Fate/Mercy

Fate/Mercy is the story of the Sixth Holy Grail War, which takes place eleven years after the events of Fate/Stay Night in 2015. Due to the Grail being unable to properly expend its energy in the previous war in Fuyuki, it has reformed surprisingly quickly. Unlike the fairly lax preparations in 2004, several parties have been eagerly anticipating this war and have been gathering materials to summon their servants and do battle.

After five costly wars and failed attempts at gaining the Grail, the Fuyuki site has been rendered unusable for any further attempts. As such, another location of great magical energy was chosen: London, England, home of both the Clock Tower and the Mage's Association. Unlike the relatively small city of Fuyuki, this ancient, densely populated metropolis is seen as a much more dangerous place to do battle, but for the Holy Grail all involved must be willing to risk it all to attain victory. The current 'neutral zone' of this war is in Westminster Cathedral, which will be off-limits to the general public for the time being. A team of Executors from the Church have been brought in to guard it and prevent rulebreakers from harming those seeking shelter and protection. The city-wide CCTV system has also been taken over by the Mage's Association for the course of the war and the emergency services are being heavily monitored to prevent civilian interference in the Holy Grail War. The Clock Tower itself will be sealed off until the war is complete, though it is highly likely that some mages may attempt to leave and fight for the Grail themselves.

Thus began the Sixth Holy Grail War; yet another bloody battle among chosen individuals for the right to hold ultimate power.


 * Characters
 * Soundtracks
 * Writers:
 * Lancer/Claudia, Assassin/Francois, Caster/Albrecht, Berserker/Augustine, The Church: Brodie
 * Archer/Rita: LOMI
 * Rider/Jack: Sniper
 * Saber/Altria: Ell
 * Garrpe, Joanna: Actene

Potential Revamp?
In light of FGO and other developments, could re-do F/M with existing Servants. Just some vague ideas now that obviously aren't concrete yet. Except Themistocles since Sniper put all that work into him. Just making a brief list for now.


 * Beowulf - Berserker
 * Zhuge Liang - Caster
 * Fionn mac Cumhaill - Lancer
 * Charles-Henri Sanson - Assassin
 * Lancelot - Saber
 * Arjuna - Archer
 * Themistocles - Rider

Prelude to War
A cold wind blew across the plaza as the black cab pulled over, its lights illuminating the empty stone square. A tall man stepped onto the pavement, shrugging on a heavy overcoat and hauling out a heavy suitcase before closing the door behind him. He kept his eyes on the vehicle until it moved away before turning towards the Cathedral's entrance. Flanked by pillars and ornate carvings, the large front doors were an impressive sight, even in the dim glow of nearby streetlights. Glancing left and right, the man rapped on the right-hand door thrice. After a few seconds, the sound of a latch being moved could be heard and it slid open, revealing a hooded figure in a long cloak.

"You're early," he said in a low voice.

"My driver knew some shortcuts."

"Come. He's waiting for you."

The man stepped through the door, which was immediately sealed and locked behind him. The hooded gatekeeper took his coat before him, briefly patting it down before hanging it on a nearby rack. They both wore simple, dark blue vestments, with golden crosses hanging from their necks to mark them as members of the Church. Picking up his suitcase, the man gave his comrade a curt nod before striding forward into the main hall. Unlike the entranceway it was well lit, with several figures gathered around the altar across the room.

"Ah, there you are!"

He turned as a voice boomed from his left. An elderly man walked towards him, having just emerged from a side room. Though he was clad in similar garments to the others assembled in the cathedral, his cassock and the gold-trimmed stole draped round his neck marked him as a high-ranking clergyman.

"Archbishop," he smiled warmly. "Good to meet you at last."

"And you, Rocco Celafu." he shook his hand with a strong grip. "I trust the flight from Italy wasn't a problem?"

"Not at all."

"Excellent. I must say, your English is very good. Have you travelled here before?"

"No, your grace." Rocco has been in correspondence with Archbishop Saul Alistair for several months now, writing to him from Rome while not out on assignments. The man had apparently been contacting Executors working for the Church across the globe for a special mission, though it was not until today that they had been ordered to meet.

"I see. Well, you are the last to arrive. Now we can begin."

The elderly Archbishop clapped his hands together and strode towards a tall lectern near the altar. At least two dozen others gathered in silence, listening patiently. Rocco recognised one or two Executors he'd worked with before, though the rest were unknown to him. taking out a large, leather-bound book, Alistair flipped it open and placed it on the lectern before speaking.

"Brothers and sisters of the Church, I welcome you. Many of you have travelled far from your assignments for this mission, so I'll not let the ramblings of an old man keep you for too long. I have personally chosen and gathered each of you to stand guard with me, as overseers of the Sixth Holy Grail War."

No one said a word, but the room's atmosphere changed immediately. A few Executors shifted uncomfortably, while others seemed confused or surprised by the revelation. Rocco had no idea what he was talking about. The Archbishop turned a few pages and continued.

"Some of you are unaware of such an event's existence. That is no surprise, really. These Wars have been going on in secret for the last few hundred years with no end in sight, and once again, it's up to the Church to oversee the latest conflict. As the name suggests, this is a battle for the Holy Grail, an artefact capable of granting the wish of whoever claims it. It is not, however, the cup that held the blood of Christ, as some have claimed over the years. Groups of Magi will arrive soon, summoning powerful Servants for a fight to the death."

Oddly, the Archbishop seemed pleased at the looks on everyone's faces. Rocco remained impassive, but was bursting with questions about all this. If Magi had been fighting in secret for so long, then why were these events kept so secret from the Church? He'd remain silent and await answers.

"Now we come to our role in this whole messy ordeal. As a neutral, or at least fairly neutral third party, the Church supervises the war and offers sanctuary to those unable or unwilling to continue fighting. For the most part we will merely watch over this conflict, and if necessary intervene to ensure that the Holy Grail does not fall into the hands of someone... unsavoury. I have prepared guides on the Holy Grail War for each of you that should inform you of anything I have failed to mention. Questions?"

The silent room quickly burst with noise as a number of Executors tried to talk at once. While Archbishop Alistair tried to answer each person, Rocco sighed and turned away from the clamour. A young woman emerged from one of the side rooms, carrying a large sheaf of leaflets. Their eyes met for a moment as she walked past him and placed them down on a table. Ridiculous though it seemed, the old man had gone to the effort of printing out one for each Executor; 'Guide to the Holy Grail War' was printed on the first one. Rocco took one and briefly skimmed the contents. ''It's got pictures. Lovely''. He saw the woman nearby, smirking.

"What?" he asked.

"It's funny. The old man's treating this like he's organising a jumble sale or something instead of telling you about an actual war."

"Nothing wrong with being informed."

"I suppose it will give you lot something to read when you're stuck guarding this place for a month."

"Do these things usually last that long?"

"Depends. It could end in one night if someone summons a particularly good Servant."

"You seem fairly well informed. Are you the Archbishop's assistant?"

She snorted. "Do I look like an altar boy to you? I'm a Magus."

"Really?" he masked his surprise well. "Not off chasing the Grail for yourself, then?"

"I hadn't heard of it myself until just over a month ago. Atlas Academy sent me to assist the Church with preparations."

"So you're not from the Clocktower, then?"

"Bunch of elitist snobs," she muttered. "They're closing themselves off for the war's duration. Don't want a bloodbath while the war's being fought in London."

"Smart of them."

"Pretentious is more like it. Even if I were allowed to inherit my family's magic, they'd still look down on the likes of me."

"I see. Second child?"

"Third. They're training my idiot brother to be a Magus, my own skills be damned."

"My older sister attends the Clocktower, actually."

"Lucky her. And you got to be the altar boy."

Rocco smirked. "You say that like it's a bad thing." the other Executors were dispersing. "I've not had the best encounters with Magi myself over the years."

"Oh?"

He pulled up his right sleeve a few inches, revealing the mark of a still-healing burn scar. "That was two weeks ago."

She gave a non-committal shrug. "I'm Penny Speer, by the way. Archbishop let me set up a lab down the corridor if you need to find me."

"Rocco Celafu," he held out his hand for a moment, only to withdraw it as she turned away and walked off. Rocco felt a firm grip on his shoulder as he tried to move away.

"Rocco, a word?" the Archbishop murmured.

"Of course, your grace."

He followed the older man for some time, occasionally passing an Executor before stopping in a bright, well-lit chamber. Alistair smiled as Rocco took in the room's beauty. Bathed in golden light, and lined with exquisite carvings and mosaics, Rocco stood in silence for several seconds before the Archbishop broke his reverie.

"The chapel of the Blessed Sacrament," he strode forward, holding out his arms. "I can see you're impressed, Rocco. You've got an eye for beauty."

"I'm merely fond of such things, your grace."

"I can imagine that one would have to, living at Saint Peter's Basilica for so many years. When was it that you went there?"

"I arrived when I was fourteen. I'd undergone some physical and mental training beforehand, though it was there that I became an Executor."

"Ah, I see. I began my own training at the age of eight. I was a prodigy of sorts in my youth, mind."

"I wasn't aware that you were an Executor, your grace."

"Oh yes. A good one, too. I trained for several years under a man named Risei Kotomine, the man who oversaw the Third and Fourth Holy Grail Wars."

"Was he the one to tell you about all this?"

"No, it wasn't until my late fifties that I was even aware of it. Risei was killed during the Fourth War, you see, and the Church had begun to question its agreement with the Mage's Association. His son monitored the last war, which was quite a sorry story itself. I've provided some details in your guide, of course. Be sure to read it."

"I will."

"Now," the old man clapped his hands together. "On to the matters of the item you've brought for me."

Rocco had kept a tight hold on his suitcase since his arrival. Though he'd been presented it in Rome before his departure, he'd been given strict orders not to even attempt to open it and hadn't even been given the combination. Placing it down on a nearby table, he stood back and allowed the Archbishop to access it himself. Swiftly entering the code, he pulled it open. Rocco immediately stepped back as a warm glow emanated from the confines of his case, though the content seemed hard to make out as if it was only half-there.

"What is it?"

"The Second Holy Scripture," he said. Saul Alistair's voice seemed cold and hard, as though all the life and warmth had been drained from it. "You have no idea what kind of persuasion it took to authorise this."

"Your grace?"

The Archbishop closed the case with a sudden snap, before picking it up and turning to Rocco.

"Thank you, my young friend. The Sixth Holy Grail War is soon to commence, and by the end of this it will be the Holy Church, not the Mage's Association, who decides the outcome."

The Lancer
Claudia yawned loudly as she closed the door behind her. It had been a busy day. With the Mage's Association locking down the Clock Tower and various other institutions across the city in preparation for the coming battles, she had resorted to visiting a number of secretive back-alley Magus stores in search of materials to help her prepare; magic runes, healing ingredients, and even some jewels to store energy. She'd been hiding out in this motel for over a week now, having quickly escaped her dormitory in the Clock Tower the moment she'd discovered that the Lords intended to keep them all inside while others battled to the death across the city. She had money, and unlike many older Magi, a good understanding of the modern world, so it wasn't particularly difficult for her to get around. Right now though, she had one thing on her mind.

The Holy Grail War.

To think that a powerful artefact like the Holy Grail could exist in the world, yet only a select few bothered trying to attain it. Its very existence was a complete unknown to many students; some far-off conflict of no concern. As Claudia removed her thick coat and woollen hat, shaking her dark hair free, she glanced towards the chalk-drawn circle in the centre of the room. She'd placed the motel staff under a minor enchantment to ignore her and her room entirely, so no cleaning staff would stumble upon her makeshift workshop. Tonight's the night.

It had been a little over two months ago when Claudia Cefalu had discovered the Holy Grail War's existence. While perusing books of magecraft within the Clock Tower's library, she came across several references to the conflict. Much to her surprise, the tome she had been reading through was no more than twelve years old, and detailed the events of conflicts that had taken place as recently as the 1990s, and before that, the 30s. While much of the book seemed to be based on speculation as few survived these conflicts and the Association's records were disputed, the general principles seemed clear - Servant summoning, doing battle, and attaining the Grail itself - Claudia knew that she had to participate; life as an unremarkable Magus, fit only for giving birth to her family's next generation, did not interest her.

When she came back for the book a few days later, it was gone. Vanished.

Nobody had taken it out from the library, nor had it been reserved in advance. All books pertaining to the Holy Grail War had simply been removed. It was then that she began to hear whispers of plotting from the Association's Lords, and the Clock Tower seemed to grow tense with anticipation. Though she was not anything more than average as a Magus, she managed to conceal herself well enough eavesdrop on a few conversations between higher-ranking faculty members. Much to her surprise, news of an impending Holy Grail War had reached the ears of the Association, though unlike those fought in far-off Japan before, this would take place here, in London.

