Disclaimer: The works of Type-Moon and Jō Taketsuki are their own despite my most fervent wishes. This is a fan work and if anyone does pay me for it the only thing it will accomplish is to get me into trouble. This is being done purely for fun, constructive criticism is welcome, and flames will be ignored. Please be gentle though, this is the first fanfic I've put on the net.

Hello again, and welcome to my latest chapter. Once again it was a bit longer than I originally planned, but since I've been using my Christmas holiday to write it I managed to get it done pretty fast if I do say so myself.

Incidentally I hope all my readers had a merry Christmas and that you will all have a happy New Year.

I'd also like to thank you for all the reviews, suggestions and comments that I've received for my last chapter. Over one hundred in less than two weeks, WOW. Your ideas serve as excellent inspiration and I've been able to integrate a couple of them into this chapter.

To answer a question that I've been receiving since I began this fic; will Shirou become able to Trace Ea? The answer is a definite NO, the whole point of Ea is that it is a weapon without earthly origin, something as alien to the world as the TYPES, so unless Shirou gains an Authority that specifically allows him to comprehend that incomprehensible to a human it will remain beyond his grasp.

SPOILERS

I have no idea what kind of handheld Sorimachi used in the light novels, and I also confess that my own knowledge of handhelds is limited, but for the purposes of my story I'll simply go with the idea that he's using a retro one to play some old games, hence why it has a memory cartridge.

I'd also like to introduce my first original Noble Phantasm; Beautiful Head Taker, the naginata of Gozen Tomoe. I'll attach the details of this at the bottom, please let me know your opinions. One thing I will admit to is that the majority of my knowledge of Gozen Tomoe is derived from wikipedia and some manga I've read, so I've taken a couple of liberties with her history. I also confess that my desire to see Illya imitating her mother, as Irisviel looked pretty cool in the specials where she was wielding a naginata.

Next up is Shirou's cooking. I know that in most fanfics it's become a sort of running joke for Shirou to be some sort of super chef that can reduce those eating his meals to ecstatic swooning, but I decided not to go with that line. Don't get me wrong I think it's a great idea but I wanted to try something a little different. I thought that the idea of a Campione asking another to take them as a disciple, especially for something as simple as cooking, was simply too good an opportunity to pass up. Don't worry, I still intend for my Shirou to attain the same culinary genius that his counterparts in other fanfiction enjoy, I simply intend to have a bit of fun getting him there.

As some readers of Fate/kaleid liner PRISMAILLYA might notice I've put in a slight reference to her infamous 'maid switch'. My reasoning is that this is the first time that Illya has been exposed to cute western style maids; all the ones that serve the Einzbern remind me more of nuns if you ask me.

For those of you who are wondering why Shirou is still sticking to his fake history, remember that Shizuka isn't aware that it's only part of the truth. Shirou is using this opportunity to further reinforce his false history with his fellow Campione.

Now about Illya and her puppet Berserker. As I said in my last chapter I'm being a mite free with what she might be able to manage, but I still think that given all the factors involved it's something she could manage. Also I'm sure that there will be people saying that even a lessened Berserker is a bit overpowered for the Campione world. To them I would like to remind them that while a full powered Berserker would be something that would be nigh unstoppable this imitation isn't in the same league. Not only are its stats reduced and its skills gone but its Noble Phantasm is also degraded, so attacks that the True Berserker could have ignored are a threat to the puppet. Simply put while I regard the Berserker of the fifth Holy Grail War as a match for just about any god I've seen so far in Campione! The puppet's far less of a threat. I'm working on the assumption that if Godou hit it with his Stallion Authority it would cost Illya's creation at least four or five lives, assuming it weren't destroyed outright.

And last but not least I have introduced Shirou's next great enemy, tell me did anyone see him coming?


God Slaying Blade Works: Chapter Eight: Illya's Day

Sorimachi kept his steps light and his body pressed against the wall as his eyes never strayed from the object of his attention.

There she was, the legendary little genius of the middle school's class four.

For over a week now he had been hearing rumours of how a transfer student had moved into a class two years ahead of her own due to her outstanding brilliance. At first he hadn't been particularly interested, but as the days had gone by he had heard more and more details, like how she had long snow white hair, how she was diligently attending the tea ceremony club in order to learn the Japanese art, how she cheerfully discussed anime with anyone who seemed interested.

So many outstanding characteristics, could he be blamed for his desire to see this mystery girl?

Well now he had seen her, and as it turned out she was everything he could have dreamed of. Such cute features, such lovely hair, such soft white skin, she looked exactly like Misa-chan from 'Love-Love Onii-chan Academy 3'!

He had to meet her, it was fate. He could just imagine it now, she'd come running round a corner, in a hurry for reasons that wouldn't be important, and they'd run into each other with such force that her books would be scattered all over the floor. Naturally he'd help her pick them up and then their hands would touch when they'd reach from the same book. And so would begin her innocent crush upon him, he'd help her with the problems she'd have in adapting to Japanese society, he'd show her the interesting spots nearby like the arcades and the best otaku stores. They'd have nice days at the park together, and they'd eat ice creams whilst looking at the sunset, and she'd see that he had a smudge of cream on his cheek and . . .

At that point had anyone walking down the corridor taken the time to look at the self proclaimed 'Man with 108 little sisters in 2D' they would have seen him with a rather slack jawed expression on his face and eyes the seemed to be focused on a world only he could see.

The sad fact of the matter was that Sorimachi was a young man who had strayed from the path of what could be considered a 'correct human'. To further compound this it would seem that he was also apparently losing the ability to differentiate between reality and his beloved imouto dating sims.

Not that he cared too much at this point, he was too busy fantasising about the pinnacle of his delusory relationship, the part where she'd happily and lovingly call him . . .

"Oniiii-chan!"

Yes, exactly like that . . . no wait, hang on a moment. He hadn't just imagined that, she'd actually said it. Was this a sign? Did this mean that his imouto fetish would finally know satiation?

Looking around the corner round which the snowy haired girl had turned he saw a sight that made his fists clench so hard that his knuckles turned white.

His sweet innocent Misa-chan was hugging another boy. She was smiling, had her arms wrapped around his waist in a classic tackle/hug and was calling him 'onii-chan'. Aaarrrgh, this could not be, surely the heavens would not be so cruel as to dangle the perfect imouto in front of him and then show that she already had an older brother.

No, wait, that couldn't be right. She was obviously of European ethic origin while the boy she was now smiling up at was clearly Japanese.

"So Shirou, where are we going to eat lunch today?"

Awwww, even her voice was like Misa-chan's, so soft and light and . . . no, can't get distracted by that, have to keep watching, learn the truth about . . .

"How about under the tree near where the old school building used to be Illya?"

Illya? Shirou? Hah, further proof that they weren't related, Illya was clearly a foreign name. Wait, hang on a minute, hadn't he heard something the other day about some adopted siblings? He vaguely remembered Nanami mentioning it to him, but at the time he'd been playing 'Little Sister: Capture Isle' and hadn't been paying any attention.

Yesss, he was sure he'd heard something like that, the boy's father had adopted the girl, or was it the other way round?

Ah, what did it matter? What was important was that the bastard had managed to acquire the love of a perfect non-blood related sister. The bastard, how dare he trample on the pure and innocent dreams of a man who had never known the love of cute little imouto outside of the 2D world.

Revenge, that's what he needed, he'd fall back and explain his situation to Nanami and Takagi. They'd understand, they'd help him. Together they'd kidnap the imouto stealing scum and subject him to a trial and inquisition. Then he'd be sorry that he stamped on the fragile heart of a true imoutocon, they'd see him in tears for his crime, they'd . . .

His thoughts were cut off as he looked around the corner once more and found that the tall red head was staring right at him. There was also something distinctly unsettling about that gaze, as though he were trying to measure Sorimachi for a coffin in his mind.

Their eyes only met for an instant, but after the red haired teenager glanced down at the girl before him and broke the connection the 'Man with 108 little sisters in 2D' nearly slumped to the floor as his legs seemed to lose all their strength. That had been terrifying, he needed comfort, reassurance.

His imoutos, that was it. His dear sweet 2D imoutos would make him feel better.

Quickly starting to walk away Sorimachi reached into his bag to pull out his handheld games console. He could almost feel the warmth of all those cute electronic girls waiting for him in the games world, ready to give him their love and support, ready to-

His train of thought was suddenly cut off as he tripped over a shoe lace he hadn't realized had come undone. His curses of annoyance turned into horror as his console jumped from his hands, propelled by the force of his stumble. Eyes wide with disbelief he watched as the device impacted on the edge of the only open window in the entire corridor and somehow clicked open. Against all reason the memory cartridge jumped out of the opened back and tumbled out of the window while the console fell to the floor within the walls.

The 'Man with 108 little sisters in 2D' stood there for an instant, his body frozen with incomprehension at the ridiculously improbable set of events that had just taken place. Then he was stumbling forwards, pausing only to lean down and grab his console, and looking out of the opened window.

He was only on the fist floor of the school building; surely the cartridge could have taken the fall. It wasn't really that heavy so it would probably only be a little scratched up, nothing too major. Yes, there it was he could see it lying in the path next to the school building, waiting for him to go and get it. What luck, the data would be safe, the imoutos would be-

"MOVE IT, MOVE IT, MOVE IT!"

Sorimachi could only stare in abject horror as the entire combined mass of the schools athletics clubs came jogging round the corner at a brisk pace. He tried to call out, tried to wave at them, tried to do something, but all he could do was watch with a sense of ghastly detachment as more than sixty pairs of feet stampeded over the spot where his precious imoutos lay helpless.

This . . . this made no sense. This was like a plot development in some comedy anime, where one of the antagonists of the show was seemingly punished by fate. Why was this happening to him? Why was fate playing such a cruel game upon his heart?

Below him the joggers had moved on and the dust was settling. There on the path he could see the smashed splinters of plastic and circuitry that might have once been a memory cartridge.

The 'Man with 108 little sisters in 2D' took in a deep shuddering breath, then vented his anguish.

"NNNN-"


-()-


"-OOOOOOOOO!"

Illya looked over her shoulder and wondered why someone was apparently wailing in despair in the corridor she had just left. She considered it for a brief moment, and then dismissed it as unimportant. She was about to speak when suddenly Shirou took a sudden hissing intake of breath and seemed to stumble for an instant.

"Shirou?" she was immediately by his side, but it looked as though whatever had caused his misstep was already dealt with.

"It's okay," he assured her with a smile, "Just Curses without End taking its toll out of me."

"You used it? Why?" The young Einzbern knew how much that Authority could hurt and exhaust him in exchange for its use. Why on earth would he use it here?

"You were being followed, probably by one of Kusanagi-san's agents or someone working for the Committee since it was just a student. I hit him with a minor curse of Misfortune, something that will teach him a lesson without being too harmful. Hopefully that'll get the message across that I don't want any of them following you."

Illya did her best not to scowl in irritation or sigh in exasperation. She might love Shirou more than anyone else alive, but his overprotectiveness was starting to grate on her just a little bit.

