Crimson droplets of Screaming Eagle Cabernet 1992 trickled down the polished mahogany of the luxe coffee table, but it had fared far better than the borosilicate wine glass that had once had a diamond in its stem.

Why didn't you tell me you were coughing up blood?

It doesn't matter-

Saber, stop moving!

Gilgamesh grit his teeth as the vision flashed before his red eyes. The King of Knights was being reckless, using her good arm to forge a clear path for herself and that ungrateful mongrel, whose weakness was what landed them in this predicament in the first place. It made his blood boil, knowing Saber was wasting her energy protecting her comrades, when she shouldn't need to.

The King of Heroes felt the spilt wine seep through his clothes, but he couldn't care less, not when drops of blood had begun trickling from Arturia's eyes and nose.

No.

Gilgamesh willed the vision away, hoping that he was seeing through different timelines, praying his clairvoyance was simply showing him an alternate reality but he knew it wasn't the case. And much as his nerves itched to intervene, itched to torture the bastards that dared harm her he couldn't. Wouldn't.

He brought his glass of wine to his lips, only to realize the last of the cabernet was absorbed by the carpet. What he had was a bloodied hand, no doubt littered with shards of glass. It didn't matter. It didn't matter.

The little table skidded across the room, splintered in half, a victim of the king's growing ire. She would be back, Gilgamesh chided himself, running warm water through the golden tap. Whatever the King of Knights was up to, she could handle. He wouldn't expect anything less.

The man breathed in. Exhaled. Inhaled, then opened his eyes, seeing far beyond the reflection on the looking glass. He passed mountains, seas, forests of great length, until finally his vision landed on her. Beautiful, despite the deep creases in her brow, the bags under her eyes that told him of her exhaustion, the weary hands that held on to her holy sword like a lifeline.

But in the daylight, he could see clearly the ugly veins of blue running from the dirk in shoulder, the blade left inside to keep her from bleeding out. He could see the purple bruises on her arms, on her legs, no doubt from the debris when she protected that wench. Her hair was down, the ribbon lost to the wind, just as her armor which still refused to materialize. She was panting, clearly dehydrated, the warmth of the desert sun once again beginning to burn her skin.

Arturia…

Violent coughing wracked her body, but the woman didn't stop for a second, not even with all the begging of the useless magus behind her.

"What are you doing here?"

The unfamiliar voice of a man jarred Gilgamesh from his vision, and the image of Arturia faded away to a mongrel who looked to be of similar descent to hers, one with fair skin and white hair, with eyes of the same nature as his own.

Another clairvoyant?

"Speak, now. Are you friend or foe?" the man said, steeling his eyes.

Gilgamesh willed his vision back to the King of Knights, but found himself trapped instead in a Reality Marble of the stranger's making. One as pure and pristine white as the man's clothing, with no walls or windows, no limit upwards or down.

"You dare obstruct my vision, mongrel? Do you not know what happens to those who keep a king from his queen?" he raged, seconds away from breaking the connection. This mongrel had the gall to stall when Arturia was in trouble, if he could he would-

"My king made the questionable decision of forgiving such a man," Merlin stated bitterly, remembering there was a high chance that Lancelot would be in Fuyuki too, if the biggest villain of either of Arturia's wars was now standing before him.

"You're King Gilgamesh of Uruk, the King of Heroes. Bravo on your performance in the Grail War by the way!" Merlin clapped slowly, each impact generating hollow echoes in the mind space. Gilgamesh couldn't harm him, not while they were here, but something told the old wizard it would be wise not to provoke him that much.

"Perhaps it's time we really met."

"She just left?

Cú looked at him with a face of utter betrayal and a shock of ridiculous puppy eyes. It was almost ridiculous how he was living up to his name sometimes.

"Not...not that it's any of my business. She can do whatever she pleases. She's her own woman," Diarmuid said, raising his arms up in front of him defensively. Who was he to dictate what Arturia did or did not do anyway? There was just a little tinge of protectiveness that he couldn't shake.

"Buuuuuut?" Cú asked, pretending not to see the little cuts on Diarmuid's palms.

The former Knight of Fianna sighed, and plopped his chin onto his hands. Oh, this was hard to admit, especially without a drop of alcohol in his system.

"Well, we did occupy the same residence for two weeks," he mumbled through the spaces of his fingers, hoping to the heavens Cú didn't misinterpret. Cú didn't, the older man was just amusedly watching Diarmuid sift through his feelings.

"Aaaaand?" he asked, moving so the waitress could place the breakfast platters on the table they shared.

