Chapter 9

Brittania, 500 AD

… hunger…. Hungry… must consume… wait… food was now in its mouth…. Sweet red… So tasty… must consume…

The thing in the deeply buried coffin thrashed about for a moment but was sated by the blood flowing into its mouth.

Above the ground, Rider waited, patiently, as the blood from his palm dripped down the open tube to the coffin, and creature imprisoned within it below. Sometimes, he waited in Spirit Form, and other times he would be in material form, either upon his steed, or simply standing.

As he waited, in the coming centuries, legends would grow about this mysterious black knight, bearing the heraldry of a red dragon and mounted upon a white steed, who had sworn to never move from the spot he had chosen to guard. All would speak in whispers of how he would kill all who tried to steal this patch of land from him, how he would drain them of their blood to water the ground, and then leave their corpses impaled upon large spikes, until there was a veritable forest of them that surrounded the Black Knight and his chosen area.

Some said he was Death himself, waiting for Gabriel's Horn to signal the Judgment day, so that he could ride forth on his pale steed, and bring judgment down upon all the damned and the sinful.

Foolish knights and warriors, eager for glory, rode out to fight him in this forest of impaled corpses, and many were killed and impaled for their foolhardiness, if his few words of admonishment did not turn them away. Kings and emperors and conquers alike tried to entice him to their sides, but all were rebuffed.

In time, that area of land was left alone, and the Black Knight faded into memory, until he became naught but a legend. That small plot of land was never settled, for all who tried ended up suffering from various misfortunes and tragedies.

All Rider had to do now was simply wait…

1500 AD, England.

It had been a long thousand years, but, as promised, they had arrived, right on time.

Rider watched as the fortress materialized over the sky above him. Finally. He had grown powerful from declaring this island nation his territory, as well as feeding off of its ley lines, though he knew that he could not interfere too much with it. But, that had been part of the plan, after all. As hinted by the traveling jester, that would come in handy in the battles to come.

The Black Knight then turned to the spot that he had guarded for the past thousand years. With a motion of his hand, a small mass of stakes brought up the coffin from the ground.

The man, now looking like a well-preserved corpse, opened his red eyes. He felt stiff, as if he had been stuck in the same position for the past thousand years. Then, all the memories came flooding back with a gasp. With a trembling hand, he felt his fangs.

That was exactly what had been happening. In horror, he felt his mind, already much shattered and repaired many times over, begin to once again crumble.

With a scream full of rage and horror, the dead man leapt out of his coffin, towards the group… hunger… feed!

Before he got within five feet of them, he felt himself being restrained by several stakes that shot out of the ground.

As he struggled, he felt something get plunged into his chest. Then, an oddly warm feeling suffused his being, and he felt his thoughts come flooding back.

Groaning, he slowly stopped struggling, as the stakes withdrew, with Rider swiftly holding him aloft before he could collapse to the ground. The newly made Apostle's wounds swiftly closed, thanks to the stone in his chest, his command seals still glowing brightly on his hand, just like the Philosopher's stone now embedded in his chest. The newly awakened El-Melloi II looked tiredly at Flat, and Rider, and the others, and then, with a dry, croaky voice that seemed made of dust and forgotten memories, he spoke, while Rider supported him back to the fortress. "The fuck took you all so long?"

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Fuyuki City, 1938

He remembered his summoning. Oddly enough, it seemed like it happened only moments after his first death, that day on the fields of Shimabara.

He remembered being looked over, like a piece of meat, by an old man and a beautiful woman, both of whom were as pale as the snow, with eyes redder than blood. They had not seemed impressed, but, at the same time, they seemed content with him.

He remembered returning to his homeland, accompanied by his new Master, the pale woman. She had been subdued, but oddly kind, and somewhat child-like.

He recalled marveling at how his homeland had changed and grown, since his failed rebellion.

He remembered seeing a man in a fascist uniform walking on the other side of the street. He recalled how a shiver had gone down his spine when the man had briefly locked eyes with him.

Ruler remembered how the first battle of the third War had begun and ended with little to no fanfare. It had been unimportant, or so he had believed.

Mostly, though, he remembered that fateful day in the forest, amidst the falling snowflakes….

Lancer had delayed him with spells and spear work. He was already bleeding from a dozen small wounds inflicted by his enemy's weapon, but then, Lancer had suddenly stopped his attack and vanished. Ruler dashed towards where he felt his master was, the wounds already healing.

He saw Darnic, dropping his Master to the ground with a sickening thud. A strange rage filled a space behind Shirou's eyes at the sight, and he charged towards the man in gray hair, sword held high.

To his shock, not only did the smiling enemy master catch the sword with a bare hand, but also then he punched him back, and that single blow sent the Japanese Servant flying straight into a tree. Before he could reorient himself and act, he felt Darnic's hand swiftly impale him through his chest and heart.

How was this possible? This man was just human! No magus could fight a servant on even footing!

Darnic smiled, his red eyes alight with evil merriment and apparent mocking, as the Ruler-class servant slowly slid off his hand with a wet splat. "This has been a good bit of distracting fun, Ruler, but, as I have a Grail War to win, I must now go. Farewell."

With that, he vanished.

Ruler slowly dragged himself towards his master's comatose form and cradled her in his arms. Blood was dripping from her eyes, like macabre yet pitiful tears. Yet, she was still alive, for now, if only in the physical sense. Her mind was now dead, it would seem.

Ruler activated one of his seals. "Assassin, by my authority, come to my side at once!"

A second later, the Assassin of this War materialized before him. He was a man of average height, with a shock of white hair, blue eyes, and a strange, black, long coat with pauldrons wrought in the shape of two horse's heads. In one hand, he held a massive great sword which was the kind used solely for decapitations or bifurcations.

The blue eyes widened at the sight that he had been summoned to. "Ruler? What is going on?"

"I need your help, Assassin." It was starting to get hard to breath. Was that because of the blood in his lungs, now dribbling down his mouth?

"What do you need me to do?" the French servant asked.

"I need you to take me and my master's body to your master. Then, I need both him and you to transplant the lesser grail's heart into mine."

"WHAT?!"

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Fuyuki City, 1938

Fionn mac Cumhaill slid off of Ruler's katana with a gasp and a wet splat. It had been a great battle, and the First Knight of Fianna had afforded himself quite well, and cemented his deserving of the title of hero. But, even one such as him could do not but fall before both the Knight of God and the Youthful Saint.

As the Lancer Servant silently vanished into blue motes, Ruler and Galahad were already dashing back up the steps of Ryuudou Temple. Around them, the mountain and temple burned.

But, by the time he reached the temple itself, it was too late.

There was a sound in the air like the cacophonous shrieking of the tortured souls of the damned. It was such that it made Galahad and he cover their ears in agony.

Idly, he noted the bleeding form of Zouken Matou, his still body lying at the front entrance of the temple, a massive hole in the Matou's already decomposing body of disgusting worms.

He and Galahad watched in angry frustration as the zeppelins carried away the Shining Grail Half. As the aircraft flew further and further away. Ruler could feel the fragment embedded in his heart reaching out for its greater parts, both the one being taken, and the darker one that still resided deep within the mountain's cavernous depths.

"What do we do now, Master?" Galahad asked.

For the first time in either of his lives, Amakusa Shirou Tokisada was unsure of what to do.

"I believe that I can assist with that, good sirs…"

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3 years ago

The homunculi were ready and complete. The eight receptacles each floated in their tanks. DARNIC stood outside the arranged circle with the others.

Sancraid produced a small jar of preserved, white liquid.

Envy held an idol with three faces.

Wrath set down in front of her a small jar of blood.

Francisca brought forth four teeth.

The monk produced a dagger.

Pride presented an owl's feather.

Darnic held in his hand a piece of antler, while a preserved horse's skull lay before his feet, drenched in sea water.

The summoning chant was spoken, and the circle glowed dark green, lime, gold, red, pink, blue, and purple, to an almost blinding degree.

From them emerged the Eight Divine Pseudo-Servants.

The Saber was easily one of the most inhuman-looking of this group. Four heads rested upon two shoulders, while its body was clad in majestic Slavic armor and furs. His sword was a thing of death and violence. It was not an object that Promised Victory, or delivered Truth, or Chose a King. It was simply something that killed. It was just a god's nameless sword.

The Lancer was a man who could only be described as handsome, but in a forceful, brutal way. His skin was swarthy and dusky with a hint of olive, like those of the Mediterranean, and was clad in a sky-blue toga that clung tightly to his chiseled physique and left very little to the imagination. A wreathe of thunderbolts rested upon his head, and the expression upon his face was arrogance to the extreme. His hands were empty, though sparks could be seen dancing about his fingers. This was person who took who and what he wanted, the consequences be damned and ignored.

The Archer was tall and rangy, like a great hunting beast. A great, barbed spear rested in his hand, while an equally great yew and ash bow rested on his back alongside a full quiver of arrows, and a hand axe was slid through his belt. Oddly enough, he sat upon a great, black, eight-legged steed, and one of the servant's eyes were missing, not even covered by a patch. His blue and brown braided hair was tied back from his head into a rough and thick wolf's tail, putting the curved antlers on full display as they jutted out from his forehead, and his single red eye held within it a stern mien and fire. His armor was leather and iron and bone, including a wolf's skull as a left pauldron, while a magnificent cloak of leaves, raven feathers, and black sable adorned his shoulders. This figure was a hunter of all living things, and a king of the wild forests. He looked upon the four Masters with a disdainful suspicion and leveled his spear at them all.

