A/N: We're a bunch of a madmen for doing this during the Valentines event...

...buuuut my team and I wanted to get this chapter out to you all as soon as possible.

Worry not, the next update will be coming quite soon after so, consider this a peak of sorts.

Alive and well we are am, you all know where we've been, so on and so forth, so there you are.

Still, here's a little something to prove that the gang and I are still working on this story with all our might.

If we could get this to a thousand reviews (already at the 900's before posting this), that'd be a great way to kickoff February for me and my team. Just...just asking. Pretty please?

*EDIT*

Now, then.

We can finally move forward this.

Because we had to. Rewrite this. FIVE. TIMES.

One draft included a whole lot of deaths, but a lot of us didn't like that, because it was too edgy. Now that each story in the "A Most Unlikely" series has two or more chapters, I-we!-can bring this story out and let the beasts rip! You have no idea how long I've been holding back on this! Seeing as this is THE most highly reviewed Fate story I've written. As a result, the chapters are MONSTROUSLY long and try as I might to crank them out, they take longer than the others.

I'll say it right now, the are THREE potential endings for this story.

You'll get each of them of course in the form of alternate endings, because I'm nice like that. They'll be posted when the story ends and yes, it WILL have an ending. Someone asked about any potential bad endings and no, they won't be written here. They'll probably go into the Collection someday, but I really don't want to put those drafts online. They're...said. Some of you have already seen the result of them:

Avenger!Jack and Sane!Fran are listed in A Most Unlikely Fighter.

Berserk!Atalanta is obviously in A Most Unlikely Shadow.

Berserk!Mordred appears in A Most Unlikely Sage.

Grand!Semiramis will be a whole other thing.

...don't ask about Jeanne.

These aforementioned Servants all hail from bad endings. Broken routes where things went terribly, horribly wrong.

None of that here! As I said, this story has multiple endings, and while some Servants will live, and some will die, there's hope for light at the end of the tunnel. One way or another, someone's going to win this Holy Grail War. And the result...may surprise you.

As ever, I own no references, quotes or relations to respective media.

Nor do I make ANY money off this. I just play with words.

Writing used to be fun but now...kind feels like work.

Reviews make me feel better, and sane, as ever.

Kudos if you get this quote:

"Let your plans be dark and impenetrable as night, and when you move, fall like a thunderbolt."

~The Art of War.

Webs We Weave

"Sleep as long as you like, your Majesty."

Something was wrong.

Mordred knew it the moment she heard those words; felt their cloying honeyed touch like the sweetest of poisons down her spine. It wasn't that annoying Assassin of Red. She knew this with complete and utter certainty in her heart. She'd know that woman's voice taunting sneer anywhere. And yet...and yet, she could no further discern the speaker's identity than she could muster up the strength to open her eyes. Even now she felt her very thoughts drifting back into the sweet lull of slumber, her heavy eyelids refusing to rise despite her best efforts to marshal them.

"Why open them at all?" the voice came on again, threading doubt through her thoughts. "You've done enough. Sleep."

No, this wasn't right. She had something to do, didn't she?

Something quelled her instincts when she tried to voice her protest. Cotton swaddled her mind as she tried to think of who it might be, dulling her wit to a mere shade of its former self. Yes. Something was wrong with those words, and the one who had spoken them, though she knew not what. A tiny part of her raged against this strange feeling a moment longer in a halfhearted attempt to shake free from the shackles of sleep, to no avail. This didn't make any sense. She was a Servant. She didn't need to sleep. Nor should she be this tired in the first place.

'So.

Why.

Can't I.

Open My Eyes?!'

Her last coherent memory consisted of taking an ill-advised nap in the catacombs with her allies. She had to get up. She needed to get up. Mordred knew this. She couldn't remember why, only that she needed to rise, to move, to do something before it was too late. Yet she couldn't. Someone had sapped the strength from her very bones; her body betrayed her and refused to so much as twitch. In a sudden, cold moment of cruel clarity, she realized what was happening; this was a spell of some sort, a foul trick meant to ensnare her and those around her alike. But for all her strength, she couldn't fight it.

Everything just felt so...heavy.

"Seriously? You're just going to let this beat you?"

