A/N: A/N: (EDIT: I forgot to include Mordred's battle damage and Siegfried's fate in the last chapter. Fixed!)

I LIIIIIIIIIIIIIVE!

BEHOLD MY LABOR OF BLOOD, SWEAT, AND TEARS! MORE THAN THIRTEEN THOUSAND WORDS FOR YOU ALL!

Whew. Feeling dizzy now. I'm absolutely drained, exhausted-have work in the morning-but gosh darn it I am SATISFIED!

Now, Before we get into the rest of it, I want to give a shout-out to a story I recently discovered-and finished-reading only an hour ago:

"Chaos Theory" by Moczo.

It. Is. INCREDIBLE.

Moreover, it's COMPLETE! Forty-four chapters in all!

You want a pure Fate story with deep, meaningful characters? You want a new, original route? Check it out!

Blew me right out of the water with its wit, charm, battles, and sheer insanity. Give it a look! I'm officially endorsing it!

On another note, what is RWBY and why is it so popular? I'm not kidding, I'm only just now hearing about it. From what I've heard it has several seasons, but as of late a TON of people have been asking/demanding that I write a crossover with it. Problem is...

...I have no idea what is.

Help, please?

Now then, who said I can't update when I'm recovering from surgery?! Eh?! Oi?! What's this story then?!

WARNING!

This chapter is...intense.

I suggest you gird yourself, because this chapter is going to be rough. For one? It contains character death. I won't say who. Our merry little band begins to fracture in some aspects, yet come together in others. It deals with emotions, trauma, betrayal, and all manner of emotional stuff. Fate rarely has a happy ending for anyone associate with it, but this chapter dives right into the ugly heart of that matter and drags it to the surface, kicking and screaming.

Furthermore, these chapters take so long to write because...well...have you SEEN the cast of Apocrypha?! That's a lot to work with on a normal day, and I've added to it! I love writing this story, truly I do, but ach, sometimes it gives me a migraine...

Events have been building for the last seven chapters.

We're about to cut loose for real.

Now prepare yourself.

WE'VE RECEIVED MORE THAN SEVEN HUNDRED REVIEWS AT THE TIME OF THIS AUTHOR'S NOTE! LET'S GET IT TO EIGHT HUNDRED! YOU GUYS ROCK! On another note these chapters take so long to write because there's so much to INCLUDE in them. After all, this story is about Fate AND Naruto. If I wanted to write about Naruto and Naruto alone, they'd be a lot shorter, no? Nobody wants that!

And once again, that blasted obligatory disclaimer:

I!

OWN!

NOTHING!

Secondary warning!

Once more, this chapter is going to be a roller-coaster of emotions. And when I say emotional, I mean the "rip out your heart and stomp it to bits" kind of emotional. You might laugh. You might cry. You might try to strangle me through the screen. Hell, I wouldn't be surprised if you try to do all three. The story isn't over by any means, but we've reached the end of "Part One" as things stand. Now comes "Part Two" and all the madness that brings.

There, you've been warned twice.

In short, it goes from 0 to 100 real freaking fast.

There, we've finished that, so lets get the catchphrase out of the way, ey?

REVIEW FOR IT FEEDS MY ENGINE OF CREATION! Well, if you like. I can't force you~!

Hearing your kind words keeps me inspired and gives me the drive to keep updating, ill as I am...

So lets clarify and answer all of your questions, eh?

Q: Who would you say is the most dangerous Servant at the moment.

A: Shakespeare, without question. Yes, other Servants have terrible powers, wicked strength and the like, but give him the right leverage and he'll utterly crush you. Not your body mind, but your spirit. Your very soul. Look what he nearly did to Ruler? If given the time to set up, his Noble Phantasm can ruin someone.

Q: Did you deliberately make Rider of Black female?

A: THIS iteration of Astolfo is female, yes. I already wrote a female Gilgamesh, why not her? It also makes events more...amusing. Don't worry, Astolfo will remain male in other stories; he's simply a "she" for the purpose of this story. Again, yes, Rider of Black is female in this story because reasons. There. Its been stated. Sorry if this upsets anyone. She's fun to write in this chapter, regardless!

Q: So...did Naruto just go off the deep end there?

A: In a sense. You could say he willingly went Berserker against Vlad; it was that or die. It'll be a team effort to bring him back. There was a reason he was trying so hard not to use the cloak...

...and now, the world will see why he was summoned as Berserker.

Q: What kind of fight is this?!

A: Well, it'll be a brawl. You'll see what I mean.

Q: Not a bad chapter, really. Good details, exciting, fun, not bad characterization.

I admit though, now I'm harboring the thought of Jack getting mad at ATALANTA for telling Naruto to not let her fight and thus putting his life at risk. I thought it would be an unexpected and fun twist.

A: Jack will NOT be happy to learn she was excluded from a fight, one that brought Naruto to this.

Q: Atalanta just SCREWED herself. She literally forced Naruto to go Berserk or die. All because she selfishly wanted to keep Jack safe.

A: Yeah, the others aren't going to be happy with her. Now they've got a Berserk Naruto on their hands and really we've seen how hard it is to stop him when he goes mad. Furthermore, Atalanta has proven herself to be utterly irrational herself, and when she feels responsible for something or someone...

...who knows what lengths she might go through to make this right?

Q: NINETAILS BEAST MODE WHOOOOOOOOO! Wait a minute though, isn't that a power sink?

A: If he uses it too long he'll drain his reserves and starting taking from his Master's lifeforce. In short? It will literally KILL Jean if used too much. Its worse for Jack, seeing as she's directly linked to Naruto, meaning she literally NEEDS him to supply a stable source of prana or she'll simply vanish. Too much of that, and well...

...they dead.

Q: WHAT ABOUT SIEGFRIED AND ASTOLFO?!

A: We see the conclusion of their battles in this chapter, yes.

Q: Romance romance ROMANCE!

A: Down boy! You'll get it bloody soon!

Q: So. Naruto pissed off the Holy Grail. Why am I not surprised?

A: As ever, the Grail does have a personality. We've seen this in other iterations. This one is...kinder than the corrupted one, but it doesn't understand humans as a whole. Think of it as a blank slate, one that knows WHAT needs to be done, but not the when or how or why.

Q: NEW FACTION DETAILS PLEASE!

A: Its essentially a tertiary group of Servants lacking Masters, wholly loyal to the grail. Of course, that's not to say they won't have their own motives and the like. Their function is essentially to keep the war "pure" and prevent any tampering by outside forces. Their faction may well be larger than normal...you'll see why.

Q: So does Naruto have access to all of his abilities seen in his previous life?

A: Yes and no. He has them but they're locked atm. As he said, rumors have skewed his abilities so he can use them, but not as well as he'd like. There are conditions to be met...

...and now said conditions have just turned around to bite the Red Faction in the ass.

Alright, notes and other matters aside...OF WE GO!

Downright dark in places here, soooo heads up!

Invasion really got me pumped up for this.

The Apocrypha soundtrack, that is.

Get ready for some good shit.

"You did this to him, Archer! This is your fault!"

"No, I...I only...I didn't think he would...

"He would what? Try to survive?!"

"I...that's not...he...promised...

"Promised? Promise what?!"

"Forgive me...Forgive me...

"What did you do?!"

~Saber and Archer.

The Beast

Jack screamed.

At least, she thought she was screaming. Was she? She'd long since lost the ability to tell. Surely she must be. Her throat felt sick and scratchy-scraped raw by her own shrieks-her every cell united in singular agony as she writhed upon the heartless stone floor. Though she grit her teeth against it a fresh surge of searing skittered across her torso as she curled in on herself, frantically adopting a fetal position in a vain attempt to ward off the forces trying to tear her apart from within. Somehow this only made the pain worse.

Too much.

It was just too much.

Toomuchtoomuchtoomuch!

There was too much energy within her small body, too much prana without, with no healthy way to release either. Yet still it came; a near limitless flow of energy channeled through her connection to Naruto. A connection forced wide open by his Noble Phantasm, one she wasn't able to close. Golden eyes blazed red and she screamed anew, baring her teeth in a wordless scream as she thrashed. Something was trying to take over her very sense of self, reaching out through their shared bond to tear at her soul.

