One of the nine. The Heart.

That's how it had begun. In the American desert. He and his comrades, fellow soldiers of the Civil War, marching into to the sun. Into the furnace of Perdition. A licking, greedy Purgatory. The sun beating everything into rust and stardust. Hadn't the horses crumbled away as the winds screeched? Dried into jerky. Blood turned into iron red powder. Bones cracked as the pungent marrow inside bubbled into evil vapors.

It should have ended then; but it hadn't. He should have fallen like the rest of his comrades, but he hadn't. The Heart. It had given him the power to live on through the hungry nights and thirsty days where he had no more sweat to sweat and no more tears to cry. 'If there's a Heart, there should be a Head. And if there's a Head, there should be a Spine…'

The Heart had chosen him. And he had chosen America.

'Land where my fathers died, land of the pilgrims pride…'

What was it that his stepfather had told him?

"A man was captured by the enemy and tortured. Savagely tortured. Pain was inflicted on him again and again. And every day they would ask him: 'How many men are in your company? Where are your snipers located? How are they armed?' Every day they would ask him, and every day he would stay silent." The speaker, a Captain Valentine, produced a rust stained handkerchief from his pocket.

"Now this handkerchief that I hold, it is not mine. It belongs… belonged to my dear friend, the man I spoke of earlier, the prisoner of war." Captain Valentine smiled, thinking of fond memories and times gone by. "He had a strange habit of writing the date on everything he owned. If he bought a pair of boots, or a new shirt, he would write the date on whatever he had bought. We all used to tease him for it."

"The man, after being tortured for so long, felt his resolve begin to waver. And so, when he felt himself weakening, he decided to protect this handkerchief; for the date embroidered, the 20th of September, 1847 was an important day to his family. To the man, protecting this handkerchief was the same as protecting his family which he connected to protecting the country as a whole. With his mind set out to protect the handkerchief, the man was able to endure any torture or pain of being a prisoner of war."

"But he was a prisoner. He had been stripped naked, and all his possessions had been confiscated. If his captors found the handkerchief, they would surely take it from him. And surely, without the memory of his son, he would succumb to the torture… He had no where of hiding it in the prison, and to make sure he wouldn't attempt to hide away tools to escape, the jailers would check every part of his body. Inside the mouth, the nose, the anus… But he hid it all the same. Through his whole stay in the prison he was able to hide the handkerchief, and never said a word about our company's position or strategy. We, the rest of the platoon, survived only thanks to his strength and dedication."

"Where do you think he hid the handkerchief?"

"The world is an incredibly painful and cruel place. Funny… you are a seven years old, and soon enough you will be a man. I have a duty to my friend to tell you the story to the finish. Can you handle it?" Captain Valentine asked the boy and the boy nodded softly, scared of where the story was headed.

"Where did he hide the handkerchief?"

"His eye had already been blinded by the torture." Funny vaguely heard his mother pleading for silence, but the Captain continued his story, he had a duty, after all. "His eye had already been blinded, so he gouged out that eye himself and balled up this handkerchief," Valentine held it for Funny to see, "he kept the handkerchief inside the hollow of his eye socket the whole time. September 20th… that's your birthday isn't it?" His mother was crying now, and Funny began to understand.

"That man was your father. And when we found his body after killing his captors, we buried him and I found this handkerchief."

"Patriotism is the love of country, and it manifested in your father, Funnier, because of his love for his family. He protected America because he wanted to protect you. Even animals die for their children, but to die for one's country, and to think of one's country as an extension of the family… that is Patriotism, the highest virtue of humanity."

"This handkerchief belongs to you. I'm proud to have been your father's friend…"

And so, trudging through the pale yellow sands of the American West, no food or water to sustain him, no friends to ease the terrible burden of loneliness, Funny Valentine had chosen to protect his country. 'I'm going to live,' he silently vowed, lips too dry and throat too cracked to utter any noise greater than a gurgle of pain, 'I'm going to live, and with this Heart in my chest I'm going to make the country that my father died for the greatest of them all.'

Over a million bodies later, the Union won the Civil War.

Years later, after Valentine's battle scars had healed and he had graduated from Columbia College (now Columbia University) summa cumme laude, he went on to become a Senator for the state of South Carolina. And as time passed, Valentine found himself as the 23rd President of the United States, poised to create a better more prosperous country, a country that his father would have been proud to see.

