"Master Kiritsugu," the maid said, appearing at the door, behind him, like a gentle ghost. "She's just born. Congratulations, you are now a father."
They were all like that, those servants of the Einzberns. Silent unless talked to, even while moving they proceeded with a complete lack of sound, as if their feet never touched the floor. Their behavior was just as quiet, barely above mannequins given life, and while the maid talking to him at the moment could give the impression of warmth and happiness well enough to fool most of those not initiated, even the most insightful mundanes would have quickly realized there was something unnatural about her, even if they could not tell what.
His wife was a miracle in more than one way, although hardly an accidental one. The man turned around from his silent watching spot by the large hall's main window and nodded politely at the bowing, white skinned maid as she bowed to the black haired, black suited man walking past her. She couldn't really appreciate the courtesy extended to her by the man, but then again, neither truly could he in return.
He walked across several more luxurious halls and rooms, all decorated with the same fine red carpets, all walls lined up with ancient trophies and solemn portraits from all too similar ancestors, who seemed to stare judgmentally at the tall man while he went on, until he reached the even bigger room where his wife's bed was. She sat there, smiling a soft, tired smile of quiet and pleasant beauty, with a tiny bundle wrapped in white in her arms. "Kiritsugu," the white woman, with long and smooth silvery hair, called over to him, and he entered almost reluctantly. Outside, the furious blizzards still unleashed their fury over the snowy mountains of North Germany.
"Hold her. Please," the woman asked, extending over the diminutive newborn, even smaller than the average. Only her face was visible, eyes closed, small mouth half open, the first few wisps of silver hair sticking out through the confines of the blankets wrapping her. She was so frail looking he instantly was afraid of hurting her just through contact.
"I don't know if I should," the man with the deep, dead eyes said.
"Why not?" his wife melodically asked, voice singing even past the ache of recent childbirth.
"I am death incarnate," he said, "and I will not stop. I will keep on bringing violence and bloodshed upon the world. I'm not worthy of this… this happiness."
She smiled sadly, holding the baby in a hand while weakly using the other to rub her knuckles against his forehead. "What have we said about not being so emo, now?"
"Where did you even learn that word?" he asked, mildly surprised, but she only gave him a wink and another pretty little mischievous smirk. He sighed.
"Kiritsugu," she said. "We have discussed this. Your desire is worth this, all your time and effort will pay off. And everything anyone else ever gave for your cause will reach fruit with our victory. I should know; we haven't reached it yet, and it's already made me happier than I ever had any hope or right to be. Through you, it gave me the will to be more than a marionette. It gave me this, our miracle," she added, delicately placing the stirring baby in her father's strong arms. "Whatever we do, no matter what we are fated to face, Illyasviel will make it worthwhile. We will give her a world where she won't ever have to suffer what we suffered. Eight years. All I ask from you is to hold on with me for eight years, please."
He nodded slowly, looking at one of the hands currently holding his daughter. A hand that had snuffed the life out of so many, several elegant lines in red now grazing the skin of its back. Marks that, for better or worse, branded him for something he, and now his family, could not escape from. There was no point on trying to escape that, only on tackling it head on and struggling for the best. As ever, Irisviel was right.
"I love you," he said, meaning each word.
That had been eight years ago.
Nasu Kinoko and Type-Moon created and own Fate/Stay Night, Fate Prototype, Fate Zero, Fate EXTRA, Fate Extella, Fate Apocrypha, Fate/Strange Fake, Fate Kaleid Liner Prisma Illya, and Fate Grand Order.
All other characters and franchises are the intelectual properties of their respective copyright holders.
Fields of Fate.
Chapter One: Zero Tolerance.
Saber, the valiant swordsman.
Archer, the skilled bowman.
Lancer, the chivalrous spearman.
Rider, the stubborn warrior on horseback.
Caster, the furtive and astute mage.
Berserker, the crazed fighter racing across the battlefield.
Assassin, the murderous backstabber hidden in the night.
These are the seven Classes of Servants bound to Magi in the fight for the Holy Grail War, the miracle cup able to grant any wish. For it, they would destroy each other without a second thought, commint the greatest treacheries and villanies, as well as the most heartwrenching acts of nobility and self-sacrifice. This is the chronicle of the Grand War for the Holy Grail, and the fate of mankind.
It starts with someone who was not even human.
Assassin, the Servant who kills in the shadows. This young man of the cloth, Kotomine Kirei, had received his proof as a Master, the seals of command on the back of his right hand, exactly three years ago. His father had called this early manifestation a precious gift from God, and then suggested Kirei to choose Assassin as his Servant for Heaven's Feel, the Holy Grail War of Fuyuki City.
"It is for the best interests of mankind," elegantly purred the green eyed, dark haired Tohsaka Tokiomi, sipping from his glass of the finest red wine. The three men were secretly gathered in Tohsaka's exclusive Fuyuki villa. "Only a magus from one of the three original families could master what lies in the Root after accessing it. The Einzberns have lost their way; the Matous, their power. Only I could use the Holy Grail for what it was intended at last, and for that I have secured the relice of history's greatest hero. It would be pointless to war against each other, Kirei-kun."
"I understand your point," the younger man told his mentor quietly, standing respectfully in his presence. "I have no wish for the Great Grail myself, so I don't desire to fight you for it." All of this was true, too. Kirei's heart was empty, and that meant he had no personal ambitions to speak of. At least, none he wished to think about, much less share or follow.
"That's excellent," his gray yet jovial father approved. "Then let's join forces for the greater good. No matter what happens, Cup cannot fall in the wrong hands. Out of everyone in the Church and the Magic Association, only we share common ground. We won't make they mistakes they would commit, fighting only for their own interests. You will support Tokiomi, and for that, an Assassin to strike behind the scenes as our friend leads the charge is the best alternative."
"That is very logical, Father," the other priest nodded sedately. His heart took no joy from serving others, whether his associates' intentions were truly sincere or self-serving to a degree, but he still knew that was his duty. A tiny part of him briefly flickered inside, alive for once, at the fleeting idea of sending someone to snuff lives treacherously, but he quickly silenced it, his face ever stoic. "I will do it, of course. I have all of my faith on Tohsaka-sama's capacity to achieve victory with our Lord's help."
And those words sealed the fates of all three of those men.
"Let thy body rest under my dominion, let my fate rest in thy blade. If thou submitteth to the call of the Holy Grail, and if you wilt obey this mind, then thou shalt respond, child of Hassan-i-Sabah."
