For the elements, silver and iron.
For the foundation, stone and the Archduke of Contracts.
For the ancestor, my great master.
Close the gates of the cardinal directions.
Come forth from the Crown,
and follow the forked road leading to the Kingdom.
Fill, Fill, Fill, Fill, Fill.
Repeat five times.
But when each is filled, destroy it.

Set.

Heed my words.
My will creates your body, and your sword creates my destiny.
If you heed the Grail's call
andobey my will and reason, then answer me!
I hereby swear that I shall be all the good in the world,
that I shall defeat all evil in the world.
You seven heavens, clad in three great words of power,
come forth from the circle of binding,
Guardian of the Scales

Perhaps it was an understatement for Emiya Kiritsugu to say that King Arthur, the legendary King of Britain, was not the man he thought he was.

When he locked eyes with the golden-haired maiden who barely reached the height of his eyebrows, he thought that he must have made a mistake. Was it the circle of summoning, the incantation, or the relic? Or was it the Holy Grail itself? But those eyes, as soon as they opened, shone with authority and pride.

"I ask you—are you my Master?" calmly, she spoke. She wore a dignified blue dress; plates of armour covered the front of her torso, her forearms and her thighs. Kiritsugu found that it was difficult to ignore her almost girlish features. King Arthur? No. It couldn't be, but as the bond between Master and Servant sealed, a slow intertwining of magic and mana—Kiritsugu knew it to be true. This woman—she—was the legendary King Arthur himself—but how?

The Holy Grail. The ultimate wish granting device. And with its power—a world where nobody needs to cry—no longer seemed impossible. And who was to question something as powerful as the Grail? Who could possibly undertand how it was made and its workings? Yet there was an uneasy feeling that Emiya Kiritsugu could not shake. He believed that the ancient family of Einzbern would have done everything they could to ensure the victory of the Fourth Holy Grail War, and so he did not question their selection of Heroic Spirit who now stood before him. The tales and lore of King Arthur promised great power and a unique set of abilities that would surely be manifested by the Grail's summoning, and would prove useful during the Grail War.

As he fumbled and fidgeted for a cigarette in his pocket, he wondered what the King of Knights thought of him: a modern man, wearing a black suit as well as a perpetually grim expression. Kiritsugu desired a world of peace, but he was no knight in shiny armour.

Irisviel was beside him; he didn't notice her approach. She placed a hand on top of his shoulder. She smelled like lavender, a scent that, on rare nights, calmed him and helped him drift towards a dreamless sleep.

He was going to take the cigarette out and light it, but he thought better of it. Instead, she took Irisviel's hand and squeezed it. Together, they faced Saber, Arturia, the legendary King Arthur, the King of Knights.

Kiritsugu was not the only Master who was surprised to see the Servant they summoned this night.

In a depths of Fuyuki Forest, young haughty Waver Velvet managed a smile despite his uncontrollable panting. The summoning ritual proved to be a daunting task indeed; he could barely keep up with the draining of his mana, and as King of Conquest became attached to his command seal, Waver felt an electrifying jolt that shook him breathless. It was a difficult process, but the young mage was exhilarated. He would mark his place in history. He would earn the respect of the Magical Association. He saw it in his mind's eye: Professor Kayneth Archibald staring at him, incredulous, disbelieving, having no choice but to recognize his talents as a mage—

But it would seem like, Waver realized with dismay, that Kayneth Archibald had acquired the wrong cape. The torn lump of fabric, fading with age, was said to be part of Iskandar's garb that rippled and trailed behind him during all his battles.

Before Waver, stood a six-feet tall monkey cloaked in golden armour, its tail slashing to and fro in an agitated manner. A deep rumble sounded in its throat and the monkey spat on the ground. Its spit landed right next to Waver's feet, and the boy squirmed in disgust and annoyance. The monkey paced around him, like predator circling its prey before locking and lunging in. It cocked its head and met Waver's gaze, its eyes narrowed into slits.

"Wimp!" it squeaked, and its tone was definitely not friendly. "Short! Weak!"

Waver's jaw dropped at the sheer indignity. "And who are you supposed to be!?"

The monkey stood and Waver stumbled backwards. A talking and walking monkey. Wearing armour, too. What is this, some kind of cartoon!? It dug its pinkie into its right ear, and twirled out a needle-like object which expanded and elongated into a red staff with golden carvings on either ends. It whirled the staff towards Waver's direction and stopped right before the scary thing reached his face.

"You don't know who I am?" the monkey swung the staff behind him and rested it on his shoulder while securing it with one hand. "I was born, from a magical stone, fused with the energy of Heaven and Earth. And I am the Beautiful King, of the Mountain of Flowers and Fruits, the Cave of Water Curtains. I—"

Great. Waver squinted in sheer humiliation and agony. How was he supposed to make a name for himself with some stupid monkey playing king of the mountain!? He gulped. He could not listen to this nonsense. Not to mention that the monkey, swinging his staff and throwing deadly kung-fu punches, was scaring the crap out of him.

