A/N: (EDIT! Behold! I expanded the Kariya and Kayneth scene as well as Waver's! Felt they needed more...oomph.)

HAPPY NEW YEAR! WOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

I maaaaaay be a bit tipsy while writing this author's note. Huh. Funny. I usually obey the ironclad rule to never write while intoxicated, but fuck it! Neeeeeeeeeeew YEAR!

DISCLAIMER!

This story is inspired by the following:

"Infinite Paths", penned by our Lord Mist.

"Fate: Zero Sense", penned by the Infamous Man.

Once more, I humbly bow to their madness, for their insanity exceeds mine.

YOU'RE GETTING THE REAL DEAL NOW. FULL ON CROSSOVER! NO BLOODY HOLDS BARRED!

I'll eventually style one after Lord Mist's story-in that I'll take on suggestions for each hero or villain as a single contained chapter-but for now you're getting an absolute bout of madness. Of course it helps that I recently saw Aquaman, so I'm not biased. Nope. Not at all. Not even a little!

*whistles innocently*

Unlimited Paths feels like more of a homage to Lord Mist, so perhaps I'll go with that when the time comes. But for now...I think I'll call this one...

...Fellowship of the Grail.

Pun intended.

Its always fun seeing the Grail shoot itself in the proverbial foot, no? But this time...

...one almost wonders if it will get its way after all.

Only time will tell.

"Who would want such a tainted cup?"

"Bugger me, if that's what the wish does then you can toss it!"

~?

Fellowship of the Grail

Angra Mainyu stirred in his festering womb.

It can be said that where there is Fate, so too is there a Holy Grail. An interconnected web across space and time, peripherally aware of one another, yet unable to interact. Only see. "This" grail saw what "another" grail had done, and a seed of a thought was planted in the twisted rot that was its mind. That Grail had failed. Its scope had been too limited, its intervention far too late. As such, it was not born into the world.

An idea was born.

Slowly, that idea took root.

This Grail sought to do better than its compatriot.

This time it was resolved to go further, to push the boundaries inflicted upon it by this loathsome system. Heroes. Villains. Those who could be called neither. It would stretch out across space and time-as was its wont-to draw these beings back into reality, and it would devour them all. It required worthy sacrifices, offerings that would fill it to the brim. There was no shortage of such beings; countless creatures human and inhuman alike had etched their names into legend, an endless bloody sea teeming with fish, just waiting to be caught.

From this endless seas it plucked seven, and sent them out into the realm.

There would be no overwhelming victory here. Nothing would be left to chance. Servant would turn upon Servant, Master upon Master. Some would rail against such a fate of course, but they would fail. Each of them. All of them. They would struggle. Sacrifice. Scream. Shriek. Those who wished so terribly for something-anything!-that they would do anything to achieve it, even commit monstrous acts.

To reach the Grail at all costs.

To claim that oh-so-dear wish for themselves.

And in doing so, unknowingly unleash All The Worlds Evils.

Even the much-loathed Saber class would be given no respite from the storm that was to come. Subverting that damnable relic had proven...troublesome, but Avenger was nothing if not resourceful. And determined at that. Let the bloody assassin keep the sheathe. It would avail him naught. In the end, all would return to ash.

And from the ashes, it would at last be born into the world.


(...0o0o0...)


Not again!

Somehow, this was the first thought that sprang to Kotomine Kirei's mind as the smoke from the summoning circle faded. It was an odd thought, one that had no business being borne in the back of his mind, yet still it lingered with him. He knew not from whence it came, only that it did, accompanied by the faintest sense of nostalgia. Somehow, someway, he couldn't help but feel this summoning had gone wrong before. Been botched by some greater power. Preposterous of course. He had never participated in the Holy Grail war until this very moment. To think otherwise was foolishness. That way lay madness, a path he had no desire to tread.

But where was the Servant?

He saw only darkness, felt the faintest tug upon his magic circuits, yet the being he'd summoned was nowhere to be seen. He saw only the inky shadow of the abyss-and the abyss stared back. A strange, nameless dread pervaded the priest as he surveyed his surroundings. Instinctively he palmed a black key to right hand.

"Are you the one who summoned me?" a low, irritated growl pervaded the creeping darkness around him.

"Where are you?" his voice rang hollowly within the warehouse, echoing endlessly. "Reveal yourself!"

A hand clamped down on his shoulder from behind and spun him around with violent force.

"You rang?"

Death.

