Fate 1961 – Part 1
a Fate/ series fanfiction
Antartica, Mage's Association campsite
The night had already fallen on the bare landscape greeting the lady, as she walked down from the helicopter that brought her. Staring at the star-filled sky above her head, far from any kind of civilisation as the engine of the vehicle was starting up again, she thought : "Well, now you've really done it, Cecil. You're fucked."
With a sigh, she signed towards the leaving helicopter before turning to her assigned camp, preparing to wait for the instructions of the War instigators.
As she unlocked the door, she drew a few signs around in the air, suspended for a short time before dissipating as if they were never here. She had grown the habit of protecting her residence first thing ever since she was employed by the Clock Tower administration for missions around the globe.
Cecil Die was indeed, a mage from the association. No older than 25, she was already respected as a powerful force to account for in the political schemes taking place in Great Britain, although she herself had no interests in it. Because she had refused a chair as an academy professor, the Association had repurposed her as a field agent, especially in this spy-heavy climate.
But this time around, things were slightly different. It wasn't about patching the mistakes of the Americans nor was it about stopping a soviet plot. Rather, she was to participate in a ploy to bring the two together in a final, controlled match, to decide once and for all a decisive winner in this so-cold war.
As if anything was controlled about the Holy Grail... The mythical artefact was at the center of a ritual developed by three major magi families : the Einzbern, the Tohsaka and the Makiri. Supposed to summon in this world an all-powerful wish-granter, it had mixed outcomes in the past. Nonetheless, the US and soviet governments got interested and, one thing leading to another, decided to use the ritual in a competitive manner.
The initial ritual used the summoning of seven Heroic Spirits as familiars, called Servants. They were to fight to the death until only one remained, its Master being able to obtain the Grail as the outcome. The original setting was the city of Fuyuki, Japan, but a roundabout was found by the instigators under the revisions of the Makiri family, allowing the ritual to be performed in Antatica instead. Hence her presence here.
Her role was to fill up the holes. Out of the seven usual Masters, two were entire countries, with a supply of virtually unlimited mana. The other five were independant actors, like the Mage Association who wouldn't pass an opportunity like this one. In theory, they had no chance to win, but there she was nonetheless.
From her childhood to this day, her last name was the subject of mockery and puns to no end. Usually not really fazed by any of it, it sounded now more like a prediction about her future than a coincidence. The Die family didn't exist anyway ; maybe that was just a nickname given to her by the Mage's Association... Though it wasn't their way to pick random orphans and give them an education.
Inside of the isolated cabin installed for her in the middle of nowhere, she started brewing herself a cup of coffee before starting her setup. Her Magecraft revolved around inscriptions, runes and the like, which was more potent with the adequate tools than just tracing them by hand. In this modern age, the best friends of a mage like her were a pen, a compass and scissors.
Tracing the basics of the summoning circle she was taught before coming, she stopped a while to examine the catalyst that was given to her by her old teacher. From the outside, it wasn't looking like much : just an odd-shaped rock, polished on one side, and inscribed with fading letters from the latin alphabet. It didn't even contain the slightest traces of mana inside of it, certainly due to the passage of time. Nonetheless, Cecil knew of its value. In her hands was a piece of the world renowned Round Table from arthurian mythology.
Washington, D.C, United States of America
Preparations were complete. No catalyst needed. The entrepreneur was shaking because of the anticipation. The moment he waited for all this time, was nearly upon this world. Finally, the superiority of capitalism and freedom would prevail.
Himself a mage, but with limited power, his dream of being an individual of great importance in a magical event was finally coming true. Tasked with performing the ritual, backed up with the residual mana of countless people feeding though him into the Servant he was about to summon, by the means of television broadcasts -a revolutionary mix between technology and magecraft, of his creation. He could simply not contain his excitement.
He set foot inside of his own circle, designed as a protection. Who could know what kind of dreadful creature he might summon with such a workforce to provide for it ? He chuckled a little as the examination team exited the room, being given the signal to start whenever ready.
As the broadcast started throughout the country, the energy started flowing through his veins, setting his magical circuits ablaze. A feeling of power rushed him over, and with a smile, he started incanting.
