Saber, the brave paladin wielding a sword.

Archer, the daring bowman dealing death from afar.

Lancer, the gallant spearman.

Rider, the horseback knight galloping into battle.

Caster, the astute sorcerer casting spells.

Berserker, the crazed warrior running amok.

Assassin, the silent murderer wrapped in shadows.

These are the seven Classes meant for Heroic Spirits, extraordinary souls who once reshaped the history of humanity. Bound to human Masters, these Servants shall fight for the ultimate prize, the sacred cup able of granting any wish, the Holy Grail of Fuyuki City.

However, sixty years ago, the Grail was corrupted, its esence tainted beyond repair. And ten years ago, its contents spilled all over Fuyuki City, destroying and burning it down to the ground.

But evil would not die easily.

And neither would hope...

Such is the Fate of Man.

Fate Stay Night, Fate Prototype, Fate Zero, Fate Hollow Ataraxia, Fate EXTRA, Fate Extella, Fate Apocrypha, Fate Strange/Fake, Fate Kaleid Liner Prisma Illya, Fate Requiem, Fate School Life and Fate Grand Order all are the creation and intellectual property of Nasu Kinoko and Type-Moon.

All other featured and mentioned franchises belong to their respective copyright owners.

With Special Thanks to Shadow Crystal Mage, Darkenning, Kamenhero25, Moczo, Ol'Vesper, GhostXavier and The Infamous Man for the inspiration.

Lovely Magical Collectible Waifu Game of Death!

Chapter Zero.

You Should Never Meet Your Heroes.

There are all sorts of unwritten rules when it comes to narrating a legend, or even a plain old story. They are conventions those who listen to such fare tend to expect, and unless they are smartly subverted, they tend to disappoint whenever they are broken. One of those involves the opening act of your tale for the ages, which usually should feature a meaningful, decisively establishing scene of your hero or their antagonist. This picture should convey the type of story your narrative will be; if we are to deal with, let us say, a retelling of King Arthur's glorious saga, we might be expected to open with a scene depicting young Arthur, or illustrious King Uther, or Merlin, greatest of sages.

This story, instead, begins with a failure of a young woman rising from her bed, somewhere in the hills of Eastern Europe.

Messy, long dark gray hair splayed all over her face, this woman, who at the very least was gifted with noticeable physical beauty, sat up on the fine mattress of her large, expensive bed, in a bedroom almost as wide as most commoners' whole houses, and then farted with the grace and elegance of a true aristocrat. Pulling the disorganized bangs off her fair and mature features, she stood up in nothing but skimpy black panties and an unbuttoned night shirt dangling from her shoulders, and then yawned, lazily scratching the back of her right hand. Damn it, but it really itched this morning, what had she been doing with it this time...?

Then she took a good look at it.

"Oh, motherfucking shit," she muttered to herself. "You've got to be kidding me."

The bright red marks on her skin were shaped like an ellaborate set of sharp wings, with a smaller subset of wings underneath, both of them perfectly symmetrical. They ended up in a pair of elongated peaks at the top, pointing upwards. Angrily, she rubbed on them with her other hand, balled up into fist. "Get off, get off, damn you...!"

After a few moments of that, when her hands ached and the godforsaken there remained there stubbornly clear as before, the young lady- she was twenty six, but she took good care of her lucks and could pass for a solid three or four years younger- stopped and grimaced at it, squinting before reaching for a set of sophisticated glasses on her oak nightstand. She put them on, squinted again to take another look at the offending marks under the early sunlight coming through her window, and began chewing cruelly on her lower lip, as if doing her best to make it bleed. "Why me, this isn't fair at all...!"

Finally accepting reality for what it was and sighing, she let her arms drop by her sides and her head hang down. After a few moments of remaining perfectly still like that, the woman groaned, pulled a robe out of her huge closet, tied it up around herself in angry haste, and stomped out of the room, slamming the door closed behind her.

Fuming and tighening a silk handkerchief pulled out of a pocket of the robe around her marked hand until it ached, this embittered character stalked through the long, illustrious hallways of the Yggdmillennia Castle, ignoring the bowings and the soft greetings of the pale faced maids and butlers she found along her way.

"Good morning, Lady Celenike..."

"What's so good about it?!" she snapped, never stopping.

"How are you today, Master Celenike?"

"Is that any business of yours?!" she growled, fastening her pace.

"Screw you, Miss Celenike."

Celenike Icecolle Yggdmillennia stopped abruptly at these unexpected words, then stared in sheer furious disbelief at the butler who had just uttered them, and now who now paused in as much quiet surprise as a homunculus could, taking a hand to his mouth and gazing down at it.

Celenike hissed, readying her left hook, Magical Circuits glowing through her skin in eerie light blue from the lower arm to the wrist, and then the palm and fingers. Thusly charged, she slammed her fist on the butler's face, roaring "Very funny, Roche!"

As soon as this was done, she turned back and kept on stomping the way she had been going, mumbling curses in seven different languages as she did. Nursing his dislodged jaw carefully, the butler began heading towards Master Roche's workshop for repairs.

Celenike entered the female baths reserved for the mistresses of the house, which meant she had the whole place to herself, as the only other person in the castle who qualified for that title never came around. Celenike guessed she had to take sponge baths at her living quarters, whatever, it was not like she cared. Still huffing in disbelief, she took the robe off, then the shirt and the panties, and hung them aside before taking her glasses off, placing them on an ivory-topped stool and then entering her favored shower stall, setting the water ice cold as she liked it best. Breathing out and relaxing under the spray, she closed her eyes and washed her hair down, then massaging her stiff neck and pressing on the right spots; it was only once she was calmed enough that she undid the handkerchief and looked again at the Command Seals, now with an expression of pained concern rather than wrath. Almost childishly, she put the hand under the stream of water and rubbed it, up and down, vigorously, but she knew it'd be to no avail even as she did it. She gave up after a few minutes, when the whole back of the hand was almost as red as those intrincate drawings on the flesh.

"I should be happy..." she moaned to herself.

But then, it came as no surprise either. She had never been happy anyway.

"I ask of you, is this not a miracle?"

Far, far away, somewhere in one of several small islands at the East, a woman stood before her congregation, in the belly of a large, pure white building, a secluded church in the hills. She was tall and slender, with a beautiful figure wrapped in the altered habits of a Catholic sister, modified in such a way they conveyed both the rigors of her duties and the tempting allure of sexuality about to burst at any time. The long slits at the sides of her legs, allowing her for better mobility, were an important part of these modifications, not that they were visible right now for the crowd, as she stood behind the pulprit.

Instead, their eyes were focused on the hand she raised for all to see, proudly showing off blood red marks taking the shape of several stylized feathers converging downwards into a pointy weren't even visible for those not sitting in the first rows, but their faith still moved them to awe and marvel, whispering praise and joy under their breaths, but never loud enough as to distract themselves from her firm, vigorous speech.

"I have been visited by the stigma, brothers and sisters!" she announced. "A proof of God's boundless love, cast upon us all. I, Sessyoin Kiara, swear before you honoring this blessing, as the vessel of our Lord's will. I won't lie to you, brothers and sisters! Times of hardships are ahead of us, but I shall take the blunt of them for you! I shall venture into the Holy Crusade and triumph so you can live and prosper. I have no reason to fear, for I am under His wing, and so are you, forever and ever, Amen. Can you share an Amen?"

"Amen, Sister Kiara!" they chorused, standing up as one.

The woman took a hand to her cheek, blushing intensely and bringing her legs together, already thrilled by their devotion. "My beloved..." she softly said, her gaze travelling all over them, the beautiful and the ugly, the young and the old, the males and females. She loved them all equally, and whenever they raised their voices together, her heart could not help racing madly. "I will not disappoint you, I swear. For the nature of our unbreakable bonds, forged in the testing fires of faith and persecution, have made our collective undefeatable!" she placed both hands on the pulprit, pressing down strongly. "No matter the odds, no matter the risks, I shall brave them, I shall emerge victorious, so we can share the sweet fruits of complete achievement! Amen!"

