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The Nameless Seraph is summoned.
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Got a bit of inspiration after rewatching the Fate/Zero anime. So Imma turn this one-shot into a full-blown fanfiction.
Takes place right after the Temple of Time but before the Epic of Remnant.
Anyway, enjoy, I guess.
Leave your thoughts in the comments.
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He appeared accompanied by motes of golden light, body formed within the ruins of a church long since abandoned on the district's borders. Sunbeams leaking through the cracked windows and decaying roof bathed him in an ethereal glow, as if he would vanish like a glass butterfly under the grace of the moon.
A lone dove sat on a nearby branch, its coo signifying his unplanned summoning. It was the only greeting he got, but it was more than he expected.
He opened his piercing blue eyes, a seemingly whimsical and almost annoyed sigh echoing around the chamber once used for worship. His kin's worship.
He stood up from his kneeling position, dusting off his fourteen wings.
As the familiar feeling, akin to a Rayshift but also not, faded from his neurons, Ritsuka Fujimaru looked around.
"How strange." He murmured. "So this is how it feels to be summoned."
Information had flooded his mind before it had taken solid shape, so there was luckily no headache or migraine. He knew where he was-a distant, different timeline in Singularity F during 1994. He was here as an observer, an overseer, a defense mechanism summoned by the last vestiges of a tainted grail.
"So that's why it summoned me as a Pretender."
The genuine pure G rail no longer had the authority to summon a saint and bestow the holy Servant with fourteen Command Spells. That power was obstructed by a shadow. A pitiful man who became a fake evil god.
It was a Servant he knew well.
The Grail couldn't summon a Ruler, so it took the next best thing. A Servant with built-in Command Spells, so well-known for commanding legendary heroes that they became one of his Noble Phantasms. Even better, besides the regular fourteen, Ritsuka Fujimaru had something more .
He took off one of his white gloves, given to him by the doctor, his father. Three golden markings engraved upon his hand, the five rings on his fingers so snuggly fit you could hardly tell where flesh ended and where metal began.
Ritsuka sighed, his skills and Noble Phantasms displayed on an intangible screen before his eyes. Ars Nova had been sealed. Not lost, but sealed. It goes without saying the Grail didn't want its defense mechanism to accidentally blow itself up. In exchange, he had his fourteen Command Spells and a newly gained skill called Clairvoyance of Mimicry.
Curious, he activated the new skill, a bit surprised as the blessings from the ten Seraphim rose to the surface of his Servant Vessel, one among them clearer than the rest.
Micheal, Gabriel, Uriel, Azrael, Raziel, Israfel, Remiel, Zachriel, Sahaquiel and Metatron.
His ten brothers and sisters who gave him their blessings.
Raziel's essence surfaced first, drowning the rest in a raging tide as they sank into Ritsuka's soul once more. His wings, once brilliant gold, now turned white, their feathers replaced with layers upon layers of unblemished paper.
"This skill allows me to imitate anyone I've gained an understanding of..."
The implications swarmed within his mind. A great boon of a skill, even as an overseer. No. Perhaps it was even more critical as the "Ruler" of this Grail War.
Ritsuka allowed Raziel's essence to fade, his body returning to the pale imitation of Metatron's form.
It was the one he knew best.
His golden wings folded and sank into his back, his Islamic robes replaced with his Chaldea Mystic Code that resembled a high-school uniform.
It didn't have the best offensive or defensive spells, but blending in was his top priority. Besides, as a "human," he could handle his own in a battle of magecraft.
For the moment, he would see this as a sort of vacation. He had just saved the world, after all.
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The moon glimmered upon the ocean, pearlescent scales of silver dancing like a bowl of scattered pearls. In the distance, a crane stood, its shadows twisted into a looming figure by the hands of the night. Large carriers and small dingies all bobbed up and about on the rolling waves, silently bearing the cold night winds.
An angel stood upon the sea, his calm demeanor almost making the mystical scene seem ordinary.
Ritsuka had left the run-down church hours ago. He was summoned sometime during the early morning, so he spent the rest of his day wandering aimlessly throughout the city. It was impossible to contact Chaldea as he was a summoned Servant without any Chaldean communication devices, so he might as well do something productive, such as scouring the surrounding area.