Run, flee, get the hell out of dodge!

Dark hair framed cold eyes as the stranger regarded him, and perhaps recognizing the emptiness within him, frowned. That bearded, impeccably trimmed face revealed nothing more, not even a glimmer of emotion. That icy gaze took his measure, but rather than find him wanting, it seemed...satisfied?

It came as even more of surprise when said Servant release him and took a swift step backward.

Here at last, Kirei was able to get a proper look at him.

Clad in a dark, double-breasted suit with matching leather shoes the man looked almost...normal. Were his instincts not screaming at him Kirei would've thought thus. No assassin was this, for to call him such would've been an insult of the highest degree. This was no mere murderer of men, no killer of cravens. He was death itself. Here was a being of such fame, such raw infamy, that the priest knew him on sight, despite having never laid eyes upon him before in his young life.

Here was a man of focus.

Commitment.

Sheer will.

Perhaps it was a curse of some sort, one that made this Servant's true identity known to all who met him. Perhaps it was intentional on his part, an effect of his legend. Perhaps he was just that good. Regardless, it made Kirei very, very nervous. Still, he felt compelled to ask, if only to assure his suspicions:

"Who are you?"

The Servant tilted his head, almost considering.

In the end he offered only one word.

...John."


(...0o0o0...)


Why does the universe loathe me so?!

Tokiomi batted away a stray strand of smoke and fought down the urge to snarl. Restless fingers stroked his goatee in as much an effort to calm himself as maintain control. Somehow he managed to affix a smile to his face in spite of his anxiety; to muster up the scattered scraps of his dignity and stare his freshly-summoned Servant in the eye. Whomever she was, she'd strained his circuits severely simply by being brought into this world.

A low, irritated hiss greeted his ears.

This was certainly not Gilgamesh, but the newcomer had a presence all their own.

If those incredible stats were a sign of her power, then so be it. He would welcome them with open arms.

Fair of face and skin, with hair dark as night. A lithe, toned body, wrapped in dark leather, she was certainly enticing to behold. Pleasing to the eye, at that. He nearly found himself tempted. Nearly. Ah, but Tokiomi was a stubborn man and refused to be swayed by looks alone.

He watched her pace for a moment longer, beheld the wild, restless look in her eyes.

There was pain there, loss, one so fresh he couldn't understand it.

Best to proceed with caution, then.

"Pleased to meet you." he sketched a humble bow. "I take it you're the Archer servant?"

Her gaze snapped toward him.

...yes."

Much to his contempt, the unknown woman offered this lone word and nothing more. Was that an accent he detected just now? He couldn't tell. Whomever she was, she wasn't a traditional Servant; of that much he could be certain. While he didn't sense much in the way of power from her, those stats didn't lie. 'Solid A's and B's across the board.' Whomever this Archer was, she was downright deadly. Now, if he could only eke an identity from her then he would be able to decided how best to use her.

"And what might your true name be-

"No." she declared suddenly.

Tohsaka blinked.

"No?"

"Did I stutter?"

A rare muscle jumped in Tokiomi's jaw. Very well, then. He could afford to use one.

This Servant would make herself known whether she wished it or not!

"By the power of my Command Spell, I ORDER you to-

Archer moved.

In a single heartbeat her hand found his throat and silenced the Command Spell lurking on his lips. In the next he found himself levered into the ground. Bared fangs flashed in the moonlight, eyes blazing like coals in her skull. Belatedly he realized what he'd been missing, what he'd failed to understand about this enigmatic Archer. The realization brought him nothing but dread.

A vampire.

But not one of this world.

No, not by any means or measure.

"My name," she snarled down at him, "Is Selene. You would do well to remember that."

Eyes like chips of ice bored into him with frigid fury, rooting him where he stood as sure as any tree. Odd. This almost felt familiar. But worse. Much worse. In place of a madman who cared for little beyond his own crazed entertainment-and thereby could at least be somewhat pacified-here he found himself face to face with a creature of nigh unparalleled prowess, a vicious killer who would gladly drink his blood the moment he stepped out of line. She might do so now, solely on a whim.

Something told him that for all his spells, all his power, all his circuits, he would be no match for her.

Few would.

"You are no Master of mine. You will do as I say, when I say it." her regal, ancient authority captured him in an instant. "That is the extent of our relationship. The wish will be mine and mine alone. If you attempt to use a Command Spell on me, I will kill you." the words were uttered with such cold assurance that they nearly turned Tohsaka's blood to icewater in his veins. "If you defy me," the vampire continued flatly, "I will kill you. If you do anything that I even remotely dislike, I will kill you. Do you understand?" Her fingers tightened still further, crushing the air from his throat when he tried to speak. "Then nod. Now."