The people loved him. He after all, had a 91 percent approval rating and living conditions had steadily went up across the country. The economy grew at a staggering 10 percent a year, and people began to become wealthier, America began to become wealthier. Even the South, the lower half of the country that had been devastated by war, had been rebuilt as the agricultural hub of the world. African-Americans had their rights affirmed and protected by laws that Valentine had proposed as a Senator, and had passed as President; and each and every day the former slaves grew to be every bit as valued and appreciated as the White Americans.

And all the while he had been searching for the Corpse. Foreign dignitaries and the pillars of American society, nay, international society would come and congratulate the President on his successful term in office, and Valentine would give thanks, but it was nearly always insincere, it stopped mattering. Even his wife, Scarlet, whom he had loved so dearly, seemed to grow unimportant and distant. The Heart was not enough. He had to have the rest of the Corpse.

So when the Steel Ball Run had been suggested by Steven Steel, Valentine jumped at the opportunity and encouraged the event, diverting government resources to fund and plan the event, using his charisma and clout as the President to deflect the critics of the race. It was the perfect chance to scour the country for the Holy Corpse. The Eyes and Arms and Legs and Head… The Heart had chosen him after all, and what the Heart wants, the body does. He would have the Corpse and America would grow ever stronger.

Nine of the nine. Then came the end.

First had come Diego Brando and Hot Pants, the annoying duo of Lizardman and crossdresser. They had come quite close to defeating him, but Dirty Deeds Done Dirt Cheap had killed them both. One crushed by a train, and the other pierced by a broken pane of glass.

Then came Johnny Joestar and Gyro Zeppeli, a cripple and an executioner from Naples. The duo had been on Valentine's mind for the bulk of the race, as they seemed intimately tied to the Corpse itself, present at nearly every sighting of a Corpse part, each of them had even possessed a Part of their own for a while, that had of course given them their Stands. With the Corpse completed and residing in Lucy Steel's body, victory should have been assured. But somehow, the pair had managed to get past Love Train and with a strange techniques that Valentine did not quite understand.

He had been left to die in that deep pit of earth and the Corpse had been taken from him. Bringing in bodies from other dimensions hadn't done anything to solve the infinite loop of death and rebirth had Valentine had been subjected to, the wound seemed to follow his D4C, the manifestation of his very soul. Then the final gunfight. Then death.

Valentine had lived for justice, for country, and for family. He died with heart and actions utterly unclouded, for they had been those of 'Justice'.

The huge sky above, bedazzled with stars. Stars, simple holes in existence where the love of God shines through… much of the sky was dark and empty that night. Night? Where is that night? Valentine didn't know where he was. 'Is this heaven or hell?' It certainly wasn't Earth, for the stars above were strangely intense and the familiar patterns of hunter and snake and dog and bear were replaced by fantastical musings of Valentine's imagination: a horse, Lucy Steel, a Corpse. Around him grew trees which stretched upwards like huge, monolithic fingers yearning for warmth. The ground at his back was cold.

"You sit at the foot of the Throne, Valentine. You sit here because you have been called 'Hero' by your fellow man. You stare at the stars when your place is among them. Join them." The voice couldn't be described as man or woman or even human, although it spoke as one. "Take your place on the Throne, Valentine. The time will come where you must serve."

"Who are you?" Valentine trembled, afraid for the first time in what seemed to be a trillion years, the instant that separated life and death where his soul had been transmuted from body into the ether seemed at least that long. "What is this 'Throne' you speak of, and whom must I serve? I have only one master, and that is my America!"

The wind blew and Valentine took it to mean that the universe was sighing.

"I am the Root of All Things," the voice finally said, "the Unmoved Mover. The East and West and North and South. Men pray to me and they worship me in many names in many tongues. I am your Corpse. I am the magic of the world."

"What business would God have with a man such as I? It may be heresy to say, but country is a higher master than even you." Valentine spoke to the stars.

"You have served me well Valentine, even though you may not have done so intentionally. You have given up more than I could have ever asked of you. The nobility of your Patriotism and your unflinching, selfless toil for the betterment of your country has impressed me greatly. This is why you will continue to work, even through your death… The Holy Grail War, Valentine! Two hundred years past your death the world fights a hidden battle for not the Holy Corpse, but a Holy Grail. An artifact of such power that the holder will be granted any one wish. Seven pairs of Master and Servant battle for the Grail, and you will fight."