"We cannot tell the students," one Magus had said in a hushed tone, looking nervous. "How many would kill for the chance to fight?"

"Too many," the other replied. "I've heard that the Director wishes to seal off the Clock Tower for the duration of the war."

"Do you believe that will hold them?"

"It will keep all but the most determined inside, yes. We've got a few weeks to prepare."

"That's a relief. I'll ensure that my students remain within the building until we get the all-clear. This could be disastrous."

With that, they had parted ways, and Claudia had crept out from her hiding place in a nearby alcove. Naturally, most students became fully aware of the Holy Grail War within days. Most seemed content to remain within the Clock Tower, afraid or unwilling to fight, while some were severely reprimanded after attempting to steal artefacts and summoning materials from the vaults. Surprisingly, attendance for classes on history were through the roof. Claudia, content in what she had discovered and resolute in her decision to participate, managed to evade her teachers and escaped the Clock Tower one night, bringing only what she needed as she headed for the nearest airport.

For a while, she'd feared that the Association would send Enforcers after her, though with no sign of anyone three days after her arrival in Ireland it seemed that they cared little for student escapees. It was more likely that should she meet anyone from the Clock Tower, it would be any peers who made it into the Grail War. Weeks were spent traversing forests and trudging through bogs until eventually, Claudia happened upon a site of magical power. Though it was clear that no Magus - or any Human - had been there in quite some time, she could detect an energy flowing from a nearby yew tree, gnarled and ancient. Content that she had found what she was looking for, she took a branch and some of the tree's bark and immediately set off back towards civilisation.

A month and a half of preparation later, and here she was. Waiting. She'd managed to purchase a rather weathered copy of the book she'd read from a dealer at an extortionate price, and had been studying every aspect of the Holy Grail War intently. Summoning a Servant did not seem like a particularly difficult task, and with the right item she could specify exactly who she wanted to get. Now all Claudia had to do was wait for midnight. She held up the back of her left hand before her face. A reddish, bruise-like smudge marked her skin.

It's growing clearer every day.

Four days ago, she'd awoken with a dull throb from her hand, and after a quick examination, she'd almost screamed in delight. A Command Spell! Claudia had grinned. That means I've been chosen! She felt so proud. There were many other aspiring Magi at the Clock Tower from lineages dating back hundreds of years who'd been talking about participating, so smug and secure in their family names. Yet here was Claudia Cefalu, third-generation Magus with no remarkable talents in any field of Magecraft. She knew Spiritual Healing and some Elemental spells to protect herself, but certainly nothing that would truly leave a mark on the Association.

However, with her participation in the war, let alone any possible victory, Claudia had secured her place in the annals of history. Once she'd won and taken the Grail for herself, then she would use its power to raise herself above the ranks of her peers and become the single most powerful Magus in the world. Surely a wish-granting device would allow such a dream to come true. She lay back on her bed, staring at her slowly-forming Command Spell and thinking of things to come. She wondered how her family would react. Her parents would be proud of her - she hoped - and despite working for the Church, Claudia was sure that her brother would be pleased for her after finding out what she'd accomplished. She knew that the Church was somewhat involved with the Holy Grail War as impartial mediators, but saw no reason to attack them personally. If all went well then she and her Servant would quickly wipe out the other Masters and end things with minimum collateral damage.

She checked the time. 8:59pm. ''Ugh. This is taking forever''. The idea of summoning at midnight had sounded perfectly reasonable in the book. Now though? It felt as though it was years away. Sitting up, Claudia decided to triple-check her preparations and set up her summoning catalysts. The circle was immaculately drawn. She'd ripped up the carpet to draw it on wood, but the motel staff wouldn't notice. The branch and pieces of bark lay on a cushion nearby. She passed the time organising her books into alphabetical order, repeatedly checking through the curtains in case she was being watched, and pushed her bed into the corner to allow for the maximum amount of space once her Servant emerged. That took her about twenty minutes, so she decided to watch TV.

Eventually though, it was time. Taking up her book, she stood before the summoning circle and took a deep breath.

"Uhh..."

She had no idea what to say. The book had absolutely nothing on what kind of summoning chant a Master had to go through in order to bring forth a Servant. While the Catalyst and circle would be enough in theory, as the Grail itself took care of bringing forth the Servants, such chants could alter how her Servant emerged. After half a minute of complete silence, she decided to simply make up a chant and hope for the best.

Before Claudia could speak, the circle began to glow.

She took a step back. Her hand burned as magical energy coursed around the room, scattering paper and blowing a nearby window open. A crackling mist filled the room as Claudia moved towards the front door. If anything went wrong then she'd be out of here in an instant. The swirling magic suddenly coalesced in a bright flash, making her shield her eyes. As she moved her arms away, Claudia could make out a tall, slim figure standing in the midst of her circle. In one hand, he held a wooden spear as tall as she was, with one end wrapped in cloth. The man stepped forward out of the mist, revealing red eyes and long blonde hair that cascaded down his back. He wore simple leather and green cloth. He smirked.

"I take it you're my Master?"

Claudia laughed hysterically, nodding her head.

The Berserker
A low chant drifted across the misty woods as if carried by the thick mist that wound between the snow-covered trees. Within the clearing, a bonfire blazed mightily, casting long shadows across the ground where the circle had been painted. The ornately-painted summoning circle had been daubed across the snow in blood, and shone eerily in the firelight. Dozens of figures stood around it; men, women and children in torn, stained rags all murmuring as one. Each appeared emaciated and shrunken, with hollow eyes and grey, leathery skin.

"Fill, fill, fill, fill, fill," they spoke in unison, with dry, hoarse voices.

One by one, the runes around the bloody circle began to light up. From across the clearing, a figure stood up and walked into the glowing light. She clasped her pale hands together, throwing back her fur cloak. Long red hair trailed out behind her as a sudden gust of wind blew past, and a smile revealed lengthy, razor-sharp canines.

Augustine Charity Byron was a Dead Apostle.

With a chronological age of two hundred and twenty-one, a physical age of twenty, and and the morals usually found in those perpetrating genocide, Augustine seemed to glide over the snow, leaving no visible footprints as she walked around the summoning circle. She'd had many years to prepare for this moment, and had personally daubed the bloody runes across the ground earlier. Around her stood the helpful locals of a nearby town, all of whom had greeted the young beauty with enthusiasm just a few hours ago, before she decided to enlist their help in this little project. It was a good thing she'd brought a change of clothes - blood was so hard to get out. Of course, it wouldn't have taken long to simply enthral the villagers, but where was the fun in that?

It's time.

A hazy, flickering light had emerged around the circle, indicating that the ritual had properly begun. She snapped her fingers, and a shambling undead held open an ancient, hide-bound tome for her. She nodded to another one of her 'assistants', and watched as it carefully laid down a cloth-wrapped, badly-rusted sword hilt just outside the circle. Within seconds, it too had begun to glow with an eldritch light. She took a deep breath and stepped forward.

"Hear my beckoning, oh Holy Grail!"

Her shout made the circle's runes meld together as the glow intensified.

"I declare my oath! I will command both the highest virtues of Heaven and the lowest evils of Hell! By my own blood, this contract shall bind this spirit to this Earth, and I to it. Let our fates join as one as we march onwards, unbowed by adversity and unstoppable in our will!"

The circle was now entirely obscured by light now. The nearby mist was being drawn in, creating a howling vortex that almost knocked the Dead Apostle off-balance as her hair whipped across her face. Taking another step forward, her clothes billowing around her, Augustine raised her left hand, its flawless skin marred only by the dark red command seal that throbbed with a dull pain as the ritual intensified.

"And," she smiled, now yelling over the noise. " Yet, thou serves with thine eyes clouded in chaos. Thou, bound in the cage of madness. I am she who commands those chains."

This was an extra line to the incantation she had discovered. A dangerous passage that would deter most Magi in this ritual, but not her. Augustine's strength, both physical and magical, meant that she could afford to control a Servant blessed - or cursed - with the Mad Enhancement she had placed upon it. With a final burst of energy, the white light faded to grey and eventually to black, pouring inwards into the circle as something emerged.

"Ah," she said cheerfully as the wind began to die down. "And here you are."

Standing at well over seven feet tall was a burly warrior, with eyes like smouldering coals behind his metal helmet. The Servant took his first breath, stepping forward out of the circle. His entire body was wrapped in thick animal hides and dark armour, with great shaggy furs draped across his shoulders. Two gargantuan blades hung from his belt. Barely regarding Augustine, the Berserker lifted his head up and roared.

Now, she thought, crossing her arms, ''It's time for me to go home. I have a war to win''.

The Rider
Colorless moonlight turned silver refracted in the windows, cutting shafts of icy glow through the shadows of the warehouse. Particles of dust, invisible in the dark, glittered like snowflakes as they floated into the light, revealing currents of air as they danced—stirred by the first presence to disturb the building in a very long time. But their joyful swirling had flagged as the visitor sat in stillness, settling in to wait as calmly as the filth had for decades. Only when the moon was in position, hanging so its beams were angled exactly right, did Katherine set to work.

“Reinigen.”

The world shivered at her word’s touch, and the warehouse rearranged itself. Framework shelves of heavy steel stacked high with crates of ancient treasures abruptly left the ground, floating soundlessly towards the walls to clear the center of the singular, high-ceilinged room. The sheet of fine dust covering the floor was swept away without billowing into the air, running instead like sand to settle beneath the repositioned shelves.

“Hauen.”

Shallow grooves, in the shape of an ornate cross, appeared in the cement floor, the stone which had occupied them a moment before simply disappearing. These were among the powers of a magus, and they made a great number of things easy for her.

But easy had never been the way she’d wanted. Katherine Venediktov had been offered every conceivable luxury by her family, a bloodline of powerful mages with a history long enough to rival the great Tohsakas, the Einzberns, the now-dead Matous. And it had meant nothing to her. Only what she could make for herself mattered, and the challenges she had gone out of her way to seek had made her strong in the overcoming—the latest of which had brought her here.

A Holy Grail War. Spoken of for the most part as a brash, dangerous, and ultimately futile ritual for attaining the ultimate goal of magecraft, contact with the Root, it had all but been abandoned by many in the Magus’ Association as the struggle to win its trials inevitably caused each experiment to collapse. But it was a trial that had yet to meet with Katherine’s tenacity, and the recognition it would bring her by succeeding, the chance to touch the core of the universe, would be worthy proof of her ability.

Taking up a silver decanter she’d brought with her, Katherine stepped forward into the shaft of light cast squarely over her carving. The moon betrayed the many strands of gray she’d allowed to linger in her curtain of brown hair, and turned her light, near-gold eyes dark. She was slight, and shorter than most, and took some satisfaction in her stature—mages were oft to repeat that size counted for nothing, only made for a smaller target, and Katherine’s size made the statement poignantly. It hadn’t allowed her to coast through life unscathed, however. Two thin lines across her face were the least of the scars she bore, but the most noticeable. She could have easily used magic to refold her flesh and make them disappear, but in keeping them they could remind her of what hadn’t killed her—of what made her stronger.

Kneeling, she began to pour. The solution had the same luster as its vessel, and each gleamed in the faint light as she filled each groove in the floor to precisely the same depth. When she at last set the decanter aside, a small sigh of satisfaction was allowed to escape her lips.

Everything had come together perfectly. The filling of the grooves measured exactly, the solution mixed with silver from the mines of nearby Laureium, the moon to call upon the aspect of the idol her chosen spirit had worshipped… and she had made it all possible. Lastly, Katherine reached a hand into the folds of her robe, and pulled it back out with the spine of a single, stunted feather pinched between her fingers.

It was the feather of the little owl, a species common across continents. But the owner of this feather had nested in Athens, and the distinction would increase Katherine’s chances of making contact with the specific heroic spirit she had in mind. The legend who would stand by her as a Servant fashioned by the Grail, and guide her through the ‘war’ the ritual had become.

Laying the feather on the circular carving’s far side, Katherine stood and raised her right arm. On the back of her palm, swirling patterns in deep red seemed tattooed on her skin, the magical seals which had manifested upon her selection for the Grail War. Calling upon the latent power in her fingertips, she spoke. “Purest silver forms the origin. Water and the archduke of contracts form the cornerstone.”

As she recited, the silver pooled in the carvings began to reflect more luminescence than the moon provided it. Dust leaped freely into the air, guided by the uniform current of a maelstrom centered on Katherine’s work. Light and air both flared as Katherine spoke of gates, and crowns, and roads to kingdoms.

