A/N: I have to say, this chapter was kind of fun to write. Sorry it took me so long to get it up. I had a brain fart for most of Christmas break, so I was stuck with about a page for about a month. Anyway, here it is.

Day One Continued

Fuyuki Harbor, December 22, 2124 10:50 P.M.

"Archer, are you sure that this is where you felt the other Servant?" Alexandra asked, shivering from the cold. Having been born in the year-round summer of Greece, she was unused to the cold.

Her companion, while taking it better than his Master, clearly did not appreciate the cold any more than her. Especially since he was dressed in his armor, which was designed for much warmer climates. A gleaming bronze breastplate protected his chest, a knee length kilt covered his thighs, and shin and arm guards protected his limbs. His head was covered by an old style Corinthian helm, "I'm quite sure. I'd be a crappy Archer if I couldn't track a Servant's prana signature." He froze, "They're behind us."

The sound of a large pair of hands clapping heralded the presence of their quarry, followed by a deep, booming voice, "Well done, Archer. You played along quite nicely, chasing me all the way here from the mountain."

The pair of Greeks whirled, Archer's bow already strung and drawn. What they found was a giant, hulking man with blonde hair sitting on top of one of the nearby cargo containers. His bare shoulders were already coated in powdery snow, which fell off when he shifted. His face was unreadable, courtesy of the bone mask that hid everything save for his glowing red eyes, which conveyed a mocking tone all by themselves.

"I would have preferred to slaughter you there, but my Master "suggested" that I find a less populated place," the titan gestured around them, "So here we are." With a grunt, he pushed himself off of his perch.

"Before we fight, I would know who you are," Archer remarked, noting that he barely reached up to the enemy's shoulder, "I would perfectly understand if you were too scared, as I see that you fight while wearing a mask."

"I have heard better insults from lame beggars," the warrior replied, "The mask is an unfortunate side-effect of my summoning. I did not possess it in life, and I cannot remove it."

"You are not one of the knight classes, that is certain," the Greek quipped, "So you are the only possible one left. Berserker."

A snort was the only reply he got before a massive axe started descending towards his helmed head. The archer pushed his master to the side before leaping back, firing his bow mid-jump. The mighty bow thrummed and sank its projectile into the meaty flesh of the Berserker's unarmored shoulder.

The giant didn't even stagger, even though the impact created a shockwave. The arrow had hit with the force of an artillery shell.

Again, the axe came for his life. Again, Archer moved back to avoid it. But this time, it was a much closer thing. He saw the broad weapon descend, more than a few feet away from his face. At first, he was relieved when he did not hear the screech of metal against metal.

But then a line of light began to appear and widen on the inside of his helmet. With a stunned look on his face, Archer realized that the wind behind the axe had cut clean through his headgear, and just missed splitting his skull open like an overripe melon. The two halves of the helmet fell to the ground with a thud before dispersing into a cloud of dust.

A trickle of blood ran down the Servant's face from a vertical cut on his forehead.

Alexandra watched the short exchange in terror. Her Servant was being overwhelmed, and only in the first few seconds. Without knowing the man's weaknesses, it was all Archer could do to retreat and fire at random unless he used a Noble Phantasm.

"Is this all you have? Some Heroic Spirit you are," Berserker taunted.

Archer's face scrunched up in rage for a moment, before breaking into a lopsided grin, "Very well." With a grunt, he jumped much farther back, landing on top of one of the cargo containers. Drawing back the mighty bow, an arrow appeared, ready to fire. A line of circles appeared in front of it, numbering twenty-two in all, "Shot of the Twenty-two Axe Heads." He released the arrow, which moved faster than the eye could see, even those of a Servant.

The hulking warrior let out a roar of pain as it imbedded itself in his right eye. Blood pooled in the eye socket of his mask before running down the front of it, dying the bone crimson. A large hand reached up and immediately ripped the object out of the wound, causing a spray of blood to burst out. With his remaining eye, Berserker glared at Archer. Then he did the unexpected.

He laughed. A gut-busting laugh that could be heard from nearly half of a mile away.

"Against anyone else, that would have been a sure kill or crippling. But not me!" The Viking boomed, "COME ON, THE WARM UP IS OVER!" With that, he let out a bestial howl and took a running leap at the surprised Archer.

