21st Century Schizoid Man

by silverbug28

A wannabe gangster gun nut (OC) becomes the Master of one of the haughtiest Heroic Spirits in the Throne of Heroes. No, not Gilgamesh. The other blonde with a massive ego. Let's see what happens when this goofy wack job has to fight for his life alongside history's biggest ham. Remake of Genderbent Emperors and Gallivanting Eccentrics.

8. Alabama Song

Disclaimer: You know how I said in the last chapter it was the longest chapter of this story? Well, not any more! This is technically the longest chapter I've written. Period. Mainly because it starts off with what could be considered an omake scene starring King Keith's OC and his Servant, Miss Daddy Issues Incarnate, Mordred. Hence the POV shift to Keith's OC, that's actually something he whipped up for me that I edited to my liking.

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Chapter 8- Alabama Song

"That's it! Get out of here right now or I'll call the police!" Boy I haven't heard those words in quite some time. Sure is music to my ears. Currently I have a blushing green-haired schoolgirl screaming right in my face. She's not blushing because she's embarrassed or anything like that, rather it's because she's so furious the blood has rushed straight to her cheeks. At least that's what I hope is the case. Can't tell with tsunderes, they're basically a whole 'nother species of human.

I don't particularly enjoy having an adolescent girl yell in my face. Nor do I enjoy having her index finger practically poking my eye out with how animatedly she jabs it in my direction. Her friend, the one I refer to as Bikini, the redhead is trying to pull her away from me before I'm maimed. Or is she doing it to avoid her friend's untimely demise at my hands? As aforementioned hands are currently flailing around helplessly in an attempt to wring this arrogant little shit's neck. Why are they flailing around helplessly? Simple. Saber's currently pulling me away with all her strength to help me avoid committing murder in the first degree. How thoughtful of her.

"You spit in my face you brat! That's assault!" The sound that comes out of my mouth sounds like a jumbled mishmash of words. This is because I too am currently flushed red in the face on account of my slight intoxication as well as the sheer vitriol coursing through my veins. "When I get my hands on you you'll wish–" Crunch. How did this girl learn reinforcement Magecraft?

That's the only thought that goes through my head when her heel comes down on my foot. It feels like an elephant stomping upon my appendage, this girl weighs far more than she should. I tell that to her face. Well … I try to. But, since I currently am experiencing a level of pain that transcends the Nine Circles of Hell themselves, my sentence structure comes out a little … incoherent.

"You mudda fuken sunovabidch fadazz liddle shet! I'll keel you bich!" I think I just created an entirely new dialect in the English language, it's a byproduct of my inability to enunciate properly. Which is a byproduct of me biting my own tongue to avoid wailing out in agony.

"Shush, Praetor. You are making a scene." Saber tries to pull me away, hoping to get me away from the brawl that will likely start if I'm to be left alone to my own devices.

"How wud you feel ef a liddle shet ded dis to you?!" I round about on my only ally in this situation. Such is my righteous anger, it completely overwhelms any logic I might have once been compelled to follow.

"Praetor, I am afraid I cannot comprehend this language you are speaking. Strange, I was sure the Grail was more than capable of translating the tongue of foreigners." She ponders this new predicament while I start to wiggle my way from her grasp.

It becomes apparent that this is useless. Why? Well because kawaii Captain Planet (What? They both have green hair?) manages to break away from Bikini before me. Of course this can spell nothing but my doom. Her freedom can mean nothing but danger towards my well-being. Every individual nerve in my body screams out to be saved at the incoming pain I'm about feel. Even in my addled mindset my survival instincts cry out for mercy at the hands of the devil that's likely to be upon me in a mere moment.

The reaper has no mercy. It has no compassion. No empathy. I'm cut down with a single blow, incapacitated without a moment's notice. Truly this girl with her Ectoplasm colored hair is a warrior of the finest caliber. So this is the blood of the samurai that runs through these people's veins? I thought it was only Taiga. Guess that's not the case. How terrifying.

"Wwwhhhyyy?! Why do they always go for the balls?!" I'm now on the floor in the fetal position, crying out to an unforgiving world, begging to be saved from the misery that's been unjustly inflicted on me. "I won't take this for granted! I'm going to go Al-Qaeda on your animu ass when I get back up!"

Apparently this odd threat causes her to take me seriously. By seriously I mean she attempts to eradicate my soul from this plain of existence. She does this by trying to kick me in the mouth. I suppose she thought it would silence me. Fool! You cannot silence the voice of truth!

Saber spares me that suffering, blocking the girl's blow by just moving her leg in front of my unprotected head. Interestingly enough this gives me a perfect view at what she's wearing underneath that ridiculous dress. Huh, who knew it was actually a leotard? That's kinda cool to be honest, she's like a ballerina or some shit. Does this also mean she's not a complete pervert? I think it does.

"Praetor, why did you have to start this senseless fighting?" Excuse me? It's not my fault she wanted to stop serving me after only two bottles! What ever happened to customer service? I didn't know this was the Walmart of coffee shops!

"He did it because he's a Neanderthal. A spoiled brat that throws a hissy fit when he can't get his way! If George didn't like him he'd be banned from here at least a dozen times over!"

"Oi, who asked you moss head?! You're just a part-timer, no one gives a shit about your opinions!"

Her redheaded friend pouts at me, clearly dissatisfied. "It's not nice to bully Katsuragi-chan. Even if she is kind of a bully herself."

The 'bully' reels back as if struck, flinching at the traitorous nature of her friend's statement. "H-e-e-y! You're supposed to back me up Hibiki!"

I bust out in a fit of laughter, enjoying the betrayed look on my nemesis's face. "For shame, dear Chimichanga. You seem to be unable to understand the treasure that is friendship!"

At this I chuck an empty bottle of brandy straight at her head. "Allow me to pound that lesson into your thick skull you damned tsundere bitch!"

"Isn't this supposed to be a café?" A sudden stranger asks as he steps in. It interrupts the savage display of brutality I was just about to unleash on this poor girl's being. Instinctively, I freeze up, caught off guard by the new voice. Well … that's what I'd like to say happens. Really Saber just holds me back once again. Except this time she lifts me up, with relatively little effort mind you, and holds me a foot from the floor so I can't wiggle my way out.

We're not alone in this place. There's a few other patrons scattered around, but none of them bothered to comment on the situation. This isn't exactly a common sight for sure, but nor is it uncommon enough for them to raise a fit over it. Which means this man is truly a noob in regards to the 'interactions' I have with Chi-Chi.

He has red hair, perhaps the simple color 'red' doesn't do the shade justice. Maroon is a better word for the dark red color of his scalp. For some reason my 'evil redhead sense' is tingling. He seems to be holding in a laugh as he observes the situation. Behind him is a girl that is quite like Saber. Except instead of being gifted with the emerald irises Saber has, she has ruby colored ones. Not at all unlike the crimson hair of the man.

I cut off my retribution focused train of thought as Saber drops me. Literally drops me, to walk towards the girl with a similar appearance. She even goes so far as to push the man out of the way, practically trampling him in her urge to meet her lookalike.

"Could you be a fan?" Saber asks with puppy dog eyes. Judging from the distaste in her eyes, the girl does not seem amused.

"Ugh, I'm too hungry for this shit." The girl snorts as she moves toward my seat and plops down. While on the way there she steps on my uninjured foot. I hold in a groan of pain, idly noting that the man with red hair passes me a sympathetic look before he sits right next to her. Did he just ignore the situation he walked in?

"Welcome!" Bikini says as the man nods her way. He and the girl look over their menus briefly before ordering. His choice for a meal ends up being somewhat disappointing, as it is relatively small in size. Meanwhile his companion orders nearly triple the amount! Where the hell is she going to put all that?!

"How long are you going to stay on the ground? Get out!" Mean Green says as she hold a broom at me. Pssh. As if that could ever be enough to defeat me! What does she think I am? A dust bunny?

Before the broom can even touch me, the man grabs the handle.

"May I ask why you are abusing this poor man? Don't you see how much pain he is in?" He says this as he looks at Bikini. Not even bothering to turn his head to acknowledge the greenette. "Where is your manager? I would like to file a complaint."

Needless to say the Incredible Hulk immediately backs off. Bowing deeply like a submissive little shit. Sunny D (Bikini was getting overused) visibly appears to give zero fucks about the man's threat. That is, if her face of utter stoicism is anything to go by. Regardless, the man seems appeased by the bowing and waves aside my assailant's apologies.

After venturing to the nearby seat, I give a questioning glace to him, while Saber looks at the girl, miffed at being ignored. "What do you want?"

"Hmm?"

"What do you want? For saving my ass?"

"Nothing." He smiles. The look wouldn't have appeared more out of place on a gorilla. Such is the contradicting kindness in his expression. Seriously, the tone of his voice ten seconds ago could have instilled the fear of God in someone. And now he's just ignoring that and smiling like a goofball. "I was going to save you earlier but, well, I was too surprised at that green-haired girl's actions to help."

"…. How long were you watching?"

"A few minutes before you got kicked in the balls. Quite amusing you are. You remind me of a childhood friend of mine."

"Dick."

"That's what she said." the redhead sneers.

I stare him over, my eyes taking in every detail of his face, before allowing a soft snicker to emanate from my mouth. "I suppose it is." Something of an understanding passes between us, a slight appreciation for the similar sense of humor we both share. And then it's shattered. By who? Saber, of course.

"If you are not a fan what are you? An impostor?" Her brow furrows in dissatisfaction. "Imitation is the greatest form of flattery, but there comes a time in which it becomes obnoxious." Says the Queen of Provocation herself. "In fact, I would argue that you are plagiarizing my style, and thievery of that sort is the biggest insult an artist can face. Even worse than mockery." She crosses her arms, which to me says two things. The first "she means business". The second "uh oh".