Next to him was a figure in demonic-looking armor, a Berserker. Every inch was liberally splattered in blood. Each exhalation of its breath sounded like the roar that armies made when they clashed and slaughtered each other on the battlefield. The grip it held on its spear and shield was the sort that crushed necks and spines to dust. The being was actually shaking, as if it wanted nothing more than to slaughter everything in the room.

The first of the three women was cloaked, and, like the Saber, had more than one head. Three serene faces rested upon her head. Every inch of her exposed skin was covered in mystical symbols and circles. This was Caster. Her six eyes all looked about as one.

The second woman was dressed in functional armor, and her grey-and-red eyes shone through her helmet, and within them gazed a disdain for all that stood before her. Her helmet had a crest of owl feathers. Like the arrogant and lustful man, she was a Lancer, as evidenced by the spear in her hands.

The third woman was a terrifying figure to behold. Blue skin, and four arms, two of which held a dagger and a long, curved blade. She was clad in armor of gold and skulls and bones. An aura of bloodlust emanated from every pore of her skin, though, oddly enough, her eyes were quite kind.

The final figure was no less bizarre. In his hands was a magnificent trident. The Servant's hair and skin and leather armor were damp and crusted with brine and barnacles, as if he had been submerged for a long time in the sea. His eyes were a mixture of red and sea-green. This was Rider.

The eight looked about their surroundings with some confusion.

"How are we here?" the mounted hunter asked. "This should not be possible."

Darnic was the first to speak, bowing as he did. "We are your summoners, oh great ones from the Age of Gods, and I can assure you, that this is indeed quite possible." he said.

He rose from his bow. "We are the ones who have summoned you, great ones. I do hope the containers that we fashioned for you are to your liking?"

The four-armed Berserker nodded. "They are sufficient."

Svetovid's four heads looked about, and then down at his pale hands, and then at his tiny master. "This body feels strong… it feels good to have physical form again… point me in the direction of your enemies… and I will give you their heads."

The male lancer felt about himself, his hands briefly resting on one particular part, which he seemed to approve of. "I've missed having a body. So very much."

The male Lancer then began to eye Wrath and the other women in the room with obvious intent, looking eager to try out his new physical container in the way most attributed to his legend. It was not unnoticed by the maroon-haired woman, and she flipped him off. "Try anything, and I will rip your little lightning bolt off and feed it to you, king of Rapists," she said.

The apprising looks in his eyes only deepened. To one such as him, the threat was not a turn-off. "I like you," came his reply.

Sancraid laughed at his servant. They were going to get along swimmingly, it would seem.

The male berserker growled at his father, and kept shaking, as if waiting to unleash great violence. With what seemed like great effort, he said a single word. "KILL." Wrath was pleased with her Servant. Her Archer was going to hate this immensely.

The second Lancer looked upon her new Master with a great deal of familiarity in her eyes. "I am surprised to see you here, amidst such… esteemed company, Archimedes."

The famed mathematician shrugged. "It is a long story, oh goddess of mine. But, I think that this is the correct path."

"I understand. This world seems… illogical. It must be bettered."

While the two had their discussion, the second Berserker looked at the sorrowful monk who had summoned her. "Who do I have to save, Master?"

He looked at her. "Everyone."

The woman with three faces looked upon Envy. "I sense great power and potential in you, young magus. What are your orders?"

Envy said nothing, and just grinned. Even a goddess acknowledged his superiority. Wait until he rubbed THIS in that bitch Aozaki's face!

The watery rider said nothing, and just gripped his trident tightly. Why did they have to summon so many others of his family? WHY?

The horned Archer peered closer at Darnic from atop his mount, and then actually growled. "Why do you reek of that murdering, pitiful Beast?"

DARNIC smiled. "All shall be explained in good time. Come, oh great ones, and all shall be explained…"

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Unknown, 2004

It had begun to get a bit boring with the Burial Agency lately. They were not finding any more treasures lately. Plus, a great deal of Apostle activity had died down. In all honesty, Merem was starting to serious consider leaving the Agency.

He heard footsteps, and so Merem Solomon turned to behold a man with tanned skin and silver hair approaching him, dressed in a simple priest's garb.

"Can I help you?" the vampire asked. The priest responded with a small sad smile. "I certainly hope so."

Over the next few hours, the priest explained why he had sought out the Dead Apostle Ancestor, and what he needed his help for.

Merem had to admit, it sounded very interesting. In his mind, his limbs agreed in their own various ways. This was the excitement he had been yearning for! What an opportunity.

"When do we leave?" the vampire asked, a big grin on his face.

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Unknown location, 2004

This was an outrage! This was beyond sacrilege! This was defilement of the highest order.

The remnants of the Highest, the greatest thing in existence, the divine knight arm of Crimson Moon; it had been stolen!

In his rage, Gransurg Blackmore slaughtered several of his present minions.

Once he found those responsible, he would make their suffering last for a thousand years! At least, that was for starters.

"Something wrong. Blackmore?"

It was his oldest friend and enemy and rival, but blackmore did not bother turning around. "I'm not in the mood, Merem."

"Oh Think you might be, old friend. You see, I know who stole the Master's Knight arm."

Blackmore spun so quickly that his avian head almost seemed to spin off his feathery shoulders. 'What do you know?"

Merem smiled. "First, I would like to introduce you to some friends of mine. They have quite the interesting story, as well as a proposition that I think you will find most intriguing...

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Fuyuki City, 2006

It was getting hard to breath. Why was it so hard to breath? Oh wait, it was because a hole had just been burned straight into his chest.

Lord El-Melloi II chuckled mirthlessly at his lapse in thought.

Since the alliance had arrived in this timeline, everything had gone to shit. First, they had arrived to find all the contestants already slaughtered, and the city in flames.

Then, they had been ambushed. He had been separated from the group, caught unawares, and then that psychopath in red, Envy, had just... killed him, but in a way that it was taking a long time to die.

He felt the edges of his sight beginning to darken, when Rider and Flat found him.

The last thing he remembered were three strange liquids being poured down his throat...

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Unknown town, Greece, several days ago.

The man was a simple fisherman. He was happy and content with his lot of life. He was not old, and not young, though his body was firm and well-muscled from a life of working nets and sailing. Right now, he just bordered on that soft line between the two. The others of his town often called upon him to settle any disputes that came up. All respected his decisions, which were always unendingly fair and impartial.

He was a simple man, with a simple, happy life, and he held no complaints about his lot in life. That night, the man went to bed as a normal human, looking forward to the next day.

Then, on this night, he woke up. Only, the man was not himself. No, for you see, earlier, he had allowed his body to be possessed by a person that he had once thought to be only a myth. This being had loved humanity and would do anything to protect it, even sacrificing his own freedom, and incurring the wrath of his upstart nephew, just to give that that which would keep them warm.

With a flash, the man's nighttime attire changed. Now, he was garbed in simple, yet richly made robes leather armor. With divine purpose, he left the town without fanfare, and headed west, towards the Isle of Great Britain.

This was the kindly titan, Prometheus, a Ruler-Class Servant, called forth by the irregularities plaguing this Holy Grail war. He was not the only one.

In France, a young woman, barely in her teens, but purer in her devotion towards the Lord Almighty than any cardinal or nun or blessed pope, woke up from her dormitory bed, her mind gently pushed aside by that of a divine saint.

With purpose, the newly incarnated Jeanne d'Arc left her host's home, for the Isle where she had died.

The two later met on the road, perhaps brought together by their shared mission.

"Greetings, Kindly Titan," said the Saint.

"I greet you as well, Saint of Orleans," replied the Titan.

With that, the two continued on their way, towards England, and their purpose.

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Fuyuki City, Now

The Servants and remaining Masters, still standing by the corpse of the Evil dragon, looked in shock at the white-haired, tan-skinned priest, who had just asked them all to come with him. They also looked at the giant floating fortress in confusion.

"Shirou? What are you doing here?" Risei exclaimed.

The tanned man looked at the elderly priest and softly smiled. "Hello, Father Risei. I am sorry that I have not been in touch as of late. But, right now, I need you all to come with me. Please."

"And why the fuck should we listen to you, fucking white haired bitch?" Berserker asked, her sword pointed towards the strange priest.

Shielder made to go towards the Servant of Madness in a scolding fashion but stopped at his master's raised hand. "I understand your concerns. Truly, I do. But please, there is not much time. Assassin, Caster, take us all up, please."

The next thing all knew, they suddenly found themselves enveloped in a burst of light, and then in a strange room, at a console being manned by a man with short red hair.

Before Shirou Kotomine could say anything else, his face contorted in pain, and he suddenly clutched at his chest, where the strange device was situated, beneath his shirt. The glow began to rapidly pulsate somewhat erratically.

A beautiful-looking man with long hair rushed in and supported the priest by the shoulders before he could collapse. "I told you not to get up yet. The device is still acclimating to your unique body chemistry."

He then looked over the rest of the group, and saw Tokiomi, who was nearly dead on his feet, and poor Irisviel, cradled in Kiritsugu's arms. "It seems that you are all in need of some medical attention. If you want, you can follow me to the infirmary. This man especially, since it is obvious he is suffering from massive Mana deprivation, and that homunculus also needs help, it seems. Come, follow me. Rest assured that all your questions will be answered in good time."

