The Zalu Kingdom was not supposed to be the Zalu Empire, nor was it supposed to encompass all of Africa and a good chunk of the Americas. Not in the 1900s, not in the 2000s, and certainly not in 1816. It certainly shouldn't have had technology that wouldn't be invented for another hundred-odd years like automobiles, nor should its seven armies be led by a servant apiece, each a foreign hero sworn to Prince Sheka, heir to the throne.
Not that Prince Sheka would be heir much longer. In a few days time, he would be crowned king. In the true history of the world, Sheka was born a bastard son and only took his throne by having his elder brother put to death. Add a Holy Grail and several years of uncontested power, and suddenly Sheka was acknowledged by his father as his true heir, as the man who would lead the Zalu to their destiny with his seven generals. Each play that Chaldea had made for the Grail thus far had failed, repelled by his servants. Things were looking grim as each and every team they sent went dark.
They expected Sheka's crowning to be a worst case scenario. Tensions were high. No one knew what they could possibly do to prevent it from happening; what they could do to reach the Grail and end the singularity that threatened their lives, their history, their very existence. The mood was bleak. Bleak for everyone but the one janitor who paid little mind to what the rest of Chaldea was doing at any given time, zoned out while blasting music through his ear pods as he worked. He knew that
his
part of Chaldea's mission was very small indeed; that his contributions to the cleanliness of the base were minor but still important.
Humanity's final bastion, filthy? Not on his watch. He didn't worry about the big picture, because he had the little picture to focus on. He did his shift, went to his room and played games. Sometimes he read books. Other times he watched old movies. He did his part, and everyone else did their part, and humanity survived. It was a sheer stroke of fate that he was cleaning a spill in the meeting room when his superiors were plotting their next move. It was yet another that his ear pods ran out of juice just in time to hear their desperation and their inability to field a servant strong enough to win the day through strength alone. The final stroke of fate was not then and there, but during the preceding night when the janitor had watched Ocean's Eleven.
"So why don't you guys do a heist?" he asked, and the room turned its entire focus on him. Naturally, it fell on the janitor to plan the heist -- there was not a single criminal on staff with practical experience, but he had seen
so many heist movies
that Chaldea's bigwigs felt his planning was humanity's last, and best, hope of survival. The janitor did not shy away from the task, planning out every meticulous detail and consulting experts to find the best servant for each job, of which there were many. Everyone involved would need to do their part, big or small, for the heist to succeed. Anything less than that could mean the end of humanity.
The Rider known as Medusa seemed to accept her part without so much as a blink, even though Chaldea's top brass assumed it would anger her. That much should have been anticipated anyway, as Medusa attended her briefing wearing her blindfold. She accepted her gear bag without a word, already knowing what was inside, and left to get changed. On the other hand, the Lancer known as Schatch was taking a bit longer -- and a bit harder -- to come around on her 'part'. She stared down into her gear bag with a flat expression so fearsome that it might have been able to defeat Sheka's armies on its own. The room was tense, and for a moment everyone was sure that she would refuse. Yet she too silently got to her feet and left to get changed. Chaldea's top brass and its janitor breathed sighs of relief. Scratch saw the necessity of the plan, and her silent agreement showed that she believed it could work. The heist was on.
Chaldea and humanity itself had a fighting chance.
Medusa came back first, her blindfold discarded; her pale eyes were only covered by her glasses. Without the leather blinding her, she looked much more approachable and much more human with her seemingly casual expression of serene calm. Far more beautiful for it, too. She had the kind of eyes someone could lose themselves in, and if they didn't turn to stone or raw mana they would be set aflame. Figuratively speaking, at least.
As lovely as Medusa's eyes were, not one person in the room gave them a second glance, let alone a first glance. Their attention was instead drawn to her incredible body. Medusa's skin tight leather sheath dress left little to the imagination, but the black bikini she wore now entirely removed the need for an imagination. It wasn't well fit to her body in the best sort of way, almost
too
small for her plump ass and ample tits. Her bottoms hugged her pussy so tightly they could see a clear camel toe in the fabric. The top lacked strings and simply fit around her breasts rather than over it, threatening to spill out at any moment should she make too sharp a movement. "Is this acceptable?" she asked, soft and simple, already playing her part. Her kitten heels boosted her height by just half an inch.
Most of the room nodded, but not the janitor. "We're missing one thing," he muttered as he moved close to the gorgon of legend, whose floor-length purple hair was far more silken than snake. She watched him placidly as he came close to her and didn't even flinch when he reached up to her bikini's top, even as others in the room winced or averted their eyes, expecting him to suffer a quick death for daring to grab Medusa's practically divine tits.
When the latter group dared to look back, they saw him walk away untouched after giving Medusa's top a slight tweak. Her bikini top had been pulled down less than an inch, exposing just a hint of her areolae. Perhaps more surprisingly, Medusa's nipples now visibly protruded against the top's fabric -- not that there was any hint of arousal on the purple-haired Rider's face, only her continued serenity.
