Surprise! You though it ended with only a single chapter being released, didn't you. But IT WAS I, the ADDITIONAL CHAPTER who will finish today's post!

Well, memes aside, I ended up not uploading anything for two weeks, and I found myself having more time to flesh out the next chapter as well. Then I thought that I might as well post that one too, so eh.

-In a certain Eastern land, in the here an now, a foreigner decides to walk-

-x-

Ivolethe slowly made her way towards the battlefield, and stopped to observe the situation. It seems like the mimic was holding well against two of the enemy Servants, a spear-man and a knight from the looks of it. Both were extremely skilled opponents, and ones that she would normally have had trouble with on a good day.

Still, they were evidently not accustomed to fighting opponents like herself though, and it showed. It simply wasn't a good idea to get drawn into the pace of a semi-immortal warrior who was used to taking down opponents stronger than her. They weren't that physically superior to her either, and while they were of superior skill, they were far too cautious to use that to their advantage. The two of them simply should have gone all out from the very beginning and simply have avoided the trouble of letting the Mimic get the time to adjust.

Seeing the situation, Ivolethe didn't find any reason to intervene at this point, especially since there were no signs of the golden Servant she had encountered as of yet. And, until she was sure that he wouldn't jump her when she was distracted, Ivolethe was determined to stay cautious and out of the heat of things. A good thing too, since she suddenly noticed a turbulence up in the sky, and the crack of lightning and thunder as something rocketed towards the battlefield, the wind blowing up a storm in its wake.

"A dragon?" She wondered. She narrowed her eyes. "No, it's too small to be one, and it doesn't have the right shape either." she observed as the little speck grew closer and closer. "Wait, is that an Erdtree damned chariot?!" Curiosity turned to confusion, to horror. The last was a curious feeling though. Ivolethe was used to keeping a tight leash on her emotions whenever she was placed under stress, or whenever she engaged in combat. It was a useful skill in that it kept her various eccentricities in check so that they don't act up in unfavorable situations.

She never actually shut her emotions off though, nor did she bother to find a way to do so since, in contrast to popular belief, emotions tended to help in unexpected ways. They were a crucial element that could tip the balance of success in any endeavour, a push for 'one more try', a moment of blind inspiration, that could make all the difference. It was never a good idea to completely silence something so intrinsic to being human, especially when she had so little humanity left to give.

It also helped that Ivolethe didn't want to turn out like that one perfumer who invented a potion to turn his emotions off, all so that he could harden himself enough to kill babies. They might have been horned omen children who would likely live a life worse than death, true, but they were babies… There were some lines Ivolethe simply did not cross, and that was one of them.

In the end however, her primary reasoning for developing such a skill in the first place, was so that the vast array of conditions she had inflicted upon herself were kept in control. She did a lot of things for the sake of power, things she wasn't proud of and had consequences that will stay with her for the rest of her life (like her draconic instincts or the Formless Mother's bloodlust, or even the Frenzied Flame's taint). All of them were still there to varying degrees, but they didn't outwardly affect her most of the time. Sometimes though, just sometimes… things push through. Though it wasn't the case here, similarities could be drawn, for the trauma of having been run over by chariots more times that she could realistically count trumped whatever meagre skill and discipline she had in the mind arts by a fair amount. It was so rooted deep in her psyche that the only thing that surpassed her irrational apprehension of chariots, was her crippling fear of heights. (The latter, unfortunately, was something that was only exacerbated by the fact that she had fallen from great heights so many times that she wasn't even able to adjust her body to reduce the fall from lesser ones, her mind locking up whenever it happened. Anyone who says that it gets easier if you know what you're in for is a filthy liar. The only thing it made easier was her ability to imitate a sinking stone.)

Lightning rained down upon the battlefield as the flying chariot descended, drawn by two great bulls that seemed to gallop through the air. Ivolethe could only stare in awe and shock as the rider, a redheaded warrior clad in a crimson cape bellowed out a war cry as he landed with a thundering crash. The lightning died down, and the chariot stood proudly in the middle of the battlefield, simply oozing grandeur and majesty. The massive battering ram at the front and the bladed spikes on either side of the wheels however, clearly established its role as a weapon of war.

"I suppose that's Rider then." Ivolethe whispered. "Torrent is the best steed I could ever ask for, but sometimes, I want to get a chance at using the fun toys too. Is that too much to ask?" While she wasn't interested in chariots, she still wanted to play with something… fun. "Maybe I should grab one of those motor vehicles to spin around with when I'm done here." She grumbled. The Tarished warrior refocused her attention back on the battlefield, trying to see how the situation had changed.