At that, he took Tokiomi and Shirou Kotomine out of the room, with Kiritsugu and the rest of the Masters, along with the Overseer and the silent homunculus, slowly following them.

Then, some strange blond kid with blue-grey eyes and a water vest popped into the room, and locked his eyes onto Waver. His eyes actually seemed to sparkle in excitement. "OH WOW! It's really you! Waver Velvet! Right here! This is awesome! I can't believe that I 'm actually meeting you, at least this you! This is so AWESOME! My name's Flat Escardos. Come on. Let me show you around!"

Before Waver could protest, the blonde teen had grabbed him by the wrist, and pulled him out of the room in an excited flurry.

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The Iron City

Darnic, Francisca, the Casters (with their hands raised and glowing), the Eight summoned Gods, Archimedes, Wrath, Sloth, Sancraid and Envy all watched in great anticipation/ disgust/boredom/elation as the dark orb floated towards the one set in the chest of the motionless, giant figure.

The moment the two orbs touched, the air was filled with a noise that made the screams of the damned sound like the gentle lapping of waves upon the shore. The newly formed orb seemed comprised of equal parts shining stars, and the dark space between those stars. If one listened closely, then voices could be heard. But, if one listened too closely, then they risked falling into insanity.

There no fear of such a fate for the Seven, though.

The vessel was now nearly complete. DARNIC turned to his allies and smiled. It was a smile that sent chills down the necks of many of the Servants present. "Now, my friends, we make make our way to England…"

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The blond kid pulled Waver along, a death grip on his wrist. "I really want to show you everything. Miss Assassin is really amazing. She made this, you know! WOW, I just have to say, meeting you is an honor! You have to meet everyone else! There's Rider and Berserker and the other Rider, and Saber, and there's Mr. Bird Head and Merem…"

What was this kid's problem? Was his switch always set to 'on'? "Where are we going?" Waver asked.

Flat dragged him to a large throne room. "There's someone here I want you to meet! He's fro the future, like me!"

The future?

The man within the room had long hair, like the Caster that they had met earlier. Only, instead of black, this man's hair was… green. He was dressed in regal, dark clothing, and his skin was as pale of the face of the moon. His eyes were a shocking red.

The man stared right at him, and Waver watched as a plethora of emotions spread across his face. Shock, anger, disgust, surprise, sadness, and the rage again.

The man then turned to Flat in anger. "Why the hell did you bring him here? I told you a thousand times, I did not want to see this boy!"

Flat seemed to wilt under the man's glare. "But, master Velvet..."

"YOU SCATTERBRAINED MORON! Don't fucking tell him who I am! Of all the times for you not to listen to me, it had to be this time, didn't it?! For the love of all that's both holy and unholy, would it kill you to listen to me fully, just for once in your idiotic existence?!"

While the man continued to scream at Flat, Waver was left thinking. The man looked rather familiar, plus there was the hair, and his... name... Velvet...

To Waver's shock, it all suddenly clicked.

This was him, from the future?

"You're... me?" he hesitantly asked.

The man passed in his verbal lashing of Flat, and turned to glare at Waver. The rage in his crimson eyes was a palpable thing.

"Don't talk to me, don't ask me anything! Just get the fuck out, and stay the fuck out, of my face, you little pissant. Go away!" With that, he began to angrily stride out of the room, trialing cigar smoke behind as he went.

"Why? What happened to you, to me?"

The man froze in place, and he slowly turned around to look Waver directly in the eye. "What happened to me, you ask? YOU WANT TO KNOW WHAT HAPPENED TO ME?!"

Waver was actually afraid that the man was going to attack him. But, instead, he just stood there, shaking in anger.

"You don't want to know what happened to me, you little moron," the irregular Dead Apostle said. "Not that it matters, anyway. I'm not you, and you will never be me. For that, you should be counting your blessings every minute of your worthless existence."

With a final, angry sound, Lord El-Melloi II, now a Dead Apostle, strode away.

With an embarrassed chuckle, Flat looked at Waver. "Yeah… maybe this was not the best idea after all. Oh well. At least the time and space continuum did not implode or anything. Now THAT would have been a very bad thing! Right, Berserker?"

Why was he looking at that tacky wristwatch when he said that last sentence? And why did Waver think he heard a sigh of weary resignation for a split second?

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Rider had to shrink himself slightly to fit in the hallways. This place reminded him of home, and of the great things crafted by those dwarves in the past. This place was a marvel.

Then he saw two familiar sights. "Huginn? Muninn? Is that you?"

The dark raven looked at Rider in shock. "Pipsqueak?"

The white one squawked in surprise. "What in the boss's one good eye are you doing here?"

"Yeah, I thought you survived Ragnarok."

"I did. I was the only one, though. A copy of me was summoned here into a container from the Far Side."

"Okay, well good for you, I guess. Wow, you really look like your dad, runt."

Throughout his life, Rider had never really interacted much with the all-seeing ravens of his grandfather, and, as such, was at quite the loss on how to proceed with this rapidly dying conversation.

"...Well, it was nice seeing you again, runt," the black raven said.

"Yep," chimed in the white raven. "Like he said. It was nice. It's good to see that at least one of the Aesir still lives."

"Yeah," replied Rider with some melancholy. "Living. I guess that is what it could be called."

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Having grown bored, Berserker had given her master and the homunculus the slip and decided to explore.

The Berserker heard two voices, one being the shield bastard's and the other….

"I must warn you, my king, she is not the same as you remember. Her eyes and manner are clouded by madness."

"I still must look upon her, Galahad. It is the least that I owe her."

Shield bastard and the owner of other voice turned the corner...

Emerald eyes widened in slight surprise. "Mordred?"

Berserker could not believe his eyes. It was actually HIM! Trembling in great and unbridled rage, he could not restrain himself any longer. Clarent materializing at the ready, the Knight of Rebellion charged. "DIE, YOU FUCK!"

Before Galahad could intercept, Arthur Pendragon's invisible sword was already in hand, ready to clash against the tarnished blade of Clarent.

Mordred's father parried the stolen blade, seemingly without trying. The next thing that the Berserker knew, his father's parry had sent him flying, to smash against the floor of the hallway. In the blink of an eye, his father's invisible sword was at his throat.

The room was thick with anticipation. All his father had to do was push forward, and Berserker's head would be separated from his shoulders. He was almost tempted to goad the King into killing him.

Then, to Berserker's surprise, his father instead withdrew the sword, and the king turned his back on the Mad Knight of Treachery once more, while the knight of God watched. "This is not the time, Mordred. Not when so much is at stake. Do no track me again"

But Mordred still felt nothing but wrath. He was not sure if it was the mad enhancement, or his own anger, but did not care. "FUCK YOU! FUCKING HYPOCRITE!" With a roar, he burst from the ground, Clarent's edged aimed towards the king's unprotected back. All he did was turn back around, and let Mordred prepare to run him through. Was he even going to defend himself?

However, this time Galahad intercepted with his mighty shield. No matter how hard Mordred pushed, the shield, and its bearer, stood firm and immobile.

"Galahad..." the king said, somewhat reproachfully.

"Apologies, your highness, but I still am obligated to protect you, both as an ally, and as my sworn liege."

Mordred glared daggers at the shield bastard. "Get the fuck out my way, asshole. Gonna kill all you knight cunts. All you FUCKS deserve to die! Knights and Kings! CHIVALRY IS A FUCKING JOKE! YOU ARE NOTHING BUT HYPOCRITES!"

The king watched with sad and disinterested eyes. "Such anger, Mordred. Admittedly, I do deserve it. But, it is not like you are blameless either."

"THE FUCK DO YOU KNOW, FATHER? YOU CAST ME ASIDE LIKE GARBAGE! YOU REFUSED TO EVEN ACKNOWLEDGE ME!"

The king shook his head, in pity. "I had hoped that there was some semblance of sanity left in you, so that we could, perhaps, bury our grievances, Mordred. But, with the class container that you now inhabit, it seems that there is no chance of that. All I can say, though, is I forgive you. Despite what you may have believed, never once did I hate you for what you did, for I was just as much to blame for Camelot's fall as you and your mother. All I can hope now is that someday, somehow, you can forgive me as well, for being such a kingly fool."

…

...

... How dare he. How dare he! HOW DARE HE! HOW DARE HE! HOW DARE HE!

With a great scream of rage, red lightning emanated about his figure, and the Knight of Treachery began to push against Galahad's shield, actually pushing the shield-bastard back. The King gave a heavy sigh, and his invisible weapons slow sparring to life...

"Berserker! By the power of my command seal, I order you to stop!"

As the command suffused his very being, Berserker found himself putting up his sword, against his will no less. He turned to see that His master and the stupid homunculus had found him. The red marking became smudged upon his master's hand.

"WHY ARE YOU INTERFERING, MASTER?! THIS IS NOT YOUR CONCERN! none of your fucking concern!"

Kairi and the homunculus looked with pity upon the Servant of Madness, who, to their surprise, was actually beginning to sob. "How dare he? How dare he turn his back on me again?" he cried out, pounding his fist against the wall.

Kairi said nothing, but simply put a comforting hand on Berserker's armored shoulder.

