Chapter 8:

Duels at Dawn

"And here it is! A nice warm cup of steaming hot coca for my crying beauty."

Once again Graham's words fell on deaf ears as the bespectacled girl just took the cup in her hands, like a robot going through the motions, and kept on staring a hole into the nearest wall. Her eyes were still bloodshot and filled with bitter tears. To say she was a wreck would have been putting it rather mildly but Graham, who liked to imagine himself a gentleman at heart, preferred not to mention that to his newest ally.

While she had been rather… hysterical at first, getting her back safely to her house hadn't been the most challenging of tasks. Now, getting her Servant back without him dissolving into glittery dust- that had been a task arduous enough for the English mage to ask himself if it had been really worth it. But the blue-haired man sure as hell wasn't going to let a Saber go to waste- he needed all Servants of the Knight classes for his plan. Between the three of them, no other Servant or Master would be a challenge, that much was certain.

In this broken game the only way to win was having the most broken pieces of all on his team.

Plus, he hated seeing girls cry. Three precious gems out of the seven he had left, one for Lancer to recover and two for the nearly-dead black knight- that was the price for forming his ragtag team. And considering how high his new teammates ranked on his hotness scale, Graham considered it a bargain for the ages.

Without him even realizing it, the cards were once again back into his hands. The deck was being shuffled for probably the thousandth of time that night, a habit he would have never admit showed how nervous he was actually. Too much was at stake indeed- and yet he found it rather disheartening that after all his years of balancing on the razor's edge and numerous gambits, he was starting to get sweaty just then.

The gem he gave to his other ally was a beacon, a jewel filled with enough prana to attract half the mages in Hartcroft and probably more. Weak as he was, the blonde's Servant still had a presence frightening enough that his alien coldness had almost made Graham stop and reconsider for a bit. Which meant that only a mage with a Servant at his or her back would dare to approach the wounded duo.

The oldest trick in the book. Anyone worth his or her salt would check around before going closer to the little wounded gazette he was herding them towards. And certainly no one was capable of noticing the lone figure perching atop the Skyspire, half a city away.

Perfection in simplicity.

That had been always his credo. Flashy tricks were for wooing the girls. Against your enemies you had to hit hard and fast and preferably before they even knew you were near. Frankly, Graham still couldn't believe how lucky he had been to actually get hold of the Archer card, the one Servant who probably synched with his own style the most.

The quiet girl in front of him was occasionally washed away along with the well-lit room as his mind's eyes got glimpses of what Archer was seeing. It had been somewhat frightening the first time really- how through the Heroic Spirit's eyes the night was both dark and as light as any day or how the most distant of things looked as close as the fingers on his own hand. And still Graham found it incredibly hard to keep himself in the other man's head. While he deemed himself a prodigy in some areas, sharing his sight with a familiar had never been a strong point of his.

Not like it mattered in this case. Archer was there not to spy but to ambush and he was certainly more than capable enough to handle it without Graham blaring orders from inside his head. Nah, both of them had a mission and had to succeed alone and independently.

A common goal achieved not by combined strength but by separate victories.

That was the core of the blue-haired mage's relationship with his Servant. They were not literally a master and his follower, nor were they a team who tackled their enemies together. They were more like a unit if anything- a unit of two where one always covered the other but both preferred to work alone. Yet another reason he was rather happy his partner was an Archer.

A quiet sob brought him back to reality just in time to see Ayaka liven up enough to wipe out her tears with the back of her trembling hand. Her bloodshot eyes were hid from view by the veil of her shoulder-length hair but her small and scared voice did manage to reach his ears. The 'thank you' was so quiet that he thought he must have imagined it at first but, apparently, that was all the girl could muster in such a condition.

"Hush, luv, don't waste your pretty little voice on me just yet. Actually, I'd rather you screamed my na-"

The pain shooting through his head was a remainder enough that their connection was two-fold.

"Spoilsport," muttered the young man through gritted teeth. If the girl had even bothered to hear what he had said, Graham couldn't know.

