Fate/Apocrypha Volume 1 Chapter 3.7

Celenike Icecolle Yggdmillennia's cold tongue slowly crept around the nape of Rider's neck.

"Hey…"

He was lying stretched out on the bed, with both hands bound by leather straps. His mail and parts of his armor were removed, exposing his bare chest, slim collarbones and white skin. It was an incredibly suggestive position.

Celenike draped herself over him, cheeks flushed and gazing with lust-filled eyes at his lashes… his lips… his flesh.

However, Rider's expression was not one of shame or pain, but utter boredom. He said, sounding fed up.

"Could you give it a rest?"

"No. You're just so beautiful… I could taste you for an entire day and not be bored."

"But I will."

"I don't care. All that matters is what I want."

Rider made a noise of exasperation. Every day since he had been summoned, without fail, his Master would have her way with his body. Hers was a perverted love – her fingers and her slippery tongue would trace along his body, but it was never a 'normal' show of romance.

If anything, he felt he was being loved as a work of art – and he doubted many human beings would cover paintings and statues with their own drool.

"You really are breathtaking…"

Celenike sighed in amazement. Normally, he wouldn't hesitate to embrace anyone who said that to him – man or woman – but Rider wasn't particularly happy to hear this from her.

It was a small mercy that she had yet to do something impulsive and foolish like deploying a Command Spell to coerce him… but that could change if they were both still alive once the battle was decided. Being a form of thaumaturgy, Command Spells can be repulsed by his anti-thaumaturgy – but even with his A-rank skill, he would still only be able to go against a single command. If she were to use two, he would have no choice but to obey.

Now, if she could just waste a Command Spell on some other, meaningless order…

"It's such a shame… Why can't my knife cut you?"

Celenike made a disturbing observation.

"I was summoned to fight, you know… Oh, it's nearly time."

Good timing – Rider ripped apart his bonds and stood up. Celenike, pushed aside, pouted in protest.

"Do I really just not interest you?"

"That's not really the problem."

"As the legends goes… Astolfo was quite the ladies' man."

"That's got nothing to do with this! Geez…"

What she said may be true, but all it meant was he would romance the girl he wanted, when he wanted – which could not be further from being forcefully pursued by a single woman.

And most of all, the stench of death that followed the magus was far too thick. She has probably been covered in blood and gore since she was born. She can use perfumes and wash herself from the smell of it, but death itself will never leave her.

She was born in the Icecolle family, a fairly old bloodline of practitioners of the dark arts. Forced on the run by the devastating witch hunts of the Middle Ages – from western Europe all the way to Siberia – they lost the foundation of their thaumaturgy and eventually fell into decline.

Celenike was the first child to be born of the decaying bloodline in a long time. Her elders, who devoted their lives to perfecting the dark arts, doted upon her and poured every teaching they had into her.

The dark arts require a particular disposition, namely, one who would not hesitate to pull apart living sacrifices. One who would not falter at supplications until the required amount of suffering – from the offspring of beast and man, excellent human beings and kind animals, old men and old pets, the pregnant and the unborn – had been reached.

She was taught to present herself externally, and control herself internally. For only a failure would lose oneself in the joy of the slaughter.

Slaughter, but only when slaughter is required. Pain, but only when pain is required.

Celenike was an outstanding practitioner. When she offered her sacrifices, her iron will suppressed all emotions and allowed her to perform any amount of heinous rituals.

She truly had utter control over her passions. After all, the delight of causing pain and the joy of rendering abuse are the most dangerous things of all to those who practice the dark arts.

That is why all of Celenike's desires are forced out of her whenever she is not acting as a magus. No one has ever spent a night with her and remained in one piece.

She would take a boy, innocent to the ways of the world, and defile and violate every single part of his body, lapping at his tears of suffering. She turned dark arts into a living, walking the line between a magus and a user. She made her employment something which would end with her smeared with blood. Such is the existence of the fiend called Celenike Icecolle Yggdmillennia.

The only reason why she never went beyond 'loving' the Servant she summoned was due to the absolute difference in power between them. Rider is, after all, a Servant – not something she can use violence against. As a magus, she also understood that until the war had been decided, he must be able to use his strength to the fullest.

Once the war has ended, though… she has very little doubt that she will lose all inhibitions and give in to her wants. Using her Command Spells, she would desecrate this Heroic Spirit, for whom only the word 'fair' can describe, and fill him with shame.

She cannot care less for the second conflict that would revolve around the Holy Grail. The only thing she wants is to be with Astolfo.

Hers was a rather… extremely… twisted love.

"I've got something to attend to. Excuse me."

Celenike laid on the bed, idly watching Astolfo as he hurriedly changed his clothes.

"You're not thinking of going out again, are you?"

"Mm, something like that."

Celenike's eyes narrowed at the vague reply.

"You haven't been messing around with the people in the town, have you?"

"I'm just out to have some fun. I'm back in the world with a body, after all. What's wrong with playing around a bit until the war starts?"

She could not even begin to tell him how wrong that was. A Servant spending all his time outside playing might as well be abandoning his duty. But Celenike knew this was not something she could fix with a scold. She murmured with some resignation.

"Of course, it's wrong. If Darnic gets mad at anyone, it'll be me…"

"Sorry! I'll be going now!"

Celenike watched as Rider left – and then noticed.

The blushing and hint of shyness on his face made it look very much like he was about to meet someone dear to him.