Good morning/evening/afternoon to you all! I am writing this story both for fun and to polish my writing skills for my own novel so please don't hesitate to leave a comment. Especially if it concerns my style of portraying characters and creating atmosphere.

Oh, and while it's based on the anime I'm also referencing the Light Novels so that I can have a better grasp of the characters internal thoughts and other stuff you don't see in an anime.

No Servants yet, guys, I want to take it slow so that each reveal will be an epic moment in their own right. Trust me, once the full roster is out

I have been a fan of the Fate series for a while now and have been wanting to write this story for more than three years! So here you go!

—

A cloaked figure stood at the end of a wharf. They wore a bulky mask that covered their face. It resembled a grotesquely oversized human head with large, empty eyes that took up most of the available space. Red tubes extended from the mouth of the mask to connect to something hidden from sight within the cloak. Magical inscriptions ran across the entirety of the contraption, swimming freely across the chitinous surface like salmon up a stream.

Beneath them stretched a seemingly infinite sea of crimson-black mud. Screaming faces could be seen in the mud, gnawing at each other ravenously. Each face was unique and deformed. The horrors expressed in one would not be seen on another. The sea was endless in its variety and capacity to twist the human form into a thing of nightmares.

Waves the that could easily drown the world twice over approached from the distance as did legions of feral curses climb out from the sea and began a frenzied dash towards the wharf. Both broke before they could near the figure. The titanic waves collapsing in on themselves meters before swallowing the rickety wooden structure and the ravenous beasts melting back into the mud as if they had never been.

The rotted wood beneath their feet creaked as they shifted from one foot to the other, waiting. The mask's eyes were directed at a similar wharf which had sprung up from the black, muddy depths upon their arrival. It was constructed out of the same mud everything save for the wharf and the figure were made of. Curses upon curses piling onto each other in a macabre forgery of human craft.

It was taking some time for the second wharf to be completed. The curses of the Greater Grail were unused to anything beyond blind hatred. Forcing such a level of order and stability onto them was a sign of the higher mind within taking action. Bit by bit, curse by curse the opposing structure came to life, emerging slowly out of the mud like a primordial sea monster.

With a thump barely audible above the billions of screaming curses, the two wharfs connected.

Instantly the screaming stopped.

Silence.

The figure shifted and looked back over their shoulder completely unperturbed by the sudden quiet. They saw the rest of the wharf still hovering above the sea. The planks of enchanted wood still holding despite the corrosive nature of the curses. They stretched tens of meters back to a small doorway; a rectangular slip of glowing white amidst the hungering dark.

They heard a sound. Mud slapping against mud, a barrel of slick eels sliding against each other, blood dripping from a thousand wounds all at once, the dying grudge of a nation, the weeping of a hundred stillborn children, and the throaty growl of men becoming beasts. The figure turned and came face to face with the accidental inhabitant of the Holy Grail of Fuyuki.

All the World's Evils. Also known as Angra Mainyu.

"What...Do...You...Want."

The wharf beneath the cloaked figure trembled. Angra Mainyu might have been weakest Servant of the Third Holy Grail War, but within the Greater Grail itself, he was a being akin to a god. Still, the cloaked figure showed no sign of worry. The mask bobbed slightly in what appeared to be a show of genuine joy and delight. Unhurried even as the eyes of one of the world's potential dooms were on them, they calmly rummaged around inside their cloak for a few moments before producing a familiar object: a small golden cup.

Recognition flashed in the entity's eyes. The mud sea swirled, tendrils long and thick like demonic pillars peaked out from the deep. All the World's Evils could sense the power contained in the cup. Obtaining it would help bring about his great wish: the destruction of humanity. The tendrils extended towards the figure. As the myriad of tortured, befouled souls neared, the figure stopped fidgeting, stood straight and stared the avatar of evil right in the black pits that were its eyes.

"It's not what I want, Angra." spoke the figure, their voice gentle yet firm, slightly distorted as it filtered through the mask. "Its what you want. And what you all deserve."

Quick as a flash their other hand grabbed something else from within the cloak and hurled it down into the sea. The object glittered brightly as it fell, a lone star amidst the dank darkness. It disappeared under the waves, swallowed by the hungering mud. A pulse went through the curses. An energy similar to but unlike that of the Holy Grail. The sea boiled as the power raged rampantly through the inner world of the Greater Grail. The avatar of Angra Mainyu before the figure shifted and started to deform as the instability loosened its control over the billions of hateful curses.