As the spell unfold, a red haze elevated from the summoning circle, shining with increasing intensity. The smell of a wheat field and a soft breeze went through the room, with no real origin, towards the haze in question. Once he reached the last word, he was left out of breath for a moment, all of his temporary power leaving his body at once, before gradually returning to him again.
Recovering his spirits, he heard the examination team activate the ventilation, dissipating the fog and revealing in the middle of the room a teenage, effeminated figure, with ginger hair and wearing slightly worn out clothes, being a white-ish jacket and leather pants. On their back was a single hunting rifle.
Stood still for a moment because of the surprise and the shock of the invocation, the business man lift his arm towards the girl.
"Servant. State your class and your name."
The teenager remained unresponsive for a while, looking at her surroundings with wide blue eyes and slight disgust. Eventually, she spoke :
"Oi, is this a joke ? Of all places to be summoned..."
Grinding his teeth against one another, the mage took a deep breath before repeating :
"Name, and class. I order this to you as your Master.
-My Master ? Calm down there, you can't hide the thousands of guys who share that title. What a stupid title anyway."
Hastily uncovering his hand, on which was now printed a succession of red lines in the shape of waves, he triumphantly showed them to her.
"You are bound to my command by these Command Seals. Now answer my questions before I force you to."
For any Master in existence, this would be a poor menace. Command Seals had the potential to coerce a Servant into the bidding of the mage, of course, but none would waste it on such a trivial matter unless they truly wanted to die. Nevertheless, the girl winced and looked down, before answering with a somewhat hateful tone.
"Huckleberry Finn, of the Archer class. Are you done ?"
Her attitude was getting on his nerves fast. And what did she say, Huckleberry Finn ? Who the hell was even that ? He was not going to have a nobody as a Servant. Searching through his memories, he started grinning. Of course, that was the name of that one kid in Twain's novels. He wasn't sure how a fictional character could be a Servant, but he knew just what had to be done to make her obedient.
"Finn, huh. I don't think so. That kid is an arrivist, hardly fit to represent the values of our nation, don't you think ?
-Hey, where are you getting at ?"
The Archer looked apparently a bit lost, but she still caught enough from his confident tone to be worried.
"Now, your friend would be a much better fit, wouldn't he ? He is a symbol, after all... By this Command Spell, I order you...
-No, wait !"
With lightning speed, she had got her rifle out and was aiming at his hands, shooting immediately. The bullet, however, ricocheted on his protective barrier.
"...I order you to pretend to be Tom Sawyer."
A ring of red light exploded from his right hand, hitting the walls without apparent damage. Archer, on the other end, curled up in a ball, trying to fight its influence. With the last of her strength, she looked up at the mage with hatred.
"You fuck...", she managed to say before collapsing.
Antartica, Einzbern Winter Mansion
"So, Archer is America's pick, I see... Let's hope for them that will not turn against them.
-Master, how can you say that ? Obviously they won't stand for long. Archers are so weak. Plus, doesn't the report mention that this Archer has a "rebellious attitude" ? To think they stayed awake only for a few minutes is not playing in their favor, either.
-Caster. I understand yout concerns, but you are obviously biased. This Servant is still powered by an entire country.
-You're right, you're right. Still not enough to come up to my level, of course, but who could really ? Unless a true King or a Hero of Justice appears, all of them are just weaklings.
-Do I really need to remind you, Caster ?
-I get it, don't worry. "We play as spectators". Don't bother saying that stuff again.
-I'm glad we see eye to eye on this point."
The man with a white coat, white hair and red eyes lowered his glass of wine, and stepped down from the window to face his bald associate.
"This war is hardly of any importance. Our role is to make sure that it stays like this. With a pawn out of the equation...
-Don't call me a pawn. I'm fine with the calling of Servant, but I have my own pride... And my friends are not going to take your trashtalk on the good side."
The bald man looked up from the report he was confortably reading in the cushioned chair provided by his summoner, with a dangerous smile floating on his lips. The young Karl von Einzbern, born a month ago, repressed a shiver and calmly sat in front of his Servant.
"...As I was saying, with you out of the equation, the Grail will not complete itself. This way, we are sure to fail this ritual and prevent copies from spreading.
