Eye of the Storm
"For the most powerful of all beings there's no such thing like 'good' or 'evil' - only things that must be done."
- Archer of Storm
Chapter 1: The Island of Ice
There were… signals, like barely noticeable itching of skin, restless dreams or general tension in their magic circuits. Both Rin and Waver, experienced as they were, knew exactly what it means.
It was a cold, autumn night. A special night for mystical arts, halfway between the autumn equinox and the winter solstice, when magic of the land twirls nervously under the gaze of full moon.
During that night a Servant materialized deep in the basement of an old castle, surrounded by never-ending winter.
Summoning a Servant when a Holy Grail is involved doesn't seem like anything special, some would say. But everything about this one was different, from his class and abilities, to his twisted identity. In short: an entity like him shouldn't be able to exist, so manifesting him using ordinary magic was nearly impossible.
Yet he appeared in this reality, almost spontaneously, crossing the barriers of time and space, driven by a single wish that made his manifestation possible. His determination let him be recorded in the Throne of Heroes, bid the legend to his will, deceived powers that couldn't be normally messed with.
The Servant did not need much time to realize what a chance had been given to him, one in a million impossible possibilities. He's waited so long, withstood countless defeats and years of humiliations, but never gave up.
Judging from what's just happened, it was more than worth it.
Two mages claimed to have control over him, both thinking they're too smart and powerful to be deceived by a mere familiar dependent on the Grail. Arrogant magi live in every era, it seems. If they only knew…
But at least someone was able to uncover the true intentions of this unusual entity. Deep inside the Grail's core a weak stream of consciousness of one or more former vessels still existed. Feeling that something went terrifyingly wrong, it activated the emergency system.
The Servant laughed at this pitiful rebellion. Seven more Heroic Spirits then? Fine, it was even better. Mhhhhmm, truly wonderful!
He smiled to himself, overjoyed. He will make sure to not waste even a single drop of magical energy.
But first he needed to find a perfect vessel.
"This is bad," said Rin Tohsaka.
"Indeed," the elegant man, known as Lord El-Melloi II, admitted without hesitation.
It seemed that they were so focused on plotting how to outsmart the greedy mages of the Clock Tower, that they ended up outsmarted by someone else…
They came to the cave hidden deep under the Ryuudou Temple in Fuyuki to end the war once and for all, but the Grail wasn't there anymore. How was it even possible? Why the spells casted once by Tohsaka to protect this place didn't work?
"Here." Rin touched strange scratches on the surface of the tunnel, where the main carvings held the structure of the spell. To move the entire web of magic to another place without damaging it required enormous knowledge and equally great power. "Definitely fresh. So they used tools, not only magic."
"How they did it, although interesting, is not as important as who did it, Miss Tohsaka," her older companion noticed dryly and performed his own experiment. He's been through many difficult situation during his life and learned to be always prepared for any challenge, so a portable laboratory was a permanent part of his travel equipment. "Here we go…"
He placed a sample from the scratch in a small test-tube and mixed it with a special reagent. A short spell was enough to initiate and fasten the process. Faint traces of magical energy were shining inside the glass with a cold, blue light.
Lord El-Melloi II frowned, surprised by the result. It was something far worse than he expected to find. He still needed to be sure…
"Maybe you can recognize this type of magic, Miss Tohsaka?"
Rin raised an eyebrow and looked carefully at the sample. She casted a short spell, strengthened by one of her jewels, and focused on the faint aura trapped inside the test-tube.
"The Einzberns," she said after a while. "I remember well this kind of energy, there's no way I'm mistaken." Illyasviel almost killed her during their first fight near the cemetery in Fuyuki – and such things are hardly forgotten. "But it's not as strong as back then and it seems mixed with something… strange."
Waver accepted her judgment with a small nod. It made sense so far. Obviously, the Einzberns knew everything about the Grail and had almost infinite resources to perform a complicated operation like this.
"But the Einzberns are not experts of such kind of spells. Unless they invented another Illyasviel…" Tohsaka felt that something is wrong. This magic was different. Older and more unpredictable than any kind of modern magecraft she's encountered so far.