There was a click and the front of the mask opened, revealing smile that seemed so out of place amidst the landscape dominated by hate. "How about I grant your wish instead, Mr Weakest Heroic Spirit?"

—

Kariya blinked. He brought his hand up to shield his eyes from the sun. It was bright, glaringly so. He squinted as he took stock of his surroundings. A playground surrounded on all sides by verdant greenery. Trimmed trees, handsome bushes and colorful patches of flowers greeted his eyes. A gentle wind blew past, stirring up a refreshing air that filled Kariya with a sense of peace and calm. Childish laughter tickled his ears as he noticed Sakura and Rin chasing each other excitedly around a slide.

The corners of Kariya's mouth ticked up into a smile. He felt good. The sun was slowly warming him up, seeping in from his skin down to his flesh and bones. There was an uncomfortable heaviness present in his chest which the warmth was doing wonders for. Kariya felt lighter than he had been in a long time, even the usually ever-present pressure on his shoulders had all but vanished. A relived sigh escaped Kariya's lips as he leaned back against the bench, shutting his eyes to fully bask in the cozy sensation that enveloped him.

He stayed like that for a while, letting the peace wash over. Serenity. Joy. Both things he hadn't tasted in ages. No matter how far he ran or tried to distance himself, Kariya could always feel Zouken's presence creeping up right behind him. It wasn't real, of course, the old worm never left Fuyuki, but that fact did little to ease his heart. The Matou family legacy was like a vengeful spirit haunting him day and night without rest. This moment in the sun, seeing Sakura and Rin again after so long, was utter bliss.

"Uncle Kariya! Uncle Kariya!"

Kariya opened his eyes and returned the smiles the two girls were giving him. Like usual Rin stood in front while Sakura stayed slightly behind her, holding onto the hem of her sister's skirt. "Hey, Sakura, Rin, are you having fun?"

"Yup!" Rin nodded, causing her twin-tails to jump excitedly. "Me and Sakura are having a great time!

Kariya grinned and turned to Sakura.

"Yeah...playing with Sis again is really fun." Sakura said, "I missed you a lot, Uncle Kariya."

Kariya felt his chest buzz with happiness. "Hahahaha!" He hopped to his feet and rubbed their heads, laughing along with their exited giggles as they squirmed under his palms. "Don't worry, you two. I'm never leaving again. We can have fun and play like this every day. How does that sound?"

"Really?! That's amazing!"

"That sounds great, Uncle Kariya. Really great."

Kariya's smile beamed even brighter, his joy actually managing to eclipse the children's, however slightly. Those words had come out unconsciously but he meant them with all his heart. He had left Fuyuki, left Aoi, because of his bloodline. That had seemed like the best possible choice at the time given Zouken's maneuvering behind the scenes, but he now regretted doing so. Perhaps if he had stayed, these two who he treasured as his daughters would have a actually been his? And he would be with Aoi... Aoi. If there was one thing that would make this scene more perfect, it would be if Aoi was here too.

"Kariya."

The scent of flowers tickled his nose as that familiar voice breezed through his contemplations like they were empty clouds. The regret that drained out of Kariya was quickly being replaced by hope. He turned and felt the name of his long-ago love leave his lips.

"Aoi!"

Kariya opened his eyes. The first thing the he noticed was the cold. It was a heavy weight and that made his limbs feel numb and dead even as they shivered uncontrollably. He could feel the bones themselves shivering, shaking and rattling around inside his flesh as if the chill had gotten into the marrow. The sweater he wore was drenched with sweat, clinging to his skin like thousands of clammy, frostbitten hands.

He was lying on the ground. His body a broken marionette splayed across the wood at uncomfortable angles. The taste of blood mixed with something more acrid lingered on lips. He tried to move his tongue and found it as dry as if he had gone to sleep with a mouthful of sawdust.

The second thing he noticed was the wriggling. He could feel it in his hands, he could feel it in his chest, he could feel it in his ears, behind his eyes, inside his head. There was not an inch of him free from the ungodly sensation. The pain was horrible but not as horrible as the sheer wrongness of it. An acidic tingle started in his throat as Kariya's stomach pumped its contents upwards in response to the disgusting sensation. He heaved and spewed his guts out onto the wooden floor. The desert that was his throat screamed the entire time, burning agony as if a river of daggers were cutting their way out.

He could feel his eyeballs bulge and redden, threatening to pop free from their sockets. Kariya's entire body tensed from the exertion. That made it worse. His flesh had come alive under the control of something else. There was another living inside, sharing his body with him. A lot of somethings. And his pain seemed to be stirring them into a frenzy. Panic began to trickle down through his body when the grogginess faded away and the memories came back. Memories of the last, long, torturous year he had spent under Zouken for the sake of freeing Sakura from the old worm's grasp.