The Fourth War's Lancer sighed again long and hard, looking down on the rather elaborately prepared japanese omelette in front of him.

And I can't stop thinking about her.

"And I believe I have become somewhat...attached."

Cú smirked, then shoved a delicious helping into his mouth. Not the answer he was going for, but it was satisfactory nonetheless.

"Honestly, I just...Arturia...I do not. I cannot get the idea out of my head that something terrible has occurred," Diarmuid said, poking at the ketchup hiragana spelling "happy" written on his omelette.

Cú sighed. The man had been sullen even throughout their earlier sparring sessions. Though Cú really did understand the knight's feelings, he knew by experience that Arturia could take care of herself. They just had to trust she was doing well.

"Diarmuid, you told me that you had work today," the Lancer reminded, hoping to take his new friend's mind off their mutual crush.

Diarmuid looked at the white Technomarine on the table. 7:30, he was going to be late if he didn't leave soon. To be honest, he wasn't all that excited about the job. Merlin was kind enough to keep all the shoots private, with just himself behind the makeup, the camera, the clothes. But yesterday, the wizard had had him cycle through three different collections because he either looked too 'serious', too 'worried', or too 'sad'. Admittedly, that wasn't very far from the truth. They finally settled on the winter collection, which was composed of various heavy fabrics and made him sweat so much that Merlin had to retouch the makeup in between outfits. To make it worse, he hadn't gotten around posing himself, so they had to bring in Kay for him to mirror.

The lawyer was damn near furious for having to take another unpaid vacation day after swearing to just pick up some papers...but he did it anyway. It took about a hundred clicks and a couple reshoots but Merlin eventually got what he wanted, pushed a suitcase full of new clothes and accessories his way, slapped a phone in his hand and rushed him out the door for 'post'. And there, he was left on the steps of RTK, wondering whether or not this was the right direction to take.

Night had fallen by that time, and after rolling around til the bedsheets til the corners curled up. He gave up on sleep for the second night in a row, followed his footsteps down the pavement. Pavement turned to grass, grass to sand. Soon he was sinking his toes into the cold water of the sea, but...it still didn't take his mind off of her.

"Wanna finish that fight, O'Dyna?"

Diarmuid looked up to see Cú, clad in a hawaiian shirt that Merlin would definitely incinerate, with his lance at the ready. It didn't take much convincing for him to bring out his own two spears. The first few rounds were wordless, with Cú taking first advantage, Diarmuid winning the second and third. It was around the fourth round that Diarmuid had finally let loose, allowing his two weapons to fly at speeds impossible by human standards. Cú had only smirked, batting away the sharp edges of the other's weapons with Gae Bolg's shaft.

It was nearing three in the morning when Diarmuid spin-kicked the other Lancer square in the stomach and lifted Gae Dearg to Cú's throat.

"What's the score?" the latter said, voice just a little raspy from the coughing fit he just had.

Diarmuid laughed. "Tied. 14 all."

"I am obviously still the better one," Cú huffed, beads of sweat running down his forehead as he lay on the sand. "Your dual-wielding schtick is overrated."

That earned another laugh from Diarmuid. The knight plopped down right beside him, staring out into the sea longingly.

"Say, I've been meaning to have a rematch with the King of Knights as well. You haven't seen her around, have you?" Cú asked, stabbing his spear into the sand beside him. The last time she and he had crossed paths, Gilgamesh had swiftly put an end to him. Cú drew a little symbol in the air in front of him, and a small fire ignited between the two.

"Rematch?"

Cú sighed, long and hard, his breath making the fire flicker just a bit.

"We fought in the war. Never got to finish. It was...complicated," he explained. If only Diarmuid knew just how complicated. It was going to be hard to explain what happened to Bazett, the whole thing with Gilgamesh, and Cú wasn't even sure if Diarmuid was around to know the disaster that was Kirei. To be honest, he wasn't too thrilled to share what happened to him, it was an embarrassment, if anything.

Complicated?

Diarmuid stared at the fellow Irishman, then back at the sea. If only Cú knew what happened here, two decades ago. It was very near here that he snapped his shorter spear in half for the King of Knights and watched her reveal the most beautiful Noble Phantasm he'd ever seen. She was glowing, then. Shortly after, he had the match of his life, only for it to be cut off by both Arturia's and his own prick of a Master.

Diarmuid was then reminded of why he was so sleepless in the first place. His eyes felt heavier, the tiny red crescents in his hands seemed to sting though they had scabbed over quite quickly.

"We were living together a while, with her Master from your war," Diarmuid told Cú honestly. He shared little bits of those two weeks with Cú all the while wondering how much he should keep to himself.