No matter how much Graham wanted to talk business, pleasure or just pure nonsense with the girl, now just wasn't the time. At least not until that black knight of hers was good enough to personally tell her not to worry.

With a tired sigh, the blue-haired man hopped back onto his feed and started rummaging through the cupboards in search of something alcoholic enough to get him through his somewhat lonely watch-duty. The broken girl just kept on staring somewhere above him, probably lost in accusing herself of having failed her Servant or something, if Graham could hazard a guess. If anything, she was the one in need of a bloody drink, concluded the mage as he browsed the contents of the cupboard.

And if he got her drunk enough-

The throbbing pain suddenly pulsing inside his head like a second heart was proof enough that he was surely going to waste a Command Spell one of those days.

To make Archer shove all his arrows up his own hypocritical arse.


"Try as I might, I can't help but think listening to you is a really bad idea."

"Come now, Glenny, when have I ever lied to you?" quickly retorted the cheerful female voice on the other side of the line.

The runaway Grimaldi let out a tired sigh and scanned his surroundings, from the numerous empty warehouses, to the lone cranes reaching towards the heavens and finally to the nearly cloudless sky now getting slowly colored with the pink tint of dawn.

"Should I recite the list in numerical or alphabetical order?"

"Or you can instead trust me and go there to find a defenseless Master with a crippled Servant, both ripe for the picking," nearly sing-sang Nia and the red-haired boy could almost picture her playfully wagging her finger at him, one blue eye closed and lips morphed in a catty smirk. "You can feel it, can't you?"

"I can and it doesn't precisely feel 'defenseless'," countered the teen begrudgingly and his eerie green eyes glanced rather cautiously over the nearly roofless building from which the prana was stemming from. "You know I can't afford to fight for lost causes."

"Surely my sweetling wouldn't mind a bit of a challenge?" teased Nia and let out a painfully girlish giggle. "Relax, your pray is as harmless as a newborn kitten. What you do with said pray is up to you, I can't be bothered anymore now that I've led you to her."

"Nia, what the hell do you me-"

The words froze in his mouth when Glen finally entered the dilapidated warehouse. Amidst shattered concrete and broken crates, clear signs of a battle having been waged, was lying none other than one very unconscious, one very 'not supposed to be a Master' Meissa Scintillare. No bruises covered her body and yet the numerous clues around her spoke of a duel between mages. It was actually somewhat disheartening that Nia of all people, considering her sheer speed, had been beaten but not that was the problem at that particular moment.

Her sleeping face looked almost peaceful, eyelids fluttering and lips moving slightly, as if she was talking to someone inside her dream. The platinum-blond color of her hair, now sprawled all around its owner, was almost silvery-white under the caress of the waning moonlight. Strands of it covered her right hand, like glittering rivers criss-crossing the tattooed roses and vines entangled under them.

And on the back of her hand, the three Command Seals reflected the moonlight almost tauntingly.

With gritted teeth the teen approached his unwanted fiancée, her Servant materializing only three steps later. A middle-aged man from what Glen could see, yet already gray-haired and somehow old beyond his years. Nia hadn't lied about that one- the black knight lacked both his hands and even from his position next to his Master he couldn't do a thing, considering Rider was here as well.

And yet, for the briefest of moments, the redhead froze in mid-step. Cold, so cold it could actually burn him from the inside out, the Servant's presence made his heart skip a beat when he realized how familiar it felt. It was the aura of a murderer of a different caliber, way too similar to the one of his chaser. The moment of weakness passed just as quickly as it had appeared.

Glen frankly doubted there had been any other Master lucky enough in the history of Grail Wars to find such an easy opponent. Or anyone as unlucky as Meissa. Frankly, he was rather curious how anyone could actually beat her, considering her signature spell made her a possible threat even to him. Save from something targeting the whole area in general, someone actually faster than her or, hell, even a Servant, Glen had his doubts Meissa could lose unless she threw the much on purpose. Which wasn't actually that far-fetched a possibility considering how much pride a lithe body like hers could contain.

And yet, there she was- one tight squeeze away from being killed.

One opponent less standing in the way to his dream, one step closer to breaking his poisoned chains.

