Fate/Terminus
Disclaimer: We don't own Fate Stay or any TYPE-MOON properties, scenarios, or characters. They belong exclusively to TYPE-MOON and Kinoko Nasu. This is purely a fan fiction written for entertainment purposes. Now, without further ado, begin Part 1.
chapter 1 Part 1
Location: Mage's Association Headquarters, London
"And in conclusion, I challenge you all to broaden your horizons, both in this class and in your daily lives." Lord El-Melloi II clapped his hands once, startling his students in the lecture hall and bringing his lesson to an end. The gigantic bell of the Clock Tower began to chime, signaling the end of morning classes and the beginning of lunch period. As the students filed out of the lecture hall, chatting amicably amongst themselves, he gathered his things and walked out of the hall with them, aiming for lunch in his office.
Within moments, he had arrived at his office, pushing open his solid oak door. The room was small, crowded, but comfortable, with an old, careworn desk in the far right corner, bookshelves lining both the left and right-hand walls. Hanging behind the door was a large white T-shirt, bearing the logo for the video game Admirable Tactics on it. The back wall was taken up entirely by glass paneling, interrupted only by the reverse image of a massive number 6, through which the city of London could be seen sprawled out in all of its glory and was one of the benefits of having your office in the Mage's Association headquarters, the Clock Tower, Big Ben, London, England.
Lord El-Melloi II smiled and reached into a drawer in his desk for the bag containing his lunch when there was a knock on the door. He sighed. His sandwich would have to wait. "Come in," he said quietly.
The door creaked open, timidly, and one of his students entered shyly. He couldn't blame them. At well over six feet, Lord El-Melloi II struck an imposing figure, his sleek, straight black hair falling to his broad shoulders. The red coat he wore over his vest, shirt, and the tie was the color of fresh blood, and his hands were tipped in long, strong fingers. He was a harsh, strict teacher and he rarely smiled in front of his students. Absent-mindedly, he tipped the sole picture on his desk onto its face, obscuring the view of himself, smiling many years ago, arm slung over the shoulder of a broad, auburn-haired man. That photograph, he thought, was from a long time ago, when he was a different person, bore a different name.
Waver Velvet. He smiled sadly. Waver Velvet was weak. I'm stronger now, thanks to him. It was all thanks to him.
His student cleared her throat, rousing him from his thoughts. He smiled and looked up from his desk to meet her eyes. It was Catherine, he thought, Catherine Le'Montaine, the heir to the Le'Montaine mage family from Northern France. "How can I help you, Catherine?" he asked kindly.
Catherine shifted on her feet nervously. She had mid-length brown hair, pale skin, and soft cheeks dotted with freckles that framed her hazel eyes. She was short, nearly two heads shorter than Lord El-Melloi II, and thinner as well. She wore a white sleeveless top, over which she wore a dull blue coat that ended at her upper thigh. She also wore black pants with a pair of black and blue trainers. From her backpack hung multiple bobbleheads and buttons, most of them related to anime. She was an unusual character, El-Melloi noted, as the brunette student had an obsession with all things Japanese.
Seeing as how she hadn't spoken, El-Melloi smiled wider, in order to put her more at ease. It didn't work, but it did invite her into speaking. "I've finished my term paper, sir," she said meekly, removing the assignment from her backpack. Lord El-Melloi took the paper from her and cast his eyes over it briefly. When he saw the heading, his eyes widened.
"A Rebuke of 'How Wizardry Should Be in the New Century'?" An interesting choice for a paper." Despite his tone, he visibly bristled. "That treatise isn't really popular, so I'm surprised you managed to find it. You disagree with Mr. Velvet's ideas on aptitude?"
She nodded, blushing slightly. "I mean, it's a unique idea, but arguing that a mage can increase his power within his own lifetime, by dedication rather than bloodline, is against the entire system of magic everywhere." She blushed even harder. "There was only one example I could find to prove Mr. Velvet's point. I think his name was Shirou Emiya, right? He had no bloodline to speak of, yet he mastered the skill of mimicry to such an extent he created a Reality Marble! I read about him in the archives. I guess in that way, Velvet's report has some truth, but I can't see any evidence anywhere else. I guess Emiya was a fluke."
El-Melloi nodded, his eyes narrowed. His forehead furrowed slightly. She's very shy, but this student knows more than she lets on in class. "I'm already acquainted with Mr. Emiya, if only briefly. I had a chance encounter with him during my stay in Japan a few years ago. Is there anything else I can help you with?"
She seemed as if she had something else to see, and Lord El-Melloi noticed her visibly grasp her right hand. He paid it no mind. "No. Thank you, Professor," she said, and left his office, the door creaking behind her.
Lord El-Melloi II returned his attention to her paper, which, according to its thesis statement, was a complete and utter rebuttal of his very own treatise, written at the young and foolish age of 19. That had been way back, when he was Waver Velvet before he had taken on the name and Crest of his tutor, teacher, and enemy- Kayneth El-Melloi Archibald. Before he had taken part in the most momentous challenge that any mage could face, the challenge that had gained him and lost him the only friend he had ever known.
