To all returning readers, I'd like to thank your for your patience. I'm aware that this chapter is on the smaller side; however, I wanted to put something out and this section ended at a natural stopping point. I may write the remainder as its own chapter or I may add it on to this. It's really a matter of what feels best. My apologies for the wait. Things should be a bit more regular from now on.

Chapter 13

Gambits

With a heavy yawn, Harry woke up and started to get ready for the day. With the fatigue catching up, it was going to be a combination of coffee and sleep through the day. Even then, sleep was a pleasure that he could barely afford. He could be improving his slowly expanding fortress. Harry found Archer sprawled out over the couch. He didn't know whether she was actually sleeping or just faking it. He didn't really want to know either.

Like an automaton, he moved through the motions of making breakfast for the two of them. He even made miso soup with eggplants and mushrooms, thinking that a little comfort food might help Archer. At that moment, Archer wandered into the kitchen. She scrunched her eyes closed and put her hand to her face.

"Are you alright, Archer?"

"I've been better, honestly."

At this, Harry's glance slipped down to the floor, but he smiled warmly when his eyes returned to Archer.

"It's nothing a good breakfast can't fix. I even attempted some miso for you."

Archer smiled and ran her hand through her hair, brushing a stray strand from her face.

"And how can I refuse that."

At the table, she dug into his combination of English and Japanese food with gusto.

"Archer."

"Yes?" she said, pausing after a bite.

"We'll win this. I wouldn't have any other Servant. There's got to be some sort of connection for you to be the Spirit that I summoned."

Harry then swept his arm around the room, highlighting the material.

"It sure wasn't there; it was something in here," he said, pointing at his heart.

Archer couldn't help but smile. She'd seen her fair share of romantics and dreamers, but few were as earnest as this one or as firm as this one. Most bent like reeds in the wind, but she kept these thoughts from her Master – both the good and the bad. Instead, she smiled and laughed. The lingering doubt was still there.

"Alright, Harry. What's our plan of attack?"

"Ideally, go after Malfoy and Assassin. Let Saber and Lancer destroy each other. How do you feel about Rider?"

Archer paused.

"The Mongols are fearsome warriors, but that man came from an age of warriors and bows, not of soldiers and gunpowder. While better weapons might not be decisive in a battle of legends, perhaps the kamikaze will favor me and my labor."

"Could you or could you not?" asked Harry.

"I don't know enough about him, but I want my swords to bathe in Mongol blood."

"There we go. Rider or Assassin?"

"Rider. If we beat Rider, we're more than strong enough for Assassin."

Harry leaned back and put his hands behind his head.

"One final question, Archer."

"Fire away, Master."

"Coffee or tea?"

"Coffee. I'm feeling adventurous."

Harry went off to pour a cup for Archer. Archer sat back and opened up one of his textbooks. As he brought back two cups, one for him and one for Archer, the phone rang. It made that same annoying noise.

"I'll get it," he said, "Hello, who is this?"

"Father Hill speaking, Mr. Potter. I have received a message which Miss Meiling wanted me to relay to you. She is holding the Dursley family of one Vernon, Petunia, and Dudley hostage. If you want them back, she will be available at noon in Trafalgar Square wearing a red beret. If you bring a Servant, hers will also be there. If you do not show up, she will kill one family member every day until you do and will provide photographic evidence to be conveyed to you. And on that unpleasant note, do have a nice day. All the power in the world is much closer to you than it is for even the most powerful of wizards. Just a little food for thought. Goodbye."

Hill hung up the phone on the other end.

"Shit. Shit. Shit," growled Harry.

"Y'know," said Archer, "The best course is just to let them die. What are three lives when you have a one-in-six chance of ultimate power? If you want to go full hero, then I guess that fight with Rider will be sooner than we thought."

Harry calmed and said, "Sometimes, we need a hero. Let's do this."

"What the hell, let's," agreed Archer.

xxx

"It feels like a furnace out here," remarked Archer as she and Harry made their way into Trafalgar Square. It was a quarter to noon, since there was no sense in cutting it close with stakes like these.

"I'm more interested in looking for her," said Harry with a scowl.

Then he saw a red beret, and started after it. Archer rolled her eyes and went along, but her shoulders were nonetheless tense. Harry pushed through the crowd as subtly as he could to move directly to the elusive beret. Once he cleared through a crowd, he found himself face to face with Meiling, dressed rather heavily for such a hot day, and Rider, who looked distinctly uncomfortable in his shooting jacket and pleated trousers.

