Fire. Pain. Burning. Agony.
Flames clung to Kariya's body, wrapping about his limbs in a flickering, destructive dance, fluttering and fuming with the wind's merciless orchestration. He wanted to breathe, but the coat of flames stole that from him, roaring as it gorged on the oxygen that should have been his. He wanted to see, but the flames brightened in response, feeding off his liquefying skin, blinding him with light born from his flesh.
He wanted to move, but this time it was his body that wouldn't let him. Having fallen off an apartment roof onto cold, unyielding concrete, Kariya's body was a mass of splintered bone and faltering organs held together with the flimsy wrapping of his skin. Even that wrapping would not last under the endless torment of fire. Kariya wondered if he'd split apart into a pile of charred guts or a mass of cooked worms. Better the guts. At least he wouldn't have to witness Zouken's disgusting handiwork then.
Kariya moaned, expelling such defeatist thoughts. He couldn't die. Not now. Not until he had the grail, not until Sakura could smile again, not until he'd wrung Tokiomi's head off his pompous body. All his unfulfilled goals pushed Kariya forward, but he couldn't even muster the strength to writhe. All he could do was lie there, his consciousness turning to ash with the rest of his body.
Light, different from the orange glare of fire, invaded Kariya's sight. Blue light, pale like the moon's glow and just as serene, glittered in front of him, weaving into an orb that floated before him. He shouldn't be able to see anything. His eyes had long since lost their moisture, shriveling in preparation for cremation. Yet this light, this mellow, steady shine of wonder, eased Kariya, dispelling the shadows of pain and agony from his being.
"You," said the orb, projecting a neutral voice devoid of inflection and tone. "Look like you're in trouble. I can fix that. I can give you another chance, another shot at the prize."
A shot of pain popped in Kariya back, feeling like a red hot poker had been drilled into it - the same sensation he felt when the worms opened his undeveloped circuits. He hadn't called on the worms, though. He couldn't spare the energy.
"Feel that? Now we're ready to make a contract, you and I." The orb hovered, inching near Kariya, but staying just outside arm reach, tantalizing him, its tendrils of light thin and hazy like webbing. "I can be your salvation. The shoulder to lean on in failure. The back to follow in victory. Just give me proof of your desire.
Kariya wanted it. He needed it. His whole life was one of lost opportunities, chances he could have grasped if he'd just reached out. Always, every time, he'd been too afraid, had taken his arm back, had suffered for all of it. First with Aoi, then with Sakura, and now – now he wouldn't pull back.
With a scream that sounded more like a dying wheeze, Kariya roused life into his dead body. His arm slid forward, unable to lift off the ground, scraping on the concrete and leaving a trail of mushy skin, blood and charring cloth. Every inch was a mile to Kariya, his arm moving forward at a glacial pace, reaching and reaching for the light that gleamed with salvation.
Breath left his body. Sensation fled his wits, leaving him in the emptiness of death. His pulse spiked, then flatlined.
"Impressive". The orb looked at Kariya's arm, alight with flames like a victory torch, right underneath it. "The contract is sealed. May our partnership be fruitful."
When Kariya came to, he found himself in sitting position, propped against a grime-caked wall in a narrow alleyway. He groaned as he massaged his head, feeling an intense headache pinballing in his skull. His movement set off a chorus of motion for the gutter's denizens, sending rats fleeing to cover and bugs buzzing away in alarm. Unfortunately, those weren't the only things he alerted.
Danger.
Alert coursed throughout Kariya's body like electricity, tensing all of his muscles and pounding awareness into every inch of his nervous system. The headache cleared out in an instant, vanquished by the adrenaline that coursed through Kariya's body in a raging torrent. His hairs stood on end, his senses sharpened by the whetstone of survival.
He felt it coming. Kariya swerved his head to the right. The sharp crack of steel splitting apart concrete sounded beside him, right where his head had been. With the peripheral vision of his left eye, Kariya saw a cross shaped hilt embedded into the wall. He touched his left brow. He realized he could see with his left eye.
It had been so long since the worms had eaten away that eye's sight, so long since he'd lost all feeling on the left side of his face. His hand reached down and felt his face. The network of bulging capillaries and veins that had streaked his deadened face were less apparent, now feeling more like little bumps. The fact that he could even feel that side of his face was a miracle, but Kariya had no time to ponder it.
Kariya stood up, taking slow, measured steps backwards. His limp was gone. The pain was there, lingering in every muscle movement of his right leg, but it wasn't numbness. As long as it was pain, Kariya could push through it, but if it was numbness, all he could do was accept it. He saw a black blur, darker than the night but just as ominous, approaching and raised his arms in a rudimentary guard.
A fist, flying right past Kariya's guard, slammed into his stomach. A resounding crack, like wood being chipped, exploded from the blow. Kariya flew back several meters, splashing on a puddle of stagnant, filth ridden rainwater as he lay gasping for air.
