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Cycle I - Aὐτοκράτωρ (6)

A café in central Kaunas, Lithuania. November 12, afternoon.

Krum wasn't paying much attention to the conversation between his master and the other man. He had deemed that man to not be a threat, or at most a threat his master could deal with on his own. That did not mean Krum trusted the man, or that his servant wasn't a threat, only that there were more pressing matters. It was cold. Very much so. And his master had bought him clothes so he could materialise, as he 'didn't like talking to himself'. It might seem foolish at first, but it would be advantageous if he required aid. Every single nanosecond could mean the difference between life and death. Nevertheless, he wished there were better options. These clothes were dreadful... Where were all the furs? Why couldn't he wear his warm caftan instead of this so-called 't-shirt'? He understood the changes as a servant, but he was still allowed to cast curses on this new age where a Khan's master cannot simply take a measly mink scarf out of a commoner's store. He wasn't even allowed to drink his wine on Nikephoros' lovely skull. So many restrictions for one as mighty as he was, but alas, that was the way of the Grail. Once they won, Ognyan would become his loyal councillor and he would rule as Khan again. For now, it was his duty as the Servant Avenger to obey his master.

Still, he couldn't help but laugh at the situation. This bureaucracy of a Magic Association his master had told him about and was discussing with that pale man was some foolish buffoonery. The highest magus in the realm was the Khan. Rituals of Tengri were performed by the Khan for that reason, of course, it was his right and his duty. Krum had never taken much of an interest in magic, but he still learned the rituals he had needed to learn. The greeks, in particular, were frightened of them. It seems they used to keep their magic secret under their church and their Emperors, and most didn't use magic at all. Preposterous! The Khan should be connected to the gods and all the people must know and acknowledge him! So it was easy for him to accept his master's wish of destroying this Magic Association and restoring real magic. Krum laughed and ordered more wine, stopping his thoughts in their tracks to listen to his master's conversation.

"Nah, you don't have to worry about him, he's not a master like the other three, and I left him a little gift, I think he won't give anyone trouble." The man with the light blue hair, Fyodor, he thought, was speaking. "The other three are the ones we need to think about. They're the cronies of the Association. You've met Hubert, his servant is Rider." There was a folder in the table, with files about these people they talked about, and their cups of coffee were set to the side. Only Krum was eagerly awaiting his wine. "That Rider is some greek general or emperor. My specialty." He smiled as his glass of wine was refilled. The other two laughed, and Fyodor continued. "Then there's Imaal and Alqasr. They bring relics of Ireland and the Maghreb with them, but I haven't been able to ascertain what servants they wish to summon, only that their classes are Lancer and Caster." 

Ognyan skimmed through the folders and looked deep in thought. "And how do you know all of this?" Fyodor grinned and leaned closer. "I was hoping you'd ask me this one! Why, of course, the city is full of spies. The Association thinks they're working for them, but they're all deserters, they're all my people. So, I know the movements of every master in town. Of course, only a few servants have been summoned, and I don't know what's up with the abnormality in your servant's class, but still, it's pretty good. I'm barred from spying on the church, though. This here is the supervisor." He produced another folder from a compartment in his camouflaged vest. "Janusz Mazur. He's polish, was moved here at the request of the church a few years ago. I think he's not up to anything, but you never know. I can't be sure whether they'd side with us or the Association, specially after your little stunt in the museum, so it's best if you don't go there." He sighed. "And that's it, not much more intel I can offer. The servants that have already been summoned are mine, yours, Rider and Assassin, but Assassin's master seems to be as elusive as the class. With Caster and Lancer also accounted for, that leaves only Saber and Archer, but one of those probably had their slots overwritten by your Avenger."

"Just be there tonight, it'll be fun. We have a common cause, so don't worry, I really won't betray you." Fyodor had gotten up, but Ognyan held him by his arm. "And your servant? Why are they not here? What is their identity?" The pale man looked grimly at Ognyan after that question, but soon opened a grin. "That's why I sought an alliance. It seems I drew the short end of the stick in that one, my Berserker is Charlie Chaplin... Yeah... He doesn't even talk to me, some kind of weird mad enhancement. His parameters are terrible anyways, so I just let him chill at home for now, but I'll try to bring him for tonight, don't worry." Ognyan let his arm go and he walked off, still grinning. "Master, do you trust this man?" Ognyan signaled negatively with his head and shrugged. "But it's the best we can do. His motives seem reasonable and his objective is the same as ours. Can you do some rituals for protection just in case we get attacked?" This situation had the distinct makings of a trap, but he had escaped worse ambushes in life. Krum nodded, satisfied, and gulped down his glass of wine.

Vytauto Didžiojo universiteto botanikos sodas, Kaunas, Lithuania. November 12, afternoon.

"Master, I know I acknowledged you as my soldier, but this is insane!" Basil walked among the flowers and gestured as he shouted. "For all we know this friend of yours could be leading us into our deaths! A note! You don't even know whether he wrote it or not! How could you possibly accept something like this?!" His master sighed and looked dejected. Maybe he was tired of getting berated, but Basil didn't care. If he was tired, maybe he should stop acting like an idiot. "Ok, Rider, I know it sounds suspicious, but I know Pranciškus. This is the kind of thing he would do. He chose not to be a master because he knows he isn't first rate magus material. He cares too much for that son of his, and he's sent us all notes so many times. I just... It's him, and I trust him. I wouldn't trust Kahina and Ruairí now that they are masters, but Pranciškus isn't involved like that... Maybe you want to go pay him a visit before we go to this meeting?"

It was true that this first part hadn't been an ambush, and this sealed ward of the greenhouse in the Botanical Garden of this city really was this Pranciškus' workshop, there was no way Basil could trust that other message they'd found here. Going to a meeting with an enemy, even if it was brokered by an alleged ally was suicide at this point. He paced back and forth along the shelves and flowers. "No, but I go to this meeting alone. I can fight back any ambush, and you should stay back. This poison won't affect me if that is the trap." His master looked slightly less dejected. If there really was a trap, that would show him, not to trust blindly in his ‘allies’. Maybe this Pranciškus could be his master's Bardas Skleros. Basil smiled and looked out the glass panes at the lowering sun. "I'll leave you in some place nearby so you can watch the situation and I shall meet our enemies as Emperor."

If his master wanted to trust this, then so be it, but he would have to stay out of the trap, if there was one. This very workshop could've been the trap, and they had already been too careless. It looked like magical poisons were being brewed here, using the botanical garden as supply. This Pranciškus seemed like an elusive and resourceful man, and resourceful men were the least trustworthy people in this world, surpassed perhaps only by women. After this meeting, maybe he could elucidate his master's concept of trust. It was all very suspicious for him, but, in the end, it seemed to work. This night they would go to the meeting place and have a supervised bout with the man that had destroyed the museum, and, if Basil had his way, only he and his master would walk out of it alive, after all, if Hubert's friend was getting involved in the war, he must be a master himself, yes, Basil would probably have his guard wipe out both this man Pranciškus and the Bulgar that had destroyed the museum.