"Alright, what do you want?" asked Harry, nearly growling.

Archer sat back and coolly regarded her counterpart. Then she extended her hand to him. Rider slowly smiled a fierce smile and shook her hand.

"Let's not let tempers flare," said Meiling with a pleasant smile, "I'm glad you could arrive a bit early. How about lunch? I'll pay, and it can be a restaurant of your choice."

xxx

"I'll have you know," said Meiling, "That this wasn't my idea of a pleasant lunch. Fast food at a mall is not how you treat a lady."

"If it makes you feel any better," said Archer, "He treats me to better food from his own cooking."

"I like it," admitted Rider sheepishly.

"It's a bit of a girl thing," explained Meiling, "We like it when a guy takes us out someplace nice."

Harry shrugged and sipped from his soda.

"Can we get down to business now?" he asked.

"Sure. Just watch your language," answered Meiling, "in more ways than one."

"What do I need to do to get them back. I assume that you're not just going to hand them back now that I'm here."

"Well," said Meiling cheerfully, "I'm actually giving you a choice. First, you give up your claim, which involves transferring ownership to me, and you get them back. I'll even sweeten the deal by letting you live, and you can work with me to win."

"I'm listening," said Harry, "It seems like you put a lot of thought into this option to make it attractive."

"Oh I did, but the other option was so simple."

"And what might that be?"

"I think you can imagine, given that this is a Grail War."

Harry imagined a particularly disturbing image of himself riddled with bullets and bleeding out onto the uncaring concrete.

"Point taken."

"I'm not fond of your plan," said Archer, "Though I can't imagine that tidbit coming as a surprise."

"Not in the slightest. My apologies, but your feelings weren't a large part of the plan."

"Apology accepted."

"Maybe a walk would be best? It is a nice day. Besides, I've heard that it helps with digestion."

Archer was not entirely convinced, but Meiling agreed and they soon egressed. The day was still very hot, and the crowds only made it muggier and more oppressive. The only defense was shade and an eventual retreat from their presence. Harry felt an almost dizzying nervousness from the moment he left the public presence. Death could come at any second. The rational portion of the brain reminded him that this was a matter of fact regardless of where he was, but that did nothing to disuade the animal inside.

"Have you decided yet? I do have business to attend to," said Meiling.

Harry took a deep breath. Here, he was just as Caesar at the Rubicon; he was at a place whence there was no return. The die would be cast. Thoughts of his family flashed in his mind alongside thoughts of his friends. The rational choice here was to give up. The odds were still against him and bowing out now would mean that he could keep his life. But there was more.

"What will I regret more when I'm dead," thought Harry, "that I tried and failed or that I could have been so much greater

He had put so much time into this; he had gained a new comrade. He might even see the unseeable. He might be safe, but to continue was simply an endeavour he wanted to see run its course. This selfish desire was the crux of his decision.

"Thanks for your offer," said Harry, "but I'm not going to take it. Where may we meet next?"

Meiling put on a false smile and gave him the location.

"Thank you," said Harry, "I can't wait to see you there."

"Least I can do. One of us has to die with honor," said Meiling.

With that, they parted ways.

xxx

It was once again night in London as the vast cosmological watch ticked forward with its unerring, Kepplerian precision. The utter vastness swallowed up Harry and Archer as they made their way through the streets. Amongst the neon glow of a sinful world, the pair were alone and unnoticed. Tonight was going to be big.

"What's left Archer?"

"Don't think, Harry. We're going to destroy up and get your family back."

With a renewed purpose, Harry pressed forward. The sword felt right in his hands. Then, in front of the ruined facade of a run-down Victorian townhouse, Meiling and Rider stood ready. She was dressed in dark clothing appropriate for this and carried an Kalashnikov-pattern rifle complete with folding stock and a cruciform spike bayonet. Rider stood resplendent in Mongol finery mounted upon a finest example of the steppe-bred horse. Archer cast aside her jacket and her demonic armor was donned in a flash. Harry unsheathed the sword and saluted his opponent. Without a word, battle began.

