"I ask of you, magus of this era," the hero summoned before him spoke, his voice a low and deep rumble, like the growl of a lion, "Are you to be my Master?"

The look on the smaller man's face was that of shock, his eyes unable to even process the gargantuan being standing before him. For a moment, he looked to have just about short-circuited from the sight alone.

The Servant had stood several heads taller than the more diminutive and frail man, having to crouch low right after his summoning to avoid causing any more damage to the man's basement than he already did.

Archer sighed inwardly. Yes… Archer, that was what he was summoned as. The demigod incarnated anew felt the power of his own body surge, the mana alone pure and powerful like that of the sun, the skies, and heavens itself. Divine.

He spoke again, "Are you my Master, the one who shall assign me the trials of this War?"

Finally, that seemed to snap the red-suited magus out of his stupor, "I-I am."

The Servant suppressed the urge to laugh. This man didn't appear to be meek… perhaps he was expecting someone different?

"Then I ask whom I am speaking to if you truly are my Master," his expression remained stoic, "And your intentions with the Grail once it is within your possession."

The man seemed to sober up at the questions, straightening himself with the pride of a magus he would always see. Hmph, it appears that some things never truly change even after the Age of Gods. Much like that woman falsely accused of witchcraft.

Archer suddenly held the urge to curse that damned fool that was his comrade.

"My name is Tohsaka Tokiomi, I seek the Root, the Akashic Records, for the sake of knowledge," his wish was spoken with firm resolution, a desire that the magus known as Tohsaka could never truly lie about.

What a dull wish… but if a man such as him were to claim it, then there would be nothing that could go wrong. Better for him to make such a mundane wish than let someone with much more malefic intentions get ahold of it.

It sufficed for Archer. He would follow this man, but the Servant would have to withhold his judgement until he marched across the field of battle against another Servant. How the magus would act while he fought would determine the character of this man.

Speaking of which.

"Master," he boomed, grabbing the man's attention, "There is something that concerns me, particularly your uneasiness around me. Your regarding of me is a queer sight, so I must ask who you expected to have summoned before you."

With that, the magus swallowed, his unease was obvious despite his wish to suppress it. It didn't bother Archer, no matter what answer he gave, he would inform the man that he was someone far greater.

"The King of Heroes. Gilgamesh."

...Oh.

Archer closed his eyes, pondering the answer that the magus had given him. Of course, the oldest hero in history, the Babylonian King that stood above all. This man, Tokiomi Tohsaka, simply wished to win the war purely by brute strength, the age and knowledge of a Servant's history determined the starting factors of war… and the magus was betting on summoning the eldest of all.

"I'm afraid that you have summoned someone else with that catalyst of yours," Archer opened his eyes, giving the man a slight smirk, "But what you have before is nothing if not better than a mere arrogant king."

Skepticism drew across his Master's face, "I see. Then I ask of you to disclose your identity before me."

The divine mana that fueled the Servant seemed to explode in a wave, sending the magus stumbling back somewhat before coming to a stop.

"The answer is obvious," the demigod grinned, crossing his arms and giving his new Master a proud expression, "Before you stands the mightiest of all heroes…-"

Now that he thought about it, perhaps he was too harsh on his Master during the following days, having found his body with a bullet wound through his head and bleeding out on the floor of his workshop.

'Make sure Caster's death isn't painless, Assassin.'

Archer opened his eyes, his sight flickering through the artificial lights that illuminated the bridge. The city that had once been ravaged a night ago had slept soundly, only the sounds of traffic miles away could be heard.

That was fine by him, this battlefield was a perfect spot for he and that man to do battle. So he simply reminisced on recent past, passing away the time as he waited patiently. There would be no way for Rider to ignore such a call to arms.

The Servant had about six more days to remain on the world if he used his mana sparingly, but that was no issue for him. The giant of a man simply stood at the center of the bridge, doing his best to ease whatever boredom that laid about his mind.

Counting the lightbulbs on the bridge, watching the water within the riverbank lapping gently at the shores, thinking on the whole war that had passed by. It was… an interesting experience.

The sound of rumbling in the distance caught his ear, but it wasn't that ox-driven chariot. It was far too muted and distant, a low droning that corresponded to the pair of lights speeding through the city from far away.

Saber.

He grimaced, crossing his arms and looking away, trying to take his mind off of boredom only to end up with something worse: distaste.

She was a bad memory that he would rather forget, not simply for the words that she had spoken to him as if she was firm and resolute in such petty ideals. Rather, his failure as a hero to simply protect the woman that was always attached at the hip with her.

That Einzbern woman.

Archer sighed, she managed to catch herself in time while he was busy being ripped apart by those monsters. It was distasteful by his standards and wouldn't forgive himself for it. Yet another sin that was to be added to his record of his own life.

Mistakes were what made people human, but he was a man that threw away his life and humanity. His gods-given form, his Noble Phantasm and culmination of his work was unbefitting.

In a way, he was jealous of them. Specifically, jealous of Assassin.

That nameless Servant fought in the shadows and hid among the commoners, mundane and faceless like a crowd. Like the Archer, he had failed, and yet he strived onwards even if it took a bit of advice from the demigod.

Where Archer would try to shoulder the weight of his own sins and mistakes, Assassin wore them and trudged onwards, bearing his faults for the world to see. He was truly human, much like those old friends of his.

Crackles like static echoed in the Archer's ears, the braying of oxen with the red-headed giant and his waif of a Master in tow. Archer sighed to himself.

This would be quick.

The chariot came to a stop, Rider dismounted alongside his Master, slowly and surely approaching the much larger demigod. Both men met at the center point, not a second too soon did they stop, meeting each other face to face since that night.

