Chapter 9:

Nightmares and Daydreams

The deepest crimson, like a blossoming rose.

That was the only color that existed in the boy's horrid dreams.

The darkness engulfed the world around him- a dark veil that mercilessly hid everything from view. And yet it didn't matter to him whether he could see or not, whether it was night or day or if the world was still alive out there. All that mattered in his gory little world was that vivid crimson, the one thing he could focus on which helped him escape the seething clutches of insanity.

Crimson like her hair, sparkling under the sun's gentle kisses as it cascaded past her shoulders.

Crimson like her lips, always curled in a smile when they played amidst the rose bushes in the mansion's garden.

Indeed, the blood surrounding the boy was his one and only friend and the sound of its never-ending dripping was music for his ears. He had quickly found out that he could ignore their shrieks of agony if he just focused on the dripping. Things were easier that way- because even though the cold underground darkness hid them from view, the boy knew well-enough that they were still there- always there.

Lurking, frothing, wailing, clawing, biting, eating… waiting.

And he waited, too, for the moment when he was finally going to be set free from his prison. A prison of flesh, blood and bone, as alive as it was dead and as much as its own prisoner as it was his captor.

He had never been the one meant to descend down the spiral staircase which led to the Feasting Halls. Not even after Big Brother had run away was it his task to prove his worth as a successor by spending the traditional week down there. It was her duty and honor to inherit the Crest, no matter that she was older than him by not even a minute. He had heard his parents arguing with Grandfather about it- 'the Crest must be passed down by merit', they had said. 'Both of them are much too young,' they had argued.

But Grandfather had insisted, pointed out that he was dying and wanted to see a successor chosen before his old and useless body withered away. And so it had been decided that she was the one who had to spend a week down in the Halls. That was the night when the boy had seen Mother cry for the first time in his life. Father's reaction had been rather more… forceful.

A boy risked only devouring. A girl going down in the Halls… risked much worse.

And so the boy had easily decided that it was going to be up to him to brave the Halls. It sounded dark and dangerous and positively not a place which she, with her lovely crimson lips and flowing hair, should visit. But he- he was determined to prove to his Grandfather that he needn't worry and send her in just because Big Brother had escaped. If Big Brother had dealt with the Halls successfully, then so would he, concluded the boy. The Crest was supposed to be passed down by merit after all- and the boy wanted to show that he was leagues above that blood-traitor.

The boy had descended down the spiral staircase on that faithful night with only a simple note left behind to explain his intentions. The doors of the Halls had opened almost welcomingly- and yet they had shut themselves behind him with a dreadful screech that had echoed inside the whole cavern. The boy had brought a torch- a mistake he would regret for the rest of his life. Some kind of unknown magic snuffed out the flame almost immediately or maybe it had been just the wind… it didn't matter.

All that mattered was that one single moment when it had managed to cast its traitorous light on his surroundings. The boy had harbored one sole desire in that fleeting moment- to claw his eyes out with his bare hands.

Writhing and drooling, claws drawn sharp and eyes going mad, their teeth as long as daggers, bone hands and fleshy tentacles wrapping around each other, blood dripping from the web of veins that criss-crossed all over the place, from one creature to another. Some of them were like giant centipedes, one body seamed to the other with dozens upon dozens of thin and wry hands clawing all over the place. Other were nothing but constantly morphing lumps of flesh, tentacles flaying wildly in search of their pray, the one thousand burning eyes covering them staring right into his own. There were half spiders-half men, blind winged worms with seething jaws and a thick hide of spiky bones or just human-shaped dolls of flesh and bone with literally expressionless looks, their faces nothing but an oval membrane under which one could glimpse the constant snapping of their hungry jaws.

Those were to be his inmates inside the Halls. Prisoners gathered for millennia, victims of the Grimaldi's gift of a 'fighting chance'. All was one and one was all inside the halls. Connected through the ages with their fleshy bonds and bloody chains, they had grown into a single being, a single conscious yet many. And they remembered.

