THG: 1.4 The Holy Grill (Patreon)

The Holy Grill 1.4

John Soprano

I made maple-glazed bacon. With a bit of ancho chili and cayenne powder for heat, it tasted positively divine. It was salty, sweet, smoky, and with the perfect amount of chew. It was basically meat candy. And it was all mine. I didn't have the room in my store's smoker to make large batches, not if I wanted to upkeep my brisket production, so I wasn't sharing.

Without even looking, I made a throwing gesture with my offhand. Halfway through the motion, a European bastard sword manifested in my hand, albeit one with an extremely short handle that wasn't even long enough to fit the width of one hand. It was by no means a regular weapon. Rather than be held in one hand, it was meant to be held between two fingers and thrown like darts.

The black key, with its silver blade and crimson handle, was the favored weapon of many executors of the church, those who took it upon themselves to monitor the supernatural world. They were given the name because they could "lock" a person by piercing their shadow. Those frozen would be helpless, unless of course they overpowered the weapon with brute strength or magical knowhow.

The key sailed through the air, embedding itself into the ground and pinning a man in place. He had his hand outstretched, fingers inches away from Arondight. My bounded field had warned me of the attempt.

He wasn't the first.

"My, so good of you to volunteer. I've been thinking about a sculpture garden," I drawled, still not looking at him. I placed the strips of meat candy on the counter and went about serving my other customers.

"Y-You can't do that," a woman exclaimed, likely his wife.

"My store, my rules. You should keep a leash on your husband."

"He would have put it back!"

"And I'll be sure to give him back too."

I took out a marker and wrote "village idiot" across his forehead. Then, I left a pack of multicolored markers on a nearby table for the kids to use.

Strictly speaking, this was illegal. In practice, there wasn't a cop in the city willing to pick a fight with a cape over something like this, especially not now of all times. According to the news, things were about to get spicy.

Vista's little light show had overshadowed the current events somewhat, but I knew what to look for: It was only three days ago that Armsmaster had "bravely confronted Lung" in the Boat Graveyard. Which meant today was the bank robbery. I supposed things could have changed, but I doubted it. It wasn't like I went out of my way to interfere in Taylor's life.

'Please tell me you're not going to sit back and watch someone commit a crime,' Shirou said. 'I understand you have a lax view on justice, but surely there is a clear right answer here.'

'You're right,' I told him. 'Let's close up shop early.'

'Thank you! I knew you were a good person inside.'

'I'm thinking we should stalk a little girl.'

'Wait what?'

X

Dinah Alcott

I ran as fast as I could. Every crossing was a possibility. Every nook and back alley, the potential difference between life and death.

My life and death.

The bad man was coming. He knew, somehow, that my headaches were a sign. And there was nothing I could do but run and run and run desperately. I couldn't even go to the police or the PRT; they made the numbers worse.

Head throbbing and lungs burning for air, I ran near a park. Daddy used to take me and mommy here for picnics, back before Uncle Roy became mayor and all the adults got busy.

'Will I be safe if I hide in the bushes?' I asked my power.

[3% chance of safety in the bushes.]

I hated this. Knowing didn't matter if I couldn't change anything.

I forced myself to carry on, feet pounding the pavement. I drew increasingly ragged breaths even as the numbers changed from second to second.

How was he doing this? No one could change the numbers. I'd tried.

But the bad man had found a way and I could feel them closing in. His men were all in black and dark blue, a bit like police without the badges.

No one helped. No one could help.

I found myself flagging. They would be here soon. They were playing with me. I had to move but my breaths tasted like blood.

I fell to my knees. I just wanted this to end.

And then a car pulled up next to me. I didn't know what model, I was too busy trying not to cough.

A hand. There was a hand, reaching out to me.

I looked up and saw a man with brown hair, maybe a little older than Roy. He had the warmest smile.

"Hey, kid, get in the car. I'll give you meat candy."

"What?" I asked dumbly. My brain ground to a screeching halt. And he'd seemed so nice too!

"Yes, I know what that sounded like, Shirou," he muttered under his breath. "Yes, that was inappropriate. I'm sorry."

'Lovely. He's also insane.'

"Because it's hilarious, that's wh-No, you're right… for once… Now really isn't the time to be making inappropriate jokes," he said, sounding genuinely apologetic. He then turned back to me with a friendly smile I no longer trusted. "Look, Dinah, just get in the car, please. I can take you back to the Holy Grill. You'll be safe there."

He knew my name. This stranger knew my name and people were after me. And he wanted to give me his meat candy.

Before I could begin to hyperventilate again, what he said fully registered. He looked familiar and I knew why.