"Archer."

"Rider."

It was a mutual exchange of titles, a common ground found between them as Servants for the War, solidifying what had to be done for the Grail to be claimed.

"It's good to see you again so soon," Rider smiled, his cape seemed to billow even without the wind blowing behind him, "It's a shame that our paths had to end like this. Are you sure you won't join me?"

Archer shook his head, chuckling to himself, "I'm afraid I must decline, I have business to tend to once this is all said and done. Saber will need much more guidance on her ruling once you're gone."

The King of Conquerors barked a laugh, "It's good to see that you have confidence in your abilities. I too will not be holding back, even if I have to kill you a hundred times to get the point across."

The king and demigod laughed at their own expenses, exchanging words as though they were old friends. They might as well, it could be the last time they would speak for a very long time.

Archer sighed, looking at the night sky. The stars were beautiful, even blocked out by the light of the common men, he could still count the constellations. His favorite was Sagittarius, the centaur with his mighty bow pointed at Scorpius.

They reminded him of his teacher.

"You can feel it, can't you, Iskandar?" Archer hummed to himself, looking down to see that the King of Conquerors was looking out into the horizon… into the ocean.

Ah yes, the ever-distant sea. The object of Alexander the Great's obsession and lifelong dream.

"The War… it's coming to an end," Rider nodded, giving his adversary a warm smile, "And so soon too, I would've wished for it to have gone on just a little bit longer."

"Indeed indeed," Archer agreed, gazing over the shoulder of his enemy and at the young man far behind, "Something tells me that boy would make a fine retainer of yours."

"Quite so, you just now reminded me," Iskandar shook his head, gleaming with that brilliant smile of his, "Are you sure you don't want to join me? With our combined strength, we could take on the whole world!"

"I'm afraid conquest doesn't run in my blood as much as yours does," the Servant of the Bow shook his head, "I will take this as your final offer before I see if you are truly worthy of being the son of Zeus."

"I look forward to it," Iskandar held out a hand, one that Archer took, responding with a firm shake of his own before they turned away, "Don't hold back."

"I would never dream of such a thing," Archer scoffed and turned back, "But I will allow you the first move and time to speak with your Master. Take all the time you need, King Iskandar."

"You're too generous, Archer."

"Please, enough with the titles, we're without enemies nearby," Archer turned back around, unslinging the bow hanging off of his shoulders, clutching an arrow in his other hand as he waited once more.

"As you wish… Heracles."

The King of Conquerors returned to his Master, kneeling down and speaking with him. The greatest Hero in all of Greece watched with his abilities as the Archer-class Servant to see that the boy had begun to tear up.

Such an offer of friendship was too kind even for Waver Velvet to handle.

Several uses of Rider's cape as a tissue later did they stand climb upon the Gordius Wheel once more. Archer would allow one move for the man to strike first before it was his turn.

The thundering chariot sparked with jubilant radiance, electricity crackled excitedly as the chariot raced forth. Archer grinned as he readied himself, truly ready to see if the King of Conquerors had what it took to truly shed his blood.

That Chariot was simply a divine gift given by the gods. It was nothing more than a ramming tool, Archer knew that there was something even stronger within Rider's possession.

In the blink of an eye, the world inverted and caved in on itself, reality shaped itself according to the King's decree.

"Gather, my brethren! Tonight, we shall mark our gallant figures into the strongest legend!" the King of Conquerors cried out as Heracles opened his eyes to see… a desert.

No… a reality marble shaped by the inner world of Iskandar. The desert that he and his men marched for what seemed like an eternity in an effort to conquer the known world.

His Noble Phantasm: Ionioi Hetairoi!

"Impressive," Archer muttered to himself, gazing about at the world that suddenly existed around him, "But will it be enough to kill me?"

The existence of a Reality Marble, even more shaped into the will as a Noble Phantasm unique as this one, was on an unparalleled level. The demigod watched as hundreds upon thousands of men began to appear behind the red-haired giant off in the distance.

Soldiers standing shoulder to shoulder, weapons of varying cultures and killing methods. Young and old, tall and short, yet their reverence to Iskandar was equal to each and all that surrounded the Archer.

Mirages given form, spirits given flesh, existences within the World Egg given the drive and desire to live, fight, and die for their king.

This entire battlefield, the might of the King of Conquerors, was a stage set simply for the two of them. His army would attack, for they were an extension of the king, they were all one and unifying as the Heroic Spirit that he fought alongside during that scourge.

"AAAAAALaLaLaLaaaa!" the king and his retainer screamed in unison, the encore growing into that resonating requiem as his men charged.

Yes.

This would be perfect.

The rank of this Noble Phantasm was to an incalculable degree, even more than that Gordius Wheel in his possession. Even if those soldiers were weaker, even if their weapons were mundane, even if their bodies could crumble like ash from a single strike from Archer's hands, perhaps they might be able to pierce his body.

Not that he would give them the chance to find out. The King of Conquerors revealed his trump card. So too should he.

God Hand had carried him this far. Embarrassingly only used to bring him back from the dead more than a number of times he would like to admit, twice from Berserker taking two or three lives at once and another from those demons. It was at this moment where the Archer would display the might and power that could slay even devils.

The power of the Ionioi Hetairoi was sustained by the collective dreams of Iskandar's army, they each carried a burden like he did. The more that fell, the more that dream began to fade away.

A single arrow was nocked, the bowstring wound back tightly as Archer took aim with all the strength in his body. The King of Conquerors continued to race forth, his chariot abandoned after the summoning of his reality marble and instead taking the reins of Bucephalus instead.

