AN: Caster's first victim was Satsuki Kiryuin, from Kill La Kill. He's a creepy fucker, he is. I'm also looking for a beta reader so pls pm me.

All that was left of Valentine was the lower half of his body. Blood seeped from the huge tear in a huge gush, then in a slow trickle. Another casualty of the Holy Grail War… Rider's first ally had been eliminated all too soon.

Saber stood on a sand dune, panting from her exertion. She had used much mana to fuel that burst of speed, that terrible strike had carried so much force that there was no blood to coat her invisible sword; it had been flung off with her speed of motion. One threat had been easily removed, and Saber could sense that the man she had killed was a Servant. The remaining pair, the muscular giant and thin waif of a boy stood stock still. Had they been allied with that Servant she had cut in half? It seemed like it, for the tall man with burning, crimson hair stooped down to touch the puddle of blood that had formed. The blood had stained the sand a fearsome shade of red and brown.

"The two of you should leave," her gaze was imperious, and despite her small stature, the height of the dune and backdrop of light that the moon provided was enough to make her intimidating. "Your friend has just died. Go and mourn your loss. I have enough honor to allow that, even for an enemy." She looked over her shoulder to find that Berserker was not there, not in the ocean and not on shore. It seemed that even the beast had retreated for now.

The man stood from his crouch and clasped the boy next to him on the shoulder causing him to stumble. Even across the distance, Saber could make out phrases of comfort. It seemed that this was the first time the boy had watched someone die…

"You must be Saber then, judging by your skill with the sword." The man sounded calm, but there was a scum of annoyance behind his forced tone. "I, Iskander the Great, King of Conquerors, had come here today to seek allies. To extend the proverbial olive branch to my fellow Servants so that they may join me in conquering the world. Archer, the man you had so hastily cut down, was my first ally besides my Master here." Rider's eyes turned hard.

"A king would never accept a place at the feet of another, no matter whom they might be. Leave here at once. I will not warn you again. That man was another casualty of battle, regrettable as it may be, participating in this War means you must be ready for death."

"There's no harm done, Rider. The girl is right when she says that we must all be prepared for death." The speaker was a new one, but familiar all the same. The pink overcoat and tight fitting clothes underneath and the golden hair, flowing ever so elegantly before ending in small single looped ringlets…

Saber faltered. Another seemingly undying enemy? As if Berserker wasn't enough of a seemingly immortal problem; Archer had been cut in half, the strewn limbs were proof enough, and he had come back to life. No signs of damage or fatigue or consequences from his revival. What a terrifying ability… Rider seemed to be having a small celebration, laughing and prancing around without a care in the world, as if Archer's impossibility had been a particularly good joke.

"Little girls shouldn't be playing with swords," Valentine turned to Saber and spoke harshly. "Children are too rash and hotheaded to be trusted with any sort of power," he was ranting now and his voice grew more passionate, stronger. "Rider, his Master, Waver Velvet, and I, Funny Valentine came here in peace. We could have started by butchering the girl over there," Archer pointed in the distance, the vague direction where Arturia knew that Irisviel was hiding. "But instead we present ourselves in the open, a gesture of good faith. And you attack. Unprovoked you cut me in two…"

"This is a War, Archer. And we are all participants. Trust beyond courtesy should be disregarded." Saber tensed even tighter than she had been before. Valentine's words were full of ignorance. She was not just a child, she was the King of Knights, Arturia Pendragon… but of course she could reveal herself as the others had. That being said, Funny Valentine was a name that Saber was not familiar with, he must have been a Heroic Spirit from a different, later era than the one she had lived in. She had heard of Iskander before, the King from Macedon who had campaigned eastward and conquered the lands of Arabia and Persia and even the Egyptians to the south. There was a man she could respect, a true King, her equal.

"You both spoke of alliances," Saber said, "before any offer of such is extended to me, I must refuse in advance. I have needs of the Grail and cannot even consider the possibility of another sharing in its wish save for my Master." She turned on her heel and began to walk towards Iri. The night was ending and she had no further desire to fight. Berserker had been a terrifying opponent, one that she could not defeat without using Excalibur…

"Hurry, Saber. We have things to talk about and not much time."

Kariya Matou found his answer in an outdated psychology textbook, a certain section had discussed a string of shared hallucinations that had broken in the north western United States in the 50's. All of the patients had spoken of a misty town full of monsters and creepy shadows. Fog of corruption and a shared bogeyman… a Pyramid Head. Further research had shown Pyramid Head to be a recurring figure in nightmares and hallucinations even centuries ago. People who didn't even live on the same continent or shared a language had the same dream of the same monster…

If a Heroic Spirit was an individual who had been uplifted by humanity as a paragon of virtue and heroism, Berserker was the opposite. The collective consciousness of the world had declared him to be the manifestation of fear of the self, according to one source. The Shadow Aspect, Jung had written; the part of the self that one rejects because it is to terrible to consider it a part of themselves. Repressed desires and guilts. Shame. Regret.