There were a few days he and the King of Knights would both find themselves awake far too early in the morning. A remnant of knight training, she supposed. Saber would then lead him to the little personal dojo to the side of the Emiya property, throw him one of the available practice swords, chuckle and throw him another, remembering how he wielded two spears.

A few matches later, when she was grinning at him, cheeks red from exertion, he would drop the other sword, showing her he was just as proficient with only one. She would best him though, realizing how different his stance would be with just one blade.

Remembering it now, he could almost feel the tingles on his skin as she adjusted his stance and then her finger on his as she adapted his grip for what would be a broadsword. Excalibur, she would explain, was a different kind of sword in itself that she had to train with excessively to master. It was like a cross between a longsword and a broadsword, but being a weapon not made by men, it was able to deliver some blunt force trauma while not being as heavy or thick.

Once, she summoned her sword and placed it in his hands. He understood what she meant then, feeling the weight of Excalibur in his palms. It was lighter than it looked, but heavier than he expected. Almost like its weight was more than just metal. Its length was just a little bit off too. He realized, by normal standards, the sword was definitely too long for a knight of her stature. The length was more suited to someone taller, like himself, yet somehow Arturia wielded it like it was an extension, not just a weapon.

In response, he tossed her Gae Buidhe. She smiled fondly when she took it, spinning it round her wrist carefully and testing its weight. They kept the cloth on, though, neither of them wanted any eternally bleeding scratches.

It was his turn to teach her, so he leaned Excalibur on the wooden walls of the dojo. He spun Gae Dearg in a complicated flourish before he approached. Arturia looked at him with a turn in her lip, he could tell she knew he was showing off. He played it cool though, as he stood behind her, lifting her elbows and changing her footing. She was picking up his tips almost immediately after he taught them, which he probably should have expected from her.

In fact, he felt like he was the one getting distracted, but he couldn't help it. They were close enough that he could feel the heat from her skin, see the subtle sheen of sweat behind her blonde bangs. If he dipped down just a bit more as he instructed her, he'd kiss the tip of her ear.

He banished the thought though, as her eyes met his. Heaven knows where his mind would lead if he stayed this near her a moment longer. Lancer backed away and showed her another flourish, this time with Gae Dearg passing his lower back. Her green eyes watched intently as he repeated the exercise, and she moved so she could see what it looked like from behind.

The King of Knights replicated his movements, his yellow spear transferring almost seamlessly from her left to her right. Arturia repeated the flourish once more, memorizing the motions. It was almost ridiculous, how naturally this came to her. Diarmuid was sure he struggled with this for far longer, but he was happy to know there was still a lot to teach her. The knight flipped his spear and used the blunt end to move her feet to a steadier position. The small alteration seemed to work, as she passed the yellow spear between her hands fluidly in no time. Just one last thing.

Diarmuid placed a hand on her shoulder, telling her to relax. It was important to keep muscles loose. It was like letting water flow, he said, taking away the fingers that lingered on the shoulder blade for just a moment extra. A moment too long for just friends, too short for more than that.

She breathed, a lovely sound, and for a moment Diarmuid swore she smelled like vanilla. And then she moved, perfectly executing the flourish like she'd been practicing for years. Diarmuid would have been jealous if he wasn't so awestruck.

The Irish knight realized he should have appreciated those moments, brief as they were, for now that they were living apart they probably wouldn't be able to spar very often.

Arturia…

"Oh, with that weird Master of hers?" Cú asked, pulling Diarmuid out of his thoughts. The question caught him off guard.

"You mean Shirou Emiya? Weird in what way?" he asked.

Cú thought about how he should put it. That boy was complicated as well. "When I first met him, it was like he didn't even know he was in the middle of the Grail War. And when I fought Saber, she was incredible, but it was easy to tell she wasn't at full strength. I believed she could be...more."

Diarmuid looked away pensively. He still didn't know much about Shirou Emiya, apart from that fact and that he and Rin Tohsaka were allies during the Fifth. The two magi weren't always at home, so he couldn't deduce anything much. He was grateful for their hospitality of course, but he didn't understand why they kept so distant from the King of Knights when they claimed to have been "friends" back then.

"What did happen in the Fifth War? Arturia avoids conversation despite my insistence. All I know for sure is that the King of Heroes stayed behind," Diarmuid asked.

That, he did.

Cú gave him an exasperated sigh. He didn't really want to answer. Answering would mean admitting that despite his best efforts, he was eventually overwhelmed, barely being able to deal much damage to the man. "Was he a royal pain in the ass back in your war too?" he asked instead.

