Metal Gear: Grail Wars

by TheCongo

Forced into a war not his own, Raiden must adjust to a world of mages he never knew existed. Lost in time once again, Jack the Ripper must face historical legends large and small while trying to find himself, balancing the man and the killer trapped within the same mind, to discover who he truly is.

15. Dreams of Liberty

Welcome back once more. It has been quite a while, huh?

I apologize for that; from June through August, I was working on my dissertation and only had time to work on the stories that take considerably less effort than Grail Wars.

Regardless, I now have a Master's degree in History, and I'm immediately jumping onto my next program; I appreciate your patience as usual. This story takes much more time than my others to write; given the nuances of metal gear, it's expected.

Some of you voiced concerns about where the story could go and if I have a plan. Believe me when I say we've been preparing for this since the Caster chapter back in Zero. I've been looking forward to this for a long time, and we're finally here!

Over a year's worth of work and I get to write out something I dreamed of doing, I'm more than excited. It's a bizarre feeling; we've gone through a lot of nonsense, and I like to think I've improved somewhat as this story has progressed. At least I finally stopped using italics every five seconds, but you know how I am with using a lot of details, old habits, and all that.

Quick thing to note: for those who voted in the poll, the Vader in Orleans one-shot will be made and released sometime after this chapter has gone up. I have a lot of series under my belt at this point, with Faded Dawn and Timeless Justice, but if it has enough interest, I might make it into a full-fledged fanfic once I have more spare time.

I am recovering from some foot surgery right now, but I'll try not to let it mess with my already sporadic uploads, lol.

I fully intend for Grail Wars to hit FGO someday, but we will be doing an Apocrypha Arc (featuring a new main character with Raiden not even in that section of the story; feel free to argue on who you think it is, lol) I may or may not take a bit of a break once Blade Works is done just to avoid burning myself out, but we'll have to cross that bridge when we get to it.

Let's dive straight into this.

...

"We hold our rifles in missing hands. We stand tall on missing legs. We stride forward on the bones of our fallen. Then, and only then, are we alive. This 'Pain' is ours and no one else's. A secret weapon we wield, out of sight. We will be stronger than ever. For our peace... Still, It doesn't feel like this is over..." -Kazuhira Miller.

...

It had started as a trickle of rain, nothing more than a brief burst of water from the skies above, but it had rapidly become a downpour, crashing down over the desolate night roads of Fuyuki as a jolt of blue lightning raced down its seemingly endless streets.

*Bump-Bump

A blue biotic eye flickered to the side, scanning their environment with a precision only allowed through technological perfection. It looked about, watching for some sign of motion its owner was sure existed, but couldn't seem to find a thing.

Raiden's mind focused on his internal sensors, pinging out for miles in each direction, ignoring the occasional car or passerby doting the urban center; no, he was looking for something...maybe someone else.

Call it a sixth sense or whatever else you deemed fit, but through sheer combat experience, the samurai had an innate understanding of himself and his environment, choosing to trust his own hardened instincts over anything or anyone else. His systems found nothing, but the veteran could tell he was being followed.

It had been happening since he left the scene of Lancer's demise; the journey home wouldn't take more than a few minutes at his record-shattering pace; a cyborg could travel miles in seconds; no distance was too far, especially in such a densely packed place like Fuyuki, but something made the nonexistent hairs along his synthetic neck stand on edge.

One moment, he'd make a sudden turn, his mechanical limbs twisting and whirling about in ways no human body could ever maneuver, his hands sliding along the pavement as he crouched, allowing himself to slide through an intersection, only for his hardened heels to break through the roadway, taking off in a different direction, but in those brief moments, he swore something was moving in the corner of his eye.

It was so small, so insignificant, an average person would never catch so much as a glance. Jack tried to follow it subtly, the slightest tilt of his head or even a minor look over his shoulder, but no matter how hard he tried, the Liberian could never catch a full glimpse; his radar wasn't picking up a thing either...as if it didn't know whatever entity was chasing him existed...it was unsettling...and advanced if it could evade his futuristic technology so easily...but what could the killer do?

Raiden survived his encounter with Lancer, but just barely, and even then, his fuel reserves were dangerously low as usual. He wasn't even fully healed, feeling the distinctive trickle of artificial blood leaking from his torso, a fatal wound to most, but to a cyborg, it was nothing...but engaging the enemy with these kinds of disadvantages was just begging to get killed...especially one that seemed to understand him, that was the worst of it, not knowing what he was up against.

Sure, the average Servant had no concept of what a cyborg was or what he was capable of, but they were still fundamentally human themselves; Jack could take advantage of that, improvise, predict, and overwhelm anyone who got in his way. The unknown was his ally.

They couldn't comprehend him, but the former Berserker understood everything about their backward ways of doing things...they had magic, he had intuition, the same skill that carried Big Boss and his progeny for almost a hundred years through thick and thin, against foes that would leave even these mages in disbelief, but this was different...too much like him.

Every turn, every action, every single attempt to put some distance between himself and whoever was following him failed; no amount of deceit or improvised tactics worked whatsoever...they weren't getting closer, but they damn sure weren't leaving him alone.

He raced down the main strip of the downtown area, time seeming to slow as he passed by row after row of immaculately clean glass windows along the endless storefronts; he saw it, nothing more than a blur of purple light and a hidden smile hovering mere inches behind him.

The ninja gritted his biomechanical teeth, his hand shooting down toward Murasama's trigger, squeezing so hard he could feel the metal threatening to contort beneath his hold. Blue and red lightning crackled around him as the weapon shot out of its holster and into his waiting hand as he slammed a boot down, spinning on his embedded heel.

The samurai swung from his right, turning around in nanoseconds, only for his ferocious snarl to fade as a sharpened beam of gleaming energy shot off of his blade, crashing straight across the buildings as glass shattered.

*BOOM-BOOM-CRASH

Raiden panted, his metallic chassis rising up and down, looking left, right, ahead, behind; there was nothing...only the accompanying sound of alarm bells blaring as sirens wailed. A sudden clatter to his right drew the soldier's gaze, seeing his own reflection along the surface of a broken window, and as he stared, the cyborg watched one of his own eyes gleam red as droplets of rain slid along the material.

He gripped a robotic fist, feeling the distinctive pull of artificial muscle within his synthetic frame, shaking his head and allowing his scattered blonde tussles of hair to bounce freely with the breeze, trying to get a grip on himself, "...None of this is real."

That had to be it, Raiden reassured himself; he had been at this for so long, his paranoia was driving him nuts...ten years of waiting, and now the cyborg was getting cold feet? He silently laughed at himself, wondering when he had started to worry about anything at all. Who cares if someone was following him?... The veteran would just kill them like everyone else who got in his way, but if that was the case, why was he so-

"There you go again, drifting off into fantasy land-"

Raiden paused, his cold blue eyes flickering back toward the shattered bits of glass, seeing himself...but not, a dark reflection of his other half staring back at him with his sole red orb as it flickered against the darkness surrounding him as the exposed flesh and bone around his jaw unnaturally slackened as it opened and shut, a predatory voice ringing out in his mind, "It must be nice, to think you're always right and everyone else is wrong..."

The cyborg silently stiffened; where most would defensively guard themselves or run for their life at the mere sight of such a monstrous entity, he stood his ground, having accepted his other half long ago, though, to say things were tense between the two felt an understatement. Instead, the warrior held his crackling blade loosely as it dangled above the water-soaked ground, vaporizing every drop of water that came too close as he bellowed out in an almost emotionless tone, "What do you want, Jack?"

Bubbles seemed to rise from the being's mouth as it stared at the Liberian, never blinking, never changing, always retaining the same maddened gaze regardless of circumstance, "The more I listen to your bullshit, the more I come to realize just how fragile you really are."

Raiden's gaze narrowed as he observed the skeletal figure shift beneath the waves, each motion seeming labored and pained yet done as if he wasn't aware of the sensation at all, "What are you saying?"

Jack seemed to huff in dismissal, though, reading the emotions of a husk was an impossible task even for a trained killer to pull off, but Raiden had grown to somewhat understand the part of him he had denied so long over the years, "...First Saber, now Lancer...even with all the others, you love to mock them for what they've done...for the lives they've refused to live or the people they destroyed but never seem to have an answer when they ask you for alternative...you deflect...kick...scream...do anything in your power to avoid confronting the uncomfortable truth...you have no idea."

Raiden clicked his tongue with a scoff, raising a hand toward nothing in particular as his demeanor shifted, "And why should I have an answer? We're no politician, and we damn sure aren't someone's dog toy to chew up and throw around; how is it our problem at all?"

Jack remained unmoving, ever calculating, ever-present, looming deep within the recesses of the cyborg's mind, with a patience few could grasp, "...You clearly think it is. If it were me, I would wipe them out and never think twice, but you choose time and again to engage with the enemy, to dissect their beliefs and ideals...if none of it mattered, you'd do the same...but no, instead, you get backed into a corner, then stew on your shortcomings for years on end, and I'm sick of hearing your weakness, this isn't what our father raised us to be."

Murasama seemed to hum as it responded to its owner's anger, growing that much brighter as Raiden stomped toward the reflection, "And what did he raise us to be?... Cold, unforgiving killers that couldn't care less about a single person so that we could be drones in other people's wars?! Stop acting like you don't give a shit about anyone but yourself, I know you're full of it."

Jack gruffly answered as the sound of creaking bones rang out, "He taught us to survive, to overcome any obstacle even as the means of War continued to change around us...even now, those lessons have kept us alive against foes far greater than us...We might have started as his slaves, but don't allow yourself to forget that he set us free...and gave us the opportunity to make our own choices...despite our feelings toward him, you don't seem to realize how much you resemble him."

