::: Twilight in my Morrow :::

Darnic was glad that the infiltration worked; however, the means by which they entered was so unorthodox it had him puking once the landing spot was secured.

During the assault, almost everyone had been separated. Truly unfortunate, but thankfully, the losses weren't as much as he had expected.

He chanced a glance outside, through the hole, watching the wyverns desperately trying to regain control of the skies only to be skewered by the centaur golems' arrows. Truthfully, Darnic couldn't complain too much since Avicebron surpassed his expectations.

After regaining his breath, he reopened his eyes to take in his surroundings. The fact that almost all the enemies present were already slaughtered by some of the crystalline Golems was most pleasing. After all, he didn't want to waste any time. Darnic put a hand on the commanding Golem and it knelt to let him get on its shoulder.

The halls were silent, save for the occasional beasts which were swiftly annihilated by the Golems. Grand Servant or not, the number of beasts created was ridiculous. It just wasn't helping matters if he allowed himself to dwell on it.

Saber, Archer, Rider and Caster of Black were in full-assault mode together with Grand Assassin who would hold the enemy Servants Karna, Achilles and Grand Rider at bay. Fending them off was of the utmost importance, since the entire plan hinged on their numbers. The matter of Grand Berserker was still something that was not fully cleared up since the concept behind "Cavemen" was far too simple – even if they said that it was humanity's savagery incarnated.

He was shaken from his thoughts when the Golem carrying him stopped, the others gathering near him. And when he looked up his eyes came eye-to-eye with someone whom he had never imagined meeting again – not this soon, anyway.

Amakusa Shirou Tokisada's silver eyes bore into Darnic's, both equally filled with disgust. He was only wearing pants with a white trench coat draped over his shoulders, but Darnic couldn't ignore the strange markings painting Amakusa Shirou's body. It was disorganized: countless indecipherable runes, connected by pale but glowing lines unlike anything seen on earth.

"Darnic Prestone Yggdmillennia," the priest started, snipping his fingers once and making a black shirt appear below the coat. The youthful man turned to him fully moving his left hand slight before Black Key's appeared in his palm.

"Amakusa Shirou Tokisada," Darnic countered. He contemplated summoning Vlad with his Command Spells until he felt a familiar presence. "Had I known that I left a coward like you alive, I would have turned back and eliminated you personally…just how did you survive this long, Servant?" It was a bluff, one Darnic was certain was being called, but he was committed to seeing this out.

"You were trying to make Ruler who landed above us to come down and fight me," Amakusa Shirou said without an ounce of sympathy.

"Indeed. However, it seems that my jest has been brought to deaf ears." Darnic focused, allowing mana to coagulate as he drew on the power of the command spells only to find the process blurred from his mind. Disdain formed when he realized he could not form a solid command. Darnic glanced up at the Servant, smiling eventually.

How fortunate.

For some reason, he was glad that it was him who found Amakusa Shirou – he, who was the head of the Organization and its most prominent Magus, and not Fiore or Irisviel. He could face this evil once again. It had haunted him since the end of the Third Holy Grail War. Darnic knew he would bear the burden of what would eventually happen, but he couldn't care; the future of his clan's prosperity mattered much more.

"Since I doubt that I am a match for a Ruler-class Servant like you, would you at least tell me how you managed to summon Grand Servants?" Of course, he would not go without a fight. Jumping off and taking cover behind the Golems, he started preparing his spells, to prepare himself physically for the next five minutes.

Amakusa Shirou rose an eyebrow, slowly walking towards Darnic and brandishing his Black Keys. "I was not aware that you possessed a sense of humor, Darnic. How could I tell a corpse anything of note?"

A wall of fire burst through the Golem Darnic took cover behind, shattering it with a shockwave and scattered its remaining shards at Amakusa Shirou.

He merely sidestepped them with ease, throwing dagger after dagger at the remaining Golems coming after him. Though Amakusa Shirou didn't see the shadow approaching his back, he blocked without looking.

"Not running away huh?" Amakusa Shirou said with a smirk.

Darnic was using his cane in a vain attempt to at least get one hit in, but the Servant used his superior strength to break through it as well as Darnic – but was nothing more than a masqueraded Golem.

The delight Darnic felt when he saw Amakusa Shirou react to the shattering Golem that coated him in its substance, was so satisfying that he couldn't help smiling. Slowly, he left his hiding spot and motioned for the Golems to converge, as one.

Amakusa Shirou looked at him silently, but the message was clear when their eyes met.

Searing hatred. Nothing short of unfiltered hate was in those ageless silver eyes.

All the Golems morphed, each taking his shape and form, joining Darnic as he said, "It is high time for a talk is it not, O failed Saint?"

The smile on his lips was vicious as it was during his betrayal of the Nazis.

::: Dusk to my Hollow :::

Atalanta and Jeanne jumped off the splintering lance, landing somewhere close to the lower levels of the fortress. Warily, she looked back at the hole from where they entered, murmuring a prayer of thanks for the Lord's protection. The lance they clung to started breaking up before reaching the fortress' barriers, leaving them stranded from the others. Though she was glad that neither Atalanta nor Laeticia were hurt.

The Huntress immediately sniffed out the entire area, shooting at anything that she suspected to be surveillance. Eventually her calm eyes landed on Jeanne and she knew she had to answer the Argonaut. Through her presence detection Jeanne could feel Amakusa Shirou just below her. Yet before she could react, a howl echoed throughout the halls and corridors.

"Where is the priest?" the Argonaut asked, aiming her bow at where the howl came from. There was more than one — the accompanying dread and despair was so overwhelming that the air was shuddering.

Jeanne was thankful that it was them who'd run into whatever was coming for them. She breathed out, readying her flag. "He's right below us. However — "

"I know. Let us take care of that before anything else. I'd rather not have a beast ambush us as we attack the priest," Atalanta confirmed, slowly drawing Tauropolos' string.

Just around the corner, something peeked.

Atalanta and Jeanne flinched — their instincts almost overcame them. The sheer despair the beast, which was slowly coming around the corner, exuded was so enormous they couldn't stop breathing raggedly.

Jeanne had been wrong. It wasn't a howl. That sound she heard was nothing more than the beast's breathing.

For every inhale, it drained the air from its surrounding. For every exhale, the space around it vibrated. Each step it took shattered the ground.

How naive.

She knew what it was.

Jeanne and Laeticia had read the bible enough times to know what it was.

"…And I saw a beast coming out of the sea. He had ten horns and seven heads, with ten crowns on his horns, and on each head a blasphemous name. The beast I saw resembled a leopard, but had feet like those of a bear and a mouth like that of a lion. The dragon gave the beast his power and his throne and great authority. One of the heads of the beast seemed to have a fatal wound, but the fatal wound was healed," she recited, not taking her eyes off the creature, noting that the injured head's scar looked like an "x". Atalanta looked at her with a confused expression and Jeanne added, "From the book of Revelation, 13:1-3."

"Ruler – do you know what that is?" the archer tried to shake her, to no avail, forcing Laeticia to take control.

"That…in our holy scriptures a beast like this has been described…It-it is one of the Four Beasts of the Revelation – " Laeticia began, yet her voice was drowned out from the rest of the beast's heads bursting through the walls like a tsunami, roaring.