"AMEN!" they cried, and Kiara honestly cried, wiping tears of happiness from the corner of an eye.

"Thank you," she told them. "Thank you so very much, for your trust and love. You are God's greatest proof He cares for me, that He wants us to succeed in His holy name. And now this," she gently caressed the marks, like one would do to a newborn, "will guide us into that new era that these happy shared times are naught but a prologue to. Amen. Brothers, sisters, it is time," she panted. "Let us be together."

The younger, black haired woman standing in silence behind Kiara approached her, and began to respectfully take the nun's headwear off as she smiled and started undoing her habit. "Thank you, Kaori-chan," Kiara sweetly said, looking as her disciples began stripping eagerly, several already groping and fondling each other. "I shall be needing your assistance during my mission, will you not mind that?"

Sakaki Kaori sounded charmed while letting Kiara's long dark hair flow back freely, cascading around her shoulders and down the smooth back that was being bared as the sister pulled the habit down, no underwear beneath it, and the hair also tickled Kaori's nose, almost playfully. "It is the greatest of honors, Sage Mother," she purred, hands moving down to cup and massage Kiara's large, well rounded buttocks. "But, who will look after the Church in our absence?"

Kiara pointed down at a big, bald, obese man in the first row, with thick lips pressed against a young and frail novice's small pink mouth, his coarse hands expertly pulling her clothes off. "Don't fret. Majima-san is more than up for the task at hand."

She turned around, smirking seductively at Kaori, with half closed eyes full of mischievous malice. "Let us drink from this chalice together," Kiara proposed. "After me, you shall be the first to taste salvation born from depravation. We shall go preach among the beasts of the wild, the feral animals killing each other, and gain them over with our message of everlasting love. Yours and mine."

Kiara pulled Kaori roughly against herself, pressing her full lips against hers, and tugging on the buttons of the assistant's gray shirt, snapping them with great strenght. Just like her, Kaori had been wearing no bra, and promptly Kiara's mouth descended to the reasonably large- even if not as much as Kiara's- breasts, taking the right nipple between her teeth and starting pulling on it with them. Kaori arched her back and moaned over the gasps and sighs of the wildly copulating crowd below, and Kiara kept on fumbling with her short skirt while her tongue washed over the bite marks on the nipple. Soon the skirt was dropping around Kaori's ankles, and the young lady stepped out of them in a distracted way, mostly concentrated on how Kiara's hands were moving, one to Kaori's shaved crotch to skillfully play with her clitoris, and the other to sink a pointer and middle finger down the crevice of her most private and taboo oriffice, slowly pumping up and down.

"Mother..." Kaori wheezed, as the magic flowed out of Kiara and pushed and pressed into her key locations, reaching the most important nervous terminals for the proccessing of physical pleasure. Kiara smiled to herself, moving her mouth as to nibble and chew on the soft skin of Kaori's neck, focusing mostly on its left side. Kaori hugged her as if never wanting to let go and sobbed, spots of wonderful, unearthly colors dancing before her closed eyes and drilling their way into her mind. "I love you so much..."

"As do I, my dear child. As do I," this woman of great pull and forbidden mysticism cooed for her, meaning every word as she finger fucked her, with much more to come next.

And that absolute sincerity, as always, was exactly what made her all the more dangerous.

Yet somewhere else, in a city of bleak darkness, a man in a trenchcoat walked down lonely streets without any fear. The environments were almost hopelessly dismal, every shadow and each corner seemed to hide a different menace, and yet he strode confidently, with his hands in the pockets of the coat. He was fairly handsome, with bronzed skin that contrasted with his light blond hair, which fell to his back in well kept ponytail. The urban decay all around him disgusted him to no end, yet he remained contented enough the smug smile on his face remained firmly etched all the way through those dangerous streets with no guide or bodyguard. At least, no bodyguard any likely attackers could have seen...

At some point, when he was about to reach his destination, this man thought his Familiars, small vemin created through alchemy which had followed him since his departre from his posh hotel, had caught on something. Looking up, he glimpsed something large and black hanging from a building's fire escape. There was a whoosh of icy nocturnal wind, and something huge and fearsome flapped around this figure, making an ominous sound of gigantic wings. Immune to this kind of terror, whether by true courage or sheer foolishness, the man grinned, flashing perfect white teeth, and flipped his watcher a casual salute, ignoring the angry squinting of blank, hollow eyes while turning back the way he'd been following and whistling all the way through the last couple of blocks separating him from his destination.

His contact resided in an old brownstone, one untouched by the graffitti tags all over the neighboring buildings. A portly old woman with the face of a human bulldog came out to greet him after a few rings, frowning at him even as he showed his best false smile, grabbing her cold hand and kissing over the large, brownish spots. "Good evening, how do you do. I'm here to meet with Mister Blood."

"I know," she grunted, moved aside to let him walk in. "Last story, the first door at the right. Try not to break anything." Then she dragged herself back behind a counter, plopping down before a small television set and cursing as some white faced individual appeared on the screen, suddenly interrupting the talk show she had been watching.

Feeling his stomach churn out from the inside, the man considered placing a curse on her, but calculated that might inconvenience his contact, and besides, it looked like he would be hardly pressed to come up with a worse existence for that human wretch. Although he fancied himself imaginative. If he ever gained ultimate power, maybe he would return to this city someday and revisit her and a few others who had offended his senses since his arrival.

The building had no elevators, but being a magus, the man liked them better that way. In a short time he had reached the last story and the promised door, and just as he stopped before it, before he could ring, it went open, and a tall, grim man in a thick houserobe and slippers appeared, scowling. He had dark red hair with a single, large white streak at the middle of it, and clear eyes that were almost as hypnotizing as his visitor's. "You're late," he predicted, although the visitor did not take it that way.

"Yes, yes, my apologies," the younger man said, stepping in as the contact let him into the rather spacious and yet crowded studio filled with all sorts of ancient memorabilia, most of it demonic looking, closing the door after him. He took the trenchcoat off and hung it aside, standing in a dandy ensemble of fine black pants and a white shirt. "Are you aware the local boogeyman is patrolling this area?"

"He is no magus, but he has his own ways of knowing, Mister Galliasta," Jason Blood gloomily said, sitting down on an armchair and inviting Atrum Galliasta to do the same, with an identical seat before his. As the host poured tea for both, he explained, "Don't worry about him, more pressing issues have just called for his attention, I'm sure."

"I'm not worried about a mere man," Galliasta sneered, and the true man peeked through the layers of affability. "Do you have the catalyst?"

Jason Blood nodded. "After a lot of careful consideration, I have singled out the catalyst most adequate for a man like you. According to the Associations, you carry yourself as a thinker and planner, rather than a frontline fighter. At first I believed you would fit the role as the Master of an Assassin, but after some consulting with a... longtime internal source, I was convinced a Caster suits you the best."

"I'm fine with that," the visitor agreed, nodding. "Only an imbecile would aim for a Berserker, and the Knight Classes are stubborn and proud. I'd find myself much better with a fellow expert on the arcane. What do you have for me, then?"

Jason Blood extended a small package towards him, and Atrum took it promptly, unwrapping it and pulling out a set of archaic books, the covers written on Greek. He knew the language, so he flipped one of them open, read from it silence, and, after a few minutes, frowned deeply at his host. "This has to be a joke."

"Never from me," Jason Blood darkly said, folding his fingers together. "Out of all outcomes I researched, out of all permutations I calculated, this is your Fate, your path, your route. You only need to keep the specifics of her myth in mind."

