I know I keep saying I'm gonna go to posting every other week, but fuck it, this is a weekly story now. Expect it every Sunday.

I'm sorry this isn't the Berserker fight, but that whole thing will be next week! Promise!

Also, shoutout for KhaosKhan for all the help with background information and Assassin character stuff!

This Grail War had potential, but at the moment, it was mostly just boring. He'd scouted most of the competition, and while some were a bit more interesting than others, most of them seemed to present the promise of a worthwhile battle.

Too bad his Master had specifically instructed him not to go all out.

Lancer was not a man who did things by half. He'd never pulled a punch a day in his life, and he'd never been particularly shy about taking a hit. The order that bastard had given to battle each of the enemy Servants in turn, but not to the death, was a travesty. No, it was worse than that. An insult. That cocky Archer in red could have been the fight he'd been searching for - if he'd been allowed to have it. Lancer enjoyed an easy win as much as the next guy, but fights where you and the other guy were evenly matched were the best kind of fight.

Saber was a pushover. Caster was cruel and powerful, but not particularly interesting. Berserker was a monster, but Lancer knew how to fight smart, and Gae Bolg never missed the heart. He'd run each battle in his head, and he was pretty confident that he could win a fight with any of them.

The problem, at the moment, was Assassin. Lancer often fancied himself a man without fear, but that wasn't entirely true. Lancer got scared all the time, but that was part of what it meant to be a human. Courage was not whether you got scared or not; it was about how one dealt with it. Normally, a condescending smile and a sharp tongue were all he needed to keep it at bay. The night before, however, the sight of that hulking, armored brute had filled him with a primal terror he was neither familiar nor comfortable with. Sure, he'd retreated from the other battles, but only because those were his orders. When Assassin came for him, he'd run with his tail between his legs. That stung his pride, once he'd found himself removed enough from the situation to view it objectively. He couldn't trust any of the other Servants to solve that problem for him. It would come down to a fight, and it would take everything Lancer possessed to come out on top.

Now, there was only one name left to cross off his list. Rider. Kotomine had not seen fit to give Lancer any details, but he seemed to know with some certainty who the Master was. A little ball of grease named Shinji Matou, a wannabe mage with a chip the size of Ireland on his shoulder. As the priest had given him the tip, he'd been sitting atop the back of a pew, his feet on the bench. His spear leaned idly against his thigh. "That's all?"

Kotomine had smirked enigmatically. "That's all you need to know to accomplish your task. Your assessment of their abilities will be more accurate without preconceived notions clouding your judgement."

Lancer was pretty sure he was being toyed with, and he didn't like it. "Alright, Father," he said airily. "Not my fault if I get whipped because you didn't want me to be prepared."

That infuriating smile only grew. "Oh, I think that will not be an issue. You are the strongest Servant there is, are you not? I don't associate with weaklings or cowards."

From where he was perched presently, high in the branches of an old, dying tree, he snorted quietly. "Bastard." A ways down the street, there was an old, western-style mansion that he was staking out. The Matou household, he'd been told. From what Kotomine had said, he thought grudgingly, this Shinji kid was the kind of person who would be too excited to play with his new toys to bother laying low. Still, he remained on his guard. Shinji might be an idiot, but that didn't mean his Servant would be.

The sun had risen by the time the door opened. Lancer tensed, ready to move if he needed to. He was hidden well, and his eyesight was far better than an average human, so he wasn't too worried. The Servant would be the first one out, though, and that was who he needed to see.

That wasn't what actually happened, though. The person that emerged was pale, greasy, and hunched. He was freshly bathed, but that seemed to have done little to improve his nasty mop of purple hair, but maybe that was just his miasma. He held a hand to his forehead to block out the morning sun, then surveyed the area.

"That's Shinji?" Lancer muttered to himself. "Looks like a strong breeze would kick his ass."

Shinji also hadn't done a very good job surveying the area, because he shot a nervous glance behind him, nodding to someone Lancer couldn't see. He flinched, as if expecting a blow, and moved quickly out of the way.

What emerged was Lancer's worst possible nightmare.

