Fate Resurrection

by Demod20

In another world, similar, yet very different events transpire. The destinies of new masters summoning servants, both familiar and new, clash in a Holy Grail War that heralds the end of an era. And at the centerpiece of that change is a foretold summoning by an ancient clan of mages that had been forged for over a thousand years: one that involves Mordred, the Traitor Knight!

Magic.

A fundamental phenomena that has evolved in practice and definition over the course of millennia that has followed since the change of eras. Since the bygone Age of Gods mankind has a depleted reserve of mana in the world, and fewer and fewer practitioners to use its craft. True Magic slowly but surely vanished from the world while Thaumaturgy - the Modern Practice of what is known as 'Magecraft' - has taken hold of the majority of the planet's usage of mage capable entities. Passing it on through blood through the art of Family Crests or finding methods beyond studying and learning has always been an ambition of any healthy, well-to-do Magus.

That is, until a certain ritual has been concocted, to reutilize the manifestation of True Magic for the purpose of fulfilling a Divine implementation of man's desires into a physical medium. This process was called "The Holy Grail War" and has since been repeated three times since its concoction. The first ended in obscurity, the second ended in tragedy, and the third was unsatisfactory to all parties. Now the fourth is about to commence..and it shall leave the world changed.

But will it be for better, or for worse?

---

Maria was ecstatic!

Her cream stocking covered feet rushed across the hardwood floor with an antsy pace. Her legs swished her lithe body around the corner of a spacious hall, one of the many within the manor she lived within. Erratically maneuvering throughout the corridors, her long reddish brown hair flapped and whipped around her head like a flag attached to a race car. With sharp green eyes darting ahead to a double-door study - currently one of the doors ajar - she revealed her freckled, pale face grinning ear to ear.

"Papa!" She exclaimed, running down the hall with exuberance to the entrance of her parent's workshop. "Papa!"

She could vaguely hear the sound of some noise within. The rustling of papers far quieter than the pitter patter of her covered feet. Crossing the space between herself and the entrance within a handful of seconds, she stopped running and let her heels slide along the impeccably polished floorboards. Gliding across the ground to her destination, she reached a hand out to grasp the door handle-

BONK!

"Ow!" She yelled out, finding the door opening a moment before she was prepared, knocking her in the head as she slid into its moving path. Falling onto her buttocks, she immediately placed one hand over her bangs-covered forehead, while the other barely caught herself from falling completely on her backside.

"Miss Maria!" A deeper, yet melodic voice cried out with shock.

"That hurrrrrrrrrrrt!" She whined, her viridescent eyes moistening as she rubbed her forehead. "Why did you open it so suddenly, Diana?! Are you trying to kill me?!"

"I-I-I'm so sorry!" Stammered the woman in question, bending down and examining the crimson-blonde with her pale hands. With blue eyes shimmering with worry, the short bob cut of Sunshine for locks rustled as her head went back and forth in a vain attempt to see the extent of the damage smothered by the young girl's hand. "Let me look at you, please!"

"Nuh-uh!" Maria shook her head away from her. "You need to grovel now!"

"Maria, that's quite enough."

The voice - sighing with resignation from the inside of the study - chided with a sense of authority only a parent could invoke to their child. As Diana stood up, her white blouse top rustling while her navy skirt swished with her upright posture. This left Maria to be left sitting undignified on the floor, no longer moistening her eyes but looking brightly ahead at her father.

His name was Victor Alexander, and he possessed a handsome visage within the book-cramped workshop. Glistening prisms hung from the ceiling illuminated his smoothly divided crest of chestnut hair. Blue eyes looked at her with curiosity beyond the expression of weariness of his child causing an upheaval of his current work. Wearing a velvet red suit with a black tie, his smooth hands were setting down paper he had been holding; folding them ahead, and leaning forward with his full attention to his child.

"Now, can you care to tell me why you ran here so hastily?"

"Ah! Yes!" Maria exclaimed, immediately forgetting about the bruise that had begun to form on her forehead. Withdrawing the palm that had been nursing her injury, she held it out for display; it was like blood, engraved into her skin like a rune of old times predating the use of Family Crests, and had the impression of a setting Sun. "When I was working on my studies, I just noticed it on my hand. I don't know how I got it, but doesn't it look cool?!"

Victor's face paled, and eyes shrunk in place.

Standing up from his seat, papers scattering that he was holding for minutes on end earlier as palms placed at the hickory stained desk. The soothing candlelight of his laboratory now seemed an eerie highlight to the sign of supernatural forces at work. Vials that bubbled of different colored liquids, prisms that hung in place with swirling colors dancing within, all of it seemed to fade into the background as his eyes homed in on the one thing his family had been a part of for centuries.

"Papa?" Maria asked, suddenly noticing just how shocked her dad was. "Is...is this bad? Am I in trouble?"

Laughing, a bit nervously but still expressing an emotion to offset the news presented to him, shook his head while covering his face with one hand, "No...no, my sweet Maria. It's quite the opposite. I'm just stunned; proud, even."

"Of what?" She tilted her head, blinking inquisitively. "I just got a mark on my hand without going to a shop to do it. Is that impressive?"

Chuckling with a bit more humor, Victor walked around the desk and approached his daughter with a more composed expression on his face. Kneeling down, he placed his hands on her shoulders while staring into her eyes with his own soothing azure orbs.

"Maria, have I ever told you about the history of the Alexander family?" He inquired softly.

"I think so...maybe?" She furrowed her brows, scrunching her nose with thought. "Weren't we one of...one of the peoneers of magic association?"

"Pioneers," Victor corrected with a smile. "And yes. Our family has contributed much to the Mage Association during our lengthy existence. And that mark is one of our most outstanding achievements."

"A tattoo?"

"Not a tattoo. Closer to the crest I gave you two years ago, that mark is what is called a Command Seal," He explained, one hand taking hers and tracing the outlines with his thumb. "Long ago, the Alexander, the Regius, and the Faust houses joined together to create a certain ceremony. With it, we crafted an artifact of untold potential with the power of True Magic at its beck and call. It has chosen you, Maria, to be a master in the Holy Grail War."

"Grail? As in the Holy Grail?" Maria questioned, her eyes widening at the ramifications of what she was being told.

"Not necessarily, but it isn't without reason that thing has been given its name," The father licked his lip while correcting his child. Raising her hand up so both of their eyes could see it without looking away, he debriefed her further of its purpose. "The Holy Grail that our family has helped create summons powerful spirits of the past or even future to fight on a Mage's behalf known as a Master. They are called Heroic Spirits, and they are legends who surpass the common modern man in many ways. Under the classifications of Saber, Archer, Lancer, Rider, Berserker, Caster and Assassin, their potential is determined and their masters command their abilities to fight against one another so that one may be victorious in this war of mages to obtain an all-powerful wish."

"A wish?! For anything?!" The crimson-blonde's eyes sparkled like emeralds, her mouth agape as she soaked in this revelation with the innocence of her age.

"Potentially," Her father warned her, his smile turning into a neutral line. "The goal of our family has always been to bring out Akasha, also known as the Root. Through its access, we can obtain limitless knowledge, power beyond our wildest imaginings and achieve things no one family could fathom over a hundred generations. We could remake the world in our image, revolutionize the way magic works in today's age, even rewrite the laws of physics in any way we can picture it. Imagine the possibilities, Maria!"

"And only one person can get it?" Maria inquired, her mind tracking immediately to what wasn't being said by her father.

"Ah, yes," Victor sighed, his smile returning but showing a hint of melancholy. "You know as a Magus, sacrifice goes hand in hand with our livelihood. The deaths of these phantasmal beings that are fashioned into the images of legends long since passed on is a catalyst. Safer than that, the killing of other masters is encouraged, so that no rogue spirit can find itself a new master. It is a brutal ordeal, and one only the most dedicated of mages can persevere. There hasn't been a true victor in the previous three occasions the Holy Grail War has come to pass, none that I know of that is."

"Do I have to kill people...with magic?"

Opening his mouth, his breath hitched and his eyes softened in its gaze. Reaching up to stroke her soft head, he scratched her scalp as he looked at her endearingly, "Maria, you have a kind heart. I understand that this may be hard to accept but some things cannot be avoided. If it comes down to it, choose to live, even at the cost of others. Abandon bonds if you must, for a mage's life is more valuable than any others, even family. Do you understand?"

"I don't want to hurt others with magic," Maria confessed, biting her lip and averting her gaze. "I want to help people."

"If you win the Grail War, you can help as many people as you want, Maria," Victor informed her with a chaste grin. "Maybe even be humanity's savior?"

Maria smiled, giggling at the thought. Mages were rarely acknowledged for anything they did, often hiding their identities as wielders of magic a secret. If perhaps she could be affirmed for doing something positive, then it will all be worth it?

She hoped so.

"But for now, you'll need to focus on your training and studies. To be a master you'll have to be the best magus you can possibly be. And as an Alexander, you have even higher expectations. Are you prepared for the challenge?"

"You bet!" Maria fist pumped with a broad grin. "I'm going to win the Holy Grail War and prove to everyone just how great I am!"

"That's the spirit," Victor enthused with a laugh, rubbing her head with affection - much to her giggling glee - . "I know you'll make our family proud."

As Diana looked at the child, a more solemn expression graced her visage. Her azure rings glistened with a hidden emotion while her mouth became a thin line of passive repression. Looking at father and daughter, she couldn't help but wonder what will become of this girl when she becomes of age, and the war starts for real.

Or the lives she'll inevitably have to take in order to become the victor she's innocently claiming to desire.

---

Fate Resurrection

Chapter I

The Anointment

---

Splish. Splash. Splish. Splash.

The sound of water dripping down the grate of a dilapidated house filled the pregnant silence permeating it. Ruin had been wrought to what was once a home built in the fallout of the first Great War. Lacquered floorboards were uneven, with nails protruding or curved into the surface, some even cracked and possessing sizable splintered holes. Furnishings of an old love seat and couch had mice to roaches scurrying within their innards, beady eyes peeking out at a looming shadow from the drizzling outdoors.

Doors boarded its entry, with an old rocker deprived of its curved trim used for a crude barrier rattled against the test of the integrity of the front entrance. Faint muttering was uttered, the air crackling around the seams of the cobwebbed passage; followed up with a spherical object crashing through with enough force that all of its make-up was obliterated into dust.

The weapon responsible - steaming of heat while dripping water from the outside - had crisscrossing intersections of glowing sigils inscribed along studded protrusions of its make-up in the form of precise octagons. The mace in hand lowered, and a tall figure of three meters with a coat wrapped over his broad shoulders. A breastplate with the signet of a clenched fist with the sign of a cross over a Sun shown at its mid center was especially noteworthy, while his head was covered by a helm with the front bearing a sophisticated breathing apparatus and a pair of glowing slits over a simple T visor.

His name is Roland Regius, and he was on a mission tonight.