The sound of the Knight of Treachery's sobbing echoed throughout the hallways. Such a pitiable figure, was Mordred le Fay, the Knight of God mused. Though, perhaps, he was not one to judge, based on his experiences with his own sire.

"If you will pardon my impudence, you majesty, but I did warn you. She cannot be reasoned with as she is now."

"Indeed. As ever, your council was invaluable, Galahad."

To Galahad's surprise, when he looked upon his majesty, tears were trailing their way down his king's face.

"What troubles you, my king?"

"...I was truly a terrible father, wasn't I, Galahad?"

The Knight of God found that he could say nothing to such a question, and so just remained silent, as Arthur Pendragon, The Once and Future King, silently wept over his past mistakes and sins.

xxxxxxxxxx

Kirei found Kiritsugu in the fortress' infirmary, still sitting near that homunculus wife of his.

The Magus Killer looked beyond weary, and tired. Kirei had never seen a man look so defeated.

"What do you want, Kotomine?"

"I wanted to know what was it that gave you meaning."

"…What?"

"I have studied you for a long time. Like me, you never seemed content, or fit in one place. Then, Seven years ago, you suddenly stopped. So what was it? What was your answer? What finally gave you meaning?"

The Magus Killer looked at him, as if her were insane. "That is not something that someone can answer for you, Kotomine. That is the sort of thing that you have to answer for yourself." The Magus Killer then turned back to his comatose wife.

Kirei felt his hands clench into fists. "No. No, that's not fair. That can't be it. You are lying. Tell me, what was your answer? TELL ME!" In his fervor, he actually grabbed the weary magus killer and slammed him against the wall, so that they were now face to face.

"For so much of my life, I have felt empty. Nothing I have ever encountered or done ever gave me pleasure. You were the same as me. So please, in the name of God, tell me. what was your answer?!"

"It done not matter. She is dead, and nothing that I say to you will penetrate your mind, Kotomine. So please, just leave me alone."

This was who he had believed held his answers? This pathetic, broken shell of a man?

Kirei left the infirmary in a dark mood, only to find Caster waiting for him, her mask now the dark one of neutrality. "Are you satisfied, master?" she asked him.

"Not now, Caster."

She put a hand on his shoulder as he tried to walk past her. "You should heed Archer's advice, my dear, as well as that broken man's. You are simply the way you are. The more that you try and deny it, then the more grief that it will cause you down the road. Right now, all you are doing is trying to find an answer to a question that never needed to be asked in the first place, and with that sort of question, there is never a right answer, only an endless string of wrong ones."

The twisted priest shook his head. "No, no. That can't be it. You, and Archer, and Emiya are all wrong. There has to be a reason for my being the way I am."

Now Caster was starting to get annoyed with her Master. "There isn't. No divine reason, or plan or purpose. Just a strange arrangement of your brain chemistry. That is all. Your existence is a natural event. Nothing more."

Archer hold told him as such, but he had not believed him. But, was that truly the answer? Had it been so simple, all this time. Kirei was confused. Had all his suffering been for nothing, this entire time?

He looked upon his command seals. He then looked up to see that Caster's mask had switched to that of her kindly white one. "Do not continue living solely according to the expectations of others, Master. It has brought you nothing but grief. Live only being true to yourself, and you will find everything to be much better."

She then straightened up. "No, if you will excuse me, there are two versions of a handsome Lancer around here somewhere that I need to talk to. Maybe to apologize, and, maybe something else." With a happy leap in her step, the goddess of war, death and magic wandered off.

Kirei watched her go, and considered the words of the Magus Killer. No answer? That could not be it! NO! Why could no one understand? Everything had a reason!

Then, Archer suddenly materialized. "It is as I warned you, oh priest. The answer has always been apparent. Stop denying what you are, and learn to live."

Kirei said nothing, and simply stormed off.

The golden archer watched him go through narrowed eyes...

xxxxxxxxxx

Touko and Assassin wandered about, admiring the flying fortress. With nothing better to do, Shiki and Mikiya followed her. In all honesty, Mikiya was feeling a bit out of his depth. A month ago, he had been living a relatively normal life, bar the odd paranormal activity that came with working for Miss Aozaki. But, now? the past few weeks had all but saturated his life in it. A vampire-like thing that used a hospital as a hunting ground; some sort of psychic demon; Dragons; and now all of this? At the very least, his life was no longer boring. It was bearable as long as Shiki was safe, though.

Shiki was starting to get very excited about this. She had been a bit miffed at not being able to actually help fight the dragons. But now? she felt that there was definitely a great fight coming, and damn it, she was going to be in the thick of it this time. At least, as long as Mikiya was safe.

"What are your thoughts, Master?" Assassin asked.

After a good inhalation of cancer-smoke, the Doll-maker shrugged. "Honestly, I not entirely sure. I guess we should at least see what this is all about."

xxxxxxxxxx

Bram strode through the halls, full of purpose and worry. After a bit, he found the person he had been searching for; the Fuyuki Lancer.

The Amazon queen was leaning against the wall in one of the corridors. "I was hoping to speak with you, Lancer," he said.

She looked him over, and then shrugged. "I am not in the mood, little man."

"Where is my sister, Lancer?"

The Amazon Queen then took a closer look at Bram, recognition flashing in her eyes. "You must be her brother. She's dead, along with that idiotic fiancé of hers. If you ask me, those two deserved each other."

Dead? "How? What happened?"

"First, Kayneth died, killed in single combat by Archer's master. Then, your bitch of a sister took command, only to be killed by my new master, Caster. That's it. The end."

She began to walk away. In grey and anger, Bram reached out. "That can't be it. You were their Servant! Why didn't you protect them? You actually call yourself a hero?!"

She stopped dead in her tracks at that last question. "These days? I am honestly not so sure. But, I am glad that they are both dead. They were both evil, petty things. Also, just so you know, she hated you. In fact, she despised your very existence. Not that I can totally blame her. Men always get everything."

With that, she continued to walk away, leaving Bram to process what she had just told him.

A second later, the magus heard Lancer bellow out "HERACLES?!" in pure rage.

Then, he heard Merem exclaim. "So you are Penthesilea? Oh my! My Archer here has told me so much about you and your older sister!"

That had definitely not been the right thing to say, Bram mused.

xxxxxxxxxx

After Kirei Kotomine had left, Kiritsugu turned back towards his wife, still dead to the world. The Caster of this strange fortress had informed him that she did not have long to live, at most, a few days. Whatever Yggdmillenia had done to her was slowly making her body shut down.

While the long hair caster left to attend to Tokiomi and the strange Kotomine, Kiritsugu was still beside his wife.

He felt tears being to stream down his face once more.

Then, the Alter Ego he had summoned entered the room. The draconic servant glared at the Magus Killer over his strange spectacles.

"What do you want, Alter Ego?"

The Servant's voice sounded different now. Less fragmented. "I needed to speak with you."

"About what?"

The abnormal Servant's clawed, empty hands, clenched in rage. "I hate you, Kiritsugu Emiya, for bringing me to life. I detest you, for withholding the truth from me. I despise you, for the crime of letting me hold onto false hope, for letting me believe that I was real, that I had an actual name, an identity, instead of just being a patchwork thing." As he spoke, his grey sword materialized into his hand.

For a moment, The Magus Killer thought that this would be where he met his end, at the hands of a servant that could only be described as a frankenstein's monster.

But, the Servant did not attack. Instead, his sword vanished back into blue motes. "I hate you, but I will not kill you. You seem to be suffering enough as it is, and death would at this point be but a kindness. That satiates my vengeance against you. But now? I will avenge the Lady Irisviel. Unlike you, she was kind to me, though like you, she kept me in the dark. But, at least she regarded me as a real thing. So know this, I will fight alongside you, but I will not fight for you, "Master." Never again."

Then, the abnormal servant left.

Sisigou entered a moment later. "You alright, Emiya?"

"No, I'm not."

Then, all heard a woman's voice, echoing throughout the fortress. "Everyone, my Master is now better. He asks that you all come to the center throne room, where he will explain everything. I will guide you."

As they stood up to leave, Kiritsugu spoke to Kairi. "Sisigou, I have a favor to ask of you."

Confusion was evident on the Necroamncer's face, even behind those sunglasses of his. "What is it?"

xxxxxxxxxx

Everyone gathered in the great throne room, where they were overlooked by a man in dark armor and dark blue robes, who sat upon the center throne.

Shirou Kotomine, who seemed a great deal better, looked upon all the gathered Servants and Masters, and smiled.

"I can imagine that this is all very strange for you, my friends. I understand that feeling. For me, this entire ordeal started over sixty years ago, when the man known as Darnic Yggdemillenia stole half of the Fuyuki Holy Grail, after killing almost all the other Masters and Servants of the Holy Grail War."

Before any of the Fuyuki masters could react to what he said, the priest held up a hand.

"I understand that you are all confused, but please, all of this needs to be told. A great deal of this would not have been possible, were it not for this man here."

The man in the strange hat gave a bow and a grin. "Greetings. I am the Comte le Saint Germain. Now, before you say anything, I want known, on the record, that I am not a magus, a fairy, incubus, hematophage, time traveller, or a world-hopping magician. I am simply an aristocratic swindler, who knows how to be in the right place at the right time."

Shirou let loose a long-suffering sigh. "Germain. Must you always introduce your self as such? No one ever actually believes you."