The Holy Grail War.
Location: Youth Hostel Storeroom, London, England
She was almost ready, but just a few moments more and she could begin the long and complex process of summoning a Servant to this world through the power of the Holy Grail. Her materials were all set up. Candles glowed dimly in the offings of the cement-lined storeroom, illuminating the complex summoning circle she had painted onto the floor in blood. She stood beside it, watching the circle intently. In a few moments, she would bring about the Heroic Spirit that would achieve glory for the Le'Montaine family. All Catherine had to do now was say the words.
"Let silver and steel be the essence.
Let stone and the archduke of contracts be the foundation.
Let red be the color I pay tribute to.
Let rise a wall against the wind that shall fall.
Let the four cardinal gates close.
Let the three-forked road from the crown reaching unto the Kingdom rotate."
"Let it be filled. Again. Again. Again. Again.
Let it be filled fivefold for every turn, simply breaking asunder with every filling."
Catherine gripped her chosen relic in her hand, a shining silver arrowhead, feeling the cold metal beneath her fingers grow warm with the rising energies in the room. The summoning circle had begun to glow, its white light growing brighter and brighter with every passing second. A cold wind began to blow through the room, emanating from the circle, carrying with it icy mist that made every hair on her arms and neck stand on end. This was it, she thought. "I've got you," she said to no one in particular, as the light swelled in intensity. The crimson Command Seals on her hand, marking her as a Master, began to grow warm.
There was a brilliant flash of light, forcing Catherine to cover her eyes. The mist gathered into a column, a dark form appearing within it, becoming more and more clear as the mist cleared. My Servant, she thought giddily. More details became apparent the closer she looked. He was male, judging by his massive figure, complete with broad shoulders and arms corded with muscle. His skin was pale, Caucasian, clashing with his vivid blue eyes that sat beneath his wide, proud brow and short, golden blond hair. A mustache clung to his upper lip. A brown, animal-hide vest could barely contain the bulk of his upper body, and he also wore a black belt and long green trousers that fell to his ankles, a pair of heavy boots adorning his feet. Clasped loosely in one hand was a crossbow made of dark wood, its metal trimmings done in solid, matte iron.
Catherine lifted her right hand, upon which her Command Seals now gleamed with bright red light. The three red symbols dazzled before her widened eyes. They held the appearance of an arrow hitting a target. Regaining her composure, she lowered her hand and cleared her throat. The Servant in the circle turned to face her. His expression was calm, as if appearing in a concrete basement, surrounded by candles and mist with only a teenage girl for company was the most normal thing in the world.
She bowed, unsure if that was the proper conduct from the Spirit's home time and land, but she hoped it would appease the Spirit. What she did not expect was for the Spirit to began chuckling. His voice was deep and rumbling, strong enough to echo around the mountains for a good long while before it faded away. "Well. I am not sure if I require that much respect. After all, you are my Master. In this quest for the Grail, I am the Archer-class Servant, I suppose. Allow me to lend you the strength of my bow, so that we may both achieve our goals. May I be so bold to ask of you your name?" He knelt and bowed his head, shocking Catherine. She hadn't expected a Heroic Spirit, a hero from history and legend, to be so… submissive.
"M-mmy name is Catherine. Nice to meet you," she mumbled. He certainly was interesting. Though quite quiet, the Heroic Spirit demanded a presence just by being there. His eyes were sharp, like those of a hawk- always vigilant even with his relaxed demeanor; the eyes of a true warrior. No, she thought, more like a hunter.
"Catherine," muttered the Servant. "That is indeed an intriguing name. Pleased to meet you, Catherine. I feel as if we shall work very well together."
Location: Fuyuki City, Japan
In the Edelfelt household, all was not still. In the converted living room that now functioned as a dojo, father Ron Edelfelt and son Simon Edelfelt were beating the crap out of each other, mint-green light glowing along their arms and enhancing the strengths of their fists and bodies beyond normal limits. Each of them was drenched in sweat, panting for breath, bruised and battered from the other's attacks. This was not that odd an occurrence, for the two sparred like this every day. The two were in good spirits and grinning widely, but one occupant of the dojo was in a foul mood.
Man I freaking hate him! Just 'cause he is older. he gets to do all the cool stuff!, an aggravated Kanima Edelfelt thought as he once again was watching from the sidelines as his older brother of two years, Simon, was engaging in his daily magic practice with their father. Kanima, aged 21, had dark blue hair that was as always an untamable mess, with eyes that were a light, reddish-brown. He had a lithe body from years of physical training that he needed to handle the family magic of the Edelfelts, which specialized in full body enhancements and alteration. His father Ron had once been known as the physically strongest mage in Japan, capable of splitting a mountain with his bare fists. Yet as of now, Kanima, his son, had only barely mastered strengthening with his underdeveloped magic circuits. Most of the magics of the Edelfelt family went with tradition to Simon, the eldest son.