Jeanne regained control of their body just in time to hold out her banner to stop Atalanta and her from being flung down the hall.

Quickly, Atalanta knelt behind her, aiming Tauropolos at the Beast.

"Don't falter – both of you," she said, nocking an arrow. "No matter what it is, it's just another beast for me to hunt." With a wicked smile, she waited for the wind to move. All of her focus was applied to a single moment, waiting for that small window of opportunity – and released the arrow.

When it connected with one of the seven heads – the wounded one going by the name of Azrael – the arrow exploded against the head's horn.

Every single one of its eyes snapped to Atalanta and Jeanne. The leonine mouths roared as it leapt, crushing the floor underneath its paws.

Jeanne and Atalanta immediately split off. The Argonaut sprinted along the walls and released arrow after arrow at the wounded head while Jeanne evaded the claws trying to rip her apart. One nail was the size of her torso; that alone instilled caution. Yet without hesitation, once the beast was within range, she ducked and rolled right under its paw, slamming her banner against it.

The shockwave that followed after that stopped the beast's step for a fraction of a moment which Atalanta used to jump at its neck with an arrow in her hand. The beast reared up, swatting at the huntress with its untouched paw. Thanks to quick reflexes, the Argonaut spun around and kicked off the claw. Although she severely underestimated the force behind the lazy swing, for she crashed into the ceiling.

Meanwhile, Jeanne tried to attack the leg, bashing it in with her flag, but the only destruction came from it being off-balance. The beast swiped at her, shattering whatever was in its way.

As she jumped out of the way, she realized too late she was cornered when her back hit the wall. She hastily brought up her flag to meet the impending attack, but it wasn't necessary – something green blurred past it, next to Jeanne and swept her off her feet and away from the beast. Walls collapsed in the beast's wake.

Jeanne's shock at being carried in Atalanta's arms to safety faded as she murmured her thanks.

"Something isn't right. That Grand Rider was supposed to be Noah, right? How did a beast without a mate get on his Ark?" the Huntress asked, looking over her shoulder and jumped out of the way as a huge chunk of the wall skidded past them. She dashed through the corridors, going up the walls and columns, pursued by the surprisingly nimble Beast.

"It might be possible that one of the requirements to qualify as a Grand Servant of the Rider class is the capability to tame any beast." But then something wouldn't make sense, Jeanne and Laeticia thought simultaneously. "But that wouldn't make sense…"

"What would the requirement be for that Berserker then?" Atalanta kept dodging more and more projectiles, leaving ruined walls behind. "What kind of Servant is that? Never mind it being older than any other Heroic Spirit – something smelled off with that beast when it attacked us."

"Why would it need to be paired with Shakespeare? Why would it transform over time? How could it–" Jeanne muttered, submerged with her thoughts. Every inch of her was revolted by the thoughts raging inside of her, slowly festering like maggots eating away at any sanity left in this Grail War. "[And I beheld another beast coming up out of the earth; and he had two horns like a lamb, and he spake as a dragon. And he exerciseth all the power of the first beast before him, and causeth the earth and them which dwell therein to worship the first beast, whose deadly wound was healed.] … it couldn't be…"

Atalanta thought back to the beast that attacked her last night, how its form changed, how it stopped resembling a human eventually and how the way it treated Shakespeare. "It wasn't a Servant…"

"–But a Noble Phantasm?!" Laeticia yelled in shock, opening up a terrifying possibility.

"Shakespeare teamed up with it to change its appearances whenever it attacked, slowly allowing it to grow into its true form as a form of twisted evolution!" Jeanne added, eyes widening when she saw the Beast's howl rip out another boulder to throw at them.

"This is bad!" Jeanne yelled, arching backwards just as Atalanta tossed her into the air, sliding during her landing. Atalanta came to a stop beside her and readied her bow. "By the power of my Command Spell, I order Assassin of Black to arrive here!"

Red wings flared and one feather disappeared from behind her back.

Blue flames announced the arrival of the skeletal knight as he shattered an incoming boulder with his sword.

Grand Assassin glanced at the two, blue light flickering within hollow eyes. He then turned to the beast that slowly came to a halt at the end of the corridor. Its eyes opened wide while the wounded head slowly rose and stared at the Grand Servant. An action that did not go unnoticed by Jeanne and Atalanta.

"I'm sorry that I had to call you but as you can see–" Jeanne stopped, eyes widening, when Grand Assassin's injured half started burning, slowly replacing the damaged parts. Grand Assassin looked at his new arm before balling his fists and looking at the Beast.

"To think I would lay eyes upon them once more," he muttered before a shield formed before his left hand – it was spiked and tied in bandages as if it were alive – "O Saint, the adversary before us is a Beast that I know very well off. The only way to tame it is to carve their names onto its heads, but those names must be of those who heralded against thy god. One of them must still exist…" He readied his sword and shield.

"What do yo –"

Without any further words, the first Hassan blitzed the beast so fast that once his sword collided with one of the horns, the ground broke upon impact and the floor shuddered. The Beast reared up and one of its maws lunged for Grand Assassin. He dispersed into blue flames, reappearing right above the wounded head for a strike.

Jeanne and Atalanta exchanged looks before rushing back into the fight. Jeanne threw herself against the beast's legs, trying desperately to knock it off balance but its paws blocked her, and it jumped and curled into a ball, spinning through the halls – moments before it connected, Atalanta had already helped Jeanne get to Grand Assassin as he raised his sword for a platform.

The huntress, once she regained her footing, pursued the spinning beast, shooting during every opening as Jeanne landed on Hassan's sword and was thrown at the beast. The skeletal knight burst into flames and joined the huntress on the other side.

Jeanne placed her flag at the hollow of her back, holding it with her arms in place and spun in an attempt to hit the Beast's heads as it ran through the halls, leading them to an open area, hundreds of meters above the ground.

The ramifications of the Beast leaving the fortress and joining the battle on the ground wasn't lost on the them, hence Atalanta and Hassan intercepted the Beast, attacking the belly, but the Beast exploited it to open its form, exposing its stomach for but a moment, before arching back and grabbing the walls, trying to tear it down on them.

This was one of their last opportunities. Jeanne drove the tip of her banner into the Beast's belly, but still unable to draw blood, until King Hassan teleported behind her and slammed the flat of his sword against her banner's spearhead allowing for it to pierce and sink into the Beast fully.

A roar erupted from it so loud and ferocious that it nearly numbed her senses. She gripped her flag tighter, almost falling with the Beast together from the fortress. Thankfully, both Hassan and Atalanta caught her by the waist and hands respectively. Alas, the Beasts roared even more grabbing whatever it could before its form slowly grew with its necks stretching out and biting into any area of the fortress that it could.

Jeanne looked over the edge, Both the sky and ground were filled to the brim with Wyverns and Golems as the Beast came to a sudden halt with its eyes dimming. In a grotesque way, Jeanne saw a form of beauty when she looked at the scene yet all she could think of at the moment was why the Beast suddenly came to a halt.

"Piercing the name on of one of its heads servers the bonds that keep them in union…at least for now; thy doth not need to worry about it," Hassan said, blood slowly trickling from his sword and his shield falling to the ground and disappearing. The flames that once restored his arm emerged and took what it repaired once more.

