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.

11. Sympathy for the Devil

Disclaimer: Dante reaches the next bond level with Nero this chapter, but instead of unlocking new material on her Servant page he's releasing her true potential. The power of the Umu. Best prepare your radiation suits in advance because you're not going to be able to handle this without some sort of protection, lol. Also, apologies in advance for the massive amount of exposition going on here, but I felt it best to give a good idea of how Dante works and what drives him.

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Chapter 11- Sympathy for the Devil

Turns out I was missing more in the 'essentials' department that I even knew. Claymores, C4, thermite, pounds upon pounds of the stuff is scattered around the mansion. So much so that I resist the urge to light the newly acquired cigarette I'm currently caressing. Where did I get a pack of cigarettes? I … 'requisitioned' it for the war front.

The boys had gone all out. By this I mean they'd gotten me practically everything I could ever need. Well … not everything. I mean, how the hell could they find me a mint condition 1952 Mickey Mantle baseball card in such a short time? They may have pulled off a miracle with this supply run of theirs, but no one's that perfect. Especially not these guys. They're stooges. And not the loveable trio kind.

I'm following Saber to the kitchen, trailing behind her ever so slightly so I can take a moment to do two things. First: brainwashing myself to selectively hear things. If I succeed I won't be able to notice the autistic screeching coming from outside. Second: making a mental checklist of all the crap I just got as an early Christmas present.

Besides the explosives, there's also an absurd number of firearms. I'd made the Trench Gun myself, sparing no time bringing that blast from the past into the present. But I hadn't made the other miscellaneous shit scattered around. I can't even list them all from memory. I know there was a RPD somewhere in the mix. Along with a vintage Romanian AKM, wooden front hand grip and all.

A couple other Combloc guns were tossed in their as well. Most of which were meant to be sold later. Though it's not like any of the boys would complain if I were to take a few for personal use. After all, I was the guy that bought them. The main attraction was the anti-material rifle they brought with them. A GM6 Lynx, a bullpup semi-auto .50 caliber rifle of Hungarian design. That sight had made me practically drool out of delight.

I'd probably claim the AK and let the rest go up for sale. As much as I lusted for the Lynx, it just lacked something in the class department. I mean, nothing's classier than a .50 cal, but the Lynx, in particular, hasn't built a name for itself in the notoriety department. That's more important than you'd think. The only people that knew about it were either hardcore gun nuts, like myself, Hungarian vets, and Call of Duty connoisseurs.

I have something in mind for the anti-tank role. Besides the RPG of course. Why stop at resuscitating just the Trench Gun? I have an entire century's worth of quality weapons to use. All I have to do is pick one from my memory and it'll be mine.

"Seems your men decided to grant you adequate provisions as well, Praetor." Saber's voice came from the kitchen. I didn't even notice I'd stopped following her halfway through my rambling thoughts. There's a joke here regarding women rushing to the kitchen. I'm not going there. Yet. "There are enough rations here to last us till the end of the war."

"Woman, there's enough food there to last us for the rest of our lives."

Her response is a hearty chuckle. "I did not take you for a light eater, Praetor." Light?! There's enough food in that kitchen to feed an army! What the hell would be considered 'heavy' then?!

"Yeah, I'm on a diet." I dryly mutter, ignoring the soft tinkling of laughter that is my response.

"What's so funny you fucking asshole?!" I'm sorry? Did any of you hear something? I could swear I just heard a little boy insult me from behind the safety of a motherfucking wooden door. Does this twerp not know I could kill him without even seeing him?

"Praetor, I would say you're in adequate shape for the tasks at hand. Nonetheless, it is quite encouraging to see you view conditioning your body as highly as I do." She beams at me as I finally waltz into the kitchen. I ignore her, instead opting to pick up a gas mask laid haphazardly on one of the dining chairs.

"Israeli design, nice choice." Though I doubt I'll need it. Unless of course Aum Shinrikyo starts gaining traction again. The odds of that happening are slim to none. The odds of them getting wind that the Holy Grail is in Fuyuki are even slimmer.

"Really, Praetor? I understand the … weaponry, but what use could you possibly have for a mask?" Saber walks up to me, her heels clicking against the tile floor.

I narrow my eyebrows at her. "'Be prepared.' Have you ever seen what anthrax can do to the human body?" Her silence is all the answer I need. "Neither have I. I'd rather keep it that way, if you don't mind."

All in all, this place looks like an absolute dump, which isn't exactly surprising considering I'm fairly certain the guys that dropped this off just drove a forklift in through the front door. I'd managed to get the crafting supplies and ammunition into the cellar, but the rest of the stuff was mostly just laid around haphazardly. Thank Pesci the ATF doesn't exist in Japan. I'd probably get raided a la Waco if they did.

"Fine, I concede that point. And what of all this junk? What use is there for it?"

I shrug, deciding that's the best way to respond. "Distractions. Intimidation. Fun. Take your pick." She sighs, still smiling despite doing so. Something's off about her, she seems … happier?

"I wish I could argue against that, but I do not have the heart to." She chuckles to herself. "But why do you need fully built weapons when you created them from nothing in our last battle?"

While stretching to grab some plates from a cupboard I think of how to best answer her. "Well, I suppose there's nothing to gain in keeping you in the dark."

The befuddled expression on her face warms my heart. "Keeping me in the dark?" And then it's gone, replaced by one of the scariest glares I've ever had the displeasure to be on the receiving end of. "What are you hiding from me, Praetor?"

I start unstacking the plates before me. One. Two. Three. "'Hiding' is such an … exaggeration." I look up at her. "I prefer the term 'avoiding'. Mainly because we're on a limited time schedule. Any moment spent explaining thing would be a waste." Complete bullshit, I know. I am the guy that rambles on about everything from my opinion of a movie star to my view on war.

"Praetor." Ok, she doesn't even feel the need to elaborate on why that's bullshit. We both know rambling is my greatest gift and curse wrapped into a single package. The exasperation in her voice almost makes me pity the poor girl. Maybe for Christmas I'll get her a pair of earmuffs? That way I can ramble and she won't have to listen. Then I'll have a pretty good excuse as to why I chose not to fully explain my combat capabilities to her.

Holy shit, I just realized something. How ironic would it be to get Emperor Nero a Christmas present? That has to be like forty-seven different variations of blasphemy right there.

"In my defense, I find crime, guns, and cinema to be far more stimulating conversational topics." The look in Saber's eyes tells me she's not amused. Really. Really. Not amused.

I raise my hands in defeat, surrendering to the superior debating skills of my colleague. "Fine. Fine. Like I said, there's not really a reason to keep you in the dark." I squirm underneath her heated gaze. "At least not anymore."

"Praetor, I dislike very few things on this Earth. I would hope that to be unsurprising considering how much of an exquisite wonder this world is." She points a finger directly at me. "One of those things I dislike just so happens to be secrets." And then, just like that all semblance of seriousness leaves her.

"It is not fair! An Emperor should not be the last person to know something! I should be the first!" She starts stomping her feet like a child. "Especially when it pertains to you! Did you not say you trusted me to bring you victory?! Were those just empty words?" She starts sniffling, tears pooling in the corners of her eyes. I don't know whether to feel ashamed of myself or disgusted from her blubbering.

"You know, I like to think of trust as being made up of layers. Like an onion."

"An onion? Praetor, you do know not everyone likes onions?" Shit. Shit. Shit. She's questioning it! Plan B! Man the battle stations! Cue the Smash Mouth music! Let's ramp up my debating skills to the max, yo!

"Well, you see, ogres and onions are very similar. Trust is similar to ogres and onions as well. They all have layers."

I think I just gave her an aneurism. That's a good sign!

"Trust, like onions and ogres, is very complex. There's different sides to it. It's very hard to be absolutely trustworthy. Just like it's very hard to be an absolute ogre or an absolute onion."

I nod as if this makes complete sense. "Because if you're an absolute ogre you're so ugly everyone dies. And if you're an absolute onion you make everyone cry. No one wants everyone to die and cry, do they?" Rhetorical question is rhetorical. "So that's why when I say I trust you to win I'm not saying I'm going to share every intricate little detail of my personal life. Trust me when I say you don't want to know. TMI and all that."

Her eyes are twitching uncontrollably and she looks like she's lost the ability to blink. But hey, at least she's not crying.

"Praetor." She takes a shallow breath. "I have no idea what you just said to me. My mind blanked out from the sheer idiocy you managed to convey in thirty seconds. I say this not to be condescending, but in complete earnestness. Please. Whatever you just told me. Never say it again." She exhales deeply. "Just explain to me how you can trust me without fully trusting me?"

"Ok, you trust me, right?"

"With my life."

A blank stare is my best response. Followed by a rather deadpan line. "What did you say your real name was again?"

