The Way, Truth, and Light

by WizardlyWords

In the midst of tragedy, among the ruins in hell, a lone boy wanders through the valley of death. Chocking on smoke, swimming through tears, he looks up and begs for help. Clutching the symbol of his faith, begging for salvation as the world ends, he asks for his savior's embrace. And he is justly rewarded. For Jesus is never far from the cries of his flock.

20. Arc 1: Dead Rider

"An army of the night, raised from those slain to serve another Lord." The words spilled from Sasaki like a poem. "I've often heard that nature will turn against those who spite it, but I believe that this is the opposite due."

"This is an ambination! This is an act against the Lord on high!" Longinus was next to him. "They aren't men, they have no souls. They shamble and twist they… they're monsters given the flesh of man!"

"Made to serve not another Lord of the land then, but one who dwells beneath hit." Sasaki amended his words. "Or perhaps… the Lord who sits atop the dark horse on the high hill." The long haired Samurai put a hand over his brow as if to peer farther. "He waits and watches like one, though his soldiers move with the speed of a tree's sap."

"The sap of a tree is a sticky thing, hard to clean yourself of." Solomon joined them. "I fear they are more like the tangy sap then even you would hope for. Monsters like that don't come without a trail of ruin at their feet, and miasmic fumes from their maws." He spoke as he adjusted his robes, rings clinking together, each finger rocking against one another. "But they really just came up like this!"

"They weren't here when Mozart left to find you all. It was just that horned rider and then-"

Ritsuka's words were cut off as another wave of cries rose from the dead, and the six watched them from the tops of ruined roofs. The bodies that were hiding in the dark, shambling corpses that stood around the hills like burned trees, carrying the remains of weapons and tools as if their last links to th world. Mouths fell open or off as their cries ripped into the air, so much like the ones they heard yesterday as the Wyverns attacked, but now with them at the center.

It rolled like waves over the ruined village, the number of them growing, like the opposite of a hymn or prayer. Ritsuka could only think of it like the shout of fear that came from children, making other cries. But this was the wail of the dead, coming from hundreds of them. It was making his spirit flip, like he was looking at the ruin of another village, and city.

Not monsters, but dead men. Men who were staring at their ruined home. It could have been anything that killed them, even fire as they burned burned, burned, burned, BURNED-

BOOOM!

Ritsuka jumped, falling as he came back down and nearly sliding off of the roof. Longinus caught him by his collar, making him look up with fright. Eyes turned to Mozart, the musician standing atop a spire and waving his baton about him, humming.

"Oh, did I scare you? I do apologies, that wasn't the purpose of that measure. I was just trying to break up their monotony." His hand waved over the now silent dead. "It was carrying on too long to be a pleasant tune."

"Your magic is as crass as your words."

"Why thank you."

"Forget his magic, what about that horror." Longinus asked again. "We may be able to face them, but what is death to an already dead man?"

"A return to sender?" Solomon's question met with Ritsuka glaring at him, more in shock than anything else. "I'm being truthful. I don't know if there are even spirits within them, or if it is more like the Rider out there has made puppets of them. I say that because they resemble, if crudely, a magic of my craft."

"Summoning?" Marie guessed.

"No, golems. A form without spirit. Meant to guard the one who creates them." The wise king looked across the plain, staring doubtlessly as the horned rider. As the moon crept further into the air, it became more apparent the features the dark rider had. Had, by that they were hidden. And so hidden that the horns were more prominent.

Ritsuka couldn't help but put his own hand to his head, trying to emulate what he saw. They had to have been larger than his own curled hand, and stuck out from temples and forehead. He thought it could have been a crown, except that there was no circlet around him. That… and he couldn't' imagine any normal king raising the dead.

That still made his spirit twist and stomach turn.

"If they are golems, then-"

TWANG! His words were interrupted as Sasaki swung his 'laundry pole' in front of him, smacking a long polearm from the air by the tip. It skittered down the roof, rolling off and back into the shadows of the fields. The man looked back with a wry grin.

"They certainly have good form. I don't know of many warriors who could toss a lance with such accuracy."

"That means the Rider has fine control of them. And there are hundreds of them. He has to be a Servant."

"Haha, was that ever in doubt?" Mozart asked. "Even I can recognize royalty when they attend my orchestras."

"It's true, he can." Marie agreed. "Just as I know these bodies are those who died on the land of our people. Loyal men, the devout French… made to walk like this." It was odd looking at a girl with such a large hat. Odder still to see her face twisted into disgust and judgement. "They do not deserve this. Non. Not them."

"No one does, not even the wicked." Longinus retorted, having since drawing Ritsuka up and letting him stand. Gray eyes looked down at him, shining like the Moon. "Master, you know as well as I the atrocity this is, done against the dead when our Lord walks the land."

"You're right… I do…" More than Jesus raising himself from the dead, the others he had saved never returned in such a twisted manner.

Lazarus did not come from his tome moaning and rotten. The little girl of Bethlehem did not crawl when he asked her to rise. Mash did not act with a lack of intelligence. This… this was a mockery against God and Jesus. It could not stand.

"We have to stop it." He stood tall in the cool air. "We have to stop the Rider."

"Yes!" Longinus joined. "We will take him from his steed!"

"And cut him into fine parts." Sasaki joined. "Perhaps the first in this land to make me swing my blade more than thrice."

"You'll have to get through his army of the dead first. And I fear that the number we see is not all that he can make." Solomon's words were tough. "He raised so many in the seconds between Mozart leaving and us returning. I don't know if we can even kill them at a speed to reach him."

"But I can!" Marie shouted back. "I shall jump over his monstrosities and shine a bright light against the blight that is his existence! Viva La France!"

"France indeed, and I will be assisting!" Mozart raised his baton to match. "I'd prefer to stay behind, but what manner of musician would I be if I refused to play a powerful tune for a patient leader. AHA!" The leader in question, Ritsuka would argue, didn't seem particularly worthy of hearing any music.

"Rider and Caster will lead a charge towards the enemy Rider, Ritsuka stays here, in hiding," Solomon pointed at him. "Lancer and Assassin will fight the enemies attempting to enter the village." Golden eyes looked around. "No, that won't work. Neither of you have legends steeped in fending off an assault. It would be too easy for a few to sneak around."

"Then your suggestion?" Sasaki questioned. His posture was sharp, eyes on the sky. TWANG! Ritsuka didn't blink, but he still missed the man beating another polearm from the air. This time, one that was aimed at him. "Long as the fight is not taken from us, I am here to obey the commands of a Lord's serf."

"You and Caster will stay back with me. We'll keep Master safe, as well as giving the rest of these undead something to chew on."

"I hope they don't chew on me. I'm afraid I'll taste like shit." Despite the situation, Sasaki laughed at Mozart's words. Ritsuka couldn't help a smile either.

"I'm almost counting on it. But you can slow their already lumbering numbers, giving Sasaki time to keep Master safe. I can direct best from here, and he can communicate."

"A tower for commands." Longinus agreed. "And the Master's thoughts are easier to read than smoking pyres or war horns." Yet he didn't understand what he meant by that.

"Then I shall to stay behind?"

"No, you're right that we have to fight the Rider. The longer he's around, the more undead there will be. Not to mention that if he escapes, he may get other Servants to join us. As a Rider, he'd likely have little difficulty in outrunning us." All that sounded bad. "We defend Ritsuka, aim to take out the Rider, and hopefully before the run rises."

"The sun?" He couldn't help the question.

"I suspect that the Rider will make himself scarce when sun comes up. It would explain why we didn't see him earlier." His sentence was cut off as another shrill cry rose from the waves of the undead. A lumbering shriek that dragged like rocks against his skin. The Master ground his teeth at the noise. "It's not a mystery where the cries came from."

"I will not mind taking their tongues." Sasaki's blade adjusted in his grip. "But I suggest we begin soon. Their numbers do not appear to be dipping."

"Then I shall go!" Marie stood up, her hat bouncing. "I shall charge the Rider and make him pay dearly for the desecration of these loyal soldiers!"

"For that, I will be more than happy to assist." Longinus twisted his infamous weapon. "Be it mixed, I shall be the arm of your calvary, and we will take the Rider down. This way, we may finally be able to give the dead back their peace."

"As long as it doesn't end with us in pieces." Mozart quipped again. "But do be quick. I do hate a song that drags on." He twisted his baton, raising his other arm and making a sweeping motion.