The slimmer blonde in front of her sighs, clearly unimpressed with the intense accusations Saber threw her way. She leans the side of her head against her propped up fist. "Are you finished?"

Saber frowns, and for a moment I fear a fight might break out. But that moment passes, as that frown morphs into a pout. "A mere copy will never be as valuable as the original."

The air itself grows still, as the comrade of my redheaded friend tenses up considerably. "What did you say?" She spits these words out through grit teeth. Clearly Saber's gone and committed some sort of faux pas. Great going, genius.

"Hey, you want to stop this from getting any worse?" I turn back towards the redhead, with a look that tells him my answer. Two words. "Hell no."

He sighs, runs a hand through his hair and stands up. I assume he's going to stop this from getting any worse. He proves that assumption wrong with the next sentence he utters.

"Well, I'm going to go get us some drinks!" He then proceeds to run off, a shit-eating grin plastered on his face.

Bastard.

As soon as he's gone his knockoff Saber slams her fists on the table. And … it breaks in half, splintering into two pieces that comically stand upright before falling to the side. As if it took the table a moment to realize it'd just been destroyed.

You know, here's one of those moments in which you're supposed to take one for the team. A good guy would save Saber's ass by drawing her doppelganger's attention onto himself. They'd then talk them both down with some charismatic wordplay and a few light compliments tossed in to flatter the opposition. I'm not a good guy.

"Girls, girls, if you must know you're both pretty. Now kiss and make up." I raise a finger into the air, the universal signal for 'wait a second'. "But give me a moment to find myself a camera. Can't let such a sight be forgotten." I don't even get a chance to smirk. A fist instantly plows into my face.

I'm sent soaring out of my seat, landing hard against the bar. I don't see much of the flight, one second I'm in my seat, the next I'm laying on top of the bar's counter. Did I black out briefly? As if to add salt to the wounds the Green Midget starts smacking me with her broom. Oh, and it sounds like someone's choking on their drink. Weird.

I grab the broom coming down on my head, pulling it away from the girl who's assaulting me with it. I then proceed to snap it in half. A content sigh escapes my lips. "Pesci, that felt good." And it did, in fact I'd say it felt cathartic even.

My pleasure lasts all of three seconds, because Chicken McNugget then starts a game of whack-a-mole with my face. Where on Earth did she get a mallet that big? That punch didn't toss me into Donkey Kong, did it?

You know how most cats don't like being sprayed with water? And how they run like a bat out of hell the second liquid touches them? Well, for all you cat owners out there, just picture what your pet looks like when it's running like a little bitch. Now overlap that picture with whatever image you have created for me and voila. I look very much like a cat running from water right now. But instead of water I'm running from a giant hammer that looks like it was stolen from Thor himself.

I rush past a small group of patrons gathered around. Bastards must be enjoying their dinner and a show. Wait … they're not facing in my direction?

I shove them out of the way and use my momentum from running to start a baseball slide the likes of which haven't been seen in Yankee Stadium for a good decade or so. The Green Goblin's Coconut Crusher whizzes right past my head, but it doesn't make contact with my poor squishy self.

I'm quite happy to blow a raspberry at my would-be butcherer. All my joy leaves me once I realize where I am and what the crowd was looking at. Saber and her look alike. Arm-wrestling?

Well, that's what I presume they were doing up until I skidded underneath their table and right between her clone's legs. Immediately the entire joint goes still. Everyone just freezes in place as they process what I just did. Then … they all scatter. Like ants fleeing from a flood. Even Chattanooga dives behind the bar, her hammer discarded in order to allow her to pull off the maneuver.

I look up from underneath the table, afraid of the calamity I might have just created. She's looking down on me, Saber's copycat that is. Her face bright red like a cherry, her fists clenched, steam seems to be blowing out of her ears. She stands up from her seat, towering above me despite being almost as short as Saber.

"Saber. Help. Please." Saber looks to me. She looks to her forgery. Then she looks back to me. She pouts, and her hands go to her hips. Sonofa–!

"Ah, Praetor, how considerate of you to show up. Inform this imitator she is nothing more than a candle before the radiance of my sun!"

"Read the mood, jackass!" I snarl at her. Not at all concerned about the harshness of my tone.

"Wow, what a dick." I hear at least one member of the peanut gallery pipe in.

Saber … well, she reacts as if she's just had an allergic reaction. By this I mean she starts spazzing out like a retard. Tears flow freely from her eyes as she starts wailing like a spoiled child. "Praetor! This, this, flat-chested charlatan dared to steal my appearance! This is UNACCEPTABLE!" Lemon Grab? Is that you?

"She has sullied my image, and, and, and …." She calms down, blinks, and finally notices my position. That being right between the legs of her 'rival'. "Oh, good on you Praetor. You have already begun the counterattack." She smiles. "I was planning on humiliating her in a simple game of strength. But this? This would be sufficient."

I clam up, hoping above all else that she's not implying what I think she is …. "Those clothes are an insult to my eyes. I would never wear them, and it would be the greatest of insults if my loyal subjects were to mistake her for me while she is wearing that." She poses dramatically, not at all concerned about the tangible killing intent radiating from the subject of her rant. "Therefore, we shall rebalance the scales! If she is to copy my beauty she shall go all the way!" And she does something that makes me wish, above all else that I could spontaneously combust.

"Pardon me. While I burst. Into flames." I smack my head against the table, hoping above all else that I can knock myself out. For what Saber shows me is even worse than I could have imagined. Somehow, somehow, she has managed to recreate her dress to the tee. And she's happily waving it in her imposter's face.

"You won't get me in that. Not on your life."

The girl I'm underneath starts cracking her knuckles, clearly preparing herself for the mutilation she'll inflict upon me. Why the hell has she focused her anger upon me?! Go after the lunatic that thinks turning you into her own personal Barbie doll is a good idea?! "Elmo! Help!" Complete, utter silence. I can swear I hear a pin drop.

"Uh, are you talking about me?" What I can only assume to be the girl's ginger handler questions, probably while scratching his head or pointing at his chest in confusion if the tone of his voice is any indication.

"You're the one that brought her here! Control your pets!" Oh … that wasn't the best thing to say. If she was angry before, now she's gone absolute Super Saiyan in her rage, crossing her arms over her chest and grinding her teeth against each other. She raises a leg, in what I can only assume is her impersonation of Chi-chi-chi-Chia pet's attempt on my life from roughly three minutes ago.

"Objection!" I scream this at a volume I'm hoping will stun her. It doesn't really work, merely causing her to hesitate for a millisecond. A millisecond is all I need.

Before she can even comprehend how, her pants are at her ankles and I'm gone. "Saber, I did half the job for you! Go wild!" I don't even stay long enough to comprehend the mock salute Saber gives me in affirmation. A cloud of dust is left behind me in my hasty departure. The few patrons left in this establishment, the ones that didn't flee in mortal terror, take this opportunity to pull out their phones. Then, like tourists, they start snapping pictures of the scene. Unfortunately for the girl this is a popular locale for middle-aged men. Mainly because of how the two waitresses are cute high school aged schoolgirls. Japan, man. Japan.

I can only assume this girl's panties are going to be plastered on every social media site that's ever existed. These bastards will probably even dig up Myspace from the shallow grave it's been buried in so they can post it there. Stores will be out Kleenex for days, if not weeks. I've just simultaneously ruined her life while and made her a cultural icon. I'm not sure if asking for a 'thank you' would be the proper thing to do in this situation. I have a better idea, though, a distraction.

"Kill all of them, not me!" I sell out my fellow men without a second thought, labeling them all under the same perverse banner they've been stupid enough to drape themselves in. "I respect your right to be a strong independent woman! They seek to turn you into an object of self-gratification!" Ok, I'm beyond bullshitting now. Maybe it's the adrenaline talking. Maybe it's the alcohol. Maybe some long antiquated survival instinct has arisen in the hopes of somehow saving my life. Or maybe I've just blown a gasket from the head trauma inflicted on me, a concussion is probably the only explanation for why I'd spout out such a thing.

Unfortunately instead of buying myself some brownie points I seem to have made things worse. The girl stops focusing on the men documenting her ascension into the glories of public indecency and instead locks her sights dead on me. Do you know how surreal it is to be chased by a tomboyish version of Saber that's in their tidy whities? All while Saber is chasing after her as well, screaming for her to take her to off so she can be, and I quote, "a complete rendition of my glory".

Do you have any idea how sexually confused I'm going to be in the long run from this encounter? I'm going to have to rethink me entire moral standpoint on life because of this. It's scarred me to that extent. I'm throttled. Of course I'm throttled. I expected that. Well … I didn't really, but I figured it was a possibility. What I didn't figure was how easily she'd catch me. I thought I could pull the Tom and Jerry act for a good five minutes, perhaps tire her out. I was wrong. She has to be supernatural in origin. Quite possible a Servant like Saber. Hopefully that's not the case. I really, really, don't want to ever meet her again in the remainder of my, likely shortened, lifespan.

I have to say it was kind of impressive how she managed to choke me out using my own tongue. That's some CIA level shit right there. And she managed to do it all before Saber caught up to her. All hell broke loose the moment those two clashed, and I barely manage to even escape. The only way I was able of surviving was through sheer ingenuity. They wouldn't dare come in the men's restroom. They're chicks. No way they'd–

Oh fuck. Scratch that. Running again! One of them, I'm guessing it was the fake because she was only half wearing her dress, charged in the place. I don't even question whether she's trying to flee like me, instead immediately assuming she's trying to finish the half-assed job she already started. Seeking a means of avoiding permanent damage, I swing the stall's door straight into her face before dolphin diving beneath her legs and army crawling the rest of the distance needed to clamor out of the bathroom.