He inhaled, mana from within his body began to surge as his Noble Phantasm came into play. Archer's eyes dilated, pupils sharpening to pinpricks as he zeroed in on his target.

The first use of his Noble Phantasm was with this very same bow, a style that he came to practice with every single weapon he ever possessed until it was honed to a perfect degree. The monster-slaying technique that would fell anything that dared to rise again no matter how many times it could regenerate.

The Shooting of the Hundred-Headed Hydra.

"Nine Lives!"

The arrow was released. The dunes that surrounded Heracles crumbled apart as the sheer force of the released missile fired faster than the speed of sound, past the King of Conquerors and straight for his army.

That released Noble Phantasm, that single arrow, split into nine and thundered into the mass that congregated behind Rider. Blood stained the desert sands as his army began dying by the hundreds, with those hundreds turning into thousands. Nine simultaneous strikes began to overlap upon one another, their trajectory upon their current path twisted and warped like vicious thorns, slaughtering all that stood before them.

With every death, the miniscule anchors that held up that dream began to falter, the weight growing too large to bear as the world began to flicker and shift around him.

Bucephalus drew closer, the king upon his mighty steed raised his blade as Archer grew larger in his field of vision, hyperfocusing on the demigod as lightning began to surge around him. The power of the gods was on his side.

The blade swung down like an executioner's axe, Archer made no move to defy it, feeling steel cleave against his godly flesh as the Ionioi Hetairoi finally flickered and died, now unsustainable by the mass slaughter created within a single breath.

Archer coughed up blood, falling to a single knee as the incision from Rider's blade finally formed, cutting him down from shoulder to hip and piercing his heart in the process. He closed his eyes as death claimed him, a death that he could finally be proud of.

Rider and Waver dismounted as Bucephalus disappeared. Before the magus could voice the pride he felt towards his king, he noticed the blood trailing down from Iskandar's lips.

As well as the hole where his heart had been.

Archer's arrow never missed its mark.

"Thank you… Waver," Rider fell to a single knee, looking down at the spent command seals that his Master had used up hours before. Perhaps those commands were what kept him going even after such a fatal wound, "Thank you for seeing this journey through to the end…"

"W-what're you talking about, Rider!" the young man yelled, his hands wrapped around the king's arm, trying to pull him back up in a futile effort, "The command seals, you have to obey them, right?! You have to see this war to the end, you have to claim the Grail... you have to win!"

It was already too late, Waver Velvet watched tearfully as his Servant's vessel began to glow dully, having suffered a mortal wound… the King of Conquerors was no more.

Droplets stained the pavement as the magus fell to his knees, no longer able to hold himself up, "You i-idiot… you had to win… Rider… Rider..."

No one answered him.

Heavy steps could be heard behind him before a hand found itself on his shoulder. The hand was rough, but gentle. Waver didn't dare look up, still gazing at the spot where his Servant dared to leave him, but he knew that it was Archer… back from the dead yet again.

"That man… was truly a hero by every right," the son of Zeus spoke, speaking with little emotion as his words bore only the truth, "Be proud to uphold his legacy, Waver Velvet… for I am truly proud to know that man shares the same blood as my own."

There was nothing more that was said, for they had said enough. Archer disappeared, not daring to disrespect his rival by wishing to form a pact with the magus, even after having cut down his mana reserves to only a few scant hours.

All that remained were Saber, Caster, and Assassin. The remaining mana within him would be enough to take out one or two of them before he faded away in tandem. Disappointing enough that Assassin still remained so distant from his comrades, it was merely logical that they would end up killing each other when the time came.

And so Heracles left, letting the magus mourn as he set his sights on a new foe: Caster.

-oOo-

"So you're the Magus Killer, huh?" the young man standing over Kiritsugu Emiya tilted his head, "You don't really look all that impressive, a little creepy maybe, but not really scary."

Kiritsugu Emiya had found himself surrounded by a number of featureless dolls held together by displacement thaumaturgy. Resembling more like mannequins than actual people, likely either this man's first attempts at such a feat or merely Caster prioritizing quantity over quality.

Neither answer mattered to him, only the situation that he had found himself in once again.

In his attempts to find Irisviel, Kiritsugu had began using whatever information he had gathered to go looking for her, seeing that only those involved with the Grail War would've done such a thing.

He had crossed out Waver Velvet as a suspect, seeing as he was within Saber's presence around the same time when Irisviel disappeared. Kotomine was already dead, as was Tohsaka when he went to investigate his mansion, finding the magus dead with a bullet hole carved into his skull while Archibald was found with his throat slit.

Sola-Ui was nowhere to be found, but she was merely a supporting magus from what he could gleam, useless without her husband or a Servant, and neither were alive.

That only left Kariya Matou and the unknown Master of Caster, neither of which have shown their faces either. He broke into the Matou mansion afterwards and interrogated the only person he had seen inside: Byakuya Matou.

It got him nowhere, he knew nothing. The loss of his right hand made him absolutely honest in an attempt to ease his pain. Kiritsugu only left with a bitter taste in his mouth and disappointment by the lack of results.

The pain in his body had left him weakened, but he nevertheless trudged on. Avalon's regenerative abilities had been taken alongside Irisviel, but it was unlikely whether or not the enemy knew the nature of the scabbard hiding within her.

And so the Magus Killer did what he did best: he went hunting.

Caster had done a good job at clearing his Master's tracks, but there were many other details that he had left unaccounted. All of which were the failed summoning circles left behind by his Master.

Women and children butchered in their own homes, their blood used for his Master's rituals until finally succeeding. He recalled the news that had reported on the most recent murder days ago, a change in the modus operandi of the serial killer with an adult male victim having been killed in the process with a kitchen knife.

