Disclaimer: I do not own Mass Effect or the Fate series.

Stories of Old

"Talking"

"Thinking"

If a person was asked what they thought about humanity, the usual answer was a shrug. And most people accepted it as fact. Compared to the other races, Humanity didn't exactly match up.

They didn't have the military strength or the discipline of the turians, the technological edge or spycraft of the salarians, or the wisdom and biotic might of the asari. They weren't as savage as the krogan and they certainly didn't have the ability to recall memories like the drell. Quite frankly, humanity came up short every time.

That wasn't to mean they were useless. In fact, many would praise humans for being adaptable. Just because they didn't match to the others didn't mean they couldn't hold their own. It would just be less. And there were good points to them as well. A poet would say that instead of being the warriors marching to battle the turians were, the scouts who knew the land as the salarians did, or how the asari could broke a peace, they were the defenders. Humanity was the ones who held the shieldwall. They were the ones who would plant the flag in the ground and hold it to the last man, the ones who looked the enemy in the eye and say, "Come get some."

Grit. Determination. That was what people thought humanity above all else. And, in a sense, they were right. But humanity had something else, something that set them apart.

Faith.

It wasn't because of religion. The hanar had them beat in that category (and honestly, they were welcome to it). No, it was more about what was underneath. It was about the stories. The stories humanity had woven through their history was just as divisive as their genetics. Each culture, both existing and dead, had tales about how the world work, what caused the sun to raise and fall, what made the waves crash against the shore, what happened if the laws of men or gods were broken, and other such things.

And in these stories were people, heroes, who went through immense challenges, traveled to distant lands, fought horrifying monsters, retrieved priceless objects, or overthrow a tyrant. The reasons they did these varied. Some because of honor, because of a challenge or a threat, because of regret, or because it was what they could do. Regardless, they still did it and left a different world, possibly a better one, in their wake.

These stories enthralled humanity. Each time a tale was told, there was an audience listening. When they left, images of the tale linger in their minds. For the children, they would imagine themselves taking part of the advantage, or wishing they were the hero. For some, that wish would become a drive that pushed them further, higher, and brought the rest along in the process.

Details in the stories may change over the years but the premises remained the same. And that was why humans kept coming back to them, letting them feed their imaginations and fuel their dreams. In those stories, they could be more than what they were. And that was something they were willing to defend.

As humanity grew, so did the stories. Real life events took the place of legends, heroes were replaced by men and women who were only human, and the monsters' terror became much subtler. But this only made people listen more, because the stories were real. If they were real, that meant what was accomplished could be done again. More than that, they could be surpassed.

And so humanity grew, letting the stories of their past fuel their future.

Never once did they think the stories were anything but that. Stories. But then something changed when the Reapers struck Earth. Amidst all the fear, shock, and terror of the machines appearing in the sky and burning everything, there was a hope. It was a slight hope but hope nonetheless. A hope that someone, anyone, would come out and fight these monsters. That their heroes would come save the day.

To those who were aware, it was a thrum that rippled across Earth's surface, hardly more a breath in the air. Yet that thrum was a call that reached to all who would listen, speaking in twin voices.

"Earth is being attacked."

"Humanity is threatened."

"You are needed!"

It started in Athens. The Acropolis was burning and much of the city was being destroyed. People ran for their lives, trying to find a place to hide from the chaos. Husks chased after their victims, claws eager for flesh. A defensive line was trying to be held but it was shaky at best, almost threatening to break at any moment. And all the while, the Reaper loomed overhead.

Amongst the chaos, there were people who did not run. They fought against the monsters, helping people get to safety. If asked, no one would be able to describe their features, not even the color of their eyes. They were shadows, people garbed in cloaks and vagueness.

Then the monsters stilled. And the Reaper spoke. "Humanity." It was a terrible voice, the kind that drilled down into a person's bones and installed fear on the primal level. "You are nothing. You cannot stop what is to come. Throw down your weapons."

Instead of a proclamation for surrender, it was the spark that ignited an inferno.

"REAPERS!" spoke a great voice. All of Athens turned to the west, even going to their omni-tools for video. Just outside Athens, coming from the west, was a man. He pulled his spear out from the Brute beneath his feet and braced it against his shield. His name wasn't spoken but they knew who he was.