Having tracked down his quarry to an old family home, long since expunged of its living occupants, the city had faced financial difficulty over the Great Depression and didn't have the means to demolish it. The following decades left real estate of this nature hung open, like a rotting wound and it was unusual compared to its nearby neighborhood areas.

Except for the small detail that his target was a Magus.

Not just any mage, but a figure that had gone rogue. As such, a Sealing Number was elected on the figure and a number of hunters not too different than Roland himself sought this target out. Of course, they failed to pin the target down, and in some worse cases, had lost their lives in forcing their prey's hand. As such, the danger had elevated the classification to being someone not to be trifled, and debate was even under a circumstance to title it a Philosopher.

Heavy feet left visible impressions along the floor, causing the armored hunter to become wary of his environment. It was an old, battered place that had likely seen better days. Maneuvering through the living room his unseen eyes cast an outward glare from the glowing slits of his visor. Other than the scurrying of vermin that had taken home in the furniture and walls, there was not a hint of noise.

After walking through the living room, the helmeted figure peered around into the kitchen. One could see the door of the fridge had long since been pried off, leaving its interior metal shelves barren of content, similarly to the partially opened cupboards that surrounded it. The stove above the oven was rusted, filled with more cockroaches and its own door was missing. Chairs lay in pieces on the ground and there was no table to be found on a shattered tiled floor.

Breathing slowly, the armored hunter saw something on the ground that made everything else seem out of place. Kneeling down, he pressed plated fingers around some slabs of tile and moved a chair leg out of the way. A singular door handle, built to be pulled, lied at its center. Looking left and right, Roland could now see amidst the debris that a good section of the eroded ground was evenly distributed.

Grasping it, a pulse of light was released from his palm and an octagonal pattern extended along its make and traced itself all over the floor, over and around the husk of material lying over it. With a muttering under his breath he pulled, and the ground beneath lifted, groaning all the while. Rising up, the seams released a rise of hot air, rushing out. The evidence that something was active down there was all the more evident by the smell that passed through the filters of his rebreather.

There was no question, this was a Mage's Workshop he was entering.

Walking around the opened hatch, he'd see a string of electrical wiring funneling power from somewhere deep underground. Lightbulbs meticulously shoved into the passage's siding gave birth to a clear yellow luminescence, revealing tin-plated stairs that wound around in a circle that more likely wound itself deeper into the unknown abyss.

Placing the head of the mace, still alight by the magic circles extended from it, he experimentally touched the air along the first step.

C-C-C-CRACK!

A violent shock shook the head of the spherical, studded weapon. Violet energy conducted along the metallic surface, shooting down over the metal covered fingers. Reaching the insulated palms and lining beneath, the circuit of energy stopped short and the trap that was sprung was nullified.

Hissing with the scent of ozone, Roland rolled his neck side to side, producing a few audible pops into the mostly dead abode. Taking a step forward, he held his mace in front and slowly stomped downward, continuing to scan for more signs of magical tampering.

Turning the corner, a strange sensation of something eerie and unnatural washed over his being. The presence of a Bounding Field touched his nerves, making the circuits of magic within his skin to buzz like contact with static electricity. Snorting beneath his mask, he continued to descend, holding his weapon like a baton for danger.

Pressing his foot onto a step, a sudden click was sounded. Experience and heightened senses alerted him before the slabs on the wall beneath the light bulbs became alight - for the briefest of moments, producing a star-shaped magic circle - and a pair of stone erected fists rushed towards him from the left and right.

A loud grunt escaped his mouth as he became a blur of motion. The mace swung towards the earthen protrusion on his right, obliterating it with the same force as the door earlier, turning it into powder; along with a chunk of the wall. The one to his left he drove an armored elbow into its faux-human knuckles, shattering it though not with as much destructive potency. Collapsing in a heap beside him, the hunter turned and pressed one part of the wall's outline upright, giving him a good view from his ever-glowing visor.

"Transmutation…" Roland thought. "No mistaking it now. This is definitely my target."

Realizing what he was up against, the hunter focused the energy flowing through his body. Energy synapsed with visible effect, tendrils of light swathing through, dancing erratically as he honed its flow efficiently. From the soles of his boots up the greaves of his plated limbs and past his covered chest and over his helm, the fullest extent of what he could embroil in his magic, Reinforcement. Opening his eyes, unseen by the red beams that came from the T shaped visor, air hissed from the filters of his breathing apparatus, revealing a menacing glow of circles that aligned itself stylishly across his person.

Then, with a bend of his knees, he launched himself down the winding staircase.

Kicking off the walls he'd skip over dozens of most assuredly triggers for more surprises the Sealing Number left in store for him. Those that he did, he moved with so much momentum that they shocked, shot and lashed out in vain as he passed them by with a speed uncanny for a man his build and armored to such an extent. Grinding the soles of his boots on the last of the wall, he leaped towards a sealed door, both arms crossing one another with preparation.

Seconds later, he detonated the charged barrier and emerged on the other side in a shower of violet flaming fragments of what once was a crudely packed door. Both feet stomped, shaking the confines of the room he now entered with enough kinetic energy that it rattled the environment. Arms unfolded and the long-coat figure stood to his full height, his helm's light casting a menacing glare forward.

Hardened as he was, he had to hold himself back from audibly recoiling at the horrors that surrounded him.

The smell that Roland had seen with the hot air was something that was dead and not for a prolonged period. Piles of animals, laying in dissected exposure with disfiguration along their anatomy. From eyes too large for their sockets to withstand to teeth and nails that ripped open the flesh, their organs were harvested and their husks left to rot. The sound of flies buzzing around, along with the teeming roaches and rats that feasted on their remains made it a disgusting ordeal to be around immediately.

The spacious laboratory had cabinets with vials of various liquids emptying and bubbling of various contents. Some jars had said organs baking with something within them, while others had very human eyeballs or grey matter crackling under other instruments. Papers were scattered the farther in, and books of all kinds were discarded or shelved, but nothing about it seemed particularly neat and tidy.

As he walked further ahead, he found the place was reinforced by stone columns, and the walls and ceiling made out of a similar masonry while the floor was a simple metallic frame. It made no difference to him. If the mage hadn't figured out he was coming by now, the abrupt entrance certainly would've given him away.

But no, his quarry was hunched over, paying no mind to who was walking towards him. Long gloves are now endowed with a rich ichor, the body of a small shape, similar but quite different from the creatures he had discarded in the outer reaches of the workshop. As Roland approached, his gait slowed, his eyes widening and his voice hitched aloud for the first time since he arrived.

"No…" He'd utter, the red film of his helmet's HUD revealing the face of none other than a child. Barely older than ten, a vacant stare pointed to the ceiling and a paleness that could only be ascribed to something that had long since died but preserved well. With auburn hair and hazel eyes, the grisly sounds of organs being rifled and stitched by other things, the magus in question didn't even halt as his words became a mangled growl.

"What the Hell are you doing?!"

"Ah, welcommen hunter," The Magus spoke, his accent indicative of his origins. Turning to look over one shoulder, he smiled, though the surgical mask obscuring most of his face one could only make the inflection through the wrinkling of the sterile cloth and the lenses covering his wrinkled eyes. "You'll have to forgive my lack of hospitality. I wasn't expecting company."

Turning back to the body, he sighed, piecing together some organic material with fabric across the cavity, hiding something subtly glowing - beating - within the inert corpse. As he stitched it back together, he reached for a blow torch and a piece of metal, welding it over the lithely proportionate torso while he continued to speak.

"I….haven't had company in some time," He spoke, almost with a hint of lament at that, all while his glasses preemptively darkened to protect his retinas from the torch's harsh flare that shot dozens of sparks as it sinew to the fleshy material. "I was beginning to think I was rid of the association dogs. But alas, I am continually vexed by dogs; unfortunately, like actual dogs, I haven't the time nor use of dissecting common mage bodies."

"Doctor Otto Jaeger," Roland grated out, his hand tightening its grip over the handle of his mace. "Your crimes against humanity has trespassed the agreement of discretion and restraint the Mage Association has given you as an active researcher. Worse of all, you've slaughtered those sent to question you and have left a line of death wherever you run. The fact you've run back home-"

"Bah!" He exclaimed, his words coming out as impassioned despite how precise and still his hands were during the torching of the plate over the child's chest. "As if Das understand Das true importance of Mein Verk. Progress Izt always stunted by hesitation Anne so-called 'restraint'. Do you think the Americans vould have won if they had restrained themselves with their meddling Oef atomic weapons? Nein! It Vould have been far more costly, Anne notheing Oef value been gained for either side. Sometimes, sacrifices must be made, no matter how cruel or 'immoral' it may seem."

"And what do you hope to accomplish from this sacrifice?"

Hearing this, the torch silenced and the eerie air of silence returned. Even the clittering and jittering of the feasting vermin seemed to mute. Turning around to look over one shoulder, the hunter felt his skin crawl. The man could see past the glare of his lens, the evidence of bloodshot eyes, pupils contracted to the size of pins and another cloth-rustling ear-to-ear grin being made for him.

"Immortality. Eternal youth. Invincibility. Eh true superhuman. Thaht has always been Das aim Oef Mein research!" He rattled out, his voice a true height of fanaticism, as his once cool-mannered exterior melted away as he shouted at Roland. Eyes shook, bouncing about in their sockets while his bloodied gloved hands expressed emphatically with loud exclamation. "Its Vhy you mages have even bothered me so persistently. It Izt Nein thaht i crossed Das line, Oef course. It's because I am valuable. Das order for me was for Mein life to be spared, Ja? yet, you are comeing in with intent to spill blood. Vhy Nein be Eh Guud mage Anne try to capture me intact?"

"I've heard enough."

His voice muttered, his body already taking a bold step forward, his free hand reaching out to grasp the man by his neck.

C-CLICK!

A sudden cascade of fire erupted from the ground, swathing over Roland's body. The ground just feet away from the magus had a circle inscribed of the same kind, the Thaumaturgy formula of Transmutation. An advanced form of alchemy, where done in advance with pre-planned thought. Changing the shape and nature of elements on any substance, it turned the ground into a combustible material that sparked on the boot's touch.

"I should have said, try, to capture me. You silly dog," Otto intoned with a disturbed smile beneath his mask. "Have you thought you to be the fir-ST?!"

An infernal hand surged out, unimpeded by the eruption of super-heated air. Grasping his neck, the man felt himself lifted off the ground, his full weight resting precariously by his throat. His legs kicked and his bloody gloved hands clenched at the fiery arm, finding it surging with energy and glowing with a series of shifting cogs for circles.

"Transmutation isn't so different from Reinforcement," Roland raggedly exhaled from his mask, the visor visible in a menacing stare beyond the fire still cooking on the outside of his body's carapace. "Adjusting its material to be flame retardant, and the insulation on the inside to be resistant to high temperatures, is a simple matter of changing the formulas around."

