THG: 1.3 The Holy Grill (Patreon)

Preface

I said this was a one-shot. It's still a one-shot so long as I can read it in one sitting, right? Right?

Shut up. I'm not in denial.

The Holy Grill 1.3

John Soprano

I held out my right hand, left hand clasped firmly over the wrist. Knees slightly bent, back arched forward a tad, I focused on the space before me with a determination matched only by Sakura's thrist for ginger dick.

'Oi!'

'Hush, you. I'm concentrating.'

'It wasn't like that!'

'It definitely was. You're just laughably oblivious..'

'Sakura is a wholesome, pure girl and an important friend.'

'Shirou, there is an entire alternate timeline in which Sakura becomes the manifestation of Angra Mainyu and wants to suck you up into imaginary space for you to dick her down forever and ever.'

'There is? No, that's not important. The Sakura I know is just a good friend!'

'You had no idea how many girls were interested in you.'

'They weren't. I wasn't that popular in high school.'

'You're the posterboy for "dense anime harem protagonist" across the multiverse. I'm serious. There is an entire library of fanfiction written about you dicking down basically everything with a slit short of an actual slot machine. And given Fate Grand Order, you may as well have fucked a slot machine… Your multiversal sex life is practically a porn genre in its own right.'

'I don't know how I feel about my life being a spectacle for your entertainment.'

'I don't know. Be proud of all the pussy you've supposedly gotten?'

'There's more to life than women!'

'Exactly. For once we agree. Like our holy mission, to shine the light of good, Texas barbeque upon this heathen land. Now stop talking and let me focus.'

'What are you even doing? How does posing like you have Command Seals on your hand help you make barbeque?'

'I ran out of hickory wood chips.'

'So? Go shop for some like a normal person. Wishing won't-No… You're not…'

'Heaven's Feel is the Third True Magic, which turns my soul into a perpetual motion machine, a font of infinite prana. Wishcraft is the art of clenching your butcheeks and dumping so much prana into the world that Gaia throws her hands up in the air and says, "Fine, just have it!"? I don't see why I shouldn't be able to do this,' I explained my genius plan. I had infinite energy. So, I was now going to the world and offering this prana-deprived planet some juice in exchange for glorious, smoky hickory chips.

'That'll never work. The Einzbern have been refining their craft for centuries. I'm sure there's more to it than just "clenching your butcheeks" and hoping real hard for a mira-' Just then, in a swirl of blue light, a pile of hickory wood chips appeared on the ground in front of me. '-I stand corrected…'

A wide grin split my face. 'Oh, yes…'

'Oh, no…'

'Don't worry, I'm still going to interact with the rest of the world. I won't turn into some weirdo shut-in. If nothing else, people would get suspicious.'

'You just dumped more prana than it takes to maintain three Servants without the Grail… for some wood chips…'

'Hickory wood chips. That's important, Shirou. You know that different woods enhance the meat's flavor in different ways.'

I cackled madly as I began outputting enough prana to make the Barthomeloi weep with envy. Were I in Shirou's world, there was no question I would have drawn every single magically aware entity towards me like vultures to carrion.

But I wasn't. There were no mages here. Which meant I was free to abuse wishcraft like my own personal genie.

I did mean what I said to Shirou. Shutting myself off from the rest of humanity would be dreadfully boring. Sure, I could have practically anything I wanted by wishing for it and dumping an ungodly amount of prana into the air, but that'd quickly grow stale, like only eating barbeque for the rest of your life. It didn't matter how great it was, the glory of Texas barbeque was best savored with a little variety once in a while.

'I-Is that… self-awareness?' Shirou gasped.

'Ah, sarcasm. You know, you're starting to sound a lot like Archer.'

'I'm nothing like him!'

'He's literally you.'

'Too far, you asshole.'

'Fine, fine. I made the wholesome harem protagonist swear. I'm sorry. Now let's go get some Chinese takeout.'

X

'Oh, look at that,' Shirou said nonchalantly. He wasn't fooling me though; I could practically feel that bastard's smug aura in the back of my mind. 'They're coming to us. Can't you hear it, John? This is destiny, your call to adventure as a hero.'

I sighed. In their twisted little minds, this was probably some kind of "privilege." In front of me stood Krieg, Kaiser's right hand man. There were a dozen Empire goons, each dressed in sharp, charcoal-black fatigues with red trim. Clearly, Krieg held his goons to a higher standard than Hookwolf did.