"Quite."

Cú stared at him and then burst into a fit of laughter. "All you really need to know about the Fifth War is that it was corrupt. Even if that gold bastard hadn't stayed behind, there were a million things wrong with it from the start," the Lancer explained, staring into the fire that he just made.

Cú's statement only made Diarmuid more curious. How much more messed up could the wars get compared to the Fourth?

"Where is Saber, anyway?"

And that conversation brought the two spearmen to where they were now, finishing up breakfast at a small seaside establishment Cú had been working a few shifts for called Ahnenerbe. They'd stayed up the rest of the night sharing stories, enough that Cú could confirm the younger lancer had grown fond of the petite King they'd both had the honor to fight.

"What makes you think there's something wrong? You know as well as I do that she can handle herself well with that sword," Cú commented, spearing a piece of omelette with his fork.

"I know," Diarmuid answered, "I just can't shake the feeling."

The watch that was sitting by his plate ticked to 7:45. Diarmuid really should leave if he wanted to shower and at least make himself a little presentable for work. He picked up the little time teller and put it on his right wrist, transferred it to his left, then back again. It didn't feel comfortable on either side.

"Ambidextrous," he explained, as Cú watched him in amusement.

"I should be on my way," Diarmuid said, finishing up his meal.

"Sure. You know where to find me if you want to spar. Oh, I can't believe it almost slipped my mind," Cú quickly brought up a familiar-looking device and handed it to him. Realizing what it was, Diarmuid brought out his own cellphone and they exchanged contact info.

"Tell me when Sab-Arturia returns, yeah?"

Diarmuid nodded, waved, and headed back to his apartment. He stifled the little tinge of jealousy that spiked when Cú said her real name. Ridiculous.

...

Kojiro was surprised to find himself alive. The black-clad enemy's cursed hand had touched his chest, then reeled it back. There was a flash of light, followed by a bloodcurdling scream. More flashes of purple.

"Sasaki!"

A voice snapped him to his senses, and he narrowly dodged the flurry of daggers sent his way. He turned, seeing the familiar blonde head of the King of Knights and the beams of purple that only belonged to Caster. The large but lithe body of the enemy was closing in on him, fast, angry at his spoiled attack.

"Tsubame Gaishi!" He called for his Noble Phantasm as the creature raised his red-hot arm ready to strike. His thrust his arm impossibly fast, launching a simultaneous attack in three places. The nameless spirit hoped the attack held true this time, there was no room for error, no gaps between the slices.

The masked villain swerved, twisting his body out of the way to no avail. The japanese blade impaled itself thrice into his chest, leaving gaping holes of black tar in its wake. The enemy's snarl turned into a beastly roar, one that could curdle blood at the sound.

"Zabani-"

Arturia's sword was faster, slashing at the creature's glowing right arm before it had the chance to call out what she believed was his Noble Phantasm. The bright appendage reeled back like whiplash as its owner snarled at her, forced to retreat.

"Don't let him call its name!" Arturia yelled, jumping out of the way as Medea unleashed her own series of attacks, the sheer volume of it forcing the creature to retreat backwards into the trees. Sasaki was close behind, sword at the ready, with Caster and Saber hot on his heels.

A low hum of energy cut through the landscape as Saber fused with Excalibur, glowing lights rising from the ground into the blade, but the process was far too slow. She'd no sooner touch her feet to the floor before she was dodging the onslaught of Assassin's blades. The creature they were facing was incredibly fast, charging through the trees like he was born to do it. If she could just find the right spot to aim…

Drops of sweat began to form on Medea's forehead as her eyes struggled to follow their target. Though daylight was beginning to wash over the former servants, this adversary used shadows like he was born into them, molded by them. Frustrated blasts of purple hit the vegetation rather than his body, trying her patience.

Very well then. If he wasn't going to stop, she'd force him. With a flick of her finger, a barrier erected itself before the villain, blocking all his exits.

"Excalibur!"

His struggle was futile. Beams of light exploded from Saber's sword, incinerating the enemy's arm just as a heart began to materialize in the cursed limb.

"Name...less..." it spoke, barely over a whisper. It was all it could manage with an entire half of its body missing. The japanese legend landed right beside it, and pointed his sword at its neck, debating putting the shadow out of its misery.

It raised its remaining arm to Sasaki's neck, as if to choke him, but the man didn't give it the chance, severing his head before he could draw too close.

The figure finally collapsed to the ground in a pile of black tar, his last words lingering in the ears of his would-be prey.

"You all right, Sasaki?"