The girl that strode haughtily out of the mansion wasn't tall, nor did she radiate physical strength, but her presence was instantly commanding. She expected the world to obey, and so it would. Pink hair flowed around her like a cloak made of water, caressing her thighs, which were bare. It was the dead of winter, here in Fuyuki, and the girl was wearing what could only be described as lingerie of purest white, complimented by a pointy tiara above her brow. One hand gripped a riding crop, gently tapping the painful end gently onto the other. An implied threat.

He knew her true name at a glance. Queen Medb of Connacht. Wicked, cruel, lustful. A hedonist of the most hungry kind. A despicable woman who lived only for herself, taking and taking and taking until there was no more for her to take, then moving on to the next obsession. He knew her well. He was one of those obsessions.

No wonder that bastard had seemed to be laughing at him. He had been.

And as if thinking her name had rung a gong, her head snapped to stare in his direction. No, not in his direction. At him. Like a young girl handed a puppy she had not expected, her face lit up into a radiant smile. Sweat seemed to freeze on his brow, and every muscle he had screamed to either kill her or flee from her. He could do neither.

"Cu!" She stepped forward, and it was almost a skip, her musical voice cutting the air like a knife. "Cu, it's me!" Her master, Shinji, was wringing his hands nervously, as if he expected to be beaten. Knowing the identity of his Servant, he could only imagine what horrors she'd wrought upon the poor boy. The only thing that would spare him the brunt of her affection was that he was already pretty weak and spineless. Medb had no interest in such men. "What did I tell you? I knew you'd come back to me."

The cat was out of the bag, so Lancer leapt down from his perch, landing lightly on his feet. "If I'd known you'd be here, I'd have put my lance through my own heart days ago."

From down the street, she approached, her steps slowing to something a little more languid. Catlike. "Oh, so you're here as a Lancer, huh?" She blinked innocently. "How appropriate. Lancing was always what you were best at."

Lancer forced himself forward, ignoring all the raging emotions boiling within him. There was only one person who could trigger something so powerful, and she was standing right in front of him. "Not that you'd know anything about that," he retorted, and he thought he was doing an admirable job of keeping his tone light.

"Oh, but what better time than the present?" She flicked her wrist, and her crop came to rest on one smooth shoulder. "Stick your lance in me, and we'll see who comes out on top."

This was every conversation with the damn woman. She had no idea how to speak without innuendo or suggestion. She did it the way most girls he'd known breathed air. "Are we going to fight, or are you going to sit here and make doe eyes at me like a virgin until I get bored and stab you anyway?"

Medb came to a halt ten feet or so from him. Her smile widened, and that expression on just about anyone else would have been beautiful. On her? It filled him with fear. "Oh, I know you like to play hard to get, Cu." She tilted her head at him. "What's your master like? Mine isn't any fun at all." Lancer glanced behind her, and saw Shinji standing back by the gate to his home, hunched over as if something that weighed a few hundred pounds were sitting on his back. His eyes darted back and forth between them as he wrung his hands. "I can't stand men like him. He calls himself my master, but I think we both know who's in charge here." She winked at him. "About all he's good for is fetching me things. And being a footstool. You know, for someone so spineless, he really does have a very strong back."

"Congratulations," he said, overflowing with as much sarcasm as he could pack into one word.

"Thank you! It really wasn't very hard." She leaned in conspiratorially. "You know, he thought that being a Servant meant that he could just do whatever he wanted to me. Me!" She dissolved into giggles, wiping at her eyes. "I told him that if he ever used a Command Seal on me in a way that I didn't like, I'd break every bone in his body." She moved closer still. Ten feet. "I don't think he believed me, though, so I snapped a couple fingers to show him I was serious." As if she were describing a particularly funny way a pet had misbehaved.

Cu glanced back down the road. Shinji had the demeanor, and one of his hands did look a little swollen. "Did you?"

She nodded cheerfully. "Oh, yes. Also, I said that if he looked at his sister any kind of way I didn't like, I'd break every bone in his body. Little creep."

"A fountain of creativity, you are." He was getting antsy. If she didn't attack soon, he would. He had a vague idea of how strong Medb had been in a fight, but this wasn't Queen Medb, the human being. This was Queen Medb, Heroic Spirit, a Servant empowered by the Grail. It wouldn't compare.