Perhaps that was why the Crest Worms hadn't flared while Berserker had been locked in combat. It was fear of the self, the emotion of guilt, that fueled Pyramid Head instead of mana. Kariya had plenty to feel guilty about, and if what Kariya had hypothesized was correct, Berserker would be able to feed on the insecurities of his enemies as well.

"Just what are you?" Kariya asked rhetorically. His Servant was sitting down in his living room, holding a blunt darning needle and a spool of fishing line. The injuries were severe but Kariya didn't care about any stains that might have been left behind by the Servant, he didn't have long anyways…

Without even a flinch Pyramid Head began to stitch his own wounds. Not even a twinge of discomfort. It was as if the Servant was made of dirty, grimy stone.

Kariya yawned and dreamt of a foggy little town called Silent Hill.

Grenouille was regretting having set up his laboratory in such a far off place. Uryuu, with the aid of a perfume for inconspicuousness, had broken into a beachside penthouse and killed the owners, insisting that they have have the "coolest" place for their new base of operations. It was spacious, well-ventilated, and though Grenouille didn't care for any of the creature comforts, his Master certainly did.

But here he was now. Walking through the night streets of downtown Fuyuki City with his baggage hanging limply around his neck like a giant plastic yoke. The body of a girl wrapped in black plastic trash bags, duct taped together to make an obscene and unwieldy package. He could process scents much more efficiently back in his laboratory. The weight of the body would have been crippling during his past life, Grenouille had never been very strong, but now, his new body bore the weight with satisfaction. The girl was a trophy or some sort, a testament to the fact that he, Jean-Baptiste Grenouille, was head and shoulders above the animals who scurried along with their loveless lives. He was content.

He thought of Paris and the tannery where he had lugged the ammonia sodden skins of animals into vats of feces and urine so that they could be dehaired. Hours spent in the damp, squalid conditions with a heavy wooden stick, beating the moisture from the skins so bloated and pregnant with moisture it seemed that they were still alive and breathing, full cows and goats and lambs and horses to cut and cure and turn to leather.

Fuyuki was different. The air, although laden with the smell of salt spray from the ocean was dirty. Paris when Grenouille had lived there had been full of the stench of six hundred thousand people all eating and breathing and shitting and living. Chamber pots and leftovers were dumped onto every street corner so that when the rain came the waste and filth of civilization, of human beings, would be washed away in a thick, dirty slurry of the most horrendous smell. The air in Fuyuki bore the scent of clean mountains and the freedom of the ocean, all corrupted by odors new to Grenouille. Burning gasoline. Electricity. Heavy plastics. Grenouille had thought, that after hundreds of years of progress, that human beings would have been able to progress past their dirty, loveless state he had grown used to. But his nose did not lie. The city smelled different, but it was filthy nonetheless. The stench of humans was what Grenouille hated.

For a sickening moment he compared himself to Baldini, the old perfumer who had taught him the craft. The conventions. The standards. Old methods for extracting the hidden nectar of roses so that they could be turned to perfume. Symphonies of color and smell. Baldini hadn't been a very good perfumer, but he had been an apt teacher, and Grenouille had learned well. Now the student had become the teacher. Uryuu had shown great interest in perfumery, dubbing it "cool" as he did so many other things, and although Grenouille's Master didn't have half the nose that he did, it was refreshing to find someone so enthusiastic about his craft.

He sniffed at the air with his nose held high. His olfactory powers were so strong that he walked down the street with his eyes closed, trusting his sense of smell to guide him. He smelled the ocean. Dust. The hot steel of a cooling car's engine. The dirty, sour smell of gasoline. The smell of the dead girl on his back and the two who were walking towards him. The smell of magic, heavy and dense, growing denser. His eyes opened. A Magus and a Servant were walking towards him. The warrior, a woman dressed as a man, Caster could tell she was the Servant by the smell of blood that clung to her like a wet cloth. She was the shorter of the pair and was blonde. Pretty, but too young. The other one however… she had no scent. Her clothes, they smelled of tomato soup and saltine cracker, the faintest remnants from whatever she had eaten earlier that day. Minty smell of toothpaste from the morning that had long since gone bad and dry. But no scent of her own.

But how? The girl was next to the non-human, the one with no scent was smiling. She was happily chatting away with the Servant next to her, and the Servant, while tense, Grenouille could sense happiness on her. They were friends? Equals? They made each other happy and enjoyed spending time with one another. He cursed his sense of smell for it gave him the visions of a life that he had never once had with every breath. Human interaction. A smile. A hug. The smell of the Servant and the non-smell of the silver haired girl. Mingling, mixing with every movement. He began to tremble. Rage. Blinding rage. He walked forward stiffly, looking at his feet. They pair was still a ways off, a dozen meters or so, and Caster tried to tame his rage before they grew closer and noticed. He was still wearing the perfume for unobtrusiveness, so it was likely that neither Servant or non-human would notice him; but if he was to shout or attack them in his rage, he would surely be discovered.

