Metal Gear: Grail Wars

by TheCongo

Forced into a war not his own, Raiden must adjust to a world of mages he never knew existed. Lost in time once again, Jack the Ripper must face historical legends large and small while trying to find himself, balancing the man and the killer trapped within the same mind, to discover who he truly is.

3. Limits

Hey everyone, I hope you're having a good day; someone recommended I move the author's notes to the bottom, so I will.

I have a few quick things to note.

...

By the time of this post, I'll have hit over 100 followers and 100 favorites; you guys blew me away with your support, and I have been reading each of your comments and responding to a few.

I've also seen your criticisms, and we'll get to that down below.

I never imagined getting more than 20 in either followers or favorites; seriously, you are all fantastic, and I wish you nothing but the best in life.

I also want to apologize for the delay; I had to submit a draft for my thesis, which ate up about two weeks of my time. I will try to update consistently, but college life gets in the way.

I'll likely aim for a chapter a month at least until my schedule chills.

Also, I have a friend who knows a lot more about Fate acting as my beta reader from now on, so hopefully, we can only go up from there. (I'm 80% sure he's the one who commented fucking Sus Amogus)

My beta reader has convinced me to continue this story beyond Zero and into one of the sequels; more on that in the future.

...

This chapter is very special to me; this fanfic was inspired by Freedom to Stay, a short 36k word AOT-Fate crossover. After this edition uploads, I'll have surpassed their word count, a personal tidbit I wanted to add.

...

Mandatory reference shoutout: KdkUWU with "You're pretty good."

That was some fancy writing.

...

Now, some might get mad about what I will do in this boss fight, but as it's my story, I don't care; I'm going to divide this into two separate chapters for length purposes; expect the Caster arc to conclude by the end of May.

Also, I'm taking my own spin on Caster's abilities; for a magic-oriented class, Zero did an awful job having him do much of anything aside from minion waving the other Servants and the magical equivalent of a fucking nuke.

I'm at least going to try to give him some skills I've based on what he can do in the show for the sake of a fun fight; your entertainment comes first to me. Not a lot; bear in mind phase 1 is short because I can't justify Giles going toe to toe w/ Jack; it's more about getting to phase 2 for next time.

Now, I have decided to include perspective from Artoria in this section, primarily because I find her character so compelling, and as I have discussed with some of you over DMs, she and Raiden have a lot to learn from one another.

(Exactly why I decided to continue this series beyond Zero)

Of course, I wished to include the meeting of kings as Jack handles his own affairs. Of course, since he isn't there, their conversation will largely remain the same, but with added twinges from his words impacting Saber.

Metal Gear characters tend to either acknowledge or never notice their philosophical nature, so I will continue the trend in giving Raiden short but very impactful statements.

Anyways, this arc will address more about our favorite cyborg.

Raiden is a hero of the future, probably the only person left that can defend the people from tyranny as progress marches onward for better or worse.

Jack has a muddled legacy; he saved the world through his own means, slaughtering his enemies with untold brutality; some see him as a hero, others as a murderer; why does this matter?

As time goes on, memories tend to shift; identities intertwine the further down you go, and it gets harder to distinguish the man from the legend. It's time to see what the people remember Raiden as and just who they think he is.

Raiden is still using his metaphorical training wheels; let's see what happens when we take them off, shall we?

...

"It's easy to forget what a sin is in the middle of a battlefield." -Solid Snake.

A cool breeze fluttered through the night sky over the city of Fuyuki, the streets largely absent of life; rumors and speculations of missing children had become a reality. Fear reigned as mothers and fathers kept a watchful eye, keeping their young ones out of sight.

Artoria gazed on from her perch along the balcony of the Einzbern Castle, her blonde hair shifting as an updraft caressed her pale white skin. The king needed time to think; days had passed since the Fourth Grail War had begun, yet they had felt like years.

The knight's green eyes scanned the city skyline; the sight never ceased to amaze her; regardless of how the Grail instilled knowledge of all modern things, she could always appreciate the view of progress, the things peace could truly bring.

Honor and chivalry kept her reign just when possible, yet she had so many regrets. Hardship and warfare led her to commit unspeakable acts on her people, and for what? Britain had fallen thanks to her.

The king gripped the stone railing as she let out a huff, a white cloud billowing into the night sky. Events seized her mind; every day, a new challenge arose from the Servants or her own Master.

Artoria knew fully well what it meant to commit the unthinkable; it came with ruling a kingdom, yet...Kiritsugu went above and beyond such means; his cruelty knew no bounds if it meant achieving his ambitions for peace.

The knight chose harshness and punishment as a last resort, always seeking the better option when possible; she was honor-bound, knowing the proper way of rule, lest she falls to tyranny. Her Master sought savagery and victory by any means from the beginning; she could never accept such an ideology.

The world never once gave way without sacrifice; Artoria was no fool; hope only existed when the people had a figure, a hero to guide them; who could follow a monster?

The king closed her eyes in reflection, slowly taking a breath; such thoughts were unendearing, clouding her judgment when she needed rationality as she always had.

Her wish had seemed so simple, to right her wrongs; to allow Britain a better end than under King Arthur's failed reign, yet...her thoughts lingered on the war, the Servants, but...also others.

Assassin and Berserker remained enigmas, the former she very well understood, but the latter?

The Grail created such a class for the purpose of violence and destruction; what would their Master gain by keeping them astray?

She glanced down at her wounded arm, her grip faltering along the railing.

Lancer remained an utmost threat; she had acted with haste, it cost her dearly; so long as Diarmuid remained, the king could not bring her full force to bear.

Artoriaheld the man in higher esteem than the others, honor-bound in his code and conduct, seeking a proper, fair dual amongst equals, unlike the others.

Archer and Rider, from her purview, are two tyrants bent on forcing their will upon others, a mockery of true kingship. Forcing your will upon others is a necessity at times but never a constant, yet they approve of nothing less.

Her gaze narrowed as she watched distant street lights hum to life, an orange glow cascading across the streets, illuminating unseen homes and vehicles in the metropolis.

They were relics of their time, a period where empires were held together through force of will alone, a mockery of a kingdom. A sovereign should always heed the words of their subjects, those with talent and those not; she had established the Round Table for far more than showery.

Caster remained a looming menace in the night, kidnapping children for his horrific sacrifices; the knight swore she would avenge the fallen innocents trampled by his path of rampage.

The madman claimed he did such things out of love for "his" Jeanne. Saber clicked her tongue in frustration; such terms disgusted her.

No individual could nor ever should control another to claim them as though they were property. As the king of Britain, she strove to allow her subjects such liberties as she could grant under their tenuous hold on Britain.

While the monarch detached herself from such matters for the sake of her kingdom, she certainly knew to care not only for her people but her comrades, her family; they meant the world to her.

Love begets sacrifice; hardship grows as one rises through society; expectations, duty, honor, each burden weighing one down as they seek to bring order and justice to the land.

Artoria's regrets were many; her love for her people had driven her away from her personal affairs, a tragic necessity that brought about her end.

A thought came to mind; a voice lingered in her mind since they had briefly spoken by happenstance, "It's funny, you never expect to be a parent; you suddenly just get another person in your life."

Artoria took a sharp breath, Mordred. Even the thought of her daughter brought such pain to her heart. Her sister's meddling brought about the child, yes, but the king would never deny loving her all the same.

The rule of law came first; Britain took precedence, and she never knew Morgan's intent, but her daughter could never understand why her Father rejected her; she could never forget the girl's reaction; her eyes spoke volumes.

The king placed a hand over her heart; as emotions began to run high, to suddenly discover one of her knights was her kin, shocked, would never suffice. Could she have done better? What if she had accepted her daughter with open arms?

Though she could never admit to such faults, Artoria knew she had not done well by her daughter, treating her as an ordinary member of the Table when she needed a father, someone to reign in her sister's meddling.

The knight never saw herself as a parent; emotion never came easily to her. Having a child thrust upon her so suddenly brought such matters to a head; nevertheless, she had done wrong, and it had brought calamity.

Artoria sighed, feeling a familiar burn in her eyes as she calmed herself; She had a presence to maintain; she couldn't allow such petty emotions to get the better of her.

The knight shook the thought from her mind, what he had said, that man, Jack; they had spoken for such a short time, yet his words remained ever-present.

King Arthur knew very few she could relate to, the toll her choices had caused her. She could tell at a glance his statements carried weight, that man had seen the hell of war; it need not be spoken.

Why did it bother her so? Why did this veteran draw such curiosity?

That man seemed...at peace, as though he had somehow come to terms with his troubled existence. Warfare devastated the land, wounded minds in a way many could never, yet his words, the way Jack seemed so sure of his choices.

The weary leader glanced toward the night sky, illuminated by starlight as her green orbs observed the moon, one of the few constants regardless of where she was.

Artoria envied such a disposition, though she would never admit to such a contrivance; what had he endured to reach such beliefs? How could anyone hold so few regrets?

The knight knew a false tale when she heard one; many had appeared before her court, seeking the king's good graces by any means. She had acquired a lifetime of skills in such a short but difficult reign.

Jack had never uttered a single mistruth, each word spoken with utmost certainty; Arthur couldn't comprehend it. Every life came with regret, never a fair mistress by any standard.

The King of Britain sighed as she stood upright; she wished they could have finished their conversation; the man had wisdom beyond his years, and she could very well use proper counsel in these trying times.

A distant rumbling caught her attention, the sounds of lightning crashing through the forest path toward their estate. A familiar voice chanting some tune or other that she could not identify grew closer by the moment.

The thundering sounds of hooves broke the silence of the night as a figure emerged from the darkness riding along an ornate chariot pulled by a pair of Oxen, Rider.

The king materialized her armor in an instant, flashing a vibrant yellow hue as her form-fitting suit dispersed into thin air before her enchanted mail appeared. Turning towards the house, Saber gripped her sword cautiously; the King of Conquerors would not do as he pleased.

...

A figure watched as police stormed out of a building, flooding into their cars before taking off down the road and into the night.

Raiden exited a nearby alleyway as the last cruiser disappeared in the distance; one of the perks of having cybernetic enhancements, his protocols could hack into city networks like nothing.

One phone call from the "Chief" was all the cyborg needed to get the cops away from the crime scene; Jack lacked the time and patience to wait for them to clear out on their own. Lives were on the line, and he didn't have time for bureaucratic bullshit.

The warrior had dealt with enough of that as a legal PMC; the red tape drove him insane; politicians never just let you do your job; they have to make it impossible on some "moral grounds," meaning someone paid them.

Jack fought powers far above to save those children from World Marshal, and he'd do it again and again; his life meant nothing if new generations could grow up in peace so that the world could someday never create monsters like him again.

The world was cruel, and so was he, but Raiden knew he could use his life for good, kill the men who ran things from the shadows and create a better world that would someday make better people.

