Same deal as last chapter.

Edited 6/7/2020

The November Poll Chapter!

Beta-ed by Draconic


It was a scene out of her memories. For a moment, she wasn't in the heartland of Romania in an alternate dimension, but back at Homurahara courtyard, Lancer thrusting Gae Bolg at her back, only for Kanshou to rise and deflect the crimson spear's tip. Just like then, she only caught the barest hint of the oncoming lethal assault, an arrow streaking for her head faster than the speed of sound. But then an aria filled her ears and a flash of light blinded her vision, stopping her cold.

When she could see again a moment later, a red mantle, one she'd seen in both her dreams and nightmares, flapped stoically in the wind, the tall figure it covered hovering protectively in front of her.

"Shirou?" she couldn't help but murmur. "You… are Shirou, right?"

Her boyfriend, his visage and stature now an exact copy of his possible future self, nodded. "Yeah, it's m—" he cut himself off and coughed into his hand. "Do I sound like…? …ugh, I knew it. I was afraid I'd sound exactly like him. Fears confirmed, I guess. How are you, though? Is the prana strain manageable?"

She focused on her magic circuits, tracking the magical energy flowing through them. As a mage, her power was top-notch, but with the strain from her contract with Shirou now amplified by his new form, she was effectively supplying energy for two Servants. Sieg had been built to be a prana battery and he could only maintain Siegfried's form for a minute. Maybe Shirou and Archer's enhanced compatibility would cheapen the cost somewhat, but not by much. They needed a way to provide more power to him directly.

Rin dug out a pair of jewels from her satchel and tossed them to her boyfriend, his reflexes easily allowing him to snatch them out of the air. He raised a concerned eyebrow.

"Those are just in case," she assured him. Shirou may have been hopeless in all but the basics of magecraft, but he was technically her apprentice. She could hardly have called herself a teacher if she hadn't made sure he could at least draw out the power she stored in her jewels (even if he couldn't put his own in, or ignite it, or make a shield or… nevermind). "It isn't an easy cost, but I can pay it."

"Just not for long," Shirou finished. Kanshou stretched into an arrow as Archer's bow manifested into the aspiring Hero of Justice's opposite hand. "I'll finish this quickly then. You two go on ahead. Sieg."

The homunculus stepped forward. "Yes, Mr. Emiya?"

"Try to keep her on track," Shirou smirked in a decidedly Archer-like way. "She hides it better than I do, but she can't help trying to save people any more than I can."

Despite the situation, Rin couldn't help the scowling pout that crossed her features. "Just because you look like him doesn't mean you need to sass like him. Try not to die, you idiot."

"Love you too."

Rin sighed and snatched Sieg by the wrist, the two of them taking off for Millennia Citadel. A round of explosions sounded behind them, arrows flying like artillery shells as debris rained all around.

"That Servant he's become," Sieg inquired worriedly. "Is it strong enough to defeat Archer of Red?"

"Strong enough? Who knows," Rin said. "But versatile enough? Easily. He can handle himself. We need to do our part and get to the castle—"

"Urgh…"

Her eyes darted to the source of the pained groaning, a bloody female homunculus, lying broken in the dirt. Just from a cursory glance, her wounds looked worse than they probably were. Granted, with all the Servants going wild on the battlefield, just being alive was an impressive feat in and of itself.

Rin's mind warred against itself for a moment. Like Shirou had said, she did like being able to save people who were in danger as well, though not nearly to such psychological extremes as he did. There was a reason she'd stopped her duel with him at the school the moment she'd heard an innocent scream. But she was also more than capable of being pragmatic if the situation required it, which a war certainly did. So, her brain weighed the pros and cons.

It was the right thing to do.

She was an enemy soldier.

They needed a guide through the castle defenses. Sieg's knowledge could quite likely be outdated.

She would not help them. She was literally programmed to be loyal.

So had Sieg, and he had turned against them.

"Hey! Are you alright?"

And just like that, her complex deduction was rendered moot as Sieg dashed over to his wounded kin, a simple desire to help bringing him to a knee at her side. A slight smile flickered across Rin's face and she rushed over to the pair, placing her glowing hands over the girl and beginning to heal her.

Soon, the homunculus girl's red eyes creaked open, her vision focusing in on Sieg.

"You?" she muttered, forcing herself up. "What are you doing here?"

"I couldn't just abandon you all," Sieg said. "Please, let us heal you."

"Us?" the girl replied, finally recognizing Rin's presence. "Master of Blue."

"If you're going to take a swing at me, I recommend waiting a few seconds," Rin snarked, nearly finished with the healing process.

"You've joined them." The homunculus surmised, making no hostile move. "Why? You had escaped. Why join another faction? Thrown into battle and expended, that is the life of a homunculus. You were able to leave that fate behind. Why risk returning?"

"Because we may have been born to fight in this war, but that doesn't mean we were born to die," Sieg declared, the iron glimmers of what might have been passion filling his voice. "I have freedom now. I think everyone else should have it too. Astolfo, Siegfried, Ruler, the Blue Faction, they've all helped me, and I want to pay all their kindness forward. I beg you, help us make that happen."

"Very well."

Sieg's stoic and serious expression chipped away. "Huh?"

"I will help you," the female homunculus repeated matter-of-factly. "I am well aware of the castle's defenses and will guide you through them. Our kin within will assist us, but they will not attack the Masters of Black."

"Don't worry, I can handle that part," Rin assured her. It wasn't too surprising that the homunculi were unwilling to fight their creators directly, she wouldn't put it past Gordes to put not harming their masters as the primary piece of their programming, at least in the combat soldiers. Honestly, she was surprised by how easy it was to get this one to change sides, but she supposed no one really liked being used as disposable puppets.

The female homunculus raised her arm and pointed past them. "Will you be able to handle this part too?"

This… oh, shit.

Rin and Sieg both leapt to their feet, the sizable chunk of prana they hadn't noticed due to the rampant magical energy pervading the battlefield coming clearly into view, wrapped in a wedding dress and crackling with green sparks.

Berserker of Black bore down on them, her great mace swinging at her side as emerald electricity arced across her body.