With green eyes hidden behind the fringe of hair colored deep crimson, the teen kneeled to his would-be bride. Her slender throat felt so frail under his grip it was unreal. Oblivious to the danger lurking so close, the blonde once again murmured something in her sleep. Her Servant could only glare, helpless. Hell, if anything, Glen was more concerned whether Rider would try to stop him.

And yet the one for whom he harbored both hatred and respect kept on breathing, even as his hand kept on clutching slightly her throat. What had Grandfather said once, all those years ago?

"Killing a man is more than just killing the body. When you kill someone you don't just deny them their future. You rob them of their dreams. Anything and everything a man could ever become or achieve, create or destroy, you erase it. And just as the kill is your responsibility, so are the man's dreams. Only those willing to shoulder those dreams should kill. A Grimladi knows this. A Grimaldi gives a fighting chance."

But then again, Glen was sure that many would rather forsake their future and dreams then endure the 'fighting chance' a Grimaldi would offer them. Few were those actually able to overcome the power of his family's signature Fleshcrafting, even after years of being prisoners in their own skins and bound by their own spines, locked deep under the family's mansion. But that was neither here nor there.

And what was her dream anyway?

"The world's a stage- and it's meant to show me shine."

Kinda easy to remember, considering how prone Meissa was to repeating it. Or at least she was when they had first met. She had been rather talkative back then. Hell, friendly even. It almost concerned him how he couldn't even remember when they had started hating each other's guts. Almost.

A really little bit.

And the hand just kept on clutching the throat, the dawn creeping closer and closer…

With a roar akin to thunder, what remained of the roof was shattered in an instant. Glen's eyes widened in disbelief and even his blackened heart skipped a few beats. The red-haired boy could feel it, he could hear it, and he knew what was currently racing towards him with nearly the speed of light.

And worst of all, he knew damn well enough he was powerless to stop it.

The rushing wind chasing after the invisible arrow turned into a hurricane as it hit the sparkling mist of gold and silver. With a long blonde braid billowing in the wind and with a mischievous smile plastered on his lips, the knight who appeared out of thin air grabbed the incoming arrow inches away from his own eyes, colored a deep inky blue. The rushing gale forced Glen on all fours, almost crushing the girl beneath him, but the silver knight just stood stalwart, as if it was nothing but a morning breeze.

The surges of bluish prana, crackling like whips of electricity, came not long after. But all they did was end up dispelled and withering away when they hit his silver armor, a pristine masterpiece of craftsmanship adorned with golden gauntlets and boots and eagle-shaped spaulders. The red cape currently billowing over one of his shoulders bore a winged sigil-an eagle with two heads.

Gradually, the wind died down and the arrow melted into nothingness.

The silver knight let out a rather arrogant 'hmpf'… and promptly put his hands around his mouth so he could shout better.

"HEY, ARCHER, WHY DON'T YOU TRY BETTER NEXT TIME? THIS ONE WAS RATHER DISAPPOITING!"

The runaway Grimaldi barely resisted the urge to bury his face in his hands so he only settled on pinching the bridge of his nose to fight off the impending headache.

"Just… go defeat him, okay? And don't do anything stupid, like rushing in if they outnumber you or something."

"Come now, Master, whenever have I done anything stu-" started the blonde knight and, with a thousand-watt smile plastered on his face, sheepishly rubbed the back of his head.

"Numerical or alphabetical order?" cut him off Glen without even looking in his general direction.

"- And off I go to fight the bad guy!" abruptly finished Rider, promptly choosing to ignore his Master's question.

The boastful knight dissolved into a mist of silver and gold just as quickly as he had appeared, once again leaving his Master alone with Meissa and her useless Servant.

Yet again his emotionless green eyes, colored that inhuman green hue that made normal people so wary around him, turned to the sleeping girl and-

"Well, well, well."

They were only three words, three ordinary words said in a sensual, drawled out tone that somehow made his skin crawl more than that magical arrow ever could. He didn't need to see her reflection in Lancer's glare to realize who she was… or rather… what she was.