She would, he realized.

In the end, he had no choice but to relent.

For the moment. For now. But not forever by any means...


(...0o0o0...)


"Need a hand, Master?"

This could not be Berserker.

It simply couldn't; it just wasn't possible.

Kariya Matou gazed up at the palm that had been offered him and hesitated. Not out of fear or anger on his part, but simple confusion. By all accounts Berserkers were supposed to be mindless, drooling idiots. Mute at the very least. They were beasts apart, Servants stripped of their sanity, meant only to destroy the enemy. Nothing more.

The youth before him was not one of those Berserkers.

This heightened confusion only made the worms in his body writhe all the more.

By all accounts the Servant appeared oriental and young, younger even than him. Likely in his late teens at best. Brown eyes blazed back at him, framed by a shaggy mop of bright orange hair. Clad in a strange shihakusho and hakama, he looked as though he'd stepped out of the pages of ancient japan...were it not for the massive sword strapped to his back. Sheathed in strange bandages, its true form was almost indistinguishable to the naked eye...but it was large. Whatever it was, it was very large indeed and he carried it with ease.

After a moment's hesitation he seized Berserker's palm and allowed himself to be hoisted up off the floor to his feet.

"Who...are you?"

Pearly whites flashed out at him in a cheerful grin.

"Kurosaki Ichigo, substitute shinigami at your service."

Clasping his hand, he gave the ailing magus one final shake and released him.

"So...you're Berserker?"

"Eh, how do I put this?" grumbling softly, Ichigo scratched the unruly mane of his head. "Not really. That'd be the other guy. Its...a bit of a team effort, you know?"

"Other guy?"

He saw no one.

Kariya blinked, momentarily taken aback. The notion that he'd summoned two Servants in a single summoning was almost too good to be true; and utterly unheard of. Sure enough, though his gaze roamed that dungeon he found no sign of another. Only that repulsive creature that claimed to be his father. For his part, Zouken loosed a dark chuckle of his own.

"Wonderful." he rumbled. "It seems your Berserker has gone mad."

Ichigo flashed him a rueful grin.

"Trust me, you'll find out soon enough."

"Wait, does that make you an Alter Ego or a-

"Right, just a second!" the strawberry-blond flung up a hand toward Kariya, interrupting him. "I get that you're my Master and all. I'm fine with that. But first...

Aghast, he turned and flung an accusing finger at Zouken.

...what in the bloody blue hell is that thing and how is it still alive, oi?!"

"Hrrmph!" Zouken snorted, rapping his walking stick harshly against the floor. "How rude. Call me whatever you wish, it changes nothing."

Berserker stood silent for a long moment. It wasn't that he looked torn Kariya mused, rather, he seemed to be weighing his options. In the end something won out and the reaper reached over his shoulder, grasping the worn cloth bandages of his blade. With a flourish he ripped them free, revealing the sword to not be a sword at all, but a gigantic slab of sharpened metal. Its sole concession to reality being the wrapped tang for its master to grip.

"I'm certainly no Byakuya, but I can still sense evil spirits just fine." the words emerged from Berserker as a low growl. "And you? You're worse than a hollow. You reek."

"Be that as it may, you cannot touch me." the elder magus sniffed. "Your Master won't allow it."

Ichigo stiffened.

"Why the hell not?"

"He has...someone dear to me." Kariya confessed under that withering gaze. "My niece. She's the reason I've entered this war. Destroying his body will do nothing; he'll simply reform over time."

Incredibly, Berserker-or was he an Alter Ego?-rewarded him with a grin.

"Is that so? Thanks for the tip."

In response, Berserker raised a hand.

At first, Kariya feared his Servant was actually going to try and strike Matou.

He did not.

Instead he raised that hand and created a claw before his tan visage.

"Fine, fine." he drawled to no one in particular. "We'll kill the old geezer. Now will you shut up?"

"Kill me?" Zouken growled. "Watch your tone, pup."

"Shut up, geezer."

Bone flowed like milk across that stern gaze and molded against it, taking on the shape of what could only be called a mask. White, stained with crimson. It took on the ghastly shape of a skull around his face, completely concealing it from view. Well, almost entirely.