"Come and take them!" roared Leonidas, King of Flame, leader of the 300.

And he was not alone.

The shadows faded and features became clear. Perseus strode down the street alongside Thesus and Heracles, cleaving monsters in half. From the sea came Jason and his Argonauts and the heroes of Troy. Achilles, Odysseus, Agamemnon led the charge into the city, cutting the monsters off at the flank. From the north came Alexander with his armies, intent on protecting the city he had once claimed.

It was not done in a day but the city was saved and the Reaper was driven off. From there, the heroes of old spread out across Greece to keep fighting.

And they weren't alone.

From Avalon came an army. It was a mighty sight of knights in full regalia, their banners snapping in the wind. As they marched across the land, none could stand in their way. Even as heroes from more recent times appeared, more experienced in the ways of war or wielding more powerful weapons, they did not object when they joined the march.

For Britain's Once and Future King had come again.

When the army came to a stop outside of London, Artoria Pendragon look upon the enemy from the front. Beside her were her Knight of the Round Table. They were ready for the fight, to charge forth and bring the fight to the enemy. But they would only go at their liege's command. And so too would the other heroes in their company.

"Have we received word from the sea?" asked the king.

Sir Bedivere nodded. "Captain Drake is already attacking the Reapers along the Channel, alongside Captain Cook and Lord Nelson," he reported.

"And Merlin?" No one answered that. She expected it. Merlin was off being Merlin. She just hoped he would fight when he appeared.

"The ancient heroes of Greece are out in force," said Sir Galahad. "They've already struck against the Reapers, pushing them back as far as they can. Rome has responded and marched, following their actions."

"Humph, typical. Romans can't do anything unless someone else starts," snorted Boudica, the Queen of Victory. Her distaste for Rome was well-known. But she didn't linger on them. Her eyes stayed on London. For all it was a Roman settlement in her time, it was a British city now. Which meant it was filled with British citizen, her people, being attacked. "We cannot wait."

"She's right," agreed Richard the Lionheart. "Command us, King Arthur," he said to the youth in the front.

She looked at him, then at the rest of the heroes by her side. Her Knights stood ready, even Lancelot, long forgiven. As did Robin Hood, Sherlock Holmes, Beowulf, and William Shakespeare amongst many others. Beside the heroes were their opposites, Jack the Ripper, Frankenstein's Monster, Moriarity to name a few, and her own sister Morgan. Despite what they might've felt about it each other, and the rest, only one thing matter.

They were needed.

"Go forth, my Knights," she proclaimed. "Give these creatures no mercy, for they deserve none. Protect the people. And show these Reapers just who we are."

Lancelot's sword was first to pulled free. "For Britain and its King!" he cried. The cry swept through the army, growing as it traveled, and pushed them forward. They marched as one into London, to battle.

Before long, only the king remained on the hill, save one. The second was clad head-to-toe in red-accented armor. The knight had not ridden at the front with his peers. Throughout the march, he had stayed to the sides and back, out of sight from the king. But now that they were alone, it was time to leave. "Mordred," said the king, making the knight freeze. She pulled her helmet free, letting her youthful face be seen. "The last time I checked, you are still one of my knights."

The Knight of Treachery stayed in place, unsure of what to do. So many things wanted to be said, but they weighed heavy in her heart. "…After everything I've done, you still trust me?"

"Yes."

"Why?" It was because of him that Camelot burned, that the king died. That was his legacy to the story of King Arthur.

For a moment, the king stood tall. Then Artoria replaced her, filled with sadness and regret. "What happened then was because of poorly chosen words that were not explained," she explained. "What I said was true. I did not think you could be King." Before the anger in Mordred grew fiercer, she finished. "I thought you could be better. I wanted you to be better. To be someone I could never be."

For a long moment, nothing happened. Then Mordred pulled in close to his king and took off his own helmet. Artoria's face looked at her, tears threatening to leak out. "All I wanted to be was your son," Mordred told her, voice almost breaking. "I wanted to be someone that you were proud of."

"And you are. I have never despised you, Mordred." She reached out and cupped his face. "Regardless of how you were born, you are my child. And every parent wants their child to be better than them." That was something she hadn't learned before. There were a lot of things she hadn't learned before.