"King Hass —" Jeanne started but Atalanta stepped forward, putting a careful hand on her shoulder, and looked at the Assassin.

"What is your connection with that?" the huntress pointed at the beast. Its wounded head was bleeding. "The scar on that thing's head looks like the one on your mask, so what is your connection?" The tone wasn't accusatory, though it held a certain edge that Jeanne wasn't sure how to take.

The skeletal knight turned around, muttering something underneath his ragged breath.

"Hey!" Atalanta yelled, but within a single blink the Grand Servant was gone. "Something is definitely off with that one as well…" She put her hands on her hips. "Say, Ruler, what do you know about something called Enoch? That was the only thing that I could make out from his whispers."

Jeanne tilted her head slowly shaking her head since the name didn't ring a bell at the moment. Grand Assassin has been a mystery to her ever since they met, and she was uncertain just where his priorities laid. The only thing she was certain off was that he was trying to ensure Julian's survival at any cost. At least she had a vague idea where the Grand Servant went.

She said a silent prayer, hoping that the fear brewing within her was unfounded and wouldn't come true.

"Our main priority should be Caster of Red. If our fears are correct, then he might be the only one who can stop that Beast!"


:: Lightning Parade ::


My God, I know that those who plead

To you for grace and mercy need

All their good works should go before,

And wait for them at heaven's high door.

But I have no good deeds to bring,

No righteousness for offering,

No Service for my Lord and King.


Achilles flew onward despite his chariot being damaged by the barrage of arrows and his shoulder aching from an arrow. Yet all he could hear was a song not song by his mentor, friend and father, but the mannequin commanding his humongous Golem. He stared into space, vaguely aware that he might have seen Big Sis attack the Wyverns earlier yet he was unwilling to accept that reality. The only thing that mattered was to turn the tides of the battle and defeat the Black Faction.

He needed to, otherwise –

"I don't know what is weighting on your mind, Achilles, but I know that it is not I," a voice he couldn't bring himself to listen completely said, into his ear.

How could he? It was a voice he heard so many times and imagined hearing for so long that it had driven him mad in his youth.

Chiron looked at him. The edge in his eyes telling him all he needed to know. The centaur knelt on the plane, shooting nonstop. Not even attacking my mounts… he thought before taking the reins and directing them towards his old mentor, only for his flight to come to a sudden halt.

He looked back sharply catching sight of the mannequin dancing with his hands and morphing a piece of mud – one that is now attached to his chariot and slowly transforming it. Gritting his teeth, Achilles abandoned his mount, landing on the plane where his old mentor was waiting.


Yet do not hide your face from me,

Nor cast me out far from you;

But when you command my life to cease,

O, may you lead me forth in peace

To the world to come, to dwell

Among your pious ones, who tell

Your inexhaustible glories.


"What is wrong, Achilles? Why is your heart wavering?" his mentor said, yet Achilles couldn't bring himself to look at the man.

Achilles was kneeling on the wing of the plane, his eyes closed while he tried to still his heart. Against his better judgment, he stood up, resting his spear on his shoulders and turned to look at 'him'.

Those eyes were still as bright as he remembered. Shining with a pride that Achilles knew was both noble and wise.

"Chiron–" he couldn't bring himself to form a stance.

His teacher lowered his bow, the once hard look relaxing. It was the same look, it was that look that Achilles yearned to see when he heard of his teacher's demise at Heracles's hands.

Yet.

"Chiron – I –"

"Achilles, join the Black Faction," his teacher said, relaxing, and slowly walking to him.

Nearby, Karna's flames ignited, meeting the brilliant light of the King of Knights.

Achilles knew that should he take his teacher's side, he could relive the fierce joy from his childhood. He would be besides one who he could trust his back to without a worry in his heart. Too many of those he cared for left and disappeared – Patroclus–

Chiron was an arm's length away from him.

"I- I can't…" he began, taking his spear off his shoulder, and left the spear in the wing. "There are those whom I have sworn my spear to." Achilles' eyes widened at his own words. They felt like a foreign entity grabbing hold of his tongue and spouting nightmarish lies.

Chiron jumped back noticing something and aiming his bow at – at behind him?

Achilles slowly turned around, knowing full well that it was a mistake. He wasn't prepared for a bundle of white cloth to wrap itself around his head, grabbing him with enough force that he was slammed through the plane's plating. Heart thundering, he tried to rip the cloth apart, yet it felt as though it had a thought of its own.

He bashed his head against the plane, desperately hoping to rid himself off this accursed object only for his eyes to slowly stare into the abyss – only for it to stare back.


There let my portion be with those

Who arose in eternal life;

There to purify my heart right,

In your light to see the light.

Raise me from the deepest depths to share

Heaven's endless joys of praise and prayer,

That my evermore declare:


Achilles was screaming. Chiron did not know what it was, but that cloth wasn't something that was supposed to exist in this world. It was like an otherworldly evil that was beyond his knowledge; thus, he didn't know how to approach it. The moment he saw it attack Achilles he knew that something was amiss – his urgency. His head reacted instead of his body, something that should never happen on a battlefield.

He aimed his arrows at the object which slowly formed something akin to a human torso, though most of it was still around Achilles's head. The newly formed head turned to the sage, triggering waves of horror to drown Chiron once he saw that this thing had a black dot instead of a face. Bubbles rose from the blackness, slowly reaching outwards before myriads of eyes opened and stared at him.

He shot without thinking. Not stopping for even a second but it proved futile as Achilles, like a puppet, began to swing his spear around with such speed that the air broke numerous times, shattering the projectiles. The cloth-like being rose, opening its lower half like a fan.

Chiron recognized it now. Avicebron and Irisviel spoke of a piece of cloth appearing and teleporting Amakusa Shirou and Celenike — this thing, it was the source of that phenomenon, meaning this being was either in cohorts with the Red Faction or this was the actual reason as to why this war derailed like this!

"Chiron!"

His eyes widened; that wasn't the same voice he heard moments ago.

Achilles, now freed, looked at him with a blackening eye. His pupils were turning yellow and his hair a light purple. The proud Greek armor he wore was slowly mutating from silver plating to muddied gold, and the black cloth turned white. Only his scarf, now withered, remained. However, the most terrifying feature his disciple carried was the visage of utter rage directed at Chiron.

He heard a voice whispering in the dark quickly looking at the being that floated around Achilles with its tendrils slowly spinning and half embracing his disciple. #I / wE_gr-ew tired of all the goodness. We/I have been waiting to §experience# what he would look – as an Alter#

Before he could form a coherent thought, Chiron felt something deep within his guts. He managed a glance for the arm almost penetrating his body before his eyes shot back to the hate-filled face of the boy he once knew as Chiron was hurled off the plane.


Though you were angered, Lord, I will give thanks to you,

For now your wrath is past, and you do comfort me.


Once the Aria finished, Golem Keter Malkuth emitted a blinding light, for the promised land was carried by its song and rhymes. Chiron heard the song, allowing him to regain his bearing just in time to lock eyes with Astolfo, who had been busy fighting off Wyverns. The young lad hurried over the falling sage just as Achilles Alter's screams raged throughout the sky and destroyed the plane he stood on.