Calm took him. More accurately, Kariya's numbness towards the situation had simply returned. He forcefully suppressed the violent reactions of his body and dragged himself up off the floor, rising up on shaky knees. The sensation that he now knew as the Matou Family's crest worms scurrying about through his frame grew in intensity as they felt their host awakening.

Bitting his lip, Kariya looked around the area. It was his old room at the Matou Household. It had fallen into disrepair since he had left. The walls stank of mildew and the floorboards of dank rot. Clearly nobody had bothered with the room in ages. That made sense. Neither his father nor his brother were the sentimental type.

"Get it together, Kariya. You're Sakura's only hope." He chided himself. "You don't have any time to stand around."

Whatever Sakura was going through was worse that this. She was just a child for God's sake. The thought of what the Matou Family magecraft would do, had done, to her caused his bile to rise. Kariya took deep breaths and swallowed heavily. The image of Sakura in the worm room forever burned into his mind.

Kariya clutched his left arm tightly as he limped for the door. He had nearly broken it a few days ago. There was bound to be a fracture somewhere, but getting it treated wasn't a priority on anyone's mind with the War so close. Strangely enough, Kariya was actually grateful for it. The pain from pressing on the fracture site helped take the edge of the wrongness. He should have been used to the crest worms by now, but the feeling of them slithering, burrowing, and writhing beneath his skin never failed to twist his insides.

The door opened easily. Kariya breathlessly shuffled forward, eager to get things over with but at the same time trepidatious with regards to actually fighting. He had never been a violent person nor did he have any idea how the War was supposed to be fought. His training focused on raising his magical energy reserves for the sake of supporting a Servant. Aside from the Heroic Spirit he would summon there were no other tools in his arsenal. Even the most basic magecraft was beyond him, making Kariya nothing more than a battery for his Servant.

He did his best to walk straight despite his legs failing him. They shook with every step, feeling less like limbs and more like uneven struts holding up a building one bad day away from collapsing into rubble. That was fine. Collapse he would, but not before saving Sakura. Even if he had to claw himself forward by fingernails, even if he had to become the devil himself, even if he would die before seeing her again, Kariya would do it all and risk everything to return that girl smile.

—

The chapel was quiet. The only audible sounds were her husband's voice and the howling wind beyond the castle walls. Irisviel von Eizbern glanced at Kiritsugu Emiya's face as he bathed in the increasingly bright light of the summoning circle. The weariness in his eyes, the slight wrinkles on his face, and he heavy air which curled around him were all gone and in their place was a resolute focus. It reminded Irisviel of days when the winds were silent but the nights long and cold. The turmoil wasn't gone, merely pushed to the side, out of sight of anyone who wasn't paying attention.

Irisviel wondered if this was how he was before he met her; before they had Illya. It mattered not. The Kiritsugu of the present was the Kiritsugu she knew. And the Kiritsugu she knew was a good man. One far to kind and naive for this world. Others would not understand him nor his ideal, but she would. She would love him, support him, and die for him; regarding that there was never any doubt or hesitation in her heart. She was a sacrifice. Her husband's sacrifice for a better world and the Einzbern's for the fulfillment of their long-held wish. The was the role she been created for, her purpose as a homunculus. The fact that she had been able to experience life and joy as a real human was already an unexpected treasure.

Kiritsugu's ideals. His dream. His prayers. Kiritsugu had taught her, guided her, and allowed her live as a human. That was why she was here now, nine years later. Kiritsugu had given her a life as someone more than a puppet. Irisviel smiled. She had even become a mother. She had a daughter. To know the loving warmth of another and experience the depth of a mother's love. Truly, there was nothing else Irisviel could possibly ask for.

The snowstorm roared as if nature knew what would be arriving. A Heroic Spirit, a great hero from ages past, a possessor of power greater than any human currently living. For the Forth Holy Grail War the Einzberns had acquired the catalyst to summon one of the most famous heroes in the world: the legendary king of Britain, Arthur. As far as legends went, few were as widespread and as mighty as the Once and Future King. With that great king's sheath, Avalon, as the catalyst, Kiritsugu was sure to summon him to their side. And together they would win the War and make everyone's wish cone true.