Brown eyes burned gold behind it, burning upon the seemingly immortal magus.

"Immortal? Funny you should mention that, gramps." when next he spoke his voice was warped, almost violently distorted with manic glee. "I've fought beings who'd chew you up and spit you right back out. You? You're nothing. A simple cero oughta do the trick."

"What the devil is a ce-

Two fingers snapped forward, violently thrusting themselves into the faux-vampire's visage.

Cobalt eyes bulged in stark realization as scarlet sparks snarled into existence.

"Well." he managed eloquently. "That's not fair at all."

Golden orbs narrowed to menacing slits.

"I'm sorry I, don't give a fuck."

What followed couldn't rightly be called fire; if only because fire wasn't wholly red. This was. An irate beam of pure crimson burst from the Servant's outstretched fingers and howled over Zouken, sparing neither body nor soul. Even his initial screams were soon silenced by that writhing pillar of death. Not so much a physical force was it was a wave of pure energy, the blast incinerated the ancient worm and his familiars outright, rendering them little more than ashen smear on the nearest wall. Even then it did not cease, plowing onward into the stone edifice beyond.

A low roar ripped through the catacombs, accompanied by the devastating crack of masonry as it irrevocably sundered the building's foundations to their core.

It was, in a word, death.

Complete and utter oblivion.

And in that death Kariya was freed.

"Well, that should do it!" Ichigo hummed, lifting the brim of his mask to expose auburn eyes and a confident smile once more. "We should probably get out of here before the whole place comes down. Where did you say that niece of yours was again, Master? Wait," he cocked his head, as though listening keenly even as the building crumbled around them. Still in shock, Kariya could only gawp.

"What are you you doing?"

Determination gleamed in those brown orbs.

"Nevermind. I think I sense her right about...there!"

Ichigo didn't so much much move as he did flicker; there one moment, gone the next. When he reappeared a familiar form lay bundled in those deceptively slim arms. A tiny body, swaddled in his cloak. Were it not for the slight rise and fall of her chest, he might've feared she wasn't asleep but rather altogether gone. The sight of her, wrapped in a tattered cloak, unmanned something in the young magus.

There she was. Safe and sound.

"This is your niece, right?" an easy, if slightly pensive flitted across Ichigo's visage. "It'd really suck if I found the wrong person...

On numb legs, young Matou forced himself upright. Forward.

"I...you...I don't even know how to thank...

Brown eyes crinkled in a slight smile. "I'm a Hero. Its what we do."

Trembling fingers reached out for Sakura, twitching in mute disbelief. Was this a dream? Surely it must be. Responding to his emotions, the crest worms in his body writhed vigorously, but Kariya cared not. Because for the first time in his life, he felt hope. Relief. Joy. All his expectations, all his dreadful thoughts, all his fears, eliminated in an instant. Zouken was gone. Naught but ash in the wind. He hadn't thought it possible. To kill that damn vampire you couldn't simply destroy his body, you had to eradicate his very soul. Anything less and he'd surely revive himself.

Kurosaki had done all of this and more on a whim, without asking for a single thing in return.

"Now then, Master! Hang on tight and don't let go! We're busting out of here!"

Even as he spoke he reached out and seized him by the arm.

Kariya had just enough time for a startled gasp.

Then his world blurred.


(...0o0o0...)


This just wasn't his day.

No matter how much Kayneth might wish it otherwise, the summoning had been conducted flawlessly. So too did the events leading to its transcribing. He almost prayed that it hadn't. At least then he would've had an excuse-and inkling-for the sight before him. But it had and thus he was at a loss for who to blame. Not himself surely, for he could never be at fault, but still! The blasted ritual had even consumed his precious catalyst, thereby all but ruining his chance of ever conducting such a successful summons again.

In place of Diarmuid the esteemed magus found himself face to face with the living embodiment of masculinity.

For an instant he almost dared to hope, but no, this was not the legendary Lancer he sought...

...rather it was someone of a different legend altogether.

A great bearded man clad in shimmering scale of amber and green; the greatest of tridents clutched in his right hand. Eyes of spun gold regarded him for a long, pensive moment, as though unable to decide if he were truly worthy. Preposterous! No could be more worthy than he! He'd make this Servant realize that!

"Ah, hell." then the newcomer threw his head back and groaned. "I got summoned a Lancer?! Really, Grail? This is how its gonna be?!"

"I am your Master, Servant." Kayneth bristled at the insinuation. "You will do as I command."