Behind him were Fenja and Menja, a sizable force that could take on most anything in the Bay. Not to mention, brutes who should be able to handle a swordsman.

Just the current roster was telling. Krieg showed, which implied Kaiser wanted to try to soft sell. Otherwise, Hookwolf would likely have demanded I join the Empire, on pain of death. Fenja and Menja came along, probably as eye candy. The goons were dressed up, both as intimidation and to show that the gang was the "civilized" option.

I looked them over one last time and glanced meaningfully downward at the bag of takeout I was holding: Chopstix, a local Chinese place with cheap, greasy, wok-fried food. Their logo, a crimson, Chinese pagoda overlaid atop crossed chopsticks, featured prominently on the bag.

"Two minutes," I said simply. "I'm giving you two minutes before I go home to enjoy my food."

"And what an unfortunate choice in dining options you've made," Krieg said in the fakest German accent I'd ever heard. "We could go to a more… refined… location, discuss business like civilized folk."

"Clock's ticking, Krieg."

"Come now, there is no need to hide. The way you decorated your store is enough of a clue. You need not fear the judgment of the masses. Join the Empire and your loyalty will be rewarded in ways you cannot imagine."

People were watching now. This was Brockton Bay, full of people with questionable self-preservation instincts, and cameras. Krieg's implication did not go unnoticed. It'd be on PHO within minutes.

I sighed. This was… not ideal. In my mind, Shirou's amusement had rapidly transformed into white-hot wrath, a blazing rage uncharacteristic of the normally affable hero.

'D-Did he just…'

'Suggest Camelot is close enough to Nordic and we're secret Nazi sympathizers? Yes.'

'John? I now we haven't seen eye to eye, but if you don't wipe the floor with them-'

'Agreed. As much shit as I give you, I do respect Artoria a great deal, you know.'

'Oh, good.'

I looked at Krieg in disbelief. Camelot was a ubiquitous reference, universally recognizable as the bastion of hope it was. And yet, it was also distinctly European. Distinctly white. Maybe it was a mistake, assuming the Empire wouldn't try to co-opt the Round Table's legacy to force my recruitment.

It was brilliant. The public would wonder. They had enough firepower here that if it came down to a fight, they could just kidnap most capes anyway. Krieg had neatly forced my hand.

Against practically anyone else, this would have worked. Either I "joined them for lunch," or I fought and lost before getting dragged away anyway.

"Bravo. You know, I like poking fun at the Round, especially Artoria, but even I'd never dare to spit on their legacy so thoroughly," I spoke slowly. "Congratulations. You managed to do something I thought was impossible for anyone not named Archer: You pissed off Shirou in five seconds."

"What are you talking about? No, it matters not. Come, let us talk business. There is a reservation at a restaurant I have taken the liberty of making in advance," he said smoothly. He was James Fliescher after all, head of a pharmacy chain and Kaiser's point of contact with Gesellschaft. In both cape and civilian lives, he was an eloquent businessman and leader.

"For what? Will you offer me gold?" I asked.

Prana, enough to make even Altrouge Brunestud herself raise an eyebrow, filled the air. There was enough to make every hair stand on end, enough to send warning signals to anyone and everyone, magic-sensitivity be damned. There was no ignoring this amount of raw energy floating around.

The Empire capes took battle stances. The goons drew bats and blackjacks, likely to take me in without causing permanent harm. The smart ones backed up to hide behind the twins even as the valkyries grew a foot in height.

Then their eyes bugged out wide as gold, a seemingly unending stream, rained down from my hands.

The Heaven's Feel was a very special kind of bullshit. All the True Magics were.

"Jewels? Bills? Or perhaps priceless treasures to decorate my store?"

With every word, my soul surged, a towering column of prana that was now visible to all who cared to look. A rain of wealth unlike anything these men had ever seen before manifested from my hands.

Sapphires and rubies, emeralds and diamonds of every hue.

Bills, crisp and flawless, of every denomination.

Famous paintings ranging from Van Gogh's Starry Night to Da Vinci's Mona Lisa fluttered to the ground. Ornate pistols and sculptures, grand enough to be the centerpiece of any museum's collection clattered against the already sizable pile.

And yet, what were mortal treasures before a Noble Phantasm? My meat-spit was more precious than all of these.

"In all the world, across all peoples and all nations, there is not a single thing you can present to me that I cannot have with a thought, Krieg."