"The Holy Grill," I gasped. The Empire. He beat them up. It was all anyone at aschool talked about. I saw the video. Hope soared in my chest. "You're a hero."

"Ehh, I wouldn't say that," he said, and my hearing hope plummeted like Icarus. He must have seen the look on my face because he backtracked, "Nonono! I'm a hero!"

He was… unlike any hero I knew. Rory was a hero. It was a secret, I wasn't supposed to tell anyone, but he was Triumph. He used to be the leader of the Wards. Maybe it was because of that, but he was so much better with kids.

I got the feeling that he wasn't used to making crying girls feel better. He kept saying potty-mouth jokes that would have made mom wash his mouth with soap.

But still…

[Error. Insufficient data. Extrapolation impossible.]

I didn't know what that meant. What was extrapolation? Why did my power not give me numbers anymore?

Or maybe, there were no numbers.

That was good enough. I took his hand, my own looked so small in his, and dred to hope.

X

John Soprano

'Really? "Meat candy?"' Shirou lambasted me. I couldn't even shut him out; he was literally in my mind. 'Are you trying to be put on a watchlist?'

'I'm a supposed parahuman who gave an ocean-cleaving weapon to a tween Ward. Of course I'm on a watchlist. Probably several.'

'You know what I mean.'

'I'm sorry I have a terrible sense of humor. Sue me.'

'It's your sense of tact I'm worried about, John.'

I let out a sigh of relief. Coil's goons were here. I didn't know what his Shard received when he tried to simulate me, but it really didn't matter. He'd chosen to commit, likely thinking that if Dinah made it to the Holy Grill, the bounded field around my property would make retrieving her today impossible.

He wasn't wrong to think that.

But he was wrong to think striking now would make any difference whatsoever.

I used the arrival of the mercenaries as convenient distractions from my own humiliation. Really, kids weren't my thing. Back in Texas, I was the baby, the one all my cousins had to look after. I had about as much experience with crying, tween girls as I did preparing horse sashimi.

No, that wasn't true. Multiple swords in Shirou's armory were once used to prepare battlefield rations. A few were used in more formal kitchens. Shirou himself was an uncommonly skilled chef. So I took it back: I had easier access to memories involving dissecting raw horses for consumption than ones comforting crying girls.

"Distraction!" I exclaimed, pointing at the lead mercenary.

"Hand over the girl," he growled, probably intimidatingly. He hefted what looked like a normal gun, albeit one with a muted, crimson cylinder right beneath the barrel. A thought brought me all the information I could ever desire.

Shirou's Structural Grasp worked best with swords and other bladed weapons but it was his signature magecraft with good reason. He was, after all, the Homamura Brownie. Technology lacking prana wouldn't be a problem.

'Please don't say that. I'm not proud of that nickname,' he grumbled.

'Why? You've engraved yourself into the Throne of Homamura on the merits of your Structural Grasp alone, if not quite the Throne of Heroes.'

Sure enough, those were thermal attachments that could be added to most conventional firearms, allowing the guns to fire lasers in lieu of bullets. Coil's tinkertech purchases no doubt.

They were… not good men. I knew Coil. He was Thomas Calvert, PRT consultant and Cauldron chess piece. He didn't take any pleasure from murder. He wasn't some sick rapist. Nor did he get his jollies off drugging little girls. He was, ultimately, a man who delighted in power and control. It was the fact that he could do these things without consequence, that he could enable the worst sorts of people with no repercussions, that really got him off.

And the majority of his men reflected that. Their weapons told me enough. Several were wanted for murder. Two for drug trafficking. Another for rape. Most had been given these weapons because Coil had something over them, because he enabled their hobbies or sheltered them from the consequences of their own actions.

Oh, there were "clean" mercenaries, those who were just in it for the paycheck, but their numbers were disproportionately low.

'Scum attracts scum. Money isn't a guarantee of loyalty,' Shirou said bitterly. He'd seen this before.

'So Coil likes to have something else over his men,' I finished for him. It was a distressing pattern with him. Brian's sister. Pitter's ex-wife. Alec's father. Dinah and her "candy."

'This needs to stop, John. I know you like your restaurant, but-'

'But Coil needs to go.'

Peace of mind was important. I'd never be able to cook in peace with Coil sticking his nose where it didn't belong. No, in the first place, Coil would never let a powerful cape who wasn't under his thumb operate in his city.

There was no warning, no quarter given, no attempt to negotiate. Funny, that I considered Coil a less reasonable individual than Kaiser.

I booted Dinah into the car, using the vehicle to obscure her vision as dozens of black keys materialized in thin air. They tried to fire, the ones that weren't stuck by their own shadows, but I knew where the barrels were pointing. I stepped out of the way with the smallest use of Reinforcement and danced between the men, leaving behind a sculpture garden in my wake.