"Y-You're," He gasped out, his eyes looking at the crest on Roland's glowing breastplate. "R-Regius!"

"So, you know my family name?" The hunter inquired. Hefting him upright, he threw him across the room, sailing over the table holding the plate-welded child's chest straight into the wall on the opposite side. "I'm touched!"

The man's surgical uniform crashed against tools, vials and other jagged items. Stabbed and slashed through the uniform, the magus rolled off the back bench and thudded with a wet crunch onto the floor.

Casting his gaze at the child, Roland examined from a distance something off. Scarring from severing muscle and reorganizing the physiology of the body was evident, from the hands up to the shoulders. Despite the head depicting someone on the cusp of adolescence, the arms looked far more developed and sloped with evenly proportioned muscle. The legs as well were also toned and bereft of blemishes. The white carefully marked lines left from previous surgeries meant that this had been an ongoing process, and only until now was the last process completed, leaving the androgynous victim with a plate with a series of inscribed circles that finished with a star at where the sternum of the person had.

One that began to thrum with blue lined light, and shudder on the table.

"Y-you're Nein Eh Dage...you're Eh blue blooded brat!" Doctor Jaeger sneered, rising up to his feet, lurching back and forth as he did. Bladed instruments and shards of glass clung to his coat. "Your house should keep its nose out Oef Mein affairs!"

Virulent energy erupted, the Prana of the magus made evident in a wild discharge of light. The blood around his arms coalesced forth, casting it into a pair of thin barbed knives. Gripping them between his fingers, the magus raised them and threw them across the space separating the hunter and himself.

Roland caught sight that neither one was even close to hitting him. Instead, they sank with a thick squelch into a pair of rats that had been feasting on the corpse piles. Looking over his shoulder, the man's eyes widened behind his stoic visor, seeing thick viscous veins stretch outward in a star-crest shape over the remains of the dead and those feasting upon it.

A crimson light, followed by a chain reaction of all the protein following the protocol of this designated Transmutation. Seeing it unfold in slow motion, Roland twisted his body around, raising his mace and slamming it into the earth.

At the same time, the two corpse piles detonated. The blast wave struck the shockwave that Roland initiated. The flames parted, the debris bouncing harmlessly off his body, and wafting stench exacerbated by the refuse blown across the workshop. With his ears ringing, the hunter rose back upright, turning around to see the doctor already scrambling to the other side of the room, with the child's body held under one arm.

"Where do you think you're going?"

With a snarl, Roland's query was followed up by an over the shoulder throw of his mace. Crashing into the wall in front of the fleeing magus, he heard a shrill yell from the older man, watching the stone explode, indenting with the weapon that continued to glow with octagonal traces of mana still imbued within the object. Gritting his teeth beneath the mask, Dr. Jaeger turned around to see Roland leaping towards him, fist cocked back with the intent of smashing his face in.

"I-I'm Nein ready!" He hurriedly exclaimed, ducking at the last possible second and avoiding his head being turned into pulp. "She's still but Eh vessel! I need Eh soul before I can-!"

His explanation was abruptly halted as a leg swung around to catch him in the unprotected side. The whole of his body curled, bowing with the force of his attacker's boot. Blood splattered across the mask's interior, leaking to the outside; just before he was sent sprawling across the charred room that once had his excess experiments. With the body of his 'project' flung out of reach, he groaned as he curled into a fetal position, clutching at his side as he cursed aloud.

"Du dummer bastard! Du hast mir die rippen gebrochen!" The mage cried aloud. "Ich bin so nah! So nah an der Erfüllung meiner Forschung!"

"Your traps and your Transmutation may have killed lesser prepared Magus Killers. But my family has only known fighting mages," Roland spoke icily, his boots crunching across the ground. "Pray to whatever god will listen to you before I send you to meet Him."

"Nein...I Vill Nein see Nein god," Otto Jaeger spoke with rasping coughs, prying the mask off his face. A wrinkled face showed blood smearing its interior. With a trembling hand raised towards the plating, Roland's eyes widened behind his visor as he stared maniacally at the doll-like body. "But I Vill gladly join you...in Hell!"

Roland moved with speed that curled the plating floor like tissue paper. Hurtling through the air, the massive man's fist raised to crush the doctor's skull. As if time slowed, his eyes through the red tinted slits bore witness to light releasing in the form of the man's prana of a cycling typhoon. The power of it was enough that it threw him into the ceiling, knocking the wind out of him, the Reinforced armor protecting him from the worst of it.

Dropping, he'd see the doctor's body fall beside the child's frame, soon growing cold and still. By the time he landed with a crouch with a loud clang, he'd see the lithe frame of the corpse rise up - like a puppet on unseen strings - the arms making chilling snaps as muscles tensed audibly around unused bones. Knees pointed together, soles of the feet slid against the plating and toes dipped into the course, cold floor.

Clenching into it with the sound of grinding metal.

"Zis body...isn't ideal for someone Oef Mein intelligence," An airy, youthful lisp came from the vocal cords of the reanimated corpse. Raising the head up, the dark eyes now filled with an inhuman glow of teal light; something that complemented with tendrils of energy that crackled around its body while the glowing brand on the plate upon its chest. Curling its placid lips into a twisted grin, Otto's words came intimidatingly through the child's puppeted throat. "But I'll have to make do. Zis Izt Das prototype, after all, Oef Das future Oef mankind!"

Kicking the ground, a circle embalmed along the floor and the plating shifted its shape at a super pace. Jagged spikes lanced towards the larger man, intending to skewer him now while he was bereft of weapons.

However, the hunter whipped his arms out, revealing a pair of trench knives that were clasped within the folds of his coat-covered armor-plated sleeves. In a flurry of superhuman motion, the flooring lances were cut and parried, derailing their momentum and ruining their overall physical make-up with the sounds of vicious clanging.

The sight of it caused the possessed-child to take a step back, unnerved at the sight of more weapons at the Regius Magus' disposal. The fear was momentary as it would turn around and swing an arm, snapping a finger, and unleash an explosive tear in the air through another crack of Transmutation.

A forward slash severed the rupture of the air, but the coat was torn at the sleeves up the shoulders. His ears rang behind his helm but his Reinforcement held. His other hand threw the other trench knife, watching it sail forward like a bolt fired from a crossbow. Seeing it almost hit the plating of the chest, the body swerved around in a dexterous semi-circle, the child maneuvering with unusual grace before dropping to an all-fours cat stance. The knife sank into the far wall, right next to the door, sinking into it with a powder producing impact.

"The only thing anchoring your damned soul is your circle you carved into that plate," Roland surmised without voicing his own deduction. Looking at himself, he'd see the protective woven material of the coat was torn up by the last attack at the sleeves upward. Grooves of the air had cut into the persistently glowing lines of the forearms up to his shoulders. "These Transmutations are stronger than the ones from before. If I get hit repeatedly, even my Reinforcement won't protect me. I have to end this quickly."

"It seems you have quite Das arsenal, blue blood," Jaeger's puppet spoke, his body producing a hiss from the mouth as teeth spread in a carnal smile. "But Mein magic Izt far greater than your strength Kan produce! Observe!"

Grasping the folds of the floor like tissue paper, Otto pulled them out of the seams, causing bolts to shoot outward into the ceiling. Energy twined around it, causing the upheaved material to mold and twist about, forming into a corkscrew shape. Once into the air, it spun around and launched towards Roland as a mana infused drill aiming to bore through his defenses.

Leaping to the side, the hunter avoided the spiraling weapon, eyes wide as he saw it pierce the wall and cause the whole workshop to quake from the impact. The deafening shriek it released was only countered by the shrill cry released by the puppet body the magus released. The Regius mage saw long cords that were in his hands, pulling back and tearing through the back of the laboratory to swing in a horizontal line from his still moving back.

Gritting his teeth, the hunter turned around, bracing his arms in front of his face and upper body.

A shredding haul came with part of the ceiling buckling inward, debris falling and being ground up by the magic propelled drill. Grinning ear to ear, Otto Jaeger believed victory was assured as the grinding lines of metal struck true against the flat footed enemy of his. Sparks flew, energy snapped about as mana clashed against a vibrant azure prana and the metal itself warped against the object it was intending to shred.

"Nein! It can't be!" The doctor cried out in a young but shrill tone at the man skidding backwards in his direction. "You should be dead!"

Wordlessly, Roland turned his momentum into an advantage, his knife still in hand as he twisted his front to face his quarry. The frightened magus - unbalanced by the miraculous feat to withstand the attack - looked at the tears into the breastplate, revealing shallow lacerations at the waist and gashes through the broken plating that had turned into scattered shards. Moreover, a blood red mark shined in the flashing, failing electrical lights within the subterranean workshop.

A crest of an opened eye inside of a palm surrounded by hallowed rings of the Sun, revealed along the now exposed knife wielding underside of the hunter's wrist.

"Y-You're-!"

In a decisive moment, a glowing blade swung hard across the plate's surface. Cutting deep through the grooves of the meticulously carved circle, the persistently humming light of the mage's prana crackled with instability, spewing blood and flickers of mana outward in an arc.

The light within the child's eyes vanished, a hint of a smile shown before vanishing as quickly as it came. Falling into a heap, the young corpse was now bereft of the wicked mage's prana. The echoed, deep timbre of exhales was all that was heard within the groaning of the workshop's ruined insides. Sensing nothing else was amiss, the mage allowed himself a moment of respite through a slow kneel in front of the child's corpse.

Stretching his hands out, he closed the vacant eyes of the deceased youth.

"Oh Father, I pray for your forgiveness, and give thanks to your grace for staying death's hand upon this sinner for another day," Roland whispered, his eyes closed and his head bowed. "I know this young one's soul is already in your arms, as all youth who are taken before they are aware of your boundless love. May he smile knowing I have put his body to rest, and his murderer handed to the throne of judgement. And one day, when I stand before you, then I shall know it's my time to answer for my crimes for the wickedness I've committed. In your Son's name, I pray for your continued mercy," opening his eyes, he released a sigh, looking up at the stone ceiling with an unseen look behind the persistently red light of his visor. "Amen."

Standing up, he walked over to the now lifeless body of Otto Jaeger. Scowling angrily at the man, he reined in what hatred he had for such a loathsome man. Inhaling deeply, he called upon the energy latent within his circuits. Raising his palm, he placed it upon the still form, releasing a criss-cross network of octagons but with a reverse formula. Instead of altering the bonds of the cells that made up his very being to strengthen it, he lowered the integrity of the living energy that held the soulless form together.

Digging his fingers into its cloth covered back, he released a snarling grunt, and a pulse of light discharged from his palm. All at once, the shape of a human was turned into an expulsion of dust, leaving nothing remaining of his form but now the floating molecules that was indistinguishable from the person it once belonged to.

With his body disposed of, Roland returned to the child's body and knelt down. Gingerly scooping it up under his arms, he'd slowly walk back up the stairs, leaving the workshop, devoid of life and research it once had.