The chance was slim, but he took it anyway. The room would've been cleared of evidence by human hands, but magecraft had offered him deeper insight.

A whole 48 hours without sleep and nonstop searching had finally paid off. Tracking the residual mana from the apartment to a nearby building overlooking where the second battle of the Grail War had taken place.

They were moving from place to place without end or effort in setting up a territory for the Servant. Kiritsugu had grit his teeth, Caster was smart, frustratingly so, but he was a magus, Heroic Spirit or not.

Eventually, he found the last known location being an old house on the outskirts of the city, nearly two miles out from the Municipal Hall… which was where the Grail was supposed to manifest.

It couldn't have been a coincidence.

A single order for Saber to investigate while he searched the building, that was the plan.

He stood upon a nearby building just a little under three-hundred meters away. There was no doubt a boundary field that surrounded the building, so there would be no point in getting closer

Peering through the lens of an infrared scope, he managed to spot someone within the building with little trouble. The heat signature of a magus was different than that of a normal human being, the use of mana caused the body to heat up in correspondence.

Switching to the scope's night vision mode, he got a glimpse of his target. A young man in plain clothes and red hair, nothing else was notable. He had a bored look on his face as he peered out the window… it was careless, so it was reason to believe that this man was an outsider to the Grail War, the boundary field likely set up by Caster so his Master could call them forth with a command seal.

It was already night, so there was little reason not to strike now.

He took aim and fired as soon as his target was finally within a clearer line of sight, not even a minute had passed since then. The barrel of the Walther WA 2000 still smoking as his target lay dead in a puddle of their own blood.

The Magus Killer let out a sigh, lowering the rifle and looking out at the distance. It was like all of his other kills, merely a task that needed to be taken care of. Caster's Master had been a serial killer, a blight on the world that needed to be killed.

He walked left the rooftops, descending down the winding staircase leading to the bottom. A bit of trouble considering his injuries sustained the last few days before, but nothing he couldn't handle.

By the time he reached the bottom, greeted by the cold air kissing his skin, he was surrounded by several figures shrouded in the blanket of the night as soon as he stepped through the door. Their bodies were smooth like plastic, devoid of clothes or notable features even in the darkness.

They spoke no words, but their intentions were clear. There was only about three meters of space between him and them, just enough time to act.

All of them moved in perfect unison. Kiritsugu quickly aimed at the closest and fired, watching as the first figure fell dead, revealing that the assailants were merely puppets made to act according to the master's wishes.

They were the immune system, he was the virus. It was their job to deal with the issue.

Kiritsugu had little time to react, nor did he dare risk using his Innate Time Control in the event it could end up killing him in the process. His rifle only held four more bullets left, two of which each fired simultaneously into the next closest dolls that tried to attack, leaving the remaining left.

Flipping the rifle in his hands and swung forth, breaking another doll's face from the sheer impact, merely reinforcing his own muscles as the rifle snapped in two over its head. The doll crumpled to the ground as two more followed suit.

The Magus Killer backstepped away, body pressed up against the wall as a knife found itself in his hand while his other grasped his Contender.

He narrowly dodged a fist aimed for his face, listening to the metal of the door denting from the sheer strength of the punch as Kiritsugu followed up with a stab to its throat before moving onto the other, using the stabbed doll as split-second cover as the doll's fist was absorbed the other's body before taking aim with the pistol and firing.

Both were dead simultaneously with Kiritsugu the victor. He panted, loudly so as his body was nearly pushed to its limits, only having enough strength in him left to walk.

THUD!

Before he knew it, something impacted against his back. The Thompson Contender slipped out of his grasp as he tumbled to the floor. The sound of wood impacting against the ground told him he was hit by a simple piece of lumber.

"So you're the Magus Killer, huh? You don't really look that impressive, a little creepy maybe, but not really scary."

Kiritsugu turned around to see the man that he killed standing before him, looking no worse for wear. That was impossible, he had been three miles away and should've had a bloody hole put through his forehead.

Instead he stood above the Magus Killer, several more puppets surrounded him, locking him in like a cage.

"Mold, that's what Caster-sensei calls it," the man shrugged and looked away, largely uninterested in the Master of Saber, "Apparently it's my Origin, whatever that is. I simply made a decoy of myself out of one of these and had it take my place while I went out."

He explained everything and dealt his hand so casually. Either he was an amateur, thought he was simply better than the Emiya magus, or both.

"My name's Ryuunosuke, by the way. Serial killer and uh… mastermind in training, I guess," he scratched his head in thought before his vision zeroed in on the command spells on the older man's hand, "Oh cool, you have one of those command seal things like I do! Though yours look a bit faded."

'Yeah, don't remind me,' Kiritsugu bitterly thought to himself. His gun was only barely within arm's reach, he just needed to keep the man talking until he could get the opportunity.

"I wanna kill you, you really look like a troublesome guy… but I think you'd be better off for Caster alive," the serial killer shrugged, "Besides, I only really like to kill women and kids, even though you'd maybe be a nice change of pace. You understand, right?"

No, he didn't. In fact, there was something fundamentally wrong with this guy, even by the standards of every other serial killer that died by Emiya's hands. They kept their intentions hidden and were often cold or unfeeling. Textbook psychopathy was what he often ran into.

But this man wore his emotions on his sleeve, completely hollow and unfeeling like the rest, so he made his intentions plain to the world like an inversion. A serial killer just on the boundary of magecraft and barely scratching the surface had managed to subdue him, surrounded by creatures formed by the unfortunate souls of the innocent.