She blinks. One. Twice. "I … did not say at all?" Her brow furrows in frustration. "Really Praetor, is this truly your best attempt at derailing our conversation?"

My face and my palm embrace in a glorious attempt at bonding with one another. Platonically of course. There is definitely not going to be any saucy hand on face action going on around here. Not on my watch.

"Just tell me your real name and I'll tell you everything about myself."

She bit her lower lip, obviously considering doing such a thing before she shook her head in the negative. I'm being unfair. I know that. I know her identity, or at least have a strong suspicion of who she is, but I'm still trying to bait her into telling me. Why, you may ask? Simple. I need a reaffirmation that she's 100% on board. If she doubts my loyalty enough where she won't even tell me her identity, and thus her skills and feats, there's no reason for me to trust her with my own past. But … that doesn't mean I can't throw her a bone, does it?

She balls her hands into fists. "Praetor, believe me when I say I wish to tell you. But … what if I did tell you? How could I know you would not reject me for who I am?"

"You don't." I shrug nonchalantly, not at all effected by the emotion in her words. She's being irrational to assume such a thing, there's no use reasoning with her in this state. "Just as I don't know how you'd react if I were to explain my life."

That causes her to pause, as she grows still while processing my message.

Again, I shrug. "But think of it like this: wouldn't it be better for that to happen now and not later?" And that, that right there, is the crux of the argument I'm going to make. Even if she knew with complete conviction that I'd abandon her, there'd still be no reason not to tell me. Unless she seriously thought I'd order her to commit suicide upon learning who she was. If that's the case then, well, there's simply no reasoning with this woman.

I begin walking towards the front door. "Either way, I'll tell you what I can about myself without giving too much away. Ya gotta give some to get some, am I right? But before we get to that, I need to let in this little shit. He's probably hungry with how much energy he's wasted smacking the door."

I pull the front doors open at the same time, allowing a massive gust of cool air to hit me in the face. "Ah, you must be the pizza guy! You're late! Does that mean my pizza's free?"

The bluette glares up at me. Poor sap's shivering from the cold. Understandable considering he's dressed lightly for the chilly breeze blowing outside. "I'm g-g-going t-to k-k-i-l-l you!"

I smile at him. "Well, if you do that you're definitely not getting a good tip."

He balls his hand into a fist, pulling it back in what he thinks is the proper posture for throwing a punch.

"Hey kid, better place your thumb outside the fist and not inside it. Or else you'll …." He swings, striking me right in the chest.

My chest is covered by a reinforced steel plate. A set of body armor I'd put on the second my men had brought it to me. This shit can block rifle rounds, what do you think a small child's fist is going to do to it?

"Yeee-ooow!" Exactly.

"Did you really think you were going to kill me with a single punch? You're going to have to train so much your hair falls off if you want to do that." I draw the Pico out of its holster, causing the boy to freeze up in horror. "Why not use magic? You are a mage, aren't you?"

His face turns red. I'm unsure whether it's from embarrassment or fury. Maybe he's furious he's embarrassed? Or embarrassed he's furious? "Guess that's a unanimous 'no'. Wonder how you expected to fight in this thing without being able to supply a Servant with prana." I pause for a moment as I consider this. "On second thought, I'd rather not know." Mana transfer ceremonies weren't exactly common, but I'd heard of more than a few depraved orgies going down in some dark corner of the Clocktower when it was still big.

"Here." I hand the kid the pistol. "I'll help you out. Just this once." My eyes twinkle in amusement as the brat fumbles around with the gun, terrified by the object in his hands.

"Boy, you're all bark and no bite." I ruffle the tike's hair, taking great pleasure in his protest. "Never say something if you're not going to do it." I hold out my hand, expecting him to return the Pico to its rightful owner. He doesn't.

Instead, he points it at me.

"Y-y-you bastard! Don't look down on me!" He shrieks for everyone and their mother to hear. "I-I-I said I'd do it! I'll do it!" I look down the barrel of the gun.

"Better rack the slide first. Your chamber's empty right now."

"Eh?" He looks at the pistol in his shaking hands, baffled as to what I'm talking about, before something clicks in his head. "Oh … I knew that." The brat grabs the slide of the Pico with one hand, inadvertently taking his finger off the trigger while doing so. If I wanted to, I could have disarmed him instantly. But I avoid doing so instead taking great pleasure in what he's about to do.

The kid struggles to pull the slide, fumbling around with the mechanism as he tries his best. Finally, after much grunting and cursing, he succeeds … and sends the round that I'd had in the chamber spilling out.

"Eh?" Sheepish expression on face, he watches the bullet soar through the air and come to a stop on the lightly snow-covered ground beneath him. I can swear I see a sweat drop fall off his brow.

"Wow kid, you feel for that hook line and sinker." I take a step closer to him. He almost drops the Pico as he tries to chamber another round in it. "Of course I'd carry a round in the chamber. I'm almost insulted you believed I wouldn't." He slams the slide home, drawing his aim back to my body and putting his finger right on the trigger.

"Oh? Still want to give this a go?" His palms are sweaty, knees weak, arms are heavy. There's vomit on his sweater already, mom's spaghetti … err, let's try this again.

His palms are sweaty. His knees look to like they'll give out from underneath him. And despite the light weight of the Pico, he looks to be struggling to keep it up with what little strength is in his arms.

This is not the posture of a trained killer, nor the demeanor of someone that's willing to take a human life.

I tap my foot impatiently on the ground as I wait for him to do something, anything, to end this debacle.

He doesn't move, instead remaining in his statue-esque stance for far too long.

Then Saber arrives, coming down from the mountainside. Coming down she turned the tide … err need to cut that out.

Saber arrives, walking outside to join us in this little show of machismo. She moves in such a way that I know she won't attack without provocation. Seems she's going to go ahead and give me the benefit of the doubt this time. Still, I know she's just a hair away from chopping my poor Pico in half and ending this Mexican standoff.

"I think I left the oven on, kid. Can we get this over with?"

His eyes are as wide as saucers. His breath is coming out in heavy gasps, as if he'd just run a marathon. There's no way he'll pull the trigger. No way, whatsoever.

Then he starts screaming like a banshee, in what I can only describe as the girliest war cry of them all.

"Reeeeeeee!" With the volume of his screeching I can only assume he's trying to tell off God himself. Seriously, this dude has a healthy set of lungs for a twerp.

The brat starts spamming the ever-living shit out of the trigger, not even allowing it to properly reset as he mashes his (probably) Cheeto encrusted digit against it.

The sound that follows is quieter than his retarded rebel yell.

Click. Click. Click. Click. Click.

He doesn't even notice it, what with all the screaming, so he keeps pulling the trigger thinking it's somehow having an effect on me.

Saber watches all of this with an expression of pity. I'm hoping that's not misplaced. This kid doesn't deserve any pity. My Pico does, with all the manhandling he's been giving it.

After what seems like an eternity, the punk stops screaming and lowers the pistol, huffing and puffing like a woman attempting to give birth.

I give him a flat look, thoroughly unimpressed. "Kid, you just bought yourself a time out."

He blinks. "H-h-how are you still alive?"

I raise the loaded magazine of the Pico in answer.

He looks at the handgun in his hands and notices the obvious emptiness where the magazine should be.

"Son of a–!" And right about then is when I toss a pillow case over his head.

"Saber grab the rope!"

"Rope?!"

"Don't question it! Let's just get him inside!"

I grab the Pico from his flailing fist, and proceed to hogtie him in a spectacular fashion with the thread Saber's provided.

He ends up being tossed into an empty closet, tied up and gagged so we don't have to listen to his tirades. I even add a dunce cap to his head for aesthetic purposes.

"Praetor?"

"Yes, fellow kidnapper?"

"Was that really necessary?"

I shrug. "I'll let him out when we get back. Right now he needs a quiet corner to sit and think."

Saber ponders this, probably not entirely convinced of the merits of this idea, before nodding twice and dropping the conversation completely.

Thank you so much, Saber. I don't want to think about this any more than I must.

"So, let's grab some chow, finish that chat of ours and get out of here." I march off towards the kitchen, completely disregarding the sigh that escapes Saber's lips.

"Praetor?" She calls out to me as I depart. "What if he escapes?"

I halt in my tracks. "Hmm?" I glance back at her from the bottom of the stairs. "I don't think that's going to happen." I laced the rope with metal. Any attempts at wiggling free will only make him more uncomfortable as the rope will automatically tighten around him. Just like one of those Chinese finger traps, struggling will only make his situation worse. "I'll have a few guys stop by to check on him." That way he won't inadvertently crush himself.

She internally processes this information, pondering if it's the proper choice. Then, she shrugs. "Very well, Praetor. That sounds fair." Of course it does. He tried to kill me. Any other Master in this War would have massacred him.