She understood why he was being like this, she really did, and the thought that he was willing to go to such effort to protect her warmed her heart. But she wasn't some china doll. Granted she wasn't able to take on one of the gods from this world, and certainly Shirou's new magic resistance and abilities made it so he now out powered her by a fair margin, but she was still fairly certain she could hold her own against any mortal if she was called to. And that wasn't counting the trump card that Shirou had given her as well as her own hidden ace that she was keeping secret even from her adopted brother for the time being.


-()-


Flashback to the day after Godou defeats Ama no Murakumo no Tsurugi.

Illya stood in Shirou's workshop as he showed her the swords he had Traced the day before and explained his findings. In all truth the young Einzbern felt like kicking herself for not having thought to mention it to him herself weeks ago. It was such an obvious conclusion now that she thought about it. She was well aware that this world wasn't as . . . hostile to magecraft as her home reality. Her Mysteries were more potent, didn't fade as fast and cost less prana, it only made sense that the same would be true of her adopted brothers own odd magecraft.

If the world wasn't working against the existence of the imitations that Shirou produced then . . .

" . . . And that's why I needed to give you something."

Illya blinked as she realized that she'd become lost in her thoughts while the young Emiya was still speaking.

"What did you want to show me?"

In response Shirou extended his right arm with the hand splayed open and the palm facing in front of him while his left hand gripped his right wrist as though to steady the arm.

"Trace On."

The snowy haired girl knew what he was doing, during their time spent in hotels she had gotten bored and asked him how he was able to use Projection, a largely useless magecraft outside of a training aid, to copy Noble Phantasms. He'd gone on to describe the seven steps that made up Tracing, the seven steps he was now using.

Judging the concept of creation.

Hypothesizing the basic structure.

Duplicating the composition material.

Imitating the skill of its making.

Sympathizing with the experience of its growth.

Reproducing the accumulated years.

Excelling every manufacturing process.

She'd seen him Trace Noble Phantasms before and she could tell that he was taking specific care with this one. Rather than appearing in a flash of light or simply fading into existence without ceremony this projection was taking form slowly.

First was the long wooden shaft of the weapon, the length of wood stained an artful and vivid red. At its base the wood of the shaft had been carved into a simple rounded design while its other end finished in a golden hand guard similar to that of a katana. The blade of the weapon was 45 centimetres long, slightly curved and decorated with a light but beautiful depiction of a branch from a sakura tree in full flower. In total length from blade point to shaft end the magnificent naginata was about two metres long.

"This," Shirou said in a pleased tone as he took hold of the marvellous weapon, "Is one of the Noble Phantasms of the Heroic Spirit Gozen Tomoe. Out of all the weapons in Archer's memory I think this is the one best suited for me to give you."

Illya blinked in surprise at his statement. A multitude of questions sprang to her mind, but oddly it was one of simple curiosity that she gave voice to first.

"The Heroic Spirit who?"

"Gozen Tomoe was one of the most famous female samurai in Japanese history." Her adopted brother explained, "She was famous for her beauty, her strength and her bravery. She was skilled with many weapons and could supposedly ride any horse regardless of whether or not they had been tamed. As a Heroic Spirit she was eligible for all three Knight classes and the Rider class."

"So . . . why do you think I can use her Noble Phantasm?" that was something that was confusing her. Normally it was extremely hard, if not impossible, for someone other than their true owner to use a Noble Phantasm. She knew that Shirou could get around that by duplicating the skills of the original wielder, but that was due to his unique nature and not an option available to her.

"Because it's part of her legend, and so a part of her Noble Phantasm." The eighth Campione grinned as he explained, "Once, during an assassination attempt on her lord Tomoe found herself out numbered and outflanked. In an effort to buy time for her to reach her lord she threw her naginata to one of his concubines and ordered her to defend their lord until she could reach him.

"Supposedly the concubine was so impressed by Tomoe's spirit that even though she was untrained she was able to hold off the assassins long enough for the woman samurai to finish off her own foes and then slay the assassins as well.

"As a result one of the abilities of this Noble Phantasm is that when it is held by an unskilled woman then all the combat skill Gozen Tomoe had in its use is conferred upon her."

As he uttered the last words he suddenly tossed the weapon at Illya. Instinctively the snow haired girl caught it as though it had been a tossed broom and then . . .

She felt no change within herself, no burst of new knowledge, no sudden flash of understanding, but suddenly the weapon in her hands was transformed. Before it had been a beautiful weapon, but not something she had any true understanding of, it might as well have been a painting in a gallery. Now though it was different, she could appreciate the perfect balance between shaft and blade, she knew how to hold it here and here so that she could swing it like so, then defend like this, then she could slash and parry and counter swing like so.

Illya came to a halt as she suddenly realized that she'd just gone through a quick but intricate run of naginata fighting forms, all had been sure and all had been adjusted to compensate for the small stature. And every move had executed with the exact perfection of a true mistress of the art.

"This, this is . . ."

Shirou's adopted sister found herself at a total loss for words as she tried to understand the full significance of what she had just experienced.

"I thought this would be the perfect weapon for you to use if you were forced into a situation where your Magecraft was insufficient."

Illya felt laughter begin to bubble up inside her at the thought of the fun she could have with this wonderful new toy, then a thought crossed her mind and her good humour faded.

"Shirou, I can't carry something like this around with me, I'd look silly." Not to mention all the trouble she'd get into with both teachers and the police if she tried wandering about while carrying the weapon with her.

"I thought of that too. This is a trick that Archer knew but never had to use. Keep holding onto the shaft and concentrate on what I do."

As he spoke the red haired boy reached out and placed his own hand on the wooden length of the weapon. There was a brief pause as his brow furrowed in concentration, then in a shimmer of red and silver the naginata seemed to fade from existence.

Illya's eyes widened in surprise, the weapon hadn't faded from the world entirely, she could still feel a connection to it, but that connection was slightly distant and removed, it was a sensation that was familiar to her. This was how Berserker had felt to her when he had been in spirit form.

"Most Servants can do this with their weapons," Explained Shirou, "they can shift them into spirit form like they do their own bodies and so keep them close and ready to be drawn whenever they want. That's how Rider was always able to pull her chain dagger from nowhere so easily. Since almost all physical Noble Phantasms have a spiritual aspect to them as long as you know the trick they can all be shifted to spirit form like that. Archer never did it because it was simply easier for him to Trace anything he wanted.

"Still, it means that once you get the trick down then you'll be able to take the Beautiful Head Taker anywhere you go without any problems."

It took Illya a few tries, but in the end she was able to shift the weapon between its material and spiritual state at will.

As she pulled the Noble Phantasm into physical existence once more the young Einzbern allowed herself a smile. Now maybe Shirou wouldn't be so worried about her.

End Flashback

-()-

Illya allowed herself a small sigh as she sat down on the bench beneath the large tree. She had thought that providing her with that Noble Phantasm would alleviate some of her adopted brother's overprotective impulses, unfortunately that didn't seem to be the case. Shirou was still seeing potential spies and assassins around every corner.

It wasn't paranoia, it was close but it hadn't gotten that bad just yet. It was more a case of excessive caution combined with Shirou's desire to be prepared for the worst case outcome. Granted it might be a little difficult to tell that from paranoia, but there was a distinction.

Maybe she could show him her hidden trump card later this evening; if he saw that then there would be absolutely no way that the eighth Campione would be able to consider her unable to take care of herself.

Shaking her head Illya dismissed the thoughts from her mind, right now she was simply content to sit here and eat her lunch with her overprotective onii-chan. He might be irritating and he might be overcautious, but if that was the price for being with him then she was willing to pay it a hundred fold.


-()-


Shirou sat under the large old Japanese maple tree. Idly he wondered how it would look once autumn came round again the leaves on this one would probably yield a magnificent display.

However any further thoughts about future botanical splendour were cut off as his instinctively reaching hand touched the bento box in his bag.

The bento box he hadn't been allowed to prepare.

The bento box he hadn't been allowed to prepare because he had been banished from his beloved kitchen.

How had it come to this?

-()-

Flashback to the evening of the day after Godou defeats Ama no Murakumo no Tsurugi.

"And this is the kitchen." Shirou finished as he showed his pride and joy to Suzuki Asuka, his new head maid.

That morning, right after having breakfast, he had set about finding someone who had recently died and fitted the profile that he was looking for. What he needed was someone who would know not only how to train Renjou-san and Kuhoutsuka-san in their new role but also be well versed in the running of a household. Renjou-san had been right in her summation that he was going to build his own organization, though granted it had been her that had given him the idea in the first place, and when he did this manor would be at its centre.

Right now for all its size the mansion only had three occupants. When the two new maids arrived then that number would increase to five, and then to six once he got hold of someone to watch over them. Still the manor had been designed to house an entire extended family, as well as assorted servants and retainers, and still have room to hold guests and visitors. Once Shirou began recruitment in earnest then the number of occupants in the mansion would begin to climb quite quickly. Once that took place he'd need someone who could manage the details of housing and caring for such numbers.

And of course if he had to give someone another shot at life he'd rather it be someone that he felt deserved it. Certainly the souls he brought back into this world were rendered loyal to him by the power of his Authority. And even if they did disobey him in some way regardless of that loyalty he could easily issue them with commands they could not refuse.

In terms of the Holy Grail War and Servants it was as though he had an unlimited number of Command Seals with regards to his undead servitors. Certainly he couldn't issue orders that violated reality such as ordering his servitors to come to his side when they were separated from him. On the other hand if he issued them with a direct order that had the force of his Authority behind it then they simply were unable to disobey, it wasn't a matter of will power, it was simply the fact that they could no more disobey than they could breathe out of their ears.

He'd tested it on a volunteering Yusuke. Despite the accountants greatest efforts to the contrary at Shirou's command he had emptied a bottle of soy sauce over his head. He'd said that it was as though he had known that he didn't want to do it, but as soon as his King had issued the command he simply hadn't been able to stop himself.

With such control over those he returned to the mortal realm Shirou could have recruited anyone he so chose. Even hardened serial killers or notoriously corrupt individuals would have been perfectly loyal and obedient. However such were not the type that he wanted to be in his home, which was why he tried to find those who he felt deserved a second chance.

Suzuki Asuka had been one such person. A career house keeper she had served under a number of powerful individuals such as politicians and CEOs. What had been even more remarkable was that she had only ever worked for those who could be considered 'honest'. There were a number of occasions where she had handed in her resignation, and when those individuals were later investigated it emerged that they had all been engaging in illegal activities. It got to the point where the police had made it a sort of unofficial policy to investigate any employer that she left on bad terms.

She'd married at the age of twenty three, but had lost her husband to a car accident only two years later. She had remained unmarried and had continued to work her profession for the next twenty years. It had been the way in which she had met her end that had really caught Shirou's attention.

The household that she had been working in had ended up having a fire, a pretty serious one. Despite having reached safety herself Suzuki Asuka had gone back into the burning building once it became clear that her employer's children had not gotten out. In an event that had made national news she had rescued the two children, but had suffered such dire burns in the process that she had died in the ambulance which had been taking her to a hospital.