"What the hell's gotten into her?!"

Oh, was that Saber's Master? It sounded like him. Why was he so angry? What had she done wrong? Distantly she was aware of rough hands seizing upon her slim shoulders, trying to keep her from hurting herself. To no avail. There were other hands too, smaller palms that she recognized as Her back arched with a wordless shriek, spine twisting horribly, fingers clawing at her scalp.

"Make it stop!"

In a fit of panic she seized upon Sisigou's arm.

"Make it stop, mommy!" the Servant wailed! "Make it stop!"

"I would if I could!" The necromancer sputtered. "Holy hell that hurts! She's gonna break my arm!"

Jean found herself in the same boat, nearly helpless to anything but watch as the poor girl clung to Saber's Master.

Her very circuits felt as though they were afire; it was all she could do to control her breathing. Every gasp was fire, turning the air in her lungs to steam whenever she exhaled. Her skin felt superheated, fire to the touch, as she fitfully hugged her arms close to herself. It was only her immense control and pride as a magus that kept her from collapsing on the spot. Command Spells were useless here; she was in such pain, such agony, that she couldn't even use one anymore, much less muster up the willpower to do so. Even had she been in her right mind to do so, her Servant would've resisted, such was his maddened state. He'd warned her, hadn't he?

Still, she felt compelled to try.

"Berserker, stop! By the power of my Command Spell-aargh?!"

White-hot hell snarled down the length of her arm, shattering her concentration.

Her body convulsed in a shuddering gasp and collapsed, leaving her clutching at the burning brand that was her hand. With each passing moment Berserker took from her, his Noble Phantasm a veritable sink that sucked her prana dry. A low, exasperated hiss snaked through her clenched teeth.

"Just what the hell is going on out there...?"

Perhaps, given time to prepare, to muster her reserves, she might have-certainly!-lasted longer. Found a workaround of some sort, a means of alternative energy that wouldn't leave her hanging between the precipice of life and death. But that was neither here nor there. How much longer would she last?

Five minutes?

Ten at best?

Worse, Jack was linked far more intimately to Naruto than she; the wee sprite depended on him for prana to exist in this world, and now that very prana was burning her alive. No doubt the sudden surge had something to do with Berserker's battle. He'd been pushed too far, too fast by Lancer. In the end, he'd been forced to cast his sanity aside just to survive. Even now she could feel his blood-lust, his fury unleashed with no regard for friend or foe.

Nevermind poor Jack, if this continued for much longer...

...if he continued fighting in this state...

...they were all going to die.


(...0o0o0...)


"Ohshitohshitohshitwhyishechasingmeeeeeeeeeee~?!"

Upon the battlefield, chaos reigned supreme. There was no order to be had here, no graceful duel conducted with honor and chivalry. Only bloodshed and death. As one might expect of a battle involving six servants this clash surpassed all others before it. Heaven and earth alike trembled beneath their blows; there were none before them, and there would be none after them. There could be no mercy here, no truce, no offer of parley or any such alliance. There was only death. Only the victor...or the defeated.

Rider of Black was no exception to this rule.

"Will you please stop~?!" Astolfo cried, twisting out of the way, as a crimson claw nearly claimed her face, "Time out! OUT! Seriously, just wait a sec-YEEK!"

A yelp tore out of her as those snapping jaws nearly tore her face off; in desperation she flung her lance between her and the creature and threw her body out of harms way. Unthinking, her eyes betrayed her, closing themselves against this nameless horror trying to kill her. The horrible squeal of torn fabric steel reached her ears a moment later, forcing her to open them again. Rather than lose her pretty visage, she found herself gazing at the ruined tear of her once-flowing cape, a good quarter of the peerless fabric-bitten clean off by those jagged teeth.

"Moh, really?!" She wailed, eyes narrow upon the ruin of her beloved cloak. "This was my favorite cape! Do you have any IDEA how long it will take to fix this-nonononottheFACE!"

How had it come to this?

Mere moments ago this creature had come crashing into her battle with Archer without warning, without thought, without mercy to attack them both. Poor Hippogriff. It hadn't stood a chance. He'd nearly killed her mount outright before she managed to dismiss it and she daren't call to it again before it healed, not when doing so meant its death but that this rate she was going to die and oh god it was going to hurt-aha!

Spying an opening in the endless stream of clawed crimson swiping at her, Astolfo sprung back on her hands and vaulted away.

"Fine! Be that way!"

Alighting upon a scorched hill, she drew herself up, puffed out her chest and leveled her lance at him. The Beast paused, considering her in quiet confusion. It had not expected its prey to strike up such a pose in the midst of battle, much less at a distance where it could be so easily reached.

Nevertheless, Astolfo did just that.

"Let those afar off listen; those who are near can see. I am one of Charlemagne's Paladin-

The abomination pounced again and Astolfo was suddenly very much preoccupied with trying not to become its meal.

"Oh come ooooooooooooon~! At least let me finish, you big bastard!" she sobbed! "I haven't had an opportunity to in so long!"

Archer was of absolutely no help at all in this running battle that followed, she just stood there, utterly transfixed by the horror Berserker had come, her eyes large and round with horror. Rider wondered if she would defend herself, should Berserker attack again. No, not Berserker. This seething mass of wrath and spite and hate could no longer be called such. Temporarily deprived of her mount-and much of the mobility that came with its unique ability-it was all she could do just to stay out of Berserker's way, much less defend herself.

However, this didn't mean she lacked some means of offense.

"Trap of Algaria!"

A rotund sphere of light loosed itself from her battered lance to obliterate one of those twisted tails, but the Beast barreled onward without a care in the world. A second took it low in the stomach and still it powered on, endlessly chasing, endlessly seeking her head. Though she skipped backwards in rapid retreat, it pursued her with single-minded determination, striking erratically at her at random, yet always with the intent to maim or kill, and by god it was actually going to do that if she gave it anymore leeway.

"Tch, persistent, aren't you?!" she hissed. "Aren't you being a little too forward?!"

The lowest of growls was his sole response.

Rider wasn't terribly strong as far as Servants came; her skills lay in the unique Noble Phantasms she'd collected over her life.

Unfortunately, she'd exhausted most of those already just trying to keep him away.

But she was a Servant nonetheless, and thus, she fought on until-

Thunk!

Berserker and Rider both turned, the former to find an arrow had sprouted from their shoulder. To Astolfo's horror she realized what had happened; rather, what was about to transpire. Those fell hands released her, their own turned, pivoting on a scorched heel to face the one who dared shoot it in the back.

"Berserker, stop this!" Atalanta regarded it with teary eyes. "This isn't you! Return to normal already! I can't bear to see you like this!"

Without, thought, without warning, it pounced towards Archer.

"You idiot!" Rider cried! "Now its after you!"

Damnit, where the hell had Saber gone?! Red or Black, either would be very helpful right now-

"CLARENT BLOOD ARTHUR!"

In that moment, the gods saw fit to answer Rider's prayer in the form of a crimson pillar; one that slammed into the Beast's flank with sound and fury. Struck mere moments before it could land a fatal blow, the beast vanished into the torrent of red with a tormented scream. Rider felt her every hair stand on end, her very skin growing uncomfortably warm beneath her armor, and she wasn't even the target. Berserker was, however and he took the full brunt of Saber's Noble Phantasm to his chest.

It didn't kill him.

An icy chill crept down Rider's spine as she watched his body tumble away, its severed halves falling to the wayside. Still moving. One was already beginning to right itself, even as Saber's terrible Noble Phantasm swelled back to life again and came crashing down on it. Really, Rider wanted to cry. She wasn't cut out for a battle like this; here she was, a humble paladin, fighting against gods and monsters. Nope. Not fair. Not at all. Truly, it was so unfair that she considered quitting outright; it was only her pride that prevented it.

Even so, she couldn't quite get up as Saber of Red made her grand entrance to land beside her.