'How can this girl live so happily? She has no scent just as I have no scent. She is as much a monster as I am…' Grenouille roared in his head. That had been his terrible discovery in his cave in the French countryside, alone from all the world and humans inhabiting it. He had been alone and he had discovered why he had been alone. 'They were scared of me. The monster with no scent. A cuckoo bird hiding among a nest of humans. I look human but am no human. She is no human for she has no scent…' The injustice of it all drove him mad with each step he and the girl with no scent grew closer. Even though his cloud of rage he noticed the smell of man clinging to the girl's silver hair and clothes, and horribly, Grenouille realized that the damn girl was married. Someone had loved her unconditionally. She had a child, for Caster could smell that too. A small child. A daughter. Soft and innocent and weak…

'How how how how how how how how!' The frantic chant grew in his mind and he nearly dropped his precious cargo. The girl with no scent had found love, impossibly she had found love when Grenouille had looked for it his entire life. He had even made that perfume, the smell of God. Love bottled and stoppered in his glass flacon. He alone had the power to command the love of mankind.

And yet no one loved him. They loved the perfume, but they did not care one whit for Grenouille. Yet this girl with no smell had found what had escaped him for so long… Jealousy made him feel as if he was on fire. Every length of nerve and vein in his body was rushing white hot messages of hate and violence.

He had thought that upon winning the Holy Grail War, he would wish for a unique smell of his own to finally mark him as a human being capable of love and being loved… But the girl had it so easily.

Finally they approached each other. This late at night, early in the morning, there was no one else in the streets but them. Caster toned out their voices and closed his eyes and ceased to breathe while they passed. It was all he could do to contain himself.

"Oh! I'm so sorry mister," a voice, light and beautiful and kind, spoke. Grenouille blinked his eyes and briefly recognized that the girl had either walked into him or vice versa. The impact had jarred him just a bit and the plastic wrapped corpse he had been carrying thudded to the ground. He heard the skull break. A dead weight fall will break bones. A skull can shatter like an egg if it hits the ground just right.

'No!' There would be blood now, from that impact, the tiniest bit of blood would contaminate the whole procedure. Even with the heart unbeating, the body was still fresh and the blood still warm and runny. It was ruined.

Grenouille managed to stutter out a response but it was garbled and unintelligible to both Irisviel and Saber, although the latter recognized that it was French and not Japanese.

"We'll be on our way, sir. Hope we didn't cause you too much trouble." The blonde said smoothly and put her hands on the scentless one's shoulders protectively.

"No trouble… no trouble at all." Caster nearly choked on his rage as he struggled to make a response. He was staring at his feet, confusing and enraged and scared all at once. "It's fine." Trembling, he picked up the wrapped corpse, now useless corpse, and stuffed as much of it as he could into a nearby trashcan, nearly spilling it over.

"Mister, there's a dump on the other side of town, you know. If you want to throw away something big like that you should go there." As Irisviel finished, a thought came to her mind. "Saber, since the dump is near the manor, would it be alright if we drove him there? Whatever he's carrying looks heavy, and…" Iri's voice trailed as she got a good look at Grenouille. The ugly, the downtrodden expression on his face, and there was just something about his sad expression that made her want to hug and comfort him. "Would that be alright, Saber?"

Saber looked annoyed and torn all at once. She had promised Iri that while they were together, she would do everything in her power to let her experience the world that had been hidden from her. The stranger didn't seem threatening at all and it was likely that the shoddily dressed man was either homeless or otherwise disadvantaged. If he proved to be dangerous, Saber would have no time dispatching the threat… wasn't it her duty to help the needy? As a knight she had taken a vow to serve the people in goodness and faith. As monarch she had sworn to the people of Camelot, old and rich and young and poor, that she would care for them as if they were family. Her honor compelled her to nod stiffly, causing Irisviel to give a small cheer of happiness.

"I think that would be fine, Irisviel. He doesn't look that dangerous." Saber finally declared with a heavy tone of suspicion in her voice. "You can drive, Iri. I'll keep an eye on our new friend."

At those words, the homunculus' pleading expression turned breathtakingly innocent. "We can help you out, mister," she said, so happy just to be able to help a stranger in need, "do you want to come with us?"

Grenouille couldn't speak he was so disgusted. The girl's happiness made him want to retch. It was personally offending to him that the girl without scent, Irisviel, could be so happy. For a moment, a heart pounding, shuddering moment he thought of bringing out his small wooden club and dashing the girl over the head and spraying her brains over the pavement, damn the consequences. But he didn't. Shallow breaths. He smelled for the morning and the sea and the mountain breeze to calm himself. The envy never abated.

'I should refuse and run back home.' He knew he couldn't. All this time he had effected the aura of a meek, helpless little man; to run would label him forever as suspicious, and since both Saber and the scentless one knew his face, that would damn him. The Servant would undoubtedly investigate, paranoid as she seemed, and he then he would lose.