"I see..." Atrum said after a moment spent pondering. He smiled. "Well, I can't say she isn't legendary enough. The bigger the obstacle to conquer, the better the man required to surmount it, and victory with this Servant will bring me untold accolades."

"It most certainly would," Blood nodded, but Atrum was too self absorbed into his dreams to pick on his choice of words.

"I will take them," he said, pushing the books back into the package. "The Association will pay you throught the usual channels. We are men of our word, as you know..."

"Men of the strict lettering of your word, I know," Blood observed. "That doesn't concern me. Wealth is not an issue for me anymore, and neither is for Clock Tower. But a word of advice before you go, Atrum Galliasta. Mind your actions and decisions once you put your sight into a given goal. I didn't, twice, and both times I lost what should have been the most valuable to me. My comrades, my family. Think your course sagely, and-"

The other man's smile became a downright sinister grin, as he raised his right hand, allowing the magic flow out, and the seals shaped like a complex schematics of curved lines splayed across his flesh flared to renewed life. "My course? My course is already written right here, Mister Blood."

"It is, yes," the expert nodded, leaving the fool to his own luck. "Good night then, Mister Galliasta. Until we meet again..."

And it has been said luck is a constant companion of the fools. This is often true, but had Atrum Galliasta bothered to look into Blood's eyes upon this promise, he would have noticed they were not a man's anymore, even if only for just a moment.

Another day passed, and the world kept on rotating as ever, the affairs of mundanes and mages transpiring the same ways they always did, for most. A select, precious few, however, were undergoing dramatic changes that would alter their existences forever. One such event would take place that next night, in the depths of a mountain state in the heart of the country that had once been called Germany, before a radical restructuring after the Second World War had renamed it Gartland.

Those political changes had meant nothing for the owners of the walled lands surrounding this huge stone castle, who kept on obeying their own set of laws. Those laws included that of the Survival of the Fittest.

Until now, the little girl had not realized how badly she wanted to live.

She ran up the snowy hill, on small, pale bare feet and wearing nothing but a thin nightshirt that reached all the way down to her knees. She was far more resiliant than the average girl her biological age, but she'd been racing long enough now she was exhausted, on her last fumes, while her pursuers remained strong and steady. She could hear their howls coming closer by the moment, mixed with hungry barks and vicious grunts, and briefly she thought she would not make it alive. At first she had been full of confidence, sure she would clear Grandfather's challenge easily, but now, for the first time since her parents' betrayal, she felt like calling herself foolish in her hopes. And yet something kept on spurring her uphill. She would have wanted to believe it was hope, or pride, but in her gut she had to recognize it for what it was.

Primal fear.

The pack closed in even further, and by now the tiny albino with long silver hair and red eyes could even listen to the sniffs and snorts coming from their snouts. On the plus side, and restarting that flickering light of belief within her, she also could see the large black slab of rock her Grandfather had planted on the agreed spot. Taken from a Greek island where myth had placed the battlefield for mighty Heracles and the Amazon Army, Justabeicht von Einzbern had it brought as the perfect catalyst for the strongest of heroes, the Prince of Power. The little girl nodded eagerly, feeling herself so close, and sening the Command Seals on her hand burn, then expanding their warmth through each Magic Circuit in her body. She leapt ahead for the huge piece of rock, crying out triumphally...

And then she flopped on her stomach on the snow, falling short of touching the goal. A large black wolf already was on her, snarling and chomping at her back, taking one piece of cloth off and barely missing ripping the delicate flesh beneath.

"No!" she wailed, flailing under the weight of the animal as more of them gathered around. "I can't die like this...!"

She spun around as best as she could, now resting on her back as the lead wolf drooled and howled on her tearful face. "Nooooo!" she said, kicking up and shaking her arms desperately towards the catalyst. "I promised! I can't fail now! I'm so close! So close! Please come to me! Please!"

The wolf brought its mouth down, chomping savagely.

"Please...!"

Then there was a gigantic flash of light, and a dozen of wild wolves whined loudly at once. The rock crackled and trembled and fell, and something leapt up from the glowing spot where it had stood, jumping over the little girl and tackling on the wolf that had pinned her down, pounding on it and smashing it against the snow, several feet away from the gasping, amazed girl. The wolf was dead by the time they hit the snow, reduced to a pulp of blood, fur and shattering bone in those relatively small hands that tore it apart with great fury and insanity, the woman over it growling like a deranged beast herself.

Seven of the wolves remaining yelped and ran back into the woods. The others barked and charged ahead at the newcomer, who had mid-lenght silver hair and a toned, muscular body within the frame of a short height, if anything vaguely under the average of a contemporary European woman. She wore nothing but knee-tall metallic boots and elbow-lenght metal gauntlets, plus a form hugging cloth bikini, the top part white and that covering her crotch solid black. An iron collar braced her neck, and as the wolves ran to her, in her hands appeared, as if out of thin air, a long end of metallic chain finished at each end on oversized spiked balls. She swung these with no apparent effort at all and brutally crushed the head of the closet wolf, then swung a leg around and kicked another against a tree, also killing it instantly. The tiny girl made a soft, cooing sound, wobbling back to her feet, in complete love at first sight with this wonderful vision who had just mesmerized her. Was this Heracles... or might it be, perhaps, something even better...?

Yet another wolf turned back with the tail tucked between its legs and escaped into the woodland for dear life. The last one, the woman grabbed it by the snout and pulled it apart, literally ripping it by half with a crazed scream of victory, tossing the bloody halves aside as if they were nothing.

Then, and only then, she stared at the girl who had summoned her, with bloodshot fixed eyes, caked in the gore of the animals she had just killed.

"I... I am your Master..." this girl said with a tiny, almost broken voice, overwhelmed by the magnificence of this larger than life creature she had brought forth. "Illyasviel von Einzbern..."

"Queen..." the woman growled slowly, hesitating for a moment before bowing her head, stiffly falling to a knee before Illyasviel until her forehead all but touched the snow. "Queen..."

Illyasviel gulped, but then tentatively reached out with a hand, stroking the woman's head, who did not move and kept on a respectful silence. Her hair felt so soft. Finally, the little albino smiled, with regained pride and trust. "Berserker."

"Yes..."

Illyasviel smiled evilly. "Yes. You will do..."

It was dawning over the fields of Southern France, now, and a woman of youthful appearance, with short black hair and graceful features, dressed in a practical set of hiking shorts, tall boots, a sleeveless top and an unzipped jacket over it, stood before a circle she had just drawn on the circle of a small cabin by a river. It was an abandoned place she had found during her travels, and after careful consideration she had marked it as the closest safe summon spot to the exact site of the legendary deed that had brought her there.

She had placed a small chunk of stone she had taken from the famous tomb she had broken into last night at the middle of the circle and then pulled back, spitting on the relic before relaxing as she had been instructed to do. She slammed her hands before herself and began chanting, in a loud and commanding tone, each word firmly remarked and clearly pronounced in flawless Aramaic.

"For the elements, Silver and Iron. For the foundation, stone and the Archduke of Contracts. For the ancestor, the great master, Schweinorg."

The lines of the circle began glowing, much like they did for a Pactio incantation, and the young woman allowed herself a harsh smile.

"Close the gates of the cardinal directions," she commanded. "Come forth from the Crown, and follow the forked road leading to the Kingdom."

The whole circle glowed now in aquamarine hues, accentuated by the lingering darkness of the fading night. She kept her breathing stable and her voice even, never faltering, never rising any further.

"Fill, fill, fill, fill, fill. Repeat now, repeat five times. But when each is filled, destroy it. Set."

The clear light changed to a fiery red, and the young woman was reminded of her, of her character and moods. Fitting, really, of sorts. The chant continued, as birds flapped nervously around the decrepit building, flying in agitated circles and occassionally clashing against the windows.

