Chapter 1: Point Zero
A chilling wind sliced through the air, carrying with it a drowning flurry of snow. A veil of cotton white descended upon the forest and before long the branches of the fir trees were covered with a thick dusting of powder.
Busying themselves in the middle of a large clearing, a group of individuals had set about carving some form of array into the ground. They had chanced their fate with the Gods and raced a blizzard to the forest, yet fate was not on their side. It was all they could do not to retrace their steps and cause a potentially fatal mistake.
Stood at the dead centre of the clearing, the markings snaking around his white leather shoes, a curious man stared out into the snowscape with pale red eyes. Dressed head to toe in white, and with skin as pale as milk, he almost seemed to blend with the surroundings. Caught in the wind, his light silver hair fluttered out into the air.
Another chilling blast of cold tore through the clearing. Ice bit at the man's skin, yet he did not care.
The ritual was almost ready.
"Fill, fill, fill, fill, fill..."
Blood spattered the floor of the dusty study, etching crimson rivulets onto the wood. A damp thump reverberated off of the numerous bookcases as a dead rabbit was thrown down onto an already existing pile, to join its fellows.
"And when each is filled, destroy it."
The sound of scribbling pervaded the air, as the room's sole occupant began to frantically scrawl into the notebook clasped in his hand. Clad in a white shirt, covered in dark suspenders, his hair was messy and unkempt. Ink and blood stained the tips of his fingers.
Set down carefully on an alter, ahead of him, was a centuries old Palm Leaf Manuscript.
Digging his fingers into the deep wound, gouged into his side, the man bit down on the corner of his lip and swallowed a strained breath. Sweat saturated his clothes, leaving a sour smell hanging in the air.
Utilising his own blood, he finished drawing a large and complex transmutation circle onto the ground below.
"For the elements silver and iron, the foundation stone and the arch to the pacts. Before my great master Schweinorg, raise a wall against the wind and close the gate in four directions. Now... Come forth for the crown and follow the forked road leading to the kingdom."
His fingers splayed from his outstretched hand, the regal-looking gentleman flicked his eyes down at the symbols etched into the floor. Ethereal light seeped around the edges of the markings and licked against his dark iris.
Despite being inside, wind tugged at the fabric of his neatly tailored suit.
A confident smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.
"Hear my words... My will creates your body, and your sword creates my destiny..."
The man read half-heartedly from a collection of notes clasped in his fist.
An eerie green light settled on the dank surroundings, lapping away at any semblance of joy and happiness. His voice reverberated off of the damp space and struck back at him.
In the distance, the wet clicking of insects could be heard behind the roaring of the unnatural wind.
"If you heed the Grail's call and obey my will and reason, then answer my summoning."
Slamming his fist down upon his desk, the Investigator stared up at the portrait hung on his wall. Through gritted teeth, he ground out a solemn oath.
"I swear it! I will be the world's justice! I will be the one that rids the world of evil!"
A prickling sensation crawled across the back of his hand. A crimson marking etched itself onto his skin, as if it were being slowly carved onto his flesh.
White light flared up and flashed through the small office.
Clenching his fist tightly, the man's strong Italian accent reverberated against the confining walls of his study as he screamed out the incantation.
"And let thine eyes be clouded in the fog of turmoil and chaos! Thou who art trapped in a cage of madness!"
Beneath his feet, the ground began to shake and rumble violently. Books, once stacked neatly on the table behind him, tumbled to the floor with a crash. Set upon the alter beneath the man, a weathered fragment of bone began to violently shake. Lashes of electricity flickered through the air, leaving it thick and charged with static.
"And I the summoner who holds thy chains!"
"Seventh Heaven, clad in the great words of power. Return from the circle of binding, guardian of the heavenly scales!"
Mitsuomi Tanaka fell to his knees, scattering objects from his desk in his descent. Grasping his left hand, a painful hiss escaped his clenched teeth.
Red markings stretched across the once smooth skin of the back of his hand, forming strange interlocking patterns.
Observing the mark, through the lenses of his stylish half-frame glasses, Mitsuomi wracked his brain for anything that could explain what had just happened to him.
The phenomenon was definitely magical in origin. Ill-practiced in the wider scope of Thaumaturgy, though he was, he knew that much. The sinking feeling of fatigue in the pit of his stomach told him that whatever happened had almost entirely drained him of his Mana. However, up until that point, the extent of Mitsuomi's Magecraft knowledge had been in The Edict of Binding.
And this certainly was not a binding ritual.
If he didn't know any better, he could have sworn that it felt like some kind of summoning.
But even if it was... That still didn't explain the mark that had appeared on his hand.
"They're called Command Spells," suddenly arose a voice.
Turning around, Mitsuomi hurriedly attempted to place the origin of the voice. Sat casually in the chair beside his office door was a beautiful young woman. Fiery red hair cascaded off of her head in thick curly locks and fell over her left shoulder. Her skin was dreamily pale and her eyes a bright piercing blue.
"Honestly..." she scoffed, with a grin. "Imagine my surprise being summoned here, only to find that the Mage who had done so is so green he might as well be pissing grass."
Stunned by her brash manner, Mitsuomi fumbled his words. He was still having difficulty processing exactly what was going on; the woman's appearance only serving to confuse him even more.