[fateascensor]

Cycle I - Aὐτοκράτωρ (5)

Velnių Muziejus, Kaunas, Lithuania. November 12, late morning.

"I don't sense a servant. What exactly are we doing here, Master?" Avenger asked through their telepathic connection, remaining incorporeal. They were at the Devil's Museum, in the outskirts of the same War Museum that had been partially destroyed in the previous night. Surrounding them were statues and paintings of demons and pagan monsters displaying various levels of the grotesque. Almost all presented deformities. Some were local. Some from Scandinavia. Some from other countries of the former USSR. Some were eastern and some were of the New World. Some were musicians, some were dictators. Some were arctifacts. Some had originally been worshipped as gods and had incredible magical energy imbued in them. Some were fake trinkets. Some were fun and some were disturbingly horrifying. Masks hung from the walls and jeered at the visitors. The sound of their footsteps on the soft red carpet sounded mismatched and added to the atmosphere. No music played.

"I am after a new amulet... Pagan Gods were considered devils once, and I thought to find something of my grandfather's old gods... But there seems to be nothing." Ognyan looked through the vitrine depicting some demons of eastern origin. He recognised some japanese tengu and indian and asura masks, but the closest to his own culture was a mongolian mask of Erlik, which his grandfather had told him was a very terrible demon. Of course, the Tengriist pantheon varied in an infinity of ways among the peoples of the steppes. "In my time religion was declining, but I am still the Khan, and the Khan must know his gods. That is Erlik, the God of Death." Krum chimed in, to Ognyan's relative surprise. "God of Death? Isn't he a demon?" He could feel as if his servant were scoffing. "You could put it that way, yes, but some of my subordinate priests made sacrifices for Erlik as well as I made them for Tengri. The gods all had to be appeased and all that. I just did it to scare the greeks."

Ognyan chose to respect what his grandfather had told him and ignored that mask. He had already ruined one museum, there was no need to ruin this one as well. Not yet, at least. "There is another reason we came here, Avenger." Ognyan walked back down the stairs. They were in the third floor of the museum, and he was after something in the first floor. "Pranciškus Arlauskas. A contact from the Clock Tower. He was older than me when I was forced to go there, and a first rate magus. It looks like he runs this museum. He has to be involved in the war. We can... Inquire." As they moved to the first floor, he could hear some distinct voices. He understood some lithuanian, and the knowledge of the land given to the grail by Avenger allowed him to comprehend as well. 

"Dad, can I put this one on? I think it fits." 

"Yeah, let's listen to this one!" 

"No, the museum is meant to be quiet, Gintaras. You can go play in one of your friends' houses." 

That statement led to protests from the others. It seemed To Ogynan that the father was Pranciškus, but something was off. The entire situation just seemed too unlike a magus for a Clock Tower underling. He reached the first floor and entered the museum's store, where the voices came from. A bespectacled balding man sat on the other side of the counter, reading a newspaper, and three kids surrounded him. They looked young, maybe not even twenty years old. One was taking the front and talking to the man, with an usb drive in his hands. As Ognyan made his way past some russian tourists looking at the merchandise, it seemed like time had frozen. The man, who really was Pranciškus, looked up from his paper and tensed his brow at the sight of the newcomer. The three kids stopped and stared as well. The tourists' chatter felt distant. And Ognyan felt a hand tapping at his shoulder.

His father had finally looked away from the newpaper, but not at Gintaras or his friends. They were looking at what had captured the attention of Pranciškus as well. A man had entered the store. Something about him bothered them all. He didn't look like a tourist. No, he didn't look particularly different, he just didn't feel like a tourist. Something about the man made Gintaras feel threatened. He side-eyed his friends. Martynas just looked impatient, he probably wanted to take them to his house already and play the new album of their favourite band since they couldn't do it here. Viltė looked scared. Her face was the same bored look, but Gintaras could tell she was clutching her sleeves away from anyone's sight. He looked back at Pranciškus. His father seemed transfixed, as if this man was something not of this world. The man didn't seem to come any closer, and his father didn't seem to ask him anything. This was clearly not just another customer, he could tell. And it got worse as out of nowhere another man appeared from behind the first. This one captured their attention with his appearance. Young, with light blue hair, but so pale. And he was dressed in a camouflaged jacket and pants, giving his outfit a military look in contrast to his strange, almost feeble demeanor. He tapped the other man's shoulder and whispered something to him. The flow of time seemed to come back to normal. Gintaras realised he had been holding his breath and let the air go. That made his father look back to his newspaper. Or maybe it had just been the men turning to leave.

"Do... You know them?" He asked his father. "Just some idiots, don't mind them." Pranciškus now looked unfazed and only paid attention to his paper, but Gintaras noticed as the blue-haired man turned to face them again. The man smiled at Gintaras. Martynas was telling him and Viltė to come to his house, but he wasn't listening. And his friends weren't looking. It was not a smile. A grin, maybe. It wasn't threatening, but it was the least genuine smile Gintaras had seen since fifth grade. The man produced something from his jacket, maybe a piece of paper, and placed it in one of the shelves, between some little statuettes of trolls and an ornamented pipe from South America. The man turned again to leave, and Gintaras just stared at him.

He came back to the real world as Martynas grabbed his arm. "Come on, don't you want to feel the metal run through your veins?" Viltė rolled her eyes and his father just flipped to the next page. "Come back for dinner, son. No parties until you're done with the last weeks of school." Gintaras assented with his head and looked at his friends. Did everyone really intend to ignore those strange happenings? Maybe he really was going crazy. Only one way to know. "Let's go. Bye, dad." He started to walk towards the exit, through the same corridor the men had been in. His steps felt heavy and his mind was a whirlwind. Near the place the man had smiled at him, he slowed down. He had to be sure. Seeing it, he immediately resumed walking normally. He grabbed it. It really was a piece of paper. He wasn't going crazy just yet, but it was better to not let his dad know he had taken that note from the strange man, so he waited until they were out of the museum and halted his friends.

"What the fuck? Let's go, I want to hear the song about Barbatos already." Martynas really wanted to listen to that album, and it was at Gintaras' suggestion that they had agreed to listen to it together, but this was more important. He took a deep breath. "Are you okay? You're acting strange." Viltė looked more intrigued than worried. "Alright, guys, you saw those men, right? The way my father told us not to mind them and how weird they were? There's something really strange about it, right?" He gestured frantically, trying to get their attention. "I... guess? But can that be more important than Satanic Goetia's new album?" Another deep breath. He took the note from his pocket. "That man waited until I was the only one looking and left this in one of the shelves. I know what you're thinking but I'm not joking here. Don't you want to know what it says?" Viltė shrugged. Martynas sighed. Gintaras rolled his eyes and unfolded the note. "W-What?" They all leaned in to look closer. "This better not be a prank..." Written in red, in what they could only assume to be blood, in capital letters, was the word BASEMENT. "Cool... I mean... If it's not a prank, we're all into this kinda twisted shit, right? I concede, buddy, we need to look down in your basement, this might actually be cooler than listening to a concept album about the Goetic demons. It's not a prank is it?"