The Greek cursed and fired three more arrows as he drew back away from the madman. All hit their target's center of mass, but none slowed the monster down. He dove out of the way as Berserker's axe dug descended, causing it to dig into the metal of the cargo container. Again, the weapon slid through the metal as though it were butter, leaving a gouge nearly as long as he was tall. Then the force behind the attack hit, hurling Archer nearly fifty feet away and blasting the cargo container in half.

One good hit from that weapon, combined with Berserker's monstrous strength, would almost certainly cut clean through his torso, or at least a limb. Archer was unsure if it was the weapon or the wielder that was causing the effect, but he had no intention of getting close enough to find out.

Blood continued to weep from the warrior's now-many wounds, but he continued to laugh. Alexandra found herself becoming more and more disturbed by the minute. She, along with most Europeans, had heard stories of the berserker warriors of the North. Men who willingly went into frenzies to slaughter as many as physically possible, friends and allies alike. They were the scourge of the old Roman Republic and medieval Europe for centuries, nearly unstoppable until decapitated or exhausted. They felt no pain, and the limits on the human body were lifted, allowing them to use their full strength to tear through their enemies, even at the cost of permanent damage if they survived when they calmed down.

It was madness, but it was a madness that they willingly took on, unlike all of the other insane warriors throughout history.

As a Heroic Spirit and Servant, one of those men would be a terror indeed, no matter what class they were summoned as. As a Berserker, they would be an absolute nightmare.

And now, she was staring straight at one. The magus was trembling slightly as she looked at his stats through her Grail-given vision.

Strength: A++. Endurance: A++. Agility: A++. Mana: D. Luck: E-

Mad Enhancement: A. Rage of the Norseman: A.

Battle Continuation: EX.

This Servant…this THING…was a monster. His physical stats were just short of being incalculable. The Rage of the Norseman skill, the one that she didn't recognize, seemed to add onto the effects of Mad Enhancement, and allowed him to stay mostly sane. Alexandra couldn't conceive of any way that a magus would be able to support him. The prana drain of a Berserker was near legendary. The Master of one was usually killed by either prana exhaustion or their own summon's weapon. A Berserker of this power would have killed the summoner on the spot and leave them a withered husk.

"Archer, his Battle Continuation skill is off the charts!" She shouted. She hoped her Servant could think of a plan to beat him. After all, he had been known for doing impossible things when he was alive, and this certainly counted as one.

"Damn it," Archer muttered as he leaped back, ignoring the blood that was dripping from his chin onto his armor. He couldn't afford to get too close to Berserker. Even the aftershock of each swing was enough to hurt him. His enemy was the Trojan Wall made flesh, and he didn't have a wooden horse on hand. His Noble Phantasms were terrible at combating a foe such as this, except for perhaps one.

And with an EX rank in Battle Continuation, his arrows wouldn't be able to kill him. Berserker would live through everything short of decapitation, and even then it would be debatable considering his ability to shrug off hits like they never happened. Overall, he was matched up against his worst possible opponent.

A smirk broke onto the Archer's face, "Only one thing I can do. Guess I have to use it." Once again, he placed an arrow on his bowstring and drew it back. However, this time, he had a slight glow around him as he activated his most powerful, and double-sided, Noble Phantasm. He muttered its name under his breath, "Blessing of the Fickle War Goddess."

By draining his EX ranked Luck down to E for twenty-four hours, he could completely control the probability of something happening. With it, he can make literally anything he can think of happen. A spell failing, a support weakening, a heart attack in a specific target.

Or an arrow hitting a target in just the right place, and then detonating for some unknown reason.

Everything seemed to happen in slow motion. The bowman's fingers released the arrow. The Berserker charged. Alexandra covered her eyes.

And then suddenly, the mad warrior disappeared in a flash of red light.

Archer's grin remained as he noticed that the arrow had disappeared with him. Whether or not it did significant damage to his opponent was a question best left for later. Rejoining his Master, he suggested in a soft tone, "We should retreat for tonight. After using that, I'd rather not encounter any other Servants. It would not end well, especially if we are expecting more enemies like that."

His Master only replied with a numb nod, suddenly not so sure about participating in the war anymore.

Einzbern Manor, December 22, 2124 11:45 A.M.