The cycle could change, slowly but surely, but his enhancements gave him all the time in the world, and he'd see his war through as he always had.

The ninja slowly plodded along the old cobblestone roads, his metallic heels clicking with each step as he approached the abandoned bar, suitcase in hand.

Armstrong was right about one thing; men need to be free to fight their own wars for causes they truly believe in; Raiden would fight the whole world if it meant making it a better place for his son.

The cyborg would never return to Maverick, he trusted them with his life, but their paths needed to diverge; he would bring too much heat on them for what he had planned.

Jack never planned on fighting this Grail War before his own, but he'd start with Caster, then the rest, and deal with his own problems later.

Assassin hadn't even been dead for more than a few moments before Raiden took off back the way he came, conflict awaited no man, and every second lost meant another life taken; he needed to act.

Gripping the door handle, the warrior huffed as the lock stuck in place; he glanced around, not a soul in sight... good.

The veteran took a step back before lurching back on one foot and slamming his boot into the door; metal and glass screeched as it tore right off the hinges before buckling and crashing back into the abandoned bar glass and debris shattering on impact.

Raiden popped his neck as he stepped into the parlor, that was a lot louder than he thought it would be, but no matter, the samurai had a job to do.

He gazed around the room; the place hadn't seen use in years; dust lined nearly every surface. Someone had ransacked the bar years ago, empty bottles lining the floor...the ones he didn't break already.

His talons clicked along the old wooden flooring as he approached a booth with a child-sized mark amidst the grime and filth lining the cushioned seat. Jack stared in perplexion; why here? What did Caster have to gain bringing them to this place? What was he missing?

Jack sighed; Assassin had hardly hit the ground before he took off back the way he came; this place was his only lead to finding the Servant; there had to be something.

An idea came to mind; he saw through Saber's magic using infrared; what about the others? Magic acts like an energy source; there had to be a trace, something his synthetic eyes could spot.

The cyborg issued mental commands, shifting his gaze across the bar through different lenses as rats pilfered through the remains of the establishment; the sight never bothered him, work with Snake enough, and you eat anything eventually.

Russian rations were no joke; even his synthetic stomach couldn't handle the mystery meat David ate like candy from those things.

The ninja paused on thermal, seeing a thin whisk of purple rising from in front of the bar before crossing over. His hidden mechanisms rotated as he crouched down, picking up a black fragment before spotting other pieces.

The samurai brought the two together, forming a complete circle, purple in coloration. So, this was the bracelet he used? Jack shook the device to no avail as it refused to come back to life.

The cyborg stood upright as he threw the instrument across the room with a grimace, so Kariya's niece had crashed the ginger's party, broken that bracelet of his, then called the cops.

His grip over Murasama's case tightened; if he never left, that means either he's still here, or...he got out somewhere else.

Heading for the back, Raiden caught sight of what looked like a plume of purple smog coming out from beneath a pile of trash. At best, the bracelet had given off puffs like an old cigar; this felt more like a steam vent.

Raiden kicked a pile of paint buckets aside, metal containers clanging along the floor, spilling their contents; he shrugged; not like this place saw much use anyways.

Jack smirked to the floor, seeing a latch; there you are. Years of training had honed the cyborg to look beneath the underneath; he had gotten rusty in recent years; getting a team does that to you.

He gripped the latch before yanking the false flooring off its hinges, releasing a massive plume of built-up magical smog directly into his face.

The killer flinched as the foreign substance flooded his eyes and blinded him before crashing back into the bar, empty bottles exploding as their shelves broke apart.

Bump-Bump

His head throbbed in absolute agony as he lost all orientation, the world spinning out of control into a blackened mess as his ears started to ring. Jack fell to his knees, slamming a fist onto hardwood over and over, making craters along the floor.

As the world began to turn white, Jack gritted his teeth, voices intermingling across his mind, speaking incoherent tongues, not now, anytime but now.

The world disappeared.

...

His gaze felt unclear as reality spun away and rewove itself through his tumultuous mind, reforming around a memory, a watershed moment.

Rain fell overhead, cascading atop an all too familiar land of desolation and poverty; his gaze lingered along the ground, his body shaking, unable to grip the sword in his hands, unwilling to stand and fight.

A familiar voice broke the silence, its raspy, matter-of-fact tone burning through his confusion, "That is, until the illusion was broken."

Jack glanced up; the man stood tall, his figure incredibly lean as his billowing white hair cascaded in the torrential winds. His blackened body, segmented into literal pieces geld together by magnetic force, splattered with red, contrasted with the harsh soviet-style building behind him, World Marshal Headquarters.

Stark white bolts lined his body, reaching up to his head, covered in a dome-like mask just above the eternal sneer present on his pale face. The facade shrouded his form as the man reached a hand up to catch falling water droplets, Monsoon.

Raiden remembered him all too well, one of his "kindred spirits," or so they claimed. The man had grown up under the Khmer Rouge, one of the worst dictatorships to grace the planet, enduring a hell only a few could comprehend.

Monsoon's heels clicked along black tiles, splattering puddles as he walked along aimlessly, "Don't be ashamed. It's only nature, running its course."

The cyborg raised a fist, staring at the appendage in thought before whimsically flowing his limb with the breeze, "You have no choices to make. Nothing to answer for."

The killer reached for his belt, beginning to twirl his dual Dystopias in anticipation, smiling all the while, "You can die with a clear conscience."

Raiden's gaze fell, unwilling to force himself to look any longer. He remembered this; Sam had picked his facade apart, bit by bit, until it all came crashing down.

He had spent years playing the hero, trying to hide the monster inside, and one man had shattered that illusion, paving the way to find who he truly was.

Jack gazed at his metallic visage in a puddle, disgusted with the lie he had created, "You're right... about me, I mean."

Lightning crackled as the storm overhead continued to roll in, thunder booming in the distance, his inner turmoil brought to life.

"I knew something was...off. After the Patriots, I thought I could walk off the battlefield and into a normal life."

The Liberian's arms shook, almost unable to keep himself on his knees, reality hardly holding together. He knew now that a lie could never last; you can only fake being someone else for so long before your nature runs its course, toppling everything in its wake.

"But here I am, surrounded by death, arguing philosophy with terrorists." He took a breath, "I told myself this was about justice. About protecting the weak...but I was wrong."

Monsoon laughed in glee, his kunai spinning along as though they had a mind of their own, "then you admit it?"

Memories flashed by in a moment, Solidus, the Lost Boys, his victims, too many bodies to count.

"I learned young that killing your enemies felt good, really good...In America, my friends, my family...they helped me forget the devil inside."

Raiden watched his synthetic jaw click along as though he were nothing more than a fake, hiding beneath a human-like visage, concealing the demon beneath his form.

"But who am I kidding?" He slammed a metallic fist into the ground, carving a hole in the paved road, "I was born to kill."

The cyborg pondered his prone blade, watching it refuse to even light a single spark, "that bit about my sword- that 'means of justice' stuff?"

He gazed down at his visage once more, seeing a singular pale blue eye staring back in disgust, "I guess I needed something to keep 'he Ripper in check when I was knee-deep in bodies.'"

Monsoon hesitated, taking a cautious step forward in realization as his firm voice wavered, "Y-you?"

Raiden's voice grew raspy, almost inhumanly so, "But you-all this- is a wake-up call to what I really believe...What I really am."

The Desperado figurehead raised a blade in defense, "What are you saying?"

Jack watched on as his eye burned a vibrant red, his inner self awakening for the first time in years, "I'm saying Jack is back."

CRASH

Raiden's eyes shot open as foreign objects smashed through the front windows before bursting in an unspeakable light. The cyborg remained unphased as his synthetics adapted to the shift in nanoseconds before he heard the sounds of boots crashing across the street towards the building.

Son of a bitch, someone must have heard him and called the cops.

Jack gritted his teeth in fury as his limbs shakily stood upright, gripping his suitcase as he limped towards the latch; something was wrong; that was the second attack today.

The cyborg stared into the black void below, magic flooding upwards in a torrent of purple-colored steam; he had no idea what he was getting into here.

The sounds grew closer as he heard men outside yelling for him to surrender. Getting caught by the police wasn't a concern; Jack could tear his way out of any prison.

No, he needed to do this; the veteran knew these men would never stop unless he killed them.

He took a calming breath, collecting his bearings as he lowered himself down, dragging the latch back overhead before letting go, falling into the void below; adios amigos.

Time slowed as Raiden watched the light from above slowly disperse as the strange fog grew denser by the second. His enhanced hearing caught dozens of boots stomping overhead as he fell further below, voices becoming distant as shouts turned to nothingness.

His multi-ton form crashed to the ground below, through a river of muck and grime as liquid splashed across concrete walls.

The cyborg stood firm as his suit remained impeccably clean, electric currents frying any bit of debris or water that landed atop his synthetic visage.

Jack's sensors whirled to life as he scanned his surroundings, a tunnel system? The sewers, of course, they'd be hiding down here.

His systems pulled up a downloaded map, highlighting miles of passageways carved beneath the city, connecting to the main river running straight through town.

His eyes flashed red before he winced in discomfort; something had been eating him alive since the moment he arrived. The feeling started as nothing more than an itch in the back of his head, but now?

Raiden felt like something was tearing his mind apart; he hadn't felt this way since before he fully embraced Jack as part of him; his mind wandered, unable to focus.

The cyborg leaned an arm against a graffiti-coated wall in the narrow tunnel, collecting his thoughts; he didn't understand; something was triggering his flashbacks, but what?

First Saber, then the grate...what was he missing? It felt like that fog surrounding him was in his head; each movement felt forced, as though he was unsure of what path to take like he denied a part of himself, but what?

Jack shook his head in refusal; this wasn't the time for a breakdown; he needed his wits. The samurai slowly ran a hand across his face, wiping away a nonexistent bead of sweat.

He grimaced as he forced reality back to normal, slowly grounding himself away from his cluttered mind. The world spun back into place, the fog seeming slightly less dense as he slammed a fist into the concrete wall, denting the surface on impact; get your shit together.

Every moment he wasted risked more lives; Jack had to stay focused.

The cyborg's sensors flared as his internal radar pinged across miles of constructed tunnels, dozens of entrances, and exits; they could travel all over town, completely undetected.

Raiden clenched a fist, his synthetic skin audibly stretching, so that's their game, kidnap children and drag them off into the unknown; the parents would never know they were right under their feet.

The killer opened Murasama's container with a click; the sheathed blade magnetically levitated before him before sliding the device across his hip, latching it firmly in place as its hiding place dispersed in yellow light.

He ran a hand along the length of his tool of war; Raiden's mind cleared once again, his inherited weapon reinforcing his ideals with a hum of approval.