The first thing the boy learnt how to regrow was his spine.

But the doors never opened when he had expected them to. One week had came and passed and suddenly he was finding himself growing weaker as the hunger threatened to overcome him. A Grimaldi's body could survive for about a week without any food or water but even a Grimaldi couldn't live solely on stale air. By the middle of the second week the boy was beginning to get increasingly worried… but he had been resourceful enough to find a solution to his problem.

Men were meat after all. It had been the rational decision.

By the end of the third week, when loneliness and insanity were starting to devour him from the inside, the boy decided to make his little world a bit more like the beautiful one outside.

So he made it rain.

By the end of the fourth week, when one month finally passed and his Grandfather finally opened the gates and allowed him outside, his friends were long since too scared to even slither or crawl anywhere near him.

But the boy didn't care anymore. Because she was there to greet him, sunlight dancing in her hair and lips as crimson as the blood he had learnt to love so much.

His Alyss.

The cheerful warm glow of the sun blinded Rider when he tried to open his eyes. The blond knight shielded his face with his hand rather groggily as his mind struggled to divide the knight from the boy and boy from the knight. There was a bitter taste in Rider's mouth but he doubted any liquid, alcoholic or otherwise, could get rid of it.

"Took you long enough," came Glen's indifferent voice from the other side of the spacious living room. "Almost thought I'll have to look for a new Servant."

Still half-asleep and currently trapped by one very stubborn blanket wrapped around him, Rider answered in the only way he could. With a couple of rapid blinks and a yawn wide enough to swallow the nearby plasma TV. His red-haired Master, nose buried in the morning newspaper with a comically big mug of coffee in his hand, didn't even bother sparing a glance in Rider's general direction.

"Why the hell did you even use your Noble Phantasm? You nearly got yourself killed," muttered Glen under his breath and raised his voice enough for Rider to hear the rest- ergo, the scolding. "Rider, how many times do I have to tell you- I can't supply you with prana correctly! Wasting yours in situations when victory isn't certain is just digging your own grave deeper! And unless you are willing to go out and hunt, which I highly doubt you will with your whole goody-two-shoes shtick going on, then you better start thinking before doing anything else reckless like-"

"Yeah, yeah, tactical thinking, preparations, not storming a castle all by myself, yada-yada… yep, all clear, Glen!" announced the muffled voice of the knight, still waging a losing war against his blanket even when he had already gotten up and started walking around the apartment.

Even without being able to see it, Rider knew his Master was currently scoffing. Not that it mattered to him particularly- Glen was kinda broody and mean on the surface but on the inside he was a nice enough guy. It was like the redhead was always running hot and cold and even when he did something good for someone genuinely, he had to act like a dick while doing it. The knight made a mental note to either talk or punch his Master out of this habit.

"For some reason I'm finding it rather hard to believe," retorted Glen and raised the coffee to his lips only for it to be snatched by his Servant, who had just freed himself from the accursed blanket.

"This thing…" announced Rider after downing it all on one go. "IS GODLY!"

The cup was raised triumphantly in the air, only for Glen to snatch it back seconds later. A sigh escaped the teen's lips as he pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Dear God, it's like trying to win this War with a talking monkey for a Servant!"

"What is it? Can I have more? How do I make more? Don't tell me we can't make more! There has to be more!"

The words were coming out of the blond knight's mouth stringed together, making him almost impossible to understand.

"Alright, alright, I'll even teach you how to make coffee if you just started listening to what I tell you for once," cut him off Glen, more in the hopes of shutting him up than anything else. Rider's long braid swished when he fell down on one knee, voice turning serious and solemn.

"If my freedom must be the price I pay for the secret of making this godly ambrosia, then so be it!"

Glen stared at his kneeling Servant, opened his mouth and then closed it again. It took him half a minute to word a proper sentence.