To his credit, he recovered quickly. He picked his jaw off the floor and gathered his thoughts before speaking again. "We can offer you safety. You have no idea the kind of target you've painted on your own back, Kingmaker."

"John. Seriously, it's just John. And I'm going to have to kick your ass now. I'd normally stake you to the ground with a black key or dozen, or just ignore you completely, but then you just had to compare Camelot to a Nazi symbol."

"Pity. I would have liked to continue this exchange of cultures in a more amicable manner."

I laughed. How could I not answer a bait like that? Besides, I did tell Vista Caliburn could also shoot lasers. An elegant sword appeared in my hand, flawless and identical to the one Vista had drawn from the ground. It was only right. This insult to Artoria's legacy ought to be answered with the proof of her kingship. "Cultural exchange? My man, I'm from Texas. Down south, we love barbeque, football, and guns."

"That is a swo-"

That's all he managed to say before a ray of golden light erupted from the sword like the early rays of dawn.

Caliburn was an excellent weapon. Not just because it was an overwhelmingly powerful Noble Phantasm, but because it was an adjustable Noble Phantasm. Its power varied a great deal, ranging from "let's glass the city" to "fuck this one person in particular" based on the amount of prana injected into the weapon and the "worthiness" of the wielder.

It was the barest trickle of prana. And, truth be told, I wasn't a "worthy" man. I had no king-like qualities. I was no model knight, nor did I wish to become a paragon of virtue and justice for the people to rally around. Most damning of all, I lacked ambition.

Unlike Vista, my dream was to operate my restaurant in peace. If I ever possessed such potential in my childhood years, that was long gone by now.

No, unless there was such a thing as a conceptual "king of barbeque," Caliburn would never consider me a worthy wielder.

I could have overridden the qualifications of course. If nothing else, Shirou was what I was not, an unambiguously heroic figure. Heaven's Feel was the manipulation of souls, its characteristics included. I could have brute forced it with a flood of prana that broke the Noble Phantasm, ignoring any conditions in favor of "big prana, big boom."

I abstained in favor of keeping them alive. Not because Shirou was the type of hero who never took a life, the Magus Killer didn't raise no Batman, but because killing them here and now would cause more problems than I'd like.

The fading light revealed the downed Empire. Capes and mooks alike were on the ground, scorched, hair burnt away to nothing, clothes literally melted to their skin, and bones shattered from the physical force that light somehow had, but they were alive. Krieg and the twins were brutes, each capable of mitigating a great amount of force in different ways. That didn't matter compared the the sheer fuck-you power of Caliburn's purging light.

"In the words of a grim reaper weapon-nut: It's also a gun," I said with the smuggest grin I could manage. I flourished Caliburn, twirling it in the air before pointing at a random bystander's camera. "Vista, this is how you use the laser. Let's consider this a demo, hmm? Don't go killing off Lung now. Ciao~"

I picked up my takeout and started to walk away.

'You know,' Shirou began, 'they're probably going to be fine because they have that healer, right?'

'It takes Othala a long time to fix even small injuries,' I explained. 'She doesn't really heal. She grants powers, but only one at a time, to one person, and for only a few minutes. She has to sit around and give each person regeneration repeatedly until their own body fixes itself. And that's assuming the PRT doesn't clean up after me.'

'Huh. Either way, you know what you just did?'

'Don't say it.'

'You fought villains.'

'No. Don't. I know what you're going to sa-'

'Like a hero.'

'This means nothing,' I protested. 'I beat up a few idiots who thought they could pressure me into joining a gang.'

'Idiots who were villains,' the smug bastard said. At times like these, he reminded me of Archer. 'You know, we should grab more takeout. Maybe try somewhere further away from the Boardwalk this time.'

'Go to hell, Shirou. I'm a pitmaster.'

'Already here. Do you know what it's like to have your goal so close yet so far? Come on, just think of these as enthusiastic walks.'

'If I say I'll think about it will you shut up?'

'So long as you actually think about it.'

'...'

X

Missy Biron

IT"S ALSO A GUN.

I raised my sword into the air and gazed admiringly at the way the blade caught the light. Caliburn, the Sword of Selection, was also a gun.

Coolest. Sword. Ever.

"Okay, Vista, the director's decided that if you are going to wield… Caliburn… we're going to figure out just what that thing can do," the head techie said. But what he didn't say was what rankled me: The only reason I got to wield Caliburn was because they physically could't take it from me.