The Count gave a bashful grin. "I know. I just want to see if, for once, someone actually does believe me."

The rest of this strange alliance rolled their eyes, as if they had heard this exchange many times before, which they had. "Anyway, we have been fighting a sort of shadow war against this group throughout time and space."

Caster then continued, while a floating elemental began projecting images as he spoke. "After many years, and many skirmishes we have divulged the identities of the fellow leaders of Darnic's conspiracy. Darnic and these six each have four, powerful servants at their command, though we do not know how."

The elemental projector showed a woman in armor, wielding a red spear. "The first that he recruited was nearly two thousand years ago. She is a woman who will not die. She is ruthless, bloodthirsty, and is always in the thick of battle, though she is not always in the field. Her designation is "Wrath." As of yet, we have not been able to ascertain her actual identity. She finally resurfaced into the open three years ago, when she, Darnic, and Lust massacred an entire city."

"We had a contact there. She managed to send a description of the woman, before she was slaughtered, along with everyone else."

Then, one of the twin Lancers spoke up. "Wait… that's not possible."

The two had not yet fought or seen this woman, having only been summoned relatively recently, so this was their first time actually seeing her, and thus were quite surprised. "Do you know who she is, Lancer?" Rider asked the two from his throne.

The younger sighed. "Yeah, we do. That's teacher. Seems like she finally got out of the Land of Shadows."

It took a moment for those in the room who were versed in Irish Mythology to know who the Lancers were referring to. Tokiomi was the first to speak. "You mean to tell me that this woman is the Witch of Dun Scaith herself? Scathach?"

"Yep. Seems so. This is going to be shitty."

With that bit of information now released, Caster cleared his throat, as the elemental revealed a small girl with short blonde hair and blue eyes who was wearing a dress, and no shoes. For some reason, the image seemed rather disconcerting, though, that was probably in part due to the sword wound in her chest. "Moving on, the next of this group is a creature that has sustained itself by reincarnating into and stealing a new body when needed. It calls itself Francisca at the moment, but, from what we have been able to deduce, it was originally François Prelati, an Italian priest who took part in the monstrous acts of Gilles de Rais. It is a powerful creature, and delights in acts of depraved feeding, and is quite knowledgeable in magecraft. Its designation is Gluttony."

Touko's eyebrows rose at the name. That brought back memories of twenty-six glorious deaths. Interesting.

The Projector revealed a man with brown hair, a moving expression on his face, and garbed in strange robes. Attached to his strange belt were a small number of interlocked metal rings. "This man goes by the designation of "Pride." He is arrogant, and yet absolutely ruthless in battle, though he prefers to fight from a distance. But he, look most of his compatriots, cares very little, if at all, for collateral damage."

Following Pride was a unhinged looking man in what seemed to be a mockery of a priest's cassock. It was the silver-haired man from before. "Then there is Lust. As known by those here from the church as Sancraid Phan. He is deadly with sacraments and curse-based magecraft and black keys, as well as Bajiquan, and is utterly psychotic to a depraved degree. He has also left in his wake a long line of brutal rapes and murders and destruction. We have lost more than our fair shares battles against him and his Servants. For some reason ,he also seems to have a beyond-genius level comprehension of aerodynamics and rocket science."

Next, they saw the image of a tall, brown haired man in the somber garb of a monk. "Then, there is Souren Araya, a Buddhist monk. We are not sure why he is with them, but that is rather irrelevant. He is a deadly close-quarter-combat expert, as well as an unparalleled expert in the usage of Bounded fields. Oddly enough, he seems to be the only one of these seven who goes out of his way to not inflict collateral damage on the various timelines that they have destroyed, at least if there is no need to."

Finally, they came to the image of a man in red clothing, a large, crimson top hat, and long blonde hair. "Their most recent addition, Envy, is Cornelius Alba, the Abbot of Spoonheim Abbey…."

Touko then interrupted. "You're shitting me. That asshole is also a part of this?"

Caster looked at the Dollmaker for a moment, and then nodded. "Indeed. As I was saying, the Abbot of Spoonheim Abbey, and a powerful magus with a lineage and magic crest going back over 500 years. He is adept in every single magecraft that is known in the world."

"Together, these seven have been traveling and killing all over time and space. We have no clear idea what their endgame is, save that they have been appear throughout time, murdering large masses of people indiscriminately, destroying whole timelines from the Kaleidoscope, and then vanishing. What we do know for certain is that this plan of theirs will culminate in England."

Shirou then spoke up. "We have been fighting against them for a long time, and as of late, we have been losing, badly, with each loss inflicting a steep cost, both in resources, and in allies. We learned only too late that they needed Fuyuki City's Grail Half."

"Again, what do you mean, Grail Half?" Tokiomi asked.

"I shall get to that in a minute. Sixty years ago, I was the Ruler Servant that had been irregularly and unlawfully summoned by the Einzberns, in the hope that I could help them win. But, unbeknownst to them, someone else just as dangerous had entered the Grail War."

Shirou paused for a moment, as the next memory was clearly not a comforting one. "Darnic and his Lancer ambushed my master and I in the forest, put her into a deathly coma, and left me for dead. With the help of the War's assassin and his master, I managed to survive, having the heart of my master, the Lesser Einzbern Grail, transplanted into my own. Following that, I used my new connection to the Grail to summon Galahad, and then proceeded to act."

"When Darnic and I fought for the second time, as Fuyuki City burned, our battle ended with the Grail being split in half. One half retreated deep into Mount Enzou, and Darnic and his fascist allies took the other. Though, I did manage to attain a small measure of revenge by killing Darnic's Lancer servant, with Galahad's help."

"Soon after, we were approached by Germain here, along with Marisbilly and his daughter, who told me of a terrible future, one which they needed my help to prevent. With their assistance, I summoned Semiramis, and, throughout time, I recruited the rest of this alliance. Then along the way, we recruited Lord El-Melloi II, Bram, Flat, Aino and Magdelena, Merem, and Blackmore."

"For an immeasurable amount of time, and throughout all of history, we have fought against Darnic and his compatriots. Now, here is our last chance for complete and total victory. Else, all will be lost."

The beautiful Assassin then spoke up. "We will be approaching England in a few hours. Please, rest and recuperate as best as you can. One way or another, England is where this will all end."

xxxxxxxxxx

Unknown Location that stands outside Time and Space

There were many preparations that still had to be made before England, but, for the moment, DARNIC felt it best to celebrate with family.

The entirety of the Yggdmillennia clans, gathered here in this impossibly large ballroom. All were bound to him by wealth and blood and magecraft. They were all here. All save his grandchildren. They were elsewhere, somewhere safe, far away from what was to come.

He saw the Frains, the Musiks, the Icecolles, and many more. All were assembled before hime, and all held in their hands full glasses of wine. Of course, none of them dared yet to drink until DARNIC had given the command to.

"My friends, no, my family, I thank you all for being here today, on the eve of our greatest triumph. When I found your clans, you had been cast out from the association, all for the crime of degradation, a crime for which none of your ancestors were to blame. But, now, I am proud at how you all have prospered from what was once thought to be barren and unusable soils. You have all returned from the brink, and your bloodlines are the greater for it. For that, I humbly say that I am honored to be in your prescreens. So, I thank you all."

He raised his glass, as did everyone else. "A toast, my family, to all that we have accomplished. I am so very proud of you all." With that, everyone drank deeply of their beverages.

For a bit, everything seemed fine, and then, the guests began to feel... off. Darnic watched them as many in the room began to sway unsteadily on their feet.

"Yes, I am quite proud of you all. Alas, here, in the birthing hours of the New World, you will not be required an longer."

As he spoke, everyone in the room who had drunk the wine began to collapse into unconsciousness, their forms still and unmoving. Screams echoed throughout the room as, for some, the toxin took longer to activate.

"Worry not, my family. None of you are not going to die. The tonic will simply send you all into a deep slumber. You will all be kept safe and secure, until it is time for you to awake, in the New World."

One of the Frains, who somehow was still awake while clutching at his chest, managed to speak. "You're… insane…" Then, the golem-maker collapsed to the ground, as unconscious as his fellows.

DARNIC considered the man's words for a long moment, and then shrugged and tossed back his drink, feeling the same poison as it momentarily burned in his throat.

It would not have been fair if the poison had not been in his drink as well, now would it?

"Perhaps I am, Reinhardt," he replied to the now slumbering man. "But then, if I was, how would I even be able to tell?"

xxxxxxxxxx

Clock Tower, London, England

An emergency meeting had been called, and all the family and clan heads were in attendance, followed by their own attendants and other representatives of their clans.

This was an outrage. The spectacle in Fuyuki was already threatening the sanctity of the moonlit world. Many were calling for the city to be razed to the ground, at least, the parts that were still standing. But would that really solve anything?

"This is unquestionable heresy! These seven masters must be rounded up and executed!"

"We should have dismantled that Heathen Contest 60 years ago when we had the chance!"

"Perhaps you should have, my lords and ladies, then you all would not be in this position," came a voice as smooth and as deadly as a coiled viper.

All turned to the source of the voice in shock. It was Darnic Yggdmillenia. How was he here?! There was a standing order of execution on his head!

"Guards!" The lady Lorelei cried out. "Kill him!"

As the executors quickly surrounded him, he smiled. Suddenly, the combat magi were all frozen in place, rose three feet off the ground and then their heads were twisted 180 degrees about their necks with loud CRACKS.