"Heed my words. My word creates your body, and your sword creates my destiny. You, heeding the call of the Holy Grail and obeying my will and reason, answer me."

A soft current of air started rising from the circle, but the summoner kept her blood cool and her drive firm. She closed her eyes only to facilitate her concentration, blocking all visual distractions from the goal etched into her mind.

"I hereby swear that I shall be all the good in the world. That I shall defeat all evil in the world. You, seven Heavens, clad in the three great words of power, come forth from the circle of binding!" she shouted, opening her large dark brown eyes again. "Guardian of the Scales!"

And the whole cabin exploded in a huge ball of fire.

Several minutes passed in the loneliness of the fields, far away from the nearest village, as the smoke rose in willowy puffs from the burning wreckage of old wood and charred grass around what once had been someone's home. Finally, the young woman's figure rose from under the flaming rubble, all clothes burnt off her body, but herself completely unharmed, as was the large mallet she had been keeping on her back, secured to her body by a long strap. She had not even stood all the way back up when she heard the words of someone standing on the rubble over her, and she knew she had, against most expectations, succeeded.

"Heaven still hasn't forgiven you, sinner."

"Then," she smiled faintly, looking up to meet the judgemental gaze of the woman who had just appeared before her, "why has He sent you to me?"

This woman with long and dark hair was around her summoner's height, but was somewhat more curvaceous in body shape, which was accentuated by the nature of the outfit she wearing, a mostly white ensemble with red highligts around the edges. It was rather scandalous for a holy woman, but there was no mistaking the person wearing it or her stern expression, even if the summoner could not remember her ever wearing anything that exposed so much of her legs, clad in tall and tight light blue stockings, or that sported such a pronounced cross shaped cleavage window, plunging all the way down to her navel. In a hand she held a lenghty cross shaped staff, taller than herself.

"I have been sent," this other woman told her strictly, "to guarantee an equilibrium, not to carry on your will, Betrayer. I am Ruler, Servant of the Balance. You called for the Guardian of the Scales, and that is exactly what you got."

The stripped woman frowned, holding a fist up, showing the red marks on its back, taking the shape of four sets of feathered wings, the two above smaller than those below. "I was sent this by His will so I finally could redeem myself, Martha. By opposing me, you are opposing Him as well."

"You still know nothing about His will, Iscariot," sadly said the Ruler, crouching down to gently pick a dead bird from the wreckage, holding it in the palm of her hand. "Even after centuries, you keep being reckless, and others keep on paying the price. You... You even spat on my relic! What in the world is wrong with you, why did you have to spit on it?!" she cried, completely breaking her former air of solemnity.

"Give me a break, I couldn't bleed on it! I'm cursed!" she plunged a fist into the ruins, pulled out a now twisted and burnt large knife she had been keeping in her now destroyed clothes, and angrily stabbing herself in the throat time and time again, the wound ceasing to exist altogether just as soon as she took the blade out, not even bleeding at all. "See this?! It's been like this for nearly two thousand years now! Haven't I suffered enough?! How long must I be denied my resting place?! if these marks aren't here to grant me that finality, then what's their purpose, Martha?!"

"You will call me Ruler, thank you very much!" Ruler said, stepping off the smoking rubble with a raised nose and past the other female, crouching down on the dirt to dig a small grave for the bird and bury it there, kindly patting the compressed covering soil on it. She brought her hands together and recitated tenderly, kneeling in place, "Look at the birds of the air; they do not sow or reap or store away in barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not much more valuable than they...?"

Iscariot sighed. "Yes, I am! Well, maybe I'm not, but I'm still worth His pity as well, am I not?! Martha, all I want is to use that Holy Grail to give me a single wish, not to harm anyone, not to-"

"Do not ever call it that again," coldly said Ruler, standing back up and primly dusting herself off, without deigning her with a glance back. "There is only one sacred cup, and no others ever forged by man deserve that name. I will be overseeing the ritual built around that... thing since it is His will for me to do so, but I won't fool myself over its sanctity. Neither should you, Iscariot."

"Actually," the naked woman said, "my name is Karin, remember?"

Ruler nodded. "Isht Karin Orte, how could I forget? We once were friends, after all. But now you should endure the name given to you by infamy."

"It's only a deformation of my proper name, it doesn't have anything to do with my punishment..." Karin muttered bitterly.

Ignoring this, Ruler looked towards the East. "The call of that blasphemous artifact hails from that direction. We are in Tarascon, aren't we?"

"Yes. Yes, we are," Karin said. "Listen, it's-"

"It has changed a lot since I last was here," Ruler observed thoughtfully. "Do you know how far this false grail might be, exactly?"

"Shouldn't you know that better than- Oh, never mind! It's in Japan, two continents and a sea away. That is what I was about to tell-"

"Well, in that case, we should start heading there immediately!" Ruler said, lively stepping ahead towards the rising sun. "By the way, I was under the impression the attire customs in this age were more relaxed, but not so much you could freely walk around in the nude, for shame..."

"Oh, like you are dressed in a way He'd approve of either!"

Fifteen years ago, Japan had been wrecked by a global disaster.

The country had bounced back from that remarkably well and fast, moreso than most other nations, and yet, the Southwest of the country had suffered another blow five years later, when the city of Fuyuki was destroyed by rampaging fires officially attributed to geological anomalies. However, that smaller, more localized tragedy had been nearly forgotten ten years after the fact. Fuyuki was declared a hazardous restricted zone cordoned by the Japanese Defense Forces, and its residents had been relocated to Neo-Tokyo or the bustling urban center built around the four largest and most prestigious schools in Japan, Academy City.

Ohtori was one of these rival schools competing with each other for dominance, and its Student Council wielded a remarkable amount of power. The residential chambers of Vice President Saionji Kyouichi were actually spacious enough to contend with Celenike's, and even had a library the more athletically inclined owner seldom used. It was there that, a certain cold night the young man was spending outside, a young lady of great beauty, with deeply bronzed skin and short, wavy dark purple hair, had finished preparations for a ritual, just having drawn a circle remarkably similar to that of Karin on the floor, its wine red carpet set aside.

A tiny, comical looking creature that looked like a mixture of squirrel monkey and mouse sat on said rolled up carpet, holding a half eaten banana in its fore paws and chewing from it as it observed the procceedings its master was putting into motion. Its long thin tail idly moved from one side to another as the young woman adjusted the large round glasses on her face and stood in place, breathing deeply. The Witch was about to cast her greatest trick. All for her Knight's sake.

"Let silver and steel be the essence," she chanted on quietly, cutting herself in an arm with a fine kitchen knife of pearly handle and exquisite craftship. "Let stone and the archduke of contracts be the foundation."

The circle flared to life even faster than it had for Karin, this time glowing in bright red from the beginning. The small animal yelped shrilly and dropped onto its back on the floor, startled and kicking up as it tried to regain its former position, to no avail for the next few moments.

"Let red be the color I pay tribute to. Let rise a wall against the wind that shall fall. Let the four cardinal gates close."

The magic rich lands of Ohtori lent their mana to their mistress' plead, and the light rose in several pillars from her design, bathing the whole room, just as she had calculated. Her heart never skipped a beat. This was only the prologue of her story. The beginning of their tale. And she was doing nothing but summoning a tool.

"Let the three-forked road from the crown reaching unto the Kingdom rotate. Let it be filled. Again. Again. Again. Again."

The circle was already exploding towards its outside, blowing itself up and sending the poor diminutive creature flying against a wall, by the time she spoke the final words, her tone unchanged from before. She did not even flinch or blink as smoke billowed and puffed up, and a human silhouette rose from it, barely visible, concealed by it beyond its tall and dominating general size.

