interest. "Why exactly do you have an entire box of condoms on you?"
Griswald's mouth opened. Closed. No sound emerged.
"I mean..." Ritsuka's lips curved into a wicked smile that transformed her entire face from scholarly to predatory. "That's quite the supply for someone who claimed they'd never even kissed anyone before today. Were you planning something back at Chaldea? Some secret rendezvous the rest of us didn't know about?"
"I wasn't—that's not—" The words tangled on his tongue.
"Because honestly, if you were getting that much action in the medical bay, I'm impressed." Ritsuka's grin widened as she watched him squirm. "Dr. Archaman seemed pretty oblivious when I met him, but maybe that was intentional? Did you have some arrangement with one of the technicians? Oh gods, was it one of the Master candidates? Were you sneaking around with—"
"Daybit gave them to me!" The words exploded from Griswald in a desperate rush, his face now radiating enough heat to probably provide light in the gathering darkness.
The confession hung between them.
Mash's eyebrows shot toward her hairline, her own embarrassment momentarily forgotten in sheer surprise. "Daybit Sem Void?"
Ritsuka's playful expression shifted to genuine confusion, her teasing derailed by the unfamiliar name. "Who's Daybit?"
"One of the Master candidates." Mash's voice carried an odd note. "Team A. He was... unusual."
"Unusual doesn't begin to cover it." Griswald clutched the box like a lifeline, grateful for the distraction from Ritsuka's earlier implications. "He showed up right before the explosion. Said something cryptic, then handed me the box and vanished before I could ask what he meant."
Ritsuka's brow furrowed. "He gave you condoms? Just... out of nowhere? Before a mandatory briefing?"
Mash shifted, her thighs pressing together as renewed awareness of her exposed state seemed to crash over her. "Daybit was... he always seem knew things. Things he shouldn't have been able to know. Director Animusphere consulted with him sometimes, even though she found him disturbing."
"Well, disturbing or not, he just saved our strategic planning." Ritsuka gestured toward the box with one hand whilst the other trailed absently down her own stomach. "Because that's actually brilliant. Portable mana reserves that don't require immediate transfer. Mash can carry several, replenish during lulls in combat, maintain peak efficiency throughout extended engagements."
The clinical assessment made Griswald's head spin. They were discussing storing his semen like it was healing potion inventory, planning distribution strategies for his bodily fluids with the same casualness someone might plan ammunition rationing.
"There's probably thirty in here." He forced himself to examine the contents properly despite wanting to throw the entire box into the nearest fire. "Maybe more."
"Perfect." Ritsuka's smile turned absolutely filthy. "So we fill as many as possible before the ambush, Mash carries them into combat, and she's got emergency reserves that won't run out mid-fight. And Gris..." Her eyes dragged deliberately down his still-exposed body. "You mentioned your healing magic can replenish immediately?"
His cock, which had softened slightly during the conversation's analytical turn, began stirring again under her attention. The circuit he'd discovered during Mash's oral transfer hummed with renewed awareness, ready to convert his meager mana into the biological material they needed.
"I can." The admission felt obscene. "As many times as necessary."
"As many times as necessary." Ritsuka repeated the words like a promise, her hand sliding between her own thighs. "Mash, how do you feel about helping your Master fill those condoms? I think we should aim for at least fifteen before we rest. Maybe twenty if his stamina holds."
Mash's violet eyes, still glazed from earlier pleasure, focused on Griswald with an intensity that made his breath catch. "Whatever Master requires."
The first condom slid onto Griswald's cock with clinical efficiency that somehow felt more obscene than if Ritsuka had simply groped him. Her fingers handled the latex with practiced precision, smoothing it down his length whilst simultaneously avoiding direct skin contact in a way that seemed calculated to torment him. The thin barrier felt strange against his sensitive flesh—a reminder that this was meant to be practical and logistical. Except Mash watched with rapt attention, violet eyes tracking every movement of Ritsuka's hands like she might observe a crucial combat demonstration, and the weight of that gaze made his cock throb despite the awkwardness of the situation.
"Now stroke him." Ritsuka guided Mash's hand to wrap around the sheathed shaft, positioning her fingers with the same matter-of-fact tone she might use to explain proper sword grip. "Firm enough that he feels it through the latex, but not so hard you hurt him. Steady rhythm—don't try anything fancy yet. Watch his face—you'll know when he's close by how his breathing changes, how his jaw tightens."