"I'll cleanse this world of evil, one way or another," He swore under his breath, his eyes angrily glaring through his visor as he clung to the body he held in his arms. "And may God have mercy on my soul for resorting to any means of cleaning this planet up of the misbegotten deeds of magic."

---

Tonight was a good night to really unwind.

It was some time since she had done so. After all, the time she spent looking over her shoulder was more numerous than times she really relaxed. Years spent with no real thrill, only stress, anxiety and fear being the prime motivators to keep head down and not attract attention.

But tonight, a club opened within her dark corner of the world, a place where hardly anyone knew her or cared to know. Part of her wished to keep discreet, to let the hovel she rented for low so less likely someone would spot her. It freed up her expenses to buy her necessary amenities under the table. That desire to be free, and live life as she used to before her circumstances; before it all went under, was now too hard to contain.

She was going out, damn the consequences!

Slender arms that were beholden to a rare form of muscle tone entwined with serene softness slid into lush verdant fabric. A low cut top wore around in an extra overlap around where the top of her breasts were exposed, revealing a singular piece of jewelry in the form of a jewel encrusted steel cross. Additional gem-infused rings were fastened to every single finger, adding to her glamorous appearance. With a V-cut skirt that revealed her nylon black stocking covered left leg, a pair of metal heeled shoes with steel soles gave it a unique design, while the rest of her skirt possessed crimson furled trim of a deeply black dress with sparkling silver-like gems within its make-up.

With enchanting red eyes endowed with black eyeliner and mascara, she finished adorning a nice touch of blood-colored lip gloss, kissing the mirror with a facetious wink. Binding her hair into a ponytail, she took her beige purse over one shoulder and took one last look at her cramped, single room abode. It was likely she wouldn't return to this place after tonight, nor did she care to ever step foot in its musty, bare-walled prison that she had forged for herself.

Spitting at the dusty floor, she slammed the door behind and strode out of the shady apartment. The flickering lights, luminescent bulbs erratic in their passive glow, cast an eerie overcast within the darkened hallways. Stepping past a man who squatted out of a door he was long since evicted, drunk swill that smelled only half as bad as he stunk she was happy to finally be done with this place.

Down metal rails over a stained staircase, she left the newspaper reading landlord where he sat, in the corner with a lamp cheaply illuminating the text of the news of a serial killer brought to justice in Hamburg. It was an article that she had glanced at before the other day, and one she had lazily archived into her mind. Something obviously regarding the mages that the media wasn't privy to being in the know; likely a mage having gone too far had finally been eliminated.

Walking into the night of the quaint city, alight with late night traffic and shops that operated way past normal hours for other businesses. The air smelled of booze, industrial refuse and decay. Though these scents were amplified where she was concerned, it was still an unpleasant air she had grown to be tolerant of for the three years she's spent here. Cheap brickwork was redundantly styled to mirror one another for affordable repair after the second World War. With it being the heart of the European Union's efforts to stylize everything into a grim reflection of their intentions for the tumultuous continent.

None of that mattered, of course. Casting her red eyes at the double-horned sign of "The Devil's Prada" Club, she grinned ear to ear, her accentuated canines glistening from the reflection of the bold purples, pink and rose hues that dominated its fluctuating dancers that were composed of the LED lighting that dominated its overhang. Casting her gaze downward, a broad double-door entrance was parted, with a pair of muscular men with white tank-tops and black text of the local word for security emblazoned on their shirts. While the line wasn't particularly long, she knew it was going to be tricky if she didn't have the means to conventionally let herself in.

Strutting ahead without a plan was a bit more fun, however.

"Invitation?" One of the bouncers spoke without even looking, letting the last couple ahead of her on through into the pulsing interior of the club. Turning his gaze, he'd see the shapely woman of glamorous appeal walk on by, without even batting an eye. Blinking incredulously, he turned to grasp her shoulder only to find himself staring into a pair of haunting, red hot coals for eyes.

Recoiling, the other bouncer turned to block her entry only to suddenly see no one there. Looking left and right, he'd palm the radio only to feel a sharp pain in his neck and a flowing numbness that brought his eyes rolling back. Falling to the ground while the other security guard whimpered and curled into a fetal position of a heap, causing the woman to smile mirthfully at her own handiwork.

Lowering her hand to her side, she tread inwards and basked in the immediate stimuli of being in such a place of constant amusement. A wind of smoke full of drugs of many kinds, alcoholic beverages and the stench of pheromones entangling with sex and sweat filled her nostrils. It made her tongue water, her veins throb with a thirsty need - even though she already had a drink earlier - and legs quiver with desire.

The pulsing lights of red, purple and pink prevailed within the LED panels that lined up the sides, roof and flooring of the club. A dance floor filled with people grinding and swaying closely together proved a horrible temptation too good to pass up. Booths slid up in a rectangular outline of the club, with a bar on the Westside with suspended televisions showing news, sports and more relevant forms of amusement that would be prohibited in most legal establishments.

Striding herself towards the bar, she glided across the floor with the grace of a dancer on ice. Swishing in and out of view from most of the club's goers, she found herself in front of the counter before any of the paying customers could see her coming. Leaning against the counter, she let her jewelry and rich vermillion locks slide off her smooth shoulders to just tease the top of the cold, smooth surface of the bar.

They gave her a few once-overs, the patrons finding her to be fetching - as she should be, for a number of reasons - and the bartender himself gave a smile as he washed his hands with a clean towel.

"Welcome, Miss," The man's voice carried, sounding auspiciously non-local despite it having no real kinks into the way he spoke; just that it definitely sounded like someone who didn't sound from around here. "I don't believe I've seen you a few hours ago. Just got the invite?"

"Mmmm, something like that," The woman purred out, her voice sultry as her eyes flashed in beckoning long flutters. "There was nothing to do in a town as rigid and stiff as this for months. Then, the perfect distraction popped up and I couldn't help myself but pay it a visit."

"I'm flattered," The bartender spoke, a smile breaching his face that seemed to almost give a telling twinkle in his left eye. Nodding to her, he set the towel down and placed his hands behind his back. "What can I get you to drink?"

"Got anything that isn't local swill?" She inquired, not wishing to imbibe anything like the wretched piss water the locals called alcohol.

The man tilted his head, narrowing his eyes at her and then raised a hand to snap it with a mischievous wink cast her way, "I have just the thing for you! Wait one moment."

She thought the man a bit odd for having such a knowing look about him. He didn't look exactly foreign but neither was it someone she could pick out of a crowd. A trimmed beard that was deep charcoal over a middling reddish pigment with a shaved head, wearing a deep red apron over a black jacket with a red tie he turned around and dug into the cabinet.

Her heightened sense of smell picked up something strangely familiar as he withdrew a vial and poured it into the drink, before throwing a few more shakes of fizzy liquids, blending it with an expertly fashioned twirl of a spoon. Twisting around, he'd slide on the heels of his shoes with a palpable squeak before gracing the cup straight into her expectant hand. Chuckling to himself, the waiter nodded to her before going back to wash some more cups.

Taking the container, she swished the liquid, noticing it was a bit thick for a normal drink. Her eyes drank in the fizz and how some of it congealed to the surface while the rest didn't go to the bottom of the glass. Raising it, she gave it a sniff, picking out the various ingredients of the drink she wished to consume.

"It couldn't be," She thought, her eyes glancing up at the waiter, then at the screens and around at the dance floor behind her. Apart from the casual glances she got, nothing seemed to set off alarms in her senses. The scent of the club still permeated the air, and she could feel the heartbeats racing of those sitting adjacent to her.

Taking the glass up to her lips, she sipped it and retracted it the moment her tongue tasted it. A thick globule slid down her outer lip and off her chin onto the counter. The splatter made a hollow ping instead of the splat she thought it would. Casting her eyes at the tv screens, she saw the images that once flowed consistently were now static, and the people all hung in a suspension as if caught in a pause. Even the ones that looked at her were just hauntingly frozen, and rendered inert.

"Oh dear," The voice of the waiter spoke, not turning around just yet but stopping his cleaning in the mid-rinse with his towel. "It seems I can't fool your senses for very long. Ah well, it was fun while it lasted."

A sudden warp in the air was felt, followed by a compression of the ground and atmosphere around the man. Slammed to his hands and knees, the man's eyes widened, his face perspiring palpably as he caught sight of the violet color that surrounded the abnormal gravity weighing him down. Turning his shaking head around, he'd see the scarlet haired woman bore crimson eyes with contempt at him…

...all while pointing her ring finger of her left hand at him, glowing a bright glistening purple from its normally subdued amethyst gleam.

"Ah...Jewel Magecraft...so you are the one," He spoke, no longer expressing concern but a calm confidence, despite physically appearing to be under duress.

"I was wondering why this place seemed too good to be true, for a shithole like this," She spoke, her voice no longer alluring but more of a sharpened edge, razor and pointed to strike at any given moment. Casting a periphery glance, she kicked the stool that the man caught in a permanent stare at her, watching him crumple to the ground with a meaty thud and unmoving. "You gave me alcohol coated recently from blood. I take it you got it from one of these people you put under a trance?"

"Good deduction, Myst Craven."

The red haired woman froze in place at hearing her name spoken behind her. Casting a whirling glance back towards the man she had trapped in a Gravity spell she found herself gasping. He looked like his eyes were hung in a stasis, and the only sign that he wasn't dead was the sweat coming off him in static-like beads. Looking around her shoulder her dilated crimson ring reflected someone she didn't even sense until now.

"Welcome to the Devil's Prada," He spoke, the man of radically different build and ethnicity than those who were part of the club's security or from the local populace. A soft face with sharp angular features with a single exposed bluish green eye shined from the man's right eye while a light refracting monocle covered his left eye. Atop his deep cobalt tressed head was a top hat with a red ribbon tied to its front, matching his black coated red collared shirt with a black tie, holding what looked like a fashionable cane with a golden tip pressed against the floor. "I've been waiting for your arrival; seems I didn't need to wait very long, given how starved of stimuli you've been."

Myst - as the man had cleverly guessed - looked at him with intrigue and caution of equal measure. Red eyes regained their fullness, no longer shrunk but full rubies with a maelstrom of inky blackness that made up her pupils. Grasping the top of the counter, she hefted herself up with one hand, standing upright so that her vermilion locks billowed from the ventilation that fed her the scents that mimicked the taste of what she had assumed was a club.

"Well, here I am," The crimson-tress woman spoke authoritatively, hands placed on her hips and her gaze aimed downward from her new pedestal she assumed. "Now that you've got me in your little web, Magus, I'd like to know your name; or at least, the one you'd like to tell me, since you went through such an effort to know who I am before this set-up."