Needless to say Shirou had been quite impressed by the accounts of both her deeds and character, enough that he had tracked down her burial sight and used Rule of the Underworld to call her up. After some discussion and a little negotiation the housekeeper had agreed to return to the mortal plane and enter his service.

This was what had led to the current situation, him showing her around the household that he hoped she would manage.

"An excellent kitchen Shirou-sama," she commented, using the less formal mode of address that he'd asked of her even though she still insisted on adding the 'sama' when he'd said it wasn't necessary. "I think I'll be able to cook some truly splendid meals here."

Shirou blinked in surprise at the statement.

"Ah, that won't be needed Suzuki-san, I enjoy cooking so I'll take care of most of the meals."

"The master of the house doing the cooking?" from the tone of her voice you would have thought that the young Emiya had just suggested committing some kind of esoteric perversion upon the kitchen top while the rest of the household watched. "That would be quite improper. I shall take full charge of all the culinary preparations from now on."

"But-but I like cooking." His answer was confused and unsure in the face of the housekeeper's apparent outrage.

"Shirou-sama, you've asked me to train these girls that will be joining us to be fine maids for the house. You have also told me that you wish to present a certain image to them, that of a young ruler. What kind of impression do you think will be produced if they see you doing the cooking? Is that how a King would behave?"

"Well . . . no. But I-"

"Exactly. You are a King Shirou-sama; I knew that as soon as you called me out of the afterlife. Cooking is not something that you should concern yourself with, after all it is the role of the servants to support those that rule them."

By this point Shirou was having to fight down a little panic. He was losing his kitchen, how would he go on without his soothing cooking to dispel the stress?

"But I find cooking to be relaxing," he tried to explain, "I've been cooking since I can remember and it always makes me feel better."

"I'm sorry, but you did ask me to take the position of your head of housekeeping staff. If I were to capitulate on this matter then I would be failing in my duties to you before I even begin."

At this point the despair that was clawing at his heart must have shown on his face because she sighed and seemed to relent somewhat.

"Perhaps we can arrange something once we have things more settled," she offered, "Maybe arrange a day off for the maids which you can take advantage of, or maybe some late night cooking."

At the time Shirou had been almost pathetically grateful that he wasn't totally losing his kitchen privileges. It was only later that night, as he had been lying in bed, that he had realized that he, the God Slaying Devil King, the supposed ruling power in the mansion, had been arbitrarily dictated to by his newest servant. For some reason he'd found that to be very funny and had laughed so hard he almost fell out of his bed.

End Flashback.

-()-

Oh, right, that was how it had turned out like this.

Well, now was as good a time as any to see just how his own cooking matched up to hers. With mild curiosity he took his pair of chopsticks and took a small pastry roll. One thing he had to admit was that Suzuki-san could certainly make the food look more attractive than his, the contents of the bento was practically a small work of art, so much so that it was almost a shame to eat it. With a certain professional interest he popped the roll into his mouth.

If reality was an anime Shirou was sure that at that point something suitably dramatic would have happened. Probably he'd have frozen in place while the background would have explosively cracked up to reveal some sort of starscape, one that would flash into lines of light as he would go to 'warp speed', or maybe a majestically turning galaxy seen from afar. This would no doubt be accompanied with some sort of divine halo appearing around the bento box itself and a host of disembodied heavenly voices singing 'Hallelujah' as a vocal accompaniment.

This food . . . was . . . AMAZING! If this food had been a painting it would have been one of those that sold for more that most houses. That was it; this was like someone had crammed the works of Van Gogh into a bento in edible form.

The texture, the flavour, the wonderful contrast between the dry and flaky outer pastry and the pulped and cooked vegetables within, it was all so good. Shirou considered himself to be a pretty good cook, but this . . . this was like a small town painter suddenly being faced with Michelangelo's famous fresco on the Sistine Chapel's ceiling.

"This is soooooooo good."

It sounded as though Illya was in complete agreement in regards to his opinion on the quality of the cooking. Glancing over at her he saw that she had largely abandoned proper eating decorum and was holding her bento as close to her mouth as possible so that she could use her chopsticks to shovel as much into her mouth at a time as she could.

Suddenly worried that once she finished she'd turn on his food for seconds the eighth Campione began tucking into his own bento in earnest.

Dear sweet Root of All worlds, this was delicious. He had to learn how to cook like this, he had to get Suzuki-san to train him, her opinions on the proper activities of a King be damned. If needs be he'd keep giving her gold and jewels until she agreed.

Anything was worth the price of learning how to cook like this.


-()-


They gathered in an old abandoned theatre. The head of their order stood upon the stage while the lesser members stood where the audience seats had once been. All were clad in ornate silken robes of an elegant cut and decked with such adornments as rings, amulets, earrings and armlets. Jewels of every type and colour decorated their jewellery lending them further beauty. For the lesser members their trinkets were silver, only their leader wore gold.

"We are the Chosen," the gold wearing cultist's voice echoed through the old building, "For generations we have served our lord, seen to his needs, brought him news and servants. We were his hands; we served his ends and acted to fulfil his desires. In return he granted us his favour and shared his riches with us.

"Now our lord lies slain and his Authorities have been usurped by his murderer. Our purpose is lost and our prosperity torn from us by the infidel that slew our god. We have come to this land far from our homes to exact the price of vengeance upon the Campione who killed Hades.

"Emiya Shirou shall learn the true cost of that which he has usurped; he will learn what it means to cross our order.

"Yes, he is a Campione, a Devil King that mere mortals such as ourselves cannot stand against. But he is human nonetheless and so has the weaknesses of a mortal man. We shall target those weaknesses, we shall strike at him where it shall hurt the most, we shall strike at his heart."

All the members of the cult had been told to carry two photos, now he drew one forth and held it up for all to see.

It was of a young girl, a girl with hair as white as snow.

"We will strike at his heart." The leader repeated.


-()-


"Stand up straighter girl, honestly one would think you were raised in a barn if they only took note of your manners."

Manaka knew that she wasn't the easiest person in the world to get along with; she knew her attitude tended to rub people up the wrong way.

"Now you've managed to get the majority of the dust cleared away satisfactorily, but did it ever even occur to you to move the furniture? It has wheels on it for a reason girl."

She also knew that over the years she'd probably accumulated a fair amount of bad karma due to that type of behaviour, karma that she'd eventually have to pay back.

"Did you remember to change your cleaning water or have you been using the same water this entire time?"

Still it seemed the world had an unfortunately cruel sense of humour in how it chose to make her pay that karmic debt.

"Are you listening to me Kuhoutsuka-san?!"

"Yes Suzuki-san"

The words came to her automatically, this was only her third day serving under the resurrected soul and the response was already practically automatic.

Kuhoutsuka Manaka was not having a very good day; in fact she wasn't having a very good week.

When she had arrived at the mansion of the eighth Campione the day before she hadn't been entirely sure what she should expect. She'd thought that perhaps they would be treated as trophies, displays of Emiya-sama's power and influence. After all Kaida-sama was a strong Hime-Miko and the witch fighter herself had developed a reputation over the years. Being able to reduce them both to maids in his manor would be just the sort of tactic she could see one of the Devil Kings using to flaunt their influence.

What she hadn't expected was Suzuki Asuka, but on the other hand she doubted anyone could have expected someone like her. The woman's Aura Sign was an iron rod that seemed to support an iron crown. The Sign had practically radiated resolve, confidence and an utterly unbreakable moral code.

She had soon learnt that the term 'formidable' didn't do justice to the resurrected housekeeper. While it quickly became clear that she was unswervingly loyal to her King she still ruled over the household with an authority that wouldn't have been out of place in a tyrannical empress.

Idly Manaka wondered if this was what it was like for others trying to put up with her.

Suzuki-san had been charged with training both her and Kaida-sama to be maids, and it seemed she was taking to the task with all the fervour of a drill sergeant putting new recruits through their paces. She was tyrannical in her control, harsh in her criticisms and draconian in her standards, yet despite all this the housekeeper somehow managed to not make the last step into unreasonable overbearing. In a way it might have been easier if the wretched woman had simply been an unpleasant control freak. Had that been the case then at least Manaka could have hated her without compunction.

The problem was that for all her criticism, harsh comments and barked commands there wasn't even a single hint of malice in any of her actions. Everything that Suzuki-san did was meant to improve the performance of the two new maids. And, as much as the warrior witch might hate to admit it, it was proving to be remarkably effective.

It was only the second day of her training and already she could look back on her actions from the previous day and see her mistakes.

"Excellent work Kaida-san, if I wanted to I could use this brass as a mirror."

And that was the other thing, despite her being a Hime-Miko who had been trained in ceremony and magic for most of her life Kaida-sama was taking to the role of a maid like a duck that had just found water. Sure Manaka had been aware the wielder of the Dragon's Roar was almost ferocious in her efforts to keep her shrine clean, but this seemed to be on an entirely different level. Where she swept it was as though the dust vanished, where she polished it was as though grime and stains ceased to exist.

The witch fighter knew that she had a somewhat competitive streak in her, and it seemed that it was coming out despite her dislike of the competition and the fact that Kaida-sama was her competitor.

"Ah, Yusuke-san just rang. It seems that he'll be dropping off the young master first and then bringing in the young mistress later after she finishes her club activities. Come along, it is only polite to greet him upon his return."

Well that was something at least, she wasn't going to have to deal with the over affectionate enthusiasm of the eighth Campione's adopted sister.

That had been quite a shock to say the least. Yesterday afternoon both she and Kaida-sama had presented themselves to the siblings after having changed into their new maids uniforms. That had been a pleasant surprise, despite her fears the outfits had been neither perverse nor fetishist. Instead they had been long sleeved navy blue dresses that reached down to the ankles with neat white aprons worn over them. She wasn't too sure about the maid headpieces that were also parts of the uniform, but she had to admit they certainly looked cute.

It had perhaps been that cuteness that had been responsible for Einzbern-san's . . . enthusiastic reaction to them when she first saw them. The white haired girl had gone ramrod still upon first seeing them, then she'd practically jumped on Kaida-sama demanding that she call her 'Goshujinsama' and practically molesting the thoroughly confused Hime-Miko.

Once she'd calmed down the young magus had been very apologetic for her actions, saying that she wasn't sure what had gotten into her. However ever since then Manaka had always felt rather like a lamb confronted by a wolf whenever she encountered the Campione's sister while dressed as a maid.

Well whatever the case may be this was her life, for the time being anyway. She was sure that once Emiya-sama and Einzbern-san got more into the books and information that the Committee had supplied them with then both she and Kaida-san would find themselves with some more important work to do than dusting out some old rooms.

All she had to do was continue to wait.


-()-


Kusanagi Shizuka was making her way out of the school grounds while chatting with Illya-chan. It was about six o'clock in the afternoon and the brown haired girl was in a fairly good mood.

Today had been a pleasant meeting of the tea ceremony club, meaning there had been no dramas, no interruptions and no new girls inexplicably chasing after her no-good lady killer brother. It had simply been a nice quiet session where she had further instructed Illya in how to go through the various steps.