Martynas had done a complete 180 on his position, but Gintaras didn't like this. "The basement is... Not allowed... We can't just go there. Dad lets me hang around the museum and we have our living space, but he's told me several times that the basement is just, like, off-limits, no-go zone." Martynas beamed with excitement at every word. "That's really cool, dude! Come on! Maybe we'll find an actual demon there!" Viltė was gripping her sleeves again. "I think we should go. Maybe it'll be fun, and you were the one who stopped us at first, Gin. It seemed important to you." She was being kind, but this had gone out of hand. Whatever was in his father's basement, it was none of his business. "Let's just listen to the album, please." But he had to resign as Martynas grabbed him by the wrist and led him to the back of the museum. "Come on, you can't tease us with something so potentially cool and just cockblock us from seeing it. Plus, I know the way in, so it's not like you have a say in this one." They approached the door that led to the house of the Arlauskas family, attached to the museum. Gintaras shook his head wondering if there was really no way out of this. His father might seem distant and uncaring, but he respected him. He worked really hard maintaining the museum to pay for his sister's education abroad, and the school Gintaras and his friends went to was not cheap either. Viltė looked at him as if to say nothing was going to happen and to just get on with it quickly so Martynas would stop being euphoric and they would once more be able to discuss their favourite esoteric hobbies to the sound of their favourite demonic metal. They had completely resigned to their friend's enthusiasm.

Getting into his house, which his friends had visited many times and just threatend to break into, Gintaras led them to the basement. Going past the living room and across the kitchen there was the locked door that led down. "Do you have the key?" He had never been to the basement before, but Gintaras nodded and walked back to the entrance of the kitchen. One time in the night when he was little, he had gone to the bathroom in the middle of the night and had ended up seeing his father take the key and rush to the basement. In a drawer, under some layers of cutlery, there it was, the key to the basement. Martynas took it out of his hand immediately and rushed to the door. At that moment, he regretted letting his friend walk over him like that, however, Martynas' hastiness to get the door open was the thing that had saved his and Viltė's lives.

Martynas swung it open and before any of them could react, he was on the ground, frothing at the mouth. A small dart lodged on his neck. He convulsed. Viltė opened her mouth as if to scream and held her sleeves tight enough to get her nails through the fabric, but no sound came through her mouth. Gintaras fell on his knees. After 3 seconds Martynas had stopped convulsing. He had stopped moving altogether. Gintaras and Viltė were too shocked to go any closer. They knew it. They were consumed by fear and frozen before that primordial instinct of fight or flight kicked in. They knew they had done nothing to help their friend and they knew he was dead. But all that was really on their minds was the need to escape. To survive. They heard a scream from inside the basement. Then they heard the back door being swung open and at the same time ran over their friend's corpse and into the unknown that was the basement. They were more scared of whatever was coming in. Was it the blue-haired man? Was it Pranciškus? All in Gintaras' mind was to escape it. It didn't matter what it was. And the one who had screamed, the one inside the basement. Were they going to be trapped? Could they escape somehow? In their subconscious, they knew that there was no escape from this situation, and if there was, their lives would change forever.

In fact, by the time Pranciškus found Martynas' body, his son's life was already at the point of drastic change.

[fateascensor]

Cycle I - Aὐτοκράτωρ (4)

Vytauto Didžiojo Karo Muziejus, Kaunas, Lithuania. November 11, evening.

Reining in his horse and stopping in the rooftop of a building close to the museum, Rider got down from it and screamed in frustration at his master's protest. "Where are we going?!" and "Rider, stop!" were words he had heard enough of today for his first life and his entire time as a servant, however long this one might be. He turned back as his master got down. Guillaume was taller than him, but that wouldn't matter to a servant. He grabbed his master by the collar and lifted him from the ground. "Rider, what are you doing, don't make me-" Rider threw him across the rooftop. "You already used a command spell, don't you remember?! Do you want to run out of them?!" Shouting, he walked up to his master, who was trying to get up, and slapped his face, throwing him down again. "You are a coward! An unworthy subject! Worse! An unworthy soldier! Weakling! Coward! My Guard wouldn't be able to clean your blood off their axes because you would die just from hearing their battlecry! You can do whatever you want in your cowardice after we get the grail, but do not dare cower before the enemy like that again!" His master was reduced to tears, looking from Rider to his hand, to the ground, he cried. Rider sighed and helped him up. "Look at me, Master." Taking a few steps back to give his master breathing room, he grabbed his mantle and threw it on the floor. He took his crown and did the same. "I was born to this. To the court, to the banquets, to the sweet life of an Emperor. Do you see my mantle? I was born in the purple, but my life was and is that of a soldier. You can insult my rule, but do not insult my prowess. I understand there are great fears in a man's life, Master, but there are times in which we must rise to face them."

"If you choose not to face your fears in your life, then it is your problem, I won't, as Emperor, tell you to do so. But in battle we are soldiers of my army, and you will behave as such and you will not fear the enemy but strike fear in them, whatever they might be." He took out his sword. "Come here, Master. Hold this weapon." Hubert approached cautiously. He had stopped crying, but he was still trembling a little. He took the sword by the handle and seemed surprised by its weight. "Do you like the feeling of a sword in your hand?" His master shook his head once. It seemed he couldn't even muster a whisper. "It matters not. Not all soldiers enter the fray for their love of weaponry or battle. Starting tomorrow we will train like soldiers. We can take a sword from the museum for you. Your magic is no good if you can't use it. Your familiars couldn't approach this museum and you say the fool inside isn't even a proper mage." His master gulped, but nodded. Rider turned his back to him and closed his eyes, touching his face in thought. "You mustn't forget that I am not only my bellic accomplishments, Master, I was the Emperor, I, Basileios II, was the Aὐτοκράτωρ, and one of the best, one of the few not to disgrace the Empire. I will command you as a soldier, and you will obey, but I shall listen to your counsel." Rider faced his master and motioned for him to speak.

"I... I'm s-sorry, Rider... For m-my cowardice." His master was trying to stop shaking. The relationship between master and servant had effectively been reversed, to Guillaume's shock. He straightened up a bit, but still shifted his look away from Rider, darting across the rooftop and the buildings behind his servant. "You want to fight the magus in the museum, right? Let's go. I'll train with you. I'll be your soldier. I'm sorry... I... I will kill him for you if that's what you want. Just... We need to cooperate, if we want to get the grail..." Rider sighed. Magi were all the same, always this way, afraid of being put on the spot, too scared of losing. "That'll have to do. It's alright, Master, I don't expect you to meekly obey my every command and run into the museum with a sword to stab the man inside it. You need time to recover, so stay here. I'll go in and get rid of him. I'll get in from above so you can send a familiar to watch from the distance if you wish. I don't expect it to take too long." Rider gave a curt laugh and patted his master on the back, taking back his sword and heading to his horse, but his master held him. "I... Want to come, Rider. Shouldn't a soldier pick his own sword?" Rider looked back at him and smiled. "No, not really, but if you are ready to show some fighting spirit, hop on."