"Lady Luck must have been really smiling upon me when I summoned you, hasn't she?"

"Hey… Glen," said Rider some time later. "Congratulations for earlier by the way. I'm somewhat proud of you really- it was a major step forward."

"A major step?" echoed the redhead and let out a wistful sigh. "I wish it was. Matching Assassin when she's out of the shadows isn't that big a deal for a Grimaldi. Plus, she escaped and I only ended up wasting that Spell."

"Uhm, I was kinda talking about saving the damsel in distress," elaborated the blond knight.

"I had a debt to pay, that's all," shot back the redhead before his Servant had even finished the sentence.

Inwardly, as a man of action, Rider was fighting the desire to punch the truth out of his Master. Punching a fellow man always straightened him up and raised the morale, or at least so Rider thought. But he decided to make an exception just this one time.

"Riiight," drawled out the knight and smirked at his Master, only to change to a more serious tone when Glen shot him a glare capable of piercing concrete. "Look, I'm no fool. I've seen more war- real war- than you ever will. Believe me. Your debt was paid the moment you didn't kill your enemy on the spot when you found her lying there. You didn't even order me to attack Lancer. Repaying her and her family had nothing to do with it, we both know it. Lie to yourself if you want. The truth is the truth and you can't change it."

"Nonsense! I did it just because a Grimal- why the hell did you do that for?" cried out the teen in anger and rubbed the spot where his Servant had smacked him up the head. Rider thought his Master should have been thankful he wasn't wearing his gauntlets but instead chose to skip straight to the point.

"Do you even know why I answered your call?"

Glen, frankly, looked a bit shocked at the question.

"Well, usually the Servant answers because they have a wish of their own and need the Grail to realize it. But in your case- God only knows. Hell, I'm scared to ask. Please don't tell me it's just because you find the local cuisine delicious. You at least have some reason to fight, right?"

"I answered because all you asked for was a fighting chance. Not to rule the world or change the past or anything else- all you wanted was a shot at breaking your chains," explained Rider, hands crossed in front of his chest. "Back then when you summoned me, you asked for my assistance as yourself. Not as a magus, not as the scion of a millennia old family, but as yourself. So what I'm asking you is this, Glen: are you going to wage this war as yourself or are you going to keep on living as an extension of the very thing that chained you?"

Perhaps for the first time since they had forged their contract, Glen had no witty retort ready for him.

The sparkling dust danced lazily under perhaps the few warm beams the sun had left in stock. Autumn was reigning outside, as evident by the leafless trees visible through the windows but one couldn't really tell from inside the warm house. It was one of those picture-perfect homes signature for the American suburbs, white porch and all, but Waver Velvet wasn't there for sightseeing.

So, without even looking twice at the bespectacled girl calmly snoozing snuggled in a blanket on the nearby couch, the magus headed straight for the blue-haired teen currently sprawled on the floor. Graham's bluish hair was in a state of dishevelment comparable to a bird's nest and through his open mouth escaped an amalgamation of brutish sounds akin to a buzzsaw trying to cut through solid concrete. Waver's eyes stopped for a bit to inspect the empty bottle of whiskey his apprentice was currently hugging and then let out a tired side alongside the smoke of his cigar. The long-haired magus nudged his younger counterpart with his foot but all he succeeded in doing was making the blue-haired teen hug his leg instead of the bottle.

"I-i-I dun care if yer… not that kind o' girl, sweetey! This is a matter o' supreme importance so just ditch 'em clothes and-"

A painful yelp escaped Graham's mouth when his now-crouching teacher flicked him mercilessly on the forehead.

"Wha? Huh? Who?" blubbered Graham and tried to look around, only for the sunlight to blind him. "Tohsaka? That you?" suddenly asked the mage as enthusiastically as a just woken-up drunk could and squinted at Waver's face.

Another flick promptly followed.