I'm almost stepped on by Saber, who's way too eager to finish what she's started. Seeing an opportunity to end this here and now I slam the men's room's door shut behind me. With a liberal application of magic I've essentially sealed the metal door shut. Now, to wait. They'll either have to break through the wall to get out. Or they'll have to set aside their differences, decide to stop the abuse they've inflicted on me, and politely ask me to let them out.

That might take awhile. I've basically just locked two Betta fish in the same tank. They'll probably kill each other. Oh, well. Can't say I didn't try to resolve everything properly. Saber should have just let me bitch slap that green-haired 80s reject.

There's a loud bang in the bathroom, followed by several loud bangs. And then a face jumps out at me from the door. "Holy hell!" Looks like Saber actually managed to slam her counterparts face into the door, and in the process she's somehow managed to create actual art. I'm staring at something that looks like it's straight out of Edvard Munch's ensemble. It looks a little like Han Solo's face when he was in carbonite. Except it's in a steel door.

The scuffle continues for about thirty more seconds. Thirty seconds in which every vulgar word in the dictionary is uttered from the flatter girl's mouth. Hey, at least I'm learning something from this experience. I've never heard someone call someone a "so-called artist formally known as a 'bunghole experiment'". That takes the cake for the most random yet unique piece of profanity I've ever had the displeasure of hearing personally.

Anyway, after those thirty seconds there's no more sound. Almost like someone hit 'mute' on whatever was going on behind that closed door. I softly whistle to myself, hoping that the one that exits the place first will be Saber. If it's the other girl I'm going to really be worried about Saber's condition at the moment.

A knock comes from the other side of the door. "Who is it~?" I ask in a singsong voice.

"Ah, Praetor! You are still out there. Wonderful, please open the door." I don't even want a situation report on what's going on. I'm confident that in seeing the remnants of the bathroom I'll have a good idea as to what happened myself. So I open the door, believing above all else that I'll be prepared mentally and emotionally for what I'm going to see.

"Oh Sweet Jesus, what is that godforsaken smell?!" I immediately go to cover my nose, filtering out the rancid stench that's coming from the bathroom. It's so bad I even broke character for a moment there.

"I apologize Praetor, but she was … resistant to the idea of changing her attire." She smiles, and right then and there I remember this is the woman that crucified Christians before burning them alive. "I had to use some 'enhanced interrogation' techniques in order to have her see my way." Translation: I rammed her skull into a porcelain john until I managed to rupture the septic pipes underneath the building.

"Damn, woman, you scary." I believe that about summarizes the entire situation quite accurately.

She laughs the 'compliment' off good-naturedly. "Nonsense, Praetor. I merely did what must be done." She moves to the side and gestures to the room behind her. Ok, yeah, she definitely did a number on this room. And … Pesci I really need a camera right now.

There stands the tomboyish remake of Saber. Wearing the exact same type of dress she wears, albeit shrunken down in order to accommodate her lacking measurements. Saber even went so far as tie the girl's hair in a similar style as her own, except she also decided to pin some ribbon in for good measure. The utter look of defeat on the girl's face causes me to feel immense joy, and confirms that it's entirely possible I'm a sadist. Or perhaps this is just the sweet joyous feeling of comeuppance?

"So, what now?"

Saber shrugs. "I have redeemed her of her transgressions. I hold no grudge over her. Let her rejoin her significant other." The girl bristles at that phrase, flashing bright red in anger and attempting to lunge for Saber's neck. Unfortunately Saber appears to have expected this. She kung fu kicks the girl across the jaw. I'm not even kidding here. She takes her ridiculous high heel and slams it right into the girl's chin, knocking her flat on her ass.

I don't know how to respond so I just sort of walk backwards until I'm out of line of sight. Then I robotically turn around and make my way to the bar.

"I need enough alcohol to make me forget the last twenty-four hours of my life. Can you serve that?"

The orangette girl hiding behind the counter offers a sheepish grin. "Uh, it all was destroyed in the brawl." Cue me smashing my face into the wooden countertop.

"This'll have to do then." I only manage to do this four times before a hand grabs onto the collar of my shirt, stopping me from continuing.

"There's better ways to forget things than that." The voice of the red-haired man reaches my ears, I hadn't noticed him sit next to me at the bar. Figures he'd stick around anticipating his partner's return.

"You wouldn't happen to be a member of the Men in Black, would ya?"

He chuckles softly. "I wish. Those suits of theirs' just reek of class."

I have to suppress the urge to groan. Why did he have to use 'reek' to describe them? That's just bringing back memories of the bathroom. And that is in turn making me want to retch into the nearest bucket.

"Ah, Praetor. There you are. Making friends, are you?"

"I just want a drink. Is that too much to ask for?"

"Praetor, did you not drink enough already? We went through at least three bottles?"

"It's not enough. Not after what I just witnessed. I could empty an entire keg and still come back from more."

"Shouldn't they have barrels in the basement?"

I turn towards the man next to me. "Excuse me?"

"Oh!" A light bulb seems to flicker on above the waitresses' head. "That's right! George keeps a reserve supply down there!" The orange-haired girl rushes off, opening a door behind her and disappearing into the backroom.

"How'd you know?"

The guy I'm addressing shrugs. "Call it a hunch. This is supposed to be an Italian café, right? It'd be almost incomplete without wine in the basement."

"Huh." I offer a halfhearted reply, somewhat disappointed there's not a more interesting answer.

"Master!" Oh shit. Out comes the lightweight version of Saber, and … she's still stuck in the dress.

"How the hell did you get her to stay in it?" I whisper to my compatriot.

She smiles. "Mmm? That's simple, Praetor. Candle wax."

"Candle wax?" I ask, disbelief clearly apparent in my voice.

She nods. "Yes, you would be surprised at what it can be used for. All it takes is a healthy imagination."

"But where the hell did you get–?" I'm cut off by a hearty laughter coming from the right of me. I glance in that direction and immediately realization dawns on my face.

Big Red is on the floor in tears, shaking uncontrollably as he roars in a fit of chuckles. And there's the girl Saber 'dressed' attempting valiantly to step on his head in the hopes of shutting him up.

"A lover's quarrel, perhaps?"

I nod in answer to Saber's question, unable to take my eyes off of the strange sight in front of me. "Perhaps."

"Ah! I found it!" The moment's interrupted by Hibiki. What? She's bringing me booze! The least I can do is refer to her by her name once.

"Thank you Pesci!" I rush to grab the bottle from her, in the hopes of alleviating my ailments with ale. My hand reaches out and grasps onto the stem of the bottle and I pull it towards me. And … another hand grabs it right out of mine, stealing the liquid courage right out of my hands.

"What the hell?!" That's the final straw, I roar into the heavens and proceed to beat my chest like some magnificent gorilla. "You!" I point a single finger accusingly at the girl that's just robbed me. She's succeeded in KOing Gingervitis, and now she's in the process of uncorking my wine. My wine.

"I've had enough of you! All of you! I'm done!" I fling my hands up, symbolizing exactly how fed up I am with the world. I've been beaten, bloodied, humiliated, and generally forced into an uncomfortable position in the past few hours. And this, this just goes too far. You don't snatch a man's drink out from his hands! That's barbaric!

"Looks like there's only one thing left to do."

Saber blinks, a bemused expression shrouding her face. "Pray tell what that is, Praetor?"

My right hand shoots out from my side, fingers separated in an unmoving jazz hand, while my left goes to my forehead. Pantomiming the action of pulling the brim of a hat over my eyes. If only I had a ridiculously large-brimmed fedora. But, I think this'll do. The King of Pop should be properly satiated with my pose. "I must reclaim my sullied honor." I take immense satisfaction in the way the thief's jaw drops to the floor.

Saber's expression changes into something I never thought I'd see her wear. A rictus grin. It covers her entire being, corrupting her fair 'beauty' with an emotion that'd be more fitting for a character in a Tim Burton film. "Say. Again?" She gulps, uncomfortable with the sudden shift in my demeanor.

"Oh get off it, I would have thought you'd be the type to enjoy such a concept."

"Mmm … those words just do not fit my impression of your … demeanor. Praetor." An emotion that can only be described as adulation. "Could it be that this experience has changed you for the better?"

I can't hold back the laugh. God could strike me down right then and there and I wouldn't be able to stop the chuckle that forces it's way past my lips. "Bwahahaha! Not on your life!" I slap my knee in an exaggerated manner, and wipe a faux tear from the corner of my eye. "If anything you've succeeded in permanently snuffing out the last trace of sanity that's remained in my." I grin darkly at the girl with my wine. My left eye twitching dangerously as I process exactly how I'm going to make her pay. "I just always wanted to say that sort of thing. I'm a little disappointed to be honest." I sigh, all traces of amusement gone as I start frowning. "I'd pictured a gallant knight in shining armor shouting that out in a completely serious tone. Imagined the conviction in his tone, the steel in his eyes." I shrug, wiping away the image from my mind. "Seems I'm no knight. Saying that just made me want to laugh."

The frown leaves my face at the contemplative look Saber's giving me. "Praetor, you are odd."

And it becomes a full-blown smile. "You can say that again, blondie." I pat her on the shoulder. "Now, stay put and watch me get even."

"Hey you!" I point directly at the blonde that steamrolled me not five minutes prior. She's remained unmoving throughout all of this, seemingly frozen in place in shock. Her composure thaws considerably once she realizes I've just called her out. That gaping maw turns into a tight-lipped scowl.

"What the hell do you want?!" Venom laces her words. Obviously she's quite upset with me still.

I waltz over to her, getting far too close for comfort to someone that apparently is more than capable of taking on several grown men at once in a barroom brawl. Then, I do probably the dumbest thing possible. I slap her in the face. With a white glove I made mid-walk upon touching a tablecloth. For added dramatic flair I spit on the floor near her foot. "I, Dante Di Prinzi, Fuyuki's local Lord of War, hereby challenge you to a duel." Complete. Utter. Silence.