Summoning an Assassin was easy as long as one had the marks of a Master. No relic was necessary, just the intent to invoke the Class and the mention of the Old Man of the Mountain during the ritual. Assassins were by default the disciples of the Order of Hassan, its elite killers. Which was why Kotomine Kirei and Risei couldn't believe what they'd see the night selected for the summon, shortly before the sixty anniversary of the Third Fuyuki Heaven's Feel.
"I make my oath here," Kirei chanted the in the darkness of the church. "I am that person who is to become the virtue of all Heaven. I am that person who is covered with the evil of all of Hades."
Standing behind his son, Risei grew excited, absently rubbing his sweaty hands together, as the floor under them began glowing. Completely unfazed, Kirei kept on the incantation, his attention never wandering.
"Thou seven Heavens, clad in a Trinity of words, come past their restraining rings, and be thou the hands that protect the balance…!"
And then, a major explosion of light, and a sublime ecstasy of triumph pumping through both men even as they were momentarily blinded. Kirei regained his sight first and then only could gasp in shock and awe that were so new and alien to him. For what stood before him now could not be one of the League of Assassins. It wore all black, buta ll resemblances to the illustrations in his textbooks ended there.
This was a grotesque caricature of a hypermusculated man, skin chalk white, smelling of pooling sweat and cheap wore black leather pants, black boots and fingerless gloves, and an open leather jacket, that of a Hell's Angel biker, showing off his massive hairy chest. His hair was black, long, wild and scraggly, and his eyes bloodshot red, as evil as those of the demons Kirei had often hunted as a Church Executioner. In his mouth a smoking cigar, in his right hand a huge metal hook attached to a long rusty chain. Around his waist, a belt with dozens of gun holders and several pouches stuffed with grenades, knives and plastic explosive.
"Yo," this man growled, waving a hand. "I'm Assassin. Call me Servant an' I rip yer fraggin' faces off. Which one of ya pedo dweebs called th' Main Man here?"
"You're not a Hassan," Risei faintly said.
"Last time I checked, no, I wuzn't, Gramps," Assassin chuckled gruffly. "Why wouldja care? You stiff-necked penguins just gotta way better than that. F'get 'bout desert dwellin' pansies in Halloween masks, you fellas hit the jackpot! It's me, Lobo! Number One super duper hitman in th' whole fraggin' galaxy! If it lives, I can kill it fer ya, an' if it doesn't, I'll revive it an' then kill it again!"
Kirei, his initial surprise abated, bowed. "It is my pleasure, honorable Assassin. I'm your Mas—summoner, Kotomine Kirei, and this is my father, Risei."
Lobo blinked, then looked around. "Wait. 'Tis a Catholic church, right?"
"That's correct."
"An' yet you're… dad an' sonny-boy?"
Both priests nodded.
"How does that even work, your adopted or—ya know what, nevermind! Like hell I care! What matters is, if dat pansy-ass infodump voice back there wuz right, I'm here ta kill a whole lotta Servant freaks fer ya an' then collect all Quartzes 'til cows come home, okay?!"
Kirei nodded, deciding to ignore the whole strange tangent about Quartzes. Must have been a cultural quirk of this Servant's race, whatever that was. "Indeed."
Assassin grinned evilly from ear to ear, yellow fangs chomping down on the cigar. "Music to my ears, Clyde! Now we're talkin' th' same language. What are we waitin' fer then?"
"Um, for the other Servants to materialize," Kirei replied.
Lobo blinked. "Ya mean I'm the first?"
Risei nodded. "I'm the apointed Supervisor for this War. All participants should register with me before entering the fray."
Assassin ran a hand down his own face. "Well, frag! Those candy-asses better not take long! In th' meanwhile, what if we hit a brothel 'til then?"
"We're men of God!" Kirei reminded him.
"That didn't stop your daddy from spawning you, Pretty Boy!" Assassin snarled. "What, you contented with altar boys then? Th' Main Man doesn't swing dat way! That tape from Noonan's wuz doctored, I tell ya!"
Risei sighed. "I'll take you to one, Assassin. I figure it's the least I can do for your services."
Kirei stared at his father.
"What?" the old man defended himself. "I happen to do community work there, trying to steer those poor sheep away from a life of vice and decay. Only that, and nothing else!"
"You ain't taking me off to go screw literal sheep, are ya, Gramps?" Assassin asked.
"Fill, fill, fill…" the young man, handsome, vital and happy, sang on as he drew the circle on the floor, struggling to finish before the blood coagulated and grew too thick for the task. After some trial and error, he'd prepared a concoction by mixing several ingredients found in the small house's kitchen with the blood, and that had worked until now, but he still was wary. Of that at the very least. "With each repetition, four times… five times? How did it go?" he stopped to scratch his light brown scalp. After checking once again on the book held in his left hand, he returned to drawing and singing, "When it's full, break it up! Fill, fill, fill, filling, filling, and there! That's five times, isn't it? It should be enough."
Whistling as he stood up and wiped the sweat off his forehead, he smiled at the boy tied to a chair at a corner of the room, a typical Japanese ten year old surrounded by the carved and bleeding corpses of his typical parents and older sister, splayed across the floor. "Hey, buddy," the man asked him in a friendly tone, "do you believe in demons?"
The little boy only could sob through the thick gag covering the lower half of his face. The man sighed, wiping off his red caked hands on a rag. "Because if they don't exist, well, I'm afraid your family just died in vain," he made a small scowl. "Of course, all deaths are in vain when you think about it, aren't they? Or is that all lives?"
He flipped again through the book, an old, moldy volume he'd bought cheap in a second hand store ran by some funny looking fellow in a floppy hat and sandals. "I guess demons do exist, you could say I'm one, but… what was I thinking, expecting this would work at all? If it were that easy, everyone would do it and we all would have servant demons to water our plants and fix our cars and guard our houses. Too late for you on that last one, I suppose!"