"They could hire a specialist for this task, it's not unusual for them to use the services of freelancers," Lord El-Melloi II said, while packing his tools, but he did not seem convinced by his own theory. He reached for a pack of cigarettes and followed Tohsaka to the exit. "So… what should we do now?"
Rin winced, admitting defeat. Their perfect plan to secretly get rid of the remnants of the Fuyuki Grail failed completely. Now, when the core had been stolen, they needed resources and contacts of the Association to retrieve it. But asking them for help was like apologizing for plotting behind their backs, which could be considered an act of treason.
To make the situation still work in their favor, they either needed to think of a good explanation or pray for something unexpected to happen in the Clock Tower, so their crime would be forgotten in the chaos...
"We must tell them everything," she said eventually, abandoning pride for greater good.
"I think they already know," Lord El-Melloi replied with a strange, somehow sad smile, and Tohsaka didn't argue.
Of course they knew, if at least one of the mages has been chosen to be a Master. There were… signals, like barely noticeable itching of skin, restless dreams or general tension in their magic circuits. Both Rin and Waver, experienced as they were, knew exactly what it means.
Soon, almost ten years after the nightmare of the last one, a completely new Holy Grail War was about to begin.
Shirou Emiya blinked several times, not sure where he is. His eyes needed a moment to adjust to the overwhelming darkness.
A cave? Right. He remembered now. There was a fight and he ended up wounded, so they decided to stay here for the night…
"Oh? You're awake at last," the mysterious woman said, checking his pulse and eventual fever. She was one of the most beautiful creatures Emiya has ever seen, with her characteristic purple hair and equally wonderful eyes. Shirou gulped painfully under her intense gaze, and tried hard to think only of Rin.
It's been no longer than three weeks when he and Tohsaka split up. They traveled together most of the time, but sometimes he was absorbed by 'hero business' and she had duties in the Clock Tower someone with her talent and position couldn't ignore. It was fine for both of them – they were partners in every possible way, after all.
One day Shirou accepted a simple request to clean the haunted forest somewhere in the northern part of Scotland. He would never expect that he would face Scáthach, the undying Queen of Shadows, the teacher of heroes. She was the one who had summoned the wraiths, to test potential challengers and chose a new pupil, worthy to be trained by her in old rules of war and runic magic.
After a fierce fight Scáthach decided to join Shirou's little pilgrimage… although she nearly killed him in the recruitment process. She didn't tell him yet how she had escaped her eternal prison in the Realm of Shadows. Actually, she didn't talk much about her past. It seemed that present times interest her much more than old stories devoid of meaning.
Emiya needed to admit that the proud and skillful Witch of Dún Scáith turned out to be a reliable companion, who did not give him any reason to complain so far. Shirou couldn't wait to recover completely and start his training under such amazing instructor.
Trying hard to not think too much while her intense gaze was piercing through him, Shirou realized that an annoying buzzing comes not from his own, distracted brain, but from his mobile phone.
"Oh, this." Scáthach winced, annoyed by the device. "Your friend was calling a while ago. He said his name is Shinji and that something bad happened." When Shirou frowned questioningly, she shrugged and added: "He seemed panicked and very angry."
"Well, Shinji always sounds like that," Emiya commented, shaking his head, but finally picked up the phone. "Hi, Shinj… What?!" He almost jumped out the bed, more than disturbed. "What do you mean by 'Sakura is gone'?!"
"You could have at least knocked, Morrison!"
The man in suit entered the "Devil May Cry" bureau like it belonged to him. Considering the amount of money the owner of this place owed him, it might be partially true.
"Yeah, I could have," he said, while taking off his hat and waving it around to keep the not very nice smell from the office at bay. "And you should pick up the phone sometimes."
The white-haired man, who was sitting in the centre of the mess (consisted mostly of empty pizza cartons) with his feet on the desk, overdramatically spread his arms.
"The phone isn't working," he stated the obvious.
"Bills don't pay themselves, Dante, you know that?"
"That's why you're here. To give me jobs."
"Oh, yeah. And I have one for you." Morrison wiped out some junk from the desk and sat on it. "Cash, up front."
"Cash up front? This, I like." The man perked up visibly and even sat straight, probably to show that he's serious. It didn't work much, though. "Where's the client?"