That had been something of a surprise; despite how her own stern nature and Illya's playfulness should have been incompatible the two of them had ended up becoming friendly quite quickly. It didn't hurt that the German girl was a marvellous student to teach the art of the tea ceremony to. She always listened and remembered what she had been told, and yet at the same time wasn't so wonderfully talented as to be intimidating or disagreeable.

"So Shizuka-chan, what are you planning to do this weekend?" Illya-chan asked as the two of them passed through the school gates and started walking by the road.

"Honestly I'm not too sure. I was thinking about taking the time to redo my room a bit, maybe see if I can shift things around enough that I can fit my own TV in there. That way I won't have to share the main one with onii-chan."

"I'm thinking of-"

THFFFFCHUK

Illya-chan's words were cut of by a strange whooshing noise that ended in a dull thunk. For a moment the brown haired Kusanagi simply blinked in confusion as she saw that a small length of plastic with bright synthetic feathers on its end was now poking out of her friend's side.

"Wha-"

THFFFFCHUK

Illya's confused question was cut off as another dart suddenly impacted on her shoulder. The red eyed girl started to reach for her shoulder, but then seemed to lose all energy as she collapsed to the ground like a puppet that had just had its strings cut.

Before Shizuka could even think to react two men leapt from around the corner and seized her friend's still form. As they did so a car came screaming round the corner only to come to a dead stop right in front of them and for one of the doors facing them to come open so violently that it must have been kicked.

"Get her in! Come on, move it!"

The shouted demands from within the car were enough to jolt Shizuka from the shocked daze that she'd fallen into. Seeing her friend being kidnapped right in front of her she threw herself at one of the men carrying Illya in an attempt to slow them down.

"HELP! HELP, KIDNAPPERS! HE-"

Her effort was valiant, but she wasn't a very large girl and the man she had moved against was a large guy with broad shoulders. Without even looking at her he swung an arm to brush her away as though she were little more than a mosquito. The negligent blow caught her on the shoulder and knocked her to the ground. Before the young Kusanagi could get back up the men and their captive had scrambled into the car, slammed the door shut and were tearing off down the road.


-()-


Shirou sat in his study and read through the file in his left had while absent mindedly tapping on the arm of his chair with his right.

The study was a recently reopened room. Originally it had served as the main place of work for the house's previous owner, but since Shirou spent the majority of his time at home in his workshop, the dojo or the kitchen it hadn't seen much use recently.

However when the agents from the History Compilation Committee had arrived the day before with their delivery of books, scrolls files and tomes they had needed to go somewhere, so he directed that they all be dumped in the reopened study. By the time they had all been brought in and piled together the mass of information had mounted up into a heap the size of a small desk. Shirou had already made plans to take some extra time off from his research this coming weekend so that he could spend some time sorting it out.

Right now though he was having a read through what he regarded as some of the most important data that he'd received, a summary of all the data that the Committee had on the current Campione.

Having already skim read through the file once he had already formed his own general opinions about his fellow God Slayers, but he was now reading the thing through in more detail to see if those impressions were correct.

So far two of his fellow Kings had been the principle targets of his interest.

The first was Kusanagi Godou, the other Campione of Japan and the only other of his peers that he had yet met.

If the file was to be believed it seemed that out of all the Campione, with Shirou himself included, Kusanagi was the sanest and most normal one out of them all. To all accounts it seemed that he'd just been an ordinary high school student with a talent for baseball before he'd become involved in the hidden world of gods and magic. Yet despite his apparent normality he had succeeded in defeating the previously invincible Persian god of victory and attained an unheard of number of Authorities.

Since then the young Kusanagi had fought three gods, two of his fellow Campione and at least one monster of divine origin. The gods he had either defeated or driven off, the Campione he had either drawn with or emerged victorious in their contest. The monster had apparently been blasted out of existence, along with a good sized portion of the local landscape.

The eighth Campione's eyes narrowed slightly as he once more went over the list of Kusanagi's accomplishments. So many victories in so short a time, and all of them from someone who was so new to their powers and had never had any contact with the mystic world until only shortly before he'd become a King.

That said something to Shirou, but he wasn't quite sure what it was. Allowing his mind to wander he found himself searching through EMIYA'S memories. So many battles, so many wars. Wars in which humans had cast aside their thin veneer of civilization and reverted to the savage that lurked within all mankind.

The thin veneer . . .

That was it, the red haired Emiya smiled as he made the connection. In time of strife and uncertainty, when everyone had to defend themselves and what they held dear with the strength and skill of their arms, legends would always emerge. They were the men and women who could stand out above all others, those who could fight the hardest, run the furthest, persist the longest. Inevitably those like them rose to the forefront of history as the heroes and villains of legend.

But what about in modern times? What happened when the ones that could have become the next great hero never even had to pick up a sword? Never had to hunt their own food? Never had to defend their family from attackers? In times of peace and prosperity what would happen if the one who could be the next Genghis Khan spent his or her days behind the till at a supermarket?

Perhaps that had been the case with Kusanagi Godou. In time long past rather than being interested in baseball he would have instead led hunting and raiding parties on horseback across the wild plains. Yes, given his ability to gather up women that seemed to become unexpectedly devoted to him Shirou could see him as the leader of some tribe or clan. It was probably that same subconscious will to fight that had allowed him to become a Campione in the first place.

Of course that was all just speculation, suppositions that could turn out to be completely wrong. Still the more he learnt about the other Japanese Campione the more certain Shirou became that he wasn't the kind of person that would stab someone else in the back, in short he was someone whom the eighth Campione might be able to safely trust.

The other Campione that had captured his attention was John Pluto Smith, the King of Los Angeles.

Ever since he could remember Shirou had wanted to save others, to attain the same joy that Kiritsugu had felt when he'd found his future adopted son alive in the ashes of the great fire that was the aftermath of the fourth Heavens Feel. For years he had held that dream close, to be a superhero, an ally of justice that would save everyone. During the fifth Heavens Feel he had chosen to cast that dream away, to choose the one over the many. But despite that the allure of heroism had not faded from his eyes completely. Some dreams could survive even their abandonment, in some small way at least.

John Pluto Smith was true living superhero though. He dressed in an outlandish costume, engaged in fantastic battles and wielded enormous power. There wasn't too much information on the American Campione due to his operating so far outside the Committee's normal sphere of influence, but what they had been able to provide him with was of great interest.

For a brief moment Shirou allowed himself to indulge in a brief fantasy of doing something similar, of dressing up in some sort of masked armour and playing the part of a sentai hero. He could see it now, Sword Rider Saber X. That would be cool. With his pegasus he'd have the mystic mount, Dragon Slaying Hero would provide all the physical power he could need and Tracing would supply special moves galore. Using Excalibur would make for a great show stopper finishing move, even the name was appropriate.

With a shake of his head the eighth Campione dismissed the idea. From what he could tell John Pluto Smith had engaged in that behaviour because America was plagued by a surfeit of immoral magi who had fled there after having to escape the consequences of their crimes in Europe. With so many miscreants stirring up trouble the agents of the Committee theorized that the man behind the mask had created the identity of John Pluto Smith in order to make their enemy more illusive. It was also the surplus of corrupted magic users that provided enough foes for the masked God Slayer to have a steady stream of adventures. By comparison Japan was far more quiet and law abiding.

Shirou's thoughts were interrupted by the door to his study suddenly being slammed open by Asuka-san. Contrary to her usual appearance she was quite flustered, her face red and her eyes wide in worry.

"Shirou-sama!" Her exclamation brought him out of his chair and onto his feet in an instant, after all anything that could rattle his housekeeper had to be serious. "It's Yamada-san, he just called us."

"What's happened?" Yusuke had been going to the school to pick up Illya after her club activities, at that thought a ball of ice began to grow in the young Emiya's stomach.

"It's the young mistress Shirou-sama; she was kidnapped just as she was leaving the school. One of her friends was there to witness the entire thing.

The ice was no longer in his stomach now; rather it had reached his heart and spread throughout his veins. Shirou felt as though he were made out of ice cold metal. Paradoxically his thoughts had simultaneously frozen and accelerated to near light speed. On the one hand he could not feel or react properly, his heart having frozen on hearing what had happened. On the other hand his thoughts had flashed through memories at a rate that should have left him unconscious. Illya being taken by a corrupted Sakura, Illya having been taken by Kirei and used as his Vessel for the Grail, Illya dying in the arms of the version of himself that would become EMIYA, Illya weeping in fear as her heart was torn out by Gilgamesh.

All those images flashed through his mind again and again in a horrific slideshow of failure and tragedy. And yet for all its repeated length it came to an end in less than a second, and when it did so it brought Shirou to a single simple conclusion.

"If whoever has done this has harmed even one hair on her head then I'm going to kill them. And then I'm going to bring them back so I can kill them all over again."

The words were spoken almost matter of factly, as though he were discussing his choice as to whether or not to take an umbrella with him today.

Someone was going to seriously regret this.


-()-


Kusanagi Godou walked through the corridors of Emiya-san's manor and couldn't help but feel slightly awed. He'd been in great houses before, mansions like the home of Lucretia Zola or the manor of Old Man Zamparini, enough that he felt he'd gained a certain level of familiarity with them. However this was his first time being in such a dwelling that was both of the Japanese style and in Tokyo itself. As a lifetime resident of the city he was well aware of just how much the property prices in the city had soared over the years, and yet his house and its gardens were so large. The amount of wealth that it must have cost to buy this place . . .

With a small shake of his head he dismissed the line of thought. Now wasn't the time for him to be thinking about such things, right now there were more important matters to consider.

It had only been half an hour ago that a car containing Amakasu-san and Mariya had pulled up in front of his house and had practically kidnapped him. During the drive he'd been told of the situation, of how his sister was the only witness and how the eighth Campione had had her brought to his home so he could question her himself.

When he'd first heard that Godou had felt his heart leap into his throat, but Mariya had been quick to reassure him the Emiya-sama simply wanted to find out what she knew and had specifically told the Committee to inform him that he meant her no harm whatsoever. The seventh Campione had felt his fear ease a bit at the reassurance, but he was well aware of just what lengths he'd go to if it meant protecting Shizuka, what might someone as apparently ruthless as the red haired God Slayer do?

He'd been met at the gate to the mansion by Erica and Liliana, both of whom had also been either informed of had found out by their own means. Once all of them had been shown into the manor they had been met by Emiya-san himself and were now being led to the room where he'd left Godou's sister.

"Am I right in assuming that your sister has been kept uninformed as to the existence of the supernatural?"

His host's questions broke into Godou's thoughts and pulled him out of his contemplations of the recent events.

"Yes, I'd prefer that she doesn't have to become involved in such troublesome things."

That was only the truth, he didn't regard his powers as something that was in any way useful or important, to Godou such unreasonable powers only existed in order to serve as opposition to the Heretic Gods that were an equally unreasonable existence. The last thing he wanted was Shizuka getting involved in such things, he had the distinct impression that if she did she'd probably be an existence as terrifying as a rogue deity.