He stared at the unchanged circle, slowly attracting flies, and frowned like a disappointed little boy. "I knew it wouldn't work, but… it'd have been nice…"
Absently, he scratched the back of his right hand and noticed a large red rash on his skin, complete with a new strange pattern that looked like the stylish silhouette of a dragon. "Oh," he quietly said to himself. "Tattoos aren't really my style, but still better than nothing, I should guess? Maybe it needed four people to work." He grinned and showed the mark to the boy, enthusiastically talking as if addressing a dear old playmate. "Hey look, look, it kinda worked after all! Do you think it's still possible to get more if I kill y—"
Then the room began to shine in an eerie greenish hue, as smoke ascended from the floor in puffy wisps, making the young man open his mouth widely, fascinated. "Oh shit, we did it, little buddy, we did it!" he heartily told the panicking and kicking boy. "Don't be afraid, this is way too cool! Maybe it'll kill me too, but you don't see… me… oh, geez."
Before him now rose a very tall and thin sinister figure, wrapped in a tight black tunic, its head ornate with two sharp and long, twisted and demonic black horns. In a bony hand of elongated fingers and black nails, a long black rod; on a shoulder, a large crow, perched comfortably as the woman stretched herself to full stature, slow and majestically. Her eyes were cold and inhuman and yet no devoid of beauty and grace; her face was pale and angular, with a strong jawline and very red lips.
"I think I once saw you in a movie?" the young killer whispered.
"I am Caster, the Servant of Darkness," the woman icily told him, the bird on her shoulder crawing once. "It was you who invited me upon this world, weren't you?"
"It must've been me, yeah…" he scratched the back of his neck. "I mean, what are the odds of there being another reason going on right now, right? Wow, so you're the devil? Nasty subliminal propaganda they put into kids' flicks, no wonder why today's youth is so fucked up. Grandma was right after all!"
"I don't understand what are you talking about," Caster sneered, then looking at the three eviscerated bodies without batting an eye. "I see. You are in this for the mere thrills, aren't you? How should I call you?"
He shrugged, deciding the least he could do for a (fellow) demon was to introduce himself properly. "How do you do, Ma'am, I'm Uryuu Ryuunosuke. Twenty three years old, born here in Fuyuki City, but I moved away five years ago, after my sister died. Recently the factory where I worked closed up, so I came back home, and you could say I'm a freelancer now…"
"Oh, so you aim for money and status after all," she sneered dismissively.
"Nah, don't get me wrong. I'm not a thief or anything, I never steal anything from people. I wouldn't like being robbed myself, so I don't ever do that to them. I only take souvenirs. Is that… Is that bad? I mean, to gain points with you, was I supposed to, I dunno, be greedy on top of everything else?"
"Points?" she arched a fine eyebrow.
Uryuu nodded eagerly. "Like, we can gain points with you people depending on how much we sin, right?"
"It would seem you have mistaken me for a demon from the hellpit," this woman aloofly said. "But if I were a fallen angel, I'd have Divinity and you could not have summoned me. I am a dark fairy, even though my powers do come from Hell."
He stared in complete perplexity. "… you lost me."
She snarled furiously, her emotions exploding abruptly and further scaring the weeping child. The crowd flapped its wings madly as emerald flames seemed to briefly erupt all around her. "Don't mock me, dolt! Don't you have any idea of the powers you have called forth?!"
Ryuunosuke paused. "Sorry, didn't mean to offend. No need to get so snippy, geeze! I just happened to find this book, and I was bored, so I thought, what the heck, sorry, hell, let's give this magic stuff a chance, what could I lose from—"
"Enough," the woman sighed quite deeply, slamming her staff down. Uryuu frowned. "Then you are but a child toying around. Don't you even know about the Holy Grail you are supposed to obtain?"
"Like in the Indiana Jones movies? That thing really exists? Oh, wait, that's right, I think they mentioned it here, somewhere," he began flipping through the book. "That part was boring, so I skipped it over. Well, if there's a devil then I guess Jesus must've existed too…"
"You're an imbecile," the woman declared, "but it matters not. There must be potential in you, otherwise you wouldn't have managed to summon my glory. Stay behind me and simply follow my instructions and I will allow you to partake in my victory… Master."
Uryuu scratched his head. "Izzat all? Doesn't sound too hard, but I might not have the time for it. I'm not a lazy guy, understand, but I've gotta find a new day job, and I'd like to keep my hobby for the nights too, it's not just a pastime, it's a project in process to leave my mark on this world, like—"
"Finding the Holy Grail and disposing of lives are hardly incompatible goals," Caster said, sounding bored as she moved towards the bound child, grabbing his chin and forcing a tiny, wispy swirl of semitransparent, spectral, even gaseous looking essence to flow out of him and into her expecting other hand. She shuddered in pleasure as the little boy slumped ahead, now lifeless, like a ragdoll. "One can be used to further to other."
"Whoa, that was radical!" Uryuu quietly observed. "You ate his soul, right? Like in that old American game… Fatal Combat, right?"
She nodded. "A Servant can consume human souls to keep and boost their power, and I will obviously need that since you are so inept a mage, and frankly, physical intimacy with you would be worse than death."
"I don't get you all that well yet," he admitted, "but was that a jab against my manhood? Lady, don't knock it until you have tried it!"
"I would rather wish to never try in the first place, thank you," she made a gesture of contempt with a hand.
"Well, yeah, lots of others could tell you otherwise," Ryuunosuke said, his pride as a figurative and literal ladykiller briefly wounded before more serious matters resurfaced in his mind. "So you don't mind if they're kids? We can work with those too, alright?"
"Adults, children, it's all the same to me. Worthless lives all. I once cursed a baby to death in her cradle."
"I know, I told you I watched the movie, remember?"
She looked at him with more of the same disdain. "I'm amazed you ever looked for a book anywhere in the first place."
"Now, now, I'm a complex and multilayered man! Not just a pretty face and nice bod… By the way, all the same, I'm glad you aren't the Angelina Jolie version."
"So I am, actually. That's at least something we have in common then."
A man, still young yet physically ravaged to the point the left half of his body was slowly collapsing on itself, knelt before a wide summon circle in a basement as consumed by darkness as its owner. Said owner, a tiny, trollish looking, twisted man with a large bald head, stood by the basement's door with a wicked and pleased smirk, his body supported on a wooden cane. He wore traditional robes, while the sickly looking younger person was in a simple black shirt and pants.
"I am the one who is to become the virtue of all Heaven," the deformed kneeling man coughed, feeling pain beyond comparison from within just as he recited, "I am the one who is covered with the vices of all Hades."
Next came the decisive lines added to the ceremony, the ones to guarantee a certain effect on the incoming Servant. By pronouncing them, besides inflicting even more agonic pain upon himself, the invoker would bring the berserker rage, the Mad Enhancement, upon the Heroic Spirit. An effect to grant great brute force and other boosted physical traits in trade for rationality and presence of mind.