Mash's touch started tentative, almost reverent, as though she feared breaking something fragile. Her slender fingers encircled him carefully, applying pressure that made his hips twitch involuntarily despite his attempt to remain still. She found a rhythm after a few experimental strokes, slow at first whilst she gauged his reactions, then building as Griswald's breathing quickened into something ragged and undignified. Her grip tightened incrementally, adjusting based on the subtle shifts in his expression—the way his grey eyes unfocused slightly, how his lips parted around increasingly shallow breaths.
"That's it." Ritsuka leaned in closer, her breath hot against Mash's ear whilst her own hand slipped down to cup Griswald's balls with shocking intimacy, rolling them gently between her fingers. The additional stimulation made him gasp, his entire body tensing under their combined attention. "Feel how they tighten? That means he's almost there. Keep the same pace—don't speed up now or you'll ruin it."
The dual stimulation—Mash's increasingly confident strokes combined with Ritsuka's intimate manipulation of his most sensitive areas—pushed Griswald over the edge faster than he'd anticipated, faster than he wanted. His cock pulsed hard, seed flooding the condom in thick spurts whilst Mash maintained her grip exactly as instructed, milking every drop with methodical thoroughness that suggested she'd internalized Ritsuka's lesson perfectly. The latex expanded obscenely, filling with his release whilst both women watched with undisguised fascination.
"Good." Ritsuka carefully removed the filled latex, tying it off with deft fingers before setting it aside. "Fourteen more to go."
The third condom went on during what Ritsuka called a "visual demonstration." She positioned herself on hands and knees, back arched, ass raised whilst Mash stroked Griswald from behind. The sight of Ritsuka's glistening sex mere inches from his cock, her amber eyes watching over her shoulder whilst Mash's hand worked him toward climax, proved devastating.
"Imagine filling me." Ritsuka's voice dropped to pure sin. Tight walls gripping you, my moans whilst you stretch me open—"
Griswald came with a strangled sound, his hips bucking into Mash's grip whilst Ritsuka grinned.
For the fifth, Ritsuka demonstrated breast stimulation techniques. She pressed her modest breasts together around Griswald's sheathed cock, creating a soft channel that made his eyes roll back. Mash watched intently, unconsciously squeezing her own larger breasts whilst Ritsuka worked.
"Some men love this." Ritsuka's tongue darted out, licking the tip each time it emerged from her cleavage. "The visual alone can finish them."
She wasn't wrong. Griswald's hands fisted in the debris beneath him, watching his cock disappear between those pale mounds whilst Ritsuka's clever tongue teased. When he came, she maintained position, letting the condom fill whilst trapped in that hot, soft embrace.
The eighth involved both of them. Mash knelt on one side, Ritsuka on the other, their faces inches apart whilst their hands worked in tandem. Four hands—stroking, squeezing, teasing—created overlapping sensations that obliterated coherent thought.
"Look at him." Ritsuka's fingers traced the sensitive underside whilst Mash's thumb circled the head. "So hard for us. So ready to give us what we need."
Their breath mingled with his, creating humid warmth that matched the gathering heat in his core. When he finished, both girls smiled at each other across his cock like they'd accomplished something significant.
By the tenth, Griswald's entire body trembled with exhaustion despite his magical replenishment. His cock remained hard through sheer arcane persistence, the healing circuit flooding his body with renewed capability even as his mind spiraled into overstimulated chaos.
Ritsuka positioned herself between his spread legs, her mouth working the sensitive space behind his balls whilst Mash sucked at his cock while her hands stroked him, one gripping the base whilst the other twisted around the base of his cock.
"Almost there, Master." Mash's voice had gained confidence even with his cock in her mouth, the title rolling off her tongue with possessive pride. "Give me more. I need everything you have."
The combination of Ritsuka's tongue and Mash's doubled efforts wrung another orgasm from his depleted body, his seed pulsing into the condom whilst both girls murmured encouragement.
The twelfth required creativity. Griswald lay on his back, spent in every way except the magical one that kept his cock rigidly functional. Ritsuka straddled his thigh, grinding her soaked sex against his leg whilst Mash rode his other thigh, both working his sheathed cock together between their soft bellies.
"Feel how wet we are?" Ritsuka gasped, her arousal coating his skin. "All from watching you. From touching you."
Mash's face flushed crimson, her hips moving with increasing desperation against his thigh whilst thrusting her stomach out to meet Ritsuka's in a complex dance along his shaft. When Griswald came this time, both girls reached their own peaks simultaneously, their combined cries echoing through the ruined building.