The Mimic looked like a rabbit that just ran afoul of a hunting party. "Oh shit." She aired her thoughts, and her posture eloquently dismissing her prior opponents in favour of who she clearly viewed as the greatest threat in the general area. Her two former opponents seemed annoyed by that for some reason though. How could they not comprehend how dangerous a chariot could potentially become? Perhaps they lacked the same… first-hand experiences Ivolethe had gone through.

Ivolethe was almost convinced that they, as a 'species', grew in size every one they ran over her!

Rider, a massive man with a large, sturdy build, spread his arms wide with a charismatic smile. "All of you, sheathe your blades, you are in the presence of a King!" he proclaimed. His smile was earnest and had such sincere joy in it that it made Ivolethe want to relax. She however, did the opposite and tightened the grip on her bow.

All things considered, Ivolethe found herself believing his words though. The man spoke and acted like a king; he had the right air for it. The sheer charisma and the confidence in his movements, it all reminded of her the warrior-Generals that Ivolethe was familiar with back in the Lands Between. Thinking back on it, Saber seemed to have a regal bearing too. Perhaps she too was of noble birth? Honestly, the blonde woman reminded her more of Morgott than anybody else. Saber displayed the same clinical detachment and cold authority Ivolethe had associated with the Omen King. Though, the petite blonde woman was far more mellow than the 'grumpy menace that liked to jump people on bridges while masquerading under a bad alias' could ever be. Ivolethe shook her head.

On second thought, she might be wrong. "Why am I trying so hard to find similarities where there are none? Just because one person hit the mark doesn't mean they all do. I think this world is starting to get to me."

"Though… There seems to be so many interesting characters gathering in such a small space." She mused. Each and every one of her opponents, including the newest arrival, had a quality about them that made them seem larger than life. Something inherent in their personalities and behaviours that made them stand out, even when compared to the quirks that she and her fellow Tarnished tended to develop. Even back in the lands between, where such personalities were relatively more common, finding so many in a single spot was exceedingly rare.

Case in point, the man Rider, seemed to be basking in everyone's shock and confusion. He nodded as if everything was perfectly normal, and continued. "I am Iskandar, the King of Conquerors! In this war, I am of the Rider class!" And wasn't that a title! Though she could do without him stating the obvious. Perhaps she shouldn't be so quick to judge? Just because her rode in with a vehicle doesn't necessarily mean he had to be of the rider class, right? How many servants here could ride a mount? She herself still had the whistle she used to call Torrent to her, even if she hadn't tried to summon him yet. In the end, it was too late to think on such redundant topics, since he had already introduced himself. Maybe her assessment of him being at least somewhat tangentially similar to Lord Godfrey and General Radhaan might not be all that far off the mark yet.

She still had to seriously question his strategic capabilities though. Perhaps it was because she wasn't getting the full picture? He did announce his name to everyone involved, and Irene could only gape at the sheer balls the man had in order to do so with such confidence (Or was it arrogance?). Irene understood that all the other Servants were figures from local history, and that figuring out an opponent's name can help the other figure out the strengths and weaknesses. So, announcing his name like that was bold… very bold. Ivolethe herself would have been hesitant to announce herself as well if her own name had the same weight attached here as it did for the others. In the end, if there was a greater plan at work, Ivolethe wasn't seeing it.

The scrawny young man with him in the carriage who, from what Ivolethe could tell was most likely his master, gaped at his Servant in horror as well. Ah, Iskandar's…introduction was most likely something that was neither planned, nor agreed upon. Most likely, it was done out of simple stupidity.

The Servant only gave a cheeky smile at his master's shocked expression.

Ivolethe was starting to get a headache having to reassess everything over and over. Was she at risk of burning out at this rate? Perhaps it was simply better to stop thinking at all for the moment, rather than actively trying to keep up with this mess. There were simply too many variables for her to reliably keep track of everything.

"So, you're the one, eh?" Lancer's master addressed Rider's, as his voice rang across the area laced with cruel arrogance. "I wondered what madness compelled you to steal my relic…" Ivolethe tuned out the rest of the man's rant in favour of reassessing the situation (ugh), despite her brain's protests. There were already four combatants on the field. Six if she counted the golden man and herself. Ivolethe felt that things were steadily devolving into a free for all. And at the rate it was going, almost all the Servants would be here soon. It felt like the prelude to one of those massive invasions all over again, where a large number of phantoms made to duke it out on each other with wild abandon while she desperately scrambled around for survival.