"Yet, thou serve with thine eyes clouded in chaos. Thou, bound in the cage of madness. I am he who commands those chains…"
Matou Zouken cackled perversely, watching the eyes of his nephew begin leaking tears of blood. He could feel his familiars, the devouring worms, squirming under the invoker's skin, their magic fueling a contract even deadlier than most Servant summons. Bringing forth a Berserker was all but a quick or eventual at most death sentence for a magus. Rabid beasts with obscenely high intakes of mana, Berserkers in prior Wars had always killed their Masters, either through mindless and violent treachery or through simple exhaustion.
"Thou seven heavens, clad in a trinity of words, come past your restraining rings, Guardian of Scales!"
It was such a delightful testament to Kariya's despair, the fact he would do this if Zouken forced him to. Finally, he was showing this rebellious fool the futility of his actions. In a way, no matter the final outcome, Zouken felt like he'd already won the War.
And then, all consuming light briefly cutting through the blackness, and at first, an unbearable silence broken only by Kariya's fits of tortured coughing and wheezing.
"What have you done?" asked the Servant's voice as he rose from the floor where he had manifested lying face down. This surprised both Zouken and Kariya. Berserkers were supposed to be both thoughtless and insanely strong, and this man was obviously coherent and not much taller than Kariya himself, a poor build clad nothing but tattered purple pants.
Zouken squinted. "Are you… Servant Berserker?"
"Why have you brought him upon this world?!" the half naked brown haired man took both hands to his own head, anguished and frantic. "Don't you have the slightest idea how much destruction will he bring?!"
"Answer my question," Zouken sneered venomously, Kariya breaking into another lapse of bloody coughing.
"Yes," the stranger said with sudden, grim soberness. "We are Berserker. You'll see him soon enough. As soon as I'm angry. And you won't like it."
"Looks to me like you're already angry," Zouken hummed darkly.
"I am always angry. But he comes out when I'm even angrier. Then the nightmare starts all over again. It'll never go away for good. Why didn't you leave me back there? Back there, we had peace… it was so peaceful…"
"My apologies," Kariya rasped, feeling this man's ache with the familiarity of another who had suffered greatly. "I'm Matou Kariya, your Master, and this… this is Matou Zouken, my uncle."
The man, Berserker, looked at Kariya's face, shocked. Finally, he said in tired resignation, "Well. I suppose I can't fault you for wanting the Holy Grail after all."
"It's not for my own sake," Kariya tried to smile, although his facial muscles didn't allow it. He reached over to pat Berserker's shoulder. "Should we win, I will wish for your happiness, but first and foremost…"
Zouken interrupted with another gleeful cackle. "My boy is an idealist fool, a romantic. He would throw his own life away for the child of another man."
"He would?" Berserker said coldly. "Then maybe, just maybe… this might be worth a try despite everything." He looked back at Kariya. "Now what?"
"We're getting out of here. This isn't my home. Not anymore."
"That's fine with me."
Zouken growled as they began going up the stairs leading out of the basement. "Just remember, Kariya!" he cried, waving his staff after them. "No double crosses! No failures! Or you'll never see her again!"
Berserker tightened a fist, struggling not to turn back around. "Would you care if this house were suddenly reduced to rubble?"
"Usually not," his Master said, "but as much as I'd like it, I can't turn against him with hurting those I love. My only chance is to win this damned War, so my life… no, our lives are in your hands."
Berserker lowered his head. "I'll try my best," he promised. And then, after a pause, "You know, I used to know a guy who looked and acted just like him."
"How did you call him?" Matou asked as they walked towards the front entrance of the ancient manor by the roadside.
"The Gargoyle."
Kariya almost felt like chuckling for the first time in far too long. "I'll have to remember that one…"
"You are late," said gravelly the extremely tall, white as snow both in hair and attire, and nearly as pale, as well.
His guest made a small, apologetic smile. The old man still choose to interpret it as an insolent gesture, because that was the way he was. "Sorry about that, Herr Acht. I ran into a few old friends on my way here."
They stood before each other in a chamber one thousand years old, deep into a castle within the snowy mountains of Northern Germany. The windows of stained glass portrayed miracles from the past in starkly colorful hues contrasting with the grim presence of the rest of the chamber. They told the long history of the Heaven's Feel rituals. A history the young tall man with the concealing cloak, the ragged coat and the generic, harmless looking face was no part of. Until that day.
"We are gambling the future of the Einzbern legacy on your performance, Maris Billy Animusphere," the humorless voice of Justabeicht von Einzbern echoed thunderously across the chamber. "The enemies you have gained must not interfere in your assignment. I trust you have understood the seriousness of this situation by now."
"Completely, Herr Acht," the man called Animusphere nodded. "Anything you say, Herr Acht!"
As he spoke, several male homunculi walked closer, one holding a sealed box, three others carrying a huge circular package, heavily wrapped around, which made the master of the castle fall reverently silent, the young man's insolence forgotten. "You have delivered…" he whispered, before pride overtook him again, and he stared harshly at the visitor once again, until another man spoke up.
"It doesn't matter. Should any of them appear, I will dispose of them as we agreed. Maris Billy," he nodded blandly towards the other man, who was carelessly shaking blood stained snow off the bruises all over him. "Thank you for bringing the catalysts, but maybe you'd like a bath and some treatment first?"
"Nah. I work better like this," said the visitor, handing this long coat over to a doll-like, dutiful maid of milky skin and ice blue eyes. "You won't mind, will you, Sella dear? Thanks, you're a lifesaver." He looked at the slightly older than him black haired man, in a fine black suit and tie, and asked, "How's Illya?"
The other man managed a small smile, something Maris Billy had never seen him doing before. "Thanks for asking. Healthier and more beautiful each passing day. I'll take you to see her as soon as we're done here."
"Let's get on with it then," said the adventurous academic, rolling his sleeves up. For a moment, his gaze met that of the gorgeous woman standing by his associate, her arm on his. Wearing the rich ceremonial dress in regal purple and silver, her long white hair loosely framing her angelic face, she was the kind of beauty he favored, reminding him of his own wife, but even more delicate and yet elegantly sensuous. He shook those thoughts off shortly, knowing all too well what was in store and at play, and his excited smile returned, mostly to annoy the old magus king of this frozen castle. "It's always stupid to make royalty wait!"
