Chapter 1

Months later.

High up in the mountains of China, two heroes were locked in a struggle of life and death. One, wielded a sword. The other, a bow. They went from range to range, peak to peak, at a speed impossible to follow with the naked eye alone. Thunderous were their clashes, demolishing their chosen battleground, until the mountains were reduced to canyons, and those canyons into chasms very deep, very dark, unable to be seen, even by those with keenest of eyes. At a stalemate, the two heroes stood facing each other and, over the roaring winds, the hero with the bow spoke to her opponent.

"Why are you holding back, Saber? Am I not a worthy enough foe for you to still conceal your blade?" she proclaimed, pointing the tip of her bow toward them. Bright, crimson flames coiling around its strings, kept burning by Archer's anger alone, her eyes fiery and the horns protruding from her forehead giving away her demonic nature, she anxiously waited for her opponent to answer.

Unmoving, Saber answered clearly and calmly. "No, Archer," she said, sheathing her sword in one smooth, crisp motion and shaking her head. "I never wished to engage you in the first place. My goal is to find and eliminate Caster, nothing more and nothing less."

"Are you saying you never took this fight seriously? You were mocking me, Saber?!" Archer snarled, but, Saber was already gone; leaving to continue her pursuit of Caster.

Lowering her eyes to their battlefield, the fire in Archer's eyes smoldered to embers, her horns shrunk back down to stubs. She grit her teeth in humiliation as another insignificant scratch on the latter's blade, gathering what lingered of her pride as she left to reunite with her Master.

Having watched their battle unfold and come together and unfold again to its rather anticlimactic conclusion from a safe distance away, predicting its outcome before either even drew their weapons, Lancer was awoken from her nap by the sound of her Master whining in her ear. He was famished, huddled around her legs. Stretching stiff muscles, she picked something from that same ear, then hopped to her feet and pulled a piece of cooked, salted meat from her cloak. He snatched it, chewing happily, then he sat there, tongue out and tail wagging, satisfied. Patting his head, Lancer wondered if she should catch up to Saber and tell her where Caster had run off to. Her Master barked, and she nodded in agreement. Right. Yes. Of course, what was she thinking... Caster was their hunt, and nobody else's.

And this was where the fun began.

The start of another Holy Grail War.

—§•δ•§—

Miles and an ocean removed from the World's events at large in an undisclosed city near Tokyo, Japan, Médée Veilleux gave the signal for her team to halt, looking up the weathered steps of the city's local temple at the gate that stood atop. Behind them, the city lay dormant, quiet and relaxed, almost as it were in a momentary state of hibernation till morning; its residents unknowing of the battle that had been waged right beneath their noses for the past two weeks. Of which, its finale, was right in front of theirs. Only, to her, it was all a waste of time. She should be out hunting, not investigating baseless claims. Especially one as trifling a matter as this.

—After your recent failure, this is the chance we've been waiting for. Don't disappoint me again—

She could never understand what went through her mentor's head to make her so... obstinate, but, what she thought didn't matter. Even if what she thought was that this was just another wild goose chase—another ruse to let the trail go cold again. For, her mentor, hellbent on the idea that an Ancestor was pulling the strings behind, well, anything even remotely having to do with these far eastern rituals, had let Lord El-Melloi II's obsession get the better of her.

Feeling the faint presence of magecraft the closer she got toward the gate, of all the things he could have gotten her involved with, it were these backwater debacles. The Vice Director was so obsessed, in fact, that the team sent in addition to herself was comprised of members from the Brigade. Ten of the Vice Director's own, hand-picked elite.

Continuing on her way to the temple, she alone would have been enough, but this, this was excessive—and that was only counting the team traveling with her. Others were busy scouring the city high and low for any possible signs of Apostle activity. The Vice Director had dedicated a great deal of her personal resources into this farce, and it raised only one question: who among the higher mysteries of the World had irritated her enough?

… Ortenrosse.

If it even was Ortenrosse.

Médée sighed, partially out of disgust at that fool of a Lord, but, mainly because of the afterimages detailing the battles fought at this very spot she saw as she went along. They came in flashes, faster than any normal human eye could follow. They were even fast for a magus, but, her eyes could see everything clearly. Nonetheless, she would have to decipher them at a later date as she finally came to the temple, the energy of something twisted beyond. Hopefully something significant so she get this over with quickly and go back to what really mattered or otherwise she'd never hear the end of it.