"Thank you." Grenouille said, and with that he picked up the ruined corpse and shouldered the burden once more, this time to the den of the enemy. "It means much to me." His words were awkward and choppy as if he hadn't spoken in ages.

"What's your name, mister? I'm called Irisviel von Einzbern. My friend here is Artur—" she caught herself in mid sentence and hastily presented a correction. "Her name is Saber." the homunculus seemed to be waiting for a reaction, she had been hoping that revealing Saber as a woman would at least surprise their new traveling companion, but there was no such response.

"My name is Jean-Baptiste Grenouille."

"Eh? Weren't you surprised to find out that Saber was a girl? Most of the other people we met today were."

Grenouille shrugged and said nothing. The trio entered a car that was parked by the side of the road. A Mercedes-Benz. Irisviel got into the driver's seat while Saber opened the trunk for Grenouille to put his luggage in.

"You're French, aren't you?" Saber and Grenouille were alone for a brief moment while Irisviel hummed happily in the driver's seat, waiting for the two to enter the vehicle.

"How'd you know?" Grenouille mumbled out. He had been extremely uncomfortable the moment they had met, and the heady feeling was growing with every moment. He hoped that his jealousy wasn't too obvious.

"I've known many Frenchmen." Saber's words were ambiguous but melancholy, as if she was speaking the word 'Frenchmen' as an insult. "Your name sounds French, and you have the look." Grenouille only nodded in response.

Once in the car, no one but Irisviel said much. She was singing along to the radio and driving happily. Grenouille had never been in a car before, but he hid his confusion well. It was like riding in a carriage, except faster and with more swerves. It wasn't long before Grenouille decided that he didn't like the automobile. Not because of the speed or the too soft seats, but because of what it did to the smell of the world. He was cut off here. The air flowing through the conditioning vents was sterile and cool. The closed nature of the car made what little smell present balloon to obscene concentrations. The smell of leather, formaldehyde had been used in the curing process, Grenouille was very familiar with it. Saber smelled of steel and blood and of little girl. Irisviel of nothing at all.

He decided then and there that Irisviel von Einzbern would die. Not for his perfume or for the pursuit of greater and greater smells; but simply because of her existence. The girl without scent had somehow turned out to be everything Grenouille was not. Loved. Loving. Happy. Above all happy.

Twenty-four more girls. Today was a failure, but Grenouille was patient. There would always be tomorrow…

For the first time, Kirei Kotomine found himself alone with his Servant. The acrid smell of burning tobacco filled his small apartment suite that Risei, Kirei's father, had found for them in the church. The meeting was supposed to be more of a briefing; Assassin would tell Kirei of the other Servants and Masters that he had spied on since his faked death, and Kirei would relay it to his father and Tokiomi.

It had turned into an interrogation of sorts.

"Do you enjoy your work, monsieur Kotomine?" Assassin asked. "I hear that you're an Executor. A crusader of sorts, purging the world of heretics and fel beasts. How is that working for you?"

"The work is fine. Challenging at times, but it is rewarding. Monsters have no place in our world." Kirei echoed the words of the Church and of his father. Truthfully, his work was just work. He had no feelings towards it.

"And of your family? Your feelings on them?" Idly, the Frenchman put out his cigarette against the wood frame of the bed. He had been offered a metal bowl as an ashtray, but he had suspected it to be used in the Eucharist, and so desisted from using it.

"I love them of course. My wife and daughter are the reason I fight in this War." Another lie, but it came so easily. He had said those exact words so many times before he almost found himself believing them. His father believed them. Tokiomi believed them. Aoi, his wife believed them. They all trusted him, those simple minded folk. So focused they were on themselves and their own goals that they did not realize the emptiness festering inside him. Kirei scarcely felt anything these days.

"You're lying of course." Smoke filled the room again as Assassin lit another cigarette. "There is no shame in lying, but to be caught at it… tell the truth then, Master. What do you feel towards your family?"

Kirei shrugged and turned to face the small window in his room. The faintest fingers of sunlight were beginning to creep into the blue of the early morning. "I don't know what I feel. Love? There is no love without understanding. I don't know if understanding is possible between myself and others. It is the difference between killers and non-killers."

"No. It is the difference between willing killers and non-willing killers. Which are you, Kotomine? Forget your family for a moment, forget Tohsaka and the Grail War. Tell me of yourself."

"The former. Is that so bad?" It felt surprisingly easy, refreshing to speak with his Servant about matters such as these. Kirei hadn't spoken to anyone about these emptinesses and hollow urges, but Assassin seemed a willing listener, and seemed polite and secretive enough not to speak to anyone else about the conversation they were having. "I… I should be ashamed to say this, but death, the suffering of others, makes me feel a certain way. Not happy, per se, but something more abstract than that. Satisfied, maybe."