Soon later, he and Emiya Kiritsugu stood at opposite sides of an ancient large altar lit by dozens of candles, listening to the winds howl and roar outside. On its surface, two large chunks of old, rusty metal set before Emiya, and a gigantic, round dark shape taking most of the altar before Animusphere. Jubstacheit and Irisviel stood aside, flanked by several armed homunculi of ghastly pale and inexpressive faces. The conjurers extended their arms ahead and chanted the words, feeling the respective magus crests within their bodies pulse and vibrate. This was the power of two separate lineages manifesting through them, forcing to synchronize as they said each word at the exact same time, with practiced discipline and coordination.
Each summoning of a Heroic Soul was a miracle. But the Einzberns had always strived to take miracles even further.
"Set, set…"
Sixty years ago, the illustrious clan had failed to bend the rules they had set themselves in the first Heaven's Feel. Irisviel's eyes quietly rested, for a moment, on one of the stained windows, showing the family's prior representative standing before a dark, vaguely shaped figure with red eyes, an image that always made her shudder inwardly. But of course, she told herself, she trusted Kiritsugu not to commit a similar mistake. She had the utmost faith on him, and even her distrustful father had for once placed his confidence on someone. The Magus Killer and the scholar. A mismatched pair if there was ever one.
She was so distracted by such thoughts she missed on most of the chants, until she felt her father's hand squeezing her shoulder tightly, for support, the first sign of true humanity she had ever seen from him. Against all she had ever believed when briefly entertaining unlikely and laughable notions in that vein, however, that gesture of strange vulnerability from the tower of a man didn't make her feel any better. Just scared, because if he was shaken, even for a second, what did that mean for the world?
"—the hands to protect the balance!"
From each set of relics, a figure rose bathed on pure light, glorious and imposing. One of them, a gorgeous young-looking blonde in a long blue dress, with armor plates on her chest and gauntlets, her hair neatly tied back into a single white bun. By Animusphere's side, next to this impossibly beautiful armed female warrior, a dutiful looking young woman with light short hair, which fell in bangs that would hide most of her cute rather than gorgeous pale face. She wore a form hugging black ensemble of body armor that actually showed a lot of her curvaceous, surprisingly well stacked physique off, complete with tall boots. In a hand, she held a gigantic thick shield that looked like someone had taken a massive dark table apart and started carrying it around for protection. It was easily bigger than either young woman, and almost touched the room's quite high ceiling. That on itself was no shock, as most Servants were alleged to be superhumanly strong regardless of size.
The fact both of these Servants were females, however, had managed to reduce everyone around them into a stunned, disbelieving silence.
The blonde managed to speak a fraction of a second first, with a voice that was cold and devoid of feeling. Her green eyes fixed squarely on Kiritsugu, who only could stare at him in disbelief, despite all of the marvels and horrors alike he had witnessed until then.
"I am Servant Saber," was what she said. "I ask of thee, are thou my Master?"
And then she heard the gasp by her side, and she felt herself mildly startled for a split second, looking into a familiar face that stared back, wide eyed, at her. "I… I am Servant Shielder," the other young lady said, her earlier confidence upon summoning now replaced by a confused amazement as she found herself reborn along her lord and sovereign. "And… I am glad to see you again… Your Majesty? Do we, do we have to fight each other, now?"
The old master of the castle took a hand to the bridge of his strong nose, beginning to massage it sharply. For once he was at a complete loss for words and actions that would last far too long for his taste.
No one had ever appreciated Waver Velvet's genius. At least if you asked him. Others would have told you he had no genius to appreciate.
Mocked and belittled by his peers in the Clock Tower academy, he'd endured ridicule and prejudice for years. This short, black haired young man from an average family of modest magi had carried the stigma of not being exceptional through the whole of his formative years, yet he'd forged ahead nonetheless, convinced his studies and hard work would make it all worthwhile in the end, thanks to his graduation thesis.
But then, last year, Lord Archibald Kayneth El Melloi had crushed those hopes, too.
"It's just fair," Waver murmured to reassure himself, flinching as he sliced the neck of the final chicken he'd stolen from a neighboring farm after a lot of humiliating travails, and poured its blood onto the ground, finishing the magical circle. Under a full moon, he stood on the chilly Japanese hillside, taking only a moment to zip his jacket all the way up to his neck while further rationalizing to soothe his nerves, "He owed me, and this is the least he could do for me, right? Besides, it's not like he could get me after I've won the War…"
Because he'd win, of course! He forced himself to think positively as he sang the words, which we'll spare you from having to read through this time. Old magi like Lord El Melloi had grown lazy and overconfident on their natural capabilities, so they were bound to lower their guard and underperform, while he would be aware of his surroundings and studying every situation with his superior observation and analysis skills at all times (the fact this just might be a sort of overconfidence on his own abilities as well completely escaped his notice). All he had done by stealing El Melloi's catalyst was putting it to a better use, instead of letting it go to waste.
Oh, how noble I am, he thought, moved by his own mercy towards this precious, priceless relic fated to reshape the world once again, as he finished the chant. And then, the reins violently, and Waver knew he had done it. He felt like shouting in joy! Light began erupting from the dirt in the form of six pillars of white. It was the most beautiful thing Waver had ever witnessed, as they shot up towards the moon. He smiled. Truly, Iskandar's reign reached all the way to the sky!
But then, just as quickly, he grew alarmed. What was ascending from the reins of Alexander the Great was obviously not human. Although its full shape was not clearly visible at this point, and it was at least as tall as a man, it had four legs and no arms. It looked really impressive and powerful in its own fashion for sure, but it still didn't change the fact this had to be… a horse?!
Bucephalus? I've summoned Bucephalus?! Waver panicked. Can you even summon animals?! That's unfair! None of the books mentioned anything about this!
As the lights dimmed down, the horse- for there was no mistaking whatsoever now that was what it was- finally was fully visible. It was white furred and very elegant, with a long and thin neck, a luscious light aquamarine mane and long tail, and a sharp, long horn at the middle of its forehead. Bucephalus was a unicorn?!-?! Waver's shock grew even more. W-Well, that sort of makes sense, doesn't it, no, what am I even thinking…?!