His collection was now complete. After a few visits to the university and one prominent private collector, Ognyan was satisfied. He had visited the city of Kaunas once before, and the museum was, for him, its crown jewel, and that's where he gathered his treasures, adding to the museum's already vast assortment of items associated with its namesake, Vytautas the Great. As soon as he knew there was to be a war in Kaunas, Ognyan Petrov Kaloyanchev knew he'd win. He didn't care whether it was a real Holy Grail War or a false one, nor did he have a particular wish for the grail, but he was determined to win, driven by his spite towards the Magic Association. He needed to prove how useless the Clock Tower was. Maybe he should've gone to one of the other branches, but his father never wanted him mingling with the northerners or the alchemists, so he was sent off. The first of his line to go, in fact. He hated it, but his grandfather had passed away and his father didn't know what he was doing. In the Tower, Ognyan liked to think he had not learned anything besides irrelevant theory. He didn't want to know everything about how magic worked, about how prana behaved, about the root. Everything he knew, his grandfather had taught him, in the traditional ways. He knew how to cast his spells and he knew the mythical lore behind it, and that's all that mattered.

However, without his time at the Tower, Ognyan would never had known about the Grail War, or servants, or ley lines, and he might never had visited Kaunas. The war museum was his favourite place in the city not just because of its historic importance, but also because it was built over a ley line. His grandfather had taught him about magical places where your magecraft would be stronger, but he couldn't explain why it happened. Now Ognyan knew how to best use his magical energy, and planned on drawing from the multiple catalysts and the ley line to summon his servant. In the Holy Grail War, seven servants, heroic spirits drawn from the Throne of Heroes in many forms and placed, through the Holy Grail, into containers for seven classes. If a servant in summoned in their homeland or in a place where their legend had more impact, they'll be able to get to levels of strength close to the original spirits in the Throne of Heroes, for the servants are just representations of these. Ognyan's plan was to summon a Rider class servant very particular to the land, in the very museum named after him, within the country in which he is revered as a national hero: Grand Duke Vytautas the Great of Lithuania.

The museums itself might be catalyst enough, but Ognyan had to be sure no one else would summon this servant, of course. Those Magic Association dogs will bring their own catalysts, but someone else could try to summon a hero of the land. He just had to do it first, and on that night, he made his summoning circle.He had no intention to talk to the supervisor; the Holy Church was no better than the Association. He would summon his servant, the strongest possible in this land, and he would destroy all other participants. He would speak to the supervisor after winning, just to get the Grail, and then he would leave that dog and his Grail too. He just had to win.

Looking at his beautiful collection of catalysts and his summoning circle, Ognyan grinned. This war would be a piece of cake. Then a horse crashed through the roof.

In truth, Guillaume Hubert was still numb from being berated and humiliated by his servant. He thought about his tears and about his phobia. He thought about what it meant to be a soldier for his servant. He was still afraid, but he decided to fight. Rider was right, if they were to win the grail, he had to fihgt. Anything that came. He would face his fears. But wait... Did Rider really mean this when he said he'd enter from above? He had hopped onto the back of his servant's mount and was holding on tight as it galloped across the rooftop. This building faced the back of the museum, and it seemed like that was really the plan. The horse leapt across the sky. In fact, Hubert hadn't thought of how they'd wound up in that rooftop, but for a servant, crossing this distance was nothing, much less for a Rider in his mount. Hubert held his scream and braced for impact. Like a missile the horse targeted the area they'd thought the potential master was in. And it crashed through.

"Aaaaaahhhhh!" He could not stifle that scream as debris flew all over and they fell. Looking down he saw a scruffy man looking up confused from his summoning circle. He was about to summon his servant and they needed to be fast. The horse crashed still standing across from the man, on the other side of the magic circle. The man got up and opened his arms with a grin. "Ha! I didn't even have to finish! Wait..."

"Master, go find yourself a sword." Rider asked and he got down from the horse and ran to the nearest sword. The hall was full of assorted relics belonging to the namesake of the museum, which that man intended to use as catalysts. He was probably crazy, he couldn't possibly have expected to go unnoticed. Hubert grabbed a shortsword adorned with jewels and lifted it with both hands. He could use this. It looked well maintained and it was polished, maybe it was a replica. He turned to face their enemy.

"You're not my servant! How dare you disrupt my summoning, dog of the magic association!? Dori v ada, pederast!" The man screamed at them, and Rider charged. His paramerion aimed at the man's chest, it should cut through with the force of the charge and the sheer magical power. But, as fast as the servant was, his sword didn't reach that man. After screaming his insults, he beat his fist against his chest, in what seemed to Hubert a tribal, feral motion, but he hadn't seen what was on the man's chest. A pendant. Gem magic, then. The pendant exploded and waves of fire were sent across the hall in all directions. Hubert moved to hide behind a pillar, but noticed the pillars were all falling. The man was bringing the room down with him. That explosion and that fire. There could be no way he had survived, but he was trying to kill a master with him, at least. That pendant stored enough mana to destroy the entire museum, so he couldn't just run now. Hubert turned to the flames and held up his sword. It felt heavy, and the room was hot. He screamed at the flames and focused his magical energy on the sword. Maybe he could blast them away.

"You idiot!" Hubert felt himself be pulled up. His servant had grabbed him from behind and thrown him on the horse. As a typhoon of flames engulfed the museum, Rider took them out through the roof and landed safely in the yard that surrounded the museum. "My words haven't been misinterpreted this horribly since I took down Bardas' rebellion!" His words were tough, but, this time, Rider was smiling. "Maybe you can make a good soldier after all!" Hubert laughed, but he remembered something that brought him out of his moment. This was the consequence of holding a ritual in such a large city. The agents of the magic association were ready to cover the participation of magi in the fire, but a succession of disasters was sure to befall Kaunas before the war was over. It would be suspicious. Not enough to hinder the cover up, but suspicious. "We need to check the damage before we go, Rider." His servant nodded and rode them back to the center of the blast.

"Govno, govno, govno!" He had to use his trump card on the first encounter with a servant and now grandpa's pendant was gone, along with all his catalysts. Charred. Burnt. By his little flame. Of course, he was unscathed, the rune that his grandfather had carved in his back guaranteed so. His very identity guaranteed so. Fire was his blood, and his body, and his mind. Thanks to grandpa. Ognyan sighed and searched for his pack of cigarettes in his jacket, but before he could take it out, he froze. The rubble was moving. The explosion and fire had left the museum with a huge hole in the middle, no walls, no roof, only rubble. His catalysts were burnt and buried and he didn't finish his summoning ritual. Maybe he really didn't have to. Out of the rubble came a man. He shook off the rubble and laughed. "Now this! This is a grand summoning! What's all this destruction? Oh, you, come here, are you my Master?"