"The client had already left," Morrison explained. When Dante's questioningly raised his eyebrow, he sighed and added: "He's a foreigner. But he left the cash and instructions for you. Read it."
The demon hunter glanced at the note that was given to him and saw a strange drawing, which looked like a circle to summon a demon or at least something similar. Some kind of spell was also written there; Dante couldn't understand anything from this strange babbling…
"Morrison, what kind of joke is that?" He winced. "You don't want me to do dark magic, do you? My job is to kill demons, not to summon them."
"You're going to summon a weapon, not a demon. That's what the client said."
"What for? I have enough weapons already."
"I will explain everything if you let me." Morrison lightened up a cigar and stared at the younger man, waiting for him to calm down. Dante sighed, resigned, and waved his hand to encourage the man to continue. "Your task will be to participate in a tournament. The weapon you're going to summon is necessary to join the game."
"A tournament?" Dante crossed his arms, thinking. He didn't look convinced that taking this job is a good idea. "If it's not a demon killing contest, I think the guy picked a wrong person."
"The client said that your adversaries will be 'demon-level'. Something far worse is not out of the question." He breathed out a cloud of smoke. "If I were you, Dante, I would clench your buttcheeks and start drawing that circle. For you it should be fun, child's play actually. And the payment is too good to complain."
For a disturbingly long moment a nervous tapping of Dante's fingers on the desk was the only sound to be heard in the room. Then, with an unexpected return of electricity, the jukebox in the corner filled the bureau with electric guitar noises.
"I see you've already decided…" The son of Sparda commented, leaning back in his chair.
"It's a big job, Dante. Big job," Morrison ensured him with his typical smile. He stood up, ready to leave. "Ah, I almost forgot. Come with me, the client gave me something for you."
They left the building together and proceeded to Morrison's car, parked near the entrance. Something dark and surprisingly large waited patiently in the trunk to be claimed by its new owner.
"What's with this metal junk?" The demon hunter arched an eyebrow, examining the strange item – probably a shield of some kind. A very, very old one, actually. "What I'm supposed to do with this? Use as a surfboard? I haven't been near the sea for ages…"
"It's a 'relic'. You have everything in the instruction. I hope you haven't lost it already."
Dante rolled his eyes and meaningfully poked his back pocket, to show that he has everything under control.
"Good." Morrison got into the car and turned on the engine. "Call me when you'll finish this job. I want to say" 'I told you so!' when you'll be telling me how fun this tournament was."
And he left the demon hunter alone on the empty street with a weird piece of ancient metal in his hands.
Two gallant figures - a man and a woman - were standing on the balcony of a massive fortress in the middle of an icy wasteland. They both felt a bit out of place here, on this undiscovered island without a name, lost somewhere in the northern part of Europe.
The man has a characteristic two-colored, spiky hair. His elegant glasses froze a bit near the frames from the cold wind. Usually he also wore a mask, which made him look much more scary, as if his futuristic armor and great sword – a trademark of his Servant class - weren't enough to discourage potential challengers. But now he was in a middle of a chatter with one of his allies, so he let himself relax a little. An enemy attack wasn't possible here anyway. The entire place belonged to their fraction and was surrounded by a strong magical barrier, that kept it invisible for ships and modern tracking machinery.
Invisible and impenetrable. Landing here without being detected was simply impossible. Thin lines of magic surrounded the island like a spider's web, pulsing with dreadful energy whenever something supernatural came close enough to activate them. Victims of creepy spells of their Assassin, that could turn any living or undead creature into a spy, were patrolling the land, like pitiful half-frozen zombies with magical notes attached to their foreheads.
Last but not least, the entire area was guarded by their Archer, who has placed himself on the roof of the base. From there he could snipe everything and everyone within his range - and that meant every corner of the island.
That Archer... The silent figure in white, with characteristic long bow, vibrating with lightning. Like any other Heroic Spirit, Saber knew this magnificent item, capable of destroying entire worlds. It was a bow even gods would not be ashamed to use, probably the most famous projective weapon of legends.
He did not suspect its owner to be such a quiet person, to be honest. Despite his position and fame, their Archer behaved more like a butler than a hero. He was neutrally polite towards his allies and performed tasks given him by the mages almost like a machine, but no one really knew what's on his mind. Rider suggested once to share their plan with Archer, or at least to tell him about their doubts, but Saber could not trust the man enough to do so. Not yet.