"You wish, kiddo," said Velvet and went to open the curtains. The new onslaught of sunlight made his apprentice let out a sound akin to a hissing cat. "Although after that little jewelry theft of yours she'll probably do come by to visit you sometimes soon. As I caring teacher I'll even come visit you in the hospital and tell you stories of what you're missing out in the outside world. I'm sure I can squeeze you I somewhere between poker night and… uhm, well, I'll think of something."

"I'm sure it'd be just delightful," muttered groggily Graham from the floor as he struggled to get back on his feet. The black-haired girl was still sleeping as soundly as ever, the events from the night before finally taking their toll on her. "Besides, I took the jewels from the Edelfelt girl."

Waver's reply was just taking a long drag out of his cigar and giving his apprentice a look that clearly told him 'meh, you're screwed either way'.

"How's Archer?" asked the long-haired magus instead.

"Exhausted. Mostly," answered the teen, somewhat more seriously, and slumped down on the nearest armchair. "But from what he told me about Rider, I think I know with who we're dealing with here- and I'm telling you, I don't like it one bit. This guy has the potential to be ridiculously overpo-"

"Everyone in this whole damn War is ridiculously overpowered, Graham," cut him off the long-haired magus and shot his student a stern look. "That's the one and only reason it's even considered fair in the first place. The sole thing that keeps the system working as a contest at all is every Servant being able to walk all over the rest and vice versa. It's the circumstances leading to that surefire victory that you have to find. That's your job as a Master."

"Still, it's kinda hard to believe what a Servant is capable of sometimes," admitted the blue-haired teen and let out a wide yawn.

"Oh, trust me, kiddo, you ain't seen a thing yet," Waver said as he looked wistfully out of the window, his mind going back to a war long over. Things had been much simpler back then, now that he thought about it. All he had to do back then was win- now… well, his current objectives were rather different from before. "So, how did it go? Did you give her the card?"

"After saving her from the clutches of some Burier goons I did," proudly proclaimed Graham and puffed his chest a little.

A moment passed in silence, the only thing heard being the sleeping girl's steady breathing and the autumn wind outside.

"Burier goons?" slowly repeated Waver.

"Okay, okay, they nearly curbstomped me for most of the time but I pulled through in the end, understood? And then there was some psycho with a fancy sword that showed up and-"

"I sent him over to help. I'm persuasive like that," calmly stated Waver and casually waved off his student's concern.

"He is nucking futs, bruv!"almost shouted Graham, making Waver cringe.

"A temporary alliance meant to take the Church and its Buriers out of the picture. Or at least sidetrack them a little."

"Well, still," muttered the blue-haired teen and grimaced to show his disapproval of his teacher's tactics. "Why give that girl the Caster card, tho? Sure, she's probably important if they were after her but I thought you were going to use it."

"That was the… original plan," replied Velvet and furrowed his eyebrows. "She's rather imperative to this War so I'd prefer if she had more protection. Nothing better than a personal Servant when she'd be a target either way."

"Why?" asked the apprentice and raised an eyebrow. "She certainly didn't look like Master material to me."

"You'll learn why in time," cut him off the long-haired magus. "For now, focus on beating Rider. And I suggest you get some help from your two little knightly allies when you make your move."

"Archer and I can take him on! Just give him a day or two to recover and then-"

Graham almost dodged the flick that time. Key word being almost.

"Okay, okay… sheesh, you're pushier than usual this time."

"Just… I'm glad you made it through, kiddo," said the teacher after a short pause and ruffled his student's already disheveled head some more before turning around to leave.

"Pfft, I would've so totally gotten those Burier schmucks. Shouldn't have worried, y'know."

"Yeah, yeah, and the girl would've even given you some 'thank you' snogging," said the long-haired magus after letting out a hearty laugh and waved his student goodbye before closing the door behind him. "Keep dreaming, kiddo. A life without far-fetched dreams isn't a life worth living."

