Chapter 5: Clash on the Riverside

Sat at his desk, Mitsuomi Tanaka sensed the bloom of Mana wash through the city. Eyes turned away from his investigation reports and stared out from behind his glasses, lingering on the window and flickering with coloured light as he watched the sunlight dance over the surface of the river. Stood on the opposite bank, visible as a tiny spec in the middle of the dry overflow, he could make out a figure.

"That's probably the Servant," Lancer said, forming solid beside him. "There's no way a Master would put himself out in the open like that."

"So you're thinking its a trap?" Mitsuomi asked, his eyes not once straying.

"More like a lure," she replied, placing her hands on her hips. "Whoever they are, they're confident in their strength. 'Come and get me, if you dare.' That kind of thing."

"So they're stupid."

"Or strong," Lancer said, lifting an eyebrow as she watched the static form of the other Servant. "Or both."

Mitsuomi leaned back in his chair and took a breath. Drumming his fingers against the desk, he slowly thought through all of his options. His mind rolled slowly over the many possibilities, all the while his eyes looked over the papers laid in front of him, detailing everything he had discovered about the other Masters.

"Running straight into that wouldn't be smart," he began. "We don't know what our enemies can do. More than that, if we fight with the one that's announcing himself, there's a good chance that others are going to show up. But... If we hang back just far enough that we can watch what happens, we'll be at an advantage."

"I take it we're going, then?" Lancer asked, tying her long ginger locks behind her head.

A smile touched Mitsuomi's mouth. "I guess so."

"Archer, did you feel that?"

The sound of his Master's telepathic communication sprang up inside the Heroic Spirit's mind.

"Yes," he replied. "It appears that someone is eager to start."

"Whoever set that off," Isaac continued. "Is that who you were following when you went off on your own?"

Archer turned his eyes over onto Rider. The young man was stood, staring at the river, and trembling with excitement. His solid black eyes were wide with anticipation.

He considered telling Isaac about his fellow, but thought better of it. "I'm not sure. I saw something, but couldn't be certain. I think that it might be, though."

"Okay," his Master replied. "Where are you?"

"I'm in the park. North East from where I left you. Stay where you are, I'm going to make my way back now. Given your condition, this is a fight we shouldn't be getting involved in. I think it's best if we- Hey, what are you doing?!"

Rider looped one of his arms around Archer's waist and bent low at his knees. "Lets go meet him! Brace yourself, Blondie!"

A flash of white overtook the Servant's vision and, with the sound of a thunderclap, his stomach jumped into his throat as he was launched into the sky. A split second later, Archer felt ground beneath his feet. Whipping his head around, he realised that he had landed in the middle of the concrete overflow, of the riverbank.

Stood several feet in front of him, shoulders rounded and body braced against the elements, was a half naked man. Relatively short in stature, he wore some kind of animal skin around his waist, as a form of loincloth. Corded densely with muscle, the man's exposed physique was stained a mottled shade of dark red mixed with black. His black hair was shaggy and unkempt, as was his beard, and his hard eyes stared out of his calm face as a solid and unmoving white.

"Archer? Archer?!" Isaac's voice shouted, in his mind. "What happened? I saw something that looked like a lightning strike. Are you okay?"

Archer didn't respond. So shocked and dumbfounded by the almost instantaneous movement, words failed him. He had no idea that it was even possible for a Heroic Spirit to move so fast.

Did he use his Noble Phantasm? he thought, watching as Rider released him and began to stride over to the unmoving figure of the other Servant. He must have... But the sheer speed. That can't be normal.

Still the sound of his Master persisted, inside his head.

Just as he was about to open his mouth to respond, Archer stopped short in dismay.

"Hi," Rider said, shoving his hand out towards the stoic figure in front of him. "I'm Rider. What's your name?"

"Get back, you idiot!"

Archer's body moved automatically. Lunging forwards, he grabbed hold of the neck of Rider's shirt and yanked his fellow Servant backwards. A split second later, the blade sliced through the air, exactly where Rider's throat had once been.

Stumbling backwards, the two Heroic Spirits let out identical breaths of relief. The strange Servant in front of them remained mute, keeping his arm holding the weapon raised; unmoving save for the blink of his inhuman eyes.

As Archer released him, Rider blustered and took a step forward. Lifting one hand, he jabbed an accusatory finger towards their opponent and began to berate him.

Finally returning to his senses, Archer responded to Isaac. "I'm sorry... It appears that I've been drawn into the battle."