Emiya-san nodded.

"Understood. Would you be offended if I borrowed one of your knights for a small task?"

The request was unexpected but the black haired Campione didn't let his surprise show on his face.

"I'm aware that Liliana-san can use hypnosis and as far as I know Erica-san is her equal. If one of them could use such an ability to put your sister to sleep after I've finished questioning her then I'll have one of my servants place her in a guest room while I work on whatever she might reveal. That way there shouldn't be any chance of her learning about the world of Magi."

Godou glanced over his shoulder at the two magus knights that were following the two Campione and were themselves being followed by the members of the History Compilation Committee. In all honesty he was surprised both of them had remained as quiet as they had, but it seemed that they'd read the mood and were holding their peace. At the questioning look that he sent them both nodded their accent.

Honestly, when he'd gotten out of bed this morning he hadn't expected that giving his consent to having his little sister hypnotized would be one of the things he'd do today.

"That should be fine."

"Excellent." Emiya-san nodded his thanks and indicated a set of large sliding door they had reached, "This is where Shizuka-san has been waiting. Are you ready?"

At the nods of all present the slightly older teen slid the door open and gestured for them to follow him in.

The room into which they all entered was a western style living room, one complete with a couple of settees and a fair number of large plush sitting chairs. Large widows dominated one wall and allowed plenty of light in while a few artfully place house plants gave the place a certain life. All in all it was quite a pleasant place, one suitable to house a good dozen individuals.

Right now the small figure of Godou's younger sister was sitting in one of the plush sitting chairs and nursing a cup of tea.

"Onii-chan? Why are you here? And why did you bring your girlfriends?"

The young Kusanagi's questions were brought up short by Emiya-san sitting in the chair next to her and holding his hand up as though to halt traffic.

"I'm afraid that's my fault. After I had you brought here I contacted your brother and he insisted in coming over here to lend his support. It seems his . . . friends decided to come with him."

"Why did you bring me here anyway? Have you called the police yet? Have they been able to find out who took Illya-chan yet?"

There was a pause as the red haired Campione just looked at his young questioner, then he sighed and seemed to relent.

"I haven't contacted any authorities yet Kusanagi-san, I'm worried about what might happen if the kidnappers get in touch with me and demand that I don't go to the police for help. If they find I've already done so then they might panic and hurt Illya."

He gestured in a wide motion that took in the entire mansion.

"As you can see when we split from the Einzberns we were able to do fairly well for ourselves, that's another reason I'm a bit reluctant to go to the police. Strange as it might sound I wouldn't put it past them to pull something like this as some sort of power play; they were like that, thinking that the rules don't apply to them. I told you that when we left the various branches of the clan were in a veritable civil war, if one of them could gain control over Illya, who's the technical heir of the main branch, they'd become the dominant faction."

Godou fought to keep a frown from his face as he watched Emiya-san explain the situation to his sister. His character, the way he was acting, it wasn't at all like the first time they'd met on the roof, not like the regal and commanding way he usually acted. Which was the young King's real self?

As the red haired teen began to ask his sister for details about the kidnapping the seventh Campione offered up a silent prayer for the white haired girl's safety. Granted it might be a bit strange for a God Slayer to offer a prayer, but he did it anyway.


-()-


Illya dragged herself out of the darkness and was immediately greeted with the sounds of unfamiliar voices.

". . . message been sent?"

"Yes sir, a messenger was hired to deliver it for us, one who had no connections to any of us. It should arrive within the hour and then the wretched God Slayer shall know our demands."

The white haired girl was very careful, she didn't make a sound, she didn't twitch a muscle. From what she could tell she was sitting in some sort of chair with her wrists bound to the chair's arms and her ankles tied to the chair's legs, she couldn't feel a gag in her mouth and she didn't feel anything that could have been a blindfold. Careful not to give away her return to consciousness she remained slumped in her bonds and continued to breathe deeply and regularly.

"Are the preparations ready? Has the alter been set up?" That was the first voice again, the one that seemed to be in charge.

"Yes sir," and that would be the one she had now mentally labelled as 'minion number one'. "All is in readiness. Except . . ."

"Except what? If there's a problem then let me know it."

"It's just . . . some of the men are worried. The alter, the ritual, will it really be able to bind a Campione? I thought such a thing was impossible, that their magical resistance would dispel any such compulsion." There was a definite hint of fear in the minion's voice now.

"There is no danger to us. A Devil King must keep an oath that he makes to a god, and it is that aspect of his power that we will exploit. So long as he willingly sacrifices blood to that altar his oath shall bind him as if he had sworn to a deity. After all, its centre is crafted from a Dragon's Bone; the divine power that still resides within it will be enough to bind the Campione if he doesn't fight it."

Illya heard footsteps drawing nearer to her.

"And he will not, not so long as we hold his weakness in our fist. We will take our price, we will take our revenge and we shall have our surety. A fine victory wouldn't you say?"

No. She would not accept this, she would not endure this. She was not some helpless princess that could only wail in terror as she waited for her knight to save her. She had been helpless once before and she would not allow herself to be in that state again.

Okay, first things first, test the bonds to see how strong they are. Being careful to be as subtle as she could Illya flexed her arms slightly then her legs. By the feel of it both sets of bindings were more than strong enough to restrain her, and there was no convenient slack or looseness for her to take advantage of. For a brief moment she wished that she'd sent a bit more time trying to perfect her self reinforcement, the ability to increase her physical abilities would certainly be convenient to have at this point.

Still it wasn't too much of a worry; she still had her magic and her two trump cards available to her. The real question was whether she should bring them into play now or wait and see if she could find out more about her captors and their plans.

"How long should we expect her to be unconscious sir? If I remember the information we received she's meant to have quite some power of her own."

"We hit her with two of those tranquilizers," the leader replied, "just one of those should have left her out cold for a couple of days, two will leave her knocked out for the better part of a week."

Well, that answered that question; they weren't paying any attention to her because they were sure that she'd be drugged into insensibility. Too bad for them that even an Einzbern homunculus specializing in prana production was still a bit hardier than a normal human. Her body had been able to metabolize the chemicals and restored her to full wakefulness far sooner than they had expected.

Had it been her onii-chan that had found himself in this position then he might have laid low for a little longer and seen if he could gather any further information. Illya wasn't Shirou though, she was more childish, less patient and, oddly enough, far more accustomed to general violence and slaughter than her adopted sibling. Quite simply she was less inclined to investigation and far more comfortable with total annihilation.

And she had the tools for that.

Abandoning all pretence at unconsciousness the white haired girl sat up in her chair and surveyed her surroundings. She seemed to be in some sort of abandoned theatre, the basic structure was still there but all the seats and furnishings had been stripped out. Right now she was off to one side of the stage and could see that the centre was taken up by a collection of stone blocks that served to hold up one great slab of mottled grey stone. She supposed that with some imagination the piled up affair could be called an altar.

There seemed to be a fair number of people in the building, about twenty or so. The majority of them were men, but there were several women among their number. All were of Caucasian features and were dressed in clearly expensive robes and bedecked with a generous amount of silver jewellery.

Illya took a deep breath, finalized her plan in her mind and acted.

The first step was the formation of a Bounded Field around the entire theatre. Under normal circumstances such an action would have required time and effort, but through the use of her Wishcraft, the use of the Einzbern Sorcery Trait, she was able to skip the steps and simply actualize the mystery. Granted such a method would have been prohibitively costly to any normal Magus, but the white haired girl was far from ordinary.

Interestingly the people present didn't react as she had expected them to. Back in her home world any Magus of even passing ability would have noticed the field coming up; she hadn't been stealthy or subtle in its construction after all. However rather than immediate panic or action most of the small crowd simply looked around themselves in confusion.

Then she remembered what had been written about her in the report that the Committee had supplied to her and Shirou. All the agents of the various agencies had been unable to find them due to the security Bounded Field that she'd set up as simple precaution. Even though she didn't know what they were capable of in other areas it seemed that the construction and operation of Bounded Fields was something that was either unknown or totally different in this world.

Regardless of the reason it seemed that they hadn't realized the cause of the odd sensation that they were experiencing, time to clarify things for them.

Alchemy was one of the fields of magic that she'd received proper training in, it had been necessary for her to be trained in the art of homunculus creation. At its most basic level the art of alchemy was the alteration of the flow and composition of matter. She now used that magecraft, used it to weaken and dissolve the bonds in the matter that made up her bindings. In the space of an instant they went from strong enough to hold her to being as fragile as old paper.

With a single motion Illya rose to her feet, casually brushing the crumbled remains of her restraints from her school uniform as she did so. Her sudden movement drew the eyes of some in the great room, but she ignored them as she stepped into the middle of the stage.

"Concetto, Fiorino, restrain her!"

The leader's voice echoed through the desolate theatre and rang with urgency.

Two men ran towards the young Einzbern, they were both tall men, though one was notably more muscular than the other. The slimmer one seemed to be carrying some sort of short stave and was clearly muttering under his breath. As she took the sight of them in a slightly cruel smile crossed Illya's face.

Perfect, guinea pigs.

In the time it took for the two men to reach her the snowy haired girl calmly materialized Beautiful Head Taker and allowed the skills within it to flow into her.

From an outsider's perspective the resulting clash between the two men and the slight girl was rather like something from a classic samurai movie. One instant the two cultists were charging at their target, the next there was a steely flash and both men were tumbling past Illya, groaning in pain and bleeding from debilitating but non-lethal wounds.

You know," Illya commented as she set the butt of the naginata on the floor and then leaned the shaft of the weapon casually against her shoulder while addressing the room in general. "I really should thank you all for this opportunity. I doubt you people are the only ones who think of me as onii-chan's weak point; this will be a good chance to prove different."

Her smile now was a contrast to her earlier one, now it was positively angelic.

There was a pause that could only be described as confused. This wasn't how things were supposed to go, the kidnapped party wasn't supposed to be so cheerful about their situation. The snowy haired girl could practically see the thoughts running through her abductors' heads.

She had considered killing them all, when one took into account her magic as well as her new weapon it probably wouldn't have been too difficult unless they had some trump card that would surprise her. But somehow she doubted that Shirou would be too happy with her if she went with such a course of action. After all he'd told her that the best reputation to develop was one of being strong but fair, it apparently made future interactions easier.

Very well, since total slaughter was not a viable option she'd have to go with terror tactics instead. Normally that would be a bit hard for her, even with the aid of her own Noble Phantasm. After all she was a small figure and not exactly intimidating, even when using her magic she was more dangerous than she was frightening. Fortunately her other trump card would be more than suitable for the task.

"Berserker!"

One word, that was all it took to summon her secret trump card, something she kept hidden even from Shirou.


-()-


Michelangelo Beradino was the current Voice of the Circle of the Chosen. For sixteen years he had served as the principle servant and aid to the great god Hades during his centuries on the mortal plane and had been only the latest in a long line of individuals who had served in the same capacity.