The fifteenth stretched Griswald beyond anything he'd imagined possible. His healing magic worked overtime, his magical circuits—usually so feeble—burning with unprecedented intensity to maintain biological function. Every nerve felt stripped raw, hypersensitive to the slightest touch.
Ritsuka knelt beside him, whispering filthy promises whilst her fingers traced patterns across his chest, teasing his nipples into hard points. Mash had taken position between his legs, her violet eyes locked on his face whilst she stroked with single-minded determination, her other hand alternating between massaging his balls and pressing gently behind them.
"Last one, Master." Mash's voice carried breathless reverence. "Then you can rest whilst I carry your mana into battle."
The erotic imagery Ritsuka's filthy words painted proved too much. Griswald's back arched, a ragged sound tearing from his throat as the final orgasm crashed through him. The condom filled whilst both girls watched with satisfaction, Ritsuka already reaching to carefully remove and seal it.
Fifteen latex packages lay arranged nearby, each containing the mana reserves that might mean the difference between victory and death. Griswald collapsed fully, his cock finally softening as he released the healing circuit, letting exhaustion claim him.
"Perfect." Ritsuka gathered the filled condoms with clinical efficiency. "This should keep Mash at peak efficiency through the entire ambush."
Mash carefully tucked the packages into a secured pouch at her hip, her expression shifting from flushed satisfaction to focused determination. The Demi-Servant was ready for war.
Mash's voice filtered through the haze of exhaustion that wrapped around Griswald like a suffocating blanket. "You did wonderfully, Master."
The words registered distantly. Griswald lay sprawled across the debris-strewn floor, chest heaving whilst sweat cooled on his bare skin. His pants remained somewhere in the scattered wreckage of their makeshift privacy area, abandoned early in the process and never retrieved. His cock, mercifully soft now, rested against his thigh—finally, blessedly dormant after the arcane marathon that had pushed his healing circuits to their absolute limit.
"I think your Master might need a little pick-me-up." Ritsuka's amused tone carried an edge of genuine concern beneath the playfulness. "He looks about ready to pass out."
Footsteps approached. Soft, hesitant. Griswald managed to crack one eye open, watching through blurred vision as Mash moved closer. She'd already secured the pouch containing their hard-won mana reserves at her hip, the slight bulge a tangible reminder of what they'd just accomplished. What he'd just endured.
She knelt beside his head with the same careful grace she'd shown throughout their entire encounter—that peculiar blend of shyness and determination that somehow made even the most vulgar acts seem innocent when she performed them. Her violet eyes studied his face with concern, cataloging every sign of his exhaustion.
"You worked so hard." Her fingers ghosted along his sweat-dampened hair, brushing the strands away from his forehead with infinite gentleness. "Your stamina was... incredible. I never imagined you could..."
The sentence trailed into nothing, her flush returning with renewed intensity despite everything they'd already shared. Griswald watched through half-lidded eyes as she leaned closer, her breath washing across his overheated skin.
The kiss landed on his cheek with feather-light pressure. Chaste. Almost reverent. Her lips lingered barely a second before she pulled back, her entire face erupting into crimson that rivaled the corrupted sky outside.
The reaction struck him as absurd. She'd just spent the last hour stroking his cock, swallowing his seed, grinding against him whilst Ritsuka whispered filth—yet somehow this simple gesture, this innocent expression of gratitude, embarrassed her more thoroughly than all of that combined.
"I'm... thank you." Mash's voice emerged strangled, her hands fluttering uselessly before settling in her lap. "For everything. For trusting me with this."
The genuine emotion in those words cut through Griswald's exhaustion. He forced himself upright despite his protesting muscles, ignoring the way his head spun from the sudden movement. His hand found hers automatically, fingers threading together with the same natural ease that had developed between them during their mana transfers.
"We're partners." The words came out rougher than intended, his throat raw from the sounds he'd made during their extended session. "You don't need to thank me for doing what's necessary to keep you alive."
Mash's eyes widened, something shifting in their violet depths. She squeezed his hand, the gesture carrying more meaning than any elaborate declaration could have conveyed.
"As touching as this is," Ritsuka's voice interrupted from where she'd already started redressing, "we should probably get moving before Cú decides to investigate why we're taking so long."
The image that conjured—the ancient Irish hero discovering them in their current state—provided sufficient motivation. Griswald released Mash's hand with reluctance, searching the immediate area for his abandoned clothing whilst his companion rose to her feet with considerably more grace than he could currently manage.