"What happened?"

"Another Servant pulled me in," he replied. "So far, he doesn't seem like an enemy. The real problem though is the one that set off the beacon. He's strong. Unpredictable."

He sensed that his Master was about to respond. His previous statements and manner of speech belied his intentions to join him.

Archer spoke again, before Isaac could voice his opinions. "I'm sorry, but you need to stay away from here. I'm going to try and look for an opening to escape. Fighting him now, when I don't know what this Servant can do, is almost suicide. Wait for me by the shelter. I'll meet you there."

Ignoring further protests from his Master, Archer stood up straight and swept his keen vision around the area. Looking for a blind spot, to utilise in his escape, he kept one eye on the mysterious Servant. Even as Rider was flinging insults at him, he still had yet to move.

Reverberating against the concrete, the sound of tutting suddenly filled the air.

"Well colour me disappointed." A disembodied voice, amplified by magic, echoed down through the overflow. It bore a strong Italian accent to it, rolling through the words with elegant ease. "I was expecting at least one Master to show up. But it appears that all of them are cowards; sending their Servants ahead in their place."

Rider ceased his blustering and jerked his head around, in an attempt to locate the Master. "Big talk coming from someone hidin' in the shadows! Show yourself, then we'll talk about who the coward is!" Stopping to think for a second, he came to a realisation. "And anyway! My Master didn't send me here! I was just out on my own and decided to check things out. So there!"

Whether the Master didn't hear him, or didn't care, he ignored the statement. Again the disembodied voice rang out, through the area. "Berserker," it said, domineering command in its tone. "Kill them both."

Finally, the stern and stoic Servant moved again. Crouching lower, Berserker gripped his weapon tightly in his left hand and locked his limbs into a fighting stance.

Eyeing the weapon with caution, Archer realised for the first time since he arrived that the blade Berserker wielded was not in any way ordinary. Rough and yellowed, in the way that only aged ivory could be, the weapon was slightly misshaped and bore what appeared to be a row of teeth along the back edge. It looked like the knife had been carved out of the jaw bone of some kind of animal.

That's got to be his Noble Phantasm, Archer thought. And he looks like some kind of barbarian. But... Figuring out who he is comes later. For now I need to get away.

"If you wanna go, you can," Rider grinned, speaking to Archer over his shoulder and never once looking away from Berserker. "Figured we could introduce ourselves and get off on the right foot. Seems like this guy doesn't feel the same, though."

Golden light flickered over Rider's form as his original garb washed away his modern clothes. Within a moment he was wearing a black jacket, trimmed with gold, and a pair of turquoise pants. Reaching up behind his ear, he pulled out a thin silver object. In size and shape, it resembled a pencil.

"You can fight him with me, if you want," he continued, grinning. "But I won't blame you if you don't." Striding forwards, he tossed the small silver object up into the air. "Expand. [Yeoui]."

The pencil-like object suddenly lengthened, growing spontaneously until it was the size of a staff. Grasping hold of it, Rider span it around his hands and lunged at Berserker.

Shocked by the sudden growth of the weapon, Archer watched as the two Heroic Spirits in front of him clashed. Rider lead with the foremost end of his staff, slapping aside Berserker's blade before reversing his swing and aiming a swipe at the other man's head. Avoiding the attack, Berserker leaned back and lifted the sprig of bone clasped in his left fist.

Feet leaving the floor, Rider dodged the slash by leaping over his enemy. Flipping once, he landed behind Berserker and swung his pole backwards.

Sidestepping and crouching low, Berserker ducked under the staff and turned about himself. Retreating one step, he backed towards the wall of the overflow, stepping over leaves that had been washed into the guttering as he went.

Giving chase, Rider whirled his staff around himself, striking out at the retreating Servant. Every time the pole dipped in for an attack, the foremost end was knocked aside by Berserker's bone blade.

Watching the duo, Archer analysed the fight, all the while wrestling with himself as he considered retreating.

I should get out of here now, he thought. The name of Rider's weapon... Yeoui. If he is who I think he is then he should be strong enough to handle Berserker on his own. But... Why is Berserker retreating towards the wall? If he keeps that up he'll be cornered. He's planning something.

Almost as if he had read Archer's mind, Berserker's once stoic face pulled into the shape of a grin. Once again knocking aside Rider's pole, he dug one foot into the mulch that lined the guttering and flicked his leg up. A mixture of mud and leaves flew through the air, spattering Rider's face and leaving him momentarily stunned.