There was only one thing that he bested his brother in, and that was the creation of seals, which traditionally the Edelfelts had never been good at. Summoning circles were far from the minds of the burly, brawny Edelfelt mages, who used their magically strengthened fists rather than familiars to fight their battles. Simon had basically no artistic skill whatsoever, which made the drawing of magical seals especially difficult. But for Kanima, whose only "A" in school had been in art class and P.E., seal creation was easy as pie.
He had proved this to himself when his father had asked him yesterday to retrieve some sort of magic ring from the basement. He had seen the weird, gigantic summoning seal his brother had attempted to draw in the basement. It was shoddy at best, its lines wonky and crooked, almost so much that the shape was very nearly not a circle at all. The red ink (or was it blood) was faded in several places. The sight of it made Kanima laugh out loud.
I could draw a circle ten times better than that, he thought, huffing. Then, a spark lit up in his mind, and his eyes widened. Today, he decided, while Simon was distracted with sparring practice, he would fix the seal and rub it in his older brother's face. Sneaking into the basement under the cover of clashing magical fists, he saw the seal and a stack of old books and texts on the counter across the basement. He picked one up, whose cover was mostly worn away, with only the words "Summoning" and "Heroic" remaining intact.
The first page was similarly in disarray.
In order to… Spirit, a mage must… Relic of some importance to the desired Spirit…
Kanima couldn't take it anymore and put the book down. A relic? he thought. Dad's got a crap-ton of old stuff down here. I could use one of those.
With this in mind Kanima began his hunt for a suitable relic. The basement was filled with boxes of ancient crap that his father had collected for his magecraft. After almost half an hour of searching- not to mention several liters of dust- he found an old jewel shaped like a dragon that caught his eye. Unlike the other stuff in the basement, it still glimmered with pale light that reflected on its crimson surface. Attached to it was a sticky-note with writing on it that matched Simon's straight-laced script, which Kanima threw away and walked with it to the circle.
Accidentally, he tripped over a box and the stone flew out of his hand, landing smack dab in the middle of the shoddy circle. Kanima looked up and tried to stand before the circle began to glow the color of blood. He cried out, covering his mouth so Simon wouldn't hear, and scampered backwards onto his feet, clenching his fists. "What the hell are you doing?" he said to the circle quietly, as the light began to increase in intensity, turning white. Mist began to coil around the circle, and Kanima's mouth went dry.
I must have activated it- he thought, but his thoughts were cut off by a roar of white light as the steam rose into a swirling pillar, casting wind throughout the room. Before he could react, something flashing silver launched from the steam, backing him up against the wall, the tip of a pointy, shiny blade at his throat.
Kanima's eyes widened. It's a girl?, he thought. And indeed it was, if an extremely odd girl. She was shorter than him by about a half a foot, with dirty blonde hair that fell down to her waist in two braided ponytails. She wore an armored blue corset, with metal plating covering the breast, shoulders, and upper arm. Her forearms were bare, save for a pair of leather studded gloves, hands tight on the blade of a great big, ornate broadsword. From the waist down, she wore what appeared to be shorts that cut off at her mid thigh, also armored, greaves and knee plates, and a blue mantle that she had tied around her waist. She was easily one of the prettiest women Kanima had ever seen, he had to admit. She was beautiful in a fierce, warrior-woman sort of way.
Her brown eyes were wild. "Who are you, and where am I?" she looked around the basement, not sure exactly what she was looking at.
"Um, I guess you're in my basement?" said Kanima, but it came out like a question. At the sound of his voice, she pressed her sword closer to his throat. Kanima gulped, and cold sweat dripped down his brow. No talking, idiot.
"Your basement?" she demanded. "Is this some sly admission of your attempt to have your way with me? If so, I shall slay you here and now."
"Have my way with you, what-" His eyes widened with understanding. "No! No! It's not like that! I mean, you're pretty hot, but I've just met you. Maybe we should introduce ourselves. I'm Kanima Edelfelt!" He waved his hand and gave his best pearly-white smile. "Hello!"
She did not wave back, but she did back off, bringing her blade to her side. Kanima noticed that her eyes seemed to be fixed upon his right hand. He looked at it and gasped. On the back of it, three red symbols burned with light. "Those are… Command Seals," she breathed in awe.
"Command Seals?" asked Kanima. "What are you talking about, Command Seals?" He pointed to the red thing on the back of his hand. "Is this it?"
The girl nodded.
"Okay," said Kanima, still quite confused. "So what does it mean?"
"It means you are my Master. Before we start, I must know your intentions. If I find them to be unworthy, make no mistake. I will kill you." Before he could answer, there was a shout from upstairs and the basement door slammed open as Simon and his father practically tumbled into the basement. Simon was panting heavily, eyes narrow like slits, pointing an accusatory finger at Kanima.