Raiden shook with anger, his real and artificial teeth grinding against each other as a jolt of lightning crackled along his outstretched arm, "...Don't compare me to him. You know I raised John to be better so that he could avoid even a trace of what we went through."

Jack dismissed the point entirely, his sole eye staring back in complete indifference, "...By keeping the truth from him. He knows you're a soldier and nothing more, and even Rose couldn't bring herself to tell our son that his father's a monster."

Raiden looked away, his face seeming to scrunch up as his brow furrowed, "...I'd tell him-"

Jack huffed, "Eventually... just like our father, keeping the truth until absolutely necessary...and what of the girl we've so graciously adopted, the one you've dragged into this conflict?... Sure, she might have developed those seals on her own, but you could've done anything, sent her off to one of our contacts overseas, let her wait out the storm, but no, you've molded a child to suit your needs, raised her to trust a gun over her fellow human beings...face it, you've recreated the same cycle that made us what we are, and by the end, a new Solid Snake will be born from the ashes."

A blue aura escaped the cyborg as he looked away in a huff, with rain pouring down all around him; not even a drop could reach his electrified form, "It...it won't come to that...and besides, you know what we've done, the Mages Association and the Church have it our for our heads...they'd kill her just to make a point, she's safer right here where we can watch her."

Jack let off a hum as the sound of shaking bits of rusted metal rang out, "...She won't need you to watch her soon. The changes are already occurring. Her upbringing and your mere presence around her have introduced catastrophic shifts to her psyche. She's modeled herself after you, and it only ends in one outcome...but even if she wasn't, our time here is running out; even now, I'm sure you can feel it...we're slipping more and more into the red by the day...you'll disappear, just like our father, and leave her to the whims of others...I can only wonder who will find her first, the mages or maybe even the Patriots if they haven't already caught wind of what these families are up to?"

Raiden shook his head, facing his other half with a stern look across his features, "Nothing is guaranteed. The past won't repeat itself just because we're here. You're only saying this because you couldn't give less of a shit about her or anyone else."

Jack all but scoffed in response, as if this were the most obvious thing to the demented killer, "I never did. You're the one who wastes our time caring for the weak, buying into that nonsense about shaping the next generation...but if you're so set on staying, there's always that Servant she summoned; it wouldn't be hard to take her energy for ourselves...Spirits come and go quite fast in these wars. After all, who's to say an unfortunate accident can't occur?"

A fleeting image of Rider danced across the cyborg's HUD, the legendary Medusa, a figure revered across human history, now their supposed ally. Jack continued, "It wouldn't be hard; these Servants come from bygone eras... to them, their own image means more than anything, making betrayal a near unfathomable prospect...think about it...how Saber reacted so violently to our simple deceit...think back to how many of our brothers we killed in the jungles of Liberia, how easy it i-"

Raiden cut the man off with an uncaring dismissal, "Enough, you might live in those memories, but I choose to exist in the real world. Our memories are so fogged neither of us can tell what did and didn't happen anymore-"

Jack interjected, "So what if they are? We find meaning in them, delusion or not, and our feelings toward them will always be the same...you keep secrets just like our father, choosing to reveal your true intentions at the most convenient opportunity to benefit yourself. I know what you are. We are the same person after all...stop pretending like you wouldn't rip that Servant into pieces if it would benefit you."

The samurai seemed to grow more frustrated by the moment, "No, I wouldn't...I do what I have to when there are no other options on the table. You choose to go nuclear the first chance you get. I'm not the only one who acts like our father here; your first instinct is to kill anyone who bothers you or gets in your way...there's no distinction with you. It doesn't matter if it's friend or foe. You're just looking for an excuse."

Raiden glared at Jack, staring into the twisted reflection with odd anger toward himself, "I've accepted what we are, but that doesn't make us one and the same. I won't burn every bridge I have just because you don't like taking risks. Real life is more than just a mission. It's figuring things out as you go...I did the same when I chose to raise my son. It would have been so much easier to just keep fighting, but I wanted more for him, and Sakura deserves more than a life like ours, too...so I say we finish it and leave nothing for her to handle herself; you don't like competition anyways, so let me handle this."

Jack's torn chassis seemed to shake in annoyance, twitching about as he responded, "You still can't find it in yourself to just admit when you're in over your head; I don't care either way you go. Deny it or embrace it all you like, but the way you shift faces, your Ideology coming across as different to every foe you encounter...some see you as a soldier, others a killer, and to some an off-color revolutionary, and the way you embrace it all, never denying any of it...you're becoming more and more like Solidus...a man with aspirations for freedom, to restore the fundamental rights afforded to all men...but you have no idea how it would work, I can only wonder how long it'll take until everything else crumbles, and you're left with nothing more than your beliefs like him."

The statement bothered Raiden more than he cared to show, but it only frustrated him more, understanding that Jack already knew before he could even say it, "I get it...but Snake told me I needed to find a life for myself, to make my own decisions, for better or for worse, because those decisions were my own...I'll find a way to make this right...but there's more at play here than just us-"

The counterpart let off a nearly silent hiss of disapproval, but Raiden continued to speak, even as distant police sirens began to grow louder, "... The Patriots are hardly a question...the presidency, congress, and every facet of American life are under their sway. They rebuilt Japan after the Second World War...I'm sure they've clawed their way across every alliance network and political system they could; there's no possible way they don't know about this."

Jack stared back at the cyborg, fully aware he was ignoring the issue once again, but even the killer knew when he was talking to a brick wall, "...If that were true, we'd have seen it. Their methods are always underhanded...backroom deals, assassinations of critical targets, infiltration of media and entertainment outlets to sway the public eye away from their actual goals..."

Raiden listened but grunted in opposition, looking toward the flickering light of a nearby traffic stop, his systems having already hacked and distorted any imaging of himself since the moment he arrived, "We have seen it...how many mages have gone missing in the last few years, dozens if not more-"

"...You're underestimating how petty mages can be. Those families walk a thin line between excellence and finding themselves at the end of a rope. There's so much red tape the slightest misstep can cost your head."

Raiden disagreed, "That's just it. Mages hide any and all traces of inhuman creatures, but only because they have to. With one of their own, they almost always leave a body, along with some faulty excuse for a closed-casket funeral...but the latest victims didn't just disappear. Every government record of their existence are being removed or edited down. Only one possible power has this kind of sway."

"...And what if the Patriots really are involved, why haven't they taken preventative measures? If they were aware of a Holy Grail, they'd swoop in to take it for themselves."

Raiden sheathed Murasama with a gentle click, the ethereal glow dying down, "I don't think they can, at least not yet...think about it: the entire purpose of this War was to settle disputes between the most prominent mage families, whoever wins the conflict gets the prize, and they aren't fond of outsiders...the Patriots operate through proxy, but even they would struggle to find an in...and it's not like they get to choose who has a command seal and who doesn't, no, they're investigating."

He paced back and forth, raising his metallic fingers as he went, "The disappearances, all mages from insignificant families, the big ones are far too prideful to care about any that aren't their own, and so it's forgotten...all the while the Patriots have a scientific field day figuring out what makes these people tick, probably in some attempt to weaponize it for themselves."

For the first time, Jack seemed to concur, "...It would explain some of the things we've seen over the years...especially the simulations-" he bellowed out a chuckle, "...I always wondered how Vulcan Raven did that Shaman shit...but this might go deeper, there's still Psycho Mantis and Lady Luck...the list goes on...but why do you even care? You said it yourself: we aren't here to change the past."

Raiden nodded in agreement, but something was still bothering him, "You're right. I wouldn't care if they didn't involve themselves in this, but who's to say they aren't?... If the Patriots can't find a turncoat among the Masters in this War, they have alternative methods to get someone in line, willing or not...the fact that we haven't seen them try anything is enough to think they're up to something."

"So what? Could one of the major families be compromised?"

The sirens grew even closer, but still, the Liberian remained unmoving, "No, it can't be on that scale, not yet...there's no incentive to go along with whatever the Patriots have to offer; they'd need some kind of bait to have an in. Mages hardly care about material things, and revealing magic to the wider world would ruin their prospects of using it for themselves...they'd need to work with individuals, not looping networks feeding into one another-"

"A Master-"

"What?"

"Command Seals can appear years in advance, and the pool of potential Masters is limited to a select few families, with some exceptions here or there. It's more a question of who they can get their hands on than anything. A few mental tweaks here or there and their Ideology would be set in motion."

"There'd be no point in that; a Master isn't guaranteed to win, and they wouldn't be able to provide any external support after things got started...the Patriots are too cautious to take such a risk of exposure with almost no chance of winning, their resources mean nothing in a War like this, and they'd know it...but we can't say for certain until we've seen every last Master for ourselves...at least we'll know what to look for."

With that, Raiden took off into the night, racing out of sight mere moments before a squadron of police cars came barreling down the street; all the while, the voice of his counterpart rang out in his mind, "La-li-lu-le-lo."

It didn't take long to make it back home; after all, cyborgs weren't hindered by things like exhaustion or even soreness; they mimicked quite a lot of things to retain their humanity, more so to avoid going insane from lacking their senses, but exertion wasn't one of them. Still, Raiden took the time to pause before those gleaming oak doors as he usually did, straightening his tie and making himself presentable, a sight to behold from a man who preferred his time in the jungle than to any city, but even he needed to maintain appearances.

He stood there a moment, taking a deep breath before opening the threshold with an unceremonious pull, slowly walking off into the estate, raising his arms high as he popped the dents across his chassis back into place with a final burst of mana...not that he really needed to worry about getting caught, it was his house...well...no, but he killed the last owner so, close enough, but besides, it was so late it's not anyone else could be awake anyways. The cyborg rounded a corner, intent on passing through the house to check his security grid as he always did-

"You're back late."