His mind briefly flashed back to Natalia and their mission to assassinate Heinrich Zepter. An idea came to mind before he quickly reached for the weapon that seemed ever so close before the killer could continue to speak.

A hard kick to his face knocked him out before he could even have a chance to reach for his weapon, courtesy of a doll standing over him.

-oOo-

"I know you're awake, don't bother hiding it," Kiritsugu opened his eyes and sighed, his lungs making a weird sound reminiscent of a reed as he looked around the room, an orchestral hall dimly lit by lights hanging off the walls,"You're just in time for the ceremony."

The source of the voice was that white-haired man, looking to be in his early-twenties and dressed in antiquated clothes. The malicious grin and words spoke with intent told him this was Caster.

The man flexed his fingers and tried to move his arms, realizing he was bound to a chair in thick hemp ropes. His head brushed against something cold and stony, but he kept his eyes on the Servant standing in front of him.

"You're a clever man, making me believe for a second that my young protege was capable of finally beating even someone as infamous as you, Magus Killer," Caster clicked his tongue and grinned, "But nothing is ever so simple."

He knew. Caster knew that Kiritsugu Emiya wanted to be caught. Ryuunosuke wore his intentions plainly, and his main purpose had given Emiya hope for survival.

"Perhaps my Master needs to take a few more lessons in subtlety… oh well, he made the right decision bringing you to me," the Servant shrugged his shoulders, "I was going to use him for this, but now an appropriate guinea pig has found itself in my fortunate hands."

Punctuating his last words, Caster grabbed the edges of Kiritsugu's chair and spun it around in a dramatic flourish, awaiting his reaction.

"Only one more life would need to be taken for the Grail to manifest," Caster leaned in close over the Magus Killer's shoulder and whispering into his ear in that excited tone, "And Rider was charitable enough to lend his own."

Before Kiritsugu Emiya was the final remnants that remained of the Einzbern's vessel: a pristine goblet that floated almost heavenly over a pit that seemed to possess no end. The sight contrasted heavily as an inky and viscous reddish-brown liquid began to pour from the rim.

The Holy Grail.

Irisviel…

Caster's hands clasped around the bound man's shoulders, rocking him back and forth as the Servant began to ponder his next actions, "Now then, any last words?"

Was he planning on killing him here and now?

Kiritsugu still had two more command seals… no, he couldn't risk damaging the Grail right now. He peered warily down at the sea of mud from down below before looking back at the Servant, seeing the purpose for why he was teetering over the ledge.

"Why?" was all he asked.

Caster laughed, "So he does speak! You've spoken more often to me face-to-face than Assassin did, one-hundred percent more even. Good job, Kiritsugu Emiya."

It was a half-teasing, half-serious mix, laughing all the while. The last he had seen Assassin was during the battle between Saber and Lancer, but ever since then he disappeared. The Master of Saber had since then assumed that he had faded away after the Executor's death.

Caster seemed to think so too.

"As for why?" the aforementioned Servant pondered before merely shrugging, "Why does anyone do anything for whatever reason? You seek the Grail for whatever foolish wish you seem to have while I possess my own. Now with that pointless question out of the way-"

Asking what his wish was seemed pointless, Kiritsugu noted. Caster spoke in vague circles, deliberately shying away from the full truth and only offering halves or nothing at all. It was like talking to the Cheshire cat.

"-Good luck~" the man whispered closely once more before tipping his fingers forward. Kiritsugu's stomach churned, feeling his body pitch and a sense of weightlessness follow.

Then his world went black.

-oOo-

Kariya awoke next to a dumpster, the smell of rotting and fuming garbage quickly bringing him back to his senses as something flooded his eardrums. It was night too, so having to look around for it didn't help either.

What was it... ? The pain wracking throughout his body didn't help either as felt around his clothes with his only working hand. He managed to stand back up with some effort, reaching into his pocket and pulling out the source of that damn noise.

Click.

"H-hello?" he weakly said, bringing the phone to his ear. Pain wracked through his form even as he began to move, it was a miracle that he was even able to talk in this state.

"Hello to you too, Kariya," an eerily cheerful and hatefully familiar voice caused the Matou to grit his teeth, his fingers gripping tightly around the phone in his pocket, "It's me, your old business partner in this whole affair."

"What do you want, Caster?" the worm-riddled man demanded, nearly on the verge of crunching apart the device in his hands from the sheer pain.

"Oh, I was just checking up on an old acquaintance before the war ends, nothing too important really," a pause, "My apologies for that mad knight as well, it's a shame you're disqualified from the war now. Truly, my condolences."

Was he really just here to mock him?

"I'm- gurgh!... not finished," the man cried out halfway as a surge of prana shot through his body, the worms working faster and more efficiently, requiring more upkeep and even worse pain, "I'm still… participating."

"Oh, is that so?" his voice was surprisingly soft and… uncertain? "I was under the impression that the Servants of the War have dwindled down to a select few."

"That doesn't matter. I'll win the war…" Kariya hissed into the mic, "I'll free Sakura and get her away from this fucking city. I have faith in my… Assassin…"

Another pause, this one much longer than the previous.

"Assassin, you say?" there was a growing presence of curiosity in that man's voice, "So he survived, fascinating…"

"What do you mean?"

"Nothing nothing, merely taking note of a discrepancy I had made light of," Caster's statement was vague as per usual, "However, Kariya Matou, I had wished to sever my deal with you upon your disqualification, but it appears you're in luck!"

Kariya's dead eye twitched at the statement, but he would be lying if he said he wasn't the least bit curious by what the Servant was about to offer.