"What-" he gasped, angrily and breathlessly, "The hell did you do?"
"I don't know!" Kanima shouted. He waved to the circle and the girl. "I have no idea what just happened here! This is all your stuff, Simon!"
Simon lunged across the room and grabbed Kanima by the throat. The girl gritted her teeth and hefted her sword to attack Simon, but Kanima held her back with a hand. "No," he said. "He's my brother." The girl nodded and lowered her sword.
Simon growled. "My Command Seals just vanished all of a sudden," he said in a low, angry voice. "They're on your hand now, and the Servant I was trying to summon is here now, all without me doing anything! What the hell did you do!"
"I don't know what any of this does!" cried Kanima, gesturing frantically at the circle and the relic that lay inside it. "Who the hell do you think I am? I don't know anything about magic! That's all you, pal!"
"Well, let me educate you, then," Simon said, throwing his brother onto the floor. His teeth ground in his mouth. "You, you freaking dumbass, you summoned my Servant for the Holy Grail War and took my Command Seals! The Grail chose me as a Master because I'm the capable mage in this family! If you try to fight in the Grail War, you'll end up dead!"
Their father cleared his throat. "I believe I may have found the root of the problem."
"What!" snapped Simon and Kanima at the same time, then went back to glaring at eachother.
"The way you've drawn this circle, Simon," said their father quietly. He tapped it with a foot. "Its runes are written so that whoever summons Saber here-" he pointed to the girl, who nodded, "-becomes her Master. I'd probably have made the same mistake, but you should have written it so that you, specifically you, would be her Master when she is summoned. I don't think you ever thought someone else would summon Saber before you."
Simon stomped his foot and seethed. "But this makes no sense! Kanima basically isn't a mage! The only magic he can use is simple strengthening tricks and a few simple seals he designed! Nothing else! He can't possibly command a Servant and succeed in the Grail War. All this will do is lead Kanima to his death! We'll lose everything we've worked for!"
Ron Edelfelt rubbed his chin, musing. "Maybe. It's true that you, Simon, are the eldest son, and you know all of the Edelfelt family magics. But, you still don't have my Magic Crest. My son's' life is more important than any proper form of succession, which means that I have no choice but to pass on the Crest to my son who is in the most danger by being a Master. Kanima."
"Like hell you do!" cried Simon. Kanima could feel his heartbeat rising in his chest. After all this time, he was going to get the Edelfelt Magic Crest? It was almost too much to believe. He stuck his tongue out at Simon. Simon, noticing this, swore very very loudly and planted his fist right on Kanima's face. Blood spurted out of Kanima's nose as he was sent flying, but as he went, Saber shot past him and thrust the point of her sword directly above Simon's heart. He froze.
"You didn't let me finish, Simon." said their father, pulling him away from Saber's blade. "Kanima will get my Magic Crest, but since he is not a proper mage I can't let him actively participate. For all intents and purposes, you are Saber's Master. Kanima will merely supply mana to the Servant. It will be up to you to protect Kanima and win us the Grail. If you win it, I'm certain the wish you can offer to it will grant you your rights to the Magic Crest back."
Simon nodded. "Sounds alright to me." he said snidely. "Looks like we're gonna have to do this as a team, little bro, as much as I hate that."
Kanima stood up and wiped blood away from his nose. "Yeah, I guess. But you're stupid if you think I'm gonna let you do all the work."
Simon grinned evilly. "Say, I've got an idea. How 'bout, we work together to eliminate all the other Servants and Masters, but when we're done, you and I duke it out to see who gets the Grail? That sound fair?"
Kanima grinned right back. Mint-green light burned around his right fist, turning his Command Seals black. "You've got yourself a deal, big bro."
Finally making her presence known once more, the girl- Saber- spoke. "I agree to these terms. I will serve the both of you, as your Saber-class servant."
Location: Ibori Palace, West African Nation
Prince Ishmael Ibori III was awakened from his slumber by the arrival of his butler into his chambers. The prince reclined on a luscious couch decorated with fluffy pillows and soft silky animal skins, including such rarities as a Bengal white tiger. He wore an olive-green military uniform as was typical of his country's elite, but had unbuttoned the jacket to reveal his smooth, coffee-brown chest beneath. His short, dark hair clung close to his scalp, and he had dark lips and eyes. His chest slowly rose and fell in sleep until his butler nudged his shoulder.
"My lord," said the man quietly. A Somali native named Jem, his butler was Ishmael's one true friend. The butler nudged his liege again, and the prince awoke. "Sir, the assembly has gathered. They are waiting for your address."
Ishmael mumbled, "Alright, alright." He got up and rubbed the sleep out of his eyes. "Leave me for a little while I prepare, yeah?"
"As you wish." Jem exited the chambers through the door. Ishmael stood up fully and snapped his fingers. He began to button up his uniform.