Only one Servant in their party wasn't intimidated by a silent bowman. Archer and Berserker seemed to get along quite well. They were spending countless hours in silence, clearly enjoying each other's company. Maybe they were so similar they didn't need words to understand each other?
Rider was a completely different matter - a woman of great strength and determination, who believed in her own power like a fanatic (when the reason was right, of course). Although Saber was a Servant of another category, even he would think twice before opposing her. He was sure this woman won't give up easily and victory could not be worth its price in the end. Saber respected and trusted Rider enough to tell her his true name. The feeling was mutual, so the woman also introduced herself. Her name was Martha, a holy maiden who tamed the infamous dragon, Tarasque.
Rider was first to ask Saber about his Master. Strange as it might seem, she's never met the one who had summoned her to this war. The old mage Zouken, a man arrogant enough to call himself 'Grand Master', informed her only that all other Masters agreed to make him the leader of their faction, and every Servant is from now obliged to obey his orders. Martha did not believe it first, but an ominous pressure of Command Spell forced her to remain silent.
They knew for sure that Berserker was summoned by the Einzberns. Assassin was a walking riddle, who would never tell them a word about her Master, and Archer suspiciously avoided this topic. Only Saber knew personally the one who had summoned him to this world – it was a young, a bit overweight boy, an heir of the magical crest of Musik family.
Caster has been summoned some time ago by a stray mage, who clearly didn't want to join them. And Lancer...
Saber closed his eyes, hoping that he will soon understand their situation better. Something strange was going on, a threat bigger and more dangerous than any Grail War can cause.
Whatever it is, let it come, he thought, breathing in the cold air. After all, it's a hero's job to resolve other people's conflicts.
"You're still worried about Berserker, Sigurd?" - Martha asked, watching him with a warm expression. Saber nodded, so she continued: "Greatest of heroes, just like you, can fit into any class, if I'm not mistaken?"
"Yes, but, if he's at least a bit like me, a Berserker class won't fit him." The man fell silent for a while, staring at the frozen landscape, as if he tried to see over the sea or even further. "And if that class had been forced into him by the summoner, it doesn't look good."
"Are you saying that our Masters…?"
The man did not let her finish, alarmed by something. An intruder, probably? It wasn't wise to say too much in unwanted company.
"I'm just saying it's better to be careful," he concluded, adjusting his glasses.
Just then Martha finally detected another Servant behind their backs. As expected from an Assassin class, the vixen was impossible to spot if she wanted to hide her presence.
"What's wrong?" – she asked with an offensively polite smile, angry that Sigurd is able to keep secrets from her. It wasn't her first try to catch Saber off guard, and she failed again. "I told you already that if you have any problem, Tamamo is here to help you solve it. It's my duty as the Voice of Grand Master."
"And you came here only to say that?" Sigurd sounded emotionless as usual. He glanced through his shoulder at the fox-eared woman, more interested in the distant constellations on the sky than in Assassin's unquestionable beauty.
Tamamo rolled her eyes, but didn't look particularly offended by Saber's behavior. The little game of teasing and animosity, pretended or not, was sometimes their only entertainment in this snowy wasteland.
"You two looked so bored that I came to give you a special task," she explained. A dangerous light flickered in the corners of her wonderful golden eyes - it was a sign what kind of mission she has on mind.
Saber only sighed in response. Martha, somehow more susceptible to Assassin's provocations, replied with enough passion and resolve to frighten a dragon.
"I thought that we made ourselves clear, vixen. We will never willingly go and kidnap, threaten or murder anyone, unless it's a direct order from our Masters… probably strengthen by a Command Spell."
"Fine, fine. I told you it's only a proposition." The witch sighed, trying to show that they misread her good intentions again. She wasn't afraid of these two, but fighting them for such unimportant reason would be just stupid. They were still useful for the team, so Assassin let it go for now. Actually, she wasn't sure if a Command Spell would work in this matter. Magic Resistance of Saber class is extraordinary, and Rider was not the one to break easily, according to her legend. "You will be useless against Lancer anyway." She turned around, provocatively moving her hips. "Archer, Berserker!"
