The setting sun cast a red light though the mansion's window, accentuating the flickering light of the candles. A young man sat at the edge of a summoning circle. A red symbol marked into the back of each hand. Before him were his catalysts. He reached to the side, a stained bandage clear upon each arm, dark smears below each eye. Mages had to use some form of liquid power to give their servants form. Most used blood. He great grandmother had used pure liquid mana, or so he was told. The young man had also seen the blood of chickens and even humans used. But he refused to use another creatures life to empower his own. So he had spend many days painstakingly draining his own. It was likely he would have the scars permanently. But that didn't matter much to him. He poured two bowls of thick viscous blood onto the floor.

"Fill, Fill, Fill, Fill, Fill, repeat five times, but when each is filled, destroy it." He raised both hands over the circle. He took a slow breath.

"And I call out to the betrayed sons whose unshed tears fall not upon the shoulders of women who would double cross them. Thine blood is spent, spilled upon wasted breaths. Thoust whose wine is poisoned, and thoust who slayeth the hound. And they will see in thine eyes, the storm clouds of a bitter sky which withholds the rain so desired by the children who shunned it. Come forth, and fear no darkness! Bind thine blades to me, that my hands may guide you on your path to recompense!"

Lightning radiated out from the circle, accompanied by a puff of fog billowing forth from the ground. Two figures emerged from the cloud, looking upon their master.

"Are you worthy, to be my lord?"

"I seek to correct my own trespass, against the laws of this world." The man said, his voice wavering slightly.

"Consider our pact now set in stone."

The you man swayed slightly, his mana completely drained by the ritual. His vision faded to black as his consciousness checked out of this world.

When he woke, a dingy grey light was slanting through his bedroom window. It was probably early morning. A voice from an invisible source echoed through the room.

"You're awake then? Took you long enough. You talk in your sleep, you know."

He tensed. "What did I say?"

"Just the name of a girl. It's none of my business."

The young man rubbed an eye, thanking his past self for choosing an honor bound servant instead of one that would rebel against him, for poke around in his personal business.

"I don't believe we ever exchanged names." A second voice.

The man sat up in bed. "I already know you names. I chose very specifically when I summoned."

"I will introduce myself anyway." The first voice. A tall, wiry man with dark hair materialized by the window. "Diarmuid Ua Duibhne."

The second figure materialized by the door. He was also wiry, be considerably shorter, in a near dainty way. "Cu Chulainn." But call me whatever you wish.

The young man nodded. "Kane Tohsaka."

"Tohsaka?" The shorter one spoke. "Tell me boy, whatever happened to Rin?"

"She grew old, died. Happily married Shirou."

"Shirou... Emiya?"

"Yes?"

"That loser?" Cu Chulainn laughed. "Good on him."

Diarmuid spoke. "If I might ask, with no intention of overstepping my boundaries, why do you seek the grail? What purpose would you have it serve?"

Kane looked away. "I'd rather not talk about it."

The two servants were silent.

"But if you must know, in the past, I made a mistake. I'd like to undo it."

Cu Chulainn snorted. "Let the past remain in the past. The future is what should concern you."

"Cu Chulainn!" Diarmuid snapped "Enough!"

Cu Chulainn gave an easy roll of his shoulders. "Fine, whatever floats your boat. I'm just saying."

"Well don't." Diarmuid retorted.

More silence echoed about the room. Kane stared at the burgundy curtains in silence. This house had been in his family for hundreds of years. But if he were to be completely honest? It was never home to him. It was far too empty.

Diarmuid cleared his throat, disrupting Kane's train of thought. "Sir, do we have a plan of action for retrieving the grail?"

Kane blinked, running his fingers through pink and blue hair. "Sir is unnecessary, Kane will do."

"Very Well."

"As to your other question..." Kane trailed off, gathering his thoughts. "Let's first look over who the other masters are. Before attacking anyone, I'd like to gather allies."

"Well, the kid has logic, I'll give him that." Cu Chulainn drawled, before pushing himself away from the wall and stepping forward as Kane drew a file from the drawer in his bedside table.

"So far, only a few masters have come forward. The Sabers, Assassins, Berserkers, and Casters have been summoned, with only the Archers and Riders left to enter play." Kane tapped a photo of a teenaged boy with clear native american heritage with a pencil. "This is Abeytu, he summoned the sabers, he's a friend. I'd like to try and ally with him, first." Kane turned the page. "This woman," Kane tapped a picture of an elderly woman, "doesn't seem like much of a threat, but she did summon the berserkers, so we must watch our step with her. In all the records I've read, the masters of berserkers have been the most unstable and dangerous. I don't trust her as an ally." Kane flipped another page, to reveal a picture of a very young girl. "From what I gather, this is Saika. She's young, possibly inexperienced. She summoned the casters. Now, I know the caster class has built up a good deal of bad rep in the past, but I'd like to try and help her out, at least in the beginning. She doesn't seem to be a bad kid, and I can't just stand by and let her die."

Diarmuid nodded his approval.

Cu Chulainn smirked. "You're much softer than my last master. I like it."