Chuckling, the man took his hat off and gave a theatrical bow to her, speaking as his face was aimed to the floor, "Very well, I shall permit you to know my identity. Especially since I wish to offer you something now that we're face-to-face," Inclining his head, she'd see a hint behind the obscuring gleam of his eye-piece a crimson orb circling within a sea of blackness; she couldn't discern if it was a glass prosthetic or something unnatural, but his left orifice bore something unnatural that gave her abnormal senses a chill.

"Yashin Shiyonin. A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Miss Craven."

A foreign name for a foreign looking man, Myst presumed. He definitely had the air of a sophisticated, western taught man from either Japan or some island in relation to it. However, the nature of his very existence eluded her. Even now she couldn't quite pick up any detail of his existence from her enhanced smell, taste, or sight; it was as if he kept his whole person obscured from her very sight, despite being in plain view to her.

"So, Yashin," She spoke informally, tapping one finger on her partially exposed hip while the other brushed sensually up her waist and grasped her chin as she looked down at him thoughtfully. "How did you find out about me? Until tonight, I had been very careful to conceal my existence; there are people who would like nothing more than to find me and take me into custody or a coffin."

"If they haven't in the past several hundred years, they surely won't succeed now," The man told her, bringing a raise to her brow as he stood upright with the hat placed back onto his cobalt colored crown. "The Craven family has been a curiosity to the Association for a while, having been once the chief of expeditionists, explorers and archaeology. They were auspicious nobility, high class within the British Empire and were at the peak of their influence due to wealth and influence. Then, one night, their only daughter is declared dead and the estate confiscated by the Clock Tower. Records show that a horrible accident went awry and brought down the entire research team when they went exploring a strange island with a subterranean complex deep beneath."

Pausing, he gave a curl to his smile that showed true snark as his tongue laced with morbid humor, "But we both know you didn't die down there, now don't we?"

Myst's smile lessened, thin and barely present as her eyes narrowed in on the smug man.

"Am I wrong?" He inquired daringly.

"There are some things worse than death," She hissed aloud, pulling back her lips to show the pronounced canines, common among those of her persuasion. "I wasn't given much choice in the matter. Needless to say, the only ones who know the truth behind my...affliction...are the highest echelon of the Association, and those in charge of the Burial Agency. Given your token gift in my drink, I trust you're already privy to that?"

"Dead Apostles aren't just walking corpses as some may believe," Yashin intoned in a knowledgeable fashion, swiveling his right hand on the spherical handle of his cane while the other gestured emphatically with his words. "They are simply humans with a curse enacted on their bodies. Vampirism is far more common within nature than people who are comfortable are capable of coping; thus they slate all apostles as abominations needing to be purged."

"And I'm an exception?" Myst curiously probed.

"The fact you abstain from drinking blood from any living being for such prolonged periods leads me to suspect it is," The monocle armed man spoke with a nod. "And instead of fully consuming the blood I've placed within a very delectable beverage, your guard is raised and your senses sharpened at the immediate inkling of a trap. And for such an accomplished mage, you didn't do any real harm on the guards I've poised outside nor the man I placed as a proxy to serve you drinks. These are all curious actions for someone alleged as a monster, don't you think?"

"And what does any of this have to do with why you wanted to root me out?" Myst questioned, a sardonic smirk fixed on her face as she pointed towards him. "You want an autograph? Cause apart from reading off my history to me for confirmation's sake, you don't strike me as someone who'd go through the effort as a 'fan' of mine, or my family."

"I did say that I had a proposition, didn't I?" He asked, pointing to her left leg with a Cheshire grin armed on his face. "Mind if you display your left thigh to me?"

Myst almost balked at the comment. The request itself was so atypical to the rest of the display of calm composure and foreknowledge this man showed. This was too specific to be something of lecherous intent…

"Excuse you," Myst inquired with slanted eyes, her voice dry. "For what reason do you want me to expose my body without permission, of any scale, to you?"

"It's not your body that I'm interested in," Yashin spoke in a lull, a crimson gleam escaping his monocle as his blue eye shined with a subtle intensity. "It is the anointment that you've been granted by the grail that I'm curious about seeing."

A grin, a hint of mischief and excitement, shown as she knew of what he spoke of. It had come to her, like a burn or a rash, one night. And it took her months to figure out what the symbol meant, nor what pulsing magic was endowed onto her flesh.

Pulling it aside, the verdant fabric revealed a deep crimson marking of blood etched into the suppleness of her thigh. Even from this distance, the man's smile produced pearly whites as he was beholden to the thing he had come to expect and dared to see firsthand. In it was a circle, and within it was a mountain peak, followed by a cracked blade that was held within its core that sprayed light outwards.

Rubbing her finger around its meticulously woven lines, Myst talked in a fetching manner as she observed his facial features, "You like it? I was thinking of getting a tattoo, but I could never agree with getting someone's dirty needles in my beautiful skin."

"Jest all you like, but that is an anchor to True Magic you have branded onto your skin," Yashin countered, his smile retracted - albeit, slightly - as he withdrew his left hand's glove. From there he showed her on the back of his hand a differently patterned iconography but with the same blood colored etchings. This one showed that of eyes woven on a haunted mask devoid of lips, cracked in twain. "You and I have been selected to partake in the Holy Grail War."

"I've done the research," She proffered, looking down at her mark while emitting a half humored grin as she admired how intricate its shape was on an otherwise unblemished leg. "Some big shot Mages got together and formed a pact to perform some form of death games involving a ritual bringing people of past and future to fight each other and on their behalf. Whoever's last standing gets some divine miracle performed based on the person's deepest desires."

"You sound rather put-off, for discovering that you are selected for such a clandestine ordeal," Yashin stated, his smile lessening as his eyes narrowed curiously at her. "Aren't you the person that strutted out to my club in search to satiate your starved cravings?"

"Yes, but that's because I knew I could make myself scarce before the wrong people caught up to me," She admitted with a shrug, letting the skirt flow over her leg and once again obscuring its mark from the outside air. "Besides, if you haven't forgotten what started this conversation, I am not a suitable candidate. Being a vampire tends to put the Church and Association in a unified pact of mutually assured hatred for my existence. Even I know when to push my luck, and when I'll end up a skinned cat."

"Regardless of what your true nature is, they are incapable of assailing you once registered. Its part of their old customs, as in a previous war," He paused, a mischievous twinkle crossing his left monocle as he adjusted it with his exposed, blood marked hand. "Let's just say, there's a reason outside interference is no longer permitted."

Closing her eyes, Myst inhaled through her nostrils and exhaled out of her partially parted lips. There really wasn't a good reason not to take advantage of this once in a lifetime opportunity. The worse case scenario is that they'd try to pick a fight with her, and at this point, she was fine with returning in kind. But, in all likelihood, they'd have to give her very disapproving stares and just allow her to attend because of old mage laws.

Her smile curled, filled with hunger and her eyes burned with lust; a thirst for a sacred chalice that could grant her anything she could possibly want. Dragging a tongue out of her mouth to caress her lips, she had to repress the urge to act debased in front of this acquaintance of hers. There'd be plenty of time for such questionable actions for later...but for now…

"So, what do you say?" He asked, pulling the glove back over his hand and looking back up at her. "Want to form an alliance?"

Looking at the man's hand, she waged the pros and cons of this arrangement in her mind. It was likely that he wanted to increase his chances of winning this death game by having another player on his side of the court.

What wasn't clear was what he wanted with the grail, or if there was a potential compromise one attending this competition could possess. Unlikely, given how selfish mages are by their very nature. Still, it would prove beneficial, given how out of touch she's been of the magic world apart from her own practices in using it for her own ends.

Stepping off the counter, she glided weightlessly across the air. Her hair swam as if underwater, and her dress rustled fetchingly across her voluptuous frame. With a slight tap for a landing for her heeled feet, she looked over at the man, noticing he was just a hair shorter than herself. While she was wholly confident in her Magecraft and overall physical superiority, the man's intelligence and ability to form a complex illusion that she believed complicitly made her understandably wary.

But, as Myst Craven always was and still is, an avid thrill chaser. So where was the harm in a little risk?

Grasping his hand, Myst shook it, forming a physical sign of her approval to this alliance he wished to form.

"I'm glad you made the right choice," Yashin spoke with approval. "Let's prepare for our eventual arrival on the starting line, Myst Craven."

---

Seven years.

That's how long it has been since the start of the preparation for the Fourth Holy Grail War. And while there was still another eight years to go, all seven had been chosen in the allotted time. The revelations of who possessed these sacred Command Seals came as both jubilation and horror to some of those in the highest of authority within the Association.

Assorting all of the information came down to one who'd be handling the mediation between those interested parties that have some stake in this grand competition - mostly with ranks within the hierarchy of the Association or its sister organizations - while also keeping everyone appraised with those registered in official documentation. It was a trying task, and the one in charge of it all was a man up to his eyeballs of paperwork.

His name is Godfried IV, and he was the designated reviewer of the Holy Grail War.

In the past, the Holy Grail War was a private affair, with its contest unintentionally dragging less qualified or unwanted individuals into its folds in its first two engagements. Not until the previous one did it gain any sense of formal order which was designed appropriate by the Association's standards.

However, after the calamity of the recorded Second Holy Grail War that took place in Russia almost a full century ago, a position was put in place to help afford the temperamental peace between the Holy Church and the various factions of the Association. While the Church still had its proxy in the form of a Mediator, the Reviewer was the Association's eyes and intelligence, constantly keeping appraised of details while also funneling in as a middle man to the Mediator himself.

Godfried has been a man of principle, and in the past, action, but to be selected for such an ongoing grueling assignment such as this was no joy. While some could consider it a promotion, to those in the know, it was just a way for the Association to keep their hands in the kitchen; that was the allegorical event that is the grail war. He had little room to breathe, let alone sneeze, without filing reports to the Association and all interested parties that be. In a way it wasn't dissimilar to how uncomfortable it was to be the Mediator on behalf of the Church, as they have no real say in what goes on and only are a physical stopgap to any initial ongoings of those who are the registered contestants.

Looking through, he went over the registered Seven Masters, his eyes gracing over the files - that some, needn't do much in terms of research as they were already archived for purposes such as this - and reread them for any potential updates that may have come up within the last few months of his work. While he had better things to do than devote all of his energy in gluing his eyes on mountains of paperwork, looking at these pitiable people did give himself a sense of clarity that he was far safer than they nor their glorified referee was.

In the first year, two masters registered within only six months apart from each other.

The first one was from the decorated and very popular family of the Alexanders, Maria. Though it was seven years ago when the Command Seals formed, the young mage had come from a long line of formidable and respected practitioners in the art of Prism Magecraft. While many thought her father would have been a better suited candidate, she has quickly elevated herself as she came to age. Discovering a knack for understanding a broad array of Magecraft, even those that were outside of her expertise, her eagerness to learn was unmatched by how quickly she adapted herself to new fields of study. While it isn't known precisely what Servant she's been allotted to receive, many believe she's destined to pick the best Heroic Spirit if only because of whose father she has.