We make our way back to the kitchen, where I immediately rush to the microwave oven.

"Praetor?" Saber calls out to me.

"Hold up." I grab a frozen pizza from the nearby freezer, rip the box open, and toss the cryogenically frozen calories into the microwave. A few button pushes later and the food's slowly rotating around as it heats up.

"Mmm …." Saber bites her lower lip. "Is that to be our 'meal'?"

I frown at her. "Hell, nah. That's my food." I gesture to the pizza. "Touch it and die."

My hands gesture to the remainder of the kitchen. "You can have whatever you want. Make yourself at home." And with that I focus on the pizza spinning around, squatting so as to be right in front of it.

Saber pouts at me, but ultimately decides to drop it. She begins making herself a separate meal.

A few minutes later and the microwave starts beeping.

Beep.

Beep.

Boom!

And something behind me explodes.

I twist at the waist to get a good view at ground zero.

Saber's standing stock still, soot covering her face completely. The only part of her features that I can make out are her eyes, which she apparently managed to close before the detonation.

"Hey." I point at her impromptu blackface. "Dat's racist." Her eyes start watering from the embarrassment, the tracks from her tears start paving a path through the grime on her face. Then, as if a flip had been switched, she crosses her arms and glares at me.

"Praetor, your machinery was sabotaged."

I look at the oven, taking note of the obvious problem with her cooking. "Did you … stick a … propane tank into the oven?"

She glances disdainfully at the object in question. "Why of course. How else am I supposed to fuel the fire?"

My hands aren't nearly big enough to perform the facepalm necessary in response. "Saber?"

"Yes, Praetor?"

"They set up a computer room upstairs. First room on the left." I point towards the stairs. "Go and watch some cooking tutorials. Then come back to me."

She looks offended. "Bah! As if I would need to 'learn' how to cook. Come now, Praetor."

I just point to the oven's scorched remains.

She has the decency to blush. "Err, as I said, the problem was with your equipment."

I'm not buying it. She knows I'm not buying it.

"Praetor. I am an artist. Cooking is not called the 'culinary arts' for naught. I do not need any–!"

"Shoo." I wave her away, again pointing at the upstairs.

"But!"

"Begone demon!"

She sighs, deflating like a balloon as she accepts her fate. Then she walks away, shuffling up the stairs and into the room I motioned her to go to.

I'm sitting down, eating the first slice of my pizza, when she comes back.

She's … changed her wardrobe considerably.

Gone is the red semi-transparent dress she favors. It's been replaced with an apron. Thankfully she's fully-clothed underneath. Oh, and she's also got a chef's hat on her head. And she's cleaned her face up.

Wait … where did she get this getup anyway? Did she learn how to sew in addition to figuring out how to cook?!

Regardless, I don't like where this is going ….

"Yes! Praetor, I will show you! You will praise me when I am done!" She fist bumps the air and then starts running around the kitchen like a stock broker doped up on coke.

"Yeah …." I give her a mock thumbs-up. "You can do it." Not the best Rob Schneider impression (on account of the utter lack of passion in my voice) but I'd say it's sufficient for whatever the hell she's doing. "Go get 'em, Chef Boyardee." I go back to eating my pizza, drowning out the cacophony of plates shattering and dishes being knocked together.

---

I'm … sorta impressed.

She did it. By Pesci, she did it.

"How did you do this?"

Before me is a feast fit for a king. Dishes from all manner of land are laid out for me to engorge. Western, Eastern, Norther, and Southern. Italian food. Japanese food. American food. Mexican food. There's a smorgasbord of cuisine in front of me. Why, there's probably a dish representing every culture ever to exist on Earth. Unfortunately.

I really hope she doesn't expect me to eat that haggis over there. I aint eating no sheep stomach, brah. A man's got to have standards.

"I have a Personal Skill known as Imperial Privilege. I thought you knew, Praetor?"

I didn't. I should have, considering I can check up on her stats instantly, but I didn't.

Now that I've taken the time to read through her skills I can kind of understand how she pulled this off. A skill that lets her copy any skill she wants. Why didn't I look into this earlier? That sounds completely overpowered. Even if it is only temporary.

Also, what the hell is this 'Migraine' thing? Is that why she places a hand to her temple every once and a while? I thought for sure she was just trying to contact the mother ship. Or maybe perform some Professor X sort of mumbo jumbo on me.

Huh. I kind of feel like a dick now. What should I do? Get her some acetaminophen? (Notice I didn't say Tylenol. No way I'm wasting anymore of my money on the name-brand for this chick.)

"Well, Saber. I have only one thing to say about all of this."

"Yes, Praetor?" Her arms are crossed in front of her chest, which amplifies the size of her bosom tenfold (something I'm sure she's doing intentionally). There's a smug, shit eating grin adorned on that face of hers, telling me that she knows she's done something quite impressive with this.

I have two paths here. The obvious one. Compliment here profusely for this modern marvel she's accomplished in the span of fifteen minutes. Or … the proper one.

"I'm kind of full to be honest. That pizza really hit the spot."

"Eh?" Wow. Her jaw just fell into the kimchi. That's probably going to mess up its texture a little.

"B-b-b-u-u-u-t Praetor!" She starts frantically spazzing out. "Certainly, you could try a little?!"

I pat my stomach contently. "Not really. Always been a light eater, ya see." I sit up, out of my seat, and start making my way towards the entrance. "I'll check the equipment once more. Go ahead and enjoy. When I get back we'll continue where we left off."

She gapes at me as I depart, utterly flabbergasted that I'd dare to decline her cooking. I lean against the wall directly outside the kitchen and start counting down in my head from ten. When I make it to four, the world starts to rumble.

"Praetor! You cannot just decline my meal like that! I made it for you!" I take this as my cue to waltz back into the room. There's something to be said about the glow that warms her checks when she notices my return. There's something also to be said about how quickly she turns white when I avoid her table of culinary art and make my way to the refrigerator instead.

"Ah." I smack my lips together upon sampling the brandy stored away. "That really hits the spot." I wrap the bottle with tinfoil, and apply a liberal amount of prana to turn it into a makeshift flask. Pocketing the container, I turn back towards the exit, completely disregarding Saber and her meal.

Three.

Two.

One.

"Praetor!"

Did Mount Vesuvius just erupt a second time?

"You called, Madame?" I pivot around and walk right back into the kitchen.

A thundercloud seems to be storming above her head. How quaint. She doesn't even speak, instead pointing furiously at the table. She pouts, to the extent that it looks like she's trying to consume her upper lip. Hopefully she's not doing that because of how bad her food tastes, or else I'll have to find a clever way to ditch her.

I take a seat at the table, pulling the bottle of brandy from my pocket and placing it next to the platter she's assembled in my honor. Images of the bitchy girl that blew up like a blueberry in Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory flash through my mind. "Just one bite." I assure myself, mentally preparing myself for what I'm about to experience.

After tucking a cloth napkin into my shirt, I pick up the fork laid out within my grasp and prepare to skewer some schnitzel innocently minding its own business before me.

Saber smacks my hand. She actually smacks my hand. Lightly, perhaps, but she still smacks me.

"No, no, Praetor. Allow me."

"Wha–?" I don't even get to question her on what the hell it is she wants. She stuffs a bite of food into my mouth. Like a baby. Seriously? Is she going to say, 'here comes the choo-choo train' and shove shit in my mouth like it's a waste disposal unit?

I'm about to say this to her. To utterly lambaste her for daring to do something so erroneous. But I can't.

I'm KO'd on the floor from the sheer Flavor Flav Flavor that's just assaulted my taste buds.

"I … I think I just climaxed." I glance down at my pants for a quick clarification. "Scratch that. False alarm."

Saber's posing like an asshole, arms on hips, chest proudly jutting out, and with a giddy grin on her face.

"So …? What say you, Praetor?"

I cough into my fist as I right myself. "It was … edible."

"Ha!" She barks out. "Is that all?"

I look at the food. Then I look at her, with her goofy grin and posture. Then I sigh. "It was the best thing I've ever eaten in my life …." I mumble to myself, hoping that'll be enough for her to cease this charade.

"What was that, Praetor?" She playfully cups a hand around her ear, as if she's having trouble hearing what I said.

"I said I liked it."

"Just 'liked' it?"

"It was good."

"Just 'good'."

"Ok, it was better than expected."

"And what was the 'expected'?"

I bite my tongue, fighting with myself to avoid saying anything too damning.

Saber kneels down, getting far too close to me for comfort. "You know, Praetor. I would be more than happy to let you have another bite if you want one."

Never before have I been so conflicted. Not even that time I'd been without a drink for two whole months only to find myself in the middle of rural Alabama surrounded by moonshiners. Have you ever fought your way past three dozen rednecks armed with only a spatula? Just to get a taste of cheap incorrectly distilled alcohol? No? Well then. You've certainly never lived.