The Circle had been established just over a millennium ago. During that time both Hades and his wife Persephone had entered the mortal realm as Heretic Gods and freely rampaged and indulged their desires. However during a time when they had been separated a Campione of that age had come across the goddess and had slain her.

Hades had been filled with wrath and outrage and had set about hunting down the mortal who had dared to strike down his wife. However the Campione had mysteriously disappeared, and neither the efforts of the god of the underworld nor the works of his worshippers could uncover the illusive King.

Eventually another Campione had arrived to challenge the Greek god, but he had been weak by the standards of Devil Kings and Hades had slain him thus giving vent to his fury.

His need for vengeance satisfied but unwilling to enter the Netherworld the god of riches had fallen into a sort of depressed stupor where he was content to spend the majority of his time indulging in the food and drink his servants brought him or just sleeping for decades on end. In return for the faithful services of his worshippers he provided them with the wealth of a king's ransom every time he woke.

That had been the only responsibilities of the Circle for over ten centuries, to guard the sleep of their god and to tend to his appetites every time he briefly awoke. In return for these relatively minor duties they received wealth beyond the dreams of most mortal men. Over time the Circle had used the riches they received to expand their control, purchasing property and businesses and building up a small empire.

Among the various magical organizations they kept a relatively low profile. Their members were taught to specialize in alchemy and similar disciplines, this served as a smokescreen to conceal the true source off their limitless wealth.

For centuries it had been thus, generation after generation of easy service with huge rewards.

And then it had all ended.

Nobody knew how their god came to be aware of the presence of a Campione nearby. None of the members of the Circle had told him, of that Michelangelo was sure. It had been their organization's policy never to let Hades know of any King that could be close, they had known what could happen if he knew. Why endanger their source of wealth? It would serve no function to place him in danger or disturb his rest.

And yet it had somehow happened. One day, for no apparent reason, the great god had stormed out of the underground temple in which he slept, had summoned his godly chariot and ridden off into the distance. The Circle had been in chaos for the next few days, feverishly trying to track down their missing lord.

Then they had received the report, the newest Campione had fought the Heretic God Hades and had slain him.

There had been no words to describe the despair that the Voice of the Circle had felt. To the rest of the cult it had been about the death of their God, the loss of the reason for their existence. For Michelangelo it had been a different sort of melancholy that had assailed him. In all truth he had long ago ceased to think of Hades as a god to be worshipped and had come to regard him as nothing more than a source of gold and jewels. He would mouth the words of worship and go through the motions of respect, but there was very little awe of the deity left in him.

He supposed it was a case of familiarity breeding contempt. To anyone else the Greek deity would have been imposing beyond mortal comprehension. However the current Voice had been seeing the sleeping god since he was three years old, he had grown accustomed to the divine presence he radiated. It was because of this that he could look beyond the more immediate effects of their god's vanquishing.

Without the continuous influxes of wealth the Circle had grown accustomed to their small empire would eventually collapse. The entire base of their power was built on their wealth, without it their property and magical knowledge would not be enough to continue to support them.

It had only been after he had managed to get his hands on a report on the Campione that had slain Hades that a plan had started to form in his mind. It was clear that the new King had gained an Authority that granted him access to the limitless wealth of the god. If Michelangelo could somehow force the God Slayer to grant him a single mass of great wealth then he could use those riches to tie off the 'loose ends' of the Circle's small empire, thus stabilizing it.

The only problems were how to force him to do it and how to ensure that he didn't have a vengeful God Slayer hot on his heels afterwards.

The second problem's solution had been found inside his families treasure vault. Over the generations the Beradino had used their wealth to collect a number of artefacts that might be of use to them. The Dragon's Bone altar was one such relic, and its ability to enforce an oath upon even gods and Campione was the answer to his difficulty.

The solution to the issue of how to force the God Slayer to obey his will had become obvious to him as soon as he had read the report. The girl that followed him was clearly of value to him, sufficiently so that he had been willing to fight and kill a god for her sake. If that was the case then if he had control over her then the King would likely acquiesce to his demands in order to guarantee her safety.

With this plan in mind he had been able to convince the majority of the Circle to follow him in his plan to 'punish' the slayer of their god. It had been the perfect move, it had cemented his control over the remains of the splintering cult and would hopefully provide the means by which to preserve their financial empire.

Everything had been going well, they had secretly arrived in the country, had established a base of operations in which to set up the altar and had succeeded in capturing the girl that would allow them to control their lord's murderer and extort their price from him. How then had things come to this?

Despite all reason the slip of a girl that should have been unconscious for days yet was on her feet and standing in the centre of the abandoned theatre's stage like a princess addressing a rabble of commoners. Behind her lay the moaning forms of the agents he had sent to capture her, blood slowly forming into small puddles around them. Resting against her right shoulder was a weapon so magnificent that it would not have been out of place in the hands of a god, and on her face was a thing of sweet beauty.

Then she spoke a single word.

"Berserker!"

What appeared behind her was humanoid in shape, but never could it be mistaken for a human. It was too huge to be any sort of mortal, too massive to be natural. It towered more than two and a half metres tall, bare skinned save for an armoured kilt and metal bracers on its wrists and ankles. Its skin was a dark leaden grey that no human could ever have naturally attained and that skin covered a body that seemed to be composed entirely of muscle, muscle so dense and heavy that it appeared unnatural. No mortal could possibly attain a comparable physique, not even through the reckless abuse of drugs and steroids.

The inhumanity of the creature's body was further highlighted by the bony black protrusions that emerged from its forearms and elbows and by its strangely distorted face. Budging veins ran across its countenance giving it a look of perpetual rage. Even its hair seemed inhuman, more like the black mane of some carnivorous beast than the locks of a man. As though in some final touch even the monsters eyes were inhuman, one of them molten gold while the other was a glaring blood red.

The creature was obviously male, but despite that the Voice of the Circle could not bring himself to think of it as a 'he', it was simply too inhuman for the connection to be made in his mind. This . . . this thing wascompletely outside his frame of understanding, it wasn't a god, it wasn't an angel and it wasn't some sort of divine beast. But it was clearly far more than human; it practically radiated power that surpassed anything he had ever experienced. Even the sleeping form of Hades hadn't possessed such an overt aura of power.

But it was more than its appearance or even the power that it radiated that rooted him to the spot with fear.

Death.

Death Death.

Death Death Death.

Death Death Death Death Death Death Death Death Death Death Death Death!

The feeling was overwhelming, utterly beyond anything he had ever experienced. Everything about him, his blood, his sinew, his organs, every scrap of his body seemed to scream at him that he was going to die. All he had to do was shift, shudder, even twitch, the instant he moved he would die. The menace that flowed off the creature like water drowned all reason, all thought, all hope beneath a crushing tide of fear and dread.

Behind him Michelangelo could hear other members of the Circle whimpering in fear. In his state of terrified heightened awareness he could smell the rank scent of their sweat as they perspired. Without even having to turn he knew that at least one member of the cult had soiled themselves in fear.

But the leader of the Circle was not a man of faint heart, he had been raised all his life to tend to a god, and though the aura of this monstrosity was enough to stun him it wasn't enough to break him.

With a wordless bellow of defiance he channelled his mana through the bracelet on his right arm and sent a ball of fire and lightning shooting at the grey giant's face. The sound of its impact was deafening in the silence that had fallen and the small cloud of smoke it yielded temporarily obscured the creature from view.

"FIGHT!" Both his action and his shout seemed to have the desired effect; all around him members of the Circle were emerging from the terrified stupor they had fallen into. "DO NOT FAIL OUR LORD, FIGHT, SLAY THE MONSTER AND RECAPTURE THE GIRL!"

There was still a chance he could make the plan work, if he could somehow lead the cult to successfully bring this brute down then they might be able to once more take the girl hostage. And if they could do that then the plan could still go through.

"▄▅▄▅▂▂▃▃▄▄▅!"

It couldn't be described as a roar or howl, to do so would suggest that it came from human vocal cords. The . . . the sound was just like the monster's body; it bore a vague resemblance to the sounds humans made but was distorted in all other ways. It was too loud, too deep, too forceful. The sound practically struck you all on its own.

No, he couldn't allow himself to be intimidated . . . alright; he couldn't allow himself to be further intimidated. He had nearly twenty mages backing him up, that was not a negligible power to any that weren't gods or Campione. He still had a chance.


-()-


"▄▅▄▅▂▂▃▃▄▄▅!"

Illya gazed down as the scattered ranks of the magi before her began to assemble into some semblance of order. The roar that Berserker had released at her mental command had served to further unnerve them, but not enough to totally break their morale.

This was her ultimate achievement, the supreme Mystery that she had created that surpassed any other she was aware of short of one of the True Magics.

However despite the unparallel success of her experiment it was still a failure.

Her original intent had been the resummoning of Berserker, not as a Servant, but as a familiar. Under normal circumstances such a feat would have been impossible to achieve and would have almost certainly have been fatal to attempt. However right now she was in a world where the rules were different, where the very mana in the air seemed ready to aid in her attempt rather than hinder it.

Also there were other factors to consider; she had access to her full power without any external drains on it. She had the Dress of Heaven available to her which gave her access to an incomplete form of the Heaven's Feel magic. She had access to reagents such as pure platinum and perfectly cut gems. And she had her own knowledge, incomplete though it was, of Einzbern homunculus crafting.

However the most important thing she had was a clear and intimate knowledge of Berserker's Prana comprised body. She had supported his existence for two and a half months; she had spent all that time in his presence and had come to learn how the power he took from her ran through him. It was a natural side effect of the partnership between a master as skilled as her and a Servant that drew such huge amounts of her prana. She had simply come to know him, know how he was put together, how his Noble Phantasm felt.

So she had attempted the impossible, she had tried to call the strongest Servant of the fifth Heaven's Feel back to her side. She expected to once more be tormented by the pain of having to support his existence without the Grail's aid, but she had been willing to endure it. She had wanted it once more, both the power of her seemingly invincible protector and the simple comfort of his presence. Plus she felt that he simply deserved something better. Berserker had always given his all to protect her, even after the Shadow had eaten him and spat him out again as a blind and crippled version of himself he had still fought to protect her. He had even halted his last strike when he had sensed her presence nearby.

So she had poured her vast prana into the task and hoped that the advantages available to her would be enough to overcome the limitations she faced.

The result would have been a resounding success to anyone else, but to her it had been a sad failure.

She hadn't been able to reach the Throne of Heroes to gather the Soul of Heracles. She had felt her magic reaching out; using the Dress of Heaven to enact a broken version of the Heaven's Feel, but it hadn't been enough. It had been like trying to reach through a shut window and grasp an apple from a tree down the road. She could perceive the Throne; she could even perceive the soul she sought. But something was blocking her path to it, and even if that impediment hadn't been there her target was too metaphysically 'far' away for her to touch it. This world she was in was definitely connected to the Root, to Akasha, but somehow it was 'further away' than her home world had been. Was this why Shirou hadn't used his Rule of the Underworld and some Traced weapons to summon up some Heroic Spirits as his Servants? Could it be that his Authority had the same problem?