FATEFATEFATEFATE

Shirou was well aware of Archer's pain. The Wrought Iron Hero had gone through literal hell and found there was no heaven on the other side, only a mirror that showed that he had simply become one of the demons along the way. A true Hero of Justice. Ever since their confrontation in Unlimited Blade Works, he had devoted himself to succeeding where his alternate self had… also succeeded. But differently, in a manner that wouldn't leave him a broken man doomed to suffer under the weight of the lives he'd taken. He wouldn't allow his devotion to his dream to shatter him. He would not — must not — ever become like the Counter Guardian.

That being said… being a Servant felt amazing!

For years, he'd struggled to improve his body to its maximum potential, pushing even beyond that through his reinforcement magecraft, stretching his muscles near their breaking point, careful to never go too far yet always feeling too weak, too slow. Even when he'd unlocked the full potential of his Reality Marble, he'd a limitless number of options when he only needed one for each issue, his mind stretched to its limits searching through the depths of his memory to select just the right sword for the job. He'd never regret attempting to help anyone, but he feared he was slowly coming up against his own natural limitations, the simple constraint of being human.

But with Archer's form, all those limits were meaningless. He may not have been anywhere near the most powerful of Servants, but even the most mediocre of Heroic Spirits were far above the physical capabilities of any human and EMIYA was average for the most part. And most valuably, his Eye of the Mind skill was constantly evaluating the battlefield and every tool Shirou had at his disposable, including each individual weapon in the Reality Marble. Where once he would have had to sift through the endless arsenal and the titanic portion of average, nameless swords within it for the blade he needed, now the most suited weapon would be fished out from the depths of his inner world and thrust into the forefront of his mind, ready to bring him victory.

Still, he had to be careful. He couldn't allow himself to become careless with his bolstered capabilities. After all, despite his new power, his enemies were just as strong, and far more accustomed to wielding such strength.

His foe might have been momentarily stunned by his transformation, but it was not long before she resumed her attack. In a fraction of a second, dozens of arrows fired downrange, each shaft shimmering with a slight turquoise glow and packing enough power to demolish a house.

With the briefest of thoughts, he analyzed the incoming barrage's flight paths, not surprised to find that a sizable portion of them were not aimed at him. Obviously even with the unknown circumstances of his appearance, his opponent saw Saber, and therefore Rin, as the greater threat. Not exactly incorrect, but she was certainly underestimating what the Counter Guardian was capable of, even if she had perfectly good reason to be confident in her own skills.

Archer of Red, Atalanta, was far from the most powerful Servant he'd ever encountered. She may have traveled and fought with Heracles in life, but only her agility stood in the same realm as the greatest hero of Greece. Unfortunately, it was still two ranks higher than his own and when the both of them could mystically manifest arrows on their bows, that meant her rate of fire was significantly superior to his own.

At least, with a bow.

Deftly dodging the portion of the arrows launched his way, he drew back his bow, fletching the string with cheap, quick to manifest, arrows. In between eyeblinks, he launched his own rapid-fire counter barrage, his bolts streaking through the air and striking Atalanta's shafts in two, their superior power meaning little when he clipped them from behind, sending the remaining fragments far off target.

Whirling back to face her, he caught the huntress' scowl, his new eyes easily covering the mile-long distance between them. It would seem that his display had served its purpose. She knew she wouldn't be able to get to Rin without going through him first. Now it was just a matter of putting her down.

Once more, the Huntress of Arcadia notched and loosed a storm of arrows, each one packing enough power that they would have punched straight through Godhand, this time entirely focused on turning Shirou into a pincushion. The young mage noted that she had fired several bolts along the paths he might dodge, trapping him like prey cornered by a predator.

Fortunately, there were few things more dangerous than cornered prey. And Shirou had not only been dodging and deflecting during her last barrage.

Battles between Servants were incredible things. The blitz neck speed of any Heroic Spirit meant that many fights could end before some onlookers even realized they started. And when a fight occurred so quickly, even the barest fraction of a second mattered. And outside Unlimited Bladeworks, it took a few fractions to manifest his weapons.

They rose up from the dark of the night, a horde of swords soaring into the air like a flock of hawks, just as numerous as Atalanta's barrage. The blades collided with her arrows, a great crash echoing out from the sky as both waves shattered against each another. Shards of broken metal rained down from the clouds, only prevented from cutting him by his will summarily dismissing them to sapphire sparks.

The huntress' eyes widened in shock, but to her credit, she near-instantly had another set of arrows nocked and ready to fire, their turquoise glow far brighter than her past assaults. Unfortunately for her, using his swords to defend against her previous attack had given him time to trace a more potent Noble Phantasm on his bow. Atalanta must have deduced the immense danger she was in, likely due to her Aesthetics of the Last Spurt skill, because her formally calm face showed true panic for the first time in the battle, her shining arrows instantly firing off straight into the heavens. A fleeting instant later, Shirou's weapon was ready, its black sheen crackling with crimson energy as he stretched it into an arrow, ready to deliver the first, and quite possibly last, move of his counterattack.

"Hrunting!"

He released his string and the Hound of the Red Plains rocketed across the meadow, a sonic boom cracking out from its flight. Archer's modified version of the Bear of Geatland's bloodthirsty sword was an implacable arrow. It could be deflected, it could be dodged, but it could not be stopped. However its target attempted to escape, the pitch-black projectile would reorient itself midair to resume a lethal course. Unless it was destroyed or Shirou himself stopped aiming at the target, it would forever seek the death of the pursued, no matter how they fled.

But Atalanta did not flee. Defying all logic, the lion-eared huntress ran towards the crimson engulfed arrow that was already upon her and leapt onto the shaft, even managing to loose a shot towards Shirou as she landed on the thin core.

Unlike at Bucharest, Shirou was easily able to track the arrow through the air, flicking his head to the side so it soared past his skull, but even then, he couldn't keep a small smile from his face. His plan accounted for the possibility that his opponent would find some way to survive Hrunting, Heroic Spirits were legends for a reason, but using Crossing Arcadia to jump onto the arrow was undoubtedly one of the more impressive applications of skill he'd seen. The one place Hrunting could not strike was itself, and as it spun like a listless compass needle in an attempt to get another lock on its target, the Hound of the Red Plains ended up chasing its own tail.