The second that had become a master was from the Faust family. Unlike the former, very little information was shared about the name nor description of the registered master. They had, at one point, been a revered if not estranged clan that had moved locations from the United Kingdom to eastern, middle and western europe. While they still make contributions and attend gatherings, the last thing known from them was that the current head of the house, Freed Faust, had an untimely demise running a clandestine experiment. He was survived by the matriarch of the family, Morgiana Faust, and their daughter, Morgan Faust. Whether it was from the child or the mother, it was unclear, but proof of the Command Seals was produced and the preparations to find the proper catalysts to summon a proper Servant were already underway.

In eight years time, these two were likely to be the youngest masters to attend, despite maturity setting in.

Looking over some other papers, Godfried saw one that worried him.

From the Regius Family came Roland, an avowed Magus Killer. Despite their family once boasting a paramilitary force of those skilled in Magecraft or at least familiar in dealing with the supernatural, he is all but the last of his line when it comes to the previous militant tradition. His family of warriors are now scattered, no longer united as an arm of the Association and are rather distant. Despite being a relatively young man he has devoted himself to hunting one rogue mage after the other, purging anything in his path and leaving very little to retrieve for research acquisition. He had been selected several years ago, registering right before he had found - and killed - a Sealing Number of the Philosopher classification. His family's Magecraft is infamous for producing a warrior unparalleled, but without unity, his family is merely a shell of its former glory it once had a century ago.

One that graced registration only four months after Roland came as a questionable duo, for certainty. One was Yashin Shiyonin, a mage who was recorded to have been an active member of the Association, if only in a small part, for the better part of over a century. Raising more questions was one named Myst Craven who was slated as dead, and her name all but stricken from most records that he was able to dig up. The pair were enigmatic and potentially dangerous, so he made sure to have people look into their background or ask around to see if he can find anything more substantial that he can work with.

Two years ago, a man from the Isle of Man was a man named Faer Leigh, a mage with a vaguely documented history of being long standing with the Association. Having personally produced historical theses involving the existence of supernatural phenomena still present in the world, along with a host of other fascinating experiments that have been turned over to various segments of the Clock Tower, it often seems he's a researcher first before being a Magus. However with no real time spent refining known Magecraft in the Association's presence it is with due caution that Godfried places special care and attention on this man.

And of course, in just the last month, was one of the top enforcers of the Mage Association that had submitted registration for being a master of the Holy Grail War: Constantine Gall. The Gall family, as far as he can find, is one of the only active mage families that have active reverence for a pagan deity and harness their Magecraft all through their ancient traditions. As such, being in possession of relics and artifacts has been their sacred duty by the Mage Association, as well as being deadly operatives on their clandestine missions to keep order or eliminate targets with extreme prejudice. The man was one to be feared, but also respected for such a strict work ethic and hardly deviates from his prescribed assignments.

With all seven candidates chosen and submitted, it was another eight years before the ley lines converge at the discovered point for the Lesser Grail's ritual site. In times past, the Grail had a fickle point of interest, often changing spots around the globe from periods amounting to over a hundred years to points like now where it takes little over a decade for the mana to coagulate properly. But for the first time, it didn't take part in the Eastern Hemisphere, but in the Western Hemisphere.

Placing his hand over the map of the United States of America, Godfried looked on at a larger photo of a particular town that was the designated ley line intersection. One that had its own history steeped in blood and paranoia involving magic.

"Ah, Maxim. You and I are going to have a long road to Hell this time," The silvery haired man spoke, closing his eyes with a knowing sigh exhaling his nostrils. "In eight years, this will likely be the last thing we do and not even something we get to choose. Isn't fate such a cruel mistress?"

---

The time has come.

After the Command Seals had formed, the one from the Family of Faust's training had begun to take shape in the errant of destiny. Groomed in the traditions of the aged clan, the heir to the noble house of the co-founder in creating the grail system, the one who would become their champion in claiming their prize in the the holiest of reliquaries had taken the steps in summoning the perfect support; one that their family had heralded in preparation long before their family was selected by the Lesser Grail.

Upon roving hills, spanning between the ruins of an old castle in the distance - now more or less a tourist attraction - was a particular hill of dedicated importance. Here, a number of hooded figures gathered, while one embroidered in a beautiful gown stepped forth at its foot in readiness.

The young, slender girl stood at the base of an ancient hill with an even more aged monument stood the test of time ahead of her. Locks of ebony draped down her back in a smooth silky mane over her spine, complementing her pale fair skin in a picturesque fashion. A rounded face, still retaining youth, a slight point for her chin and a straight nose with thin brows and a pair of warm, serene emeralds for eyes. She wore a loose dress of deep violet, curved around where her developing chest presided, revealing an intricate deep red brand akin to a thorned helm, sliding down unseen to preside around her waist hinting in transparency to an even more intricate pattern around her abdomen.

In her left hand was a dagger, etched with symbols far older than any known Mage's Crest, and upon the palm of her enclosed fist on her right flank, held something precious enclosed by small petite fingers. Marching up, she fixed the monument with a cold stare; a simple stone marker with writing of an ancient tongue few in the present day could read. Though she could understand it as if it was normal writing, it wasn't what was written upon it that vested her interest but was laid in waiting in front of it.

A circle, laden with an intricate pattern of swirling light, with its center most iconography depicting a face of horns jutting from a crown, laden with soldered copper over ashen mortar. Despite it being late in the day, the normally glistening circle was obscured by the looming clouds rolling over her head, rumbling ominously; a perfect backdrop for this clandestine ceremony eons in the making.

The pieces have fallen into place and the ritual is now ready to commence.

---

It was quite beautiful.

Here, in the middle of the Devil Prada's cellar, Yashin couldn't help but find his achievement to be quite the accomplishment. One of them was dug deep into the flooring, filled with wine and shaped to be that of a verse from an old poem in an ancient word. At its center was a twisted rat, its entrails removed and its blood soaking the centerpiece. The other one, to his right, was a clay endowed circle, with sprinkles of berries and the heart of a recently slain goat, propped up on a cup within its center.

Yashin couldn't help but find his work on crafting the pair of summoning circles quite enamoring to the eye. It was akin to painting a mural, but instead of a painting to be seen by all, it was only reserved for those in the know. What took him the better part of a few days to learn to craft had taken weeks to cultivate the materials necessary for the assumed ritual; the rest, took a considerably longer period of time to achieve.

"What do you think?" The man inquired, looking at the woman who loomed over his shoulder like an ever-present phantom; eyes glowing in the dark, only helped in encouraging the metaphor.

"Very macabre," Myst lulled dryly, a humored grin pushing back the momentary cringe she had of the smell of dead ruining the spice of blood entering her nostrils. "Fitting, I suppose. Didn't think it would take this long to paint a few magic circles, though."

"I never saw you complaining about living in my club's guest quarters all this time," Yashin quipped back with a smile. "I never even made you pay rent the whole time you spent lounging in my luxurious abode.."

"My company is my payment to you," The Dead Apostle rebuked, placing her red nailed hands on her hips, jutting one to the side, flashing her pearly whites to reveal her pronounced incisors to him mischievously. "That is why you wanted my help, isn't it, Mister Magician? Why else go through so much trouble for me in the first place?"

"Why indeed?" He questioned back, turning his head away from her and chuckling as he could feel her annoyance at that rhetorical retort.

Continuing onward, he raised his cane towards the circle with the clay and the beating heart in the skull, "Now, follow my instructions. We will be performing this ceremony in concert so you'll need to be in perfect synchronous action."

"Do you think my skills as a magus have rusted that much that I need you holding my hand as a child?"

"We are dealing with the essence of True Magic, Miss Craven. Dare I remind you what happened when you came face to face with something representing such Divine attributes that breathed such energy?"

"Touche," She relented, though now with a scowl formed at him for probing too close to her past than she would have liked. His knowledge of precisely what happened to her over three hundred years ago was undeniably ominous. He didn't look it but she could tell by what little she smelled of him that he wasn't ordinary; the man was changed, and no longer simply a normal human. Whatever he was, it gave her chills, and she couldn't help but feel more on edge around him even when he spoke in such playful airs.

As she stood at the face of her magic circle, Yashin did so as well. Raising his hand, she did so to mimic it, and then, as a prelude they both murmured a phrase involving counting numbers and something involving the essence of earth, blood and the elements that are aligned to the familiars they were about to summon.

And then, it began…!

---

Home.

It had been many years since the hunter had returned back from which he had been born. There within lush woodlands near the border of France and Switzerland presided over the Regius fortress, Château du Regal. White brick with cobalt roofing made it a very iconic piece of architecture, not having seen service in several hundred years. It was thankfully ignored during the Great World Wars but the rigors of time could be just as dangerous, if left unchecked. The Regius family, despite the whole of the house seeing better days, had it well kept and still guarded even with most of its inhabitants scattered to the four cardinal winds.

Built on a tall hill overlooking the tree covered fields and the valley surrounding it, the trek up was beyond most modern convenience though it was hardly rigorous. By the time he got up there it was still early morning, though he was visited by those who stood guard at its front; men, wearing the crests of his family on their shoulders. Though instead of men who wore armor of metal, like himself, it was that of leather and flak, with their armbands bearing the symbol in a monochrome instead of the engraving in the chestplate where anyone close enough would see whom they were to be feared.

Now it was just a badge, like any other, as an identifier of whose allegiance they served.

"Greetings, Milord," One of them spoke crisply, his voice disciplined but clearly not native from the lands the hunter was raised from. "How faired your sojourn into the world?"

"Sour," Roland spoke with thinly veiled contempt at thinking of what he had to deal with. Even through his ominously glowing visor of his helmet the guards could tell he had a weary journey.

The Philosopher Sealing Number was just one of many issues he had to deal with on his own while journeying across the globe. Ever since he had found himself marked and found the opportunity he was presented with, he had on a whim submitted the issue through a letter to the Mage Association and then went about his grim business. There was nothing to be joyful about, least of all to express to the hired help brandishing his family's mark only because of their pay, not because of aged old tradition and duty.

"Right," The other guard spoke, nervously glancing away. "Do you...want us to relieve you of your effects, sir?"

"No," He replied flatly, stepping past them without looking either of them in the eye. Grasping the seam of his helmet, removing it with the faint sound of hissing as the respirator was unfastened with the rest of his crown covering, he spoke in a more muted sound of resignation. "That is all."

"Just so you know," The first guard spoke, looking over his shoulder at the broad armored back of the Magus. "A young miss arrived not but a fortnight ago. Said something about preparations for something."

At that, the hunter halted.

"Explain," He grated.

"Short gal, blue eyes, blonde hair and full of moxie," The second guard explained, gesturing with a hand away from his assault rifle for emphasis. "She came in hauling quite a bit of baggage, too. Some of it looked real weird and suspect, but I didn't question it when she showed the credentials."