His radar pinged due north, dozens if not hundreds of lifeforms spread throughout the network; the circuits beneath his blue eyes flashed to life as he tore through maps, marking out his route in the maze-like structure.

Raiden steeled his gaze as he turned down one of many corridors; the cyborg had his own war to fight, his problems were his to solve and his alone, but first, he'd rip Caster limb from fucking limb.

Electricity flooded across his body, evaporating muck and dirty water on impact as energy surged across his augmented form. With a flash of light, the warrior took off down the tunnels, parting the sea of filth as he left a trail of blue light in his wake.

As he tore through the concrete structure, clearing miles in moments, time slowed as Jack saw dry splotches of red cascading across the rocky labyrinth's walls.

His gaze narrowed as his grimace grew; the killer knew the sight of blood better than anyone; he practically bathed in it. Jack took off faster than before, modified limbs humming as energy crackled off of him as he made a silent promise to himself and the world; not a single one more would die because of these fuckers.

Raiden had known war his entire life, but there was always a reason to kill; every man had an idea behind his name, whether he followed his own cause or not.

You needed a reason to throw yourself into hell and keep coming back for more. Concrete ripped off the ground as his forearm gripped a wall, throwing his velocity down another pathway before launching off again at untold speeds.

This? Slaughtering innocents? Jack had done that plenty as a boy; Solidus needed ruthless killers, but the man had logic in his ambitions; he knew what it would take to deal with the Patriots.

Raiden would never agree with the ends, but he could understand the logic behind his "Father's" ambitions. The Patriots had nearly destroyed not only his life but the world, taken everything he held dear...turned him into a monster, but he rose above his circumstances.

Those stains would always stay in his mind, every time he looked in the mirror, he could see the machines beneath his skin, but he didn't care anymore. Jack was still human; he knew right from wrong in his own way, uncaring for what the world thought of him.

His radar pinged his objective closer and closer as the mercenary organized his thoughts.

Men like Caster were less than human in his eyes; children had nothing to do with whatever qualms you had with the world; this was murder. The cyborg made a clear distinction between killing and the former.

On the battlefield, you may not have had a choice in going there; each man had a reason, a cause, debt, a family to take care of, even lacking a reason to live. He understood that, but at the end of the day, it didn't matter.

War doesn't care for your circumstances; it's a cruel aspect of reality; it comes down to you and them; nothing else matters. But Raiden would always recognize these men for what they were, humans, fighting for something; that much he could do; it was an acknowledgment of their existence beyond the battlefield.

His tie flowed with the synthetic breeze as he tore down an ankle-deep section of unknown liquid, seeing red mixed along with the filth; he was getting closer.

Murder...killing the uninvolved, whether or not for some gain, was wrong; those standing on the battlefield made their decision at the end of the day, willing or not.

But, civilians...innocents...children just wanted to live in peace, good or bad became irrelevant, everyone has a right to live their own life, away from fear. Caster took that freedom from them for his own sick means, the strong preying upon the weak...

DING

His brow furrowed as his radar pinged hostiles up ahead; no more, he'd butcher these fuckers if it meant protecting those who couldn't help themselves; Caster and his shithead Master would know pain.

The cyborg paused as streams of blood led to piles of flesh floating along the water, bones, organs, rotting viscera coating the walls with bubbles floating from beneath.

The veteran's eyes narrowed, half expecting a mastiff to come crashing down from the ceiling as he went head. He shook the thought away; he was running out of time.

His sensors pinged; just ahead, the ground suddenly lurched straight down beneath the waves of debris, covered in grime, a trap?

The mechanized soldier clicked his tongue in annoyance. He raised a leg, charging electricity through the limb as it violently exploded in blindingly blue light before slamming his heel down right on the edge of the hole.

Currents crashed through the water; the warrior heard guttural screams as he lept back, gripping his sword still held within its sheathe as tendrils exploded out of the water.

Lumps of flesh slid down the walls, merging into gradually growing piles of unknown matter. Jack clicked his trigger, spinning Murasama into his hand, raising the crackling red blade defensively as rotting flesh combined into strange tentacle-like entities before entire bodies burst from beneath the mire.

They appeared like darkened tendrils, swirling biomass collecting and amassing before his very eyes, flesh taking shape from the bodies scattered about the chamber.

The star-shaped cephalopods roared to life, their eyes manically gazing about, twitching from their own pained existence; they lived to serve, to kill, to hunt. Their forms appeared as a cacophony of black and purple tendrils, cascaded green sensors across their bodies in random intervals.

Jack grimaced as two formed from the material, staring him down before unleashing a guttural roar before rushing towards him, bloody protuberances carrying their forms as they barreled down the narrow passageway.

His grip tightened as the samurai heard more noise coming from further down the line; reinforcements, he must have woken up the hive with that stunt.

Time slowed as Jack took both hands to his grip, holding his tool of war low before taking off in a furious flash of blue and red lightning, dragging Murasama along the walls as it cleaved through solid rock like nothing.

Superheated sparks flew as the first entity launched itself into the air as its partner scrambled beneath it, a simultaneous attack?

Jack's eyes flashed red as roaring electricity crackled around his legs before taking off in a blast of energy, muck water evaporating as he leaped into the air. His legs jutted out like an energized sword as his blade dragged upwards along the ceiling.

Murasama's red edge carved through flesh like nothing as Raiden crashed into the entity below; his talons tore a human-sized hole straight through the creature before his entire metal form slammed through, currents frying the monster alive as Jack landed in a power slide.

Jack's momentum carried him along the water before he launched off a free hand into the air, landing on his feet as their bodies slumped over behind him.

DING DING DING DING DING

Raiden spun on his heel as he heard the sounds of crashing water and heavy footsteps coming from down the tunnel as a wave of these starfish-like monsters ran at him as though he were prey.

The samurai raised his sword, completely unaware as the piles behind him began to reform, their severed biomass reshaping, growing, evolving.

The horde turned the corner as Jack caught sight of them, their Lovecraftian jaws agape, awaiting their next feast as hundreds of teeth glistened with drool in anticipation.

As the cyborg readied his stance, preparing to meet the monstrous creatures head-on. DING

His eyes widened, from behi-CRACK

Jack winced as a tendril slashed across his back, tearing through his synthetic skin like nothing as it collided with his metal chassis.

He whirled around in an instant, grabbing the slimy appendage before yanking back; the combined mound of flesh flew towards the enraged killer as his blade impaled it through the front of its engorged torso, right through its mouth and out the back.

Raiden's cold red gaze watched as the creature cooked alive before-

A tendril burst from beneath the waves, wrapping around his ankle as it threw him into the ceiling, denting his form into solid concrete.

The sounds of pained gurgles and roars grew to within human earshot; Jack grimaced as his unknown enemies barrelled towards him as he dangled in the air.

The horde had reached him; blackened spines shot out of their flesh as the warrior deflected each barrage, sparks flying as their projectiles fell to the mire below.

Raiden roared in a fury, using a second of respite to lurch back, swinging along with his momentum to cleave the tendril holding him in half. The cyborg landed in a thud, water exploding around as more entities emerged around him.

His eyes flashed red as electricity exploded off of his body, progressing towards an ever-building charge in his hands as his metallic grip around Mursasama tightened.

The Liberian slammed his weapon's point into the water, discharging an untold level of voltage through the liquid garbage. In a moment, dozens of cephalopods roared in agony as they were burned alive from within as currents fried their insides.

The killer kept up the pressure, funneling more and more power into his attack; if they could regrow from their remains, he'd burn them to fucking ash.

Limbs swung wildly as muscle melted into itself before crusting over, bodies began to flake and crumbled as Jack yanked his sword out of the mire, spinning it between his metallic fingers before it came to a rest in his palm.

Raiden huffed as the summons charred into black statues before falling apart into nothing more than dust. He glanced over his shoulder, assessing the damage.

One strike had cleaved straight to his frame; it didn't pierce through but left a noticeable scratch. A small stream of his synthetic blood, artificially made red, dripped down his back and into the waters below.

The cyborg watched in mild interest as he saw his synthetic flesh slowly regrowing as the slash righted itself, popping back into place on its own as though he had never been hurt; convenient.

Kariya had mentioned Servants using prana to heal, it wasn't nearly as fast as his repair paste or nanomachines, but he'd have to make due.

DING DING DING DING DING

Jack's grimace turned into a menacing grin as more monsters burst to life down the tunnel, roaring in primal rage before charging him like the others. Good, that means he's on the right path.

The warrior raised Murasama, its electric edge crackling in excitement as its newest foes bore down on the pair. Raiden's eyes flashed red in anticipation; bring it.

...

A gentle breeze blew across the clear night skies as two figures sat across from one another, resting atop the tile flooring amidst a modest garden.

Artoria gazed at Iskandar's form as the man fiddled with an oversized barrel he had acquired from some nearby marketplace of sorts.

The man remained high above her form; even with his legs crossed, the red-bearded giant towered over the landscape.

Iskandar, or as her people recalled him, Alexander the Great, a far cry from the mythical portraiture and figure represented in the Greek arts.

Like many kings of her time, Artoria had accustomed herself to the classical languages, not only for communication between kingdoms but as a mark of intelligent rule.

The Grail may provide standard information on the modern world, but she needed no aid in either Greek or Latin; such cultural legacies became a mark of high culture, even in her homeland of Britain.

Rider stared at the clouds above, a smile of remembrance across his ecstatic facade. Her green eyes narrowed as she stared in bewilderment at his choice of dress, far too casual for a supposed meeting of kings as he so-called it.

Alexander wore a form-fitting pair of blue jeans, but the shirt had gripped her attention the most, plain white with a printed out image of a world map overlaid with the text "Conquest."

The knight stifled an eye roll; such an attitude was unbecoming.

She had worn her traditional uniform as he remained in his...casual wear; the knight internally shrugged, supposing he had adapted to the modern era far better than her.

Knighthood required constant self-supervision, always maintaining the codes of chivalry and stoicism while remaining just to the people, her time may have passed, but her way of life would never leave her heart.

Rider gripped a ladel he had dug through the castle kitchen to acquire as he looked on at his offering in excitement.

The man had foiled nearly every historical representation of his character; she had received quite an education in her realm. A proper ruler needed knowledge of all things to properly lead her people.

Alexander the Great had conquered the known world for his era, bringing Greek culture and civilization to those they deemed as barbaric before coming to a tragic end.

His ambitions knew no end; his cause, however, continually retold as just, yet the man ahead seemed little more than an excited warmonger, eager for the next battle.

The brutish figure raised a hand before slamming down along the lid of his barrel, purple liquid splashing across the environment, miraculously missing his white shirt entirely as he eagerly smelled the contents, wine.

The king stifled a laugh; she supposed Herodotus had a point in his continual references to Greek wine culture, although she could have done without his ramblings on gold-digging ants and birds creating cinnamon from mud.