Caster took a sip from the tea cup in his left hand as his other hit the replay button on the keyboard, though the term "keyboard" was used loosely as it was a hard light construct rather than a plastic one of the previous century.

On the screen, the fight between Archer and Berserker raged once more, recorded by a drone, tailor-made to track prana signatures similar to his own. The bearded man watched with interest as the Viking shrugged off hits that would have sunk warships, though what truly grabbed his attention was the name of Archer's Noble Phantasms. The other Servant had muttered the names, so he had had to alter the feed to focus on solely that.

Shot of the Twenty-two Axeheads. Blessing of the Fickle War Goddess.

"Interessante. Molto interessante," he smirked. This man was a legend with which he was very well-acquainted. His strengths and weaknesses were known to him. His smile turned to a frown. Despite that, Archer, or rather Odysseus, was his counter in this war. Undoubtedly, he would have access to a Noble Phantasm that was based off of the famous Trojan Horse.

And what was a magus' workshop but another type of fortress?

Regardless, Caster found himself excited. He would be able to match wits against the King of Tricksters himself.

That same excitement dulled when he considered Archer's opponent. Obviously, he was a savage from the frozen North. But he did not coincide with any that he knew of. He was neither Beowulf, as he would have loudly announced his identity if he were, nor was he Siegfried the Dragonslayer, as he wielded an axe instead of a sword.

And that mask…

It reminded him of the one worn by the various incarnations of Hassan-i Sabbah. He briefly wondered if there was a face underneath of it, before shaking the errant thought away. He hit the replay button again.

This incarnation of Odysseus did not seem to carry a blade, so he would remain at range. This would work for and against Caster. True, he would be at an optimal range to use his abilities, but so would his opponent.

Berserker would simply charge straight in. He was a juggernaut, the proverbial unstoppable force. However, considering how much damage Archer had done to him, the Viking might be out of commission for at least another night, though that depended on how good his Master was. Considering that they had managed to summon this monster and maintain him, he may be underestimating the warrior's rate of recovery.

His eyes flicked to another screen, showing his automaton's skirmish with Assassin. For a Servant, she was incredibly weak. His creation had the equivalent of C rank in all stats, and it had managed to drive her off single-handed. Caster's upper lip curled in disgust. How such a creature was ever admitted into the Throne of Heroes he would never know. He did not know who she was, and he did not care to. Thankfully, she would most likely be killed off soon.

Saber on the other hand…

Setting his now empty cup aside, he leaned back into his chair, steepling his fingers with a neutral look on his face. Through the camera in the robot's head, he watched as that magnificent blade sliced through steel as though it were paper. Both the sword and its wielder were easily identified. Roland the Paladin, the leader of the Twelve Peers of Charlemagne and bearer of the legendary Durendal. While not as mighty as the Berserker of this war, he had taken apart his automaton with little effort.

He was to the Franks what Sir Lancelot was to the court of Camelot. He was the strongest knight in the Holy Roman Empire, and entrusted with a holy blade of great power. With his eleven subordinates, a motley group made up of Saracen giants, sorcerers, and warriors alike, their combined power was that of an entire army. If he were to guess, Caster would have to assume that the other knights were part of a shared Noble Phantasm, as their bond with him was almost as famous as he was by himself.

In any other Grail War, he would have said that Roland would have dominated the competition. But after observing the others and taking stock of his own abilities, the Paladin would actually end up in the middle of the power scale. Berserker was an outright monster and Archer was the infamous Odysseus, who had forged his legend out of taking down foes much stronger than himself. Assassin was the only one that any of the other Servants had a near guarantee of taking down.

Rider, though he had not unleashed any of his abilities as of yet, was impossible not to find. He constantly emitted enough prana to be detected for a radius of nearly half a mile. However, Caster was wary of him. Based on the records of each previous war, the Riders had a startling tendency to be some of humanity's most powerful heroes, equipped with what some would call "completely broken" Noble Phantasms. The Fourth War was a prime example, with Alexander the Great being summoned, who in turn could summon his entire army within the boundaries of a Reality Marble. And this hero was much older than the fabled King of Conquerors.

Strangely, the only one that he could not account for was Lancer. One of his drones had gotten a blip when he was summoned. Before the enemy Servant had destroyed it, the machine had managed to send back a recording. To Caster's frustration, all he saw was a white blur. No facial features, no distinguishing items. Nothing. After that night, his robots had found neither hide nor hair of the mysterious Servant. Something was blocking out his prana signature, and it was irritating him to no end.