At the word of God, Valentine's mind was flooded with images of magic and a secret society, steeped with tradition. Magi. The Church. Fuyuki City. Akasha. Master. Servant. He would be a Servant, summoned by Masters to fight in this Holy Grail War, and upon victory, he would be granted a wish… He could have the Corpse if he wanted. He would have the Corpse, and this time, the world would not stop him for the world no longer knew of the Corpse. It had been lost long ago and hidden.

"Do you understand now, Valentine? I have selected you to be among the noblest of the men and women who have ever lived. Your peers in this war will be demigods and ancient rulers, legendary conquerors and artisans of immense skill and talent. They are figures of myth and history that will never truly die as their actions have immortalized them. Your Master will be a Magus, but you will choose whom you will serve. You may act for yourself, or you may act for your homeland, or you may even choose to act for your Master; but the choice will be yours. These are the conditions for your war…"

Valentine woke up in an office room.

Tokiomi Tohsaka chewed his steak moodily. His Servant's first request had been an extravagant meal; and the man that had been summoned refused to speak until it had been delivered. Tokiomi had been affronted at the level of disrespect that he had been shown, but eventually gave into the request and had the cook woken to bring a meal for his new ally. Risei and Kirei were both tending to their own summoning… just as well. Tokiomi wasn't looking forward to having to reveal this travesty of a summoning to his allies.

"Archer."

The Magus looked up, briefly surprised. "You're the Archer class?" He stared at the the Servant. The man was quite tall and built like a classical sculpture. He wore a stylish pink overcoat, obviously expensive, that closed to the base of his sternum and trailed to his shins. His hair was a fair blonde, quite long, it reached his shoulders and ended in thick, singular rings. "Could you be more specific and reveal your True Name? It would be beneficial to know exactly who you are while for the duration of our partnership."

Archer fixed him with a long stare even as his gloved hands moved fork and knife to cut his dinner. Tokiomi stared back. Archer's eyes were a shade of ceramic blue that he hadn't ever seen on a human being before. The man seemed quite young, perhaps in his early twenties, and in the primacy of his life; not that age meant anything to a Servant, but every clue was important if Tokiomi was to deduce who the uncooperative Servant was.

He had used the moulted skin of the first snake in hopes of summoning Gilgamesh, the King of Uruk, but he knew the man across from him, eating a steak even though he had no need to, was not the King he was looking for. Surely, Archer was still some sort of famous leader; that imperious stare and regal bearing were unmistakable. Had he gotten King Arthur instead by some twist of fate? But that too was impossible. Arthur would be either Saber or Rider, not Archer.

"Ordinarily the first thing I would have done upon meeting you was introduce myself; but we are at war, and the last time I was at war, my identity was integral to my downfall. I'm sure you can relate to such an idea, especially during these Grail Wars?" Yes, the concept of identity was a major key to winning the battles of the Grail Wars. Know the True Name of the Servant and you would know their history, their fighting style, and would be able to guess at what their Noble Phantasms were. It was best to keep the True Name hidden, but…

"You're among allies here, Archer. I have extended you my home and food and we will be working together in order to win the Grail. Surely it would be amiss to stay strangers?" Tokiomi hated acting so subservient when he was clearly the Master, but experience had taught him to be respectful when the occasion called for it. "My name, for example, is Tokiomi Tohsaka. I am participating in this War in order to attain Akasha, Enlightenment. I am an accomplished Magus, and am the head of the Tohsaka family, an ancient lineage of Magi spanning five generations. Tell me your name, I will make sure it will not fall on the wrong ears."

Fork and knife were gently set on a napkin and the man with golden hair took a moment to wet his throat with the tumbler of whiskey next to him.

"My name is Funny Valentine. I am the 23rd President of the United States of America. I do not know why I've been summoned as Archer, as I have little skill with bows… but I can assure you victory." His D4C had been turned into a Noble Phantasm by the Grail, Valentine knew the power remained the same, enhanced even, by magic, but at the cost that non-Stand Users would be able to see the spirit.

