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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 Two

He admired the stonework of the castle. He had a thing for them, a passion really, for such places that brought to mind the fairy tales of his youth. Though given recent experiences he supposed that calling them mere tales was hardly fitting… but that was neither here nor there. At the moment, he was enjoying an amusing show between two Servants who still remained the rightful Kings that they had been in their legends long past. To be fair, most of the amusement came from their respected Masters. The Rider's young master looked torn between having a nervous breakdown being in the middle of enemy territory and throttling a man who could easily break him like a toothpick. The Saber's… stand-in was probably the nicest title he could use for her, looked torn between being confused and angry at the red-haired Servant and the meek Master who had supposedly supplied the Rider with the funds to afford a barrel of wine.

Speaking of, he'd best make his presence known before his own Servant does so for them both.

"If this is to be a dialogue rather than a war, I admit to my own interest though I must question your reasoning King of Conquerors." The Master of the Beast stepped forward from the shadows of a nearby archway. He smiled with eyes closed to the shock and horror that his revealed presence brought forth to those unexpected of his arrival and of his true appearance. "After all, if the Grail were to fall to the hands of royalty then it would have summoned seven kings instead of three."

In the open as he was, there was no hiding the young man, a boy barely into the full cusp of adulthood really, that was the Master of the Beast. His smile was a mask of cheerfulness and his glasses gleamed brightly, hiding the pained winces found in weary brown eyes. He favored his right side as he walked, putting much of his weight on his cane as he walked with carefully measured steps. He was dressed plainly without any distinction of his rank among the magi and in a crowd of the mundane he'd easily have been lost were it not for the scars. Burns by the looks of them, that covered most of his left arm and went up to just beneath his eye on the same side.

The Master of the Beast stood beside and between the two Servants and struggled with sitting himself down, moving an uncooperative limb aside by way of his cane until a hand gripped him gently by the arm.

Whether it was the shock of his appearance, both physical and sudden, it came as no small surprise to the younger Master to find himself with the shockingly soft hand of the Servant Saber assisting him to his seat on the ground. Though sore that he had to be helped at all, the Master did not keep silent his gratitude and spoke them with a soft whisper.

"Why have you come here, Master of the Beast?" asked Saber, keeping her grip upon his arm.

"Arthur."

Saber blinked. "What?"

"My name." The Master of the Beast clarified with a self-depreciating smile. "It's Arthur. Arthur L. Kuromori." He pulled his arm free from her lax grip and answered the unspoken question. "Hardly coincidence I think, meeting the very person I was named after but then there is no such thing as coincidence is there…?" He shook his head. "As to why I'm here, well, this is to be a Grail Dialogue yes?"

"That it is boy," agreed the Rider, presenting a cup of wine to Arthur with a smile. The Master of the Beast took it with a small nod of thanks and took a small swallow and grimaced. The Rider laughed heartily at the sight. "Too strong for you?"

"Hardly. Too weak." Arthur looked upwards. "Would you be so kind as to spare one of your acquisitions?"

Single eyebrows were raised before the twins shot up to meet them as the Beast raised his head up from outside the castle walls. Amber eyes glared down not upon the humans but the opened barrel of wine. A disdainful snort of ashen smoke expressed the Beast's opinion of the drink. The Beast stood upright and reached over the castle wall to drop a barrel of his own, its top already torn free with the liquid concoction within set aflame at its center.

Rider, deciding that tasting the wine presented by a dragon was far more prudent than asking such ridiculous questions like where the Beast had acquired it or had said Beast kept appearing out of nowhere with little evidence of being Astralized beforehand. Not one to do anything halfway, the Rider took not a small sip but a large gulp of the warmed wine and found himself wondering just when the world had decreed it necessary to tilt slightly upon its axis.

"This… is excellent wine!" He exclaimed jubilantly and proceeded to pour several cups for everyone no matter that they refused to remain in place on the ground. "Your Servant has fine tastes boy!"

Arthur smiled but didn't give away the joke hidden in the Rider's words as he took a small sip of his cup. "Only the finest of wines would satisfy his palette, believe me. Too bad that possessing such fine spirits is not a prerequisite to attaining the Grail eh?" He chuckled, his cheeks slightly red.

Perhaps a sip was too much to take after all.