"Lancer," he said sternly. "It is time to make our appearance."
A shower of blue mist cascaded next to Ishmael's shoulder, and his Servant appeared behind him. Tall and lean, Lancer had olive skin typical to the Mediterranean, and silver hair that was slicked back into spikes on his head. His eyes were bright green. He wore a form-fitting sleeveless black top with two heavy bronze armor plates adorning his shoulders, with similarly a similarly constructed gauntlet circling his right hand. He had loose-fitting, baggy trousers that came to a tight cinch around his ankles. He wore simple sandals on his feet, and carried in his left hand a gigantic spear, twice his length that was the color and texture of lead. It was this spear that gave him the title of Lancer-class Servant.
Lancer shrugged his shoulders. "I still don't understand the point of this grandstanding. I am a Servant, meant to be a secret weapon for your Holy Grail War. Yet here you are, parading me about every other day in front of a massive crowd of people. It boggles my imagination."
Ishmael finished buttoning up his shirt and sighed. "I already told you, Lancer. What we are doing here has no influence on the Grail War. This is merely for publicity within my own country. I stand to inherit rule of this place from my father in exactly one year. I cannot take power unless I have convinced the people that I am strong enough. Demonstrating the strength of my Heroic Spirit will do the job excellently."
Lancer huffed. "Perhaps."
"There's no 'perhaps' about it, Lancer. It's an effective tack." He frowned and lifted his right hand. "Come now, or would you have me use a Command Seal for something so trivial?"
The Servant scowled. "As you wish, Master." Lancer took one step, and his body began to glow with brilliant light until his otherworldly getup was replaced with a strict, crisp military uniform. The two strode across the room, where Ishmael threw open the door to the balcony. The hot African air bore down on him, the sun beating on his skin with its heat. Assembled in the palace courtyard below were many hundreds of civilians, reporters, and soldiers, all waiting to hear the words of their prince. There were many photographs taken, particularly that of Lancer, who had turned in his scowl for an expression of mild indifference.
"My people!" began Ishmael. "Today is a fortuitous day. In just a weeks time, I, the son of your Lord President Ishmael Ibori II, will be taking part in the Sixth Holy Grail War. Together with my servant Lancer, we shall win the Grail for this country and fulfill the wish of my grandfather, this nation's founder! I will be the one to realize the dream we have held for centuries!"
The crowd cheered its loudest then, and Ishmael pumped his fist into the air. I am their beloved Prince, he told himself, smiling. They have my back, one hundred percent, in the upcoming Holy Grail War. Under my rule, the country will be the strongest it has ever been, and I will be the cause.
"Lancer," he said softly. "How about a demonstration of your might? I believe any of your Noble Phantasms shall do."
Lancer grumbled, but reluctantly thrust his spear into the air. The crowd cheered. The tip of the spear began to swirl with inky grey mist, the color of lead, which grew stronger and larger. Within moments, the sun had been blotted out, the sky filled with a cloud the color of poisoned metal.
In the courtyard below, a young man looked up at the cloud of mist with apprehension. He was of average height, with long brown hair and deep crimson eyes. A golden cross hung on a necklace around his neck, and he wore long-sleeved, black clothes despite the heat of the African summer. Nobody had noticed him enter, and nobody would notice him leave. He had had many names, but his current one reflected more closely his origins- Andrei Shelkov.
"Assassin," he said quietly, though it was unlikely he would be heard over the roar of the crowd. "What do you make of this?"
I am detecting a surge of mana from Lancer's weapon, said Andrei's Servant, who was hovering around his Master's body in spirit form. Iobates, as he called it, is most certainly one of his Noble Phantasms. However, without closer analysis I cannot determine its true abilities other than the generation of that dark cloud.
Andrei sniffed the air, catching a whiff of something unusual. "It smells like metal," he said. "Interesting." The assassin recorded this tidbit away into his essentially perfect memory.
Indeed, said Assassin. Ibori is more clever than we give him credit for. In all of these public displays, he has only demonstrated Lancer's Noble Phantasms in a way that makes it impossible to fully determine their effects. We have been here for three months, and we still do not know what powers Iobates contains inside of it.
"And we won't," said Andrei, absent-mindedly fiddling with his cross necklace. "In order to do that, we would have to draw Lancer into an upfront attack. Seeing as how you are of the Assassin class, it would be rather foolish to do so."
Regrettably, my strengths do not include upfront combat, as you have stated, admitted Assassin. And as of yet, the Holy Grail War has not begun. According to our sources, not all the Masters have summoned their Servants yet. While I am all for a preemptive strike, this would be a risk I cannot approve of taking.
Andrei smirked. "Perhaps not. Ibori and I make up two of the five masters who have currently summoned their Servants. Here, in his own country, with all of his people around, we would be at a severe disadvantage. We can take the opportunity to assassinate him upon his arrival in Fuyuki. Come, Assassin. We're done here, for now."