Thanks to you. The man thought, surveying their surroundings. He'd hate to admit it but for a brief instance, he really did believe he was finished, that the brief second life he was granted had gone to waste, if not for the little lioness's intervention. It must have been a rare stroke of luck that she interrupted when she did, for had she not appeared, he would have lived and died nameless once again.

His train of thought brought him back to the travelling papers she had handed him just hours before. The servant contemplated for but a moment, recalling the feeling of finally having something to call himself. Something other than the legend that he was not.

"It's Tsuda," he decided.

When the name left his lips, he felt as is the exhaustion of the fight leave him, easily as the sand is swept away by the waves, like a desperate thirst had finally been quenched. All this, because of two tiny little syllables, that he was sure the little lioness hadn't even given much thought to.

"Tsuda," she repeated, a beautiful sound. Kojirou Tsuda, believed he now owed her some sort of thanks.

The moment didn't last long. Liquid warmth trickled down Arturia's cheek before she could stop it. She tried to swipe away what she thought was a tear, but the dark red staining her fingers froze her companions in place. Blood.

"I could ask the same of you. Forgive me, but you don't look well," Tsuda said, approaching her carefully with his hands up to placate her. The samurai inspected her body, then her face. Arturia was peppered with so many bruises it was ridiculous, on top of the dirk stuck on her shoulder and the fact that she periodically bled from her eyes, mouth and nose.

"Agreed, Saber," Medea voiced, the uncertainty in her tone apparrent. She'd run several antidote spells over herself and Saber in an attempt to neutralize the poison from the blade and the needles. They should have worked...they worked on herself. The blood around Saber's shoulder looked almost black and the skin around it was bluish. By no means was that a normal reaction. Arturia took that dirk to the shoulder hours ago, and by the looks of it, she wouldn't last much longer.

The sun had begun to show its first rays by the east, giving the servants more visibility and guaranteeing more cautious action from their attackers. The trio could afford a brief respite.

Medea hoped the girl would listen. Her guilt was already eating at her after what Arturia did to protect her by taking that blasted blade. That, and the fact that the King of Knights had many welts on her skin which she did not have, which meant Arturia was shielding her while she was unconscious too.

Just as they were taking a moment to breathe, another hulking dark figure in a mask dropped out of the shadows, just behind Arturia's shoulder.

"It's me," it said, lifting the skull mask to reveal an identical face to the one sported by Zayd and Zhavia. "The others have run into quite the predicament," said the personality, remembering the fearsome figure of the original Hassan-i-Sabbah towering over his two other forms, "Zhavia, as she now chooses to call herself, barely had a moment to tell me to find you."

As if on cue, Arturia doubled over, hacking and coughing up torrents of red. The blood stained the ground like poison, the grass seemed to wilt as it touched its leaves. Her shoulders shook uncontrollably as she cleared her throat of the warm liquid, and suddenly it was far too difficult to breathe.

Big Assassin looked over the group. "It seems I was too late."

Arturia could barely register the ones around her calling her name, not with the frantic pounding in her ears. What remained of her sight was bloodstained, but it was a minor inconvenience compared to the excruciating fire she felt in her veins.

"What's happening to her?!" Tsuda begged, trying and failing to steady the poor woman. Only when he felt her blood seep through his clothes did he realize the sheer amount she was coughing up. It was like someone had taken a sword and run it through all her organs.

"An antidote spell, Master, please!"

Caster opened her mouth and closed it. How was she to explain? "I did, it- it was supposed to work. She should be healing by now, I-"

Big Assassin cut in, scooping the Knight King from Tsuda's arms and laying her on her side to prevent her from choking.

"It's one of Serenity's blades," the newcomer explained, "We have to cut it out, she shouldn't have kept it in," said the Big Assassin, holding down Arturia's arms as she spasmed violently.

"Who in the gods name is Serenity?!"

The Assassin turned to her and leveled his voice. The last thing he wanted to do was cause a panic. "Serenity is one of the few others worthy to hold the title of Hassan-i-Sabbah. Her primary weapon is poison. If we don't remove this blade, she will die. Now, quiet."

Big Assassin's hand hovered over the blade's handle, running the motions through his mind in the hopes of lifting it out smoothly. He steadied his wrist, but he couldn't risk it. The blade was definitely barbed on the end, and it was buried up to the hilt.

Assassin pinned the struggling woman with his weight, instructing the other two to do the same. He held his breath.

"There's no way we can get it out without hurting her more."

The Assassin personality glared up at the interrupting magus, but his gaze softened as he saw her face was full of concern.