"Let it be filled fivefold for every turn, simply breaking asunder with every filling," she finished, and as if on command, the smoke blew itself up sideways, dissipating into nothingness as she coolly regarded her summon, only to charmingly smile at him one moment later.

The man who had just appeared in her room was much taller and bigger than her, bigger and taller than her brother, and shared with them a similar, perhaps slightly lighter, skin tone, but his eyes were much different, sporting a golden shade; and his hair was cropped short and white. Black, fitting body armor covered him from his legs to the neck, with silver accents around the ribcage and broad chest. He also wore an open red coat over it, adding to his modern appearance, more akin to that of a television or action movie hero than someone drawn from the mists of the past.

This man seemed silently, mildly surprised to see her standing before him at first, as if he had been actually expecting for someone else. Then his gaze shifted to a suspicious squint as he regarded the summoner's features, and the single red dot at the middle of her forehead. "Are we in Atlas?" he asked, his voice deep and manly, lacking any particular tones yet, as if he was just testing what attitude assuming around this person who had called him.

"I've never been there, I'm afraid." She deeply bowed to him, the little monkey-mouse with huge round ears fearfully shivering and hugging her left ankle, hiding behind it. "My name's Himemiya Anthy, Ohtori's Bride of the Rose. And you would be...?"

"Archer," he said, in a tone that made clear the answer had barely satisfied him. "Servant Archer," he added or ammended a moment later, like an afterthought.

She nodded. "Thank you so very much, that suits my purposes just fine. The contract between us, then, is complete," she said, delicately holding a hand up while the red markings on it shifted briefly. "Please do take good care of me, Knight."

Archer took on these words with careful thoughtfulness, before looking down at the trembling creature cowering behind Anthy, the likes of which he'd never seen before. "This is Chu-Chu!" Anthy smiled, crouching down to pick it up in her hands, holding it right before the man's face. "Kiss Sir Archer and make him feel welcome, won't you, Chu-Chu?"

"Chuuuu!" the pet protested, pulling back frantically, and Archer, despite himself, gave a small step back as well.

"Oh, I see, you aren't ready yet," Anthy observed somewhat sadly, as if truly disappointed, before regaining that strange, gorgeous but unnerving smile of hers. All in all, she gave the impression of being someone lovely yet repulsive at the same time. The former was easy to explain, because so far she had acted charming and pleasant the whole time, despite her quirky strangeness, and there was no denying her beauty. The latter was unexplainable, though; it was just a gut feeling rising from somewhere in Archer, an instinct warning him against this wonderful looking presence, which in her own way, seemed as subtly larger than life as any Heroic Spirit he had ever met before.

He was soon distracted from these contemplations, however, as the library's doors were flung open, and from the doorstep came a loud gasp of outrage and shock. Archer instantly fell into a fighting position, materializing a large, slightly curved blade in each hand. Chu-Chu panicked again, rushing across Anthy's arm and shoulder and clinging onto her neck for his life. Anthy herself, however, only turned around graciously, her long red dress rustling as she faced the handsome, green haired young man who glared murderously at her and the Archer.

"Welcome home, Saionji-sempai," she warmly said. "This is Archer-sama. He would like to duel you for my hand as the Rose Bride."

The skies all over the planet had been blood red for a long time after the Great Disaster. All day and night long, everywhere, and it had been only ten years ago that, for some reason, the familiar blues from past times had returned to clear days all across the globe, much to mankind's relief and solace. Few thought of relating this to the Great Fuyuki Fire, a relatively small event restricted to a single city, even if it also had made headlines all through the world. Even the Church and the Magic Associations still debated on whether the two events were related at all or their temporal proximity had been nothing but a coincidence. The answers tended to depend on whether those you asked truly believed on the Heaven's Feel ritual or just thought of it as a quaint, pointless struggle between overly hyped familiars.

Kotomine Kirei placed himself firmly on the first of such camps of thought.

Moving through the no man's land of what once had been a thriving city, with a Black Key in each hand, the tall, imposing man with dead eyes marched under a sky that, there and only there, remained stubbornly red seven days a week, twelve months a year. That was not something the mundane world was aware of- the whole city grounds were zealously barred from outside access, and even the few report crews allowed to make television specials and gather material for books on the subject had to undergo authorization from the magi and the Church, only to divulge doctored stories for the masses afterwards. But within the limits guarded by the Defense Forcers, barriers only Kirei and handful of others had authorization to breach regularly, time seemed to have stopped, frozen in an endless dark age of misery and decay, shrouded by bleeding skies presiding over toppled towers and shattered streets.

The dark haired man in the black habits of a priest marched slow but surely, never missing a step. By now he did not need a map to navigate through these avenues and boulevards he was charged with patrolling twice a year, and now, with the news of Command Seals manifesting once again around Earth, he had been comissioned once again to perform a full checkup on the site of the Old Wars. The last stop in his itinerary was his old church, where he had served under his father, and where he had met his true fate and calling. Kirei was not a man who felt true joy at any memories of the past, and only found a moderate amount of inner warmth from the remembrances of those lives he had destroyed. But even so, he could not deny experiencing a vague fondness as he moved in through the frontal entrance, facing the usual marauders roaming the main chapel, no doubt trying to break in underneath.

Four reanimated skeletons, once inhabitants of the dead city, realized his arrival and charged at him, three of them holding sticks and stones. Kirei would not even blink as she flash stepped forward, swinging the Black Keys expertly. Magi would often scoff and dismiss at these large, sharp weapons, calling them impractical and bothersome, but Kirei was rather partial to them, finding them his first and foremost weapon of choice. As he easily ducked under the thrown stones and slashed at the undead lower sections, severing their spindly legs, he did not feel the heat and rush of battle- only one man ever had him feel that in his whole life- but he still felt himself on comfortable enough grounds. Perhaps, to some degree, these base beings were left with a measure of awareness that made what was going to come next painful and distressing. Or perhaps they would take it for a release and blessing. Kotomine chose to think of the former, as usual, while grabbing the disabled skeletons by their skulls, whispering an exorcism, and pulverizing them between his fingers.

After he was done, the man took a moment to whisper a prayer before the main altar, out of a combination of force of habit and sheer sense of duty. Then he moved towards the back of the crumbling building, easily adjusting to the ever present darkness, and noticing the extra shattered skeletons and dead unnatural beasts all over the floor since his last visit. That had to mean his ally had been there recently, since the dead abominations were still fresh. Or perhaps he still was there, as Kotomine confirmed while standing by the now open door leading to the basement, seeing the seals and wards tampered with, as was the King's custom whenever he wished trampling through any security measures.

"Gilgamesh," he calmly called out, down the stairs.

"I'm right here, priest," came a voice that was as rich and deep as his own, in its own way. Someone stood down there, in the pitch blackness, but the ornate golden armor he was wearing seemed to glint with an intensity of its own, lending some visibility to his grim surroundings. Kirei walked down the stairs slowly, until he stopped by the even taller man with spiky blond hair, arms folded as he looked over the dozens and dozens of twitching, weakly stirring husks stretching before them, all the way to the ends of the basement. Misshapen, tortured things that had once been human, but barely looked any less ruined than the skeletons above now. They were gray as ashes and would continuously try to scream; but their throats were long useless to produce anything but the occasional hoarse moan.

"Why the armored suit?" respectfully asked the priest.

The man with the serpentine red eyes smirked. "They are my most loyal and sacrificed subjects. They deserve me in my best garments. Although I have been somewhat disappointed on them lately. Two more have died since my last visit."

"Have they?" Kirei asked with a pensive hum. "Well, it has been a decade now. There is a limit to how much mana they could provide, after all. And you haven't been eaxctly idle of late, from what I've gathered."