"How could you die?!" Achilles screamed, hurling his spear at his old mentor. A whirlwind of destruction tore apart anything in its way — except of a piece of Eden.

Chiron glanced at Avicebron who was juggling pieces of Golem Kether Malkuth around with his magic and shooting them at Achilles. He couldn't quite destroy the piece, halting his frenzied charge. Nodding in thanks, the sage saw Astolfo on his way with another flock of beasts; he held out his hand and Chiron took without missing a beat.

At this moment, the pain registered in its entirety. Chiron had to hold his bleeding stomach.

"What happened?!" Astolfo asked, as Achilles' spear tore apart the Wyverns blocking him.

But Achilles had grabbed a survivor by the horns and commanded it to follow them. Astolfo's eyes bugged out of his face when the wyvern morphed into something else, a beast with large horns, sharp teeth and claws the size of his head. A drakon?!

Without a single worry, Chiron twisted around on the Hippogriff's back to fire at his former pupil. He had a vague idea what happened and judging by the words from the entity earlier, it was more than likely that Achilles —

"Rider, I ask for your aid. It is more than likely that Achilles' spiritual core was corrupted by someone or something. We need to eliminate him as soon as possible, otherwise we'll be facing the most dangerous foe on the Red Faction's side."

Looking over his shoulder, Astolfo nodded with a grin and snapped his reins. The hippogriff spun around all the while Chiron never let up his volley at Achilles.

To be altered. To become a Servant that shouldn't exist, a Heroic Spirit following a path contradictory to its Spirit Origin. With his jaw set and teeth gritted, all he could think of when looking at his pupil, was the smiling boy all those eons ago.

Rider of Red swatted stray arrows, letting his mount take the brunt of it, and kept throwing his spear at them.

At the same time, Chiron's [Clairvoyance] guided Astolfo in avoiding Achilles Alter's attacks, although every time, it narrowly missed the mark. But in the midst of an opening, Achilles threw himself off his mount at Chiron and Astolfo.

Despite enduring the pain in his abdomen, Chiron intercepted Achilles in a thunderous clash of fists. Reeling back his bloodied fist, Chiron winced at the amount of damage before his eyes widened at the sight of Achilles' rage-filled eyes right in front of him.

The pain only registered after the sage noticed that his body was careening to the ground only for said ground to hover in the air and cushioning his rushed descent. Particles of greenish, pink light attached themselves to his bruised body, temporarily closing the wounds.

"You worry too much, Avicebron," he whispered as Achilles tried to knock Astolfo out of the sky.

The paladin was doing hit-and-run tactics, not letting Achilles return to his new mount and always attacking him where it hurt the most — the heel. To be fair, it was the only vulnerable spot, but that was proving to be the most difficult task due to his sheer maneuverability.

Moments were all he had before those yellow eyes turned to him once again. He formed his bow and released as much arrows as he could before Achilles' spear pierced the ground beside his head, dispersing Chiron's dust cloud. but the dust only glowed and danced around both student and teacher before attaching itself to Achilles.

Chiron looked sharply at the mannequin; it was pointing at Achilles at all times. Returning to Achilles, he saw the dirt grow bigger and bigger to the point that it was hardening in clumps, giving Chiron the perfect opportunity to attack the heel – alas, brilliant flames of interrupted him.

"[Brahmastra Kundala]!"

The beam reached Chiron so quickly that his first instinct was to raise his hand against the attack and kick away Achilles to create distance, but the heat and force were so great that Chiron couldn't help but shout in agony when he felt his leg being burned as he fell.

Not missing the opportunity, Astolfo charged at Chiron, ignoring the fireworks of countless beasts being burned and ripped apart by the power of the sun, catching the sage's hand moments before hitting the ground. The hippogriff was screeching in displeasure from being worked to the bone, but what Chiron couldn't bear was the amount of "Oh God!"s Astolfo was screaming while holding onto him.

He already knew what he had lost, so he refocused on Achilles. He was trapped within the hardened mud, but brute strength shattered it easily. Achilles turned to Chiron as sunlight clashed with victory's light. They clashed so violently that the ground they stood on was crushed.

What happened? he wondered, looking at what was left of his right leg, then looking at his student who became a shadow of himself.

Drunk on rage and howling like a beast, Achilles charged Chiron and Astolfo with blinding speed, about to reach them when everyone in the area couldn't help freezing.

A single roar had echoed throughout the night, halting everything under the heavens.


::: At the Beginning of the End :::


The Darnic copies surrounded Amakusa Shirou, ready to strike at him should he so much as move. Amakusa Shirou examined the clones without a care, as though he could tell them apart but the Yggdmillennia leader knew how to use what was left of his soul wisely. He whacked the Servant's calves with his leg, and grimaced when he realized that it did nothing.

"Talk," he ordered, but Amakusa Shirou only smiled.

"My, are you growing impatient, Darnic?" he asked as his left eye started shining. "Or could it be that you still don't know that Grand Assassin lied to you, and by extension, the watchers?"

What?

"What do you know about my Faction?" it wasn't a question born out of malice. He had suspected that something was off, especially how easily Amakusa Shirou came and left Yggdmillennia. Was somebody helping him? Was there another traitor?

He started when he noticed the Servant looking at him – the real Darnic.

"O Darnic, still a puppet to fate, never knowing when he is being deceived." The light burning within Amakusa Shirou's eyes exploded in its intensity, blinding Darnic momentarily. When his vision recovered, he saw the crystals on Amakusa Shirou's arm shatter. "You don't even realize that this story has only one outcome. Neither you or I will be able to change it, thus — " the boy advanced, Black Keys ready to tear into Darnic's guts. " — how about I end it for you here instead of later?"

Darnic leapt back and ordered the clones to attack Amakusa Shirou, only to be eliminated swiftly by throwing his blades. He then muttered a word that put Darnic into check: "Set".

Before he knew it, Darnic was surrounded by the airborne blades. He jumped out of the way, nearly impaled through the heart and abdomen, though three blades managed to pierce his right arm, almost taking it off completely. He grimaced and used his cane to remove his useless arm via explosion. Darnic didn't need any liabilities when fighting this evil.

Amakusa Shirou kept on the offensive by throwing blades left and right, destroying the remaining Golems faster than Darnic could replace them. The Saint used his discarded arm to jump into the air with his blades poised over his shoulders.

Darnic recited an incantation as fast as he could — silently cursing himself for his inability to form coherent thoughts regarding his command spells — and the blood dripping from his stump ignited a purple light.

Amakusa Shirou widened his eyes when he realized the blood trail was tethered to the discarded arm, and by extension, his soles. He spun around to flick it off. Though it was futile since the purple light had already reached him. It sparked and a blinding white coated the area.

Darnic held out his left hand, absently confirming that the command spells were safely transferred to his other hand, before refocusing on Amakusa Shirou. The Servant was pushed against the wall by the simulated gravity. He was slightly struggling against the hold but Darnic knew that it was but a matter of time before he would free himself.

"How fortunate," he muttered. Anyone else would've died immediately. Darnic turned on his heel and ran past Amakusa Shirou down the hallway. He pumped his remaining Prana into his legs, accelerating.