Shirou almost had the next stage of his plan ready to go, so he began flooding the arrow with prana to explode the broken phantasm. But, just as the blade began to crack apart at the overload of magical energy, Atalanta abandoned her position of temporary safety and dashed forward. The false Iron Wrought Hero cocked an eyebrow in confusion before he caught the explosion of power descending from the heavens.

The arrows his opponent had shot into the sky before he'd fired Hrunting fell down with a vengeance, along with thousands upon thousands of new divine bolts sent by her patrons. Phoebus Catastrophe concentrated its wrath behind its wielder, the godly onslaught bombarding the Hound of the Red Plains until it shattered into dust. Perhaps it was only because he'd begun the detonation process but given the power to decimate an army had been concentrated onto a single target, he wondered if perhaps it would have destroyed his weapon anyway.

Regardless, his next shot was prepared and ready to fire, one that it would do Atalanta little good to jump on top of. The huntress was making to retreat back to range until her eyes widened at the sight of his new ammunition, one far less subtle than his previous shot.

"I am the bone of my sword. Caladbolg!"

The first line of his… of Archer's aria brought the Fake Spiral Sword to full capacity, the overload of prana for the Broken Phantasm already flowing inside. This weapon was not meant to remain whole and become another stepping stone for the huntress, it was meant to unleash an explosion the likes of which had nearly killed Shirou back in the cemetery just from the shockwave. Of course, if he fired it straight at Atalanta, he himself would be caught in the gargantuan blast, and whatever psychological troubles he was undergoing, he had no desire to invite Rin's wrath by committing suicide.

So he fired behind the huntress, right into the final volley of her Noble Phantasm.

Needless to say, Atalanta was already running before he loosened the spiral sword, desperately trying to escape what was coming as air and space warped around his arrow. The Broken Phantasm struck the final bolts of Artemis and Apollo and reality ruptured around it. A great dome of fire and force exploded out from the point of impact, a radius of nearly a quarter-mile scorched to ash in the face of the denotation.

The Huntress of Arcadia's agility did her credit, she just barely raced her way out of the blast zone. The shockwave knocked her off her feet, but even then she managed to flip in midair to just barely land upright, panting hard from exertion.

Just in time for Shirou to appear at her side, Kanshou and Bakuya already sweeping towards her head.

There was something Shirou had learned from his many near-death experiences in the Holy Grail War — something that really should have been apparent right from the beginning, but had taken longer than it should have to sink in: Fighting Servants was a stupid idea. They were stronger, faster, and tougher than humans or most other spirits by several hundred orders of magnitudes, and even the supposed weakest of them had entire history lectures full of random powers or niche abilities that allowed them to survive or shrug off things that they really shouldn't be able to — Rin had informed him about Cú Chulainn's last-minute rescue when he'd killed Kotomine after having skewered his own heart. Thus, fighting them was not something a person could ever just jump into, especially when they still needed to conserve prana for later battles afterward.

But as powerful as Heroic Spirits were, they were not invincible, at least if one was careful about it. Archer had defeated some when acting as a Counter Guardian. Rin had manhandled Medea once she'd made herself an opening. Even Shirou himself had defeated one in single combat, the strongest of them all, no less. And all those incidents had one thing in common. They'd gone in with a plan tailor-made to exploit the few weaknesses of their respective foes and they'd exploited the hell out of them. To defeat a Servant for sure took more than just mindlessly spamming swords, it took refusing to fight the enemy on their terms, striking them where they were weak instead of where they were strong.

Every move he'd made against Atalanta had been intended to kill. But in case she proved herself capable of surviving those strikes, they were also each only a small part of Shirou's plan to drive her closer. At long range, the huntress was a superior archer, and in the foliage she could no doubt disappear even from his impressive vision. But up close? She had only a bow and a rather pitiful endurance rank.

In contrast, Archer did not excel in any one parameter, but he was certainly versatile. And that meant his swords were more than ready for their task.

The Huntress of Arcadia scrambled backward, Tauropolos coming up to shield her as best it could. Kanshou and Bakuya slammed into the bow's shaft, the blades of black and white barely held back by the blessed weapon.

Shirou shot prana into his favored swords and both blades suddenly erupted forward, a cascade of jagged metal elongating the weapons' lengths until they were proper longswords, named by his Reality Marble as Kanshou and Bakuya Overedge. The suddenly greater reach of the blades pushed over Tauropolos' guard and sliced a pair of bloody cuts along either side of her head, nearly lobbing her lion ears off. Only the huntress' desperate retreat allowed her to keep her head, but that was only a momentary boon. She had lost this fight. The only question was how much longer until she lost her life as well.

The false Iron Wrought Hero planned to make that interval as short as possible.

Not giving Atalanta time to catch herself and run away properly, he threw both his swords straight at her body, only the huntress' skills preventing her from being lobbed in two. But the crucial moment to dodge cost her time to put distance between them, and Shirou already had another pair of Kanshou and Bakuya in his hand and thrusting for her head.

Atalanta's eyes widened, terror overcoming the normally cool, certain huntress, even as she moved to duck away from his strike. Of course, what she didn't know was that such a maneuver would do her no good, only causing her to dance right into the path of the returning Overedge pair, drawn back toward their bonded pair. No matter what the Archer of Red did, she would be skewered.

At least, that had been the plan.

A black blur rushed into the fray from behind, batting the Overedge pair around Atalanta so that they were now headed for Shirou. He willed them away with a thought, but the blur then proceeded to intercede between him and Atalanta, catching Kanshou and Bakuya on a black sheath.

Shirou immediately realized what was going on and leapt back just as the new combatant proceeded to draw the sword held within that sheath and lash out at him in a single moment. A small sting above his left eye informed him he had not been completely successful, but he still had his head. Though, if the information he was receiving from his brief glimpse of the blade was correct, it may have suffered a heavier hit than he'd thought.