"I know, I know, but I had a point to make." She shrugged widely, pouting a little. "It only takes a second to use a Command Seal, so I had to be clear really quickly." Her voice dropped to a whisper. "I don't think he's figured out that he could use a Command Seal to order me not to hurt him. He's not very smart." Laughter bubbled out of her again. "So what about yours?"

Lancer dropped into a combat stance, spear aimed at her heart. "I'd rather be talking to him than you. Personality is trash but he's easier on the eyes."

Medb rolled her eyes. "Not much for foreplay, are you? Alright, alright." She didn't move, or seem to prepare in any way. "You need to learn to loosen up, Cu. Get that stick out of your ass."

Lancer didn't like the person he became around her. He would have cheerfully agreed that many insults applied to him, but she was the only one who could get away with something like 'stick in the mud.' Instead of responding, he went for her heart. He closed the distance between them fast, spear rising to strike low to high. Her crop moved at the same instant he did, smacking the lance down as if it were made of iron instead of leather. The momentum carried him forward, past her, and he threw out an elbow as he went. It crashed into her ribs with a quiet grunt, but this was part of her plan, it seemed. Her hand, balled into an unladylike fist, took him in the jaw, sending him staggering back.

"Rider, look out!" Shinji cried unhelpfully in the distance.

"Cu, do you know how many times I've watched you fight?" She danced from one heel to the other, grinning as if this were nothing more than a friendly boxing match between old friends. "The way your hands grip the shaft. The way your muscles move and dance. The way you think." She blew him a sensual kiss. "And, despite my more than generous offers, how many times have you seen me fight?"

She never stopped talking. Kotomine should have stolen her, Lancer thought petulantly. They'd be perfect for each other.

A flurry of blows, each one deflected or dodged. It was like fighting smoke. Every now and then, Medb let him score a hit, but it was always something inconsequential, and always something that opened him up to counterattack. She wasn't kidding. She seemed to know every move he made, before he made it. "Face it, Cu. You don't know what I'm capable of." Her grin was wicked. "And that scares you, because you can't prepare for it." She considered him. "Fear is a good look on you, Cu. I'd like to see it more often." She lunged for him, going on the offensive for the first time.

His spear gave him reach, and it gave him precision, but it was unwieldy in tight spaces. The street was wide open, but she had slipped through his guard in an instant. Thud thud, he deflected a pair of punches, but staggered as the crop cracked him across the face. The pain was greater than it should have been, as if the leather were laced with broken glass and bits of jagged metal. He had to be bleeding already. The world spun, and she gave no quarter. One, two, three hits to the face, four to his side. If he'd been mortal, his ribs would have shattered, but as he was, they just hurt like a son of a bitch. Her leg swept out and took him in the ankles, dumping him to the ground like a sack of potatoes.

His head cracked the ground, and he groaned. He had thoughts about this. Mostly things along the lines of What the hell? The fact of the matter was, he hadn't wanted to fight. He hadn't wanted to hurt her, and he didn't know why. He hated her. He was scared of her. "Is this about the thing with your handmaid?" he groaned, trying to twist onto his knees.

"I don't even remember what you're talking about. I am still mad about my poor pet stoat though," she lilted at him, then drove her heel repeatedly into his belly as he doubled over, coughing. The moment his eyes closed, she reared back and kicked the side of his head like a football, whipping his neck to the side. Why? Why did she hold such power over him? It wasn't just that he'd underestimated her. His heart hadn't been in the fight. The pain was incredible, and the beating interminable. Shame burned in his gut as he raised his hands to guard his face, and as she rained blows down onto him. An ignoble end to what could have been a glorious war. Beaten to death by a woman he couldn't bear to see and couldn't bear to kill.

Eventually, Lancer realized the beating had stopped. The world spun, and she'd kicked him onto his back. Awareness returned. Medb was kneeling beside him, breathing heavy with a crimson face, and Lancer wasn't at all convinced that that was just exhaustion. She looked down at him with what could only be adoration, smiling widely, without guile. "You're beautiful like this, Cu." Her finger trailed across his cheek, down his neck, and he didn't have the strength to pull away. "Bloody and bruised. But it would be prettier if you'd earned it." Her slender hand wrapped around his throat. "You let me win." The hand tightened, and as he struggled to pull in a breath, she leaned in close, so close that her breath tickled his lips. "You'll be mine, Cu Chulainn. Mind, body, and soul. But that will not happen until you show me the respect I deserve, and when you do not go easy on me." Quiet rage dripped from her words. Without letting go, she kissed him, her lips soft and tender on his. She smelled of strawberries, intermingled with the taste of blood that was entirely his. Her lips left his at the same time she slackened her grip, and he gasped in a breath. Her small smile was wistful. "I love you, Cu. Try again sometime."