Although he was in the middle of a fight, he focused on Amakusa Shirou's words. What did he mean with the end? If he was supposed to die soon, then he needed figure out the other issue: the traitor, besides Celenike. There could only be one. There was only one person who would betray him – not out of spite, but for the same reason he himself would.

From the beginning, something was off. The amount of information the Red Faction had on their headquarters as well as the homunculus in their basement. Only seven people knew of it. Himself, Irisviel, Julian, Sieg, Saber, Lancer, and Assassin of Black. Whether Caster knew about it or not was unknown, but there was only one of them who did not make sense.

It could only have been —

Something trickled down his front, and a cold hand was in his abdomen. Darnic halted and looked down to see the blade piercing his chest. He turned his head to see the traitor and said, "I — knew… y-you wo-would be…tray —" he collapsed before he could finish.

Assassin of Red was standing next to the traitor with a haughty smile and red fingertips. "My, my, did this foolish human truly believe that his legacy would remain?"

"With this, we can join the Red Faction, right?" the traitor asked, a tear falling from an eye — Darnic had no clue if it was in mockery or genuine sorrow — but Assassin of Black embraced the traitor.

"Of course. Your family has a greater chance of existing in the new world then this relic," she reassured, and drove her heel into Darnic's wound, drawing a low grunt. "Oh my, he didn't die yet?"

"He won't survive. We made sure that it will kill him. It is a pity that he is unwilling to join us, but since I have no obligations to Yggdmillennia, there shouldn't be a problem." the traitor released themselves from Assassin of Black's embrace and walked around Darnic's dying body to the corridor. "Fare thy well, Darnic Prestone. We have known each other for such a long time, so I found it fitting that it was I who would put you to rest." and then they were gone.

"Truly, no one in this war is acting how they are supposed to, don't you agree?" Assassin of Black said, kneeling gracefully and turning his head so he was looking at her twisted smile "People like you, clinging uselessly to their doomed lineage have always been the greatest pleasure to me. And with you gone, Lancer of Black won't be a matter to think about either."

Ah, Darnic remembered. Within his heart of hearts, he knew. He knew that they would ridicule him, laugh at his misery. Looking down while all he built and created would slowly fall to ruin before his eyes. That was how everything started.

And he cursed those laughing at his life! But it was over. Everything would soon be over. All he needed to do was to black out the demoness in front of his eyes and remember the days of his youth, the times he laughed, the times he smiled, the times where he remembered what it meant to be unburdened.

Yet.

As if answering his remaining grudges.

The last drops of his life.

He heard it.

A single cry within the growing dark.

A roar that removed the demoness from his eyes as if she was running away.

And before his eyes he saw something white moving towards him.


::: From Dusk Till Dawn :::


When Vlad came to again, he was back on the field where everything started. A field filled with countless stakes, rising against the heavens, impaling his victims' corpses. He was still in his regular garbs, though he felt the vile taste of blood in his mouth, but he couldn't spit it out.

"See this, this is the mark you left in history." his eyes widened when he heard that voice. He spun around to see a figure he never dreamed of seeing again. "Are you satisfied, brother? Will these deaths be enough to sate your hunger for power? Or are you going to kill more citizens?"

"Radu."

Before Vlad stood a tall man with greenish white hair tied at the back of his neck, sporting a beard. His lavish clothes were emblazoned with an intricate dragon sigil on his chest. The most striking feature of this man, however, were his eyes — just as green and yellow as Vlad's — staring at him with both disdain and…something he couldn't name.

"Sacrifice over sacrifice. Casualties over casualties. You killed the sinners, the beggars, the thieves, the diseased and stigmatized lovers. In your duels, the defeated were forced to dig their own graves. You abandoned abundant lands just to halt advancing armies, by poisoning their wells and slaughtering innocent villages. Then you had the gall to impale them all as a warning."

His brother walked over to him, unsheathing his saber and pointed tip at Vlad.

"Radu. How can you be here? This place…is it an illusion?" Vlad wasn't sure whether he was delirious or if Shakespeare was playing with him. If it was the latter, then it was more than effective.

One of the impaled corpses' faces morphed into Caster's. His eyes widened.

"Do not be mistaken, lord of Wallachia. That is indeed your brother. A genuine Heroic Spirit brought forth by your own dying core." the corpse shook as it laughed, and the rest of the corpses followed Shakespeare's lead. Amidst, their laughter, they were cursing him and his blood.

"See!" Radu shouted, motioning at the dead. "This is what is left of you! Nothing more than a curse to the living and a monster to the dead! You truly are Dracula the Devil!" He raised his saber above his head. "How will you repent for the lives lost? How will you repent for the terror you brought into this world?" he brought down the sword, but it didn't reach Vlad. "Take your sword, you beast!"

Vlad the Impaler. Kazikli Bey. That was the name he received for this scene. Countless left to bleed out. There was nothing here that spoke of glory, nor did it show anything akin to triumph. This was a grave for the damned.

Wind danced across the fields, carrying the stench of death and blood, and yet something familiar as well…

"Why would I want to fight you, brother?" Vlad asked. "Why would I wish death upon my own blood?"

"Are you saying that you would prevail against me, brother?" Radu narrowed his eyes. "Does your ego know no bounds?"

Without another word, Radu charged. Vlad stepped out of the way and Radu's attacks hit the stakes in his stead.

"Fight me!"

But he didn't. He couldn't bring himself to. Vlad Tepes was not able to fight his own blood. Instead he dodged attack after attack, watching his brother's form: how wide his stance was and the way he always returned to a neutral one after the sixth or so attack.

"Ah, could it be that thou art playing?" Shakespeare's whispers flew in the wind

Radu's blows were missing Vlad's hide by a hair's length. However, his thoughts were occupied by something else — the last time they met was during that dreadful campaign of Mehmed's.

He knew that the corpses' eyes were scrutinizing him, but it didn't matter. When Radu brought up his saber for another swing, Vlad pushed it aside and brought him in for a hug. There he remained, holding onto the brother he wished to meet when they were separated.

"Why?" Other than Radu gripping his sword tighter, he didn't make a move. "Why aren't you fighting against me?"

"Once I sought the Saxons, the beasts that killed our father and older brother. Once I sought an audience with the pope to join their crusade. Once I sought my brother, lost to me and our ways, praying that we might reconnect…" he heard the sword drop onto the blood-soaked ground and Radu slowly return the embrace.

"Once you became a dragon, the humanity in you died," his brother whispered.

From where he was, Shakespeare watched the brotherly display in displeasure. He'd thought they would kill each other yet neither seemed to harbor much of a grudge. A real pity — the hair on his neck stood up. He slowly looked over his shoulder.

There he was, smiling like a madman.

"Dracula!" the conqueror roared.

Radu let go, picked up his sword and pointed it at Vlad's heart. "You knew we could never return to those days," his brother whispered slowly turning around at the sound of thousands of soldiers rushing towards them. Led by –

"Mehmed." Vlad ground his teeth, balled his fists and looked at the man who destroyed everything he ever wanted to build.

"I see not the Devil, but a man pretending to be one," the Sultan yelled, eliciting roars from the rows of soldiers behind him. "Where is the one who claimed to have made me fear death? I see only a child pretending to be a man. Kill him, Radu."