"While I don't deny that this fine drink deserves an equally fine vessel from which to drink," said the Rider, "the Grail is not a drinking cup. First, you'll have to tell us the scale of your wish for the Grail."

"The scale of my wish?" Arthur repeated, his grip tight upon his cup. He smiled and like before, it was an empty thing, devoid of any happiness. "I'm afraid you'll have to provide an example Rider if either Her Majesty or I are to weigh our wishes properly."

To his surprise, Arthur found himself with an embarrassed Rider who took another long drought of wine before he answered. "True incarnation."

"What?" The Saber started in surprise though her outburst was a quit whisper to the startled shout of the Rider's master who ran forward to shake the larger man's shoulder.

"What?! Hey, wasn't your goal supposed to be world conquest—Urk!"

Arthur was impressed. He doubted any other man could attain such distance with the flicking of a finger to the younger man's head.

"Idiot. What's the point of having some drinking cup conquer the world for me? Conquest is a dream I'll entrust to myself. All I want from the Grail is the first step of that process. Even if mana gives us form in this world we still ultimately remain as Servants. I want to be firmly rooted to this world as a living human." The Rider clenched his fist tight, no one noticing Arthur's eyes flicked over to the Saber for a second in time. "And with a body of my own I shall defy both Heaven and Earth. That is what the act of conquest is about. It is how it begins, proceeds, and is finished. Such is my path of conquest."

"Defiance of Heaven and Earth…" Arthur mused, his fake smile small and almost gone as he took a drink.

"That's not how a king should be." Saber stated.

"Oh? Let us hear what you wish for then," said the Rider.

"I wish for my homeland's salvation. With the omnipotent wish-granting device I shall avert Britain's fate of destruction."

Arthur didn't speak, didn't gape, he only stared with narrowed eyes upon the King of Knights as though she was the most disgusting thing he had ever seen and now, with her declaration, she truly was as such in his eyes. He might not possess a gift of words but given what he had already seen of her it wasn't hard to put the pieces of the puzzle together and the image they created was certainly not befitting the King of Knights. "You… That is why you made the deal? That is the bargain you struck to be here not as you should but as you are?"

The Saber's eyes widened in surprise but Arthur was far from finished as he pushed himself up on shaking legs and trembling arms not from pain but from simmering rage.

"You… would lay down everything that you are, everything that you have been, and everything that you continue to be… just so that you won't exist? So that the life you lead, the victories and the defeats would be laid at another's feet, and the blame and the praise could be laid upon another's shoulders? I had expected the King of Conqueror's wish, the wish of a man whose legend was cut far too short but I respect that he does not desire to start anew where his story ended but to craft another legend here, now, at the beginning rather than at the end."

He was advancing upon her and though she knew not what her body was doing without her conscious thought, she was retreating from him because just as what Arthur saw in Arturia so too did she see something, someone, she had known in life. A bumbling old coot of a mage but the dearest of friends and one whom she had seen angry, truly angry, once before and it was the sight of a similar rage that made her the mouse instead of the lion.

"You are a dreamer, Arturia Pendragon!" snapped Arthur, using the Saber's name rather than her titles. "A dreamer who dreams of rest rather than adventure! You dream of being forgotten, of oblivion whilst my own Servant dreams of living! Of being awake rather than asleep as you clearly are!"

The Saber's eyes widened, pinpricks in globes of white. "Impossible. How can—"

"Once, I had a title of my own. Once, I was jested by friends and allies as being the One Who Sees and what I see here before me is not a Saber and most certainly not a king. What I see before me is a little girl who dreamt herself a King of Knights and now tired of the dream wants not awaken from it but to banish it away as though it never was! What I see…" He sighed, and seemed to collapse upon himself, putting all of his weight upon his cane as he leaned forward on trembling legs. "A bigger mess than I realized." He looked up at the shadows of the castle walls. "I admit my surprise, I did not think that I warranted so much attention."

"What?" The question, amazingly, came from the Master of Rider, which earned a small smile from the Master of the Beast in response. Trust the Master of the brashest of Servants would manage to keep his wits about him.

"Though the shadows aid you, the darkness is far from your ally. Come out, all of you. I want them to see how many Assassins it would take to kill a crippled monster." Arthur called out and in answer the Assassins emerged from the unnatural shadows. One, then three, then seven, and the numbers kept growing until well near a hundred stood throughout the ramparts and castle walls.