The man had a prominent, aquiline nose, and an equally prominent beard, and upon his head was an open helm, coated with gold and with a black feather pointing up from it. His piercing eyes reflected the fire and for a moment they seemed to be red. Maybe that would fit. It would even be a good contrast to that other servant's blue irises. But Ognyan's own eyes couldn't linger on the man's face. They were drawn elsewhere. On the man's belt, there was a human skull. He remembered his childhood and the stories his grandfather would tell him, of a time long gone. He blinked. The man wasn't wearing armor, but a deep red caftan brocaded in purple and yellow. On the other side of his belt, some sort of mace of morningstar. Standing atop the rubble was his servant. Not Vytautas the Great, not a servant related to this land, but one related to his own. He thanked grandpa again, for teaching him of his people.

"So, are you? We don't have all day." The servant brought him out of his blissful thoughts. "I am, my Khan." He laughed. His servant laughed as well. "How pleasant! You are of my people! Of course you are! And you're fighting my enemies! That's the only reason I answered your summons, but I must admit, that offer of jewelry was fit for my Empire. Now, Master, here they come, so bask in the glory of my abilities! Bask in the glory of Servant Avenger, the Emperor of Bulgars, Krum of house Dulo, as I slay another roman on this day!" And they were coming. That Rider came with his master mounted behind him, and the master seemed shocked to see him there. He knew they had survived, but the reverse was not true. Amusing. Truly amusing. Ognyan took the pack out of his jacket and grabbed himself a cigarette. Lighting it with his finger, he put the cigarette in his mouth and breathed. "No. Let us leave this battle for another day, my Khan. I've already used my trump card, and if that's a greek general, we can make him angry just by escaping. You know more than anyone, Avenger, that wars don't end in a single battle." The word Avenger felt strange in his mouth. That was a special class, but he didn’t really care. He had summoned a great servant, and he was happy they could crush the magic association together.

Avenger laughed heartily and put his hands on his waist. "Very well, Master, we can leave them to quarrel by themselves and reap the fruits later to achieve victory. Let's go." Ognyan moved towards his servant and with a gesture sent a new wave of flames upon the rubble, obscuring the field of vision with fire and dust. The other servant could still sense his, but the master would be unable to see a thing, and that was their objective. They heard the master pleading for his servant to stop and think, and the servant shouting, but all Ognyan could make out of it was curses. Nodding to his servant, they ran before the other one could pursue.

[fateascensor]

Cycle I - Imperator (3)

Outskirts of Kaunas, Lithuania. November 11, early evening.

Rider stepped over the grass as the sun faintly illuminated the run down house in front of them. A perfect hideout with a strong magical presence. Rider wasn't sure if it was a servant, but it felt like a threat. "We must enter, Master."

But Hubert would not move. His master was carefully looking at the inscriptions on the gate of the mansion. The hanging golden letters on the right side read "ИРИ". There used to be more letters before that, but they were gone now. As was most of the house, for that matter. Maybe those letters meant something for his master, but for him, the only thing that mattered about that old house was the strong presence coming from within. "Master, if you do not enter, I will." His master moved as if to stop him, but gave in and let him go. As soon as he stepped through the gate he felt his skin crawl. The front doors creaked as a gust of wind slowly opened them, some frail and rotten pieces of wood falling to the ground. Going in started to feel like a bad idea, maybe he should just activate his noble phantasm and just raze it to the ground. He looked back at his master, who seemed to have steeled himself and gone through the gates. He would find it pathetic for a grown man to be so frightened, but he could feel it too. He, a servant, felt horror from this house.

Stepping into the main hall, Rider and Hubert were hit by something even more terrible. The smell. Rotten. Everything was rotten. The foundation of the mansion was rotten. The doors were rotten. The walls were rotten. The stairs were rotten. The very stone was rotten. His master coughed as he had to breathe in this rotten air. "Rider, let's do this as fast as we can." The servant nodded. They could both feel the presence and the stench growing stronger with each step towards the stairs. He could jump to the second floor and take his master, as the steps that led up had given way long ago, but no, the presence was somewhere below. His master pointed him a trap door under the stairs. Some sound came out of it. The sound of something being crushed. Mashed. Mowed down multiple times. A crack and a bang. A laugh. "Open it, Rider!"

Rider did so, and his master immediately regretted even coming to this mansion. Guillaume's skin, too, had been crawling, and his stomach was turned by the rot that hanged around the house, but nothing could prepare him for what he felt. He had seen death before, he had killed before, it was a trivial thing. But not like this. This was too much. The smell was too much. He vomited on the the mansion floor, and fell down on his knees. Down below was the set of cement stairs that was uncovered by his servant, and in that cellar they led to, there was a pile of old, rotting, mangled corpses. It would be impossible to tell how many there were, or who they had been. Bones were mashed against each other, cracked and broken against the sometimes green, sometimes purple, sometimes still crimson flesh, and the dark blood that stained the floor reflected the thing. That thing could not be a servant, it was not possible. It was not an animal either, or human. It was built like a huge man, with even larger arms, but it was covered in fur. Hubert couldn't make out eyes, but the head had a snout, and ears, and horns. It was a demon. It had to be. Some unnatural aberration. And standing in front of it was a man. A pale man with light blue hair was holding up a severed leg for the creature to feed upon. He had to do something. That thing needed to be purged from the face of the earth, servant, demon or aberration.

Before either of them could react, however, the thing screamed. That sound was almost worse than the smell. He couldn't bear it. His servant seemed ready to spring into action, but he couldn't find the strength to get up. And as Rider gave him a condescending look and bolted down the stairs, he heard a voice from the basement. It was a human voice. Not the guttural sound that chilled his bones even further, it was the man speaking now. "No, not yet, Berserker, it isn't time! Rise, Vrediteli!" He screamed. And then choked. He hit himself and rolled on the ground. He couldn't hear anything coming from the cellar anymore, or even feel the terrible stench of blood and corpses or the rot of the house. All his senses but one were subdued. All his mind could perceive was touch. His skin was, in fact, crawling. Hundreds, thousands, millions of arthropods swarmed over him. He couldn't breathe. He could feel tiny legs and wings rubbing over every inch of his body. A faint thought crossed his mind, but he couldn't focus. He couldn't think enough to use magic. He couldn't scream, they would get into his mouth and it would be over. Insects, insects, insects, pests. He should've stayed away from the house, he should have heeded the warning. How could he have known? His greatest fear. His complete torment. His mind was paralysed as his body stopped rolling and went stiff. He wanted to die. He wanted them to stop crawling. There was nothing he could do. He could not even roll on the floor anymore, all his will to react was gone. He hoped for death, longed for it. These few seconds seemed like decades to him. His thoughts were stilled and sealed away. All was fear. All was torment. He needed to die. To escape somehow. To end these things that crawled on him. To destroy these pests. Yes, that was a better wish than reaching the root. A wish...

"SAVE ME, RIDER!"