Then, just for good measure, I kneecapped them all.

Black keys were not Noble Phantasms. They lacked the conceptual weight of crystalized legends. But that didn't mean they were lacking as swords in any way. My blades slid through bone like butter before sinking into their shadows. It was, after all, possible to brute force your way out of a pierced shadow.

I got in the car, an SUV with the backseats taken out for more trunk space, and drove away. The bank robbery was irrelevant compared to denying Coil Dinah, something Shirou and I agreed on. But then again, why stop there? Why not just… clean house? Dismantling Coil's organization would make my life more convenient after all.

X

Missy Biron

There was a robbery, a bank robbery, as if the Undersiders couldn't get cliche enough. And as it happened, the Protectorate were out of the city on some kind of social event. It was probably for charity, or maybe PR, I wasn't paying attention. All I heard was that this was our time to shine.

We were outside the bank with two squads of PRT troopers backing us up. Browbeat, the new guy, looked like a nervous but determined wreck. Kid Win was going through his loadout, not that it had changed in the last month. Gallant and Shadow Stalker had exited the vehicle first, Gallant so he could reassure the civilians and Stalker so she could get a perch on the roof and drop down to secure the hostages.

"Missy, put that away," Aegis said. He was in Clockblocker's costume, something about baiting the Undersiders.

Caliburn clicked back into its sheath from a partial draw. "I've been practicing. I could probably wipe them all out at once."

"We don't doubt you can. And the bank. And the building behind it. All the way to the sea," Clock joked. "We're trying not to kill everyone, remember?"

"Oh, shut up, Clock. I only did that once!"

"Yeah, well, we really don't want you to 'show us the direction of hope.'"

"Lay off, Clock," Gallant said through our comms. "Vista's gotten pretty good with that sword of hers. She only broke one wall last time she used it."

"Yeah!"

"That's still too strong to use on a non-brute, though."

"So just on Hellhound's dogs?"

"Sure, be the magical girl who fries puppies," Clock laughed.

"Not funny, Clock," Aegis said.

"Do it. Do it. Do it," Stalker chanted.

"You're really not helping here."

"Not trying to. Of course the idiot chef gives a superweapon to the fucking mascot."

"Sour grapes, bitch," I retorted. Everyone knew she'd tried to pull Caliburn as Sophia, only to pull a muscle and get benched from track for a week because of it.

"Look at it this way, Vista. Do you think Stalker is a source of good advice?" Kid Win pointed out.

"Shut up, nerd."

I sighed and let my hand fall from Caliburn's pommel. "You're right, that's a terrible idea."

"Alright, gang," Aegis said in his "I'm the Wards leader and I need to be responsible" voice. "Let's roll out. Remember, the hostages are our priority."

"Right," we chorused.

We stepped out, all confident-like, and… waited some more.

The Undersiders, "Masters of Escape," as the media called them, weren't going to give us a straight fight. They seemed happy to sit behind the hostages. Even with a new member, it wasn't like they would win after all.

Then we heard the news: Panacea was inside. Gallant told Vicky. And Vicky being Vicky, she zoomed straight over, making the situation so much worse.

It was an all-around shitshow. I read somewhere that maintaining the flow of battle was important. I wasn't sure what it meant exactly, but we definitely didn't have that from the outset.

The battle, if it could be called that, started when the front doors of the bank opened, spewing out a panicking mob of hostages. They ran out into the parking lot and then threw themselves to the ground. Great, but they made working my power so much more challenging. They were trailed by a thick, black fog that made aiming impossible.

Then, muted as though it came from underwater, I heard the barking of dogs and the stomping of clawed feet on asphalt. My spatial awareness was going haywire. I could sort of see where everyone was by where my power refused to work, but that didn't mean I could see in the dark.

I ran backwards, out of the smoke so that I could see what was going on. I climbed atop the back of the PRT wagon to get a better view of the situation. My power surged out and grabbed hold of the smoke, forming a perimeter. It reminded me a little of Mr. Soprano's shop, a set area which belonged to him and followed his rules. A bounded field.

My power responded eagerly. The smoke was mine. The bank was mine. All that I could see, except living things, was all mine.

I held out my hands. I didn't know why, I'd never made gestures before, but doing it felt right. Taking hold of the perimeter, I slowly began to shrink it, condensing the smoke and making it harder to see through but also keeping it from spreading any further. When my power ran into the hostages, it formed a sort of bubble, working around them. It helped that they weren't moving, having laid down along the parking lot to avoid the fighting.

Clockblocker, dressed in burnt red, was the first to run out of there. His comms came online with a burst of static.