The Masters moved to stand close to their Servants though only the Saber had taken invisible sword in hand. Rider, still in his casual attire, was amicable as ever as he raised a filled cup to the crowd of Assassins.

"Now, don't hold back! Those who'd speak with us, come forth and take a cup with us! This drink is as your blood!"

A dagger shattered the cup on its way to impalement on the ground just beside Arthur. The wine spilled over the Rider's shoulder in a large red stain and to his credit, the Servant didn't even flinch as he glanced down at his ruined shirt.

Oppressing silence.

Unnatural stillness.

Which meant only one possible thing.

"… Shit." Arthur muttered.

"I did say this drink is as your blood. If you insist on spilling it… So be it." The wind roared in a tight tornado around the Rider who was now no longer in appearance a muscular and boisterous man but a muscular and boisterous King of Conquerors. "Pay close attention Saber! It looks like I will have to show you how a king truly stands!"

The small spark of light that Arthur had seen in the Rider's heart expanded outwards, swirling and twirling as it gained greater magnitude until all who stood upon the castle grounds had been absorbed into its shining depths. Yet it was not a place upon which the gathered found themselves though it could be assumed as such as it did appear every bit the magnificently large desert. No, it was the crystallization, no, it was the realization of the Rider's very soul. Everything that he was, everything that he is, and everything that he could still be was now grafted into reality itself, but to put it in the simpler terms of the magi…

"A Reality Marble…" whispered Irisviel. "Unbelievable…"

Arthur admitted his own disbelief to himself as he eyed the unspotted and unconscious form of his Servant who somehow still managed to cling to an emptied barrel of wine here in this realized reality of the soul. He knew of the rare and often exploited weakness of dragons but had hoped that given his legend, the Beast would have proven far stronger in that regard.

Or it could be because of that very legend he has that weakness at all… thought Arthur. After all, was that now he and his rival were imprisoned in the first place? He looked back towards the approaching army of Alexander the Great and smiled. I guess we can sit this one out…

And so he did, standing back and watching as the boisterous Servant proclaimed his own magnificence as his army of thousands of heroes surged forth and overtook the band of Assassins in a massive tidal wave of steel. Many of the manifestations of the Assassin tried to run but where was there to run from the soul of a King? Yet, there remained one standing, not in defense or even attack but in acceptance. Perhaps it was her who was the True Assassin or perhaps she was simply the most sensible of them. In the end, it didn't matter for she died just the same as all the rest though perhaps with the honor in having the King of Conqueror behead her with his own blade.

Then, it was over and the blinding desert day was returned once more to the heart that carried it and the castle night resumed its reign in the midnight hours. Arthur took one last drink of wine as he felt the Beast stir outside the castle walls, awake and mildly confused. Sending a silent promise of explanation, the Master of the Beast set his cup down and turned away from the rest of the gathered Servants and their Masters.

"I think I've said all that need be said this night… but no, I suppose there's something else I should say." Arthur looked heavenward. "I came here to find out for myself whether I would find remorse in killing the two of you. That in some way your wish or those of your Master's could possibly outweigh my own. I was wrong and I was right. I respect your wish to start anew in this life rather than what you were before, King of Conquerors so my Servant and I will face you as you faced the Assassins, at your strongest or not at all."

The Rider's face was unnaturally calm but he nodded all the same, a small smile tugging unseen at the corner of his lip.

"As for you." Arthur didn't even deign to look at her but there was no question as to whom he was referring. "Six billion, nine hundred seventy three million, seven hundred thirty eight thousand, four hundred and thirty three."

"What?"

"That is the weight of my wish. It's the same wish as your Master's own." Arthur looked to Irisviel and the pale-haired homunculus knew that though he was looking at her, he was speaking to her husband. Even so, she tilted her head in confusion, as pain seemed to well up in the younger man's eyes as he gazed upon her and wondered to herself why he had flinched when he first set his eyes upon her. "The only difference I suppose between us is in the context." He bowed to her. "May your remaining days be good to you as you deserve, Miss von. No, I'm sorry, Mrs. Emiya."

"What—How—?" Irisviel tried to stop him, to try and spot him from the darkness but she had not the same eyes as he and though she thought him gone by way of magic she had no clue to the truth. That Arthur was merely leaning against the opposite side of the wall, tears falling from his eyes as he pressed a hand against his face.