Rider gulped his beverage down with gusto as he dunked his container back within the deep-red liquid; he grinned in approval, "The Holy Grail War is said to be fated for the hands of the one most worthy of it."

Iskandar gripped a fist in excitement as he stared her down, anticipating the action to come.

"And the battles here in Fuyuki will determine who that person is...If it's simply a means to decide, then there's hardly a cause for bloodshed."

The king had suspected such ideals behind a man of his stature; she had witnessed many like him before, wishing to give a grandiose speech before their public and enemies alike; life became a spectacle to such individuals.

His spiked red hair fluttered in the cool night breeze as moonlight illuminated his form, "If all the Heroic Spirits can be satisfied with our ranking."

The giant pulled his ladel from its container, offering the knight a drink with an ever-present grin, "then the matter will settle itself."

Saber pondered the drink a brief moment; she had never been one for intoxication, a knight would act unseemly when inebriated, but more importantly, she needed her witts at all times. However, the king could never refute a challenge.

Arthur took the handle with pride and downed the entire cup; the wine, if one could call it that tasted tannic, a bitter yet dark sweetness to it; though she rarely drank, the monarch was used to far better stock than this.

Rider hummed in approval before dunking his "chalice" as the man had seemed to coin it into the swill before downing more of the concoction; one could only wonder where the man had found a barrel of wine in a city such as Fuyuki.

Artoria studied the elegant estate surrounding them as they spoke amidst the blue garden flowers. Intricate bricked walls lined with grated windows, each section ornately decorated. The center remained open for sunlight to reach the terrace-like garden.

The castle seemed far more Roman than she ever expected to encounter in Japan, but global connections tended to foster fascinations of all sorts; her court had stuffed itself with foreign luxuries enough for the king to understand such interest.

Although she rarely partook, the monarch could handle her drink; she shook the fleeting feelings of lightheadedness away. "Then first, you wish to compare your rank against my own, Rider?"

The Greek nodded in agreement, lowering his drink as he leaned forward, "Exactly, unlike those who refused to even show themselves at our first encounter; you, as one who lays claim to the title of king, can't refuse this opportunity."

Resting an arm against his knee, the man groomed his beard with a free hand, "One could call this a dialogue between the worthy before our war can truly begin."

He clicked his tongue in annoyance, "Cowards like Caster, Assassin, and Berserker have no right to claim such honor when they refuse to fight...No, this matter comes down to which of us kings rightfully deserves this reward."

Shrugging the thought out of mind, the giant dug back into his drink, "But, we'll figure out such matters as we drink."

Saber observed the legend as he spoke; she had her doubts about solving the matter in such an uncouth method; the king valued dialog when it had its merit, yet it was very apparent each Servant thought themselves worthy.

A voice came to mind, "You need to find something you can believe in, a cause you can fight your own war over."

The knight silently agreed; every participant came into this Grail War with a valid justification within their purview, Master and Servant alike. Only the victor could enforce their will; it was the way of things.

She remained stoic as she slowly clenched her injured hand, the muscle almost refusing to budge as it twitched back and forth. That businessman was strangely prophetic on these matters; the veteran had spoken miles in so few words.

"Will words truly decide when our course seems so set upon conflict?"

Rider paused mid-drink, red liquid camouflaging itself with his beard; he shrugged with a smile, "No, but these moments come so far between one another, I'd like to enjoy my new life to its fullest, including drinking amongst equals."

He pounded a fist over his heart as he stared at the night sky above, starlight dimly shining through the clouds of smog, "An action may not bring a valiant outcome, but that never means a king shouldn't proceed with everything he has; the only thoughts a true leader must consider are their own, nothing else matters in my eyes."

Saber sighed at the comment; a true leader knew when to act and listen; moving forward out of selfish desire alone reflected a petty sense of entitlement. Artoria had her honor, yes, but heading to those who may know more did not indicate an inadequate ruler but a proper monarch who listened to their subjects.

However, counsel only held credence when her advisers had genuine words of wisdom, not merely to talk for the sake of showery; Artoria had staffed her Round Table with only those she deemed worthy of such esteem.

She lightly sighed, knowing little would come of this conversation aside from sharing ideologies, an inevitable clash as it always happened; the knight could presume Rider's without needing to heed his words.

...

Flesh and viscera lined the battlefield formed beneath the city as Raiden tore his way through rage-filled armies of pure biomass. His form blurred as little more than an arc of lightning as he defied gravity, running along the tunnel ceiling and walls, ripping through flesh as he flew towards his targets.

A tendril grasped his left ankle as he ran; the cyborg's eyes burned in red fury as he dropped his sword, slamming his hands into the concrete roof above before kicking his legs up, dragging one of many cephalopods into the air.

His right talons clenched Murasama's grip before lurching back and slamming forward; flesh melted and burned as the entity squealed in agony as currents ripped through its body before letting go and dropping to the murky abyss below.

Jack kicked his weapon into the air as he let go, landing amidst piles of flesh as he caught his weapon, adjusting it to his grip as the blade hummed in righteous fury.

The killer grinned as he heard even more activity charging his way, his radar pinging towards a massive chamber up ahead, circular with an immense open space; that's where they were.

He had to have killed hundreds, if not thousands of these things within an hour, but they just rose, again and again, even reforming from charred bodies, albeit the process took far longer.

The cyborg had only realized that after getting ambushed from two fronts. Raiden clicked his tongue in annoyance. The patriots made him for high-speed conflict; restrictive tunnels made movement borderline impossible; he had to rip his way through mile after bloody mile.

His blonde hair swayed as gore dripped off his form before frying into nonexistence with a rush of electricity; these things only seemed to form from piles of rotting flesh along the tunnels; just how many did these sick fucks kill?

His synthetic eyes burned red as he stomped towards his targets, taking off to meet the next wave head-on.

The Liberian studied his foes as they ran at him with the fury of a raw predator, monsters composed of human flesh, held together by what could only be magic.

Gekkos utilized synthetic flesh to create some of the first bio-mechanical lifeforms in existence, but there was a process. The massive bipeds took time to prepare and assemble, another evolution in war.

Jack met their maddened green gaze as he lept overhead, Murasama becoming a spinning wheel of death as the cyborg whirled around, utterly immune to human faults like nausea and motion sickness.

His crackling blade tore through flesh as writhing mounds crashed and splattered along the walls, dark red ooze coating both him and his weapon before dispersing as he crashed into the muck, taking off once again.

The walkers needed cloned flesh intertwined with intricate circuitry to synthesize modern combat ai to create something new; they acted as an early trial before the cyborg revolution.

Electric currents carried his metallic form along the tunnel as Raiden spun on his heels, whirling into a red tornado of death as bodies flew around him in all directions before becoming piles of mincemeat.

Biology had a place in their modern world; the body evolved to perform at peak efficiency, bone structure, muscle density, and body shape.

The Metal Gear program sought the perfect weapon, bipedal, nuclear-capable tanks, heading in the right direction, trying to emulate flesh with machinery and steel, almost right, but lacking something.

The killer launched off the ground into a complete flip as an entity lunged at him from behind after emerging from the mire, crashing into its allies ahead before several tons of patriot steel crushed them into oblivion.

The cyborg was the perfect answer; humans had always found new ways to kill each other; you couldn't leave things to machines; no, synthesize flesh from metal, artificial muscles, enhanced limbs. The result? Soldiers capable of lifting hundreds of tons like nothing, able to fight on for days without rest.

Firearms had taken the place of the sword, making the battlefield that much faster, but now?

Jack grazed Murasama along Dystopia as the weapon magnetically rested along his hip before throwing his sword like a spear, bisecting through three entities as they burned alive, crashing and impaling into a concrete wall.

A wave of energy yanked the glowing weapon from its resting place and back into the mercenary's grip. Taking off once again in a torrent of unseen slices as he carved blades from the stagnant air, seeing bodies rip to shreds further ahead as they collided with superheated winds.

High-Frequency technology combined with the speeds only cybernetics could comprehend rendered the bullet useless, back to the old ways in a new light, with higher stakes, better standards; why abandon the classics?

The tunnel up ahead suddenly cut off, opening into a vast expanse; his systems flared as he reached his destination, pinging two dots still standing at the far side of the chamber.

What Caster was doing didn't come close, using the dead as fuel in his campaign of carnage? Morals had almost no place on the battlefield, but even Raiden knew his limits; he could never stand for what this Servant was doing, children or not; you don't desecrate the dead; this was an abomination the Servant would pay for his sins.

The PMC grimaced as he heard untold hordes chasing behind him, a veritable torrent of flesh and bone content on consuming him within their biomass. His eyes flashed; the killer didn't need interruptions.

Energy burst off his form as he burned a radiant blue; gripping both hands along Murasama, he slammed the weapon into concrete, cleaving through solid rock like water before taking off in a spiral, running along the walls and ceiling in a circular pattern again and again.

As the exit came up, currents carried the samurai as he slid along his heels into the chamber ahead, his sword glowing a vibrant red as energy radiated across the dimly lit room.

The killer resheathed his sword as the tunnel collapsed behind him, crushing waves of monsters, blocking off their entrance and Caster's only way out.

This ends now.

...

Artoria remained passive as a brilliant golden light cascaded across the darkened space as Archer slowly materialized; Saber did not need to turn to recognize his voice; the man spoke of pompousness in a manner she rarely encountered aside from the higher aristocracy.

"That's quite enough nonsense."

The Servant's golden armor clicked as he slowly approached the pair; his vibrant red eyes studied the two before landing on the knight, his gaze briefly glinting in an unknown emotion.

Rider grinned at the haughty man, "You're late, goldie...Well, I suppose, unlike myself, you must travel on foot."

Arthur grimaced, both men of the same stock, always in a race to outpace the other in some gesture or grand statement; a knight never honored wealth nor power. Instead, their code of chivalry guided them.

These men fell on nothing more than their greed and arrogance to lead their actions, a life of pleasure in exchange for the suffering of their subjects.

While she could never claim to never cause hardship, Arotria never once set out to hurt them for personal gain, always fighting for the betterment of Britain.

The monarch would never admit to such folly, but she had tuned out the pair's ruminations as they argued over such petty gestures as the quality of wine in the midst of the War.

Arthur's honor bound the king to stay; she very well knew each moment spent on such extravagance would cause more suffering.

Each moment lost allowed Caster to take more victims; she had endured his madness long enough, first their encounter along the road, then his assault on the castle.

Her brow furrowed as she forced her wounded arm to clench a fist, ignoring the pain that ensued, Arthur may have sacrificed much for the sake of Britain, but the king still cared for the people, hers or not.

Caster murdered those children out of some petty revenge against God, railing on as she slaughtered his hordes, knowing fully well that they were composed of his victims...yet here they sat, drinking wine.