She'd seen better days; that once pristine suit of scarlet steel armor was worn and pitted against her slight frame, exposing the girl beneath. More than half her horned helm had been shorn away by some incredible force, exposing wild aqua orbs and a near-murderous scowl. She was wounded to be sure, but her arm was still steady, her blade still true and Rider sensed that she was very much a force to be reckoned with.

"Better get up!" the blond called out to her over the storm. "I've seen him regenerate before; this won't stop him for long!"

"Seriously?!" Aghast, Rider managed an insolent sputter. "Why'd you even save me?!"

"Dunno." Saber retorted with a shrug. "Felt like the right thing to do, I guess."

"What the hell even is your Berserker?! Is he immortal or something?!"

"Hell if I know!" came the rejoinder.

That attack had blown him in half and by Saber's own admission, he was going to get up again. Catapulted towards the outskirts of town, his body flailed without thought or purpose, unable to arrest its abrupt flight. Even as it struggled upright a fresh wave of scarlet slammed it back down, burying it beneath the earth. Unbidden, an ugly thought occurred to her.

"Where the hell is our Saber?!"

Something pained flashed across Mordred's face. "None of your damn business, pipsqueak."

Astolfo bristled at the condescending tone with which she'd just been addressed. "Itismybusinessthankyouverymuch!"

"Screw you then! I blew him halfway across the damn country-

In the distance, a speck of cold crimson resolved into existence once more.

"Oh, jeez." the enemy Saber sight softly to herself. "I didn't think he'd get up that quickly."

Apparently, this was enough to reactivate Archer of Red, for she sprang back to life and leaped to her side. Her tormented expression reminded Rider of things she'd rather forget, so she forgot them. Just like that. Ah, the joy of lacking common sense!

"Saber...I...

"Good, you're moving!" her fellow warrior hummed. "Gonna need your help for this."

"Retreat, Rider." Celenike's silken, smoky voice chose that moment to pervade her mind, blotting out whatever exchange occurred between them. "Saber and Lancer are both down and you're no match for Berserker as he is now. The fool's gone mad; we'll let him do our work for us."

'Wait, Berserker?'

"What?!" the pinkette balked. "You can't be serious, Master! This...this thing is...

A furious shriek silenced her. "DO AS I SAY! By the power of my Command Spell I order you to retreat and return to my side! NOW!"

Bound by the power of that order Astolfo's body betrayed her despite her best efforts to resist; even as she struggled to stand her body collapsed back into astral form and vanished from the field. Tch. How disappointing. At a loss, she offered a reluctant, irritated shrug as Saber spat at her fading form.

"Sorry, guys! My Master's calling. Take care of him for me, will you?"

"Tch, coward!" Mordred spat. "Don't you dare run away!"

Not like she could do much else. "Bye~bye~!"

Her last sight of the pitched battle was that of Berserker blitzing his comrades at full speed; as befitting of a warrior, the Knight of Rebellion stepped up to to meet the beast's inevitable charge with gusto, an unyielding bulwark in the face of adversity. A swell of Prana Burst further empowered her already strained muscles and battered him into the ground like an unruly mole. A beat of silence followed as its body twitched, struggling to right itself while simultaneously trapped beneath ground. In any other light it would've been funny...were it not for the searing miasma of sheer hate stemming from the beast.

"Snap out of it, zombie!" Mordred roared! "We're on the same side!"

Atalanta couldn't help but tremble at the sight.

"My fault...this is...all my fault...

Mordred's head snapped around with such force that she could've sworn she heard her neck crack; those piercing aqua green orbs locked onto her and condemned her in the same instant. The Beast stirred and she gave a mighty holler and drove him back into the earth, burying him deep. Her actions did little to stem her rage.

"Whaddya mean this is your fault?! What did you do?!"

"No, I...I only...I didn't think he would...

She told her, the words tumbling out of in a faltering mess, a small, dismayed laugh leaping from Atalanta's lips. It truly was; she understood that now; her actions had forced Berserker to degrade himself to this state; made him into the monster before them. By refusing to allow him to call for Jack she'd forced him to open the door to madness just to survive against Lancer. Now he'd turned on them in his madness. That gentle smile had vanished, swallowed whole by the beast and all the terror it brought with it.

"He would what?" Saber raged at her. "Try to survive?!"

"That's not...he promised...

Mordred struck her full in the face.

"Promised what?!"

That open-palmed smack cracked across her visage with such force that the archer saw stars. Stunned, she staggered back half a step, clutching at her crimson visage. There were no tears. She was too proud to cry from a mere strike to the face but it stung her pride nevertheless and her heart lurched against it. Recoiling, she gaped back at her.

"Coward!" the word proved damning all by itself. "What were you thinking?! Who said you could be so selfish?!"

Wordlessly, the archer crumpled.

"I'm so sorry...

With that her mind finally buckled under the strain; guilt and grief subsuming her every waking thought. What had she done? What had she done, what had she done, what had she done? There could be no forgiveness for this, no mercy offered, nor accepted. This was, wholeheartedly, her fault.

She had nothing left to give here-no, wait.

She did have one card left to play in her hand.

Never let it be said that Atalanta was one to think rationally.

An ace up her sleeve, one she had refused to play out of principle. Once used there could be no turning back, no returning to the path she had abandoned. Once she used "that" she would be trapped in that hideous state for the remaining of her summoning, if not the war itself. She would cast aside all reason, all hesitation, all for the sake of strength. A small foolish part of her clung to the idea that it could be reversed, but it drowned in her own bitter resentment for herself. She had to make amends. Here and now. She wouldn't be able to live with herself if she didn't.

Madness for madness.

Strength to match strength.

Darkness against his own darkness.

With a thought, a pitch black pelt materialized in her hand. Mordred recoiled at the sight of it; indeed, her very soul acknowledged it was wholly wrong. It shouldn't exist, yet it did. The hide of a tainted creature further made mad by legend, warped by rumors and myths alike until it was naught but a cloak of madness masquerading as that of a divine beast.

And Atalanta was about to drive that very "thing" through her own heart.

"If this doesn't work...if Ruler can't change me back...kill me."

"Wait a second! What are you-

Brandishing aloft for the world to see, she prepared to ram it into her chest.

"Agrius-

In that moment earth ruptured at their feet and Berserker's warped body burst through, claws howling for their heads-

"Stand back, Servants of Red!"

Hell fell upon Berserker, aborting his wild charge and her own Phantasm in a single heartbeat. A storm of earthen death hardened into iron fell from the heavens and slammed into the terrible creature, stunning it. Even as it sought to rise a fresh blast drove it back; stakes erupting from the soil to stab at clawed feet, harrying it relentlessly until it finally gave ground; thousands upon thousands of sharpened spears striking as one mind, with one body, one thought, one will, beating the beast back again and again...

"Whatever tainted Noble Phantasm you possess, Archer of Red," a rough voice rose over the din, "It will not be a match for him. Stand aside."

Reluctantly, Atalanta turned to face their unlikely savior.

Battered and bloodied, he nevertheless stood tall. Though his arm had been taken from him, though his stern flesh was flayed open and scraped raw in places, still he carried himself with the regal bearing of a king. Stern golden eyes gazed right through her, dismissed her broken spirit outright and swept past her.

"Lancer of Black?!"

"Why the hell are you...

It was with a certain sense of pride that Lancer ignore them both and turned to face his foe. He'd won. Forced his foe to give in to his darkest, most primal instincts, to become the very beast he espoused. Yet it felt like a Pyrrhic victory. Truth be told, he had wanted to crush Berserker to be sure, but not like this-no, never like this-and now that clean victory was stolen from him, never to return. Besides. Saber and Archer had intervened to save one of his generals, when they clearly could've let him die.

He would honor this, at least.

"I-

"Fly, you fools!"

To her shame, Atalanta did, unable to bear the weight of her guilt.

Lancer spared her the merest glance before returning to the matter at hand. Sure enough Saber remained, watching him with keen eyes. To her credit, the blond did not interfere with his vendetta, pausing only to favor him with one last lingering look. It felt as though he were staring down a great lioness, baring her fangs.