Lunging in, Berserker lifted his weapon and prepared to attack.

He was stopped as an arrow flickered in front of his vision. Slamming into the concrete wall, the projectile bore into the structure and reduced it to rubble. As the wall behind him exploded into dust and fragments of shrapnel, Berserker leapt sideways, sweeping his vision over the area until both of his opponents were in his line of sight.

Swiping one hand across his face, Rider cleared his eyes and laughed. "Thought I told you you could go?" he said, his statement directed at Archer while his attention remained on Berserker. "And if you had let him kill me, it would've meant one less opponent in the War."

Archer drew another arrow from his quiver as golden light took hold of him, stripping him of his modern garments and replacing them with leather and chain mail. "Well my Master didn't order me to let you die," he grinned. "So if I didn't save you... I guess that would make me pretty terrible at truces."

"I knew there was a reason I liked you," Rider laughed, whipping his pole around his body as he re-set his defensive stance.

"Assasin... What can you see?"

Alasdair Heath sat in the back of an inner-city bus, eyes closed and hood pulled up over his head, as he listened to the voice of his Servant.

"I see two Servants, battling a third," the aged voice of Assasin replied. "One wields a bow, and the other some kind of staff. Archer and Lancer I'd wager."

"What kind of opponent would force two of the Knight classes to join forces?" Alasdair asked, intrigue plucking at his face.

"Based on his appearance, I would say that he is of the Berserker Class," Assasin said. "I believe his Master was the one that set off the beacon."

"I know Berserker is considered the most powerful Class, but does this Master really believe that his Servant is powerful enough to fight off every other Spirit in the War?"

Assassin's response was lighthearted, and tinged with an impressed air. "So far he appears to be holding his own."

"Oh?"

It was difficult for Alasdair to hide his surprise. He expected all Servants to be relatively equal in strength; the idea of one fighting another two simultaneously originally appearing absurd. With the report from his own Servant, however, he was forced to reevaluate his judgement.

"Can you see his Master, from where you are now?"

"No," Assassin replied, slowly. "Currently, I am observing the battle from the bridge over the Mion River. He appears to have hidden himself in some kind of blind spot from my current position. He is clearly no novice when it comes to battle strategy." The Servant paused, pensively. "The Master has also set up a barrier, to shield the battle from the attention of normal humans."

"But that shouldn't be a problem for you?"

"Of course not," Assassin confirmed. "The barrier is also not of a sensory nature, so it will be a simple matter to slip into. And given my innate ability of Presence Concealment, I should be able to move about the battlefield completely unseen."

"Meaning that you can find the Master and kill him, while he's focussed on the battle," Alasdair completed.

"No."

"Excuse me? What do you mean, no? I was lead to believe that you were some kind of legendary assassin."

"Those whom I killed were always given a fighting chance," the Heroic Spirit replied. "And at least prior warning of my intentions."

"So apparently now there's honour in murder?" Alasdair sneered under his breath. He couldn't believe what he was hearing. The reason why he decided to summon the Assassin Class Servant was to compliment his own battle strategies. The fact that the Servant was so diametrically opposed to his methods was unsettling.

"There is honour in everything." Assassin retorted, with a calm and purposeful voice. "I will locate the enemy Master for you. Though I will not kill him. Not yet at least."

With that, Assassin severed their mental connection. Swearing under his breath, Alasdair shifted his sitting position in the back of the bus and moved upright. Despite the comforting weight of the handgun, strapped to his chest beneath his jacket, he knew that he was currently ill-equipped to participate in a battle. Still in the process of setting up thermal sensors on the roofs of the Fuyuki skyline, he had left the majority of his arsenal back in the hotel room.

For now, it appeared that he would have to trust his Servant.

Something is seriously wrong... Archer thought, jumping back to avoid a swipe from the bone blade. He's far too coordinated for a Berserker. This man... He's keeping up with Rider's speed, all the while dodging my arrows and fighting back.

Berserker overextended the motion of his swing, turning back on himself and quickly pivoting on the ball of his right foot. Kicking off from the ground, he launched himself back towards Rider, slamming the sharpened edge of his weapon into the main body of the silver staff, raised by the other Heroic Spirit in selfdefense.