His hand burned as something crawled into his mouth and prickled his tongue and he vomited again. And then they were gone. In one sweep, his servant threw them off and picked him up. That's right, he could've rid himself of them too. Just blast them with gandr or protect himself with a rune. Basic magecraft. And he was unable even of that. His thoughts were still not clear. He realised he was crying, and that he could have prevented this, that his luck was damned, that he knew who the man in the mansion must be, that he had probably lost even his servant’s respect, everything came to him at once in a whirlwind. And his eyes went dark as Rider carried him off and away from the mansion, death and horror stalled at the door, choosing not to pursue them, this time.

[fateascensor]

Cycle I - Imperator (2)

London Luton Airport, England. November 11, afternoon.

She watched from a distance as the two magi moved through the airport. They seemed resignated, they had come here to kill each other. Of course, there was no killing intent, but they were headed for Kaunas, in Lithuania, where the first Holy Grail War was set to happen after the destruction of the Holy Grail in the Far East during the third time the ritual was fulfilled. The magi were two who had taken place in the recreation of this ritual; Ruairí Balor Uí Mháil and Kahina Alqasr. They were both ranked as Brands in the Magic Association, but after the recreation of the Grail had been accomplished by them and Guillaume Hubert with help of the Church, all three were raised to the highest ranking, Grand.

As she followed unseen with her companion’s mobile bounded field, she knew they would have trouble to take them down, but that it was fully necessary. She recalled what she had overheard back in the Clock Tower three days ago. “The opposition has been quelled. The Association has decided.” Kahina had said in her curt tone. Hubert gave an indifferent mutter, but Ruairí laughed. “Of course it has! It’s too big an opportunity. And our relics are too good to ignore. Is Pranciškus ready yet?” Hubert sighed at him. “Yes, he’s ready to provide the land, just as I and the Holy Church provided the vessel and you two designed our command spells. Do I need to explain the entire ritual to you again, imbécile?”

Eavesdropping was the favourite passtime of the girl and her friends, but she never thought they would’ve found out something so important. Most of the time it was just petty secrets, but this time it was something personal to her, after all, she was an Edelfelt. Her family had been involved in the Third Holy Grail War, the last one until now, which became complete carnage after Darnic Prestone Yggdmillennia attempted to steal the Holy Grail with help of the Third Reich. Of course, Darnic had perished, but his clan, which was an amalgamation of many families, found a way to thrive afterwards. In fact, this was also personal for one of her friends, Mihai Dragoș Yggmillennia, one of the actual romanian members of the clan, who studied with her in the Association.

But they would have never known about this without the help of the third member of their group, Aydın Kokytos Dulkadir. Originally from a greek family settled in eastern Anatolia with a deep-rooted tradition, he was now part of a turkish clan, as the greeks were swallowed up by history in Asia Minor. His family was a declining part of the Dulkadir clan, but Aydın possessed a very unique ability. An almost flawless, practically undetectable bounded field of presence concealment. Of course, while it was nothing compared to what the skill of the Assassin Class could do, it was enough for them to learn the petty secrets of the higher ups in the association.

“Hey, Sini, do you think we can stop them from boarding the flight?” Mihai brought her out of her thoughts. Unlike Sinikka Edelfelt, the Yggdmillennia magus was very eager. He had been the first of them to find a catalyst, bringing it within three hours after they knew about the ritual. A cross made of materials from a stake once used by the terrible tyrant of his country, Vlad Țepeș, the infamous Count Dracula. She and Aydın had brought catalysts too, but it was hard for them to get things, even with well-connected families. They had to hide their true purpose, or their families would surely send more skilled magi in their place.

“Yes, certainly!” Mihai beamed with joy, unable to comprehend her sarcasm.  Aydın came to the rescue. “Shut up, Mihai. Even if I wasn’t a third-rate magus, we’re still in training.”

“But! We’re going to the War! We wouldn’t be doing that if we were just kids!” He pouted at them, still concealed by Aydın’s bounded field. “We are just kids compared to them, Mihai. For one, we’ll let the servants do the killing, and only fight if necessary.” Sinikka didn’t lose her composure, but exuded somewhat of an air of annoyance as she ran her hand over the shining piece of metal in one of her pockets. It was supposedly from the inside of the Holy Crown of Hungary. She hoped to summon Corvinus or someone of at least equal standing… Since that one might make Mihai too happy.

Aydın was the most nervous of them. Going through with this plan and defying two Grands, even if not directly like Mihai wanted, he felt sick in his stomach. But he followed. Without him, the other two wouldn’t know, so he had to keep going. He had explained the situation honestly to his clan, which held no interest in the Holy Grail, preferring to conceal themselves in their own magecraft, and they had brought him an ancient relic from Persia, a fragment of a book, reportedly having belonged to Sabuktigin, the great conqueror of the Ghaznavid dynasty.

They made their move. It was a very simple plan. They would infiltrate the airplane being used by the two Grands and use a potent poison on their food to attack their magic circuits and make them dormant. The possibility that it would fail was big, but not enough to make them give up. In a worst case scenario they could use toxic gas against their targets. The Dragoș family was one of the most renowned poison makers in Europe, crafting them in all forms and functions. And if that didn’t work, they would surrender. Sinikka didn’t want to think of what would happen to them if they were caught, but the excitement of being in a Holy Grail War was enough to make her go through this. 

As Ruairí Uí Mhaíl looked at his watch and told an awkward joke, they left the bounded field with their backs turned to him and infiltrated the airplane.

Ruairí had just sighed. “Look, I know one of us will probably die, but, hey! Cheer up a bit, would you?” Normally, Kahina Alqasr would be able to put up with his obnoxious behaviour. He was a good research partner, and his craft was similar to her own. Today, she just ignored him and frowned. Something felt wrong. She stopped her thoughts. Of course something felt wrong, the command spells they had created weren’t fully implemented. They wouldn’t appear as the Grail chose the Masters, but only upon the servants’ actual summoning. It was a risk they had to take, otherwise the ritual might only be recreated in the next generation.

“Hey, Kahina, it’s our flight, let’s go. I’m kinda scared of flying so don’t be surprised if I scream or something.” It was, indeed, time to board their flight, and she could not shake off this feeling of uneasiness. It was not a long journey, and they should be at Kaunas soon. The Church and the Association’s contact had determined that it would be the best place to hold the War. It was… heavily populated, and the risk of involving innocents was high, but the ley lines were aligned too perfectly to pass. It was not a problem for her, as she had a catalyst associated with a Hochmeister of the Teutonic Knights, who were once very influential in the entire Baltic coastline, and, while it wasn’t in her plan to do so, if someone else involved innocents, it was none of her concern.

