Just so you know, this is a multicrossover set in the Mortal Engines Universe, and it doesn't exactly run on Nasuverse Laws, it's more of a combination of a whole load of different series's Magical Laws all thrown into a melting pot.
Mortal Engines is set in a Post-Post-Post-Apocalyptic world where cities roam half the planet or more on wheels or caterpillar tracks, eating each other for fuel, resources and slaves. The rubbish of previous civilisations is strewn about the world, ranging from seedies (CDs) to Old Tech superweapons.
I don't own Fate Stay Night, Mortal Engines, Dresden Files, Ranma 1/2, To Aru Majutsu No Index, Pokemon, Fullmetal Alchemist, Ika Musume, Father Ted, Yuru Yuri, Pandora's Tower, Puella Magi Madoka Magica, Attack On Titan, Skulduggery Pleasant, Trigun and a tonne of other things.
Yeah.
N was a teenager with longish green hair and eyes that were a greyish blue(1). Around his neck he wore a sliding puzzle attached to his neck by a thin leather cord.
N felt slightly sick as he pushed his way through the crowds of moving people on his journey to the Church.
Well, not exactly sick. It was closer to nervousness and being frightened that curdled the contents of his stomach in such a way.
N had never seen so many people in one place!
Everywhere the eyes could reach there were people, young and old, buying and selling. His stomach's troubles reached new heights as a nearby shopkeeper cut open a fish and pulled out the eyes before throwing it onto a grill where it sizzled and crackled.
It wasn't that he disliked other individuals per se, it was more that he preferred the simple equations of natural processes and laws. Did electricity ask difficult question?
No, it didn't.
N knew he was being selfish: his father was working so hard to make sure it all went to plan and here he was worrying about being around other people! The very least he could do would be to walk amongst the people he would bring peace to!
It didn't change anything in regards to his restless stomach of course, but still…
"Natural?"
"Yes father?" N responded quickly, his stomach churning at an even greater speed. His father was frowning.
"You seem pale, if you wish we could find a restaurant before we arrive at the church. I know of several in the area."
"I feel fine father," N lied, "we can eat after we meet the administrator."
His father's frown deepened. "Lying is unbefitting of a king, Natural."
"I feel fine," N insisted, "I wouldn't want to bother you."
His father's frown disappeared as if it had never existed and he tilted his face downwards so he was looking directly into N's eyes. "I see," he said with a voice filled with warmth that made N miss his younger days when there family sessions were much more frequent, "You're not bothering me Natural. Remember: we are all counting on you for this, and it won't do much good if you keel over before reaching the Holy Grail, eh?"
N felt his face grow warm and fought the urge to turn his gaze towards his shoes. His efforts were only partially successful: after a few moment of struggle his gaze settled on the red markings etched onto his right hand by some mystical force. "No. It wouldn't."
"Exactly. How does squid ink spaghetti sound?." His father turned and started walking down an alleyway that was blissfully free of any people and their oh-so crowding noise.
Fuyuki was primarily a fishing city that skirted along the coast, and when necessary it would venture into the ocean, its massive tracks moving across the seabed with the main body raised above the water. Then the fisherman would go out onto the sea in their boats and fish for several weeks before the traction city returned to dry land with a large amount of salted goods that it would trade with other cities.
Nonetheless, as news of Academy City's success, Fuyuki, like many of its peers had witnessed a rise in the number of schools on the upper tiers in an attempt to attract more visitors to bolster their decreasing monetary status.
As more visitors began to visit Fuyuki they obviously needed to eat somewhere and so the number of 'tourist cafes' had increased as well.
It was one of these cafes that N and his father were visiting now: Lemon Café, a culinary establishment famous for its squid ink spaghetti.
The bell attached to the door jingled as they walked in and a red-haired girl only slightly younger than N led them to an empty table.
"So, what would you like then?" she asked once they were seated.
"I would like some of squid ink spaghetti," N's father said with a smile, "a friend of mine suggested it to me. Said it was lovely."
"Okay," the girl nodded, "and how about you then?" she asked.
"Um…" N floundered, suddenly unsure of what to say. Eventually, he managed to let out a, "I'd-like-a-squid-ink-spaghetti-please."
"Sorry, could you repeat that?" the waitress asked. "You're talking a bit too quickly."
"I'm-sorry!" N apologised, "I'd like a- a…" N cast his gaze desperately to his father, who nodded but remained silent. "I'd like a squid ink spaghetti."
