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Following in the trend of many other authors, From a Dusty Attic is a series of could-have-been & just-might-be stories. Some will be epic in sheer length and might be moved to their own one-shot, others just short enough to be called a chapter. All are open for adoption on the condition of asking first and if some garnish enough popularity, I may flesh them out into longer stories or at least add an additional scene or two. In any case, the dust and cobwebs have been wiped away so without further ado, I hope that you all enjoy:
From a Dusty Attic
By Corvus no Genmu
"The Eighth Servant"
Part One
Saber… masters of swords whose own legends often surpass beyond they who wield them. Lancer… wielders of spears, lances, any and all weapons that provide the extra reach that make striking them down all but impossible. Archer… the true masters of the long-range weaponry who possess such incredible strength of will that they virtually become their own masters. Rider… they who've mastered their mounts to such a degree that even upon their own feet they are a passing blur to untrained eyes. Caster… magicians, sorcerers, witches, and warlocks, they are the artisans of the magical arts, purveyors of spells and enchantments long lost to modern time and its scientific convention. Assassin… the shadow walkers who move silent and unseen by their victims until their blades are buried to the hilt in their heart.
Fourteen combatants in all, the seven Masters and the seven Servants whom they call forth from the Throne of Heroes to fight and kill to attain that which was named as the Holy Grail, that their wishes may be granted, one to the living and one to the dead. An absolute balance, a perfected measure of control… but a war is a war, and like all rules that have come before and like so many that will follow, they are broken.
Shattered.
Ignored.
Yet no higher price could be paid by the breaking of the simplest of rules for there, in the Holy Grail, existed something of… a loophole. Seven Masters and seven Servants, fourteen combatants in all. No more, no less.
Until the other classes were revealed… until one class was exploited.
Avenger… they whose lives were spent in the name of vengeance be it for themselves or others… It is not a true class, a substitute and nothing more. It was never meant to be used for few heroes of the past could fill the standard, and rare was it that the gifts of being an Avenger were welcomed. Summoned from frustration and slaughtered before the folly could be discovered, that which whom was called as Avenger was he who had, in life, been a sacrifice against all that is sin, all that is evil, all that is abhorrent of mankind. In his demise as a Servant, he had done what he had in life and so it was not the soul of an innocent, a soul of an avenging hero that was swept into the Holy Grail.
No.
What it was… what it is…
It is Sin.
It is Evil.
It is everything that mankind hates, loathes, and abhors about itself… all this and so much more was poured into the Holy Grail until that which it had been was no more. There was no holiness to this blackened Grail. The hellish monstrosity summoned forth by Avenger saw to that quite well. Yet… even in the deepest of darkness… there can be a spark, a tiny speck, of light that still shines, a soul willingly sacrificed so that a shared dream may together be realized.
The Grail has become corrupted… controlled by the Evils of the World but there is enough of its core, of her original self, that retains, that remembers…
That all rules are made to be broken… and that Avenger is not the only class that can be called…
Ruler… they whom sat upon their thrones and pedestals as the people below looked up to them to follow their every word, their every command. This is a class that any royal might claim as their right but it is not reserved for these self-righteous and oft pretentious fools. No, it is the right of those who inspire faith, who inspire loyalty, who are led as much as they lead.
Saver… they whom are the saviors of mankind even, some would even say especially, in death. Messiahs each and every one of them for they are the holiest figures of mortal kind, chosen by Fate, guided by Destiny, and protected by the Almighty. This is a class whose place upon the Throne of Heroes is not on the throne proper but above it for if they are second only to He who is King of Kings. Their purpose, their design, for the Holy Grail Wars is to be the saving force when all else has failed, when the degradation has gone so far beyond redemption it would take only the living embodiments of purity, good, and all that is decent, to reform that which has become broken.