Gilgamesh, greatest King of Uruk, First and Foremost of Heroes, sighed. "True. Recently I have walked among those mongrels more than they deserved, but I wanted to give them a last chance to prove themselves. All for naught, Kirei. Those few with the capacity, like the man from the stars, don't wish to rule, and those who do are nothing but headstrong fools and knaves. I had placed hopes, I must admit, on this rebirth of heroes, but they all have disappointed me so far. Except perhaps the young lady commanding the squirrels."

Kirei nodded slowly. "Yes, I thought you would say so."

"Don't presume of being able to second guess me, fool."

"My apologies. Regardless, if you are here, you must have heard the news about the Grail's unexpected rebirth."

"That, I have," Gilgamesh confirmed with an austere nod. "There may be some use for that wretched treasure yet."

"Your insight remains sharp as ever," Kirei complimented him dryly. "With no Saber or Emiya Kiritsugu now, it would be extremely easy for you to-"

The golden man chuckled, magnificent even when submerged into absolute darkness. "I have no interest on contests between my lessers. I will observe this so-called war, but only in the miraculous event some worthy adversary happens to rise from the rabble. Regardless, the result will be the same.I will seize my lost treasure and redeem it by finally putting it to a good use. You, of course, will also have your carnage in the proccess, Kirei. So rejoice, priest. Before your death, you sadism will serve a noble cause, at the very least."

"I would not call it sadism, if I may say so," Kotomine respectfully began disagreeing, "It's just that-" But before Gilgamesh could protest to being contradicted, a beep came from Kirei's priestly robes. "Oh, please excuse me for a moment, will you. Hello?" he said, pulling a small cellphone out and holding it against a side of his face. "Ah, it's you. Yes. I see. No, so far, everything has been normal. Oh. I understand..."

Gilgamesh observed, arms still folded, in mild curiosity until Kirei pocketed the phone back in. "Someone else has just manifested. This time, it is one of us."

The King smiled in a twisted way. "So much for the vaunted impartiality of the house of your Lord."

"I was an active player under my father's supervision, this time will be no different at all," Kirei flatly answered. "It doesn't matter. We will still destroy that person if she gets in the way of our plans, one way or another."

"I was unaware you had any children," the sovereign said, finally letting a fist rest on a hip, and having understood the true meaning of his longtime acquaitance's words. "I imagine she never received any love from you."

"I never had any to give anyone," Kirei said as honestly as he ever could.

At moments like these Gilgamesh did not know whether feeling more repulsed by this priest than by anyone else he had ever met, or to be more amused than he'd ever been at anyone.

So naturally, he just did both things and began laughing at this hollow man who did not mind his mockery, before the broken gazes of the church's orphans.

After the Great Disaster, the United Nations had divided the Earth on Eleven different Areas, for a better organization of the reconstruction and distribution of the resources. Area One was made of Europe, West of the Carpathians. Area Two was comprised of North America, from Mexico to Alaska. Area Three was how South and Central America had been labeled. Area Four was the Antarctica, even though not much remained of the frozen continent after the cataclysm, and all access to it had been blocked by the world's most powerful governments. Area Five included the African continent. Area Six was the Middle East. Area Seven was the denomination for Australia, New Zealand and the Indian Ocean. Area Eight was made solely of the Russian Union. Area Nine was the Northern Polar Cap, which fell under the same security hazards as Antarctica. Area Ten was the Southern Asia and China, and finally, Area Eleven included Korea, Japan and the various minor island nations that hadn't been swallowed by the Pacific Ocean.

Being chosen as the default capital of Area One during the reorganization period had given London a sense of feverish pride that still lasted to this day, and since the rebuilding started Britannia- much like Germany, the country had been renamed after the Second Great War, even if because of different reasons- in general had grown active in its expansionist impulses in a way not seen since its old colonial years. For a very young girl of Russian origins growing in the countryside, it had been difficult, at times, to cope with the locals' attitude, but the little enterpreuner who was now about to close shop for the evening always had the support of a kindhearted neighbor and her younger brother, even after she was left orphaned by what the Imperial Government officially labeled a secesionist terrorist raid on her village. Nekane Springfield took care of the little girl after that, and soon after managed sending her to the same prestigious school as her own brother. Recently, they both had graduated with honors, and the boy had been sent to pursue his own destiny overseas.

She, on the other hand, had been assigned to what technically amounted as a surveillance job among the mundanes, but she did not really mind. She was staying with a very respected tutor, she had gained her own familiar, and the hours and pay were good. She doubted Negi was doing any better for himself in the Area Eleven, which meant he'd probably be returning soon, and then they could- they could-

Her red-faced, hot-cheeked daydreams- okay, early evening waking dreams- on the subject were interrupted, this time, by a man entering her business before she could angrily deny her own feelings to herself yet again, and then move on to actually change the sign on the door from 'Close' to 'Open'. This man blinked at her as soon as he'd stepped in, looking down at the tiny redhead with long twintails and pinkish cheeks. "Oh, um, good evening," he said, with a polite, educated voice that, judging from his accent, sounded like that of someone who either was a foreigner or had just spent a long time abroad. "Excuse me, please, is your mother or father here, or-"

She sighed, shook her head, and gave the man a courteous bow. "No, Sir, I am the fortuneteller. Good evening, Anya Cocolova at your service."

"Oh," the man said quietly, adjusting the glasses he wore on his light gray, distant to the point of lifelessness eyes. He was fairly handsome, Anya guessed, if you were into older men, which she was not. Reasonably tall and on the thin side but without being scrawny or weak looking, impeccably suited in a dark blue tie, a long gray coat buttoned all the way up, and black pants and shoes. His hair was also short and well combed, and he gave the impression of being a discreet and trustworthy gentleman. "But you are so... young."

"I'm a certified practicioner, Mister," the girl in the black dress said with great dignity, moving back behind her desk, and gesturing for him to close the door after himself, which he did after a moment of doubt. A small pudgy dog with a very short tail and black ears stirred and woke up when she moved past him, lightly pushing him aside with the tip of a foot while sitting down. "Don't be a bother now, Courage, we have a customer." She gestured again at the man, and he understood after another moment of pause, sitting down on a chair set facing the desk. The little girl smiled, putting her hands together. "You are a doctor, single, and you are troubled by recent developments in your life."

He nodded. "Correct on all accounts. My name is Twice Harold Pieceman, surgeon, and to be honest, I had never believed in magic..."

Even now, he was rationalizing she had guessed his line of work from his hands, his marital state because of his nervousness around a girl, and his current strife because, well who else would be loking for fortune telling advice late at night but a troubled man? Or perhaps she had seen his picture in a newspaper or magazine and remembered him. But, did children even read newspapers anymore?

Anya hummed while the small dog sat on the floor by her side, wagging his tail at Twice. She flipped a set of tarot cards out of her long sleeves and began shuffling them around. "Belief is a state of perpetual flow, it can be altered according to our perceptions and experiences, Doctor. If you will just open your mind enough as to-"

"Miss," he said, holding an outstretched hand before her face, and showing her its back, which sported a wide marking resembling the drawing in red of a series of self contained circles being penetrated from underneath by a sharp ended figure vaguely similar to a dagger, "all I would like to know is whether you have an answer for what this might be or not."

Anya's eyes, already large and round, widened instantly, and Pieceman knew he had found his answers. Now if she only would give them out. He spoke to her frankly and seriously, while the dog looked back and forth between them, seemingly puzzled. "I woke up with this six days ago, and none of my colleagues- all qualified professionals with excellent credentials- could give me a clear answer on what is this supposed to be. Neither could they take it off, or make it subside in any way or degree. Besides that, I have been these... strange, allegoric dreams ever since. Dreams of ancient Eastern imagery, what would you happen to know about that?"

"I... I am a Western practicioner, Sir..." she uneasily replied, paling a little. "However... if you would just give me your number and mail address, I... I might be able to have an answer ready for you tomorrow night, after consulting some colleagues of my own! You, you don't have to pay anything just yet, be assured..."