The circle flashed with power just as Kiritsugu was nearing the end of the incantation. Energy thrummed through the still air, whipping it into a frenzy. Motes of light flicked into existence, filling the empty space with currents of magical energy. Colors flashed as they collided with each other, each one a miniature nova of raw power. Ripples began to emanate from the circle, radiating outwards in waves. The first few caught Irisviel off guard and made her stumble until she found her footing. She threw a worried look at Kiritsugu but her husband had not moved a single centimeter, standing tall with his back straight and unyielding.

With each word that left Kiritsugu's mouth the chaos in the chapel only seemed to grow. It was strange. Jubstacheit had never mentioned anything about the summoning ritual having such unpredictable effects. He wasn't the type to leave things unsure or hazy, especially when the ambition of the Einzberns' was concerned.

The pressure in the room climbed higher and higher, making Irisviel feel as if she was being squeezed. She bit her lip and forced her way back to Kiritsugu's side. She reached him just as the final verse was completed. In that instant the entire chapel was lit up by a an eruption of power that felt different from the kind that had been previously released. Irisviel locked hands with her love and closed her eyes against the light as the brilliance cascaded over them. The eruption lasted less than a second but for that brief instance Irisviel felt like she had been cast into a river more vast and fathomless than any ocean. Something like a voice called out to her, barely registering on the outside of her ear before it was gone, vanishing along with the strange, mysterious torrent.

Irisviel felt Kiritsugu's hand tightened around hers, snapping her out of her thoughts, the last vestiges of the phantom whisper disappearing from her mind. She opened her eyes worriedly. Had the summoning gone wring by any chance? If it did... Irisviel had no idea what would happen. To her. To Kiritsugu. To Illya.

A faint, rolling mist greeted her—a result of the huge magical concentration in the air. As it faded away, revealing the Servant hidden behind it, Irisviel couldn't help but gasp in shock. Standing before them was young lady in a regal, blue dress. She had blond hair and calm, green eyes that stared purposefully at the world.

"I ask thee, art thou—"

The summoning circle flashed, filling the room with more mist. Half a beat later the young lady was tackled from the back by an armored streak of red.

—

Other Caster stepped out from inside the summoning circle. He took a deep breath, filling his lungs with the crisp night air of Fuyuki. The mingling of scents tickled his nostrils and gave rise to a giddy feeling in the depths of his chest. The air tasted of sorrow and pain, of salt and iron, of struggle and violence and great loss to come.

Other Caster let out a satisfied sigh. This was fortune in its truest sense. Fuyuki would be the staging ground of a great tale. Every last one of his senses sang that truth to him; their notes as rich and resonant as if they had come from the lips of the Muses themselves. Yes. A great tragedy was on the horizon. He was as sure of it as he was in his identity as a Heroic Spirit.

Other Caster's piercing blue eyes surveyed his surroundings. The humble-sized living room before him was stained from floor to ceiling with crimson paint. The sources of the lively color sat idly on a couch at the centre of the room: a middle-aged couple who had their throats slit so violently they were nearly decapitated. The ceiling directly in front of the corpses was the darkest, where the stain from the arterial spray soaked in most deeply. There was an odd artistic quality to it, Other Caster admitted, however shallow. Whoever had committed the murder was clearly the owner of a particularly unique mindset, unfortunately they didn't seem to have the technique or the finesse to bring out the full potential of their chosen style. In Caster's professional opinion, a few lessons under a suitably skilled mentor would do wonders in helping this unknown fledging mature into somebody worth watching. It was shame this would-be artist had met his end just few meters away from his work.

Other Caster stepped closer to appreciate the display created by the deceased murderer. Their corpse could barely be considered that at all. Whatever happened had reduced them to little more than a stain on the floor. Only a person who possessed a discerning eye could separate this particular splatter from the rest of the rooms' haphazard paint job. The blood here was much fresher than the rest of the room, albeit not by much. Whereas the walls were dull and resembling rust in their appearance, the former murderer's leftovers were still slightly slick when one looked close enough. A few more minutes, however, and it would be considerably more difficult to parse…for anyone who wasn't a Servant.

The apparent method behind it was intriguing, to say the least. It was like murderer had been instantly taken apart, every piece of him simultaneously deconstructed and reduced to nothing more than blood and a few pieces of flesh and bone; it was impossible for a human to have done it. Maybe they exploded? Technically speaking, there was no art to it, only cold and brutal violence, but Other Caster could see deeper than what was on the surface. Within the cold there was fire, and behind the technique there was a burning passion. A wild, feverous rage that was as likely to consume the one who wielded it as it would their target.