Like a loving lover, Assassin embraced him from behind, her ample chest now pushed tightly against his back. His would-be killer whispered tenderly into his ear, probably way too fond of praying with her prey before she finished it off.

"Did I stumble on a secret lovers' meeting, I wonder? Is this crippled old coot bothering you, my sweetling? Should I gut him first? Come now, don't be shy! Just tell little old me what's your desire," Assassin's voice grew almost inaudible. "It would be rather rude for me to deny a dying man's last wish, wouldn't it?"

Glen knew he could probably call back Rider fast enough with a Command Spell… but aside from not wanting to waste one so early on he doubted his head would be attached to his shoulders long enough for him to finish the order. Grimaldi or not, he had no desire to check whether he could survive a beheading in his current state. So using his Crest or Spells was out of the question. What did that leave him? Bargaining? As if an enemy Servant would-

"Or maybe, just maybe," said Assassin and hugged him even tighter. "You'd just walk away nice and quiet and let me get the one I came here for. It'd be a shame to waste a pretty young boy like that, wouldn't it? But I'm sure someone like you would never do such a thi-"

"Agreed," cut her off Glen, voice as stoic as ever. "I'm a Master, she's a Master. One less enemy to worry about. I would've killed her anyway."

The shocked silence made him wonder whether he had surprised her. Still, he felt her shrug her shoulders behind him and, after one ominous 'are you sure, my sweetling', she just let go off him and knelt next to the girl. Darker than the blackest night, the veil of Assassin's fiery hair hid Meissa from view. Turning his back on them all, the red-haired teenager started walking away, anxious to slither back somewhere under the waning veil of the night. It wasn't the coward's way, he told himself. It was the pragmatic way.

A Grimaldi always takes the rational decision.

He heard the clatter of armor behind him- doubtlessly Lancer trying to get up to defend his Master. A brave yet futile deed. Not like it mattered to Glen anyway.

And yet…

"The world's a stage- and it's meant to show me shine."

A dying girl, a fading dream.

That's how the world worked. He knew it well enough. He had learned all those years ago that words are wind… and that unless you were strong enough to earn it with blood, tears and iron, any kind of dream was useless. A Grimaldi knew, a-

"A Grimladi leaves no debt unpaid."

He said it out loud, despite himself. Words plain and clear, dissolving into the night just as fast as they had appeared. In a way, he felt he was trying to counter himself. Assassin lifted her head, as if in curiosity, but he had no way of knowing with that white skull mask of hers which hid her face from view.

In a flash of blackest flames, the dark-skinned woman melted into thin air right as the pillar of bones, bleach-white spikes over two meters tall erupted from the ground beneath her. Like a twisted version of a blossoming flower, the spikes grew until they surrounded both girl and Servant.

It was more instinct than anything, sensing her behind him. Appearing out of nothing, with only black flames heralding her attack, Assassin swung a curved sword made out of her own fiery hair- and promptly jumped back when the bones erupted from his back like a porcupine's spikes.

With a snap of her fingers the black flames soared into the air around her and morphed into a whole ghastly armory consisting of every kind of weapon he could picture and many whose shape he was seeing for the first time. Before the redheaded teen could even react, the flaming onslaught shot into his direction, almost as fast as Archer's arrow.

His flesh was scorched and pierced, torn and shredded, battered and broken.

And yet, when the cloud of smoke cleared, he was still there- a living corpse full of holes, still standing upright, eerie green eyes locked into the unseen eyes of his foe. And right then and there, as his own flesh and bones sewed themselves back together and Assassin stared at the blackened heart visible through the gaping wound in his chest, Glen felt it.

Ephemeral and momentary, lost in that one second of eternity and yet, still there. Even for the littlest of bits, she was afraid of him.

"My turn," plainly stated the green-eyed boy.

As if having a mind of its own, the blood splattered around their surroundings rose into the air. To her credit, Assassin didn't seem fazed by the wall of crimson spikes levitating behind her foe. With a snap of his fingers, the barrage was let loose. But his opponent was way too fast to be caught. After once again disappearing into a flash of black flames, she reappeared right in front of him, twin swords into her hands. Glen wasn't fast enough to jump back in time. And yet, even though both his hands were cleanly cut off his body, the whips of blood connecting their owner to them just pulled them back and flesh was seamed back to flesh as if nothing had happened.