Yet what was left of the Grail proper could not make use of either of them. The Ruler is to be the judge, the overseer between the final four combatants for the wish and Saver… No, the corruption was too great, too much for the Calling to reach such a hero's ear…
But… there was one more to consider…
This was a foolish attempt. He knew this. He had no doubt that it would end in dismal failure and bitter disappointment but when one has no other options left but to try, no other hope left to covet, then even the most foolhardy of ventures are worth the risk of bitter defeat. The runes were carefully scribed upon the floor, a studious mixture of volcanic ash and his own blood. All that was left were the words and the reagent, which he doubted would actually work given its dubious origin but in the hell that was his life Before the End could he really question its validity?
He placed it carefully atop the altar before taking his place at the opposing side of the summoning circle. He bowed his head and considered once more the folly of this latest scheme. It was a chance discovery, an impossible idea, an inconceivable dream, but if it could work… if he became a participant in this competition, this "war"…
Then he could have his wish…
And the End would become a Beginning…
"You who sits upon the Throne of Heroes… if thou would lend thy power unto me… if thou would travel the same path to retribution as I… then hear my call and answer! I am the soldier of the forgotten… as much a monster as a man… My eyes are stained with the deaths of innocents, my hands the blood of the damned, and my soul by those whom I left behind… If thou art willing to stand beside such a miserable being… hear me and come forth!"
Nothing…
Not a spark, not a light.
Nothing.
And then the ground began to quake as fire burned unseen in the air… Light brighter than the exploding birth of a star blinded him but nothing to deafen him to the question asked of him.
I ask of you, are you my Master?
Words, emotions, intent… it didn't matter how his brain interpreted the unspoken tongue or the overwhelming vastness that was there and was not. The vast dining hall seemed almost miniscule, tight and small for the behemoth awaiting an answer that came with hope and without hesitation.
"Yes."
Crimson light flared across the back of his right hand, lines twisting and turning upon the pale flesh to carve an image composed of three parts that united made the vague impression of a reptilian claw.
Then, the oppressive presence and its overwhelming heat were gone as if they never were. But he could feel the tether, the chains that bound him to his Servant and the Servant to him. His latest foolhardy ploy, his childish scheme, a false hope to be unrealized…
It had worked.
It meant a lot of things. It meant that he well and truly had a chance for atonement, that there was magic here though it was not as he knew it to be, and that the words and curious glances held more to them than he had ever thought. That the accidents of his childhood were no longer unexplained and with this realization came an outburst.
"I'm a wizard…?"
They were at the pier.
Seven in all though only two were fighting…
Saber and Lancer…
He knew this the moment their duel had begun, even halfway across the city. It was his bane and his gift. A friend, a rare commodity he treasured more than his own life, had once jokingly referred to him as "The One Who Sees" in reference to this gift and the fact the original bearer of the title, fictional though he was, bore such an opposing disposition that the only similarities that could be found was in that which made them stand separate and alone.
He sees but not with a mystical eye. He knows but he has no idea. He understands yet he rarely comprehends. That's how he had always been even before he had been Chosen. It was one of the reasons he had been selected really, to see the Truth where others could only see the Lies. It's how he knew to go to the abandoned mansion, how he found that one book in a library of thousands more of its ilk, how he managed to live while the others…
Well. That was the past and his eyes were looking to the future.
He arrived moments before Rider and his master did, using the overly dramatic entrance to mask his presence as he took a place amongst the shadows. He had seen the assassins and the Servant who defined that class. He had nothing to fear of the mages but the Servant Assassin was… wrong. A fragment, a piece that could attack as a swarm and overtake him if he wasn't prepared to committing enough property damage that even the best of these magi couldn't mask from the mundane.
So he stood in the shadows.
So he watched.
As the Rider descended from the Heavens on a chariot of lightning and proclaimed himself fully to the world and invited both combatants to join him on his conquest for the Holy Grail as his companions but also as his underlings. He listened to the refusals of the Lancer and the Saber, both stating with pride their stances in this life. He winced as the Rider shouted once more to the heavens that any and all Servants and Masters watching in the darkness step forward lest they earn the scorn of the King of Conquerors.