Then, the sword comes out. I don't know where she pulled it from. All I can say is she's probably been in prison before. Jail tends to teach you clever ways to hide things on your person. And most of them revolve around some pretty revolting ideas. Either that or this is further evidence to my 'she's a Servant' hypothesis. Crossing my fingers that's not the case.

"You. Wish for a duel?" A cruel laugh emanates from her mouth. "After the suffering your whore has inflicted upon me? I will take great pleasure in this."

With just that single insult she's altered my entire mindset. Originally, I merely desired a game of sorts. One in which I'd show my uncontested superiority in the face of an adversary far better that I. I planned on challenging her in something I knew I would win in. I still planned on doing that, but now it wasn't just in the hopes of playfully spiting her. Now, it was personal. I looked back to Saber, my eyes meeting her own. All the disgrace, the shame, the uncertainty, it fed me. It gave me a goal, a target to crush.

"Hey, Berserker! That's no way to speak to someone you've just met!" Berserker's eyes widen in confusion upon hearing her name uttered by the redheaded man. My eyes widen when I realize he's just called her by a Servant's title. "Jeez." He sighs, his shoulders slumping in defeat. "Why do you have to be so damn aggressive? You're like a pit bull, except less cuddly." The sword that's been pointed at me this entire time rearranges itself so it's aimed straight at my would-be defender's chest.

"Who the hell asked you?!" Pesci, this brat's loud. I use my pinky fingers to clog my ears in the hopes of being spared from her volume. The one ear's still not in prime condition quite yet, and I really don't want to damage it further just because this punk's decided her indoor voice has to be a hundred decibels.

I hold up a hand. "Now, now, we're getting sidetracked. I didn't even get a chance to tell you the rules."

A drop of sweat falls from her brow, and she rounds back on me with a grin that could turn a normal man's blood into slush. "Rules?! What rules could there possibly be for a duel?!"

I sigh, seemingly disappointed in her denseness. "First rule: no weapons. We're going to be civilized (for once)." She doesn't drop the sword, instead she points the tip of it at my neck. I give a thumb's down to Saber, as she already starts to materialize her own blade. She shakes her head, apparently detesting my command but following it to the letter regardless of her personal opinion.

"Think of this as an endurance challenge." I tip my chin in the direction of the bar. "We drink. The first to pass out loses."

The girl remains silent, pondering my words. Then, she comes to a decision, the sword going slack in her grip as she moves it away from me. Her grin shifts from cruel to cocky and I can tell she's going to give me a run for my money in this coming fight. "Very well. But only if you're buying."

I raise an eyebrow at her partner, sending him the unasked question. Should we tell her she's still wearing a dress? The cold sweat on his face tells me the distinct answer. Hell no.

---

Keith's POV

"Okay, that could have gone better" I think to myself as I watch Sab– eh, Berserker sneer as she grabs 'Praetor'. That's the name that Servant has given her Master, so I'll just go ahead and role with it. I shake off the water that was splashed on me earlier, thankfully it made me look more terrified then I am. I doubt she would kill me though. But it is still a possibility after all this. At least for now she's more focused on the guy that Jackson fived her with a molesting glove. I stare at Berserker's retreating back …. It acts like a beacon, drawing my sight in without my knowledge.

Perhaps it' a good thing I didn't tell Berserker she is still in the dress. I see crack, like plumber crack. I could insert a coin in that slot literally …. Hmm … no I don't think getting a coin and doing that would be the best idea right now.

"Is your Master really this crazy Saber?" I say to the real Saber who's moved to an undamaged table. Somehow the woman managed to snag the wine bottle out of Berserker's hands and has a glass prepared.

Said glass almost slipped from her hands after I said the words "Master" and "Saber". Her mouth is slightly agape. A fly would fly inside it if there was a living thing inside this café besides us six. This place looks like a wild west show happened here.

"Why are you so surprised?" I say with a smile. "Your "praetor" has been calling you "Saber" this entire time. You would have to be Forrest Gump to not notice by now. I'm going to go on a limb and say you're from Ancient Rome as well. On account of the term 'praetor' originating from there."

"I do not know what you are talking about." Saber says before taking a large gulp of wine. She looks away from me but I can tell she is embarrassed from not covering herself and her Master.

"Eh, that's fine with me. I've already forgotten what I said just a bit ago." I agree. It would be a waste to ruin the fun by bringing in the topic of the Grail. Besides, Berserker is enjoying herself.

"Another bottle!" My blonde Servant says as she tosses the empty bottle. The man, whom I'm assuming is a wannabe gangster based on his looks, just places the bottle politely to the side before saying something to Berserker. Berserker then glares harshly at him before she slams his head into the bar. Berserker then says something to Hibiki that causes her to pale considerably. The redheaded girl disappears into the backroom.

Like I said, she's having fun in her own special way.

"So were Roman parties this crazy or is this just an exception?" I ask, dusting off my red shirt as I walk to an unbroken chair. Sitting down I look at the look alike in red. I like her taste in color at least. I notice some differences between her and Berserker. Two big ones actually. How the hell can someone who is so short be so … big? Come to think of it, why the hell can I see underneath her dress?

"They were greater, more refined, and just as destructive." Saber sighs apparently lost in memory. While standing up, she tosses me Berserker's clothes. Thankfully there isn't a pair of panties or a bra contained in the neatly folded pile. A scholar and a gentleman, err, woman, this Roman is. "Hopefully that pale intimations of mine will dress appropriately before we meet again."

"Hmm, sorry but I doubt it." I say. The woman in red then sighs like the world is ending. I really don't want to listen to her knocking Berserker and praising herself. "But, perhaps you should try the style before shaming it? I bet you would look wonderful. "

Though the clothes I gave Berserker are men's clothes … due to certain reasons. Well, if this woman can walk around wearing what she is now she'd probably be fine with anything.

"... I will take notice of this. But do not think I'm doing this just because you said this. Praetor gets the final say in this matter." The woman says with a cocky smile and bright eyes.

This lady must be the largest ham ever. For some reason, I get the feeling that if her Master told her that she looked good in shabby hobo clothes she would wear it just to make it true. I don't voice that thought though. Women are capable of scorn harsher than the pits of hell.

I gesture to the half full wine bottle. Looking at the label I notice it was made in Italy, of all things. It's not a pink Moscato but I'd rather have it then have to go over and order a different drink. Those two are still drinking their livers to death, and I'd rather steer clear from that show. Saber nods as I pick up a red solo cup that was dropped on ground. Seems clean and it doesn't have any holes or anything. After pouring a glass, I take a sip and savor the taste.

"You have good taste, ma'am" I say out of respect. Her taste in wine is better than Lucy's. Her tastes are basically grab whatever shit has alcohol in it and drink it. I'll have to steal some of this later. Or order it.

"Oh? So you recognize my greatness!" Saber says as she basically gets in my personal space, her nose just inches away from mine before frowning. "Too bad you are far too meager in appearance."

What?

"If you dressed much brighter perhaps you would be at least something comparable to me." She looks at me as if I'm an eyesore.

"What's wrong with my clothes?" I glare at the servant. Red and Black are the best colors for blending together! "Besides aren't you wearing the same color of red as I am?"

Before the woman can reply, something hard hits me in the head. I can feel the spot already swelling.

"Hey! What the hell are you doing over there?!" I groan in pain as I see Berserker's enraged face. "Stop flirting with the whore already!"

The person in question just frowns at the insult tossed her way. She seems to take it well, all things considering, allowing it to roll off her like water off a duck's back. Or perhaps she's just able of looking past it considering the 'punishment' she treated Berserker to? Either way Berserker seems flushed. Is it the alcohol? The man she's "dueling" has an evil smirk on his face for some reason. Seating between them is…

"Is that a barrel?!" I almost shout. There was a barrel sitting between them. On each side there are large straws facing toward the two.

"Yeah, well stuff happened so we just decided settle in one go!" Berserker cheers. I give the barrel a slight shake noting how light it feels. How much did they drink?!

"Hah, we should of done this in the beginning." The man named Praetor says lazily. "It is ten times better than just drinking out the bottle." Below them are at least twenty or more empty bottles

"How the hell are you two not drunk and passed out yet."I ask as Saber stares wide eyed at her Master's achievement. For Berserker it was most likely due to being a servant but a human drinking all this and still coherent? Nothing short of amazing, that's for sure.

"So…." That green girl leans forward with a malicious smirk on her face. "Which one of you is paying for everything?"

The four of us look at each other. I know Berserker has no money.

"I don't mind splitting the bill with you?" I ask. "50/50?"

"Sure. I don't mind." The man says. He digs in his pockets with his bandaged hands while I do the same. I ask for the total and grimace as my partner in crime just shrugs it off nonchalantly. Something tells me he has been though far worse.

I end up giving money. While the other guy….

"What is this?" The green girl blood vessel seems ready to pop out of her forehead as she looks at the lint that is in her hands. I can't help but laugh.

"Let me guess, you're broke?" I chuckle.

"Yeah somebody took it and used it for something they shouldn't have …." The man glares at his servant whom seems ashamed for some reason.

"Fine I'll pay for it."

"What? You're going to pay for his share Keith?!" Berserker states as she jumps down from her seat.

"Considering he put up with your antics I think it's the least he deserves." I state. Berserker then grunts and looks away and starts walk out. I see crack again. "Before we leave, can you please, please change back into your clothes….people may think you're a stripper of some kind."

"What are you….?" Berserker then looks down and notices what she is wearing. With a growl she walks up to me and takes away her clothes before running off muttering and cursing all the way. I then take out extra money and place it on the table.

"That will cover the drinks sir." Hibiki says in a sing-song voice." What about the damages?"

I look over the place once more. It's like a wild boar rampaged in the place. Just for dramatic effect a table topples over suddenly and falls to pieces.