Especially since the figure before him, who'd just moved with easily Servant level speed and strength, whose left hand was now aglow with mystical light, was Shirou Kotomine.

"Priest?" Atalanta muttered, appearing just as shocked as Shirou was feeling. "How did you do that?"

"There will be time for an explanation later, Archer. Right now, we have a battle to win," Kotomine said succinctly. "Go assist Saber. I will handle this."

"Saber?" Atalanta's expression immediately fell into seriousness. "You will explain this later, priest."

"Of course. You have my word."

Archer of Red nodded, and dashed away, never looking back even for a potshot. For whatever reason, she was dedicated to reaching Mordred as quickly as possible. Which at least meant Rin was likely safe for now. Freeing Shirou to worry about his own problem.

The priest lowered his still sheathed sword and flashed that kind smile that had brought such comfort at Sighisoara. In some ways, it still did, frighteningly enough.

"Now then, I must admit this is most unexpected, young man," Kotomine said conversationally. "I almost did not believe it when Assassin gave me the report of what had occurred in this area. To think those Black Command Seals of yours allow you to transform into this strange seventeenth Servant, Shirou Emiya."

Shirou's eyes narrowed, steel orbs locked onto the priest, the man's faith undoubtedly one of the many truths he'd told. But his blade had revealed that there had been at least one lie.

It was a Miike Tenta Mitsuyo, a first-rate blade if there ever was one, its iron scabbard imbued with the soul of its swordsmith. For most of its history, it was the favored blade of the celebrated one-eyed samurai Yagyu Jubei Mitsuyoshi, but it never attained enough of a legend to become a true Noble Phantasm. And yet, of all people, William Shakespeare acting as Caster of Red (how the hell did he make that floating fortress?) had enchanted the blade into a Rank C weapon of legend, writing of its "magnificently sharp" edge and how it had been stained by "an ocean of blood" in life. Just the fact that it was a Japanese warrior's sword made into a Noble Phantasm by an English playwright would have made it one of the stranger entries in Unlimited Blade Works, but the scant section of its history describing its most recent wielder, not even a minute old, boosted it even higher. And far more troublesome.

"I think you mean eighteenth Servant, don't you," the false Wrought Iron Hero declared, discretely absorbing the prana from Rin's gems. Whatever his time limit was, he couldn't risk running it out against an opponent like this. "Shirou Tokisada Amakusa."


FATEFATEFATEFATE

In the depths of Millennia Citadel, within a room specially made to keep a master safe while their Servant battled outside, Caules frowned. Before him was a mystical screen, provided by Casters' familiars both on and off the battlefield, that allowed him to keep track of what was happening around Berserker, the enemies she'd tracked down crouching stalwartly in front of her.

He hadn't expected them to be the first ones to find Tohsaka, even less to be lucky enough to come across her without her Servant or Emiya for protection. But the other one who was with her, the homunculus that Siegfried had given his heart to, he was even more of a surprise. Why was he here? Ruler had exempted him from the war, he had no reason to take part. Unless…

Yes, that might be it. If the injured female homunculus they'd been tending to was any indication, the artificial life form had come back for the rest of his kin. That shouldn't have been possible. The basic self-preservation protocols Uncle Gordes installed in them (not enough to prevent them from being ordered to fight to the death, but enough so they didn't unnecessarily lose resources), should have overridden anything even resembling such dangerous altruism. But then again, they also should have prevented him from seeking freedom in the first place. It was quite clear that in this homunculus' case, what they'd programmed him to do didn't really matter.

But if the snippets Berserker had caught of the conversation were true, he had chosen to join the Blue Faction of his own volition. And if that was true, he was fair game.

"Berserker, take the homunculus Rider and Saber helped before. Caster can use him for his Noble Phantasm," Caules commanded, leaving the fact that he wouldn't then use Fiore unsaid. "Siegfried hasn't reported Rider of Red's death yet, so keep Tohsaka alive if you can. But if she becomes a danger, do what you have to."

"Urgh," Frankenstein grunted mentally.

Caules nodded. "Right. Be safe."

"Things are going well, I take it?"

The young mage turned to the chamber's entrance, just in time to see his sister roll in and close the door. A genuine smile bloomed across Caules' face. "As good as can be expected. Since that homunculus has rejoined the war we might be able to give Avicebron his reactor after all. If we can stall the Red Faction until then, they'll have a very nasty golem surprise to deal with."

"That's good, I guess," Fiore replied sullenly, rolling up to his side. She swiped her hand, and another screen appeared next to his, this one displaying a howling behemoth rampaging through skeleton warriors and homunculi, both armies getting tossed about like ragdolls by the mountain of muscle.

Caules' eyes widened. "You contracted him? That's fantastic! How'd you get him to agree to serve you?"

"Serve is too strong a term," his sister explained. "I really just convinced him that having me as a prana battery, or rather our homunculi, would benefit him more than not. If I try to give him anything resembling an order, he'll rebel immediately. I might be able to aim him a bit by telling him about a target, but I'm not in command."

"Hey, that's better than Darnic and Caster were able to get out of him before," Caules pointed out. "You convincing him to side with us just shows what a great mage you are."

Fiore didn't look so sure, an unsettled frown crossing her face as her hands tightened in her lap. "Yes, an excellent mage. Who tricks and deceives and manipulates to get what they want… everyone else be damned."

Okay, that was a matter for concern. Caules had never had any illusions about the ruthless, often malicious nature of the mage world, and he knew Fiore hadn't either. But while he had mostly resigned himself to the fact that he'd need to be quite underhanded until he left the mystical world, his sister had in contrast never been at ease with the more murderous aspects of their heritage, despite her love of researching the mysteries of the world. She'd learned to put on a good front to keep their peers from realizing her "weakness", but that was all it was, a front. He'd never for a second believed that she'd ever be able to go through with anything that Darnic, Celenike, or even Uncle Gordes might, no matter how much grief she might have felt from Archer's death.