Graham's indignant retort, muffled by the closed door, fell on deaf ears as Waver set out in the flurry of autumn leaves dancing outside. The long-haired man wrapped his yellow scarf a bit more tightly around his neck and raised the collar of his red trench-coat, his teeth clutching his cigar with contempt as he shivered under the onslaught of the north wind. Sunny or not, winter was coming.

And there was nothing scarier for the magus then what winter could bring alongside itself upon arrival. As if it hadn't chased him enough inside his dreams, the image of the Skylance encased in flesh and bones, the blood-spawned wings of the creature perching atop it reaching towards the crimson skies, like the tentacles of a beast clawing at Heaven's Doors, flashed inside his mind's eye.

A girl still lost in an inferno which had long since died out, seeking to forsake her future for the chance to undo the past. Unknowingly bringing to others the pain she had been forced to endure, she had found a reason, a meaning, and an excuse for each and every death… And when her black knight had finally perished, bound by the chains of heaven … the mind of the girl had shattered.

A boy who always deluded himself that life was nothing but a game of cards, willing to wager his life and that of the world itself on a winning hand that was never dealt. And as his smiles had turned into frowns and his boasting into threats, he had kept on lying to himself that he could fix everything if he just pushed forward a bit more… one more step, one last push and, in the end, yet another corpse.

A girl who dreamed of being a star, the princess always hidden behind her stalwart walls of arrogance and pride. She had stepped into the War knowing full well of the treachery inherent in a human's soul and yet, despite all her efforts, despite winning each and every battle, all had been meaningless in the end. Betrayed and forgotten, the brightest star in the night's sky had blackened and fallen, victim to a debt forever left unpaid.

A man still fighting with the crying child inside him, fixated on a pain that only ended if he shared it with the unsuspecting world. A hunter made to hunt his own kind, the spider's chase had pitted him against a predator too strong for a mere angry child stuck in a grown-ups body to defeat. And as his crystal heart was shattered, alongside him died his dream of freedom.

A man torn apart between his humanity and bloodlust, a death dealer whose only desire was to receive the gift of eternal peace himself. But as the crimson skies had cried above him and the blackened egg inside his heart was about to hatch, even that simple wish was denied to him. Left prisoner in his own skin, the only gift the man received was a 'fighting chance'.

A girl born of winter, moonlight in her hair, seeking a meaning to a life whose sole and only purpose was death. And even so, her crimson eyes not even once wished to see the world in pain. Alas, the War was no place for the winter fairy's innocence- and so, on that winter night amidst the blood-tinted snow, the light of her life had been snuffed out forever.

A boy whose prison was his own body, bound by chains of bones and bonds of blood, he had been the one willing to let the whole world burn so he could have his freedom. But when his own blackened heart had finally threatened to kill him and he had found refuge in the heart of another, he had sworn to himself that he would kill the world a thousand times over to protect the one precious to his true heart.

And from that broken promise had been born a crimson angel, the Heaven's Reaper who hatched from both human and Grail and amidst that unholy marriage between Heaven and Hell… the angel had bloomed.

Waver spat bitterly and rubbed his forehead to chase out the impending headache. Things were getting a bit too confusing for him. Past memories clashed with the never-ending déjà vu of the present and sometimes he found himself wondering if he wouldn't just avert the old tragedy only for a new one to take its place. It wasn't as easy as they made it out in books or movies. The long-haired magus had no idea what kind of consequences could result from even the smallest push. And so, hoping to derail the sequence of events as much as he could, Waver had hatched his daring plan.

The biggest change was already evident. Graham had escaped unscarred from his clash with the three Buriers, so he probably would never grow bitter, resentful and blinded by revenge. His apprentice wouldn't get himself killed, prompting Waver to take his place as Archer's Master. The newspapers were mercifully lacking the reports of the trail of gory murders originally left behind by Shinosuke. Berserker's Master was occupied enough with the little Burier hunt Waver had sent him on, which would hopefully lead to someone finally granting the hunter the gift he desired the most. Skirt-chaser that he was, the magus had hoped for his apprentice to immediately propose an alliance to Caster's Master, forever preventing Glen's descend into madness upon her death.