"It was like this when I got here." I say brushing back my hair. Saber's Master starts to laugh before Green smacks him across the face. Sighing I continue," Can you get me some pen and paper?"

I write down the number of a certain Lord in the Mage Association telling them that person will be more than happy to cover the damage. Saber seems antsy for some reason, like she has pee.

"I am happy you covered for my Praetor." The servant says with teary eyes. "I would sing a concert in your name but this place would not be able to contain my greatness."

"That's fine," I shrug. For some reason though I feel like I literally dodged a bullet." I just want one thing, what's your name oh dearest magistrate of Rome?

The man snorts before answering, "Dante."

"I am Keith, a pleasure to meet you." I say holding out my hand. Dante stares at it before shaking it. "Berserker, are you ready yet?"

"Shut up, I'm ready." My grumpy servant says as glares at Saber. "Just you wait whore; I'll make sure you pay!"

"Mmm, I look forward to such an occasion!" Saber says while Dante sighs loudly sounding like he wants to get out of there.

With that we go out, barely holding open the door and nearly running into man with shades and black hair as we do.

Dante huh? I really hope he is not an enemy in this grail war. Maybe he'd be a good ally instead?

"It's time to get back to business Berserker." I say looking at Berserker, who seemed uncomfortable. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing… it was just hard to remove all that wax from myself." Berserker revealed.

"Wax?"

---

Back to Dante's POV

Safe to say, I got banned from entering the shop ever again. I also got tossed outside. Who knew a sixteen-year-old light-weight could be so strong?

"Why did you think it was a good idea to out drink that woman, Praetor?"

I point an accusatory finger at my compatriot. "Hey, don't come at me with that! I was defending my honor, woman!"

She snorts, still somewhat off-put from the girl's comment. "Fine, despite the pettiness of such an act, I suppose I can let it slide. She was a rather vulgar woman was she not?"

"Yeah, and she looked just like you."

"Bah! As if. I am one of a kind. She may have been a fan to graft her features in my image, but she was nothing but a mere forgery of the original." Cue the raising of her nose at an acute angle along with the complimentary pout. Never change, Saber, Never change.

"Still, Praetor. While your anger was justified, I can't help but feel it was misplaced. Did you really need to insult our hosts?"

"They refused to serve me anymore!"

"You told them you were broke. What did you expect?"

"Customer service!"

"Is there such a thing as a penniless shopper?"

"Well who's fault was that?"

"Praetor, I apologized did I not? That is more than most will get from me, it would be foolish to desire more."

"I desire to have more than spare change in my pocket."

"I could put my hand in there if it would make you feel better?"

"How the hell would that help?!"

"It might make you feel less empty."

That … doesn't make any sense. But I can't help but feel uneasy. Almost as if she's struck a nerve I didn't know I had.

"At least it did not end in complete disaster." Saber walks over to me, and kneels beside my head; meeting my gaze with one of her own.

"I was thrown out. Literally."

"Yes, this may be true." She reaches down to me. "But at least that redheaded fellow was kind enough to pay your tab."

I grab her hand, grumbling slightly at the point she's made. "I don't particularly enjoy owing a debt to a stranger."

"Alas, Praetor. That is where you are wrong." Her hand clasps tightly around mind and I'm brought back to my feet. "He gave you his name. That makes him more than a stranger, does it not?"

Sheepishly, I scratch at the back of my head. "Would you believe me if I said I already forgot it?" And that was the truth. Though in my defense, he'd given my name in the middle of a drinking contest. Did he seriously expect me to remember it when I was guzzling down the piss of the gods? I could barely remember my own name! Let alone the name of someone I'd just met. The name I did remember was 'Berserker'. That's what he called that girl. So she was a Servant. Joy. But was she in this War? Unlikely, considering we'd already met the Berserker of this fight. *Cough Ben Grimm poser clone*. Hmm, perplexing. I shake off the suspicions that pass through my mind. There's no way there could be two Servants of the same class in a Grail War. No way.

My companion shakes her head in the negative, rousing me from my thoughts. The small grin on her face contradicts the movement, but it tells me she's at least slightly back into good spirits. "It would not surprise me in the least, Praetor." She straightens her posture, a satisfying pop coming from her back. "Come now, our moment of merriment has come to pass. It is time we continue on our journey."

I don't think that was really what you could call a 'moment of merriment'. The majority of that encounter was a drunken skirmish for supremacy. Still can't believe that Moss Head managed to toss me out of the place by the scruff of my neck. How the hell do people find tsunderes alluring when they're capable of such destruction? It's like being sexually attracted to a V2 rocket. Sure it's pretty and all when it's being armed and prepared for use, but it's not exactly something you'd want to be near when it goes kaboom.

"Praetor, as a proud Roman I cannot help but be impressed at how you indulged yourself in there." Her head bobs up and down in satisfaction. "Never before have I seen a man guzzle down a casket of wine in under a minute. With all due respect, should you not have died of alcohol poisoning Praetor?"

I shrug nonchalantly, brushing aside the absurdity of my actions. "After years of abuse I can't help but feel I've become immune to the negative repercussions of overindulgence."

"Eh? You mean to tell me you cannot get drunk?"

This bring a hearty chuckle to my lips. Not exactly, but I don't focus on going into detail, instead being amused by the implications of her question. "You consider that a negative?"

We walk in silence. I don't particularly care to explain. I can't really explain it to her. It's just a side effect of my existence.

"I suppose this means we have yet another thing in common. As a Servant, I find myself unable to become intoxicated as well." She shrugs. "Possibly because my body processes such things as food and drink faster than normal."

I nod, accepting her explanation. "I read somewhere that Heroic Spirits convert consumed food into pure prana to fuel them." Which is why it was so goddamn difficult to beat one. Not impossible, mind you, but improbable. A cheeky grin forms on my bruised and battered face. "You're like a freaking plant."

She smiles, closing her eyes and for some reason enjoying the comparison. "A plant, you say? In that case I must be a rose."

I step over a pothole in the road, taking a moment to ponder on how depraved the infrastructure on this side of town is. "Why a rose? I would have assumed you'd be an orchid, or some various other exotic and expensive species."

She laughs, the melodic sound drawing a comparison from my mind to a wind chime ringing in the breeze. "An orchid is a fine flower indeed, but it lacks the allure of a rose."

"Oh?"

"Yes, roses are far more elegant in their simplicity. In my opinion the orchid is too complex for its own good." She clears her throat, obviously considering her words heavily. "Why must there be so much added depth to beauty? It should be something that is abundantly apparent to the common viewer."

"I'd agree. What good is a masterpiece if no one appreciates it?" I don't know why I say that. Art isn't my thing. At least I never found it compelling, especially modern art. (I'm looking at you, Piss Christ.) But for some reason I can't help but answer her with that question. It just feels right. Like a gut feeling sort of thing. I can't really understand it.

She smiles softly at me. Are those … tears in the corners of her eyes? They're barely present, faint clues as to how emotional she is over this, but they tell me a story all on their own.

Whatever is going to be said in this conversation is going to be as important as when I said my piece after the encounter with Taiga. This is a game changer, something that'll shape our relationship forevermore.

"That makes sense. You seem to value practicality over all else, Praetor." She wipes at her eyes as I politely pretend to not notice. "And what value does art have without an audience to enjoy it?"

This is something completely out of my element. Don't get me wrong, pseudo-philosophical mumbo jumbo is a third of the bullshit that comes from my mouth. The other two-thirds are composed of sarcasm, jokes, and blunt insults. But as I've already said, art is not my cup of tea. I have no idea how to properly critique it, or how to speak of it. My knowledge on the matter is limited. As is my knowledge with most things that aren't pop culture or gun related. Wait … guns!

My hands go into my pockets as I begin whistling. "Hmm … who's to say you can't have an audience of one?"

Time seems to stop. Almost as if I've shattered the space time continuum with such a simple question. Saber stiffens as if taken aback by such an idea. "An 'audience of one'?"

I shrug, and begin to chew on my thumbnail, internally debating how I should best go about explaining this. "Well it's simple. You don't have to be a rock star to be a musician just like you don't have to be the next Picasso to be an artist." Once again, I shrug, trying my best to downplay what I'm saying in case it rubs her the wrong way.

"Think of it like this, is a gun useless if not everyone wants to use it? Is it worthless if only a few people praise it?" The blank look on her face tells me she has no clue where I'm going with this. I pantomime the action of ushering her forward; urging her to answer the question to the best of her ability. Of course, she doesn't really understand where I'm going with this.

"Why are we talking about weapons? I believe we were talking about art, Praetor?" Actually, we were talking about flowers which you sort of pulled a non-sequitur with by tying it to art. And now I'm essentially pulling a non-sequitur of my own to make some sense of this word salad we're calling a worthwhile conversation.

"I don't want to ramble on any more about this; but basically, this is how I see it: firearms are just as much a piece of art as a painting, song, or movie." Nowadays people consider video games to be art, an opinion which I can agree with. If that's the case who's to judge my opinion on what can or cannot be art? Just look at modern art. I shudder at the thought. If that can be considered art, an expertly crafted weapon can be. There's nothing more beautiful than a well-oiled machine, in my opinion at least. And just look at the pricier weapons out there. Those that are engraved up the wazoo. Those give Mona Lisa a run for her money.

"Ah." I was hoping for a more coherent response, but I suppose that'll have to do. At least it's not outright disagreement.

"Let's get off that topic." I clear my throat, hoping to make my voice as clear as possible. "Here's the thing, some people don't like .308 select fire rifles. They complain about recoil, the weight of the gun, and blah blah blah." I smile, a broad toothy grin encompassing the whole of my face. "Me? I love 'em. Can't get enough of them. 7.62x51 for days, baby."