And yet, from what she'd said, she apparently had, or at least saw herself as having done so. In the long run, that might have been even worse on her conscience. Still, if it helped her survive this war, Caules wasn't going to protest, even if he'd do his best to make her feel better about it.

"Wait," Fiore suddenly spoke up, narrowing her eyes at the tactical display. She pointed at an abnormally large prana signature closing in on Frankenstein. "What's this? Shouldn't all the Red Servants be accounted for?"

"They should," Caules noted. "Archer of Red's energy is the closest we know of, and the Servant readings we're getting near her are probably Saber of Red. I'll see if I can pull up a visual."

He did just that. Both he and his sister gasped.

"What?" Caules explained. "But if she's there, who's with Archer of Red?" He flicked through Caster's familiars until he found one with a lock on that area, spotting the cat-eared bowman engaged in lightning-fast combat with… "Who the hell is that guy in red?!"

"He's fighting Archer of Red. We can worry about him later! Right now we need to support Frankenstein," Fiore declared, putting her hand to her ear. "Berserker! Ah! I'm not… ergh! I know where an oppressor is! I'm sending you the coordinates now! Yes, I understand, down with the oppressors."

Caules cringed, praying that Spartacus would choose to heed his sister's advice and get there in time. Because as much as he had faith in Frankenstein, against the foe that was coming, she was simply outgunned, more so than even a Command Seal could bridge. And if she fell, there would be nothing to stop the incoming Servant from slaughtering both Tohsaka and the homunculus. And then there would be nothing to offer Darnic and Caster as a substitute reactor core.

It seemed all their prayers would have to be on the Servants of Madness. They were their only hope.

"…idding meeeeEEEE!—OOMPH!"

—CRUNCH!—

Caules and Fiore couldn't bring themselves to look, but they knew they had to. They both did a double-take at the new figure on screen.

… unless Rider literally fell out of the sky.

Holy Grail Wars. They had warned him anything could happen.


FATEFATEFATEFATE

Mordred was irritated at the universe. Every time she came close to coming face-to-face with father, it seemed like some asinine situation would come up that would delay their long-awaited reunion. At this point, she had half a mind to just blow everything off and streak straight for Excalibur's light.

But after Assassin of Black had amplified her tunnel vision in that matter back in its hellscape, she'd made sure to keep a solid view of her periphery. And what should she see on her way to the southern flank of the battlefield but some Servant in a wedding dress bearing down on, of all people, the eastern woman and homunculus from Bucharest.

Normally, she would have brushed past them and continued on her way to recompense. As pleased as she was that Sieg had indeed survived Jack the Ripper's domain, he'd made it this far on his own and if he'd decided to throw himself back into his former master's reach for whatever reason, that was his business to handle. She wasn't going to go out of her way to save him.

But father had referred to the eastern woman as his master during the short time Mordred had seen them together. And if the bridal Servant of Black killed her, that meant father was not long for this world. Even if she managed to get to him in time and confronted him, he wouldn't have the energy to provide her with a battle of their vaunted statures as the King of Knights and the only hero to ever surpass him.

Which meant she had to make another fucking detour. Argh! Maybe she could save the bitch mage and then threaten her to use a Command Seal and just bring father to her already.

Mordred tore a sharp curve past the rear of the Black Faction lines, carving any straggling homunculi foolish enough to challenge her into pieces as she rocketed across the meadow. The Servant of Black (Berserker, if she remembered Archer's report of her and Rider's earlier skirmish right) whirled around its clunky mace, previously raised at the cowering mortals, to block Clarent's oncoming slash. Even still, the bridal freak didn't have near enough strength to match blows with a Knight of Camelot and the sheer force of the attack sent her skidding back through the dirt.

"Saber of Red!" Sieg exclaimed, awed filling his voice for obvious reasons.

"Oh shit," the woman muttered, also warranted given that they were enemies.

"Grgh!" Berserker of Black growled, which was probably also the correct response to her magnanimous presence. Maybe. Eh, whatever.

Mordred thrust her sword towards the enemy Servant, posing dramatically as chaos reined across the battlefield behind her. "Listen up, Berserker of Black! I've got a score to settle with this woman's Servant, so you're not touching her until I've put the King of Knights in his place! But if you're so eager for a fight, I'll gladly give you a good time. Who knows? You might even make a decent—"

"You've gotta be kidding meeeeEEEE!—OOMPH!"

A mass of pink hair and gaudy armor suddenly plummeted from the sky and crashed into the dirt, kicking up a minor dust cloud from the impact.

"—warm-up." Mordred finished, cocking an eyebrow behind her helmet. "Okay, and who the hell are you?"

"I'm glad you asked," the Servant who fell from the sky wheezed, not sounding very glad at all, but no less enthusiastic for it, "I am the Ghost of Head Injuries Past. I'm here to give you a warning. Never trust a smiling Frenchman with a waxed mustache…"

"Oh…kay…? Uhh, yo, Berserker, you're in his Faction. You have any idea what he's talking about?"

The girl in the wedding dress huffed, and gave her a mildly alarmed look that could only have meant 'Why are you asking me?!'

"You're probably right. You can't even talk and you're more coherent than this guy. Skirtboy, fight or get lost. At this point, I don't care which."

"Rider of Black," Sieg murmured. "Are you okay?"

"Ugh… yeah. I'm good," the new Servant groaned. "Getting blasted by purple lightning and falling from the sky. All in a day's work for a Paladin of Charlemagne… just let me make sure my ribs are still there—wait a minute!"

The previously exhausted paladin leapt to his feet, his finger pointing accusingly at the young homunculus. "What are you doing here?! You're supposed to be away from here, living your own life! Figuring out who you are, learning what you like and dislike, picking up chicks!"

"I'm sorry," Sieg replied, shame in his eyes. "I know I'm wasting the life you gave me but I—what do chickens have to do with this?"

"He means women," Mordred explained to the naïve boy, nonchalantly deflecting a mace strike from Berserker of Black.

Rider of Black meanwhile turned on father's master. "And you! You guys were supposed to take him away from the war!"

"We tried!" the girl protested. "He came back!"