Between Rider and Archer, the distance was a mere fifty paces. The twin arquebuses melted into something altogether more frightful, weapons which absorbed light in the wrong way, whose lustrous surfaces gleamed with promises of power, and whose geometries were painful for the mortal eye to see. By the time Archer had drawn and fired her first salvo through cloud of brimstone, a storm of iron whistled through the air faster than death. The supersonic arrows smashed into Archer's cuirass and arms, forcing her to relent. With a wild cry, Rider spurred on his steed, firing arrows with pinpoint accuracy all the while. Archer ran, sliding and weaving through cover, firing shot after shot. Nevertheless, she was on the run.

"Damn," she muttered, "What do I have to do for a divine wind at a time like this?"

Her blood dripped down onto the ground, painting it with the crimson of her clothes. At that moment, Rider's horse burst over her head. She saw the gleaming iron of the arrow pointed straight at her eye socket as well as his grin of triumph. Archer lunged forward with a howling scream, holding her gun like a spear. Rider loosed his arrow. To dodge it was impossible. The leaf-shaped blade tore through her cheek and into her mouth, filling it with a river of blood. She should have died there as the arrow punched its way into her spine and dropped her where she stood, but she didn't.

Archer bit down and crushed the arrow with her teeth in a shower of splinters. Her eyes burned with smoldering flames as horns pushed their way from her forehead. Her skin faded to an icy blue.

"An Oni!" said Rider.

But Archer didn't care. She wielded the arquebus just as her ashigaru had once wielded their long pikes to disembowel the horseman of the Takeda. With a ferocious burst of strength, she thrust the blunt gun into the horse's body and then pulled the trigger. The horse burned, engulfed in uncontrollable flames. Rider, however, was fast enough to dismount and leap from the pyre.

"I see, you must be-"

"-Warlord Oda Nobunaga," she growled, "Demon Lord of the Sixth Heaven. The blood of the Oni runs thick in my veins."

Rider faced her, arms crossed.

"Impressive for a such a young girl, but you are facing the master of terror whose bloodline lives on in so many souls, who is revered as a hero and legend. You are facing the Scourge of God, little demon, Ghengis Khan!"

They stood, tense and ready. On one side was the warlord in all her hellish splendor; on the other was the proud warrior of the steppes whose empire was without equal. Even Ozymandias himself could have spared some respect for their works. Then the Khan began speak in verse.

"And from this chasm, with ceaseless turmoil seething,

As if this earth in fast thick pants were breathing,

A mighty fountain momently was forced

Amid whose swift half-intermitted burst"

The warrior king charged her, unsheathing his wickedly curved saber. As he charged, Archer could have sworn that she heard the hoofs of horses. With a grim purpose, he hacked through her bullets, but she slipped outside of his grasp. Then, he continued with his performance.

"Huge fragments vaulted like rebounding hail,

Or chaffy grain beneath the thresher's flail:

And 'mid these dancing rocks at once and ever

It flung up momently the sacred river."

Archer saw the border between reality and fantasy grow heavy. Behind the Khan, she felt the crisp air of the landscape of Mongolia's steppes. The sounds of horses grew louder.

"Five miles meandering with a mazy motion

Through wood and dale the sacred river ran,

Then reached the caverns measureless to man,

And sank in tumult to a lifeless ocean."

With that, the winds ripped past as sheer force of will replaced the natural reality, molding the world to the Khan's image of the world, a world of endless plains much the same as he rode as a child. From the corners of the earth, rode the hordes of Mongols, linked by blood to the great Khan. From the near East, came Timur the Lame with the armies of the Timurid Empire. Carrying the riches of Russia and eastern Europe came Batu Khan and the Golden Horde, resplendent in their gleaming finery. From China came Kublai Khan from the paradise of Xanadu, mustering the armies of the Yuan dynasty. These were only the most distinguished of Temujin's line, made prominent by their grand exploits. Many more khans led their hordes forth from their camps to join the mightiest of their number. Against this onslought, the demonic warlord looked on. On the outside, she was impassive, perhaps arrogant. Inside, she felt the fear build inside of her; but fear was good, fear was fuel she could use to turn herself into a fortress of arrogance impervious to earthshaking steps of the mightiest of armies.

"Grandfather," said Batu Khan, "What is the foe we face?"

"The Japanese warlord of the Oda clan," he answered, eyes looking at a distant hawk.

"Here, we shall crush them, Grandfather, for without their gods, they are nothing," stated Kublai Khan at the head of his horde.

"Khans," cried Archer, "Forget not that, if you sow thunder, you shall reap a whirlwind! The same divine wind which turned back your fleet courses in me. My anscestors call out for me to resolve that ancient conflict. Oh Khans, I shall take your heads!"