Alas, Graham had actually showed a bit of tactical thinking by seeking out the Masters of the other two Knight class Servants… still, there was hope yet. The blue-haired mage had apparently stumbled upon Rider and his Master by chance and he seemed intrigued enough in a potential rivalry. Now, if only Graham could get that boy and his knight out of the War as early as possible… That only left the scheming Burier and the second Grimaldi Master. As far as Waver remembered- and it was somewhat hard to, considering the magus even caught himself having trouble on what tense to use sometimes- Avenger wouldn't be summoned until some time into the War proper.

That left him still able to intervene with the ritual if he could find the place where old Albus would summon him… and then he guessed one last team-up with Shinosuke would be for the best if they hoped to take down the rogue Burier as quickly as possible.

But, deep down, Waver's main concern was the Grail itself. Something that shouldn't have even existed- and he had made sure of that himself- was now about to descend again, twisting Fate around it once more. And there was something wrong with it even before the Grimaldi's deranged wish had stained it with the boy's madness, Velvet was certain. He concluded that there was only one way out of it…

Like the one before it, the Grail had to be destroyed as soon as it descended.

The reddish tint of the retreating sun was gently spreading all over the waning twilight. The gloomy clouds were drawing closer and closer, heralding a night that was going to be veiled by the curtain of the late autumn rains. Way up high, in their kingdom amidst the skies, the first stars began to appear almost at the same time as their cousins down below. One lit window after another, Hartcroft was shedding its daily skin and morphing into the shining amalgamation of glass, neon and steel it turned into every night. Hidden somewhere beyond the grey cover of the clouds, the waning Moon awaited its chance to get a glimpse of the never-sleeping city of a thousand tales. The northern winds were strong even on the street level but so up high they turned into an almost roaring pack of hounds chasing one another amidst the tops of the skyscrapers that defined the city's skyline.

From her place atop the railing of the penthouse's balcony, the blonde girl watched over the modern kingdom she was never going to inherit. Meissa's electric blue eyes soon turned skyward, staring longingly at the twinkling dots littering the night sky. The cold winds played with her wavy hair but the blonde, despite still wearing only her signature attire, didn't even shudder. Lightning had many uses- including keeping you warm. But no matter how many uses she found for her family's magecraft, there was no sense in even trying anymore. Cousin Sirius had already proven that lightning can do anything either way.

No, all Meissa had left was that rare chance of winning the Grail for her family. Even her father would never dare deny the birthright which was stolen from her anymore if she succeeded. The path before her was clear- but somehow instead of proving her superiority she had ended up losing against a total newbie. The word 'humiliating' crossed her mind but the blonde somewhat doubted humanity had yet invented a way to express the shame she was feeling properly. And when Glen came into the picture as well…

Shuddering not because of the cold but because of embarrassment, Meissa called out her Servant. Lancer, who had been in spirit form whole day long to heal faster, morphed out of the thin air next to her in a flurry of black mist.

"What is it?" asked the grey-haired knight rather gruffly.

"I…just- well," Meissa wanted to slap herself to stop the stuttering but instead just kept on focusing on a far off star, hell-bent on not even looking at her Servant. "I'm sorry, okay! I told you there was going to be hell to pay if you lost but in the end you won your match and I ended up… losing," finished the girl, her last words nothing but a mumble.

A hoarse laugh escaped Lancer's throat as the knight inspected his newly grown fingers. Meissa wanted to punch his smug face for laughing at her after such a heartfelt apology, at least it was one when coming from her, but the blonde had to just admit to herself she probably deserved it.

"Is it true, what you said? About Glen?" instead asked the girl, probably for the seventh time that day. Her mind was still struggling to comprehend why that brooding egoist would not just spare but even try to help her.