For a moment, father and child felt connected for the first time in their lives. Mordred sniffed and shook the tears away. "Alright, enough of this touchy-feeling crap," he declared. His helmet came back on and his hands took the reins. "What is your command, your Majesty?"

The Once and Future King looked at her subject. "As your king, go forth and do your duty to the people." Her eyes softened, allowing the woman to shine through. "As your father, come back alive."

Those words etched themselves onto Mordred's heart. "Your command," he said. His father put his helmet back on. Together, the king and his knight drew their sword and charged down into battle.

"Well, the British are at it," said Fergus mac Róich, watching from atop the Hill of Tara.

His nephew and foster-son scoffed. "Yeah, we can hear them," said Cú Chulainn. "Someone would have to be deaf not to hear." He joined Fergus at the crest, peering toward England. A low whistle escaped his lips. "Those knights are really putting in the fight."

"As they should," Diarmuid Ua Duibhne said as he joined them. "Their king fights alongside them. That is enough to make any knight fight harder and stronger."

The Hound of Culann didn't quite have the same opinion. "Or maybe they're just glad to have a fight they be proud of." He eyed the First Spear of the Knights of Fianna. "Some people like that, even knights."

"Cú, stop teasing him." Cú Chulainn stopped at his mentor's voice. Scáthach, Queen of the Land of Shadows, kept her red eyes on the battle. The longer it went on, the more her smile grew. It was a beautiful smile, and terrifying. It highlighted her beauty and yet showed her eagerness for war. "Oh look, one of those Reapers is coming this way."

"Very well," said Fionn mac Cumhaill, leader of the Knights of Fianna as he joined them. "Then it is time to prepare." He looked over the crest, to the ground below. "They will certainly need it."

When the Reapers attacked, they went after England first, since it was the bigger of the islands. While some people felt that was insulting, the rest used their common sense to flee the cities. Those closest to the Hill of Tara went there immediately, hoping they would be protected. And with each day, the numbers grew. And the hope was rewarded. The heroes of Ireland stood atop the Hill, ready to fight.

Diarmuid went to his liege's, and friend's, side. "Your orders, Lord?" he asked.

The leader of the Knights of Fianna looked upon his staunchest ally. Once his heart had been broken by him because of his actions. The anger stirred jealously and caused Diarmuid's death. But now, there was time to put those feelings aside. For they were needed. "Ready your spears," he commanded. "It's time we faced our enemy."

Cú Chulainn's grin announced his eagerness. "I've got a better idea." Gáe Bolg slammed its tip into the ground. "How about we make them hear the Irish roar?"

It was a good phrase, one that should've gotten the blood pumping. Instead, everyone just looked at him. "You've been watching football matches again, haven't you?" Fergus asked with a sigh. Where else would he have heard that song?

The Hound of Culann did not blush, no matter what people might've thought. "It's a good song!" It got the blood pumping!

"But not the right one," Fionn remarked. But there was one song that would reach the people and strengthened their hearts. "Diarmuid."

The knight nodded, cleared his throat, and began.

Seal dá rabhas im' mhaighdean shéimh,
'S anois im' bhaintreach chaite thréith,
Mo chéile ag treabhadh na dtonn go tréan
De bharr na gcnoc is in imigéin.

The notes flowed down the hill to the people below. Their spines stiffened because their hearts knew this song. A drum joined the song, adding depth. Many more voices followed, empowering it to go further and become stronger. It spoke to them all, imploring not to give up, to fight. And they would.

When the song ended, the Reaper had arrived. And it found Ireland ready for the fight.

"Good Lord, the Irish are making quite the din," said Alexandre Dumas, cocking an ear. "You can hear them from here." And considering they stood before Orléansas its protection, that was saying something.

"That's who they are," Jacques de Molay said in his quiet voice. "They face their enemy with a song in their hearts." It was something to be admired about them. He looked out to the field, where the enemy was fast approaching. "They come." His sword came to the ready, alongside his shield.