''Next, the easy line. Five times,'' she thought. “Fill, fill, fi—”

A crack thundered under the warehouse ceiling, overriding Katherine’s chant and even the swirl of wind. Then all was silent.

Katherine wasn’t sure if the wind stopped first, or if it died with her chant. What concerned her more were the drops of blood flecking the silver in her grooves in the cement. Stunned anyone would disturb her perfectly-arranged work, she scanned in search of the culprit, and her eyes fell upon a severed hand lying at her feet.

A tall shadow stepped from behind one of the shelves she’d just moved, and Katherine immediately snapped up to target.

“Gandr!”

Nothing happened. No crimson-tinged ball of darkness flew from her hand to incapacitate the shade, and only then did Katherine notice the torn and bloody rags remaining of her blouse’s sleeve, draped over the stump of what had been her wrist.

Shock seized her in that moment. Her means of offense, defense had been robbed. Her body, taken for granted when magical power seemed so much more meaningful, was disfigured, and the pride she’d taken in setting out alone in this venture meant no help would come for her now.

A second crack, and a force more like a sledgehammer than a drop of lead doubled her over at the midsection, throwing her clear of the arcane glyphs she’d wrought to collapse in the shadows, dimly thankful her paralysis prevented her feeling much pain.

The tall shade stood as still as she lay, waiting like a cat ready to lash out if its prey were to so much as twitch. Minutes dragged on with neither moving any more than necessary to breathe, and Katherine’s eyes slowly adjusted enough to make out her attacker. Black hair long enough to fall into the fur collar of a black coat hung over a lanky build, face young and icy pale, eyes black and so detached she was certain he considered killing her as simple as ‘yes’ or ‘no’.

A pocket radio hung from the man’s coat breast, and in time, he reached up and clicked it. There was a chirp of static, and a moment later, the door spanning most of the warehouse’s eastern wall shuddered, shrieked, and began to slide open. More figures appeared in the moonlight flooding through the gap, each one obscured by balaclavas and stalk-eyed headgear, hunched over the rifles they pointed with mounted flashlights to fill every far corner with harsh electric light.

Once half a dozen had filed inside, two more followed who couldn’t have looked more out of place. The first, not half the size of the others, strode with a confidence which should have been insulting to how seriously the others comported themselves. He looked barely into his teens, with blond hair cut at the shoulder and green eyes half-lidded to turn his wide grin into a mocking sneer. He was layered in the vest and coat of a tailored suit, and fine leather shoes clapped as loud as such small feet could be. Behind him cowered a man late in his twenties, wearing office clothes and glancing nervously through his square glasses from one of the armed guards fanned out around them to the next.

The pair approached the circle of runes, the blond boy stopping once he stood where Katherine had minutes before. He knelt and, ignoring its owner, seized the severed hand by its blood-slick wrist before turning and offering it to the office worker.

“Here you go, Jack. Come over.” He laughed when Jack hesitated to take it. “Go on, it won’t bite!”

Stepping closer than he seemed comfortable with, Jack reached past the boy’s grip to pinch the offered hand near the fingers, where there wasn’t so much blood.

“What…” he started, apparently trying not to retch, “what do I do with it?”

Already turned away from him, the boy waved him off. “Hmm? Oh, nothing, nothing. You’re perfect like that. Now, just give us a minute. Julius?”

The black-haired young man approached, and withdrew a tiny red journal with gold engraving on its cover. Julius offered it, and the boy snatched it as though he’d been given an early Christmas present.

“The False Attendant’s Writings.” The boy marveled. “With this, we’ve taken everything the Matou family ever had. Well done, Julius.”

If the praise was earnest, Julius didn’t appear to acknowledge it, and the boy gleefully reversed himself again to face the man holding the bloody hand.

“Now, hold out your hands, Jack, all three of them!”

“U-um Mister Har—I mean, Leo,” the man stuttered, but complied. “What if it doesn’t work? Will I still be—”

He was cut off as the child took hold of his outstretched wrist and pulled him closer. In his other hand, Leo flipped open the journal. “Uh-huh. Sure, it’ll be paid out to your accounts and you’ll be free to go.”

“Actually,” Jack said, swallowing, “I was wondering if it will hurt.”

The child looked up, blank-faced, then smiled wide. “Hmm? Oh, of course! Well, its nerves are still there and probably firing, but since it’s not attached to a brain to decode the signals, no, I don’t think it will hurt.”

Grinning wider, and before Jack could protest again, Leo glanced down at the page he’d opened to and began muttering a chant, and the underside of the hand he held over Jack’s glowed dusky red. Skin was shaded and blood took an even darker turn under the glow, so much that the tattoos still present on the severed limb appeared black. Then, suddenly, the swirls began to flake away, as though a flame burned through it like paper, the holes revealing undamaged skin beneath once more until the Command Seals had all but disappeared.

At the same time, identical patterns unfolded themselves in reverse upon the back of Jack’s palm, a corruption which obediently spread no farther than the boundary of its swirling template. The eerie glow faded, and Jack moved his hand tentatively.

“You can drop that now, if you want.” Leo suggested, and Jack did so at once, letting the grisly prize rest again on the floor.

“And finally…” Leo pushed the man into position at the edge of the magic circle, and instructed, “Like we practiced. Starting with the third ‘fill’.”

Jack nodded, and began uncertainly where the chant had left off. “Fill, fill, fill. Repeat five-fold, destroying each when filled.”

The silver’s unnatural gleam returned at once, racing around the lines of the circle until even the grooves tainted with blood shone bright. It flared brighter as Jack continued, reaching the brilliance it had before and surpassing it to become near-blinding.

“My will creates your body, and your sword creates my destiny! By command of the Holy Grail, follow if you would accept this call! If you will obey my mind and reason, then answer it! I summon you, Keeper of the Balance!”

A flash, like the core of a detonation, expanded to fill the whole of the warehouse. Jack, Leo, and Julius shut their eyes, and the armed men struggled to cover their light-sensitive goggles. And just as suddenly, it was gone, leaving behind a cloud of mist which formed an opaque white veil under the radiance of the moon.

Leo and Jack leaned forward, searching the mist near-frantically for evidence of their success. Instead, they saw one of the armed men twist and fall with a strangled cry of surprise.

Only Julius was fast enough to react with more than surprise. A pair of gunshots hounded the short figure to rise from the rim of the fog, shots which stopped mid-air against a barrier of energy.

Katherine had gauged her attackers; potentially three mages among them, another half-dozen mercenaries. She’d weighed the odds and, finding them not in her favor, opted to flee. Striking down another of the paid killers with “gandr”, the warehouse door was wide open, and she disappeared the moment she rounded its corner.

Julius had swept halfway to the door when Leo froze him with a call. “Let her go! She doesn’t matter anymore.”

Jack was just rising after having ducked for cover when Leo passed him by at a brisk stride. The boy waved to signal the men to fall in, and a pair dragged their dead coworkers as they went. “We’re done here. I have to return to the Clocktower before it’s locked down. Look after Jack for us, big brother. We don’t want our horse in the race to come in quite dead last.”

As the last of the troop slipped out, Julius positioned himself by the door, as though to prevent Jack from following. Still finding the need for deep breaths, Jack unsteadily found his feet again and turned.

The mist had managed to settle some, despite the commotion. And now, the shape of a man began to appear in the illuminated mist, standing barely over Jack’s own height. It stepped forward, and the last of the veil lost its hold and revealed him.

His face was strangely. . . plain. Not too old nor young, no creases of wisdom nor aspect of youthful beauty. He was middle-aged, somewhere in his forties, with short brown hair leading cleanly into the sideburns of a course, brown beard. A dyed blue cape hung around his shoulders, buckled to the straps of a shining bronze breastplate molded to his abdominal muscles as smoothly as the ribbing of a leaf. The jerkin underneath ended just short of his knees, which were further armored by greaves of more bronze and leather. At his sides, a long and slender spear was held opposite a meter-wide shield, and a sword rested in its scabbard belted at the waist.

He took another step forward, a brow-furrowed gaze passing over Jack, over Julius, and back again. Then, ignoring them both, he started forward and strode to the open door, the cape billowing softly behind him.

He stopped only once he stood beneath the center of the doorframe, his moonlit figure cut against the dark nightscape beyond which he surveyed. The warehouse stood on the side of a harbor pier, and over the dark water, thousands of window lights blinked from the port of a teeming city, busy even as it slept.

“Tell me truly, young man.” The Servant spoke. “Is this still the city of Athens?”

Jack approached to stand with him, leaning to get a view of his face, and took a moment to find his voice. “Y-yes, sir. The capital of Greece.”

The man blinked, and Jack could have sworn the city lights reflected brighter in his eyes. Then he blinked again, and it was gone. He turned to regard Jack curiously.

“You,” the living page of history said, “are not what I was expecting.”

The Caster
A snowstorm billowed around Einzbern castle, howling winds echoing across the ancient fortress. Built in a mountainous district long ago, it was no stranger to such weather, and no noise could be heard from within the thick walls. Within the high-walled chapel, three figures stood in a half-circle before an elderly, white-robed man. He clutched an ivory cane between his gnarled hands.

"There can be no mistakes this time." His deep voice echoed across the room. "Summon your Servant, kill the other Masters, and win this War. Attain victory, or do not return at all."

Across from him, a tall, white-haired teenager knelt down and placed a scrap of blue and white cloth on the altar before their summoning circle. The Einzberns had recovered the artefact two years ago at great expense from a foreign Magus family, and had prepared it especially for this day. The old man walked around and clasped the boy's shoulder in a vice-like grip, and whispered into his ear.

"Win, Albrecht."

"I will, grandfather."

The assembled trio waited for the old Magus to exit the chapel before beginning their incantation. Two women, similarly white-haired and red-eyed, stood to the side as Albrecht von Einzbern held out his palm. A command seal had appeared there eight months ago, and shone brightly in the dim light.

"Fill, fill, fill, fill, fill."

The outer edges of the circle suddenly glowed red. Albrecht could see smiles on the faces of Sofie and Genna, his 'sisters'. He shared their excitement. Finally, they had the chance to prove themselves. He continued to speak, uttering a chant he had long since memorised. Magical energies fed into the circle began to swirl round and a sharp gust of wind made him step back, robes billowing behind him. A grin swept across his face as he continued.

"-in accordance with the approach of the Holy Grail, if you abide by this feeling, this reason, then answer..."

Great clouds of energy snaked around the chapel's high pillars, converging on the circle before him. What had began as a muttered chant had become a loud roar as Albrecht yelled over the swirling vortex of magic, finishing his incantation with a gesture as a flash consumed the room, extinguishing the lit torches.

"Brother-" Sofie began, taking a step forward.

"I know."

All at once, the smoke blew away from the summoning circle, breezing past the three Homunculi as they came together once more. A figure with incredibly long white hair stood before them, brushing down the sleeves of his intricately decorated robes. His purple eyes almost glowed in the darkness, and a wry smile crept across his pale, somewhat effeminate features. A tall staff stood upright next to him, unsupported. As his gaze settled on Albrecht, he knelt down, bowing his head.

"Ah. You must be my Master."

Once more, the Einzberns entered the fray of the Holy Grail War. This time, Albrecht thought to himself, ''We'll do what all the others failed to do. We'll take the Grail, as is our right.'' He nodded towards his Servant, who slowly got to his feet. A vague, hazy memory played across his mind. We'll make Grandfather smile again.

The Assassin
He's late.

Over the distant sound of crashing waves, Michael Hamilton could hear the car's approach as it crept along the road, headlights shining along the pitch-black path. He'd been standing beneath the stone archway for some time now, having fully prepared the interior of what had once been a lighthouse for the ritual to come. Clad in plain clothes and a thick jacket, he didn't mind the cold nor the wind blowing in from the sea. In fact, Michael felt a mixed sense of excitement and trepidation over what they were about to do. The car pulled up nearby, illuminating him as he approached, one hand in his pockets.

"Francois?"

The doors opened, and two unfamiliar men stepped out. Michael stepped back and would have drawn his concealed weapon had he not seen their blank, glassy eyes. Both men unloaded several suitcases from the back of the car, carefully placing them on a nearby bench before standing to attention. Then, an older man exited, shrugging on a thick, hooded coat. He snapped his fingers, and the other two clambered back into the vehicle without a word before driving off.

"Michael," he spoke, shaking the younger man's hand briefly. "My apologies for the delay. I had to find help for my journey."

"Will they be okay?"

"They will go home and forget the past few hours. No permanent harm done."