He paused at the entrance, looking into the living room with a confused look on his face; reclined on one of the sofas strewn about the room was Sakura, her purple hair being pulled back and tied off by Rider as she loomed overhead, hard focused on her work with an elegance befitting someone with who knows how many years of practice. How she could braid while completely blind was an absolute mystery to the cyborg, but that wasn't what he focused on.

He glanced toward a nearby clock, noting just how late it was, a tick of annoyance running through his mind as he leveled a stare at the magus, "...It's a school night. Why are you still up?"

The Matou shrugged off the question but let out an eep as her Servant yanked her back down to finish her project before letting off a sigh of slight defiance, "I am sleeping, Jack, just in short bursts."

To the average person, this would seem bizarre, but Raiden had taught his ward practically everything he knew about survival, and when you're on deployment, sometimes rest wouldn't come for days at a time, "Microsleep isn't good in the long-term, you're gonna end up wearing yourself down, go to bed."

As Sakura grumbled, Rider interjected before the girl could respond, appearing far more casual than the Liberian had seen her, abandoning her battle dress for a mismatched sweater and pair of form-fitting jeans her Master dug up from somewhere in the massive house, "...I said the same thing, but she insisted we have...girl time, as she called it-"

The Servant leaned over the Matou, an all too pleasant smile on her face, the mere sight sending shivers of terror through the magus at such an uncanny sight as Rider tapped a tan finger along her mask, "...I could turn her to stone if you'd like."

Sakura seemed to sink into the couch at the notion, shivering in fear at the sight of her Servant expressing anything but indifference, "You...you wouldn't do that...right?"

Rider stared at her a moment, or rather, faced her, tapping a finger along her chin in idle thought before lazily shrugging her shoulders as she stood upright, going back to work on her summoner's hair, "...Who can say for certain?"

The statement seemed to pique Raiden's interest as he leaned against a nearby wall, ignoring the structural creaks as he did so, "So that's why you wear that mask...you'd turn everyone into stone if you didn't."

Sakura seemed to jump to attention at that, "Jack! You can't just say insensitive things like th-"

Rider cut her off, responding with the usual distance the Servant always seemed to hold as she slightly turned to face the former Berserker, "In a sense...it's difficult to control, and so I chose to seal off my sight. Direct line of sight with anyone could petrify them, even you."

The samurai stood in silent thought, his mind running through a series of potential risks, but seemed to ignore them, whether out of spite for how little his other half seemed to trust others or simply wanting an ally at their greatest potential, he wouldn't say, "Direct line of sight, huh?"

He snapped a finger in realization, reaching into his suit and digging around until his hand clasped around a familiar object; pulling the case out, he lazily tossed it toward the Greek, "Try these."

She caught it with practiced ease, noncommittally snapping the entire case in half with a single finger, her hands catching and trailing along the smooth rims as she listened to the sounds of whirring machinery, so subtle only her animal-like senses could detect it. But she remained indifferent, "Normal glasses won't suffice to contain my mystic eyes-"

Jack shook his head in denial, "They aren't regular sunglasses. In my time, they're still used to conceal your identity, but as facial recognition software improved, security systems could see through even the darkest tints and get a trace. To avoid that, modern specs aren't glasses at all, just a screen connected to microscopic cameras on the front. You won't actually be seeing anyone, just looking through real-time footage."

She raised a brow at that, twirling the object between her fingers as its components clicked about, "...Placing faith in chance does little else but bring unnecessary risk. I can fight perfectly well without the use of my eyes."

Raiden nodded, his bleach-blond locks bouncing about as he moved, "Maybe, but you definitely can't fix her hair like that. I can see the split ends from here."

It was slight, but for the first time, the mighty Medusa's brow furrowed in slight indignance, "You cannot."

The cyborg shrugged, awkwardly rubbing a hand along the back of his head, "God, what did you do?" Taking a step forward, he gave his ward a look of pity, "We might have to shave you bald, kid."

"W-What!?"

That seemed to break the dam as Rider, in her silently doting nature, grumbled; turning to the side, she moved like a bolt of lightning. One moment, her hand reached through her flowing magenta hair, a distinctive click ringing out, flashing back around. She donned the black glasses, catching her falling mask before it could reach the ground.

The Servant whirled back around, her unseen Serpentine eyes flickering open as she stared down at the perfectly tied-off locks of purple before glancing toward the cyborg, "See, there is no need for concern; she looks perfect."

Jack hummed, raising a hand toward the magus with a matter-of-fact tone as he spoke, "And neither of us are stone-"

Rider almost instantly realized he had been lying the entire time, but the Liberian continued, "Luck has been and always will be a part of the real world, but in my time, we shifted away from myth and focused more on hard scientific realities. There was hardly any risk in this; you aren't actually seeing me, but it's as close as you can get."

With that, he walked off into the house, leaving the Master and Servant to their own devices as Sakura looked up, her purple eyes sparkling, "...I think it looks good...like you're some kinda secret agent."

Rider hummed in thought, the sound coming off more as a grumble, swearing she heard her Master call Jack the same thing at some point or other. She idly wondered if all it took to have such a job was to wear dark clothes and hide one's face like an assassin during her time. Some things never changed about mankind, she supposed... "Is that so?"

The Matou nodded, picturing the Servant running through some secret underground base, gun in hand, as she tried to save the day with a calm head and nerves of steel, "Mhm, you look super cool...besides, you'll fit in easier without that mask on all day, we could hit up the mall, go to a cafe-"

"And read?"

"Eh?"

In a split second, Rider was in the girl's face, adjusting her glasses with a finger as a dangerous glare reflected across the surface, a strange energy coming off of her with every word, "Indeed! We can pull out a fine wine and read the latest tales of adventure...do people still read Herodotus?"

Sakura tilted her head, "Hero-who?"

*ZOOOOOOOOOM

In the blink of an eye, Rider jolted out of sight, the sheer force behind her step sending the magus spinning, but before she could land on the couch, a hand caught her by the arm, pulling her close as the Servant reappeared, sitting beside her, some gushy romance novel in hand with a wine glass the size of Sakura's head sitting on the nearby table as she relaxed into the couch, cracking the pages open with a gentle hum of contentment.

The Matou tried to wiggle out of her grasp, but the Servant wouldn't budge so much as an inch no matter how hard she tried, but-...it was pretty comfy...

Sakura had a hard time describing it, but Rider had treated her with an odd familiarity since they met, occasionally saying how much she had reminded the Spirit of someone she knew at one point in her life. A normal person might have been put off by being treated like that by someone they just met, but...the longer she sat there, being held by someone who seemed to take genuine interest and care in her wellbeing...the less it seemed to matter...and within minutes, the Master had fallen asleep as a hand caressed her hair.

Rider would eventually look down on the girl's face, smooshed against her chest, studying her shining purple locks and gentle features, a pained smile would cross her features, knowing she was being selfish in making her Master do such a thing, but the Servant almost couldn't help it...

Sakura had resonated with the mighty Gorgon like few others could hope to do, so desperate for a relationship with the Tohsaka that seemed to ignore and even dislike her mere presence. Yet, she continuously tried to do right by her family...Rider's mind briefly flickered to those days on an island of stone pillars and the sisters she loved more than life itself...thinking back to just how needy they were, and even her Master wasn't...

Rider pulled her Master a bit closer, resting her chin on the girl's head as she read, a content smile on her face...Even if Sakura wanted to assert herself to learn to become a person in her own right, in a way, it just made the Greek legend want to spoil the sweet girl that much more.

...

At the same time

A figure stood firm against the elements, perched atop a shingled roof as he silently observed his surroundings, choosing to ignore the conversation below between his Master and a boy he had little interest in interacting with, though they would inevitably conflict, for now, he would bide his time.

His red cloak billowed in the night breeze as his grey eyes scanned over the horizon, glossing over the various dots of light strewn throughout Fuyuki...paranoia and precaution had won him the day against far superior opponents many times before throughout his life, and he would never allow himself to slack for a moment, despite his misgivings of coming to this home once more, Archer would never let himself falter.

Thunder boomed overhead as vibrant streaks of white-hot lightning surged across the night sky, illuminating tracts of darkness otherwise going unseen, accompanied only by the howling winds. He would remain there for hours if needed, but-

He lept from the roof and onto the walls surrounding the complex, marching across the thin platform with the silent grace of a honed killer, senses heightened for reasons he could not explain. Something was bothering the Servant, making the hairs on the back of his neck stand on edge, a sensation all too familiar in his existence, though one he inflicted upon others...he was being watched.

The Heroic Spirit's steps were slow, as if he were at risk of triggering some kind of landmine were he to go too fast, with even the falling droplets of rain splashing against his tan skin seeming to move at a crawl. His breaths were forced, an instinctive mechanism as his mind focused solely on what could be causing him to feel like this before settling to the East, leaping out of the property and onto a narrow alleyway illuminated only by sporadically placed street lights, their orange glow showing nothing more than scattered pieces of trash and refuse, but he knew better.

He stared down the passageway, his eyes unblinking, waiting for any sign of motion in the dark corridors ahead, one moment exposed beneath yet another flash of lightning from above, then out of sight entirely once more, but the moment it was revealed again, a figure stood, their features concealed behind layers of shadow, the Servant only able to discern their vicious white smile-

Archer reacted in a split second, raising his hands back; his bow appeared, drawstring already pulled as Kanshou burned itself into the weapon's hold, morphing into a sharpened arrow as the Servant let loose, sending out a shockwave of mana as the projectile sailed down the passage. Only for the Spirit stand in disbelief, where one second the shot stood, ready to tear through its target's skull...it simply stopped; Archer's mind raced, 'What?!... Did he catch it?'