N sat down carefully and allowed himself to observe the other patrons of the Lemon Café in peace. It was a stark contrast to the busy market outside: rather than a pulsing throng of buyers and sellers all aiming to get what they came for with a disregard to anyone else there was some kind of atmosphere that permeated the small area. While it couldn't exactly bee called peaceful, it was certainly a friendly environment.
Out of the corner of his eye N spotted a bright blue beetle crawling on the floor beneath one of the tables. N envied it: did the beetle have to anything or anyone to be concerned about? In an instant a foot came down and crushed the beautiful beetle.
N cringed.
His father said, "You're still having problems talking to others." It wasn't a question.
Shame stabbed at N's heart and he apologised profusely.
"You have nothing to apologise for," his father scolded with a tone that N decided to identify as amusement, "just do better next time. A king must stand with his head held high and with a bearing of assurance. Keep this in mind and you will surely win the war."
"Thank you father."
It was at that moment that the waitress returned; this time with two plates of steaming squid ink spaghetti that she placed carefully on the table.
N poked at his spaghetti and wondered what would happen once they reached the church. Would anything go wrong? Would they declare that it was all a big mistake and that he was not worthy to be the master of Lancer, let alone king?
Speaking of Lancer…
"Father?" N said.
"Yes, Natural?
A heavy force came to bear on his shoulders that made N tremble, but he fought his way past that and ploughed onwards. "Would it be alright if Lancer has anything to eat?"
Something that might have been approval made an appearance in his father's eyes and the terrible weight vanished. "Well done," he praised, "you have considered your subject's needs and seeked to address them. You'll make a good king if you keep this up."
Once again N's face turned red, but this time from pleasure. "Really, father?"
"I certainly hope so," his father chuckled, "Otherwise the last ten years would have been for nothing." He turned serious and said, "you've come a long way from that little boy in the woods with a dream. Just remember everything that I've taught you and you should be fine."
"You've done so much for me," N said quietly. "I'll be lost without you when I'm king."
His father smiled and took a bit out of his squid ink spaghetti, "Don't worry, I'm hardly going anywhere."
N returned the mile and turned to Lancer, who'd been standing in the corner of the room in spirit form. "How about it Lancer? Would you like some?"
The servant of the lance considered the dish for a second before nodding. "I shall return to my physical form outside the door and then walk in."
N turned back to his father who was staring at the spot where Lancer had been when N had spoken to him with an odd expression on his face. "So, did our heroic friend agree?"
"Um, yes"
"Making such sounds is hardly befitting of a king, Natural."
"Sorry father."
The bell attached to the door jingled as the door was opened and a blond man walked into the café. He wore simple off—white clothing and a sleeveless shirt. Attached to his right arm was what looked like a cross between an arm guard and a crossbow with the limbs* folded inwards. The blond man cast his gaze around the café until it settled on N.
N was, after all, his master.
"Ah, Chitose(2)!" N's father said and beckoned him towards an empty seat, "It's been too long!"
"The same goes for you, Ghetsis," Lancer nodded. Then he lowered his voice and said, "but why 'Chitose'? Ah, a 'thousand years'. I see."
"My friend here would like a squid ink spaghetti if you please," Ghetsis told the waitress who nodded and walked through a door to the back of the café, "what do you think of your meal, N?"
"It's fine, I guess."
"Good. I must admit, when Sage Rood suggested this café to me I was sceptical, but it certainly seems to more than live up to his claims."
Lancer took a bite out of the plate of squid ink spaghetti and chewed it thoughtfully. Apparently there was something about it that he liked as he smiled slightly and ate it with gusto.
Once they had all finished their meals Ghetsis paid for the dishes and tipped the waitress generously.
"Onwards to the church I suppose," N's father said as they exited the café and found themselves under heat of the midday sun.
Out of all the numerous religions that dotted the Great Hunting Ground, Christianity was as far towards obscure as you could get while still being relatively well known. It was better known by the Anti-Traction League, and even then it its main force was concentrated in the static settlements of Africa.
So it was no surprise to N that Fuyuki's one and only church was situated in one of the harder to reach places in the city. Even so, the sheer size was unexpected though since it was going to be the base of operations for the mediator of the Holy Grail War it made sense.
"Good luck," Ghetsis said, and looked meaningfully from N to the door.
"You mean you aren't going to come in with me?" Suddenly staying under the blazing midday sun looked like a much more appealing prospect.
N's father shook his head. "I'm not allowed, but at least I'll have Lancer here to keep me company."