His pants had somehow ended up draped across a broken support beam. Griswald retrieved them with fumbling fingers, his coordination still compromised by the magical and physical drain. The fabric felt strange against his sensitized skin as he pulled them up, every nerve still hypersensitive from prolonged stimulation.
Mash had already begun summoning her armor back into existence, the black and purple material materializing around her body with liquid smoothness. The transformation from the naked, flushed girl who'd pleasured him to the armored Shielder ready for combat happened in heartbeats, though her lingering blush betrayed recent activities.
Ritsuka finished adjusting her own clothes with practiced efficiency, smoothing wrinkles from fabric with quick, precise movements. She'd somehow managed to restore complete composure despite participating just as thoroughly in their session, her amber eyes now focused and analytical rather than heated with arousal.
"Ready?" She glanced between them, one eyebrow raised in challenge. "Because if anyone asks what took us so long, I'm blaming equipment maintenance. Specifically, Mash's equipment."
The deliberate emphasis made Griswald choke on nothing, coughing whilst Mash's blush deepened impossibly further. Ritsuka's grin turned wicked, clearly delighted by their reactions.
They made their way back through the ruined building's twisted corridors, navigating debris and collapsed sections with careful steps. The weight of what they'd just done—what they'd need to continue doing to maintain Mash's combat effectiveness—settled over Griswald like a physical presence. Fifteen condoms secured at her hip. Fifteen reserves of his essence, ready for consumption whenever battle depleted her reserves.
The return journey felt different. Quieter. The distant sounds of Olga's ranting had faded while they were gathering mana, replaced by the ambient crackle of corrupted fires and the occasional groan of settling rubble.
None of them spoke about what had just happened.
What could they possibly say?
They rounded the corner of the collapsed building that had served as their makeshift privacy screen and found Olga standing alone in the ruined street. Her back faced them, posture rigid with barely contained fury. The red sky cast strange shadows across her silver hair.
Ritsuka's footsteps crunched on debris. "Hey. Where'd Cú go?"
Olga's shoulders tensed. She still didn't turn around. Didn't acknowledge their presence beyond a slight stiffening of her spine.
"The insufferable barbarian informed me—informed, not asked—that he was going scouting." Her voice came out clipped. Venomous. Each word precisely enunciated like she was biting through glass. "He simply announced his intentions and vanished into spirit form without waiting for approval or authorization or even basic tactical coordination."
Her hands clenched into fists at her sides.
"As if I'm not the Director of this organization. As if chain of command means nothing. As if centuries of military protocol and established hierarchy are simply suggestions he can ignore at his leisure."
The rant built momentum, her voice rising with each sentence.
"Does he think I'm incompetent? Incapable of strategic planning? Too stupid to understand basic reconnaissance requirements? Or does he simply find the concept of respecting authority so fundamentally alien that—"
Cú's laugh cut through her tirade like a knife.
The sound emerged from nowhere—or everywhere. Rich and amused, echoing off the ruined buildings with casual mockery. Then the air beside Olga shimmered, reality folding as the Caster materialized from his spirit form.
He appeared directly next to her. Close enough that she jerked backward with a startled yelp.
"Miss me?" His grin was absolutely filthy.
Olga's face erupted into crimson. "You—how dare you—personal space is a thing that civilized people—"
"Relax, Director." Cú waved dismissively. "I was just testing a theory."
His red eyes swept across the group, lingering on each of them with obvious assessment. Griswald felt heat rush to his face under that knowing gaze. Beside him, Mash's armor clinked softly as she shifted her weight.
Cú's grin widened impossibly further.
"And I gotta say—" He crossed his arms, staff leaning casually against his shoulder. "—the theory proved real interesting."
Olga's eyes narrowed dangerously. "What theory? What are you talking about?"
"Oh, you know." Cú's tone dripped with false innocence. "Just wanted to see if I could maintain awareness while in spirit form. Observe without being observed. Test the limits of what I can perceive from that state."
He paused for dramatic effect.
"Turns out I can perceive quite a lot."
The words hung in the air like a grenade with the pin pulled.
Griswald's stomach dropped straight through the rubble beneath his feet.
No. He didn't. He couldn't have—
"And while I was testing those limits—" Cú's gaze slid deliberately to Olga, whose expression had frozen into something between confusion and dawning horror. "—I noticed our esteemed Director here was doing some observing of her own."
Silence.
Absolute, ringing silence.
Then Olga's face transformed. Crimson flooded her cheeks with such intensity that it looked painful. Her golden eyes went wide, pupils contracting to pinpricks.