"Yes, they do," the Queen of Lilies, Marie Antoinette said. Beside her was her executioner, Charles-Henri Sanson. But she harbored no hatred for him. It wasn't her to hate, only love. "We must protect the people." Paris had fallen far too quickly when the Reapers struck. The people who were able to get out fled to Orléans. They had hoped to find salvation and protection there. And they did.

"That we do," agreed Napoleon. "But I say we don't stop there." The heroes of Frances looked to its first Emperor. "I say we push these…creatures back and we march. We march to Paris and we take our city back. And we do it with a song on our lips."

It was a bold plan, one that they liked. "What song did you have in mind?" asked Alexander.

Instead of answering him, the emperor looked to the two who stayed silent. He paid no attention to Giles de Rais. All had known of him and found him despicable. The only reason he stood amongst their ranks was because he swore absolute loyalty to their leader. "My lady," he said to the Maid of Orléans. "With your permission." Some might've been astounded that the Emperor of France, who had set out to conqueror Europe and beyond (and damn near did) would defer to anyone.

But to her, he did. "Sing, Napoleon," said Jeanne d'Arc. A little smile graced her lips. "France would hear this song." That was all he needed.

The song started slow. It always did. That was its strength.

Do you hear the people sing?
Singing a song of angry men?
It is the music of the people
Who will not be slaves again!

The people in Orléans heard it. Then they joined in. By the second verse they stopped hiding. By the third they turned and faced the enemy. The song carried in the air as the Reapers attacked Orléans and were met by Gaelic fury. It was still being sung when they were driven back and the people of France marched on Paris.

All over Earth, the story repeated itself. Charlemagne rode forth with his paladins, fighting through Germany alongside Seigfried and Arminius. Rome let loose its legions, with Romulus at its helm, his brother at his side and Caeser following. In the Middle East, the Old Man descended from his mountain and struck down the Reapers' forces. The Great Khan rode out from the steppes with his sons and his armies to defend what was once his empire. From the subcontinent came the heroes of old, Rama, Arjuna, Karna, and Bhima amongst others, came forth to protect their land.

The heroes of Asia also emerged to fight. Lü Bu Fengxian went forth alongside Zhang Jue, Yan Qing, and Xu Fu to name a few. Across the sea, in the Land of the Rising Sun, Saitō Hajime stood alongside Souji Okita and Shinpachi Nagakura once more. Miyamoto Musashi and Sasaki Kojirō, whose clash was told time and time again, fought side by side. The three unifiers of Japan commanded the battlefield while Senji Muramasa ensured no weapon would break before the fight was over.

The seas would give no sanctuary for the Reapers either. From the Caribbean came famed pirates, Blackbeard, Captain Kidd, Benjiman Hornigold, Black Bart, Mary Read and Anne Bonny. They had sailed for freedom and to be their own people. Now they would fight to protect that freedom from those who would enslave and destroy them all. Pirates they had been but they were needed.

From North America came a great army, fueled by its history and folklore spread across the land. Billy the Kid rode alongside Calamity Jane and Annie Oakley. Geronimo walked beside Paul Bunyan. Thomas Edison and Nikola Tesla set aside their rivalry for a common cause. Walt Disney reached out to the world and played the music made in his name. When people heard those songs, they were reassured and fought harder. And at the front of this army was George Washington, Father of His Country. America had asked for his help and he answered.

And in the shadows, the monsters waited. Where the heroes could not go or fight, they struck. The dark side of the legends, creatures such as the Minotaur, Medusa, Grendel and his mother, the Phantom of the Opera, and others across the world, hunted the Reapers' monsters and those who all too willing to betray humanity. Their actions were brutal, as expected from them, as much as they were necessary.

All these stories, these legends, they did not drive Reapers from Earth, despite what many had hoped. The Reapers were still too many and powerful for that to happen. But what they did do, was turn the battle for Earth into a siege. The longer it went on, the more forces the Reapers had to move onto Earth, pulling them away from the galaxy, giving the races a chance to breathe, find their footing, and strike back.

By the time the final battle had commenced, all of the galaxy stood as one to march on Earth. They broke the siege, broke through enemy lines to regroup with allies on the ground. There was no time to wonder about the legends they found themselves finding alongside. The Citadel had to be reached and opened for the Crucible.

That's where things ended.