The noise of brass horns shook the house they were on, Ritsuka gripping the tiles as he feared he'd start to fall again. The noise shook loose the cry of the dead, dragging them down as he wished their bodies would. It ended with a soft flute playing in the air, and Mozart humming along with it.

"If you'd like I can start the war drums."

"Non! Continue with the trumpets! Viva La France!" The Princess almost laughed with her command, even as she spun and headed towards the roof's edge. "We will take back these lands as God did his people, correct?"

"As you say your highness!" Longinus followed. "Begin your charge, for I am with you." She laughed, either with him or in agreement, before jumping off the roof. A spark of light lit up the night, illuminating the hopelessly large army in front of them. It was no more than a bang, a flash light flickering on an off, but it showed Ritsuka all that he needed.

The ruined faces that stretched from the village's edge to the distant rolling hills. The dragging corpses that matted the fields like rocks. The rotten bodies staining the once green grass. He had an easier time seeing their dead gazes looking up at him than he did the stars in the sky. It was a sight that reminded him of burning, burning, burning, burning! But the fire didn't last.

The light showed him what they were up against, but it also birthed the glass steed that the princess rode in on. It jumped, silent despite its size, and demonstrated its great girth against the enemy. On its back, balanced as only a soldier could manage, Longinus held his terrifying lance. The two fell to the ruined bodies like a plague to the young, taking them.

Ritsuka would admit, he wasn't sure if he was pleased or ill at the sight. Bodies were meant to be ripped apart, let alone flung through the air.

"It is a good thing those men are already dead," Mozart muttered from behind. "Or else I fear they may hall crapped themselves." Sasaki laughed at the musician's antics once more. Ritsuka had no time.

"You can anlayze their drawers later. Sasaki, take to the ground and kill as many as you can." Solomon had to say no more before the lavender robed man was gone, his vicious smile leaving a lasting impression. "Mozart, support as you can. I don't care if you join us or duck in buildings, but make sure the undead do not get close to us."

"That should be no issue. I tend to be very easy to focus on." He skipped, jumping off the roof with the same grace as the others. I left Ritsuka looking up at the red robed king. Golden eyes hard, focused on the enemy behind them, even as the sounds of a glass horse and god-bloodied lance tore through them. He opened his mouth to speak, but was stopped as Solomon's hand shot at him.

Fear took him for a moment, even when the hand stopped some distance to his side. Ritsuka only had to glance to see the blade held in the tan hand of the king. It was hair's width from his own eye.

"It appears they are skilled in throwing all their weapons. When their arms fling off with the stomp of a hoof, I suppose that would be the best way to fight." He dropped the blade, letting it rattle down the roof and falling out of sight. "More the pity then. Throwing their last materials good at us. It'd be best then we move to cover as they do so."

A strong hand picked him up, guiding the Chaldean Master to his feet. With few words, they headed towards a belfry, the metallic bell having already since been taken from its center. Ritsuka found himself being carried there by the Servant, who effortlessly jumped from the ruined roofs to the higher tower. He had to fall to his hand and knees, but righted himself as best he could.

The cries of the dead still wailed into the air, scratching at his soul. But it was the sound of a steed beating the ground, the ringing of steel slicing through the air, and loudest of all, an anthem of a foreign country playing in the air that reminded him he had to be strong.

Everyone was fighting. So did he. With God on his side, he would do too.

"Have you said your prayers?" Solomon asked over his shoulder. Ritsuka gave a quick nod. "Then let's start."

---

"Jetaime! We're unstoppable!" The cry from the princess was one of a little girl playing with her father. On a steed of glass, in brighter light, it could have been mistaken for such.

Alas, the dried corpses being crushed under the weight of her horse, while a Roman wielding a Divine-Killing polearm rode on its rear, destroyed any such illusions. If not for the crumbled limbs and dust they were kicking into the cool wind, then the splintering of weapons and cries of agony from the dead would certainly taint any dreams of innocence.

And if all of that was successfully ignored by the ignorant and desperate, it would still be a more difficult task to put out of mind the slings and arrows of decaying tools and weapons being flung on them. A number great enough to make any many weary.

For a pair of Servants, blessed with greater powers, it was an annoyance they had to work through.

"We are facing blights that attempted to copy the Miracles of Jesus. They mean nothing to us who have seen the Lord." Longinus countered as he spun his lance. It ripped through the head of one of the undead soldiers, its arm reaching back to throw another weapon. It fell over with the deed done. It enjoyed its final rest little, its fellows stomping on the redead corpse. "Mistakes that cannot help but be repeated."

"But they are slow!" Marie followed back, guiding her steed along its neck. Its hind legs kicked out, all but disintegrating one of the monsters that lurked there. It did so before rising up, bring down its forelegs and crushing a couple with raised shields. "So slow that I feel even the youngest of recruits from the French Army may face them! The army of my nation would conquer these unholy things!"

"As would mine, but nether would come if we called," Longinus spoke back. He slipped off the horse's saddle, reaching out and pulling his lance again. It beat through a pair of sword, taking just as many monsters' heads with it. It came back up and caught a pair of swords thrown at them again. "We should be so happy that they are focusing on us rather than our Master. The number of weapons they are throwing at us tells me so."

"That does seem to be all they can do~." The Princess laughed as her steed jumped. It landed on more crumbled bodies, and Longinus adding more to the litter. "Perhaps the Rider cared too much for quantity and had no other qualities!"

"Were their weapons thrown with any less force, I may agree." The Roman Scout turned to look at the Rider in question, still staring at them from atop the hill, horns and body the only stagnant things in the night's wind. "It is that the commander has done nothing so far that gives me worry."

"Oi, that may be the way one should think, but do not stress more than we alright might!" The horse turned again. "Keep the monsters down as we strive forward! The fewer Mozart and Master have to deal with, the safer they will be! Viva La France!"

"I am less concerned with France, and more concerned with our fight. Though you are not wrong." Longinus twisted his lance until the butt of it was facing forward. He threw it, letting it ram into an enemy's shield. Rotten as the bodies were, it crumbled like the dust it had come from. The galloping horse gave him easy purchase to pull it back up, even dragging more of the undead down with the action alone.

They were like cut-outs of a true force, nothing that any great army would threaten themselves over.

But the head of this force still did little more than stare. That made his gray eyes narrow.

"Do not worry, dear soldier!" The French Princess cried. "We will be upon him soon, and then we can pay him in return for his misdeeds. None shall spite the great sacrifices of these men and retreat with grace!" Her cheerful demeanor did not match her words. Longinus was not one to argue.

"Then ride forward! I'll deliver a blow he will not recover from!" The Princess laughed with his declaration, but raised as much argument as he had against her. The glass steed charged the monsters like the wind in the night, careless and breaking upon them.

The Horned Rider watched them without a word.

---

SHINK! SHINK! Two more of the monsters fell at his blade, toppling like the bamboo dummies of a dojo's training ring. Little more than a groan left them as they hit the broken cobblestone. Sasaki did not offer them a glance, even in the dark. His feet were already moving, position changing, and ready for the next monstrosity.

He had no need to rush aside from growing numbers. The lumbering corpses performed worse than the Lord's children in their first suit of armor, yet still lacking the defense. Sharp as his blade was, he felt that the cloth and rotten wood he was swinging against was of little consequence to it. It would have been a dull practice, again, if the numbers were not so great.

SHINK! Great enough that even with his dozenth swing, matching with the number of dusty bodies falling, the numbers only seemed to increase in the streets. Dragging feet and moans of pain, followed by the shrill breath of tortured cries.

It would have been enough to have him deem this unworthy.

TWANG! If not for their clear intent, and ability to kill. The blade he pushed aside with a quick swing of his laundry pole was proof of it. Especially as the weapon clattered against a ruined building, chiseling stone away with it.

"How amazing it is you have the strength to apart the earth, and yet not the durability to resist a single blade." The samurai mused as a shambling body approached him. It wore the garb of a soldier, balancing on a polearm. For a moment, at least, before its body fell forward, twisting its arm in an unnatural way. It turned the weapon into an arrow, flinging it with comparable speed.

But swallows were faster and Sasaki dipped his head and let it sing past him. It split the air and pierced the building behind him, gutting through it. He turned a sharp smile back towards the monster.

"As I said, great strength with no defense." He stepped forward, feet almost landing more on air than stone, as he moved past the monster. His blade glided through its skull, letting it crumble to the ground. "A true warrior needs both, or else he is but an unkindled fire or motionless wall."