The object hovered for a moment as before the figure dismissed it with a wave; it levitated off into the darkness as a new object emerged, long and covered it jagged edges...it looked so familiar; what was-

*BOOM

*CRACK-CRACK-CRACK-CRACK-CRACK

It happened in a split second; the weapon sailed across the gap between them, destroying every glowing bulb as sparks rained down overhead, the object impaled itself mere feet away from the Servant, and as the light around him began to dim, his grey eyes widened, trailing along the spear's vibrantly red surface, etched with intricate runic lines across its length, with specks of dry blood coating its almost mythic appearance, "That's...Lancer?"

Despite his circumstances, Archer steeled his nerves, remaining calm even against the most impossible of odds; his breaths were still, even as he forced himself to stare at his opponent; he could feel his hair standing on edge the longer he looked into that demented smile, and one by one, the last sparks rang out, trailing toward the unknown figure until they too disappeared from sight.

Archer stood in silence, his senses extended far beyond normal human limitations, waiting for any vibrations through the ground or even the slightest distortion in the air, but-

"...Not quite."

The Spirit bristled as he felt cold steel press against the nape of his neck, a single point, yet sharpened beyond perfection, a thin trail of blood leaking from the point of impact, the voice ringing out once more, a man's...cold, and indifferent, yet with a veneer of pride all the same, "...I thought I would find you here...after all...no man escapes his past...no matter how desperately he wishes to do so."

The Servant stood there, fists clenched, a primal feeling running through his battle-hardened mind, somehow knowing that even the slightest motion would end his brief stint of existence...how did he get the jump on him? So fast...practically impossible to trace, it was- "...Assassin."

A dry laugh echoed out through the alleyway as rain clattered along the concrete pathway, devoid of emotion, as though it were forced out, a robotic response in place of human feeling, "...Labels, the things we call ourselves, or what others see us as...all culminating in a being formulated by our lived experience...so I'll ask once more as I have before...are you a Servant or are you a man?"

Archer stared off into the darkness, peaking out from the corner of his eye, seeing nothing more than that damned smile prowling about in the night, their face concealed behind some hood or other; he couldn't tell, "...Should I know you?"

The man responded, his breaths intermingled with brief bursts of disinterested laughter, "Who knows...but who's to say we have or haven't met?... Reality is such a fickle thing. You can never trust the words of others or even your own recollection...the mind loves its delusions... to convince itself that there's some higher purpose driving our goals. So it warps the narrative, dissects logic where there is none to avoid the admission of our subjugation to the whims of others, but it leads to little more than bad faith."

Archer stood there a moment, feeling the cold rain dancing along his skin as he felt the metal against his neck neither move closer nor farther, perfectly in place, as if held by stone, "...Why are you here? If you wanted to kill me, you would've sliced my throat open and been done with it."

He was met with silence, the lack of sound so intense if it weren't for the constant reminder pressing into his flesh, the Servant could have sworn the man had disappeared, but soon, he responded, "...Does it matter?... Why do anything at all?... It's a given that you and I are dead men, cursed to walk the Earth over and over, subjected to the will of others, our...summoners...Masters...enslavers...it makes no difference. The principle remains the same...human beings are driven by reactions to our surroundings... to our environment, it doesn't matter... every piece of it makes a composite whole..."

The blade drove deeper, causing the Servant to grunt in discomfort as his teeth grinded together. All the while, the man spoke, "...I could walk into that house and kill every single one of them...the Tohsaka...the Emiya...even that fool's own summon wouldn't stand a chance with how weak he is...all of them are children in their own right...but it hasn't stopped me before...I've done far worse to far younger."

Archer had to suppress a wince as the blade drove so deep he swore the Assassin was going to cut clean through. His hands flinched, ready to summon his twin blades in one last desperate assault...until it stopped, the weapon pulled back to his confusion, "...but it would waste such an opportunity."

The Servant took a deep breath, ready to strike at a moment's notice, but found himself cautiously curious at the man's ramblings, "...Opportunity?"

Assassin laughed, briefly looking up to the clouds above, raising a free hand to let the rain dance along his black gloves, "...You play the forgetful fool, but I see through it...the way you looked at that boy in the schoolyard all but confirmed it...you're not here for the Grail...no, you're here for something far greater than any wish...something all men contemplate on the coldest nights as they reflect on past mistakes."

Archer stood there in silence as the Servant pushed on, "...Choice is nothing but a lie...we have no say in our lives...not really...we're just a compilation of past traumas and foundational moments in our psyche, pushing toward an inevitable end based on the idle thoughts of what others would do...but you're trying to rewrite that narrative...to remove something that had gone wrong...with him...the Emiya-"

The Servant's eyes narrowed, his head pulsating as he tried to remember...something...this man's voice, it was so foreign, but with a distant familiarity he couldn't quite describe, "That's none of your concern...but besides, what would someone like you care about a personal matter of mine?... There's no gain in this, not while the Grail is on the line."

The man hummed, twirling Archer's arrow in a free hand as it narrowly missed a broken street light again and again, "Isn't there?...You and I are byproducts of this world. Every action, reaction, decision, or plan is merely a consequence of environmental factors...even if I were to wish them away, a new set of commands would simply take their place. Human life is just an endless loop of influence...there's no purpose in it."

He darkly chuckled at the thought, "We like to think ourselves better than our surroundings...that we...as intelligent beings have overcome our animalistic tendencies, but it's all based on circumstance...raise a caveman in a nurturing environment, he could become a scholar...place a modern child through the torment of chaos and War...he becomes just that...a reflection of that torture, we're born as blank slates bound by these shackles...I to conflict, and you to the Grail...and what it did to that boy that made him become you."

Archer's breath hitched as the man's grin flashed in the lightning, his ghastly features all too pale to be natural. The Servant found himself shaking, not out of fear, but something primal, something almost inexplicable as if instinct itself were flaring against his thoughts, "How...How do you know that?..."

Assassin shrugged, "Things only start to make sense once you've embraced the futility of it all, to accept that life has no meaning...people become mere numbers and nothing more...all this talk of morality, of the cause of preserving the existence of others and for what? What use is there in delaying an end that makes no difference anyway?... When you realize there's nothing there for you, it's all too easy to understand what goes through someone's mind and to know what they'll do before the thought even enters their conscience. It's all preemptive, predictable...a pattern to recognize as our biology intended."

Thunder boomed overhead as rain continued to batter the passageway, with small rivers dancing along the edges as it flowed downward. The man suddenly moved, tossing Archer's arrow down the alleyway, letting it clang against the ground. "I knew you'd be here from the start; I simply followed the evidence, a norm in the scientific process, wouldn't you say?..."

Archer stiffened, an idea popping into his head as he slowly clenched a hand, feeling the distant connection between him and his fallen blade-turned arrow, but would bide his time, "...You still haven't answered my question...why do you care about any of this?"

Assassin remained, almost unblinking, so still, it felt impossible to see so little motion even from a Heroic Spirit, "...Call it a little experiment if you will, I've traveled the entire world, led along by the Winds...people like us are created by accident, we're offshoots of the ambitions others once held, their destructive nature creating the perfect set of conditions to mold a generation of killers...but it's slow, so slow...and so few of us live to see the transformation complete...it's a fascinating question really-"

He raised his fingers before dropping them entirely, "How many innocents need to die for one child's psyche to shift?... To irrecoverably turn innocence on its head, never to return?... It can't be the same with everyone. I couldn't say how much death I've seen, but that was the point-"

The man's bones seemed to crack as he stiffened, uncomfortably moving about as though he couldn't find rest no matter how hard he tried, "Ideology is nothing more than a means to break the spirits of men, different methods, but all roads lead to the same end...to their own proverbial Rome... to mold the people into a new visage...that regime...it didn't care for the losses, so long as purity was preserved, death only made sense...the weak die so the strong can live...but they never considered one thing...in those flames, those destined for nothing would crawl through the ashes, changed, embodying not their idealistic goals, but the essence of havoc itself, you and I are the same in that regard, though-"

He almost scoffed, "Instead of accepting life for what it was, you dove into your delusions of heroism...though that seems to have waned...it must be fascinating to see your old self through reinvigorated eyes...to witness the blind claims of youth as he pushes through a world he doesn't yet understand...his true self suppressed like so many of your memories, do with them what you will, but you'll never truly be free of their influence, it stretches even into your cells, in the slightest motions you reflect what you really are."

Emiya suppressed a flinch, uncertain if he would succeed with his plan, but the man cut him off before he could respond, drawing all too close, "...I'm here because I want to prove that given a choice upon realizing the truth, a human being would choose to end it all before it truly began, but it raises the question...is it murder?... Is it mercy to prevent things that haven't yet occurred?... these are things you can answer for me...after all, who else will have the opportunity to kill himself like this?..."

It felt like lightning was running through Archer's veins, every action, every thought, no matter how hard he tried to hide it, the reality seemed to open before this person...who was it? But again, the man's ramblings overtook his internal mumblings, "It must be tempting...suicide is such a lacking way to end things, it won't erase what already occurred...your death will merely repeat the cycle anew with the few bonds you have...this is an opportunity to rewrite history to change those foundations, or in your case...destroy them."

"Maybe you're right-"

Archer stood firm, his hold over his blade strengthening by the moment as it slowly lifted inch by inch upward; all the while, he spoke defiantly to draw the Servant's attention, "...I don't have an interest in rewriting my own life...like you said, it'll just lead to the same end...the same foolish mistake that's brought me back to where it all started."

