Chapter 1
The world was on the very brink of another Great War, and if his years told Wilhelm anything, another Great War meant more letters to write home.
He disliked writing letters. Especially letters for soldiers hardly old enough to drink, let alone lay down their lives for such a pointless, vendetta-driven war. A war orchestrated by a madman, who fooled everyone into believing the German people were of the best blood. A war none of them truly understood, and would never be able to comprehend the full extent of until after the bullets started whizzing by their heads and shells were dropped on them just the same. Only once their own blood spilt out alongside their guts and they cried for their fathers, their mothers, their siblings, their grandparents, would they then realize what they'd gotten themselves into; they so blindly believed in. That blood, no matter who or what or where it came from, was all the same.
They were youths swayed by the grandiose speeches and delusional ideologies of a man who for all intent and purpose wanted nothing less than for the world to go up in flames. Three hundred of the Führer's "finest", handpicked and fresh from months of rigorous training in Dachau and Bad Tölz, where each pledged unwavering loyalty to his cause even if it meant the deaths of millions; themselves included. Schutzstaffel—Waffen-SS—and at least fifty men of the Ahnenerbe, Himmler's personal artifact collectors. The Führer was willing to sacrifice them all for his own madness.
In his experience, men like the Führer were often twisted, lonely, individuals. Broken beyond all recompense, and these men—these boys—were too brainwashed to see the truth. Though, while Wilhelm couldn't condone them, he also couldn't leave them to their fate. His duty was to see that every single one of them returned home alive, and by God would he do everything within his power to see that happen. Even if that went against the operation they'd been planning for months prior and would be ready to undertake two weeks today—if it could be called an operation at all.
The reclamation of the Holy Grail, a thing of myth and legend, was a fool's errand, nothing more. With it in their hands, the Führer promised the eradication of poverty and hunger, disease and illness, conflict and strife; all of these miracles and, in the end, none of them. For, despite his claims of what it might grant them, they were the promises of a false prophet.
Wilhelm knew couldn't possibly save everyone, but, at least he knew he could save many, or some, or even a few, and wasn't basing that on superficial nonsense. It was by the fact that he'd led men before. From his first taste of command as a lowly corporal in the Great War, cowering in the trenches trying not to soil himself as the French and British forces closed in, the lives of his fellows unexpectedly on his hands, to now, a captain in the Wehrmacht. It was a judgement made by a rational mind, with enough experience to reinforce it, and not one ruled by illusion or fantasy. What he promised was real, unlike the Führer's. Even so, these same claims were now being reiterated by a man just as wicked and whose ideas were just as delusional as their great leader himself: the leader of those fifty Ahnenerbe, Darnic Prestone Yggdmillennia.
Darnic was another man who'd boldly told these young men that they were real, the truth; that the truth was right before their eyes, in the form of the other man clad in silver and blue armor from a time very unbefitting to the current one at his side. What he claimed to be called a "Servant", summoned by the Holy Grail itself, he said. Smoke and mirrors and Houdini trickery, is what Wilhelm thought. Whether the man was an actor paid to play the part or another lunatic he didn't care. All that mattered to him was their destination: the city of Hachiōji, Tokyo, Japan, where the Holy Grail was supposedly being kept hidden. Probably in a shrine, or some other place of worship. He knew worshipers of Christian faith were far and in between over there, so finding such a place where it might be wouldn't prove too difficult, he imagined.
It was another duty of his to make certain the troops, and these two fanatics, wouldn't be going around upturning every rock to find it and having the Führer's troops within the confines of their new friend's capital and largest city was bound to cause tension alone, regardless of the efforts made to solidify partnership between the two, and all this nonsense would only help fuel the fire. He felt such a task would be like a quest for the Holy Grail in and of itself—nigh impossible.
Already he wanted to call it off, but, he'd no say in the matter, staying silent through the rest of the man's speech, and once it was over he went back into his office and called in his adviser, asking for a quick rundown of arms and ammunition. The least he could do was make sure they weren't going in poorly equipped.
Leutnant Meier rattled off a list on the little clipboard in his hand and everything appeared to be in order except that the further down the list the more bizarre—and deadly—it became. "... Maschinengewehr 34s, Panzerbüchse 38s, Flammenwerfer 35s, and Panzerbüchse 39s—"
"Are they mad?!" he cried.
What shocked him the most wasn't the fact he wasn't informed of their addition, but, their being there in the first place. The last one hadn't even been in production for longer than a few months! More importantly what were they going to need anti-tank weaponry for?!
"And that's not all, sir,"—Meier glanced around before leaning close and in a hushed voice quickly said—"Schrapnellmines, newly commissioned just last month, have also been sent for..."
"My God..."
Wilhelm was at a loss for words.
He thanked Meier for the update and when night came and he was alone going over reports, reading between their lines for anything that might've escaped his notice, found a slew of them right underneath his nose. There was enough firepower here to take on a small country!