"My historians have preserved a curious phrase from the defeat of the ancient Persians which you might do to remember well," said Timur the Lame, "The Greeks once said 'Molon Labe,' which means 'come and take them.' And that, little girl, is the task that falls to you."

"Well said, child," said the Great Khan, beaming with a father's pride, "Now, we ride."

The thundering hooves were louder than even the most powerful volley of guns. Archer stood alone, but her pride as a samurai dictated that she move forward, ever forward. She spotted a hawk in the sky as she charged. The sky before her darkened as thousands of arrows poured forth from the horde. However, they seemed slow to her as she weaved through this deadly rain. Her first shot tore off the head of a horse, sending it crashing to the ground. Against mortal cavalrymen, it would have sent several other toppling to the ground, but the following riders merely jumped over their comrade.

As the lances loomed closer, Archer jumped, put a bullet through one of the horseman and wrested control his mount. She turned the steppe-bred horse around and spurred to the Khans, surrounded by an imperial guard of the best soldiers. To reach them, Archer would have to wade through an ocean of blood. However, such oceans were her nature; deny it, she could not. In a flash, her long sword slashed through the head of a rider as her gun took the soul of another Mongol. An arrow pierced through her armor and into her side, but Archer was already further forward, cutting a bloody swathe by gun and by blade. There was no time to concern herself with those things behind her. A scimitar cut into her arm, and she took his soul in return.

She could feel her lifeblood pouring out from dozens of wounds, but Archer saw the goal. Only a thousand feet remained. In those thousand feet, she slew a century. An arrow from the great Khan took down her horse, but Archer was undettered, dismounting and charging without breaking stride. The lamed conqueror of Persia and ruler of the Near East charged her, lance in hand. She could not avoid the blow and instead let it pierce her breast. Archer grabbed the shaft and hauled herself onto the horse. She smiled at the look of horror as her taloned hand grabbed his face, and then she pulled with all her might, ripping his head clean from his shoulders. She raised the Khan's decapitated head and drank in the blood splilling from it, uncaring that the crimson liquid splattered all over her face and clothes.

"I will tear you limb from limb!" growled Batu Khan, hefting an enormous axe.

"Eat lead and drink brimstone!"

Archer poured bullet after bullet into the Khan as her charged. She tried to dodge away, but the massive axe clipped her and sent her flying. However, ignoring the pain of her broken ribs, Archer saw the infernal fires immolate him and devour his soul. The twin guns gorged themselves on his soul. Such was their power, the ability to devour souls. Archer dared not reveal this facet of her weapons to her Master, but here there was nothing inhibiting her from inflicting the carnage for which she was so well known.

"Allow me, Grandfather!" cried Kublai Khan, "I have my own axe to grind against her!"

"You may go, son," said the Khan, whose eyes were distant, looking at the lone hawk. A single tear rolled down his face.

Archer rolled away from a blow that would have taken her head, just as she had taken Timur's. Kublai Khan was upon her. A deft thrust cut into her leg. The brutal Khan followed up with crushing kick into the same leg. An armored elbow slammed into her face, spinning Archer around.

"That was for them," he said, readying his blade to take her skull, "but this is for me."

It was all Archer could do to bring her unbreakable blade up in a hasty guard; Kublai Khan's blow rattled through her bones. Every time she rose up to face him, he battered her back to the ground. As the final blow approached, the black blade whipped out in a final, desperate assault. There was a look of pain on Kublai Khan's face as he fell to the ground with his hamstrings cut. A second blow sliced off the fingers of his sword hand. The third and final put him out of his misery.

Slowly, ever so slowly, Archer dragger herself to face Ghengis Khan. He stood a mere ten yards in front of her, bow readied. The arrow was loosed. Archer knew what to do, knew how fast it would take, knew just how to avoid the projectile; but she couldn't do it. The arrow pierced her eye socket, but did not pierce her brain, slaying her on the spot. She trudged forward, step by painful step. Another arrow pierced her heart. Another bloody step and an arrow pierced through her knee. Archer fell there and watched the high-soaring hawk. The predator had become the prey. Rider unsheathed his sword and prepared the blow that would cut short Archer's life. She cried through her remaining eye at the futility of it all, that she would not see the Grail and that she would not see her Master again.

Then, Rider collapsed and faded away.

"Master, you've saved me. I'm sorry I couldn't hold on any longer," she thought as her vision faded to black.