Darnic looked about at all the gathered lords and ladies as the bodies fell to the ground, and his expression held such a hateful disdain within it that many actually recoiled. "I look upon you all, and I am disgusted. You are some of the most powerful and influential magi on the planet, and yet, all you do, day after day, is plot like rats and stagnate in your prestige and blue blood and refuse to help make this world better. Oh, and of course, anyone who dares to speak out against your stagnate ways, or tires to help the world with their gifts, you then brand as heretics who deserve only death. Pitiful. You all could be doing so much more with your powers and prestige, and yet you refuse to. So concerned are you all with your precious status quo that you do not realize how much of its future that your inactions are costing humanity. Pathetic does not even begin to describe what you all are."

Then, his smirking smile was back upon his face. "But, be assured, for I have the answer. I will bring this world into a New and Glorious age. I would offer you all a place at my side, as a second chance, and repentance for your crimes. But, be warned, for I will give you all this offer only once. Join me in my New World, or die forgotten among the ruins of this one."

All were struck silent by the audacity of that statement, as well as what had just happened. Then, Lorelei spat in his direction. "Go fuck yourself, you blasphemous heretic! You and your disgusting mockery of a clan will be wiped off the map!"

The man's only response to The Queen of the Clocktower's vitriol was the raising of one of his gray eyebrows. "Is that your final decision as well, my lords and ladies?"

He noted how very reluctant their agreements sounded as they nodded and murmured their consent.

"Very well." The heretic magus lord then raised his right hand, and the command seals shone brighter than a dying star, and the projection of his being then started to slowly fade. "If that is what you wish, then know that you brought all of this on your own heads, due to the sins of long ago, as well as through your disgusting inactions regarding the World. So now, all I ask is that you all try to die with something close to resembling dignity, in the coming hours. It will be proof that your miserable lives were actually worth something, in the end."

The next thing anyone knew, the moment the projection fully vanished, the bounded fields surrounding the Clock Tower were suddenly shaken with a massive explosion.

"What the hell was that?!"

xxxxxxxxxx

As the mental connection to the projection severed, DARNIC opened his eyes.

Assembled before him were his six allies, and their servants, save for three of their Riders, who were currently waiting on the seas around the isle.

"I take it that a the negotiations did not go well?" Archimedes said.

"They refused my offer. So now, we move forward with the plan. Signal the Duke and Drake and Neptune to attack. Materialize the cities over England. Wrath and Lust, you will lead the ground forces with your chosen servants, while the Duke, Drake, and Neptune will keep the navel bombardment continuous on the coasts and bases. The rest of you will head to the Iron and Silver cities. You all know what to do. Prepare the Vessel."

He then turned and strode out of the room. "Let the Masquerade fall, so that Britain may burn, and that the New World can be born."

xxxxxxxxxx

Along the coastlines of Ireland and England, all their residents watched in confusion as what seemed to be an endless amount of ancient-looking ships were seen approaching the coasts, until the entire Unite Kingdom was surrounded. Was this some sort of strange, expensive publicity stunt? Why were some of them flying the ancient British and Spanish flags? Then, that confusion turned to horror and panic as massive, glowing cannonballs flew towards them, and collided with the shore in massive explosions.

Overhead, three large floating cities came into being as they blocked out the night sky, and they began opening fire indiscriminately on the land below them. From these fortresses then descended countless airplanes, helicopters, and other, strange vehicles, all of which reigned down fire and destruction.

On the ground of Great Britain, a massive army of blank-faced soldiers and slavering zombies and vampires and horrific-looking creatures slaughtered any and everything in their path as they headed from all directions towards London, with an advance force from the floating golden city already there. The Second Army was being led by a horrific woman in spiked armor, a cackling man with silver hair, and several others, each as horrific and as bloodthirsty as their leaders.

The Army and the RAF could barely mount any sort of counter attack before several bursts of fire from the floating cities decimated most of their bases. Meanwhile, the navy was already sinking to the bottom of the sea and the English Channel, courtesy of the massive, ghostly fleets.

People were being killed, torn apart, eaten, shot. Everyone in the path of these forces did not survive, though they ignored all who stepped aside for them to pass. All avenues were and exits were cut off. The people were terrified.

These things came from the sky, and from the ocean, which was being unusually calm.

Great Britain and Ireland had become bloody warzones. Any attempts by their allies from around the world to help were stopped by the floating cities and the ghostly fleets.

The United Kingdom was trapped. Who was attacking it, and why? The world could only watch helplessly.

The cameras that were active and transmitting caught flashes of strange beings riding through the destruction; some bore magnificent swords, others rode mythological creatures.

Then, one camera caught sight of a man with Gray Hair and Red Eyes at the head of the main army in London. Suddenly, the camera inexplicably floated towards him, and he looked through it, to the world that was watching, and smiled. "Watch, and let your eyes be opened as the New Age is brought forth, onto an undeserving world and its populace."

xxxxxxxxxx

The Clock Tower was in a panic. Everything was swiftly going to hell.

"Has there been any response from Atlas or The Wandering Sea?" Lorelei demanded, as more explosions shook the building.

"No, my lady," came the lesser magi's fearful reply.

"Damn! Keep trying!" Lorelei was in a state of confused panic at the moment.

How had they missed all of this? How had Darnic Yggdmillenia manage to accrue such a force without anyone knowing? Also, where had they come from?

At the front gates of the building, Eliza Stornhelm and her squad stood, watching helplessly as the army slowly surrounded the building. Luckily, the Bounded fields and wardings were holding against any assault, but they were also trapped. There had been many attempts to escape, but all had been gunned down the minute they left the Bounded Field.

The enemy had started a game, it would seem. Every ten minutes, they would fire a single round from a single tank round at the barrier, often right in front of the magi.

This had been going on for the past three hours. Each explosion rattled the nerves of the wary magi. They were surrounded on all sides. There was no escape.

At the front doorway, in front of the bounded field, stood Darnic Yggdmillennia, with an evil smile upon his face. They all wanted to wipe that grin off of his face.

Beside Eliza stood Renault Haagenti. They had served together as executors before, and were a good team. She trusted him implicitly to always have her back, and vice versa. In fact, she would even go so far as to call him her friend.

The others were panicking, but Renault, solid Renault, did his best to keep everyone calm. "Those bounded fields can take rounds from tanks. They will hold! Stand firm!"

Another tank round exploded. "Do not panic, they will hold!"

Then, three more. Then four. All the while, Yggdmillenia just stood there, smiling.

The Bounded fields around the Clock Tower suddenly and slowly began to fall, dissipating in to small motes of light. Everyone's eyes widened in horror. Then, the man next to Eliza suddenly fell, a bullet lodged in his brain. "Fall back! Everyone fall-ARGH…" Before the magus could cry out any more, she felt something sharp stab into her back.

Slowly, she looked behind her, and saw that it had been Renault who had stabbed her with an Azoth Sword, a neutral expression on his face. Around them, other magi were suddenly turning on their fellows, allowing Yggdmillenia and his army to stride in to the Clock Tower. "W-why?" she gasped.

He looked down at her. "This is the start of a new world. Lord Darnic had promised so many of us, so many generations ago, that we would help create it, as according to that which chose our bloodlines. Now, it is time for his plan to come to fruition. Forgive me, Eliza, please forgive me."

As darkness began to cloud the edges of her vision, Yggdmillenia knelt down in front of her, and his eyes glowed red. "You have done well, Renault. As for you, Eliza, you shall not fall here. Rise again and serve a far greater purpose."

Eliza Stornhelm died in sadness and agony and confusion over this betrayal.

She rose in anger, and animalistic hunger.

xxxxxxxxxx

They all heard the screams. Before anyone could mount any sort of counter attack, all the magi and students within the clock tower were rendered immobile. They could not even blink. They then all felt themselves floating towards the main courtyard of the Clock Tower. As they did, they noticed that many of their fellows were not caught, but free. Indeed, the traitors were smirking at the misfortunes of their fellows.

Did they bring down the protective fields around the Clock Tower

Lorelei had been preparing for a glorious last stand, as befitting her bloodline and power, when she suddenly found that she could not move, no matter how much of her considerable willpower she summoned up. This invisible force was like a vice on her entire body. She could not even access her magecraft.

She heard footsteps, and her body was rotated about to reveal Darnic Yggdmillenia, who looked upon her like one does upon a caged specimen or songbird. "Greetings, Lady Barthomelloi. This is truly an honor, to meet you in person."

He then began to pace about her, her body rotating with his movements. "I am almost tempted to release you for a duel, so that we could "settle this, like true and proper magi,"" Darnic said, as he walked about her.

His smirk never left his face, and he stopped pacing. "Of course, I won't do that. There would be no point, and such a contest would swiftly grow tiresome for me. So, now, all I can ask is if you are prepared to die, oh Queen of the Clock Tower?"

Upon the Queen's youthful face was a pure and black rage, and every last bit of it was directed towards the smirking man with gray hair and red eyes. "Why are you doing all of this, heretic?! Has this all been just so that you can reach the Swirl of the Root?! Was it simply for that that you revealed us to the world in such a manner?!" The Queen of the Clock Tower spat, defiant even in the face of imminent death.

Darnic actually looked confused at her question. "The Root? Is that what you truly think this is all about, Lady Lorelei?"