With the fleshly sound of pierced meat, two of his own ribs jutted out and no sooner had he pulled them off when their form changed to that of Assassin's curved swords. It didn't matter how much faster she was, how much stronger or how suicidal would be to attack her head on. None of it mattered to someone like him- and Glen was well aware that she knew that and, most of all, she feared that.

Sparks flew into the air as steeled bones met living flames. Their dance of death was unreal and with every kiss between their twisted blades, one thing became apparent. Unless she managed to strike his heart, the prospect of losing was frighteningly real for her.

And strike his heart she did- only for the black blade to be met with a crimson shield of wall-like blood beneath the flesh. Glen didn't bother replacing the broken blade into his hand. Bones as thick as those of a dragon covered his whole hand in mere seconds, the armored punch sending Assassin flying back a few meters before she skidded to a halt.

With ragged breath and battered body, the redhead still bared his teeth into a feral smile.

"The question you should be asking yourself now, Assassin," declared proudly the boy. "Isn't 'how long can he fight until I finish him off'. It's 'can I survive long enough to finish him off'. A subtle difference, yet rather important… my sweetling."

Even with his deadened senses he barely bit back the scream when he suddenly found himself being impaled through the chest with a lance-like drill made out of ebon flames. The message that she wasn't playing around anymore was rather painfully clear. And yet, Assassin was too late. Even thought his crimson shield was shattered in an instant, the wall of solid bone beneath it managed to halt the onslaught halfway through, even for a second. More than Glen needed frankly.

Her attack had drawn her closer than ever, drenching her in his own blood. A rather amateurish mistake for someone like her, he thought. Then again, Glen doubted she had ever fought a Grimaldi. A snap of his fingers was all it took. And suddenly the blood had disappeared, sliding inside her through pores and cuts and wounds, spreading, infecting, eating her from within.

Another snap- and the flaming lance shattered into embers as her screams filled the air. The deepest crimson, like a blossoming rose, spikes made out of their shared, twisted blood had erupted from her slender body.

Retracting and growing back, again and again.

Glen could almost taste her pain, which probably magnified threefold with each and every snap of his fingers. Finally, after the corrupted blood had finally neared her heart and the next spike was probably going to erupt right through it and end her once and for all, Assassin melted into nothingness yet again. But Glen knew well-enough that it wasn't her black flames this time. Her Master had finally recalled her, either to scold her or save her from being butchered.

And just as suddenly he felt his own strength leave him. His knees met the cold blood-splattered ground rather harshly but whatever pain he could feel was overshadowed by the sensation of one of his Command Spells burning out.

He had only two aces up his sleeve- two Command Spells he could afford to use as an outside system, separate from his own and the Crest. Two Spells before falling back on the last and final chain that defined him as a Master. And one of them he had used for her.

A Grimaldi left no debt unpaid, that much was certain.

The only thing that bothered him was that Glen wasn't sure himself whether his debt had anything to do with this at all.


Yet again, with an ominous snake-like hiss, Rider felt the air next to him split apart by some invisible force. Like torn flesh being mended by some kind of sorcery, the cool night air always snapped back together and once again the rush of oxygen filled the space it had been pushed away from. The arrows were a double-edged sword. Even if they missed he was always hit by his very surroundings snapping around his body like the jaws of an angry beast.

There was no sense in trying to approach his opponent while invisible. Archer could sense him clearly enough, Rider knew precisely where his foe was perching.

Nothing else was needed for their fiery clash of blades, wills and wits… only problem being that the silver knight was still too damn far to be able to use any of them. Not that the blonde was particularly worried about that in the moment. The smile of dawn was coming in closer and closer from the far east, the night air was pleasantly chilly and he had the wind in his billowing braided hair. Battle was coming, his very first duel in this Holy War- meaning, his very first meeting with someone equal to his strength, someone truly able to challenge him. Inwardly, Rider hoped his opponent was actually stronger than him. At least a bit.