The horse opened its eyes, and they were large, languid, blue and feminine, extremely beautiful, with long and delicate eyelashes. Then her body jerked violently, once, and from her back unfolded two wide white wings, as eye pleasing as a cherubim's, gently scattering feathers all over the small deserted hill.
No, maybe I summoned Pegasus instead! Waver sweated, not understating how that could have happened. I don't get it, what's the link?! It's because they were both Greek? Was Bucephalus a descendant of Pegasus? And how does Pegasus help me anyway? I'm not Perseus! Maybe if I can take it… him, her, whatever… to the Clock Tower I can get an award, but in a Grail War…?!
The horse looked down on Waver and smiled gently at him, in a way Waver never would have imagined possible from an animal. "Good evening," she politely said with a voice that was very pleasant and unmistakably that of a female. "I am Servant Rider. Are you my Master?"
He nodded stiffly. "Y-Yes… That, I am, but… but… You are Rider?! How?! N-No offense, but you are a ride, not a rider!"
She made a motion that was too much like that of a human shrug of shoulders. "Mysteries of the Grail."
"That doesn't even make any sense and doesn't really answer anything!"
She laughed lightly, in a lyrical tone full of good hearted happiness. "Magic is what you want it to be, Master… and sometimes, just sometimes, what you need it to be."
His brown eyes narrowed suspiciously. "No, seriously. Do you ride other horses or something like that? Were you a rider who could take on the appearance of her mount? Or do you have a chariot pulled by other horses or… Aaah, it doesn't matter anyway!" he tugged on his hair. "I'm lost! Lord El Melloi must have set me up! It's all his fault again! I bet he's watching this and laughing at me right now!"
Rider blinked. "Oh dear. Please calm yourself, Master. It's true my power would have ranked higher had I been summoned as a Ruler, which in no way is your fault, but rest assured I still am the sovereign of a whole nation, and if necessary I will fight to the end with all the power of the Sun." With a confident smile, she briefly shook her hindquarters, on which there was, indeed, a sun-shaped blue mark. Waver stared incredulously, hiccupped a little to keep himself from crying, and simply asked the first next thing that came to his mind, in a strangled tone.
"Ruler? Is that a Class of Servant, or what? I'd never heard of it before!"
"Just because something has never been seen, it doesn't mean it doesn't exist, Master." She looked all around and gasped loudly. "Oh my goodness! What in the world happened to all those poor chickens?!"
Waver's shoulders drooped. "Who knows? Mysteries of the Grail, I suppose," he mumbled, feeling at least a small measure of vindication from this.
"I am Servant Lancer," she said with a voice both delicate and cold, rising from her kneeling position on the summon circle. "Which one of you is my Master?"
Archibald Kayneth and his fiancée stared at her in shock. For several moments the wide deluxe hotel room was completely still and silent. The young woman, pretty much a child of pale complexion and short black hair, stared back at them with her huge, glacially stoic purple eyes. Finally, feeling his duty as a Master reasserting itself over his confusion, the well dressed man, his hair impeccably slicked back as ever, answered while adding a question of his own.
"I called Diarmuid of the Love Spot to this world", he said, "but why have you answered in his stead? The catalyst belonged to him, so who are you?"
She looked aside with apparent complete aloofness. "Like any other hero, especially those with a tragic legend, Diarmuid was bound to the chains of death. I'm the Guardian of the cycle of Destruction and Rebirth." Absently, she hit the lower end of the staff she held, far taller than herself and topped by a huge sharp blade, against the wine red carpet. That, if anything, only confused the couple even further.
"Are you… the spectre of death?" the attractive red haired woman warily guessed.
She still refused to meet their gazes, her attitude that of a shy youngster but her tone chilling in its softness. "I have been called that," she admitted. "I am the doombringer, one who is to devastate the world so evil can be purged and a new order can rise from the ashes."
Kayneth hummed gruffly, refusing to believe this scrawny female in dark tall boots and a scandalously short skirt could live up to her outrageous claims. Still, she was obviously a Servant of some sort, and he knew better than to offend or enrage an unknown Heroic Spirit unless absolutely needed. Part of the reasons he'd chosen Diarmuid as his replacement Servant was he'd factored the Celtic hero's fabled loyalty as a guarantee he wouldn't turn against him, but receiving this strange Lancer in his place added a whole new dimension of uncertainty to the proceedings that he didn't like at all. Well, if he wanted to change that, the first thing he'd need to do was asking…
"What is your name?"
Against his expectations, she replied quickly without needing being threatened with a Command Seal. "Tomoe. Tomoe Hotaru."
He frowned. An Oriental figure of myth, then. Like most of his peers, he'd always thought of the Orientals as lessers, so their mythology wasn't his field of expertise; but he still was decently well read on it regardless, being a complete cathedratic as he was. He exchanged a brief glance with his bride, hoping the name was familiar to her then, but her expression told him otherwise at first sight. And he sighed deeply. Perhaps summoning the Servant on Japanese grounds had been a mistake factoring into the equation.
Folding his arms behind his back, the aristocrat said, "What would you wish upon the Holy Grail then? Destruction? Harmageddon? I refuse to be a part of that."
"It's not about what I wish," she said, "and I have no personal interest on the Grail myself. If I had, I'd wish to know the touch of a friend again, to meet someone who once showed me kindness and love once more. But," here she paused, "I'm only a messenger of Saturn now. It must have placed me here for its purposes, not mine."
"Well, you serve our purposes now," he told her. "I'm your Master, Lord Archibald Kayneth El Melloi. This is my wife to be, Sola Ui. Your sole goal under our command must be obtaining the Holy Grail for us. It shouldn't matter to you, since you claim having no use of your own for it."
She nodded. "Very well. If that's your heart's desire, it's what I owe you as a Servant."
"Perform well, and you'll still be rewarded in some way," he promised.
The girl said nothing.
"Take your time to think of a fitting reward," the man told her. "Leave the strategy to me."
"Yes, Master."
"Obey Sola Ui's orders as if they were mine. She'll supply you with prana, so be grateful and show her the due respect."
"Yes, Master."
He fumed, examining her expression before deciding she wasn't mocking him through her austere obedience. Part of him still wanted to be upset at her, for turning up as a weak looking Servant of ignote origins instead of a great hero of illustrious pedigree befitting him, but he was a well bred and trained magus and could feel a frightening amount of power brimming inside her. He didn't dare to outright belittle her just yet.
"I'm sorry you had to partake in this conflict being… so young," he stiffly said, trying to be human but being rather bad at it due to lack of enough practice.