-Yeah, you already told me all of that, remember ? Who's got shortcomings now, huh ?"
The dead mage laughed with a dry and unimpressed voice.
"Guess your parents didn't finish you all the way up, puppet."
No sooner had he completed his sentence that a small cut appeared on his neck. Still unimpressed, he placed a finger on the wound. The homonculus, frozen in place with an expression that could scare the dead, declared in an icy voice :
"I am not a puppet.
-Yeah, whatever, Karlson. Gotta say though, you fit right in this decor with this kind of expression ; makes me regret not to have met you before.
-I'd rather not have known you at all.
-I get that a lot. Oh, by the way..."
Caster lift his finger to his face, the cut nowhere to be seen.
"If you're gonna make me bleed, at least don't waste it like this."
And licked the blood off his finger.
Galeries Lafayette, Paris, France
The store clerk, about to close up, saw the two silhouettes approaching in the dim light.
"I'm sorry but we are... Oh, miss Sleeveknot, I'm sorry I didn't recognize you ! Feel free to take what you need.
The young girl whom she was talking to, wearing a classy black and white robe, held her hand in front of the clerk with a smile.
"I will, dear, but first I'd appreciate if you could dress my friend here."
Reporting her attention to the other individual, an adult male in his thirties, wearing what looked like plate armor covered by a blue cape orned by a lily and an assorted feathered hat. Trying to ignore the rapier hanging from the man's belt, the clerk, a bit more nervous than before, turned back to the young miss.
"I'll... See what I can do. Is there anything specific you're looking for ?
-Well, something with a bit more elegance than... this" pouted the blond girl. "This guy is, well, let's say he's going to be my bodyguard. I'd like him to look the part. Oh, and preferably something for cold ambiances, if you please, wouldn't want the man to freeze in place.
The girl winked at her comrade, who payed it no attention, giving a simple smile to the clerk with a soft "Don't overdo yourself" spoken in French. The attendant instinctively bowed her head and went insie the shop to search for the command. Meanwhile, the noble girl sighed with a disappointed look.
"Come on, Saber. Your identity is already obvious enough as it is, why do you think I'm getting you new clothes ? So anyway, please stop speaking french and reduce that charisma a tad, would you ?
-As you wish, Master."
With a respectful tone, the man resumed the activity that had him occupied ever since he was firts summoned : looking in every direction, reminiscing about the past.
"Ooh, what a nice scarf this is... This store is the best weapon seller around I tell yo- hey, cut that too. People might get suspicious.
-With due respect, we are the only customers here... And may I ask how you intend to weaponize a scarf ?
-I'm talking about fashion, you useless brute. In this day and age, a good look is a better offense than any gun or knife..."
A brief smile appeared on the authoritary girl's face.
"And obviously, you can strangle people with it. Did you not learn about anything in military school ?
-I am regretful to announce that I am not well-versed in assassination.
-Tch. We really need to get your act together. No one ever talks like this anymore, you know ? Although it is quite pleasing to hear.
-I thank you for your compliment. I will make an effort when around other people."
Saber left her to pillage the expensive clothes of the store and looked up at the sky, lost in thought. At this moment, the clerk came back with a two-piece checkered marine suit, and a gray fedora.
"Will this be alright ?
-I'm sure it will ! Saber, please try it on.
-As you wish."
Antartica, Mage's Association campsite
As the light fades away from the summoning ritual, Cecil is greeted by an itching sensation on her neck. Checking rapidly, it appears that this is where the Command Spells lodged themselves. With a tired sigh, she gets up from the floor and serves herself some coffee, before bringing anothe cup at the armored man who intruded on her privacy. The man in question seems more confused than anything, but still takes the cup and drinks a bit.
"...This is an interesting brew. Coffee tastes better than I would have thought.
-I see the knowledge is kicking in. Anything you need to be filled in ?
-I should be alright for now. What is your name ?"
Cecil extends her head, exposing the red tattoos.
"Cecil Die, mage and your Master. I'd rather be straightforward with you : we are not in this to win.
-I... Understood. My name is Erec, Kinght of the Round Table. I am the Servant of Lancer class.
-Lancer, huh..."