I didn't care. I had a weapon of my own now, and one so gloriously photogenic that even the PR department couldn't really raise a fuss. "Okay, Dr. Graham. Let's do this."

We were in the shooting range towards the back of the PRT HQ. The HQ was after all a complex, not just a single building. It was more than just a set of offices where desk jockeys crunched numbers about just how screwed we were in our fight against crime. The HQ also had a garage, medical wing, power testing lab (because the Rig was too far for independents to conveniently get to), and a gym and shooting range for troopers and Wards to keep ourselves fit.

Today, the range had been converted for power testing, mostly because the actual lab wasn't long enough. From what we saw of the PHO video, the energy was a nonlethal cone of light that possessed both thermal and kinetic force, not unlike Lady Photon's lasers when she was holding back. Scanners had been installed along the range to gauge the effective distance of the attack, and the power, just in case.

"Are you ready, VIsta?" the head techie asked. He'd taken over for Armsmaster after our dear leader wrecked his lab trying to test the sword. Armsmaster wanted nothing to do with Caliburn now. Around him were more techies, several of the Wards with nothing better to do, and Miss Militia on oversight.

"Yes, Dr. Graham," I replied eagerly. Now this was the kind of testing I could get behind. I could feel it, Caliburn was practically alive in my hands. It hummed with anticipation and I knew that I would have no trouble using the sword. "Full power?"

"Yes, let's see what we've got to work with. Then we'll try to tone it down if necessary."

"Got it."

"Whenever you're ready."

I spread out my feet until they were shoulder-width apart. I knew nothing about swinging a sword, but Mr. Soprano said I just needed to point Caliburn at a target. Besides, the stance just felt right. Maybe I didn't need a stance, but using Caliburn felt like something that should have some gravitas.

Slowly, I raised the sword over my head. I felt myself fall into a trance as Caliburn's light enveloped me like a warm hug. It was the promise of a brighter dawn, the hope for something more. Maybe, just maybe, I could change the world.

With all the force I could muster, I brought the sword down in an arc, just like they did in all the fantasy movies and games.

Unbidden, words flowed from my lips. They felt so right, the outward declaration of Caliburn's purpose. "For the sake of those that were smiling...! Show me the direction of hope, Caliburn!"

A golden light filled our vision and I felt my knees hit the floor painfully as a wave of fatigue swept through me. I was so tired. It felt like I'd just run a marathon and tried to wrestle Aegis right after.

The light faded and we all got to examine the damage.

There was… nothing left. I could tell exactly where the beam began in my swing because there was a massive hole carved in the ceiling partway through. The hole, a new skylight, really, ran down the wall on the far side of the range and formed a wide canyon out into the sea.

According to a video I saw on European sword forms, a good downward swing was supposed to stop with the sword parallel to the ground, something about investing force and committing to the swing without losing your center of gravity or leaving yourself vulnerable to counterattacks.

Well, I could tell my swings needed work because the golden light had angled downward towards the end and parted the fucking sea.

I winced as the waves remembered where they were supposed to be and filled the new void with a thunderous clap. There would be no hiding that from the public.

"Vista!" I heard someone run to my side. Miss Militia. She was cool like that. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," I mumbled, Caliburn stuck in the ground for balance. "I'm just a little tired."

"What was that? Kingmaker wasn't anything close to this strong!"

"Dr. Graham said give it my all."

"Yes, I'll be having words with him. Come on, let's get you checked out."

I tried to protest but I was weaker than a newborn kitten.

The nurse cleared me of any ill effects. I didn't spontaneously develop magic cancer or anything. She still insisted on keeping me for observation though.

On the plus side, no one would ever take me lightly again.

On the down side, Clock heard me say the most magical girl catchphrase-y thing ever. And recorded it. And put it online, because of course he did.

I sighed. I was never going to live this down.

No. There was definitely a way to use Caliburn without sounding like a cartoon character. Mr. Soprano did it, and instantly wiped the floor with three E88 capes and a dozen goons. I just needed to practice… if the director would ever let me practice again…

Author's Note

As had been explained to me, anyone with the Heaven's Feel is also immortal because in Fate-speak, the physical body is just a reflection of the soul.

That aria is what Artoria Lily says when she swings Caliburn. Vista got power, prestige, and endless barbeque but is now an eternal child with a magical girl super move, cementing herself as the most powerful pixie alive. She received everything she ever wanted, but at what cost?