Within the depths of the frigid cold winter of Germany, the Einzbern castle stood tall and proud. As proud as the magus who lived there. They were amongst the most notorious and powerful in the entirety of magedum. Their skills in alchemy were equalled by none. Few would ever dare to enter the premises without their consent. If they did, they also had an army of highly trained homunculi that were prepared to fight to the death.
Of course, all of that wouldn't matter if they weren't a regular human. That wasn't something the Einzberns could regularly factor in. To which one being took advantage of without hesitation.
One of the Homunculi was patrolling the grounds the being was in. It was a beautiful albino woman in a strange battle maid uniform with long braided hair. Her large axe was held without much effort. She was a typical Einzbern homunculus. However, the being planned to change that.
"Well hello beautiful~"
The homunculus whirled around to face the new voice. The human before her looked like one of those cowboys from America yet there was something off about him, "State your business or I will be forced to kill you."
"What? Business without pleasure?" The man tilted his head to the side questioningly. "You're no fun. I think a change of pace is in order to liven you up."
The homunculus narrowed her eyes, "My masters will know of you."
The man nodded, "That they will and you are going to tell them, with a little something extra for yourself."
"What are you talking about?"
The man pulled down his arm, to show that it was covered in command seals. "You see, in this war I'm the one who's going to be choosing the combatants. Well I'm more like the messenger but my boss isn't going to come down himself to hand them out. You are to be the master for the Einzbern servant."
"I am a homunculus," the 'woman' retorted. "The Holy Grail War has no place for me."
"On the contrary," the man raised a finger. "It has every place to be in it. So please, if you wish to make your masters happy, stick out your hand and receive your command seals. If you don't, the Einzberns aren't going to participate."
The homunculus' eyes widened, "Impossible. They are amongst the three founding families of this war. They must participate."
"Then accept your position, beautiful." The man grinned.
The homunculus hesitated. She looked around for any support. She wasn't used to making split second decisions on her own. Yet, she knew what she had to do to make her masters happy. She moved forward to receive the command seals, sticking out her hand. She would do this for her masters. She was their servant. Her very existence was made to serve them and if they wished to end her and take the command seals for another, then so be it.
The man delicately took her hand and a small burning sensation happened. She winced before the man brought her hand to his lips and kissed it. Her eyes widened and she felt a foreign warmth to her cheeks. No one had shown her any such intentions or actions before. None that had any warmth, yet…
"I honestly find the company of homunculi better than humans," he let her hand fall and turned. "Do not sell yourself short, miss…"
"I have no name," was her answer.
He turned to stare at her before giving a sad sigh, "Those fools thought not to give you a name? I would give you one as pretty as you." He tapped his chin before grinning, "Hilde. Do the name proud."
And thus the first contestant of the Holy Grail War was chosen.
The mysterious man made his way through the woods of Sweden. He couldn't help but take a deep breath as he enjoyed the sensation of his ancient home. It didn't take him long to pick up a trail and find who he was looking for. Two burly men stood on watch with rifles in their hands. They brought it up to point at him to which he raised a little medallion in in the shape of the Asatru symbol. Their eyes widened as they let him pass.
He quickly found who he was looking for out in the open area of the large camp. Two opponents were sparring. One a large, burly man while the other was a woman. She was exceptionally beautiful in northern standards, wearing the olden furred armor of their ancestors. Underneath all of that was a muscular physique from years of training. No doubt they would have smiled heartedly with her. In her fighting style, he could see such power yet finesse that would make poets weep with her skills. The burly man was no slouch either. Over and over each sought to exploit some weakness. Their swords clashes, ringing in the air as they used the flat of their blade to counter and strike. Their shields blocked blows and sometimes were used to bash away a strike or arm.
Of course, the woman had something in mind. She jumped back and created a bit of distance between herself and the man. When he made to charge, she threw the shield like a disk. The shield smacked into his his leg, causing him to stumble. When he did, she raced forward with almost inhumane speed and smashed her shoulder into him, knocking him to the ground. Then she pointed her sword at his prone figure.
"Yield," the woman spoke.
The man sighed before laughing, "I yield." The woman smiled and pulled him up, "You've gotten better. That's two to three. I'll even the score next time."
"I hope you will, good friend." The woman laughed and waved him off.
"Signy," the mysterious man spoke up. "It has been too long. The last time I saw you, you were but a child."
The woman turned to him and smiled, "I bet you said the exact same thing to my grandmother. Now what is it that you wish to tell me, hmm?"
The man smiled, "I have the means to grant you your wish."
Signy's eyes widened, "How?"