N gulped and turned to the church's heavy wooden doors. And so, he went to meet the administrator alone.
"I am Servant Rider."
Death is something that comes to everyone in the end. We try to avoid it, but you can't hide from the reaper, though in some cases you can make him work for it. All are equal before death.
But apparently some are more equal than others, because most aren't sent to the Throne of Heroes after their personal cessation of existence.
Power comes from a lot of things, and one of the biggest sources in the supernatural world is the power of raw, unrestrained faith from vanilla mortals. I'm not arrogant enough to believe that anyone actually prayed to me, but they certainly believed in the hero Harry Dresden, Wizard, Warden, Winter Knight and king of alliterative titles(3).
I wish they hadn't believed in a hat as well though.
"What, you mean you aren't Harry Dresden," the kid asked me, sounding dismayed at the thought of not having me as his personal fighter, not that I could blame him.
"It's inconceivable." The kid's shoulders slumped, and I could practically feel the despair radiating off him, so I quickly back-pedalled. "Relax kid, I am Harry Dresden."
"I'm not a kid," the kid protested.
I grunted sceptically and worked on perfecting my Nimoy impression: the kid couldn't have been old enough to drink, let alone vote, though maybe things worked differently here. "Whatever you say, kid."
Apparently he wasn't willing to let an insult from an extremely powerful wizard faze him for long- which ranked him as somewhat more mature than me, who'd probably be snarking right back at this point- because he ignored the second 'kid' comment and held out his hand for me to shake. "I'm Hugh."
I shook it. "Are you going to ask me to sit next, or bark?"
"What?" The kid looked blank, which I took as a bad sign. Has man lost his best friend in the future?
"So, what's a kid like you doing in a war like this then?" I asked, bringing all 6' 2" of my height into an imposing loom.
Apparently things did work differently here, because the kid looked unfazed and just glared back. "I want to save my sister," he brought eyes up to match mine, daring me to look away first.
I looked away first. The kid was less than impressed.
Don't get me wrong: it wasn't that I was intimidated by anything the teenager had to offer. It's just that after all the things I've done I doubt my soul was suitable for minors.
We stood in an awkward silence for a few seconds until I decided to break it. "So this is the future, shouldn't there be more talking monkeys or something?"
The kid huffed in annoyance, though I like to think he was smiling on the inside. "I'm going to bed, we'll go to the church in the morning."
The line was easy. Too easy, so I didn't take it. Instead I nodded and said, "good night kid."
"My name's Hugh, and there's a second sleeping bag in the rucksack if you want it."
It was a kind offer, but I didn't take him up on it: I had things to do, foci to make, and most importantly of all, hats to burn.
If one were to step outside onto the actual ground of the Hunting Ground they would quickly realise that there was very little of anything there. Indeed, the vast majority of those that lived in the mobile settlements known as Traction Cities would have balked at the very idea of setting foot on soil.
Ryoga Hibiki, however, was not one of the vast majority.
When you were equally likely to turn up anywhere on the earth be it Traction, Static or Other you quickly got over any prejudices that you might have.
Ryoga Hibiki was a man on a mission, and that mission was to make him a man 100% of the time. You see, Ryoga was a victim of the springs of Jusenkyo.
Somewhere, far to the east of the Great Wall in a valley somewhere, there was a training ground filled with pools of crystal clear water. Due to the machinations of his rival and lifelong enemy Ranma Saotome, Ryoga Hibiki had been pushed into the spring of the drowned Black Piglet and suffered its deadly curse.
Yet all was not lost, for while he was certainly unable to find the springs again – and by extension the pool of the drowned man, which was a possible cure – Ryoga had found another way to rid himself of his curse.
The Holy Grail.
Of course, first he had to find Fuyuki City, the city where it was held, summon the ghost of a long-dead hero and fight other people who had also summoned their own long—dead heroes.
'How depressing', the thought strangely enough made Ryoga quite happy.
Far above the traveller the sky grumbled and darkened, promises of rain on the horizon.
Ryoga sighed and said the first thing that came to mind, an ancient line that had wormed its way into his heart and had became an integral part of his very existence.
As a matter of fact, there were actually two lines, but he doubted 'Ranma Saotome, prepare to die!' was entirely appropriate for this situation.
"Curse you Ranma! This is all your fault!"
The sky grumbled again and Ryoga quickly unclasped the bindings that tethered his umbrella to his backpack, and not a moment too soon.