He hadn't gotten this far in life by battling those weaker, so he saw no reason why he should do so in death. Only in the face of overwhelming odds you can outgrow yourself. Plain and clear. Glen would've called him a fool again and chastised him, Rider knew that. But the silver knight also knew that his Master had the habit of coming off as more ruthless and intimidating than he really was, like a viper constantly showing off its poisonous fangs for everyone around to see. Frankly, Rider was a bit sorry for the boy. But since worrying about anything more than necessary was far from his nature, he was more than sure that his Master was going to turn out fine in the end.

Somehow.

Wind and prana intertwined in one once again tried to pierce his heart- but the silver knight just dodged to the right with a wide smile on his face, one some would have even called feral, and proceeded to bounce off the nearest building with enough strength to cover the distance left to his enemy's vantage point in a single leap. Glass and concrete erupted from beneath his feet when he landed on the side of the Skylance but the silver knight paid no heed to the collateral damage. With a boyish laugh, he once again disappeared into a gold-and-silver blur racing towards the top.

"ARCHEEEER!"

The blonde's roar shattered the silence of the night as he faced the final arrow head on. With a shower of gold and blue sparks his sword morphed out of thin air and right into his expecting hand, clashing with the invisible rocket immediately after. A screech akin to that of a dying beast followed as the shockwave which erupted turned into dust every single window of the majestic building from top to bottom.

"You're a persistent one, I'll give you that," muttered Archer with annoyance and scratched the back of his head, adorned with slicked-back dark red hair, the same color as the man's goatee. The gold armor covering his tanned body was noticeably light, leaving exposed his whole arms… and that strange armor-skirt of his didn't seem to offer much protection either. Rider briefly wondered if it was even fair to fight someone so lightly armored and call it a challenge. Well, a duel was a duel and the blonde reasoned with himself that he wasn't going to be responsible for any chopped limbs.

What did intrigue him was his opponent's weapon. A bow so big Rider had never seen before- it was almost as tall as its owner, noticeably adorned with various carvings and equipped with curved blades along the edges. A splendid weapon indeed… he could almost take his opponent seriously now, despite his choice both in armor and in a bit of a coward's weapon.

"It's called determination, " cheerfully replied Rider and shrugged. "We deemed it a virtue in my time," finished the silver knight and bore his mischievous blue eyes into his foe's olive black ones, as if daring Archer to oppose his statement.

"Words are wind, Rider… I of all people know this," plainly replied the red-haired hero and let go off his majestic bow, letting it melt back into nothingness. Once again rubbing the back of his head, one eye closed as if to emphasize how laid-back and harmless he was, Archer carefully eyed the sword in Rider's hands.

Black handle, silverfish blade, a dash of gold sprinkled at the center of its crossguard and a gem at its pommel.

"Quite the sword you have there," finally said the red-haired hero. His one open eye moved to meet his opponent's ones. "I never thought I'd see it again actually, not after the war ended."

A slow whistle rang into chilly night.

"That explains the bow I guess," mumbled the blonde knight mostly to himself. "Now I want to fight you even more, y'know."

"I don't imagine you'd have much trouble, considering how obviously close combat-oriented the Archer class is," countered the redhead and let out a wistful sigh. "I can't imagine you'd agree to brawl, hm?"

The silver knight looked at his opponent with widened eyes, seemingly in shock at the ridiculousness of the question. And then he promptly burst out laughing loud enough to wake up half the city.

"I like your kind of opponents, Archer!" declared the blonde as his sword melted back into the night air. "BRING IT!"

After clearly suppressing a cringe at his opponent's nonsensical shouting, the red-haired hero raised his fists almost lazily. Rider prepared to dash forward, yet another battle shout already on his lips meant gleefully announce the beginning of their duel… only for all the air in his lungs to promptly leave him when he found himself with an elbow nearly denting his full-plate armor. Archer's sudden hit sent Rider staggering backwards and the silver knight had barely regained his composure when his opponent's fist found itself firmly planted into his face. A mere meter away from the edge, the blonde skidded to a halt with one armored hand almost literally buried into the concrete to slow him down.