Cecil thinks about her Servant's identity while sipping some more of her coffee. Erec of the Round Table is not that well-known, much less that other celebrities among the ranks of Arthur's knights, but is story is described in detail by Chrétien de Troyes in his early work. According to some sources, Erec ranked second behind Gawain as the most powerful knight of the circle, before retiring with his wife Enide.
Eying the man standing in front of her now, she concluded that the young enough appearance in front of her was likely the hero's peak condition. She was not going to ask about that, though. Her mind was set on a more interesting question.
"I hope you don't mind, but I have done some research on you -not you exclusively, should I add. From what I know about you, you have finished your life in peace and recognition, with the woman you loved. What could your wish for the Grail possibly be ?"
Lancer silently drank the rest of his coffee while critically analyzing the interior of the campsite, before breaking the silence with a simple :
"Since we are not planning to win, my wish is meaningless. Furthermore, it has to do with my Noble Phantasm, which I should disclose as little information as possible, even if you are my Master."
The Noble Phantasm was the materialization of the legend of a Servant, taking the shape of a weapon, creature, object or ability of some kind at the cost of a lot of magical energy. Those items of great power could survive in their material form to modern days and were highly praised by the magi community, in a similar way to relics for the Holy Church. Although her curiosity was still intact, she gave up on trying to make her Servant talk.
Speaking of the Holy Church...
"Shouldn't be long now...
-What is ?
-The priest's visit. It's tradition for an envoy of the Holy Church to supervise the war. They're supposed to check on every pair before the ritual officially starts.
-That seems... highly unnecessary. I get the feeling this war is being treated as some kind of sport event.
-Well, you're not off the mark. This whole thing is a masquerade to let the USA and USSR work things out between them, we're just here to allow them to do so. We could just keep watch, but it would be tricky to escape from the other Servants indefinitely.
-So long as I don't have to commit suicide, I'm okay with it.
-Really ? Suicide isn't an option anyway, the Mage's Association wouldn't let me off the hook afterwards. But I thought a Servant, even more so a Lancer, would have been more eager to fight.
-I was never man to fight... Not that I would flee from battle, but I never searched for it."
The two of them fell silent again. Lancer seemed lost in memories, while Cecil was considering her strategy options. Eventually, she declared :
"Well, we're just going to let the battle between the american Servant and the soviet's happen, and we'll see what to do after the results are in. I haven't had time to scout the area,but I'd rather not leave until the priest is gone. Can you do that for me ?
-There's no need. This area is safe, although a bit too exposed. If anything, it needs a cover. The rest is only an ice desert."
Cecil stopped, raising an eyebrow.
"And you figured that... how ?
-I possess an awareness skill. Nothing as strong as a third eye, but good enough to detect blind spots and moving things. Speaking of moving, something is approaching at high velocity. Should I take it down ?
-Something ? What size ?
-...Seems like a ball, about two meters wide.
-That's the helicopter, probably. Stay put.
-Alright, Master."
Cecil left the plain room to face the newcomer. As the strong winds pushed the snow towards her, she traced a simple rune to warm the air around her, starting to melt the snow as it got close. The helicopter finally reached the ground and the door opened, letting a tall man with a cane and wearing an unmistakeable black coat. Seeing him approach with a tap of his cane every step, strangely resonating in the wind, Cecil readied herself for a possible fight. The history between mages and priests wasn't made of innocent games and flowers.
Fortunately, the priest raised his hands as a sign of peace. From up close, Cecil could see a peaceful face topped with black curly hair, in a somewhat juvenile fashion contrasting with his well-kept beard and stature.
Speaking with a tranquil voice, uncaring for the elements around, the tall man of faith started :
"Hello there, miss Die. I am Father Wilde, the envoy of the Church and supervisor of this War. I have been informed of your participation only this morning ; I am sorry for my tardiness. May I take your oath and the identity of your Servant ? Not his True Name, of course, I wouldn't ask as much.
-You are very much excused. I swear not to interfere with any living soul in this realm that is neither mage nor Servant, nor will I use the Grail to commit harm if I happen to lay hands on it. My Servant is Lancer. Will this be all ?
-Well, your oath has been successfully heard. May I ask, on a personal level, what you gain from participating in this ?
-What about you ? The Church pretty much hates all mages and their rituals, don't they ?
