Hello, got bored again so I thought I'd try an experimental type of story writing, and I figured i'd give it a go using one of my favourite stories that i've seen. I doubt anybody but the most avid of my fans will actually read this, but again, any feedback is welcome!


Light filtered through the openings in the stone walls of the stone chamber, illuminating the darkness within. Within the darkness, a single man stood tall, oblivious to the world about him. It was hard to tell the age of this man, his features were certainly young, the skin on his face smooth and unmarred from the wear and tear of a man's life, the small pair of shades he wore across his fair face a pointer that this was perhaps an impetuous youth.

But so much of him spoke a different message; a pristine ironed suit covered his body, melding him further into the darkness with its black tones, a sign of a much more mature individual. Also, the young man had a strange stance, his pose tall and powerful, showing strength of character far beyond what one would assume from his looks. Even now, although he simply stood still, to an observant individual, you could see his posture spoke for him.

Something about this man seemed dangerous. It may not be that he was evil, or hurt others, he could have been the kindest and most gentle man on the planet, but just looking at the way this man held himself gave away an aura that if you strayed too close, you would be cut just from being near him. Maybe the man was unaware this was the case, but he still put out the aura best compared to an unsheathed sword, make one wrong move and he would cut you back a hundredfold.

Any person that was aware of their existence would be able to tell with just one glance.

This man, this child, this young boy, this fair faced individual, whatever he may be, he was a Magus.

In all honesty, this was an unfair description, only tell able by sight from others. The person who stood in the centre of this chamber was a young 16 year old boy, nothing more, nothing less. He attended his second year of school just like any other boy of his age, laughed with people he knew, smiled in the company of those he liked. Amongst those he attended school with; he was known as a lively, incredibly popular friend.

But….this is also a wrong description….

An illusion, a façade, the man who stands here is more worn of life than many, has been through trial after trial which could break the minds of any lesser individual. But under those shades that withheld his gaze from the world was the gaze of a man with incredible mental strength. No sign of what torture he had suffered through his life up to this point was held in that gaze, no sign that he had regretted anything he had put himself through willingly to make it through life up to this defining moment.

The only regret he had in life was what he was standing here now to resolve. He was about to dive headfirst into war, a battle for his life, where he could easily be killed by many others. However, his eyes held no fear, for at the end of this war, if he won, if he made it through this hell by his magic, his strength and his unchallengeable will, he would finally be able to atone for his greatest mistake, the one regret he had in his entire life.

Yes, this war, this bloody war of seven Magi, where each battled to the death with their mighty warriors, the grand heroes of ages gone, Servants. This boy was about to throw himself into the maelstrom in order to win the prize at its end, the miracle, the ability to bring about his wishes, no matter what they may be.

A slow breath outwards, the statue like boy finally made a move, his body moving along with his breath as underneath his shades, the eye's that had been shut in concentration snapped open once more.

"Let's get started."

A soft voice, one that finally shattered the illusion that this was a strong, powerful adult. There was no way a voice like this could belong to a man; it was still filled with the soft tones of youth, none of the ruggedness that came with age. Yes, this was truly a young man, not an adult, a young 16 year old. As his voice echoed slightly around the stone chamber, a bare arm was raised before him.

Odd, the young man wore a suit. A suit shirt and a suit coat, both carefully, almost fastidiously maintained in perfect condition, covering his torso and down his left arm with silk and satin in turn.

So why was his arm bare?

Taking a second look at the young man would reveal the answer, there was no right sleeve, shirt and coat alike had their right sleeves removed. Actually, with a closer look, one could see that both shirt and coat had no stitches at the right shoulder, where the young man's shoulder was bare to the air, along with the rest of his arm. The lack of any kind of stitching mean's that the shirt and coat did not have a right sleeve to begin with, they had not been removed; they simply hadn't been designed with them in mind.

However, this strange fact would have to wait before understanding would come, for now an ethereal light started to fill the entire chamber with its blue glow.

Magic, Magical energy, Mana, Odo, Magic Circuit active, call it what you will, but light of another kind than one that flowed from neither the sun or from electrical circuits within light bulbs started to fill the chamber.

That's strange, magical energy has no light, it is colourless, how can it cause this glow?