Rather than a retort from a worthy enemy, Sasaki was met instead with the shrieking of the dead. Adjusted his stance as the shrill cry filled the air.

Much like his Master before him, he felt the stone rumble with the sound, as if the very Earth was opposed to the mournful screams. It had him tense his arms and grit his teeth, focusing a sharp gaze on the monsters around him, every growing in number. From the few handfuls to the dozens, and more crawling over the ruin, even as they screamed in their own protest.

It was a protest shortly lived, as a far more enjoyable sound fill the air. It didn't even involve the clashing of metal.

If anything, Sasaki was rather sure the trumpets and horns that bounced through the streets ground brass more than anything else. It also muted the cries of the monsters, making their already uneven forms stumble. Ironic, as it gave the samurai a more stable ground to move across. And move he did.

His blade sang in temp to the horns and trumpets, slicing through necks and arms with the rise of each note, before descending with the crash of drums. Though power was never the greatest asset of a samurai, before skill or speed, he found the ability to render even the rotten shields to dust a pleasurable experience. Such a shame his enemies did not seem capable of properly holding them.

"This may be my first time witnessing one dance like this to my music!" The voice of Mozart called above, and Sasaki offered the colorfully dressed man his gaze. Even as his baton waved in the air from the second floor of a ruined home. "It makes me wish I had asked for a dance to be played among the French Military. Perhaps it would have earned me more accolades!"

"You need no more than you already have," Sasaki replied, even as he pulled his blade from another monster. Over thirty swings, just as many dead. There were no hundreds to go. "Two different Lords enjoy your songs. You have no reasons to play for others."

"I do if I want to see the Army hear me play the brown note!" He declared as he had a low tune hum through the air. It sook the monsters off their feet, earning a jovial laugh from the man. "Though I hope they could stand straighter when I play it. It would be quite a sight seeing the French Military falling onto their own filled drawers."

Even as the dead rose in number, Sasaki raised his head in laughter, accompanying the natural tune of Wolfgang.

It was a note that carried, but shortly lived. He was quick to adjust his foot and bring his blade up and down across more of the fallen dead. Their decaying bodies were quick to rend to pieces, and hardly slowed his blade as he drifted through them. Without the thrill of a worthy opponent, it was likely the next best thing.

Swinging his sword as if practicing in a still night, with the music of a master artisan thrumming in the air around him. It truly was a fine way to spend the evening, especially because he had to remain diligent in it.

Nothing kept his mind sharp, and spirit well, then the necessity of a diligent deed.

"You use your blade like a grand conductor! Look at how they bend with the way you swing it. You're footing is even proper for it!" Wolfgang hailed the Samurai as he continued to carve a sharp hole in the wailing dead. Wailing loudly. "Though perhaps you work them too hard."

"I doubt they feel anymore. The pain of death, I'm told, is rather incomparable." He grinned with the swing of his blade, bisecting two of the shamblers now. They fell over, weapons clattering with the effort. Sasaki steppe back and readied himself. A fine thing he did.

TWANG! TWANG! He had need to raise and twist his arms, directing his blade like the rutter of a boat and sending a pair of thrown swords away from him. The monsters they belonged to fell over for their effort. Humorous if they were live. Pitiable now.

"If these things possessed thought of their own, I'm sure they would have thrown themselves on their own tools by now."

"They have a good enough arm for it. That's for su-OH!" The musician let out a noise and his music dipped. Sasaki risked a glance to see he had stumbled back, avoiding one such weapon being thrown at him. The polearm shook in place, spear end embedded in a wall, and the staff swaying above him. "Oh dear, I'd almost prefer tomatoes, even if they tend to stain." Kojiro laughed.

"I am sure it's preferable to the stain of your blood." He bent and rose, swinging his blade in a large arch. It took a weapon and body with it. "Red was a popular color on the suits of many Samurai so they could hide such a thing."

"How tragic! Having to forego colors to endure battle! I'd never do such thing." The man must have waved his baton, for the chords of a rising violin took the air. In the same manner, the feet and arms of the undead rose with it, as if their strings were being pulled by a different master. "If you're to show yourself to a crowd, make it a grand show! Never give a performance half-hearted!"

A grand drum beat the air, and the few buildings that held through the wyvern battle shook, losing tiling and marring themselves. The ungrateful undead were less fortunate, if not falling over with broken knees, then jaws being shaken off an eyes popping out from their skulls. It made the samurai hum, judging the best course of action.

He decided to run through the street, swinging his blade through the few standing monsters. Each swing purposeful, a practiced motion, and taking back the body of the raised ones. He wished he could compare it to the swiftness of a swallow.

But in truth, it felt more like he was cutting down tadpoles on the river's bank than swift birds in the air.

It was still a neat compromise. As he finished his quick foray, turning around to see the numbers still strong, lumbering through the opened streets. He hummed in tune with Wolfgang's instruments, readying himself.

His purpose was to stave off and outlast them. With the way he felt now, he seemed it would not be a heavy issue.

---

Her steed was swift as the wind, for she shined like France's Divine Light. The cruelly remade soldiers of her kingdom were pitiable in their state, and she thanked the Roman soldier for returning them to wince they came. Those that her own horse did not beat back into the ground with stomping hooves or flinging haunches. It was a grand display of their teamwork.

But like any partnership or team, it had a goal to reach. Theirs was up ahead, watching in the darkness with horns rising to the night.

"Can you sprint towards it?" Maire looked over her shoulder at the Roman Scout.

"Sprint, oi! Atop the dead, non." Her steed slipped on another body to demonstrate. "It's like pushing a cart through thick grass, and I'd be despised if I threw you or myself off in an act of haste." She heard a grunt from the man, but didn't know if it was dissatisfaction for her answer, or the effort of skewering another undead monstrosity.

"Then can you descend from the sky? Like an arrow?" The idea made the princess grin.

"We can try!" She guided her glass horse around, clearing the undead about them. "And now, we rise!" With little warning to her passenger, the horse leapt into the air. With the speed it was capable of reaching, it was able to gras at just a miraculous height. High above the horned rider on a high hill, and silhouetting them about the stars. It gave the Lancer a clear shot at the Rider.

But it gave just as evident a target for the undead. And like they were waiting for it, the steed was bombarded with thrown weaponry.

The hooves of her steed beat at the swords, lances, and shields that were chucked their way, breaking the few it was able to hit, but the chassis of the horse bearing the brunt of those it couldn't bat away. Their position was pushed back in mid-air, their balance thrown, leaving Longinus to grasp at the smooth back of the horse, and Marie to affix her hands on the jagged mane.

"Non! This is no good!" Princess Marie let out as they began to fall. They will not give us a chance! She twisted it with her the guide of her magic and Noble Phantasm, letting the steed land back on the earth. It was atop a pair of spearmen, but she paid the already crumbled corpses no mind. "It is though the Rider knows of our intent."

"Seeing as he attacked us first, it would make sense. Just as the Lord knew the people who doubt him when he came, so too must this Rider know we would attack when he came to combat us." His infamous lance spun around again, and the groans of a few of the wailing undead were cut off by the edge of his spear. "Then not at him. Around him, can you manage that?"

"Pardon?"

"He may be a ruler over a fighter. If I can knock him from his steed, perhaps then we may be able to skim the tide of these unholy undead." Marie grinned like the sun was upon her, flipping her legs around and finding perch on the back of her steed.

"Je'taime! Let's see what I can do!" Marie put her all into her steed then, letting the magic and authority of her rule into the beast. It beat the ground, grinding the mushy flesh and dried bones into the dirt. Her eyes were forward, on the darkened figure with horns mocking the heavens. "Prepare yourself, Longinus. The window I offer will not be as grand as those of Notre Dame!"

"I will make do with what you offer."

Then she was off.

It was true that she could not sprint among the dead. Spinning wheels and muddy grounds were more of an obstacle for a hasty traveler than walls themselves. She could not sprint at the Rider, but she could bounce between the few empty patches of grass about the fields and hills. Those that the dead had risen and left, or those that Longinus had just cleared.

The stallion ran from one to the other, pushing at the ground and pulling up the dirt in the effort of changing direction. The screaming dead were muddled as dirt was blown into their face, the more else that cried pushed away by the swiftness of the wind. Longinus tore into the few that tried to attack them, his lance swift even on the back of a grand steed.