Telling her team to lay low, she went forward alone, following the dark whisperings behind the temple where there was now only death. From the smell, someone had also emptied their bowels.

As she continued on with more questions than answers, her mentor rarely, if ever, acted upon her "gut feelings", and while she could certainly think of a few who would have interest in a ritual like this, none of those were Ortenrosse. The Vice Director was being made a fool of, too blinded in her hatred to even see it.

Eventually, she came across hidden steps leading up to a cave, which she entered.

It led into a vast cavern of raging red sand.

Quickly scanning the area, nothing else caught her eye besides some crumbled remains resembling a deflated embryo.

Handing it over to her team back at the temple, she checked in with rest who were scattered about the city. They were thoroughly clearing each portion of the city. Each successful sweep was given in sparse detail. Only two were really worth seeing for herself; first, it was reported that they found a house where a family had been murdered, the bodies fed upon by what could only be a Dead Apostle. Second, a strange bounded field masked the entrance to the sewer lines that ran underneath the bridge which connected the north and south sides of the city.

So, standing by the railing of the winding two-lane road that curved around the mountainside further down, gazing down at the slumbering city below, Médée arranged for her team to collect whatever samples they could, then scorch the area and leave no traces behind.

—§•δ•§—

Arriving at the first location, Médée approached the magus who was watching over the house in case anyone happened to chance upon it.

"What did you find?"

"See for yourself."

Stepping over the body of a man lying face down in his own blood, the magus led her inside, where it became apparent that—to her chagrin—the Vice Director's gut feeling wasn't wrong.

"There's no mistaking it…"

In the living room, on the couch, sat the drained and shriveled husk of a woman, fingers still clutching the remote to the television, her neck ripped into and what little od flowing through her veins sucked out along with her death thralls.

"This is the work of an Apostle," he stated.

Médée sighed for the second time. This was exactly what she didn't need. Turning to the magus, seeing a streak of blood which ran from the hallway to the beginning of the living room, she couldn't just pass this off as a robbery gone wrong.

"Is there anything else I should be aware of?" she asked, looking at the sole, fluffy, oversized jacket hanging on the coat rack.

"Yes. This way," he said.

Following him to a child's room, it was dark except for a tabletop lamp. Beside the lamp was a stuffed animal. She picked it up. She asked of the child's whereabouts.

"Vanished."

Even though this was a very recent feeding.

"It might be saving the child for later," she surmised. "Do what's necessary, and then contact the local church. I'm heading over to the second location."

Stepping back out into the cold night air, she hoped whatever awaited her at the bridge wouldn't be anything more troublesome than this.

—§•δ•§—

And now feeling along the tunnel wall of the sewer line, thinking of what the second magus said of the bounded field, her sigh turned into a groan.

Similar in likeness to that of a Territorial Field, the last thing she wanted was to confirm her mentor's suspicions, but, going deeper into the gloom, Médée definitely felt that familiar weight on her shoulders, but, it was faint and felt nothing like any of the Fields she'd encountered on their outings. Therefore, she'd no reason to believe it to be the real thing and wanted to turn back, leave it to the magus outside, but kept going anyway. Was it actually the cleverly disguised work of Ortenrosse, or the amateurish mess of a budding Ancestor yet to earn their place within the higher ranks of their kin?

… She truly didn't care.

Thus, after a time, when the concrete became slick and slimy, she pulled her hand away and snapped her fingers. Making a makeshift torch out of a tiny flame, the wall was covered in that same black sludge as back at the temple. Watching it burn—she was just about done with this whole sordid affair; it was like tar, and she followed the trail of it further into the tunnel, blue melting black, illuminating the dark.

Attracted by the light, first grunts and groans not her own, then drawn closer by the smell of fresh flesh, the undead slowly, painstakingly approached. Ugly, shabbling mockeries of what they'd once been. Ghouls, victims of an Apostle, risen again, lumbering towards her with lolling tongues and bloodstained teeth. Their cold hands grasped for her, skin hanging loose from their bones.