Sheets of rain buffeted the umbrella and Ryoga sighed in relief when he realised there was no strong wind.
And so, in the dimming light and battering rainfall the Eternally Lost Boy made his way to Fuyuki.
"Now tell me," Ryoga growled while sidestepping a charge that he had seen coming from a mile away, "are we in Fuyuki City?"
"Screw you!" his adversary spat. Ryoga's opponent pulled out a knife and charged forward with what to him must have been to him a high speed. To Ryoga, however, it was at a snail's pace.
"Bakusai Tenketsu(4)"
The Eternally Lost Boy poked the knife and it exploded, sending fragments of metal in all directions. Some of the shards sliced through Ryoga's shirt and impacted on his skin, but failed to penetrate due to his training in the technique.
His opponent lacked such training however, and his hand was sliced apart as a result.
Cradling his injured hand, the man turned and fled, or tried to.
Ryoga leaped over the man and landed directly in front of him. Ryoga's opponent was unable to stop himself in time and the impact sent him tumbling to the floor. Ryoga was unaffected.
"Now tell me. I can do the same to your body," Ryoga threatened.
This was a complete lie: if the Explosive-Breaking Point-Hole technique could be used on living flesh Ranma would have been long dead by now, which was a problem Ryoga was working on.
The man gulped and took a step backwards. "Are you Kenshiro?"
"Is this Fuyuki City?" Ryoga repeated through gritted teeth. He raised his finger and pointed it at the man menacingly.
The man considered the question with a degree of focus that is exceedingly common when your extended existence depends on the answer. "Wait… Isn't Fuyuki a Traction City?"
"Well where are we then?"
"Uminari."
Ryoga's knees gave way beneath him and he slumped to the ground. "Uminari," he echoed.
"Yes, Uminari," the man said. He reached into his back pocket and pulled out a foldable knife that he unfolded. "NOW DIE!"
"Uminari, how depressing." Ryoga casually gave an uppercut to his attacker's face as he stood up. Then he picked up his backpack and umbrella, having shucked them in the fight and walked off. "Thank you anyway."
His former opponent was unable to give an equally witty reply due to his current state of lying on the ground twitching with a bleeding tongue.
'Soon,' Ryoga told himself, 'I will have arrived at Fuyuki City.'
But it was not 'soon': the actual time spent trying to find Fuyuki was closer to two weeks, but since that set something of a record for Ryoga he considered it a successful journey. Currently, he was sitting in the cheap motel room that he had rented and reading the helpful guidebook that nice old man had given him entitled 'The Holy Grail And You'.
"Step One: Drawing the summoning circle." Ryoga looked down the intricately drawn summoning circle that had taken him so long to etch out onto the floor. "Check. Command Seals: Check. Good now you are ready to begin the summoning. Charge the circle with your mana/chi/ki/qui/magic or any variation and chant the summoning spell written on the back cover."
Ryoga turned the book over only to find the back cover didn't even have a blurb, let alone a summoning.
Ryoga screamed in frustration and drove his fist through the floor. "Curse you Ranma! This is all your fault."
It should be noted here that magically speaking, Ryoga was actually pretty powerful. Sure, he called his magic ki, but it was exactly the same thing as the mana used by the magicians of the church and countless others, it just had a different name.
To fuel his most powerful techniques Ryoga used the power of his depression, which was something he hardly lacked at that current period in time.
So what happens when you put a summoning circle, a martial artist who could blow up small buildings on an especially bad day and bad news all in one room?
A summoning, that's what.
A faint light began to emanate from the lines etched onto the floor, and slowly but surely as the light's intensity increased a figure could be seen forming inside the circle. To Ryoga it was eerily beautiful.
The corona continued glowing, and the intensity reached a point that the Eternally Lost Boy was sure even Ranma would admit was over the top before it faded, leaving the person who had been inside the circle behind, fully formed.
Ryoga stared at the person he had summoned, unsure what to say.
The servant was shorter than Ryoga, and looked to be in his late teens or early twenties. He was blond with yellow eyes, but not a sickly yellow: they looked like they were made of gold. He also wore a red coat and white gloves.
It was the servant who broke the silence. "I'm Caster, what's your name?"
"Ryoga," the martial artist in question answered.
"Right then, Ryoga." A determined expression found its way onto the golden-haired servant's face. "I'll win this war and then I can get back to my brother."
(1) In the games his eyes are grey, and in the anime they're blue. I just mixed it up.