Their approach was gaining, slower than the straight lines, but preferrable to the none at all. Bit by bit, closer and closer, they stomped on the helms of dead soldiers, until the Rider was paces before them. Marie grinned, staring up at the Rider cast so heavily in shadow, it was known more for its horns than name.

"Longinus!" She cried, as her steed launched forth.

She passed by the Rider, unable to find perch to attack straight. But close enough for the famed soldier's lance to find purchase. Beneath the brim of her large hat, she saw him the head of the weapon strike true. She sucked in the breath she needed to shout in victory.

It was let out as a cry of surprise as a grayed hand beat it away so much like cloth.

"Unh?" She managed to let out as they settled a distance away. "Did you aim true?"

"I hit him, but he didn't care." Longinus retorted. "He is more than just a ruler then. He has something about him. Magical, legendary, or fowl. No, assuredly the latter. He could have nothing magnificent if his legend is tied to this." This, being punctuated by the same lance ripping through a pair of decaying soldiers with ease.

"He lasts more than the crumbling dead," Marie agreed. "Though I would think even the finer members of my army would struggle under you."

"Jesus himself died under this lance." It was a harsh reminder.

"Longinus!" The worried voice of their Master came through their mind. "Can you hear me?"

"Oi! We can!"

"I can indeed, Master. It is god to hear you."

"Good is subjective. What happened to your attack? It looked as if it hit."

"It did, but the Rider is more durable than his men."

"A raiser of the Undead is difficult to kill? Perish the thought." Mozart mocked from some other position. "That only means we need to try a bit harder. Beat the drums faster or blow the flute harder. Just be sure to squeeze your glutes while you do."

"It's more than that. He beat away the lance." They heard Master gasp through the unseen connection. "He may not be able to fight, but he will not be so easy to strike down."

"Rider must have a great Endurance or… a skill that makes him immune to mortal weapons."

"Mortal weapons?"

"Anything lacking a blessing of the divine." Solomon explained to the Master. "And blade you may pick up, arrows thrown, or even buildings collapse on him. From how he resisted both the princess's charge and Longinus's swift attack, it would fit best, and easiest." The princess kept her eyes on the monsters that were trampled beneath them, thankful the loyal slapped away the weapons they threw. "At least I hope its not some manner of night blessing that gives him strength, or we may be in trouble."

"We may not be… no matter how he resists." The gray-eyed man responded. "I can still kill him."

"Didn't you just fail?" Mozart's question mirrored Marie's own.

"Because I attacked him as I would any common soldier. But I may still attack him with the full thrust this lance is capable of." The princess looked over her shoulder to see it. The same red lance she'd be introduced to upon learning the soldier's name, baring no damage despite the number of decayed bodies he had struck through.

It was hard to see the hidden power he proclaimed it held, even while it was held under the moon's light.

"The Spear of Longinus, the lance that is stained with the blood of Christ." The Title had weight. "Your Noble Phantasm! Of course! That would be able to kill him!"

"How can you be certain?" She asked the question. "Now is not the time to guess. My land may be overrun by the treacherous things if you are wrong."

"My lance is stained with the blood of God. There is nothing that I may not slay. Not even the blessing of God was able to keep his Son alive." The words were as heavy as the steed they rode in on. "But if I carelessly use its power, it will be wasted on one of the corpses."

"Of course. Your Noble Phantasm is unit based." The voice of Solomon remarked. The princess could hear their Master's confusion. "Much like Cu's back in Fuyuki. It may do great damage to one foe, but it is opposite Saber's Noble Phantasm. He uses it once, and the power will be gone from it."

"Would it be too much to ask for your Lord to re-stain it, should our Roman Scout miss?" Sasaki's words hung in the air like the cry of the dead.

"Do not joke about something so evil."

"It is as our Master says. Do not idly speak of slaying Jesus." Longinus put a hand to Marie's shoulder, stalling her. "We only need to approach quickly, and with a clear path."

"Oi, I can cover one or the other. But I may not be able to ensure you have an open path if we move quick, or a quick approach if I clear these poor bodies. Pardon me."

"With the rate at which these creatures approach, I cannot give blame to the young Maiden." Marie couldn't hear the samura's blade, but she was sure it was cutting through the monsters as he spoke. "I'm swift enough to catch sparrows, doves, and the morning light, but these bodies emerge as swiftly as I bury them."

"He's right. I'd dare to say they're as incorrigible as the critics who laze on wine and good bread." Marie knew who Mozart was talking about. The same people who told her France was doing fine, up until she was dragged from her manor. "Though I suppose that means one of us will have to clear the path, as I doubt I'd be able to rouse my gifts fast enough to life your feet, dear Scout."

"What?"

"Mozart is suggesting he clear out the dead, to give Marie the head start for Longinus." She would hold her tongue, the princess swore. For she wasn't aware what Mozart meant either. "It isn't a poor idea, but it depends on Sasaki being able to keep you safe."

"You insult my abilities in ways I never thought possible." The man cheerily replied. "The dead are great in number, but I have no fear for my life. The winds provides a greater challenge."

"For yourself, but you're a Ronin. You haven't fought to defend another." An undead was crushed under her stallion in the silence Solomon's words created. "Though our Master is strong in faith, if he dies, many of us will go with him and this land will be doomed."

"Can you not protect him like before?"

"Do you remember his state when you and the princess helped carry him to the village?" Marie could, the young boy lain over the very horse they rode now. Cold, still, unresponsive. It was not a cheery site, especially as they came with the hope of saving them. "I'm here as the very last line, not the spear of the attack."

"Then we return to me defending our Master." This time, Marie heard the sword in the air, even above the cries. Though that was improper. It wasn't he sword she heard.

It was the crashing of a nearby building, falling in on itself.

Longinus and her both turned to see one of the near ruined structures of the village toppling down, dust and debris catching the moon's light. It glistened in the wind, and muffled the fervent tears of the monsters around them.

"I may not have an army at my side nor magic to compare to the greats, but my blade has carried its name through legend. I believe that will be enough to stave off this ungrateful horde." Those were strong words. Words that Marie knew would convince her to give blessing to any man who might have asked for a favor for her when she was still alive.

"I believe he can do it." The clearly meant the same to Master.

"That will work then. Mozart?"

"Give me a moment. I've never been fast leaving the box. Usually I'm getting ready to run to the lavatory." Despite herself, Marie had to giggle. The soldier behind her sighed.

"Be fast as you can. I have no desire to face this Rider for longer than we have to."

"Does the Roman wish to run from a fight?"

"No. I only wish to rid Rider from this land before he chooses to do more than watch us." The words had an impact. No one else responding.

---

"I'm sure that man had to scout out the right words for that statement." Mozart laughed from his perch. "A good thing he didn't have the epiphany at a low point. That would be a crappy situation."

He laughed, even as he waved his baton and brought forth a string of violins. They cried louder than the dead that were trying to pull their way into the ruined town. It vibrated their skulls, making the already weak connections flounder and fail. He did a small pirouette from his conductor stand as their heads slid from their necks, polearms falling.

"And I'd prefer bows over you losing your heads to my music, but I suppose that you must celebrate a class act differently in your new life. Not that it's a life many would want." He hummed as he felt the night wind pick up, letting it carry his music. The wails of the dead were a harsh and poor contrast. "If that is your best imitation of a bow though, then I'll take it. I'd much prefer a poor sign of respect than ignorance."

"Mozart, prepare yourself." The voice of Solomon spoke to him. "Princess Marie will be there soon."

"Don't worry! I won't miss my galivanting ride!" He replied with good cheer. "I was late for her once, but I won't be again." He skipped to the edge of the roof, waving his baton in the same motion he came to stop. It pushed all the undead down with a series of great drum blows, the preparation for the rising action. "Clear the way for her, so that I may open a path for them. Quid Pro Quo."

"You know latin?"

"But of course, Master. What manner of musician would I be if I didn't understand the classics?" His laughter was drowned out by the sound of an approaching horse, though it could have been mistaken for the king and all of his men.

Princess Marie's steed slid to a stop in the street, sending the walking corpses to crumbled walls, bodies falling to pieces. The roman soldier stood at the ready with his lance, though there wasn't a foe that seemed ready to challenge him. All the better for Wolfgang, who had no need to wait before jumping from the high roof. He landed deftly on the back of the glass horse.

"Here I was to say that your horse was too big for you, my lady," Mozart began, looking down at the princess, who shined her own gallant smile. "But it appears I was mistaken. Your steed has a wide back to carry a heavy load."