He hoped he'd return to his body after this Grail War ended. It wasn't his first out-of-body experience, so he was much calmer than the first time his soul got dissociated.
Twelve white wings spread, he bent down to cup the sea's blood within his hands. The glow of humanity's achievements shimmered within a handful of water that still smelled of smidges of seaweed and salt as he rose again. The city's lights so bright and blinding. The glass skyscrapers erected upon a foundation of human-made steel and stone. No matter how often he sees it, even if he was "born" within this era of technology, his memories from three thousand years ago, memories of ancient Islam, still hold, ever present as the sun and moon.
He, or rather she , grimaced, gazing down at her amorphous reflection, unsteady from the ocean breeze disturbing the water in her palm.
How strange, she thought.
Back in Chaldea, she only had the power to create two bodies of opposite gender from the blessings she wielded. Though her human body was affected by the angel's essence that dominated her soul, the changes would be barely noticeable.
Before, it would be Metatron. Since he was the one who was most similar to her.
Now?
Uriel's image gazed back at Ritsuka, and she squirmed uncomfortably. A hazy halo of golden flames danced behind her head, an echo of how the sun rose above the clouds after a storm. Her orange hair was a shade too light, and within her eyes burned the scorching seeds of the flames God gave to man, a far cry from the faint, star-like glimmer she remembered.
This fake imitation...
"It's almost too real..." Ritsuka murmured, divine fires appearing within her palm and vaporizing the sea water they held without any effort.
Flakes of salt, akin to fresh snow, returned to the ocean's embrace.
She wasn't used to this.
Before, anyone could tell he was a fake till he decided to get serious. Yet now, even Ritsuka could hardly differentiate her reflection from her sister's face.
"This skill... Is it a blessing, or a curse?"
Utterly unnerved, he willed his body to return to the first form he took. At least he could tell himself apart from Metatron. The experiences, the journies, the pain, and the hardship he experienced in this vessel molded it. It was still an imitation, but it had something more, like making a copy of a sword and changing the hilt or pommel into a different style.
Ripples ran across the ocean's surface as his feet touched the waters, twelve golden wings motionless as he rode on upward air currents created using divinity.
His neck craned towards the docks, the warehouse district's shadows carefully hiding a Servant's shade, an invisible, inaudible call making his skin tingle with excitement.
Two more auras he sensed, one on the distant beach, where sapphire water met golden sand, the other standing regally on the beams of a bridge off in the distance.
He knew those three auras. How could he not when he still holds proof of his bonds with another version of them.
Ritsuka jumped, kicking off from the water's surface as his wings fluttered, their golden glow dulled to hide within the sky. He headed towards the shore to the large red crane that should prove to be a wonderful perch to observe the upcoming fight.
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He landed just as the clash between knights began, his back pressed lightly against one of the many protruding rectangular metal boxes whose purpose he had no idea. The shadows did well to hide his frame, even though he could see everyone below.
It was almost unfair, with how good of a vantage point this was.
A forest green cloak covered his body, the borrowed Noble Phantasm making him nigh invisible to those without Presence Detection. A gift from a certain chivalrous thief.
Sparks banished shadows as the duel escalated, an invisible blade batting aside the wary thrusts of two spears of different lengths. Invisible Air was not degrading. Was Diarmuid's Master commanding him to hide his Noble Phantasm? Probably, as shown by the two shrouds of dark cloth wrapped around his weapons.
The short exchange ended after a mere minute, both combatants backing away into a stand-still. Excalibur was deadly, especially when that wind spell Merlin created was in use. But Gae Buidhe could chip away at Artoria's strength little by little. From his experience, he could tell Irisviel's healing was nowhere near the level to dispel the curse of mortality.
But Saber didn't know Lancer's identity, so perhaps she was just being cautious.
He noticed a faint red streak on Lancer's cheek. A wound that wasn't even worth considering, but perhaps the tide was about to shift from balance.
In the silence of the stand-still, the winds brought to him a conversation he shouldn't have been able to hear. But angels were beings of miracles. Nothing was impossible for the children of God.