"There's no shame in that. Many of my greatest friends were willing killers. The Doctor that I knew in particular…" Assassin seemed to shudder. "Terrifying, but he was a good man all the same. That satisfaction you feel is sadism, is it not?"

It felt strange to give a name to the guilty pleasure that Kirei had hidden inside himself, but it was refreshing all the same. Almost cathartic now that someone else knew his secret. As if the burden had been split between the two of them.

"What about you, Assassin? Are you a willing killer?"

"Kill enough and you will do so willingly. But as I said before, there is no issue with it. This War is a good outlet for such urges. Everyone involved is deserving. So long as innocents aren't killed without real meaning, a bit of sadism can be rather beneficial."

"The world says otherwise. What do you think my father would think if I told him how I truly feel? My family? My teacher? They would shy away. They would either run or hunt me down for being a monster. Sociopath is the word they use for people such as I."

"And the problem with that?"

"They will not accept me. My life only has meaning because of the people in it, but what little meaning that is…" Kirei looked up, forlorn at his Servant and found that a cigarette had been offered to him. For the first time in his life, Kirei had a smoke. Despite the heat and dirty taste and the knowledge that these little white and tan sticks would gum up his lungs with sticky tar and resin and sow the seeds of cancer in his mouth and throat; Kirei didn't care. It felt good to smoke, as if it was rebellion against society, screaming 'Fuck you!' to the world in a wonderfully self-destructive gesture.

"Life has no meaning save for what you will give it, Kotomine. Life is short and unsatisfying, just like the cigarette you are smoking. It is necessary however," Assassin paused for a moment to pat Kirei on the back to help with the coughing. "It is necessary for you to find meaning regardless. Disregard everything besides what you find your meaning in. Be it the suffering of others or the betterment of humanity; it is all the same."

Kirei took careful note of Assassin's words and finished his cigarette.

As the car drove off Grenouille not only smelled the burning rubber from Irisviel's reckless driving mixing in with the effluvia of the rotting dump, but something special.

It was a moment like the first time Grenouille had smelled that girl cutting plums in the lonely Paris street… or the time he passed Richis' manor and caught scent of Laure, the most beautiful girl in the world… It was the smell of the perfume he made from the bodies of the fateful twenty-five. Love. Bottled love hidden by the smell of trash. Fish heads and fruit peels gone rancid and grease congealed into pudding. All of it rotting, all of it hiding something special…

It was early morning and there was no one else at the dump, not even a security guard or a night watchman. Grenouille sensed nothing but the filth of the garbage and splendor of whatever was hiding from him. There were gulls flying overhead; long ago the birds had been clean and white and pure but now they were blackened with greasy smoke from the periodic garbage burnings and stank like rats. They cried for the morning as they circled and dove into the heaps of trash looking for their dirty meals. Grenouille followed their example and began to wade through the bags of plastic, hot and bloated with smelly gas from the rotting trash, searching, following his nose for that special something that hid.

His mind filled like an obsession greater than finding the perfect scent or his own scent or killing the girl without scent. Instinctively he knew that whatever he was searching for had the smell of the the smell of his Bottled Love didn't compare…

A rat bit at him but Grenouille grabbed it by the throat and crushed it. He hardly noticed his own movements so caught up by the smell he was. It grew stronger, even masked by the stench of the waste of a million people his nose could pull the scent out. It was close now, he could smell that it was only a few dozen meters away, hidden under a literal mountain of filth; the result of all of society living and eating and fucking. Condoms full and huge with goopy soup that had either dried a nasty shade of whitish yellow or had given birth to fungi, mushrooms growing, feeding on the material of life; it was all protein anyway. Here where society's dregs collected and mingled was born a type of primordial ooze. Sulfurous and black and diseased it was still nutritious. If an animal could stomach the poison of the sludge, they would never die. Every step that Grenouille took caused the ripped tops of metal cans and broken shards of glass to cut through his once fine, stolen vestments. His clothes grew heavy with corrupted oil and dirty water. Grime coated his face and his eyes watered and the scent of trash and whatever miracle was hidden under grew stronger, both stronger.

Soon he reached the mountain where he sensed the source of the magic smell to lie. Another hours he spent rummaging through the trash, pushing away broken electronics and stuffed animals ripped apart by birds and rodents to make their crooked nests. A wedding ring. A photo album. A bridesmaid's dress that had been worn for one beautiful day and then tossed away. All these things that had been once loved and then tossed the moment they ceased to be useful. To clear up closet space. Grenouille could've cried at the tragedy of these things had he not been so focused on the smell.

The suddenly he had it. The smell crescendoed into a wonderful thing as the trash was cleared away, Caster's stick like arms flailing away at the mountain, eroding it little at a time. Airy and dense and smooth all at once, it cut through the miasma of filth emanating from the rest of the dump. It was a spine; the vertebral column of a human being from nearly two thousand years ago, and it smelled so damned good…

Assassin produced a manila folder, full of photographs, polaroids of the various enemy Servants and Masters.