Michael nodded. The older man, his boss, master, employer - whatever - had a habit of forcing others to do all his work for him. Though he appeared fairly old, sporting long grey hair and a well-trimmed beard, Francois Gautier was not a frail man. Much to Michael's surprise, he took up one bag himself and left the others for him to carry before heading towards the lighthouse at a brisk pace.

"Time?" he asked.

"About twenty minutes to midnight."

"We've got time, then."

By 'we', Francois meant 'him'. The man was a practitioner of magic - a Magus - of considerable power, and while he saw simple ritual preparation as beneath him, he would always be the one performing incantations in his experiments. Not that Michael particularly minded. As far as he knew, he had absolutely no magical capabilities and relied more on the physical side of things. Following a stint with the military and a brush with death, the Magus had saved his life and taken Michael under his wing as both a bodyguard and - though he could not perform magecraft - an apprentice of sorts. The only vaguely magical thing on his person was his artificial right arm, which had been blown off just below the elbow shortly before his first encounter with Francois.

"Good job," Francois nodded as he surveyed the summoning circle Michael had set up for the midnight ritual.

"I followed your instructions to the letter."

"I should think so. This kind of summoning can be tricky."

"It should work as long as we've got the catalyst, right?"

"Indeed." At that, Francois unclasped the case he was carrying and took out a small box, lined with cloth. Inside lay a few fragments of metal and a thin, worn handle, laid out in such a way that it could have once resembled a short blade of sorts.

"Is that...?"

"Its authenticity was verified. This is the one."

Kneeling down, Francois placed the ancient artefact down gently at the centre of the circle. He'd been hunting for it for well over a year now, foregoing the chance to claim alternative catalysts in favour of a single item. In the war to come, the old Magus had insisted that discretion would be their key to victory. In the six years they Michael had known Francois, this 'Holy Grail War' had been he only thing he spoke about regularly. It was, if Michael was any judge, the only thing the man lived for. Even his wife and three children - all adults now - seemed to be secondary to the prize he coveted.

"Did you check the Cathedral?" Francois asked, double-checking the summoning lines and carefully-inscribed runes on the hard stone floor.

"I had a camera watching it night and day for the past week. Four days ago they closed it off to the general public, though we've had people arriving late at night."

"Then the Church is making preparations for the Grail War as well. How many arrivals?"

"At least a dozen. There was one more last night, before I came down here."

The older man seemed to ponder this for a moment, clicking his tongue. "Executors, then. Might've known."

"Think they're after you?"

"The Church has never pursued me like the Association has, though that might have changed. Perhaps they were asked to ensure that I don't progress too far in the War, or someone has told them that my work warrants their interference."

It wasn't hard to see why someone might come after Francois. The man had been on the run for decades, travelling with his family from place to place and moving at the merest hint of danger. Currently, his family had been settled in a small village in the south of France, his homeland. According to Francois' eldest son. Alec, they had been there there longer than anywhere else. He wondered if his children knew or cared about the Magus' experiments with Alchemy, Golemancy, and Necromancy.

"Michael," Francois said at last. "Please keep watch outside. I'm about to begin."

"Got it."

He walked back out into the cold night, shutting the door behind him. He was well-used to the Frenchman's somewhat justified paranoia by now, and from what he'd been told about previous Holy Grail Wars, surprise attacks from other Masters and Servants were to be expected. He'd been able to smuggle a single pistol, a Jericho 941, into the country with a fairly decent ammunition supply, but Michael doubted he'd last long should he come face to face with any of their serious foes. Unless he either had the drop on someone or acquired some serious weaponry, stealth would be his only option. He checked his watch.

Midnight.

A faint glow crept out from under the lighthouse door. Michael could hear Francois chanting something, but couldn't quite make out the words. The wind had gotten stronger, and tugged at his clothes as he retreated back towards the doorway. If anyone really wants to attack us, then props to them for perseverance. Though he doubted anything would happen, Michael's time with Francois had taught him that constant vigilance was needed against all threats. Francois' chanting had gotten louder, and as he turned away from the door, a brilliant burst of light flashed before him and a gust of wind blasted it right off its hinges, knocking him down.

"Michael!" the old Magus panted, leaning heavily against the stone wall. "It worked!"

Picking himself up off the ground, Michael ran back inside. The drawn circle had been warped and twisted, and a hazy cloud of smoke hung in the air. With trembling fingers, Francois pulled the glove from his left hand. A three-pronged mark had appeared as if burnt or tattooed into his skin. He stared at it in wonder for a few seconds before getting to his feet, smiling.

"It worked..." Francois repeated.

As the smoke began to clear, a figure stepped forward from the circle. He was clad in ancient, dark grey armour that covered much of his upper body, while a red-plumed helmet sat atop his head. A knee-length skirt and sandals could be made out as he took another step towards the pair. Michael had to fight the urge to go for his gun. Though of average height and build, he could sense an overwhelming feeling of power emanating from this man. A pair of brown eyes stared at each of them in turn from behind an expressionless face mask of dark iron. He crossed his gauntleted arms, and bowed his head slightly.

"I ask you," his voice intoned. "Who is my Master?"

The Archer
Almost midnight, thought Rita as she stared at the red shapes etched onto her hand. Looking from the symbols over to the large magic circle she had drawn on the floor of her room, she still didn’t quite believe what she had stumbled into.

A mere week ago, Rita had been a student of the Clock Tower, the most prestigious school of the Mage’s Association. Day in and day out, she had studied at the university, training to become the best magus with no goal other than becoming better than she already was. Given her somewhat cold nature and copious study times, Rita had few friends and little time for socialization. So when she had been surprised when she received an urgent note from one friend asking her to come discuss something important.

Walking up to the door to the office of Lord El-Melloi II, at first Rita thought this was some sort of joke. No one simply walked into the office of a Lord, especially not one as notoriously irritable as Lord El-Melloi II. The only issue was that her friend would have never written such a note as a prank. Taking a deep breath, Rita twisted the knob and walked through the opening.

The interior was nothing like Rita had imagined. Instead of the opulence common to a Lord, the walls and desks were covered in messy piles of papers and artifacts. A few bookshelves were on one wall but nothing was in order, with books and containers threatening to fall off at any moment. A few soda cans sat around the room, along with some unfinished food, carefully placed away from the documents. Rin stood in the back next to the sole, smoke-stained window, looking out at the courtyard anxiously, while next to her a man stood, carefully loading several papers into a suitcase.

Rin looked over as Rita walked into the room, a very slight smile – or was it a smirk? – crossing her lips. “You made it at last,” she said. Her voice carried tones of relief; for someone that was usually composed and calculated, even among friends, this struck Rita as strange.

“About time,” said the man, not even looking up. Placing a final book, he closed the suitcase and latched it, then turned to face Rita. He was tall and lithe, his black suit shimmering in the low light as he tightened the golden scarf around his neck. Pulling a small container of cigars from his pocket, the man lit one and took a long draw before staring intensely at Rita. “Honestly, Adelardi, I would have expelled you by now were this my class. Two minutes late? Time is life right now.”

“Lord El-Melloi…” Rita said, fumbling with her words. His words angered her, but she couldn’t bring herself to refute him nor apologize. She attempted to find an appropriate greeting, but none came.

“Please…” Lord El-Melloi responded, visibly irritated as he shut his eyes tight. “It’s Lord El-Melloi the Second. Always the Second. Without it, that title becomes so… grating.” He paused for a moment, then opened his eyes and continued speaking. “Do you know what we’re asking of you, Adelardi? Are you ready for this task?”

Rita stood there, feeling helpless once again. That horrible feeling she despised with her very being “Task, sir?” she asked.

Lord El-Melloi sighed. “Rin, you didn’t explain any of this, did you?”

Rin grew flustered. “I hadn’t gotten a chance!” She shouted. “We’d only just discussed this as a possibility! If anything, you should have told me we could exchange the role of Master sooner, then we might–”

“Idiot, no excuses!” Lord El-Melloi replied. “You are one of the Founding Family heads! You should know these things by now, not to mention explained everything to Adelardi already. Now we have to waste more time on this; time we don’t have!”

Rin attempted to retort again, but Rita cut in. “What is going on here?” she begged, looking first to Lord El-Melloi then to Rin. Rin had been her friend for two years now, even when she had hadn’t wanted one or felt capable of having one. If she’d asked her here on such short notice, the reason had to be important. All Rita wanted to know now was what could be this important.

Rin sighed. Lifting up her right hand, she pointed the backside at Rita, revealing it to be covered in blood red markings. “There is a secret war between mages,” Rin began, “Hidden enough most mages don’t know it exists. For the past century in Fuyuki City, Japan, five wars have taken place over a Holy Grail: a merciless bloodbath between seven Masters and seven summoned Heroic Spirits, all with the intent for one Master to win and have their deepest wish granted.”

Rita watched as Rin took careful, steady breaths. It worried Rita, seeing Rin’s composure being pushed like this. “These symbols on my hand,” Rin continued, “are the Command Spells which mark me as a Master. My family is one of the three Founding Families: as long as there are members with Magic Circuits, we are guaranteed a Master. But this… this is my second time as a Master. I was in the last war… and I can’t do it again.” Again, Rin paused, drawing another deep breath to steady herself. Looking deep into Rita’s eyes again, she continued, “The Grail War robbed me of my childhood… my home… my family… and nearly my sister and the man I love. I can’t become a Master again, Rita.”

Rita stood momentarily in silence, waiting for Rin to continue, but instead she turned back and stared out the window again. Looking pleadingly at Lord El-Melloi, the man puffed at his cigar and began to walk around the office. “She’s asking you to replace her,” he said, slowly moving around Rita. “Rin has suffered a lot at the hands of the Grail. The Fifth War cost her everything almost; the one before took her parents.”

Rita’s mind was spinning. ''Rin’s parents… this war… I never imagined something like this, she thought, I always knew there must have been reasons for her distance from everyone, but this? If only I’d known. She and I… we’re not so different after all…'' For a brief second, Rita saw flashes of her past: of her parents, blood, fire, Eric, the Clock Tower. Then, her mind snapped back.

The lord had continued to walk a slow circle around Rita. “The Grail defaults to the three Founding Families,” he said, “The Einzberns’ likely have their champion, and the Matous are all dead… but Rin is the last Tohsaka. The Grail doesn’t show mercy: it doesn’t care she’s been a Master before.”

The look in Rin’s eyes… Rita thought. It’s fear. Indeed, there was a spark of fearful madness as Rin watched the cold winter sky. What would it be like, Rita wondered, to suddenly see one’s worst memory resurface a decade later without warning?

“What Rin is asking of you is no simple task: she’s asking you to replace her as a Master in a War you have no stake in. You may die. Even if you live, you will suffer loss.” Lord El-Melloi paused, and seemed to drift momentarily into his own melancholy. “I know personally,” he whispered.

Rita looked up and noticed Lord El-Melloi had completed his walk, stopping directly in front of her. A neat circle of clean floor was carved through the papers around her. “So, what say you?” he asked her. “Will you help your friend? There isn’t much time.”

She hesitated. Normally, Rita planned for things days in advance: she enjoyed having a planned advantage and good strategies, but here she had no clue what was in play or what could affect her. And yet, she also wanted to help her friend just as much as Rin had helped her.

“Alright,” she replied, “I’ll do it.”

“Get ready then,” said Lord El-Melloi, “Rin, you’re up.”

Wiping an eye, Rin walked over to Rita and rolled back her sleeve. “Hold out your right hand,” she said. Rita obliged, with Rin responding by placing her hand over the top of Rita’s. Then, she began to chant. “Take this cup and drink from it. This is my blood, given to you for the salvation of all. The blood of a contract!”

In a flash, the Command Spells on Rin’s hand vanished, instantly searing into Rita’s hand. The pain was both physical and spiritual, burning with an icy flame that reached all the way from Rita’s hand to her heart. Before she could scream out though, it was over, leaving her merely drained slightly.

“There, it is done,” said Lord El-Melloi. “We need to leave, now, before the guards trap us in.”

“Guards?” asked Rita, disturbed slightly.

“Executors, from the church. They’re sealing off the Clock Tower so errant mages don’t go and get involved in the Grail War. With a War in such a populated city and right next to the leading mage school of the world, the Church isn’t taking any chances.”

Reaching into his coat, the lord removed a small vial. “Fervor, mei sanguis!” he announced, pouring out some of the contained mercury upon the floor. Instantly, a small silver maid formed from the expanding liquid, head bowed and awaiting instruction.

“Hydrargyrum, my bag if you will. Let us be off!”