"For him… She's killing herself for him." He whispered, seeing another woman's face in place of the Lady Irisviel's own, blood trailing from her heartfelt smile from the joy that he would live even as she would not. "Damn it…"


He had to give credit where credit was due. He had thought that the Caster would make a grandstand out of his final fight in the War and the madman certainly overfilled that quota. He hadn't expected a man with no real claim of power, no real legend beyond his treachery to his Lady, to command the power necessary an eldritch abomination straight from the depths of whatever pit of damnation spawned it. He stood back in the shadows of the shore, unseen even by the keen eyes of the Lancer by simple fact that the Heroic Spirit had not turned his eyes away from the abomination making headway through the river towards sustenance and, ultimately, full realization into this world.

Will you not fight?

His hand clenched the top of his cane tightly. Though they were not words spoken or heard, he understood the intentions, the instinctual methods behind the mind of his Servant.

It is not a matter of will… Not anymore. He had seen how little harm came from the Rider's lightning, had witnessed the cleaving of tentacles by the invisible sword of the Saber, and had watched as burns were wiped clean and sliced limbs regrew in the blinking of an eye. The power to end this battle… was not his to command. It never was, not even then when he had earned the right when no one else could. So the Master closed his eyes to the world and begged of his Servant to cast forth his flames once more.

The answer was hardly unexpected. What do I gain in the helping of humans? What do I acquire in the aiding of children?

His own, he sincerely hoped, was not so expected. Recognition.

Silence.

So he continued, There upon the shore, are people, mundane the whole lot of them, but they hear it, they see it, and they know it for what it is. Yet they cannot see the man who rides the lightning or the girl wielding the air as her steel. But they will see you. They will recognize you. They will know that the Age of Gods lives still if not in the World then in its People. They will see you as you are and they will whisper the name of your People with reverence and fear.

Silence still.

Then the air was rent by a legend's roar. The wind blew as a gale beneath massive wings, which carried forth a crimson Beast to the heavens to soar with primordial grace upon the air. Fangs revealed their ferocity with a hellish light before that light came gushing forth in the form of flames. A stream of dragon's fire flew down and burned all that it touched, the river water ignited as their bloodied cargo became like sin and was vanquished just the same. The tentacles were not so much burnt as they were ignited and ruptured as unbelievable heat met flesh unaccustomed to the temperatures beyond that found in dismal pits of watery graves. The body of the abomination screamed as its flesh was vaporized down to its core yet whereas the tentacles were lost completely, the remains of the flesh quivered in their futility to heal before the next onslaught of fire could rain down once more.

Salvation came to the abomination in a most unexpected interruption.

"Berserker…" whispered Arthur, startling the Lancer and Irisviel with his presence as he stepped up to stand beside them at the shore, his gaze locked on twin motes of light shining in the sky above the battlefield. The Beast twisted in midair and dodged as one light was caught and devoured by the abomination. It screamed as new tentacles ruptured free from its body but the burns remained unchanged. It would need far more than the body of a single man to manifest its full potential.

Much more…

The second mote of trailing light gained a purplish tint as darkness enveloped its entirety in a physical shroud and reddened veins of blood pumped beneath metallic flesh. In life, it had been a McDonnell Douglas F-15 Eagle, a fighter jet like any other of its breed but in the grasp of the Black Knight, of the Berserker who fought under Someone's Glory and bore a Knight of Honor, it had become a part of a legend and so was no longer a mere machine.

It had become enchanted.

And by the Berserker's will, it became almost alive as twin engines roared their fury, carrying the blackened steel through the air and twisting about in a tight circle as it spat forth a storm of bullets in a long trail first across a score of tentacles that were unfortunate enough to be in the way, past the startled and soon confused Saber, and upwards to their real target. Bullets that were admittedly only semi-capable of piercing the thickest of armor made up for this weakness by being highly explosive upon contact.

Yet even enchanted bullets did little more than bring the attention of the Beast away from the abomination.

The Berserker soared past, crimson visor meeting amber eyes for the briefest of moments, and then it was soaring heavenward before twisting back for another pass. Missiles flew from beneath steel wings and the Beast did not so much run as make use of the equally massive and stupidly flailing form of the abomination. Enormous wings flapped with gale producing force before the inferno was unleashed in blazing balls that shot forth and left a burning trail through the air as they shot past closer and closer to their twisting and winding target.