"I've been able to deduce the identities of most of the Servants and Masters, but Berserker and Caster have eluded me thus far." He took a moment to straighten the pictures, organizing the most clear shots of the Servants with their corresponding Masters.

"The Saber Class Servant is one Arturia Pendragon, mythical king, queen maybe, of Camelot. She serves under the Magus Killer, Kiritsugu Emiya."

Valentine chimed in, having met the Servant earlier, on the beach. "I fought her earlier last night while on my walk. She's rash and very forward. I would recommend a more covert approach when fighting her; I don't think I could beat her in a head on fight."

Tokiomi nodded his understanding and rubbed his chin. He didn't seem all that surprised that Saber was a woman. "I think I agree. From what you've shown me of your abilities, Archer, I think it would be wise to keep you away from extended combat until the end of the War and hope that one of the other Servants remove Saber. I would have Assassin target her Master, but Kiritsugu Emiya is a dangerous man, I wouldn't hold him above having some underhanded tactic to protect himself."

"I could have killed both him and his assistant tonight," Assassin scoffed while adjusting his tie. "But leaving Saber and Emiya around 'til the end would be wise. They are predictable."

The old priest motioned Assassin to move on, "Mister Spy, if you would. I must lead Sunday Mass in a couple hours…"

"Of course, Father." Spy brought to attention another pair of photographs. "Lancer is Diarmuid Ua Duibhne, a knight from Ireland. His Master is a Magus by the name of Kayneth El-Melloi Archibald. He and his wife are in the city, staying in a hotel. Any thoughts to as out plan of attack?"

"Archibald is a Magus. A talented Magus, but nothing special. His family crest involves him manipulating a volume of liquid metal to attack and defend. Shouldn't be a problem for any Servant." Tokiomi said. "His Servant should be fairly straightforward. A knight focused on honor and chivalry. He and Saber will likely remove each other."

"I believe Archer would be more familiar with the next pair. The Rider is Iskander the Great, King of Macedonia. A worthy opponent." The photograph showed a picture of a hulking man, red haired and musclebound. "His Master is a young boy. A magus by the name of Waver Velvet. He is nothing special, but Rider is certainly a threat.

The room turned to Valentine to see what he had to say of the enemy pair. He decided quickly not to reveal that he had struck an alliance with the two.

"I have not had the opportunity to watch either Rider or his Master in combat, but the Servant at least seems quite powerful. He is more concerned with experiencing the modern world than the Holy Grail War. He is quite a childish man at times, and I predict that they will not be involved in the War until they are forced to act."

The final picture Spy had was a one of a pale man with a head of tortured, angular metal.

"While I have not been able to locate Caster, this is a photograph of Berserker. I have no idea as to what his identity is. Maybe one of you gentlemen can shed light on this issue?" Spy asked.

Around the table glances of confusion were exchanged. A mystery then. One that would have to be solved another time. No one missed how each and every man shuddered as they looked on the picture.

"Then starting tomorrow," Tokiomi stood from the table and pointed towards Assassin, "make steps towards finding what Berserker is and identifying his Master. It is likely to be a member of one of the Main Families, so keep that in mind. Valentine, I'd like for you to keep wary while you go about your business. There's no specific role for you yet besides keeping the extent of your abilities a secret."

And that was all. The meeting was adjourned.

This was a place without magic. In the shadows of the abandoned buildings Kariya could make out strange figures moving silently; their silhouettes were the things of nightmares. Men with teeth cracked and misshapen like tombstones, eyes bulging and bloody, scratched to a shade of pale white that could only mean blindness. Their eyelids had been cut off and they could not blink. Accompanying them were men, crouched like dogs and hips warped to the point their legs could not help but step on the ground. Their features had been melted off and had slagged to unrecognizable lengths, stretched like taffy. Around their bodies they wore leather harnesses and were leashed to the blind men, leading them about as the dog-men sniffed through their oversized noseholes. Other monsters. A faceless nurse, buxom yet terrifying for she had no facial features at all. A wheelchair bound monstrosity that was three men fused at the hip. They were all dirty and bloodied and pained, these creatures; yet they showed only indifference to Kariya's presence.

In the distance, even through the dense fog, Kariya could make out the characteristic shape of his Servant. The angular head and height made it easy to pick Berserker out. Was this what they called the link between Master and Servant? Was he here in some sort of dream to relive Berserkers memories?