"I—that's—you're implying that I—"
"Not implying anything." Cú's grin turned absolutely wicked. "Just stating facts. You watched them. The whole time. From start to finish."
"I DID NOT!"
The shriek probably shattered windows in neighboring dimensions. Olga's entire body trembled with mortification and rage. Her hands flew up defensively, as if she could physically ward off the accusation.
"I would NEVER—the very suggestion that I would engage in such—such VOYEURISTIC behavior is—"
"You couldn't look away," Cú interrupted cheerfully. "Kept peeking around that corner. Saw the whole show."
Olga's mouth opened and closed soundlessly. Her gaze darted to Griswald, then Mash, then Ritsuka—and immediately jerked away from all three. She stared fixedly at a point somewhere over Cú's left shoulder, refusing to meet anyone's eyes.
"That's—you're mistaken—I was simply monitoring the situation for—for tactical purposes—"
"Tactical purposes." Cú's laugh rolled across the ruins. "Right. Very tactical, the way you were watching Mash's mouth work on—"
"STOP TALKING!"
Olga's voice cracked on the last word. Her face had achieved a shade of red that seemed medically impossible. She looked like she might spontaneously combust from sheer embarrassment.
"I was NOT watching anything! I was—I had to ensure they were safe! In case of enemy attack! It was my responsibility as Director to—"
"Sure, sure." Cú waved dismissively. "That's why your breathing changed halfway through. Very professional surveillance technique."
Olga made a sound like a wounded animal. Her hands covered her face completely, fingers pressed against her temples like she could physically force the mortification out of her skull.
"I hate you," she whispered venomously through her fingers. "I hate you so much. If we did not need you the thing I would do to you—"
"Yeah, yeah its not like I have not heard that from a women before." Cú turned away from her, already bored with her threats. His attention shifted to Griswald and the others. "Anyway. The scouting actually did turn up something useful besides confirming the Director's a pervert."
"I AM NOT A—"
"Archer's been quiet. Too quiet. No attacks since we split up, which means he's either repositioning or waiting for something." Cú's expression sobered slightly. "We should move on the plan soon. Before he decides to get proactive."
Griswald forced his brain to engage with tactical matters despite the lingering mortification. "How soon?"
"Tonight. After dark." Cú glanced at the perpetual red sky. "Well, darker than this anyway. Gives lover boy a chance to rest."
Griswald's cheeks burned, but he managed a nod. "Tonight, then."
The weight of what lay ahead settled over him like a burial shroud. They'd rest, prepare as much as possible, and then walk directly into Archer's killing ground with nothing but hope and Cú's ambush tactics standing between them and annihilation.
The group found shelter in a partially collapsed building that still retained enough structural integrity to offer protection. Mash stationed herself near the entrance, shield ready despite Griswald's insistence she conserve energy. Ritsuka claimed a corner and promptly passed out with the enviable ability of someone used to sleeping anywhere. Olga positioned herself as far from everyone else as possible, her rigid posture screaming wounded dignity.
Griswald leaned against crumbling concrete, staring out at Fuyuki's burning corpse through a gap in the wall. The perpetual twilight cast everything in shades of rust and ash. Somewhere in that devastation, Archer waited with arrows capable of obliterating city blocks.
Footsteps approached. Casual, unconcerned.
"You know," Cú's voice carried an odd note of amusement, "if we were back in my homeland, you'd be a legend by now."
Griswald glanced up to find the Caster standing beside him, that ever-present smirk softening into something almost genuine. "What?"
"Seriously." Cú gestured expansively at nothing. "Fifteen times. In one sitting. The entire settlement would be singing your praises by morning. They'd force enough alcohol down your throat to kill a normal man, then make you recount every detail to a crowd of drunk, smelly Celts who'd cheer at all the filthy parts."
Despite everything—the exhaustion, the fear, the impossible situation—Griswald felt his lips twitch. The image Cú painted was so absurd, so completely divorced from their current reality, that laughter bubbled up before he could stop it.
"Even that would be better than this place," he admitted, gesturing toward the hellscape beyond their shelter.
Fuyuki stretched before them in its death throes. Buildings twisted into impossible angles, their skeletal frames silhouetted against fires that burned with colors nature never intended. The air itself tasted wrong—sulfur and copper and something fundamentally corrupted that made his healing circuits recoil instinctively.
Cú's expression sobered as he followed Griswald's gaze. "Yeah. This is pretty shit."