-...If that were true, we would be failing in our duty to love all children of God. We just ask that any power be treated with responsability.
-I didn't know priests read comic books."
Wilde's tranquil façade didn't waver, although his cane showed signs of ploying slightly as he weighed down on it.
"I find it unfortunate that the ancient messages would find such a mediocre medium to be passed down by. But they are being passed nonetheless, and that is what matters, doesn't it ? At any rate, I will not burden you any longer. I have a few more poeple to contact before the two main Servants are scheduled to arrive.
-And I most definitely don't want to keep you away from your duty. We'll see each other at the end of this war, I suppose.
-Yes, that would be ideal. Farewell."
Ending on these words, Wilde turned back to the helicopter, which once again took off. Left alone, Cecil closed her eyes and relaxed for a minute before returning back inside.
However, it wasn't the same inside she had come out of. The main room had been completely cleaned of the traces left from the summoning, and reorganised to increase space efficiency and comfort. Although nothing was added, it felt completely different.
"Lancer, did you... redecorate ?
-Oh, well. I just thought it would be better to make some space for, ehm, pratice purposes, I suppose.
-Your justifications seem wildly insufficient, but I appreciate it. And it may prove useful if the defenses are ever brought down while we're inside...
-Yes, my thought exactly."
Cecil started laughing, slowly imitated by the Servant. The two of them laughed at the situation for a minute, before Lancer added :
"I also made something to eat.
-Oh."
Not knowing whether whe should be worried or not, the lady looked over the kitchen area and spotted a single cooking pot with a lid. Removing said lid revealed lentils and pork, slowly heating up. The smell was fairly appetizing, and Cecil sighed with relief while putting it to rest.
"Not bad. I didn't know you were a cook.
-I've been a lot on the road. Knowing how to cook is a necessary skill, although my knowledge is fairly limited.
-I see. I'd like to hear about those travels some time.
-...I'll think about it. Although most of it is already known, as I understand it, I may be able to surprise you with a few facts.
-I look forward to it."
They exchanged a complicit look, remnant of their previous laughter, before regaining their serious. Sitting in front of each other for some time, Erec is the first to break the silence.
"So, how did it go with the intruder ?
-An intruder, huh... Well, nothing that sinister, that was really only the priest, some Father Wilde. He got what he needed and I'm finally free to relax, so a win-win situation, Id say.
-He didn't cause you any problem ? What's your impression of him ?"
Cecil looked at her Servant with a surprised look, causing him to apologize.
"Sorry, I didn't mean to pray too much. I'm just wary of distinguishes foes from allies, that is all.
-That's understandable... If I had to pick, I'd say neither. As long as we stay away from him, we shouldn't have any problems... That's my gut feeling, anyway. As far as the War is concerned, he truly is here as a supervisor, and noything more.
-That's good to hear", Lancer added before whispering "As I thought", with no further explanations.
They both exchanged like this until eleven at night, eating Lancer's meal in the meantime. Once the clock hit that time, Cecil got up.
"According to the memo I got, the official fight is planned for midnight. It would be quite a shame to miss it, considering we may have to fight the winner.
-Agreed. But I'd rather avoid encoutering the other Servants. You never know what they might think.
-Good thinking. We'll camouflage. Do you need clothes ?
-I'll just assume Spirit form, it seems wiser. I wouldn't be able to give my all in a fight without my current equipment anyway.
-Okay, then we're set."
Cecil took a small paint tube from her stuff and started dipping her finger in it, starting by making markings on her neck symmetrically to the Command Spells. Lancer, looking confused, pointed the paint with an interrogatve finger.
"You'll understand soon enough. That's just to throw an eventual Command Spell robber off, that's all.
-I see, that's... clever.
-Well of course !"
Amused, she then painted on her forearms a few symbols. As she progressed, her limbs started to blur, then fade, as if light simply passed thourgh them. Eventually, she had completely disappeared.
"And then, a single rune to ensure silence... We'll still communicate through telepathy.
-Yes, please do."
A bit uneasy, Lancer watched a letter shine through the air, before vanishing, along with his Master's presence. With a last look around him, he disappeared as well.