"Perfect," the janitor declared as he sat back down, just in time to watch Scáthach walk in. Though she was just as calm as Medusa at a glance, Scáthach's irritation was practically palpable, simmering hot but tightly restrained under her skin. Her costume revealed much less bare flesh than Medusa's, but was just as blatantly sexual. Everyone's eyes went from the bottom up as they ogled her. A pair of deep purple heels boosted the short Queen to the Land of Shadows to Medusa's height, while her long and toned legs were hugged tight by fishnet stockings that did nothing to hide their shapeliness.
The corset teddy she wore matched her heels and hair while accentuating her perfect hourglass frame, all hips and tits and a flat belly. It cupped her tits and supported them individually, perhaps the only two mammaries among all of Chaldea's staff and servants to rival Medusa's. Though Scáthach narrowed her eyes at the leering top brass, she held her tongue. They didn't even notice her; the bowtie and floppy bunny ear headband she wore transformed the Witch of Dun Scaith into pure eye candy.
The janitor lifted his finger and wiggled it in a circle. "Show us the back," he ordered, and after only a moment's bale-filled silence slowly turned, cocking a hip and resting a hand on it. One man in the room let out a low whistle at the sight of Scáthach's thick ass, crested with a fluffy little bunny tail. She gripped her hip, ready to kill. This was beneath her royal dignity, but she would do her duty without complaint. No one noticed her tension. "It's lacking-- I don't know," the janitor muttered to himself, getting to his feet and approaching Scáthach, breaking the spell the woman's body put over the room. Everyone once more expected the worst. He called for scissors. He called for a needle. He called for a spool of thread.
He got them and set to work. "Hold still for me, now."
A few minutes later, he stepped away from Scáthach. The room got terribly quiet as the janitor sighed. "I said hold still." Scáthach stared at the janitor and didn't say a word. She literally hadn't moved a muscle; with her mastery of her body and her effective immortality, Scáthach had even stopped breathing as the janitor set to work on his last minute alterations to her costume.
For the sake of humanity though, she held her tongue. The silence that hung over them was hardly a pall, for the janitor's disastrous attempt at being a tailor had ruined the corset's cups. Scáthach's bare breasts were left out in the open, dumbstrucking everyone in the room but the janitor, Medusa and Scáthach herself. Despite their size and fullness, they sat high and perky on her chest as though defying gravity, showing not a hint of sag or stretch. Her dusky nipples pebbled under the room's leering stare while someone ran off to find another bunny suit and a tailor who could actually facilitate the janitor's vision.
Scáthach's revised costume had a long swathe of fabric cut away from between her breasts, opening the suit up from her bowtie to her belly button. Strategic restitching didn't leave her with tasteful side boob, but rather lewd half tits on either side, with the thinnest part of the corset being the triangles that covered her nipples -- thin enough, now, that the erect buds were plainly visible in how they longed to poke through the fabric. Naturally, the cut showed just a hint of her areolae. "Perfect," the janitor murmured, reaching behind Scáthach to adjust her fluffy tail and tug the fit of the corset over her ample ass just so.
"Godspeed," he wished the two purple-haired beauties before getting back to his job. He had floors to mop, Chaldea's top brass had a mission to oversee, and the female servants had a Prince to distract. With their bodies, of course. Not that they were expected to fuck the future King or anything like that. Chaldea would never be so crass.
They were strictly distractions. Medusa smiled faintly and licked her lush lips. Nobody noticed it, and not because it was particularly subtle. She was a very distracting woman, one who had very particular tastes in life, tastes that no one in the room had bothered reading up on.
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As a swiftly growing world power, the Zalu Empire of course knew of far off lands like Greece and Scotland but had little to no real contact with them. It was an unexpected but welcome surprise that they sent emissaries to observe Prince Sheka's coronation, a pair of beautiful women who came bearing exotic gifts. The officials didn't seem to question why the two women came together, a detail the janitor simply overlooked. He overlooked a lot of things in his plan, possibly because he was a janitor with zero practical experience in logistics, strategy or heists.
Back at headquarters, Chaldea's brass breathed a sigh of relief. They had their foot in the door -- quite literally, with 'Dusa' and 'Sarah' crossing into Prince Sheka's chambers for their private, personal audience. Sure that the two servants had everything well in hand, they turned their attention to the rest of their team.
"What strange clothing you wear," the Prince observed, sitting on one end of the room in a high-backed chair that may as well have been a throne. Several inches over six feet tall, Prince Sheka was built like a warrior but dressed like a gentleman out of England, in a style that shouldn't have been designed for decades. The room around them was decorated in deep, royal purples fabrics and an impressive amount of gold paired with amber. He crossed his legs and leaned back, his dark gaze raking over either woman in turn. "Come closer... Dusa, Sarah. Let me see you."