He said nothing more, allowing Caster to continue, taking his silence as an answer that he was listening, "You and your relatives both seek the Grail in tandem, but you only want it for Zouken, do you not? It was only with his help that Assassin was even able to defeat Lancer and, by extension, your Berserker."

"Zouken… approached you?"

That meant they shared a history, most likely before he was a Heroic Spirit. Kariya knew that the old vampire was older than he looked, but never did he realize it went this far.

"It was the other way around, in fact," Caster coolly replied, "I owed him much for providing his services to me once upon a time, so what better way than to work alongside his descendents to bring it for him?"

Even in a pain-filled, brain damaged haze, even Kariya was able to pick out the flecks of bullshit in such a response. Caster approached him because he was an easily manipulated Master with an uncontrollable Servant that was more akin to a mad dog than a hero.

"So… you want to make a deal with me?"

Caster went silent, "The Grail has already manifested, but a wish cannot be granted until all but one Servant remains. Rider has already been felled and Archer still lives even without a Master. And with a certain few coincidences that have been orchestrated to my benefit, Saber is bound to catch up eventually."

Kariya blinked, processing the information slowly before coming to a conclusion.

Four Servants remained. Caster, now realizing Assassin was alive, now had a hidden ace up his sleeve. He had bet on the rest of the Servants killing themselves before they would reach him, but now there was something to solidify his victory.

"As long as you live, and the Grail is intact, it will belong to the Matous," Kariya punctuated every word. With Tokiomi dead, all that was left was saving Sakura. The Matou name was dead to him, but he was already past the point of no return.

"...Of course, my dear Kariya," that same quiet tone, "Just keep Saber distracted, whether Assassin or she lives doesn't matter. I'll kill her Master if it comes down to that… he may even already be dead in fact. If Assassin lives, use your remaining command seals and order his suicide, then the Grail shall be yours."

"And Archer?"

"Don't worry about him," Caster replied bluntly, suddenly taking an impatient tone, "That's my problem to deal with and will be handled according to my own whims."

"Right," Kariya leaned himself against a nearby wall, catching his breath and looking down at the command spells in his hand. A click on the other end told him that Caster had grown tired of the conversation.

Little did he know that this would be the last he would hear from Caster.

Without hesitation, the seals on his hand glowed dimly.

Whether Assassin or Caster lived didn't matter, either one wanted the Grail and both had promised to bring it. But even a man like Kariya saw the scales tipping in one's favor, the likeliest chance of success.

"By the power of my Command Seal, Assassin, I order you…"

-oOo-

CLANG!

An aberration like him could never have truly been able to win against a true hero like her. There was too much of a difference between them. Too wide of a gap.

Every battle he'd taken part in so far only ended up with him bloody and bruised. Nary did she come out with anything more than a scratch, and even then fortune came to her even at the brink of death.

His victory over Lancer and Berserker was merely a fluke in the grand scheme of things. One had been weakened and corrupted while the other was an incompatible Servant with a talentless Master.

Invisible holy blade struck against a stolen corrupted sword. Pure and wrathful talent clashed against cold and technical skill.

But her? She was Saber, King Arthur and rightful wielder of the sword Excalibur. The King of Knights who pulled the sword of selection from the stone told throughout the ages that even Assassin had known about such a legendary figure even so far into the future. Despite the misconception of her sex, her legend was timeless.

But him? Noble Six was a nameless martyr that died on a planet that he never grew up on. His past was unknown, his armor was classified information known to few, his weapons were mundane; hell, he didn't even know his own name.

Spartan-B312. A title that molded his character. So he took a name that was familiar once upon a time.

Assassin was a thief, and not even a very good one. His name was stolen, this armor was never truly his, and the sword clutched in his hands was merely something that he had picked off of a dead man seconds before delivering the final blow.

A thief could never win against a knight… at least not in a fair fight.

Assassin was not an honorable man, merely someone did what needed to be done and did it by any means necessary. Everything, be it the armor that surrounded him or any of the weapons in his hands, was a tool, pure and simple. Broken tools needed to be thrown away and unneeded tools were simply unnecessary.

CLANG!

Did he feel guilty to establish a friendship with Irisviel and Saber purely for the sake of information? No.

CLANG!

Did he feel shame that he was using the sword and accumulated experience it held to fight off the king that it had once served? No.

CLANG!

Did he feel remorse that the death of his adversary would deny them their wish, be they malicious or benevolent? Absolutely not.

Assassin stepped away from a wild swing to his right before lunging back in, throwing all the strength he could muster into Saber's next attack as their blades clashed once more. Her blazing yellow eyes only stared into a cold faceplate.

"By the power of my Command Seal," that man had said, "Assassin, I order you to defeat Saber with everything you have."

After this, if he even lived, Kariya Matou would most surely die.

For now, however, this sword needed to be put to its current use.

Arondight: The Unfading Light of the Lake. The fae-forged divine construct that proved itself without limit and belonging to a true and perfect knight: Sir Lancelot.

In his hands, it possessed an unrivaled quality that would've bested even the King of Knights had they been enemies.

But the circumstances were different now. Arondight was now in Assassin's hands, Hyper Lethal Vector was the only thing that prevented it from disappearing so long as it remained in his hands or on MJOLNIR. To him, it was nothing more than a tool, now downgraded to that of a C-rank Noble Phantasm.

However, it didn't change the weapon's nature, merely the perception of its history. It still carried the knowledge of its original owner, the power of boosting their parameters, and the desire to slay something as grand or overwhelming as a dragon.

Assassin never once wielded a traditional sword in his life, only ever the occasional alien-made sword. But the skill of the Hyper Lethal Vector carried that knowledge and transcribed it in such a way that even a novice like him could wield it to a technical degree.