A strand of blue hair fell before Alice Valerian's eyes. She didn't need to brush it away before it was blown forward and carried by the wind that surged towards the circle of summoning. The Victorian corset kept her loose blouse from fleeting and ripping itself away in the turbulent air, and she was glad that her knee-length boots had tiny, articulate spikes that grappled the ground and secured her footing.

The Grail, from the Swirl of the Root, pulled the Heroic Spirits down to earth: the historical entities that endured through the passing of time, their names immortalized in the songs that were sung by the people that came after. And in rare occasions, when the memory or the collective understanding of a heroic spirit was strong enough, a mythical embodiment of an archetype or character could also take shape.

Whom Alice had summoned was neither. In fundamental ways, it would not be even considered a pure summoning. No, he was no legendary hero as told by the epics, nor was he some kind of mythical deity deeply rooted in the archetypal memory of mankind. Instead, he was a construct, an energetic embodiment and conceptual matrix that had been given physical form through Alice's careful spell casting. What she did was dangerous, she knew, and it took a great toll on her, more than she had anticipated. It took almost every ounce of magic that Alice had in her to bring him to life, since she could not rely on the Grail to provide this identity.

She wondered how the other mages were going to react to her meddling. She expected to have disturbed the energetic infrastructure of the Grail's innermost workings, and she considered how that might affect the summoning process of the other participants. She wondered if she had failed, or if she would fail. What if her hero was eliminated before they even neared the all-powerful chalice? It doesn't matter, Alice thought. What's done is done.

She was in the Holy Grail War now, and she would fight for her Wish.

Why is the raven like a writing desk?

Effortlessly, their magical circuits found each other. As the Mad Hatter's thoughts flooded into Alice's consciousness, she whispered his name. Then he emerged from the smoke. His tattered hat drooped down and covered his left eye, while his right shone with malicious red. His turquoise bowtie, a shade lighter than Alice's hair, writhed as if having a will of its own.

She stared at him: her proud creation. She knew him, yet he had taken form through the magic of the Grail. He was hers, but not completely. She would like to say that she knew what he was made of, but now that she faced him, she was not so sure.

For the very first time, Queen Grimhilde gained consciousness. She existed, had a mind of her own. The Holy Grail told her that she must fight and defeat the six other servants, and obey her Master. It told her that she was born, although she could not tell her why. She quickly learned that even the almighty Grail—the omnipotent wish granting device—did not know everything. How could it? If it did, then it shall call itself God, but Queen Grimhilde knew that there was no God. For her, there was only the Mirror, and those lips—lips as red as blood. Hair as dark as night. And the pale skin—how that pale skin haunted her. She winced, tormented by the memory—was it a memory? Could she have memories if she had never existed before?

Before her stood a pathetic looking man. He reminded her of the nameless hunter, who begged for mercy when she found out about his treachery and came for him. His veins moved beneath his skin, bulging and squirming, acrawl with small creatures thirsty for flesh and blood. She felt dangerous sparks of mana wriggling through him. For a brief second, she marveled at him, even though she was quite disgusted. Her Master. How could he possibly endure this long? But she knew the answer.

"That's not Lancelot," his voice trembled. Kariya looked back to the old man standing behind him, a short vicious creature, but with a long deep shadow that spoke of all the unspeakable things he had done. He jabbed his cane into Kariya's spine, forcing him to kneel down before his Servant.

"How incompetent," he smirked mercilessly. Grimhilde remained silent. She observed; her hands could be seen clasped, her fingers interlaced—while the rest of her body was concealed by her dark velvet cape, the high collar around her neck flared high, dignified.

"Who—who are you? Why aren't you Lancelot?"

Coward. Yet despite this, Grimhilde knew why he entered the Holy Grail War. Ah, how noble. How sweet. The weight of his love and hatred poured towards her; so dense—she almost lost control from the rawness of his emotions. His love: tragically childish and profoundly unrequited. His sacrificial heroism. And another emotion: Queen Grimhilde's nostril flared. This taste—she knew too well of this taste. It singed her at the tip of her tongue and burned its way down her throat: She saw a woman with two daughters, playing by the grass and chasing a butterfly. She saw a bearded man in a graceful red suit, taking the woman by the hand.

She stared at the pathetic man on the ground; his lost look and his silver hair reminded her of her stepdaughter. Her perfect stepdaughter. Youthful and well-loved by the people of her cursed kingdom. The fairest of them all.

She wanted to spit in his face.