"It doesn't fill me with any confidence when you say that you have little skill with the weapon of the class you have been summoned as. Have you skill with more mundane weapons? Firearms, perhaps?" Tokiomi, as a Magus, had little respect for the weapons of war used by non-Magi, but he supposed that in the hands of a Servant, anything could be deadly.

'President? What sort of warrior could a President be?' A politician. Not some warrior king or conqueror, but a politician. Tokiomi had summoned someone useless.

Valentine took on a pensive expression thought for a moment before saying: "I was a soldier for a time, before I was President. I wasn't too bad of a shot, but I didn't accomplish anything extraordinary with a gun either."

'What a failure, what a failure,' the Tohsaka family head shook his head in despair. How would he win with an incompetent Servant? If only the summoning had gone right, if only Gilgamesh had been—

"Doyjaaan~" Archer said. He had produced an American flag from wherever and was waving it around like a matador. "Dirty Deeds Done Dirt Cheap," Valentine declared.

At his Servant's sudden words, the Magus raised his head and found there were two Funny Valentine's in the room. Another swirl of the flag and there were three. Then four. Tokiomi began to smile.

A squirming mass of thick, tuber like creatures writhed underneath Kariya Matou's skin. Vaguely phallic in appearance, the magical insects gnawed through his bones and burrowed through skin and flesh only to heal him and injure him in continuous, cringing cycles… each bite of Blood Worm felt like a cigarette burn directly over a nerve. His teeth were clenched so violently that blood began to well from his gums. It hurt. Why Kariya had allowed his father, Zouken Matou, to put the damned creatures in his body was beyond him…

He then remembered Sakura, the young girl. The innocent girl. The daughter of the woman he loved, but not of his own flesh and blood… She had been sold to the Matou family to be groomed into the perfect heir, the role that Kariya should have assumed all those years ago but hadn't. He had run from his responsibility back then, and now it rested on the thin shoulders of an abused girl.

As the pain began to abate, Kariya started to hear a heavy breathing through the ringing in his ears and the twitching of the Crest Worms. He pulled himself to his feet, wrenching his hands around a nearby table leg to help himself up. The room smelled of violence. His Servant smelled of violence. 'Is this Berserker?' He asked himself, flinching a bit as the Crest Worms flared and settled down in continuous, maddeningly painful cycles.

A giant holding in one hand a huge knife, serrated and deadly, rusted and covered in gore. In the other was a spear that was not really a spear, rather just an ugly length of metal gleaming cruelly in the dim green light of the Matou family basement. The man was nearly two feet taller than Kariya himself and wore a dirty apron of sorts around his waist, messily sewn with gnarled fishing line stitches, it was an unknown type of animal skin that was more of a wrap than any real clothing. It did nothing to hide Berserker's bare chest studded with scars and burns and lean muscle. There was a distinct cloud of cold evil around the newly summoned Berserker that made Kariya shudder involuntarily. It was as if the world had become colder, as if it was drizzling and wind began to blow, chilling down to the bones.

'But his face… why is it covered?' Kirei thought to himself. Berserker's head was a mass of rusted cast iron in the shape of a distorted pyramid. It seemed painful to wear, too heavy and unbalanced to have any purpose as a defensive measure, more likely that it was a punishment. Kariya imagined the inside as a mass of sharp wires and studs that dug in the wearer's head with every movement and felt sympathy for his Servant. Weren't the Crest Worms a type of punishment for shirking his duty and having Sakura fill the shoes he should have worn?

"You've done well for yourself, Kariya." An old man stood silently in a corner of the room, hidden by shadow and accompanied by a faint buzzing noise. "This Berserker seems powerful, might even be enough to win the Holy Grail War." But there was little sincerity in the wrinkled man's voice, almost as if he expected Kariya to lose despite having summoned Berserker, widely considered to be the most powerful class of the Grail War in terms of pure combat ability.

"You should have been my heir."

Kariya didn't reply. Instead he took a look at his Servant and reached his hand up to Berserker's shoulder, nudging at the Servant so that he would turn. "Berserker and I are going to win the war, and you'll have to find a new heir. Remember your promise, old man."

Zouken Matou cackled and raised a hand to shoo Kariya away. "You can bluster all you want, but Sakura will be mine 'til you bumble your way through the War and the Grail is in your hands. Leave this place, for you have discarded all right to call yourself a member of the Matou family when you left. I'll be sure that Sakura is safe…" He laughed again.