"Oi! There is much to do, and I must ensure that I can bear all that is given!"

"Just ensure you take only what you need. Many feudal lords fell in battle for taking to battle more than was necessary. You have a ram and spear, so run along before the king thinks you need my blade."

"Our Master needs your blade, and it needs to keep cutting through those undead!" The supposed Wise King spoke, and Mozart's keen ear could hear the metal swinging through the air. It was impossible to miss it, seeing as it sung just as clearly as a well twined violin string. Though its chime was more akin to bells. "But if you have what you need, make the path and take down the Rider!"

"Of course! I may be the conductor, but I would hate to spite my benefactor!" His laughter came in time with the horse rising back. Marie gave him purchase, hands on his hips as Longinus balanced himself as only a roman could on the hind quarters of a horse.

When the glass steeds legs touched down again, it was attempting to out pace the wind. Mozart's laugh was lost as the beast ran through the carriage of the undead, seeing more than a few of their thrown weapons being plucked from the air by Longinus's crimson polearm. Even in the night sky, seemed to shine on the majesty of her majesty's steed.

He laughed louder. A composer, not a writer, and his alliteration was still on track!

"Glad as I am to see your humor is not loss in a battle, I pray to the Lord you do not lose track of your duties."

"Haha, fear not loyal conscript." The gray eyed man gave him a glare that was visible beneath his helm. "I am more than capable of maintaining my duties while enjoying myself. How else can I say I lived the life God blessed me with if I don't find enjoyment in it?" His waved his baton through the air, seeing the crowd of the dead as they pierced the edge of the ruined village. "And for a Lord that continues to show his love for me, I should do the same for him."

The orchestra took part with his rising hand, following the tempo of his baton as it whipped through the air. The brass took part in shaking free the polearms and spears from the dead that lined up to throw them, groans and wails rising in complaint. Those were quickly thrown down by the cry of the violins and cellos, risking their souls to rise into their decrepit bodies. It was a worthy risk, as it had the lance of the infamous soldier behind him taking down fewer of the monstrosities, by necessity.

"Parfait! Incroyable!" His Princess cried out in cheer, even as she directed her glass horse. "Not even a lack of ears can keep them from recognizing your genius!"

"That's because true music is felt as much as it's heard. How else could the deaf compose so well?" He laughed with the question. "More than that, I must show this gift from the God who loved me in more ways then merely making the dead tremble. I believe they do as I promise now, and fall."

Mozart raised and dropped his hands, letting them point towards the earth. Bells and drums beat in the air, making his own robes billow for the effort. He heard Longinus make a sound of effort, balancing himself as the tempo washed through him, and the cries of surprise from his Master and the Wise King were heard, just as well as the lull in Sasaki's swinging blade.

They could all withstand it. The unfortunate undead could not.

They fell so much like drunkards after the full day's of work that Wolfgang wondered for a moment if he had stumbled into a different land. They even appeared almost British with their complexion, though that could have been a trick from the lack of light. It was of no importance either way, as his music was doing as it was meant to do.

Making the fools to the left fall and the jokers to the right drop. It left on a middle path up the hill and to the horned rider. That mysterious purview that seemed to cascade across the night. It would have been worthy of a sonnet of some kind, but a shame he was sure the man had no cash to request a commission.

"The path is clear! If only the road of France could be opened so easily. Perhaps I could craft a pants filling song for just that purpose."

"Wonder on that later!" Solomon yelled. "Marie, you have your second chance! Longinus, get ready!"

"Oi!" His lady cried out, grasping the translucent mane of her steed. The man behind him was far less verbose. A noise of curiosity and a look over his shoulder showed him why. The man's grey eyes were shut, body hunched as he balanced, and spear outwards in the attempt to ruin someone's day.

The moment was swiftly approaching, as the land blurred with the haste of Marie's ride. Mozart's laugh was chocked by the air as he grasped her shoulder, letting the momentum of her magic pull him forward, and watched the blurry shadow of horns quickly approach.

"Cruelty was won with this lance. Mankind was saved with its head. A man was awoken with its grasp."

Mozart wondered what would be left of it. Seeing as there was a light brighter tan the moon shining from behind him. It gave him a glimpse of the horned rider.

"It was made to pierce the body of God. It was cursed to bear his blood. It will forever be known as a tool of divine reclamation, through destruction."

Wolfgang saw the sneer of the Rider, still on a horse that was as putrid as the rest of the corpses. He saw the dark shawl that held over its horned head, with a crown that was perforated to let its protrusions rise. He saw a glare that was beyond the mortal realm.

"Made divine by the blood it spilt, made damned by the life it took, and made eternal by the blessings it bore. All fall beneath its strike!"

Something felt off to Mozart, and as a musician, it was the first sign to act. A dip in tone, a lull in melody, or anything of the sort. This… this was a chill in the air, and even the warmth at his back did little to warm him. The gaze was one of a cruel master. And with its opening maw, Wolfgang knew it would have a voice to match.

"Fall before the Lance of Longinus!"

"I refuse. Loathsome soldier."

---

He was hiding in a tower high above the rest of the village. Solomon had taken him there so they could see the rest of the village and watch as they were defended as they attacked. So they could see Sasaki cut down the undead while Mozart played his music, then Marie guided Longinus to attack the Rider who was hiding atop a high hill. That was where he was for the first hour of the attack.

He was still there when the plans had changed and the horned Rider showed himself stronger than the glancing blows of Longinus. When the plan came for Mozart to open the way for them, he was prepared for it, knowing that Sasaki would keep the shambling zombies away. That was what he was sure of. He was just as sure that the Spear of Longinus, the weapon that drew blood from Jesus Christ, would be able to slay the Rider.

Ritsuka was sure of all of that, but he was also sure he was glad he was on his hands on knees in the ruined floor of the high tower. It kept him from falling from what he was seeing.

The glow of the princess's horse running forth, the beat of the air with the musician's music, and the ethereal, heavenly glow of the Lance of Longinus, the weapon that bore the blood of God, running forth so much like an arrow of light, he would have mistaken it for a miracle from the Lord himself.

All of that, to light up the Horned Rider.

And fail to move him.

"WHAT!?" The one worded question spewed forth from Solomon with as much energy as the air did Ritsuka's lungs. He was caught staring across the ruined village, decrepit bodies, and the display of a trio of Servants, to see just one stand against the Holy Light.

If it was the act of resisting the power that worried him, it was the sight of the Rider itself.

He was horned, and from his skull. Horned beneath a cowl of darkness, with teeth pulled back and rotting flesh. Arms were fit like abandoned logs, thick, gnarled, and showing off the inner workings beneath. Sockets for eyes were empty, left to glow against the holy light with its own demonic display of red. Ritsuka used no word incorrectly.

Demonic, blessed from an unnatural and ill-divine source. Giving life in mockery to what God had bestowed upon man, and twisting his most precious gift into an unforgivable sight. It was gut twisting and near breath stealing image.

If not that, then the monstrosity of a Rider, repelling Longinus, and sending the glass horse sliding away across the bodies of the dead. For a terrified moment, he thought it was going to be enough to break the steed and have the trio sent into the rotten bodies, but Marie's horse righted itself, galloping across the monsters and away from the once more cloaked rider.

They were okay, they looked alright, but that was only a form of minor bit of good news. For the Rider still stood.

It was a good thing Ritsuka was hiding in a high tower above the village. It meant he had an excuse to be resting on his hands and knees.

"What… what just happened?" The Wise King asked from behind him. "How did the Rider survive that!? How!?"

"I did not strike him. I wasn't able to hit him."

"He held awfully still for a man dodging your dreaded polearm. Perhaps he is more of a warrior than we thought."

"More of a warrior he may be, but not because he dodged the weapon. He blocked it."

"What?"

"Oi! Oi! He did! He grabbed the staff!"

"Polearm, but the Princess is correct. He grasped my loathsome weapon before it could reach him."

"How… how come we are not talking about that monster?" Ritsuka looked up with confusion at the Wise King. "Didn't anyone see what that was?!"

"It was a monster indeed! Almost like the kind that tried to work me to my early grave!" Mozart did not sound like a man who just stared into the face of a demonic entity. "Though this one had the voice to match, just like I thought it would. I never miss my guess when it comes to notes."

"The Rider isn't human, that much is obvious," Solomon dismissed above Ritsuka. "Don't worry about that Master. I was already planning on dealing with him with the supposition that he wasn't. There are few legends famed for raising the dead, and never to this degree."