Two Servants materialized obediently, waiting for commands. Archer, with his dark skin and elegant but not particularly warm outfit, looked out of place in the snowy landscape. Berserker, quite intimidating because of his cold, draconic aura, fitted here more and probably could even gain some advantages from being summoned close to the land of his birth. Not as much as Saber, though. When they stood so close, it was obvious that they share the same origin and even Mad Enhancement couldn't erase those similarities.
"We confirmed that our Lancer has been summoned just now," Assassin explained, waving her fluffy tail with every word. She couldn't hide her excitement; commanding other famous heroes must have been pleasurable for her. "You will depart immediately. Don't dare come back without them… or at least their dead bodies."
"Understood," Archer replied and looked at Berserker. They both dematerialized in the same moment, perfectly synchronized, despite all visible differences between them.
A mean joke about a fox commanding hunting dogs crossed Assassin's mind, but she remained silent to not ruin the moment. Tamamo couldn't care less about making Lancer and her Master their allies, but she already smelled blood and gore in the air.
She was sure that 'that man' can feel it too. They knew each other long before the Grail Wars even started and shared similar beliefs since back then. Many years must have passed to give them this one chance to reunite and put their plan into motion.
And they won't waste it, no matter what.
"Sway, sway into the night, adorable ghosts…"
Caster was singing quietly to a strange magical mirror, which floated in the air above her head. The impenetrable darkness twirled inside its frame, whispering warnings, prophecies and advices for its rightful owner.
The Nether Mirror could show many things, depending on the nature of the one who looks into it. Some people might see the Realm of the Dead, in shape taken straight from their culture or religion. Others could see their personal hells, little nightmares and traumas. No doubt this 'magical item', if deployed as Noble Phantasm, could annihilate entire armies. The strongest enemy is the one inside your own brain, after all.
Nitocris, however, used the Mirror for divination and spying as often as for fighting. Normally she would sing way louder to receive the answers, but now it was better to be careful and not so noisy.
She shared this underground hideout with two other women: one was her Master and the other - their prisoner. Respecting them both equally, she tried to not disturb their rest with her spells. She didn't care much for the scent of decay that surrounded these two, but the fact that even her mirror couldn't affect them was… disturbing. What kind of hell their pitiful souls went through to be so calm, apathetic even, in the face of such nightmare?
Well, her Master wasn't fully alive to begin with, so it explained at least some things. Nitocris suspected that it was the main reason she'd been summoned by this enigmatic person. They shared the same closeness to the dead, not totally human nature and similar goals. It was enough for the Pharaoh, and the God of Netherworld, to materialize to her calling even without a fitting relic.
"How sad," she whispered, playing with a golden scarab. It was one of her little spies, that just returned from a mission with some useful information. With the last advice of the Mirror, Caster could say that her understanding of the current situation is relatively good. "How incredibly sad… "
Humming under her breath another long forgotten melody from her sandy homeland, Nitocris caressed gently the sacred scarab. Carefully, to not wake up their precious prisoner, she walked through the room to pack their belongings before a long journey.
She smiled, sensing magical bullets she personally enchanted, hidden in the pocket of a favorite coat of her Master. Being useful to the person who had summoned you is most pleasurable to any Servant, so Caster was already planning another innovations. She could add a bit of her magic to other necromantic tools and meaningfully strengthen the spell on both guns… Yes, she will show everyone how powerful Egyptian magecraft can be!
They will leave soon to participate in the great war and Caster intended to be as prepared as possible.
She landed gracefully on the ground. The sleeping forest around her was unnaturally quiet. Such typical forest, a park rather, could be found anywhere in the world, but she knew she's been sent to the exact location.
The threat big enough to alarm the Counter Force was close by; she could feel a familiar nervousness crawling under her tan, magically affected skin. She took a quick look around, searching for spies or magical traps, but found only naked trees. They seemed asleep for too long to wake up ever again.
Sure that no living creature could survive here, maybe except some truly desperate wolves, she checked her equipment for the last time. The cold couldn't hurt her, because she was an impossible being, created especially for this task. Perfectly independent for short periods of time, an incarnation of a killer for hire. Or rather, like she preferred to think of herself, a guardian of order in the world of mortals.