The four moved quickly down the hallways of the Clock Tower, peaking around corners and ensuring that none of the Executors knew of their presence. Lord El-Melloi was well aware that if spotted, there was little to no chance of getting out of the Clock Tower without the Church’s knowledge, especially with Rita being a Master. The Church had grown power hungry with this War so close to home: they were sinking their claws in everywhere.

The trip passed without incident till the very end, when Lord El-Melloi called the group to a halt within sight of the gates. There stood two Executors, as well as several lower Church orderlies, all speaking with the gates keepers of the Clock Tower.

“What’s happening? Why are we stopping now!?” asked Rin, back to her normal, angry self.

“Be quiet, child,” Lord El-Melloi hissed, “Or we won’t have time to make our way out of here.”

“We could just blind them and run for it,” Rin stated, “That should work.”

“No, they’re trained Executors, idiot! We’ll never make it. We need a solid plan, probably with a distract–”

Whatever Lord El-Melloi had intended, it would never see fruition. Rita watched in horror as the scene played out: Rin dashed forward from their hiding place, reached into her satchel and, right as the Executors turned to look, unleashed several blinding gems. Rin waved to the group to follow, but just as she went to continue onward the Executors burst from the cloud of light and smoke, weapons readied.

“Hydrargyrum!” Lord El-Melloi yelled. The malleable maid instantly drop his suitcase and leapt forward, expanding out into a protective shell around Rin. The assailants were repelled, and the servant attempted to retaliate, but the Executors were too quick. Already they were circling for another attack, obviously meant to pacify and not kill, but deadly nonetheless.

“Go!” Lord El-Melloi ordered Rita. “Take my suitcase and go!”

It was all she needed to hear. Taking the case and running as fast as she could through the gates, Rita placed her faith in Lord El-Melloi and Rin. Even as the two of them blocked the Executors from chasing her, Rita still heard them yelling at each other, placing the blame on the other. The last words she heard was from Lord El-Melloi, yelling at the top of his lungs “Idiot, this is your fault! You are the absolute worst Japanese!”

Several modes of transportation later, Rita had arrived here on Foulness Island, in one of the safe-houses of her adopted father, Eric Harverson. While not the most beautiful area, it had sufficed to keep her hidden and alive for the week while she waited for the time of the summoning ritual and studied up on the notes that Lord El-Melloi had left her via his suitcase.

The clock began to strike midnight. At last, it was time. Standing and approaching the magic circle in the center of the room, Rita prepared herself for the chant. With her right hand, she laid the catalyst upon the summoning circle: several broken arrows, their heads carved from jade with Oriental designs, procured by Lord El-Melloi through unknown means. Rita did not understand what it meant – all of Lord El-Melloi’s notes indicated Servants held western or Christian origins – but it had been marked as the catalyst nonetheless.

Drawing her breath, she began: “Fill… Fill, Fill, Fill, and let each be turned over five times, and break open at the end.”

The lines of the circle began to glow with an inner light.

“Let silver and steel be the essence. Let stone and the archduke of contracts be the foundation. Let rise a wall against the wind that shall fall. Let the four cardinal gates close. Let the three-forked road from the crown reaching unto the Kingdom rotate.”

A wind began to blow through the cottage as a mist rose from the circle.

Rita began raising her voice somewhat. “Let it be declared now! Your flesh shall serve under me, and my fate shall be with your sword! Submit to the beckoning of the Holy Grail. Answer, if you would submit to this will and this truth.”

The lights of the line coalesced into the center of the magic ring, building into a blinding source

“An oath shall be sworn here! I shall attain all virtues of all of Heaven and I shall have dominion over all evils of all of Hell. From the Seventh Heaven, attended to by three great words of power, come forth from the ring of restraint, protector of the holy balance!”

With a flash and a boom, the ritual ended. The lights paled slightly and the mist began to drift away. But there, in the center of the ring, stood a lithe figure. Dressed in a red robe, trimmed with a high golden collar and covered in jade chest armor, the figure had a large crossbow strapped to their back, draped in their long brown hair.

Pulling out a Chinese hand fan and lightly waving it at her face in the humid air, she stared at Rita and questioned, “Tell me… are you my Master?”

The Saber
Gwyrch Castle. As far as abandoned ruins went, this one was well-suited for the establishment of territory; yet Altria couldn't shake a feeling of discomfort as she stared up at the towering stone structures. It was a sense of foreboding combined with an inexplicable feeling of deja vu, and perhaps a juvenile fear of the strange and unknown. A chilly nighttime breeze blew past the young woman, sending her blonde hair flying in all directions for a brief moment. Though she was clad in suitable clothes for the climate, complete with a woolen coat and some boots, the cold seeped through her garments and caused nearly every hair on her body to prickle.

“I've just finished putting up the bounded field,” Ayaka announced, panting as she jogged toward Altria. The Japanese woman took the time to pat down her hair before joining Altria in looking up at their new residence. “Well, one of them, anyway. I'll probably need at least three to keep out those who know what to look for. Great job finding this place, by the way – it's so much simpler to keep up the illusion of normality when nothing's supposed to happen here in the first place. But enough about that. I – what's wrong, Emiya? You look like you've just seen a ghost.”

“It's nothing.” Altria shook her head, lowering her eyes from the ruins and hefting her backpack as she did so. Ayaka's chatter helped assuage her unease, but only slightly. “I just wish I had been able to find us a place on a ley line. There was an abandoned pump station in London, but I thought the area was too populated. And besides... I have a strong feeling London is going to be popular with the other Masters.”

“Right. I heard the Clock Tower is closing, you know. Seems they're expecting it too.” Ayaka sighed. “Are you alright, though? I know it was hard for you to leave Fuyuki... it was hard for me too. And you still haven't explained how you convinced your boyfriend to let you travel all this way without him.”

“Shirou's not my boyfriend!” Altria insisted. “He's taken care of me ever since the accident. If not for him, I'd probably be in a mental hospital somewhere still trying to remember my own name! Besides, if not for him I wouldn't know anything about magecraft... it's really because of him that I'm able to do any of this at all. But I know how he feels about the Grail War. It was better to let him believe I was going on vacation, especially since he doesn't keep up with the rest of the magic-using world...”

“Jeez. Tricking your boyfr- oh, I'm sorry, your sugar daddy into thinking you're touring Britain's castles, when you're turning one into a base for the Heaven's Feel... you're more devious than I thought you'd be capable of, Emiya!”

“I swear, Ayaka, you remind me of a friend of Shirou's sometimes. Come to think of it, she's probably in England right now. I wonder if she'll be involved in this War.”

“You can't afford to waste time thinking on things like that. Those Command Spells aren't going to use themselves. We need to start making preparations for the Summoning as soon as we can.” Ayaka crossed her arms and looked down at the ground for a moment, her lips pressed together in a flat line. “By the way... I know this is the third time I've asked you this, but are you sure you really want to do this? If you asked me to, I'd accept your Command Seals in a heartbeat. It's a burden I'd gladly bear.”

“I know you've been preparing for this War since the last one,” Altria admitted. “I know it probably hurt your feelings when I got Command Seals instead of you. But I want to fight as a Master. I want... well, there's a wish I have in mind. And I know you have a wish too. But there's just something about all of this that feels right to me, like I'm meant to do it. I hope you understand.”

“I told you I'd back you up no matter what, right? And don't worry about my wish. It'll probably take care of itself.” Ayaka gestured dismissively. “I just wanted to make sure you don't have cold feet before going to the trouble of the Summoning. You know how I hate killing pigeons.”

Altria watched as Ayaka strode confidently toward the most intact of the antiquated structures, the one that would serve as their main base. A twinge of envy went through her as she did so. Unlike herself, Ayaka was a first-rate magus who had been raised alongside magecraft since infancy. Ayaka was also natively Japanese, in contrast with Altria's visibly Caucasian heritage. It meant Altria was better suited for blending in here among other Westerners... but there had always been something about herself that made her feel different from everyone else in Fuyuki.

“Trace. On.”

As soon as the words left Altria's mouth, a weapon appeared in her outstretched right hand. Or at least, it attempted to – for a few seconds the outline of a sword flickered, strained to attain realization, but ultimately dissipated into magical dust. Altria's shoulders slumped. While she had little trouble understanding magical theory, practice was another ordeal entirely. The projection magic Shirou had tried his best to install in her was still, at best, a rough and novice endeavor on her part. She could see the sword clearly in her mind's eye, as clearly as if it was part and parcel of her very being, but bringing it to life... that, sadly, just didn't seem meant to be.

She bit her lip. Even she had to admit that Ayaka was much more suited to being a Master. Altria wasn't even a half-rate magus, just a part-time kendo instructor who occasionally worked as a waitress whose prana reserves just happened to be exceptional. A big wad of potential too dull to actualize it. Maybe I should have never left Fuyuki, she thought grimly. ''Maybe I should have stayed with Shirou... maybe I really should give Ayaka my Command Seals and be done with it while I still have a chance.''

But then her brow furrowed and she scowled. There was one thing that still held her here, the very thing that had driven her to deceive Shirou and take part in the Heaven's Feel in the first place. Her wish. And not just her wish – it had been Shirou's wish, once. An ideal that he was never able to live up to. To create a world where no one would ever cry... a utopia where suffering was just a bad dream. Often he had described this to her, only to smile a sad smile and fall silent afterward.

Altria sometimes dreamed of suffering. They were troubling nightmares, evil things capable of making her physically ill. Sometimes her dreams were haunted by a humanoid shape that was more of a living void, and from that void spilled curses innumerable. She often woke from the dream gripped by anger, furious that such things could even exist in the world. Shirou always smiled at her and said her heart was too good and sensitive to the evils of the world, but Altria knew better. Something inside of her was simply programmed to resist these things. And so, upon receiving Command Seals, she had resolved to deal with her demons once and for all. Surely the Holy Grail would be able to fulfill her wish for a better world and cleanse it of that suffering.

How? She wasn't sure. She didn't expect the Grail to just reset the world on its own. Perhaps it would need some assistance in the form of a willing pair of hands – a Hero of Justice. Yet another dream Shirou had left behind, a dream she didn't really understand (but it certainly sounded nice). It made her think of knights in shining armor, and though she couldn't really see herself as one of those it still tugged at her heartstrings.

But those were ruminations for another day. This day was for beginnings, not endings. The Summoning awaited her.

-

A pile of headless pigeons lay a meter and a half away from the carefully-drawn Summoning Circle, its precise lines formed of blood not yet congealed. Ayaka Sajyou washed her hands using a ball of conjured water that simply hung in midair before her, resisting the urge to wrinkle her nose at what she had just done. The air inside the castle was cool and dry, though moisture dripped and echoed from somewhere further in. Midnight was now minutes away. It was time.

Altria had discarded her coat and faced the Circle with a determined expression. Her amber eyes narrowed as she stretched out her right hand, her other hand clenched around the hilt of a thin longsword. For a moment the blonde appeared reticent, but then she squared her shoulders and swallowed hard. Then she began to chant.

“Fill, fill, fill, fill, fill...”

The sword gleamed and reflected the light as the Circle began to glow. Ayaka watched apprehensively. Her preparations for this crucial moment had been thorough, too thorough for there to be any mistakes now. Getting Durendal all the way here without any hitches had been the easy part. Now it fell to Altria to establish the contract and petition the Grail for a Heroic Spirit.

''We have no connections in the Mages' Association or the Church. We really are flying into this blind, but what choice do we have? Sure, some of the other Masters will likely have those things, but we'll have something they don't.'' Her eyes lingered on the sword Altria held. We'll have the best Servant of them all.

As Altria continued to recite the incantation, Ayaka felt the air grow heavy with thaumaturgical energy. The walls seemed to close in, as if the room they stood in was shrinking. It was an illusory effect caused by the sheer amount of power the Circle was producing – or rather, absorbing from the Grail itself. The contract was being forged. What appeared to be arcs of electricity rose from the bloody patterns and danced in the air, whipping up the smell of ozone. The roots of Ayaka's hair stood erect.

“... I make my oath here. I am that person who is to become the virtue of all Heaven. I am that person who is covered with the evil of all Hades.”

With these words, Altria began to glow. Ayaka wondered how it felt – to have one's own Magic Circuits turned into an energy conduit. But she did not have to wonder for long, for Altria let out a cry that was part scream and part bellow. Ayaka's heart skipped a beat in alarm as she panicked, for any lapse on the summoner's part would bungle the ritual entirely and possibly kill them. She did not dare approach the Circle, however, for the light that shot up out of its boundaries did not seem harmless. All she could do was hold her breath and pray their efforts would not be in vain.