"I… I don't understand."

"The Horned Rider is not a legend based upon man, but likely a fairy tale or some mythology of the nearby cultures." Sasaki answered with a swing of his own blade. "It is a circumstance I am familiar with."

"Is that… a good thing?"

"Only if we know the story, but I am not familiar with any legends or tales of horned riders." The answer wasn't what he was hoping for. Olga's words condemning him for his lack of memory for legends and history was beginning to weigh on him again. "If there was a name known to him, then perhaps the secret of his power would be known."

"It's unholy."

"I have no counter, but from which demon does he draw?" Sasaki posed to Longinus's statement. "Be it a pact with a lower being, or a tool that he forged in unsettling means? There are blades in my land that were forged from the bones of oni, and those who wield them put their souls upon the same weapon."

"That's stupid." He heard laughter before words.

"My master is wise."

"Our Master needs to focus on the monster first." Solomon righted the conversation. "Knowing him would help, but we can still defeat him without knowing his name. That begins with remembering that the sure-killing strike of Longinus failed."

"Because the Rider-" his voice was cut off for a moment. It was matched in time with a section of the zombies being blow away, bodies littering the night sky for a moment. Ritsuka could feel the force of the blast from the tower. "Because the Rider grasped the staff of my lance and kept me from spearing him. My lance never touched him."

"That still sounds like something out of a legend. Grasping the Lance of Longinus, the spear that pierced the side of God, and then throwing it away."

"Master, I will tell you he did not throw us away."

"He certainly denied us entry though. A pity, as usually I have to point out someone's shot comings before they push me out like that."

"Not now Mozart," Solomon went off again. "But the point that he grasped your lance, kept the metal from touching him. It didn't touch him. That means… your weapon Noble Phantasm isn't an assured hit, only assured death. Of course, Cu is the one with a weapon that is assured to always hit its target, and I's just assumed to be death because little out there can survive without a heart." Solomon mused behind Ritsuka. "But yours is a divine killing weapon, that needs to be directed to hit. Even the first time, Jesus had to be tied to a cross and held there for hours."

"Six hours," Ritsuka spoke easily. "Not counting the time he had to be tortured or carry the cross."

"Right that long. But that's a large difference from this Rider that's at his apparent peak under the Moon." Solomon clicked his tongue. "He must be, waiting for now to attack rather than in the day. Perhaps the sun weakens him or not, but this is still when he is at his apex."

"What does that mean for us?"

"Try again." Sasaki's voice came with the ring of steel. Ritsuka heard one through his mind, and the other from below him. "One failed swing does not a lose a fight. Dropping your blade does."

"So does swinging mindlessly. Speaking of, how do you fare Sasaki?" The samurai did not answer for a moment. "Am I distracting you?"

"If I paid you more attention you would be." The answer came as Ritsuka heard the blade swing through the air several times, even if he could hear the drums in the distant air. "Though I am finding these gruesome foes to be poor substitutes for training. I can step away from dummies."

"You're being overrun." Is that what he meant? Ritsuka looked up to see Solomon's golden eyes clenched shut in annoyance. "Of course you are. There's only one of you against a horde of the undead. You were never known for staving off armies."

"It is an excellent means to train myself."

"You can not train yourself past your legend." The Wise King brokered no disagreement with his words. "Marie, I ask that you return here and help stave off the horde. If it is this difficult to hit the Rider, then I may be the one to take a strike at him." Ritsuka stared.

"Wouldn't that mean-"

"You, and by consequence all of us, will be severely weakened, yes. But this is the question. Are we at more risk leaving the Rider alive and waiting for dawn, or killing him and hoping there are no other threats that may come to us." Solomon bit his thumb as he cupped his chin. "We have found nothing in this broken village to suggest another threat, but the speed of the other Servants is what has kept me on my toes."

"I am against the idea as well! I carried the young Master, and I know what your magic may do to him." Ritsuka only had the numb feeling of being carried to relate to. It wasn't one he wanted to enjoy again.

"The same with me! What kind of musician would I be to ask for an audience member to leave the set? Especially one who has been so kind a contributor." He did what?

"All of that will mean nothing if the dead gain one lucky strike on any of us. It will be like dominos. We are the wall that is defending our Master now." A strong hand had his shoulder. "Should one of us fail, the flood will come, and it will wash away the bounty that is yet to grow. Rather we waste a portion of the garden then risk all of it being tainted."

"I'd rather a decision that risks neither." Sasaki finally answered. "It is deeply against my code to do otherwise."

"I am with the Samurai as well. God on high would not ask us to risk such a thing." He wouldn't, would he? Longinus's words stuck with Ritsuka.

Jesus wouldn't have asked that of them. He may ask them to endure a horrid night, to sleep well in a threatening storm, or to carry on in the depths of madness, but he would not ask one to kill or risk death, merely for the sake of living. Everything had purpose. Were they here to defend a sect of his flock, then he would have them endure the night. If the demon was alone in this land, and the source of woe, Ritsuka knew he would have to throw all that he had at it, like the dragon slayers of old.

But this was another situation entirely. A demon was here, they had the means to rid it from this Earth, but not the opportunity. What was it they were meant to do?

Ritsuka did not know. So he did what was the most common comfort to him in these times. He began to pray.

He folded his hands beneath his chin, shutting his eyes and letting the cool night brush against him. The moans and wails of the dead, even from so far to the ground, seemed to drift away as he let himself fall into the embrace of his spirit. He focused on it, lived in it, and spoke to it. Just as the fathers and sisters had taught him before.

"Jesus Christ, only Son of the Father, please guide us now." His words were loud only to himself. "A demon that mocks your miracles with Lazarus and Mash stands before us now, and he keeps away the lance that proved your divinity. Guide us now, please aid us now."

"Are we not enough, young Master?" Sasaki's question was posed in his mind, but Ritsuka let his own fall deeper. He was not calling to them. He was calling to his Lord.

"You have guided those who asked for your help, and lifted those who were affronted by demons in the past. One mocks your miracles and torments the living with those dead. Please aid us now. Please help us to turn this creature back to whence it came."

In the silence of his soul, Ritsuka did not know that the wails of the dead were quieting. He did not know that Sasaki was beginning to still his blade. He did not know that Solomon was looking out about the horizon. He did not know that the Horned Rider was following his gaze from hills away.

He did not know that while he called to God with his words and heart, his son had heard.

And he answered with daylight breaking over a hill's edge. Daylight, surrounding figures that rose from something divine.

---

The rising figures had his attention the moment Solomon saw them. He was wise enough to know they were different from unholy undead, and their positions too grouped yet organized to be akin to the puppets the horned Rider was commanding. When he saw the light breaking with them, it made the cleanliness of their skin and attire stand in harsh contrast to the rotten flesh of those the rest of them had been combating.

It was a crowd rising with the barest amounts of the morning sun, and they were separate from the rest of the horde.

The crowd rising from the hilltop was different. That was the first thing Solomon deduced. Different, in that it did not come with a collection of wails, they did not have the armaments of the dead, they did not drudge as if dragging decrepit limbs, and they walked together, if out of unison. It was obvious immediately what they were.

Living. They were living humans.

That was very bad.

"Marie! Forget Rider for a moment!" He shouted. "There are humans approaching from the east! We have to protect them!"

"Oi! It shall be done!" Her glass steed was off in the night, and the dead fell beneath her, even more to the music played from Mozart and the soldier behind her. The horned Rider watched them go, with Solomon keeping gaze on him.

"Where did those people come from? Why are they marching in the middle of the night?" Solomon wondered as he watched Marie tear through the hordes of the undead, and listened to Sasaki do the same. "Displaced refugees? More from the next ruined town?" He dismissed the ideas as they came.

The other towns were said to have been destroyed before even this one, and there was no reason for any of the people to venture 'closer' to the castle's lands, especially when all of the natives were well and aware of the threats at hand. They must have come here being led by something, or being told to come here. He couldn't imagine whatever was the source of it was beneficial to their side.

Especially not as looked at the ghouls around them, and saw their dripping gazes shift from their tower to the displaced populace.

"He's going to attack them," he seethed. "It would make too much sense not to. He could derive Prana from their hearts, use them as bait, or even entertainment. There's no reason for him to avoid them, but every reason for us to defend them." His golden gaze looked down for a moment, seeing Ritsuka still on his knees, hands folded and muttering a sot prayer. "Moments like these I may understand Olga's frustration."