Destroying the first one that got too close, where there was the Dead, so too were their masters not far behind…

But, turning the last of them to ash, letting its headless body fall inanimate at her feet, Médée scattered the charred bits and pieces, a hollow crunch, once hardened bone and cartilage crushed beneath her heel, while it wasn't his work—clearly, glancing around at the dozen or more around her in smoldering heaps—at least their being here proved it: the existence of a regular Dead Apostle.

Significantly weaker, and stupider, than their more superior counterparts—which "significantly" was a gross underestimate of the gap between the two—it was probably a magus who, too far out of their element, wound up even more pathetic than they were in life.

Whatever the case, the Apostle using these undead as its playthings would've no doubt already killed many more to satiate its hunger, their soulless husks bound to follow until a new master came along and took over the position. She had to find it, lest it—and it would, given the time—take over the whole city. After all, she knew how tedious that would be to deal with.

Continuing on, peering down at someone's intestines strewn across the floor, a dim light flickering on and off overhead, it wouldn't be long now. Blood and water ran together until she came to the corpse of the man those intestines belonged to. Sprawled on his side, ravenously torn apart, two holes, perfectly aligned with one another, were visible on the neck.

A fresh kill.

She was almost upon it.

Turning her palm towards the corpse as she passed, Médée was deep within the tunnel now. The flame she'd following was finally gone, and so as not to be surrounded in the dark another makeshift torch was floating above her palm. A faint, sickening green hue, and though fighting these creatures one handed was no trouble, even she would be a fool if she thought them to be feeble opponents. Inhumanly strong, relentless, if it managed to grab a hold of her it was the end.

So, cautiously maintaining her pace, when she eventually discovered another body, ripped in two, the distance between them was wide.

Bits of organ still hung from the ghoul's mouth. Its back was turned to her, and she waited for its black eyes to stare in her direction, not seeing so much as sensing her—the od flowing through her veins, powerful and ancient—it was more ugly than she guessed: dark, matted hair hung like seaweed from a scabby, burned, all but skinless face. Hunched over, its spine was visible and hands were like white sticks, the flesh almost completely fallen off its body in some places. Its broken and bloody fingers dangled at odd angles. Its clothing, too, was in poor condition. Not to mention, in poor taste. As the light from her torch started searing its exposed skin, it backed away into the dark, hissing and spitting, its mouth a mangle of misshapen, yellowed teeth. Gazing at her from the shadows, it garbled something and spat whatever it had been eating at her feet—a piece of the girl's stomach.

The smell of the mushed, partially-digested remains of a final meal mixing in with a strong aroma of cheap perfume insulting her sinuses, Médée immediately kicked it away and took a step forward as the Apostle took a clumsy one back.

"Do you have a master?" she asked, as the half-eaten organ hit the wall with a wet, meaty impact. She waited again, surging energy through her body and collecting it in her other hand.

Darkness slowly creeping its way back, her makeshift torch flickering out. It said something, only, too deformed for it to have been anything past incoherent babble and the ghoul, unburdened now by the lack of light, sprang forward.

She casually lifted her other hand, now fully charged with magical energy. Of course, how stupid of her to ask. She sent it reeling back, clawing and tearing at itself in a vain attempt at putting out the flames that now engulfed its body and watching as it writhed on the body of the dead girl, thought to ask once more—for there was always the chance—but, reconsidered. Whether it had a master or not, was unimportant. If it did, they were long gone by now.

She also burned the body that lay underneath it, wanting to see her grueling duty done quickly, and cast her gaze across the area briefly. Spotting something—a trinket of some sort—she took it, then drowned the place in a magical fire, stepping through unharmed and making her way back to the entrance as her magecraft took care of any evidence.

When she came out, she told the waiting magus to finish with the cleanup and made her way to the taxi she'd hired to take her swiftly to and fro. Getting in, she told the driver to take her to the private airport that the Vice Director had bought out; further solidifying the fact that her mentor had an incurable obsession.

Inspecting the trinket, the taxi starting on its way, while it was yet one more thing to inform her of, unlike Lord El-Melloi II—who made it a habit to track down and hoard strange things in his personal time—nearly everything her mentor did in hers was an excuse to stomp out more Dead Apostles. Thus, she would have no use for it.

So, she thought, then why not just keep it for herself?