"People call these rifles obsolete in war because 5.56 exists. And because a lighter round has a better velocity." I wave away that very compelling argument. "But me? I'd take a battle rifle any day. Can't get enough of those old war horses." I look her in the eyes, watching for any sign of tears that might fall. Then I hastily start to shake my hands, a physical remedy to any misunderstanding this might bring about. "Don't get me wrong, I still love me some 5.56. But I just feel like nothing can quite top those meatier rounds." Especially when you're hunting legendary heroes that can brush aside rockets to the face. Using anything less than a .338 Lapua on these things is equivalent to throwing a rock at a M1 Abrams.

"Get what I mean?"

She stares back into mine and then her view starts to scan over my face, seemingly memorizing the contours of my expression.

"Praetor, I have no idea what it is you are talking about."

I practically collapse in despair.

"But…"

Eh? 'But'?

"It seems to be making you happy. You should really smile more often." She covers her mouth with her hand, likely hiding a bout of laughter that's fighting to be heard.

I mirror her image, but instead of hiding my mouth I opt for hiding my entire face, courtesy of the good ole facepalm. "Ok, give me a sec to think of a better way to phrase this."

She obliges, sparing me an entire minute in silence as we walk back the way we came from.

"I got it!" In this spirit of victory, I pat her furiously on the back. Any other girl her size would probably fall over from the hits. But Saber? Well, let's just say my hand hurts a lot more than her back probably does.

"You like roses, right?"

She nods. "Why yes, Praetor. I believe I did say that?" Confusion laces her speech.

"But everyone loves roses!"

"Praetor, I still do not understand where you are going with this."

"Why does everyone love roses?!" Probably due to how roses are ingrained into our minds as the traditional symbol of romance and passion. But I'm not going to tell her that. Knowledge is a buzzkill in these situations.

For a brief moment, shock is broadcasted in her expression. Then, it's gone, replaced by comprehension as she slowly realizes the meaning of my words. Or rather, slowly realizes what my words mean to her. What? You think I'm an idiot? I got no shit as to what the hell I'm talking about. Of course I'm going to be vague as all hell. I have to let her come to her own conclusions; otherwise I'm going to sound like a moron talking about things I have no clue about.

"There can be only one reason!" Her hands go to her hips, and yet again the proud Emperor reigns supreme. Basking in the glory of her royal highness, I can't help but shade my eyes. What? I can barely hear out of one ear. I don't want to be barely able to see too.

"Everyone loves what I love!"

"…." I feel that's an accurate summary of how I reply to her. The actual message I relay back probably would be written down more like Morse code with how I'm clicking my tongue at her.

"Wonderful, this has been a most enlightening conversation, Praetor!"

"Oh Pesci, you're a whole seven layers of stupid, aren't you?"

Crickets.

"Excuse me?" Judging from her expression she's either going to break down in tears or throttle me within an inch of my life. I'm not sure which would be preferable.

I walk away from the wedding cake's worth of idiocy that is Saber. She's stunned, completely unable of formulating a proper comeback. Maybe it's because she wasn't expecting me to have the audacity to criticize her so harshly after how I attempted to be nice to her. Or maybe it's because her brain is stuck on loop processing ways to massacre me for the disrespect. I don't know the answer. I don't particularly care about the answer. All I know is I want to go home. Or at least the closest thing to a home I have now.

"Saber, I was basically saying arts subjective. Ok? And that it doesn't matter if people like what you like as long as you like what you like." My shoulders sag in defeat. "Should have probably worded that a lot better, and without the analogies, those probably confused you." The worst part about this is I'm fairly certain underneath her obliviousness Saber's not stupid. Naïve, maybe, but not dumb. She just acts dumb. Why is this the case? Beats me. Perhaps she intellectually coddled? I'm going to have to work on building her common sense.

"That's where I was going with all that. Capisce?"

The reaction I get from her is a blank look. "Praetor, for someone that preaches the values of simplicity you tends to have a needlessly complex means of explaining things."

She sighs, a tired, aged sound that reminds me I am in fact dealing with someone that's close to two thousand years old. "Originally your title was brought about by your occupation as a Magus, but I am starting to think that word's connections to the legislators of my time is the real reason I have given it to you." Another sigh, damn I must have really stumped her. "Only a politician would explain something in such a convoluted manner." Why does she sound bitter when she says that? Oh wait, Nero; the Senate; all that jazz; makes sense.

"Let's just agree that roses are nice flowers and your taste is impeccable."

"Agreed."

Man, I can't help but release a breath in relief now that I'm done with that. It definitely could have gone better, but I don't feel like I failed some sort of speech check or anything. I might have stumbled along there, but Saber doesn't seem angry with me or anything. Granted, that's not exactly something I'm worried about, but it's good to avoid an argumentative relationship.

At least in some regards.

"Praetor, we are being followed."

"Hmm?"

"They see to be above us, jumping from roof to roof."

As subtly as possible, I divert my gaze away from her and up to the rooftops above us. Sure enough, there's a shadowy figure parkouring from building to building.

"Looks like we got ourselves an urban ninja."

"Or a genuine one."

I can't help but snort in amusement. "As if. If that's the Assassin of this war, then we've got nothing to fear." Either they have E rank Presence Concealment, or it's not Assassin.

"Perhaps they want us to know of their presence?"

An intriguing idea and one I don't have the time to question.

"Praetor, dead ahead."

What? I'm unable to even vocalize my thoughts. My mouth closes shut, seemingly of its own volition. I swallow my saliva, taken aback by the current change in the air.

This feels just like that moment before we were attacked.

It's the calm before the storm. Another enemy has just arrived. In addition to that one is watching us on the rooftops. A two on one fight between Servants? Or a three-way free-for-all? Either way, things aren't looking good for us.

They're looking even worse for the nightlife surrounding us.

Somewhere during our conversation we'd stumbled into a street party. Hookers, junkies, wannabe thugs, all of them surround us, grinding on one another. One bumps into Saber, thinking she's just another piece of meat. I don't hesitate to slam the side of my hand into his nose.

Saber gasps at the blood on my hand. As for me? I nonchalantly wipe it off on the fallen man's shirt, bending down to do so and using the moment of shock to observe the crowd surrounding us.

I seem to be a hypocrite. I criticized Taiga for being rusty, and yet I seem to be in a similar shape. "Guess two years of sitting on your ass doesn't help." I mumble this to myself, ignoring Saber. The crowd hasn't even realized one of their members has been rendered unconscious. One guy accidentally steps on him, the action sending a loud crunch throughout the night.

I didn't even notice we were walking into this. Saber didn't either, or could it be that she just didn't care?

Regardless this can be nothing but problematic.

The stranger on the roofs could snipe us. The likely foe in front of us could trample through this crowd and catch us in the crossfire. Both could be working together. A battle could result in dozens dead; with both Saber and I among the body count.

I force my mouth to open, fighting the survival instinct telling me to keep it shut to avoid attention.

"Guess this means the War's on." I sigh, an arduous task considering how the air itself has grown heavy with tension. "Troublesome." I should have expected this. That creature from the other night had attacked us, which means the War has been going on for at least three or so days. And that's just assuming it had started with Saber's summoning. I hope that's the case. I have eyes across the city, but not to the extensive degree I'd need them to be in order to know everything that's going on. A few familiars, a few bribed officials, some gang members turned employees, they're good for keeping me informed but even they can't know everything.

There were those reports in the news about murders increasing in Fuyuki, I can only expect that's part of all this. That means someone started mobilizing before me. I can only pray that there haven't been any battles in my moment of absence.

"Saber, they're definitely not friendly." I wasn't prepared for this. Dammit! My fist pounds against my skull in frustration. It's late at night. Witnesses don't guarantee safety. Magi were immoral bastards (and that's coming from me). Collateral damage was a given with them involved. To some, innocent bystanders were merely a minor annoyance.

A gyaru tries to shove her ass in my face. I push her off. She comes back. "Oooh, yeah, spank it baby!" She's got a harsh accent, indicating that English is not her first language. At least she tried, I guess. Gotta look on the bright side, Dante. You now have a potential human shield in the event of a fight.

Saber, for some reason, doesn't enjoy that particular idea. She grabs the woman by her shoulders and flings her deeper into the mass of bodies around us.

"Praetor, this is no time for play. They will be upon us soon." How the hell can you know …?

Even my thoughts grow still at the scent that washes over me. Absentmindedly I notice the shadow above us recoil in disgust. I can't help but giggle.

I mean, what else is one to do when surrounded by the scent of blood?

The crowd stops. Just like that. No more dancing. No more laughter. The J-Pop booming out of a Bluetooth speaker is the only sound. Everyone figuratively transforms into statues, as if Medusa herself had come down upon them. And considering the way this War works, that wouldn't be entirely surprising.

"Hmm, at least it's not that beast from the other night."

I can't help but be optimistic. Cynicism is my shtick, but right now I can't let my pessimism cloud my judgment. Sadly, I'm still ever so slightly tipsy. But hey, I don't think that's as bad as it would be normally. It'll numb some of the pain I'm likely to feel in the coming moments.

I stand up, stretching after kneeling for so long. "We fight them here."

"But the people–!"

"Will provide excellent cover." I interrupt before Saber can say more.

Disbelief. That is the emotion that covers Saber's visage. That is the response to my statement.

"Goddamn, you're easy to fool." The Pico comes out, pointed straight into the night sky. A single shot is all it takes to turn these statues into a screaming mob running for safety. My Pico became a starter pistol, and it did an excellent job at signaling the runners to take off for the finish line. That finish line being the preservation of their lives.

One practically clothesline's me in his haste. Of course, my reaction to his carelessness is a knuckle sandwich to the face. Hey, if everything goes wrong (when everything goes wrong) I can use him and the other dipshit I knocked out to form a barricade.

Granted, two unconscious dudes stacked on top of one another like pancakes won't exactly rival a wall of sandbags or anything, but it'll still be hilarious to see how the enemy will react.