Kotomine Kirei looked down at Kariya, and then at his extended fist, smoking like it was a fired gun. In terms of firepower, it might as well have been a gun. He had expected to hit flesh, soft and yielding, but it felt like he had struck steel instead. His muscles, capable of tensing into an iron armor, hadn't been coiled for the unexpected resistance.
As a result, Kirei found himself staring at a reddened hand, the beginnings of bruises rearing their black and ugly heads around his knuckles. Kariya's basic guard had protected his head and heart, leaving Kirei to try and punch a hole straight through the chest.
Kariya's breaths, loud and frequent as they tried to recover the air that Kirei's fist had pummeled out, attested to Kirei's failure.
Kariya scrambled to get back on his feet, his body splashing about in the scummy pool. Every second on the ground meant being one step closer to death. He stood for a second before his knees gave in, the pain in his stomach dominating all of his senses, chaining him to the ground like a prisoner bound for execution.
The Executor stepped forward, then stopped with his fists raised. Kariya saw the back of a figure, impossibly tall and lean, step in front of him, blocking his vision. Black dominated the figure's color palette, filling in its attire which consisted entirely of robes, wrappings, and a neat top hat, all of which clung to it like skin. It would have been no exaggeration to call the figure a walking shadow.
A raspy voice, undercut with throaty rattling, made the figure sound as if each word was its dying will.
"I wonder, has a Master ever won against a Servant before?"
Kirei was the one to step back now. He had answered that question in his head before it was asked. He turned his back and sprinted away into the concealing cover of night.
"And you are my Master," said the figure, turning to Kariya, extending a hand clawed and covered with black bandages. Kariya saw its face, or lack of one thereof. All he saw was a vaguely humanoid facial shape shrouded in a hazy, misty darkness that reminded Kariya of Lancelot's armor. Even thinking of Lancelot brought the pain of defeat again, but he couldn't dwell on it now.
Kariya took the hand and raised himself up, feeling not the softness of cloth, but instead a metallic, cold hardness, like he was grabbing onto a block of iron instead. The figure's hand slithered from Kariya's grasp, retreating to its side. Kariya cocked his head, furrowed his brows, and opened his mouth.
A bony finger landed on Kariya's lips, requesting silence. The figure continued speaking.
"Questions are boring, and take time. Answers, too, come in time, and time is earned, not experienced. Quick, come!"
The shadow whisked past Kariya, blending into the darkness cast by the alleyway's looming walls. It did not walk. Its feet, if it had any, could not be seen under its robes, and so it appeared that the being slid, or perhaps hovered, across the ground.
And quickly too. Kariya tailed it, but the thing moved far faster than a human, its stick-like frame sliding and twisting through urban sprawl like a panther roaming a jungle. It zoomed forward, its shadowy frame blending into the night, posing the possibility that if Kariya slowed down even for a second, he would lose sight of it completely. Kariya ran and ran, chasing that blackened back, snaking through a maze of alleyways, abandoned streets, and shady, shoddy high-rise buildings.
They stopped in front of a manhole. The figure pointed to it.
"If you would be so kind as to open it, my dear master."
Kariya nodded, his confusion leaving him questioning but his instincts bidding him obedient. He dug his fingers into the manhole's sides and pulled. He pulled too hard, sending himself reeling back with the manhole teetering in his grasp. It had been too easy to pull the thing out.
The last time he'd tried was during the warehouse battle, when he needed safe cover from other masters. Back then, it had taken him considerable effort, leaving his arms, atrophied by worms, aching with pain. Now, the manhole was as light as paper, wrenched away with no more effort than lifting a pencil.
Kariya dropped the manhole in curiosity, and heard a dull, heavy thonk as its metal circumference struck asphalt road. It was evident that the manhole still weighed around the same as the one Kariya had pulled up before. There was no doubt about it, he'd grown physically stronger.
"That won't do!" exclaimed the figure in a hushed but urgent voice. "There may still be enemies, my master. Why make such, such frivolous sounds? Quick, follow me."
The figure slid into the hole leading into the sewers, almost disappearing as it blended into the underbelly of the city.
"Close the entranceway when you come in," said the figure as it waited for Kariya, its shadow wrought face staring straight at him from below. Kariya followed, dropping into the sewers and putting the manhole back into place, shutting off the pittance of light that the streetlamps aboveground cast, leaving him in raw, thick darkness.
"Oh, pardon me, I hadn't figured that you'd keep such primitive sight."
Kariya felt the tip of a claw prick his forehead, and he drew back in alarm. He stopped in surprise when he saw – saw through the darkness so packed that average human vision couldn't have punched even an inch through it. There was no color in his vision, but there was no doubt that it was clear, similar to the night vision you could get from hi-tech goggles. He could see the contours and outlines of the pathway he stood upon, the stream of human waste that flowed beside it, and another pathway across the stream that flanked it.