"Let's go Pyramid Head, we have a War to win."

Kirei couldn't have known how similar he and Assassin were. But the Grail did. And breaking past convention and all the rules and restrictions the architects of the Holy Grail had put in place, they could not fully bring magic, the stitchings of the universe, to heel. The right Servant for the right Master.

It was a surprise. Kirei and Risei had both been expecting Hassan I-Sabbah to be summoned, as he had been in the past Grail Wars, but the Old Man of the Mountain was nowhere to be seen. No trace of his white skull mask or long, withered limbs as had been written in the records that the Church kept of the Grail Wars. No, Assassin was someone completely different. A French man who kept his face covered with a woolen balaclava and mouth filled with noxious, unfiltered Gitanes…

"I'd prefer it if you didn't smoke in here, Assassin." Risei Kotomine, the priest of Fuyuki City's only Catholic church and impartial mediator for this Fourth Holy Grail War, admonished the well dressed Assassin with a light word and the Servant politely acquiesced.

"Of course, Father," the man put the red ember of the cigarette between two gloved fingers and crushed the fire. The unsmoked cigarette was stored in a small metal case that Assassin produced from an inner pocket. "I had forgotten that this was a holy place. My apologies." The words sounded sincere, but Kirei immediately knew them to be false. Afterall, Kirei had lied many times before…

"My son, Kirei Kotomine, was your summoner. Your Master for the Holy Grail War. I hope that you two will cooperate well." The Master and Servant exchanged handshakes and nodded to each other. "Can you please introduce yourself? Identities must be hidden from the other combatants of course, but I am merely a mediator, and Kirei is your Master."

Assassin shook his wrist and pushed back the starched white cuff of his shirt and the sleeve of his red suit to look at a watch. "The only other name I know is Spy. In my past life, the work I did was quite… clandestine. My coworkers and I referred to each other by title. Our names were unimportant."

"Spy is as much a title as Assassin is, so if you prefer, I will call you such. I trust that your line of work is similar to what will be expected of you during this Grail War?" The priest asked.

"Sabotage, espionage, murder. I'm an old hat at this," Spy's eyes narrowed. "But aren't you supposed to be an impartial mediator? I understand that my Master is your son, but corruption on that scale would put the War as a whole in jeopardy if other organizations found out, wouldn't it?"

Kirei interrupted before Spy could continue. His voice was awkward and overly loud. "The other competitors in the Holy Grail War, they are unworthy of the Grail. Should they win, their wishes may end up irrevocably damaging society. My father will support ourselves and another Master-Servant pair who we will be meeting later. Our wishes have been deemed safe."

Spy nodded in understanding and made a sound of thinking. "And of my wish? What would you do if my wish was dangerous? Or if the Servant of our soon to be ally wishes for something cataclysmal?" He pointed at Kirei's hand which was emblazoned by a cartoon bomb with the word RED written in cursive placed in center, the Command Spell. "Would you then use that to put me in line?"

Kirei and Risei exchanged a heavy look and passed a moment in silence.

The old priest sighed and sounded apologetic."Yes, that is a reason why the Command Spell exists. But I would we would not need to resort to such heavy handed methods. What is it that you would wish for, if you won the War?"

It was Spy's turn to be silent now. Idly he took a knife from his pocket, a compact balisong, clean and well maintained. He played with it, rolling the blade over his fingers carelessly, professionally. He seemed deep in thought when he began to speak. "I've died many times, you know." Spy looked directly at Kirei now and he tugged on his tie, loosening it. The Servant's gaze was intense as if he knew of Kirei's innermost thoughts and insecurities. "Not in the way that Servants can be summoned again in a different War, but in a stranger, more sinister way." It seemed that Spy had forgotten about Risei's words about smoking in the church for he brought out the cigarette case again and began to suck on one of the cancer sticks.

"To make it brief, during my life, I was contracted to work for a company known as Team Fortress Industries. More specifically myself and eight other mercenaries, were hired under a subsidiary of said company called R.E.D, or Reliable Excavation Demolition. We were tasked with stealing information from another branch of the company called B.L.U, or Builders League United and to prevent B.L.U from doing the same to R.E.D."

Spy was lecturing now and his French accent made everything difficult to understand.