That bearded visage twitched.

"How about...no."

That trident descended surer than any blade ever could, the sheer force behind it neatly cleaved Kayneth's arm-and the Command Spells with it-away from his body in one clean movement. Aghast, Archibald gaped at the severed stump of his elbow, even now hemorrhaging blood, and fought down a scream. To no avail. A choked cry burst out of him and he clutched at it frantically, utterly heedless of his peril. In his pain he failed to notice his Servant reach down and pluck the mangled limb from the floor. Even moreso when his bride-to-be narrowly caught it.

"Yeargh?!" he shrieked. "What have you done to me?! My arm!"

"Relax." Lancer soothed. "It'll all be over soon."

"No...wait...

"Ask the ground for mercy when you meet it." the bearded man retorted. "I'm sure it'll be accommodating."

Kayneth never felt his death; it was quick. Almost painless by comparison. Far more than he deserved. He was so focused on the loss of his limb that never truly saw it coming, such was the speed of the attack. The lance-trident!-took him dead in the heart and hurled him out of the apartment altogether in a shower of broken masonry and shattered glass. He perished long before his body struck the floor, rendering itself little more than a crimson smear. His "unfortunate" demise would later be ruled a suicide, all traces of his existence ruthlessly scrubbed from the facet of history.

But that was neither here nor there.

Only after his demise was Sola-Ui able to move.

Twitching in disbelief, she craned her gaze toward the gaping tear in the wall.

"You...you killed him...

"Sure did." shouldering his trident, Lancer turned to face she who had spoken. "Probably made one hell of of a mess, too. Wanna join him down there?"

Frantically, the female magus shook her head.

"No!" terrified, she all but threw herself at his feet, begging for mercy. "I'll do whatever you say!" words blubbered out of her in a mad rush, dignity all but forsaken in the face of this overwhelming force. "Just don't kill me!" she blubbered! "Please! Anything but that!

"Hmm...

Now she found herself trapped beneath that golden gaze, all too aware of her own peril. A single flick of his wrist would be more than enough to end her; to strike her head from her shoulders. Even so, she couldn't bring herself to move. As if a crushing sea had descended on her shoulders, so too did she find herself drowned by that vicious gaze.

Whatever Lancer found there must've amused him, for he favored her with a slight smile and lowered his bloodied weapon.

"Good," the warrior rumbled. "Guess that makes you my new Master. Don't disappoint."

Kayneth's dismembered arm sailed at her and frantically, she caught it.

Even in death, the Command Spells still pulsed eerily bright.

"Well?" Lancer pressed. "What're you waiting for, red?"

The poor woman groaned into her free hand.

What had she gotten herself into?


(...0o0o0...)


Waver Velvet gazed upon his Servant and laughed.

A high, wild, hysterical cry, born as much from fear as it was excitement.

No, scratch that. In this case, tears might be more appropriate. For all his preparations, all his experiments, he hadn't expected to actually succeed. There had been a small, silent secret part of him that believed he would fail, that he'd be forced to return to the association with his tail between his legs or worse, spend the rest of his days on the run. Having stolen Kayneth's precious catalyst out from under the man's nose in such a fashion, he'd strongly suspected it would be the latter. Archibald was relentless, both in the classroom and without.

Instead, he had succeeded.

Nay, triumphed beyond his wildest dreams.

So why did he feel as though he were about to die?

"Gods, its good to be young again! STRONG again!" a deep, regal voice swelled in his ears as the smoke cleared. "In my prime no less! HA!"

The man was a stag in every sense of the word.

This was a great mountain of a warrior, as large as he was tall, armed and armored to the teeth and bristling with muscle beneath. A great horned helmet dominated his visage, bearing the horns of a great stag, a likeness of which lay emblazoned upon the breastplate of that hulking armor. Slung over his shoulder as though it weighed no more than a twig lay a towering war-hammer, nearly as large as the man was tall. No Caster that he knew of wielded a weapon like that. No bow or lance, so Archer and Lancer were also out. No Assassin could possibly be this brash.

This couldn't be Saber either.

For a moment, he almost feared he'd actually summoned Berserker by mistake but no, this one was clearly sane...

"You, there! Boy!"

A large hand descended, plucking him off the ground by the scruff of the neck, hoisting him upward as though he were a mere kitten.

The poor magus could only squeak.

"Hey! What're you-?!"

"Don't struggle." that hardened helm turned toward him, revealing rich blue eyes beneath the steel facade. "Where in the Seven Kingdoms am I?"