Vlad's eyes widened.

"Of course."

He jumped back, narrowly avoiding the saber aiming for his chest. His brother had lost all hesitation, only the desire to kill Vlad remained.

"This has to end, and I will do it," Radu said.

Vlad still could not bring himself to defend as Radu kept attacking. He only had eyes for Mehmed II.

They had known each other since they were children. They might've pretended to be brothers-in-arms, pretended to be on the side of justice. But Vlad knew of the dark abyss sleeping within that man. The insatiable hunger for more and more as hate filled his heart, close to overwhelming him.

"Follow Radu's lead," the Sultan addressed his soldiers, and they eagerly followed suit.

Here he was but a man, not a Heroic Spirit nor a Servant. A man without anything, about to be humiliated once more.

"MEHMED!" Vlad howled, disarming one soldier with a swift kick to the knee and threw himself against the incoming soldiers, drowning everyone in an ocean of blood. He used everything at his disposal: disarming, friendly fire, and dirty fighting and anything else to get closer to that damn man.

His advance came to a stop as he struck down another soldier, when he saw Radu's cheek being caressed by Mehmed. His eyes widened. His teeth screeched in protest as he ground them, rage coursing through his veins.

He slashed at anyone standing between him and his prey. Uncaring of the wounds he received in his blinding rage and the dozens of spears aimed at his heart and chest. Though he parried and ducked as best as he could, two eventually pierced his shoulders while others impaled his feet, locking him into place. Blades descended on his back and chains tied his hands to nearby stakes. Harsh strikes to his calves forced him to fall with his knees to the ground. Through of all this, Vlad's hatred never diminished.

"Thus, the Devil Dracul died disgraced and felled by men," the sultan announced, laughing at Vlad. "Now, Radu — " Mehmed touched his brother's arm affectionately. " — take his head."

And his brother complied, taking his saber and walking over to him. For a silent moment, they observed each other. All Vlad could think of was the regret flooding his heart, the pain from his battered and broken Spirit Core, the sorrow he'd sow for the allies and friends he made in his second life and the mist slowly engulfing these fields of death, accompanied by thundering cannons in the distance.

…cannons?

Vlad's eyes widened. At this point, the Ottoman Army was starting to panic and Radu was still watching him.

"Will you become a dragon once more?" Radu asked, his eyes filling with a strange emotion; he looked Vlad dead in the eye in spite of the growing chaos and confusion. Mehmed was shouting and commanding his army to figure out what was happening.

"If I must," was all Vlad said before his brother's sword came down. When he opened his eyes, he felt his arms being freed from their shackles and his brother retreating into the mist.

The brothers shared a last look, before the older turned away and disappeared into the mist. Vlad tried to get up, spirit refusing to be shattered, but his body was screaming to finally rest.

Hoofbeats reached his ears and he had but a second to roll aside before being trampled.

"Dracula!" Mehmed. Mehmed was towering over him, blade drawn and ready. "Your brother has left you to a fate worse than death. And I shall deliver you the same humiliation you have given me all those ages ago."

A laugh sat in Vlad's throat and he couldn't find the strength to let it fly free.

"Die in disgrace like the dog you are!"

He closed his eyes.

"This is no place to die for the Lord Impaler – Kazikli Bey."

His eyes shot open, a surge of power shot through his core, as if it was a remedy, and a voice rose above the screams of the Ottoman soldiers. The mist was getting denser, and even Mehmed couldn't bring himself to kill Vlad.

The Lord Impaler's head lolled to the side. Out of the mist came a horse carrying a man in royal garbs and an impressive beard. Around him were countless drums floating with mist cloaking his arms and legs.

Shakespeare's face appeared on one of the corpses, with an open mouth, because someone appeared who shouldn't be here.

"Stefan III," Vlad muttered with his adversary did upon witnessing the arrival of one of Romania's greatest heroes.

"It has been so very long, has it not, Kazikli Bey? I still haven't forgiven you for that time when the Wallachian horsemen were supposed to help my troops," Stefan the Great accused, though his voice held some playfulness. "Mehmed II, the Conqueror," he continued with growing venom. "How dare you proclaim my friend to be a dog? Do you wish to be humiliated by us once more?"

Cannon fire broke through the mist, falling onto the Ottomans.

"Kazikli Bey is the only one of us whose mark on history was so great that he could fight those myths and legends. And you, the one who dared to follow Iskandar's madness are now turning the blade on one of us once more. A man who was like a brother to you and whose real brother you forced to fight him! Coward that you are, you bloody conqueror!"

"We have decided to follow you, who is Romania's greatest hero," another voice began, closer to Vlad than he anticipated, and slung one arm over a broad shoulder and helped him stand at last. "You who made them fear us and inspired our hearts to dream and fight! We are your legacy! We, who dared to follow the Dragon!"

Vlad looked at the one who helped him up. It was a youthful man with dark brown, tinted red, hair with a beard. "Who are you?" he asked, unsure of who this person was or why he claimed to carry his legacy.

"I was once known as Michael …. but nowadays I am called Michael The Brave, O Kazikli Bey, o my Great Uncle." the man said, looking at him with admiration in his eyes, before turning to the Ottomans — Mehmed specifically.

"Michael — " Mehmed started face growing pale.

" — the Brave," Shakespeare shouted, watching in horror as Stefan III brought down his drumstick on the drum floating at his side.

The mist cleared and the Ottoman army was visibly shocked at the countless horsemen, footmen, and archers standing behind the three great heroes of Romania.

"H-How did you get here?!" Mehmed shouted, holding the reins of his horse tightly, though he kept glancing back at the men directly behind him. "Why are nobodies like you gathering for this failure of a prince?"

"We have to thank our dear Shakespeare over there. Without him, this miracle wouldn't have been possible — though it is partially because of your imminent death, Kazikli Bey," Michael explained, nodding at Shakespeare, who paled at the implications. But he was ignored for now.

The Lord Impaler turned around, looking at the hordes of Romanians and they returned his gaze. Some were frightened. Some were terrified. One of them — the one at the front was looking at him with adoration and respect — the soldier he had to leave behind but never betrayed Vlad to the end.

"I hope this makes us even for Tragovishde!" Michael yelled, though Vlad couldn't hear it.

The pain in his chest returned. No, it was something else. Like a bond snapping in half. He closed his eyes, looking to the sky. Had Darnic fallen? His Spirit Core was broken, his body battered and bruised by a bet he made with himself, he was humiliated and possibly lost his Master who was his tether to this second life and yet —

They knew, all of them knew that these might be his last moments in this war, in this second life. In spite of that, he couldn't hear his own worries. His own pain. The only thing he heard:

"Kazikli Bey! Kazikli Bey! Kazikli Bey! Kazikli Bey!"

Were the countless cheers of the soldiers who inherited his legacy.

Thus —

"I thank you, William Shakespeare." Vlad bowed to the playwright who looked at him with morbid fascination as well as horror, for who knew what this wounded beast might do. "You took away the last uncertainties plaguing me."

Vlad Tepes held out his hand, summoning his spear. Every soldier on the battlefield watched him with abated breaths. The fear and anger of the Ottoman whose countrymen, families and friends were slaughtered by him — them. The adoration, pride and hope of his Romanian allies whose spirits were ignited by the man who stood before the impossible, secured the cities and created a state that would have withstood the sands of time only to be surpassed by his legacy.