"I loved it! You're the best chef to ever live. I don't know how the likes of Gordon Ramsay or Bobby Flay can even dare use the word 'chef' to describe themselves when masters such as yourself exist!" I bow deeply, tears streaming down my face. "Have mercy upon me oh great Saber-san. Without you('re food) I'm nothing but an empty man."

She stares at me in a daze. Clearly caught off guard by the amount of praise I've lavishly given her. It lasts but a moment before happiness overcomes her shock, and she beams at me with the loving aura of a proud mother.

"P-p-praetor." Tears well in the corners of her eyes. "Enjoy your meal."

I don't think twice, sinking my fork into the nearest morsel of chow and digging in.

Part of me feels like I'm forgetting something relatively important.

---

Meanwhile, in one of the various closets scattered around the former Einzbern mansion, a small Matou's stomach growls deeply. "Mmmm!" The sock stuffed into his mouth stops him from voicing his complaints. What it doesn't stop is his attempts at wrestling himself free from his bindings. The slight tightening of the rope stops that.

---

"Nah, I'm just overthinking." I burp and stand up from the table, stretching like a cat as I start moving.

Saber had eaten little, appearing more content to watch me than to partake in the meal herself, but she'd still managed to clear a significant chunk of the table by herself.

"The boys'll worship you for this, Saber." I gesture to the leftovers of our sporadic feast. "Most of 'em probably haven't had a homecooked meal in years."

"Mmm, I have no complaints then, if that is the case." She smiles once again. "I am glad they will enjoy it."

I snort at her comment. "It's too good for cretins like them." Then I shrug. "But it'll keep them content, and that means they won't complain about having to babysit for me." I walk out of the kitchen and to the front door. Chair legs scratch against the tile floor of the kitchen, signaling that Saber's moved to follow me. "Now, our bellies full we'll be in perfect shape to finish that little talk we were having!"

And with that I spin around, a triumphant smile on my face as I reveal that I had in fact not forgotten about my promise to finish our conversation.

The somewhat conflicted expression on my partner's face makes me grin even more. I must be a sadist, because I'm having far too much fun teasing this girl.

"Ah, I … cannot help but appreciate your … eagerness in learning my identity. But. Praetor, you have to understand my position in this." Oh? Her position? "I am far more comfortable in dealing with those that are more … open with their intentions. Do not take this the wrong way, Praetor, but I cannot help but be uneased by you."

'Uneased'? By little ole me? Whaaattt?

"To be completely honest, a part of you remind me of my … my mother." She swallows, seemingly showing an out of character moment of nervousness and anxiety. "And yet you are still different. Better than her. It all makes me quite conflicted in my opinion of you." She smiles now, a shaky one that threatens to flee at a moment's notice. "But I know deep down that you are still a good man. A great man. A worthy Praetor." I listen in silence to her explanation, her revelation as to why she's been somewhat reserved on the details regarding herself.

Here's a girl that tries very hard to be strong, very hard to be confident. She's the type that just lightens up a room when she enters the scene. And yet she's somewhat ... cautious all the same. Can I expect any less? This is someone who I presume was the same Emperor that was hunted by her own subjects. Forced to commit suicide to avoid being captured by soldiers pretending to be loyal to her.

Can I really blame her for trying to put that past her? For trying to avoid telling me about that part of her? As I said, trust is complex. And yet here I am, expecting her to trust me as much as I trust her just because we saved each other's lives a few times. How can I be so foolish to think she'd feel the same? Despite her happier demeanor, she's still the Servant I stole from their rightful Master, she's still the girl that died alone, hated by everyone. And who am I?

"Heh. You're being too generous."

Everything about her just stops. The tears that threatened to gush forth from her eyes. The slight shaking of her fists that made her look like she was impersonating Michael J. Fox. The quivering of her lip. It all just … stops.

I look her directly in the eyes, seeking to end this line of thought before it can bite us both in the ass.

"I'm many things. A great man isn't one of them." I start chuckling, a dark brooding laugh that seems to somber the atmosphere considerably. "I'll tell you exactly who I am. Exactly who I was and what I've come to be." If she still felt uneasy sharing her past with me than I'd simply have to start sharing more of mine with her. Not all of it. No, I couldn't do that. Not yet. But some of it was better than nothing.

Besides, it seems fair considering she's already told me she's an Emperor. And then there's that whole dream sequence I was shown. Granted that was an indirect thing (I'm assuming) but it still answered practically every question I had regarding her. That's way more than anything I've done for her.

Let's just start with something simple first. My combat abilities. Then we'll lead into a short insight on my past. Nothing too fancy.

"I focus on three branches of Magecraft. Alteration, Transmutation, and Reinforcement." Here we go. This is the easy part, an explanation as to how I work in a combat scenario. "Some people would call me an Alchemist. I've become partial to the more specific term 'gunsmith'."

"I presume this is because of your focus on firearms, Praetor?"

I nod in confirmation. "Exactly. But that focus wasn't brought about by the magical side of my life, but by the 'normalcy' I once had." I don't want to go too deep into this yet. Saber doesn't need to know too much about my childhood and upbringing to understand me, and I prefer to leave her guessing as of now over the finer details of my past before my 'quest'. So, I push past the questions she's going to ask me (I can already see her mouth opening in response) and continue forward with a separate line of thought. "In practice I function as a buffing unit, if we're to talk in RPG terms." Which I probably shouldn't talk in considering Saber has no clue as to what an RPG is.

Her blank stare is a testament to that fact.

Again I press forward without allowing her to interrupt. "Basically I increase the performance of objects around me to the point that they no longer are bound by the laws of physics. A mage's main goal is to break reality, is it not? I merely do this best when working with something I have prior knowledge in. Firearms being that something." It was an insane concept in theory. A magus was meant to turn away from modernity because it could be replicated with science. If I was doing something technology could copy I was no longer performing a 'miracle', and thus no longer performing magic.

Good thing I was doing something science would never be able to replicate.

"Through repetition, I have memorized hundreds of blueprints related to weaponry. If I wish, I can manufacture something in its original format." This was what I had done in our previous battles. It was easy, fast, and efficient with how little prana it cost. But it wasn't necessarily Magecraft. And it got me in a lot of trouble in the past.

"Or. I can stretch it beyond the realm of sanity." I did this on a smaller scale in how I used prana as a propellant instead of gunpowder. "With alteration I can stop a firearm from overheating, and thus expand into the idea of improving something past its normal boundaries. This is easier when I already have a basis to work with, instead of having to start from scratch." It's also faster if I don't have to go through the process of manufacturing something before increasing its potential. Sure, I could make it with such attributes from the get-go, but I've found it's less likely for my construct to blow up in my face if I use the process that has a few extra steps involved. Like taking a TV dinner out of the microwave to stir it before putting it back in, instead of just forgetting about it and walking away. You're going to get a less shit product as an end result.

"Which explains you having your men bring you prebuilt weapons." She cradles her chin with a hand, thinking over the explanation I've given her. "What do you mean by 'improving something past its normal boundaries'? What else can you do?"

I can't help but chuckle at that. "Anything with the right imagination, and a sufficient amount of prana. Oh, and of course I still have to follow the rule of Equivalent Exchange. If I go to far I'll end up being a cripple. Or worse." So nothing too crazy like a catapult that launches miniature nuclear warheads. Trust me, I tried that. "Something like infinite ammunition would be the best I could make, as I'd have to constantly focus on crafting replacement rounds into the magazine of the gun while also compensating for any hang-ups that could potential cause a jam." And, also have enough material around me to constantly rebuild the gun as I strip shreds of it away to make bullets to reload the casings as they're being expelled after ejecting. "It's pretty impractical, because so many things can go wrong, but still cool at parties."

"So, not something we could use in battle?"

I shrug. "Maybe with the right preparation. But in all likelihood? Nope."

"Praetor ..." She almost whines at me.

"Listen, I said I could do practically anything with the right imagination. That's just the first thing that popped into my mind." I shrug, completely disregarding her concerns. "The easiest thing for me to do is to focus on quantity and not quality, and therefore my default choice is to just build a mundane weapon from scratch. And if you want to be technical most of the stuff I focus on, being tied to firearms, is practically useless in battle anyway since we're fighting Servants."

"So, from what I can gather, Praetor, you are saying you are completely useless in this War?"

I almost choke in shock at how bluntly she's disregarded my life's work. "What?! No! I can basically turn common military equipment into Mystic Codes! You're telling me that's not useful?"

"I am sure it is useful in a way, Praetor. But overall it sounds like you are vastly outclassed in terms of proficiency in choosing such a ... niche style of combat." She gets a little closer to me, patting my shoulder in pity with a 'there, there' style of comforting me. "It is beautiful that you have such passion for firearms, Praetor. Despite their savage nature." I don't even comment on that insult. "I am sure we can still figure out something in combat, you did well enough our last few fights given what you have to work with."