The Heroic Spirit's cloak billowed in the evening breeze as he let out a frustrated sigh, "...I lost most of my memories as time went on. The World has a way of dimming the most important details as things drag on...not that I know how long it's been...years...decades...more? One part of me says we've met, while the other doesn't know what to think-"

Assassin interjected, twirling his blade with a lazy hand, "Uncertainty is nothing more than a consequence of living in ignorance...your nature and actions run against one another to your detriment...ask yourself, does it really matter what has or hasn't happened?... Would knowing all of it change how you feel right now, or would it only reinforce what's already been said?"

Archer lightly hummed in thought, "No, it wouldn't...I might not remember much of anything...even the faces I once saw almost every day, but I know what I feel...the regret, the shame, all of it just reminds me how wrong I was to try and change things. It only made things worse...I won't spend the rest of my existence fighting for someone...something else-"

He looked toward the moon as it pierced through the clouds above, "This has gone on for long enough, it can't be called a life...life has an end...this just repeats over and over in an insane cycle of death, there's else to see, no new events to experience, I exist to serve because I agreed to something I didn't understand...if I had to make any choice of my own, it would be to end it."

Assassin glanced off to the side, peering through the shadows and toward the looming walls of the Emiya estate, "And does it start with killing him?"

Archer let out a silent chuckle, the winds seeming to die down into an ethereal silence as he spoke, "No, I can't let anyone else interfere with a personal affair...not that it matters-" As Assassin stared at him curiously, the Servant could only glare back from the corner of his eye, "You won't live to see it."

With the snap of a finger, his blade-turned arrow shot off, crashing through the falling rain as its sharpened edge cleaved droplets in half, the wind funneling around it as it surged through the nighttime darkness, a mere instant away from impaling the figure from behind.

Meanwhile, Archer sprang into action, a new set of blades appearing within his grasp as he rounded about on his heels, kicking up layers of dust as he lept overhead, intent on distracting the Servant. His eyes flashed in acknowledgment as another pincer blade appeared in Assassin's free hand as, both raised to meet the experienced fighter head-on.

This had been Archer's plan from the beginning, luring his fellow Heroic Spirit into a state of superiority, launching separate attacks from opposing angles, all but guaranteeing a decisive blow before the battle ever truly began, he wouldn't smirk in satisfaction, far too hardened for such things, but the man would silently approve of the genius simplicity...it was ove-

His eyes widened, watching from above as the arrow made contact with the Servant's back... No...It should have slammed straight into the man's spine, but...with the slightest shift, the attack didn't miss, no...it went straight through, grazing the bottom of Archer's boot before sailing off into the distance, "What!?"

*CLANG

Waves of magenta energy reverberated across Assassin's blades as they collided with Archer's own pair, with vibrant blue sparks raining down around them as they stood off, the former lazily holding his ground while the latter struggled to move his opponent at all.

Archer's honed mind ran through ideas; none of this made sense. Assassins were weak, needing to use the shadows to take their opponents by surprise. While hardly much better, the Archer knew his own capabilities and how to approach each target with ease, able to read and predict almost everything down to the last detail.

In those few moments, before they collided, his enhanced eyes struggled to gleam much of anything from Assassin's figure, soon realizing he wasn't shrouded by the night, but something else...some kind of concealment magic wrapped around him like a fog of darkness, but still-

He looked frail, so thin an average man could cleave him in half with little effort. Even Archer's lean build seemed like a mountain of steel compared to the Servant but- he held his ground, his eerie smile never retreating, as if this were nothing more than a game...but how-

*FLASH

*CRACK

From below, a solid object flew up at untold speeds, cracking straight into the man's chin, causing blood splatter as his teeth crunched into his lip. Archer flowed with the motion, pushing himself back with a burst of mana, sliding along the wet alleyway, wiping away his own spit and blood with the swipe of a hand.

...That wasn't possible; just now, Assassin had slammed a knee into his chin; he was sure of it, but...he was practically above the Servant when it happened...how?! That shouldn't be possible!

He all but growled in frustration, unable to see anything beneath that cloak of his. Archer slid back, raising his twin blades high as the moonlight reflected across their ethereal surfaces, "Just what are you?"

Assassin gave off an almost casual shrug of his shoulders, spinning his sais within his grasp before lazily raising his arm to the side. Archer watched as the surrounding light poles began to violently shake, sending down a hailstorm of glass as the man approached, "...Identities are a pointless thing. You and I are nothing...nonbeings set to collide in a world we can't control, all that we are and all we will become rests in our veins...it all comes down to what you're willing to sacrifice-"

His grin grew as concrete splintered, sending bits of metal into the skies above as the poles splintered into hundreds of sharpened pieces, circling above Archer as he braced himself for what was to come. All the while, Assassin's voice drifted through the prevailing storm winds, "...and no price is too high to pay for the privilege of owning yourself."

*SNAP

With the flick of a finger, the blades came raining down on all sides, flying at speeds so fast the human eye couldn't possibly perceive them, but they were all too slow for the defending Servant.

Archer's grey eyes flickered across the battlefield in an instant, reading out the projected patterns of each projectile with ease, his gaze falling not on the weapons but on his foe.

*WHOOSH

He took off in a burst of mana, surging across the confined space, his swords moving like a blur as sparks rang out with each point of contact. In a split second, he leaned to the side, watching his own reflection along the stained metallic surface, and the next, he spun along his heels, dancing around the endless storm like a blur...they were faster than him, so much so that it wasn't even a comparison, but if the Servant had one thing against all others, it was sheer experience.

He had fought across all places, all nations, all time periods, so much so that it was lost on him, but those burning flames of war were ingrained within his psyche, so entrenched even the most impossible tasks felt possible, low chances didn't matter, he innately knew which course to take if there were any chances of victory.

Time seemed to slow as the Servant raised his twin blades once more, ready to deflect an incoming barrage, but stiffened as an overwhelming sense of dread trickled up his spine, forcing Archer to whirl about on his heels, one hand shooting off in front and behind, the former shooting straight toward Assassin's head, no longer fooled by his transparent act from before as the man lunged forward into his own demise, it was predictable, it was-

*WRRRRRRR

It came so close, dragging along Assassin's own kunai before shooting off toward the man himself, the tip of Archer's blade resting mere centimeters before the man's ghostly pale flesh...before stopping, held by some unseen force, unable to move at all, entrenched mid-air in a split second...

It wouldn't take any longer than a moment for Archer to be skewered then and there, he couldn't move either of his swords and by the time he realized, the storm of metal would tear him apart...a shame, really, Assassin thought better of him-

*CLANG-CLANG

In that brief window of overconfidence, Assassin failed to realize the Servant had dropped his blades entirely, letting them fall to the ground as he leaned out of the way, raising an empty hand straight toward his opponent's exposed chest as he uncontrollably flew toward him.

Archer's grey eyes shimmered as blue lines glowed across his unseen skin, his voice ringing out with a static overtone, the same many heard before their inevitable demise, "Trace...on."

*CRUNCH

For the first time, there was no deceit, no escape for the illusive Assassin, and while he expected the attack to have done nothing, his smile suddenly faded as an all too familiar whirring emanated from below...embedded in his torso, piercing all the way through, from the band dangling off the grip to white overlay atop pitch black metal...and his own purple energy billowing off in droves, destabilizing his entire matrix as he struggled to stay whole, "T-...That's-"

Archer let out a silent sigh, his hand shaking as it breached through the man's body, "...You really are overconfident, aren't you?" with the flick of a finger, the entire storm of metal seemed to disperse, dropping unceremoniously to the ground as he continued, "For all that talk of not caring, trying to systematize conflict...you're sloppy."

Assassin seemed to go into a silent shock, not saying a word, unable to move, and all the while, Archer gazed over his shoulder, twirling the kunai about in his hand, "...An impressive blade, though, it leaves a lot to the imagination...you truly abandoned your former life, didn't you?.. All this weapon has seen is death and nothing more...not that it matters-"

At that moment, Assassin didn't wince, nor did he bellow out in pain; instead, he began to laugh, his chest not rising or falling, as if he wasn't breathing at all, "...You're right...it doesn't."

Assassin's hand flashed into motion, clenching around Archer's wrist in a vice grip as the sounds of cracking bone rang out throughout the desolate alleyway. The other moved like lightning, opening as his blade shot up from the ground, cloaked in purple miasma in the blink of an eye. Catching it with ease, he lunged, slamming it point first through Archer's free hand before he could even summon another blade; the man cried out in pain as its sharpened edge shot out the back of his hand, his own blood pooling downward.

Slowly but surely, Assassin pulled Archer's hand out from his torso. To the Servant's shock, not even a drop of blood coated his fingers...absolutely nothing, "H-How!?"

Assassin clicked his tongue in disappointment, slowly raising his arms high, dragging Archer into the air as his cries of pain only grew more profound by the moment, the tall figure meeting him at eye level, as the same mysterious force ripped the embedded blade from his body, letting it clatter to the ground below, "...What is ambition without sacrifice?... I'm not talking about some pedantic loosening of bonds or walking away from those you supposedly love...those are fleeting, chemical reactions of the mind that would dissipate on their own...to sacrifice is to throw away what cannot be recovered...always to preserve some form of existence...the self...an individual...or even an idea."

The figure slowly levitated off the ground, carried by his otherwordly energy into the skies above, dragging Archer along for the ride as the neighborhood dissipated into a view of the sprawling metropolis of Fuyuki's nightlife, illuminated by endless rows of artificial lights. Assassin looked over it all with a disinterested smile, "...The weak cling to their fictitious beliefs, so desperate to think they aren't like their environment, that human beings are better than our predecessors, and that is exactly why they fail...they think progress will simply erase what's ingrained in our kind from birth, you of all people should know-"

The man looked down on Archer, his grin growing as he watched the Servant struggling in his grasp, "Throwing away your body...your very life for that purpose was once seen as the ultimate act of sacrifice...we're brought into life knowing our flesh is finite, in a way, one could call death a control mechanism, but that doesn't have to be the end...-"

Assassin looked down at the man, the shroud of darkness surrounding him lifting slightly as a red glare emanated from within, "It doesn't matter the time or how advanced humanity becomes. Everything revolves around the same principle...dominance...to mold the world in your own interests...corruption, murder, and nepotism...these issues plague our societies not out of faulty structures of governance but because we're led by our innate nature to continue our lineage no matter the cost, physical or moral, whether in blood or in ideology...the circumstances change, but those who inhabit these realities never do, but one thing certainly has altered the course of things in ways even I can't predict...defying our biological nature in an affront to all things natural."