The whisperings of two people muttering about where to kill. One of the voices he recognized, the other he didn't know. EMYIA wanted to observe the battlefield from this crane, too.
However, when considering what the EMYIA back in Chaldea told him about his life, this was probably his living counterpart who hadn't contracted with Alaya yet.
Aside from that, this wasn't good. Ritsuka didn't want them to discover him just yet.
From the corner of his eye, he noticed someone, another Servant, standing atop a watchtower. Black cloak and white mask contrasted each other in a way he knew well. The presence was hidden using Presence Concealment, but he had the skill True Name Discernment.
How convenient for Hundred Faces to show up here. Now, there was a way to deter anyone from coming up here without revealing himself.
His new skill responded to his command, and the blessings he received from his ten siblings bubbled to the surface of his soul. Azrael's essence blanketed his body as a white mask-a gift from a Hassan that dabbled too much in poison, yet he was still fond of nonetheless-appeared in his hand.
He placed the bone-colored mask before his eyes, hiding his face within the black robes that made his twelve white wings stand out painfully. Swiftly, he ordered them to fold into his back.
His eyes burned with cold blue flames as they turned to the battlefield.
Now then, with the "King of all Hassans" claiming this as his own, would a human dare challenge the Angel of Death?
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He ran across the roof of a warehouse, a black trench coat blending in perfectly with the shadows cast by the iron containers. His footsteps were all drowned out by the metallic screech of legendary weapons clashing in a duel of knightly chivalry.
How foolish, he thought.
It would have been better to be paired with an Assassin or Caster, but he doubted it would have been possible to summon one on par with the King of all Knights.
His steps slowed as he neared his destination-a crane that stood above all shipping containers and vessels. He found his spot the moment he laid eyes on this machine. He wondered if Maiya was having the same luck as him.
As his hands reached for the grips that would allow him to scale to the top of this crane, a rush of wind, somehow too melodic to be natural, caused his head to turn upwards.
Instinctively, his body ducked into the shadows of a warehouse, eyes somehow burning as if he stared into the sun.
Kiritsugu spoke into his communicator.
"Maiya. Northwest of Saber and Iri. At the end of that crane's arm. Are you seeing this?"
There was a few seconds of static silence.
"Affirmative." His assistant confirmed. "But what is that? A Servant?"
Kiritsugu blinked away the tears in his burning eyes and turned them up towards the cause of that pain.
No doubt, it was a Servant. Its presence was hidden, so Saber and Lancer couldn't tell another was watching their bout. But from this close? Even a human such as Kiritsugu could feel its aura, heavy with one concept and one alone-Death.
Black patches of cloth were layered upon its form as a messy cloak, most of its head hidden by a hood of the same shade. Its hands were placed on the handle of a worn and rusty blade. From the eye sockets of its white skull burned two orbs seemingly made from cold blue fire, and behind its head, a horseshoe-shaped halo, akin to the ones belonging to the angels of God, glowed with golden light.
Just staring into that golden thing seemed to burn his eyes. How had the two knights below it not noticed it yet?
"There's no other option on what it could be," Kiritsugu whispered into his communicator.
"Clues on its Class?" Maiya asked.
"Assassin."
There was no need to doubt that regal aura of death.
"But how? Assassin should be dead. Why is he here now?"
"I knew something was up with the timing of his death." His grip tightened on his gun. "Perhaps the one who died was a fake. The one above me is undoubtedly the genuine article. Its status seems on par with Saber. I might believe you had you told me it was the Angel of Death himself."
For a brief moment, he allowed himself to ponder how great it would have been if he summoned the Angel of Death as a Servant.
"Your orders?"
Those thoughts were banished as he gave his next orders to Maiya.
"For now, observe how things play out."
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Ritsuka hummed, almost smiling as he watched the action unfold before his eyes. His hands unconsciously gripped the large metal slab of a sword he was borrowing from another.
This wasn't too bad. Watching a fight without the constant worry about one's safety, that is.
When humanity had been incinerated, Ritsuka's mind had been too tense to enjoy watching a good, honest duel between legendary knights, always preoccupied with what he had to do when he eventually arrived in the Grand Temple of Time.
But he was "on vacation" now and had all the time beyond the world to do what he wanted after saving the world.