Though she would never admit to such things, Archer did provide a far better drink.

Rider slammed his down with the gusto only a man experienced with his drink could handle, "Archer... first I'd like to hear what wish you would have the grail grant before we decide the finest among our kings."

The golden Servant clicked his tongue in annoyance, "First, the Grail already belongs to me, as all the finest wealth of this world must come to rest in my treasury someday."

Archer swirled his wine, glancing at it as though the fine beverage meant nothing to him, "You who would take such a treasure are naught but a thief, seeking to plunder what rightfully belongs to me, the king of kings."

Saber grimaced as she drank in silence; men of their standing only cared for personal gain; to even argue would be an affront to their worldview.

While the knight could not ascertain Archer's identity, she knew both he and Iskandar came from the same stock; men have always shown greed and self-interest throughout time, but only so few could act with such indignance.

Rulers of their era reigned through coercive force alone, something she had always tempered, only as a necessity, if the people do not love their ruler, what right do they have to lead?

Strength can never act alone; a proper king must not only when to make battle but when to proceed with caution; the longevity of the kingdom overtook personal desire.

Rider hummed, a finger beneath his chin as he stared at bedazzled Servant, "So, you think we need your permission to take the Grail for our own, Archer?"

The man huffed in indignance, "That's a given, mongrel...but why should I reward a petty king as yourself?"

The blonde sneered as his eyes took a dangerous glint of malice, "However...if you swear fealty to my domain...I may reconsider, for a proper king must reward his vassals after all, for I established these laws myself; of course, I would seek to render judgment upon those wishing upon what is rightfully mine."

Iskandar nodded in approval, "Perfect; a true king should only care for his own law, his own morals beyond all other means, for who knows better than those who seek power themselves?"

He leaned back on his hands as his face lightly flushed in a mild buzz; Greek tolerance had its limits. "Well, it's my style to take what I want when I so please; after all, Iskandar is the King of Conquerors, isn't he?"

Archer crossed his arms in indignation, looking down at Rider despite the man towering over him, "King of the mongrels or not, you break my laws, and you shall receive just punishment; it's merely that simple. All kings answer my call; you will soon realize your place."

Iskandar shrugged off the insult as though it were never stated, "Well, we'll figure that out through combat, won't we? Let's enjoy this finery before our grand battle can commence."

The knight huffed as she refused another drink, wanting to keep her wits about her; these talks did hold some value; finding out why a warrior walks into the fray revealed who they truly were; each Servant had a reason to heed the Grail's call.

Artoria rested her chalice along the ground, freeing her wounded arm; she refused to show even a moment of weakness in front of her foes; her pride would never allow such a thing.

"Rider," the giant swallowed another gulp of drink as he glanced down at her, "what makes the Grail of such importance to you?"

The Greek hummed in thought as his face burned red; whether from embarrassment or too much drink, the knight could no longer tell. The giant hesitated a brief moment as he scratched his beard, "Reincarnation..."

Rider slammed a fist to the map across his chest, audibly thudding as his tan fist collided with his form, "World conquest has always been a dream I've aspired to hold; returning to life would grant such an honor, to carve an empire with my own hands once again."

The red-haired spirit grinned in excitement, "Who couldn't resist such temptation? To fight against their enemies, the rush of blood and combat, plundering their lands to strengthen your own," He sighed, memories of old flooding back to him. Soon they'd return in a new light to a world Iskandar never knew existed in his time.

"That is the meaning of conquest, risking your life to take from others; the Grail might grant us the bodies of spirits...but where's the meaning in that? I wish for a flesh and blood body to call my own, to carve a path with these two hands; that is my calling, as the king of Conquerers."

Saber grimaced; the knight had heard well enough of their plans to know their intent, doing as they pleased without restraint. While she could ascertain denying a privilege like the Grail to those who refused honorable combat, the monarch couldn't allow such disrespect for their titles.

Arthur closed her eyes in contemplation, "That's hardly fitting for what a king should be...I fought for my homeland's salvation, and I continue to do so long after it has fallen."

Her green eyes flared to life as she stared the pair of tyrants down, refusing to acknowledge their ambitions over the world, "I will use the Grail to avert Britain's destruction, to save my people."

Silence reigned as the pair stared the knight down, almost in disbelief.

Rider's chalice clinked to the ground, his appetite for drink suddenly gone, "Did you just claim you would change fate itself?" To change the past?"

His calm gaze narrowed as Archer chuckled to himself, "Your kingdom fell during your reign, under your rule?"

Arthur clenched a fist, "Yes, and it is that regret which I cannot live with; Britain's fall rests on my hands alone."

Artoria refused to grace Archer with a response, his hysterics mocked her kingship, and she would not acknowledge such behavior.

Iskandar's blush receded as the Servant forced himself from his stupor, regaining his composure, "You would erase the marks you left on history? What of your comrades, the people who fought and died beneath your reign? You would throw that away for such a thing as regret?"

Saber sat in silence as the men continued to belittle her presence, a memory popping into mind.

"Something I learned in life, everyone has a different opinion on the same thing, so you shouldn't give a damn what anyone else thinks; fight for what you think is right, nothing else matters."

Her gaze steeled as she shot to her feet, "As though I would heed the words of a tyrant, what more do your people remember you as than an overlord, pushing his people to destruction on a whim?"

As Archer mockingly titled her, Arthur gripped a hand over her heart, refusing to let these men diminish her standing.

"A king should devote themselves to serving the people; what more would you leave in your wake than devastation and despair lest you only consider your ambitions as law?"

Rider rose from his seat along the ground, his form towering over her as her green eyes met his firm gaze in defiance, "Then I was wrong about you...the people serve the king, not your perverted ideals of what an empire should be; if everyone were to have a say, nothing of value would get done; pull yourself out of your fantasies...little girl."

Arthur gritted her teeth, "You, dar-"

BOOOOM

Their eyes shot towards the distance as a colossal rumbling caught their attention, feeling the earth shaking beneath their feet.

In the distance, the ground exploded outward as something tore its way from beneath the surface, a ghastly assemblage of flesh and gore as it materialized into reality.

...

Raiden listened as rocks rumbled and cracked but remained firmly locked in place, blocking off the onslaught of sin behind their hastily made wall of stone and debris.

"Simply splendid, you're truly everything I wished for."

The cyborg whirled around in an instant, gripping his tool of war as he scanned his surroundings; the voice echoed across the hollow chamber, sounding deep yet elated; they knew he was coming...

His synthetic eyes narrowed in frustration, trying to squint anything out of the darkness. Caster could be anywhere, and he wouldn't have a damn clue...if he were an average person.

Raiden's visor extended, pushing his blonde hair away before clamping shut around his eyes, humming to life as internal sensors synchronized directly to implants dotted along his brain.

The world blipped to life, points of interest surrounded by yellow outline, radar pings mapped out the landscape as his systems provided an artificial means of sight, a thing of utter genius to get around destroyed visual sensors.

The chamber was massive, lined with concrete pillars, suspending the ceiling above, almost out of sight. The killer stomped forward, unwavering through bloodsoaked water, seeing piles of bodies and viscera lined across the room. His grip tightened, mechanical joints nearly popping from the pressure, no more, not a single fucking more.

Murasama hummed beneath its sheathe, almost hungry to take its next life, "This ends now..."

The distant voices grew closer, whispers turning audible before another echo reverberated in the enclosed space.

"Must it?...I've been watching you for so long...wishing to speak, to know someone which truly understands my plight..."

Bubbles began to billow beneath the surface of the chamber, piles of flesh moving of their own accord towards the outer walls, coalescing once more.

The Berserker gritted his teeth as he pushed on without caution, "I have nothing to say to you, Caster... men like you...should be forgotten, a stain of time and nothing more."

Jack passed a series of pillars, ignoring the slowly approaching mounds of flesh from behind, maintaining their distance yet in pursuit all the same.

A chuckle broke out, deep, almost gutturally mad as it soon turned into outright cackles, as the sound bounced across the bloodbath beneath the city.

"Whether you accept it or not, we're of the same yoke...you... and I."

A group of cephalopods blocked his path, their eyes staring at the cyborg in a primal state of hunger before shifting out of his way. Their bodies parting the sea of gore ahead, revealing his target, standing beneath a small light shining from overhead atop an alter of carnage.

The first, leaning against a wall without a care in the world, a shit-eating grin across his face as though he was proud of what he had done.

The boy couldn't be older than a teenager; his hair was smooth, slicked back like a wannabe renegade, a modern rebel. His tan skin contrasted with his pitch-black eyes, a familiar glee Raiden had only seen on the battlefield. Something men like Sundowner had, bloodlust, that dead to the world stare unless you were slaughtering your enemies, then...they burned back to life.

His form shook in rage as the boy ignored his presence entirely, merely watching the creatures surrounding him in excitement. He met the exact description Rin had given him.

To the left stood an ashen man as if he'd never been in sunlight, his form largely covered in elegant silk robes, blacker than coal. Around his neck, the piece extended in streams of red and black, much like a circus outfit.

Sharp, dagger-like protrusions stuck off his neck, black with blood-red tips. Although his permanently hunched posture shrouded his front end, the cyborg could see a fleur-de-lis, an old French symbol he had to learn at one point during his lessons.

Each finger along his hands featured a distinctive ring, etchings along the sides, claw-like nails stretched far beyond the tips, rune-like tattoos covering his exposed wrist.

Raiden's visor unclasped as blue currents burned across his synthetic eyes, "I don't care what you have to say, Caster; we're ending this-" Murasama shot out of its container into his waiting hand. The blood-red blade crackled in rage as its point aimed for its next target, "right here...right now."

The Lovecraftian mage sighed as he looked across the chamber of his creation, "Classes...such nonsense... for my love has only known me by one name, the only title which truly matters to my withered heart..."

His cloak swayed as he raised a pale hand to his heart, "My proper name is Gilles de Rais...but..." he raised a hand, palm open towards his foe; "you may know me as...Bluebeard."

Jack's glare remained static, red electricity cracking off his blade impatiently; he took a determined step forward, "I don't care who you are; your name means nothing."

The opposing Servant nodded as his bulging eyes observed the High Frequency blade before breaking out in a chuckle, "It truly is you..." The skeletal mage swung his arms out to the dark sky above, "This must be a sign from God!"

The mercenary held his ground, eyes narrowing as he watched the madman rant, "What the hell are you talking about?"

Caster's elation grew somber as he observed Berserker, "Ah... so he keeps you astray as well?...allow me to enlighten you...."

The creatures surrounding the cyborg gurgled to life, slowly enclosing on his position as his grip tightened, his gaze narrowed as he stood off against the unknown Servant.