"Should I give chase with the others? I am swift enough to gain ground."

"But not strong enough to fight off the horde while defending them." His comment came as he saw the destruction of Mozart's music push more of the covered hillside down. Watching the bodies that blanketed the land falling like matted grass was as mesmerizing as it was terrifying.

The power was grand to see. The implication of the numbers involved a harsh counter.

"You're going to have to stay here to make sure these monsters don't gain a new interest in our Master anyways."

"A fine point. I cannot leave a Lord I've sworn to, not when my title has changed from Ronin to Samurai." The man's curt reply came with a swing of his blade. He was near a mile difference between him and Mozart, but the two still sounded as if they were equal distance Solomon. He put the information away.

What was important were the people, the ones that had attracted the attention of the Rider and his horde. The light would make it easier to tell friend from foe, even easier than the colors of nations. Not one of their number, Longinus to Mozart, would think to attack one of the healthy humans aside from the weapon throwing monsters.

But the numbers were a concern. Marie's glass steed was already making tracks along the edges of them, even as the sun made her horse glow like the lone chandelier in a grand hall. It took even more attention, stealing some of his own, as he watched its heavy hooves kick and beat down the numbers, Longinus tearing throw even more, and Mozart tipping the stragglers. The humans still walked on, following the trail of daylight.

"What are they doing?" He had to ask, pinching his chin. "What are they thinking?"

"They're following him." The Lone Master of Chaldea answered, on his knees with folded hands. "He promised he would not be far behind, and he has come as I have called to him." The Wise King was no fool. He knew who he was talking about.

"Jesus?" He question, staring at the crowd again. "Jesus is in their number?"

"He is. He is!" The cheer from Longinus was a harsh contrast to the warrior from before. "The Lord has returned as promised, following our trail and sheparding his flock!"

"Stupefiant! He really is leading them!" The horse of the princess jumped with her own voice, slamming down on another pair of monstrosities. "And the vile creatures here cannot approach him."

"It's true as she preaches, much like the man's own verbose followers. These rotten members of the audience seem rather placid at the sight of him. Superior to them throwing their weapons at me like tomatoes. Haha, I wish I had the kind of allure he does!" Mozart's swindling praise came as his flutes rose in volume, as if beckoning the breaking sun and Son of God.

Solomon only watched instead, from the distance he was at and unable to do more but watch. Watch as the Son of God walked forward with the light at his back, blinding those before him, but leading those behind him. Darkness was split as he made ground, the raised forms truly throwing nothing at him, some falling at the sight.

All of them were quelled by visage of the robed man alone.

All but one.

All but the Horned Rider.

---

"Your Majesty, can you turn around to face them?"

"Non. Not while we have to protect the others."

"By his Lord is being approached by the man who staved off this lance! I cannot let him approach such and evil Rider alone." Longinus turned on the large back of the glass steed, he looked out at his Lord being approached by the Rider above the heads of the living and dead. He grit his teeth. "I cannot do nothing!"

"What more can you do?" Mozart dared to ask. "Have a bit of faith in God. He tends to make the best decisions. He was the one who gave me the blessings of music and who had you slay him." Longinus still did not turn away.

"Then I will stand by him until he orders me! But I will run about while he faces death!"

"Do not worry, Longinus."

"Master?" The Roman looked back to the ruined town, to the high tower his Master and the Wise King waited within.

"Jesus has not called for you or I, because he does not need us to face this Servant."

"But he could still be harmed. You told me how he was harmed when you walked with him last!" It was said over the day they traveled, how a young girl with a knife drew his blood! The idea alone made his hand clench. "I cannot risk it!"

"Longinus, the Rider is one who uses death. So have no fear." His Master spoke with the same peace with which he offered. "Our Lord has already conquered death."

It was a sobering thought, even as Marie's horse continued to trample the dead, and the people from the town followed the Lord. Followed him even into the valley created by the Shadow of Death, staving of the morning light.

---

The Rider watched him approach in the dawn's light. He did not frown. He watched the holy man cross the field of death without hesitation. He did not shirk. He watched as the figure who carried light at his back stepped forth without fear or wait. His eyes were alight with life.

The Rider stared back, a glowering red gaze upon him.

"Who are you to carry the living behind you?" He questioned the man, guiding his decrepit steed forward. It let out not a sound as its wet flesh impacted the mitten dirt. "Who are you to drag them amongst my dead?"

The approaching man did not speak. It was not a subdued noise overtaken by the groaning of his minions or the useless struggles of the other Servants. His mouth was still while his feet walked. The light still followed him.

"Do you not hear me? Can you think of nothing to say?" He twisted his steed to walk. "Do you walk towards death as a show of courage then?" The man still continued to hold his breath.

The living behind him were not so able. They made a cone behind the man, each one of them at the edge of the crowd shivering at the sight of his loyal puppets. They pushed themselves until they were near a single file behind the robed figure, so sure of the strength at his back, or perhaps believing he'd be their shield against his gaze.

A shield he was, but like all things, it could be worn and broken. His steed, whimpering in everlasting pain, continued to trek forward, shrinking the distance across the bloodied and rotten-flesh coated field.

"Your silence speaks as loudly as your actions." He spoke again, red eyes baring into the man. "Why do you not admit to your suicide? There is more pride to be had in speaking honestly than drowning in unspoken words." He grinned, letting the coming light show his terror.

It filled the faces of those behind the man, the men and women near tripping as they stared up at him. The light showing the green flesh beneath the cowl of his own hood, and the horns showing the dripping flesh that used to coat them. Every one of his rotten teeth had to be shown, and his steed was more twisted and rotten than he was, unable to do little more than drag its hooves forward.

But still the man walked, as if he were not there at all. It was enough of a realization to drag his confidence down, and pull a scowl from his gnarled features.

"Do you hold your tongue because you are unable to speak?" The man grinned on, finally forcing wrath into his voice. "Speak! Why do you keep yourself on the path of death!"

"I need not answer you, for you have no desire to hear me." He spoke with the voice of a king.

"I would hear you, so you speak with lies. Deception to give peace to others." He grinned, his army of the dead drawing weapons back by his command. "How foolish a task you have given yourself. How worthless your grand efforts and appearance are."

He flicked his hand, showing the bone of his decrepit arm. The army followed his orders, flinging their weapons.

The Servants on the back of the glass steed howled in rage, or perhaps pain. He would be pleased with the latter, but the former would do much as well. Watching as the spears and swords near crashed upon the man, raining down on the foolish lives who walked behind him. They would soon be a killing field, and he'd raise them into his immortal guard, as he'd done for all lives before, and would continue to do so.

It was as it would be, if not for the man raising his own hand, as if commanding a speech to stop.

With that simple action, the lances in the air held, the swords stuck as if in flesh, and the tools of his army were kept from the man's people. The Horned Rider stared, flummoxed, confused, and wrathful.

"What grand trick is this now!?" He howled. "Are you a Servant of armaments? One who controlled the tools of an army?" He did not speak, but he continued to walk. "Are you a Caster, making use of some grand art I cannot see?" His smile held, and those behind him started to grin again. Rider's red eyes bore in challenge to the approaching light. "Answer me worthless one!"

"All answers I would give, you would throw away. All truths I would offer, you would deny." The man finally stopped, when he was within arm's reach of the Rider. So close he could slap his steed, and the people behind him made a cut through his army. A cut, a birth, and leaving them surrounded.

Yet here he was, looking at a man who carelessly and casually approached him, carrying not a tool or weapon upon him.

None, except for his voice.

"Why would I give to you that which will be wasted?" The Rider scowled.

"All that will be wasted is your soul. It is all of yours that I have no need of." With that, he drew back his hand, summoning forth the gnarled blade of his kingdom. Nameless like him, known by description alone, and with it, bearing a fear for those who cast their eyes upon it.

"My Lord!" "My Savior!" "Master!" The living behind him cried, and the known clear rage of the other Servants topped them. His own army held them back, stunting them like a moat to a river's flow. It was all he needed.

Enough to drop his hand, taking the man's arm.

He stopped, red eyes wide, as the man caught the blade like a dried stick.

"What…"

"No weapon of the damned may harm me. No fowl deed will turn me." He did not shift his countenance. His gaze was firm and absolute. "I have seen all the evils that the world may make, and yours are not one I am unfit to bear."