"It's true. This is not their fault," Sieg confirmed. "I joined them of my own volition."

"What?!" Mordred howled, her fury resulting in her kick punting Berserker of Black nearly half a mile. Not she noticed as she stomped up to the wretched homunculus. "You are a part of father's faction?!"

"Well… I wasn't when we last met."

"So, you joined even after witnessing the full extent of my wonderous skill? You went to him even after I pardoned your life and would have gladly accepted you as my retainer?" Mordred raged, her sword crackling with crimson electricity. "Do you think it wise to insult a king, bastard!"

"I didn't join the Blue Faction because I had anything against you. You haven't given me any reason to dislike you. But I was already familiar with members of the Blue Faction, so they seemed like the best people I could ask for help. Besides, I want to save the others like me. Isn't it kind of your job to kill the Black Faction's army? That still puts us on opposite sides," he drew his sword taking a defensive stance.

Mordred glared, but the kid did have a point.

"Points for courage, kid," she admitted. "But you know you can't take me in a straight fight."

"That's true, but I… I won't be a bystander while you hurt the other homunculi!"

Mordred cracked a grin. "In that case, sorry in advance, but you can really only blame yourself for this. I mean, you could have just run."

"That's true. But they can't."

"Heh, I can respect that," her smile faded, "I'll try and make this quick."

Her steel flashed out towards the boy's chest, father's master throwing a jewel in its path. The gem expanded into a floating emerald screen, magecraft undoubtedly. It only took Mordred a second to slash the mystical shield to pieces, but that second was enough for the girl and another female homunculus to tackle Sieg out of the path of her blade.

She could have easily followed up and finished the job, but Rider of Black suddenly dashed in front of them, hefting his cumbersome lance as a makeshift shield.

"Get him out of here!" the Servant of the Mount roared. "I didn't save him just so he could die here for no good reason!"

"So, you'll die in his place? Oh, that's fine by me!" Mordred cackled. "I've killed three of you Black Faction bastards already, I'm up for making it four!"

"Bring it on you jerk—wait, three?" Rider suddenly noted, impressive given how he was clearly being pushed back in their bladelock. He put one of his sets of fingers across the flat of his lance, counting off. "Archer, Assassin… who else did you kill? They're the only ones that are dead."

"And your Saber," Mordred grinned. "Don't bother trying to deceive me. I saw him fall to my Noble Phantasm with my own eyes."

"Um, actually—"

"Not now, Sieg!" Father's master commanded, lugging the boy back to his feet as both they and the female homunculus dashed towards Millennia Citadel.

Rider meanwhile just raised an eyebrow at Mordred. "No, he didn't."

"Yes, he did!" the Knight of Treachery shouted, shoving the pink-haired Servant into the dirt. "Are you calling me a liar?!"

"He is literally right over there on the southern flank," Rider said, pointing in said direction. "He and Saber of Blue just did a really cool combo Noble Phantasm. You had to have seen it."

"What I saw," Mordred yelled, punctuating her rebuke with a stab of her sword, Rider barely rolling away from the strike. "Was father unleashing the full majesty of his Noble Phantasm against that conniving witch!" she narrowed her eyes at the effeminate Servant. "Honestly, how stupid do you think I am?"

Rider parried her follow-up swing and scrambled back to his feet, panting hard as he kept up his floundering guard against her merciless assault. "Excalibur is pretty bright, I guess. No wonder you couldn't see that Saber was there… you're Saber of Blue's son. But that means you're Mordred!"

Their weapons caught one another in a bladelock once more, Mordred sneering through the gap in their weapons. "Congratulations. Did you just figure that out now? Anyone who calls themselves a hero should be able to recognize my royal presence just as they can my father's."

Surprisingly, the goofy Servant of the Mount's mouth curled into a stalwart scowl. "Huh, I figured the Knight of Treachery would be some diabolical bastard, an evil mastermind type, you know. But you, you're just some punk kid whining because no one thinks you're anywhere near as great as you seem to think you are."

Mordred's body promptly erupted with scarlet lightning, Rider of Black smashing into the ground. Unlike before however, she gave him no chance to recover, Clarent falling like a hellish meteor shower. She struck his pitiful lance again and again, the ornate armament barely shielding him from the impact of the greatsword and doing nothing at all to stop her mana burst, which blazed straight through it, blackening his armor and burning every exposed bit of skin above his waist.

"Master!" the fool panicked. "Command Seal! Command Seal!"

No Command Seal would save him. No matter how much strength he gained or how far he fled, she would hunt him down. She was not some flashy punk. She was not some mindless witch's tool. It was no coincidence that the dog had only really started barking when he'd figured out her True Name. Maybe he had met the King of Knights in person, maybe he only knew them through legend, but he'd made his judgment of her and he was wrong!

She had defeated Saber of Black. She was a worthy successor to the King of Knights, the only one to ever surpass him. If she had to pound this yapping dog into paste to silence his barking, then so be it. Her sword would rust on his blood.

"Seriously, master! I know you like seeing me in pain, but I'm really going to die if you don't—" Rider of Black's eyes widened, catching something behind Mordred. "No, Berserker, wait! They're still too close!"

Mordred whirled around, bringing her blade up as a mechanical beast in a wedding dress launched itself through the air, a grating howl filling the air. Berserker of Black raised her mace high, the weapon now split open into four sections, a maelstrom of emerald electricity raging over its head.

The Servant of Madness fell upon the Knight of Treachery, the sparking mace erupting into a veritable tempest of green lightning as soon as it struck Clarent. While the force of the strike itself was nothing Mordred couldn't handle, the storm of electricity that rained down across the surrounding area was a bit more annoying, especially as all the energy that would have fried Rider flew through her instead.

But the pink-haired Servant had been worried for a reason, and that was made clear as the thunderous attack spiraled out from the Heroic Spirits. The bolts of electric energy rained down in a wider and wider radius, eventually engulfing even the fleeing Blue Faction in its fury. Father's master whirled around and thrust two more jewels into the air. The gems split into mystical shields, the screens shuddering under the hail of sparks, cracks splintering across their shining crust.