Andrei slipped through the crowd, silently and invisibly. If you were to ask anyone at the address, none would say they had seen the slight young Russian man enter or leave. Walking a few blocks, Andrei located his car- an inconspicuous, beaten-up rental from across the capital- and entered it, driving out of town towards the airport. Now that they were safely out of the range of Ibori's magical detection, Assassin materialized in the passenger's seat of the car.
Andrei's Servant too was of an average height, and in all black clothes. His understated garb was in the style of the Japanese shinobi, or ninja. His spiky hair was of the deepest black, the same color as his sunken, dark eyes. A single katana, inlaid with gold trimming, hung from his waist, and a deep red scarf was wrapped tightly around his neck and the lower half of his face, obscuring much of his true identity. His body was lean and strong, and every movement he made was calculated, swift, and accurate. None of his movements made any sort of sound, almost as if he didn't exist- though, in a way, he didn't.
"Are we to go to Fuyuki now, Master?"
Andrei nodded. "Yes. We are. We've got a lot of work to do, Assassin."
Location: Matou Household, Japan
Sakura Matou regarded her Servant with what could only be described as jealousy.
Caster stood in the center of her summoning circle, fresh mist coiling from her lithe, pale limbs. She was a figure of exquisite beauty, tall at nearly six feet tall, with slender, long limbs and a well-endowed figure, complimented by her velvety-green gown that trailed lacy trains from its hem and the sleeves. The neckline, while not plunging, revealed enough to be desireable. Caster's hair was a shade of olive-green, falling past her shoulders in curly waves. Jeweled bangles hung from her neck and wrists, a single red gemstone embedded in her forehead. Her golden eyes were cold and hard. The pale green light of the Matou basement cast her in a favorable light.
Sakura was much shorter, with slightly paler skin and a heart-shaped face that was framed by long purple bangs, while the rest of her hair fell to mid-thigh in the back. She wore a simple black dress that cut off at mid-thigh, with heels. Her eyes too were purple. Though many would consider Sakura to be beautiful, she herself did not think so. To her, her own appearance was inferior to the beautiful Servant she had just conjured forth.
Caster raised her fingers, pointing a delicately manicured nail at her Master. The bangles around her wrist jangled as she did so. Her teeth curled into a snarl. "What a disgusting place you have brought me to, my Master." Her voice was high-pitched and soft, with a taste of disdain to it. "It smells of flesh and rotten magic. You've done your best to clean up, I see, but you can't fully remove the scent of those horrid worm familiars."
Sakura ignored her, but deep inside a shiver ran through her at the memory of the worms that had once crawled this basement, the ones that lay dormant in her blood. "Hello, Caster. My name is Sakura Matou, heir to the Matou family of mages. I've summoned you in the capacity of being my Servant in the upcoming Holy Grail War." Her tone was flat, monotone.
"I realized that," said the Servant snidely. "But who am I to argue with a magical pact, being as I am of the Caster class of Servants? Very well, Mistress. May we both work together to obtain the Grail, but before we begin, let me give you one useful piece of information. If you are to get in my way in this conflict, I will kill you."
Sakura shrugged. "If you are to get in my way, I'll kill you too."
Caster chuckled, taking a step out of the summoning circle. "Glad we understand each other, Mistress. I feel, however, we will not have much of a problem. It seems to me that our goals are very similar, you and I."
Sakura began to walk up the stone staircase that led to the rest of the house. "Perhaps they are."
Caster followed her up the stairs. "You seem to be well prepared, Mistress. From the ley lines, I can tell we're in Fuyuki City. You've given us an advantage early on. A wise call. The Grail is soon to be here, and when it comes we shall be right on top of it."
Sakura sighed. "Don't get so excited just yet." she said calmly. "We still have to defeat the other six Servants to obtain the Grail. Honestly, it's a difficult task."
"I don't think it will be," said Caster. Sakura opened the door, just as Caster began to speak again. "After all, you've had practice with this sort of thing, haven't you?"
Sakura froze. "What exactly do you mean by that?"
Caster made a sound that could only be described as a giggle. "You and I share a psychic bond of sorts, Mistress. As a Caster-class Servant, it was child's play for me to exploit that to access your memories. You've had a very difficult life, haven't you, Mistress?"
Sakura's body began to shake, dark mist flowing off of her shoulders and hair. Caster took her shoulders in her hands, a purring sound rising in her throat. "You're a lot like me, in that regard," the Servant said. "Taken in by a family I didn't belong too, raised into magecraft without my consent and then scorned for it, ending my life loveless and alone. The only fruits of my existence had been chaos and death. We both want to fix ourselves, don't we? That's our deepest wish."
"You don't understand," said Sakura, shoving Caster away. The Servant let herself fall, before vanishing in a cloud of red mist and reappearing at the top of the stairs.
"I do, dearest Mistress." Caster said quietly. Her beautiful face had a troubled expression. "If only you would realize."