"Not your fault," was Lancer's plain answer. Sola Ui grimaced, creeped out by her appearance and behavior alike.
Then the wide, deep purple eyes rotated slowly towards her, and Sola Ui felt her skin downright crawling up.
The longer Kotomine Kirei spent associated with the events of a Holy Grail War, the more he (normally someone impervious to surprise) grew acquainted with the stunning effects of the unexpected. First there'd been the matter of his own Servant, the unaccounted Assassin. Tokiomi had not been pleased when he learned about him; saying he'd found Kirei's Heroic Spirit to be uncouth and repulsive would have been almost a gross and dire understatement as Assassin himself was a person. But Tohsaka, a man of self restraint, had not faulted his former disciple. Assassin's regenerative abilities, which the fool never stopped boasting about, would still make Tohsaka's plan viable.
That was, if the Tohsakas could summon a Servant of their own at all. Weeks had passed by; the Einzberns, Matous, Lord El Melloi, and even an upstart from the Clock Tower had all handed proof of their Mastery to Risei. The old priest had even gotten readings of another manifestation in Fuyuki City, although the absence of a report to the Church pointed to this Master being some sort of wildcard outsider. Through all of this, however, the seals had failed to manifest on Tokiomi's flesh. This was unheard of; at some point they would have to appear on a member of each of the founding families, or a chosen delegate at the very least. Even the Matous with their dwindling lineage had achieved that nights ago already.
But Tokiomi, who had planned long in advance by securing the best of all available catalysts years ago, had not been blessed yet. Until, two nights ago, the seals had shown up at last.
On the tiny hand of Tohsaka's older daughter, Rin.
It had been a relief for Tokiomi all the same, at first. Even if it was improper thrusting a child into a Heaven's Feel, all Rin had to do was passing her Command Seals, no matter how and why they'd appeared in the first place, to her father. An easy enough procedure with the aid of a Church specialist, even easier between members of a family, fated to bear the same Magic Crests.
But that didn't work.
Risei tried it; then Kirei; then Tokiomi himself; then several consultants they called upon quickly, all reliable magi, discreet and knowledgeable... the stubborn seals, which remained firmly grafted onto Rin-chan's soft skin.
Assassin had found this terribly hilarious, suggesting Tokiomi to just cut Rin's hand off and carry it around himself if that was so much of an issue. Tohsaka grew outraged and, after demanding Kirei to control his Servant's tongue (an impossible task Kirei would not waste any command seals for, since, empty life or not, he still held to his instincts to preserve it, and he was sure Assassin would kill him at the first chance he got), the head of the house resolved to just forge ahead.
Tohsaka loved his child. Most illustrious magi only saw their offspring as tools for their own ends, but while Tokiomi had kept a distance from his second daughter, probably so her eventual departure would hurt him less, he developed a genuine affection for this little angel who now chanted before the fossilized husk set at the middle of the main hall of the magnificent Tohsaka palace. Rin was his pride and joy, his hopes for the future, his true reason to exist. Kirei understood all of this, even if he, for whom, his own daughter mattered nothing, could not relate.
Even so, he understood well how much it hurt Tokiomi to be doing this, even if his controlled expression and measured words never made it outright clear.
Always a fast learner and early adept, Rin got an immediate answer as soon as she finished with the instructions she'd been given. And then golden light sprang from the floor before her, and a regal figure that was the manifestation of opulence ascended proudly. So shiny and splendid, just by appearing, it made the finery of Tohsaka's abode look like a filthy cabin in comparison. A pinnacle of manly beauty, his hair matching the gold of his exquisite suit of armor, arms folded powerfully before his chest, standing in a pose that invited to reverence and self-humiliation.
"I am your King," he spoke, with a rich, strong voice that conveyed conquests and domain and might both through tone and words. "I am the first of all Kings and first of all Heroes, returned to claim what is rightfully mine back! Rejoice, for you are the first to witness my glorious reappearance! Thank yourselves, peasants, for having summoned Gilgamesh, Lord of Uruk, back to rescue your world from the abyss of his absence!"
Risei and Kirei were speechless. So was Tokiomi. Even though this was the result they had hoped for, seeing this manifestation in the flesh was impressive words all the same; even for Kirei, who had already experienced it firsthand with Assassin.
Rin was also awestruck, of course, her little mouth wide open, her eyes starry at what she'd just achieved. She looked up a this man of wonder and miracle that dwarfed her and, after a few attempts to speak again, asked curiously, "Are you an Archer, or a Caster?"
"Hah!" he laughed. "Classes are meaningless limitations to one as boundless as Gilgamesh! Even if your pathetic thaumaturgy may label me an Archer in an attempt to understand me, my many talents ran across... all..." He paused, now he'd deigned looking down at Rin's face. "... why do you look so familiar, I wonder?"
She smiled widely. "It must be because I'm your Master!"
To be Continued.
Statistics:
Class: Assassin.
Identity: Hahn Sho Lobo (roughly translated from Khund as 'He who Devours Your Entrails and Thoroughly Enjoys It').
Titles: The Main Man, The Ultimate Bastitch, Killer of the Cosmic Royalty.
Basic Stats:
Alignment: Chaotic Evil.
Strength: A ++.
Mana: D.
Endurance: EX.
Agility: B.
Luck: A.
Noble Phantasms: B.
Class Skills:
Presence Concealment: F (Trust us… Don't ask. Okay, it's actually E, but he said he'd kills us if we didn't give him an F, pleasedonttellhim).
Unusually for an Assassin, Lobo never made a point of carrying out his murders in secrecy, and unless bound by wording on a contract he'd rather kill his prey as noisily and with as much collateral damage as possible, all to increase his infamy as a troublemaker and sate his bloodlust. However, while he eschews making his own involvement into assassinations a secret, he has no real interest on divulging who ordered him to commit a hit, and can be persuaded on the subject with relative ease.
Battle Continuation: A.
Lobo is a stubborn son of a bitch who will not surrender in battle until his opponent is dead, no matter how maimed, mutilated or wounded he may be. Even when overwhelmed by superior numbers or force, he is a natural born master of clean getaways, which he often uses to set up ambushes and counterstrikes.