Until someone reached out into the dark and gave her cheek a good, hard, pinch.

"Ow! That hurt, you jerk!"

Stung by the gesture as much as the brief peal of laughter that followed, Mordred reacted as any impulsive Saber might. Without thinking. Whatever it was, that brief tweak of pain broke through whatever strange spell had sapped her strength; enough for her to lash out. A fist cannoned out with all the speed of a high-powered piston, instinctively seeking the one who had grabbed her face. Sure enough, her ears caught the satisfying crunch of cartilage, punctuated by a startled grunt and the sound of someone tumbling to the floor.

"Worth it!" a gravelly grunt greeted her. "Now wake up already!"

Threaded with a hint of warning as much as warmth, those words nevertheless tugged her from the mire of her slumber with ruthless dispatch. In that instant, the Knight of Rebellion finally found the strength that had silently slipped through her grasp until this very moment. It might have had something to do with the retaliatory kick that cannoned into her armored torso and sent her sprawling alongside her attacker. Regardless, her eyes burst open and she burst upright to fling a glare at her tormentor; fully prepared to draw her sword and skewer him on the spot. She might have done just that to, if she hadn't recognized him.

"Oi! What was that for, zombie?!" the knight ground out as she glared at his prone form only feet beside her own. "I didn't need your help; hell, I nearly broke your face!"

A lone middle finger rose to meet her in a merry salute.

"You're welcome, ya know...

At present, her savior currently sitting on the posh carpeted floor at her feet, massaging a bloodied nose. Cheery blue eyes beamed back at her, whiskered cheeks crinkling in a rueful grin that set her blood afire and made her heart race all in the same instant. And yet Mordred only felt confusion. Not just for him, but herself. Even now she could clearly see her fellow Servant of Red with crystal clarity when he sprang back to his feet and set his nose to rights. He was real. He existed clearly in her mind's eye. And yet the world around him seemed...off. Blurred, as if seen through a hazy looking glass. No. More than that. These weren't the catacombs they had fallen asleep in. Here the ground was soft, black mud sucking at their boots as the stench of blood rose to greet her senses. And yet something tugged at her all the same.

"Where in blazes are we?" Stifling her rising dread, the knight clicked her tongue in annoyance as she reluctantly reclaimed her footing. "Is this...

...a dream?" Berserker's favored their dim surroundings with a keen eye. "I could ask you the same thing. Whatever it is, looks like you dragged me with you..I think?"

Scoffing, she turned aside.

"Yeah, well, don't let it get to your head. Jerk."

Berserker didn't respond, not at first; he merely cast a weather eye over their surroundings. Much to her chagrin, it didn't take long for him to put two and two together.

"This is where you died, isn't it?" it wasn't a question.

...yeah." she turned away, eyes downcast. "This is where Father killed me."

A blond brow rose. "So you've got daddy issues. Who doesn't in this day and age?"

"Hey!" In a heartbeat, Mordred's temper got the better of her again; foolishly, she made the mistake of swiping at him again, only to receive a pleasant pat on the head for her troubles. Just like that, they fell back into their old banter

"Will you stop that?!"

"Stop what?"

"That!"

An impish glint gleamed in his gaze as he batted aside another swing. Bastard. He knew exactly what he was doing. Perhaps he was merely playing with her. Perhaps he was trying to distract her. Who could say?

"Aw, I'm flattered-seriously?!"

"Payback, bastard!"

Mordred flung a quick elbow under his guard, one she wholeheartedly expected to miss. Clown though he might be, she knew her fellow Servant was more than capable of dodging an attack like that. Instead she was rewarded with a snort of surprise from her intended as he took the blow full on the nose and toppled backward. The sight gave her pause, moreso as she watched him tumble away. Bah. Was he letting her hit him to just to vent? Bastard would do something like that. Still, his flailing gave Mordred a moment to get her bearings; moreover, to steel her heart for the truth of her surroundings.

"Stop flailing and get back up here already!" she called over her shoulder.

"I regret nooooooooooothing!" came the cheery catcall.

A smirk tugged at the corner of her mouth.

"Prick!" she shouted back.