...you kill him, I kill you." the words were a promise as much as a warning. "Don't forget that."

Lancer laughed.

"My, how bold women have grown in this age!"

Grimacing, he placed himself between the berserk blond and his prey.

"How unsightly you have become in this form, Berserker!" he declared, diverting the Beast's attention wholeheartedly to himself. "I am your opponent! Or have you forgotten me already?! Is your mind so far gone that you no longer recognize friend from foe?!"

Sneering, he baited the hook.

"Are you afraid?!"

Crimson fell upon him without warning, descending in a writhing mess of claws and tails.

This would be his final hour.

Vlad felt it in his bones, knew it in his heart of hearts, yet still he fought on. Even now he felt the reaper's breath upon the nape of his neck, a cold chill that threatened to steal his resolve away should he let it. Yet despite the loss of his arm-nay, perhaps in spite of if-Lancer rallied against his worthy foe as only a heroic spirit of yore could, raining storms of stakes upon his adversary, bending the very earth itself to his whims as he sought to undo this, his most ardent of foes.

Like a grand maestro conducting the finest symphony, so too did direct the earth with his fingers.

He.

Just.

Couldn't.

Reach him!

Flailing about on all fours like the animal he'd become, his once chatty-foe appeared to have abandoned his rationality altogether for the sake of power. There was no hint of the terrifying tactician he'd been before, no sign of that dark wit he'd displayed so readily in their clash. Not even a glimmer of that sly, sardonic smile. There was only the beast, a crimson hurricane that flattened all before it. No thought. No rationale. Only mindless, searing rage at the world, at him, at everything that drew breath. That suited Lancer just fine. This was his territory. His kingdom. His domain.

The very earth itself was his weapon; his sword, his spear, his shield...

A wordless yowl was the creature's sole response as it surged forward at him anew.

...and they were wholly, utterly useless in the face of Berserker's newfound transformation.

Claws the color of blood swiped at his face with sinister speed; a crimson tear scraping frightfully close to his throat before he managed to parry it. Rancid breath flooded his face and he fought down the urge to gag as he took a retaliatory swipe of his own. Realizing his peril Vlad cut upward with his lance, seeking the face of this scarlet terror, only for the creature to bend beneath his weapon as though it didn't exist. No, rather its crimson body simply distorted, writhing out of the way. In that moment, that fleeting sliver of a second, Lancer had time for one thought.

'Oh, that is just not fair.'

Pain blossomed in his chest as those savage digits found fresh purchase through his tattered coat, catching his flesh to hurl him across the earth like a skipping stone. His remaining arm scrabbled furiously at the ground as he flew, driving his weapon into the soil to arrest his momentum. He needn't look to know he'd sustained another grievous wound. With two arms, he might well have won this battle, or at the very least endured until help arrived, but with one, and the amount of blood he'd lost...

...he needed to end this. Soon.

Unfortunately this was easier said than done.

Once more, the faintest flicker in his peripherals served as his sole warning before hell fell upon him.

Four terrible tails burst forth from the ground at an impossible angle; nay, they emerged from the very earth beneath his feet itself in order to stab at his noble visage. From below?! How?! Confusion slowed him. Blind, bloody luck saved him. In that moment Vlad's foot caught on an overturned piece of rubble and he fell back. It spared his life.

It did not save his eye.

Pain blazed across the right half of his face as one of those blazing appendages made contact and darkened half his world forevermore. In that moment, his right eye ceased to be. A human would have screamed. Even a magus would've faltered. But not Lancer. He was a Servant and he had suffered greater wounds than this...though not by much. Still the agony was nigh unbearable and for a fleeting moment, his concentration faltered thoughts shattering into a fractured web of agony. In that moment the rest of the Beast came tearing out the ground, howling for his head.

Springing forward, Vlad swung with all his might, bringing as much strength as he could bear into the lance.

By some miracle the blow connected. Indeed, it found Berserker in mid-leap, took him low in the ribs and flung him into the distance. But only just. Even then Lancer suspected he'd only landed a blow because he'd caught the creature off guard in the first place rather than any amount of fading strength on his part.

Still, he'd bought himself some breathing room.

Watching the tainted creature tumble down into the dirt brought Lancer far more satisfaction than it should have. Sanity or no, Berserker had been-and still very much was!-a thorn in his side. A sharp, jagged thorn, one that seemed to delight it tormenting him at every turn. Mad or no, it felt damn good to finally hit him. Propping himself up on his fractured weapon, the Impaler climbed back to his feet once more. No attack came. There was no explosion of energy, no animistic howl to greet him. Only silence.

Chest aching, muscles screaming, he turned and spat blood in the Beast's direction.

"There!" His voice echoed hollowly into the empty battlefield, "Did you like that, invader?!"

The faintest spark of red reappeared on the horizon, but this time he was more than prepared to meet it.

With a cold laugh that would've sent lesser men scrambling for the hills, Vlad stomped his foot and mustered his flagging reserves. He curled his remaining fingers into a cruel claw around his lance and lashed out, willing the earth to do his bidding as it never had before. Yes! Now was the time! He'd press the attack before that thing could approach. He would annihilate him! This time, he would finish what he had started. There would be no mercy here; no quarter asked, none given. He would finish it with this, his final maneuver.

"Fall to me, you fool!"

He spoke and the world answered; twisting into a jagged mess of death; one that roared forward to meet his great enemy. Darting away from the torrent of unearthly spokes, the four-tailed creature dropped down onto all fours and contorted its body at an inhuman angle, tearing at the soil beneath clawed paws. Aghast, he realized it was trying to burrow underground again, to escape his attack by virtue of remaining unseen. Well. He could not have that, could he?

A thought was all it took.

A fresh torrent forced the beast to abandon this course altogether in favor of a frenzied, desperate attack; tails lashing behind it like four great whips gouging the earth, it sprang at him, only to find its assault stalled once again by an earthen wall of towering spires.

They shattered like rotten wood as the Beast swept its arm sideways.

Those blazing white eyes found him in spite of the distance, narrowing to jagged slits. A clawed hand rose, crushing a stray stake to charred embers within that eerie crimson fist. As Lancer looked on its body heaved, back twisting madly against some unseen, eldritch force he couldn't begin understand. To his dismay it stood, bracing itself on its hind-legs to glower in his direction.

And then, incredibly, the Beast spoke to him.

"Lan...cer...

A cold dread settled in Vlad's gut.

Funny how one word can inspire such dread.

Not even a sentence, and yet the sound of it unmanned him entirely. His title. Berserker had not shouted it at him, nor used his name. He'd barely even spoken to him, the word little more than a whisper, scarcely heard due to the great gulf between. Yet Vlad heard it all the same. Felt it. He could still see the hate behind those eyes-the endless storm of pent up wrath-but sharpened now, that once mindless rage thinly leashed if only for the moment. Somehow, Berserker managed to focus his fury on one target. One being. One Servant.

Him.

Berserker-rather, the beast he'd become-wanted to flatten him. It longed to chew him up and spit him back out. It desired nothing but his complete and utter annihilation. Gods be damned, he was probably going to get it, too. With so many wounds and his vision halved he wasn't certain he could last much longer. And what of Berserker? Surely he must be draining his Master dry.

But Lancer was nothing if not stubborn.

With a wordless roar Vlad loosed a fresh wave from afar-only a fool would try to face someone of Berserker's caliber in close combat-in a vain attempt to bury him before his mad charge could reach him. In that, he was only partly successful. He slowed the beast's advance, forced it to pause and shield its face with those ghastly, writhing tails. To his horror, as he looked on, a fifth bloomed to join its brethren.

That dread he felt a moment ago? Yeah, that just became mind-numbing terror.

Slowly, painfully, step by step, it weathered the barrage and came for him. With each shuddering step it drew closer, creeping forward on all fours. Odd, how the sight filled him with such fear. It should't have. Berserker was barely moving Like a twisted insect dragging itself across the ground, a serpent slithering on its belly.