However, weak though it may have been, Berserker's onslaught was still a symptom of a Noble Phantasm. And no matter how skilled, little modern magecraft could stand up to the raw pervasive power of legend. The jeweled shield shattered like glass and a bolt of lightning streaked for the lithe woman's chest.

Only for Sieg to return the favor from before and shove her out of the way, the electric jolt ripping right through his shoulder. The homunculus tumbled into the dirt, the corner of his shirt singed to ash.

"No!" Rider of Black yelled, only for Mordred to deliver a solid kick to his chin, before shoving Berserker across the meadow.

Not that the Knight of Treachery was any less outraged. She had declared that she would execute Sieg for the insult he had dealt her, a warrior's clash to at least honor his conviction. Now Berserker of Black had taken that from them both, infuriatingly having him perform her a service by saving father's master. She'd never thought much of honor or chivalry, but she would take great pleasure in avenging the homunculus by taking the Servant of Madness' head.

Shouldn't be too difficult anyway. The bridal mockery had already taken her best shot and it had barely singed her armor. Rider of Black was barely staggering off the ground, a nonthreat if there ever was one. Hell, father's master was already kneeling over him, her hands glowing magecraft. She might even figure out a way to save him so that Mordred could give him a proper warrior's death.

"You dare torment and murder the innocent! OPPERSSOR! Feel the wrath of Spartacus!"

Oh, for the love of—Now what?!

Evidently, a hulking bondage nut with a rubbish short sword. Because apparently they were just letting anyone into the Throne of Heroes now.

Mordred raised Clarent and tanked the wild swing of the gladius. However, unlike with Berserker of Black's fruitless assault, the Knight of Treachery found herself staggering under the weight of this new attacker. The madman followed up his opening move with a flurry of wild and ferocious strikes, each blow falling like a battering ram in time with his maniac laughter. Despite putting all her strength into her defense, Mordred found herself being pushed back, her armor rattling with each successive clash.

"Hahahahaha! See how you crumble OPPRESSOR!" the over-muscled lug howled. "See how your tyrant shatters like glass in the face of glorious liberation!"

Mordred growled under the strain, her fury blocking out the oaf's inane ramblings. Anger rushed through her mind, soon followed by magical energy as her Prana Burst took effect, crimson lightning crackling across her form. In the brief moment when her foe's weapon pulled back between strikes, she charged forward and rammed her blade into her enemy's, her increased power rattling them both this time.

Pushing through the minute pain, she seized the opening and ducked under his raised sword. While her opponent might have had strength relevant to her own, he was sorely lacking in her prestigious speed. Clarent flicked over the brute's dull flesh, his muscles ripping open in dozens of lacerations as scarlet lightning surged across his body, leaving only dark burns in its wake.

In only an instant, the stampeding beast was brought to heel, immediately tumbling to his knees. Not one to give up the advantage, Mordred thrust her sword for his heart to finish the cretin for good.

Unfortunately, she was suddenly smacked in the back by what felt like a boulder, the familiar tingles of electricity confirming her attacker as she flew across the meadow. Still, the force was hardly sufficient to really hurt her, and she easily landed on her feet to face the resurgent Berserker of Black.

"Persistent, aren't you, little worm," Mordred snarled, the wedding dress wearing freak already charging again.

But the Knight of Treachery was in no more mood for games, the new guy might actually be a threat if she let him get back on his feet. Her hand snaked out and snatched the shaft of Berserker of Black's mace midswing, her superior strength easily halting the blow. She raised Clarent, ready to put an end to this charade.

"Trap of Argalia!"

"Huh?"

Mordred shifted her sword into a more defensive stance, but was too late to notice the ray of light that hit her in the knee before Rider of Black smacked her in the side of the head with his lance. She fell to one knee. The disorientation would leave her in a moment. This wouldn't keep her down.

"Now, Berserker!" the paladin shouted, turning on his heel and running again with those parting words.

Mordred made to get to her feet, only to realize that one of her legs was just missing. She hadn't felt anything when the ray of light hit her, but it was that leg that had vanished. What the hell? Was this Rider of Black's Noble Phantasm? She was off balance for just a moment and Berserker of Black seized the chance, flickering emerald sparks across her mace.

A weird attack, but it'd take more than a parlor trick and a substandard Berserker to take her down. She rolled onto her back, only to see Berserker doing something with her weapon.

The mace opened up, revealing its electrical interior and casting arc lightning in every direction. Father's master and her female homunculus friend were forced to flee from Sieg's corpse. A huge spike in the surrounding area's prana signaled an impending Noble Phantasm.

A column of lightning hit the ground a few feet away, streams of smaller electricity surging across the battlefield, battering Mordred, Sieg's corpse, and even the cackling Spartacus. Berserker of Black used the moment of broken concentration to overpower the Servant of Red's hold on her mace and use it to restrain the Knight of Treachery, the shaft acting as a bar around her enemy's chest. Another lightning bolt slammed into the earth and the macehead was span rapidly, throwing electricity everywhere, and everywhere that the bolts struck seemed to be targeted by the massive pillars of electricity.

"You... lose!" shrieked Berserker. "Blasted-"

"No."

It was a ridiculous plan. With so much power falling from the sky, Berserker of Black would no more survive the blast than her target would. It wasn't just a Noble Phantasm, it was a suicide strike, one that she and Rider had gone to great effort to set up, even consigning their ally in the bondage gear to the blast radius. They had used the paladin's light flicker to put her off balance so the wannabe bride could actually have a chance at grappling her at close range, counting the booming crashes of the surrounding lightning to disorient her enough to maintain the hold. Given the scant time they'd had to come up with it, Mordred supposed it could have been a worse plot. However, in their haste, they'd made a few crucial mistakes.

One, Rider of Black's Noble Phantasm's effect did not seem to be permanent. Soon after Berserker of Black's electricity had first struck Mordred, her leg had returned, restoring her balance.

Two, she had Battle Continuation Rank B, and besides that summoned lightning on a regular basis going faster than the speed of sound. It would take more than Berserker's paltry storm to disorient her!