He didn't pretend to even begin to—or want to—understand the minds of madmen, but what were they thinking?
Just what was this "operation"?
And, as if knowing the exact moment to make his appearance, the man who was undoubtedly behind this let himself in, with his fellow in the fancy dress in tow.
"I pray all is well with the preparations?" Darnic said.
Wilhelm shuffled through and organized the reports, then set them on the stack to his right. The man clearly wasn't here to discuss how best to handle the troops or distribute the requisition of supplies. His tone was haughty and not that of a commanding officer talking with another of equal standing. Rather, a schoolteacher to a schoolboy. One that wasn't appreciated, at all. His voice was rife with disdain as he responded.
He didn't attempt to hide it. "If you have need of me, sir, then say what. Otherwise, and with all due respect, leave."
"I know you think little of me, Hauptmann, but know that what we are about embark on, this… war of mine… is just as real as you and I." Darnic lifted a hand toward the man behind him as if to say that this operation, this reclamation, this little ill-guided quest for the Holy Grail, that the thing itself, was something that could be seen. Something that could be felt; touched.
Wilhelm scoffed. "And I suppose you have the Saint Mary and Three Wise Men waiting outside, as well?"
Darnic chuckled, as lively as a man's death throes. "No, Hauptmann, I am afraid I do not. What I do have, instead, is the famed High King of Erin himself."
The man in the fancy dress stirred, him with a warm, inviting, smile set in soothing, green eyes. With a masculine, pointed face and long, blonde hair, he bore the appearance of one of the many male prostitutes that were still being "relocated", and if the dead could be brought back to life, then perhaps Wilhelm might believe such—for a fiend always traveled with those of its ilk. But, he knew this imposter, whoever he was, was certainly not a king of any sort. Thus he continued reading his reports, waiting for the two of them to leave. When they didn't, he and asked what they wanted. Again.
"It seems you still do not believe me," Darnic said. "Then, may I borrow a length of your time this night?"
"Will you leave me to my work afterwards?"
"Of course," the man said, with a conceited smile.
Wilhelm followed Darnic out to the Grunewald forest until they came to a small lake deep within, one of many dotted throughout, and he watched as Darnic began drawing some kind of circle in the dirt with another shape inside—a pentagram, if his memory right—and a very intricate one, at that.
"Do you know anything of the occult, Hauptmann? Better known as magic?"
"It doesn't exist."
If this was what the man had brought him out here for, then he was to have none of it. He'd rather spend his time signing off and stamping reports for the more pressing matters at hand than… whatever this was.
"That it does not. At least, not in its purest form," Darnic said as he completed the circle, , and why was it when he flashed a faint smile Wilhelm shivered?
Ahnenerbe's goal within the Third Reich was to find evidence of Germany's supposed "racial superiority" by traveling around the world conducting research, unearthing the accomplishments and deeds of their ancestors using exact scientific methods—hat was the official statement, anyway—but, behind the scenes, there were rumors that they dealt in human experimentation, Satanic rituals, and other heinous acts against God in the name of a united "Aryan" race. While Wilhelm found, once again, the idea of magic absurd, he knew horrible things were being done under the guise of this "research" and usage of "exact scientific method". It was all the more reason why he couldn't support the Third Reich; that he couldn't just abandon those three hundred boys.
"Then, tell me, Hauptmann…" Darnic was writing foreign words along the outside of the circle now. They appeared to be Latin, or Hebrew, but Wilhelm wasn't able to tell for certain. "What do you think of fortune-tellers. Is destiny—is fate—something you believe in?"
"If this is what you wanted to waste my time with, why not explain to me why you requested ordinance without my authorization or even so much as ask my opinion?"
The man turned up from his drawings. "Because, we shall have need of them. Anything less with be altogether ineffective against what lies in wait." He smiled knowingly. "Now that I have answered your question, what of mine to you?"
Wilhelm shook his head. "Soothsayers. Nothing but pretentious con-artists too eager to tell you whatever you want to hear for the money in your purse. And, no, I don't."
"Speaking from past experience, are we?" The man chuckled. "I wonder…"
The letters went all around the circle and were also visible inside another, larger circle that surrounded it where four more, smaller circles faced inward. In each were more symbols that Wilhelm didn't exactly recognize either. When Darnic stepped away he simultaneously broke some sort of jewel in his hand.
"... If your viewpoint will soon change?"
He set the broken jewel in the pentagram's center, telling him what it was.
"An… incantation… circle?" Wilhelm crossed himself and in response the man let out an amused grunt. He ignored the mockery of his faith. He stood by what he said earlier and meant it.
Darnic apologized. "I meant no offense." Then, beckoned for him to hold out his hand. "We are nearly finished."