Meanwhile, Altria stood with both feet rooted to the ground as her entire body was filled with an energy she had never felt before. It burned through her nerve endings and tore into her core like a greedy devouring animal. It was all she could do to remain conscious as her body's prana accelerated to a dangerous level, and she felt as though she were floundering in the eye of a terrible hurricane.

A ball of magnificent light appeared in the middle of the Circle, so bright that it hurt Altria to look at it. Dimly she realized that her Magic Circuits were connected to a plane beyond this one and the activity in the Circle was the result of that connection. A figure began to take shape, a tall and imposing silhouette clad in steel armor. But why does it feel so wrong? Something inside of Altria was recoiling from that connection, begging and pleading with her to cut it off. She held on, barely, as if hanging from a cliff by her fingertips... and then it was over. Her muscles became hers to command again, she dropped the sword, and then she fell to her knees and coughed. Retched.

“I ask of thee, art thou the Master that called me?”

Altria raised her head; it took much more effort than it should have. Her vision slowly returned to normal and her eyes widened. The upright being that stood at the center of the now-calm Summoning Circle could be nothing less than a Heroic Spirit; he was fair-haired and handsome, beardless and blue-eyed, and seemed to radiate an aura of nobility. At his belt hung a longsword in its scabbard; the hilt was identical to that of the sword that now lay on the ground beside Altria.

“You've done it,” Ayaka breathed. She sounded awed and pleased. “The Saber-class Servant... Roland.”

Altria wanted to feel relieved, but it just wouldn't come. Instead she just felt sick. “Yes,” she replied to Roland. She got to her feet unsteadily, knees weak. “I am your master, Altria Emiya. I seek to win the Holy Grail with your aid, Saber.”

Roland's eyes narrowed. He seemed to be appraising her, a notion that made her bristle. Somehow the idea of being judged by a Servant stuck in her craw.

“Then we share a common goal, Master.” Roland's voice was clear and calm, neither deep nor high. “For I too seek the Holy Grail and I will fight at your side to claim it. You are my lord, and I your knight. Show me your enemies that I may put them to my holy sword.”

Ayaka clasped her hands together, nearly entranced by the sight of the diminutive Altria staring up at the towering Roland. Their victory in this War felt inevitable, though reasoning told her otherwise. Any number of factors could render the Saber class's superior statistics worthless. But still – it felt good to hope.

Garrpe
Garrpe Rodriguez awoke before dawn, rising from the worn mattress and resting his bare feet against the cold, equally bare floor. There was no need for an alarm; he had been accustomed to such a wakeup time for many years now. Blinking the sleep from his eyes, he crossed over to the cracked sink in the wall a few feet from his bed and splashed lukewarm water across his face. Squinting into the shards of what had once been a mirror, he ran a razor over the patches of stubble that dotted his rough features.

He stepped away from the sink. Reaching into a grubby duffel laying against the wall, he changed his shirt out for one that was almost equally dirty. Withdrawing a prayer book from the bag, he knelt on the cold floor. His knees, scabbed and exposed by holes in his pants, ached in protest, but he paid them no heed. There in the tiny room, he said a private mass in hushed, almost furtive tones.

“Et verbum caro factum est, et habitavit in nobis,” he murmured, head bowed low in the darkness. “Kyrie eleison.”

A few feet away, something else stirred in the darkness. A huddled mass of dirt and fur lying near the door shifted and turned to look at him with baleful eyes. The grimy dog craned its neck and let out a small huff, as if irritated that its rest had been disturbed.

Garrpe smiled apologetically. “Gloria Patri, et Filio, et Spiritui Sancto. Sicut erat in principio, et nunc, et semper, et in saecula saeculorum. Amen.” With this closing prayer, he crossed himself and returned the prayer book to the duffel. He unfolded a pair of socks and slid them over his feet, then donned a worn set of sneakers. Slipping on a hooded canvass jacket, he got up and stepped over the dog on his way to the door, slinging the duffel over his shoulder.

“Well, let’s be going then,” he said aloud. The dog yawned and slowly got to its feet. It rested its weight on three of its shaggy legs; the fourth hung limply from its body like a snapped branch on a tree. Its dark, cloudy eyes followed Garrpe as he opened the door and stepped out into the dimly lit corridor.

The woman at the inn’s counter, made irritable by her early morning shift, glowered at him as he approached. She jabbed a bony finger in the dog’s direction. “We don’t allow animals in the rooms. Didn’t they tell you that when you checked in?”

Garrpe gave her an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry,” he said, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a crumpled handful of pound notes. “He needs a place to stay as much as I do. He didn’t leave a mess.”

“I just hope you don’t think you’re coming back here with him.” She rang up his charge as he handed her back his room key. The charge was several pounds more than the posted rate, but considering the presence of the dog Garrpe saw no grounds to argue. He fumbled with the money, counting out the notes. The charge left him with very little money to spare, but there was nothing to be done about that. He’d scrape something else together over the course of the day. He always managed, somehow.

Once she had the money in hand, the woman abruptly lost interest in both the resident and the rule-breaking dog. Garrpe turned and left the inn, stepping out into the dark London street outside. The dog lingered at the desk for a moment, then limped on out after him. It approached Garrpe and whined expectantly.

“Sorry,” he replied with the same apologetic tone he had used with the woman at the desk. “I don’t have anything with me. We’ll have to find somewhere else to eat.” His own stomach growled, the dog’s expectant gaze giving Garrpe hunger pangs of his own.

All of the shops up and down the street were closed and shuttered. It would be several hours before any of them opened, but knew of a few places nearby where he might be able to purchase a meal in exchange for his services. Garrpe flexed his fingers. Yes, he had ways of making himself useful.

His breast ached at the thought of putting his healing talents to work. The magical crest engraved on his chest tingled, and he massaged it with a grimace. It was a paltry little thing, his crest, laughable by the standards of most magi. He could not work much real magic with it, and what little he could do was a great strain on his body. Even magi with proper crests limited their magical output, focusing instead on cultivating and expanding their own power. For a failure of a mage like himself, with nothing more than a paltry handful of donated magic circuits…

But it is all I have to offer, he thought, staring out at the forlorn and empty street. ''Without it, I’m just some useless vagabond. A waste of space.''

As if sensing the young man’s consternation, the dog whined again. Garrpe tried to ignore his aching crest and reached out to comfort the dog, but froze when a shiver coursed down his spine. Off in the distance, something moved in the shadows.

Garrpe’s hands plunged into his jacket. They curled around several small objects stowed in his pockets: black keys, the concealed weapons of a Church Executor.

The shadow moved again. Garrpe’s fingers tightened around the black keys, even as he tried to quell the surge of fear coursing through his veins. The dog’s ears flattened against its head and it let out a low growl.

A cat slipped out of the shadows. Its head tilted towards the man and the dog, and then it darted away without a sound. The dog’s growl became a whine, but it remained by Garrpe’s side instead of pursuing after the cat.

I should kill it. The thought flashed through Garrpe's head in an instant. It could be some mage’s familiar. An Association agent, maybe, or a freelancer working for the Church.

The cat was still in sight. Garrpe’s skills might have dulled somewhat since he had left the Church, but he was still well-versed in the use of black keys. He could impale the cat in a single fluid motion before it had time to bound away any further.

But he did not move. In another instant the cat had vanished from his sight, melting back into the shadows of another alley. Garrpe glanced down at the dog, still growling at the spot where the cat had been.

“It’s nothing,” he said aloud, laughing quietly at his own fear and pride. This was how he lived, in constant fear of discovery by Association magi or the Executors, but in the end was there really anything to be afraid of? As if either of those towering organizations would waste time and resources hunting a weary tramp like himself. He flitted here and there in terror of shadows hounding his footsteps, but in the end he was little more than an ant, scurrying about the feet of giants with far loftier concerns than wandering failure like himself.

Still, for him to have come to a place like London…

Garrpe released the black keys and crouched beside the dog, running a hand through its coarse hair as he steadied his jolted nerves. With the Clocktower sitting in one direction and Westminster Cathedral in the other, this city was a hub for the shadowy world of these two great powers. The Magus Association and the Church, which dominated the world of magic and the supernatural hidden away from the eyes of most humans. A world he, too, had once had a place in.

But not anymore, he thought with a shake of his head.'' I've left all that behind. They will have forgotten about me, and I should forget about them as well.'' He no longer had any place in that world of power and ambition and intrigue. He had given it up and returned to the world of everyday concerns, of sickness and hunger and poverty, those worldly concerns that neither the magi nor the Executors had time or patience for.

Yes, he had left that all behind. His place was with the rabble, as so many magi called this plain, ordinary world. This was his path to walk. Even so, there was something strange in the air. He had felt it tugging at the corners of his mind ever since he had arrived in this city. A gathering of power he had never felt, even in the bowels of the Clocktower or the darkened cathedrals of the Church.

''I still cling to the vestiges of that other world. The magic circuits and black keys. Is it just my wounded pride that keeps me from letting go of those things?'' He shook his head. But without them, what did he have to offer? Without them, he really was just some powerless failure, unable to do anything but scrabble for the next meal, the next place to rest his head…

The dog whined and tugged against his arm, and Garrpe realized that he was squeezing tight against its neck. “Sorry, sorry,” he muttered, releasing his grip. The dog retreated a few paces away and glowered at him resentfully.

The cat really had given him quite a fright. Garrpe smiled ruefully and stood up again, emptying his mind of his doubts and misgivings. Nothing could be gained from such things. He should make up to his friend by finding them both something to eat, and then perhaps looking to attend to the business that had brought him to this city in the first place.

“Come on then,” he told the dog. “Let’s get going.” Adjusting the strap on his duffel, he drew up his hood to stand against the cold and began to trudge down the dark street. The dog stared after him for a moment, then drew itself up and hobbled after him, its maimed leg trailing behind it.

From the shadows of the alley the cat watched the man and dog depart, glaring sullenly at the irritating creatures that had given it such a fright.

Joanna
"I'm heading out today, father."

Draped in the sterile white sheets of the hospital bed, the man gave no response. Several tubes protruded from beneath the sheets, winding up and ending in a bank of machines that sat in the corner and filled the room with their dull, metronomic beeping. All that could be seen of the man in the bed was his head, propped up on a bank of pillows. His torso, shriveled and degraded by disuse and the trauma it had endured, barely made an indentation under the sheets. His arms and legs did not produce so much as a shadow in the dim light.

"I'll be taking a huge risk," the young woman seated beside the bed continued. "It will be very dangerous. But I've made plans, and they won't be expecting me. Those inbred snobs from the Clocktower..." Her hands, their fingers splotched and stained with ink smudges, balled into fists against the folds of her dark blue dress.

Beside her, the man in the bed did not so much as bat one of his heavy-lidded eyes. He continued to gaze listlessly up at the featureless ceiling, expression utterly vacant.

"They won't see me coming. They've all been preparing so much to fight the war. They're all obsessed with what's going to happen, even all the ones who aren't even participating. They won't be expecting me, or what I have planned." She tilted her head up so that she could only see the man in the bed out of the corner of her eye and instead stared at the room's bare wall. "It's like you always said. They don't expect a mage like me to even think of doing something like this. But I will. This will turn everything on its head. And they'll pay for all those years of arrogance."

Joanna Regios looked down at the shrunken face of what had once been her father and did her best to stifle the feelings of disgust welling up in her breast. Every word coming out of her mouth meant absolutely nothing to the comatose body in front of her. The creature on the bed had not so much as stirred or uttered a single word for years. Each passing second of inactivity only served to remind her of what a complete and utter waste of time this visit was.

She tried to turn the bile rising in her throat to feelings of pity for the helpless old man in front of her, but all she felt was just a renewed wave of apathy. Even the disgust she felt was little more than the shadow of a reflex, an echo of sentiments she had set aside long ago. There was no room for such feeling in the world of magi, especially not in the arena she was about to slip into. The wasted husk in front of her was just another casualty in the endless struggle that defined the life of a mage. Her father had not been suited for that struggle. He had not taken it seriously. And in the end that attitude had cost him--and his family--everything.

The mages would pay for that, too.

"I'm all that's left," she repeated slowly. As meaningless as this visit was, still she continued to draw it out to its conclusion. As much as it repulsed her, the role of the dutiful daughter was nonetheless hers to play. Even if no one else were here to appreciate her performance, it was all part of the discipline that made a magus strong.

I wear many masks, she thought, an idea that had occurred to her many times before. A few days ago she had worn the mask of the industrious student, eager to make up for her family's past errors and content to stand forever in the shadow of those magi privileged to belong to distinguished, powerful families. Now she played out this farce of a meeting with her father. And soon she would wear another mask and step into the role of a scheming criminal intent on tearing down the rotten old traditions that had brought her family so much suffering and humiliation.