She left him there, lying in the street, staring up at a sky quickly growing blue. Shinji's voice drifted to him from down the street, halting and nervous. "Aren't you going to kill him?"

Medb's voice was airy. "He's not ready, yet. His life belongs to me, now, and he knows it. Don't question me."

Lancer lay there for a long time, halfway hoping another Servant would come along while he was weak to finish him off.

His shitty rank-E luck wouldn't even allow him to die properly. Eventually, when the sun was higher in the sky, he stood and limped off to report to Kotomine, and to lick his wounds.

The world was unrecognizable, but only on the outside. Within, the same hearts of man beat within the same constructs of blood and flesh, with the same selfish desires and hypocritical ideals. No matter what the carts looked like, people were people.

The city was chaotic, but Ryuudou Temple was tranquil, this early in the morning. Young Issei was inside, busying about with chores and duties related to his position, and Souichirou was methodically getting ready for his day job. When Caster stood out here in the cool dawn air, watching the sun rise through the trees, she was alone. Her black jacket rustled in the wind, her hands in her pockets. A bird flittered down a dozen feet away, hopping twice and pecking intensely at something on the ground. A worm, maybe, or something tasty that a visitor had dropped. She watched it work, silent. It's head shot up with something like fear or frustration, and it's small beady eyes fastened on her. She didn't move. It regarded her for a long few moments, curious, before taking off and disappearing back into the trees.

Caster watched it go.

"It's time," an uninflected voice said from behind her. She turned, smiling up at the tall, grave man that stood there. Before she'd died, she'd stopped smiling altogether. Now, it felt almost natural again. "I'm ready to go."

"I'll walk with you," she said. She stepped closer, taking his huge, cool hand in hers. His fingers responded in kind, though his face remained impassive as ever.

"Are you sure? The temple-"

"Is protected," she said firmly. "My workshop will not be breached."

Souichirou Kuzuki's heavy gaze rested down the long set of stone stairs that was the only entrance to the temple. "You have confidence in her ability?"

Caster nodded. "She is far weaker than a Servant should be, yes, but there are more factors at play than raw power." She looked down as well, and thought she could make the girl out in the distance, sitting on a step and gazing out at what she could see of the world. "The terrain favors the defender, and her sword is well-suited to a tight battlefield. Also, she does not need to kill the Servants that approach. Her purpose is to delay, until I can join the battle, and she has already rebuffed both Lancer and Rider."

He blinked slowly behind his glasses. To one not intimately familiar with him, Kuzuki seemed a man who was either perpetually angry or bored, depending on the mood of the observer. In the still lines of his face, she saw something approaching concern. "You sound unconvinced."

She grimaced. "When I summoned her, she was meant to be disposable. Little more than a construct. I knew the summoning would be imperfect, and so I didn't expect… someone like her."

"A child." It wasn't a question.

"She isn't a child," Caster said dismissively, but it rang false even to her own ears. A justification. "She is a tool."

"As you say."

They stood there, for a moment, and she rested the side of her head gently against his arm. It was tight with muscle, and bony beneath, but she found it comfortable nevertheless. She sighed, almost content. Another might have said he was merely tolerating the touch, given his lack of reciprocation, but again, she knew better. The fact that he allowed it at all was reciprocation. She'd had enough of touchy-feely love from the men in her life. "Come. You'll be late," she said finally, breaking the silence. "You have an image to maintain."

He nodded agreeably, and they started down the stairs.

Saber was sitting, as Caster had thought, her hands in her lap. Gold hair pulled back from her like a reluctant crown, though one floppy cowlick refused to submit to any kind of styling. Her sword rested comfortably across her thighs-Caliburn, it was called, Caster thought idly, and her pretty white-and-black dress was untouched by the dirt and dust around her. As they passed, Saber's gaze shifted to her, and her wide eyes were sad. "You're going out?"