Indulging him to get his little stunt over with, Wilhelm did so and Darnic said something indistinguishable. It was a verse of some kind, and, immediately after, Wilhelm winced as a tingling, hot, almost searing pain etched itself underneath his skin like a needle and thread were stitching a intricate pattern. The pain was not enough to cry out, and he endured, having felt worse before, staring hard into the other man's eyes as he continued speaking.
"Once, long ago, during the Age of the Gods, magic was everywhere. It was in the sky, the sea, and the earth. In people and animals and even insects. Today it still is, but very faintly so, and it requires special places, such as where we are now, and one knowledgeable in drawing it forth, such as myself, to give it life again." Darnic looked down and Wilhelm followed suit. "Behold."
"Wha… What in God's name... is this…?"
Wilhelm stared dumbly at the bruise-like marks where the pain had been. Blood red and pulsing, they resembled a sword and shield and stung when he brushed his hand across their surface. Almost as if they were alive.
"Command Spells marking you as a Master"—Darnic rolled up his sleeve—"Same as I." On his wrist was a similar mark, though his was that of a serpent coiled around a spear. "It seems the Holy Grail has chosen you to participate, or, rather"—he grinned devilishly—"I forced it to recognize you as worthy."
Wilhelm drew his hand back and tried to rub it off but couldn't. Going to the lake's edge, he then tried to wash it off, but the water sizzled and steamed, evaporating soon as it came into contact. "What in the world?" he whispered, scowling when the man laughed again.
"Try all you will, but once it appears it shan't come off until the War is over. And, do not think of fleeing, as we are not done yet." As if on cue the "High King of Erin" blocked his path and wouldn't let him even if he wanted to. "Please, step up to the circle, and we shall finish this."
That sudden chill came back even colder, his gut wrenching like he was back at Marne, screaming at him to retreat regardless of the consequence, but with no choice, Wilhelm went against orders and begrudgingly did as told.
"Normally it is drawn as the chant is being recited, but as you are not knowledgeable of what that is, and because your attunity is not particularly high, I will provide you with some of my own and will instruct you as you say the words. Now, hold out your hand, and focus on the jewels in the circle's center. Imagine what you hold most dear in your heart, and repeat after me: 'Silver and iron to the origin. Gem and the archduke of contracts to the cornerstone. The ancestor is my great master Schweinorg. The alighted wind becomes a wall. The gates in the four directions close, coming from the crown, the three-forked road that leads to the kingdom circulate..."
Wilhelm repeated the words. The air grew colder and with it his body the same.
"Shut. Shut. Shut. Shut. Shut. Repeat every five times. Simply, shatter once filled…"
His hand burned bright. The circle reacted. Wisps of red vapor rose from it to the sky like steaming blood.
"Rider, I announce. Your self is under me, my fate is in your sword. In accordance with the approach of the Holy Grail, if you abide by this feeling, this reason, then answer. Here is my oath."
The sky rumbled, dark clouds appeared on high and hid the moon. The air grew colder still.
"I am the one who becomes all the good of the world, of the dead."
He faltered when a freezing wind came, chilling him to the core, but was compelled to keep going until the end, keeping the image of his wife and child in his mind. And, as he repeated the rest of whatever Darnic was making him say, red turned blue and the air became warmer. It shone white and pure as he said the final lines.
"I am the one who lays out all the evil of the world, of the seven heavens clad in three words of power. Arrive from the ring of deterrence, O keeper of the balance, King of Combat!"
The circle exploded in a shimmer of light, the sound of it deafening, as if an artillery shell went off directly in his ears. Wilhelm screamed, blown back by the blast, and Darnic laughed for the third time, perfectly safe, as all went silent and a figure appeared in the circle's center where the jewels had been.
When the smoke cleared it was revealed to be a knight, armored head to toe in silver armor, with a long gray skirt lined in golden-white fur. Around his neck hung a cross, and draped over his shoulders was a mantle also of golden-white and green cloak. At his side was a sheathed sword, and when he strode forward, whoever it was surprised Darnic, for his laughter ceased.
"What is this?!" he exclaimed, "This is not what I… Wilhelm… what did you…!"
The knight passed him with not a word, leaving him speechless. And, as Wilhelm sat fully upright, cursing his battered bones, the knight crouched before him and offered a hand—the only one he could for the other was gone—and said, "I have answered your summons, Master."
Just as speechless, eyes wide, Wilhelm could do nothing but stare into the knight's eyes through the slit visor of his helm; clear as the ocean and just as bottomless. The knight's voice was low, husky, almost femininely so. It took him a moment to accept the hand.
On his feet again, the knight was nearly a head taller than him, and Wilhelm was still gazing when Darnic opened his mouth again.
His sudden shock was all but gone. "Is this enough to make you believe?"
Wilhelm paid his words no attention. "Wha—Who, are you?"
The knight knelt. "Forgive me, Master. I am the Servant Rider, at your service."