"Rider's Master? I told you what I saw, Meissa. Believe me if you want, it's not like I care particularly," replied the grey-haired knight just like the last six times and shrugged.

"And about that blue-haired pervert?" asked Meissa once again, almost praying for the answer to be different this time. To her horror, Lancer just let out an irritated sigh.

"I've turned into a laughing stock!" screamed the girl in anger as blue sparks crackled across her lithe body.

"Oh, enough with the overreacting!" cut her off Lancer, not even flinching under the killing glare she shot at him for daring to shout at her in such a moment. "Do you want to win this War or to look good in front of others? You got out alive, miraculously as it was, and that's all that matters. Even if one bends the knee upon defeat, he can still strike back later. So just suck it up and the next time you fight, fight for real instead of playing cat and mouse! Because, trust me, rats have the rather nasty habit of biting back when they are cornered."

"You don't need to shout it in my face, y'know," muttered the blonde and once again looked away from her Servant in shame. Yet again, the wind raced around them with a roar.

"What I'm saying is," eventually continued Lancer, this time a bit more subdued. "Is that as long as there's blood in your veins and strength in your arms, victory is still in reach, Meissa. Frankly, it's better now because they will probably underestimate you. And an opponent you don't take seriously is a deadly opponent. And if you are still worried about what they think of you, then instill fear in their hearts when you show them your real strength."

The blonde raised her tattooed hand, reaching out towards the heavens as if trying to grab hold of the stars above. The three Command Spells engraved into her flesh glistened slightly under whatever light could reach them, both natural and artificial.

"What is your wish, Lancer?" asked Meissa as she kept on admiring the seals that branded her as a Master.

"My wish is none of your business," replied the grey-haired knight. "My duty is to win the War for you. I'm not here to be your friend or the shoulder you can cry on when you need to. What I swore was to give you the Grail- and I will do so, no matter who I will have to face or how many need to die in the process. Even if you beg me on your knees not to kill someone, if that someone stands between you and the Grail, I will annihilate them. This is the only thing I can promise you."

"And what if I am the one that stands between us and the Grail? What if I turn out to be the one thing that prevents us from winning?"

"My answer remains the same," grimly stated Lancer.

"You are a strange Servant, you know that?" finally asked Meissa, almost with a giggle.

"You aren't the most usual of Masters yourself. How come I'm not hearing you order me to obey your every order yet?"

"Because what you promised was loyalty," replied the blonde. "What you promised was that even if I lost my way, you won't be afraid to drag me back to it, kicking and screaming."

"A monster's loyalty," tried to correct her the grey-haired knight but the girl just shook her head, moonlight dancing in her wavy hair, and smiled.

"Myself aside, Ayaka was weakened and her Servant is still probably half-dead. Assassin's feathers were rather harshly ruffled by Glen, who himself would fight only in the most dire of circumstances so soon. Not to mention both Rider and Archer have wasted a ton of prana in their fight," summarized the blonde and her blue eyes locked with the ones of her Servant. "You know what that means, right Lancer?"

"The other two Masters are going to hunt tonight," replied the grey-haired knight and bared his sharp teeth in a predatory smile. "And so-"

"They wouldn't expect us to do a little hunt of our own as well," finished Meissa and rose up, balancing on the railing with two hands outstretched. "What do you think about that, Lancer?"

"I think you should get dressed before we go out."

Meissa shot her Servant a rather brazen look.

"What's the matter, Lancer? Am I arousing you by any chance? Perhaps my mini-skirt is a bit too mini for you, hm?" teasingly asked the blonde.

"Hardly," shot back Lancer. "Unlike buxom women, flat-chested girls don't usually grab my attention."

With an indignant 'hmph', Meissa bridled up and turned her back to her Servant, only to jump down from the railing a second later. With an irritated sigh, Lancer rushed to follow his Master.