Answer; the bare arm the young man had raised, now horizontal in the air. Intricate runes covered the arm, extending from his wrist back, emitting blue light from within the man's body as his magic circuits activated. What was more amazing was how these runes stretched not just from one side of his arm, but encircled it to the other, an entire arm of runes. These runes not only stretched that far, but continued up the arm, the whole way to his shoulder, where they disappeared into the opening caused by the lack of any sleeve for his suit.

Ah, another answer, the suit has its right sleeve missing for this purpose, to give no restrictions for the immense magical circuit that was showing.

Wait, wrong name, this is not just a Magical Circuit. A Magical Circuit is part of the body, almost another nerve within, even if they were activated like the man has done so to draw mana from the air, it still wouldn't explain the ethereal light from the tattoo's along his arm. This is the man's Magic Crest, the indication of his heritage; magic of bygone times inherited and passed down from Magus Parent to Magus Child, ever increasing in size and intricacy as the generation continued. So one must wonder, how on earth did this young man inherit one of such size and intricacy?

Perhaps this is a question for another time, for time is precious and the young man will soon run out of it if he doesn't hurry. It was coming up to 7:00 am, and that was the time when the young man's magical circuits reached the zenith of their power.

Why 7:00 am? Again, a question for another time. Now the light has become intense enough to see by, there are more pressing questions to be addressed now that the chamber is clearly illuminated. The chamber was large and intricate, located in the basement of a large mansion, specially constructed just for this one day. Below, on the ground, an intricate red pentagram had been inscribed, obviously prepared for this ritual.

Wait, inscribed? Wrong, closer painted, this was a pentagram of blood, there was no way it could be inscribed. Frightening as it sounded, a chamber filled with blood, a ritual using blood, there wasn't much to be frightened of, the young man would never dream of using another individual's blood. While his posture was one of danger, the unsheathed sword, the young man had bound his magic and his life by the rules of justice and righteousness, he was not one to cause suffering to another for his own benefit, but one to bring suffering to himself to achieve his goals, for this was his way of penance for what he had selfishly done in the past, what he was here to solve.

Yes, the pentagram was of his own blood. He could have used animal blood, or even donated blood bought with money he had earned by his own efforts, but he felt the need to use his own body for this ritual. Not only would it strengthen the results if he used pure Magus blood for this ritual, but it would create a better link between he and what he was about to summon into this world if it was by his own blood that he had created this magic.

However, there was something out of place in this pentagram, something in its centre. What on earth is an arrow doing there? Ignore it, it's an essential part of the process obviously, or the young man would not have overlooked it. The arrow was perfectly made, bronze arrowhead attached to a reed shaft, feathers of an unidentifiable creature used for its fletching.

Bronze? That's strange, arrows of this day and age don't need bronze, there are far better metals, composites or otherwise that could have been used and natural feather fletching? Wouldn't plastic have been better? Why was this arrow made like this? Why is it that looking at that arrow is strange?

Why does an arrow in that perfect condition, give off an aura of ancient antiquity?

These answers are all held within the mind of the young Magus, but he is concentrated on other tasks. Although his perfect face was still the same as before, a close look would show a tiny tug of a muscle at the corner of his mouth. That was the only outward sign of the immense power that was welling inside his body, trying to rip out from under his control, stabbing his body from the inside with thousands, millions, billions of blades of molten metal.

He's dead, that's the only possible result of what is happening inside his body. The human body was not meant to harbour magical energy; even summoning small amounts of it would cause burning pain on a level that could cripple an ordinary human. However, Magi have trained their whole lives with this pain as a part of them, summoning that much magic would barely be noticeable for a proficient Magus. But even Magus have limits, and those limits should have been clearly surpassed the moment the huge Magic Crest lit up with Mana. Only an incredible mage would be able to hold that much magic and keep his senses intact.

But the man had drawn even greater amounts of Mana from the atmosphere around him, a veritable vortex of magical energy was now drawn within his body. There is no way a man, a boy as young as him, could ever take that kind of pressure and pain, he has broken, his mind has been lost to the pain, his body is breaking down from within, any moment he is going to explode from the suppressed Mana.

*thump* *thump*

But his heart still beats, his body has not given up yet, it is replying that it can cope with this much Mana, impossible as it may sound. But even if his body can, his mind cannot, it is gone, destroyed, the young boy is dead, in mind if not in body.

"Right, that should be enough, time to get started."

IMPOSSIBLE

THIS IS IMPOSSIBLE

How can any mind withstand what he has just gone through?