Alas, even this brief moment of levity couldn't distract Mordred for long. Torn and faded though this world was, she found that she knew it all the same. As if a veil had been torn away, so too did the haze fall from her eyes. Dark clouds parted to let loose the ruby rays of the setting sun, nigh but bathing this bloody world in sickly scarlet shades of sorrow. Only then did she see the hill, and the corpses covering it. And the swords. So many swords, sheathed in innumerable tattered forms. Knights. One and all.

This was Battle of Camlann. Or rather, what lay therein of its aftermath.

She would recognize this blood-soaked battlefield anywhere, this was the awful hill where she had lost her life all those years ago. Here her past lay bare, for anyone and everyone to see. When faced with such a sordid display of their sins, a lesser Servant would've lost themselves immediately. Mordred merely turned her head and spat. There was nothing to get worked up about. This was just a dream; that, or a trick by the enemy. If they thought this would rattle her...well, it had somewhat, but she refused to reveal it. Dream, vision, spell, whatever this was, she would be glad to be rid of it.

"Mordred...

The cold breath of a haunting winter whispered against her ear, sending a glacial chill shooting down the knight's spine. Startled, the Knight of Treachery cast a glance over her shoulder, only to find empty air. Where the hell did that come from? Was it her imagination. Surely it was.

"Hey, Naruto!" only slightest tremor betrayed words as she looked for her companion. "Where the hell did you get...to...?"

A gleam of light on the broken battlefield caught the knight's eye and her world ground to a halt.

At a glance, it looked to be little more than a stray sword, nothing of import.

And yet something drew her towards it all the same.

Close. Then closer still.

"Mordred...

Again the voice whispered he as she ascended the hill, as the weapon came fully into view; glimmering even now in the lingering light of the setting sun. It stood apart from all others at the crest of the hill, a beacon of near-peerless radiance made to eclipse all others. With each steady step, Mordred's heart began to pound harshly in her chest, first with confusion, then excitement, and finally the searing fires of blind anticipation. Secure in the stone, this cradle of power, sheathed in silent stoicism, it waited for her. How she had longed for this blade, craved it, wanted to make it her own. This wasn't real, rather, it couldn't be real. Her heart told her this, Mordred knew this, even as the whispers slithered into her ear.

"Mordred...

"Are you kidding me?" the words echoed hollowly into the dead, wasted air. "This is a joke, right?"

Yet, her fingers still stretched out almost of their own volition, reaching anyway.

Excalibur awaited her at the peaking, ready to be claimed.

But as she drew closer, the knight soon came to realize the light had been just that. A lie. A trick, a deception; a ruse laid by the setting sun and her own faltering dream. For as her final steps finally brought her to the top of that rugged dome, when the dying light of the sun no longer overshadowed all that she saw, so too did she see that she'd been had. T'was a bitter and bleak thing now, a weapon stained with corruption to the hilt. Once holy in its splendor, now a mere shadow of its former self. Shadows that called to her, begging to be touched.

...hell did you go?" in the distance, she thought she heard Berserker calling for her, but his words fell on deaf ears.

At last her feet fell still and she gazed at this black and red blade.

In the distance she thought she heard her a cry, the final rasping gurgle of her own death, reflected now in the depths of the blackened blade. Its shining surface rippled like water and her own image gazed back at her, but older and warped-altered!-poisoned golden eyes regarding her with a cruel calmness that held no place upon the original startled face. This was the face of a tyrant incarnate; a young woman clad in ebony wearing a horned black crown, a ruthless conqueror who devoured and destroyed all who stood before her. As she looked on in horror, the doppelganger mirrored her movements.

"Who...are you?"

And so the shadow smiled:

"I am you, foolish girl." came the scornful response. "All your doubts cast aside, all your hesitations erased. Come. Take the sword. Claim your birthright."

Pain spiked through her skull and her entire body quivered.

Mordred staggered back, clutching at her head as the pain intensified. This was no dream. It was a nightmare. Her darkest fears brought to light, all but rising to the surface even as she struggled to drown them. And if this was a nightmare...well. Who was to say what might happen? The notion immediately set her on edge and sent her free hand flying to Claren'ts hilt. Even now she half-expected this ungodly mound of bodies to come clamoring back to life underfoot; a dozen decaying hands reaching for her, ready to drag her down for all her misdeeds, all her sins laid bare...