"Vista, what's going on?"

"The hostages are lying down. I can feel them but I can't move them," I told him. "They shouldn't be able to communicate either."

"Crap. I'm going to circle around, see if I can surprise one of them and freeze them," he said before diving back in.

I wanted to draw Caliburn. Surely its light could banish Grue's darkness, like the dawn chasing away the night, but I couldn't. There were way too many civilians. I couldn't communicate with anyone inside either so there was a real chance I'd hit one of them.

Then I felt my tenuous control slip. Three, giant figures burst through the fog, crashing through the confinement zone like a bull through a china shop. In two of their mouths was my fearless leader, playing the world's riskiest game of tug-o-war. Clearly, their thinker had figured out the two had switched costumes.

"Clock! Get Aegis free!" I shouted, but he'd already been swallowed up by the smoke.

I looked around for something I could do, something to contribute to the fight. I wanted to shout at the troopers, they were supposed to be the veterans here, but the PRT's ridiculous weapon ban applied to them as well. The police got guns. Park rangers got guns. Even armed private security could have guns if they applied for endorsements. But nooo, the branch of federally funded law enforcement most likely to encounter dangerous parahumans was limited to foam sprayers and prayers.

Right now, they were having a god-awful time against just one of Hellhound's empowered dogs. Those things were as large as minivans and had the personality of honey badgers. Even working together, they could barely keep the beast away from the gawking civilians.

I shifted and felt Caliburn's scabbard clack against my thigh. It was more than a weapon; it was a partner, everything I'd ever wanted. It'd only been a few days but I couldn't imagine being a hero without it.

What good was it having a magic sword if it stayed in its scabbard all the time?

I didn't care anymore. Piggot could chew me out later, but this was it. This was my time because there was absolutely no one else who could free Aegis and get him back in the fight.

Caliburn slid into my hand as I hopped off the roof of the van. The subtle swell of its hilt molded into my palm as if it was always meant to be there. I ignored the call of the troopers around me and flexed my power. Space folded like an accordion and I was there, crossing thirty feet in a split second.

"Get off of him!" I shouted. Maybe not the noblest of warcries, but it was better than "Show me the direction of hope!"

It wasn't like I was a swordmaster from one of those anime Clock and Win liked to watch. I wasn't a genius who could pick up a whole new martial art in a few days. I'd watched a few videos and practiced under the careful watch of Miss Militia, but that was about the extent of my experience with a sword.

No matter. It wasn't as if I was fighting a master, or even a human.

Caliburn parted the dog's flesh like a hot knife through butter. It was so fast, so smooth that I barely felt any resistance. Whether it was tough leather or bone growths on its shoulder, my sword sliced through them all with ease. A bloody gash appeared from its shoulder across its chest and a crimson torrent streaked through the air.

I didn't mean to cut this deep. I stared in horror as the dog recoiled with a pained whimper. It may have looked grotesque now, like a rhino-lizard more than a dog, but it was still a dog.

I didn't even know something could have this much blood.

I flinched back even as its partner dropped Aegis and lunged for me. If it wasn't for Aegis, I probably would have gotten mauled. He swept me up in a bridal carry and got me out of there.

"What the hell was that, Vista?" he yelled.

"You were in danger and I-" I blubbered. I hated the way I sounded. I'd fought Hookwolf before and hadn't frozen up like this. But then again, there also hadn't been nearly as much blood.

He wrapped me into a hug and I hated how comforting it felt. "It's okay. Thank you. But you need to stay back, Vista."

"I… I can help."

"You can, by keeping everyone safe."

"O-Okay."

My inattention had loosened my power. The smoke was rapidly spreading now. I could see two people, one downed and another fiddling with a gun of some sort. So Kid Win took out Regent probably.

Then, said figure took aim and shot Aegis in the back. It was the other way around. Regent had taken out Kid Win and taken his pistol. I shouted as much and tried to organize my team but it was impossible.

Gallant got a shot off on someone. Grue or Hellhound, I couldn't tell, but it just made them fight harder. Why he used rage of all things, I didn't understand. Why not fluffy wholesomeness? Or drunken cheer?

There was a loud crash from the rooftop and I knew Glory Girl had arrived. I loved Gallant but he deserved all the shit Piggot would give him for this.

Author's Note

Vista is developing a kingly attitude. Or at least a kingly possessiveness. First the trauma, then the homing crotch lasers. Small steps.

Note that Vista can't do this in canon. The hostages spread around the bank's parking lot would interfere with her power. Let's chalk that up to her Shard giving her a bit more leeway this time around, for curiosity if nothing else.

In other news, Vista feels kinship with the rank and file. That's a mark of a good king right? Empathizing with her subjects?