Tuesday, February 14, 2012

Fate Heresy Omake Files: The Horrors Heresy

Part Four
The winds rose, and as Beowulf stood at the top of Tokyo Tower, thunder crashing in the background, he could feel the energies of the Grail beckoning them from within their backpack on the ground twenty feet away. Beowulf hefted his metallic arm, prosthetic tentacles waving as they attempted to fend off the steady stream of blades fired by Poe's Raven Targeter.

"Beowulf", Isaac shouted at his companion from his unsteady grip on the tower's ledge. "Destroy that damn particle cannon or we're all done for!"

"You never will," said the rotting form of Edgar Allen Poe, his one good eye glittering menacingly in the darkness. "Don't you see that the genius of my Pandemonium Engine is far too advanced for pedestrian minds such as yours to handle?" He sneered as he flicked a lever on the back of his power armor, and produced yet another beam weapon, which he used to blast away the bit of rock on which Isaac clung.

Isaac fell, and yelled into the wind.

"[][][][] [][][][][][] [] [][]!"

His descent slowed, and after a second he rose back up to face the decaying poet, grinning madly.

"Pedestrian? Bitch, I *drive*."

The armor-clad zombie stared impassively back at him, quietly dodging an air conditioning unit thrown by Beowulf. "Indeed? Well. In any case, I doubt I have time to deal with you both. Thus I fear it may... be necessary for me... to flee!" His power armor whirred as he took a short step back, and launched himself at the backpack holding the Grail. He flicked yet another lever as he snatched it up, and Isaac could feel a gut-wrenching disturbance in the Immaterium, like that one time Paul had attempted to build a magical grill in order to save money on propane.  Control of his powers lost, Isaac fell to the concrete.

Poe laughed wildly. "Goodbye to thee!"

The dead poet bounded off, unnaturally fast due to the leg enhancements on his armor. Isaac tried to activate his Levitation to follow, but found the Immaterium far too chaotic to use for any such activity. His head bowed, he sighed, and clicked on his walkie-talkie as he watched Poe fall the eleven stories to the city streets. A second later, Poe had disappeared into an alley.

"Sorry guys, it looks like he's got the Grail. We failed."

Caster's voice came back. "I wouldn't be so sure."


An hour and several miles later, Poe knelt in an alley as his gauntleted hand dove into the satchel containing the Grail, ready to recieve its prize. Poe's one good eye glimmered as he thought of the magical energy he could harvest, the things he could do if his Pandemonium Engine could have such a phenomenal power source. And then, as he extracted his hand, he noticed:

The Grail seemed awfully squishy.

Puzzled, Edgar finished pulling his hand out of the bag. The scent of blueberries wafted out with it, and he stared down as bread crumbs fell from the rune-inscribed gauntlet to the asphalt.

Roaring, he ripped the bag open and grabbed one of the objects contained therein.

"Muffins?" He snarled. His gauntlet crushed the pastry within it, its delicious innards squeezed out through his fingers. "MUFFINS?!"

He punched a hole in a nearby concrete wall, and fell to his knees.



  1. "Well, gentlemen...I'd say we're finished here."

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