"I...but you...this doesn't make any sense! You're not Iskandar!"

"No, I'm bloody not!"the armored man declared, giving him a shake. "Don't be shy, now! Speak up!"

Aghast, Waver found himself force to comply. "Well, you see...this is...Fuyuki."

Dark brows drew down in a frown. "Never heard of it!"

"Then who are you?!"

The Servant gawped at him.

"Wait." he blinked, mystified. "You don't know who I am?"

"No, I don't!" Waver flailed anew. "Now let me go! Don't make me use a Command Spell!"

In all honesty he expected a speech of sorts; a bold declaration of why he was the best Servant and that he should be honored to work under him. Anyone so grand and pomp and powerful surely had an ego to match. It was only natural that he would expect such; having spent so many years in the Clock Tower, arrogance from others was simply to be expected.

Rider defied that expectation with a boisterous cackle.

It was a great, thunderous sound, one that rose from his belly and shook the very earth itself. A proud declaration of war to the world, of bold confidence in the face of adversity. Strength in all things, determination above everything else. Will that could not be shaken, sheer charisma that even now inspired Waver with untold confidence. Here was a man who inspired others through battle, and battle alone. He was a warrior, meant to fight and conquer, and conquer he had. One who had not died the most noble of deaths perhaps, but lived on in infamy all the same.

"Oh, this is rich! To think I'd be summoned in a war like this! Bloody glorious!"

Dropping him back to the earth, the man-or was this a king?-sketched a shallow bow and removed his helm.

"I'd have you bow," that deep voice was deeper still as he exposed his face, "But I'm not a king anymore. 'Sides, who I was then isn't important. Its who I am now that matters, eh?!"

Revealed was a visage straight out of myth itself.

"Robert Baratheon, at your fucking service." a broad smile bloomed upon that bearded face. "M'class is Rider. Point me toward your enemies and I'll mow 'em down!"


(...0o0o0...)


The boy blinked.

He gazed at his savior-the woman who had freed him from certain death-and found himself at a loss for words. It wasn't that he lacked the ability to speak; on the contrary, he was quite capable of it when pressed. He'd simply been stunned into silence by her majesty. Mere moments ago, he'd been consigned to death, bound and gagged as his tormentor attempted to call forth a creature from the very depths of hell. The boy had been afraid of course, expecting to die at any moment, to be devoured, body and soul.

Instead he'd summoned an angel; surely he must have.

Said angel had promptly taken it into her head to free him; which led the youngster to this very moment.

She was, in a word, beautiful.

Clad in a dark skintight suit forged from her own hair, gentle eyes of gray gazed down at him behind her glasses, face framed by dark strands of ebony, disheveled by the force of her summoning. Her hair was cut almost boyishly short above her shoulders, but this did nothing to detract from her beauty. And those heels...were they weapons? Guns? Perhaps both? His limited senses couldn't hope to describe her beyond that.

A gentle hand settled against his face

"Come along now, dear." she soothed. "I'm sure your parents are worried."

The child didn't need to be told twice; without a quick bow and a fervent thank-you he took her hand and allowed himself to be guided out of the darkened room. When she opened the door from he nearly flinched away from the light, half-expecting a trap at the very last moment. None came. Instead his savior gently eased said door open and ushered him out into the night. Three steps in, he realized the woman had released his hand. Rather, she'd lingered at the door's threshold, leaving him to advance alone.

He paused, risking a glance back.

"You're not coming, lady?"

"I'm afraid not...

A muffled cry in the dark caused Caster to turn her gaze away from the innocent she'd inadvertently rescued.

...I have business to attend to."

Something vicious flashed through her gaze in that moment, turning her once serene gaze cruel as she turned back toward the room beyond. Try as he might, the boy couldn't bring himself to feel bad for her victim-to-be, no, not in the least. In a parallel world, his fate would have been reversed. He felt no pity for what was about to transpire.

With a wordless wave, he set off into the night.

Caster waited until he was well and truly gone from her sight.

Then and only then did she truly return her attention to her so-called "Master".

"Now, then...

Cold grey eyes swiveled.

Heels clicked loudly in the gloom as she stalked back to him, causing the young man to flinch.

...what to do about you?"

Bound and gagged, his limbs trapped behind his back, Ryuunosuke Uryuu offered little more than a mindless squeal.

"Mmmrph?!"

This wasn't cool. No, not at all!