Shepard stared at the little boy and filled with horror. What it wanted her to do, these "choices," they weren't choices at all. None of them was what she wanted. She just wanted the Reapers destroyed, not take the rest of synthetics with them. She couldn't do that to the geth, not after what she did to help them! They—

A hand touched hers. She and the Catalyst looked down at the little girl standing by her. "It's alright, Shepard," she said with a smile. "I'll take it from here." Shepard didn't understand, but she knew she could trust her.

The Catalyst stared as it became just the two of them. She appeared to be a regular human girl, no older than ten. But her features changed, flowing from one thing to the next. No human could do that. "Who are you?" asked the Catalyst.

The smile never left her expression. It was an amused smile, as if she knew something it didn't. "Oh, you can call me Alaya." She looked up to Earth, where the battle was being fought. "They are extraordinary beings, aren't they? Humans held onto a small hope and when it became a reality, fought beside it to make it grow. What was once dreamed of was achieved once they had the drive to do it." Her gaze turned sideways at the Catalyst. "Guess that's why you kept throwing your things at it. Did you want to see them break?"

If the Catalyst was human or any kind of organic being, frustration and annoyance might've flushed through its body. But it wasn't and there was only one focus. "Will you make the choice?" That was why they were here.

She considered the Catalyst, then the choices, with a thoughtful pout, tapping her chin. "Hmm, no. I think I'll do what everyone wants and destroy the Reapers. Just the Reapers."

"You can't."

"Oh, but I can. You said it yourself. The Reapers are your creation. Which means they are linked to you. All I have to do is reach out." The pout vanished, replaced by a cool look. "Y'know, humanity still believes in magic. Some might even think biotics are just another form of magic. But truthfully, there's a science to it all, a system. And like any system, it can be hacked…or hack another system."

The galaxy twisted and then disappeared.

The Catalyst found itself standing in a field of sword. The air was dry and tasted of steel. Clouds covered the sky, barely letting the twilight sun be seen. Where the Catalyst looked, it saw nothing but swords. But the more it looked, the more it saw something else. Souls, millions of them, all cobbled together into a rough human form. Again and again, they appeared in the twilit field, all just as confused as the Catalyst. As more appeared, it realized what they were: the Reapers.

They all stood amongst the sword. Off in the distance was a hill. "What is this?" it asked.

Alaya was smirking, a vicious thing that wanted blood. "My ace in the hole," she proclaimed. "I held him back until I was sure I could make the connection. Took a long couple of months, but once I was sure, I made it once Shepard had reached you."

She did? But how? She wasn't with Shepard when she came aboard. It wasn't possible. "What are you?"

"I'm Alaya, the Will of Humanity." She looked around at the field once more. A mischievous gleam struck her eyes. "You know what? Why don't I make this a little more fun? Here's something else humans came up with: Boss Music."

She vanished and something shifted on the hill. The figure was faint but definitely human. Ominous music began to play. They had no idea from where. Then, the human spoke.

"I am the bone of my sword."

The air thrummed with power from those words. They did not care. It was only a human. (What they did not know was how the words traveled beyond the field to Earth.)

"Steel is my body and fire is my blood."

One Reaper moved towards the hill. It would destroy the human and free them. But then a sword shot through its chest and exploded out the back. For a moment, the Reaper stared at the hole. Then it fell to the ground and did not get up.

(Over Ireland, a bright light struck one of the Reapers. It went still, drifting along in the air. Cú Chulainn looked upon the floating corpse and smirked. "Well, there he is.")

"I have created over a thousand blades."

The Catalyst stared at the corpse, unable to believe what it just happened. The sword that killed the Reaper hung in the air, waiting for someone else to make a mistake. The human on the hill kept speaking, letting power fill words.

"Unknown to Death,"

(In Greece, Medusa, Heracles, and Medea paused and listened. Two acknowledged the voice with respect. One shivered in remembrance.)

"Nor known to Life."

More Reapers moved to the hill, rushing to swarm the human. More swords rose up and struck them down.

(Sasaki Kojirō listened and smiled to himself. For a moment, he remembered a young man daring to stand against him. Then he returned to the fight.)

"Have withstood pain to create many weapons."