He remembered the times he enjoyed, the children he raised, those who he called friends, allies, family. And the one whom he still had to save.

With one last look at his old nemesis, he smiled.

"By the twilight I was born — " light engulfed him. " — to see the end of my life with glory in my heart and fearful of God. May I turn into a beast of the heavens and smite thy who dare blasphemy the honor of the innocent.

In thy name I shall invoke — "

Michael and Stefan III placed their hands on his back.

"We will hold it together, Vlad Tepes. That spirit, your soul, will not falter as long as Romania stands with you. We will become part of you for this last stretch of your new life until you accomplish what you set out to do," Michael yelled, joined by the hordes of Romanians behind him, forcing the Ottomans to step backwards.

"You bloody Romanians! Barbarians! All you accomplished were needless orgies of blood and waste!" But he too felt it, the enthusiasm that infect the troops as they stood behind the men who did the impossible against him far too many times.

"Now, take us with you, Vlad Tepes, to the glorious death befitting Kazikli Bey!" Stefan III yelled, while everything around Vlad began to turn white and slowly consumed what was around him.

The Lord Impaler felt eyes of him, a gaze not filled with malice but more familiar. He looked beyond the enemy, beyond the rows of countless and saw his flag waving behind the enemy. Before it stood his brothers, his father…and his grandfather the first Dracul. All of them had their eyes on him. And he realized that this was not his legend, nor his life – this was his last step to glory which he yelled out for all to hear:

"[The Legacy of Draculae – The Son of the Dragon]!"

:::

When Shakespeare opened his eyes again, he was stunned.

Truly, he had not expected Vlad Tepes to release his accursed Noble Phantasm on his own. He had suspected that Vlad would need a Command Seal to force him to activate it.

"What a pleasant surprise," he muttered with a smile. Now everything would go according to the script. Although he hadn't predicted his Noble Phantasm being hijacked by Vlad's slowly deteriorating Spirit Core, and thus forcing his little friends to appear as specters, but it mattered not. After all, the end —

Shakespeare had seen a miracle once or twice already. Just being here in this War was enough to ignite his creativity for the next millennia. However, however!

It was as white as the moon hanging in the night sky; a fine dress woven with silver linings, streamlining by dark blue cloths underneath and a small cross stitched to hold it together. A gloved hand reached up to touch the face while the other felt the cloth, both decorated with three tiny crosses. His skin was alabaster, though the moonlight revealed little scales. That silky hair was in a ponytail and a bang framed a narrow face.

Too beautiful to be truly human, yet too human-like to be a monster. Shakespeare's heart wavered at seeing Lancer of Black in his new form. He couldn't process it. Never did he see a beast as breathtaking as it was deadly. And when those mismatched eyes opened, every instinct in his body ordered him to remain absolutely still. He couldn't bring himself to breathe out.

Lancer's eyes, a mosaic of red and green, were serene, despite the smile.

"W-who might thou be?" him and his stupid mouth!

A laugh, slow and graceful, escaped Lancer. He turned around and approached him. Shakespeare nearly shrieked in shock, scuttling until he hit the wall, falling onto his backside.

A beautiful hand brushed his skin – his eyes widened, for the playwright had missed Lancer kneeling in front of him.

"I thank you." Lancer held his gaze captive with eyes full of purpose and destiny.

Unable to watch his mouth, or anything else, William Shakespeare blurted out what ought to be kept hidden.

"The child is in the throne room, being tortured by Her Majesty. Two floors from here, to the left, and at the fortress' center." he slapped his hand over his mouth.

Lancer of Black patted his head softly as if petting a tame mongrel.

"Well done. Though I have to correct your assumptions, Shakespeare; I'm no longer just Lancer of Black." a smile reserved for angels appeared. "I have found myself become an Alter Ego, thus you shall refer to me as Vlad Tepes, or Draculae, the son of the dragon Dracul."

The Lord Impaler stood up, so slowly that Shakespeare could take a look at Lancer's waist – what he had thought to be a coat designed like bat wings … or that of a dragon. He was sweating bullets upon the look he just received, but that wasn't what destroyed the scene…

Like a beautiful midsummer dream, the illusion disappeared as the dragon howled at the moon, his features human yet his mouth and mannerism that of a divine beast, vanishing with clouds of dust so quickly it left the playwright stunted and perplexed.

"[The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars, but in ourselves]."


:::


He knew where his dying Master laid; he felt the flickering presence. Vlad smiled at the irony. Passing the remains of transformed Golems and beasts cowering in the corners, Vlad came to a stop in front of the bleeding, disgraced body of Darnic Prestone Yggdmillennia. A spark of life was all that remained of the proud Magus.

"Darnic," Vlad said, listening to the whispers of his Master's dying breath. "You and I do not have much time. Neither of us wanted to end it this way, but it is as though we ought to leave the stage tonight."

The Lord Impaler knelt, taking his Master's body into his arms. "I am but a man dressed in a beast's hide. Even now, I am fighting [The Legend of Dracula] with this single miracle granted to me – though it will be for naught if I succumb to the devil too soon."

"T-They betrayed us." Darnic's voice was wracked with heavy breathing as he grabbed Vlad's shoulder. "They mocked us! Our lives! Our struggles!"

Vlad closed his eyes. "You know what must be done. You and I have been denied this so many times throughout our lives and while we followed different paths, I still wished to call you a friend." Darnic's eyes widened with tears at the corners. "We may only have tonight…"

"…For a death worthy of us," Darnic finished, activating his three Command Seals with a single command: a prayer, a desire and a true wish amidst this nightmare of a life. "May this last desire come true and hold Vlad Tepes together for this final reach for glory!"

Vlad lowered his head and bit into Darnic's neck, not to drink his blood, but the very essence of the Magus who only wished for his family to continue for eternity. As painless as he could, he combined them, fueling their desire for vengeance.

Vengeance upon those that mocked them, betrayed them and dared to steal what was rightfully theirs.

Thus, as if to announce that he hath cometh to this world once more.

The dragon roared.

A roar that terrified the beasts dwelling within the heavens. So majestic and powerful that anything beneath the heavens felt and heard its pain, its sorrow and its desire for both vengeance and glory! Not a single soul, nay anything that lived and existed in the lands of Romania felt it. The return of the one called the Dragon.

The devil that terrified an army of thousands. Descending down without mercy, devoid of humanity.

A prince who returned to his homeland and built it up from the shattered grounds. Celebrated yet in mourning when news of his father and brother's death arrived.

A king who challenged the order of the world and was immortalized in history. Building a state that even today was admired and missed.

The Dragon that spared none who dared to break his rules and hunt those he calls his enemy.

Thus, he roared, silencing the night and all that dwelt within. His wings spread open and he threw himself into the night for his final battle.


::: To life means to suffer. To life means to be free but not without struggle. For life is precious. :::


:::: TBC ::::


Ritsuka: "What? What?! WHAT?!"

Mash – "Wait, what just happened? Mr. Vlad didn't turn into a Vampire but a Dragon-Butler?!"