Caster hesitated, and Kuzuki slowed to a stop without prompting. "Yes, I am. Kuzuki has school, and I'm going to survey the area. There were strange bursts of power, last night, and the final Servants may have entered the fight."

Saber considered this, then nodded slowly. "I see." She pointed off into the distance. "I did see something weird, last night. Things got really dark, over there. Like there was a shadow from a cloud, but last night was clear, other than the fog this morning."

Caster nodded. "That's the right direction, then. You may be right." It was about as close to praise as she would allow herself to get.

The young girl forced a smile. She couldn't be more than fifteen, but the uncertainty in her bearing and her wide eyes made her look even younger. Caster reminded herself that age was irrelevant, and that a Heroic Spirit was a Heroic Spirit, no matter how damaged their Spirit Origin might be from an imperfect summoning. Weak souls did not become Heroic. "Do you think I could come with you?" A familiar tone. Hopefulness, without hope.

Caster shook her head. "Your summoning is bound to the temple grounds. Even if I were to use a Command Seal, your mana supply would cease the moment you left." Her voice was like ice. "You do not possess a talent for Independent Action. You would not last long."

The girl sagged barely enough for Caster to notice. "I understand." She was still smiling, but it was strained.

Something tugged at Caster's chest, but she forced the strange sensation down. A tool was a tool. You didn't show a tool around the city to make it happy, or praise a tool. It did the job it was created to do, or it was replaced. That's all there was.

Saber was here to guard the entrance to the temple. The rest of the world was irrelevant. The way she felt was irrelevant. If Saber truly felt anything at all; this all might be nothing more than a remnant of the damaged template Caster had used to summon her. She might well be an automaton of magic, feigning true awareness. An echo of something once felt.

There was nothing to say. Caster turned away from the girl and resumed her descent. The conversation was over, and pleasantries were unnecessary. Kuzuki followed silently.

"Master?" Tentative. Tired. A little afraid.

Caster didn't respond, but she did pause, feet on two different steps.

"When you come back…" A hesitation. "Do you think you could bring me something to eat?"

"Servants do not require food to replenish their mana. You draw from the ley lines all around you, and that should be more than enough." Her voice took on a note of warning that surprised even her. "Are you saying the ley line is not supplying the mana you need?"

She could almost hear the flinch. "No, I just…"

"Just?" She turned back, hardening her gaze. It wasn't easy. That surprised her. It had been a long time since she'd been the kind of woman who wasn't willing to do what was necessary to accomplish her goals. Babying a weapon would only weaken its resolve.

Saber was hunched in on herself, and though her voice was meek, there was no shimmer of tears in her eyes. That was good. She was growing stronger, then. "It's… just something I used to love. Before. Food. I… I miss it." She drew her knees to her chest, as much as she could on the step, and wrapped her arms around them. "Never mind, Master. It was a stupid question."

"It was," Caster said, simply.

Saber was silent the rest of the way down the stairs, and Caster did not look back. She would afford the girl that dignity, at least.

Kuzuki eyed her as they walked. Not speaking, but also seeming to want something. She sighed. "What?" she demanded, a little harder than she meant to.

"You see her as a tool," he said. She grimaced, but she took his hand regardless. "I do not think you are wrong to consider her so." He was quiet for another moment, contemplative. He was a thoughtful man, though he didn't look it. "However, tools require maintenance. Sharpening. Polishing. A tool that has been neglected is worth less than nothing."

"And you think I'm neglecting my tools?" A challenge.

Souichirou shrugged his shoulders. "I am no magician. The nature of familiars is not my area of expertise." He'd never called her a witch. She'd never even needed to ask him not to. "But your tool is notched. It has not been sharpened. When you will need to rely on it most, if it is in its current state, it will break, and there will be backlash."

Caster was silent. High above, a flock of birds soared in a V formation. The birds hadn't changed much, either.

"I do not want that to happen." His voice was firm. It was always firm, but she could sense the steel in it.

Something swirled in her gut, and she forced it away. "Your tool metaphor is getting away from you. She isn't a knife with a blade that might snap. She is a Servant, and even an incomplete Servant will always do what it is meant to do." She believed that, or she wanted to.