"How long ago was this?" he questioned. "She looks like she's going to die." There was no point in mincing words; the King of Knights had lost so much blood, her already fair skin was a sickly sort of white. Judging by how much she had choked up, there was excessive internal hemorrhaging, to make things more complicated. If they were to leave her as she was now, the poison would reach her brain, possibly damage her beyond repair.

Now that...that was something Big Assassin could not allow.

"Stand back."

Kojirou Tsuda stepped forward with more resolve than Medea had ever seen since she summoned him. At first, the Big Assassin was reluctant, barely having known the Japanese legend, but as soon as Tsuda drew his blade, the assassin moved to hold Arturia steady. No one with that much determination in their eyes could possibly fail.

Kojirou Tsuda drew his arm back, pointing Monohoshi Zao directly at the dirk in Saber's shoulder. If he did this right, if he cut close enough to the blade, he should be able to loosen it enough without hitting any arteries.. Of course, he would be cutting through some muscle, but there was no other way.

He struck with practiced precision, ignoring her pained groans as he moved his blade carefully around the dirk. Big Assassin swept in at the last moment, extracting the loosened blade with the steadiest of hands.

The poisoned dirk clattered to the ground beside Arturia as Tsuda flicked his katana. They had avoided the worst, but the gaping hole the knife left meant Arturia was losing more blood than ever, and fast. The black garbs she was wearing now clung to her body, slicked red with her own blood.

The servants tensed as the knight suddenly stopped shaking, now laying still with her eyes rolled back.

Damn you, Serenity!

The air filled with panicked what's happening's and what do we do's, as Assassin's checked for breathing, a pulse, a reaction.

"Serenity doesn't use just poison," Hassan clarified, hand hovering over Arturia's mouth. She was breathing, weakly. "Judging by the effects, it's based on Boomslang venom."

"Anti-venom, then?" Medea offered.

Assassin shook his head. Serenity was the most capable toxicologist among the ones who bore the mantle of Hassan-i-Sabbah. Her mixes most likely accounted for common anti-venoms to ensure her targets helplessly met their ends.

"Only she knows what would work. You have to remove the poison entirely from her body, separating it from her blood. Can you do that?"

The magus nodded and knelt beside the King of Knights. Normally, she wouldn't need a magic circle, but precision was everything. She couldn't let Arturia die, not when the blade Saber took was originally meant for her. If only she could have done this sooner. Neon violet lines erupted from the sand, encircling both herself and the King of Knights, with greek figures etching themselves within the round space. There was no chance Medea would let Arturia's life slip away.

None.

Heracles was the first to arrive in front of the seal. On the way, he'd taken out a few more of those white-eyed, soulless creatures, but none of them were as formidable as that one little masked girl who could poison the air.

Looking around, he could see none of his comrades, needless to say, he was quite disappointed. He expected more from that witch and the King Arthur so beloved by the present time. But that wasn't really a primary concern. If those on his side were worthy of being stored in the Throne of Heroes in the first place, there was no doubt about their strength.

No, the real concern was the towering mass of mana looped into various sigils which he, with all his knowledge, could not understand. A glowing, bright red circle the size of a hydra hovered at least thrice his height off the ground, bleeding murky, dark mud from the lines that drew across it. His nostrils burned at the stench of the midnight tar staining the ground before him, no doubt the same pungent substance those mindless goons bled when he'd put an end to their existence.

Simply approaching it proved futile, as the dark mud scalded his hide and boiled his blood like the river styx, truly a cursed mass, if it was able to penetrate his demigod skin so easily. Even if he had lives to spare, he would rather not waste God Hand's potential on such a menial task as this. Still, the giant seal that tore through the sky so menacingly was becoming increasingly bothersome, he saw it fit to end this misery business before another troublesome figure made itself known. Two strides backward should suffice.

Splintered rock displaced itself from the ground as he leapt to heights unimaginable for men. All his strength, he gathered into his buster sword, and with the might of the gods he brought it down on the bastardized magic circle.

What?

The hero landed with a thud that shook the earth, his eyes never leaving the blood red seal etched into the sky. The air sizzled, fizzed out where his sword had met the magic, but Heracles could only watch as the cursed symbol stitched itself back together.

The ground quivered as he launched himself once more. Again. Again. Again.

A single drop of sweat ran from his forehead to his chin. The very first he'd shed today from exertion.

The jagged slices he'd carved into the seal, no matter how much they'd cut, repaired themselves just as quickly as he could make another strike. Heracles felt he was up against the hydra again, except this time, he didn't have anyone around brandishing a burning torch to prevent the regeneration.