Archer's eyes widened as Assassin leaned closer, the shroud surrounding him lifting just enough to reveal not a set of eyes...not anything he could call them but...long, curved, glowing lines of red atop that almost demonic white smile, so uncanny it nearly sent a chill down the Servant's spine, as he spoke, "Biological death isn't the end...not anymore...a Servant like you must understand what that's like, to endure far beyond your expiration date...the insanity of it all...use this opportunity to show me how to make it end."

Suddenly, Assassin let go, allowing Archer to come crashing down, and as he fell, the Servant felt the wind coursing through his white hair, briefly considering using his bow for one last attempt, but something innately told him it wouldn't work...those eyes...how did he know him?

His thoughts were so muddled it was like trying to reach through a fog to find something cohesive, just blindly feeling about through untold years of encounters when he couldn't even remember what Rin looked like when she first summoned him...but one thing was clear...Archer knew they met once before. The way Assassin spoke kept pointing him in a particular direction...but where would it lead him?

He landed with a silent grace, gripping his bloodied fists as the man above stared at him for a brief moment before disappearing into a cloud of purple particles, soon vanishing entirely. It left the Servant with so many questions: why was Assassin doing this?... Were they really the same, or was it just the ramblings of a madman?... But most importantly, why did he matter?

Archer knew his life held no actual value; the Heroic Spirit's existence was to serve for all time. If he were to stop existing, someone else would take his place. The world needed agents to keep things flowing...he didn't care who, as long as it wasn't him...or at the very least, stop his younger self from making his mistakes...even if it meant killing him, it was a mercy compared to what could happen.

Slowly, his injuries faded with a burst of mana, using his own reserves, figuring that if he siphoned too much from his Master, she would immediately get suspicious. A mage of her caliber had an unbelievable grasp on her capabilities, but that also meant the Tohsaka would know when he was being greedy...he needed to keep this from her, it was his concern alone.

Archer could take no chances. This was his only chance to rectify his past mistakes; if Rin or any of the others caught wind of his intentions, they could stop him...If he read Assassin right, the Servant wouldn't bother with the others so long as he played along with his game...he wouldn't tell them a thing either way; both men knew this would only be ruined by outside interference, but-

As Archer looked toward the moon peaking from between the cloud cover, he could only assume this wasn't over. Assassin was testing the waters, seeing if he had it in him to go through with his intentions...he had no plans to stop, and neither did his fellow Servant. He needed to prepare.

With that, the veteran warrior dusted himself off and allowed his injuries to heal in a burst of purple flame before meandering his way back toward the Emiya residence, his silence all but guaranteed.

...

Minutes later

Gentle streams of sunlight danced over the horizon, illuminating the outskirts of Fuyuki, a strange blend between the urban and rural as tradition contrasted against the never-ending tide of modernity, only stifled by the people themselves, unwilling to let go of the old way of doing things, at least not yet. They would cling to their beliefs, their means of life, and the structures that provided the foundations for their upbringing.

One such structure loomed over an immense forest of dwindling reds, greens, and yellows, its olden walls and religious symbolism a rare sign of devotion amidst an ever-changing world. From the cobblestone pathways the intricately maintained patchworks of grass and shrubbery to the ancient temple compounds scattered about the property, it truly hadn't changed in hundreds of years, but its occupants certainly had.

Generations would come and go, some mere travelers while others would stay, finding solace in their prayers before moving on to greater prospects, while a select few would come to see it as their home...many faces, many people, yet all found some odd fascination with the relic from the past...some more so than others.

Assassin appeared within the vast courtyard, his heels audibly clicking as he landed atop the perfectly flat stone ground. He looked across the scene, allowing the last vestiges of the cool night wind to wash over him as his body materialized from a burst of purple flames.

He stood there a moment, letting his long hair flow, observing the world around him, his smile ever-present but somehow contained in a blanket of neutrality.

Assassin would wander along the wide pathways, heading no direction in particular as he aimlessly circled the property, allowing the whims of the wind to dictate his course, but soon, as one of the immense shrine buildings loomed over his shoulder, its shingled roof jutting beyond its support structures, he would pause as a voice echoed from all directions at once, "...It's a beautiful place to see...is it not...to know some semblance of nature still remains in this bleak world?"

A swirl of darkened mana appeared behind the Servant as a figure emerged from the vortex, her long blue hairs concealed behind a raised hood, covering even her eyes from sight as her pale skin glowed against the morning sun.

The woman wore an intricate array of cloaks of purples and blacks, made from what could only be the finest silks the world had to offer, adorned with golden finery that did little to conceal her almost timeless beauty despite leaving much from sight. She stood back to back with Assassin, neither looking upon the other, as both seemed to look off into the bleak nothing beyond the protective walls surrounding this holy temple.

Assassin remained utterly motionless, raising a hand to catch a falling brown leaf between his fingers, "Define beauty...from what I see...there's no difference between asphalt and dirt. Everything is ephemeral; some things might last longer than others, but they all stem from the same material, and they return to it in the end."

She hummed, leaning back against his thin frame, hands cupped behind her back, her tone condescending yet distant, "...Its fleeting nature is what makes beauty so profound...to find something pristine...immaculate...then to twist and contort it into something to be awed upon before its vanishes forever...it has value that way, no?"

Assassin let the leaf go, allowing it to flow away with the breeze and into the horizon, watching it as it went, "...Things have value because you place value on them...a diamond without a jeweler is just another rock...they just exist...whether it's a thing, a person, a place...it makes no difference, nature just is."

She let out a giggle, her feminine voice echoing throughout the almost desolate shrine, "...There's purpose in that, you know...those things are tools to be used-" a strange pressure came off of her for a moment, "abused...neglected...then discarded once their value has worn away-"

The energy vanished as soon as it came, replaced by a mellow darkness once anew, her beautiful yet bleak smile coinciding with Assassin's own, "...Your obsession with the Archer proves I'm right, you know...it all starts with infatuation, then obsession, then satisfaction when their use runs out."

Assassin chuckled at that, slowly drifting a hand across where the man's blade had impacted against him, clenching it tight soon after, "...Romantic and poetic, but inaccurate...what I'm looking for is more than just some chemical imbalance in the brain causing hyper fixation... I want to understand."

She silently trailed a pale finger along his arm, her voice suggestive yet the sheer malice behind her words would send shivers through even the most hardened of killers, "Why would you want to understand anyone?... People don't need reasons for the things they do...they do them because they find pleasure in it...no matter who it hurts doesn't matter, so long as they get their next fix, but it's never enough...your passions can drive you mad if you let them control you."

Assassin shook his head, ignoring her ice-cold touch against him, "...We're already under their control. You say there's no meaning, but there's always an underlying reason behind every action...people are rarely distinct...we observe...learn from...and endure outside forces, then replicate them in our own way...what would you do if you were there instead?"

She hummed, bouncing back and forth along her heels, "...What would I do?~...Well...to start-" Her smile grew, "I wouldn't waste my time on that man, I'd have killed him and been done with it... but that beauty...Saber...offers a far more tantalizing prize, does she not?...-"

A faint trickle of glee crawled its way up the woman's face as she pictured the blonde knight kneeling before her; what a scandalous thought... She almost fell into a huffing fit from the idea alone, "Her class...her elegance...the way she holds herself is so pure, I just want to ruin her before anyone else gets a chance...what else would it be but a passion that makes me feel such a way?"

Although Assassin showed little response, if any, his calculating mind had taken every word, action, and reaction his summoner gave off, giving the honed killer a far greater understanding of her than she could ever hold over him. Command Seals or not, there will always be a stark difference between knowing and understanding. It was hardly a challenge to figure out what she wanted to hear, "...Infatuation...Passion...Attraction...all sides of the same coin, but none are a strong suit of mine; it's just an endless game of highs and lows, riding one wave of pleasure-inducing chemicals to the next. The flesh craves what it's taught to desire...the only person who knows why you do anything is you, Caster."

She hummed with intrigue, tilting her head back to stare up at his flowing white strands of hair from beneath her shroud, "Oh?... You're to tell me that you've never done anything for the sake of it?... Not for some ambitious goal, but because you enjoyed it?... Why continue the journey at all if you can't have a little fun along the way?"

He looked up to the moon, allowing its glare to reflect across his pale skin, "...Our origins are dissimilar, the foundations composed of a different mix...I was raised in a regime where ideological purity took precedence. There was no race, no religion, no people to speak of...we were digits, meant to prove the values of the leadership right...when work is a duty, life becomes slavery...What you call happiness, I see waste...-"

He pointed a hand to the surrounding shrine, "You call this place a temple, I was raised to see it as a sign of imperialist decadence...what you call the family, we labeled the enemy...there were no men...no women...no children...no monks...no land...no possessions, there was only the state and its adherents...it's a fascinating thing, our societies can have such radically different beliefs, but whether you're talking about a nation of millions or even down to our arrangement, one factor keeps it all in check, and allows us to compare across such a wide spectrum of similarities-"

He wore the same demented smile his great leader wore in every appearance, held together not with emotion but with fanatic loyalty to his cause, "...Whether it's God, a King, a Parliament, even an army holding you at gunpoint, the strong rule over the weak, it's a foundational principle we can't avoid in any time or place...someone has to lose so the other can win...-"

Caster's smile simmered to a slight frown as she turned to face the Servant as he stared back over his shoulder, "Your obsession with control is nothing more than a reflection of the pain you endured...You see your beauty as tainted, and so by that metric, to win, you want to make others suffer through the same torture."