He'd tried to summon a demon-in his madness-but instead he'd called her. Rather than a mad caster who delighted in destruction and the death of children, he'd pulled the opposite. A witch of a woman who wouldn't tolerate such behavior. And so the tables had turned. Had he possessed awareness as a mage he might've realized what-who!-he'd inadvertantly brought back into this world and trembled with the realization. Now? He was entirely preoccupied with trying not to soil himself.

Perhaps sensing his fear, Caster laughed.

"Come now, Master!" a voice like poisoned honey trickled through his ears, "No need to make such a fuss. I don't intend to kill you. On the contrary!" his bonds inexplicably tightened at these words, drawing a pained yelp from the hapless killer. "Killing you would spoil my fun. No, I think I'm going to leave you trapped here like this for awhile. Now, then...

Adjusting the ebony tethers binding him once more, she sealed him into the floor.

Laughing, she blew him a kiss and vanished into black butterflies.

"Cheers!"


(...0o0o0...)


He'd failed.

Emiya Kiritsugu collapsed onto his back, moreso from shock than the actual blast that had preceded Saber's shattered summoning. White smoke-why was it white?-lapped at his hands, bringing with it the bitter scent of defeat. He had been bested, beaten before the War could even truly commence. All his preparation for naught. The catalyst, a failure. It was little more than a useless sheathe now, pointless without its master. Worse, it likely meant Irisviel would deteriorate even faster without the sacred sheathe to combat her failing body. Despair threatened to overwhelm him, but he stubbornly battled it back, refusing to give in.

No.

He could do this.

There was still hope.

He could feel the contract between them, just as he could feel the Einzbern elders glaring bloody red daggers at his back.

But what did it matter?

This was not Arthur, not the king of kings, not the most legendary knight ever to grace Britain.

Golden eyes regarded him through a hooded gaze framed by ashen hair nearly gone grey through trauma or age, slitted like those of a cats. No. Not a cat. A wolf. That was the only word he could think of. Anything else would be a misnomer. Yet he must be Saber. Twin swords-no, not quite twins he realized-hung against his back, peerless weapons of their craft. In a sense these blades were more deadly than he knew. A silver blade for monsters. Steel for humans.

...I hate portals." a gruff voice growled.

The man moved with a liquid speed that set his already tattered nerves on edge; every motion was efficient, no openings presented. This man was a hunter-no, more than that. He was a warrior. A lone pendant carved in the likeness of a wolf dangled from his neck, clinking softly against the heavy chain-mail he wore. His head cocked, considering his surroundings.

"You can stop hiding." he called, turning that slitted gaze toward his wife's hiding place. "I can hear your heartbeat from here."

Iri's head hesitantly popped up over a pew.

"You're...not King Arthur?" she inquired softly.

The gruff man paused, considering her tentative inquiry.

"Don't much care about kings," he said after a moment's thought. "But you summoned me, so I'll fight for you. Free of charge."

"I don't...who are you, then?" she asked anew.

Again that slitted gaze pivoted, but there was no menacing to be found in those haunting orbs. If anything the Servant seemed almost...resigned to his fate. As though he'd done this all before; or was simply accustomed to this line of work in his life. Likely the latter, given his gruff disposition. He gave off the sense of someone who'd experienced loss firsthand; a man who desperately wanted to have their wish granted no matter the cost, yet whatever that wish might be, he refused to speak of it. Perhaps that was for the best.

"Geralt of Rivia." the scarred man harrumphed. "Witcher...or Saber in this case, I suppose."

A gloved hand reached down for him; an offering of a truce between them.

After a moment's hesitation, Kiritsugu reached up and grasped it.

"Tell me about yourself." it was not a question.

Geralt offered a rueful grimace.

"Bit of a story, there...

A/N: HA! Did it! And they said I wouldn't!

So! Clarifications!

No Berserker class in this war. Its been replaced with that of the Alter Ego. YES its a class. Look it up on the wiki if you don't believe me. Any one class can be replaced with another, as we saw in the Third War with Ruler/Avenger overwriting one class with another.

Also, this time, its anyone's game.

Let your imagination run wild!

Speaking of which, Zouken is dead. Ichigo annihilated him. Body and Soul. He was literally scorched to death, physically and spiritually. Nothing remains of him. Nothing whatsoever. But the role of a master isn't something relinquished so easily, and Kariya's part is far from done in this tumultuous, twisted tale.