Ok, now she's just being unintentionally condescending.

"I can buff a bullet to the point that it basically becomes hitscan with a linear trajectory, defying gravity itself. Turning an average rifle into a railgun essentially."

"There, there, Praetor."

"I can infuse magical properties into a rifle, making it into a sentient being, able of acting on its own free will. Firing without something pulling the trigger, aiming on the dime, jamming when someone besides me tries to use it."

"It is alright, Praetor. I still believe in you."

"I'm capable of taking a metal spork and turning it into a .50 cal round. I can morph an AK into a Mosin Nagant and vice versa. I've made bullets curve! Curve! Like in Wanted!" Now, I'm the one whining, trying in vain to convince her that my style of magic is not completely worthless.

"Praetor, this sounds impressive, but how would you use any of this in practice?"

"In practice, I'd be completely useless against Servants in everything but stalling them and buying myself some time."

"See? Do not try to combat Servants, then. It sounds like you would fare better against the average Master."

... She has a point. And at least she's not completely writing off what I'm capable of.

"I'm just working with what I know. I just go off of my gut most of the time."

"And what is it that you know, Praetor? Besides guns."

I pause, thinking about how best to explain my 'specialties'. "Are you familiar with the idea of Elemental Affinities?"

She blinks, caught off guard by the question I've asked out of the blue. "My court Mage spoke of such things briefly, Praetor, but I never took much interest in such matters."

Court mage? I had no idea that Ancient Rome had such a thing. Though I can't say I'm surprised. Seems Mages were involved with politics even back then.

"Well, the basic school of thought is that there's five. Fire, Water, Earth, Wind and Void. Though there are divergent Elements from these if you're of a different school." I take a seat at the first step of this mansion's main staircase, patting a spot beside me to entice Saber to sit beside me. She does so, gracefully holding the hem of her dress as she sits so as to avoid ruffling it up.

"From the way you are speaking, I'm assuming your Element is one of those that are 'divergent'?"

I nod, confirming the question she's proposed. It's good to see she's catching on to where I'm going with this.

"I was blessed, being born with Double Elements. I was the seventh person in my lineage to have two. Metal, as well as Wood. They seem so contradictory, and yet I've found them to complement one another quite well."

She considers her hands, mulling over this tidbit of information I've given her. "It seems my Praetor proves himself to be even more unique than I had thought!" She beams at me, likely trying to lighten the somber mood that's surrounded us. It almost works too. The corners of my lips threaten to tug upward, but I resist the temptation. What I'm telling her is important. Now's one of those rare moments I must be serious in my demeanor.

"Perhaps. But most people in my family have shared those Elements, albeit in a singular fashion. Metal is our most common one, followed by Fire, and then Wood." And most of my ancestors did something so much more with their gift. Saber had a point. What have I done with the power given me?

"That's why I chose to focus on what I have. Crafting is what I'm best at." I sigh, there's no use justifying these things. I've spent too many years practicing this brand of Magecraft to be able to go back and switch to something more practical like shooting fireballs at people. "I suppose I should also tell you my Origin. Maybe it'll help you understand. Are you familiar with what that is?"

"Again, only vaguely, Praetor. It is what defines a Magus, no?"

"In simplified terms. There's some convoluted bull regarding the Root and all that, but I won't bore you with the details. Most aren't fortunate enough to learn theirs, but my mother had a 'friend' that was rather skilled in deducing these things." I swallow a wad of saliva. This is the moment of truth. I'm going to be telling her something that's deeply personal all while telling her it in the vaguest way possible. A mage's Origin is pretty much the identity of their soul. In telling her mine she'll know what drives me. Or she'll at least have the foundation for discovering why I exist.

Is this not what I wanted?

'Let me tell you who I am.' Were those not my exact words to this girl?

I'd be lying if I said I was nervous.

How strange. I don't usually feel nervous.

"Praetor, do not force yourself. If you do not wish to–!"

I silence her with a subtle wave of the hand. No, I didn't do any Jedi mind tricks. I merely mimed out the action of brushing aside her concerns.

From her perspective, I'm essentially sharing my deepest darkest secrets to a person that's not even willing to give me their name. This goes beyond just explaining my combat abilities to her. She must feel guilty now. How unfortunate. I hadn't meant for her to feel that way.

From my perspective, I'm just sharing information that's been long overdue. With this she'll be able of trusting me easier, and she'll also have the final piece of the puzzle as to what I'm capable of.

Of course I have to tell her.

"My Origin is Creation."

Who would ever guess that a single word could hold so much meaning?

I was born to build. To manufacture. I'm a walking Industrial Revolution, meant to hand out the Gift of Glock to all the good little boys and girls. My very existence is focused on construction and crafting.

I could have been anything in the mundane or the magical realms. With the right focus I could have been what my mother wanted me to be, a skilled researcher in the Clock Tower focused intensely on unraveling the origin of the human soul, and thus finding Akasha. After all, who would be better suited for such a task than the man whose very existence focused on Creation?

I could have been a marvel in the field of alchemy instead of just a practitioner. I could have been the rebirth of Solomon ibn Gabirol.

I could have found the secret of immortality.

So many diverging paths that I could have followed.

But ….

Being a researcher sounded boring, and I had no interest in Akasha.

Kabbalah was an … interesting School, but overall I found I lacked the ambition to learn it.

Immortality could have been possible. I'd heard of Mages building husks of themselves and transitioning their minds into them near their death. But who cared about such a thing? Fools with regrets that kept them from dying in peace. And those were the sorts that never found their dreams fulfilled.

I didn't want that.

I didn't want any of that.

My father showed me the way.

In one of the most indirect ways possible.

In the way that spelled the doom of my bloodline.

I turned towards modernity.

I swept my gaze towards the mundane.

Even if it was stupid. Even if it's made me impractical.

"You know how I said I didn't have a wish for the Grail?" She nods, completely drawn into what I'm saying. "That wasn't always true. I once had a dream. A goal, if you will." I sigh at the memory of younger me. The boy that spited his mother's wishes to become just a Mage. The boy that shoved aside his father's pleas to case aside the Moonlit World just as he did.

"I wanted a world where no one was defenseless. Where no one was unarmed. A world where everyone was free to live their life how they wished." That was what I'd wished to create. A Paradise.

The Garden of Eden reborn through force.

The only way I could do that was in studying modern weaponry and manufacturing. Even though I could produce exquisite quality, I needed to focus on quantity. Even if I was essentially casting aside the "Mystery" to become a glorified assembly line.

"A world where everyone was armed?"

I nod, "Yeah, a world of mutually assured destruction. But on a smaller scale."

"Mutually assured destruction?" She seems puzzled by this phrase. Apparently the Grail hadn't deemed that a worthy thing to explain.

"The policy the U.S. had during the Cold War. It was based off the idea that if the Soviets struck us with nukes we'd make sure to send just as many their way. And because of that neither side was brave enough to push the button that'd doom the world."

"That sounds terrible, Praetor."

I laugh yet again, not at all offended by her disapproval of the idea. "I disagree. That policy is the only reason this world hasn't ended in a nuclear holocaust. We had two World Wars before it, and they happened within twenty-five years of one another. After that policy? Nothing has come close to them."

She ponders this, still visibly uneasy about the idea. "How does this relate to your 'wish'? How does it relate to your Origin?" She's completely dropped the question regarding how this relates to combat, likely wishing to learn more about why I do what I do instead of how I do it.

I crack my knuckles, and start leaning against the step behind me for added support. "Simple, I thought that I could replicate that tense armistice on a local level." I shrug. "An armed society is a polite society, after all. The younger me thought this could be spread across a global scale. That I could somehow manage to supply all eight point five billion of us with a firearm to call our own." That's why he cast aside quality for quantity. I only managed to turn that around in the last decade or so, and because of this I have the smorgasbord of specialties most would find useless. I sigh, chuckling internally at the naivety of my younger self, and the dream I once had. "As for its relation to my Origin, well, let's just say I believed I could create a new fate for humanity."

"Did it work?" Is she actually asking that question? If it had worked, would I be referring to this all in the past tense?

A frown forms upon my face, morphing my lips into a downward slope directed towards my jawline. "No, I learned quickly that it was impossible." I'd started in Central America, hoping to destroy the cartels that'd parasitically feasted on their fellow citizens for generations. It had been a disaster. "The weapons always found themselves in the hands of those that did not deserve them." And that single thought showed the failure of my dream. Not everyone deserved the right to defend themselves. That was the hypocrisy of my actions. I didn't even follow through with my original goal in arming everyone. I was just trying to arm the innocent. I was choosing who deserved to live and who deserved to die. And those I'd deemed doomed? They didn't take kindly to my sentiments.