She took a step forward, the surrounding pressure seeming to grow as she raised a pale hand; unable to reach his shoulder, she gripped his arm, her blue eyes gleaming toward him, "Tainted?...do you think the same of me, Assassin?"

The Servant remained indifferent, either unaware or uncaring of the present danger before him, as mana billowed throughout the area, "You're simply yourself. There's no other way of putting it...I don't care for morality or name-calling; those are the efforts of the weak to contain the strong. You're my summoner, and I listen because you have the strength of will to persevere...in nature, that's all that really matters."

Her expression lightened for a moment, and she stared off into the distant wilderness, an environment far suited to the name she was once called so often, one which brought about a deep rage at its mention, "...You say this even though I have you under my control-"

She smirked beneath her hood, "What foolishness are you going on about?... I thought you weren't one to make unnecessary flatteries?"

Assassin simply crossed his arms over his chest, feeling his neck creak as he moved about, "Hierarchy is everything. You prove your worth, and those beneath you obey; if we're to survive in the long-term, it's important to establish a structure to these things...and so long as you're in control, you'll have my loyalty."

Caster raised an unseen brow before letting out a brief scoff, soon turning into a short burst of darkened laughter, only managing to compose herself a few moments later, "That's all it takes to appease you?... Honestly, even for an Assassin, you're quite indifferent to my plans, aren't you? Does it not disturb you to know what I plan to do to the others?"

Assassin shrugged his shoulders, his fingers silently twitching about from some unknown cause, "Humans have killed each other since the dawn of our species. We're no better or worse for doing the same...you have your reasons, and so do I."

She sighed, placing a hand on her hip, "Right, right...you'll have your chance with the Archer and that blonde beauty's Master...I have no use for either of them as it currently stands...any plans for the meantime?"

Assassin looked off across the property, his grin ever present, "I think I'll explore how the other side exists...I've never been to a church...let alone a shrine before."

She looked up at him with a darkened curiosity, "Are you expecting to have a revelation I should know of?"

He laughed at that, though; he somehow didn't move so much as an inch, the only sign of motion being his mouth opening and closing in an almost perfectly synchronized fashion, "No...it's just something to do."

She hummed, glancing off toward the shrine, considering her options, but decided to ask, "...I suppose you wouldn't mind if I tagged along then?...Those halls do get quite bleak after a while."

He gave her an indifferent nod and walked off, allowing his summoner to walk by his side and across the vast winding pathways of the Ryuudou Temple before disappearing from sight.

...

The next night

A pair of vibrant green eyes shifted about the prowling streets of Fuyuki, their owner's mind ablaze with an odd sense of deja vu. Her thoughts jumbled as she tried to ignore the endless back and forth between her Master and the Tohsaka as they walked ahead.

For this world, ten years had passed, and structures rose and fell. In truth, it was quite a sight to behold. Having witnessed the sheer destruction of the last Grail War, the knight found herself somewhat intrigued by how fast things had become.

The scars of conflict seemed to vanish as soon as they appeared; she gazed up at one of the many looming skyscrapers overhead. Having been instilled with the knowledge of all things modern, it still left her a bit stupified, having seen this exact building in pieces what felt like moments ago...

She absent-mindedly stared at her reflection along its immaculately clean glass windows, seeing the same golden blonde hairs and pale skin she had adorned since taking Caliburn upon herself atop an intricate battle dress of gentle blues interwoven with magically enhanced steel plating.

Many would call her an ethereal beauty, though she never quite understood why; her appearance had left the King constantly feeling out of place; having the mind of a honed warrior and veteran politician with the body of a teenager, she never quite knew how to handle herself amongst others, whether as a leader or as a Servant.

The Celt would glance toward her Master, the unknowing Emiya, following the Tohsaka girl as they marched through the streets in some failed attempt at meeting an illusive priest whom she claimed could teach her fledgling Master the rules of this conflict, which had gone nowhere and so she took it upon herself to explain things to save her seemingly boundless pride, these types were present in all times it seemed, though the King could never quite imagine someone willingly helping an enemy for the sake of maintaining a sense of self-worth...what a strange girl.

Her Master, Shirou, on the other hand, seemed to have a noble heart, at least where things mattered, consistently voicing his concerns with needless pain and suffering for both herself and the other Servants and Masters, but his kindness was misplaced. Heroic Spirits may have been living people at one point or another, some not, but they each lived lives of conflict.

Their purpose as Servants was nothing more than to fight for the Holy Grail as dictated by their summoning. While they each had their own reasoning for doing so, some out of moral or spiritual obligation, others out of forced submission, or those with ulterior motives, it made little difference. He who will not bear arms will simply be struck down by those who will. The knight relented the world was cruel in that way, but his difficulties in accepting his role left something to be desired, at least from what she had seen thus far.

It almost left her wanting the presence of the boy's father, something the Celt never thought she'd be forced to admit...to even think the two had some relation at all felt impossible. For all his confusion and lack of knowledge, Shirou genuinely cared for his fellow man, somehow spotting value even in her presence. The mere thought bothered Saber more than she could admit. Her life was nothing more than a series of blunders that brought her kingdom to ruin. She had no interest in preserving anything of herself if it meant reversing her misdeeds, though she couldn't help but appreciate his innocence. It was refreshing in a way...much more so than his predecessor.

Kiritsugu was heartless, an honorless man with little more than ambition guiding him forward, and a man with neither chivalry nor morals leading him was little else but a monster in her purview...But as Saber stared at the boy's spiked orange hair, she didn't think back to his father's callous black eyes, nor the cold responses he held toward almost all stimuli...for all his efforts, the Emiya couldn't hold a candle to...him.

The King stopped in her tracks, no longer seeing the gentle slope leading off into some unused parkway but a flaming theatre, one she had been in a mere day ago in her existence. She could almost feel the heat bouncing off her skin as a yellow glow remained just out of eyesight, luring her with its potential to bring about the change the King so desired, but as she tried to turn to face that which could save her from her boundless guilt, she saw him.

An image of what could only be called a demon incarnated in a human mind, with those vibrant red eyes that nearly sent shivers down the woman's spine as he wildly grinned at the destruction surrounding them. His skin was steel; his blindingly white hairs were mere fakes; nothing about him was natural...he was a killer, one of the worst mass murderers the throne of heroes had at its disposal, a being of such insanity it was almost impossible to think he knew right from wrong, nor any concept of good or evil...but...was he?

Jack the Ripper was remembered as little else but a maniac, something to be burned and tossed aside, providing nothing but chaos to a world that needed order and stability to survive...the images in her head were a world of contrasts. One moment he fit the description to perfection, but the other? She could only remember the almost somber advice the man had given her, almost as if he wanted to see her find peace...and those words in a world of grey, it was...bizarre.

Saber had endured a life of turmoil; the number of dead beneath her always weighed on the Celt's consciousness, even more so after their encounters during the last Grail War. She didn't like to think about any of it. She would never deny it was in service of her people and the lands she governed with honor and justice, but ever since she had met the Berserker, it left her with a pit that refused to leave.

She was no expert on people, hardly understanding what people did and didn't want came with the distance of Kingship. Artoria couldn't be one of... them, whether it was her Round Table or even the flocks of subjects beneath her. The knight was a symbol, standing far above the masses as both their guide and protector. That kind of responsibility didn't allow for human relationships, but she understood that no ordinary person would ever consider themselves wicked...

She had seen it all and heard every justification; oftentimes, entire villages would be slaughtered because the attackers had their own to protect. The need for land, the need for food, and whatever else drove them forward was enough to warrant death on all sides, and she would do the same for her people without question; no sacrifice was too great...but when it came to that man, things were complicated.

Was it even right to call him human?... Never in her life could the knight have imagined such a horrible existence. Mutilation was a norm in their kingdom, War was a common occurrence, and injuries that didn't end in death ended in amputation; it was a given, and some would return with crudely made prosthetics if able, but Jack moved with such ruthless efficiency, the knight couldn't help but wonder if he was simply born that way as if his current standing was as natural to him as anything else, but it made little difference in her mind.

Saber knew she hated him. She despised his methods and his behaviors. Jack the Ripper's very existence stood opposed to everything she believed was just and right, having torn his way through their War with such brutality it left much of Fuyuki utterly destroyed, denying her dream that was so close to coming to fruition, only to say he had no interest in making a wish of his own...it was far more of an insult than were he to have some underlying desire, but that was far from the case.

He just didn't want her to have it, to watch her flounder about like a fool, throwing her pride and titles aside to profess her grief, only for that to be spat in her face, to be called a monster by a man who slaughtered in the thousands on a whim for the sake of his own pleasure. What right did he have calling anyone else deplorable after what he had done?...

His hypocrisy and flagrant disregard for any of the rules and conditions for their conflict left little else but confused bitterness in her heart. Still, soon it was too much to bear, and so, Saber cast the thought aside, only clinging to the belief that he was gone and they would never meet again.

The brief mirage dissipated as she followed her Master take a detour off the main roadways and into the sporadically lit pathways stretching across town, the occasional passerby disappearing entirely in this part of the city, leaving just the Servant and the two mages before her. Archer had opted to stay in his spirit form for the time being after an awkward encounter with the knight and her summoner; it was brief, but she felt the unease in his stare before he vanished without a word, but no matter.