He would've laughed bitterly to himself on every other occasion. Noble Six was a thief to the bone, he needed to play dirty and use every unfair cheat in the book to win.

Unfortunately, even a cheated trick can be outmaneuvered.

CLANG!

"Prepare to meet your end, ASSASSIN!" the smaller woman roared wrathfully as he tried to parry another blow and take off her head with his next swing, but it seemed she had other plans. Her sword carried a powerful burst of mana that took even him off guard once again, his defenses completely down as half of his vision suddenly disappeared.

Assassin crashed against a nearby pillar, listening to it crumble away as a cloud of dust had been tossed up. The HUD on his helmet disappeared as he opened his eyes, or rather eye. The woman had split his body from torso to face, half-blinding him in the process and piercing his heart.

Not even his own Battle Continuation would allow him to survive these wounds for very long.

Her attack pierced through his shields, armor, and overall defenses that he had put up. Pain quickly followed, watching through whatever was left from his helmet as she walked away.

He'd leave her no words, only to give her the satisfaction that she had avenged a fallen friend of hers. That was fine by him, so he simply closed his eyes and let his body relax as he sat upon that crumbling pillar.

Assassin awaited death to take him once again. Her wish would've been much more noble than his with a resolve like that.

But alas, fate was cruel indeed...

Victory should've been hers in that instant.

Crack!

Saber paused mid-step as she heard an impossible sound behind her. Her confusion turned to concern, which then turned to anger once again as she finally turned around.

'That's…'

"That's not possible," she whispered to herself, raising her sword once more as she watched the man she killed rise back up from his makeshift tomb. Did he possess some kind of skill that allowed him to keep fighting with such grievous injuries? It would explain why he was still able to continue moving.

But it didn't explain how his injuries were healing right before her very eyes. Saber watched as luminescent threads began to trace themselves around the wounds that she had personally dealt.

His fingers twitched, then his arm, followed by the rest of his body as he began to crawl out of the rubble. He shambled like a waking man before looking back up at the woman, the sword of Lancelot still clutched in his hands. Saber's chest ached at the sight, raising her sword at the man.

"You," her voice was still and quiet, before repeating once more with determination, "You- Assassin, name yourself. If you have a shred of honor within you, then I implore why you stand in my way and why you dare to insult me by using such a weapon."

Assassin went still, his shoulders relaxing as his missing eye began to mend back together underneath the shredded helmet. He looked down at the sword in his hands before looking back up at her, that eye now healed and looking at her with an empty expression.

Finally he spoke, his voice now clear as hairline cracks began to form in his helmet, "See for yourself."

She recognized the voice… and as though on command, the dark grey helmet covering his face finally shattered, revealing the man that stood before her. That smiling man with those hollow eyes that always seemed so kind… no…

Thom.

Servant Assassin, summoned by Kirei Kotomine to partake in the Fourth Holy Grail War.

She almost didn't recognize him with that cold gaze upon his face. Not a shred of emotion or warmth in his expression, and yet it seemed more natural than any smile she had seen during their short time together with Irisviel.

Tho- no, Assassin… he kept his history vague, as if he had something to hide. It was like missing a piece to a puzzle that was finally found. It finally made so much sense for her.

Or… or perhaps she always did know, suspecting hostility from him the very moment he had laid eyes on them. She trusted Irisviel's judgment of him, seeing something warm behind that mask he called a smile. Saber let her guard down in that moment, she let her guard down in front of an enemy.

Her eyes were hidden behind her hair, shoulders shuddering slightly as her anger began to rise once more. He dared to make a fool out of her? He dared to brazenly wield such a weapon even knowing of his identity?

She was about to ask if he even bore any shame for his actions at all… but he didn't, she knew he didn't. And that's what angered her more than anything. A nameless vagabond using that sword as though it was nothing more than a simple blade to be thrown away. The memory of the Knights of the Round Table was nothing more than pissant to him.

Saber's eyes glowed in the darkness, hands grasped tightly around the handle of Excalibur as she shot forward like a bullet. The air grew thin and hazy before stabilizing as the distance between both Servants had been closed in a literal fraction of a second.

There had once been mercy in her attacks, perhaps giving Assassin time to throw away that sword in place to use his own abilities against her in honorable combat, but that no longer seemed to be the case.

CLANG!

Because even then, Arondight was still in his hands. Their blades locked with one another once more, her eyes locked with his and saw they held no life, nor pity, nor regret. Nothing.

It was like staring at a corpse.

Saber swung her blade once more, catching Assassin off guard as he tried to parry. Arondight failed as the unsuitable blade was blown back from the sheer force of her attack, Assassin tried to back away as Excalibur in its invisible sheath continued its trajectory, listening as another slice tore through his right arm and cracked against his sternum.

He was unable to see the blade and he paid heavily for that price.

Assassin's right arm hung limply at his side, bones separated by blade in that moment and barely hanging on by a single bleeding tendon.

A flash of air and Saber blocked a weaker blow to her right. Assassin was partially crippled in that moment, but he still had another arm to grip that sword.

One that he still managed to raise it against her. Arturia almost felt the need to ask why he was doing this, but the answer was obvious.

He sought the Grail just as much as she did, and he was willing to lie and betray for that wish. A mere Assassin stood against her, one that couldn't leave this battlefield alive with a tenacious resolve like him.

And so they clashed once more.

Assassin fought on a purely technical level with the blade in his hands, relying on moves put to practice but never truly used in the field of battle. Every attack was correct, precise and cold that fulfilled the bare minimum of what a sword was capable of. It lacked passion or the feelings and memories that Arondight carried.