Sakura clenched her fists. "Please stand guard outside the house. I have things I need to prepare."
The Servant bowed. "As you wish, my Mistress." She disappeared in a rain of red mist. Sakura clung to the doorframe for a moment, then continued on her way. This was not a good start. Not good at all, she thought.
Location: Fuyuki City Airspace, Japan
"Is this the place, my lady?" Rider waved a hand at the misty light-figures that danced around the deck of his sun barge, ordering them to begin a descent. His Master, Ivysviel von Einzbern, sat on the throne at the rear of the ship. She was small in stature, barely thirteen years old, with white hair and red eyes typical of all Einzbern homunculi, of which she was the last. She shivered as the icy wind above the clouds cut into her skin with its freezing teeth.
"Yes," she said. "I don't see why we couldn't have taken a plane, Rider." She folded her arms and shivered. "It's so cold up here. How aren't you cold?"
It was indeed a good question. Rider was a swarthy giant of a man, all muscle and golden-brown skin, with flowing black hair that whipped in the wind and a short beard that channeled his chin into a point. He wore nothing but an ornately trimmed loincloth of white linen and a deep red cloak over his broad shoulders. Two golden bracers adorned his wrists, while armored greaves covered his shins and ankles. With such little clothing, and considering his land of origin, he should have been freezing.
"Mine is the radiance of the sun god," said Rider. "As such, cold does not affect me."
Ivy, as she was known, huffed. "That's just because I summoned you with the Sun King affinity. It makes it so that you aren't able to be harmed by the effects of the weather or weather-based magic." She shivered again. "I shouldn't have done that. Maybe then we could've taken a plane."
The golden prow of the barque cut through the cloud layer, and the nighttime lights of Fuyuki city below came into view. "There is no fun in taking a plane." said Rider, folding his arms. "I intend to ride into a new land of my own volition, in my own craft, with the vault of heaven overhead and the broad sea and city below. That is true beauty."
Ivy frowned. "I never would have thought a brute like you would be interested in beauty."
Rider's teeth gritted. "Of course I am! Everything I do is in the pursuit of beauty!" He spread his arms wide, as if to take in the whole expanse of the city. The boat sank lower and lower in the sky, clouds streaking behind it in its wake. Ivy stood up and tugged on his cloak.
"Aren't you afraid we're going to get noticed?" she demanded.
"Not one bit." said Rider. "We have no need to fear being seen. I am confident that I am strong enough to keep you safe, my Master."
Ivy stomped her foot. "That's not the point! You have to stay hidden for now, Rider! I don't want the other Masters to know your identity! If they find that out, they could learn the strengths of your Noble Phantasms!"
Rider scoffed. "Plenty of others have had a ship such as mine. There is no consequence to our enemies seeing my Solar Barque."
Ivy frowned. "Still, we need to be careful. Take us down off the docks and then get rid of the boat. You're strong enough to jump to shore from a distance, right?'
"More than strong enough," said Rider, thumping his bare chest. The ship touched down into the sea, almost a half a mile from the lights of the docks. Rider scooped up his Master in his arms, then launched himself off of the boat and into the air towards dry land. Ivy noticed the ship disappear in a shower of gold vapor the instant Rider's feet left the deck. The wind rushed through her hair as the two of them soared through the night sky, before landing with a resounding crash on the docks. Ivy winced at the noise.
Rider noticed, letting her down gingerly. She stretched her legs and yawned. "That was the worst trip I've ever been on." she said, irritatedly.
"I'm sure you meant that as an insult, considering as I am of the Rider class," said Rider. "Nevertheless, I'll let it slide. I'm just happy we have made it to the site of our upcoming battle."
"Yeah, same here." said Ivy. "If it's alright, you should probably go into spirit form until we get set up at a proper base."
"As if!" said Rider sternly. "How do you expect a thirteen-year-old girl to acquire a substantial amount of property for a base without a guardian? I can pose as your father."
"That won't be necessary." said a thin, male voice. Approaching down the docks was a tall, thin man in a black suit. He had white hair that fell to his shoulders and red eyes, similar to Ivy. He was so similar, they could have been family. Which they were.
"Master Justinian," said Rider, folding his arms. "I should have suspected. Ivysviel, you should have informed me to a new member of our party."
Ivy ran up to Justinian and gave him a hug. "I'm sorry, Rider. But Justinian will make a more convincing guardian then you will. My family sent him specifically to look after me."
Rider's eyes widened. "But that's my task!"
"Your task is to kill the other Servants, Rider," said Ivy. "This's been the strategy since I became a Master. Justinian will take care of me defensively, while your job is taking out the other Masters and Servants. After all, your defensive capabilities aren't as high as they could be. I wanted to make sure my Servant had extremely high offensive capability."