He stepped closer to her, until they were face to face, almost nose to nose. "If all I cared about was the Swirl of the Root, then why would I go to all this trouble, just to reach something that I have already attained many times over?"

Her eye widened at the implications of that sentence. "What? What do you mean?!"

He smirked. "Let that question follow you into the afterlife, my dear. But, as a reward, I will grant you a piece of knowledge. My true name. The name that I have kept concealed for over two millennia. Do you wish to know what it is?"

Her only response was to launch a large glob of spittle upon his face. The smirk never left his face, even as he wiped away the offending glob. "I shall take that as a yes."

He then stood right next to her and whispered in her ear. "My true name, Queen of the Clock Tower, is Darius Ainsworth, progenitor of the proud and noble Ainsworth Line."

Her eyes widened in disbelief. That was impossible. That family had been wiped out over a millennium ago!

He saw the confusion in her eyes, and actually laughed. "Die with some dignity, Lady Lorelei."

With a flash of his eyes, her limbs and neck began to slowly twist. She did not go quietly, screaming out curses and defiance as her body bent. "I CURSE YOU, DARIUS AINSWORTH! I CURSE YOU AND ALL WHO CARRY YOUR BLOOD! MAY YOUR SOUL FOREVER ROT IN HELL! MAY DAEMONS FEAT ON YOUR CORPSE FOR ALL ETERNITY! MAY YOU DIE IN SLOW AND PAINFUL AGONY! FUCK YOU! FU…"

Her cries were cut short when, which several snaps, her spin, limbs, and neck all twisted 360 degrees.

With a gesture, her body floated out to join the rest in the courtyard.

"We have done as you asked, Lord Darius," said one of the traitors.

Darius Ainsworth looked upon the man for a long moment, and then put his hand upon his shoulder with a smile. "Indeed. You have betrayed those with whom you stood for generations with barely a second thought, all because I have shown to be more powerful than they." He began to circle the man. "Odd, isn't it, how, before, when you thought me not so powerful, you and the others were more than content to jeer and look down upon me. It is truly sad how we magi act little better than rats who flee the sinking ships. It makes me wonder how I in turn could ever hope to trust you?"

He then stopped. "But, still, you have helped me, my treacherous lords and ladies, and, for that, I shall give each of you a priceless reward."

A second later, each of the traitors dropped dead to the ground, their faces contoured in extreme agony.

Darius looked up to his homunculi, Dead Apostles, Dead, and chimeras. "Free all those who are imprisoned beneath, and then, burn this place to ash."

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After a great while of rest in the large throne room, where they were served food by silent homunculi and golems, they had arrived.

Bram's voice echoed throughout the fortress. "We are approaching the skies above England. I will warn you all… it is not a kindly sight."

At that, the kingly Rider rose and descended from the throne. "Follow me."

They exited the room, and went to the open courtyard near the edge. They should not have been able to breath at this altitude, but, somehow, they were. Yet, even from this height, they could see the flames.

Waver looked upon the scene in pure horror, along with everyone else present. "England is… burning."

Shirou then spoke. "We need to find Darnic and the others. If we can cut off the heads of this snake, then it will die. I can sense where the grail resides, and I know that is where Darnic will be, in that Golden City."

Vlad nodded. "I recommend that we break into several groups. Master Ell-Melloi II, you shall join the assault on the floating cities with the others, including your Alter Ego, Lancer, and Rider. As Kotomine has stated, if we can kill these seven, then all this madness will end. Our two Lancers, as well as Arthur, The Knight of Treachery, Galahad, the killing girl, and I shall lead the counter attack on the ground from London with our own forces. Assassin, you and Caster and Bram shall draw aerial bombardment from the cities away from England and us with the Hanging Gardens. Keep the skies clear as best as you can. Blackmore and Rider shall be our aerial scouts, as well as keeping the skies and seas clear. The Archers and their Masters shall be our snipers and support, as they too shall take care of the fleet attacking the coastline!"

The Black Knight then threw out his arms, as the fortress hovered above the sight of the battle, while his scarlet cape fluttered behind him like draconic wings. "My fellow Heroic Servants. Today, we march into a last and desperate battle, so as to fight, not for a heathen cup, but instead for the survival of our World! If you be full of might and strength and vigor and valor, then stand now and fight! Though we fight against other heroes of the past, and monsters from beyond the stars, we shall not retreat! Fight for your Gods! Fight for your legends! Let it be known that I, Vlad III, The Son of the Dragon, and the Black Knight, did not retreat this night! SO, COME, SERVANTS OF THIS GRAND AND NOBLE ALLIANCE! LET US GO FORth, AND SHOW THESE MONSTERS AND TRAITORS AND FALSE HEROES JUST WHAT IS MEANS TO BE TRUE HEROIC SPRITS!"

With that, he summoned his bone white steed to his side, and was the first to leap off the Hanging gardens, and down towards the burning City.

The two Cu Chulainns, each of whom bore an excited grin, the small army of Caster's golems and Elementals, and Merem's minions, the Archers, Kirei and his father, Galahad, Arthur Pendragon, Mordred, Shiki, the draconic servant, and what seemed to be an army of dragon tooth warriors, undead, and strange beasts soon joined the kingly Servant of the Mount in his seemingly mad descent from the Hanging Gardens. As they fell, a series of portals opened up beneath them, depositing them to their destinations. Meanwhile, Blackmore, his two ravens, and his other avian-like familiars and minions jumped and took flight from the Hanging Gardens, towards the fleet of ships and the other cities and attacking aircraft.

Shirou turned towards the remaining Servants and Masters. "Come, we need to get going. Magus Killer, I suggest that you and Sisigou head towards either the Iron City, or the silver one. Caster has registered a great power source coming from theme. If that is where their power source is, then you must destroy both."

"I shall accompany you, magi," stated Lancer, ready for battle.

"Alright, Assassin and I shall head towards the Silver one. I promise that we can make it fall. Hey, weird kid, you coming?" Touko said, looking at Flat.

He said nothing, surprised by what she had just asked. He was not really used to people actually needing his presence. The doll maker then shrugged. "Okay then, that means yes. Assassin, let's go!"

Three portals opened up, and three groups were met. Aozaki, Assassin, and Flat went through the middle, while Sisigou, Emiya, Sisigou's Homunculus, Caster and Lancer went through the one on the left.

That left the one on the right, for Waver, Rider, Shirou Kotomine, and the Vampiric El-Melloi II to walk through.

Before he could do so, the Comte le Saint Germiane suddenly put a firm hand on Waver's shoulder. "One moment, Mr. Velvet."

He reached into a pocket in his coat and withdrew what seemed to be a simple gold ring and pushed it into his hand. "You may need this."

The moment it touched Waver's palm, he felt the power radiating from the object. "Good luck, Waver Velvet. Remember, keep a clear head, and try to always stand tall, even when it feels as if you have no leg left to stand upon."

He was gone, leaving Waver to ponder his strange words.

"Come along Waver," Kotomine said to him and Rider. "We need to get going."

With that, more portals opened, and all went on their respective missions.

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Upon the North Sea and the Atlantic, the ghostly fleets continued to lay waste to the British and Irish shorelines. Upon the grandest flagship, situated in the British Channel, stood the commander of this strange fleet. It was a figure that seemed the very picture of a medieval Spanish Knight and nobleman. His armor was immaculate, his sheathed sword of the finest steel, and his clothes the finest silks and leathers.

This was Alonso Pérez de Guzmán, 7th Duke of Medina Sidonia, Commander of the famed Spainish Armada, and a Servant of the Rider Class.

Up and down the decks he strode, bellowing orders to his spirit and homunculi crews over the roar and blasts of the cannon fire.

"Mantenga cañonazos continuos en Edimburgo, Brighton y en cualquier barco que se atreva a atacar esta flota. Envíale un mensaje al Capitán Santiago para apuntalar sus defensas al costado de estribor, ¡ya que arrasa la costa de Irlanda! Sigue disparando! ¡Hoy tenemos éxito donde antes fallamos, mis hombres! ¡Hoy, antes del poder de la Armada, Inglaterra caerá!" (Maintain continuous cannon fire on Edinburgh, Brighton, and on any ships that dare try to attack this fleet! Send word to Captain Santiago to shore up his defenses on the Starboard side, as he ravages the coast of Ireland! Keep firing! This day, we succeed where before we failed, my men! Today, before the might of the Armada, England shall fall!)

Then, with an expression of distaste, he spoke again. "Y dile a ese advenedizo Drake que Lord Darius le ordenó avanzar por el río Támesis. ¡Se requieren reinventamientos allí!" (And tell that upstart Drake that Lord Darius has ordered him to advance forward through the River Thames. Reinforecments are required there!)

Suddenly, one of the Homunculi crew members cried out in alarm, as a massive swarm of winged things could be seen making its way towards the fleets. But the Duke was cool under pressure. "Maniobras evasivas! Prepárate para repeler a todos los internos! ¡Dispárales desde el cielo!" (Evasive manuevers! Prepare to repel all boarders! Shoot them out of the sky!)

Then, several of his ships exploded into flaming kindling.

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Throughout England, the Dead Apostles, Homunculi soldiers, and chimeras ran rampart, slaughtering anyone they came across. There were still some pockets of fighters and human soldiers amidst the ruins, but they were being swiftly murdered.