Then it leaped.

Impossible to track, much less counter, its body blurred like liquid crimson, circumventing all attempts to be bound by his spears; leaping from those that sought to shove it away, decimating the ones that tried to skewer it, writhing around his every volley to fly at him with impossible speed; indeed, if he hadn't known better he would've sworn the creature was able to predict him somehow. Perhaps it wasn't as mad as he initially thought. Then again, could possibly make sense of a madman's mind? Said madman was going to kill him if he closed the gap. The thought rankled.

Was he truly going to die here, full of bitterness and regret? Alone?

Just as he had in his last life?

No!

Relinquishing his bruising grasp on his pride, he cast it aside and cried out to his allies for aid.

"Saber! Rider!" his rich voice echoed out into the battlefield. "I require assistance!"

None answered his call for aid, though he almost wish they would.

A distant explosion answered his declaration.

Vlad knew not if they had been defeated or if they were still fighting; he couldn't spare a moment to look. To take his eyes off this blackened creature meant death. It required his full attention, every fiber of his being to focus upon it, to keep up the barrage, to keep the beast back. No doubt Darnic would rather he retreat, and live to fight another day. Doing so now would devastate not only his pride, but his very sense of self.

Drawing himself up to his full towering height, Lancer of Black stared death in the face and refused to falter.

"Hear me, Berserker of Red!" the mighty resonance of his words briefly gave the creature pause. "If it is my life you seek, then so be it! But I will not go quietly! Have at you!"

A snap of his remaining fingers twisted the soil into twenty thousand stakes at his feet. Another ripped them free and sent them crashing down into the Beast before him in the form of countless spears. That sheer deluge momentarily brought the Berserker to a halt, forcing it to reel back and shield its face as its body shuddered beneath the assault. Knowing well its durability, he diverted a score more and sent them crashing into the foul creature's unguarded flank with the force of a falling star.

The explosion that followed could truly be called tremendous.

Earth and sky alike shook as the ground ruptured, and time when the Beast howled at him through the smoke, he could hear pain behind its snarl.

No mere mindless rage was this; for a fleeting sliver of a second Vlad almost dared to hope against hope; to believe that he had finally succeeded where he had previously failed; that he had brought down this twisted beast. A spark of pride warmed the bleak despairing tundra that had nearly taken his heart. He'd wounded it, harmed it at the very least. Perhaps he could kill it after all. Perhaps-

It was not to be.

Much to his chagrin even these stakes proved a mere irritant to the beast, unable to pierce its thick hide. Slowly, almost imperceptibly, it raised its gaze to glower at him. Once more the ghastly white orbs that served as its eyes narrowed, perhaps in recognition, perhaps in anger. He knew not, only that he'd failed once again.

Something snapped.

"Why won't you die?!" the words tore out of Vlad in an exasperated snarl. "Are you immortal?!"

This time, there could be no mistaking the laughter.

...no."

Events spiraled rapidly after that.

Five tails sheathed in bits of mismatching bone snapped back toward Berserker's now-crimson head, trembling with intensity. Its jaw came unhinged, and again that hideous creature shifted in a way that just felt wrong in the worst of ways-ohgodhowcoulditmovelikethat-its flesh contorting in ghastly relief to expel...orbs? To his horror, a series of sinister, strange sapphire/scarlet spheres jettisoned themselves from the young man's warped body. As he looked on they merged, uniting as one. The survivor remained a moment more, hovering there before that dislocated maw. Wait.

Why was it shrinking?

Why was he devouring it?

Why did his body swell thus?

Vlad's sixth sense shrieked a warning-in his mind, Darnic was howling at him-telling his body to move, to dodge, to get the hell out of the way...yet he could only stand, transfixed as his doom approached. He saw a surge of steam gather behind those bulging jaws and in one final, horrified epiphany, knew he couldn't outrun what was to come. So he flung up a wall between him and the beast. And another. Another. Another still. Six sheer, towering earthen shields forged of bloodied stakes and hardened earth composed of twenty thousand stakes

It was not enough.

No. Not nearly enough.

Nowhere near, not ever enough.

Berserker opened its maw and screamed its fury to the world.


(...0o0o0...)


"Ho? So that's it, then?"

Words like poison trickled through Semiramis's ears as she watched the horror unfold in the mural before her. They were not her own. No, those words belonged to her Master. There was a strange, almost childlike joy to be heard in those words, a near-euphoric glee that had nothing to do with the battle and yet everything to do with those fighting it.

Bright eyes gleamed.

Reclining upon a pew, Shirou Kotomine regarded the scene before him with morbid fascination.

"That really is a terrifying Noble Phantasm." he mused aloud, thumbing his chin in quiet curiosity. "He called it Nine-Tails, correct? To think, he's only up to five. I wonder what will happen if he reaches the maximum...or will his Master perish before that?"

Semiramis frowned.

No, those words certainly did not belong to her.

Assassin though she may well be, her mouth was sown shut by the ghastly spectacle unfolding in front of her eyes. This ghastly scene still playing out through the twisted miracle of magecraft that was her nearly-completed Hanging Gardens, every moment witnessed despite the distance. She saw it. She saw it all. Not six tails but five, yet somehow this was worse than what she herself had witnessed firsthand. There was no sanity here. Rather than dip a toe into darkness, Berserker had plunged headlong into, consequences be damned.

This was terror, this was death and just looking at it was hell because it should not exist, yet it did exist and because it did existanditwasgoingtodrivehermad...

"Oh, dear." Her Master's soft mellifluous voice cut through the gibbering madness. "I believe he just killed Lancer."

Shrinking back slightly, the blackette regarded her master with cold cynicism.

Shirou could not be called cruel. No. He had long-since suppressed that side of himself-alongside a good deal of his emotions-so utterly as to say they no longer existed. Yet she would be lying if she said she didn't see a glimmer of cold satisfaction in her Master's eyes. For whatever reason, Berserker's fall pleased him.

It displeased Semiramis more than she cared to admit.

He had been hers to kill. HERS! She wanted to break him! To make him grovel before her! To make him hers! Hers! No one elses! To see him reduced to such a state, of his own volition no less...it galled her more than words. This was truly a Berserker. This man knew not the concept of restraint; rather, he had, but it had been taken from him, plucked as surely as the fruit of his sanity from a withered vine. Whether he would recover from this was anyone's guess, least of all her own. But try as she might she couldn't deny it; for in the darkest part of her being...

...she could not bear to see him like this.

"Master," she began slowly, choosing her words with great care, "We should do something. My gardens are nearly complete-

Shirou shook his head in swift denial.

"No. I want to watch this."

"No?" The queen of Assyria absolutely bristled in disbelief at this sudden turn of behavior. "You can't be serious, Master! He's out of control! Do you think He'll stop with Lancer? No! Even a fool could see he's gone mad! If this continues we'll not only lose Berserker, but our Saber and Archer as well, if not more! We must stop him! Are you really willing to risk-

To her dismay, her Master raised a hand. "Perhaps you didn't hear me, Semiramis...

A Command Spell pulsed threateningly upon the back of said hand.

Settling in, Shirou laid a hand against his chin.

...I said I want to watch."

In that moment, something crystallized in Assassin's heart. She did not give voice to it, for that would be treason, but she did acknowledge it. At her core she was a selfish person. So she buried it deep, allowing it to take root, to grow and fester in her heart, the very seat of her soul. A small thought. An inkling of doubt to poison her thoughts. The tiniest whisper of rebellion. And she showed not an iota of it to her Master.

...very well." she relented with a faux-smile. "I shall attend to other matters, then."

Though Shirou knew not, there would be a reckoning for this.

It is said that mankind holds a certain saying:

Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.


(...0o0o0...)


All the world became light.