Independent Action: EX. (See also From a Single Drop of Blood…)
Lobo has been banned from the afterlife, as Heaven, Hell and Purgatory have all declared him persona non grata. This, coupled with his amazing regenerative properties, has rendered him functionally immortal, and he can remain in this world indefinitely even after the death of his Master. Besides, Lobo is fully willing to consume human souls to sustain himself in case of need, and odds seem likely even the Throne of Heroes doesn't want him around and will pawn him off on Earth at the slightest chance. It's unknown what could ever kill Lobo and send him to the Throne of Heroes in the first place. Probably the heat death of the universe, but in any case it's for the best not thinking about it.
Personal Skills:
Animal Dialogue: C.
Lobo, for all his many moral flaws, genuinely loves a species of space dolphins he's sworn to protect, and he's fond of Earth dolphins as well. In general, while he cares little to nothing about other animals, they still seem to attach themselves to Lobo, and at various points a gorilla, a bulldog and a flock of vicious Frag Penguins have been drawn to him as his pets.
Master of Bounting Hunting for Fun and Profit: A++.
Lobo is an idiot at most fields, but when it comes to murder, he is a peerless genius able of great feats of planning intellect and scientific accumen, killing all other members of his species but his teacher with his chemistry project during high school graduation, after which he graduated himself valedictorian. This Skill allows Lobo quick access to almost any weapon from his vast arsenal to complete all but the most hopeless missions. While Lobo's first instinct in battle is attacking mindlessly, if that fails he's able of developing complex strategies to overwhelm his enemies.
Honor of The Main Man: C.
While Lobo is crude, callous, vulgar, careless, selfish, amoral, unhygienic, indecent, repulsive, cynical, greedy, abusive, inconsiderate, gluttonous, perverted, envious, aggressive, mean, loud, petty and cruel, he's a man of his word and once sworn to do something he'll do it no matter the odds against him. However, Lobo only follows the strict wording of what he's promised, and attempts to fool him into acting against his will tend to backfire horribly, as he'll find loopholes to turn unwanted orders against those who issued them, something to keep in mind when using Command Seals on him.
Lobo hates pretty much everyone, but a few individuals have gained his good graces: downtrodden cosmic driver Space Cabbie, Lobo's favorite diner owner Al and his waitress Arlene, vitriolic best bud Etrigan the Demon, and the members of superhero team The Authority. Should you join this short list, this Skill's effects will keep you from suffering serious injury during Lobo's rampages, although humiliation and affronts to your dignity and self esteem will invariably happen.
Noble Phantasms:
From a Single Drop of Blood…: A.
Lobo's miraculous healing factor, inherited from his Czarnian species, allows him to regenerate destroyed or missing parts of his body in seconds to minutes, depending on the seriousness of the wound. Even regrowing his whole head after having it exploded will only take him a few hours at most, and in the meanwhile Lobo's headless body can keep functioning, although blind and erratic. Lobo can revive eventually even if all that's left from him is a single drop of blood; in life this ability used to be even more fearsome, allowing Lobo to create clones of himself from each drop of spilled blood, but thankfully it was neutered by Vril Dox, commander of cosmic law enforcement organization L.E.G.I.O.N.
Space Hawg 666: B.
Lobo's ride through the spaceways, a sleek, dark rocket motorcycle able to fly unscathed through black holes and loaded with all manners of deadly weaponry. While Lobo is a master at riding this vehicle, that doesn't give him the Riding ability, as he tends to destroy most other vehicles he takes and to kill all animals he mounts, space dolphins aside.
Summoning: "This crap again?! Feetal's gizz! Oh well, I'm Assassin! But I'd rather go with Lobo! Th' Main Man! Numero Uno primo mass killer f'r hire, atcher service… 's long as ya can pay wit' lotsa sweet mana prisms an' quartzes an' medals, of course!"
Liked things: "Of course it's booze! An' broads! An' lotsa an' lotsa carnage an' bloodshed! Those are the things a real Main Man craves! An' then there's my fishies, naturally. Th' only creatures in this fragged universe you can call noble an' graceful an'… Don't laugh now! Even if you're my Master I'll blow yer stinkin' face off!"
Disliked things: "It's gotta be pansy do-gooders like Supey an' Goldstar, that creep. I can't stand them goodies who do things without expectin' fer a fair reward! What are they, idiots? They make things harder f'r the rest of us hard workin' fellas!"
Birthday: "Happy birthday, Clyde! Let's start early an' go hit the nudie bar already! What? You don't know any? Dat's okay, we can start our own!"
Event: "Wuzzat? Some kinda party? Awright! Let's go there, dweeb, on th' double! The Main Man never misses on a party he can crack up ta twelve!"
Holy Grail: "A wish? I already gotta all I want from life! I'm free, strong, feared, smart an' incredibly handsome! But I guess I coulda wish fer a few million credits or sumthin'!"
Omake! Grail-kun's Consultation Room!
"Grail-sama! Grail-sama!" Gilles De Rais bawled, throwing himself to his knees before the eerily smiling, black-drooling figure of the sitting Holy Grail of Fuyuki. "I haven't been summoned for the Fourth Heaven's Feel! Now how am I supposed to meet with Jeanne? JEANNE…!-!-!-!"
"My, my, Gilles-kun," Grail-kun said, and he'd have shaken his head as well had he been able to. "I can't believe you of all people are asking that!"
He threw a large knife before the crazed nobleman. Said nobleman slowly blinked his large, bulbous fish eyes, each in a different direction. "What am I supposed to do with this? Kill the dark fey and take her place back? I already have a book that can summon creatures from the great beyond! What does a knife have over that?"
Grail-kun giggled creepily. "Silly Gilles-kun, I'm not telling you to go stab her… I'm telling you to go stab yourself and stop bothering me already!"
"…" Gilles said. "Sorry, but I think I won't be doing that. Thanks for the gift anyway. I'm sure it might be useful later after all," he decided, placing it safely within the confines of his thick black robes.
"You're welcome," Grail-kun said.
"Then," Caster said after some hesitation, "what do you say if I use you to create my very own Jeanne to vanquish all those other Servants in the name of—"
"Been done before," Grail-kun said.
"But—!"
"More than once, even. We're aiming for material that kinda looks actually new even when it's being recycled, after all! Bring me a new twist on it and I might be convinced! Until then, shoo! Shoo!"
Caster got up from the floor with a dejected sad sigh, turned around and marched miserably out of the darkened room.
That was anticlimactic, wasn't it? Thank you for these fond wasted minutes of your valuable time, and see again you next chapter!