There are Scars in the Evening Sky
by SMYGO4EVA
Servants were summoned for one purpose and one only. They were to fight for their Masters, to win, and to have their wish granted by the holy reliquary, no more and no less. It wasn't meant to be fulfilling. They were never meant to be happy, and never meant to live beyond the Holy Grail War.
Rider felt herself emerge from each and every battle, caught in a whirlwind of crimson and deep blue, staring down at her hand, grasping her blood-stained blade, chains pooled around her feet.
The crimson spear fell upon the ground, a distance in front of her, and she found herself exposed, though she wasn't the fallen Servant. She looked up, and saw him, her enemy, her opposite, and her warrior.
Lancer stood his ground, blood streaking his blue hair, all over his form, breathing heavily. He was weary and battle-hardened. His eyes gleamed red right at her with hatred and lust. The wound in his chest gaped open, lifeblood flowing, and all by her hand.
No matter what she did, he came right back to her.
Ever since the gauntlet of the Holy Grail War was thrown, Rider had avoided getting close to any other Servant, striking them down, as were her orders. Even so, she would gulp down her regret as the what-ifs of any encounter would follow suit long after the skirmish.
Lancer was different, as he was one of the strongest she had come across, and such strength was what intrigued, no, aroused her in the first place. It seemed that string of fate developed more and more, as the days melded together, and their battles became more physical and more desperate. Rider no longer could ignore her own body, unraveling, as lust and need slipped, and led her right into his arms, his touch, and his embrace.
Rider gazed upon Lancer, his cold stare saying everything, and she breathed heavily, the blade slipping from her hand to the ground. The sound of metal clanging upon stone broke the silence that hung over them, above and below. She placed a hand on her chest, blood oozing out of her wound, a long straight line, the mark of the spearman.
She felt no ill will towards him, not even when their Masters had beckoned them to fight, to take what was rightfully theirs, taking down anyone who got in the way. Rider walked towards Lancer, her mouth tasting bile, her legs too weak to stand upon any longer. She closed the distance between them, wrapping her arms around him, crashing their bodies together.
Lancer's thoughts were wild and mad, even they fell upon the ground, unforgiving. He couldn't utter a word, not even when Rider was on top of him, her body on his, warmth seeping between them. Their blood coalesced, their skin painted, and their weapons were scattered.
Lancer let a hand stroke Rider's long, tangled hair, fearful fingertips caressing gently downward, and Rider put a hesitant, yet calming, hand on his chest.
Exhaustion caught them both; he shut his eyes slowly, his hand in her hair, and she began to close her eyes as she rested her head on his chest.
The wavering moon hung above, crumbling away, before the light of dawn arose.