Giles watched the killer with a look of empathetic pity, his clawed hands clasped together in a mockery of prayer. "I once believed that God punished inventors like us...those willing to defy his creation out of anger...but"

Caster gestured towards the ginger standing behind him, closing his eyes with a look of utter pride, "My companion...no...my Master Ryuunosuke has given a revelation of the highest caliber, a new conviction in this faithless world."

The ginger bashfully smiled, rubbing a hand along his smooth hair, "Oh come on, Mister, it wasn't that cool."

The mage smiled as he stretched a hand across the chamber as bodies slumped beneath the muck and grime before dispersing into mounds of flesh, new monsters assembling from their remains.

"I once defied my Lord...for taking the woman I held most dear...Jeanne."

A small smile graced his visage; she was perfect; he could still picture her blonde hair, gentle smile, and kind heart...and HE...took her away from him...clouded her mind...tainted her... Giles gazed back up, his smile disappearing as soon as it came, "God kept us apart...and so..."

The man pulled reached outwards towards the concrete sky above, his sleeves falling, revealing intricate tribal tattoos of various spells and incantations carved into his skin, scar tissue radiating a bright pink.

His brow furrowed, eyes narrowing as his manic expression drew towards utter hatred, his protruding black eyes almost shaking as he met the cyborg's gaze.

Tendrils emerged from beneath Caster's form in a circular pattern, twisting and writhing in random directions as they gazed at their next target. "All this"

Caster waved a hand across the darkness; hallucinations of dead bodies coated the chamber, apparations of light reflecting the devastation the maniac had caused. "was an act of defiance...if God forsook my love...then I would take what he loves most...his children."

His smile returned, stretching to impossible lengths across his frog-like face, "But...I met my divine prophet, Ryuunosuke!" Slamming a hand on the ginger's shoulder as the teen shook in excitement, so cool!

Caster's pitch-black eyes glowed with glee as he watched Murasama crackle in fury, "If God would allow this, whether an act of defiance or worship, he would love us all the same!"

The mage fell to his knees, gazing at the light falling into the darkness from a grate above, "Simply beautiful..."

Moments passed in silence before the murderer's gaze fell back to the cyborg, "We wished to share our beliefs...we are of the same stock, are we not? Your legend precedes you...Jack the Ripper."

Raiden paused a brief moment; how the hell does Caster know that? He gritted his teeth; it didn't matter.

His eyes flashed red as he stomped forward, the monsters across the chamber growling in response, "You're out of your fucking mind if you think we're the same; we're nothing alike; you're just a madman, slaughtering innocents."

Caster smiled whimsically; his bulging black eyes remained half-closed as his grin grew, stretching across his disfigured face. "Madness...insanity...such insults mean little when so much is at stake..."

Water vaporized into steam as electric currents surged from his form, nearby demons hissing as they lept back, "You have no purpose; you just kill out of pettiness...lying to yourself, claiming this is about someone you lost."

His grip loosened as his blade spun in his hands, its vibrant glow illuminating darkened splatters along the walls, his victims.

Giles huffed, "We walk on the path of God...and you deny us so?" The mage slowly withdrew a book from his robe wrapped in what could only be human skin, a woman's face stretched across the cover in a permanent scream of agony. The novel was bound by silver, a chain placeholder loosely dangling off the front.

Raiden's gaze narrowed; that had to be his phantasm. Was that what Caster used to summon those fucking things? His eyes flickered, so if he destroys him or the book...or both...this ends.

Jack looked down towards the muck underneath, seeing trails of blood floating above the grey mire, rivers amidst an ocean of filth. His blonde hair fluttered over his face as his grip over his weapon tightened, "I don't know about God...but."

The cyborg resheathed Murasama, the case clicking shut before holding the trigger as his right arm bent, palm open in preparation. A darkened mist burst from the blade, surrounding his form as his sword audibly hummed to life.

A blinding white light illuminated his body as his tool of war reached critical output; he snapped up, hair billowing upwards from the pressure as his eyes burned a vibrant, hellish-red, "The Devil's waiting..."

Jack's visor slowly clamped over his eyes; the world hummed into nonexistence as a killer faced off against madness brought to life "let's not keep him."

...

Caster theme:

Metal Gear Rising: Revengeance OST - A Stranger I Remain Extended- Loop

A tidal wave of flesh crashed towards him on all sides as Caster sneered from beyond, holding his tome of spells in manic glee.

Their tendrils lashed out, blackened spines lining their limbs as they sought to skewer the cyborg alive.

His mind burned through scenarios, processors tearing through hypotheticals and unknowns, formulating grand strategies at rates faster than human nerves could even send signals...settling on a course of action.

Raiden cruelly grinned as he lurched down, ripping his sheathe from its magnetically locked holster, the scorching hot weapon held loosely at his side as his grip held firm.

Enemies on all sides, hundreds if not thousands more lying beneath the muck, outnumbered and in the lion's den...good...just how the killer liked things.

Time burned back into normality as Jack spun on his heels, appearing as little more than a red afterimage, tearing wind blades from stagnant air, the currents ripping through hordes as they descended on his form, ripping flesh and bone to nothing but ash.

Their torched remains danced to the ground like the winter snow as Caster merely watched him, a look of pity across his grotesque features, "You poor sinner, not knowing his true light..."

His spellbook whirled open on its own accord, pages flipping before settling and exploding to light, "Fear not...your salvation is near."

The ground shook as the Servant raised his hands in praise; bubbles began bursting along the floor as flesh formed beneath the waves, causing ripples to cross the stagnant chamber.

The cyborg dropped low, his sword vaporizing bloody water on impact as electricity crackled across his body, blue light illuminating the chamber as power surged across his visor. The lens flashed an intricate red pattern before the ground burst apart, the force parting the sea of gore and filth.

Raiden tore across the room in nanoseconds as hardened tendrils, composed of scar tissue, ripped through the waters surrounding Caster; spears flew, intent on shredding the killer limb from limb.

Dodging between strikes, his form blurred into nonexistence as Jack dragged his sword along; sparks flew as steam blew into the stagnant air, creating a trail of electric fury as he charged on.

Caster closed his eyes as a slight grin grew on his face, his newfound faith guiding him forward. "Repent for your disbelief in our salvation."

A wall burst from beneath the waves, thousands of spikes exploding forward as the cyborg got ever closer to his targets. His gaze narrowed; no room to maneuver?

Processors embedded in his augmented mind flared to life, time slowed, the world freezing as the warrior perceived reality at rates beyond the speed of light, the world entirely unmoving.

Jack lightly smirked; Blade Mode, a work of utter genius with dozens of modifications and implants, the human mind could perceive reality beyond any possible means.

Cybernetics burned as power surged across his servos, raising his blade before striking down, Murasama cleaving at an atomic level, negating all durability as it vibrated magically synthesized flesh apart.

His form moved at rates beyond comprehension, hacking, slashing, burning his way through flesh as superheated strikes crashed down again and again.

Caster could hardly blink before his wall crumbled into nothingness, red hot chunks of flesh scarred through in less than an instant, crashing into the waters below as Berserker swung from below.

Time remained slowed as Murasama burned red miasmic waves through the atmosphere, the edge meeting flesh. Gile's eye burst apart as his blood danced across the room.

Individual droplets fell to the mire below, descending upon his book before the device seemingly absorbed it before burning to life, flipping through on its own accord once again.

Bump-Bump

Jack gritted his teeth, fueled by raw instinct; the killer burst back in a blast of electricity, an array of tendrils crashing down just where he stood, the floor cracking to pieces as dust blew into the air.

The cyborg flew backward, landing as his momentum carried him away through the lake of wastewater. He winced as his head throbbed, that feeling again...like his head was about to rip open.

Reality burned into normality as he came to a stop, hearing Caster chuckling before breaking out into all-out laughter, blood gushing the hole where his eye once sat. "Excellent...simply superb..."

Raiden's hidden eyes narrowed as he gritted his teeth, the pain growing worse as his ears began to ring.

Giles stood tall, blood flooding from where his eye once was, chunks of the lens flooding down his face; he raised his tome, utterly unaware of the pain he should feel, as he smiled in excitement, "Show me your anger, your sins my child, your salvation is near..."

The spellbook flew open as it began to glow, causing fallen water demons to rise again, rematerializing from their fallen brethren.

Bump-Bump

The samurai convulsed as the pain doubled, his legs shaking as he struggled to remain upright; Murasama crackled in defiance as he stood off against another horde.

With a roar, they charged, jagged teeth exposed as the monsters ran him down. Their mouths drooled at the sight of their next meal, green eyes dilating at the idea of fresh meat.

Raiden winced as he took a slow step forward, then another as he forced the fog out of his mind, burying his latest attack.

A black miasma emanated from his form, trying to overtake him, flooding his mind with thoughts of rage and hatred, building up, dredging up his past, trying to make him lose control.

Memories flashed by as his eyes flashed to life, Liberia...Solidus...

A step turned into a brisk walk, ripples going out as enemies ahead crashed over one another, tearing through each other just to reach their target.

The Manhatten incident...the lies...the deceit...using the love of his life to play into their sick games...until she broke his chains.

His grip tightened as his rage began to course through his form; let the monster out, show them what hell truly is.

His cybernetic servos loosened, freeing his form as he willed his way back into sanity.

A walk turned into a jog, his tie lightly swaying as the horde bared down on him; he faced off without fear.

The Patriots...using him in their fucking experiments to see what the human body could do if it were encased in metal...the pain...the torture...it all rushed through him in an instant.

Breaking out of that hospital, butchering every last one of them for what they did to him...Jack was unforgiving, without mercy. His visor burned red as energy coursed into his limbs, static beginning to build.

You're not what Caster thinks you are.

Bump-Bump

The killer growled in agony as he stumbled before catching himself; Monsoon and Sam had gotten the best of him once but broke the floodgates in the process.

Power levels continued to rise, far beyond his system's capacity as the cyborg went beyond his limits, forcing his body to act against its will.

He'd endure the pain, the suffering, and the despair as long as it took if it meant fighting his own wars; he had torn his way to freedom, and they'd never take it from his hands again.

A brilliant blue light began to emanate across his form as he flashed back and forth, unknown power on the verge of breaking through his mental walls.

His enhanced mind settled, forcing him to stay on one memory as it loaded in.

...

Motion blurred as reality spun into place, a darkened tunnel, an engine roaring beneath his form as the cyborg flew through the air without control before slamming his hands and knees into the stone walls above, dragging his momentum to a halt.

His eyes could hardly orient themselves as a figure wielding a blood-red sword, his sword lept off a moving train, barreling straight toward him.

The killer could hardly react, just managing to raise his blade before Murasama slammed across his chest, the force blasting him down to the locomotive below; sparks blew off as he bounced across the platform.

His flight came to a halt; the Liberian lay there, face first on metal as a single blue eye gazed up as the mysterious figure landed ahead.