"I announce, thy body shall be under my command, my fate shall be determined by thy sword. Follow the call of the Holy Grail. If thou wouldst obey this mind and this reason, then answer my call."

But he is alive, he has taken all of that power and brought it to his control, he is still alive, his mind is still intact, even his voice doesn't betray the incredible pain he must be in, clear and strong still as he declares the chant that he has spent nearly two years preparing to utter. Before him, the blood red pentacle starts to glow with an ethereal light, reacting to his summoned Mana and his chant, a vortex of magical energy gathering at its centre, the bronze arrow seemingly lifted within this vortex, glowing with a golden ethereal light, unlike the pure iridescent blue of the Magus.

He has survived the huge amount of magical power he has summoned, and still continues his chant.

….it might be possible….

….Is it that this young man is already broken, before he even started?...

Irrelevant, what matters most is this moment. The young man's senses, now hypersensitive from all the Mana in the air, is listening.

*TICK TOCK*

He is listening to the clock, situated in the kitchen of his mansion, through almost a metre of solid stone above his head, he can hear it. He is waiting, timing himself for the exact moment the countdown reaches the favourable moment.

Again, what is with the importance on time? Magus have a particular time when their powers reach their zenith, for this young man, it is Midnight.

But it is coming close to 7:00 am, how can that be right? Answer; simple, he is not from this country originally. He moved to Japan on his own nearly two years ago, on a mission from the Magic Association, to determine the nature of the Holy Grail War, and to win it himself.

Wait, why on earth was a 16 year old boy chosen for this mission? Stop asking questions, they will be answered in time, be patient. The important part is that it is now time, the young man's features finally change.

A smile.

He has finally reached the moment he has dreamed of for the past eight years, this is where it all begins, he can finally atone for his mistakes with this moment, he will win The Holy Grail War, and he will have his dearest wish granted.

What is his wish?

Time will tell, but he has no time left, he must finish before the clock strikes 7:00. Finally, his neutral voice changes, his calm and strong disposition lost as he smiles fiercely, his eye's seemingly blazing beneath the shades that he wears as he reaches his right arm towards his left.

An unnecessary movement, he doesn't need to do this but wants to. Wait, why is he wearing a leather glove? Isn't it obvious? With a fluent movement, he uses the arm covered in the huge Magical Crest to pull the glove free of his left hand. There on the back of his hand, is a welt, a mark of some kind cut into his skin not by his hand, but by the magic that has chosen him. He started wearing this glove two years ago, always keeping it on despite even rebuttal from the teachers at the school he attended, all for one purpose.

Now nobody will question why it is he wears a glove on his left hand, they have spent two years with him and his slight but unique quirks, the two unbroken rules that he will never remove his left glove, and the rule that he will never remove his shades. With these two preparations, he can hide his identity far easier now he is a Master, everything else could be done with adequate preparation, but his eyes and his command seal were the two that could never be covered up.

His eyes? Irrelevant for now, we will get back to that later.

His personal preparations now complete, he shouts out the last words to the air before him, the magic within him rising to an almost unstoppable force as he shouts out the last words.

"Make on oath here. I am the one who shall become the virtue of all afterworld. I am the one who shall lay out the evil of all afterworld. Thou art Seven Heavens clad in the Three Great Words. Emerge from the ring of control, guardian of balance!"

*DONG*

7:00 am

Perfect timing, as he shouts the last word out, the bell rings, announcing the final moment of the summoning.

The chamber explodes with magical backlash, the young man realised a moment too late that perhaps he had summoned more Mana that he had needed for this summoning. He thought that it didn't matter, any excess would be swallowed by the ritual he was using, given as a gift to his new familiar. He hadn't counted on the fact that the familiar he would summon would already be at full strength, and would not need extra power from him.

Darkness covers the chamber once more as the light from his Magic Crest deactivates, all except one tiny rune, pulsing above the vein in his wrist, automatically activating to try and heal the one who owned the rune. While Magic Crests cause intense pain for their user on activation, every Magic Crest has something within their construction to protect the one who has inherited the knowledge of their forebears, and it was this magic that was trying to repair the injured man.

The young man weakly raises his head, a line of blood already trailing down from his scalp where he had smashed into the stone wall. But his smile is still present, as his efforts have been rewarded. In the centre of the chamber is a seeming whirlpool of magical force, centred on the creature who kneeled within the pentagram. This pain is nothing to the man, faced with the reward of his efforts before him.