A sudden splash of mud triggered his instincts, forcing him back. There, lying in the black mud, was a severed head, scared amber eyes staring right through him. Several feet away, plopped down its body, blood spewing from the stub of its neck. A single white mask clattered to the ground beside his feet, one he recognized.

He turned back to the seal, glanced behind him to the tiny trees, then back to the cursed circle in the sky.

They were down to sixty-three.

A limp body whizzed past Zhavia as she was making her way backward through the vegetation. Sixty-two. Already she could feel her power dwindling. She knew how formidable the original Old Man of the Mountain was, but it was ridiculous how quickly he was dismantling their own Zabaniya. Here he was, charging at them with a sword, of all weapons, tearing through their forces as easily as ripping up pieces of paper. All the other personalities were scrambling to get back, throwing their daggers as the armed attacker, but the rising sun had made this difficult. The shadows were far smaller, provided much less cover, and the straightforward blade that the King Hassan was wielding met every and all its targets before they could slip away.

Sixty-one.

A single tear slipped from her eye before she could stop it. It wasn't honor killing, like how it was with Iskandar. It wasn't the kind of defeat that she could accept. King Hassan was culling them like chickens, cutting down a part of herself with every swing of his blade, all the while poking fun at how they had done everything to amass knowledge, only to lose it all here. And he was right. With every one of them he killed she lost another part of herself.

Gone was the love of the arts, he lay in pieces among the roots of the trees. The expert in trappings sat with his head in his lap, the stub of his neck coloring his top half red. Gone was the one who mastered the art of trickery, his hands shoved deep into a slit throat.

Was this their punishment for wanting to know, to learn, to explore?

"I'll...have...your head!"

The newly renamed Zhavia tilted her head just in time to avoid decapitation, but found at least half of her long hair scattered on the ground. The figure lunged once more, and it took every fiber of her muscles to swivel out of the way. Her fingers made their way to a throwing knife, but she knew it was no use. No other Hassan-i-Sabbah had ever been able to stand their ground against the original.

Her knife clattered uselessly to his side, the clang of metal resounding in the air. King Hassan dragged the edge of his weapon from her abdomen, to her chest, and finally rested it on her throat. She gulped, took one last shaky breath and closed her eyes as he thrust it forward.

For a brief second, she recalled who she was, springing into existence one fateful day. They were supposed to execute an arrogant rajah, one who left his people suffering while he exploited all their resources. The only ones he rewarded were his guards, who kept him alive in exchange for gold, land, and women. The sultan wasted his talent for strategy on fortifying his keep so that none but those he desired could enter. So, she was born, with mesmerizing hazel eyes, a beautifully toned body, and a voice to woo all men.

And woo the rajah, she had, with a simple sway of her hips and but a few convincing words. She took the rajah to his bed, from which he never woke, and so easily, she disappeared among the rejoicing faces of his many harlots the next morning. No one ever did find out how an assassin could have gotten past the guards, nor what weapon they had used, for she had merely returned the kitchen knife onto the plate of lamb the guards had for dinner the night of the murder. The maids had washed away every trace, having thought their lord's blood must have come from the meat.

She had gone through many such missions since then, with only her other selves to keep her company. But it was never a lonely existence. She was perfectly content, sharpening her skills, living on the edge, getting her kicks from the thrill of the hunt. And then came this new life, with her new leader. To think, she was looking forward to get back into the game, with all the new weapons the new world had to offer, to raising the little child personality, to seeing the world and all its beauty and faults.

She could only pray to her god, that at least one of them made it home, then perhaps there was a chance to be reborn.

Zhavia closed her eyes, cherishing the only name she'd ever really had, the only name she, herself was given. At least just this one thing, was hers, even for just a few hours.

And then...everything went black.

...

Gilgamesh let out a breath he didn't know he was holding as Arturia finally relaxed in Medea's arms. Above the two women floated about a quart of silver-colored venom, which the magus quickly got rid of.

Without the poison obstructing her healing factor, the King of Knights sat up, her wounds beginning to heal themselves. She still looked pale, what with all the blood she lost, but every moment that passed, he could see the color return to her cheeks.

"See? Nothing to worry about," Merlin said, coming up beside Gilgamesh in front of the magic circle revealing the scene.

"You say that, mongrel, and yet, just moments ago you were stricken with fear," Gilgamesh replied to the other clairvoyant, still unable to judge whether this half-breed was worthy of his words or not.

The wizard simply shook his head and watched Arturia get up despite the protests of the one who now called himself Tsuda and the magus who had just cleansed her blood. Arturia pointed Excalibur to their northeast and advanced. All the others could do was follow.