Minutes after, as soon as the man had left the small stand with a promise of returning next evening, she raced for an old, wine red stand phone at the backstore, almost triping on the yiping book on her way there. "Sir!" she gasped right after lifting the speaker up, dialing a number, and hearing a click at the other end of the line. "It's me, Anya! This is serious, Sir, you've got to hear me out...!"

And so we are back at Japan.

"Aaaaahhh!" the woman with short, light brown hair said, happily putting her now empty bowl down on the table, enthusiastically enough it counted as a slam, in the opinion of the siblings having breakfast with her. "As ever, Shirou-kun's meals are the best! Not to offend, Miyu-chan, you're better than he was at your age, you'll surpass him soon..."

"Fuji-nee, please," groaned the young, red haired man sitting at the table with her and the little girl, wearing a high school boy's uniform. It was a pleasant, clear morning; the birds happily chirped outside under a radiant sun and a blue sky with little to nothing in the way of clouds.

"Oniichan will keep improving as I do, but that's okay," quietly noted the youngest inhabitant of the residence, a short girl round eleven years old, with large, adorable golden eyes and black hair. She politely finished her meal and primly wiped the corners of her small pink lips with a napkin. "It's your turn to wash the dishes today, Oneesama..."

"Or... is it?!" dramatically questioned the young woman, barely less than a decade older than the boy, whipping her arm around so she was staring directly at her wristwatch. "I'm late for my sacred duty of teaching, so sadly, I must leave this lesser task for the younger generations, so you can be ready for greater-"

"One!" the young man started, gathering the plates and bowls together before her, "We go to school together, at the same time! Two! We wouldn't be this late if you hadn't woken up so late! Three! You always have said we must-"

The woman in the casual suit pouted like a child who had just been scolded. "You didn't try hard enough, Shirou!"

"What, to wake you up?" the boy asked. "I tried everything but throwing a bucket of water on you!"

"Well, give me a break, I've been working too hard lately!" she protested, while the little girl kept on loking back and forth between them, only moving her eyes.

"You came past nine o'clock, stinking of sake and pulled along by Minamoto-sensei and Arai-sensei!" he argued back.

"Shizuna barely drank and Chie could outdrink Baccus!" Fujimura Taiga, the Tiger of Mahora Academy, all but wailed. "I only ask to have a few free nights to enjoy myself every now and then, is that too much to ask for the woman who has raised you two?!" She turned her tearful eyes towards the now empty seat at her right. "Don't you agree with me, Miy- Eh?!"

"I'm almost done already," Emiya Miyu quietly said from the kitchen, washing the dishes herself, with the sleeves of her elementary uniform rolled up. Shirou folded his arms and muttered under his breath. "Please be patient, I won't take long..."

"See, Shirou? See!?" Taiga quickly twisted back to all but lean on him, moving her head energetically and making him groan and push her back. "Miyu-chan does understand me, unlike you! She's helpful and nice even if her cooking's not that good, what a darling you are, Miyu-chan...!"

"My cooking is good, I think..." Miyu softly pointed out, wiping the last bowl- one with a cute cartoon tiger painted on it- with a small vein bulging on her milky forehead.

Such was everyday life for the Emiya Family, Tutor Taiga and the siblings, Shirou-kun and Miyu-chan. After a happy breakfast together, they would leave the large, palatial home of the sadly late Emiya Kiritsugu and wait for the neighbor to pull his car out of the garage, then to stop before their sidewalk, at which point Taiga would be, invariably, the first one to leap into the back seats, sharing a high five with the grinning girl sitting by the driver, a chocolate-haired teenager a couple years younger than Shirou, and a solid three older than Miyu.

"Yo, Fujimura-sensei!" the girl greeted as they settled into the back of the sedan and Shirou closed the door after the three, sharing a wave and smile with the bespectacled, black haired man at the wheel. "Miyu-chan, Sempai! How's it shakin'?"

"Good morning, Yuuna-sempai, Akashi-sensei," Miyu bowed her head once for each. "Thank you once again for the ride..."

"It's never been a bother, Miyu-chan," said Professor Akashi, Taiga's colleague, as the car began its way down the streets of the Mahora Academy residential area, mostly intended to house staffers of the school and their families. He drove towards the campus proper, a wide and majestic complex sprawling in the distance, with an impossibly huge tree presiding over it. The first time Shirou had seen that tree, when his father first brought him and his baby sister to Mahora, he thought it was the most impressive and breath taking thing he had ever seen. Nowadays, after years of seeing it daily, it barely registered anymore. "Has your class decided on a trip destination already? Yuuna's will go to Kyoto!"

Akashi Yuuna, the man's daughter, shrugged her shoulders indifferently. "Yeah, well, I'm not sure I like the idea too much myself, but Negi-sensei suggested it, and then Konoka latched onto it, so of course everyone went crazy for it. Even Asuna, weirdly enough."

"That girl really needs to get over Takamichi already, but I'm not sure falling for a little boy will be an improvement at all..." Taiga sagely observed.

"Fuji-nee!" Shirou said.

"What?! Wataru-kun agrees with me, don't you, Wataru-kun? I kinda like Negi-kun myself, he's a nice boy and someday he'll be a dearie, but those girls really need to rethink their admiration for him..."

The professor chuckled uneasily while his daughter rolled her eyes, playing with the edge of her junior high uniform's checkered skirt. "They're just kids playing around, Taiga-san, we don't have to take what they do so seriously..."

Shirou blinked them, as the car turned a corner and he saw someone coming out of a large house, much bigger than even Kiritsugu's, a splendid old manor. He was too entranced by the lovely sight of this black haired girl, locking her front door and with her back turned to them, to notice a few windows of the upper floor of the manor had been blown up and shattered, something he would have recognized had not come to pass before last night, as they passed the house in their way back from school as well. That was, other than whenever he was not being roped into helping others with their repairs. Whatever the case, Shirou allowed himself a faint smile as they left this corner behind, his golden eyes trying to linger on the girl with twin tails as much as they could, until he was pulled from his distraction by Yuuna's cagey chuckle.

Blushing slightly, Shirou settled himself into a straight position on his seat, eyes now nailed ahead. Too late too, as not only Yuuna was glancing back at him and breaking into giggling, but Taiga was also grinning like a deranged Joker at him, and Miyu suddenly sported a neutral expression and a complete refusal to look at him. "W-What?" he ended up snorting after a moment of that.

"Oh, Sempai!" Yuuna teased him. "Why so embarrassed? There's nothing wrong about liking Tohsaka-sempai...!"

"I'd rather it be Sakura," Taiga said with a cynical smile and shrug of shoulders, "but anything that makes Shirou-kun will be fine with me as well..."

"Okay, cut it out, you two!" he said. "You'll make Miyu-chan think I'm some kind of Casanova!"

"... I'd never think anything like that..." Miyu said, in a tone that was not very convincing, added to her persisting refusal to deign him with a look yet.

Okay, he admitted to himself, trying his best to ignore Taiga and Yuuna's shared guffaws, and even the way Professor Akashi seemed to be stifling a chuckle of his own. So maybe he liked Tohsaka Rin after all. So what? He was entitled to that much after all, wasn't he? It wasn't like it ever was going to happen, so what difference did it make? Did they have to indirectly rub that fact on his face like this? He had better things to think of anyway. Things like-

He took a hand to the back of his other hand and scratched, annoyed by a sudden rash. Dammit, this day was turning out just sterling so far. Simply dandy, how could it ever top itself?

Walking out of another, old and stately house, following a fuming young man with blue hair, a purple haired beauty watched the car go by with large, soulfully sad eyes before snapping in attention to the sound of the boy's curtly annoyed voice. "C'mon, Sakura. Stop daydreaming!"