Actually, there was no thing - living or dead, real or imagined - her blade couldn't destroy, in this or other worlds.
But she needed to hurry. With such powerful and cunning creature as her enemy, the best course of action is to attack swiftly and mercilessly, to avoid the mistake she'd already made a few days ago.
She wasn't a novice, but her target managed to escape. Either this entity was more skilled than anyone could expect or…
With iron determination in her eyes, the mysterious woman grasped her strange sword and ran straight to the castle through the virgin snow. She must finish it quickly, before her time in this reality runs out and her material body dissolves in the cold, winter wind.
"Let silver and steel be the essence.
Let stone and the archduke of contracts be the foundation.
Let ice be the element I pay tribute to."
Dante still wasn't sure that taking this job is a good idea. Even after drawing the summoning circle in his room, the demon hunter still had doubts. He placed the shield nearby and started reading the weird rhyme from the note.
"Fill, fill, fill, fill, fill. Repeat five times…" He rubbed his forehead, happy that no one can see him now, while he's doing something so utterly stupid. "What kind of crap is that, huh? I shall declare here: your body shall serve under me. My fate shall be with your sword. Submit to the beckoning of the Holy Grail. If you will submit to this will and this reason… then answer!"
With a heavy sigh, he forced himself to finish the incantation and looked at the floor. The circle glowed faintly for few seconds, then faded almost immediately.
The demon hunter waited, not sure what to expect. Nothing happened for a disturbingly long moment.
Then, without warning, the entire place drowned in the blinding red light and something sucked Dante into the circle.
"Hey, hey, hey! What the…?!" He didn't finish the sentence, strangely sure that the word 'hell' would be highly inappropriate in this situation. He tried to get out, leaning on his sword, but the magic did not intend to let him escape. It was not a typical tunnel to the underworld or whatever, rather a mist that gently surrounded Dante, cutting off his senses, forcing him to float in the thick nothingness. "I agreed to summon something, not to be summoned!"
It was already too late for such fierce protest - the magical whirlwind devoured the entire room, dissolved the reality. Dante wondered for a moment if his nature of a half-demon makes summoning him through dimensions possible for a skilled magician… but it wasn't important at the moment. Now he needed to prepare for any challenge that awaits him on the other side.
The magical tornado stopped as abruptly as it started. Dante could feel again solid floor under his feet and fresh air in his lungs. He looked around and discovered that he's been transported into the abandoned, devastated room that suspiciously resembles his own bureau. There was even a summoning circle on the floor – almost the same, but drawn more carefully and already weathered. Was it future? Or maybe some places look almost the same even in other worlds?
Suddenly, with a flash of golden light, a creepy horseman, completely clad in a stylish black armor, appeared before his eyes. For Dante this creature looked similar to fiendish cavalrymen he encountered once in the deepest pits of hell, although it didn't emanate demonic aura. Rather something else, equally strong and dangerous. And this strange helmet – isn't it so fancy shaped to imitate a head of a dragon?
The raging stream of his thoughts stopped immediately, when the creature spoke up, in deep but clearly feminine voice:
"I ask of you: are you my Master?"
...
Honestly, this is probably the biggest project I've ever participated in. So many characters, Servants and Masters alike, so many interactions and colliding ideals… I wouldn't be able to make it possible without my wonderful co-authors. Thank You!
The story takes place more or less ten years after the UBW route. Characters from other timelines may also appear (or their alternate versions, to be precise). As for Devil May cry timeline, you may say it's DMC in general, because details are not important here, rather characters – their mindset, goals and abilities.
It's impossible to tag every character here, so if You want to know the (almost) complete cast, please check this story on AO3, where it's tagged properly.
And, before some of You start to freak out - about the fact that Fuyuki Grail cannot summon heroes from the East – calm down, I know it. This change will be explained later, like many other things. Those of You who read my other stories already know that every detail is important and when I change something, there's a reason and explanation why it happened.
It would be nice to know what You think. Your comments and support keep me going! I'm still searching a proofreader, so any help will be welcomed.
And, of course, I do not own anything but my bad writing.
Thank You for reading and stay tuned for the next chapter!