"The problem was that B.L.U was every bit as rich and as powerful as R.E.D, so of course they would hire their own mercenaries to compete. Somewhere down the line, my compatriots and I were cloned, or we were cloned from the B.L.U team. So the battle waged on day after day, neither side able to win because we had the same memories, personalities, experiences, weaponry, and goals. Every day we died in the most horrific ways in various stages and settings built by our employers to stage their war games. And every time, every single time we died we would come back to life thanks to a rather clever bit of technology that either our Engineer, or the B.L.U Engineer had built."

"You're talking about duplicating a human being down to the smallest detail and bringing people back to life… That's impossible. Even with the highest level of Magecraft those should be either impossible or extremely difficult. You're saying humans were able to accomplish such miracles with just science and technology?" Risei asked, his mind racing. Unlike most Magi he didn't isolate himself from the modern world and modern conveniences, but he had no idea such wonders were possible.

Spy nodded in grim confirmation. "I won't pretend to understand how it was done, not even the more scientifically minded members of R.E.D fully understood the technology, but it was real."

"And your wish?" Kirei interjected. It was getting earlier in the morning now and it was likely that Tohsaka and his Servant were awaiting their arrival.

A cigarette butt fell to the ground and Spy crushed it under his heel. "The most disconcerting thing about the whole fiasco was not knowing whether I was the original or the clone… I'm going to wish for only one Spy to have ever existed."

Valentine and his newfound ally, the self titled Spy, sat in the library, skimming over books and sipping at the expensive whiskey that Valentine had procured from Tokiomi's cellar. The two had been introduced to each other as partners for the duration of this war, and their Masters and the aged priest had gone into a private study to discuss strategy and such. Spy and Valentine were catching up on the history they had missed between their time of death and summoning.

"Seems that my work in life had at least some benefit." Valentine closed a history textbook, one detailing the events of the World Wars and smiled. "I'm happy to see that all that toil didn't go to waste."

"And what would that work be, Monsieur President?" The Frenchman asked. He blew a cloud of smoke and silently hoped that his host wouldn't mind. "I have to say I'm curious to how you simply disappeared at the end of the Steel Ball Run, were you assassinated?"

"That would be correct. The circumstances surrounding my death were also the reason my body was never found." Valentine still had a pleased smile on his face, even with the subject matter. "But despite that, it seemed America has bloomed into the most powerful country on Earth, even without my guidance. I toiled endlessly to make America the greatest country that it could be, and it seems that I have succeeded."

Spy offered a cigarette and Valentine accepted and the two smoked together, room growing more clouded by the moment. The rich smell of tobacco and smoke and tar made a nauseating combination that neither seemed to mind.

"How did you pass, Spy?"

"Fighting to bring down TF Industries, it was an American company, so I apologize, but there was good reason. They, rather, one twisted dog of a woman heading the company, had been stockpiling a rather valuable mineral that could only be found in Australia. It made all those strange technologies that I told you of, possible. One shudders to think at what she would have done with it,"

"We're you successful?" Valentine put his cigarette out in an ashtray and began to pace the room. The question was obvious but there was need to fill the boredom of waiting for the Masters to come back and brief the on the plan.

"According to the books, TF Industries went bankrupt in 1987, triggering an international financial disaster that the world is still recovering from. And the Australium that had been stockpiled is lost forever now… I believe our plan back then was to shoot it into space. So yes, I was successful."

Valentine nodded slowly. "The world has changed since I was alive. I simply cannot believe that the country of Britain is owned by one man, and an Australian, for that matter! Is this true?"

"Very true," Spy seemed unhappy at that. "I knew the man, Saxton Hale. An uncultured brute, but he was wealthy nonetheless. I believe his company went bankrupt shortly after TF Industries did. He died in the same conflict that I did."

"And he bought England!" Valentine laughed aloud. "Serves them right, damn monarchists…"

"Hear, hear."

Their glasses clinked as they toasted.

AN: Funny Valentine summoned as Archer. Pyramid Head summoned as Berserker. Spy summoned as Assassin.

This universe combines the JJBA, TF2, and Fate universes. The events of Steel Ball Run took place in 1890, and the Corpse still exists. The events of the TF2 comics happened in the 1970's, twenty years before the Fourth Holy Grail War.