"So, how about it? Like it?" queried the shadow, pleased with its performance.
Kariya breathed through his mouth, evading the pungent stench of the sewers as best as he could. When he spoke, his voice echoed, ringing in the closed surface, reaching far and wide through Mion's sewage system. He voiced his confusion.
"How?" asked Kariya, rubbing his stomach only to notice that both pain and wound were gone.
"Now that's a demanding question," responded the shadow, clapping its hands together in excitement, self-satisfaction and pride oozing from its demeanor. "As the Watcher class servant, it is my utmost duty to refine you, my master, into something better, something perfect. You are witnessing the fruits of my labor."
"Then, what happened to Berserker?" Kariya tasted the disgusting flavor of defeat again, recalling how Berserker had been cornered by Archer in an aerial fight. The taste was made unbearable when he remembered Tokiomi's duty twisted face, contorted with the insanity of a magus' self-righteousness.
He spat into the sewage, where defeat belonged.
"Your past servant?" Watcher put its hand over its heart in a consoling manner. "I'm afraid to say that he is no more. Gone. Skewered by Archer, left to rot underwater - oh how disastrous an end for a knight blessed by a lake!" Watcher parted his hand from his chest and flourished it upwards, lamenting Berserker's death with theatric poise. "But do not be disheartened, my lovely master, for I am here to guide you, to let you take the grail with your own hands. Berserker may be gone, but you shall more than honor his memory as the new Berserker!"
Kariya scratched his white hair. "The new Berserker?"
"Yes!" Watcher bowed. "I pledge on the honor of my class that I will fashion you into the finest Berserker that time and space has ever seen."
"That didn't answer my question."
Watcher ignored him. "But first, every servant, Berserker or not, needs a symbol to shine with, a tool to carve a legend with. Tell me, my beloved master, do you enjoy swords?"
"I..." Kariya didn't know how to continue. He wondered if there was even a point, it didn't seem like his new servant listened to him.
"Good!" exclaimed Watcher as it reached its hand into the folds of its robes, drawing out a sword. It appeared to be an European long sword with a blade forged from ashen grey steel. Its cross guard was of solid gold patterned with an ink blot of black, and its handle held a leathery dark gleam. Most prominent about the blade was not its steel nor its masterful construction, but rather a gold holding piece welded to the bottom of the handle. Within the fingers of gold was an orb, pink and pearl-like, that radiated a calming, almost angelic presence. "While you were resting, I fished this from the river. Archer just threw this wonderful tool away, can you believe it? I hope you will take better care of it."
Kariya stepped back as Watcher practically thrust the sword at him, bidding him to take it.
"I don't know how to use a sword" was the answer. Kariya had a pre-school level of education in Magecraft, but even he understood the sword was mystical in nature. Despite the promise of power the sword gave, he figured it would be more useful in the hands of a real servant, like Watcher.
Watcher shook his head, as if reading Kariya's thoughts. "The Watcher class lets you achieve your own potential. It has all the tools in the world for that, but in exchange it has no tools for itself. I cannot wield a sword, I cannot hope to damage a servant that is not comatose, and it is likely that even a Master can best me under some circumstances."
Kariya was used to having worms scrape his insides clean, organs and bones alike, for the tiniest smidgen of Tokiomi's magical ability. He judged that this tradeoff was acceptable.
"If I'm going to be a Servant, if that's even possible, then will this sword be my Noble Phantasm?"
Watcher waved the sword even closer to Kariya. "Yes. It will be proof of your legend, isn't it wonderful?"
Kariya had more questions, firing them off with eagerness. "Didn't you just pick this up from the river? How can this even be called mine? Isn't this still Archer's? What about my last question – can I even use this?"
Lancelot had never chosen to tone down his mad enhancement, so Kariya had only himself to talk to throughout the grail war. It was heartening, if a bit strange, to have something to talk to, even if the discussion seemed one-sided.
"Heroes do not question, they believe. Take it, and believe."
Perhaps Lancelot was the better companion. At least the mad knight was straightforward in ignoring Kariya. Shrugging in defeat, Kariya took the sword, holding it in one hand, then the other, getting a feel of its weight and effect on his balance. Despite the blade's appearance, it was as easy to wave around as a stick. Kariya was unsure whether that was a product of his new strength, or whether that was a property of the sword.
Kariya felt danger again. It was a new sensation, this feeling. He wasn't a stranger to his survival instincts, having courted them when he burned alive against Tokiomi and when the worms made a meal of his innards. But this was different. He wasn't reacting, he was feeling beforehand, like how you could feel the heavy, tense moments before a lightning strike.
Kariya turned, knuckles whitening as he gripped the sword handle with both hands.