Regardless she had achieved something incredible; it just hadn't been what she wanted.

In a way she supposed that the copy of Berserker she had accidentally created in her efforts could be compared to one of Shirou's Traced weapons, though perhaps not completely the same. What she had made had been an imperfect copy of Berserker's body and abilities, but without any soul or mind inhabiting it. Instead the construct had been linked to her mind at the moment of its creation; it responded to her will, she could perceive its senses through the connection with ease.

Quite simply it could be considered to be a puppet with the power of a Servant. In a sense that made her new Berserker more of a Mystic Code than a Mystery. Quite by accident she had created something that most Magi would have been willing to cut their own arm off with a blunt saw in order to attain. Perhaps even better than the absolute control she had over it was the fact that like a Servant her puppet Berserker could shift into a spiritual form, and when he did the amount of prana he drew from her was practically nonexistent. When she materialized it the drain on her Prana was considerable, but nowhere near as severe as what she had experienced before when she had supported Berserker without the Grails aid. Her best guess was that since her puppet both lacked a soul and was inferior to the genuine article the drain upon her was likewise reduced.

However for all her unintended success her creation was not without its flaws. In terms of pure power her puppet was one rank lower than the true Berserker's stats would have been. Additionally since there was no mind or soul other than her own operating the body it had no personal skills other than Battle Continuation, which had remained at A rank, and Divinity, which had suffered a reduction in Rank to B level.

The Noble Phantasm God Hand had also been copied, but as with Berserker the duplication had been imperfect. It wasn't quite as strong as the original, meaning that it didn't require quite as much force to break through it. Additionally it wasn't able to hold the same number of stock lives that the true God Hand had possessed, rather than having eleven extra lives she estimated that her puppet Berserker would only be able to resurrect itself about five or six times.

Additionally the construct was unarmed. It lacked the huge stone axe-sword that the true Berserker had wielded as his main weapon. That in itself was only a minor problem though, the young Einzbern knew that Shirou could Trace a copy of it, and with his creations now lasting indefinitely it would make a fine replacement for her creation to use if so she saw fit.

However the greatest limiter to her puppets power was the simple fact that since it had no driving conscious other than her own it possessed none of the skill of the true Berserker. Certainly the body still possessed a certain level of muscle memory, but Illya had quickly come to the conclusion that she'd need to practice with the puppet Berserker a good deal if she wanted to use it to full effect.

Quite simply rather than the most powerful Servant she had an insanely powerful remote control robot, or at least the magical equivalent thereof.

Still for the moment at least that would be more than enough. She was familiar with the true Berserker's style of motion and combat, certainly she could never have emulated it herself, but with the perfect response that the puppet had to her will she could at least manage an emulation of it.

At her will the behemoth stepped around her and charged towards the knot of magi that had come together around their leader. They released a hail of spells upon the charging giant, fire, lightning, ice, pure force in various hues of colour, all of them rained down upon him.

And yet for all their destructive potential the spells might as well have been a mild summer shower. Her creation's God Hand might be inferior to the real thing, but even so not one of these spells could have been ranked higher than D rank, utterly useless against her Berserker's Noble Phantasm skin.

In an instant he was among them, his sweeping arms brushing them aside like feathers and sending them flying through the air. It would have been so much easier to simply kill them all, to release the full power of her pseudo Servant and splatter them all with blows too fast for them even to see. Instead she carefully regulated the amount of force being used and incapacitate rather than slay.

However a good number of the magi had been able to retreat in time to avoid the puppet's actions. Some of them continued to futilely hurl spells against the grey giant, but the leader pulled two aside and whispered to them frantically.

By now some of the cultists had lost their nerve and had fled to the doors out of the theatre in an attempt to escape. Unfortunately for them Illya's Bounded Field had sealed them in, doors that should have come open easily of broken under force were suddenly solid as steel. Walls that the desperate tried to break through proved to be similarly impervious to harm. It gradually began to dawn on the terrified cultists that there was no way out anymore.

"NOW!"

The sudden shout from the side brought her attention back to where the leader was standing with his two flunkies. All three of them were pointing their hands down at the same point on the ground before them.

The young Einzbern watched with mild interest as the floorboards at which the trio pointed bulged upwards and then split to reveal a mounting mass of rock. As she watched the stone reshaped itself into a roughly humanoid form that was even larger than her puppet Berserker. Towering at nearly five metres tall the vaguely man shaped colossus wielded a massive stone club in one hand as though it were no heavier than a stick from the garden.

"GO! CRUSH THAT THING, DESTROY IT COMPLETELY!"

The shout from the chief of this rabble was now tinged with a strange mix of hysterical fear and manic hope. He thought that his construct had a chance against her puppet, and it was that hope that he was pinning all his plans upon.

"Berserker!"

"▂▂▃▃▄▄▅▅!"

She carefully kept up the illusion that the huge creature was an independent being. She wasn't quite sure why, perhaps it was in some strange way an attempt to preserve her own Servant's honour. It was as though if she could make her puppet a worthy successor to her former protector then it would in some way be alright that she had made such a copy of him.

At her mental command the construct charged fearlessly at the stone giant. The rock hulk swung its huge club at its attacker, but though the move had power it was slow. For all its size and mass the copy of her old Servant was able to move at speeds that would beggar even an expert of Self Reinforcement. Before the golem could react the puppet was inside its reach.

Illya already knew what she wanted to do, earlier she had lamented that her creation lacked a weapon of its own, now her captors had been so kind as to provide her with one. All that was necessary was for her to take it.

The puppet Berserker's hands reached out and the enchanted stone briefly resisted false divine flesh then shattered beneath the force applied to it. The golem's arm came apart in a burst of pebbles and as the stone club fell the imitation Servant snatched it up and immediately swung it at its foe's head.

It was a swing without grace or skill, since the young Einzbern had no training in any kind of weapon, and it seemed that the skills imparted upon her by the Beautiful Head Taker didn't translate into anything she could have her construct use. However the simple fact of the matter was that there comes a point at which sheer physical force is so great that skill becomes unnecessary. In this particular clash that was the case, though the puppet Berserker only possessed at most eighty percent of the original's power that was more than enough to utterly overwhelm its foe.

The club's head impacted on the imitation cranium of the golem with such force that both vanished in an explosion of rock dust. That wasn't enough for the grey giant though; grasping the remains of the club like a sword the false Servant drove it into the 'wound' where the golem's head had been and pressed downwards with all the strength at its command.

More of the club shattered under the force as Illya forced her puppet on to continue its relentless assault, but even as the crude weapon came apart it had done what was needed of it, an ugly rent ran down the 'chest' of the stone monster. Casting aside the last splintered remains of the club the young white haired magus directed her creation to drive its hands forward and seize either side of the 'wound', then she ordered it to widen the rent.

Like some titan out of myth the grey giant strained, and with a sound like a mountain collapsing it tore the huge golem in two.

Silence reigned supreme in the theatre once more, a silence broken only by whimpers of fear or quiet groans of pain.

Illya smiled at the captive audience that was alternating between staring at her puppet Berserker and staring at her. Despite its intensity the fight with the golem had been brief, barely five seconds in length. They had had just enough time to experience a surge of hope at the golem's appearance before that hope was shattered along with the construct itself. To her side she noted that the two magi that had aided the leader by summoning up the stone construct were now unconscious on the floor while the leader was sitting on the ground in a sprawled manner as though his legs had given out on him.

"Now, does anybody else want to make a fuss?"

In response one of the cultists huddling against the outermost edge of the theatre hall shakily raised an arm and sent a blue fireball hurtling directly at her.

The white haired magus watched the spell speed at her dispassionately. In all truth she was a bit surprised that no-one had thought to attack her sooner. That had been one of the most basic strategies of the Holy Grail War; if you couldn't kill the Servant then go for the Master. It's what she would have done had she found herself in their situation.

Still she didn't even flinch as the fireball flew at her. Why should she? She wasn't worried. As soon as she had brought her puppet Berserker into the physical realm she had prepared for the magi to strike at her in order to save themselves and had taken appropriate steps. The magical defence she had set up with her Wishcraft would have been enough to protect her from even a B rank spell, however against this it seemed her preparations might have been overkill. Not only wasn't it a big spell in terms of size it also seemed to have been poorly constructed and underpowered. She doubted that it would even qualify as an E rank were someone to test it.

As it struck her defences the most it produced was a slight shimmer in the air before her.

It had been a futile gesture, one no doubt born of panic and desperation, however it merited a response. In a split second her creation had covered the distance separating it from the foolish magus and was towering over him. The desperate magic user stared at the huge dark giant glaring down at him with an expression of apocalyptic rage on its face for an instant. Then with a sort of sigh his eyes rolled back into his head and he collapsed to the ground.

"Anyone else?"

When nobody answered her Illya simply allowed her smile to grow. Now for the next part of her plan.

"Well, you've all been very rude, kidnapping me like this, trying to use me as a hostage against onii-chan, trying to hurt me when I got free. These are all insults that need to be . . . punished."

As she said that last word a mental command caused her puppet to growl deep in its throat, a rumble like grinding stone that echoed around the theatre. Many of the magi flinched at the noise; one even fell to his knees and started to sob.

"First though I want to know about this altar. Hands up everyone who knows anything about it."

She noted that the leader didn't respond to her order, still on his knees he simply continued to glare at her with a sort of defeated but sullen resentment. Still that didn't matter since four hands had risen out of the knot of cultists that had formed as they came to huddle together.

"You, come here." The young Einzbern ordered as she pointed at one of them at random.

The cultist hesitantly made his way up onto the stage next to her, visibly flinching as he was forced to pass the puppet Berserker in order to reach her. As he came close Illya gestured imperiously at the crude altar that had been set up in the centre of the stage.

"You were going to force Shirou to keep an oath to you using that, correct?" At a hesitant nod from the cultist she continued, "Will it work on anyone? Will it work on you? Because if it doesn't then we might have a problem since it would limit my options in how I can deal with all of you."

"I-I don't k-know my lady. According to the records it once bound a Campione t-to th-their oath, but there was nothing about it b-being used on anyone else."

"Well then, let's try it out then. Go over there and swear your loyalty and obedience in all things to me."

The man looked at her in horror.

"M-My lady, it must be an oath made of my free will."

"And you have a choice," Illya assured him with a smile, "You can choose to make the oath or you can choose to take the matter up with my friend here. You have a choice, so therefore you have free will."

At her words the imitation Servant leaned forwards slightly and rumbled its growl once more.

Under both Illya's smile and the baleful glare of her puppet the cultist stumbled over to the altar and picked up the knife that was resting on it. His stare, now somewhat wild, went from the blade in his hand to his fellows who were watching him to the girl child and her pet monster and then back to the knife.

"Go on," said the white haired Einzbern encouragingly, "I know the altar needs a blood sacrifice. If you don't want to do it I can have Berserker here help you."

A shudder ran through the man as his gaze went to her puppet once more, then he turned a face whose expression could only be called 'broken' to Illya.

"What's your name? I need to know in order to swear."