The Bijudama, though improperly formed in Berserker's haste to attack, put the last to shame; the air ignited in a coruscating beam of red ruin burst from that tainted maw and annihilated all before it, a blast unlike any other. Earth. Heaven. Servant. None were spared. Before it Lancer's stakes fell like wheat from chaff. There was no hope of enduring this, no possible chance of overwhelming the primordial energies that burst forth from his body. It annihilated all defenses outright. Shattered his walls. Indeed, how could it not? No manner of fame nor infamy could endure this attack head on. It was, in a word, death.

One that snatched Lancer up and swallowed him whole.

Blinding pain blazed thought to ash.

Distantly he was aware that he was still burning, falling, crashing into the ground as though he'd been cast out from the very heavens themselves. Was this death, then? No-the pain, the agony of his scorched flesh, that told otherwise. Hmm. Still alive. That was unexpected. Almost unwanted, really. After fighting for so long, he'd almost begun to desire an end. But that was coming soon, wasn't it? His lone eye swiveled, regarding the ruined tear that was his left leg, ending just below the knee. The Beast seemed determined to tear him apart piece by piece; first his arm, then his eye, now his leg.

A low, exasperated sigh trickled out of his scorched throat.

"Really?"

With a thought he affixed a stake to the severed stump and marched on. A certain pirate might have found this amusing. Lancer couldn't care less. He could already see the Beast coming for him, feel its rage roaring down on him through the black smoke. And despite the fear, despite the pain, despite all that he'd said and done...he smiled.

This would be a good death.

"Come, then!" he croaked, gasping for breath. "If this is death, then I welcome it!"

Steaming, his coat in tattered, body scorched and barely functional, Vlad somehow found his feet and readied his lance.

The Beast answered his challenge with a heartrending growl and surged forward to meet him on all fours. This time, Lancer stood his ground. He had no choice. Retreat was no longer a viable option in this war; should he attempt to fall back he would be overwhelmed in an instant. This creature eclipsed him in speed, if not strength. He must trust in the strength of his weapon-his will!-and pray that they were enough.

Man and monster collided.

Though Lancer knew his rival might well be a mindless beast, it was a clever beast all the same; years of instinct ingrained into its body lent it savage skill no man should possess. That hideous form bent at impossible angles to evade his attacks, sprouted extra limbs-sometimes even an extra torso entirely!-to beat him back whenever he came close to scoring a meaningful blow, and at times seemed capable of completely predicting his moves altogether before he made them.

When he tried to leap away, he abruptly to find that abomination right in his face, slavering jaws snapping shut mere meters from his nose. No warrior was this!

Though his arm buckled and his strength failed him, still he grappled with the creature, fighting to keep that tearing maw away from his face. At such proximity merely standing in the Beast's presence sapped what little of his strength remained; its very existence threatened to corrode him outright; to sear away his skin 'till naught but ashes remained.

This was death.

Yet the battle was not yet lost.

He could use "that" and perhaps emerge victorious.

He knew what would happen if he were to utilize his true Noble Phantasm. Using it now might even turn the tide in his favor. Done under his own volition, his mind would still be his own, and he could use that to pick apart this slobbering beast. Yes, the Legend of Dracula would grant him power as he'd never known, power to prevail...at the cost of his dignity. His very soul. In another timeline Darnic would've commanded him to do just that. Vlad would've killed him for it in turn, only to find himself bound to his Master by a dying wish. They would've died together, body and soul.

Yes, he should just give in-

Golden eyes bulged.

'NEVER!'

With a supreme effort of will Lancer bucked, slammed his back against the ground, and drove his feet-stake and otherwise-into Berserker's chest.

The result was nothing short of spectacular.

Unprepared for the sudden surge of strength, Berserker shot backwards with a startled yowl, propelled away at terrible speeds. A nearby hillock shattered as he crashed through it, tumbling headlong across the upturned earth. A brief reprieve, a much-needed moment to catch his breath. Even wounded Vlad was still a force to be reckoned with; in spite of his wounds, though he stood on his last leg, he was every bit a Heroic Spirit. He may well die, but not without a fight. Gasping, gritting his teeth, he dared to look up and muster his forces.

He soon wished he hadn't.

Winding a circuitous route across the battlefield Berserker bounded over a fresh volley of stakes, hurdled a second, shattered a third. By the time Vlad realized his peril he was less than a meter away; in the time it took for him to formulate a plan the beast had already crossed the narrow distance between them. A single leap closed the gap and this time, there was no escape.

Scalding hands closed around his throat and bore him down, driving his body to the earth. His lance flew from his grasp, sent skittering across the earth and out of reach.

A fist reared up and almost immediately swung down into his gut; muscles swelled, bursting through that tainted crimson shroud.

Vlad had time for one final thought as he beheld those clenched knuckles, streaking now towards his face.

'Oh.'

Crunch.

Then a vile volley of vicious vermilion viscerated his visage, one after another. They crashed down upon him like an endless stampede that targeted everything, a relentless barrage of scalding punches that did not cease, did not relent, did not stop, no matter how much he wished they would. No more tricks. No blasts of energy to shake the world. Reduced to naught but their fists and their hatred for one another, the two Servants duked it out. Well. Berserker did. Lancer found it was all he could do merely to protect his face with his remaining arm. Even now he could feel himself faltering, failing to ward off the blows...

And then, quite suddenly, he died.


(...0o0o0...)


"My, what a marvelous tragedy!"

Shakespeare bellowed out a harsh laugh as he beheld the sordid scene before him; watching the Beast that Berserker had come rage about like the mindless creature many thought it to be. Bah! He, Caster, knew better! Any one with half a brain could see the will-the instinct!-behind those blows, that indomitable drive relentlessly pushing him further and further down the path to madness.

It was almost poetic, in a twisted way.

All the while this self-proclaimed storyteller furiously scratched out entry after entry into the empty tome clutched in his hand. His fingers moved as one, little more than a tangled blur of motion as he gave form to both his thoughts and fits of whimsy even more so. Glorious! Absolutely glorious! He'd been right to follow these three to the battlefield! But not to fight, oh no! His talents were not suited for the art of war, rather, his skills lay in a far more subtle field. He could not control this battle, nor could he force the combatants to do his bidding.

But he could give things a little...nudge.

After all! His duty was to record every lasting moment, and thus, document this tragedy-nay! Cement it!

Secure in a towering tree just beyond the edge of the battle, his keen eyes were able to discern every movement, every action, every drop of blood.

True to his nature Caster of Red documented it flawlessly of course...while adding his own unique "flair" to the tale he was creating. What?! Even the greatest authors embellished a little!

"The hero turns upon the maiden and attacks his friends! Yes, yes! YES! Glorious!" he crowed, eyes shining with dark mirth as his quill danced erratically upon the parchment. "A man who became a beast! A fool who threw his humanity aside! There were those who accidentally attained power and glory, but then destroyed everything! This! Truly there can be no greater tragedy!"

Indeed, he couldn't have written it any better himself!

At this rate Berserker would not only slaughter Lancer, but eventually turn his attention toward the other Servants on the field. Perhaps he'd even go on to assault the fortress of Yggdmillennia? Would others unite against him? Would he turn the war inside out, or, as the youngsters said these days, would the turns be tabled? He believed that was the phrase. Wasn't it? Yes, probably. Should Berserker manage to claw his way back from the brink, that would ruin this tragedy. But surely he would not. He was too far gone, utterly and wholly beyond help...wasn't he?

Bah.

Thus it came as quite a shock to Shakespeare, yes quite a shock indeed, when a spear set itself against his throat from behind. The attack caught him with such speed that he found himself utterly helpless before it-even if he possessed the skills to deflect it they would have made no difference-able to do naught but fling up his arms and surrender.

He recognized the silver weapon at his throat all too well.

"Ack!" he croaked! "Mercy, m'lord! Surely you can see I'm harmless?!"

"Harmless?" a light laugh danced in his ears. "Hardly. You're the furthest thing from it. Maybe I should just kill you now."

"Nay, I beg of thee!" A bead of cold sweat ran down the writer's brow as that wicked edge tightened upon his adam's apple. "To kill me here, so near the climax of this battle...that would be unforgivable! How cruel! Yes, how cruel of you, Achilles! How could you do such a thing?!"