The sheer pace and power being thrown around by the battle was blistering. Prana, flung from the bodies of all three spirits as they battled, burned through the air in a fierce intensity, ripping through the landscape. Even the simplest of actions left destruction in their wake: A single footfall crushed the ground underfoot; the wind whipped up behind the single swing of a weapon carved into the stone wall; shockwaves of power rippled over the river, churning up a powerful wave.

This isn't working, Archer's mind whirled, as he dodged yet another of Berserker's attacks. He's far too nimble for me to shoot him at close range. I need to find an opening to retreat and hit him from a distance. But with his fighting style... And those damn white eyes of his. I can't tell where he's looking, or who he's targeting next.

Leaping forwards, from outside of Archer's peripheral vision, Rider slammed the end of his staff into the ground and vaulted over their enemy's head. Now midair, the swung his weapon down, in an attempt to strike Berserker from above.

Turning to the side, Berserker allowed the swipe to descend in front of his face, before lifting his right hand and snatching hold of the pole. Pulling Rider towards him, he raised the blade in his left hand. He was aiming to stab Rider in the face.

Yet the other Heroic Spirit didn't even flinch. Grinning, Rider let go of his staff.

Suddenly assaulted by a great weight, the fearsome Servant was whipped to his right. Feet leaving the floor, his right fist, still holding his opponent's weapon, slammed into the ground, crushing it and reducing it to rubble.

"Heavy, huh?" Rider laughed, lifting his left leg and preparing a downward kick, from his midair position.

Finally emitting something resembling a word, Berserker roared and again lifted his left hand. As Rider's leg descended, he prepared to stab him in the side.

Screaming through the air, an arrow slammed into Berserker's wrist, piercing his flesh and knocking his attack wide. Blood flew into the air, smattering the floor, as the sonic boom of the shot erupted across the river.

Peering over his outstretched hand, and past the side of his bow, Archer smiled slightly.

Now free to follow through on his assault, Rider's heel slammed into Berserker's head. A deafening crack split the air, and a deep rumbling explosion shook the landscape as the ground below the Servant was reduced to a crater of rubble.

Cartwheeling to the side, Rider grasped hold of his weapon and leapt back to rejoin Archer. "Thanks for the save. Nicely done."

"Well played with the pole," Archer retorted, smirking. "I'd heard it was heavy, but it even seems a bit much for the strongest Class."

"So you've figured out who I am, eh Blondie?"

"Basically," he replied, his expression stiffening. "Sorry, though, you're going to have to learn my name on your own."

Their conversation was interrupted as Berserker staggered to his feet, before them. Blood dripped from his punctured wrist and ran down onto the blade of his bone knife. A similar crimson stream leaked out of his midnight hairline and streaked down the mottled red skin of his face. Flashing out from within his beard, his teeth were bared in rage.

"I'd say I'm surprised, but that would be a lie..." Archer muttered, only half to himself. "He's too inhumanly strong for that to have done much."

Unease gripped Archer. While it was true that their enemy was powerful, that alone shouldn't have been cause for alarm. Powerful he had seen and fought before. The fact that the other Spirit appeared unphased was unfortunate, but not concerning. No. Rather, the reason for his worry was the fact that...

Berserker's Master was laughing.

Heavily accented, his voice rolled through the area, echoing off of the concrete walls and dispersing over the river. "You fools! Now you have sealed your own doom!"

Light burst from Berserker's chest, in time with his Master's gloating, etching some kind of runic symbol onto his skin. Head cocking to the side, the Servant broke into some kind of harsh and aggressive smile.

As this happened, pain assaulted Archer's left arm. He felt a blow against his wrist, agony searing out from the joint, and before he knew what had even happened, it was broken. Similarly, beside him, Rider felt a strike against the top of his head. Skull cracking from the force, he cried out in pain and clasped his scalp, as blood poured down his face.

"Damn it..." Archer hissed, trying desperately to not drop his bow. "I should have realised it sooner... A Berserker who wields the jaw bone of an animal; the first blade crafted by man. Blinded by jealousy, and gripped by a vengeful rage. I never even thought that he could be considered a Heroic Spirit..."

Realising what his comrade was saying, Rider opened his black eyes wide. "Wait! You're kidding? You mean to tell me he's-"

"Cain," Archer completed. "Brother of Abel, and son of Adam and Eve. The Father of Murder. Which means his Noble Phantasm is that thing on his chest. The Mark of Cain."

Genesis 4: 15-16

But the Lord said: "Not so; anyone who harms Cain will suffer vengeance seven times over." Then the Lord put a Mark on Cain, so that no one who found him would kill him.