They took their seats. It was Ruairí’s idea to travel first class. Those seats were too comfortable, she thought. In her fortress in Morocco she would sleep in a bed of stone This was all of her own choice, of course, as part of her continuous training, and she didn’t mind indulging in this for once. Or so she had thought. It did not feel good. Not because of the excess comfort, but the feeling that there was something off kept growing inside her. She breathed in and took a hold of herself as the plane stabilised high in the air and a flight attendant offered them champagne and some appetizers. She really couldn’t eat, but she tried to look at the attendant with kindness…

“Wait…” She knew that face. She had seen him at the Clock Tower. She steeled herself and prepared to attack, but Ruairí diverted her attention for a split second. She shouldn’t have looked. He was making sounds and talking about how good the food was, and then he tried to scream and could not. He was choking to death. Maybe she should have picked a different research partner. She felt a gush of wind as she looked back. The flight attendant… No, the Yggdmillennia magus was gone. It didn’t matter, she would find him.

And that’s when Mihai Dragoș Yggdmillennia released his toxic gas.

Ruairí Balor Uí Mháil had choked. Not to death, but his lungs were attacked with his magic circuits, and he was unconcious just as his circuits were dormant. He would not breathe for a while, and was not inhaling the smoke, but Kahina Alqasr was completely vulnerable. Mihai had placed strategic triggers along the entire plane. Once released, the smoke would go free. He couldn’t confine it, so he had just protected himself, his companions and the innocent passengers in the back with magic.

He grinned. Now back into Aydın’s bounded field, he should be undetectable. Sini and Aydın were screaming at him. This wasn’t the plan. The three of them should have interacted exclusively with the food, but this was much better. It was training, for when they arrived in Kaunas. He ignored the other two and danced along the first class space. He looked at the woman now. She was standing, looking around herself. She seemed to be doing something… But it didn’t matter, the smoke would choke her soon. Her Magic Circuits were dormant already. The only problem was that this gas was worse than the liquid poison, so she might die.

Except, she wasn’t falling. Mihai tilted his head just in time to see as she looked directly into his eyes. He thought that was weird, since he should be concealed. And then he received a punch on his jaw and flew many meters backwards into the economy class.

“Gandr! That idiot! Aydın, help me here.” Sinikka and Aydın were trying to stop her. There was no more point in concealing themselves, and the woman seemed taken by some superhuman force. What was he thinking? She shouldn’t have come with them. She should’ve gone alone. A third-rate magus and a lunatic… How pleasant. Gandr. Gandr. Gandr. She shot many times and missed hem all. The other woman’s movements were incredibly fast. She wasn’t breathing, and her eyes showed no emotion. This was nothing like anything she had ever seen. Something in her mind told her that would be a new constant.

Aydın was trying to help, but he wasn’t much use without activating a bounded field before battle, and his spells were nigh ineffective. She had to focus. The other woman was a Grand, but she was currently not using magecraft. This was some sort of martial art. She wasn’t trained in any, nor were either of the other two. One of her relatives had showed her something once, when she was very young, but she didn’t remember it well. That woman’s hair had been really beautiful. Unlike hers, it was very long and its volume was really impressive. It was this strange thought that made her pay attention to the other woman’s movements. Her long, curly hair was moving beautifully too.

The movements were, at first, completely impossible to predict, but looking at the way Kahina’s hair flew, Sinikka was able to envision the trajectory in her mind. Maybe she still remembered something from that distant memory of her childhood. She lifted her finger, but the woman was too fast. There was no time to get her other spells prepared, and she would miss. Aydın couldn’t do anything now, and Mihai was probably incapacitated. The smoke would soon dissipate, and the Grand would annihilate them. No. She just needed the woman to get closer. She could see the fist connect with her throat and send her crashing up. Depending on the strength in that they could all die. The flutter of the stronger woman's hair guided her. She let the hit come. The woman’s arm was crossed with hers. It was time for the clutch shot. “Gandr!”

Sinikka Edelfelt fell backwards to avoid the hit. Had Kahina been concious, she would have killed the three of them, but she wasn’t. Her training was part of that. She let her own body do the fighting when that was a better option than using magecraft, or when there was no option. The bad part of this was that she had no mind to combat spells, such as the Gandr curse that had just hit her. She fell too, almost on top of Sinikka.

Mihai came walking back. “Ouch… That really hurt. I used suggestion on the other passengers and the crew, so don’t worry about that, but… How did it happen? Weren’t we invisible? Oh, and how long will these two be out? I’m gonna put them in the luggage compartment.” It took all of Aydın Kokytos Dulkadir’s restraint not to punch him in the face then and there, but not for Sinikka. She was starting to understand the dimension of what they were getting into, but she didn’t dare display it, so she simply sat there on the ground, waiting to plunge herself into the madness that was the Holy Grail War. She couldn’t believe she was alive.

[fateascensor]

Cycle I - Imperator (1)

Kaunas, Lithuania. November 11, afternoon.

Cautiously strolling through the corridors of the silent house, Guillaume Hubert could feel the stench of death. There was no blood anywhere, but the house’s former inhabitant was definitely dead. “Rider, do you feel any servants present?” He asked his unmaterialised servant telepathically. “Of course not, Master, but there’s a strong magical presence, and... There’s also the matter of Assassin.”

The Assassin class servants possessed the skill of presence concealment, which could become troublesome, but it seemed like this house was truly empty. After searching the whole place, Guillaume found it, the source of magical energy and the body of the possible master he’d been after. Although the body itself was destroyed, the face, contorted in fear, was not beyond recognition. “Tohsaka...” He whispered to himself. After the Third Holy Grail War in Fuyuki, the Three... No, the Two Great Families, as the Makiri had faded from the magic world, were angered at the attempts to recreate the Holy Grail War elsewhere.

Hubert had been one of the proponents of the first succesful attempt by the Magic Association to replicate the ritual, with help of the Church, and as such he had had access to some of the notes from the head of the Tohsaka house at the time, which deemed the destruction of the Holy Grail as something that should be celebrated. He couldn’t understand that, but it seems like the more recent generation of the Tohsakas couldn’t either. “Did they really think we wouldn’t notice when they got a house here in Kaunas?” There was no sign of Einzbern presence in the city, but they never wanted the ritual to stop, so it wouldn’t be surprising to see them here, but the Tohsaka family was unexpected.

“Hey, Master...” His servant materialised, without his mount. He was a middle aged man, sporting a dark, greying beard that would contrast with his shining blue eyes. He was clad in a beautiful tyrian purple mantle, and yellow and red-tinted armor, with a paramerion sword at his girdle and a round crown atop his head. “I think there’s more pressing matters here. A servant did this.”

Yes, a servant had done it. According to the information he got from the priest who was overseeing this and his familiars spying at the monastery, the only servants that had already been summoned besides his own Rider were Berserker and Assassin. Maybe going around killing potential masters was a popular tactic, but he wasn’t interfering with any of the other four masters sent by the Association, which he had already cut communications with. “...Merde” He had thought the situation would be somewhat more under his control. His servant leaned against the wall and sighed. “The body’s completely destroyed, but there’s no blood. It’s too strange. And it’s just...”