Ivolethe pondered this as she stared at the greatbow in her hand. Eventually, she decided to change tactics.

It annoyed her immensely that she had to switch out her greatbow in favor of something else, especially before the battle had even begun, but different scenarios called for different responses. She also decided to return one of the two spears she had on hand as well. In such a chaotic situation, it was better to just hold onto a single spear to keep enemies at a range, while holding a sword as a spare for a shorter ranged alternative.

She was simply more comfortable with using a single weapon in conflicts that had the possibility of going out of control. It made things easier to focus, and let her put more strength into her blows.

The Clawmark seal and the Dragon Communion seal appeared in her left hand, and Ivolethe threaded her fingers around the Clawmark seal while holding the latter in reserve. In a chaotic battle where none of her opponents knew what she was capable of, the Bestial incantations would most likely have a better chance at catching them off guard with how easy it was to integrate into a melee fighting style. The physical component to the incantation might even get around any 'Magic Resistance' too, if any of the Servants here had it. She wasn't too sure about that however.

The dragon communion incantations were there for the sheer surprise of it. No matter who you were, seeing a dragon appear out of nowhere had its fair share of terror, and it might shock them enough to cause panic. It wouldn't hurt to try. Having incantations with such a wide reach was also a good idea in case she wanted to make space. if they ever decided to gang up on her. As for her other options… a slightly curved, hiltless blade made of unalloyed gold appeared in her right hand. Despite how impractical it looked and felt, Ivolethe held the blade with an experience and ease that defied reason, the memories imbued within the blade as ashes of war guiding her through the motions. Yes, this was indeed the right weapon for quick engagements and to overwhelm an enemy if an opportunity presented itself.

She refocused her attention back on the battlefield, noticing that something had changed. Seeing what it was, she merely buried her face into her palms and sighed.

Apparently, Lancer's master decided that it was a good idea to disregard his advantage of stealth (His only advantage) and walk in full view of a battlefield where even a stray attack was more than likely to kill the frail human. The sheer gall of the man!

"Is he an idiot?" Ivolethe wondered as the man talked down to his former(?) Student. Rider's master, the now named 'Waver Velvet', showed far more intelligence than his teacher by cowering behind his Servant. Not a great move in front of warriors who took offense to cowardice but it was better than nothing.

The red-haired giant smiled at his master and calmed him, before turning to insult the arrogant man in turn. Which, to be fair, was perfectly reasonable considering the circumstances. He rubbed Ivolethe the wrong way too. Baseless arrogance was not something she was used to dealing with. True, strength warranted arrogance to a degree, she didn't have to like it but she could tell where it was coming from. But for someone to walk around a war-zone, talking down at what were essentially opponents that rivaled demigods, without even having the bare minimum of personal strength to survive if he ever got attacked? Yeah, Ivolethe found the man an idiot of the highest order.

Was this what the nobles back home were like? If so, Ivolethe was glad that she didn't have to deal with them during her brief but… eventful stay at the capital. She also felt genuine pity for Waver Velvet if this was the man he had studied under.

"And there are others as well, out there sulking in the darkness!" Iskandar suddenly roared, and Ivolethe jolted, surprised.

"What do you mean, Rider?" Saber asked.

"Saber, Lancer, your duel was magnificent. Surely the sound of your blades called other heroic spirits other than myself here!" He explained, and she relaxed, realizing that Iskandar didn't call her out specifically.

The man raised his hands and declared "Heroic spirits born again through the holy grail, gather here and now! Those too craven to show themselves will draw the scorn of Iskandar, the King of Conquerers!".

"...haah." Ivolethe smiled sardonically to herself as she got to her feet. "Me and my stupid pride." She couldn't let herself be called craven of all things now, could she? She was Ivolethe, the Tarnished warrior who stood before a god, and prevailed. It would be an insult to everything she stood for, an insult to everything she had accomplished, if she backed down from such an open challenge on her integrity, as warped as it was. As she walked forward into the clearing, she noted golden motes of light materialising atop a lamp post, coalescing into the figure of the Golden armored Servant she had met a few moments ago. Ivolethe wasn't surprised that he showed up now of all times either.

The other three however, were far more shocked upon seeing an identical copy of 'Foreigner' walking into the fray from another direction entirely. The Mimic, seeing the original walk in, retreated away from the others, and stood next to her, shoulder to shoulder.

"There's two of them?" The man with two spears murmured, his face pale and his horror evident, though the latter was quickly masked.

