Five days after the Einzbern summoning. 44 days before the Fifth Grail War.
After a relatively short period of sulking and heated arguments, Ilyasviel von Einzbern had to come to accept the conclusion that there were distinct advantages of having a krogan battlemaster at her side. Sure, even Wrex conceded that he would probably lose in terms of pure might against the demigod son of a pantheon's chief deity whom Ilya originally intended to summon and make her Servant. Even so, the krogan made a fair point that controlled, precise application of power was no less devastating - and considering the nature of the Grail War, the number of participants involved, that precision may make their job much easier. After all, even in the wake of the Fourth War, people would not expect a Berserker that was actually mostly in control of himself despite the Mad Enhancement laid upon him. Not that Wrex was unable to act like a blood-mad juggernaut of destruction, when needed - and try as she might, Ilya could not really suppress an amused snickering when she recalled the old warlord reading the riot act to her family when he brought her back from the woods, after fending off a pack of magically reinforced wolf familiars that someone in the family sent to consume the failed experiment.
Two days earlier
The young girl panted from exertion, her magic circuits burning from the sustained active use of prana, as she launched familiar after familiar against the circling pack of snarling, red-eyed demons hounding her. She could feel the chill creeping into her flesh and bones, using the tears in her meager clothes as conduits to weave her doom. Only a dimming spark of defiance kept her from laying down and succumbing to fate - she would not give her clan the pleasure of going quietly. A flicker of movement from her left was all the warning she had, and she spun, an intricately woven dagger of prana forming in the air to skewer the wolf soaring with bared fangs towards her. Ilya's eyes widened as her strike barely grazed the familiar's side, shaking hands and shivering body not really helping her aim. She could feel the beast's putrid breath on her face, and involuntarily squeezed her eyes shut.
A muffled yelp.
A spattering of hot fluid on her face.
A spike of murderous fury along with an immense spiritual pressure materializing at her side, erupting into a bonfire of almost physical wrath.
A huge hand landing on her shoulder, squeezing it with carefully controlled strength.
A deafening boom, followed by a bloodthirsty chuckle.
Ilyasviel opened her eyes, and her jaw almost fell as she watched her Servant tear into the wolfpack with unmatched fury and uncanny grace. A fist wreathed in blue energy tore familiars into pieces. A gesture of the selfsame hand sent a trio of wolves flying with a wave of coruscating energy. Another was dissolved by the blue flames eating into its body. In her Servant's other hand an immense cannon flashed with crimson energies, and a fifth attacker simply vanished, only the stench of burning meat and hair wafting in the cold winter air.
In less than a minute, it was over, and she blinked at her savior.
"I thought you were smarter than this, kid." The bond carried fondness belying the annoyed tone. "Come on, let's have a talk with your family."
"Why are you doing this, Berserker?" A sniffle. "I did not even want you. I tried to enslave your mind. I was stupid enough to get separated from my Servant. Why follow such a Master?"
The alien chuckled, and reached down to lift Ilya on his shoulder.
"You remind me a bit on my adopted niece." His voice became a growl. "And I do not like seeing children suffer." A chuckle. "Not even when they act like spoiled brats."
The constant, low buzz of conversation, speculation filled the grand chamber of the Einzbern castle, as the clan members present speculated on the reason Old Man Acht summoned them for an audience. The prevailing consensus was that the patriarch would select a replacement representative for the incoming Fifth Grail War, in lieu of the failed homunculus, who suffered such an unfortunate accident. A shame, really - young Ilyasviel represented quite a lot of investment on the Einzbern's part, and her rare heritage made her a rather coveted specimen for study purposes.
As the door behind the patriarch's empty throne opened, there was a hiss of collectively in-drawn breath, as the torn, bloody waif marched at Jubstacheit's side. The old head of the clan took his customary seat, his gaze radiating disdain, and all braced themselves for the no doubt scathing condemnation that would come.
Yet the elder was silent. The girl at the throne's side smiled, showing teeth. At her side, the monstrous abomination that was her Servant materialized. The temperature dropped in the chamber, as the armored monster looked at the assembled humans and homunculi, his thirst for blood and violence an almost palpable taste in the stale air. The Servant spoke then, his voice a calm, rumbling basso - yet all could hear the undertone of tightly-chained wrath beneath.
"You sorry lot try harming the girl again, I'm going to eat you raw." The warlord grinned at them, flashing teeth. "And if you think to take her Command Seals, well, I would love to see you try." The low, eager chuckle of the Servant sent most of the assembled magi shivering. "Thought so. Now, the kid and me have places to be, so feel free to whine and plot while we grab ourselves a cup."
The towering behemoth marched away, the albino waif at his side.
Yes, there were definitely advantages to having Wrex around. She was really looking forward to not having to endure the experiments and constant, malevolent whispering. And it's not like she would miss anyone - Mama had been gone for years, Sella and Leysritt were accompanying Ilya and Wrex, the others were, at best, only technically family to her.
Even when she was going towards a deadly battle royale, Ilya felt the closest to being content since Mama and Papa left for Japan a decade ago.
Finland; 42 days until the Fifth Holy Grail War
The young blonde checked on the summoning circle once more, making sure that the symbols and jewels were in their proper place, before she started chanting the ritual invocation, the faint outline of the Command Seals becoming sharper and more defined with each line of the ancient aria. Her voice rising to a crescendo, the vortex of generated prana swirling in the cold arctic sky, she had to squint as the circle flared with kaleidoscopic colors, and a breathy, cultured female voice answered her entreaty from the central pentagram.
"Under the name of Caster, I accept the contract."
The young woman allowed herself a satisfied smile, then she blinked as she took in the figure standing in the circle. The Heroic Spirit wore a white thigh-length coat with blue highlights, trousers with white armor plating, and sturdy boots - already a surprising deviation, considering that she was supposed to be the Princess of Colchis. But it was not only her clothes, no - the real surprise was the blue, seemingly scale-like skin and the tentacles instead of hair. Calm blue eyes met astonished reddish-brown ones, and the being smiled at the gawking Luvia.
"Yes, well, I'm as surprised as you are. Still, we should probably get to work - and the Goddess have mercy on those standing in our way."