Someday...someday, when all was said and done, would she find herself among the corpses here?

"Impudent child." the familiar voice came on again, deadening her senses. "Must I do everything for you? MOVE."

As if in a trance she found herself starting forward. Trembling fingers reached out for that horrible weapon, ready and willing to...to...

"Don't touch it!"

Mordred jumped as a hand came down her shoulder, strong fingers clenching her flesh through her own armor. Before she could even think to cry out someone yanked her backwards, the motion of which caused her head to snap back-and-forth like a puppet severed from its strings. Sure enough, by the time the rebellious blond turned her gaze, she found that Naruto had returned to her side in full health; nay, more than that, his entire body seemed to shine like the sun itself, glowing as though lit from within. Keen red eyes narrowed upon Mordred, yet even as she opened her mouth to snap at him, her fellow blond shouldered her aside and despite her protests, reached for the weapon.

Mordred slapped at Naruto's hand without thinking.

"Hey!" she cried! "What the hell do you think you're doing?!"

A dry look silenced her. "I could ask you the same thing. What were you doing?"

His response made her wilt, nearly quelling all hope of defiance on her part. "I just wanted to touch it, alright? What's wrong with that?!"

"Everything! I may not be the sharpest tool in the shed," his voice emerged a low growl as he turned to face her fully. "But even I can tell that thing is bad news. It might even be the cause of this dream."

Soft though his worse were, they still hit Mordred like a physical slap in the face; what had she been thinking? When she risked a glance back at "Excalibur" something in her very soul shuddered; not wholly out of fear at that. She felt tainted just by looking at it, this bloody blade. Worse, a part of her wanted the power it offered. Craved it as much as the recognition it would doubtlessly bring. No. Wait. That wasn't right. She'd never, ever wanted power solely for the sake of power. Had she been corrupted somehow? Was this a spell of some sort? Merely standing in the presence of this bleak artifact tempted her. She needed to back up.

And so she stepped away. "What're you going to do?"

"What I do best." those slitted orbs snapped back to the smoldering sword with a scowl. "I'm going to break it."

Much to her chagrin, Naruto didn't even deign to grasp the sword by its hilt; nor did he attempt to yank it free from the stained stone as one might expect. He simply reached out, seizing the naked steel by its edge. Then he began to squeeze with everything he had. Hairline fractures splintered forth from the center of his grip, black ichor spewing forth like blood to stain his arm and draw a grunt from the whiskered warrior. Still he didn't relent, and soon enough, those tiny cracks widened into outright fissures as he continued to intensify his grip.

An abrupt spike of pain shot through Mordred's temple as the sword-or whatever fell force dwelt within-cried out in abject rage.

"NO! You fool! You're not the one I want! You know not what you've done! Release me at once!"

"Shut up and let us go already!" the retort was nearly instant. "Now!"

A final clench of his fingers was all it took; that false blade shattered like so much kindling and the world vanished with an almighty roar alongside it. Mordred squeezed her eyes shut against it and shielded her face with an armored arm, all in vain. There was no pain here, only a searing rush of light that vanished as quickly as it had come, leaving her reeling. In a brief bout of blindness she stumbled and someone-Naruto?-quickly caught her, though judging by the slew of vitriol that followed he found himself just as lost as she.

"Oh what fresh hell is this? I thought we were done!"

With those words her vision came swimming back, albeit slowly.

Naruto considered her words for a moment, heedless of his ruined palm.

He didn't even deign a passing glance for his injured hand as they surveyed their surroundings; the merest flex of his fingers and he was whole once more. As ever, the sight sent a small chill through her. Despite his affable nature, this really was a monster. He'd survived being skewered with sword and stakes alike, lost an arm and more. Yet each time he came crawling right out of the grave for more. Truly a zombie in her eyes, though she didn't mean the term as an insult. Anyone capable of regenerating to that extent could laugh off a maimed hand or two. If he wasn't so damn affable she'd be afraid to fight him in the first place...

...but when she looked back, the battlefield was nowhere to be seen.