Or perhaps that last one was not a mask at all. Joanna could not help but hope this was true. She had played many roles during her life, and now she was preparing for the greatest of these performances. It was only be fitting that all of those previous deceptions should build up to this.

"The Servants have all been summoned," she went on. "The Clocktower has been sealed, and the Church has sent an delegation to the cathedral. The Holy Grail War has started. And now I'm going to start a war of my own. By the time it's over, it won't matter how old your family is or how powerful your bloodline can be. Everything will start over. And I'll be responsible for all of it."

On the bed, her father did not so much as bat an eye.

"I've sold the manor. And the town house. Your library, mother's jewelry. Everything." Her mouth twisted slightly. "No one noticed. They don't even have anyone watching our finances. That's how little they think of us now. It took everything the family had to pay for this. Not that any of the money would have made a difference the way things are now."

Joanna could still remember a time when her father had been a man she looked up to. There had never been anything remotely intimidating about the Regios patriarch's bony, angular form but she had admired him all the same for the way he never hesitated to question the rules of the Association. He spoke things that were taboo and taught her to see the Association's rules as simple obstacles to be avoided and worked around whenever possible. She took his words to heart, and in turn never questions the rules and orders he put to her. Even as the tasks he had put to her became more and more unseemly, she had never once thought to rebel against her father the way he did against the Association.

Even after everything he had made her do, she couldn't resent him for making her into his tool. That was what it meant to be a Magus, after all. He had used her and she in turn had used the experience to mold herself into a better mage.

No, she didn't resent him for that. But her father had been careless in the end. That carelessness cost him his sanity. It had cost Joanna any chance she might have had to move up within the Association. The Regios family, already a pitifully minor bloodline, became a joke.

Looking down at the figure on the bed, Joanna realized that now she could no longer even feel pity for what her father had become. There was nothing left to be had in feeling anything for him. If she failed in her endeavors now, she would undoubtedly face a fate even worse than feeble catatonia. What she meant to do now...

"I left a trust fund with this facility," she said aloud. "All the money I had left. That should cover your care."

Joanna stood up and cast one last, empty look down at her father. "I don't think I'll be coming back here again." An emotionless statement was met with a similar lack of interest from the bed. "Goodbye, father."

She turned and left the room without a moment's hesitation. By the time she had cleared the nursing home's lobby and stepped out into the crisp morning air, she had already shoved the pointless farewell out of her mind. There were more important things to attend to.

Joanna drew a cell phone out of her dress pocket and flipped it open. She punched in a private number and held the phone to her ear. It rang twice before someone picked up.

"I thought you mage types didn't like cell phones." A woman's voice, edged with a dangerous confidence that Joanna envied. "Change of heart?"

"The Association doesn't like technology," Joanna said, crossing the center's damp lawn. "That will make our job that much easier."

"It'll make your job easier. Try being one of INTERPOL's top ten favorite people. Really takes all the fun out of traveling."

"Aren't you here yet?" Joanna demanded. "All the Servants have been summoned. The war's starting."

"So I've heard," the other woman drawled. "You think you're my only contact in London? I've got a few of my people on the ground already."

"And the rest of you?"

"We'll be arriving in a couple days. If everything's the way you say it is, we'll get to work soon enough."

"This war won't go on forever," Joanna said irritably. "We only have a small window--"

"I've worked with smaller." The voice on the other end rang with easy determination. "You'll get what you paid for, and maybe a bit more."

"I'd better."

The other woman laughed. Perhaps it was meant to be reassuring, but Joanna felt her body tense just listening to it. "Snake always gets results. You'll see, we'll show you. So just relax and let us do our job."

The phone clicked. Joanna scowled at it, then slipped it back into her pocket. As if she could simply sit on the sidelines and leave it all to the others. There would be ways she could help move things along. Subtle ones, of course. There was no need to get too deeply involved.

Joanna Regios crossed the street and slipped in amongst the morning crowds. The people around her didn't know it, but London was already a battlefield. And if everything went as planned, not even the combined efforts of the Church or the Association would be able to stop the fires.

Planning
From their position five floors up, Francois and Michael had an excellent view of the local area. Built near a busy motorway, the hotel was the tallest building in the area and stood apart from others, making it easy to detect anyone who dared approach. Most importantly, it was cheap.

"Good choice, Michael," the Magnus nodded and turned away from the window, swishing the thick curtains shut behind him. "My Bounded Field was easy to establish."

"I thought you'd like it," Michael replied, arms clasped behind his back as the old man took a seat nearby. Perhaps he'd simply imagined it, but the Magus was rather fond of tower-like structures. Perhaps there was some truth to the fictional depiction of wizards after all.

"Not that it would make this country any more bearable. The food, the weather, most of the people... merde. I did not miss this place."

His bodyguard smirked. "It's not so bad once you get used to it."

"I spent three years here in my youth, young man. It was not enjoyable."

"If you say so." He had no intention of arguing with Francois; the old man could rant for hours if provoked.

"Any news from the Church?"

"Looks like, all Servants have been summoned."

"Any movement from the Cathedral itself?"

Before Michael could answer, there was a flash of blue as an armoured man materialised before them, kneeling before Francois. The Magus raised an eyebrow.

"Assassin?"

"Master," the Servant's voice intoned through his iron mask. "I have done as you asked, and placed lodestones around the city."

"And? Any news of other Servants and Masters?"

"None have made themselves visible, though it is difficult to ascertain their location through magical activity alone. This city is rife with it, thanks to the Clock Tower."

Francois leant back in his armchair, steepling his fingers over his knees. "We should move before our foes do."

Michael nodded in agreement. "Sounds good. Better we strike first before they attack us."

"Assassin, continue looking out for signs of Servant activity within the city, but remain hidden."

The black-armoured soldier bowed, and dissipated into nothingness "Of course, Master," his disembodied voice echoed through the hotel room.

With their Servant gone, Francois stood up and walked over to the nearby table. Aside from a map of the city dotted with crystals, a number of runestones lay there, glowing faintly. The other half of their hotel room was lined with metal apparatus and all sorts of arcane devices; Michael knew better than to even go near them.

"I'm still preparing my atelier," he waved a gnarled hand towards the setup. "Have you made your own preparations?"

"Yes. I've spoken to your contact, and my weapons will arrive within a day or so. I'm surprised a Magus would know a gun smuggler. Spells not enough for you?"

Francois snorted. "My contact provides for both Magi and regular folk. More money that way."

"I'm surprised he had such a collection."

"He's not much of a Magus. Obsessing over modern technology made him something of an outcast."

"You seem fine around technology. Hell, you were even willing to learn how a computer worked."

"If those fools at the Clock Tower had their way we'd still be using horses for transport. Their unwillingness to adapt will be the death of Magecraft, I swear."

"And your adaptiveness will give us an edge, Francois?"

"If we're fighting traditional Magi? Probably."

The old man's attention was suddenly drawn towards the map. A tiny crystal had begun to glow, radiating blue light. From what Michael could understand, the lodestones Francois had had Assassin place across London were connected to these crystals, and would react if something of sufficient magical power entered their radius.

"A Servant?"

"Must be. Michael, what were you going to say earlier about the Cathedral?"

"Oh, right." He fished out several photographs from his coat pocket. He'd set up several cameras across the area, watching every possible way into Westminster Cathedral. After hours of reviewing footage, he'd been able to catch a few glimpses of people exiting the building, usually in the early hours of the morning. Francois took the pictures and briefly looked over them.

"I was right. Executors. They're probably here to observe the war, but we shouldn't take any chances."

"Why would they be involved?"

"Probably to ensure that none of the Masters get out of control. Things got messy in the last couple of wars, if the rumours are true."

He sighed, and pocketed the glowing gem from the table.

"We're heading out?"

"Yes. Let's greet our fellow Master."

Tension
"These garments are too restricting," Lancer moaned, tugging at the sleeve of his jacket.

"They look nice."

Claudia Cefalu strode through the park, Lancer at her side. They'd spent the last few hours shopping, and Lancer had gone from wearing an old tracksuit she'd procured for him at short notice from a second-hand shop to being clad in a tailored suit; The cost of his jacket alone would have been enough to pay for their motel room for several months.

"The footwear of this era is not to my liking, either," her Servant grumbled, brushing aside a lock of his long blonde hair before affixing it back into its ponytail. "I prefer my boots."

"You can materialise them when you need them, Lancer," Claudia chided him, walking along the path.

"I should have been able to choose my own clothing, girl."

She chuckled. Summoning a mythical king into reality had been easy compared to making him adapt to the 21st Century. While her brief time spent studying the Grail War and Lancer's own explanation had revealed that Servants were given knowledge of whatever era they were summoned to, he seemed reluctant to follow her instructions and followed her with an air of annoyance. That said, Claudia had no intention of taking the clothes back. She'd only been able to afford them due to her family's deep pockets; despite her relatively shallow lineage as a Magus, magical patents and business decisions made by her grandfather had made them rich. Eventually, she stopped and turned to Lancer.

"What's wrong. Aside from the clothes."

The Servant tilted his head to one side, raising an eyebrow. "Whatever could you mean?"

"It's been a week since I summoned you, and you've barely said a word. Were you expecting a different kind of Master."

Lancer waited for some joggers to pass before indicating a nearby bench. He didn't say a word until they both sat down.

"I've been waiting for you to ask," he shrugged, leaning back and gazing at the clouds.

"M-me?" she sputtered. "I have nothing to ask! All we're here to do is win the Holy Grail War!"

Her Servant smiled. "Ah. I merely found it strange that a girl who went to all that effort just to bring me to this era would deliberately ignore me once I was here in the flesh. Even after all your notes, maps and journals indicated that I was the one you wished to summon."

Claudia had gone red. "You looked through my things?"

"I was bored and you went to buy groceries. Does that bother you so much after the time you spent researching me?"

He had a point. Claudia had tried to maintain a professional aura around Lancer, only speaking to him of her ideas, her strategies, and what she wished to do. Not once had she asked him about his own life or permitted any questions about her own. But why?

"What do you want from me then?" she asked.

"Cooperation. Master and Servant might be our titles, girl, but that does not mean we have to treat each other as such. Necessity makes us defend one another during this war, though I would prefer a partnership of sorts."

Claudia nodded. "I'd like that. Sorry for how I've treated you."

The man shrugged, still looking uncomfortable in his suit.

"The truth is," she continued. "I wasn't sure if you considered me a worthy Master."

"Oh?"

"You see, I was so sure of myself when I entered the Holy Grail War that I didn't take my own abilities into account until I'd already summoned you. I'm not a very powerful Magus, you see."

At this, Lancer stood up. He held out his right arm and opened and closed his fist a few times before pinching his other hand. Claudia stared at him, puzzled.

"What are you doing?"

He smirked. "I'm not fading away, am I? Your power sustains me well enough, and I know that I'll be able to fight at full power when the time comes. You place little value on your own talents, little Magus."

"But surely you would've preferred a stronger Master?"

"No others travelled to Ireland in search of the yew that gave me my spear, nor did they choose to summon me for this war. No others chose to 'blog' about their journey and excitement over meeting me. A fascinating phenomenon."

"How did you-"

"You left your computer open while you went to bathe. Modern technology is amazing, is it not? Perhaps you could teach me to do the same?"

For a moment, the tall, fair-haired warrior looked like an excited child eager to play with a new toy. Claudia laughed aloud for the first time in days. All the tension she'd been bottling up about the war and their foes was eased somewhat now she could properly talk with her Servant.

"Why not? Let's head back, I want to scry for other Masters and plot-"

She froze as a familiar feeling swept over her. Lancer seemed to have noticed it too, and turned to face down the path. An eerie stillness fell over the park, and as Claudia looked around she could make out a hazy shimmer that stretched across the nearby area. A Bounded Field?!

"I feel it too," Lancer muttered, stepping forward as she stood up. Suddenly, he turned to face one side, his spear materialising in his hands. Claudia stepped behind him, mentally preparing herself for a fight.

A figure stood at the end of the path, shrouded in a hazy mist at the edge of the field.

Introductions
Lancer's body glowed for a moment, his expensive suit disappearing as armour materialised into place over his skin. Twirling his spear, the warrior walked to the centre of the path with Claudia several paces behind him, glaring at the person standing before them.

"Reveal yourself!" he barked, readying his weapon.

"Lancer," Claudia began, mentally preparing a spell. "There's more than one of them."

Her Servant's eyes darted left and right, making out two more figures standing at the edge of the shimmering barrier. Even at a distance, she could tell that they were powerful Magi. Much to her surprise, Lancer's face split into a grin.