Antartica, location of the first fight, ten minutes before midnight
The silence reigned. No wind, no animal cries. Not even the crackling of the ice. Pure, undeformed silence.
Then it was broken by the sound of an engine. A small plane, fit for a flight across the bare land of the sixth continent, made a few loops above the naturally formed arena stuck between some mounds and glaciers. Eventually, a figure dropped from the vehicle, which turned back to where it was from. The figure in question landed in the middle of the arena without apparent damage, strangely immobile. Only their straw hat could be seen under the light of the moon.
Eventually, midnight came. Still, nothing happened. Growing impatient, the hatted individual shouted :
"So what, nobody's willing to face against me ? Did the Rus' fail to summon their Servant ? No matter, I can sense your presence, all of you. Look at that, almost the entire pool is here ! Someone show themselves and fight, for goodness' sake !"
For a few more minutes, nothing happened. Just as the Servant was about to shout again, his expectations were finally met with a fearsome scream, recognizable as human, but heavily modified and unintellegible. From the other side of the improvised ring, the silhouette of a muscly man appeared. His eyes were burnt and his face emaciated, yet from his body emanated a strong aura of power and madness. It didn't take a genius to understand that this was the Berserker-class Servant.
From each of its steps, came the sound of chains, even though none were visible. Wearing a simple toga, and an iron crown ceigning his messy hair, his arms and legs twitching, it was difficult to consider him a threat from a first look, but the danger was very real, and even his opponent could feel it.
Archer swipe the sweat that had formed on her forehead, tucking her hair back in the hat. With a provoking grin, she casually took her rifle out and pointed it at the mad Servant, who kept on advancing slowly without care. Then, without a warning, she shot.
The bullet, enhanced by the amounts of mana that Archer was receiving, hit the opponent stray to the heart. Berserker stopped, starting to bleed. Archer, feeling victorious, pointed the gun down to the ground, puffing her inexistant chest in pride.
"What, so that's all the Russian's Berserker could do ? Frankly, that's disappoint-"
Unable to finish her sentence, Berserker had suddenly leaped right in front of her at unimaginable speed. Up close, Archer could plainly see the bullet wound, still pouring blood out on the snow. Too slow to react, she only managed to guard against Berserker's swing partially using the rifle, and was sent flying to the side with a shortened exclamation.
Berserker, now smiling, started articulating a few words towards his adversary, vomiting blood as he did so without care :
"Poor child, who was taught naught..."
Saying these words, the air between him and Archer got more and more dense, starting to choke the teenager who was getting back on her feet. With a look of hatred in her eyes, she turned her palm towards the man and silently pronounced a word. As nothing happened and the air pressure was increasing, she looked at her own hand with a weird expression, as if she couldn't recognize it.
"Wha-"
Berserker, leaping again, pinned Archer to the wall, exerting a pressure so strong bare-handed that she started coughing. Still smiling, his mouth covered in blood opened again. From up close, it felt as if his voice and mouth were desynchronised.
"Let me share my experience."
He started tightening his grip around her body. Paralyzed and unable to talk, she could only watch as her body got crushed, bit by bit. Turning her eyes to those of Berserker, she expressed through them all of her anger...
Berserker stopped. Or rather, the crushing stopped, while Berserker seemingly thought he was still going. After a while, his energy seemed to abandon him, and he stepped back, letting the mutilated body of his adversary drop to the ground with a deafened sound. Back to his previous, uncaring self, he slowly dragged his feet towards the arena, staggering on the uneven ground, before disappearing between two mounds.
Cecil and Erec, who had stayed put during the fight, were having a hard time decinding whether or not they should check on Archer's body or not. Erec eventually got the final word, arguing that the other Heroic Spirits were still around, at least three of them excluding Archer, which he would not be able to fight against. Convinced, Cecil stayed put.
It is only when looking back at the arena that they realized Archer's body had disappeared.
Well, that solves it, I suppose. The Servant's really dead, then.
Erec didn't answer, an uneasy feeling emanating from him.
They waited for Father Wilde's announcement of the winner of the war. Waited, and waited. As the other presences vanished, and her skin paint started to wear off, cecil realized one thing : for one reason or another, Wilde wasn't going to announce the winner.
The war was still ongoing.