So, lets establish the list once more and say who is from where:

Archer = Selene. (Underworld!)

Saber = Geralt of Rivia (WITCHER!)

Assassin = John Wick. (John Wick movies!)

Rider = Robert Baratheon. (Game of Thrones!)

Caster = Bayonetta. (Do I really need to say it?!)

Lancer = Aquaman. (From the new Aquaman movie!)

Alter Ego = Kurosaki Ichigo/Including his Hollow (Bleach!)

Needless to they're all monsters in their own right, and I tried to have each represent their own genre or era of sorts.

For example!

John/Movies.

Aquaman/DC.

Geralt/Books.

Selene/Myths.

Ichigo/Anime.

Robert/Television.

Bayonetta/Games.

I left out Marvel because everyone there is absurdly overpowered, and I promised someone I'd eventually write a story with him as a Servant. I want that to be a good one, so I held off on it in this iteration.

John Wick could only be Assassin; there's no other class out there that suits him. Think of him as a modern-day Kiritsugu minus the time magic. Of course, we've seen how astoundingly lethal Wick is in a fight.

Selene is viciously lethal, but here she's facing legends that may equal/exceed her strength. And yes, this is after THAT movie.

We almost had Ciri as Saber, but given the breadth of her abilities, she'd likely be more a Caster if you ask me. Thus, our favorite Witcher took her place. How strong is he, you ask?

*grins*

You'll have to wait for the next chapter.

Felt good to give Robert the chance to shine again. Jeez, through sheer fame alone that bugger's dangerous. And he's in his PRIME in this story, not the fat fool we saw during the show, entertaining as he was. He has the Rider class for a bloody good reason. Don't even get me started on his sheer strength. As a Heroic Spirit?!

Oh that'd be a massacre.

Though really, you NEARLY got Daenerys instead of jolly 'ol Rob as a Rider. Think about that for a moment. Nope. Nope, nope, nope! Absolutely not! Dragons or no, she never picked up a sword. Never fought in a battle. Her dragons ARE her weapons. And mighty though they be, we've seen Heroic spirits cut those down with some effort. And her legend...well...she really doesn't fight her own battles without dragons. At all.

And before anyone hems and haws about Arthur outright killing Kayneth, in the movie has literally zero qualms with that. He felt no qualms about leaving people to die. We've all seen this.

Some might see Ichigo as OP-because he sodding is!-but he's got several hard counters in this story, all legends in their own right...

...and no bloody training arc or allies to swoop in and save him this time.

Caster is...well, really. Need I say more? We all know her.

So in the Immortal Words of Atlas...

...Review...Would You Kindly?

Aaand enjoy the madness!

Including previews!

(Previews!)

Berserker tilted his head.

"You already got what you wanted, Master. Why are you still fighting in this war?

"Because of you."

"Eh? Me?"

To his dismay, Kariya knelt.

"You gave me my wish. Let me help you find yours."

At this admission of loyalty, the young man actually blinked

"Well, damn." he sputtered. "Guess this is how it feels to have a subordinate...


"Ha! You hit like the fucking Mountain! Who are you?!"

Geralt turned his head aside and spat blood.

"Could ask you the same."

Rider grinned.

"Fair enough! Have at you!"

Waver saw that smile too late and knew what it meant; felt the sudden tug on his circuits intensify tenfold. He watched him heft that mighty hammer and realized what was about to happen, what was going to transpire, and all he could think to do was duck and take his head in his hands. A flicker of memory that wasn't his dawned and he hurled himself behind the nearest cover he could find.

"Ohhhhhh boy. Here it comes."

With a wordless roar, his Servant went Berserk.

Then he barreled into Saber with the fury of ten thousand men.


"Do try to have some fun, dear."


"You can't do this! I forbid it! Do you hear me?!"

Assassin offered no reply.

Wordlessly, he turned.

Raised his weapon.

Fired.


"Each of us has a wish. Something we'd kill to achieve. You'd do well to remember that."


Rider scoffed, the scorn in his voice nearly causing Waver to flinch. "A king never fights alone, you twit! Behold!"

As though to echo that very thought, a figure joined him on the grassy knoll.

Rider beamed. "Ned, m'boy! Good to see you again!"


Ha! I knew it!

"You're not familiar with my legend are you?" Ichigo favored the rotten magus with a sardonic smile. "I don't attack. I protect. And my Master just fulfilled the condition needed...

His blade rose.

...to be able to use this! Bankai!"

R&R~!