"Man, you do have one helluva punch," said the silver knight with a pained smile plastered on his bloody lips. A few ragged breaths escaped his lungs as Rider once again raised up his fists. "Okay, now, one more time!"

With the signature speed one of the Rider class boasted, the knight dashed forward at the same time Archer jolted towards him. Two shouts melting into one, their extended fists passed each other in mid-air… only for both their punches to miss by centimeters. And somehow Rider still ended staggering to the side with teeth feeling like they had been broken, pulled out, put back in and broken again.

That is to say, it hurt a whole damn lot.

"That's how you do it then," finally said the silver knight after catching his breath. "The wind, right? Invisible arrows, being so fast, your punches hitting me despite missing, everything. It's wind control. You twist the air around the arrows to bend the light and make them invisible, simultaneously pushing any air away from their path so they could fly faster… plus, the vacuum created behind them rapidly closes when the air pushes back in, thus giving them even more speed and power. Same with everything else. Now, the question is whether this is a skill of yours or a Noble Phantasm. I'd wager on a Phantasm because you are noticeably not invisible, meaning this little tricks of yours must cost at least some prana to use on a grander scale.."

The look Archer gave him was almost skeptical.

"What, you thought I was charging in blindly just because I like getting punched?" cried out the blonde, sounding almost hurtful.

A heartbeat passed in silence.

"So are you drawing out that damn sword or not?" blankly asked the red-haired hero, preparing to bring out his bow on a moment's notice.

"Nah, not just yet," said the blonde and shook his head. "I want to try breaking through without it."

"That's insane," countered Archer and seemingly suppressed the urge to laugh out loud. "And impossible."

"You call it impossible. I call it a challenge," plainly stated Rider and hastily continued before his foe could cut him off again. "Life isn't fair and you can't expect to always face a foe on even ground. What if I didn't have a sword? It's much better to find a way to beat such odds here and now, when I know I can fall back on my weapon, instead of being a sitting duck wondering what to do in a situation when I can't."

"You're… not as stupid as you seem to be," eventually admitted Archer, one eyebrow raised in curiosity.

"I used to get that a lot."

Just like the wind that was lending him its powers, Archer rushed forward with a raised fist… only to hit his opponent with seemingly no resistance at all. The redhead's eyes widened in surprise at first, only to widen some more when he realized that Rider had practically entrenched himself to the ground, legs digging through the concrete as he was pushed back. The armored fist sent Archer reeling backwards, forcing him on his knees.

With gritted teeth he pulled out his bow out of the chilly night air, an arrow appearing in his hand simultaneously. Blue eyes widening, the silver knight barely had any time to unsheathe his sword. With a dreadful screech and a shower of sparks, metal clashed against metal and all Rider could do was push the projectile to the side. A deep, almost smoking trench was drilled all the way through the Skylance's roof.

"Kid around, you do not," exclaimed the knight, staring at the trench almost in shock.

"I happen to be rather… pragmatic," replied Archer with a plain shrug and proceed to prepare for shooting two more arrows. At the same time.

Noticing the incoming danger, Rider dashed forward with a sword raised high above his head, hoping to be quick enough to pass between the two projectiles and strike- only for the twin invisible tornadoes surrounding them to send him reeling backwards.

Even with his sword dug into the already demolished roof, the silver knight was barely able to stop himself from falling off the building.

"I knew the man who used to wield this sword," shouted Archer from his end of the roof. "A brave and noble man who ended up losing his life in someone else's war, fighting someone else's battles. Just like many others."

A strained silence filled the air when Archer paused, both kneeling combatants eyeing each other wearily.