I'd learned in less than a month that my entire plan was ridiculous.

Who would have thought that it was a bad idea to go door to door giving people free Berettas?

Certainly not I.

The weapons I'd given out almost always found themselves in the hands of those they were meant to stop. I'd indirectly increased the power of those I wished to defeat. And that was only with the few dozen or so people that decided to accept my 'gift'. Hundreds turned me down outright. Either out of fear I was working with the cartels myself, or out of fear that in arming they'd draw attention to themselves.

People preferred living in slavery over dying free.

"In time, the situation sorted itself out, but my involvement did little to end the bloodshed. In fact, I inadvertently escalated it." There was one other big downside to giving someone a gun in a warzone. It made them a fellow combatant.

I'd accidentally turned children, mothers, and elderly alike into soldiers against criminal organizations that had no qualms with killing innocents. They had even less reservation when it came to fighting those they saw as competition. Men that wished to keep their families safe became targets just because I gave them the power to defend themselves. Instead of just being shot they were tortured, then shot. Turned into examples as to why you shouldn't resist

My dream. It was a world without heroes. And it'd come true. Albeit in a much different way than I'd expected.

"I wanted a world where everyone had the power to save themselves. A world where we didn't need a Superman to come to our rescue. Where we could put on our own capes." I smile, a bitter thing as I thought over my failures of the past.

My time in Central America had been enlightening.

I'd received an epiphany, a message from God himself. And by 'God' I mean my father. He'd somehow learned what I was doing and managed to get in contact with me.

His message read as such.

'Stop giving random people guns, you fuckwit.'

I ignored him, and instead figured 'maybe it's just this part of the world I can't save'. Crossing off an entire set of countries from my 'utopia' for the future.

I began to travel the world after that, hoping to find the 'cradle of civilization' where I could build a better tomorrow.

No matter where I went I just made things worse.

I wished to be a liberator, to lift the people of the world up into a utopia without war.

I'd simply poured gasoline on a raging inferno.

Sure, the death toll wasn't exuberant. Probably a few extra hundred dead civilians. But at the time it was heartbreaking.

I'd left home at the ripe age of sixteen, hitchhiking across the U.S. before I managed to illegally slip into Mexico and down into South America.

I went there thinking I could solve the world's problems. I could have taken my own arms and used them against those that were causing the violence and war, but wouldn't it have been more effective to teach others how to do it for themselves?

After all, 'give a man a fish and you'll feed him for a day, teach a man to fish and you'll feed him for his life.'

My failures showed this to be impossible to replicate in this situation. The man fishing didn't have to worry about competing against a bull shark swimming beside him.

"But I like to look on the bright side of things. Because of my utter incompetence I was enlightened. It only took three continents with three separate conflicts for me to figure it out." Here my smile becomes genuine. And why should it not? It may have taken me a year and a half to figure out something that should have been apparent to me instantly, but I at least figured it out.

"You have to look out for yourself and those you care about. Because those are the only ones you can trust to not fuck up. There's no need to worry about the faceless masses." It's a deeply cynical statement, but rationally sound to any normal sane person. But alas, here's where my second revelation comes into play. "I did some soul searching, and I found out why I'd desired to save these people I knew nothing about." I was no hero. Even as a sixteen-year-old brat that was true. The time for heroes was at an end. The last one in this world had been the so-called 'Red Archer' that'd operated primarily in Iraq. And he ... didn't turn out so well.

"The real reason I wanted to do that was the fame. The glory that would have come my way from pushing the entire world past its imperfections. I was being selfish, and because of that I'd thought illogically that I could fix the problem." How foolish. War had been a vice plaguing humanity for generations. That's what I thought as a child. That's what my father told me after two tours in the Middle East.

He had said "Humanity will never change so long as one of us has a big stick." I had read that as I'll just give everyone a stick then, and I'll balance it all out.

How very wrong I was.

"I had thought I could Create a utopia. In reality, I was merely trying to create my own legend." I had long insulted the simplistic nature of Magi. Their arrogance. Their need to be God.

And yet wasn't I doing the same thing?

"I wanted to be a god. The messiah who'd usher in a future without bloodshed."

Why am I telling her all of this? This is far too much. I can't be sure as to how she'll react. I don't think she'll kill me outright, or anything like that but … wouldn't that be preferable to her silently distrusting me? That could lead to both our demises further down the road.

Something wet runs down my face. How strange. We must have a leak in the roof. That's some bullshit there. I paid enough for this damn place that it should be perfect.

"I was no different than the standard stereotype of a mage. Except I tried to pretend I was better than them because I was working for others and not myself. Not for the Root." That's probably why I chose to pursue modern weaponry. I could have taken the route of disarming everyone with anything more sophisticated then a sword. Or even disarmed them completely and made everyone 'armed' in the sense that they could defend themselves with their fists. But guns were the great equalizers, and just so happened to also be hated by those of the Clock Tower. Was it just a childish sense of spite that brought me here?

Even if it wasn't, all along I was working for myself. I wanted to be the world's only hero. The one that created a new Golden Age.

Was that any different from those who wished to recreate the Age of the Gods?

"Praetor." Something grasps my hand. It's warm … and soft.

"Do not mourn for the past. Cherish the present, and hope for the future."

What? The person talking to me is someone that's two millennia old.

And she's still just a young lady.

"Cherish the present, huh?"

"Yes. You wished to end war, did you not?"

I think about that question. I wanted to create a world of peace, did I not? Or did I just want a world so full of war than the fire would burn itself out?

"Yes. That was the end goal."

Saber's tone is joyful … and, is that a hint of pride in her inflection? "Well then, your dream was beautiful. Even if it was brought about for selfish reasons."

"Eh?"

"Your apparent narcissism only matters because you failed, Praetor. Had you succeeded I would imagine no one would care about your motives."

"But–"

"And besides, it is not like your past was the worst. You set out to save the world. Even if you failed, you still were valiant in the end."

Except ….

That doesn't account for what I did after recognizing my failure.

"After that though. I … worked with one of those cartels." Turns out you need money to survive. And when you've successfully pissed off most of the world's criminal and terrorist organizations you need a lot of money to even exist.

Sure, I could have hunted them all down one by one. But I was sixteen, freshly traumatized from seeing everything come crashing down in front of me, and had screwed over so many people that in using magic to save myself I would have just pissed off the Enforcers even more.

Oh, did I mention that they were also hunting me down at this point?

Apparently, using Alteration to mass produce modern day weaponry was 'distilling the purity of Thaumaturgy', or some shit like that.

Which was bullshit.

The Clock Tower made no specific rule prohibiting someone from crafting Uzis and giving them away to random strangers. Not a single rule. Trust me, I spent the time reading through all the legalese hogwash they pushed out. They've got it all in these annoying little pamphlets. They look like travel brochures, except they explain how you 'shouldn't reveal the presence of the mystical arts to the mundane'.

Who cares if I was diluting the quality of Magecraft by spreading it around in the form of well-crafted guns? It was a noble cause.

So noble that they sent a squad of mooks after me.

So, I capitulated.

And I started selling what I once gave away as free.

Just so I could avoid the large list of bastards that wanted to either dissect me, decapitate me, or detain me.

Yeah. Detain. Interpol got involved at one point. Apparently, I'd also broken several international laws.

And by 'several' I mean somewhere between thirty-six and forty-nine.

Kind of sucks that they didn't send anyone interesting after me.

Guess I should have been stealing things instead of giving them away for free? I might have gotten a cool inspector for a rival.

Saber looks at me as I bow my head in shame. I can feel her gaze, boring into my flesh.

"You helped criminals?"

"Yes, and I became one. Eventually becoming big enough in the underworld to form my own little organization."

And from there I was lost.

No longer the adolescent that wanted to strengthen the weak.

Just a shell of a man, whose only wish was to atone for his failures.

That's my wish in this War, though I refuse to tell Saber it.

I want to do something heroic, to balance out all the evil I'd done unintentionally and intentionally.

I have a debt that needs to be repaid. But sadly, I don't even know how steep the bill is.

So, I'll just save the world by stopping anyone from getting the Grail. Because there's no way someone willing to kill for such a thing would have a noble wish in the end.

Or, I could die for someone.

Surely that would wipe away my sins just the same?

A life is ever precious is it not?

That's my goal now.

I wish to Create a happy ending for myself.

Mutata in Manibus Meis.

Change in My Hands.

That is my command to this world.

And to my history.

"I see." Saber interrupts my inner musings, bringing me back to the present. "Praetor?"

"Yeah?"