It was a small reward but one he accepted gratefully.
His smile widened in excitement as Lancer's Master ordered him to use his Noble Phantasm.
Finally, the real show was about to begin.
Gáe Buidhe was cast aside onto the ground-a trap, perhaps-as the shroud around Gáe Dearg vanished into wisps of magical energy.
Thus, the two knights clashed, the golden glow of Excalibur too much to be contained by the degraded spell of a certain Mage of Flowers.
Saber was forced to withdraw as the crimson spear chipped away at Invisible Air. A knight of Diarmuid's caliber would no doubt be able to deduce the length of her invisible blade within the span of those few exchanged blows.
Gáe Dearg extended, and Lancer charged with his target being Saber's side. Ritsuka saw the look in Saber's eyes and knew what she was planning. Unfortunately, it wouldn't work out as she had planned.
In this case, having Merlin magically weave her armor was a disadvantage.
Blood dripped onto the ground as Saber lept back, a hand covering her undamaged armor that failed to protect her skin.
If her armor vanishing into motes of light meant anything, she must have figured out the secret of Lancer's red spear. But it also shows that she still didn't know his True Name. The threat posed by Gáe Buidhe was too severe for such a rash action had she known about it.
And, as he predicted, Lancer cleverly lured Saber into a trap before severing her left hand's tendon.
Faint lightning crackled in the distance as the two below Ritsuka exchanged pleasantries, finally revealing their True Names to the world. This must please them. Ritsuka knew how honor and pride were to knights and kings from firsthand experience.
After all, even if he was a fake, he was still the King of Man.
Yet just as Artoria and Diarmuid were about to reengage, lightning paved the way for a flying chariot once offered to the King of the Heavens in Ancient Greece. Rider's, Iskandar's, voice echoed louder than thunder as he declared his identity and gave to the two knights before him a proposition.
Ritsuka grinned.
How amusing this Grail War was turning out to be.
Hmm...
Perhaps Gilgamesh has rubbed off on him.
Granted, it was funny seeing Lord El-Melloi II getting flicked on the head by his giant of a Servant. And funnier still was how he completely denounced the previous Lord and kicked him from his pedestal, if only slightly.
Ritsuka almost laughed, but managed to chock it down his throat. After that declaration Iskandar pulled, no doubt others could come.
Ritsuka always had a knack for predicting the future, even without his foresight. Gilgamesh was just as arrogant and kingly as he remembered, though his mood seemed somewhat sour. The odd friends/rival relationship the King of Conquerors and the King of Heroes had in Chaldea proved to be a live-action reality comedy show for Ritsuka. He wondered how it would play out here.
"If you can not now discern my identity, under the presence of my magnificent glory, then your ignorant blindness shall serve to seal your doom!"
As the streetlamp Archer stood upon flickered and shattered, the Gate of Babylon glowing menacingly, Ritsuka could only sigh in exasperation. Expecting someone to recognize you from your aura alone was too much to ask. Maybe not for him, but he had met three different aspects of the King of Heroes.
Yep, this was the Gilgamesh he knew.
Inky shadows twisted into a whirlpool, setting a much less royal stage for the arrival of a mad knight. Ritsuka hummed, wondering what kind of insane Master would send their Servant into this mess. He might do it, but he wasn't your average Master.
Berserker turned his blood-red gaze towards Archer's golden form.
Welp, Gilgamesh sure wouldn't like that.
The two weapons in the golden ripples in space buzzed with latent energy, firing at speeds akin to a bullet. Still, Lancelot wasn't dead, as shown by the looks of utter bewilderment on the spectating Servants' faces.
The Gate of Babylon opened further.
Oh, yeah. Gilgamesh was enraged, alright.
This...wasn't good.
Lancelot, even in his maddened state, would probably survive that barrage of bullet-turned swords. But the shipping containers filled to the brim with packages belonging to innocent civilians? They'd be lucky to remain as scrap metal.
Azrael's blessing faded into his soul as Metatron's rose to replace it. He cast a spell on his hand, turning the golden marks red.