"Credentials?" Roland questioned, looking over at the two of them as if they just sprouted ears. "What kind of credentials lets strangers into my home?"

"One in deep relation to your family, Milord," The first guard spoke succinctly with a nod. "Miss Rubie Diamond, to be precise."

At that, Roland's now visible face went from confusion to indignation. His normally chiseled jawline of a grizzled muzzle for a visage turned red and his eyes closed. A snort released from his nostrils and he twisted on his heels, stomping away with a loud, unbridled groan.

Leaving the guards puzzled at his reaction, the hunter walked past servants that were in the midst of polishing effects, straightening paintings and tidying up the massive interior of the Regius family estate. Walking up a circle of stairs he knew where this person who invited herself into his home would be. A winding staircase of red carpet soon was replaced by rigid, cold stone and the comfortable light turned into torch-lit pedestals slotted into the walls.

Eventually, he made it to the eastern wing's third tower, a room that had been reserved for extra storage or getting a quick view out of the keep's arrow slots. Now, he bore witness to a complete renovation, made in spite of its previous affects that were now bustled into corners.

There, squatting in front of what looked like a silver lined circle, enamored in a swerving pattern of old symbology and a piece of old parchment set at its epicenter, was the woman in question. A head of yellow hair with curly braids twined around with pink floral arrangements gave it a cute circlet about her head. Her slender shaped body had her kneeling with her haunches, jutting out her backside at an appealing slope thanks to the thin white blouse that was sleeveless, its collar protruding a pink ribbon. An emerald skirt with white ruffles at its hem turned upward, hinting what just lay beneath with a well timed gust of wind for wandering eyes to catch sight of. Heeled boots craning on bent toes, and finger-less elbow length gloves were fidgeting with some effects she was sprinkling at its center, reminiscent of saltpeter and flour.

Clearing his throat, Roland would see Rubie raise a hand up over her shoulder, waving at him as she rubbed the material into a crack in the circle. Sighing, she stood upright and turned around with a twirl, her cherub faced cheeks filled with a fairness that hinted with a flush of warmth at the sight of him, small eyebrows rising up while blue eyes glistened like gems in Roland's eyes.

In the years he spent away from home, seeing the worst magic and humanity had to offer, it brought him back to ground just how precious her expression was to him at that moment.

"Well, what do you think?" She asked, placing her hands on her hips and looked over her exposed shoulder at the sigil she spent the last week working on. "Took me a while to find all the materials but putting it together was fun. I even picked a spot that you wouldn't mind me messing with. A magic tower, so to speak, ha!"

"I think you spent a long time on something I'm having second thoughts on," Roland sighed, his face still forlorn despite the color having returned back thanks to her interruption in his brooding.

It had been a long time since his registration that he almost forgot. How did she even hear about his registration, he wondered?

"I was at the Clock Tower when I overheard talk about the candidates. And when I heard you weren't even at home, I knew I had to at least get things ready when you inevitably return," She admitted, grinning cheekily as she leaned forward and waggled her eyebrows up at him, watching his eyes blink incredulously at her. "Didn't actually expect you to show up since you became a vagabond. I know your family isn't in the best sorts, but the least you could do is send me a letter, or an email; I'd even take a carrier pigeon instead of wondering if you're still alive, Ro."

Roland sighed. With the helm shoved under one arm, he raised his unoccupied metal covered hand to rub the bridge of his nose as he looked distressed much to her chagrin.

"What? Nothing?" She blurted out with an exasperated swing of her hands.

"I've...had a long trip, I hadn't even put in the work to prepare. Least of all I didn't wish for you to be entangled in my personal affairs-"

"Okay, no," Rubie flatly rebuked, making his face look at her with surprise; then take a step back as she stomped ahead and jabbed a finger at his breastplate, right over the sigil of his House on its center. "Start over, Ro. I am not taking that sorry piece of angst as an attempt to bridge the gap of your silence and seeing me as actual conversation."

"O-Okay!" He stammered, trying to force a smile that turned crooked as he raised a hand up to scratch his sweatied head awkwardly. "H-Hi Rubie. How have your studies been?"

"That's a start," She harrumphed with a step back on her heel, crossing her arms and staring thinly up at him. "Honestly, I didn't need to go out of my way to help. We've known each other since we were little. The least you can do is look pleased that I took the effort to bring myself out of my laboratory at the Clock Tower."

"I am grateful, I just didn't…" He stopped short, sighing, looking away with a more solemn expression on his face. "I haven't really processed it, is all. I've had some tough things to settle and come to terms with. So, I apologize for coming off as inhospitable; least of all to you. Forgive me."

"All is well, Ro," She dismissed with a sigh, smiling as she shook her head. "As long as I get to join up on this glorified crusade, we can call it even, hm?"

"You do realize what you're asking, right?" Roland turned, his eyes staring at her seriously. "The Holy Grail War isn't just a sparring match between colleagues at the Clock Tower. This is to the death, and a lot of horrible things have been known to happen in collateral. Even if you win, you may not get what you're looking for."

"Doesn't matter. If I don't look after you, you might honestly die on me, and I can't have that," The blonde bowl-trimmed woman spoke with a flash of her pearly whites, her eyes shining despite what he said. "C'mon! It'll be like old times, just with higher stakes. And we won't be alone. You got an excellent catalyst thanks to yours truly."

Smiling at her words, his brows furrowed as he shifted his look back to the circle, "That reminds me...who did you pick?"

"Ah-Ah-Ah!" Rubie wagged her finger. "That will spoil the surprise! You'll find out after the summoning ritual, okay?"

"You really do like driving me up the wall in suspense, don't you?"

"You love me for it!" She giggled with cheekiness. "Now come on. I'll walk you through the process, you vagabond!"

---

"This is so exciting!" Maria squealed, her coral colored hair swinging around while framed by a pair of bright red bows. Her anticipation hardly contained, despite the ceremonial attire she wore as she had grown accustomed to throughout her career as a Magus. A golden embroidered cloak of deep blue was worn around her body, with glistening crystals added as layered adornment to the skirt she wore in accompaniment to it, displaying dazzling colors of all kinds as the light struck it.

Gone was the freckled, round-faced girl of an idyllic young age. Now she had grown to maturity and was on the cusp of passing from youth to true adulthood. Her body had filled out, obtaining a physique that had worked itself into being quite the build for a woman but still had a curvaceous appeal that had many in her peers turn heads at. Though she enjoyed the looks, she was far too dedicated to her family's work to seek anyone out in return so she left many disappointed.

The point of her excitement had come when she finally obtained the relic her family had successfully transported home when they unearthed it. It was the medium which would make this particular summoning possible, more than just the arrangement of the formula and the incantation necessary to achieve summoning. A jeweled sword, said to have been genuine of its kind, and one that belonged to the most famous of the Holy Roman Emperors.

Within the study she had been given for the years that have passed since she had been chosen as a master for the grail war, she had arranged all of the proper things she wished. With the bespectacled blade set on an ornate pedestal of copper with a stand of iron, it was just on the closest corner of a five-star circle of black feathers with golden lining inscribed onto the floorboards.

Hearing footsteps coming down the hallway linking her workshop with the rest of the estate, she smiled, knowing whose feet came towards her direction.

A crescendo of polite knocks came, and she turned around, seeing a petite hand twist the knob, following a Sun-colored head with a fair face with cool blue eyes. Dressed in a white blouse with a blue tie and a similar cobalt colored skirt, she came armed with a clipboard under one arm filled to the brim with note paper.

Despite her busy self, she shared a smile as her eyes met with the shining jewels that were affixed in the young mistress of the Alexander family.

"There you are, Diana!" Maria spoke out with glee, spinning on her heels in a pirouette spin. The sound of wind chimes resembled in how the prisms adorned on her robed-dress jingled and jangled. The light of the workshop refracted a variety of sparkling colors that was pleasing to see as much as it was to hear their glass-like substance clanging against one another. "I'm just about ready to summon my Servant. Today's the day to find out what classification he'll be!"

"Are you sure you wish to summon it so soon?" The beautiful, older woman inquired in a maternal chiding tone as she held her smile. "And your father has yet to return from his trip abroad. Shouldn't it be best for him to be present when you perform the ritual?"

"I've done my homework, Diana," The orange-haired girl replied, furrowing her brows and crossing her arms over her chest with a harrumph. "All of the ingredients have been assembled. The formula is in the proper sequence and the catalyst for the Servant I want is prepared. I'm ready as I'll ever be!"

"As you wish," The aide of the Alexanders nodded solemnly in resignation. "Still, given how close you are to him, I thought you'd want him to see it."

"I know. It sucks that he isn't here to see it for himself," The freckled girl sighed, looking over her shoulder at the circle's outer rim. "But, it's his fault for answering every call the Clock Tower has for him. You'd think with how much clout our family has he'd make more time to stay at home and answer every question of theirs from his personal work space?"

"He's an important man who has ties to a lot of magus families and factions within the Mage Association," She reminded her, her smile dwindling as she looked downwards. "He also sees your mother, whenever he's traveling."

"You mean visits her grave, right?" Maria corrected, hearing her the aide shift uncomfortably in silent affirmation. "I barely remember her, from when I was young. I guess I don't have as much of a connection as he does. I guess that's why we tended to be close...just wish he'd show it more often."

"You know he loves you very much-"

"I know, Diana," The tangerine haired girl turned, smile reengaged as she stared up with an open palm showing her Command Seals prominently displayed on her skin. "But, it's his loss that he can't see how amazing of a mage I've become when I pull this off without a hitch!"

Sighing, Diana let out a weary laugh as she nodded, "That he will. But, before you begin," She unfurled the clipboard, revealing a number of forms that bore the most official looking typed text Maria had seen. "Can you please sign these? The Association's official reviewer wants them out of the way now that the seventh master has officially registered into the war."

"Already?" She questioned, half surprised and the other half in barely disguised disgust at having to wear out her hand on not Magecraft, but paperwork.

"The location of the Lesser Grail has been ascertained as well," She explained, handing the thick papers into Maria's hand while also producing a pen for her to write with. "In eight years time, the mana will be fully coalesced and the war will begin forthwith."

"Dare I ask where the grail is being kept?" Maria inquired as she began to sign the first few sheets without as much as batting an eye.

"The United States of America, actually-"

"REALLY?!"

Maria's squeal caused the woman to nearly double over from how loud and high of a pitch it reached. Blushing with embarrassment, she cleared her throat while Diana flatly stared at her with disapproval, picking at one of her ears as it still rang from the absurd decibels of noise she was on the receiving end of.

"Still, America. I've only visited there a couple of times, but nothing really fun," She muttered, rapping through the papers as her eyes glazed through the boring assemblage of wording involving 'Safety', 'Caution' and columns of rules, rules, rules. "Oh, I wonder if we'll be in a big city, like New York? Or, oh, Las Vegas?! Maybe even the capital of the country in DC?!"