"I am considered a tyrant by most." She turns her body towards me, still holding onto my hand as she does so. "A persecutor of the Christians. The one who did nothing but observe as my city burned." She smiles, a small, bitter smile. "History hates me. I loved my people but I could never understand them. I killed my own mother, and caused my mentor and first wife to commit suicide." Where is she going with this?

"You're point?"

"My point is, Praetor, that I am still an Emperor of Rome. And you are a citizen of Rome, as well as my partner." She stands up, dragging me up in front of her. "We should not fret over failures in the past. How can we continue to walk forward for Rome if we're constantly looking behind us?"

I refuse to meet her eyes. I have no future. All I have is my past. Saber seems to catch on to this, reading my thoughts as if they're visibly plastered across my face.

"My name …." My eyes widen as I realize she's going to say her True Name. "Is Nero Claudius Caesar Augustus Germanicus. Fifth Emperor of Rome."

...

There's silence between us. She's completely quiet as she waits for me to react, likely fearing I'll reject her. What an idiot.

I'm silent for a different reason.

"Now?"

"Hmm?"

"You thought now was the best possible time to reveal that?!"

"Ow, ow, ow! Stop it, Praetor!" I can't help myself. I start grinding my fist into the top of her skull, giving her the gift of the noogie.

"You moron! What the hell does that have to do with anything?!"

"I thought I should tell you my name to cheer you up! You have told me much of yourself after all?!"

"I already knew your damn name! Why the hell are you making it about you when I'm over here having an existential crisis?!"

"I am sorry, Praetor! I thought it might–! Wait. Mmm, did you say you already knew my name?"

"Yes! Pesci! I've known who you were for a while, idiot!"

"Praetor, are you what the natives call 'tsundere'?"

"No! I'm just really bummed out that you'd just spout your identity out now! It's really fucking anticlimactic!"

"Ah. You have a point, Praetor."

"Aren't you supposed to be the biggest drama queen? Shouldn't you understand there's a certain flow in these things?! You shouldn't just spout it out all willy-nilly!"

"Praetor, are you complaining about me not being theatrical enough? In telling you something you apparently already knew?"

"Well you didn't know I already knew, did ya?!"

Again silence.

"Dante."

"Eh?" Did she just actually use my name? Holy shit.

"I am glad you are my Praetor." She crosses her arms, nodding to herself as if she's discovered something of worth. "You are far better than the blue-haired child that summoned me."

"Uh … thanks?" Not much of a compliment considering we're talking about the kid that apparently can't even perform magic.

"Now, I still have numerous questions for you, but I am a generous Emperor so I shall postpone asking them until later."

At this point I don't even care. She's just passed the one test I had set up for her in telling me her True Name. She could ask me anything (within the realm of reason) and I'd probably answer it. Who even gives a shit when we're at this point? "Actually, I kind of would prefer if we got them done and–"

"Praise me for my mercifulness, Praetor!"

I sneer at her. "You don't actually expect me to–"

"Mmm!" She pouts. I'm reminded of a fat child that ate too many Warhead candies. Except … something's different. The pout has a slight increase in its levels of poutiness. It's barely noticeable, but still I can pick it up despite her expression looking like a sinkhole made of flesh.

"Mmm!" Again, she does that weird murmuring/humming thing. Almost as if she's trying to hypnotize me with it. It doesn't work though, instead I just look at her like someone would look at a retarded toddler.

"What are you doing?"

"Mmm!"

"Stop it."

"Mmm!"

"I'm not praising you, goddammit."

"Mmm!"

"That noise is annoying."

"Mmm!"

"Not doing it."

Mmm! Ok now she's doing it in my mind. Shit.

What do you hope to accomplish here?

"Mmm!" She just added a few exclamation marks. Big whoop.

Umu.

Not showing any teeth, she smiles. A dopey, Down Syndrome looking expression that makes me think she might have some form of Asperger's. Or maybe I'm just the retard and I've forgotten how to properly translate words. Maybe these 'Mmm's have actually been her saying something worthwhile to me.

Then she starts blushing, her cheeks turning a light shade of scarlet as she closes her eyes and creases her brow.

"What are you–?"

I feel a great sense of trepidation pass over me. A warning that something is not right with the world. It's a premonition. There's no other word that can be used to describe it. Well there is one other word.

"Wat."

"Umu. Umu. Umu, umu, umu!"

"What the fuck is this shit and how do I shut it off?!"

"Umu!"

"Shut up!"

"Umu!"

"No! No umu! Numu!"

"Umu!"

Did the translator part of my brain break?! Is that what happened?! What is this terrifying language she's speaking in?!

"God I'm sorry for calling you Joe Pesci! Make it stop! End it! Smite me already!"

"Umu, umu, umu!"

"Mom, I'm sorry for not making you proud!"

"Umu!"

"Dad, please, I swear I didn't eat the last pudding in the fridge before I left!"

"Umu!"

"Is this your Noble Phantasm?! Is that what this power is?!"

"Umu?"

"I think my mind's broken! My head, it hurts!"

"Umu!"

"That's not a good thing, goddammit!"

"Umu."

"Ok, fine! I get it!" And with that I completely toss aside my pride. "You're the greatest of all time! There I praised you, now shut up!"

"Umu."

"You're joking."

"Umu."

"Listen, you're a human being (I think). I'm not going to–!"

"Umu!"

"Oh, fuck it."

This is how I ended up patting Saber/Nero on the top of her head. Like a dog.

"There, there. Good Nero. Who's a good girl? You are. You're a good girl Nero."

"Yay!"

I make sure to 'pat' her head just a little rougher after that.

---

AN: First of all I want to give a big thanks to all of you for making this story my most reviewed story overall. We surpassed GEGE in terms of follows, favs, and reviews a while back and I'm going to go ahead and take that as meaning this story's met my goal of surpassing the original in quality. At least, I'm hoping that's the case, lol. I got a lot of amazing feedback and suggestions on the last chapter in particular, and it's given me a few ideas for the future in terms of what I'm going to do. First, I'll go ahead and ask everyone to please point out any errors or misunderstandings I might have made in summing up Dante's magical potential, etc. I'm going to be frank and just admit I haven't seen or read Garden of Sinners or Tsukihime (mainly because I can't find the movies of GOS anywhere in English, and I haven't had the time to play through the VN for Tsukihime). Which means I'm operating on only one third of the Nasuverse in terms of how things work, so I'm expecting the finer details of Dante's explanation to be either flat out wrong or misguided. If you'd be so kind, don't hesitate to point it out to me! Now as for this chapter overall ... well I rewrote it about three times, and that's why it's been delayed by about a month. Originally I was going to introduce Rin. Then I was going to leave it off on Rin's introduction being the cliffhanger. Then I decided "You know what? I already have like twelve thousands works here. Let's just call it a day so I don't put this off any longer." Hence the rather mediocre way it ends. I also decided to bring in the 'umu' which I originally was just replacing with 'mmm' because I don't recall the English subtitles ever actually having 'umu' in them. But, I figured "Why not toss it in just as an added little reference" and so Dante has essentially unlocked Nero's true Noble Phantasm. The Power of Umu. XD

Before I finally get to the reviews, I have two announcements to make. The first being that I included the same poll that was on Space Battles onto my author profile page. So you can leave your choice on there as well if you'd prefer. The second being that I have three plans currently regarding future Fate related content not involving Dante. I don't know if they'll be one shots or full stories but the basic premise is a story involving one historical figure that Nasu has yet to include in canon replacing a canon Servant in one of the Grail Wars. As of now the three figures I want to see are Teddy Roosevelt and Charles XII of Sweden (also known as Carolus Rex for all you Sabaton fans) and Gustavus Adolphus. I'm planning on Teddy either being a Rider or a Berserker and Charles being summoned as either a Ruler or a Rider, Gustavus is going to be a Ruler for sure. I'm going to have more information on my profile page relating to this, but please let me know how you feel about the idea, preferably in PM (as I don't want to unfairly inflate this story's reviews). If any of you would be interested in the idea yourself, I'm also open to it being adopted by others that could potentially do more with it than I could.

Now, onto my responses to all your reviews! Forgive me if I don't respond with much detail (as I wish to avoid rambling on) and feel free to PM me if you have any extra questions, comments or concerns.

Gundam-Knight-Chris: Explicit in the sense that she's going to start off screaming profanity at him when he reveals "Hey, lady? I'm not your Master. He is." Points to Shinji and ends it off with "I just summoned you to babysit him. Good luck!" XD

Anthem of the Night: First off, it's awesome you've started updating Out of the Black! I read your last few chapters and I have to say it surprised me that you killed off Medea so quickly. That and your choice for who Assassin is makes me interested in seeing where you go with things. Also, I find it hilarious how you had Avenger sell out Shirou in the last chapter, immediately saying 'blame him, not me' to Rin XD. Now, as for your review: well I'm just going to say things are going to get more insane from here on out. Just wait until the next few dream sequences we get showing off Nero and Dante's past (yes I'm still going to include them even though Dante now knows her name for sure). I'm planning on including all that awful stuff Nasu either forgot or just didn't want to include to make Nero more sympathetic. We're talking the death of her daughter, Sabina, that one slave guy she castrated who looked like her second wife, etc. It's going to be a roller coaster of feels (hopefully) from here on out!