" He didn't! Also Mr. Vlad? And finally; nice reference though!"

"Okay, what is going on here? What is an Alter Ego and why did he turn into a Dragon-Human Hybrid?"

Helena: "An Alter Ego; put simply it is a Servant Class reserved for Heroic Spirits with multiple Spirit Origins. An example would be Tamamo no Mae with her Tails which each developed a different personality, although I personally only encounter Tamamo Cat, the Berserker version. I suspect that the moment the other Romanian Heroic Spirits fused with him he changed his class as well as the name of his Noble Phantasm into what Dracula meant in the old ages, which was 'Son of the Dragon' though over the centuries it was changed into 'The Devil' – or someone in his lineage had fragments of Dragon-kin in their blood considering Elizabeth Barthory. In essence we are looking at a man who became both Myth and History at the same time and will most likely disappear once his Spirit Core can't take the extensive stress any longer."

"Hold on! The granny kid had a speaking role?! and her text is helluva long!"

"You just forgot about her speaking a couple chapters ago didn't you? And Madam Blavatsky could you please explain that Tamamo Cat thing? I thought Tamamo no Mae was a Fox."

Ritsuka: "Forget that! Look at that Vlad! He literally became a combination of all his selves and Elizabeth! Look at the wings and that voice!"

"I actually don't mind Eli's singing though, it has a nice metallic ring to it which helps elevate stress. Why did your face look sour? And why did your entire emotional spectrum go from shock to pain to morbid existential horror?!"

"Ignore him."

Helena: "Right, right. Well, in Tamamo's case, it is most likely due to her splitting off from her tails in some other time line which resulted in each one forming their own personality and becoming applicable to other classes. In Vlad's case, he became what he was known for both in life and mythology. A dragon and a beast. It does concern me that Grand Rider seems to be in possession of the Beasts of Revelations."

"Somebody messed with the rules. I bet they weren't originally there since the Book of Revelations is from the New Testament. I suspect Grand Rider too is something like an Alter Ego but more along the lines of the Survivors of the Flood from various religions joining together which created a contradictory mess: Like a survivor of a flood sometime in the future for example. Though I don't think that's it."

"Or some outside interference mingling with them."

"You're talking about Achilles Alter aren't you?"

"We knew that it was inside, but it kept itself hidden. What do you think brought it out?"

"The story isn't over yet … I suspect he wanted to stop the good mood that has been building up for a while now. Their kind do not like it when humans are too content with their lives."

Helena: You're are talking about Abyss Speaker, are you not? My, my, how quickly both of your eyes became hostile. Indeed, I have encountered it before although only briefly and I only now remembered.

Ritsuka: "Hold on."

Mash – "When you said eldritch earlier did you mean that this Abyss Speaker has been manipulating that reality? If that were the case, it would be–"

"A nightmare. Literally. But back to business with our end; what happened in that fractured reality? You could have just ignored this one, but you didn't, and since I can't read your memories of what happened there I take a guess and say you've encountered someone whom you still can't fathom and who told you that you need to investigate realities like this."

Mash – "…"

Ritsuka: "…"

"It's him isn't it? He's the only one who could pull everyone's strings without leaving a clue."

"And here I thought he was busy with that unfinished Grail War story. Jeez, what a pain."

"You think he planned for this to happen?"

"I'm not the one who gave Arthur memories of her past Grail War – I wouldn't even know how to tackle that can of worms without messing up and accidentally creating a spacetime paradox."

"You mean an unintentional one. But yes, that does smell like his usual overcomplicated planning. Do you think he–"

"Dunno, but this has been smelling like his work…now that I think about it, he was the one who gave me the idea for this interference in the first place!"

Mash – "W-Who might you be talking about?"


::: To Be continued :::


A/N: Whelp this chapter took long! Sorry for the huge delay, Uni, life and my search for employment have been hitting me in the face for a while now. I hope this chapter was as entertaining as it was fun to write, but I'm pretty sure that some of you are not happy with some of the happenings. I have begun to notice that this story is rather straight forward, but that is mainly due to the pace I have been going with – we only have two more chapters before the end of the first half. Big changes will happen after it!

Also fun fact for all the Barto fans among you, Micheal the Brave is the great-great-great(?)-grandfather of Elizabeth Bathory ^^ (or was it uncle? I'm still unclear about that but oh well.) Anyway for all you history buffs among you ceck out the channel HistoryMarche on youtube his channel is awesome and he has videos for all three Romanian heroes!

Either way I hope that all of you liked it and once more shout outs to Emerian for being an awesome Beta! Thanks once more for your hard work and I hope this chapter gave you a nice couple of surprises!

Anyway, on to the agenda for you, my dear readers:

1- Who betrayed Darnic, the hinds are there if you know your lore ^^

2- What do you think will happen in the next chapter? Any guesses? Rewards for correct guessing will be handed out on my Deviant Art – I'll notify the winner privately if possible (Talking to you guest reviews!)

3- What's the deal with the First Hassan? And who might Enoch be?

4- Who saw the Beasts of Revelation coming? And which ones are still missing?

5- Who played through the last Honnouji Event and was surprised at the amount of effort they put into this one? Like seriously, compared to the last one (which I also played for the first time now) this one had a way better story.

If you figured it out let me know. Anyway, see ya all next chapter! And don't forget to leave a review, how else will I know when to stop the crazy and give ya'll some slack!

Yours dear,

Sha Yurigami

p.s. Totally forgot to add this XP

King0fP0wers - Mate, it's been a while hasit not? I' just glad to see you around again ^^ Spartacus is great isn't he? And I hope you like the little twist I threw in this chapter, that's been planned out ever since that Vlad centric chapter at the beginning ^^

Guest - I know right? The Grands are a coll system but they are lacking considering we only know two and its the Cavalir classes. As for whom I'd see in the Rooster? Wel My take would be either a Arthur or MaleMusashi as Grand Saber, the original Robin Hood(Cause I seriously don't want to give Goldy more than he already has) as Grand Archer. Grand Lancer can either be Odin or his son Othinus who took Gungnir after his death, Grand Rider is either Noah or somebody whose famous for taming beasts XP, As Grand-Assassin replacing the First Hassan I imagine the first Fuma Kotaro, as Grand-Caster we have either Solomon, Merlin and ending the rooster I imagine Kain as Grand-Berserker. Tell me what you think about sometime ^^

blazenite104 -Always glad to see ya! Hope you liked this chapter as well ^^

Guest - Shakespear still has a role to play but here is not my place to speak ^^

Lortee - Considering that Alaya created the Grand Servant system I suspect it won't react at all, after all the Grands are there to protect humanity and they (I suspect) are ranked way above Counter Guardians, why else would Grand-Caster be allowed to incinerate Humanities history? Sorry if it was hard to keep track of everybodies activity, I promise you that the next chapter and the one after that are less chaotic ^^ Also it's always good to find a fellow IriSaber shipper, we've become quiet rare these days have't we?

Andrea - Glad to see you back, hope I have delivered a good chapter for you ^^

sugoijack9 - I won't promise that this is the last chapter focusing on Vlad and his backstory but I hope I entertained you at least a little!

Darkmaster10000000 - I look forward to you reactions in the future for each chapter ^^