"Actually," Diana faked a cough, cutting Maria's rambling halfway through for their eyes to meet as she stoically informed her. "It's in Massachusetts. A small city of historical importance for those of its country and ties to the Mage Association."

That state name, and a 'small' city formed a pit in Maria's stomach. With her abundant time spent exploring the history of mages and their exploits, both hidden and widely known in the world, made it easy for her to put two and two together.

"Wait...it isn't where I think it is, is it?" She gaped, her eyes swelling open as her jaw dropped, face paling in conjunction with her dawning epiphany.

"Salem," Diana replied nonchalantly. "Apart from the one incident making its name known in infamy, I doubt you should have that hard of a time-"

A deep, baleful groan was released from Maria as she squinted her eyes shut and leaned her head back till her face was pointed to the ceiling.

"What?" Diana blinked with confusion. "The city is perfectly safe."

"You don't understand, Diana," She mournfully spoke, her eyes cracking open to look at the neatly trimmed ceiling above her. "The Holy Church has a stronghold in Salem. It has been a notorious hotspot of contentious debate if witches have actually set foot there; and based on cursory research by the Association, it was likely was home to a cabal of witches and warlocks at one point that operated outside of the Association's rules; its suspected they even got innocents killed when the Church caught wind of their activities."

"Oh…" The blonde woman mouthed, finding herself at a loss for words. "I...never heard of such a thing."

"It helps having connections to find out the specifics. The Mage Association doesn't like talking about it, given how it failed to contain rogue threats like that in its earlier centuries," Maria sighed, righting herself upright and looking back at the clipboard to resume her signing the papers. "Great. The equivalent of my sight-seeing will be to have a bunch of Church goons stalking my every move and the people holding back their urge to skewer me with pitchforks!"

"I'm sure they won't believe that-"

"Do you see what I wear?!"

"It doesn't mean you're a magus, though."

"No, but it certainly raises eyebrows from the magic-less!"

"Fair point," Diana relented, looking away with a sigh escaping her parted lips. "Forgive me. I'm not the best person to be company with, at this time."

"No-No, you're fine! I just don't like the choice of scenery, that's all," Maria refuted, reaffirming her smile as she looked back at Diana with beaming eyes. "Once I'm finished with these notes, we can really start moving forward!"

"Alright," Diana replied with a mirthful smirk. "Show me what your past seven years of preparation have taught you this far, Maria Hannibal Alexander."

---

And thus, it began. A ritual cast across the globe, far and wide, across time and space with no true synchrony or planned unison. It made no difference to the Holy Grail. The Heroic Spirits that were to be marshaled forth on this sacred creed to serve their Masters in a battle royale, shedding blood and reaping life to obtain a true divine wish to the winner of their competition. No matter the objective path taken, each incorporeal spirit was beckoned to the summoner that drew it in, like moths to a flame.

And then, they would materialize. Like the Judaic God breathing life into earth, mana manifested flesh and larger than life icons would stand before those who've anchored them to the present day, in the modern world of man and the living. Legends will become compacted with knowledge, wisdom and personas of those they resemble in myth and history.

To fight in the 4th Holy Grail War!

---

"In this divine hour, I call upon you from the beyond. Stretching across the horizon, whose footsteps from past, to present and the beholden future. We stand on the precipice of change, and I will become the cogs for that change. Transform in glory and bask in honor; lean not in despair or weariness. Become my blade and I will become your soul. As I embody all the good in this world our mission shall become a holy one, fraught with peril but meriting in success. In victory, I thrive and in defeat I lie among the bones of old. Come forth, and fulfill thy work!"

---

As Maria chanted out her incantation, the feathers lit aflame, forming a torrential twister of orange, gold and red with a silver outline. Her brand glowed a bright red, almost a searing pain as she accentuated every word of the chant, her voice growing with strength to match the intensity of the summoning circle's exaltation of power it was manifesting.

Diana's eyes widened at the sight, one arm bracing her face from the brilliant light that was stemming from the source of what was being coalesced. For a moment, she swore she could see multiple shadows, flickering in and out of the spot beside the jeweled sword. Then, it solidified into a singular silhouette, the flames transforming into a bluish white before being snuffed out entirely in a field of sparks.

"I've heard your call, and I answer," An airy voice melodically graced the air, lighting still a bluish silver surrounding the man's form. Turning to look behind him, he righted his stance and looked assuredly at Maria's jubilous face. Replying with a smile of his own, the silvery-black haired man with white cloak with black streaks and silver armor with navy blue inner-colored dye. "I am Rider, a pleasure to meet you."

---

Roland's voice reverberated within the tower room's space like a hallowed sentencing was being committed. Despite all of Rubie's encouragement, he himself lacked the excitement she had been a part of, and had a distinct resignation to it; like he was sworn by duty and nothing else to see it through.

As the circle lit up with a translucent glow, a shimmering aurora of lights danced within the air, forming a solid shape and twisting into a figure of impressive stature. In the transference of mana into physical form, one could see an old fashioned suit of impressive embroidery with a ruffled white collar, golden buttons down a black and red vest with suit gloves and slight-heeled leather boots. A hood was held over the head, and turning to see them, they could make out a face, with ominously glowing silver eyes.

"Ah, hello!" The figure spoke, a distinctly feminine tone with an accented bass. While Roland just blinked curiously, Rubie had her jaw drop at the sight of the spectral image grasp the hem of the hood and reveal a head full of hair; a reddish-blonde with fair skin and a soft angled face with dark lashes batting at the Roland with exultation. "You must be my master. I'm pleased to make your acquaintance!"

"The Father...of Thaumaturgy...is a woman?!" Rubie gaped with incredulity as she pulled at her hair. "H-How?! Wh-Why?!"

"Oh, history books must have misspelled my name on mistake," The female entity replied with a humored smirk, mouthing the words as she spoke them to the woman. "My name is Michel Scott, though people have misspoken it as Michael. It didn't help with the nickname so I've often been confused as a man, given my choice of attire; sorry to disappoint you, miss."

"So my Servant is a Mage...and the very first to be called one," Roland spoke with a bemusing tone, his eyes closed and a huff coming from his nostrils. "Fuck my life."

---

Myst's eyes were alight with stimuli. It had been some time since she truly exerted herself for a ritual. Not that she had allowed her circuits to grow dull, with how often she needed to keep poised at a moment's notice of being hunted for so many years. But this was something else than casting a spell or generating energy for an attack. This was a lengthy ordeal, and her words had to repeat after her colleague's less the incantation be offset and her summoning be spoiled.

Sure enough, the two circles lit up, casting contrasting glows of particularly fascinating illuminating halos within the cellar of the club. Within her own she saw a figure, lithe, shapely but powerful borne into being with a wild swirl of black hair that touched the floor while retaining a formidable height. A strap of leather barely constrained voluptuous breasts while revealing a smooth, toned abdomen leading to a waist adorned in a skirt of lion's mane linked from a stuffed head lying at her right hip, with bronze tapered boots outfitted on her feet stemming up and around her thighs. With a jewel embroidered turban fitted to her crown the lightly tanned skinned woman beheld the Dead Apostle with a curious expression while placing both hands on her shapely, muscular hips.

In the other, in the periphery of her eye, she saw something else otherworldly take shape. Wild mane of white hair like a flickering torch came from the crown of a pale skinned man with piercing blue eyes colder than ice , with a skin-tight cloth woven like smooth silk over his body with various red furred pauldrons affixed not directly over his shoulders but almost as if they were hovering by an unseen power. Golden pieces enamored around him, some around his neck, others around his wrists and ankles of his boots, each of them more glamorous than the previous to show just the visible importance of the man who felt and looked intimidating.

A deep throated laugh came from her colleague; one that brought chills to her spine at his carnal delight at what was accomplished.

"With your help, Myst Craven, and these Servants," He declared, a toothy smile spread tightly ear to ear as the glint of his monocle barely covered the shaking his red-&-black left eye made. "The War is as good as ours!"

---

The hallowed grounds of which the raven haired girl stood echoed with an ominous chant. The circle of hooded individuals, shrouded and concealed in their nature, spoke an old tongue that no person that could possibly overhear would understand. A repetition was spoken in chorus, but it changed in verse, like a poem in constant motion.

All the while, the girl spoke in a low whisper as she cut a thin line of her palm over the magic circle in front of the monument's stone, letting a trail of blood ooze onto the center of the magic circle.

"Born from the womb of our mother, we call you, oh knight of treachery. Christened as the heir, but inheritor of shame, we call you into the fore and become our champion. Spilling the blood of country for country, hold thy blade till we aim it at our foes. For in a holy prayer with beckon thee for a task of our mother's creed; come forth, horned knight of the round table!"

As she finished her declaration, the voices all ceased, and the light of the circle spiraled up into a column of mana. The clouds above, crackled with unstable energies, siphoned outward and struck a continuous current into the supernatural pyre of luminescence surging from the hill. From within the continuous strand of swirling negative energies a shape took form within the insurmountable amount of mana.

White plating with matted grey at its base, with fabric and metal lined by blood red lines came a daunting figure. A horned helmet stood between formidable pauldrons; one that began to clink in automation as its horns slid down and jutted at the shoulders while a head of blonde hair adorned in a frayed ponytail complemented by a pair of emeralds for eyes.

"I heard your damn annoying chanting," The figure spoke, looking down at the ebony haired girl who looked up stoically at her with a pleased smile. "I take it you're master, then? And not those muttering fools down below?"

"My name is Morgan," The girl revealed with a simple nod. "You must be Saber. I look forward to fulfilling our destiny together."

---

A/N: Ah yes. Another Fate related story. This should be fun. I came up with this with a friend over just a joke, and then it spiraled into something much, much bigger. Now that I've soaked all of the information and background that I could, there are just a few things you should know, if you're still in the dark as to what is going on.

1 - This is an alternate timeline. One so radically different that the Fuyuki Grail Wars didn't happen, but a drastically different kind of Holy Grail War developed by different people. So the timing, the established rules, and a lot of other variables are changed for my own whims. My friend is a Fate Guru so he's approving of the changes I make, for the better or worse, however you'll take it.

2 - Instead of the Einzbern, Matou and the Tohsaka families being the founders of the Holy Grail War and its ritualistic order in how things are done, it was founded by the Alexander, the Regius and the Faust families instead. Each of them had huge importance to the structure and the influence of the Mage Association over time. While not all of them are up to the peak of their potential, surviving members aren't to be trifled with and thus none of them are slouches going into this conflict.

I hope that clears things up, and keep you straight on the details of this customized Grail War story I'm doing. The whole premise, truly, is about the lastly aforementioned character "Morgan" summoning Saber, "Mordred" and fighting the entirety of all her foes. I'm largely obscuring her in this opening chapter for the sake of world building and setting up the cast of those who are contending. Don't worry, I'll be divulging more time spent on Mordred and her questionable master in the future.

Please stay safe, due to current events, and keep healthy!