"The gods have spoken to me," the man winced. "One in particular but that is not important. All you have to do is as I say and accept the burden of fighting-"
"I am a daughter of the gods," Singy thumped a fist against her breast. "I was born to fight and if I shall die in this war, I shall gladly be welcomed in Valhalla."
The man's smile returned with full force, "I am glad to hear that, Signy. I sincerely hope that you win this. Either way, may you toast with Odin himself at the table when all of this is over."
Thus the second master of the Holy Grail War was chosen.
Japan. This was the hardest country to get into if the mysterious man had anything to say. It was a nice country and honestly a bit of him liked their stance on some of the West's traditions but that was mostly because of his own. The Shinto gods certainly intrigued him. Perhaps if Signy's wish happened he would get to face their forces in glorious combat.
The person he was after was one of the Tohsakas. A family of secret christians, he pondered why they would not work with the gods more attuned with magic but that wasn't anything of his to say. He wasn't exactly human and it had been a long time since he knew what it was like to think and be one. So he entered the abode and found the human kneeling and examining his katana.
"Hello mister Tohsaka," the mysterious man waved. "I take it you are the one who shall be fighting in the Holy Grail War?"
The man paused, "I am."
The mysterious man raised his arms with the commands seals plain as day on them, "Then I have what you seek."
"I have to ask," the man spoke as he turned to him. He was an aging man who looked weary from life and war. "Will there be worthy challengers in this war?"
The mysterious man's eyebrows quirked upwards. Something about the way he said it almost made it seem… oh this was going to be fun. He grinned and nodded, "Adversaries that will give you all the challenge in the world. You just have to accept and you will trade blade strikes with them."
The man stood up and walked over, "Then I will gladly win the Grail for my family."
Thus the Third master of the Holy Grail War had accepted the choice.
Inside the Matou lineage's building, a cackling man was chowing down on something. Well, it used to be someone until he had gotten hungry. The man looked akin to an animal with how he was eagerly biting and tearing away flesh from the corpse of what once was a middle aged woman.
"Oh now this is some good stuff," the man's grin was crooked and his eyes seemed to bulge in insanity. "Should have been more careful, girl. Don't know who is prowling, but you did make up for it. You're so delicious."
"Don't get used to it," a mysterious voice spoke up. The Matou turned his head to look at a scowling visage before him. "Devouring someone in such a manner and not for a purpose. You are vile incarnate, or at least I would say so if your grandfather wasn't alive."
The man giggled, "Oh? Do you want some?" He held up the remains of what once was a human arm, "You see, I hang around Crest Worms so much that I kinda like being one. They like it too~ It's so warm and juicy."
"Do not talk to me about eating humans," the mysterious man's scowl deepened. "I've drinken my fair share of them so please be silent and just accept the command seals."
Thus the fourth master was hurriedly given his command seals for the Holy Grail War.
Salali couldn't help but gulp as she stood before the tent of the village elder. She shook slightly before steeling herself. She was a little girl and wasn't even close to reaching maturity yet she had been told that a great bit of responsibility had been placed on her shoulders. She wasn't sure if she was worthy. Yet, she knew she had to do this. She was a Cherokee. She would not back down. So she took in a breath and pushed in the flap.
Before her was the village elder, a wise and kindly old man. Beside him was an incredibly unnerving white man. There was just something about him that made her want to scurry away and hide.
The village elder held out a hand, "Come, Salali. Come sit with us. We have much to discuss." Salali did as she was told, "Do you know why you are here?"
Salali nodded, "I… I am to do something important for the tribe."
The elder nodded, "Exactly and this man here will be the one helping you get everything set for it."
The mysterious man grinned, "Indeed I will. You are probably one of the most interesting choices for the Holy Grail War, little Salali. Usually the Grail doesn't try and pick masters so young but it seems this time the Grail, well, has other plans."
"But… but what do I have to do?" Salali nervously asked.
"Accept this offer," the mysterious man extended a hand. "Accept it and you will have the choice of any one wish you want. A wish that could help you and your people immensely."
Salali's eyes widened, "I could help everyone? Really? With just one wish?"
The mysterious man nodded, "Of course and all you have to do is accept it. I would like to say that this will not be an easy task. There will be obstacles and other people fighting for it. You may get hurt or worse."
Salali quickly looked to the village elder who nodded. She looked to the ground, unsure of her choice. On the one hand, she was young. Getting hurt in a war wasn't something she wanted to do. The White People were already fighting a really long and bloody war and it could spill over and hurt her own people. She had heard the whispers. She didn't want anyone to get hurt. She she looked at him and nodded, "I'll do it."
The mysterious man chuckled and ruffled her hair, "You will do great in this war."