He decided that it was impossible, for when he stepped and stumbled on the cracked pavement and ruined road, the world was invariably affected. He kicked a stone to the side and touched the smooth, wind worn surface of a broken fountain. The angel decorating the landmark had fallen at some point and now lay cracked on the ground, broken. Moisture in the air had congealed on the cracked face and made wet trails along the angel's eyes…

"Berserker!" Kariya called. He was hoping for some reaction, for earlier he had to expend a Command Spell to get his Servant to stop the battle with Saber. "Berserker! Come here!" The Servant turned towards him, but otherwise did not move. Stock still. Hunched over and still two feet taller than Kariya was. It was strange though, here, in this strange and misty town where only monsters lived, Kariya could not feel the Crest Worms…

He jogged forward and saw that Berserker was dripping. The ever present knife was red instead of the dirty grey and silver that Kariya had known. On the ground was a girl, purple hair splayed across the floor… she had been beaten badly, but despite her frail appearance and small stature, was visibly conscious. Berserker picked her up with one brutal hand and the knife clattered to the floor. Kariya's nerves stalled and he screamed for at his Servant to stop. The Command Spell on his hand lay dead and grey and would not trigger.

Sakura was staring at him now. She could not scream with the hand strangling her neck, yet her eyes were pleading. Kariya knew this and ran forward and tried to tug the girl from Pyramid Head's grasp but everytime he pulled on her torso, the muscles in Pyramid Head's arms grew tighter and Sakura's face grew more and more blue, choked and starved of air.

"What are you doing you fucking monster? You're my Servant, you're supposed to listen to me! Put her down!" Kariya screamed and scrambled for a chunk of concrete that lay on the ground, still and cold. He slammed it against Berserker's chest and heard the breaking of ribs and bruising of muscle. He did it again and again, but just as during the fight against Saber, injuries seemed to do nothing to Berserker.

The Servant looked down at him, the metal pyramid on Berserker's head shifted to stare at Kariya, the eyeless gaze was mocking and cruel and Kariya could swear that he heard laughing as the fog around them grew denser.

A hand, blunt and huge and with finger flesh melted together reached for Sakura's undeveloped chest and grabbed hold of what skin it could. Now Sakura began to scream even with her throat crushed. Hoarse noises begging for salvation. Shrieks of pain in that high pitched tone that only little girls can manage made even higher and shriller by pain. Berserker twisted and Kariya made out the intense welling of blood as Pyramid Head pulled the little girl's skin off in one piece. The body, Sakura's bloody body, naked with muscles and and devoid of skin from the neck down died of shock and blood loss and dropped to the ground with a limp thud that broke the Magus' heart. In his hand Pyramid Head now help a red mess of skin and Kariya realized that that was the material that would make the leather apron that his Servant wore…

He fell to the ground and cried.

It had been decided between Irisviel and Saber that they would not speak of Grenouille to Kiritsugu. He'd likely be furious that such an unneeded risk was taken; nevertheless, it brought Saber memories of a happier time where she could afford to laugh and giggle. Her youth had passed so quickly and she could scare remember the other little ladies of the court she had played with as a child. It was fun having a secret to share; and try as she might, Saber could not hide the fact that her time with Irisviel was enjoyable.

Kiritsugu's assistant was busy on some secret assignment that the man refused to tell them, so the three of them, Arturia, Irisviel, and Kiritsugu sat together to take lunch. Saber didn't need to eat, but the motion of eating was familiar and soothing, even if the food itself was lacking.

"What do you know of the other Servants, Saber. You fought two of them and met with two others." Kiritsugu's sandwich went untouched. Lunch was provided by Irisviel and although it didn't look very appetizing, it was a gesture of kindness. The homunculus looked nervously at the food and then at her husband, hoping that he'd at least try the food…

"Lancer and I have decided to have a duel sometime in the future. We are fairly evenly matched but I believe I will have the upper hand with Excalibur." The way that Saber sat cradling her left elbow didn't escape anyone's notice.

"How soon will you be ready to fight at full capacity then?"

Irisviel looked at her husband and then at her friend. There was a tension in the air that she did not care for. Kiritsugu looked so cold, so angry…

"My arm was injured by Lancer and then by Berserker. I don't know when…"

"Was it the yellow spear?" Kiritsugu looked deadly serious. "The yellow spear, Gae Buidhe, is said to cause injuries that can never heal."

Saber nodded tightly. "It should make no difference, I can still—"

"Lancer will be the first then. I was already planning on taking out Kayneth fairly early, but this seals the deal." The Magus Killer stood from his seat. "As long as you have that injury, you won't be enough to deal with the other Servants. Tomorrow, Maiya and I will remove him." It went unspoken that with the injury, Saber would be unable to effectively protect Irisviel.

Saber stood as well and her expression grew frosty, voice hard and tight. "Lancer and I have an agreement. We will face each other in honorable combat. What your suggesting is a violation of the promise I made with him." Master and Servant stared at each other in cold war, Irisviel caught in the middle, too scared to speak.

"This needs to be done. Your honor is secondary to victory, Saber." Kiritsugu said coldly and walked toward the door, his food untouched and atmosphere frustrated, maybe a little scared even? "For now, just make sure Iri's safe. Don't engage any of the other Servants."

"Aren't you going to eat?" Irisviel's voice was small and withdrawn. She had never liked it when Kiritsugu was angry, but she was certain that something had happened. "We could talk for a little while you eat…"

For a moment it seemed that Kiritsugu was going to turn around and rejoin the luncheon, but he hesitated for only a second before leaving.