Scáthach actually cackled in delight, as her forces advanced, absentmindedly skewering a helpless human soldier through her throat. This was glorious. At least a few of these fucks were actually trying to fight back. Sancraid, meanwhile had left for Westminister Abbey. Beside her, Saber wet about his slaughter methodically. It made her chuckle, since she knew that, as an ancient English king, he had not supported this part of the plan, but still went about his duties, as befitted a servant.

The bloodthirsty woman did laugh greatly when she saw a Dead Apostle had cornered a sobbing family. Its right claw raised, it seemed eager to kill it's prey.

Then, something happened, and the Apostle suddenly screamed, a large spike impaled through its chest and heart.

What was that?

Then without further warning, miles upon miles of stakes shot up from the ground, impaling the monsters and homunculi and Dead Apostles all around London and England, and thus filling the air with their screams of pain, suffering, and death.

Then, seemingly from out of nowhere, out of the West came an army just as strange and as terrifying to look upon as the invaders. It seemed comprised of more undead and vampires, walking skeletons, and huge figures made from stone and metal.

Leading this strange force of skeletons, golems, vampires and other strange creatures was a figure who was terrifying to behold. He was clad in magnificent black, silver, and dark turquoise spiked armor and robes. Clutched in his clawed gauntlet was a long, spiked spear while the other gripped his reins, and he was mounted upon a powerful steed whose fine coat was the color of bones drenched in moonlight, and it was clad in black barding and armor, like its rider. The rider's uncovered face was pale, and within his eyes held such hatred and disdain for the monsters that stood opposite him and his force. Oddly enough though, when the British people looked upon this dark figure, they did not feel fear. Instead, they felt… assured, as if they knew that this Black Knight, this dark and terrifying figure that seemed straight from the pages of a fairy tale, was here to save them, and avenge their dead.

When the invading homunculi, Dead, Dead Apostles, and Chimeras looked upon him, they felt afraid, as if he were the Pale Rider of Death itself, come forth to bring the might of the Apocalypse down upon their sinful heads.

Beside him, mounted on a horse that would not have looked out of place in a steampunk novel, was a figure that, for some reason, seemed familiar to the beleaguered people of Great Britain. He was youthful, and yet aged all at once, and was clad in armor that seemed t shine as bright as a kind and welcoming star. In his hand, he seemed to hold something invisible. This figure's expression was cool and collected, as he gazed upon the enemy. Next to this man rode two other knights, one in blood-red and steel armor, and the other with steel as dark as the Black Knight.

The Dark Knight looked at the opposing army of homunculi, undead, and monsters, and all of those who met met his gaze flinched away as he leveled his mighty spear of iron, steel, and blood in the direction of the force that lay siege to England, and, more specifically towards Scáthach. The Black Rider's voice seemed to echo throughout all of Great Britain, so great and full of wrath and heroic rage were his tones. "Come, all of you monsters and criminals and false heroes who dare to trample over my chosen territory! It's time for you all to be punished! I will turn my compassion and rage into red‐hot stakes and skewer you all! And these stakes are not limited, but truly infinite, so despair—and gorge and suffocate on your own blood! KAZKILI BEY: LORD OF EXECUTION!"

As the colluded night sky above the land turned dark and red, and more stakes sprang forth from the ground to skewer The Black Knight's foes, this new force began to charge forward. The Impaling Knight bellowed once more. "FORWARD, MY FORCES OF RIGHTEOUSNESS! IN THE NAME OF GOD ALMIGHTY, DEFEND THIS ISLE AND ITS PEOPLE WITH YOUR VERY LIVES! FORWARD!"

Scáthach had a great and wide grin on her face. Here! Here was a foe worth fighting.

Then, that bloodthirsty grin only grew wider when she saw two heads of blue hair racing at the front of the opposing force. But first, her old students. Perhaps while she fought, Francisca's irate Rider could soften up this Black Knight.

Beside her, her Saber looked upon the mounted figures that rode beside the Black Knight, and there was pure, unadulterated rage in his black eyes.

With a powerful and wordless scream, her own army ran forward, ignoring the stakes that impaled them, even when one pierced her shoulder. That just made things more exciting!

With a roar, the two armies met each other amidst the forest of impaling stakes and dying corpses and flying.

The Battle for England had finally, truly begun!

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Ars Paulina, Outside Time and Space

DARIUS watched as the final preparations of the vessel began. Just a few last minute details, then, all would be ready.

2,000 years of planning and preparation, and soon, all would proceed as he had foreseen.

He shed his coat, revealing the myriad of command seals that sprung to life all about his body and face. His right arm, however, though just as covered, looked different to the rest of his body. It was glowing, as if it were made of physical moonlight. A multitude of scaring that seemed to connect this arm to his shoulder told a dark and unknown story. A beam of fluid light shot out from the newly formed Vessel, and attached itself to his heart.

It was almost time.

Then, he lifted his head, and turned. It seemed that the first of his guests had arrived, and right on time.

"I know you are here, young Vampire. Come into the light. Don't be shy."

Materializing behind him was a man who looked to be in his seventies, though he was still thickly built.

Darius smirked at him. "Are you to stop me, Wizard Marshal? At this point, you are probably one of the few who still can."

Kischur Zelretch Schweinorg said nothing for a long moment, and simply looked at Darius Ainsworth with a cool, neutral expression on his weathered face. Then, he spoke. "No, Darius. I'm not. You know perfectly well that I cannot truly intervene anymore, though I did hope that you might still give up this foolish goal of yours. There will be consequences for this, for all that you have done."

Darius chuckled at that. Oh how like the young Vampire. "Then what, are you simply here to lecture me, or have you come here to watch? Also, as for your "consequences?" Well, as you can see, the Quantum Time-Lock has not yet settled upon this timeline, nor has the World pruned it off from the Kaleidoscope and transformed it into a LostBelt, which means that what I do here will not threaten humanity as a whole. It is proof that I will succeed, that what I am doing is meant to happen, as I had foreseen! It is proof that humanity's future is still secure and strong!"

"Perhaps. But, are you aware of the price that you will have to pay, for this grand and noble vision yours to actually succeed?"

Without hesitation, Darius answered. "I am. I have been, for a long time, and I would pay it, a thousand times a thousand times over, Zelretch."

With a sight, Zelretch gave him a slight bow of his grey head. "Farewell, my wayward and foolish friend." Then, in a flash of multi-colored light, the Old Vampire vanished.

With another chuckle, Darius lifted up his right hand. "Wodan, Drake, Arthur. It is time! Summon the Hunt!"

A/N

I hope you like this chapter. Read and Review

Berserker: Mordred

Stats

STR A+

AGI A

END B

MAN B+

LCK D

Class Skills

Mad Enhancement EX. While somewhat capable of normal conversation, when confronted with anyone who is a knight, a king, looks like one, or reminds her of her mother, then Berserker loses all sense of reason, and gives in to pure, murderous rage.

Personal Skills

Helm of Hidden Self: EX

Riding: B

Mana Burst: A

Instinct: A

Nature of a Rebellious spirit: A+

Battle Continuation: C

Noble Phantasms

Clarent: C

Clarent Blood Arthur: A+

Rage of Camlann: Assured death to Knights and Kings Alike! EX

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RIDER: Vlad III/ the Black Knight

Master: Alternate Lord El-Melloi II

ALIGNMENT: Lawful Neutral

STATS

STR: B+

AGI: B

END: A

MAN: A

LUC: D

SKILLS

Riding: A+

Magic Resistance: B

Charisma: B+

Indépendant Action: A+

PERSONAL SKILLS

Demonic Defender of the State: EX

Battle Continuation: A

Protection of the Faith: A+++

Military Tactics: B+

The Pale Rider: EX (Bequeaths innocent monster, At the Boundary, Evening Bell, Necromancy)

Knight Tactics: A

NOBLE PHANTASM

Legend of Dracula B+

Battlefield of Târgovişte, Lands of the Impaling death. EX (Reality Marble)

Kazliki Bei: Spear and Scythe of Judgment B+

When Melloi II summoned this version of Dracula, somehow, the servant became merged with the phantom of "The Black Knight," which is also a result of accruing the legend of the Black Knight, and as the Pale Rider of Death from the thousand years he spent in England, waiting for his master to resurface as a Dead Apostle. This resulted in a version that has, somewhat, accepted the Vampire legend surrounding him, save for the drinking of blood, which he still abhors. He still desires to rid history of the stain upon his family's name, were this a normal Grail War, thus, Legend of Dracula has decreased from A+ to B+.

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Class: Rider

True Name: Alonso Pérez de Guzmán, 7th Duke of Medina Sidonia (merged with the Phantom of Davy Jones)

Parameters

STR: C

END: B

AGI: B

MAN: D

LCK: A

NP: EX

Class Skills

Magic Resistance: D

Riding: B+

Personal Skills

Voyager of the Storm: A++

Dominion of the Drowned: A++

Golden Rule: A

Noble Phantasm

Great Armada: EX

A/N I would like to apologize if anyone finds my updating the story to be annoying. My apologies.

Which new story do you want me to write? A fate stay where Rin summons a golden archer, and others are involved, entitled Fate/ Strange Directions? Or a Fate Apocrypha fit entitled Obsidian and Blood, involving new servants for each side, mostly (Semiramis and Achilles and Chiron and Mordred stay the same)? The poll is on my profile.