Sighing, Caster stood up, smoothing the front of his new outfit, which consisted of a grey-blue dress shirt with a black silk tie, a pair of black slacks, and black shoes and socks. A suit coat hung off of the back of his chair, which he ignored for the moment as he started to pace around the room. It was a spacious office, and it occupied the top floor of the north tower of the manor, giving it a full view of the forest. At first, he had been slightly disturbed by the fact that there were no walls, rather a large window that wrapped completely around the circular room. The only cover was the desk which housed the computer's CPU and the various bookshelves scattered around the floor. Now, he had simply gotten used to it.

As the first night of the war was nearing its end, he needed to come up with a plan to deal with the individual Servants. His right arm supported his left as he stroked his beard.

Assassin would be dealt with by the other Servants soon enough, considering the mess she was making with her killing spree. Failing that, he could always spare a strike squad of automatons. If one could drive her off, five would be enough to put her down permanently.

The others, however, would not be as easily dealt with. Saber had already proven adept at slicing up his creation, even with the C7 surprise he had packed in it. Sending strike teams would only drive him to ally with another Servant against the automaton's creator, namely him. Sending an army would not only draw an immense amount of attention, but also deplete his forces.

On the day he had arrived in Fuyuki, he had created five automatons that had the sole purpose of creating more. Each one could build five at a time, and then half of those would start building more. By the present time, he had nearly two hundred under his command, fifty of which were scattered in the forest as an early warning system.

The other Servants would cut through them like butter.

However, his automatons were not the only weapons in his arsenal.

A shuffling sound from behind him drew his attention away from his musings. A smile broke out on his face when he saw who it was.

"Isaviel, what are you doing up at this hour?" Caster asked gently.

The small white haired, red-eyed girl simply looked up at him, a blank look on her cherubic face. Another sigh escaped his lips. The homunculus was another area where he did not agree with his Master. Caster held all life sacred, even that of an artificial being, where the elder Von Einzbern treated her as little more than a tool. After his previous failures with the creations, the alchemist had removed their ability to have emotions, as he believed that factor contributed to the past losses.

And yet inexplicably, she damn near clung to the Servant's side whenever she was awake.

"I couldn't sleep," Her voice was so soft that he almost didn't hear her speak, "I kept seeing monsters." If his senses weren't already superhuman, he would have missed the slight inflection caused by fear.

"Monsters?" Caster blinked. He was surprised, not from what she said, but how she said it, "In your dreams?"

"In my head, after I closed my eyes," Isaviel answered in her usual monotone, "Were those dreams?"

The machinist schooled his expression of shock back into a warm smile. Sitting back down in his chair, he beaconed for her to sit on his lap, "Yes, they were. Come, child. Tell me about these monsters."

He noted that the homunculus was light, no more than forty or fifty pounds. The empty look on her face had disturbed him at first, but now he just pitied the poor child.

Oh Caster knew what the old man intended to use her for. And he despised him all the more for it. He hated himself for not being able to do anything about it.

Caster had been hailed as a genius before and after his death, but now he felt like the village idiot.

Isaviel began, describing a giant of a man, with skin so bronzed that it was almost black, and hair the color of the night sky. A single glowing red eye pierced through the darkness. It was the creature's roar that had startled her awake.

When she had tried to sleep again, this time she saw a suit of armor, blackened as though covered in dried blood. From inside of the helmet with the glowing visor, she could hear sobs that were interrupted by screams of rage. The thing had charged her, once again sending her back to the waking world.

The third time, she saw nothing, only hearing the distorted laughter of…something. Out of the three, the last terrified her the most.

Soon after, exhaustion took her, and she curled up against Caster's chest. He was now looking down at her with a thoughtful look on his face. He had realized half way through that she was speaking of Servants of past wars, reliving the memories of the other homunculi to participate in the war, though why she was only seeing the Berserkers was uncertain. The first had been Heracles, summoned by Isaviel's predecessor Ilyasviel, and the Berserker of the Fifth war. The other, though his identity had never been uncovered, was the Berserker of the Fourth.