He worried that his Servant found amusement in the Rider's words but did not rise to the bait as another did.
Archer.
No…
His eyes narrowed and he saw the man beneath the legend as he had with Saber and Lancer.
Gilgamesh…
He listened to the golden Servant's boasts on his regality, his reign from the heavens above the lowly peons who dare to label themselves as kings in his presence. The Rider did not help to make the situation better by bringing forth the fact that none of those present on the open grounds knew the Archer for who he was.
He watched as the golden lights circles open wide behind the Archer as he declared that the penalty of their ignorance would be their deaths. Weapons emerged from the rippling portals and as he had come to know of the Archer, so too did the hidden Master discover the golden king's Noble Phantasm for what it was.
The Gates of Babylon opened wider as the ancestral weapons of those founded in legend took aim. The weapons were nameless, each and every one of them, but far more powerful than what they would become for these were the legends at their highest potential and they carried it from sharpened point to smooth hilt. Such was the nearly limitless potential of these weapons that even the slightest of contact upon their target would result in an explosive force great enough that the hidden Master wondered if now was the time to interrupt.
Too bad that somebody had beaten him to the punch.
Shadows twisted and turned upwards and remained as a ethereal cloud around the armored form of the Berserker but even with this darkness so strong, so powerful as to be a Noble Phantasm in its own right, he saw the knight beneath the shadows, the man beneath the legend and even in the presence of that man's sworn and betrayed "king" did the Master feel himself breathless once more but not merely out of surprise.
For he was not the only one to recognize the Berserker for whom he was… who he had been… and what he had done…
It started as a low growl but to those unawares of its origin it could very well have been thunder to their ears. Then, it rose in volume until there was no mistaking the hellion roar for what it was and even the golden clad Archer could not refrain from dismissing away the Gates of Babylon from the overwhelming fury that came with such a sound. Those weak-of-heart and weaker minded fell blissfully into the catching embrace of unconsciousness while those of steely resolve and burning passions of their own at least maintained the dignity of wakefulness though it was only they whom are blessed by the arts of magic, practitioners or creations-of it did not matter, who did not immediately collapse from the echoing tide.
In fact, of those present only two remained, for the most part, largely unfazed.
Berserker was already moving, leaping up seemingly in an attack for Archer but instead used the Golden Servant as a shield between him and the onslaught of fire that came surging forth after the Black Knight. There was no preparing, no escaping, such a sudden assault of flames that burned so hot that they blazed white at their edge and stunning blue in their center.
A massive shadow fell as something moved through the open air, tracking the fleeing speck of blackness with a burning trail of fire as the winds kicked up the smoke and ash away from the flapping of enormous wings. The earth shook as the originator of the hellion roar and equally hellish fires landed where the King of Heroes had once stood boasting his superiority above his fellow monarchs. The molten scrap molded to claws longer than a man is tall as a tail large and imposing with its spaded tip swung with clear displeasure made all the more apparent by the vicious sneer of fangs on the reptilian's snout. Crimson scales gleamed like bloodied rubies in the artificial lights whilst the pale spotlight of the moon highlighted the fury of amber orbs as the glared into the shadows, smoke trailing through clenched jaws as the furnace of innards stoked the fires to their full intensity and made bright the massive neck with its warm glow.
But Berserker was gone, retreated with his barely conscious Master carried tightly in his arms for even in the depths of his madness, the Black Knight remembered his own experiences with beasts such as what slain Archer in his stead and though he was by no means an apprentice in the art of slaying such monsters from the world he knew from such experience that his Master would not survive the battle to be had between him and the impossibly summoned Servant.
The Beast.
The smoke wafted away completely, the furnace dying to the softer embers of a mundane flame. He who stunk of blood and betrayal was gone and much as the desire to make an intended kill rather than one of incidence, finding such an insect in a hive was only going to lead to further frustrations and annoyances.