Rider of Red gazed back at him with that serene, insufferable smile that Caster so loathed.

"If he turns on everyone, you're going to help me set this right." he declared.

"Nonsense! To think that I would spoil such a story is the very height of-

The spear drew a thin line of red across Shakespear's throat.

"O-Of course I may have misspoken...


(...0o0o0...)


Yes, Lancer died.

The punch that followed surpassed all others, crashing through his guard to bury itself in his stomach and blow a how through him, then the ground beneath. A strike so savage that it shattered the bedrock beneath for six meters down and kept right going. It was a mortal blow, one that would claim his life eventually, no matter the outcome of this battle. By all means fatal. There would be no coming back from this, no Command Spell that would save his life now, only prolong the inevitable.

Vlad couldn't help himself, it was so utterly unexpected that he laughed.

Unsatisfied with his continued existence-however brief said existence might be-the Beast growled at him and arched its arm back for the killing stroke.

In his final moments Vlad felt Darnic issue one final furious command; a desperate ploy reinforced by two Command Spells in a frantic attempt to stave off his inevitable demise. Use it. Use the Legend of Dracula! Do it! Do it now! With the last of his willpower Vlad warded his command off, even as his body fought to respond in vain. With every fiber of his being, his pride, his very existence, he denied it. He denied him! He was not Dracula! He was Vlad the third, ruler of this country! He would die here with regret in his heart, and sorrow in his soul perhaps, but he would yet die satisfied. Fighting!

The fist swung back anew.

Vlad's final thought was one of pride.

He would perish as a man, not a monster.

'What a shame.' Inwardly, however, he fell prey to one final, almost nostalgic regret. 'Yes, its such a pity, really. How I wish we could have fought together under the same banner! If not in this life, then the last. Perhaps the next, then. The world would've trembled before us! Farewell, my foe-nay! My rival!'

"Finish me now, Berserker of Red!" outwardly, he roared at the as his body began to warp and contort. Beast. "I wish to die as I lived! AS A MAN!"

Those horrible claws were all too glad to grant his last drying wish; they barreled down without mercy and slammed into his chest. He felt those cold, cruel, clawed fingers wrap around his heart and pull, ripping the organ fro his chest in a cruel bloody spray. In that instant,t he incessant buzz of Darnic's command spells vanished in a red haze and the Lord Impaler found himself free from...everything.

"Ah...wonderful." he gasped, choking on his own blood. "Well done. Well done indeed. You have my thanks...oh...mighty rival."

A small shuddering sigh fled from Vlad's lips, his remaining eye narrowing in something akin to relief as he arched his neck back. Death should have been nearly instantaneous yet still he clung on. Though his body began to collapse immediately, though his flesh failed him, he still held a few precious moments to exist before the Grail claimed him. Darnic's shouts had been reduced to mere whispers in his mind, damning him for a fool, but he cared not. This had never been about him. While he might have failed to find his wish, he at least, died in the manner he wished. Fighting as a man.

However...!

Snapping upright, Vlad seized the Beast by the arm in an iron vice before it could strike again. His fingers immediately began to peel on contact, his scorced flesh screaming even as he faded, yet still he held fast to this cruel creature. He was not content with this. He could not die silently; not when the one before him tread the same path as he. More than that, here was someone who had sacrificed his very sense of self, and might not see it returned.

Should he let this stand...it would stain his honor more than he could bear.

He knew his death would jump-start the war; of course Darnic would be angry and seek revenge. Moreover, his passing would prod the rest of his faction into action. How ironic; though he knew that his was but the first of many such deaths come and cared not a wit for it; but perhaps, perhaps he could yet help this young man. A rival he might well be, but in some twisted way Lancer respected him. He, despite his legend being blotted by rumor and half-truths, willingly turned into a monster just to wrest victory from the jaws of defeat. He accepted that burden, the stigma it bore, and moved onward, as befitting of a ruler.

Vlad empathized with that.

He was, after all, the ruler of this land.

And was it not the King's duty to help his subjects?

Though his lower torso crumbled into dust, though the seething kitsune struggled in his grasp, though he had naught but words left to give, Lancer fulfilled his duty to the last.

"Master that rage of yours, oh wrathful Berserker." he intoned solemnly as the decay crept across his torn chest. "Do not let it control you. Define you. Do not let it twist your being and haunt your every thought, as it did mine. Endure it! Move beyond it! Surpass it! And once you do, may we meet again! Not as enemies, but brothers in arms!"

Having said his peace, he released his hold upon Berserker and toppled back to the ground, utterly spent.

The Beast did not reply. In truth, Lancer did not expect it to.

Instead it cocked its head, considering him. Was that a crack in the crimson shroud just now? A faint fracture in the bloody mist coating its skin? Or had he imagined it? As he looked on the Beast raised its fist, clutching its prize in hand. He could still see it, frantically pumping, to no avail. Raising it toward its gaping maw the creature gazed upon it for a time...and dropped it down its gullet, swallowing it in a single bite.

Ah.

His heart.

Lancer understood now.

After their pitched battle, Berserker must've been running on fumes. His Master was likely in dire straits as well. Thus he sought to sustain itself through whatever means necessary. He should've been appalled. Far from it. From a brutal point of view, he understood why it acted as it did, as a harbinger of death reasoning. Very well. Let it take what little mana remained in him. Perhaps some small part of him would live on through this. Yes, he rather liked the sound of that.

Grey crept in at the edge of his vision, permitting him time for one final laugh.

"Farewell, my foe."

Having said his peace, and with one final wordless laugh, Lancer departed the Holy Grail War.

It was into this hell that Atalanta returned.

Swallowing her fear, she dared to approach. What little remained of Lancer's corpse was already dissolving; wafting away into harmless spiritons to cloud the night air. Then even those were gone. Naruto had won. By all means, this victory undoubtedly belonged to him. Surely he had soothed his rage by now. And yet a thorn of anxiety pricked her heart, holding her back. Why hesitate? This was Berserker, of course. He'd never harm her willingly. He'd made that abundantly clear. He had just...lost himself for a moment. Yes. That was it. After all he'd said and done, it would be madness to turn on her now...

...wouldn't it?

Too late, her hackles rose, instinct shrieking a warning.

Slowly, shuddering, Berserker turned toward her.

A low hiss fled from those twisted jaws.

No. Not Berserker, she realized.

Incredibly, it spoke.

"R...u...n...

Paused.

"I...will...NOT...!"

To her dismay-and relief-the tailed beast doubled over, clutching at his face. Clawing at that terrible visage. A low, infuriated shout ripped between the two of them, a keening sound of such rage and sorrow that Atalanta felt her heart break just from hearing it. Yet she dare not approach. Not here, not now. Fear grappled with pity, tearing themselves to pieces as they fought for control of her body.

"CEASE!"

A command like a thunderclap rang through her ears, bringing the world to a halt.

All eyes turned towards its source, and it was in that moment that the clouds overhead finally broke; unable to contain their swollen fury any longer, they loosed the rain in a vicious downpour that drenched anyone-or in this case everyone-unlucky to find themselves within Trifas at that moment. Too much heat and moisture had been forced upon them by the clashes of Noble Phantasms and Servants alike for the world to remain silent; perhaps the rain was the planet's way of inflicting its own displeasure upon those who violated her cradle.

This did not make the newcomer any less intimidating.

"Ruler...?"

Seemingly wreathed in holy light-or was that her imganination?-the maiden of Orleans advanced, her flag hanging loosely unfurled at her side. Its noble banner fluttered silently in an unseen breeze, unfazed by the chaos of the storm around her; a bastion of sense and sanity, much like its owner. Those placid amethyst eyes were stern and focused, yet soft and warm. If there was fear found in her gaze she did not give voice to it, if there was hesitation held in her heart, she didn't speak it. Instead she marched ever-forward, firm and resolute in her resolve.

"Oi, stay back!" Mordred snapped. "Hes' gone nuts! He'll try to kill you!"

Ruler paid her no heed, nay, her step did not falter in the least.