As they walked through the scenic area along newly laid roads of cobblestone through a densely lined parkway on both sides, a strange feeling overcame the knight, her senses seeming to go into overdrive...only to find nothing.

In mere minutes, they had gone from the hustle and bustle of the big city to the quiet drum of nature; it was expected, but this was different. It was unnaturally silent as if all life had vacated the area, leaving it so desolate even the cold winds billowing by made her hair stand on edge...it even seemed to affect the mages, their conversation slowing from the role of a Master, dwindling down until even they had gone quiet, and as they did, a sound emerged...distant, repeating in such an uneven pattern it left the Briton at a loss as to what it was.

*Tap-tap...Tap...tap-tap...tap-tap-tap

Someone was walking, their shoes clicking against the walkway, but...there was no balance...no rhythm...it was unnatural.

Artoria marched forward at once, cutting in front of her Master before stopping entirely, not budging so much as an inch as he slammed into her back with an audible thud before looking down at her standing strand of blonde hair, "Saber?... What's wrong?"

Her form stiffened, raising her unseen sword as the winds swirled around it, eyes scanning the surrounding area yet finding nothing, but honed in as a distant street light seemed to crackle, flickering on and off before fading entirely, then the next...and the next...growing closer by the moment. Saber's brow furrowed, "Stay back."

Rin raised a brow at the Celt, following her gaze as the presence seemed to only grow closer, reaching into a concealed pocket along her red sweater, fingers clasped around an array of sparkling gems, listening in as the noise became so apparent, even Shirou's untrained ears picked up on it, "...What is that?"

*Tap-tap-tap...tap...tap-tap

Moments dragged on like hours, with each of them on edge as a figure slowly emerged from around an elevated corner, standing above them on the road ahead, the flickering light illuminating her presence.

It was a girl, her long white hairs dangled as the frayed locks swayed in the breeze, utterly unkempt; the same could be said for her purple overcoat and once immaculate long white skirt. The figure's pale skin was covered in a sickly layer of sweat as she shivered uncontrollably, the sight leaving the group at a loss.

She just stared down at the ground, not making so much as a sound, leaving Shirou in utter perplexion...he raised a hand, "Excuse me?..." She didn't respond, and so he tried again, "...are you okay?"

*CRACK

Her head shot up at an unnatural speed, a resounding crunch echoing out as her dull red eyes bored into the boy's golden brown, a dried trail of blood trickling down from her mouth as she struggled to even stay in place, her legs bobbing back and forth as she swayed about, her arms, legs, everything seemed to move about with so much force her body couldn't take it.

*BOOM-BOOM-BOOM

A new sound emerged, trailing behind the frail girl, each and every step sounding like a cannon had gone off as the ground caved and splintered in their wake. A colossal figure soon appeared, rising over the horizon like a mountain over the land, raising an arm that dwarfed the girl's entire body skyward as a resounding snap came from his fingers, "Mana."

*CRACK-CRACK-CRUNCH

Her entire body spasmed, uncontrollably flailing about as new waves of blood pooled from her eyes and mouth to the ground below. Even her breaths seemed to become unstable as her chest rose and fell at wildly different intervals, and as she finally groaned out in agony, a giant hand came down on her head, rubbing her frayed hair with cold indifference as she suffered, a voice layered in stern madness echoing out, so deep it sent shivers down the mages spines, "What a pathetic little shit you are."

The hulking figure faced the crowd below as he gripped the girl by her skull, raising her up at the sounds of cracking bone rang out as she helplessly dangled there, so unmoving it was like she was comatose, "Thought she could bark orders and I'd listen like some obedient mutt...as if I'd ever listen to a genetic abomination-"

Shirou tried to push forward, uncaring for who these people were or what they wanted, utterly disgusted by what he was seeing, only for Saber to hold him back with an arm as he shouted, "STOP!"

The figure didn't relent, only shrugging his giant shoulders in indifference, his white button-up shirt slowly illuminated by the moonlight as it trickled in from the clouds above, his black pants and shined leather shoes nearly blending in with their darkened surroundings. "Don't bother pitying this thing. She'll only live a year longer at best. No use crying over potential that doesn't exist-"

The behemoth scoffed, hurling the girl back as she slammed and bounced across the hardened road as he spat in disgust, taking a step forward as the ground audibly cracked beneath him, "Things come and go, they flicker, and then they die; it makes me sick...The world's been infested with that weakness for generations, driven by some pansies who wanted to live in a world of peace, and that weakness carried over, and what has it brought me?"

He gripped a fist as the sound of grinding metal reverberated across the landscape, a faint orange glow traveling along his limbs as his bulging veins seemed to bulge to the surface, as his gleaming grey eyes studied the group from behind his glasses, "Two scrawny runts and a little blonde bimbo to boot, I came here for a war, not a fucking daycare."

*CRRRRRRRRRRRRR

Saber remained entrenched as the ground around them shook while massive cracks appeared, stretching out from the behemoth of a man as a demonic orange glow erupted from the crevices. All the while, the Celt's vibrant green eyes widened in realization, "A Servant?!"

He flashed his teeth in rage as every muscle along his neck tensed at once, his skin unnaturally stretching as if it were struggling to contain the man's strength, "I'm no one's slave. That title is nothing more than a bunch of pussy footing bullshit you lot say to make yourselves feel better about being someone's property...you were once someone great, now look at you, just another piece in someone else's game...my game-"

Lightning seemed to crackle off his skin, burning across the decaying greenery of the surrounding area, his foes instinctively recoiling as the air around them grew heavier by the second, "I'm no Berserker...I'm no Servant, and I'm not some pathetic little Spirit doing what I'm told until I'm forgotten for good."

He raised a fist, slamming it into his hardened chest as the sound of clashing metal nearly shattered their eardrums, sounding more like a cannon shot than anything else. "I'm an American, and as a great man once said, 'I want my memory, my existence to remain, unlike an intron of history, I will be remembered as an exon!' But the world is run by a bunch of scheming rats that ignore the great men who built the very foundations they stand on!"

Saber winced as the man gripped his glasses, crushing them with the snap of a finger, throwing them to the side as his cold grey eyes burned with a vibrant red glow, "T-that's..."

Her mind flashed back to those closing days of her last Grail War, remembering those fiery eyes The Ripper bore into her very soul with, soon realizing... they were the same...

The giant all but roared as a growl of contempt escaped his throat, with so much energy blasting off of him the atmosphere itself seemed to superheat in moments, "It's always the same lies; they'll pin it on religion, democracy...the western way of life, what a load of BULLSHIT!"

He slammed a boot down, causing a violent earthquake that toppled nearly half the park in one fine blast, sending a wave of dust into the air, with his red eyes gleaming through the veil, "My nation was built by the strong, forged in the fires of Revolutionary zeal, kept alight by decades of endless war with our inferiors...people, tribes, entire countries burned in our wake as the Americans forced their way onto the world stage, taking the mantle for ourselves...but-"

He winced, running a hand through his receding hairline of black hair, across wrinkles born from years of stress and firm action, "There were no more mountains to climb...our enemies had disappeared, wiped off the face of the Earth, new ones rose, but they could never compete...there was no need to improve...to create new generations of hardened leaders, ready to make any sacrifice to maintain our dominance...we became decadent and fat, and look where it got us-"

The American glared down at the two Masters, uncaring as both prepared themselves for the inevitable, "We slammed your shithole country into the ground, firebombed your civilians into ash, dropped a nuke on you for good measure, and you think you have ANY RIGHT TO THAT WISH!?"

He panted, the veins along his skin bulging as if something were swimming within, fists clenched tight, "We rebuilt this land after the war, and that was our first mistake...you Japs killed thousands of good American men, women, and children...by all rights, we should have wiped you all off the map for good...but we saw your strength, your fanaticism, your loyalty, and we respected it...we let you live so long as you knew your place...we've fallen so low that even our subjects won't listen...but no more."

He marched forward, the flickering streetlights concealing much of him from view as his yellow dress tie swayed in the breeze, "Human nature is weak, clinging to the easiest answers even if it means screwing us in the long run...people like doing nothing, they'll let the work of their forebears rot out of spite, rejecting the idea of Great Men guiding society forward just because it means getting off your ass...we let it get this bad because there was no goal, no motivation, no new hurdles to leap over or die trying...but I can fix that-"

Berserker took a slow breath, stretching his arms over the horizon to a nonexistent crowd, "It'll be a new American Revolution, one where peace isn't even a memory, the idea will be gone forever, everyone who isn't with us will be wiped out in an endless cycle of conflict, guaranteeing that the strong will always rise from the pile...there'll be no time for rest, no chance for corrupt shitheads to ruin the work of good men...the era of indifference will come to an end, and a new world will rise from the ashes."

He gripped his shirt as caustic orange energy crackled along his fist, "Every Revolution starts with something, big or small it paves the way for real change...and my first step-"

The giant ripped his shirt off as a flickering street light overhead blasted back on, illuminating his form and revealing a sickening trail of pulsating veins clustered along his massive chest. Blackened smog erupted across him on all sides as his red eyes glowed within. He slammed a foot back, every muscle clenching as the Earth itself shook before him as the Senator roared, "YOU FUCKING DIE!"

He charged.

...

Steven Armstrong:

Strength: A+

Endurance: A

Agility: A

Mana: F

Luck: B

NP: B+

Alignment: Lawful Evil

Class Skills: Berserker Madness C-

Personal Skills: Unknown

Noble Phantasm: Unknown

...

Happening.

With everything said and done, I hope you enjoyed this chapter, and things are only going to get crazier from here. In all seriousness, we have been planning this reveal for so long, and it feels fantastic to finally be here.

Take it easy, and I'll see you all in the next one; cheers, and stay well!