The group of party goers parts in front of me, and for a moment I feel like Moses splitting the Red Sea. It's a short-lived moment because the shifting of the crowd gives me full view of our 'guest'.

The guy is directly in front of me. The only thing separating us is fifty feet of sidewalk and a handful of drunken hooligans fleeing for their lives. He looks to be in his late forties, maybe even fifties. I'm not exactly sure since I've never been good with telling age. Though his gray hair shows he has to be at least of a decent age. I'll admit, I'm a bit envious of the guy's facial hair. It puts my patchy disgrace to shame.

If it ended there then the guy would be your average aging tourist. What separates him from the average Joe has to be a combination of his red eyes and the fact that he's wearing goddamn plate armor.

Black plate armor to be specific, and to drive home the point that he's some glorified badass has to be the left side of said plate armor being entirely stained with blood.

I didn't even know armor could stain. This guy had to be a serious lazy ass to neglect cleaning his armor to the point where it actually stained. The blood on it is akin to an alcohol stain in the shag carpet of a 1970s Volkswagen bus.

As in it's everywhere and really noticeable. Hasn't he heard of waxing?

The best part is how he has a red cape attached to the front. It's all tattered as if the guy just went through hell and back. The fact that it's a cape just makes me happy for some strange inexplicable reason. On second thought, it's not so strange or inexplicable. I can pinpoint exactly why his cape makes me happy. It allows me to picture this guy wearing his underwear on the outside with tights on. So it is a good idea to picture people in their underwear when you're nervous? Makes sense. Mockery is the best form of stress release.

The man raises his arm, and a flurry of bats launches out from underneath the cape. Oh great, I'm dealing with a wannabe Batman.

The flying fur balls obscure my direct line of sight with the guy, meaning that for a whole five seconds I'm unsure as to where he is. In those five seconds I realize two things.

One- I should have grabbed Saber and ran into the crowd when I had the chance.

And two- Even the slowest Servant moves a million times faster than an average human.

Those two thoughts race through my head as what I can only assume to be the Lancer of this War thrusts his spear straight into my chest.

Or … he tries to.

A sword blocks it, wielded by none other than Saber. The determination in her eyes tells me all I need to know. No matter what, she will not let me down.

I await the third blow, that of the enemy on the roofs. Surely they will capitalize on this development? I wince, prepared for the inevitable. Will it come as a knife in the back? Or perhaps they're the Archer of this War, and I'll be ended from a distance?

A brief moment passes, and nothing happens. That might not be entirely true. Saber slams her fist into the stomach of the Servant directly in front of me. Surprisingly it actually does some damage, sending the guy a few feet backwards and giving Saber and I some breathing room.

"Grassy ass."

There are a few things that I'll always remember in my life, a few beautiful images that will forever be entwined in my memories. The poleaxed expression on Saber's face that forms once her mind registers what I've just said is going to be one of those images I hold dear.

"What?"

I cough into my closed fist. "Forgive me; my pronunciation has always been terrible. Gracias."

Her confusion dissipates, replaced with a smile as her inner Google Translate deciphers what I'm saying. "Think nothing of it, Praetor. You would have done the same." Oh? How can you be so sure?

"You never intended to harm them." Damn, must be thinking aloud once again. What the hell is she talking …. Ah. The crowd.

"It would have been … discomforting to fight amongst corpses. That's an experience I'd rather not repeat."

She opens her mouth, likely to ask about the first experience I'm implying occurred. She doesn't get a chance to. An object blurs before my eyes. And just like that she's on the defensive, her blade locked with Lancer's spear. She's cringing, likely because of the strength in her opponents blow. My vision can't process his movements, and it's not because he's fast or anything like that. It's because with every swing he's displacing the very air around him, cutting up gusts of wind that obscure his motions.

He's not fast. No, quite the contrary, he's slow as molasses. But that doesn't matter. He's strong. Ungodly strong. Incomprehensibly strong. In fact, from just seeing him in action I can say with clear certainty that he'd beat the monster from our last fight in arm wrestling.

For an old geezer this sonofabitch certainly packs a punch. Saber's heels crack the pavement before slowly starting to sink into the ground. Once again she's being overpowered by an enemy with more muscle than her. Once again she's forced to be on the defensive because of my presence.

I have no doubt she could defeat him. His stats are impressive for a Servant, but depressing for a Lancer. At least, that is what I am assuming he is. Maybe I'm making an ass out of you and me with that assumption? Lancers are supposed to be the fastest are they not? And despite that the mustachioed man in front of me is quite lacking in the speed department.

You want to know what he's not lacking in? Oomph. He's certainly got a lot of brawn. And I'm also gonna go out on a limp and say he's not exactly lacking in brain either. He avoids the tired old cliché of locking blades with the enemy while you gloat, and instead decides to take advantage of Saber's position. By "take advantage" I of course mean he cheats.

His armored boot lifts up, an act that would be tantamount to suicide in a close quarters brawl. Normally this would be a foolish maneuver, one that Saber could easily exploit by pushing him back. Without two feet holding him in place our foe would comically fall on his ass. Then why isn't that what happens?

Saber certainly tries to knock him down. She puts her all into it, pushing desperately against his guard. The guy doesn't so much as budge. I notice why. His other foot, the right one, in buried several feet into the ground. His initial attack not only pushed Saber into the earth, but it took him down with her. What a fatass.

Maybe now's not the time for petty insults to lighten the mood. Why you ask? Well, simple. His foot comes down. Hard. It's target? Saber's knee.

There's a loud crack. Like the thunderclap following a bolt of lightning. It's a sickening sound, one that's accompanied by an equally disgusting pop. A noise that sounds almost identical to the sound of someone cracking their knuckles.

You know what's worse? Saber's cry. An anguished scream that she fights desperately to cut off before it can overcome her. I watch as she bites down on her lip, keeping her mouth shut to avoid showing weakness. She glances back at me, tears convalescing in the corners of her eyes due to the pain. Those same eyes harden once she focuses on my face. I'm not showing fear. I'm not showing concern. I'm not even showing fury.

There's only one word for the expression on my face.

Acceptance.

This fight has spiraled out of control in barely a minute. Saber's gone from the defensive to the defenseless. And where do I fit into all this? I'm a minor distraction, nothing more than a blip on the radar. A liability.

Am I going to have another badass moment in this? Am I once again going to have to risk it all in the face of absolute defeat? No. This battle's different.

The monster from our last conflict was an uncontrolled mess. A rapid dog let off his leash. Easily distracted, easily manipulated. I held him off. I distracted him. And then, because he chose to focus on me too late, I managed to overwhelm him.

That won't happen in this fight. These are the monsters that truly concern me. The ones in control.

Were I to pull the same stunt and fire an RPG at this senior citizen he'd surely cut it in half with that glorified toothpick of his. All I'd do is catch Saber in the blast radius. A blast radius she's too injured to avoid.

And that's even assuming I can spare the precious few seconds to build the weapon.

No. I know what's going to happen, and that's why I'm not scared, worried, or angry.

Saber probably assumed I was accepting her defeat, already writing her off like all the others before me. She probably assumed I was going to run and use her as bait to save my own skin. I can't blame her. A few years ago and I wouldn't have hesitated to do such a thing.

But now? I'm not accepting her death. I'm accepting my own.

I'm going to use all three Command Spells. That'll give her enough time to find a new Master, one that's more observant of his/her surroundings.

Then I'm going to charge at this Lancer, and I'm going to kill him. I don't know how I'm going to do it, but so help me God I'll do it.

That's what I need to do. Because that's my true goal in this War.

I told Saber I was doing it to protect this city, and that's true. What wasn't true was the reason I want to protect this city.

I'm doing it because I want to be remembered.

And being a hero is the easiest way to become a legend.

I take a step forward, surprising my Servant who assumed I would take one back. I watch as the sadness in her eyes washes away, replaced by disbelief, and finally disappointment. Likely in how she jumped to conclusions about what I'd do.

Finally, I see that emotion I've been waiting to see. The one that lets me keep walking forward towards an enemy I can't beat.

Hope.

Hope in me. Hope in herself. Hope in our chances for victory.

This is a clusterfuck of a fight, one that's caught us all unaware. Saber didn't expect to be incapacitated. I didn't even expect a fight to happen. I've been enjoying myself too much, stumbling from one moment of comedic relief to the next. To the extent that I'm just now remembering how close things came in our last fight. How I could have very easily faced worse injuries than the ones I had. How the bandages wrapping my hands and arms could have been casts and how if Saber were a normal human her leg would likely be in a cast in the aftermath of this fight.

How quickly can a Heroic Spirit regenerate without a Master? Can they even do so?

Whatever, it won't be my problem soon enough.

I take another step forward. Lancer's upon Saber once again. His spear clashes with her sword. Saber holds strong despite her wounds, broken knee spurting blood as she tries to put most of her weight on her good one, continuing to believe in her chances of victory despite very clearly fighting a losing battle.

Despite her efforts and speed more lacerations are added and her clothing is torn as her defense is comprised. Soon the spear digs like a hungry beast into her left shoulder making it fall useless against her side as gore darker then her crimson dress spills onto the ground. Still, Saber valiantly fights to defend me.

This shouldn't have been the case. She should beat him easily. What's the variable stopping her from doing this? Me. My presence is causing her to hold back. She is avoiding the use of her Noble Phantasm. Is it to keep her identity secret from me? Or is it because it's so powerful I'd be harmed with its use? Either way I am holding her back.

Saber's strikes soon become like a wilted rose as she becomes more desperate. The bloody old man relishes this, kicking the Emperor in the gut with a faint crack reverberating throughout the evening night.

Saber's ribs just broke. With an undignified scream of pain, the blonde falls to her back. Lancer's cheek is covered with the crimson liquid of the Emperor of Rome. Slowly, the geezer's tongue comes out slurping up the lifeblood of his prey, much like savoring the taste of a fine meal.