Other Caster produced a large leather-bound tome and cracked open it with one hand. The pages flipped past, revealing nothing but blank page after blank page. The Servant turned his gaze to the room and gestured calmly, tugging on the residual emotions and faint scars on the world's texture that had been caused by the gruesome occurrence. The pages stopped flipping once they reached the first page of the tome. A moment later the blood and viscera in the room started to stir. Inky black blood the color of nightmares and tragedy rose into the air and gathered in Other Caster's outstretched hand. Within the blurry images and faint whispers could be seen and heard. Parents weeping, a child bound in rope, a young man cackling as he took another life. Other Caster waved his hand and the ink ball that had grown to the size of an infant's fist broke apart and splattered down onto the first page of the tome.

Other Caster looked down on recently filled pages and smiled. There was nothing in the world greater or more noble than the act of writing and recording the essence of humanity, putting to ink the ugliness possible only for those gifted with free will. Ryuunosuke's deeds had filled up half the page. What he read told Other Caster a lot about the beautifully twisted man, but Other Caster's greatest haul was a tiny hint with regards to Uryuu's killer. Nothing too concrete but enough for him to get a better, albeit rough, understanding of his muse.

His hypothesis was correct. A Servant had killed Ryuunosuke. One whose path was rife with pain and struggle. Other Caster instantly knew that this Servant was a walking font of inspiration. His hands itched at the thought of picking out and bringing to light every last dark detail of that tragic Heroic Spirit's life and immortalizing them in the pages of his tome. Other Caster's Noble Phantasm echoed that sentiment. The leather-bound surface rippling and rumbling like a newly awakened stomach eagerly awaiting its next meal. He patted the tome and put it away somewhere within his white robes—he'd need to find more suitable clothes soon, walking around as if he'd come straight out of Athens would paint a bright red target on his back for any Servant or Master out looking.

Done with everything the house had to offer him, Other Caster left the bloody scene and stepped out onto the dark streets of Fuyuki. Confirming that there were no Servants around—at least none that he could sense—Other Caster entered his spiritual form and was preparing to go looking for more inspiration when a powerful scent assailed his very core, forcing him back into physical form.

He smelled violence that contained the bloody taint of a hundred battles and an anger so deep it could drown even the greatest of men beneath its tides. Alongside it was a curious concoction insanity, guilt and self-pity that wasn't much at the moment but bled potential, as well as a truly wonderful perfume of despair so pure and innocent that Other Caster could barely hold back his excitement. To find out the story behind these twisted and malevolent fragrances made Other Caster's body tingle all over. This was the stuff that masterpieces were born out of! He could hardly believe his luck when, before he could recover, more wonderful odors came flying at him, bringing his ecstasy to even greater heights.

"What a fantastic era this is." Other Caster spoke happily as he took in another breath, filling his lungs with the city's ominous air. Tragedy, pain, struggle and death. Hearts, minds and souls would shatter under its weight like glass beneath a hammer. He could hardly wait to see it all unfold.

—

Hope you enjoyed it, everyone!

If any of you have read Zero/Sanity or Zero/Hour then you'll have aa good idea of what I'm doing here. That being said, there are quite a few ideas and twists I wanna throw around to make this story mine (well, as much as a fanfic can be).

I will add Servant stats and NPs later, when they won't spoil anything that'll happen. Though, I plan to spread out the Servant reveals to make each one, hopefully, pretty epic.

Heads up: aside from official characters and ones from games and anime, I'll also be throwing in a few of my own Servant ideas, though most will be from anime.

Servants of the 4th Holy Grail War:

Saber (Alive)

Other Saber (Alive)

Archer(Alive)

Other Archer (Alive)

Lancer (Alive)

Other Lancer (Alive)

Rider (Alive)

Other Rider (Alive)

Berserker (Alive)

Other Berserker (Alive)

Caster (Alive)

Other Caster (Alive)

Assassin (Alive)

Other Assassin (Alive)

That's right. 14 Servants! (As of now) I'll probably add more once the Dead Apostles come in as a third faction, along with maybe TATARI occurring, and Roa and Araya Souren popping up. Of course, the Burial Agency would have to step in at that point. And obviously with that much of a clusterfuck in Fuyuki the Counter Force definitely has to keep things sane. They'll need all the help they can get when the Beast awakens, somebody decides to use the Grail to wake up Type Mercury early, and when Zouken becomes a Demon Pillar.

Just Kidding! Sorry, guys, but that might be a bit too much Fate for anyone's taste. And waaay to much lore to keep track of for a humble fanfic writer.

If I ever managed to finish this beast of a story I have planned, expect it to be chaotic as hell and equally long, but hopefully in a good way.