(Amongst the land in the Fertile Crescent, the Oldest King glanced up to the sky, past the corpses of the abominations. "So, he finally shows." Then he returned to the battle with his only friend.)

"But yet, those hands will never hold anything."

The Catalyst could only watch in horror as its Reapers were slaughtered. And the power was growing. The swords rose into the air, a tidal wave of steel, waiting to crash upon them all. And the Catalyst knew it would.

(In England, Artoria listened with a warm smile. She knew who it was. She trusted him. Trusted him enough to hold the Sword of Promised Victory high and let its light shine for all to see.)

"So as I pray…"

"STOP!" screamed the Catalyst, running forward to the hill. "Can't you see what we are? What we represent?" It showed it all to the human, begging him to see what the Reapers truly were. All the civilizations, all the knowledge, all the wisdom. It was all there, all collected. "If you do this, you'll slaughter us. Slaughter billions!"

The human looked down upon the Catalyst. And he was unrepentant. In his eyes was a single message.

"Slaughter billions, to save trillions."

"UNLIMITED BLADE WORKS!"

The battle for Earth ended in a shower of bright lights. The Reapers had no chance. All that were left corpses. The galaxy didn't care. They cheered for their victory. Amongst the celebrations, the heroes and legends faded into the background, going back to their stories. But they left a new story in their path.

The story of how Earth held the line against the Reapers. How when everything seemed impossible and they called out to their legends, the legends came forth to their side. How the siege of Earth became the pin in stalling the Reapers' advance.

How, when it felt like she had nothing but impossible choices, Commander Rin Shepard, the Uniter of the Galaxy, called upon her distant ancestor, and her first hero, for guidance. And how he answered.

It was a story that showed Humanity's Faith, their legends, and all they could be. And like the legends that came before, it would be remembered and retold.

End

Author's note: Thank you for all the reviews you've sent me.

Yes, this story was inspired by The Kings in The Mountains by Seika. It's an interesting concept but I was always annoyed the author didn't take it further. So, that's why I did here.

I was light on the Nasuverse details for two reasons. The first is that it's a bit too statistical at times and as I am not a hardcore fan, it can fly over my head. The second is that I wrote this as a story to be told. People aren't going to care about how the heroes had stats or rankings in said stats. Besides, I believe that they were brought out as themselves, not Servants. So the rankings didn't matter much.

While sending the heroes off to battle was good and all, it wasn't what they would only do. They were back in the world, had a chance to breathe the air and see their comrades again. Why wouldn't they take the chance to talk things over and air out the problems. That's what I showed with Mordred and Artoria, as well as Diarmuid and Fionn. Jeanne and Giles? Even I get the feeling that's a very private conversation.

If you're wondering what the Irish are singing, it's called Mo Ghile Mear. I based this version off the video by the Choral Scholars of University College Dublin. It's one of those songs where you don't need to know the words to feel it. Once that song started going, everyone on that hill felt and responded.

That's something I feel would repeat throughout Earth. The Mass Effect games don't really do anything about what music is like in their world. So we don't know if the other races have songs that would keep the spirits up or ready them for the fight. Humans do, and have been doing it throughout history. Music will make you pay attention and feel something about what's going to happen. Why else would we have Boss Music?

As much as I would've like to keep this story only about the heroes, I am dabbling in the Nasuverse. So that means I have to bring out the monsters too. They're part of the system and that means they came forth to fight for Earth. Even if they did it in their own way.

While I'm on this subject, I'm a little annoyed with the Nasuverse. I'm aware that, as it is a Japanese franchise, there's going to be a bit of bias to Asian heroes. But for the love of God, they couldn't have put a little more effort into picking American heroes? They had Tesla but not George Washington? That's a Rider-class person right there!

I don't know what their reasoning is. Maybe it's because the U.S. is still a young nation and doesn't have its own legends yet (although that doesn't explain Billy the Kid or Annie Oakley). Personally, I don't care, so I added who I believed could be classified as Servants. And yes, that does include Walt Disney. If the British can have Shakespeare as a Caster, Americans can have Disney as the same.

And yes, I went there with Shepard. This way I can explain the red hair and why she does the best she can to save everyone. She listened to the family stories.

I'll see you all next chapter!