The Beast twisted sharply, fangs biting and just missing the F-15 as it shot past. He fell upon the bridge and took roost at its highest point with wings tucked in tight only to suddenly unfurl them with a roar that set forth a stream of dragon's fire across the river, splashing over the top of the towering abomination, and further still. A roar almost inhuman in its ferocity but still produced by a human voice and intentions, answered the call and charged forth on wings of steel.

No one could understand what was occurring, for most either had absolutely no idea and those few that were in the know only had the most vague of ideas. No, only the Master of the Beast knew what the Berserker had done, what the abomination could not achieve even if it was to reach full realization into this material plane. The ancient tales of knights and dragons were not forgotten and the actions of the Berserker were deeply modernized, it followed the same ancient formula of yesteryears. The knight had cast forth a challenge to a dragon, but such a fight was made worse not by the classifications of the Servants. What did it matter, their classes when it was they who were the force of reckoning on this battleground? Berserker or Beast, knight or dragon, it did not matter when one saw deep beneath the masks and saw them for who they were.

Lancelot of the Lake as the Blackened Knight of Camelot, the Betrayer of King Arturia, the Berserker of the Holy Grail War…

Against Y Ddraig Goch as the Red Dragon of Wales, the Benefactor of King Arturia, the Beast of the Holy Grail War.

And knowing this, Arthur L. Kuromori, Master of the Beast, the One Who Sees had only one thing to say

"Well isn't that just fantastic…"


STATISTICS

Class: Beast
Identity: Y Ddraig Goch the Red Dragon of Wales
Basic Stats:

Alignment: Chaotic Neutral
Noble Phantasms: EX
Strength:
EX
Endurance: A
Agility: C
Mana: EX
Luck:
D

Class Skills:
Independent Action: EX
Magic Resistance:
B++
Presence Concealment: Unknown*

Personal Skills:
Battle Continuation: A
Instinct: A
Monstrous Strength: EX
Prana Burst (Flames): A++
Draconian Dominium: A+++
The Standards of a Connoisseur (Spirits): A

Noble Phantasms:
Suspencion of Disbelief: Seeing is Believing: N/A
The Linked Chains of Agony: Mother Nature's Sympathy: A
Dragon's Breath: The Desecrating Flames of Ruin: A+

Exposition:
Draconian Dominium: Being one of the few dragons of legend who was not slain and instead lived for several centuries to be a body of prophecy that brought an even greater legend into being, Y Ddraig Goch is the most powerful example of his race and nigh unkillable even with the strongest of modern and ancient magics. Only weapons with a long history of dragonslaying are capable of injurying him but to kill him would require a mortal blow made within the first five minutes of the battle's start otherwise victory is far from assured.

The Standards of a Connoisseur (Spirits): Having impeccable tastes for only the finest of wines and other such alcoholic drinks, one cannot accept anything less than the finest of spirits. Due to his high rank Y Ddraig Goch is not only easily susceptible to being distracted by potent drinks but is fully capable of being knocked out after several barrels' worth of drink.

Suspension of Disbelief: Seeing is Believing: An Anti-Unit Noble Phantasm possessed by all Phantasmal Beasts in the modern world. Variable in strength and power by the Phantasmal Beasts in question and the nature of those surrounding them. In the case of Y Ddraig Goch, mundanes cannot perceive him at all while Mages and Servants can but only so long as they are aware of his presence, or are in possession of Mystic Eyes. If he is hidden by some means or is not in their direct line-of-sight, his presence cannot be perceived even under the most direct of circumstances.

The Linked Chains of Agony: Mother Nature's Sympathy: Like Suspension of Disbelief, it is a Anti-Army Noble Phantasm that is constantly active and is similar in nature to the Frankenstein Monster's own Scream of the False Lifeform insomuch that its strength is variable by Y Ddraig Goch's injuries. At its weakest, it sends a pinnacle of matched pain to all whom hear it. At its strongest… plants wither, animals drop dead where they stand… and children are born still as stone…

Dragon's Breath: The Desecrating Flames of Ruin: An Anti-Army Noble Phantasm, Dragon's Breath is, as its name emplies, a blast of flames hot even to melt ordinary steel at its lowest temperature. The colors of the flames vary upon temperature and can be fired in either a stream exceeding a city block or condensed balls of plasma that can travel several miles and explode upon contact.