“Yes, I’ve noticed it, Rider.” The body wasn’t emitting magical energy, of course, it was just a dead body, no matter how mangled it might be, but instead of any gore there was only residual prana from whatever had killed this potential master, and it was too strong to be regular magic, no, this had been done by a servant. “Let’s just go to that area in the countryside, there’s probably a servant there, and later we can go after that idiot.”

“Alright, the servant in the south shouldn’t hold us up too much. There’s certainly enough time to come back to the museum and deal with that other man... Although, I really want to crush him, Master.” Rider dematerialised to follow Hubert as he walked out of the deserted house. “It certainly would be dangerous if he succeeded. Summoning a hero of this land would grant him a lot of power, but that hero’s strongest class would be Rider. Still, he has no right to take part in this war.”

That was certainly not why Rider wanted to crush that man, but the servant kept silent. He considered his master a worthy subject, yes, but not enough to fully trust him with his thoughts and impulses. Rider only wished to crush him because of who they were. It was simply in the nature of his legend. He didn't regret slaughtering the country of the potential master in the museum, in fact, taking it back was an integral part of his wish to restore the Empire. But still, it would be better if he were known for his more peaceful accomplishments as well. 

[fateascensor]

Ουρανός Teaser

In the dank basement waiting for the night, Berserker feasted upon the offerings its master brought. The monster danced in the dark. Its shape was not that of man, but something much more twisted. The monster had lost its pride, and felt only rage. It raged at the one that cast him down, raged at the ones who feared him in his prime and still carried rites for him in far corners of the Earth, raged at the whole world and at death itself, but did not turn its rage upon its master.

Monster or not, it had a wish for the Grail. In its current form, the monster would consume the offerings in their whole, it would eat and grow stronger and stronger, like an animal. It hated that, the sounds of bone cracking, nerves twisting, the blood being wasted. It wanted the souls, but its weak body couldn’t reap them. He wasn’t this. He had not been properly human, but the form his creations ascribed to him was heinous, and it wanted to stop being this monster. It wanted to stop shunning the light, it raged even at its black children, long forgotten.

“Berserker! The mansion is under attack!”

It looked up at its master and the now open door on top of the stairs. The monster understood it was to defend its master now, but still it feared and raged. It wanted more offerings, more souls, more power to win the grail and attain its wish. He would be restored, and then he would turn his rage towards his master and everyone else. And he would be respected and dreaded all over the continent once more, and his power would be such that he would fear not even the sky. That was its simple wish. Restoration.

Clinging to that wish, the monster that had once been a god climbed the stairs on all fours and ran past its master. It was still daytime, but the attacker was already inside. Berserker charged, and so did the intruder, or rather, so did his mount. A huge moose, emanating cold and murderous intent, and adding even more to the rotten stench of the mansion, in its eyes, the look of a demon.

The two monsters met. Berserker’s claws tore upon the moose’s face, dripping blood in the halls. Its hands tried to reach past the moose’s head and to a better point to hurt the creature, but to no avail. Berserker stepped back and leaped, letting out a growl. The moose’s tough antlers lifted to meet it and the beast shook its head to beat Berserker on the walls, trying to put the servant to the ground, but that was enough to change Berserker’s focus to the beast’s rider.

A handsome man stood upon the moose, with his leather armour adorned by engravings of gold in the shape of waves throughout it, and a sword at his hip, countering the moose’s freezing aura with burning heat, and flames leaking from the scabbard. His beard was red and so were the streaks at the front of his blonde, wavy hair. He looked at Berserker and flashed a grin as his moose broke through the outer walls of the mansion and threw the other servant out into the open.

“Come, Berserker, let us go without the mansion, blood looks fairer in the courtyard, let it dye the snow fields scarlet!”

And Berserker was in the snow field, its hairy skin now covered in blood and snow, but that’s not what it feared. It crawled slowly, groaning and screaming, almost making out a word in its ancient tongue, in the language of the one who cast him down, it whispered for mercy, to be restored, even to the lowest bowels of the earth as he reaped the sacrificed souls, but as it crawled, it felt the water splashing. Rain. Berserker looked up. The skies were grey, the storm raged on. Nothing could stop it. The clear sky was not there to weaken it. There was barely any blue visible on the extensive field.

The other servant was coming out of the mansion on his moose, which Berserker now noticed, was punctured with many spears all over its body, everywhere except the head, but they didn’t seem to impair the demonic creature’s movement. The servant atop it smiled, still.

“Water is falling from the skies, a blessing of the Supreme God, riding his chariot upon the heavens.”

Berserker was now fully standing, it loomed taller than the moose and faced the other servant directly. Rider, Saber, Lancer, his class didn’t matter. Berserker was ready. Talking about a supreme god in the sky, that was wrong. 

The sky should be cast down.

There should be no god but himself.

Berserker threw its deformed, animalistic head up into the airs, feeling the fresh raindrops on its pig snout, and it opened its mouth full of sharp teeth and cackled, a hoarse, guttural, bloodcurdling sound.

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Imperator Teaser

Dust rose and settled time and again as the two empires clashed, overwhelming and subjugating one another with each new strike, as it had been throughout history. Blood was spilled and the emperors staggered, but fought on, and neither would let the other gain.

"They're still at it, master. Can't I go show one of theirs one of my little tricks?" Assassin asked, watching the battle from afar. His master looked at him and tightened her grip on the bottle she'd used in the summoning ritual. "Do not get involved. We have our own plans."

"Boo, that's no fair." The little black man laid back and tapped on his pipe. "But I won't make you use that, you can chill, Master."

The emperors momentarily stopped their clashes. Their empires went through truces often, some longer, some shorter, but their conflicts and demise had always been linked. This time the fight would resume with a Noble Phantasm.

"Hey, Lancer! Can you identify that servant?"

In a nearby riverbank, stood was a second pair of onlookers. Lancer shook his head negatively. "No one I know, Master, but I could kill that Rider. The other one too. What class ya think he is?"

An emperor's shining skull rolled on the ground. Noble Phantasm had met Noble Phantasm. The empires had damaged each other, but both were still standing. When both empires were weakened, invaders always took notice. It was an undeniable opportunity, and often one empire tried to throw the other further into the invader's grasp. But, this time, the emperors joined forces.

There was a last pair of observers. All servants had already been summoned, and after the fire at the museum most of them had kept watch of either Rider or the other one.

"O most wondrous storm! That servant is strong, o stronger even than my lonesome giant!" Caster spoke as if reciting poetry, climbing the railing for a better view. 

"I think that's a Berserker servant, right? Woah! That's... Kinda cool, right, Caster?" His master leaned on the railing, still a little astonished at the battle. 

"No, no, no, dear master. He is misguided and his path is that of a monster, and he knows not of Christ or Jupiter!"

And there was no Christ or Jupiter to stop Berserker, for that servant was, too, a deity. His master had patiently awaited the weakening of the two battling servants, but maybe there would be no difference. Even together, the empires might stand no chance against that invader, all that remained for the emperors was to flee the wrath of that god, a servant as merciless as the plague.