Rider smiled. "Indeed, the attack has always been my specialty." He turned to Justinian. "Very well, Justinian von Einzbern. I shall allow you to protect my Master, while I shall win her battle. A shrewd strategy indeed." He vanished into a stream of golden sparks.
Justinian tilted his head. "He seems…"
"Bombastic?" Ivy finished. "Yeah, he is. That's one of the biggest drawbacks for a Rider-class Servant, defensively I mean. They aren't so good at hanging back and playing defense. They've got to charge in and fight, leading an army behind them if they can. A lot of kings and emperors get reincarnated into Rider class, because of their tendency to lead a battle from a chariot."
"But he has a boat."
Ivy shrugged. "I've got absolutely no idea what that's about. I think I prefer it to a chariot, honestly. It can fly, and the ride is a lot smoother so long as he's not flying too high. Plus, its bound to have a bunch of weapons hidden in it somewhere."
Justinian smiled slightly. "It appears then that you have acquired the best Servant for your strategy, Ivysviel. Father will be pleased."
"Don't get me started on him." said Ivy.
"Then I won't," replied Justinian. He strode back off into the darkness. "I'll bring the car around. I've already found temporary accommodations until we can set up a more permanent foundation in Fuyuki."
"Good," said Ivy, as her cousin skulked off into the shadows. She stretched the weariness out of her limbs and smiled. After hours of flying on Rider's barge, it would be heavenly to rest at even a two-star hotel.
And I need rest, she said. God knows I'm not going to get much, once the Holy Grail War begins.
Location: Mage's Association Headquarters, London, England
When Lord El-Melloi II looked at the brand new Command Seals upon his hand, he couldn't help but bubble up with excitement. In his heart of hearts, he felt like Waver Velvet once again. He smiled. "It's starting again. I wonder if you'll recognize me, Iskandar." Pushing back his desk, he revealed the summoning circle inlaid into silver etchings on the stone floor. From his pocket, he withdrew his chosen relic, a tarnished silver buckle, frail from age. He began to speak the chant to summon his Servant, the circle glowing red, then white. Mist curled on the floor, and his heart rose in his throat. My king, he thought. It will be awesome to see you again.
There was a flash of light as the Servant fully materialized, shrouded by mist. The skin began to tingle on the back of Waver's neck. Something was wrong. His curiosity was settled in short order by a great gust of wind from the circle, blowing away the mist that shrouded his Servant's body. Standing there was a woman of outstanding, if feral, beauty. She had long, unkempt indigo tresses that almost touched the ground while two chin length bangs framing her face. The said face was sharp and angular much like that of a warrior, hard and sharp all over. She had deep purple eyes. The strangest feature were her sharp teeth, grinding in her mouth behind supple lips. Waver also noted a simple golden ring adorning her finger and the heavy silver plate armor that covered the entirety of her body, arching backwards into wing-like spikes on her shoulders and ankles. She was a spectacle, beautiful like how a wolf is beautiful, wild, angry, but elegant.
Waver stomped his foot and screamed. "You-!" he pointed at the Servant. "You're not Iskandar!" He threw the relic at her in a fit of rage, which she deftly deflected with an armored hand. Her breath began to become heavier, her chest rising and falling. She was trying to restrain herself, noticed Waver. Had he continued with his rage, she would have attacked him. That, plus the fact that no obvious weapon was in her hand, and she had no signs of magic artifacts or a mount of any kind, indicated only one thing.
"Then," he said, slowly coming to the realization, "You must be Berserker." He slapped his head. "Stupid, stupid. She's not even the right class. I screwed up. I took that museum's word that the relic was from Macedonia." He looked her up and down. "Where the hell is she from?"
Berserker nodded aggressively, baring her pearly-white fangs. She dropped to one knee, slamming both fists into the floor. Her armoured hands cracked the stone like glass.
Waver sighed. "Well, in that case, I've got another thing to ask the Grail, I guess. You're still a Heroic Spirit, so you'll do. But don't think I'm going to like you or treat you as a friend. There's only one Heroic Spirit I could ever be friends with."
Berserker nodded again, and Waver realized that she honestly didn't care how he treated her. She was like a wild animal, in all the senses of the word. As long as she was fed (in this case with Waver's mana) she would be content. The thought put him on edge.
"Berserker," he said. "I want you to stay in spirit form until we arrive in Fuyuki. Until all the Masters have gathered there, I'm not in any danger and I won't have to fight." Berserker vanished in a silver cloud of light. Waver flopped to the floor, holding his head in his hands.
"I screwed up," he told himself. "How can I face Iskandar if I make his dream a reality without his help?" He clenched his fists. "But it's too late to turn back now." He looked at the Command Seals on his hand. They were proof enough of that.
My minds made up, he thought. I'm coming for you, Iskandar. Together, we'll conquer the whole world, and when we're done, we'll rest on the shores of Oceanus. I promise you that much.
A/N: I hope you enjoy who do you think will win and who will get together and don't forget to leave a review if you feel so inclined