The creature stood, revealing that it had a human frame, standing tall and powerful. The figure has something in its hand, barely see able through the whirlpool of Mana.

It is the arrow

The arrow that is so deeply tied to the being that is within the centre of the magical pentagram

Yes, this arrow was important to him, the Servant, for it was this arrow that decided his fate that long ago.

Yes, this is the arrow that killed him.

It seems his servant has a sense of humour, it is laughing, laughing as it looks down at the arrow held loosely in its hand. It is not a cruel laugh; it is not a laugh of scorn, nor of anger. It isn't even an empty laugh; it seems the Servant is genuinely amused that it has been summoned by the very weapon that killed him.

Suddenly the light seemingly dims around the Servant.

Impossible, the light is shone through the darkness from the only possible source, the opening that lets natural sunlight in, there's no way it can weaken.

It also cannot be something the Servant is doing; this Servant does not have the ability to manipulate light.

It seem's the Servant has noticed it, but how did he notice it by looking at the young man? This question filters through the young Magus's thoughts.

The Servant shakes its head as the magical whirlpool lessens, walking forward with a strange clinking, muttering-"Ah crap, seems my new Master over did it huh?"

The Magus slowly realises the clinking is from the armour the man wears, covering his body with minimal amounts of leather, he can barely see leather vambraces on his powerful arms, a leather cuirass, leather greaves, the Servant is covered with minimalistic leather armour. The clinks come from the buckles that hold these together.

This armour wasn't designed for defence, but offence. Minimal armour means minimal weight and ease of movement. This wasn't designed to take direct heavy hits, but to allow a warrior to fight flexibly, and run easily. The young Magus cannot see any sigils or easily noticeable designs on the armour, it's easy to tell its user comes from ancient times, where technology had not advanced enough to make anything more deadly than arrows, making up close combat more about speed than about power, but besides that, there are no clues to his Servant's identity.

"Hey, you alive down there kiddo?"-A powerful voice asked as the Servant stopped before his master. The voice was strong, not authorative, but definitely the voice of a warrior that was assured of his skills. This man was no leader, he was a warrior pure and true, a man who would have lead the charges into battle from the front ranks, not command an army from the rear. What surprised the Magus as he tried to look up through the fading light was how young the man looked.

He had expected a powerful, strong veteran. He already knew which heroic spirit he had summoned, after all, that was what the arrow was for, but he didn't expect the young face that peered back at him. The warrior was definitely older than he was, but not by very much, if the Magus was to guess, he would say the Servant probably wasn't older than 20.

He knew the records that this Heroic Spirit had died at a young age, but he never imagined this young. But still, he didn't waver in his thoughts, if even half of what this Heroic Spirit was capable of was true, then he had succeeded, he had drawn what could easily be the greatest spirit he was capable of from the summon.

Suddenly the Servant swayed on the spot. No, the entire room was swaying…no it was merely the Magus's perception. He had hit his head harder than he had thought, this was not good. He planned to prove to this servant straight from the get go that he was his Master and more than strong enough to be one, but now it looked like he was about to pass out from exhaustion like a weaker Magus would have.

However, the Servant surprised him, kneeling down before him as his hands gripped his arms with an amazingly powerful grip, a slight concern on the Servants face as he tried to speak. "Hey h_d it t_g_th_r! I d_d n_t g_t sum_n_ fo_ my Ma_er to d_e from exha_st_n be_o_e we ev_n g_t sta_t_d!"

But it was futile, he couldn't even hear the Servant's words properly, with a barely audible sigh, the Magus fell forward onto the Servant and lost consciousness.


Thanks for reading! Again, this was merely an experiment, I wrote this story as it flowed into my head, including how I postulated my own plot, I even left in any mistakes I made and explained and changed as the writing went, sorry if reading this gave anybody a headache!

If I do continue with this, then know that the O.C Magus and the Servant he has summoned aren't part of the original story, I have swapeed out one of the Heroic Servants to put this new Hero in, and swapped out a Master for the same purpose, these two are part of the original 7 Magus and 7 Servants, I have simply pulled one out.

I wonder can anybody guess who this hero is? It's a pretty prominent hero, well maybe not a hero, but certainly a well known one.

Anyhow, see everybody next time, on either my other stories or this one if I continue it!