Kane disregarded the comment. "However..." He turned to the last page. "I can't get a lock on the master of the Assassins. Somehow, my magic, at least indirectly, bends around her, I can see her surroundings, and her servants, but not her herself. It's like she's some sort of prism, and it's considerably unnerving. I don't like it one bit."

Cu Chulainn quirked an eyebrow. "How do you know she's a girl?"

Kane shrugged. "Just a hunch really. But whatever her gender, she's a threat. her servants are not the friendly type."

"When has Assassin ever been friendly?" Diarmuid joked.

Kane remained serious. "No, really, one of them doesn't even look human, and the other, it moves like a shadow, and whenever I try to scry on her, it's staring right at me, as if it knows I'm watching. But, I can't see it's eyes. If it even has eyes." Kane shuddered.

Diarmuid nodded "Either way, it's clear we have to wait for the last two masters to summon their servants before we make a move." Kane bobbed his head in agreement.

A hissing lilt of a voice broke through the silent darkness of the cave. "Where are you, my pets?" Two beings darted out of the shadows. Beings, or... Creatures.

"Apple?" The first one gurgled as it shambled towards the voice on all fours.

"Yes Sweetie Bear, lots and lots of apples." The voice cooed. A huge burlap sack full of apples was placed on the ground, it's contents spilling out, rolling and thudding about chaotically. The creature scrambled after them, gathering them all to itself and gurgling happily.

The second being was only distinguishable from the darkness by the bright red scarf about it's neck. "And what about you Dear, was there anything you wanted?"

The Being was silent for a time, as if processing the words. Then extended it's hands, the long, draping sleeves falling away to reveal scarred and mutilated hands, it's fingers were far too long, and tapered into deadly metal claws, while the rest of it's skin had everything from glass, nails, and fish hooks stabbed and sewn into it. It's right hand had a scalpel stabbed clean through the palm. When it finally spoke, the voice that came out was that of a child, despite the fact that the being was well over six feet tall. "Riiiiiip?" It whispered, reaching for something only it could see.

"I hope this will suffice," The voice stated, dropping a heavy object to the ground.

The Shadowy being crouched, and pulled the sheet away from the thing. Revealing the corpse of a middle aged man. It gave a shriek of what could only be described as some form of horrific, twisted joy, and tore into the body with it's barbed fingers.

A young woman sat in front of her computer, her fingers ticking away at the keys. She tapped a few more buttons, and then looked back at her work, changed a few words, and hit send. She had discovered recently, that her family had a long history of bloodshed. And that it was all due to the mysterious Holy Grail wars. The curiosity had set her on fire, like curiosity about anything generally did. She'd been researching for months, now finally clear on why she could move things with a word or thought, make a flower bloom or die with a touch.

Her two contacts were in Britain and Transylvania. And both had a powerful object that she needed. They were not aware of the value of what they held, and were easily tricked by a mysterious online entity with a little hypnosis on her side. According to both contacts, the packages she had sent for ought to be arriving today. The girl looked at the clock. 4:44 pm. Her shift was almost over. She pushed away from her desk, smiling at her coworkers, and gathered her things before stepping out and catching the fasted train home.

As she arrived, she found two boxes on her doorstep. Unlocking the door, she dragged them into her apartment. She kept her keys out of her pocket, using them to saw through the tape on the boxes, and opening them up. In the large one, was an ancient wooden longbow. It didn't look like much but it would serve her purposes, if her research was correct. The smaller box contained a beaten hat with a wide, floppy brim. She gingerly picked up both objects, walking slowly into the kitchen. She opened the fridge, pulling out the tupperware full of blood that she had prepared that morning. The Ritual had called for fresh, but she hoped this would do. She straightened, brushing her hands off on her jeans, and bit her lip, tugging open the junk drawer and pulling out a piece of chalk, opening the book she had found to page 15, and using the picture there as a reference to draw out the circle. When she was finished, she stood, rubbing her hands together and slowly pouring the blood onto the floor. She glanced at the wall opposite her, pursing her lips and hoping that if this made any noise, it wouldn't anger her neighbors. She took a deep breath, relaxing, and pressing one hand to her forearm, holding the free hand out towards the circle. She took one more breath, hoping the lines she had chosen were correct.

"And I call out to the hearts of the Guardians of the Weak, those who would fight for the women, and children, the families, that live in fear during times of evil, while the land is under the dark reign of an unfit king. I cry for the help of those who would linger in the shadows, the helping hand that the would remain shrouded, the smile that hides beneath the hood, and the one who would not see the blood of women spilled before him. And though they might walk through the valley of shadow of death, they would fear no evil, for my light would be there to guide them!"

The words rolled from her tongue easily, but she did not feel relief as the smoke billowed out from the center of the circle and lightning crackled about her feet. She bit down on her lip again, holding a hand in front of her eyes as a burst of light nearly blinded her, and two figures stepped out of the doorway from another realm.

A redheaded man, slight of build and on the small side, winked at her. "I didn't catch your name, miss."