When met with that hellish landscape, the stone-grey corridor in which they found themselves proved positively tame by comparison. Downright boring, even. Were it not for the large wooden door lingering at the head of the hall, she might've thought this a prison of some sort. Regardless, the sudden change of scenery didn't sit well with her.

Mordred's right eye began to twitch with ill-suppressed intent. "Great. You just haaaaad to break the sword, didn't you? We could've made it talk or something, you know."

"Says the girl who was about to take it." Naruto's elbow sought and found her ribs, drawing an annoyed growl as they started forward in lockstep. "You're welcome."

"I'm sorry, alright?!" exasperated beyond measure, the knight felt her ears burn as she tossed her arms up. "I wasn't thinking?! Now where are we?!"

"Your guess is as good as mine. Still, in any case," he snarked with a shallow bow. "Ladies first."

His rebuttal earned him a playful shove. "Walk, whiskers!"

"Alright, alright, I'm going! Jeez...

His worlds trailed off as Mordred shoved the door open and a wave of realization struck her.

Not again.

Gone was the hellish ruin of the battlefield, those moldering mounds of bodies piled as high as the eye could see. In its place Mordred found herself in a hell of her own making. Every inch of it was engraved into her mind; an old wound that continued to fester no matter the treatment. Taking a moment to hazard a glance for her surroundings, the knight felt her stomach plummet.

"What. The. Fuck."

Reverberating through the great gilded halls in which they found themselves, her words echoed back endlessly to mock her; as did the sight that greeted her eyes.

This was clearly the foyer of Camelot, and yet...not.

No. This was impossible. It must be.

She knew these hallowed halls, just as she knew the room and the stairs within. Spirits, she knew what she would find when she looked down the hall, who she expected to find sitting that familiar throne in all of its gilded glory. But the throne lay empty and in that moment she became aware of an unfamiliar weight rested against her head, a weight that hadn't been there before, a weight that wasn't her helmet. Concern fell to horror, then dread. No. This was another trick. A dream. An illusion. It had be. A soundless roar built in the back of her ears, with each passing moment she felt her pulse begin to quicken, like the drums of a great army come to slaughter all she held dear.

Naruto must've seen it too; because she felt his hand on her shoulder.

"Just calm down...

Trembling fingers reached upright to find what she already knew in her heart to be there. Fumbling palms pulled it down, cradling its weight as thought it were the Holy Grail itself. She didn't want to look. But she had to, no, she must. Her eyes beheld the crown, that great glittering jewel in her hands, the same that Father had worn, and the sight pulled all her world down around her ears. She wasn't meant to wear this. It was too much; whatever manner of illusion this was, whatever temptation had been concocted by some Caster-or who knew what-it threatened to push her over the edge into madness.

"You've done well, Mordred."

The poor girl jerked upright like a scalded cat as a fresh voice echoed within the throne room.

"Eh? What now?!"

Her entire body threatened to creak as she turned on joints made stiff with surprise.

Artoria Pendragon smiled serenely back at her from the throne-hadn't it been vacant before?-gazing down at them in all her splendor. Mordred's jaw popped open. As she looked on, her "Father" rose in a single movement of liquid grace and descended the steps toward them. Mordred took the chance to steal a glance back at Berserker; only to find him his expression set in stone. He gave her the merest nudge with his arm and flicked three of his fingers in a sharp, slashing motion, perhaps in some kind of code she didn't understand, but otherwise refused to respond.

In that brief lapse, Mordred turned to face her.

"Father...what the hell is this...?

"Come. Sit the throne." her progenitor beckoned. "It is your right."

She couldn't speak. Couldn't move. Couldn't even bring herself to breathe.

Here was all she could've wanted, ever wished for, her every dark thought realized here in this moment of temptation. Father's praise. A crown she'd never thought to wish for. Spirits, a throne! And yet. And yet. As much as she might wish it were real, as much as she longed for this more than anything else...she couldn't. Something felt off. Wrong. Father's words were too simple, too stilted, her piercing green eyes devoid of that peculiar spark that so defined her. Yet she wanted to see, wanted to belief, wanted to hold onto this moment, even if she couldn't...!