The third apparition mystified him. Without a physical description, he could not match it to any of the participants, though he strongly suspected that it had to do with the Einzbern's meddling of the rules during the Third Grail War. After all, it allowed the summoning of Anti-heroes such as Bluebeard and Medea.

He allowed himself a small smirk. It seemed that in the entire history of the Holy Grail War, he was the only Caster that wasn't a blood-thirsty lunatic.

As was usual lately, the mirth was short-lived. Isa was starting to develop emotions, in spite of her programmed genes. If Jubstacheit found out…

A mask of determination placed itself on his face. He swiveled the chair around, careful not to wake the child on his lap, and opened up an anonymous messaging program.

The hard-light keys clacked lightly as he typed away.

Reaper,

I have a task that you may like. As you are no doubt aware, the Holy Grail War has sprung up unexpectedly once more in Fuyuki City. The head of the Einzbern family is outside of his castle, and is a Master participating in the war. I need him removed. His Servant will not be a problem.

-Deus ex Machina

Safe House, location unknown, December 22, 2124, 11:57 P.M.

Green eyes flicked over the message on the screen, trying to spot any lie in it. When he had received it, he had almost fallen out of his chair. Now wide awake, the assassin was considering his options. It was a fast decision.

Deus ex Machina,

If this information is correct, I'll do this mission Gratis. Send over the pertinent information.

-Reaper

Deus ex Machina. "God in the Machine."Symbolic of his situation, or just plain egotistical? Whoever this person was, they had just become his best friend.

Another blip on the computer. Opening the message, he was bombarded with maps, detailing the placement of the Bounded Fields around the Einzbern manor and the physical defenses of the place. Also included was the contract. As per common sense, the assassin read through it in its entirety, and then once again.

Even though he said he was doing this for free, the contractor had included a sum of twenty million Euros, half of which was now in his bank account. Just below the amount, there was a condition, written in bold print.

Do not harm any homunculi on the premises. The Einzbern are using one as the Grail container. Renegging on this part of the deal will result in the retraction of all money paid, as well as the assailant's life.

He blinked in surprise. Whoever this was, they were either attached to the homunculi in some way, or they had a major stake in the war.

Richard Klieffer shrugged. He had no grudge against the creations, only the creators.

Deus ex Machina,

The conditions are fine with me. Do I have a time frame to work with?

Reaper

Though he asked the question, Richard already knew the answer before it came.

Reaper,

Before the War ends.

Deus ex Machina

He closed the cover on his laptop, a smile on his face, an underrated reaction to the emotions he was feeling at the moment. Finally! He had been looking for a way for ten years, and now it was sitting in front of his on a silver platter!

The old bastard had finally come out of his lair.

Standing up, he managed to push down the joyous look on his face, instead adopting a neutral one before walking into the next room. As his hand reached for the handle, his eyes shifted from green to a bright blue.

He bowed to the figure lounging on the couch, "My lady, my contacts have found a lead on an enemy Master." He truly hated this part of the job. If he had the option, he would have killed her as many times as it took to keep her down permanently.

Blood red eyes darted towards him, and he felt, or rather saw, the tendrils of prana trying to wrap around his mind, only to be deflected. He would have smirked if he didn't feel the need to keep up the act. She still did not know that he was not some helpless sheep, though he would let her believe that he was firmly in her thrall.

After all, if she were killed, he couldn't be blamed for his actions while under her "control."

She stared at him for a moment, before looking away with a sniff, "Very well, tell me about this Master." She was still angry from being driven away from her prey. Rage was easy to work with.

"Of course, Lady Bathory." Manipulation was so much easier when the target believed they were manipulating the deceiver.

A/N: And done. Wow, it's been a while since I updated, but here it is. Day One is pretty much over, and plots are already starting. In case you are wondering, Lancer probably isn't going to be doing much for a while, since he's still dodging Caster's drones. Still, I will probably bring him in next chapter, so until then review please! If you have a favorite Servant so far, go ahead and say it. I like to get people's opinions on my characters. Note: Jubstacheit is the only canon character that will be showing up in the story. As interesting as it would be, Zelretch will not be making an appearance. This war will be screwed enough up on its own, thank you very much.

Please refrain from using magecraft to figure out how to chuck rotten fruit through a computer screen. My friend wouldn't like it. (Berserker Lancelot towering in background)