Guest 1: Coincidence in this regard because even though I 100% RE6 and enjoyed Jake's character I hated his campaign enough that I don't think I'll ever make mention of it in anything I write, lol. But I really like that comparison nonetheless. I was thinking more of a King Kong type of deal going on with Dante being Ann XD. You could also see Jab as being like those Regenerador things in RE4. Glad to see you find that name as amusing as I do!

Synthetic Knight: I agree that the third-person is a tad inferior to first-person. It just doesn't have the same potential that knowing Dante's inner thoughts allows for, ya know? I'll probably only be using it in Nero centric chapters like the previous one. Thanks for reading!

King0fP0wers: Good to hear from you again, my man! I'd just continue to call him Dante, Thomas was the young kid that went from trying to 'save the world' to trying to get rich. Dante's the guy that's already failed and succeeded in some regards and just wants to win the Grail for redemption. Eh, might have spoken too soon regarding the hero complex, lol. I'd agree that he's a lot like Kiri, but unlike the Magus Killer his only reason for trying to save the world was to gain power and notoriety for himself. Even now he's only doing what he's doing so he can die not as a failure but as someone that made an impact. He's kind of like the old Greek heroes of old that saved the day because they wanted to get something in return. Believe it or not Kaz is the one that tied Dante to Taiga's bunch. I don't want to give him too much power over the story (since he's another OC) but he's a semi-important part of Dante's backstory and just so happens to be related to the sumo wrestler guy Taiga has in her inner circle. Your wording in regards to Kiara and Dante meeting is ... hilarious to say the least XD. See the thing here is that I could totally see Dante and Kiara (just as I could see potential 'routes' involving Dante with one of the others) but she's mainly meant to be one of his last ties to his past. Her and Kaz, who as you can see is kind of a complete moron. Kiara and Dante would be more like Kiara and Thomas. I have been thinking about writing 'omake' type short stories after this one showing Dante getting together with various girls. One for Rin (who's popping up soon), Nero, and Kiara. In honor of the three routes in Stay Night. But I'll probably only do that if people would like to see that sort of thing. And yup, we have a Kaz here, in homage to Miller, because "why not?" Though obviously he's drastically different than the Kaz in MGS. The hilarious part here is that Vlad as a Zerker seems to be more sane than Lancer Vlad from Extra. Or at least, that's what I'm going off of based on Grand Order. Well, I'd say her poison wouldn't effect him. It doesn't effect the MC in Grand Order does it? And I think that's only because he's the Master of Mashu and somehow that makes him invulnerable to toxin (I have no idea why, it just does). I'd imagine the Apostle being able to become drunk has little to do with their ability to handle toxin. He/she either chose to be able to become drunk (for whatever reason) or alcohol works in a different way. Regardless Serenity could probably still kill an Apostle. I recall King Hassan and Richard went after one when they were alive so surely the Hassans would be able to kill them. Though I feel she wouldn't indirectly kill one that's strong enough to resist. Good luck in however you choose to go about it! Hans is probably the greatest two star Servant in Grand Order, so I can definitely see him pulling off something insane by buffing Dante.

Guest 2: Ok, I'm a sucker for Nitocris so I'm highly considering her as a potential Caster. Alexandre Dumas just seems like he'd totally hit it off with Dante though! They seem like the perfect match made in Hell, lol. Though I'm still somewhat reserved with him because 1: I haven't been able to find an English version of Strange Fake, and 2: as you say we haven't learned too much about his potential yet (though I imagine he has some sort of trump card a la Shakespeare and Medea). Prelati is ... interesting, but considering her work in trying to summon demons (and the fact that she's the one that led Gilles to murdering children) I'd imagine Dante would dislike her immensely. He has an open mind, and as shown in his complete acceptance of Nero he's willing to look past someone's history if they 'prove' themselves to be trustworthy, but someone like Prelati or Gilles would undoubtedly push him to his limit in terms of what he's willing to accept. Gilles would probably instantly die a la a Command Spell.

Guest 3: That means a lot! Like, seriously, that's entirely what I was hoping this story would be and why I left GEGE up still. It's not completely the same as the original (so you can still enjoy the first rendition for what it is) but it's similar, and hopefully able of improving on the original's foundation.

Tomster627: I hear ya. It's mainly just going to come about in backstory/dream sequence chapters where Nero learns about Dante's past. Just so I can do the whole Ebeneezer Scrooge thing with Nero seeing the 'ghosts' of Dante's past. And if you thought that part was funny, just you wait until Rin shows up next chapter XD.

Darebear the bear: I definitely wouldn't apologize for double posting, because you brought something to my attention that I had no idea existed and I'm definitely going to go somewhere with it in the future. Plus it means I have a second review, lol. That, right there is probably one of the coolest ideas I've heard. Having Kiara summon Nero's daughter like that. I have a few concerns though, the first being the fact that she'd potentially be a divine spirit due to Nero making her a god in death (and divine spirits being kind of impossible to summon). She'd probably just be a Heroic Spirit that has a Divinity trait, or maybe be like Romulus who locked his Divinity away with Imperial Privilege. It's a really cool idea though. Originally I wasn't going to do much with Kiara as a villain (she was mainly to be a support character) and Gawain and Leo were to be the final boss. But with this? Well, this gives me some ideas. I just have to decide if I want them to be in this story or in some strange CCC/Heaven's Feel version of this story. One where Kiara is the main heroine. But in doing that we're probably talking months if not years in the future and nothing soon (because I really want to have Dante troll the characters of Zero before then). I'm going to consider it heavily though, my other concern is in relation to how she'd pull off the summoning when everyone else is already summoned? Of course she could do a Kirei and steal Command Spells, but could she then summon her own Servant on top of that? As for Dante summoning a magical girl ... I almost died from laughter at the thought! Just imagining him summoning Ilya as a Servant instead is funny. I'm unfamiliar with Nanoha (and most of the magical girl genre) so I'll of course have to look into that first. Still, just thinking about him trying to summon someone like he did in GEGE only to get a magical girl is causing me to chuckle. I have to agree with you on most of those Servants too. But I'd also add that Kiyohime and Raikou would frustrate him to no end because of their clinginess. Though I'd say he could potentially do fine with Nightingale. She's ... eccentric, but so is Dante after all. As for Kiara, well, he got along with her in the past (despite what he says) so he'd probably do fine with her a second time. Though he'd be pissed she somehow became a Heroic Spirit and forgot about him (not knowing she's from a parallel universe). Jeanne Alter though? I can get behind that. Maybe in the future I could whip up a story that's just one-shots of Dante summoning Servants completely incompatible with him, lol. And thanks for the review, I'm glad you're loving the story as much as I'm loving to write it!

T51b Moridin: I'm really hoping your username's referencing Fallout, because it's awesome if it is. Other than that I'll just say that all of those things you listed is what I was going for XD. Besides the part about the reading being painful, I only meant for that to be the case if you're talking about the cringyness of Dante and not the quality of the writing itself.

Guest 4: My God I think you've given me the idea I plan on going with if I write Dante as a Master in Zero. I can just imagine the look of sheer fury on Kayneth's face when he realizes not one, but two of his catalysts were stolen by two separate bastards! He'd probably still fly out to Japan just to try and beat the shit out of the jackasses that robbed him XD. Dante and Diarmuid would be ... strange? They'd be at each other's throats for most of it, with Diarmuid grudgingly accepting the asshole that's summoned him and Dante frustrated with how Diarmuid doesn't have the balls to stand up for himself because of "chivalry". Still, he wouldn't be as much of a dick to him as Kayneth, which is saying a lot to be honest.

Guest 5: Ooooh, I really like that idea too! Atlanta is pretty cool in my opinion, and her dream of a world where every child would be happy would coincide well with Dante's ideals. The only problem would be in getting to the point where she actually told him her wish. Up until then she'd hate him and he'd probably be annoyed with her. She'd also be disgusted at his crafting as it relies on modern weapons. As for how he'd handle the rest of his 'team'? Well, to be honest? He'd probably despise all of them on some leve. 'sides Kairi and Spartacus. Maybe he'd grudgingly accept Achilles. Semiramis would be someone he'd give a shot but wouldn't trust, same with Shirou (when all the other Association Masters disappear), Mordred would piss him off with her attitude, Karna would piss him off with his lack of attitude, Shakespeare would be ... an enigma to him.