"It wasn't fear," Merlin said, sensing the resurrected Pendragon regain strength even from miles and miles away. "I am the reason Arturia has such a powerful reserve of mana, I'll have you know. One perhaps rivalling your own, I dare add."

The comment made the King of Heroes cross his eyebrows, but otherwise, the mesopotamian stayed silent and continued to watch the King of Knights in the mirage before him.

"I simply care for her, like you do," the half-succubus suggested, not eliciting any response from the blonde, "She was my best accomplishment, and my deepest regret."

Perhaps he shouldn't have been so...eager for Arturia to become the greatest king as her father wanted. Merlin gave her everything. As a baby, he infused her with the mana capacity rivalling that of dragons. He supervised her training in the daytime, making sure she had all the best teachers. Stood proud as she bested her brother, and then every other foe she came across. He tutored her, even in her dreams, provided her with all the knowledge she needed to be a great king. Books, tomes, basic spells. All of which, she consumed without complaint.

Even when it came to the most superficial of lessons, like dancing and music, Arturia was at full attention. She reformed her manners quickly, spoke with a stiff upper lip when addressing the townspeople, never used a single spoon the wrong way. When affairs were busy at the castle, she'd forgo her usual breaks with Kay for lessons on strategy, much to the latter's dismay. Eventually Arturia devoted all her time to serving Camelot, wasted not a second on leisurely activities. She married the finest lady of the land, because that was what kings did, what Merlin told her to do.

All that time, Merlin believed that what he was doing was right. Right for Camelot, right for what Uther envisioned. He'd warned Arturia once, of what would become of her if she did pull the sword from the stone, and he thought that was enough. He forgot that despite how inhuman she strived to be, that she was, in fact, human.

Locked up in that damned tower, with nothing else to do but watch Arturia with his clairvoyance, he realized that. Especially when Arturia met that ginger master of hers, who treated the King of Knights like a maiden of all things. For the first time, Merlin saw his king living for a change. Smiling, enjoying the taste of food, blushing like the young woman she was.

And that, that made Merlin rethink everything he had been doing until then. It was why he so quickly said yes when Saber's former master offered him an out of that tower, why he'd stationed himself in Fuyuki, waiting for her year after year.

And then she finally arrived, with this blonde tyrant and a loyal knight in tow. Merlin was going to do it right this time, ensure Arturia was truly living instead of following the path he and her father laid out for her. He swore he would do anything to make sure she could do that. That meant keeping her alive, until this "destroying the seals" business was over, which brought him to the task Kiritsugu assigned him to. Merlin looked over to the table in the conference room behind him.

But the time for that task had not yet come. In the meantime, Merlin thought he should make sure Arturia never lost favor with her strongest ally, the man standing in the room with him. Even if he felt like he was manipulating things behind the scenes, the devious half of his blood decided that having just a bit of fun wouldn't bring any harm.

"I know you have no need of more riches, if your epic is to be believed," Merlin started, aware of the sharp red eyes briefly turning away from Arturia in the mirage, "but if you want to spend more time with my King, perhaps you would consider this."

Merlin handed an elaborately decorated folder to the King of Heroes. Gilgamesh hesitated for but a moment, taking the documents only when he realized it was specially procured, made of materials of the highest quality. Even the paper looked unnecessarily expensive under the pure gold paper clip.

Suddenly, the door swung open, revealing Merlin's newest model. "My apologies, Merlin, I didn't realize the time-"

Diarmuid stopped short at the sight of the King of Heroes, who didn't even spare him a glance. Then his eyes went wide as they landed on the mirage before the two men. He rushed over to the image being projected above the magic circle.

Arturia.

The King of Knights looked like she had been to hell and back, with blood caked in her hair and dried red flecks by her eyes, nose, and lips. A deep gash ran from just below her collarbone, through her shoulder, and though it was beginning to heal, he could tell it had dealt her a lot of damage.

He was right to feel uneasy.

Diarmuid recognized the other Servants with her immediately, most looking worse for wear. Medea looked exhausted, Kojirou Sasaki was beginning to tire, and the masked Assassin was sweeping the area with his eyes, looking for any enemies. Today would have been the second day they were fighting.

"What happened?"

The question evoked an annoyed grunt from the King of Heroes, and he disappeared into gold dust almost immediately, going who knew where. Merlin sighed.

"Get to the dressing room. I'll tell you while I'm concealing the hell out of those eyebags," the wizard said, dismissing the mirage with a wave of his hand. "I told you to get some sleep, pretty boy.


Heya!

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-akampana