Thus the fifth master for the Holy Grail War was chosen.
Colonel Peter Jackson of the Confederate Army was understandably nervous as he approached the office of the Confederate President Davis. He had never expected to be called forth to meet him, especially without any real reason. The messenger had been so vague, just basically telling him to come here to get this all said and done in person. If it was so secretive that it had to be this way, it must have been important.
Which is why he was nervous. If this was an important meeting, that meant that the matters at hand were dire. Why else just bring in a lowly Colonel to meet the President. He straightened his suit before entering, "You wanted to…"
Sitting in the room with the president was a man who made Peter want to run. He looked like a criminal. A killer. A remorseless man of arms. He wanted to shoot him. He wanted to scream. All these thoughts raged inside his head in the tense few seconds.
"I am glad you made it," President Jefferson Davis spoke. "I have been talking with our associate here. He has told me a number of strange and interesting things."
"What sort of things, Mr. President?" Peter spoke at attention. He would not lose decorum here in the Oval Office of the Confederacy.
The mysterious man stood up and smiled at him, "A means for you to win this war, Colonel Peter Jackson."
Peter's eyes widened at that. A sure fire way to beat the Yankees? That seemed absurd. They were pushed to their ropes as it was. All their previous 'no sell, should win' inventions had failed or weren't that game changing. This man must be mad.
The president nodded, "It is true, which is why I will put you in charge of this operation, Colonel Peter Jackson."
"What is my objective, mister president?"
"The Holy Grail," the mysterious man's grin made him shiver slightly. "Now hold out your hand and received your command seals. They will help you win this war and give the wish granting device to your leaders so you may win this war."
Peter couldn't believe it. A Holy Grail? Like the story? The president actually believed this story? He wouldn't believe it yet the president, a man he was sure was ten times smarter than him, sure did. He scratched his head and took it. "For the Confederacy, may it last forever."
Thus the sixth master of the Holy Grail War prepared for battle.
The air around the large camp stank of alcohol and degenerates who hadn't taken baths in months if that. The roaring fire in the middle of it blazed in defiance, devouring the foul air around it. Cackles and laughter filled the air as wicked robbers counted their loot. They had previously robbed a railroad car and made quite the profit. Most of them were sitting by the fire with their gold, jewels, and food. They seemed happy and content with their way of life.
It made Patrick Fields sick to his very stomach. The aging man gave every one of them a deathly glare from the shadows. Oh how he knew they'd wish for a silent end with just a glare. He wasn't going to give them an easy out. They had a bounty on their heads after all.
One of the men had moved away from the main group. He would be the first to die. Patrick moved towards him like a shadow. A silent predator stalking his prey. As the man moved to relieve himself, Patrick struck like a viper. He put one hand over the man's mouth and slit his throat with the other. He made sure to break it for good measure. He wasn't one to prolong death. He had seen enough of that in his lifetime. Of course, he knew he'd see more. That was the way things went with him. As a soldier, or as a bounty Hunter, he couldn't escape it. He had grown numb to it all, honestly.
"So," one of the law breakers spoke up. "What're we hitting up next, boss?"
The boss smiled, "I tell you what we're going to hit up. There's this little town nearby, see? Well we have enough men to go in and rob the bank without any of the lawmakers coming after us. It's easy pickings, is what it is." The other robbers chuckled and celebrated over the idea.
"Hey," one of them spoke up. "Maybe we can steal some of their gals too." Some of the other chuckled and raised a drink in agreement.
That wasn't going to happen on his watch. Patrick pulled out his pistols as he closed the distance. That's when he fired. Five shots whizzed towards the camping lawbreakers. They shouted in alarm. Some of them drew their weapons while others scampered to find cover. Patrick noted that three were already dead while another was still moaning. He scowled, 'Getting sloppy.'
He quickly hid behind a tent. One of the goons ran right around and received a bullet to the head from Patrick's gun. "Ralf Higgens! Come out with your hands up!"
"You and what army?!" Ralf, the boss of this villainous posse, shouted back.
"Got enough to kill your boys," Patrick answered. "You're down five. They don't grow on trees, you know."
"Damn you!" Ralf shouted from somewhere close. "Boys, kill him!"
Patrick moved quickly. Two of the goons appeared before him, slightly surprised but eagerly drawing their weapons on him. It was too late. Patrick's guns fired before they could even pull the trigger, killing them both.
He heard another one coming and he elbowed the man in the face before firing into another one. "This all you got?"
"Why you?!" Ralf shouted. "I will wear your-Urk."