Her eyes found his command seal in the shape of a fractured swirl: like three broken birds being sucked into a dark centre. With utmost grace and calculated movement, she bent down suddenly, startling her poor Master. She grabbed him by the wrist, felt the pulsing of the worms and insects that ate him alive from the inside, and she smiled at him lusciously, her red lips parted and stretched into a terrifying, yet beautiful grin. And then, ever so slowly, she extended her other hand, and held it towards his lips.

Tohsaka Tokiomi's heart leapt to his throat when the First King of Kings, the King of Heroes walked out of a magnificent cascade of light. Gilgamesh, the Babylonian demi-God, was liquid gold. He walked out, simply was, and demanded the worship that was due. Tokiomi was ecstatic. Surely, victory was on their side. Surely, there were no Heroic Spirit that was ever capable of ever matching his strength.

"Victory is ours!" Tokiomi, arms outstretched, declared. There was not a doubt in his voice. Only pride, and exhilaration.

His pupil, Kotomine Kirei, stood at a respectful distance behind his teacher. He made his presence as humble as possible, allowing Tokiomi to savour this moment for himself. A wandering hand brushed his hair, and he felt Caster's soft sigh next to his ear as she placed her chin on his shoulder, half leaning into him from his side. She did not speak, but her voice rang inside his head.

Didn't think he'd actually show up. He's so full of his own dick.

Kirei ignored her and replied, I never doubted the resolve and the strength of my teacher.

At that, Caster laughed, out loud. Loud enough for Tokiomi to hear, loud enough for the King of Heroes to take offense.

"You dare to laugh, without permission, in the presence of the One True King?" he seethed, pointing towards the darkness, where Caster stood. "Reveal yourself, mongrel, or face my wrath."

"Caster—" Kirei tried to stop her, but the ocean-coloured hair woman hushed him with a deep, meaningful stare. Every time she did that, he always felt like she was staring straight into him—her glare, finding the imperceptible cracks in his body, would seep into him, reaching for the shadowscapes of his soul, threatening to tear him apart and expose him for who he was, inside and out. And for a brief moment, he wondered what she saw there. Did she see emptiness, devoid of meaning, an abyss that could not be defined, nor filled? But the mocking look in her eyes told a different story—it was as if she actually saw something, and that she knew something he didn't—and that troubled him.

"King of Heroes!" she cried, with a dramatic flair and honey in her voice. Tokiomi tried to stop her as well, but it was too late. "The Glorious Star of Sumerian, the Son of Ninsun, the Eternal Morning!" She made her way past Tokiomi, and stole the moment. In the dimly lit basement, Caster was beautiful, and her knowing smile took Gilgamesh by surprise.

"And who might you be?" Gilgamesh lowered his arm.

"Nobody," Caster, boldly, caught the hand that belonged to the King of Heroes before it fell, and kissed it—her lips touching the shining plate of armour that encased his slender hand, leaving an imprint of her sweet breath.

For a second, Kirei could see Gilgamesh's anger—he lifted a finger, and the tip of the sword glided out from rings of radiant light, a sword unsheathing itself from the Gate of Babylon, Gilgamesh's Noble Phantasm. Yet Caster was unperturbed. She did not even flinch. She remained, and from her bow, she looked up and stared straight into King of Heroes' eyes.

And that seemed to have swayed Gilgamesh, who must have decided that, perhaps on a whim, that he had never been so rudely reminded of the brilliance of his own existence, and that the Golden King, unable to deny her praise, found that he simply could not strike down one who told the truth of him.

And without hesitation, he lowered his finger.

End of First Chapter: a experimental first episode of my reimagined Fate/Zero. The story, if I continue, will most likely stay closely with the newly summoned heroes paired with their respective masters: Wukong & Waver, Kirei & Caster, Kariya & Queen Grimhilde. Caster's identity will be revealed in the next chapter or two, so will Kayneth's Servant. But if you are curious, here's a few hints: Caster is someone you already know (too obvious?), and Kayneth's Servant is from one of Miyazaki's films, and well...let's hope our sense of humour is on the same page, hehe. But let me just say that it's not just there for the LOL's, although that's part of it.

List of Heroic Spirits So Far:

Saber Class: Arturia Pendragon
Lancer Class: Sun Wukong the Monkey King
Archer Class: Gilgamesh
Rider Class: to be revealed (Kayneth's servant)
Caster Class: to be revealed
Assassin Class: Queen Grimhilde (Snow White's evil queen. She's such an overlooked assassin.)
Berserker Class: Mad Hatter (I love Alice in Wonderland, so there's going to be underlying themes and references to that story throughout, albeit darker. If you have played Alice: Madness Returns-it's closer to the nightmarish depiction of Wonderland in the game than Lewis Carroll's absurdist Wonderland.)

Anyhoo. This is my first ever fan-fiction. My bro started writing his first fan-fiction, so I decided to give it a shot as well. Before this, I mostly wrote original fiction and poetry.

Please comment and review!

xo

pandanoodles