I take another step forward.

Despite the pain, Saber stands up, ichor coming out of her mouth as she does. Her green eyes, once bright and proud were now dull and lifeless. But there was still grim determination in her eyes. Slowly she raises her blade with her one good arm and readied herself. Lancer smiles sadistically, enjoying this as much as a cat plays with a rodent before devouring it whole.

One last step forward, the dirty and stained bandages that covered my right hand fall to the ground, tossed aside like all the other litter in this street. My fingers wrap around the slender rusted neck of a streetlight, the metal feels cool to the touch and it soothes my aching and damaged flesh.

"Is your Master watching through your eyes? Or are they observing us in person?" My voice comes out clear as day in the dark setting of this night. Saber's knees buckle, her bad one causing her to jerk in pain as droplets of plasma fall to the pavement beneath her. The area around the woman in crimson is stained in a darker crimson due to all the injuries inflicted, her arm drips as she coughs up more blood. The white of her outfit is mostly stained red. Saber has no choice but to use her sword to prop herself lest she fall on her face.

Our enemy pauses for a millisecond, seemingly debating with himself over whether or not he should indulge me. That or he is enjoying Saber's bleeding spectacle. Then, he does what is quite possibly the rudest thing to do to a foe in combat. He looks away from Saber, not at all caring about her as he answers my inquiry. Saber herself takes a notice of this, anger on her pale face.

"My wife, the splendid being she is, would never dream of missing my first slaughter in this heretical War." Ah. So he's capable of speech at least. Though the low rumbling of his voice that promises bloodshed tells me he's not at all used to civil conversation. Go figure. The living murder machine isn't a gentleman. Color me surprised.

At least I've given Saber something to go off of. So if I die I might not die in vain. The enemy Master we're facing is either one of three things. stupid, arrogant, or sadistic. That narrows it down to … like half of the world's population. Aw hell, who am I kidding? It's probably bare minimum two-thirds.

"Is she a coward? Only a pansy would watch a fight instead of participating." I'm throwing some shade at that sonofabitch on the roofs. I'm not 100% sure over whether or not that's his Master. It could also be another Servant if we're particularly unlucky tonight.

There's a brief respite in all this. Lancer abruptly pushes Saber away from him, the movement jostling her body and earning quite a few agonized grunts from her.

Then, Batman stands up from his combat stance. His back straightens from the slouch he was in. Both hands grasp onto his spear, instead of just the single one that once held it. He looks me straight in the eyes, and for a period of time red meets bronze.

And just like that I know I've underestimated him.

I'm not going to even get a chance to defend myself.

---

AN: First off I'd like to once again apologize for the wait. I really missed my time schedule with this chapter. Mainly because I kept going back to this chapter thinking "You know what this needs? Another thousand words sprinkled in for extra flair." Also I've been spending more time at a local gun range in order to research some of the less 'documented' aspects of shooting you don't see in movies and video games. I.e. gunsmoke burning the ever living shit out of your eyes and throat while gunshots practically deafen your dumbass for daring to only wear cheap disposable earplugs. I'm hoping it'll end up adding something to the fight scenes. I'd do the same with swords (in order to get a grasp on how Nero would fight) but I'm not exactly 'open' to the idea of getting my ass wrecked in a HEMA course. And don't even get me started on attempting Pankration, lol. Major Kudos to any of you that into wrestling, boxing, or MMA, your manlier men than I XD. Which means you guys won't be seeing Nero in her 'gladiator mode' (or whatever it's called in Extella) wrestling with Jabberwocky as she reenacts Hercules' killing of the Nemean lion. Now with that out of the way, time to address the reviews! And my God, you guys have given me plenty to work with :D. Thanks a bunch!

Gundam-Knight-Chris: Woah boy, calm down! There's going to be plenty more slapstick in the future, trust me you'll get your fill. And that's not even considering all the stuff that went down this chapter XD.

Anthem of the Night: I see exactly what you mean. It's so much easier to write a 'good guy' type of character like Shirou than it is to write a mentally unstable lunatic. Hence why you might notice Dante slowly toning it down as the story continues. It's practically impossible to understand what an insane person would act like without first hand experience. I wish I could give some advice, but the most I can think of is that it's sometimes better to underthink things than it is to overthink them. Otherwise you'll never be satisfied with a chapter and it'll be perma-hiatus. Thanks for the compliment on Taiga, I felt really anxious about including her but still decided to go for it because of how impressed I was with her yakuza boss design in Grand Order. That just left open so many opportunities to use her in a story about a guy that's obsessed with mafia culture. Well ... those are both really good ideas you have there, but unfortunately I went a completely different less serious and more comedic route. Believe me, though, when I say those types of scenes will come up really soon. But it won't be in a bar, it'll be in the mansion in a more private setting.

Synthetic Knight: Aye aye Captain! Thanks for the praise, I intend to give it my all!

Guest: I like that idea. I really, really like that idea. Dante getting called in as a specialist by the Church to help them a la Bazett. But. And this is going to be a big but. I have another idea. Shirou Kotomine (a Shirou without Kiritsugu) summoning Dante Di Prinzi as the Assassin of the Fifth Holy Grail War. Eh? Eh? If that sounds too ridiculous, well I have numerous, NUMEROUS, other ideas on how to go about shoehorning this inglorious bastard into UBW or Heaven's Feel. I'd imagine Dante and Cu would hit it off. But ... what about Dante and Romulus? It'd be like meeting your girlfriend's father by accident at the grocery store, only for them to end up being an ex-Navy Seal!

King0fP0wers: First of all big thanks for how you went and made and account in order to fav and follow this story. That's some dedication man, and I salute you for it! Jesus Christ, that comparison nails it right on the dot, lol. I wasn't even thinking about those guys when I whipped up Taiga's men, I just thought "let's make a so-called yakuza bodyguard task force into a bunch of morons and see how it goes". But there's so many comparisons between them and Bartolomeo's gang it's ridiculous. This just begs the question of how Taiga would fair if she replaced him as the captain? Eh, I'd have to watch Tokyo Ghoul before making a call on that, lol. But I'm definitely open-minded on the possibilities. As for Dante's associate ... well, I don't have a strict reference for who he's modeled after but he'll definitely draw some similarities in your mind. He's basically going to be a Dante's ex-parole officer that decided it'd be kind of fun to join him in his entrepreneurship. As for what inspired me to write this: crack (not the drug, the genre) Monty Python, Deadpool, and a love for taking something serious (the Grail War in this case) and turning it upside down on its head. You know, if I were to do a "Dante as a Master" story in Zero I'd probably have him summon Caster anyway. Tamamo would be an interesting contender (going to comment on this in one of my other responses) but I was also thinking about a certain devil that corrupted a certain German man by the name of Faust. And by God you're a genius with that Hans suggestion. You don't know how frustrated I am about not being able to figure out a way to wiggle him in this story while also keeping Alice and Nursery Rhyme as Caster. There would be something so satisfying about having Dante and him attempting to one-up each other in snark. At the expense of Gil, Arturia, and Diarmuid, lol. Archimedes is another interesting choice, but he seems too ... stoic to fit Dante that well. I'd imagine he'd be more of the straight man to Dante's funny man, and that does have some potential. Shakespeare is another good possibility. And just imagine if Dante summoned adult Waver, Dress of Heaven Irisviel, or Magical girl Ilya as a Servant? Merlin would be equally hilarious, just to see the look on Arturia's face.

SilverstormXD: Woohoo I'm in the 'favorite authors' category XD! Having all of your favorites update at the same time sounds a lot like Christmas to me. It's a whole lot better than waiting for someone to update a story for months. I'm looking at you 'Path of the King'! What the hell is taking so long?! It's been ten months, man ;_;! I really need to go ahead and get into Constantine than if that's the type of character he is. I love the trickster types. It's why I'm always a Rouge type of character in video games given the option.

Guest 2: That's the biggest compliment I can hear, believe it or not! I hope to take it up to twelve next!

Mango eater 24: First of all love the username. Mangoes are the greatest fruit on earth. Second only to the papaya. Second of all: Why?! Why would you tempt me with such an idea?! I might have said this or I might not have, but I sort of regret not having Dante summon Tamamo instead of Nero. Tamamo would get along with him better, but I ultimately chose Nero because I liked the conflicting personalities they'd clash with. But there's one reason I can't use Tamamo in this. Alice! There has to be at least one loli with a homicidal Hulk guarding them per story. It's like an unwritten quota that must be filled, lol. In all seriousness my problem with including Tamamo right now is the same problem I have with my desperate attempts to fit in Hans. I can't think of a good way to explain why there's more than one Servant of the same class without turning this into an Apocrypha. And while that idea is enticing, I don't feel I'm skilled enough to do it justice considering there'd be so many characters that wouldn't get enough spotlight. But! And this is a big, but! If I were to ultimately turn this into a fourteen Servant war, Tamamo would be a strong contender for best girl XD.

Guest 3: You make a good argument. I counter it with one word. Mormons. When have harems ever done anything spectacular for Mormons besides turn them into the blights of society and the butt end of a million and one jokes? Lol. As for your question, well my answer's a resounding 'hell yes'. I plan on finishing this story first, but after that the sky's the limits. I'm not sure if I'll keep Dante as an MC, branch out to another OC, or even write using just canon characters. Something tells me that I'd like to toss Dante in various setting first just to see how much he can piss off the local populace. Hopefully you've sort of seen a hint as to how he'd get along with Mordred in this chapter.

Now for an announcement. The 9th chapter is practically finished as of now. I just need to edit it and whatnot, but it shouldn't take as long as this chapter to get posted. I plan on updating it and the tenth (which is also in the works) and then taking a short hiatus on this story while I go back to working mostly on my other story Transparent for about a month or so. Just a quick heads up for any of you that might be curious as to whether or not I gave up on that one.