The other figure, was a taller, more muscular man, dressed in dark colors. A wide brimmed hat shielded his eyes, and many belts and pouches covered his figure. A burgundy lined cloak fluttered from his shoulders. He curled his lip. His voice was raspy and rough, almost as if his vocal cords had been damaged. "Tch. What does it matter? We have a job to do."

"You, ARE the archer class, aren't you?" The girl asked, uncertain.

The redhead threw his arms out to the sides as if showing himself off. "The one and only. And then there's him. He's the grumpy class."

The second man disregarded her question, clicking his tongue. "Figures. I get stuck with the Amateur."

The girl tried not to be offended by his comment. "Well, my name is Giselle. And you'll be following MY orders for the remainder of this Holy Grail war. So you better get used to it."

The redhead knelt, capturing her hand as his voice dropped to a sultry purr. "Oh trust me Miss, I'm already used to it."

Giselle turned a bright pink color. "Just Giselle is fine."

The redhead smirked. "As my lady demands."

The second man curled his lip again. "Get a room you two. I have an immortal being to slay."

Damascus Velvet sat in class, sulking as he rolled his pencil back and forth across his desk. History was sooooo boring. Especially since today was about his great great grandfather. He was the family's pride, and Damascus was sick of growing up in his granddad's shadow. He'd been told all his life, "You may be good, but you'll never be Waver Velvet." Damascus let out an obnoxious sigh.

"Damascus!" The Professor quipped. "You should have more respect! This is YOUR grandfather we are speaking of."

Damascus rolled his eyes. "Yeah, whatever."

"Wait in the hall!" The teacher said, irritably.

Damascus picked up his backpack. "Thank you." He said sarcastically. And left the room.

"Leave your stuff here!"

"No thanks Champ."

"DAMASCUS VELVET."

"Just Mask is great, thanks." Damascus tossed over his shoulder, not slowing down or setting down his bag.

"If you refuse to respect me, I will have to send you to the principal!"

"Screw you."

"That is it! Get back here right now!"

Damascus pushed open the door. "Oh, hm. Let me think about it. ...Nope. Bye." He let the door swing closed behind him.

"...Damn." One of the male students muttered.

"Do you think he'd go out with me?" One girl whispered to her friend.

"SILENCE." The teacher barked.

The class immediately fell silent. The teacher was also quiet for a few moments. "You know what? I quit. You can all go home."

The class cheered, and gathered their stuff as they left.

As he opened the door and dropped his bag to the ground, Damascus found himself being dragged down to the basement by his younger twin sisters. "He's home!" They shouted.

"Oh wonderful!" came the muffled voice of his grandfather from downstairs.

Mask struggled in vain. Damn them and their Martial Arts classes. "What's going on?!"

His uncle spoke up as his sisters deposited him on the ground. "The next Holy Grail war is upon us."

Damascus paled.

"And no one has summoned the Rider class yet."

"Grandfather, No." Damascus protested.

"Damascus Velvet, you owe this family. It is our legacy. Each generation since Waver has summoned the rider, and fought in the war."

"AND MOST OF THEM ARE DEAD! Grandfather! Uncle! I want no part in this!"

"Damascus, you are a delinquent, with massive unrealized capabilities. Would you squander them to go and live the life of a normal human?"

"YES! Uncle, God! I don't want to die in this stupid war! I want a wife! I want children! I want to grow old. I want nothing to do with magic!"

"Damascus." His mother descended the stairs.

Mask lowered his head in shame.

His mother continued. "You know your father would take your place if he could. But please. For me?"

Damascus' father had died just a few years earlier to cancer. It was pathetic to know, with all this so called "Magic" there was nothing that could have saved his father.

Damascus closed his eyes, and turned to face the summoning circle behind him. He pressed his right hand to his left forearm. When he moved his hand, he curled the fingers into his palm and tensed his muscles, letting his blood drip onto the floor. "I trust you prepared catalysts and a summoning verse for me?"

His Uncle presented him with a spear and an arrow. Damascus healed the gash on his arm, then took the two catalysts, and laid them at his knees, taking the paper proffered to him by his grandfather, and reading the verse from it, his voice shaking with his defeat.

"I summon thoust who would come forward, to lead the people who would be lost, wandering in the dark, without a hero to look to for direction. I seek thou who is a queen, thou who would not be hindered by any blade. Thou who sought only the light, and to lead as shepherds the powerful of the masses into battle against the darkness." His voice broke. "Come forth, and guide this lost lamb into better light than he was born into."

Damascus hardly noticed the burst of steam and the crackle of static in the air. He simply stared at the paper in his hands, broken and defeated. To figures took form in the cloud.

One, a redheaded woman, with blue paint in tribal patterned across all of her visible skin. The second a tan, muscular man with dark hair, and roman armor.

"Who is it that calls us from the void?" The woman asked.

"Damascus Velvet." Mask stated, in a defeated tone.

"Boy! Do not speak like that!" The man nearly shouted. Damascus didn't react. "You sound as if we have already lost. Stand up!" The man picked Damascus up by his shirt and dragged him to his feet.

"Yeah, whatever you want." Mask pushed his hand away, and climbed the stairs, disappearing into his room.

"That didn't go quite the way-" One twin started, "I pictured it." The second finished.