They stood in silence for a moment, two people who shouldn't exist in this timeline, watching a city that shouldn't have died burn under a sky that shouldn't be red.
Then Cú moved, his hand shooting out to grab Griswald's arm with sudden intensity. His other hand produced a small stone—pointed, angular, maybe flint or obsidian. The material gleamed dully in the corrupted light.
"Hold still," Cú ordered. "This is going to be uncomfortable."
Griswald's muscles tensed instinctively. "What are you—"
"Runes." Cú positioned the stone against Griswald's exposed forearm, just below where his sleeve had been pushed up. "You're walking into Archer's range tomorrow with a target painted on your back. These might give you a fighting chance."
The stone pressed down. Hard.
Not enough to break skin, but the pressure made Griswald's breath hiss between his teeth. Cú dragged the point in a precise pattern—angular lines that followed the Nordic symbols that were part of Griswald education. The stone left deep indentations in his flesh, white marks that stood out starkly against his pale skin but when a rune was completed it flashed brilliant—some red, some blue—the light pulsing with each completed symbol.
"Runes aren't like your modern magecraft," Cú explained while working, his voice taking on a lecturer's cadence that seemed bizarrely out of place. "They don't channel mana through circuits but the runes themselves. They impose meaning directly onto reality. These—" He finished one symbol and started another. "—tell the world that you're harder to kill than you look."
The next rune burned as the stone carved its shape. Griswald bit back a grunt, forcing himself to remain still despite the discomfort. Watching Cú work revealed the careful precision beneath his casual demeanor—each line placed with mathematical exactness, each curve flowing into the next with practiced ease.
"How long do they last?" Griswald managed through gritted teeth.
"Few hours. Maybe less depending on how much punishment you take, its not like we are tatting them into your skin or anything more permeant." Cú moved to his other arm, starting the process anew. "They're not perfect protection. Archer puts an arrow through your skull, these won't save you. But they'll turn a fatal hit into something survivable. Give you time to heal yourself or for Mash to get her shield between you and the next shot."
The casual mention of potential death should have terrified him more than it did. Instead, Griswald found himself fascinated by the methodology—the way Cú's fingers held the stone at precise angles, how his breathing steadied into a rhythm that matched each carved line.
"There." Cú finished the second arm and moved to crouch beside Griswald's legs. "Going to need you to pull up your pants."
Heat flooded Griswald's face again. "My—"
"Legs, genius." Cú rolled his eyes. "Unless you want me carving runes on your ass, which honestly might be more effective given how much of a target it apparently is, but I figured you'd prefer the conventional approach."
Griswald fumbled with his pants, pulling the fabric up to expose his calves. The position felt vulnerable and awkward, made worse by the knowledge that everyone else in their group could potentially see this.
The stone pressed against his shin with familiar pressure. Cú worked with the same methodical precision, inscribing symbols that seemed to pulse with meaning even as simple indentations in flesh. Each mark carried weight beyond its physical presence—like words that rewrote reality through sheer insistence.
"Your circuits are shit," Cú commented while carving. "But your body's tougher than expected. Most mages your age would be whimpering by now."
"Should I be honored?" Griswald's attempt at sarcasm came out strained.
"Probably." Cú moved to the other leg. "Means you might actually survive tonight. Low chance, but higher than I initially calculated."
The blunt assessment settled into Griswald's chest alongside all his other anxieties. In a few hours they'd face a Heroic Spirit whose capabilities they barely understood, using a plan that required Griswald to act as bait for something that could level city blocks.
The final rune completed. Cú sat back on his heels, examining his work with critical eyes. Angular symbols covered both of Griswald's arms and legs now—white indentations that stood out like scars against his skin.
"There." Cú stood, brushing invisible dust from his hands. "Try not to smudge them before tomorrow. The meaning needs time to settle into your flesh properly."
Griswald examined the marks covering his limbs. They looked like nothing—simple pressure marks that would fade in hours under normal circumstances. But he could feel them humming with something beyond normal sensation. A presence that whispered promises of resilience into his bones.
"Thank you," he said quietly.
Cú waved dismissively. "Don't thank me yet. Wait until you're still breathing after Archer's finished shooting at you. Then you can buy me a drink and tell all the drunk Celts about your sexual conquests."
The return to crude humor should have felt jarring. Instead, it grounded Griswald—a reminder that beneath the ancient legend and magical expertise, Cú was still just a warrior who dealt with impossible situations through irreverent banter and crude jokes.
"Get some rest," Cú advised, already turning away. "You're going to need it."