"Be safe."

AN: What happened in Silent Hill was just a dream, Sakura is still alive. Just assume that nothing is playing out the way it did in Fate/Zero at this point. Ex: Rider didn't see Lancer and Saber fighting because he got there late with Valentine, Tokiomi didn't use a Command Spell to get Archer to retreat, Tokiomi and co. know that Kiritsugu is Saber's Master, etc.

This character sheet will be of Funny Valentine, 23rd President of the United States of America.

Funny Valentine

Class: Archer

Master: Tokiomi Tohsaka

Alignment: Lawful Evil

Height: 190 cm

Weight: 85 kg

STR: B (A: Stand)

CON: D (A: Stand)

AGI: C (A: Stand)

MGI: B

LCK: C

Noble Phantasm: EX

Biography

At a young age, Funny Valentine's father went to war and died. A soldier named Captain Valentine came to his house and revealed that his father was a hero; he was tortured terribly by the enemy and committed suicide so that he wouldn't betray his country. This story left Valentine with a strong sense of patriotism.

As a young man, Valentine joined the Army. During a routine training session, Valentine's company got lost in the desert and perished. Valentine only survived due to his discovery of a Heart, a piece of the Saint's Corpse. Having found this Heart, Valentine inferred that there must be a whole Corpse, and dedicated his life to finding it so that he could better his country.

In his adulthood, Valentine became the 23rd President of the United States and was beloved the by people for making America a prosperous nation. He helped set up the Steel Ball Run, a cross country horse race with a prize of fifty million dollars, a sum that would be more than a trillion dollars in today's money. The Steel Ball Run was actually a hidden ploy for Valentine's agents to search the country for more Corpse Parts. By the end of the run, Valentine had collected the completed Corpse but was defeated by a competitor by the name of Johnny Joestar.

He is remembered as the greatest of the American Presidents and was mourned heavily by the citizens.

Tactics

Valentine is a charismatic man, and that charisma is only boosted by the Corpse Heart that he owns. He prefers to work from the shadows and make alliances so that he doesn't need to get his hands dirty unless absolutely necessary. His Stand, Dirty Deeds Done Dirt Cheap, even allows him to bring in copies of himself and other individuals from other dimensions to further his distance from combat. The ability to transfer his consciousness to other bodies makes Valentine effectively immortal and thus, he is extremely confident in his abilities.

Class Skills

Charisma: B (A)

Valentine was an extremely popular president; he had an approval rating of 91% at the end of his term. This charisma is boosted by the Corpse to the point where Valentine was almost capable of convincing his most hated enemy to spare him.

Independent Action: C-A

While Valentine is dependent on a Master to supply him with mana, the more Corpse Parts he collects, the longer he will be able to stay independent. Upon completion of the Corpse, he will no longer require mana from an outside source as the Corpse will be enough to sustain him.

Personal

Patriotism: B

Valentine's whole life has been dedicated to furthering his country and he has a fully clear conscious because of his belief that love for the country is the purest form of love possible. He feels no guilt towards his actions and can resist most attempts to make him stray from his goals.

Magical Resistance: D

Valentine had no experience with mage craft during his life, but because he is one of the Knight Classes, he can resist low level thaumaturgy.

Noble Phantasm

The Stand: Dirty Deeds Done Dirt Cheap (D4C): A

Unlocked by the Corpse Heart, Dirty Deeds Done Dirt Cheap was Valentine's Stand. Now it is his Noble Phantasm. It has the ability to traverse dimensions by pressing things between two objects. For example, when Valentine was run over by a train, by placing himself between train wheel and train track, he jumped into a different dimension to escape injury.

By escaping to a different dimension, Valentine can transfer D4C to the Valentine of that dimension, giving his memories and experiences in the process. Because all Funny Valentine's have the same personality even if Valentine dies, the next one to take his place will be indistinguishable from his predecessor.

D4C's ability allows Valentine to bring in copies individuals or objects from other dimensions. This ability is particularly dangerous because when two identical objects or individuals meet, they destroy each other due to a paradox of existence. Valentine is immune to this effect because of D4C.

The Saint Corpse's Love Train: EX

Once the Holy Corpse is completed, Valentine will gain access to Love Train. This is the manifestation of the Corpse's full power: the ability to direct misfortune elsewhere. It is a flat plane of space that is actually the space between two dimensions. If any misfortune were to fall on Valentine while he is in Love Train, it would be directed elsewhere in the world. For example, a gunshot aim towards Valentine would instead befall on a random target.

Love Train also enhances Valentine's own fortune. Any damage that he is able to inflict becomes a fatal wound. A small cut on the hand may move to the victim's heart or brain to kill them. These movements also manifest in the environment, the world shifts to better suit Valentine's desires and are attracted to him, continuously moving closer.