The man stood tall; his smooth brown hair pulled into a ponytail, a scar vertically along his left eye, contrasting with his tanned skin. The figure wore a familiar grey nanosuit, interlaced with yellow reactive plating. Murasama flashed as his metallic right arm spun the blade before resting it along his shoulder.

"Your technique lacks something..."

Raiden grimaced as he forced his patriot-made limbs back up, slamming his sword into the train for support as he struggled to stand. His mind clicked in realization.

Jetstream Sam, the man that started all of this, his path toward liberation, the samurai that challenged his ideals when so few would, making him realize the killer within.

His blonde hair swayed in the breeze as the vehicle tore through the tunnels as he raised his old HF sword to strike once again.

Why was he seeing this? What more was there to gain when he had already accepted himself?

The cyborg burst forward in a roll, blue energy billowing off his form as he landed in a crouch, arching his swing up as he launched to his feet.

In an instant, Murasama crashed downward, their blades meeting as they audibly clanged, the sound bouncing off the narrow tunnel as sparks flew.

Raiden lunged into the offensive, each swing, every single motion met tit for tat, as Sam's grin never once left his face.

He remembered this, being entirely outmatched by the Desperado member; the man was miles beyond his ability. Sam fought with everything he had, while Raiden struggled behind the facade of being a hero.

This fight was his first wake-up call; what happened here changed everything.

The Brazilian flipped backward before lunging into an attack; Raiden swung from above, his sword held diagonally across his chest as Sam crashed into him again and again.

Each blow knocked him further back as his talons ripped through solid metal, trying to stay in place.

The killer panted as Sam lept back, cybernetics flared as Raiden forced himself onto the offensive, his systems flashing warnings as he ignored their calls.

The Northern Wind grinned as he met the Liberian's pace, their swords colliding as they stared each other down; Sam's eyes scanned his opponent's form before flashing in realization.

"Now I see..."

Jack's arms buckled as sparks billowed in the breeze; he gritted his teeth as he was forced back one step at a time.

"You deny your weapon its purpose..."

The Rodriguez grinned as Raiden lost his grip, spinning on his heels as his blade collided with the cyborg's metallic skull before rounding about, swinging from below straight up.

Murasama cleaved a red streak through the wind as it slashed through Raiden's IR scanner, slicing his left eye apart as blood burst into the sky.

The cyborg winced as he forced himself to leap into a backward flip, landing on his knees as red liquid dripped to the cold metal floor below as the train rumbled through the poorly built tunnel.

His sole lens flashed up as he heard boots stomping towards him, seeing Sam, Murasama loosely dangling across his hand as it lazily spun around.

The Brazilian gripped a fist, glancing down at the appendage with a ruthless smile, "It yearns to bathe in the blood of your enemies."

His brown eyes flashed towards his blade as he held it in the air, scanning its perfect edge as it crackled into the darkness.

"..but you hold it back."

Raiden grimaced before forcing himself back to his feet, his metallic heels slamming through the platform as he met Sam in defiance, "No...my sword is a tool of justice."

Sam sighed in annoyance before slamming his sword straight down into the fuel tanker below his feet before taking off. The tool lighting gas as fire roared through the tunnel, Murasama glowing as the flames added to its strength.

The Wind of Destruction swung hard, fire billowing out from the container below as Raiden tried to meet his onslaught; their blades met in a blaze of fury as each strike forced the Liberian further back as Sam ruthlessly went on the offensive.

Jack lept back, slamming his sword into the container below; he landed in a crouch, dragging back as sparks flew.

The fuel tank burst as Sam lept from the hellfire, flying through the air like a demon in the night; his weapon raised above his head before he slammed down; their tools of war met as they clashed again and again.

The Brazilian slammed a boot forward, impacting the cyborg in the stomach as the force knocked him back before the killer took off once more.

Time slowed as Raiden swung hard, intent on cleaving the mercenary apart; Sam's eyes met his as the Desperado member resheathed his sword, hand resting along the trigger, lying in wait like a predator waiting to strike, his free hand at the ready.

The Liberian fell right into his trap, swinging from his right as Sam pulled; Murasama shot out like a bullet as the Brazilian caught the weapon midflight. Its edge burned a hellish red as it tore through Raiden's left arm, severing the limb as it flew through the air before falling to the moving ground out of sight as blood gushed from his wound, spraying into the air.

Sam could only darkly chuckle as red electricity coursed from his blade and into his arms, sharing their bloodlust.

Jack landed on his feet, stumbling as he struggled to stop the flow, blood dripping like a waterfall of viscera, his false ideals leaking from his synthetic form.

Sam surged ahead, the Liberian unable to even orient himself before the Brazilian charged up his blade, crashing into the cyborg's chest, denting and tearing through solid metal like nothing.

Raiden flew through the air, rolling along the end of the train before falling off, barely able to catch himself with his remaining hand, its grip deadlocked on the platform as the tracks blurred below.

The Wind of Destruction slowly approached, holding Murasama's point to the cyborg's neck as he held on for dear life.

His mind flashed in realization; what Sam had been talking about...what he needed to do.

"This is what happens when you bring a tool to a sword fight..."

You're holding back.

The memory shifted away, bringing his mind back towards his internals; the pyre burned low in his heart.

Bump-Bump

Raiden took a breath, this time not refusing the call, letting it flow through him, no longer trying to resist.

As though a flood dam had finally given way, the pyre roared to life as energy burned through his systems, untold strength building in his augmented body as the killer forced his way out of his own illusion.

...

Electricity burst across the chamber; the army descended before getting slashed apart by an unseen blade. Dozens vanished into nothing more than ash before steaming away as lightning flew through the air.

Murasama burned afterimages as each blow struck true, vaporizing its foes at a molecular level, its wind blades charring the ceiling above with the remains of its targets before coming to a rest, blood boiling off its edge as Raiden raised it to the sky.

The cyborg held his blade in contemplation, the weapon that once tried to take his life, now serving as his most loyal companion.

The ninja took a slow breath, he was raised in violence, but he overcame it; he found his place, a bridge where he could find peace with his loved ones and entertain the monster within.

The world ebbed and flowed, changing as forces intersected before superseding and declining all the same. Jack was in a new war; it was time to accept his circumstances; he was a Servant with no true Master.

He was more than a killer, more than just a man...no, now he was Berserker, and it was time to accept it as any other part of his identity.

The black cloud paused as his unconquerable will forced it into submission. The shadow swirled like the wind, loosening, its density falling before misting around his form in a light grey hue.

Blue energy roared across Raiden's form as his fists loosened; he closed his eyes and let the wave consume him whole, embracing that which he could never understand.

His internals rebooted instantly, systems realigning to meet their new parameters.

The pain was gone...it seemed almost laughable now that he thought of it, the killer ran on prana and refused to use it...no longer...

Jack stomped forward, power exploding off his form as his fully augmented combat form materialized instantly. The ground lightly shook and thudded as his multi-ton form trudged towards his targets.

Caster unshielded his gaze as his sole eye scanned Berserker's form; his hands shook as tears interlaced with blood flowed down his mutated face; the man could only mutter, "Simply beautiful...the truest affront...the greatest worship...to refute even the flesh God has bestowed..."

Raiden's eyes flashed open for a moment, appearing as a vibrant purple before heating, burning into a hellish red. His metallic jaw clicked as he forced words out of his raspy throat, "You wanted to see what I really am..."

Metallic rotors aligned as he raised Murasama in defiance, its point aimed directly at Caster's heart.

The mage flicked a hand as his book spun to another page, dried human blood flaking as it turned, searching for a new spell.

"You have my gratitude; your sacrilege has inspired me...our debauchery must go further...our love for God shall know no bounds!"

Viscera assembled around his form, hardening into obsidian-like shards, cracking and flaking as they danced around the Servant before sharpening into spear-like tips, barbs lining their jagged edges.

The cyborg took a breath as prana flowed into his augmented limbs, feeling energy surge as he lowered to attack. Murasama's edge began to glow brighter, almost glowing as the tool followed his path, embracing the unknown.

"Come on...let's dance!"

Raiden took off in a flash, a tidal wave crashing into the wall behind as he launched at untold speeds. Words couldn't describe the world in this new light, as though everything was in the highest definition imaginable, beyond what even his enhanced lenses could achieve.

Tendrils emerged from beneath the waves, hurling sharpened obsidian shards like arrows as electricity blew off his form.

Each shot was met with crafted perfection, hunks of hardened flesh falling apart, their forms steaming in an orange glow as he continued forward.

Faster.

The ninja run was far more than a term; systems crafted to perfection, automatic targetting meant for modern anti-missile defense arrays, shrunken to fit within his augmented mind.

Trajectory, velocity, impact, and data flashed before his eyes as he roared through the abyss at impossible speeds. His arm blurred without thought, slashing into the air as hundreds of shots reigned from all sides.

Jack gritted his teeth; the book could still detect him; he forced more power in his limbs, electricity billowing off like a blown generator before exploding into the fray once more.

Even faster.

Caster sneered; the spikes surrounding him whirled around, forming a new wall between the pair and the death machine from hell roaring towards them, a phalanx of death amidst a sea of carnage.

Raiden's sonar pinged from below; his eyes flashed as he leaped into the sky, avoiding a pincer maneuver from the mire; the world slowed as he flipped upside down.

Each strike was met with practiced precision, screams and roars echoing in chorus with each strike from below; he just needed to- Crunch

Jack winced as a tendril from Caster's wall shot out, latching to his legs before hardening, his form dangling in place as dozens lashed out at once.

His mind whirled into place, his body moving faster than light as it crashed into the onslaught; sparks flew as the killer defied logic, each attack met tit for tat before the tendril holding him lashed out, swinging him across the air as more attacks lunged from all sides.

Jack lurched up in a violent swing in a split second, Murasama's glowing edge searing through-hardened, stone-like skin as though it didn't exist.

His momentum flung the mercenary through the air as projectiles crashed and clattered where he was mere nanoseconds ago.

His eyes flashed as he took in his surroundings, spotting a concrete pillar in his path. Raiden lurched into a backward flip in a blast of energy, latching his hands to concrete as static crashed off his form.

His metallic grip tore through solid stone as his feet slammed onto the pillar before taking off in a sprint, looping around the structure again and again, faster and faster with each lap.

His gaze landed on Caster as he crouched, power building before launching off, the pillar collapsing from the force as he flew off, debris raining onto the bloody water below.

The Servant's spear wall reacted with force, launching as one to stop his attack cold. Jack's mind blurred as he entered blade mode once again, his momentum unwavering as he seared through the defense before nothing remained.

Raiden arched his form into a spin, whirling around as he neared Caster, the Servant and his spellbook unable to keep up; his talons met Giles' skull in a devastating crescent kick.