Saber was a whirlwind of steel, her unparalleled fighting ability like that of a raging tsunami. The King of Knights fought with precision, finesse, and over all power that even a man like Assassin was incapable of. The King of Knights fought by the sword, it was a weapon that acted as an extension of her own self at this point.

Assassin dodged the next blow, kicking himself back from a vertical swing aiming to sever his other arm. By the time he landed to his feet, Saber had retaliated with a thrust aiming for his midsection, a thrust that had been easily parried as the man stabbed Lancelot's sword into the ground, rupturing the skin of the pavement as both swords locked in place.

Before Saber realized, the man's arm had already healed, stitching themselves back together with unknown magecraft. This error was paid forth as his fist buried itself into her stomach, cracking ribs and bruising organs as she was sent flying.

And yet she did not falter.

She landed back on her feet gracefully, blade still carried with a surreal mix of elegance and brutality. It wasn't until she saw the blood dripping down her invisible sword for her realize just how he was able to see the length of her sword.

His blood was a mere sacrifice, and sacrifices were rewarded. Assassin now knew the full length of her sword… and by the way he carried that weapon around her and the blatant reaction she held towards it, he likely knew her identity.

Invisible Air was useless at this rate.

The golden shine that was Excalibur burst forth, almost blindingly brilliant as she held the revealed sword at the hip. The Noble Phantasm that hid her sword dispersed, firing off like a jet engine as the trace of gold streaked across the battlefield and struck Assassin with the force of a mighty hammer beating down on an anvil.

Unstoppable force met immovable object.

Only one would give.

Six grit his teeth as Excalibur thrummed against the stolen Arondight, the concrete beneath him crumbling as he was left defenseless yet again. Her sword raked across his chest, piercing the shields once more and cracking his armor yet again.

Their fight went on for a minute as unbreakable swords clanged against one another with bloodthirsty intent. If the weapons couldn't give, it fell back to the skill of the wielder. Saber was the one with the upper hand by every means possible, she bore the strength, dexterity, and history that would provide her the victory.

But even with all those on her side, the battle was almost Sisyphean in nature.

Every wound and cut meant to kill him was healed faster than either could comprehend. He should've been killed forty-six times over and yet he still lived. Not even the Spartan knew how he was still alive, only that he simply was.

Even at the rate they were fighting, Assassin would never be able to reach the level of Saber's fighting ability, but he didn't need to. He simply needed to outlive her.

Another swing and he was sent flying through yet another pillar. The force behind Saber's attacks were immense, but there had to have been a limit to how much she could fight. She was bound to a Master, how long before either of their mana stores were all dried up?

Dust clouded the battlefield, now reduced to debris that littered what used to be a parking garage.

Saber panted, her armor and clothes damp from the battle that she continued to fight. She couldn't allow herself to rest just yet, but the attacks finally ceasing allowed her some reprieve. Her instincts tracked the sounds of footsteps as she closed her eyes,

There!

She turned around to see another pillar, listening as the sound of a sword cut apart the stone structure from its roots. The entire slab of rock shot forth like a cannonball.

Saber focused whatever was left from her Mana, shattering the rock like it was nothing. She grimaced, if Assassin had to resort to paltry tricks like this, then he was surely at his limits.

Her thoughts were deftly shattered as Assassin appeared behind the rocks, swinging Arondight at her sword and knocking the blade away before following it up with a kick straight to her gut, the same area where he had collided his fist with.

If there wasn't a weak point on his enemy, he simply needed to make one.

Saber crashed against the pillar on the opposing side, coughing up blood as she tried to stand to her feet. Her exhaustion was never truly realized until Assassin disengaged from their fight in that moment.

Assassin looked down at her, she was determined but defeated. If he showed even an ounce of hesitation, she would rise back up and kill him.

He raised his blade, both hands upon the sword of Lancelot. The blade intent to strike her from shoulder to hip, without the nature of "surviving even after sustaining a fatal wound", her death was most assured.

Saber's face was caked in dust and sweat, blood pooled from her lips as she glared at him with those weary eyes. Those sickly yellow irises dulled back to that soft green, her body was beaten from the fight while his own was without marring.

It was unfair.

SHING!

The sword swung down like an executioner's axe.

CLANG!

The blade sailed through the air before colliding into the ground beside the fake swordsman. Saber looked up to see the line of debris formed as he ground to a halt. His armor was gone and Arondight was no longer in his hands, his body started to glow as she realized his mana too had neared its end.

The intent was obvious, but neither dared voice it.

Without hesitation, with what little strength she had left, Excalibur found itself plunged once more into the heart of her enemy. The magic that held him together wouldn't be able to regenerate whatever mana he had lost.

Saber pulled her sword out of the man's body, watching as he collapsed onto the floor. Even then, she wouldn't forgive such a betrayal, her anger refusing to subside as she merely trudged on. Whoever remained would be dealt with, even in the condition she was in.

Assassin could only watch as she disappeared from his sight. Whatever had kept him alive would do so no longer. His Noble Phantasms would do nothing for him, there'd be no more mana to sustain him for these fragile minutes he had left.

Every battle, it always ended like this. It took him a while to accept that, but he did so anyway. His body felt like lead, unable to lift a single finger as he was surrounded by his own undoings.

"Farewell… Saber…"

He closed his eyes, accepting death in these last few minutes of respite.

And then the world around him grew black. Whatever happened to Saber and Archer and Caster had long since passed. He could only guess that the Grail remained.

That someone finally claimed it.

Everything smelled and felt wrong, unable to open his eyes as nothing existed anymore. His body was gone, merely a consciousness in the endless black sea as he returned… somewhere.