"No… but my might is!" He ripped his blade back, the man releasing it as if her were child. His cry took to the air, swinging it down again. TWANG! The man pushed it away. The Horned Rider did not relent. He raised and swung it, the morning light casting his harsh shadow the army behind him, painting the silhouette of what should have been the man's body being rendered into riddled corpse!

But his hand only continued to push him away, and his blows were nothing before him. The admittance in his head was a rage that took over.

"Damn you! Damnable man!"

"How am I damnable for refusing to be harmed?" The rider howled again. Bubbles of liquid frothed at his rotten mouth as those behind him began to smile, as his arm began to bow and fall, without command of him. "How are you better for swinging a blade harsher than I?"

"Because I am the Horned King! Because I rule the dead! And you shall be one of my subjects! You and those who follow you!" He leaned back, ripping his arm down. Even if the man pushed his blade, he would not escape his body falling on him.

He realized too late it was the intent of the robed one, the Master of the living behind him.

The Rider's blade was pushed, and his body pulled, falling forward. But rather than collapsing on the man and dragging him to the ground, for him and his horde to rip into, he held like a pillar of embedded stone, a castle's support. It had him falling to his knees, and the robed one holding him down, standing firm above him.

And he was still smiling.

"Damn you!" He cried. "You will fall to me!"

"I have fallen for the sake of others, and only by their own demands. Those who need me, and those who shall have me." His hands came down, grasping the Horned King by his skull, holding his infamous growths between his fingers. "You who cannot have me and made joy in denying me are not among their number."

"And I'll never be!"

The cry filled the breaking dawn, steadying his horde and silencing the cheers of the living and Servants.

"So as you say, you shall never be."

Light began to swallow him.

The breaking dawn flowed through the man grasping him, and it filled his lungs with a terrifying cry. One that turned his already rotten organs into wretched messes as he howled in pain. Light and purity spreading through him, twisting his already rotten flesh, blinding his darkened eyes, cleaning his corrupt heart. It was taking everything that he was! But it left nothing behind.

It left nothing, and the Rider was left screaming in terrifying agony as the robed man held him, and the light swallowed him. It forced him to watch the man in the final moments of his new life, and the hallow of the sun that surrounded him.

In that moment, he knew he that though he was the Horned King, he was a king of fools.

Who was the Lord of the Dead to challenge the Lord of All?

---

A jeweled chalice, immaculate and filled, was crushed in the palm of an armored hand.

"My lady! My grace! My most beautiful maiden! What is wrong? Are you harmed, did that foul and improperly kilned piece of metal dare to harm your impeccable-"

"Silence Guiles." Her simple command came with his lips sealing shut. "Did you not feel it?"

"I feel nothing but horror looking up the blemish that dares to stain your otherwise immaculate figure!" He made a show of almost falling towards her outstretched hand, bared now with wine dripping from it, so much like blood. "And then I am filled with scorn for the bastard that dares to gift you an improperly made cup such as this."

"The cup was fine, it's what I felt that broke it." She lifted her hand, staring at the gauntlet drenched in red drink. It dripped so much like blood, her golden eyes watched it. "The Grail has been refilled with the Prana of one of our own."

The words drew the attention of some of the Servants.

"What? Who?"

"Was it the Archer? That madman was too foolhardy to be of any use."

"No," she responded from her throne, not looking at the Assassin or Lancer. "It was Rider."

Now the remaining members looked at her.

"These Rogue Elements were able to kill the Horned King? Hahaha, how expected of those who claim to be our adversaries." The Count laughed as he waved his hat. "Turning the man who raises the dead from dust back to whence he came! Hahaha!"

"This is no laughing matter." The silver-haired lancer turned him down. "Rider was silent and alone, unfit to be called a king, but he was powerful. A man who had a deplorable legend near mimicking mine."

"I would say the mockery of your lineage as a vampire is far worse, Uncle." Assassin laid her gloved hand on the man's own, earning a nod of approval. "But the words of his strength are true. I can raise the blood of others to attack. You can draw strength from it. But Rider alone was able to take the decayed corpses and make a walking army."

"An army that did little good against the foes he rose against, apparently." The Saber at the table folded his hands, his gaze a smolder over the bridge his fingers made. "You sent him out, did you not?"

"I let him loose without direction. He found his own game to hunt, but apparently the foolish divine worshippers saw to challenge him with superior strength. It could not be numbers." The woman finally began to dab at her hand, cleaning her digits of the wine. "But I am still concerned he was felled in what should have been the equivalent of his home."

"We are far from the isles." Saber returned. "I would know before any other here."

"But you would also be home in the Shadow lands." She addressed easily. "And so was Rider in the night, where the Light of God was kept away. Where he could raise the dead to torture those lost and blind. Yet still he lost, snuffed out so easily."

"It may not have been easy, your grace. I am sure with your grand strength and aptitude to torture those worthless souls, he must have taken a great deal of grace from them, leaving them rotting in despair and-"

"None of the others have filled the Grail." Her answer made the devout man sputter as if drenched. It made the count cackle at the thought.

"So he was made a fool of! PHUAHAHAHAH! How hilarious! How fitting for a Horned King, a King of the Damned, to die alone in his home!" The Count rose with his words. "It will have to be made the same for them then, for all of those who killed him and must doubtlessly be licking upon the teat of grace and hope."

"Be civil, you deplorable noble," the blue-haired swordsman returned. "Unless you have an idea on what to do next."

"Of course there are plans! Ideas and machinations that are always in motion, even as we enjoy the great blights we have brought upon this deserving soil." He let his arm sway over the far window, over the countryside that was coated by night.

The fires of the wyverns, beasts, and dragons still blanketed the once clean ground, making it glow with the embers and coal.

"And one that must come now is knowing how to reduce their number, knowing who it was to slay the Rider, and making use of Archer."

"That fool?"

"That fool is the equivalent of a gentleman's cane. Obvious, brittle, and the first thing to be plucked away to ridicule an opponent or adversary." The count's cloak billowed with darkness. "But it also holds the silver bullet that will down any of our foes. All we need to do is ensure it is aimed at the greatest of them."

"The one who slew Rider. Is that your thought?" The count laughed at the countess.

"PHUAHAHAHA! No! A bloody mistress such as yourself would think of that." She snarled, fangs showing. "What I mean is to strike at the one who made the plans, who fashioned methods, who crafted the blade. I care not for the knight who held it, not when there is one behind him who can make more."

"Just say you want to kill the tactician." Lancer shot bit back again. "It is a good ploy, demoralizing the smartest so they caution against action, killing them so their soldiers resist to move, but if you strike the wrong part or at the wrong moment, it will instead be a spurn for them to continue on."

"Then we had best ask our dear accomplice for whom that member would be." His eyes turned to the room's corner. All eyes followed, red, golden, burning, bulging, and hollow. All fell upon the decrepit figure in the corner, pulling at the strands of burnt chicken at his feet.

The silver haired man looked up at them, sneering past the bone in his mouth.

"Him? What's he going to help us with?" The countess threw her plate at him. The boy only tilted his head, not even jerking as it shattered above his head, raining plaster and ceramic over him. "The boy is barely worth the little Prana he supplies us with. How is he to know more about the Servants out there then we do? I'd dare to dirty my boots talking to the Plebians than burning my gaze looking at him."

"I'd gather he knows who among the Servants would be the greatest asset, if we can so much as describe them. He was from an organization that was famed for its Masters, and a man as unremarkable, untalented, and pitiable as him must have made his efforts up with intelligence." The boy's gaze hardened, contrasting with his sunken skin and bony appearance.

"We already have enough dragged forth from him. He's a beast to be chained now." The Maiden at the throne responded. The count's smile only grew.

"Oh dear Maiden, don't you remember." He extended his arms, letting the dark lightning about him crackle. "Caged Beasts have a vicious bite."

---

Author's Note: And here is where we have the end of the first part. About another ten chapters to go, and with one more servant to introduce, aside from all of the 'hidden' ones on the villains side. This will probably be different in the other arcs as they come up, but I wanted to add the fact there were all these servants in the first original singularity, but give them some mystery. Archer, Saber, and Rider are all obviously new.

And hail to the 'Horned King' from Disney's 'The Black Cauldron'! In the books he's got some necromancy going for him, so I took it to 11 plus his magic powers in the movie. A bit of a twist, but hey, you didn't see him till it was too late!

Jesus coming with the sun and leading the people is obviously symbolic, and how the dead bow to him as he passes, as they did in hell. So yeah, big J is going strong, banishing evil Servants who damn him with a touch. Don't mess with the Son of God.