"I'm Illyasviel Von Einzbern"

With a final shudder the cultist extended his arm and drew the knife across the underside of his bare forearm cutting a shallow wound. Droplets of blood spilled forth and pattered down onto the stone in the middle of the altar.

"I . . . I do swear my loyalty and obedience in all things to Illyasviel Von Einzbern."

The words were barely more than a whisper but as the cultist spoke them the white haired magus felt something take place. It was as though an invisible lead now connected them, one end around his neck and the other rested in her metaphorical hand. Curios she tugged on that lead and sent a command along it.

-Sleep-

Like a doll with its strings cut the man fell to the floor completely unconscious.

-Awaken-

His eyes blinked open and he pulled himself to his feet.

The smile that was now on her face would not have looked out of place on a tiger that had just spotted a gazelle so fat that it had no chance of escape.

"We have a solution to our problems. All of you are going to swear to me on that altar. Does anybody have any objections?"

"I . . ." the voice came from the leader, who was now struggling to his feet, his voice was laden with contempt and hatred, "I will not submit to this. I am the Voice of-"

Whatever else he was going to say was cut off as her creation's huge hand closed around his face.

"If that's how you want it." Her own voice was clear and calm, utterly unaffected by the situation.

CRUUGH!

With a noise that was both brittle and wet the puppet Berserker's hand closed into a fist. Illya noted with mild interest that contrary to what she'd seen in some movies and anime a great spray of blood didn't burst forth. Instead a relatively small amount dripped forth from her construct's fist, along with a couple of other fluids.

Earlier she'd made the decision not to kill them all, but she was willing to accept one or two deaths as long as it ensured that the rest of the cultists would follow her orders. Shirou was someone that tried to avoid as many deaths as he could, though he had grown to be able to accept the deaths he couldn't prevent. Illya, on the other hand, was her father's daughter through and through. Killing was something she had grown accustomed to after those first weeks with Berserker. As the two of them had struggled in the forest filled with the rejected creations of her family she had grown used to the sight and smell of blood. By the time they were let back into the Family castle she had been splattered with the life fluid of many 'failures' but she had no longer cared.

The rest of the magi present stared at the sight before them like hypnotized mice confronting a snake. As her puppet let the headless body fall to the ground a couple of the watchers turned and threw up.

"Does anyone else have any objections?"

Quite predictably there were no further dissenters. One by one they filed past the altar shedding their blood upon it and mumbling the oath she demanded. Eventually they were all sworn and stood looking at her with a kind of stunned questioning on their faces, for some reason she was reminded of cattle being led to the slaughter. She could feel the connection between them, as though she held twenty two invisible leashes with her will. These men and women were hers now, she could order then to die and their hearts would stop beating at her command.

"Alright, my first order it that you will show my onii-chan, Emiya Shirou, the same obedience and respect that your oaths compel for me. Secondly you will not cause harm or allow harm to come to myself, Shirou or our interests by your actions or inactions." She looked out at them and could practically see the order settling into her new minions, as well as their utter helplessness to disobey. She also saw the panic growing in their eyes as they came to realize just what it meant for her to have this level of control over them. Deciding to show them some mercy in her victory she added a small amendment.

"Should you come into conflict with this order in some way that would be dangerous or ruinous to you you may contact me to try to find a resolution."

There, it was probably more than they deserved, but it was what Shirou would have approved of.

"M-My lady," the first cultist to have been sworn to her had stepped forwards and was addressing her, "W-What shall we do now? What are your orders?"

Illya paused for moment as she considered her options. She'd certainly have to question her new followers on why they had wanted to compel Shirou to keep some oath to them, but that could come later. These oaths they had taken would not fade any time soon, of that she was sure; she could feel the strength of the bond they made. No, questions could wait until later; right now the most important thing to do was to secure this altar somewhere safe.

"How did you transport the altar here? Do you have some sort of vehicle or did you bring it in pieces?"

Her question seemed to catch the man off guard, but he quickly answered despite his confusion.

"We have a transport van out the back; the altar can be disassembled and loaded into that."

"Please do that then; once we have it all loaded up all of you are going to take me back home. Then all of us can have a long talk with my onii-chan."


-()-


Shirou glared at the note in his hand as though he could get it to change its message if he directed enough malice at it.

The content was a long rambling discourse on the supposed crime that he had committed in slaying Hades, some justifications for the actions that this so called 'Circle of the Chosen' had taken and finally an outline of the demands that they wished from him. Those demands had been left vague, the only things he was sure of was that they'd want a considerable amount of wealth and some sort of promise. The message ended by saying that another such note would soon be sent and that one would have contact details so that they could set up a meeting and exchange.

Across from him were Kusanagi-san and his companions, all of them had seen the message as well and had been equally outraged. For all their talk of honouring their god this entire affair was little more than a kidnapping and extortion for money.

Once he found those responsible for this he was going to make them pay, they would pay in blood. Nobody would harm Illya, he'd protect her, he'd-

His thoughts were interrupted by a knock at the door, which was followed by Yusuke letting himself in.

"Shirou-sama, Illya-sama has just arrived at the gate!"

The eighth Campione sat there for a second staring dumbly at his servant. It took that long for the full meaning of the words to filter through his confusion and into his conscious thoughts. Then he was leaping out of his chair and bolting through the door so fast that he almost knocked the resurrected accountant over.

At the back of his mind he noted that his actions probably weren't in keeping with the image that he'd been carefully cultivating with his fellow Campione and his attendants, but right now he really didn't care. All that mattered was that Illya was back, that Illya was safe.

He came running out of the mansion and saw his adopted sister calmly walking down the path towards him. For a moment the urge to simply pick her up and hug her was almost overwhelming, but the combat instincts he'd inherited from his other selves pulled his attention away from his returned sibling and to those who were following her.

There were more than twenty of them, a mix of men and women, and from what he could sense from them the majority of them were magi.

Scenarios ran through his head in the merest blink of an eye. Was Illya under some sort of control and was now leading her captors through the manor's defences? Was she being threatened in some manner to ensure her co-operation? Had she perhaps been tricked?

However his worries were dispelled when upon seeing him the snowy haired girl smiled and waved.

"Heeeyyyy onii-chan, come on and have a look at this. I've got minions."

"Huh?" That was just about the most articulate response that Shirou was able to manage.

"Well you know that group that kidnapped me? I got loose, killed their leader and took them over, now they're all my minions. Cool huh?"

The red haired Campione could definitely feel a headache coming on at this point. Somehow he knew that whatever Illya had done was going to lead to problems, or at least further headaches, in the future.

But for now he didn't worry about that, all he cared about was that his sister was back home and safe.

Wait, hang on a minute. Did she say she'd killed the group leader?


-()-


Around the world many schemes were taking form.

The schemers were Divine Ancestors, former goddesses each working to their own agenda.

In one country the Witch Queen Guinevere escorted the heavily wounded form of her fellow Divine Ancestor Leviathan to meet with the Campione of China Luo Hao. Both of them had their own reasons for working together and were only in co-operation because those reasons coincided. One sought to uncover a secret and the other sought revenge. Neither of them cared about whether or not the other succeeded as long as their own goals were met.

In one part of Japan another Divine Ancestor, one with hair that was both red and blue, laboured in her work as she carefully inscribed ancient ruins onto golden plates using a tool dipped in her own blood. She wanted power, the return of what she had once lost.

And on a tiny uncharted island off the eastern shore of Japan another former goddess stood waiting.

She had been patient these last few weeks, had not rushed or pushed but had simply waited as the god that slept in the earth of the tiny isle roused himself to full consciousness once more.

Now she stood to one side as the ground before her began to heave. The god that had slept was now awake and slowly but surely he was rising from his bed of soil and stone. Before her eyes a great bulge as big as a house rose in the small clearing, then, in an movement shocking in its suddenness, an arm tore out of the mound.

It was an arm covered in black metal, armour black as night and studded with spikes and hooked blades. As more of the god's form emerged from the earth the former goddess couldn't help but feel a shudder run down her spine.

This was an old god, one who had undergone many changes over the ages as his worshippers had been assimilated into other cultures and their image of him had changed. Now he wore the same form that he had possessed when last he rampaged on the plane of the mortals. Black armour covered every inch of him, armour that was of vaguely European design, but not something any mortal had ever worn. At one side of his belt hung a sheathed broadsword and on the other a coiled whip. On his back was hung a large kite shaped shield, one bearing no crest but only as solid a black as his armour. And he stood tall, taller than any mortal; his metal covered form stood more than three metres in height and nearly two metres wide at the shoulders.

She could feel the power radiating from him; feel the strength that had slain two Devil Kings.

This was a god who had become a follower of the King Who Manifests at the World's End. He had served as one of his greatest knights for years, but in the end his envy and battle lust had led him to betray his lord and strike out at him. He was the only god to have ever succeeded in wounding the one known as the 'Strongest Steel', and for that his name had been immortalized and become synonymous with betrayal.

Yes, he was the knight of betrayal.

A small smile touched the Divine Ancestor's lips as she felt his eyes focus upon her.

"Art thou the one who hast roused me from my slumber?"

Despite his huge frame his voice was oddly gentle, that of a gentleman knight rather than some despoiler and ravager.

In response she curtsied low as she bowed to him.

"Indeed I am, welcome back Sir Mordred."


Beautiful Head Taker, the naginata of Gozen Tomoe

Type: Anti-unit/Support

Rank: C

Range: 1-2

Max no of Targets: 1

A naginata that can only be wielded by women, should a man try to use this Noble Phantasm then his luck will immediately fall by one full rank. When wielded by an untrained woman this weapon will endow her with all the skill Gozen Tomoe possessed in its use for as long as that woman is in physical contact with the weapon. When used by Tomoe herself this Noble Phantasm would grant a bonus to her luck whenever she faces a sword user. This is due to her legend of having defeated numerous Katana using samurai with this weapon.

Though lacking in the more overt powers this Noble Phantasm is potentially quite useful. Due to its status as a legendary weapon it is largely impervious to most forms of magecraft and can clash with higher ranked Noble Phantasms without breaking. Should Tomoe's Master be a woman a usable tactic will be for her to confer this weapon upon her Master while she uses her other Noble Phantasms. Her master will then be at a great advantage against other Masters as well as being able to defend themselves from other Servants for at least a short period of time.

-(-)-

Puppet Berserker Stats

Gender:

Male

Height:

253 cm

Weight:

311 kg

Strength:

B+

Agility:

B

Mana:

N/A

Luck:

N/A

Endurance:

B

Since the Puppet Berserker has no mind of its own it therefore has no luck, only Illya as its operator would. The same applies to Mana.

It should be noted that while puppet Berserkers stats are equal or inferior to Shirou's, when he's using his incomplete Dragon Slaying Hero, since the puppet has more than five times his weight the difference in mass makes up for the disparity in power. In a fight Shirou would undoubtedly have the advantage due to the boosts his Authorities give him, as would any Campione. Quite simply control puppet of Berserker places Illya roughly on the same tier as Ena when she's using Divine Possession. Puppet Berserker itself is more or less on par with a Divine Beast.