Ivolethe smirked at their rampant confusion. It also served to throw them off since most of them were unlikely to identify which among the two the real Ivolethe was so quickly. Normally, Ivolethe would have loathed to reveal such a large advantage as the mimic so early in the war, but the ruse was up already since the golden man had found out about it mere minutes ago. "What a way to ruin a plan. You can never tell how things turn out when a demigod is involved." That man was an abnormality even among their fellow Servants, and she suspected that he too had a form of identification magic, though it seemed far more powerful than her own psychometric evaluation if he was able to see through their illusory ruse with a single glance. At the very least, none of them knew about her other spirit summons, which left room for opportunities...

Speaking of golden men…

"So, a lesser being dares to name himself a king, even in my presence?" Goldie accused, staring at Iskandar even as he ignored everyone else in disdain from atop his high perch.

"I fail to see where the problem lies, I am Iskandar, the legendary king of conquerors." Answered Rider, as if that one statement answered all the questionable decisions he took so far. He also seemed to confuse the golden man's arrogance with ignorance. Ivolethe could already tell this wasn't going to end well. It felt like she was watching a train-wreck in motion; she just couldn't turn her eyes away from the drama.

"What nonsense!" Goldie exclaimed. "I am the one true king. All others are mere pretenders!"

Ivolethe could only stare at the exchange incredulously, wondering how the two could just say things like that with a straight face and not expect anyone else to contradict them. She started to ask herself if it was really such a good idea getting in the middle of so many figures with egos too large to fit in their own britches.

"Wait." Ivlethe groaned. Not for the last time, she cursed the Mimic for stuffing her mind with so many bad jokes and innuendoes that they started to spring up on their own within her mind. "She's starting to corrupt me, Erdtree help us all."

"If you're that insistent, why not name yourself? No true king would be troubled by giving his name." Iskandar continued, and Ivolethe saw the Saber clutching her invisible sword harder in fury. "Hmm…" More points to her theory that the shorter woman was of royal lineage, or at least something closely associated with one.

"So, you would question me, pretender? The true king? If, even in the presence of my glory, you cannot discern my identity! Your blindness will seal your doom!" Goldie exclaimed, his visage visibly incensed. That was all it took to set him off? Was he serious?

A bright light shone, as may golden distortions opened up in the air, revealing masterfully designed weapons of all kinds as they partially emerged from their respective portals. Irene, being an expert in assessing weapons, was shocked. Each and every one of those weapons were all legendary blades that were on par, if not surpassed many of the armaments she had in her own collection. Irene felt her draconic pride flare, but chose to suppress it vehemently. Neither of them had showed the full extent of their collection, nor was it an appropriate time to show off their weapons at each other in some misguided attempt to establish superiority in a battle of egos. She also had the annoying idea that she was likely to lose, too. She did note that the man had eyed Ivolethe and the Mimic along with their weapons, with a curious frown.

Then without even moving a muscle, the weapons realigned themselves in the air, until all of them were pointed straight at Iskandar. From the signs, Ivolethe figured that the weapons were somehow able to be launched as projectiles through those portals; they reminded her too much of the spell Astel used in his tantrum for it to be anything else. Carpet bombing an area with meteorites plucked from the void beyond tends to leave a lasting impression. Only, this seemed to be a far more refined version of it, seeing that the weapons themselves most likely had esoteric effects. And was without considering that they could actually be aimed, a fact that just made things worse.

"That… is bad." The Mimic commented.

"Treat it the same way we did with Astel's meteor shower." Ivolethe ordered, and the Mimic nodded silently.

And just before things got heated, a loud growl echoed, making everyone pause.

A black wisp appeared at the side, before quickly expanding into a screen of smoke, only to disperse, revealing a knight clad in black armor. At first, she was reminded of the Omen king's accursed Night Cavalry, but the similarities were only superficial. The wispy darkness that seemed to shroud him was unnatural, and everything about his posture and movement spoke of madness. The crimson light that shone from within his helm sang of an insanity …An insanity of a kind she was all too familiar with.

Ivolethe was familiar with suffering. She herself had her fair share of it but the things she achieved and the simple joys she found along the way had offset much of it. However, having once acted as a vessel for the Frenzied Flame, she had an understanding of suffering that far surpassed that of anyone else. Ivolethe didn't like this understanding, she didn't like being able to sympathise with others through this artificial mechanism.

She never knew this man, never understood his pain, his story, or the tragedies that led him to this point, but the even what was left of the taint left by the Frenzied Flame allowed her to understand him nonetheless. The blinding, deafening madness of his despair.

Ivolethe hated every moment of it.