Flesh tore as bones fractured, the force of several tons of Patriot steel crashing into the mage, blasting him back as his face contorted from the pressure.

The murderer flew off, slamming back-first into a concrete wall, his spine audibly snapping as his entire skeletal structure turned to dust, his spellbook still held in a vice-grip as rubble collapsed atop his form.

Wind billowed across Ryuunosuke's hair, the teen trying to turn to see his ally "Mis-" a metallic hand gripped his neck, yanking him forward against his will.

Raiden's eyes burned red as he impaled Murasama straight into the teen's heart, the murderer shaking as he glanced down, "-ter?...h-uh?."

The weapon crackled in raw fury as it burned its way through, tearing through flesh and bone before jutting out through his back, blood staining his white undershirt as it leaked to the waters below.

Their eyes met as the boy shook at the sight; hidden cybernetics beneath Jack's eyes were exposed as his lens roared to life, drilling a hole down to the teen's very soul.

A strange red aura erupted across the cyborg, driven by madness-induced fury as his metallic jaw clicked and closed on its own accord—a monster hiding beneath a facade of human flesh.

The Ripper panted in rage, gritting his teeth before lashing out, his sword tearing the killer in half. Ryuunosuke's organs poured to the ground below as his legs slumped over.

Jack kept his grip firm, strangling what little air remained from the ginger's form as he watched the life slowly fade from his murder hungry gaze, glossing over as his blood fell like a waterfall.

The murderer gasped as a small smile grew across his face as he hacked up blood, the liquid dripping down his chin, "so...cooooool..." before going limp.

Jack let go, gravity overtaking the Master's form as his torso began to fall; static built up as he lunged a leg back before lashing out. Ribs broke and tore apart as his boot crashed into the teen, the corpse flying off before slamming headfirst into the wall beside his Servant, brain matter and skull fragments painting the wall in a tapestry of death.

The debris shook as Caster forced his wounded body back to life, rocks falling as he flipped onto his stomach.

"Ryuunosuke?..."

The Servant forced an arm out, dragging himself out of the wall before his sole eye settled on his friend's corpse, "Master?"

Giles' face was utterly destroyed, his jaw hanging by a thread with well over half his teeth missing, a dent where Jack's boot made contact, the bones turned to nothing more than dust as blood poured from the Servant's broken nose.

Raiden watched as the murderer painfully dragged his beleaguered body across grime and viscera, the man ignorant of his broken bones and crushed limbs as he forced his way along his sea of despair, reaching the remains before resting a pale hand along the teen's chest.

His bugling eye closed, "worry not Ryuunosuke...for your words have breached my heart, your faith shall live beyond your days..."

The cyborg growled, stomping forward, intent on finishing this off, black swirls surrounding his form as his sword glowed a menacing blood-red, "You'll be joining him soon enough."

Caster ignored him entirely, forcing his book into the sky, his torn black hair swaying as he shouted to the heavens, "WATCH MY FRIEND...I SHALL SHOW YOU THE GREATEST COOOOOOOL!"

Raiden stumbled as the ground began to shake; he whirled around as a tidal wave of flesh crashed from across the room; the warrior's gaze flashed as power burst off his sword. The killer slammed the tool into the ground, splintering rocks as electricity roared off its form, parting the sea of viscera as it whirled past him.

The swirling biomass surrounded Caster's form before burying him and the body beneath a layer of gore before shooting straight up into the sky.

The earth rumbled and tore as the flood breached the surface, concrete foundations tearing as buildings and cars ripped apart, crashing to the depths below.

BOOOOOOOOM

...

The moon shined overhead as Kariya made his way home; the beleaguered magus stared at his exposed command seals as the ethereal glow above illuminated their intricate pattern.

The Matou walked along the sidewalks, utterly alone as a breeze fluttered his hooded white hair; he lightly smiled, a slight kick to his pace. Seeing Aoi always had that effect on the man.

Although they weren't truly related, the magus loved his nieces to pieces; it hurt to see Sakura suffering like this; his father had no room for anyone in his heart aside from his twisted ambitions.

The thought came to mind as he dropped Rin off with her mother; the family was imperfect, with Aoi constantly bending the knee to her husband.

Kariya sighed, the "traditional wife," meaning be a floormat; it disgusted him, but her life wasn't his to dictate; she could make her own choices. The uncle just worried for his nieces, their wellbeing took precedence, and their father had little interest in such affairs, always pursuing something besides raising his own family.

The Matou stiffed as a cold breeze blew toward his emaciated form, briefly rubbing his arms as he continued his pace. At least Jack would agree with him; although he wouldn't say it out loud, he hit the jackpot with his Servant.

Raiden had taken off after Assassin, but Kariya had no need to worry; he had seen enough of Jack's memories to know what he was capable of, carnage. He lightly shuddered at the thought; flashes of the warrior's sheer brutality burned into his mind before he shook the reflections from his mind.

The killer was strange, walking the tightrope between a calm and collected soldier and utter insanity on the other side. The Matou would never claim to understand how Raiden's mind worked, but he wouldn't complain.

It was more than just the cyborg being strong, that was a massive plus in his eyes, giving him a chance of actually winning this War, but it's what he did by being around that mattered.

Sakura was quiet, but he'd been a part of the girl's life longer than she could remember; Kariya saw something he hadn't seen from the poor kid since she became a Matou, hope.

If Kariya could say one thing about his Servant that he knew for sure, the man was fiercely independent; it was something he needed to concede to when they made their pact. Some part of him hoped his niece would pick up on that attitude; it seemed more likely by the day.

The magus paused, taking a slow breath, exhaling a small white cloud into the cold night; someday soon, he would be gone; he glanced down at his withered arm, a slight grimace across his face.

That thought didn't bother him; he had accepted his fate a long time ago if it meant saving one of the few people he truly loved in this world; Sakura and Rin were practically his daughters; Kariya would do anything for them to be happy.

Sakura needed to be strong, to have a mind of her own, to resist his father's wishes when he couldn't. He could only hope the girl would adopt Jack's rebellious nature and find a place for herself, not as a pawn between prominent clans but as her own person.

One could only ho-BOOOOOOM

In the distance, concrete roared into the sky, tearing and cracking before raining down on the city below, screams and cries of agony wailing into the night as meteors crashed onto innocent bystanders.

The magus reached a good arm up, pulling his hood back in disbelief as he saw a torrent of blood and gore fly into the sky before slamming down in a tidal wave. The wall of flesh rushed down beyond the skyline in a tsunami of death, screams going silent as the sounds grew distant, heading towards the center of town.

BOOOOOOM.

His gaze flashed towards the origin point as he saw searing hot debris, metal, concrete, and entire cars ripped to shreds, launched into the sky as nothing more than superheated scrap as someone burst from below, coming into frame.

The figure was too far off, little more than a blur in his sole lens; his black iris flashed in realization as he saw crackling blue waves surrounding their form, dancing around a familiar metallic visage seen in his dreams.

Like a pulse had gone off in his head, his mind clicked things together, Jack...

Kariya's sole black iris flashed to life as he saw Raiden blast himself upward, landing on a falling chunk of rubble before blasting off, his form flying over the city in a ray of blue light in pursuit.

His mind settled, Jack went after Caster...meaning Assassin was probably dead..

Lights went dim in the distance as dozens were consumed into a roaring blast of biomass, his gaze focused, following the darkness as it tore through town towards the river running through town.

The magus took a step forward but froze, an unknown feeling compelling the Matou to push forward.

What could he do? Wouldn't he just get in the way?

A thought came to mind, something Jack had said as an offhand comment, "It doesn't matter if you're strong or weak; what matters is that you think for yourself; being strong is a lot more than being able to fight; there's no point if you're just another drone in the machine."

Kariya glanced down at his command seals, their red marks almost glowing as he steeled himself.

There wasn't time to question the how or why; something told the Master he needed to be there. He needed to fight his own War.

The Matou took off into the night, running as crowds surged the way he came, heading towards certain hell; it was time to act.

...

And that's the end of the chapter, next time; you'll get the Caster finale!

Now some author's notes, not a lot, but I wanted to address a few issues.

General Comments:

I wanted to thank everyone for their advice, both Fate and Metal Gear fans alike. Also, some have given beneficial constructive criticism.

I'm always on the lookout to improve my writing; I try to space my statements out more as people suggested, and it seems to have satisfied that crowd which I'm glad to see.

Now, for the people who whine and moan about "this is shit because XYZ; restart it and educate yourself," lol, no, leave, you'll spare us your nonsense.

I will outright say I read maybe a sentence of those before dropping the matter, always on the lookout for honest advice and recommendations, but whining and moaning like an art critic? No, lol.

Regarding advice, if any of you want to see more character interactions, have Raiden meet certain people someday, etc., feel free to comment or DM me as some already have; always open to chatting about that; I've even talked about doing other crossovers with some of you, feel free to recommend other series.

Now, onto the big question.

Power Scaling:

Raiden is NOT a super high-tier Servant by any means, but I think some people underestimate how powerful he is; partially my fault for the description in chapter 1, but I'll clarify.

MGR does an iffy job at this, but Raiden can perceive things about 15x the speed of light if you do the math on blade mode, meaning he can fight at such speeds in combat.

The same logic applies to others like Armstrong and Monsoon; they are running at light speed and hurling objects at such rates, cyborgs are way stronger than many of you think, and I'm sticking with that.

Also, HF weapons are canonically OP as shit, especially Murasama; I'm aware it's extremely hard to destroy a phantasm, but HF weapons negate durability itself by vibrating at the atomic level; I'm sticking with that too.

I'll clarify, Raiden cannot break higher-tier weapons, like Excalibur, but in a prolonged fight, he can and will destroy lesser phantasms; it's what makes him such a massive threat.

Also, Raiden can get hurt in a fight; I just need a valid reason to allow it; I don't just do it for plot convenience.

Weak main characters are bland; what's the point if Raiden doesn't shake the foundations by being there?

Now, will he get upgrades? Hell yeah, he will! My end game is to have Raiden become one of the best Servants in Grand Order, full stop able to fight with the top tiers, eventually.

Keeping the sequels in mind, we have a lot of time to prepare, but my beta reader and I are already working on how to achieve this.

...

We have decided to take our time before Grand Order after a lot of debate, so the order as of right now will be 1. Zero. 2. Unlimited Blade Works. 3. Maybe Apocrypha. 4. Grand Order.

Blade Works will have way more personal interactions than I have in Zero; I want more conversations between Raiden and Artoria amongst developing general bonds and whatnot with others.

I'll probably do mini-chapters between the big events where it's just Raiden talking with others, doing things, etc., less fighting, and more human moments.

Jack needs friends, lol.

With that out of the way, I hope you guys take it easy and enjoy your day.