"None are Servants. You shouldn't worry."

She didn't feel much better. As their opponents approached and properly crossed through the Bounded Field, Claudia was able to get a better look at them: One male, two females, barely out of their teens by her estimate. The girls, who slowly approached from her left and right, looked near-identical save for a few minor details while the guy striding down the path was clearly the strongest. However, it was their physical appearances that surprised her the most; pure-white hair and bright red eyes. While the art of Magecraft often led to a change in appearance for those delving deeply into certain crafts, there was no mistaking the look of a Homunculus.

"Einzberns," she hissed. Lancer raised an eyebrow.

"Old Magus family. They were some of the ones who started the Holy Grail War in the first place."

"I see," he twirled his spear once more. "Dangerous?"

"They're homunculi, if I'm not much mistaken. Powerful mages, but from what I've read, not all that suited for battle."

"That's good to hear."

Both Claudia and Lancer remained still as the trio moved towards them. The male homunculus halted about ten feet away from them while the other stepped onto the path to join him. Any sudden movement and Claudia was ready to fling a fireball towards them. Much to her surprise, the male took out a crumpled piece of paper from his coat pocket and began to read aloud.

"Greetings!" he shouted, ignoring the puzzled looks from Lancer and Claudia. "I am Albrecht von Einzbern, the chosen Master of my family for this Holy Grail War. As is our custom, we will announce ourselves to our foes before destroying them. Enemy Master, may you fight with honour in the battle to come!"

There was a long silence as Albrecht stowed the paper away, clasping his arms behind his back. After their ominous approach, Claudia had expected a frontal attack by this point, not a formal declaration of war.

"Lancer, kill them," she said.

As he darted forward, ready to impale the trio, the barrier above them parted for a moment and a blinding yellow flash of light rocketed towards the ground. Lancer leapt to one side, rolling further away while Claudia turned and ran. The impact knocked her to the ground as a wave of heat swept around her. Looking back as her vision cleared, there was now a sizeable molten crater between her and he trio of homunclui, each of whom had conjured magical shields to protect them from the blast. Looking up, she caught sight of a figure in billowing robes floating just above the Bounded Field, staff in hand.

"Crap," she muttered. "It's Caster."

Lancer emerged from some nearby bushes and leapt to her side.

"Seems we're in trouble then," he muttered.

"Looks like it."

***

"Can you get through it?"

"Of course I can!"

At the edge of the Bounded Field Francois Gautier and Michael Hamilton stood side by side, catching brief, blurry glimpses of the battle within. Lancer darted around, dodging brightly-coloured spell blasts from a floating Caster, who in turn had been forced to move several times to avoid his foe's deadly spear. The duel between their Masters was less spectacular, as the two female homunculi merely shot spell after spell at Lancer's Master, who was spending most of her time darting from tree to tree.

"Strange how they don't notice it," Michael said.

"Hrm?"

"Normal people." He glanced to the right. "Look."

A couple of joggers moving up the park path came to an abrupt halt a few feet away from the bounded field and turned away, completely ignorant of the battle taking place beyond the shimmering haze.

"They simply aren't capable of noticing what we don't want them to see," replied Francois with a smug grin. "I daresay you'd have been just as ignorant without the training I've given you."

"Is that so?"

The old man nodded. "Oh yes. While you lack magic circuits, your basic knowledge of magecraft allows you to see into our 'world', as it were."

"Good to know."

Francois stared at the Bounded Field for a few moments more and, having apparently found what he was looking for, raised a finger and tapped the barrier. There was a brief flicker of light and the field peeled open, becoming just wide enough for Francois and Michael to step through.

"We're in," he muttered. "Could've stepped right through, of course, but that would have announced our presence immediately."

Michael slipped the handgun out of his coat pocket and made sure it was properly loaded. He knew full well that he was fully outclassed in this battle of Mages and Heroic Spirits, so he'd have to think tactically if he wanted to survive this encounter. As the other combatants hadn't yet noticed them, he then removed his gloves, revealing a silver prosthetic hand. He clenched it into a fist as Francois took out a handful of black stones from his bag and tossed them on the ground before them.

"Printemps à la vie," he whispered, holding out an outstretched hand.

At once, the stones burrowed into the ground, glowing brightly. A few seconds later, the dirt shifted as pairs of clawed, bony hands erupted, scrabbling their way to the surface. Michael had seen this before: they were Francois' Golems. As the Magus had explained to him some time ago, his creations were the result of experiments with weaker summoned familiars and while not possessing the power of a 'true' Golem, were strong and fast enough to be used in battle. Six of the creatures not stood before them; dirt-encrusted skeletons armed with claw-bones and fangs. A dim flicker of purple light in their eyes indicated that they were active.

"What now?" Michael whispered.

"They'll notice us any second," Francois said urgently. "You go around to the right and try to eliminate or at least keep one of those Homunculi busy. I'll work with my Golems and Assassin to deal with the rest."

"Got it. Where is-"

Before he could finish his sentence, their Servant materialised out of thin air, momentarily looking towards Michael. Though his face was hidden behind that iron mask of his, he had a feeling that Assassin was smiling. Now wrapped in a ragged black cloak that concealed most of his dark armour, Assassin had drawn a long, thin dagger, and was looking up at Caster with a glint in his eye.

"I want you to go for the first opening you find," Francois nodded towards the duelling servants ahead of them. "No prolonged combat. You and I both know you won't last long if caught out in the open by the likes of Lancer or Caster. I'm going to -"

Francois broke off and span round, muttering silently as a red blast of energy streaked towards him. A glowing shield materialised out of thin air and absorbed the entirety of the curse. Across the grassy field, one of the female Homunculi glared at them.

"Go!" he yelled, marching forward alongside his creations as Assassin disappeared in a puff of smoke and Michael began sprinting to the right. It was a three-way fight now.

***

Claudia barely had time to dive aside as another spell shot past her. A nearby shrub exploded in a brilliant flash of green flame, and the white-haired teen laughed from across the grassy field. She jumped to her feet and span round to see a monstrous skeletal creature bounding towards her, snarling. With a shriek of surprise she raised her right arm. There was a brief glow from her shoulder as her magic circuits activated.

"Bruciare!"

A tiny ball of energy coalesced at her fingertips for a moment and shot forward, bursting into flames as it soared towards the newly-arrived monster. The beast had either no time or will to dodge, and was struck in the face by her fireball. Tongues of red flame crept along its skull, burning through the empty eye sockets and making the creature collapse into the dirt. The Magus leapt to her feet as a ball of energy from the male Homunculus sizzled past her and ran for the edge of the Einzbern's bounded field, now aware that several more combatants had joined the fray. An old man was swatting aside curses with ease on one side of the field, while another intruder ran alongside the skeletal beasts towards one of the enemy trio. We're totally outmatched here.

"Lancer, we have to go!"

The long-haired spearman nodded, nimbly darting aside as another of Caster's spells struck the ground behind him before turning and flinging his weapon towards the enemy. Claudia watched in awe as his spear glowed with magical energy, streaking through the air as Caster froze. Lancer grinned, and yelled a brief incantation.

"Ibar!"

The hurtling weapon vibrated slightly, slowing its ascent for a brief moment before rocketing forward at an alarming speed. The white-robed Magus disappeared in a flash, rematerialising in the air behind Lancer. As he raised his staff to fire at Lancer's unprotected back, the spear suddenly turned in mid-air and chased after him. He vanished yet again with a frustrated sigh, only to be pursued by the glowing weapon.

"Come," Lancer said, yawning as he walked with Claudia towards the edge of the bounded field. "We're done here."

She nodded. While glad to be out of the firing line, some part of her wished to remain and watch the vicious battle between the newcomers and the Einzbern Homunculi. The old man had summoned several more of his skeletons and was watching with a wry smile as the trio blasted them apart. Without Caster to cover them, they would have to rely entirely on their offensive spells at range to protect them; the Einzbern family were never the most combat-oriented Magi.

"What about your spear?" she asked, raising her hand and concentrating energy. The barrier before them began to slowly melt away.

Lancer glanced up, chuckling as Caster continued to dodge his lightning-fast weapon. "It will find me."

The moment Claudia breached the barrier, she jumped back in surprise. Four hooded men stood before them, golden crosses dangling from their necks. Lancer took a step forward, but halted as his Master held up a hand. She stepped aside as they silently passed by her, nodding, and then stepped outside the barrier.

"Church Executors," she explained, brushing some grass off her dress. "They won't trouble us."

Lancer crossed his arms. "Oh?"

"We haven't broken any rules. Those Einzberns attacked us in broad daylight in a public space. That's not allowed."

"And they are to be punished?"

"Warned, at least. The Church wouldn't declare war on a family like the Einzberns, but they would certainly be willing to kill its Master if they threatened to expose the war with their actions."

Her Servant nodded, brushing some hair behind him and raising one hand into the air. "That will do for now, then. Athibar!"

Almost immediately, his spear burst through the magical wall and dropped into his outstretched palm. Lancer twirled the weapon for a moment as the glow faded, making sure that the wrappings around one end were still tightly-bound. He glanced up to check if Caster still intended to pursue them, only to shrug and turn away when his foe did not reappear.

"Do you think we should have kept fighting?" Claudia asked.

"No," he shook his head. "You might have died, leaving me to fight alone. Besides, the Grail War has just begun. No need to murder each other just yet."

"They seemed fairly intent on killing us."

"Ha! Had they truly wished for us to be dead then things would have gone very differently. Everyone was holding back."

"They were?!" Claudia could feel herself going red. She'd been doing everything she could just to survive back there.

"Indeed." A shadow crossed his face for a moment. "A third Servant was about to join the conflict, as well. They would have most likely killed you first."

"I didn't sense anyone aside from that old man."

"Which means it was probably Assassin, or some other Servant with the power to conceal their presence. They won't dare pursue us further, though."

"What makes you say that?"

"I am with you. No Servant would be quick enough to strike you without being skewered."

"Ah. That's good to know."

***

As the girl and her Servant retreated from the battlefield, Francois realised that he may have bitten off more than he could chew. Caster vanished once more as the flying spear veered off and appeared in the air above the trio of Homunculi, staff raised. Michael was patting out the flames on one of his coat sleeves from a near miss, having expended half a magazine with no effect on one of the smiling girls. Silence fell over the battlefield, and it was a moment before Francois realised that the Einzberns had ceased combat and were looking behind him. Michael's eyes widened as he turned.

"Francois!" he yelled, scrambling to raise his handgun.

The venerable Magus knew he couldn't turn fast enough as the first Executor leapt forward, sword-like Black Keys materialising between his fingers. As his hooded attacker reached the zenith of his jump, there was a flash and his body crumpled to the ground. The head hit the grass a moment later, eyes frozen with fear.

"Good work, Assassin," Francois brushed some imaginary dust from his shoulders as he turned.

"Francois Gautier!" one of the remaining Executors barked. "You are wanted by the Holy Church for multiple crimes. Surrender now and face trial or you will be executed!"

At this, he threw back his head and laughed. ''Surrender? That's a new one.'' The Church had been hunting him across the globe for decades and had never attempted to parley with him. He supposed that this was simply their way of buying time while reinforcements arrived; three trained Executors could never match a Servant, even one such as Assassin, like this.

"By all means, try. I'm walking out of here."

He waved for Michael to follow him and strode towards the Executors, flanked by his Golems. The men leapt back as he approached, not daring to attack Francois or his associates. Around them, the Bounded Field set up by the Einzberns was slowly fading away. This area would become totally visible to normal people soon. The Homunculi were already leaving, looking disappointed. As he cleared the field, he snapped his fingers.

"Leave one alive, Assassin."

His cloaked Servant materialised in a cloud of smoke, darting towards the Executors at blinding speed. While they attempted to block or counter-attack, the Servant's thin blade slashed too quickly to see, sending two men toppling into the dirt. The final Executor stood in silence, watching as Francois departed with a look of intense hatred etched across his face. He had been the one to order Gautier's surrender. For a few moments, the armoured Servant stood behind him, close enough to end his life if he chose to.

"You've been given another chance by my Master," he said, not unkindly. "Use it well."

With that, he disappeared. Three Executors lay dead in a field marked with craters and burns from the brief but intense fight. The Church had began making arrangements for a cover-up the moment they realised the fighting had begun. The familiar sounds of the city drifted back into hearing; cars, voices, construction work - all had been muted within the confines of the Bounded Field. The first blows of the Sixth Holy Grail War had been struck in this brief exchange, its Masters and Servants using this as an appetiser for the carnage to come.