No. No, there could be no doubt. Saber would do the job she was here to do, and then she would die. Whether by holding the line against the enemy, or by Caster's own hand, there could only be one of them remaining when the Grail revealed itself.

"As you say."

Caster didn't walk Souichirou all the way to the school. She would have been more than willing, were it not for the boundary field that lay inert over the premises. It was weak, and it was amateurish, and she could have shattered or re-appropriated it in her sleep. It did, however, mean that there was at least one more Master within, and she did not want to be surprised by a fight. Caster was not a woman who enjoyed spontaneity.

She left him five or six blocks away, giving him a wave and a smile that she almost felt. He returned the gesture with a solemn nod. She watched him until he turned the corner, out of sight. Her face clouded over, a storm brewing. The kind of anger that could only be a cover for something else. A reaction she could comprehend to cover up the one she didn't. Almost the moment he was gone, she turned on her heel and strode away, purposeful.

She needed to check her traps.

What the amateur had tried to do to the high school, she had done to a significant chunk of the city. Where that would drain so much as to render it a one-use contingency, the drain within her circle would not take enough life force to alert any one person. Tired, at most.

There were five magic circles enclosing roughly ten square kilometers, and methodically, she checked each. The first two were working normally. As expected. The third was damaged. Nothing intentional, or it would undoubtedly have been destroyed altogether, but two of the lines that governed limits were broken. That'd be noticeable, then. Here and there, there were likely a few buildings full of people that were either dead or comatose. A waste of energy. The loss of life didn't give her pause, but the lack of subtlety did. Attention was not something she needed at this stage of the game.

She fixed the linework, muttering quietly to herself, and tracing lines on the concrete. This was what she loved. What she was good at. Logic and feeling, blended as one into something greater than the sum of its parts. Her black jacket rustled quietly. People murmured as they passed. Caster knew what she looked like, but she didn't care. Her work was vital, and when the people of this time saw someone doing something like this, the type of insult they sprung for was "crazy homeless person" over "witch." Somehow, that was better.

Pressing a hand to the ground, she infused the magical framework with mana, then spent another twenty minutes examining her handiwork for flaws. When she was satisfied, she nodded and moved on to the next.

It was past midday when she was finished. The air was almost pleasant, the sun burning cheerily overhead. Standing straight, stretching her back, she grimaced. She'd expected that to take up more of the day, and now she had some time to burn. She took a confident step forward, then ground to a halt.

She didn't know what to do.

The people were the same, but the world was unfamiliar. What did people in this time do, when they had nothing to do? There was only so much work she could do in daylight; most of her preparations would be most productive at night, when her mana siphons were operating at full capacity. The summoning process granted Heroic Spirits the knowledge they needed to function in the time period, true, but leisure did not seem to fall under its purview.

The people around her, streaming down the sidewalk, all seemed to know exactly where they were going. She didn't move. A strange woman in a black jacket, pointed ears poking through purple hair, standing alone in a crowd. Strange looks. Annoyed faces. She was downtown; anything she wanted was at her fingertips, if only she knew what she needed.

Nothing changed but everything was different.

She started walking in a daze. Souichirou had taken her places, but they'd all been strange and new and dazzling. They didn't connect into a cohesive picture of a city. Hours until Souichirou returned. She'd been alone before. She was happier alone. And yet, all she wanted was for someone to look at her, and to see her.

A soft smell, pleasant and warm, pulled her out of her trance. Savory. Beckoning. She followed it, and found herself standing at a hole-in-the-wall eatery, the kind the lower classes had run since long before her time. Pizza, the sign proclaimed. She didn't know what pizza was, but the smell was enticing. She bought a slice (they came in slices and in pies), paid for with pocket money Souichirou had given her. A greasy, grouchy looking man handed her a greasy, cheesy triangle with bits of meat on it. It looked like it was pretending to be food. She took a skeptical bite.

It was delicious.

She chewed, swallowed. A voice spoke in her head, deep and level. Take care of your tools. Was she overcorrecting? Maybe. As much as she hated to admit fault...

She hadn't been wrong. But. A little polish on her best knife wouldn't hurt.

Caster blinked up at the man behind the counter, who had already moved on to some other menial task. She felt like a gawking tourist, a woman hopelessly out of place and out of time. "Is a pie big enough for two people to share?"

Next Week's Chapter Title: Relentless