"What kind of a twisted… moron enjoys battling, Rider? Bravery? Honor? Or maybe glory? Which one is worth so much that one would start massacring people for petty reasons like insults or territory or a woman? This War is no different. People are dying now, because someone's twisted way of determining one's worth depends on who's the last one left standing. When you kill, you take away a man's future, a man's dreams, everything one could ever create or destroy. So don't you dare just laugh as you swing that sword and-"

"So should I cry instead?" cut him off the blonde, voice harsh perhaps for the first time since they met. "Don't just blabber about it- do it! If you don't like this War then put an end to it. Me? I made a vow to my Master to help him succeed. I don't care who I'll face or what I'll have to go through, it doesn't matter to me whether I'll have to fight with angels or devils, go down to the ninth circle or storm the gates of Heaven themselves. I follow what my heart deems right. Even if others tell me I'm crazy, even if the only chance of succeeding is zero, then I'll take this zero… and turn it into infinity!"

Moonlight and sunlight both kissed the sword in the knight's hand, blade gleaming like a star capable of shaming its waning cousins above.

With a bitter smile on his lips, Archer rose back onto his feet.

"I guess we are past the trickeries now, hm?"

"We sure are, Trickster King," replied the blonde and nodded in agreement, his long braid fluttering in the morning wind.

"Hmpf, what kind of an opponent gives resolve to his enemy?" asked the redhead as he readied his bow.

"There's nothing wrong with being friends with your enemies," countered the silver knight and readied his sword high above his head.

As the sun rose between them, seemingly all the fury of the elements gathered at the top of Hartcroft's Skylance. The rushing wind roared louder and louder, turning from storm into a hurricane as Archer's arrow turned into lightning itself, whips of blue electricity darting around like rampaging snakes and dissolving everything in their path. Sword turned into spear as the blade in Rider's handhungrily drank the light around it, growing stronger and stronger as its light shielded its owner from the raging storm.

Sword and arrow. Light and storm. The two knights prepared to clash with each other once and for all, twin shouts announcing the names of their Phantasms…


With the strength of a thousand suns, the column of light erupted from the top of the Skylance, blue and white morphing into one and racing towards the heavens as the shockwave roared all across the city. No window was left intact as the thunderous surge passed through Hartcroft. Tremors rushed outwards from the base of the proud skyscraper, mirroring the ripples that tore apart through the veil of clouds high up in the morning skies.

The man with the expensive dress shirt and the overcoat hanging from his shoulders grimaced as his grey eyes scanned the stain on his rather expensive carpet. The deepest crimson, like a blossoming rose, the wine just soaked deeper and deeper- almost tauntingly. The man didn't seem to mind his proximity to the freshly-broken panoramic window, uncaring for the rushing winds that billowed his tied up white hair- always in such a contrast with his rather young features. What was left of his broken wine cup ended up on the express way down.

"My, my… this War's already turning into quite the mess," drawled out the white-haired man and shifted his grey eyes to the other occupant of his office. "Isn't it, Assassin?"

"If Master says so," replied the kneeling woman almost immediately.

A strained silence followed, only occasionally interrupted by the humming of the man as he inspected the lone Command Spell still clearly visible on his left wrist. With a hoarse and fretful voice, the masked woman tried to speak up, only to be cut off.

"I'm angry, Assassin," plainly stated the man, as if reciting a grocery list. "Furious even. Seething with rage. But you know what? I'm angry with myself. It was my mistake that I thought my Servant was worth something," cheerfully concluded the white-haired man and smiled widely at the fiery-haired woman.

"I-" began the woman but only ended up choking on her own words. Some time passed before she gathered the courage to continue. "My deepest apologies, Master, but I nearly killed Saber. I managed to put Lancer on the defensive, Archer as well, even thought we were fighting face to face. I survived Berserker! You say these were only reconnaissance missions but in the end instead of letting me deal with the Masters quietly you insisted I fight their Servants head-on and-"

"- And what about that boy, hm? Is he not a Master?" countered the white-haired man, sounding as cheerful as ever.

"I… he… there is no excuse for this transgression, Master. Punish me as you see fit," admitted Assassin and bowed even deeper, forehead almost touching the expensive carpet.

"Punish you?" echoed the man with feigned shock. "How can you even think I could do that, my most precious Assassin, hm?" asked the white-haired man and knelt next to his Servant, cupping her face into his hand.

"How can I be angry with you… when you have found such a fun opponent for me?"