Walking down the street, Souichiro carried the heavily wounded Medea across his arms in a princess carry (damn, he smells good... - Totally not a stalking Caster). Eyes furrowed, he still could not erase the brutal scene from the top of his mind:
Of how those fur-clad beasts easily ripped off dear Medea's arm, just like a child does to its toys
Just as he was about to put his foot down forwards, he stopped. His gaze turned up, staring at the inky black wall in front of him.
"Get out of the shadows, woman. I can sense you..."
Clap, clap, clap...
Coming out of the shadows, a young woman wearing an all-black frock and steel-plate armour walked out, her golden eyes staring at the sight that lay before her. "Well, well, well, if it ain't Medea herself. I wonder how on earth did you have that arm of yours ripped off, hmmm? Last time I checked, you needed two arms to properly cast a spell..."
Despite sweating profusely, Medea managed to crack a smile, broken as it may be. "You know, it would've been much more intimidating if you put down that bag of burgers in your hand, not to mention that stupid paper crown you're wearing..."
Veins should be seen bulging on Traitoria's face. Ripping off the crown from the top of her head, she slammed it right in front of the broken Caster, eyes spitting golden fire. 'Oh, so you think you're some hotshot, eh? Well, I'll see how you like it when I introduce you to my new little friend..."
Growling could be heard coming from behind her, as a giant lizard, half-decayed, slipped out from the dark nexus, its malice so concentrated that Medea felt her hair rising, shivering from the danger she felt. "Y-you're not Saber...
WHO ARE YOU!?"
It began as a quiet chuckle, then a soft laughter, before ending as a loud guffaw.
"AHAHAHAH! You are wrong, I am Artoria Pendragon, King of Knights... But not the King of Knights you are familiar with. Oh no, I'm just someone... who has experienced more shit than you could handle. Speaking of which, would you mind telling me who were they...?"
Medea's heart sank. She knew that if she revealed anything about Saber and Archer, she'd be fucked. Knowing that with her wounds that she'd not survive today, she still decided to stand up for them. Despite being enemies, she had great respect for them. So using the last vestiges of her strength, she looked up at Traitoria, lifted her remaining hand, and gave her the universal signal for 'fuck you'...
"Suck...my...purple...hootch..."
Enraged, Traitoria began drawing her sword from her scabbard, but stopped. Eyes squinting, she drew a cruel grin, before turning to the Lizard beside her...
"Hey Atanti, you want a snack..."
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Creak, snap...
"Hey, leave the upper portion for now, we still need to send them a message of sorts..."
Atanti, otherwise known as SCP-682 (also lovingly called undying cunt, masochistic lizard, racist arsehole...), stopped his chewing. "Teh only reason you still live is because you promised me that I would be able to kill 13. If you don't honour the covenant, you shall know what it means to yearn for death more than living..."
Wiping the sweat from her brow, Traitoria turned her gaze towards the third member of the Avengers Squad. "No need to worry, I'll keep my end of the bargain. And we have a secret weapon here, isn't that right Sigurrós..."
Cooing near the end, Traitoria brought forth the third member to the front:
An 8-year-old girl, 1 meter in height and 20 kilograms in weight
Though shivering in froght, she steeled herself once she remembered what their holy purpose was. Gaze stern, she looked at Traitoria, before looking back down on her left hadm, ensuring that teh crudely drawn red tattoo was still present.
"But first, let's go and meet with our new... allies, shall we..?"