"That's enough, Berserker." she soothed. "Don't you think?"

The Beast growled back at her.

"K...i...l...l...

"I think not."

An armored arm rose, bringing with it a pulse of familiar crimson light. Her command spells flashed, inflicting her will-her very sense of self-upon the struggling Servant. In that moment Ruler expended a portion of the gift that made her so terribly dangerous; indeed, the very reason for her class. The reason she was both feared and respected not only by the Masters of the Holy Grail War, but the Servants themselves. She represented the insurmountable barrier that were the rules themselves, and the actions that would be taken against them should they seek to circumvent them.

Before Ruler and the seals she wielded, any Servant was powerless.

"By the Power of my Command Spell I order you, Berserker of Red!" her voice cracked like a whip across the field. "Revert to your true self and cease this madness at once!"

Incredibly, the scarlet shroud cracked.

The words of the holy maiden tipped the balance.

Fine fractures etched themselves into the seething maelstrom.

Berserker's Noble Phantasm didn't so much burst as it did crumble; shards of stained crimson tumbled off his body to reveal the scorched flesh of the man beneath. White eyes faded fitfully, first into savage scarlet then baleful blue. Slowly, painfully, Berserker-Naruto, she reminded herself-straightened, rising to stand on two legs once more. There was a strange, blank look to his eyes, one that seemed distant...almost inhuman by mere comparison, as though he'd just woken from an incredibly long dream.

Ruler offered a small smile in recompense for the young man's insolent silence.

"Welcome back." she hummed. "I was concerned...for a time."

Naruto blinked slowly into rain.

"Where...? Ack?! Cold!"

Shaking himself like a wet dog, the whiskered warrior surveyed the battlefield and all he'd wrought. The stunned Servants, the shattered earth, the torn sky. He did not laugh as Atalanta had expected him to; there was no burst of dulcet laughter, no witty remark to defuse the situation. He looked as confused as they all-save Ruler-must have felt. Had his Madness Enhancement stripped all memories of the fight from him? Or was he perhaps playing dumb, acting the fool for the sake of levity? Regardless, she soon had her answer.

Wet and sputtering, Uzumaki Naruto cast his gaze about in the rain, struggling to make sense of where he was and what he'd done.

"Soooo," he began with a nervous drawl, awkwardly scratching the back of his head, "What did I miss?"

"Ha!" Mordred laughed aloud. "Just about everything, zombie! Took you long enough!"

That snapped him right back to his normal self. "You wanna go, hothead?!"

"BRING IT~!"

Atalanta groaned to herself as much as them.

"Idiot, idiot, idiot! I'm such an idiot!"

She wanted to laugh, she wanted to cry, she wanted to die. Now more than ever as the baffled blond inclined his head towards her. Atalanta couldn't help it; she found herself flinching away from the confusion in his gaze, knowing she was to blame for this, knowing she had caused the near catastrophe, knowing he must be utterly furious with her. How could he not be? Her rigid dogma had drive him into a corner; were it not for Ruler and his own, sheer will, he would never have escaped the proverbial pit into which he'd flung himself. Yes, he must hate her for this. Doubtlessly he would wish to sever ties with her at the least, if not kill her for this.

Bitter self-loathing welled up in her the longer she looked at him, the more certain she became.

At any moment he would strike her, rebuke her, condemn her for all that she had done.

As such, she wasn't at all prepared when he decided to seize her right hand.

She sputtered madly. "I...you...what are you doing, Berserker?!"

In the end, he had one only one response to offer her:

"None of that! You and I are going to have a talk!"

It would prove a long one indeed.

A/N: LANCER DIED!

YOU AREN'T HUMAN~!

I regret absolutely nothiiing!

Gods these chapters take a lot out of me. But they have to be long, because I REFUSE to write something sub-par these days. This is Fate we're talking about. All or nothing, you know? It has to be done right, or not at all.

Lancer of Black has fallen.

Moreover he went out as a man, not a monster, and thus found some manner of redemption in his death. But given that he was "consumed" in a sense, a small part of him might yet live on as a voice in Naruto's head. Who knows? I'm squirrelly like that. Only time will tell.

It also serves to illustrate why Naruto does NOT like using his Noble Phantasm; without proper time or preparation, he risks harming those he cares about. Madness isn't something you can just dive into and emerge unscathed, hell, I would now...

*ahem*

Once again for the sake of clarity I'll explain the state of things as far as the relationships go.

When I say that, I mean what Naruto thinks of the girls and then their feelings:

The Holy Grail= Anomaly/Oh, that's cute.

Jack= Daughter/Father.

Jean= Master/Servant.

Jeanne= Ally/Enigma.

Mordred= Partner/Potential Love Interest.

Atalanta= Friend/Someone Who Must Not Be Killed.

Semiramis= Pity/ Mild Concern.

Frankenstein= Sibling/#%&^?

Astolfo= Are You Kidding me?!/WHO THE HELL IS HE?!

So In the Immortal Words of Atlas...

...Review...Would You Kindly?

And enjoy the previewssss!

Care to guess what I'm thinking?

TELL ME WHICH ONES YOU LIKE AND WHY~!

They're all coming sooner or later...its mere a matter of if or when.

Here's a handful this time around. Hope you enjoy them, because I'm beat~!

They're all fun little bits and pieces, and we get to see Grail's new faction next chapter~!

As ever, your kind, thoughtful reviews really spur me to keep on writing, I can't thank you all enough for them!

SURPRISE!

(Potential Previews)

"So you're all going to gang up on me together, is that it? Seven against one? Fine. If you greenhorns think you can win...then come. What's wrong? Come on! Why are you waiting?! I'm right here! C'mon! Look at me! I'm wounded! COME! ON!"


...you want to join us." Naruto actually deadpanned.

"Indeed!" Shakespeare crowed. "Please, pay me no mind and go about your business! I merely wish to observe! Feel free to mingle with those commoners as you wish!"

His companion twitched.

...I shall do no such thing."

"Bah! C'mon, dance with me!"

"Wha-no! Stop it Berserker! I don't want to!"

"Oh come on! It look fun! You said so earlier! Just for a bit!

"No, it will be AWFUL! You can't make! Absolutely nooooooo-EEK?!"

For all her protests the blond still swept her away into the throng of people.

Content with his role in the part to play, Caster set fresh ink to his quill and began to write.

It would prove to be a long night.


As she looked on, he thumbed his nose.

"I'm not one for serving others...but you'd make a good King."

Mordred's face turned the shade of a thousand burning supernova in all their glory. "W-What the hell?!"


"Blue faction? Has a nice ring to it."


"You have to die? Who said that? The dead can't live again? And who decided that? You can't have a second chance? WHO DECIDED THAT?!"

"I decide such things!" the words tore out of him on a roar. "Not The gods! Damn your gods! I spit on the lot of them!"

Snarling, he turned and spread his arms wide, thrusting his open arms towards the stormy skies.

"If they truly deem this "evil" then may they strike me down where I stand!"

To her dismay, heaven did just that.


"Uuuuuuuuuh?"

Caules palmed his face.

"Fran, no. You're not keeping them."

Berserker grit her teeth and stomped a foot.

"Uh."

"Don't you DARE-

"UUUUUUUUUUUUUUH!"


"You're not acting like yourself."

A faux, sweet smile plucked at her lips.

"Well I wonder whose fault that is! YOU did this to me. Take responsibility."


"Naruto."

"Yeeeeees~?

"Never betray me."

"Now why would I do that? I'm fond of living." shrugging, he turned to leave. "See you later-

A hand caught his sleeve at the last, tan fingers tentatively tugging him back to her.

Then she pulled, harder, spinning him about.

"Eh?" Blue eyes bulged. "Huh? Oi. Wait, what are you...

Strong hands clamped down on either side of his face, holding him fast as she gazed at him. Indeed, those piercing eyes never left his. Yet they continued to peer into depths, almost as if their owner were trying to find something there behind it all. Whatever she was looking for, she must've found it, because that hooded gaze narrowed.

Then she rammed her lips against his.

R&R~!