Berserker's soft, irritated sigh shattered the silence forevermore.

"That's not what she wants. You're out of touch."

"Father" glowered at Berserker.

"Silence, churl. She has no need for one such as you."

Mordred physically flinched against the rebuke. "That's not what I...!"

"Alright, I've heard enough." Naruto bodily interposed himself between the two of them before they could come to blows. "Who are you really? No more tricks."

Artoria tilted her head.

"Tricks, you say?"

"Enough!"

Naruto's voice, normally so calm and serene, suddenly boomed like thunder in the vaulted chamber, eliciting a flinch from all parties present. With the briefest baring of teeth, his body burst back into that strange golden light again, while his roar shook the earth and shattered windows alike. Startlingly, he recovered his composure just as quickly.

"I am a patient and tolerant man, but one thing I won't tolerate is a lie; least of all to those precious to me." A lone, clawed finger jabbed forward at the holy warrior. "Tell us the truth."

To Mordred's dismay, Father giggled.

"Rude, aren't you?"

"F-Father...?"

It was like casting a stone into a pond; as the Knight of Treachery looked on in mute confusion and horror, the laughing form of "Saber" began to shiver and sift. Doubling over as though she were in great pain, her body spasmed and shook like a leaf in the wind, both her armor and dress falling aside to be replaced by garments of the finest ebony as she continued to wriggle and writhe. Yet her countenance barely changed. Similar, yet a creature of such contrast that one might yet wonder how the two could ever be the same. Mordred felt her mouth twist into a grimace as she looked on helplessly, watching the change subside in a swirl of inky smoke.

The dreamlike countenance of Father was no more.

"And so my own child turns against me." a bitter sigh greeted them in its place as the impostor palmed their pace. "What a pity. I had such high hopes for you, Mordred. I suppose...

In her place stood a striking young woman with long flaxen hair and a body that exuded sheer sin. Clad in a flowing black gown that left precious little to the imagination, both her navel and abdomen were left exposed; an eerie reminder of her true, base nature. Though a bleak black veil coupled by a crown shielded the impostor's face, she knew her at a glance and it was that knowledge that twisted her heart with revulsion. Of course she knew her; how could she not? How could she forget? This woman, this witch, the one person whom she loved and hated with impossible spite. In that moment, he rage burst forth like a geyser.

...I'll simply have to break you."

"YOU!" she lunged! "Why you rotten piece of-

Morgan Le Fay granted her offspring a small scowl and wave of before she could speak. Clarent howled through the air and tasted naught but stone, her mother's body left to ripple like a mere mirage. Without missing so much as a beat, that veiled gaze turned toward Berserker, those full lips quirking in a scowl.

"And as for you, Berserker. Don't worry, I'll take extra special care of you when we meet."

Laughter tore in Mordred's head from the dark; a cold, cruel declaration utterly void of kindness or conscience and she knew no more.

'NO!'

Mordred woke with a soundless scream.

Heart racing, pulse pounding in her veins like the drums of a great hunt, it was all she could do not to draw her blade.

She'd heard it. Father's voice, cold and cruel, mocking her. But it hadn't been Father.

...hadn't it?

Rising from a tangled web of dreams, the Knight of Rebellion blearily blinked the gunk out of her eyes, banished the fear from her heart, and uttered a jaw-popping yawn. As she struggled to stretch her limbs to their limit, a small part of her debated simply drifting off again, but true to its nature, her mind rebelled at the notion and her aqua orbs sharpened as a spark of awareness slowly flared back into life within their depths. Here in the crypt there weren't any windows, so she was not permitted even a glimpse of sunlight, yet her body recognized that it was well past dawn all the same.

Well!

That was a good nap. Wasn't often that she got to take one of those these days. Nightmare aside-wasn't it?-she'd actually managed to recover a fair bit of energy from her ill-fated snooze. Damn, but it felt good to sleep out of her armor for once. Almost made her feel alive again. Still, no point in putting it off any longer. Time to rise and face the day, as the saying went. So why did it feel as though she were forgetting something terribly important? Wasn't it? Gah, so annoying?

"Guess I should get up," she groaned, biting back another yawn. "Where the hell did everyone go...?"