Ritsuka's role as Overseer probably didn't call for him to care for such intricate matters, but it also didn't say he couldn't take action. Protecting the personal items of innocent bystanders also counted as keeping the Holy Grail War under control, after all.
Besides, he didn't want to earn the scorn of the legendary King of Conquerors by "skulking around in the shadows."
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The ripples in the air buzzed, reminiscent of a swarm of angry bees. The air seemed to be on fire, its first embers lit by the twisted smile on Archer's face. A storm of weapons descended upon the mad warrior akin to a deadly hail of metal.
Yet, instead of explosions and fire, the spectators around were met with silence.
Rings of what seemed to be pure light, akin to the halos that hovered above the heads of stereotypical angels, encircled the various swords and spears and axes belonging to the golden Servant, suspending them mere inches from Berserker's armored head. As the spectators' heads turned towards the mad Servant, they realized that he, too, was bound by three rings of light.
In the deafening silence, footsteps echoed from a shadow cast by the shipping containers that would have been destroyed if not for someone's timely intervention. A figure-a raven-haired teen in a uniform that belonged to the local high school-walked out into the open. Under the baffled gazes of several Masters and Servants, he knelt on one knee before the unfunctional street lamp.
"Gilgamesh, King of Heroes. It is the honor of a lifetime to be graced by your mighty presence."
His tone was curt and polite, soft yet just loud enough to be heard clearly by everyone in the vicinity. Not the picture of a loyal vassal bowing before their king, but rather an ambassador paying respects.
Ignoring the wary gazes sent at him and the King of Heroes, the teen continued to speak.
"That divine aura, your kingly majesty, truly is the equal of the gods themselves. But I beg of you. Please, King of Kings, quell thy anger and withdraw."
Gilgamesh scoffed. "Empty flattery will get you nowhere. Mongrel, tell me," he waved at the rings of light encircling his treasures. "Are you the one responsible for this?"
The teen removed one of the white gloves he wore. He lifted it above his head, still lowered to the ground, displaying the sigils to the one standing above him.
"Yes, my Servant is, King of Heroes."
Then, perhaps as a show of truth to their Master's words, the weapons, held in place by the rings of light, floated up to be at Gilgamesh's level. Their bladed edges were still pointed downward at Berserker's head, conveniently making sure none of the tips were turned to Archer.
"I understand it must cause you unimaginable pain to employ your precious treasures against a fallen knight. Thus, I ordered my Servant to act accordingly."
Gilgamesh's gaze seemed to bore holes into the teen's head. If he felt it, the teen didn't let it show.
"Why do you not kill that mad dog? He is currently at your mercy."
"He is a criminal who has dared to lay hands upon your treasures. Do you not wish to judge him yourself?"
The Babylonian King scoffed. "You speak as though I wish to sully more of my precious possessions."
His golden armor rattled, and the weapons held by the rings of light vanished into golden particles. "You may deal that insane cur however you wish. Consider it a reward from your king. Now," his crimson eyes wandered around the warehouse district, "where is Servant of yours? He should be honored to be granted an audience with the one true king."
"Forgive me, King of Heroes. My Servant is a timid soul. He asks that he be spared by your regal presence, lest he be crushed under its might."
"Oh?" Archer's eyes narrowed. "Even if you have done me a minor service, such insolence is punishable by death, mongrel."
"It is why I kneel before you and beg for your withdrawal, oh king of the world. So we may be spared from your wrath."
For far too long, Archer was silent, his gaze piercing the skull of the raven-haired teen. Finally, his armor rattled, and the golden portals behind him vanished.
"To think I would find someone worthy of even one second of my time in this ugly era. I'm pleasantly surprised." He cast his gaze further towards the other Servants. "Mongrels, by our next meeting, see that you've culled your numbers. Only a true hero is worthy of looking upon my presence."
The King of Heroes vanished into motes of light.
"My Servant." The teen murmured. "Return me."
The three bands holding Berserker dissipated, and the teen turned into nothing.
Right before he vanished, the teen smirked.
Really, what an interesting war this was turning out to be.
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Well, any thoughts?
Not my best, especially towards the end when my brain just decided to die on me, but I think it turned out alright.
If there are any suggestions, leave those in the comments too.
Well, see you all in the next one.