"Though I can't say I'm entirely disappointed," the woman continued. "I usually excell when I have to show someone the ropes."
"I'm sorry..." Mitsuomi finally managed to force out, his voice hurried and breathless. "But who —what— are you?"
Smirking slightly, the beautiful woman held out one hand, as if to shake his. "My name is Lancer." Her smile widened. "And I am your humble servant... Master."
Continuing to breathe heavily, the wounded man clasped at his side in an effort to stop the bleeding. Looking up through dark hazel eyes, he placed the form of a man stood into the middle of the circle he had drawn in his own blood.
Shifting his weight onto one leg, the standing figured crossed its arms over its chest.
"I see..." it stated. "So you are the man that is to be my Master?"
"That's right..." the wounded man said, slowly and painfully rising to his feet. "I'm Isaac."
The individual stepped forward, bringing his features into the light. Well built and tall, his muscular form was offset by a shock of feathery blonde hair. Wisps of gold framed his mouth in the form of a moustache and a trim, pointed beard. Eyes the colour of an emerald forest stared out of his face.
"You're injured," he said.
"Don't worry about me," Isaac grunted, waving a single bloodstained hand. "We need to get out of here... I only summoned you now because I'm being pursued." He began to mutter under his breath. "If it was different, I would have made sure the leylines were right — was that what he called them...? Damn, I can't think straight."
"So you're ordering me to help you?" the Servant questioned, raising an eyebrow.
"Not an order..." came the breathless reply, as Isaac attempted to stand up straight. "More a request... Or a plea now that I think about it. After all... We're partners now. Please, take this as my word... If you help me now, I swear to you that I will repay you later."
Half stunned by the dying man's courtesy, the blonde individual's lips parted in a smile to reveal a neat row of teeth. "Well then, sir, it seems that you have yourself a deal."
"Thank you..." Isaac hesitated for a second when he realised that his Servant hadn't introduced himself.
"Archer," the blonde man said, completing his Master's train of thought.
"Archer, huh?" he half chuckled.
Lifting an eyebrow, as he moved to support Isaac under the arm, the Heroic Spirit's voice took a friendly teasing tone to it. "Disappointed in my Class? Were you trying to summon me as a Saber?"
Laughing and slinging one bloody arm over the Servant, Isaac turned to look the green-eyed man dead in the eye. "The opposite actually... I was worried that if I summoned you this early, you'd be assigned into the Saber Class. But it seems someone has already called forth the swordsman."
"Good for you," Archer grinned. "My skill with a blade was legendary, but I've always been a bit better with a bow."
Returning the smile, with a grimace, Isaac gripped his side and braced himself. The sound of harsh shouts could be heard in the distance, as his pursuers grew ever closer to discovering him. His pulse roared in his ears and ragged breaths shook his body.
Casting one last concerned glance over his Master, Archer dipped his head slightly and tightened his hold on Isaac. "Take a breath, and hang on to me. And whatever you do, don't talk. You'll bite your tongue."
With that, he kicked off of the ground and the pair rocketed into the air, disappearing over the skyscrapers that littered the cityscape.
As the ether of light seeped out of the clearing, the snow beneath the magic circle was once again revealed. Stood on the outer rim of the circle, the pure white man lowered his outstretched arm.
Looming in the centre of the array, a large individual had appeared. Exceptionally tall and well built, he cast a strong and imposing shadow down onto the snow. His hair was long and iron grey, matching his eyes and the stubble that clung to his face.
Breaking into a smile, the Heroic Spirit turned away from his Master and strode over to the alter, upon which the catalyst for his summoning lay. Glimmering gold, the blade was beautiful and ornate, yet still emanated a chilling sense of danger. Winding his fingers around the leather grip, he lifted the sword into the air and examined it.
"I never thought I would see this again," he mused, to nobody in particular.
"One of the many preparations my family has made for the Holy Grail War," the curiously pale individual said, taking a step forward. "We excavated your sword a number of years ago. Using it as the means of your summoning seemed more than appropriate."
"Then I take it you're my master?" The huge man strode over towards the pale individual and looked him up and down. "I expected someone..."
"More imposing?"
"Different," the Servant corrected.
"Rest assured that you're in good hands." His blood red eyes glimmered as he spoke. "I am the head of one of the three great families of Mages: Alberto Von Einzbern. And I was raised for the specific purpose of being your Master in the War."
"Is that right?"
"Yes."
Watching his Master, the Heroic Spirit noticed a curious thing about him. Since they had begun their conversation, the man had yet to display any kind of significant emotion whatsoever.
"When is the War to start?"
"One month from today," Alberto replied. "Far to the East, in a city called Fuyuki. There the six other Masters and Servants will gather, and there you will cut them all down."
"I see you have confidence in my abilities, at least."
"The Saber Class is the most coveted for a reason. And with your abilities on top of the Class advantage, you should be the most powerful Servant summoned by the Grail."
Saber grinned, his beard distorting around his parted lips. "The most powerful? You're sure that's not just your overconfidence talking?"
Alberto didn't respond well to the playful teasing. Turning away from the Heroic Spirit, he motioned to his aides to set about other preparations.
"We'll be departing tomorrow morning. I would recommend taking spirit form to conserve Mana."