(2) Considering where he's from, I thought it appropriate.
(3) I missed out Pizza Lord for the sake of alliteration here.
(4) Breaking-Point, you learn it by strapping yourself into a harness and slamming rocks into yourself at high speeds until you can find and use the breaking points. It took Ryoga several days.
* If crossbowmen dot com is correct the 'limbs' are the parts on either side of the crossbow.
So, these are Dresden's Stats, as written originally by beargeek15 upon request, then modified a little by me.
Servant: Rider
Name: Harry Dresden
Gender: Male
Type of Being: Human Wizard
Strength: D
Agility: C
Endurance: A
Mana: A
Luck: E
Noble Phantasm: A+
Class Skills: Riding (A-): All vehicles may be handled with great skill. However, magical beasts may only be ridden if the rider has a connection to them.
Magic Resistance (C)
Personal Skills:
Item Creation (B): Capable of making a potion of enhancement from thematically appropriate but otherwise mundane materials.
Pioneer of the Stars (A) Challenges which are considered "impossible" turn into "events that can be realized". At this rank, any action that challenges the ideas that "some things are meant to be" and "there is nothing you can do" receives a boost toward success.
Independent Action (B): Capable of remaining in this world for two days without an established contract. Also capable of living on for a short period of time after suffering extensive damage to his spiritual core.
Battle Continuation (B+): Reduces combat penalties from injuries. Grants the ability to eventually heal from any wound, even one that would normally be permanently crippling.
Discernment Of The Conspiracy (B+): Capable of analyzing people and situations to come to a correct conclusion about things that are hidden. At this level, any mystery may be solved with three major "clues."
Eye of the Mind (True) (B): Capable of calm analysis of battle conditions even when in danger and can deduce an appropriate course of action after considering all possibilities to escape from a predicament. So long there is even a 1% chance of a comeback, this ability greatly improves the chances of winning.
Nature of a Rebellious Spirit (A+): Negates Charisma of equivalent rank. At this level, any effect that would limit thinking or movement is drastically reduced in effectiveness, and extra damage may be done to those who attempt to influence Rider with Charisma or mental magic.
In life, Rider believed in freedom with holy passion, and was said to "spit in the eye of gods and demons alike." Rider routinely defied and mocked creatures of power far beyond his own, more often than not thwarting them if not defeating them outright from sheer surprise at his audacity.
Soulgaze: Anyone meeting Rider's eyes for for a certain amount of time will enter into a Soulgaze. In this state, lasting only a second of real time, each participant will see the essence of the other in appropriate metaphor. After the first use, it can never be used again on the same person. In addition, once seen it can never be forgotten.
The Sight: Rider sees the true nature of things and their effect on magic. Illusions cannot affect the Sight and are rendered useless. However, What is seen by the Sight can never be forgotten, and the memories of using the sight can drive people insane.
High-Speed Arcane Words (C): The ability to associate preconceived magical effects with certain chosen words. It's only effects are the ability to freely customize spells and to decrease casting time. At this rank, the casting time of most spells is decreased by two verses relative to the power of the spell, to a minimum of single action.
Noble Phantasms:
Lasciel's Shadow, The Temptress In The Mind (B-, Support): The conscious imprint of a fallen angel, "Lash" grants the equivalent of Expert of Many Specializations (A), as well as a perfect recall of anything seen, advice and knowledge from a being from the time of creation. However, she may also trick her host with false visions unless consciously suppressed, negating her help.
Hellfire, A Road Toward Ruin (A-, Anti-Unit): This gives Rider the ability to increase the power of his destructive spells by three times, without increasing prana costs. However, the use of this ability forces the user to solve any problem before them through destruction. Once the immediate problem is solved, the users being is still suffused with anger, impairing judgement and impulse control, effectively sealing Eye of the Mind and Discernment of the Conspiracy until control can be re-established.
Ancient Reptile, the False Dragon Reborn (A+, Anti-Army): A powerful Beast, called from before time and beyond death as an avatar of the concept of "Hunt". Rider's control over "Sue" is dependent on his ability to keep a steady beat; therefore, he must first be in control of himself.
Chichen Itza- Annihilation Of The Monstrous Brood (Anti-Army- A+): Manifesting as an Aztec sacrificial knife, this Noble Phantasm can be called the ultimate in offensive sympathetic magic. Should the knife be used to kill a member of a "bloodline", all other members shall also die. In this case, "bloodline" may refer to vampires that were turned by an eventual common root.