Patrick frowned as he didn't expect that sound. He knew it well enough. Perhaps one of the other henchmen hit him by accident. He was lucky that the bounty was dead or alive. Of course his musings were cut short when there came even more sudden screaming from before which caused his eyes to widen. Some other bounty hunters must have shown up or something.
A groan caught his attention. He brought his gun down to point at the downed man he had elbowed. His eyes widened slightly when he noticed that it was no man. It was just a boy barely sixteen. He hadn't even really had begun to grow any hair on his chin. He thought about just killing him. He should just kill him. It'd be quick. It'd be efficient and he wouldn't have to deal with him later on. Yet… He pulled the gun back after he noticed the kid wasn't going to get up any time soon.
"Awww, you do have a soft spot." A strange voice spoke up.
Patrick couldn't help but find it shiver inducing. He whirled around and pointed his gun at the talker before it almost fell out of his hands. His eyes widened and his heartbeat increased. Before him was a brown coated, stetson wearing man covered in fresh blood. This was especially so around his mouth and the fangs he was sporting in his grin. This wasn't a human. This was a Dead Apostle. A vampire.
"Where's the confidence, Patrick?" The Dead Apostle chuckled. "Come on, you should have shot me." A bullet smacked into his chest, sent from Patrick's gun. "Now that hurt."
He gritted his teeth. He didn't have anything to kill a Dead Apostle on him. "What are you here for?" Perhaps he could stall him.
"You of course," the Dead Apostle grinned. "Why else would I just leave you alive?"
"Why do you need me?"
"For the war that is about to come," the Dead Apostle's grin grew which greatly unnerved Patrick. "My master wishes for me to find the right people to participate and lucky for you, you're one of them."
"I'm not taking any party in your war," Patrick snarled. "I already lived through one. I aint going through another."
"Not even for your son," the Dead Apostle's words caught Patrick's interest and his dread. "I know all about you. That's why you didn't kill the boy. That's why you're perfect for this war. You want him back and a once in a lifetime wish is what you need."
"A wish?" Patrick narrowed his eyes. A vampire offering a wish? There was something wrong about that.
The Dead Apostle nodded, "Indeed. The Holy Grail only comes forth to the victor and it will grant you one wish. All you have to do is win it."
"Why should I believe you?" Patrick cocked his gun.
The Dead Apostle shrugged, "You don't have to. You can go on your merry way. No consequences," then his grin turned deadly. "But if you don't accept it, won't you always wonder about what you could have brought back? What you could have changed?"
Patrick's scowl deepened, "You want me to risk my life on a vampire's word about a wish granting device? Don't make me laugh."
The Dead Apostle just shrugged again and started off, "Well Patrick, then I'll be off. Just so you know, I remember having children of my own." He looked back with a maddening glint in his eyes. "You should know that a father will do anything for this kid."
Patrick looked away and closed his eyes. He shouldn't listen to this Dead Apostle. He should ignore it. They were liars. They were murderous monsters. He should run. He should hide and wait this out. This was the smart thing to do. Just get away from that thing. Yet… He looked to the kid on the ground. He remembered his own that was even younger pounding away on the drum before…
'Damn it,' he thought. 'He's getting to me. Those words… they are getting to me. I should refuse. Just refuse, damnit. He doesn't understand. This is just... ' He looked to the boy on the ground again… Then he sighed and glared at the Dead Apostle. "Look me in the eye and tell me all of that is true."
Quicker then he could blink, the Dead Apostle was before him and looked him in the eye. "It is all true. Cross my heart and hope to die."
Patrick Field looked into the monster's eyes. He saw bloodlust. He saw mayhem, but he didn't see a liar. He scowled and put away his guns. He sighed as he made up his mind, "You messed up my bounty. Guess I should at least get some kind of compensation for this venture."
"Ohoho," the Dead Apostle laughed. "You won't regret it. Now hold out your hand." Patrick hesitantly did so and the Dead Apostle put his hand over it as well. That's when Patrick felt a slight burning sensation before it was over. "There you go."
Patrick looked at the red marks on his hand and regretted doing this instantly, "What are these for?"
"For your servant, of course." The Dead Apostle grinned. "I'll explain the war later."
Patrick narrowed his eyes, "And if I want out of this?"
"Then I'll find someone else," the Dead Apostle shrugged. "But I know you want this."
Patrick gritted his teeth but let it be. He had accepted this and he was going to see it through. For his son and nobody was going to stand in his way of that. Nobody.
Thus the final contestant of the Holy Grail War was chosen.
Thus we meet the Masters. Don't worry everyone. The Summoning is next chapter and we'll get to meet the Servants then. I hope you enjoyed this chapter and please leave a comment. They are very much appreciated and help me write better. Until next time.