Valiantly, the blond attempted to do just that.

Really, truly, she did.

Scarce did she attempt to rise, however, than an arm yanked her right back down again with impossible force. Her head bounced off something that wasn't stone, eliciting a noise of confusion from the boisterous knight as her body betrayed her wishes. Someone hadn't tried to bash her skull in, rather, she found herself trapped.

What in the world...?

Aghast, she tossed her head and looked down to find the source.

There was an arm locked around her waist.

Naruto's head had taken up a perch on her navel and simultaneously laid claim to her right arm. Meanwhile, Atalanta's slumbering visage rested snugly on her opposite shoulder. Why was she purring?!

And her lap!

How in the hell did Jackie manage to curl up like that?!

No. Wait a minute.

This didn't make any sense.

This shouldn't even be possible at all.

Naruto had been sandwiched between the three of them. She clearly recalled that, drifting off on HIS shoulder.

So why was she in the middle?! Eh?! Oi?!

As if sensing that very thought, the bastard-zombie!-began to stir against her.

He nuzzled his cheek against hers.

Her eyes began to roll.

He wasn't gonna-

He was gonna.

Warm lips alighted against her cheek for the most fleeting of instants and a deep, full-body flush overtook her from head to toe. To be fair, Mordred tried to hold on. Tried not to lash out for fear of waking him as much as the others. She really, truly tried her best. But she'd never been kissed before. Gibberish tumbled forth from her mouth, Whether he was awake or not, that didn't matter. There was, and could only ever be, one response from the Knight of Rebellion. Her cheeks turned an even more flush shade of scarlet as the rest of her blood rushed to her head. And then.

Then:

"UGYAH!"

All the crypt exploded with noise.

A/N: BEFORE ANYONE ASKS!

Yes, Morgan Le Fay and Artoria exist in this war. Clearly they're two separate entities. One is Caster of Blue, the other, Saber of Blue. Their faction isn't above stealing Servants either, as we've seen with Siegfried. One can think of the Blue Faction as "enforcers" of a sort; they're here, summoned and empowered by the Holy Grail to get the war back on track...by any means necessary. And to get rid of any potential aberrations.

Now that we've cleared out that's confusion, we can move on. So here's a list of the currently confirmed Servants (not counting Siegfried) of the Blue Faction to prevent any such confusion. There's going to me more than seven on their side, clearly...and for the sake of entertainment, I'll reveal one more.

Saber of Blue= Artoria.

Caster of Blue= Morgan.

Assassin of Blue= First Hassan.

Archer of Blue= Artemis.

Rider of Blue= ?

Lancer of Blue= ?

Berserker of Blue= ?

The rest may just surprise you; the Holy Grail doesn't take kindly to being meddled with.

One might consider this a tease of sorts; and for that, I'm sorry. I want to live up to everyone's expectations, but the chapter truly needs more time, time I don't have at the moment. So in the end I had to talk with my team and we settled on a compromise of sorts to get this little interlude out for you guys and gals. A bit of good news here however; we'll be focusing more on the Fate series as a whole; watching the Rise of Skywalker burned a lot of us, badly. Oh, everything will still be updated mind you, but Berserker and Card will get priority.

So there you have it. Reviews are love. Reviews are life. Reviews keep us alive.

Also sane, but that much goes without saying these days.

So...in the Immortal and Eternal Words of Atlas...

...Leave A Review Would You Kindly?

Sorry, only one preview today.

Its a bit rough, mind you.

Next chapter is...

...intense.

(Preview)

...I'm sorry. Sometimes for the dream to live on, the dreamer must die."

"What-

She didn't have time to react. The strike was instantaneous, the betrayal so complete, so wholly unexpected, that she scarcely had time to call out, much less defend herself. She'd only barely begun to comprehend the danger-here own imminent peril-before something tore forth from their chest. Red spattered her vision as the blow struck her from behind. It was a mortal wound, a great strike that tore and through her body, staining the street a ghastly crimson. Still, she couldn't believe it. Her face twisted in a rictus of surprise, then revulsion as she staggered, slumping to a knee.

"Why you...filthy...traitor...

R&R~! =D