Speaking of…
Amber eyes narrowed before the triangular spade of the Beast's tail whipped forth through the air and brought the nearby crane down with a crashing of steel girders. Fangs flashed forward and bit down upon something which screamed bloodied murder before it was permanently silenced with a bone-breaking crunch and the remains spat down upon the ground between the Beast and the remaining Servants.
Assassin's head rolled forward until the skull of his mask was staring up at the Rider's grim face. He glanced back down at his master and saw that the boy had collapsed, from shock or the sheer enormity of the monster's presence. The Lancer was tense on the Rider's right, gripping both spears tightly in his hands. He couldn't move to retrieve his Master and flee lest he draw the monster's attention upon the man who wisely remained silent and did not dare draw the Beast's attention by ordering his Servant to take him and flee.
Truly it was a wise thing for the man to have soiled himself shortly before falling unconscious.
It gave him a reason for a change of clothes if nothing else.
From their hidden perches amongst the towering stacks, master and apprentice remained still as the dead and breathed just the same. Both were not unfamiliar in the ways of magic though neither could be claimed or considered as proper practitioners of the craft. Both had met and conversed with a living legend but it was a legend that did not live up to their inbuilt expectations, the dreams and imaginations of a childhood where the legends seemed as factual history of a forgotten past.
This?
This was everything those stories said and more for this did not meet their expectations but shot them down and ground them into dust, particularly in the eyes of the stand-in Master of Saber who was doing a marvelous impression of a guppy, cuteness and all. As for the Saber herself…
Were it in her possession, she'd have returned her blade to its sheathe. Were she not in the presence of enemy Servants and already sporting a major injury upon her left wrist the Saber would have dismissed her weapons and armor alike in the presence of this Beast for just as she had recognized the Lancer by his legend so too did she know this Beast through his.
Rather, through hers.
Amber met emerald as an ancient beast gazed upon a young royal. One was clearly a monster's gaze, inhuman and ravenous in its intensity and the other, while human, contained the same semblance of power for theirs was a shared bond betwixt destiny and fate. Yet now, centuries past the time in which they made their marks in history and legend, is when they should meet. It might have been a moment, it may well have been several minutes, either way the staring contest was won by he who looked away with disdain from she whose eyes carried more than her soul in its evergreen depths.
The tapping of wood and footsteps knocked gently upon the sacred silence instilled by the Beast's full emergence into the Holy Grail War but it was the voice of the Beast's Master who shattered it fully.
"I suppose that we all should be grateful that you didn't deem it necessary to swallow, eh?" The Master stood beneath the shadows of a half-spread wing so while the details were lost there was no missing how much he favored his left side or the cane he leaned upon. His glasses, which seemed a size too large upon his face, gleamed in the light and his smile was a touch mad as he looked upon the remaining Servants in turn until his gaze fell upon the Rider. He bowed his head with an apologetic smile. "I'm sorry but as enticing an offer as it is to fight under your banner, I'm afraid that neither my Servant or I would bow our heads to you, King of Conquerors."
Rider blinked twice before he roared with laughter. "You are more than I expected from the Master of such a Servant!" He chuckled as he shook his head. "At least I can claim an interesting night out of this."
The Master of the Beast shook his head. "As I said, we will not bow to you but I never said that alliances were out of the question. We have seen for ourselves that the death of Assassin was more than a slight exaggeration on Archer's part, and there is Caster to consider, but that's a conversation for another night with less… excitement shall we say?"
He turned away and started once more for the shadows but paused. He did not turn back but there was a small twitch of movement, the slightest glance out the corner of an eye. What he saw confused him but as much as he wanted to inquire he held tightly to his parting words. The night's excitement was great enough and he needn't add to it with accusations of the Saber's status as…
Well, that was a topic for another night.