Three, Berserker of Black was a Berserker! She didn't have the technique to do a hold worth shit. Mordred tightened her grip on the inside of the mace's shaft, running a Prana Burst through her body to widen the already ludicrous strength gap between her and her adversary. In an instant, she shot to her feet, lifting the mace up and overextending its owner's hold.

She dissipated Clarent and used her now free hand to reach back and grab Berserker of Black's upper arm. With a furious howl, she chucked the Servant of Madness over her shoulder like she'd been fired from a catapult, slamming her into a nearby hill that was blown to apart by the impact.

The tempest above quieted. Either because Berserker of Black had been moved or because her concentration had been broken, her suicide attack seemed to have ceased its charge up. Father's master returned to Sieg's side, pointlessly resuming her attempts to revive the homunculus.

Mordred scoffed and resummoned her sword, streaking to her target.

Berserker of Black growled as she staggered to her feet, dirt and dust tumbling off her dress. But then Mordred appeared in front of her and in the blink of an eye, the freak's face went from determined rage to terrified surprise. And in the next…

Well, it didn't really matter what it was next. Clarent had already cleaved open her chest.

All at once, the emerald tempest ceased. As soon as Mordred released her grip on the mace, her vanquished foe crumpled into the dirt.

"And that makes four," the Knight of Treachery remarked, finding her eyes drawn to a few meager sparks sputtering from her corpse, a tangle of split wires exposed to the open air amidst the mangled flesh. "Huh. Not even a homunculus. Just patched up scrap."

"Oh?! You would flaunt your power over the oppressed!" The other brute cried, drawing Mordred' focus back. "Fool! The agony of oppression shall always be overcome, for it is the fuel of the absolute victory of REBELLION!"

The flesh where he'd been cut or burnt by lightning began to bubble and churn like boiling warts, the dull gray mass suddenly expanding until his legs began to resemble oversized donuts, propping him up like some comical bard caricature. Smaller, but no less repulsive, welts began to explode out from where her electricity had burned him, consuming his head as if he was enclosed in one of those comfy pillows some of the civilians in Bucharest had worn around their necks. Only revolting.

Fortunately, a hail of turquoise arrows peppered his side before he could charge, his flesh expanding ever farther from the points of impact.

"Saber!" Archer yelled, dashing to her side and frantically checking her over. "Are you alright? Are you hurt? Did any of them harm you? I'll rip out their throats!"

"What? Of course, I'm fine! Did you really think that any of these wretches could even scratch me?!" Mordred protested, pulling away from the bowman. Any further cries were stalled when more disturbing noises emanated out from the ever-growing tumor that was their current foe. "Of course then there's this disgusting meat balloon."

Archer's eyes narrowed, her previous motherly air evaporating like smoke. "Berserker. So, you've betrayed us. I should have shot you when I had the chance."

"Oh, so he's our lost Berserker?" Mordred nodded, everything finally falling into place. "Spartacus, right? Thought a fellow hero of rebellion would be… not this."

"He won't be anything soon enough," Archer growled, a quintet of arrows nocked on her bow. "We'll take him together."

"What? This is my fight! I don't need you to… to…"

Mordred's words petered out as her body suddenly went ramrod straight, a familiar, unforgettable prana signature charging towards her location with all its majestic speed. The one she'd been waiting for.

Archer's eyebrows shot up, fear consuming her face, as it should against the approaching titan. "Sabe— Mordred, you don't have to face him alone—"

"Spartacus is yours," Mordred declared with stone-cold finality, whirling around to face her true target. "Interfere in this duel, and I'll kill you myself."

Her tone must have carried the true will of a king, because the huntress reluctantly let her pass without further comment, though the cackling blob of ever-growing flesh and muscle might have also been a factor. Regardless, Mordred marched forward to meet her destiny.

The Knight of Treachery barely had to wait a moment more before she was there. A royal, elegant blue battle gown covered by resplendent silver armor, glimmering more beautifully than the full moon could ever hope to be. Her flawless face was set in a stern, unwavering expression, befitting an unshakable, perfect king, Excalibur held ready before her, its blessed visage charitably shown to the world. Not that hiding it would provide any advantage. Mordred had memorized its length long ago, just as she had every aspect of her sovereign.

"King of Knights!" she roared, Clarent thrusting forward to point at her foe. "At last! I was beginning to worry death had made a coward out of you."

"Mordred." King Arthur said her name like an incantation, a myriad of emotions flickering through her sea-green eyes, more than the young knight had ever heard from the stalwart monarch, especially when addressing her.

But then the King of Camelot took a deep breath and all that emotion disappeared, the marble truth of the child of Uther Pendragon replaced and flawless once again. Excalibur's blade hummed with power as its heavenly glow rose for battle.

Under her helmet, Mordred grinned, a crimson tempest charging along Clarent's steel. This is what she had been waiting for. This duel was what she had earned, the battle that would display once and for all that she was the rightful successor to the King of Knights, the moment where she would prove once and for all that she was his worthy son, not some witch's spawn.

And yet, deep down in her heart, in a place she would never speak of to anyone, never acknowledge to herself… she felt a pang of misery that once more all she had been faced with was the King of Knights, not her father. For he would never acknowledge her as his son.

Deep down within her heart suddenly ignited in furious anger and with a feral scream of fury, she rocketed towards her destiny.


You know, writing this story has been really eye-opening. I've always believed there was no such thing as a truly 'weak' Servant and my research on Atalanta and Frankenstein for this chapter only reinforced that.

Side note, is there a Servant that's just average? Like as Servants go, what's the everyman, grey suit-wearing salaryman of the bunch, not at the bottom of the barrel, but not going to be beating Arturia, Herc, or Gilgamesh any time soon.

If you wish to see more of this story, vote for it to be updated next month in the poll on my profile.

An extra huge thank you to my patrons: ArcherMcMuffin, Gregg Tracton, Keith Traction, Annaya Chan, Nora Okonus, Paula mandel, KefkaesqueXIII, Christian Howard, and SanyaBane.

Thank you for Reading! I hope you enjoy what comes next!

Go Forth and Conquer!