A voice echoed in her head, a voice so soft and frail and calm that one could not help but be comforted by it. But despite everything, Ivolethe could hear the words with a clarity that was unnatural as they thundered in her mind with the howling of a thousand beasts.

… they howled without words. Saying they wished they were never born. Become their lord. T̷a̸k̵e̴ t̷h̵e̷ir ̵To̸rm̸e̸n̸t, ̵d̸e̵s̸p̴a̸i̷r T̴h̶e̸i̴r̵ a̸ffl̵i̵c̵t̸i̴o̷n E̵v̶e̶ry si̸n e̶v̶e̵r̶y cu̶r̸s̵e̶ A̶n̵d̶ ̵m̴e̷lt ̴i̵t a̷ll̵ a̸w̵a̸y.

̵̟̈́M̷̧̅elt ̴̜̌Ȉ̷̞t A̵͉̋l̷̩̕l A̸̗̿w̵̢͆ą̷̅y̸̡̏,̶ W̶̟̃i̷̜̽t̴͇͐h T̶̨͒h̶̩̃e̴̛ Y̵͓̐ȇ̶l̶̒l̷̿o̴̪͂ẃ̵͈ Ć̴̢h̸̿a̵͎͛ö̴͖s̵̫͠ F̴̎lá̴̯m̸̮̓ě̶͙ U̶͍̇ṅ̶͔ť̸̫i̷̦͒ļ̵͊ a̶̺̚l̵͚͘l i̷͎͒s O̶̫͘n̷̝̈́e A̴̓ǧ̴̩a̸͛ȋ̷ṇ̴͘ …

Ivolethe clutched her eyes as a familiar pain attempted to take root but lacked the strength to grasp onto anything. She felt a hand on her shoulder, and saw the Mimic looking at her with concern, a look of understanding plastered across her face. Ivolethe wanted to say something, anything, but she couldn't speak. Wouldn't, for words felt bitter in her mouth.

Eventually, the pain receded and Ivolethe sighed. She could still feel him though, the Berserker. Even so far away, she could feel his madness, and the terrible understanding with no roots that came with it. She wanted it all to just stop, but she endured. If only to spite the last remnants of the taint that remained, she endured. "The beauty life holds is not outweighed by its torments." She muttered the words, a prayer, the words of a spectre that was once a friend.

"Hey Mimic?" Ivolethe addressed her companion.

"Yeah, boss. I'm here."

"After we're done with this mess, we're stopping for some ice cream."

"yeah boss, I'm with ya."

And then, Berseker took off, the ground cratering as he charged towards the battlefield with the mad, feral movements of a beast, roaring into the night as his distorted voice echoed into the distance.

-x-

Underneath the depths of a cave, within the inactive husk of the greater grail, a great evil turned. It was the embodiment of all the evils in the world. A being created by the hands of mortal men and woman by being unjustly subjected to every horror imaginable in a ritual that held no meaning, and made a legend for it. It was determined to not let its suffering be in vain, to reflect all the evil that was inflicted upon it unto the world, to A̷͔̳̘̽͐̎̕v̸̻̀e̶̜̳̣͈̚ǹ̴̩̲̦̲̒͘g̶̡̧͍̣͐̿̽ȩ̴̢̺̩̎̈͘͝ Itself. It would do this by unleashing all the curses held within its body, it spirit- it's very soul.

Angra Manyu, All the Evils in the World, was determined on this course of action, and It would have its way, one way or another. Its wish had already been determined, but there was something different about this grail war. It had a connection to the root, as pathetic, vague, and rudimentary as it was, but it was more than enough to understand that there was something odd about how [Gaia-Alaya-The World] was reacting. Was there a new variable in play perhaps? It didn't know, it was no magician of the kaleidoscope after all and It did not care enough to check.

Although, It was curious about the small yellow flame dancing in the distance. A mere mote of something greater, so feeble and frail and delicate, almost on the verge of being blown out by a passing wind. Yet, it was stubborn, clinging on desperately, despite all odds. It was potent in a way that belied description. In the empty darkness where the [God-that-was-yet-to-be-born] sat, the distant flame was all that It could see so far. it soothed It's pain, its misery, placating the curses that writhed within It's formless mass. Sometimes, It wondered what would happen if it were to feed those flames with its own curses and evils? Would It finally find the End – the vindication it sought? No matter, it could wait and see how things turned out.

After all, It was already within the grail. It's wish had already been fulfilled, it was simply being postponed.

After all, there was no use complaining against inevitability, against Fate, especially when it acted in one's own favor.