"Y-Yes, Onii-sama," Matou Sakura said, and quickly followed him down the sidewalk.

A whole day passed, a day like any other.

Matou Sakura had slipped under the collective radar yet again, remaining silent all through Itoshiki-sensei's rambling speeches that passed for Social Studies classes, all the while idly wondering how it would have been, being handled over to the Itoshikis instead. As she understood, they also had a gifted lineage, which certainly would explain how the man had survived all of his public brushes with death. Despite his eccentricities, however, he had always been nice enough to her whenever she asked him on any subject, and for someone whose voice sounded so much like Onii-sama's, that was truly remarkable.

Lunch was unremarkable as well, as she sat by herself under a small tree, slowly feeding on the bento she had prepared herself. It was not that she was not hungry- the things squirming inside were always hungry for food in addition to their other, more tormenting needs- but that she was given limited resources for each day, and she had learned through trial and error eating in a measured fashion placated their gluttony more than eating fast and eagerly. Around her, the day was bright and happy, and seeing so many others partaking together so contentedly made her feel oddly concerned about not being able to experience such things herself.

That was strange, as she normally did not concern herself about those things. The Archery Club tended to be enough for all of her limited social needs, and even so, after classes, while practicing at the shooting range, she still couldn't feel any solace under her clubmates' gaze. Five times she had taken aim and shot already, and three of them she had failed. This sixth shot missed the mark as well, and Sakura breathed out her frustation while an older girl with short hazel hair and eyes approached her, gesturing at her to stop. "Sakura," she said, "I think that'll be enough for now, thank you. I knew you shouldn't have tried with an injured hand like that, don't pressure yourself."

"I'm fine, Mitsuzuri-sempai," Sakura said, taking a strange look at her bandaged left hand. "It's no big deal. As a matter of fact, Grandfather said I didn't even need, I just insisted on putting it on just in case."

"Well, why don't you go and have it checked just in case?" Mitsuzuri Ayako insisted. "Don't worry about running into Mikado-sensei, at this time it's Youko-sensei's turn..."

"N-No!" Sakura said, pulling back... and then blushed at the confused reactions of Ayako and the rest of the girls. "I, I mean... I said I'm okay, right? I know my own body better than anyone, you... you really don't have to worry..."

No. No, they didn't. This fell all squarely on herself. At the very least it would be over soon enough, as she tried to tell herself in the bus back home, and then walking the rest of the way to Grandfather's home. This time, she stopped by the old and rusty steel gates, with their black bars topped by sharp ends, and shuddered. And hesitated. She was so numb by now she habitually would just walk in trying not to think of anything, but tonight would be a special occasion, and that changed everything. However, at the same time, it changed nothing. She still would have to walk into the belly of the beast, and so she did.

Shinji had arrived first for once, as his shoes by the door proved, and furher confirmation came when he walked over to greet her, with a cold sneer etched on his face. "Sure took you long enough," he said.

"I'm sorry," she said, lowering her head. "I have no excuses."

Matou Shinji groaned, throwing his hands up and walking towards the stairs upwards. "What-ever. Grandfather waits for us in the attic. Let's just get this over and done at once."

"Aren't we going to do it in the basement?" Sakura blinked, following the thin boy with curly hair up the stairs. "Why?"

"He says the last Spirit he summoned down there didn't take it well. Can't imagine why, riiiight?" Shinji informed, opening the trap door into the attic. "Hey, Grandfather, we can begin already!"

The attic was a choice Sakura was truly thankful for. Other than the kitchen and the living room, was one of the most tolerable parts of the house for her. It was filled with lots of boxes of books, relics and oddities from long ago, perhaps from when Grandfather had been a better man, as some of them even spoke of rational pursuits and relatively sane life choices. Now most of those boxes had been pulled aside, clearing a large spot at the middle of the attic, right under a skylight. Grandfather stood there, supported on his wooden cane, next to a runic circle he had drawn on the floor. Strangely, he smiled in a way that, while still twisted and malicious, seemed somewhat more relaxed and less vitriolic than his norm. That almost gave the tiny, shriveled and completely bald husk of a man in black and gray robes a semi-human appearance, marred mostly by the ambitious glint in those eerie black eyes and their reddish irises.

"Welcome home, Sakura," Matou Zouken said, in a tone that, much like his smile, was unpleasant but not quite as much as he would always be in private. "Come here, don't be afraid. Your ordeals are almost over, child. You have done much for this family, more than others I could mention, but it is nerly time for you to rest. After you do this," he handed her over a piece of a broken mirror, which she accepted carefully, yet she couldn't help cutting herself in the hand she had just freed before walking in. "Ow! I- I'm sorry, Grandfather! I didn't mean-!"

Against her expectations and Shinji's, Zouken only let out a pleased cackle, throwing the bulbous head back. "Ah ha ha! Don't apologize, Sakura! This is good. Blood," he said, pointing at the red droplets she had let fall on the circle, which even now glowed faintly, much to her and Shinji's awe, "is a key component for rituals such as this. Get into position now, as I instructed. And read from this," he instructed, less amused now, handing her an open musky tome of forbidden lore, and poking a finger like a pale twig on a specific line. "The underlined passage, you couldn't ask for an easier task to carry out. You just stay behind and silent, boy. Not a single word until the Servant manifest themselves, no matter what."

Shinji nodded nervously, with wide open eyes. He opened his mouth to answer, but closed it back just as soon, making a shaky motion of zipping his lips up. Zouken half-approved this with a dismissive snort and then forcefully gestured at Sakura to start.

She swallowed as much as she could on a dry throat and read aloud, "Silver and iron to the origin. Gem and the archduke of contracts to the cornerstone. The ancestor is my great master Schweinorg."

And then a piercing chill ran down her spine, as she could swear she could hear the circle talking back to her, in her own voice, "The alighted wind becomes a wall. The gates in the four directions close, coming from the crown, the three-forked road that leads to the kingdom circulate."

Sakura paused, staring at Zouken in utter bewilderment, but the old man urged her to go on with an angry snarl. Apparently he had heard her talking the whole chant so far herself... or had she indeed, and had she just imagined that other voice, identical to hers? Was she losing her mind after all?

Sakura swallowed again and said, "Sh-Shut. Shut. Shut. Shut. Shut. R-Repeat every five times. Simply, shatter once filled. I, I announce-!"

The other Sakura voice spoke again, firm and clearly, everything her own voice was not. "Your self is under me, my fate, my doom, is in your sword. In accordance with the approach of the Holy Grail, if you abide by this feeling, this reason, then answer!"

And Sakura's own voice rose in turn, to match this one, whoever it belonged to. For some reason, she felt more of a drive than she had felt in a long, long time, making Shinji pause and take notice, backing away for the trapdoor until stopping just a step shy of reaching it. "Here is my oath. I am the one who becomes all the good of the world of the dead, I am the one who lays out all the evil of the world of the dead!"

The other Sakura voiced finished the chant for her, in a release that was as jubilous as mischievously threatening in tone. The voice of a trickster goddess, a charming murderess, a playful fool who would kiss and stab you at once. Sakura found herself, bafflingly, liking that voice. A fair lot. "You, seven heavens clad in three words of power, arrive from the ring of deterrence, O keeper of the balance!"

And then the three Matous were bowled over and back, rolling across the floor, crashing against a wall with a high pitched shriek in Shinji's case. A single huge pillar of energy and light blew from the circle and flew upwards, and the skylight was shattered, spraying shards of glass everywhere...

But the shards, every and each last one, were first frozen in midair and then lowered slow and safely, at the feet of the three women who had just appeared on the circle. Well, more like feet and, in the case of one of them, sharp metal legs, pointy stilts attached to a petite girl who... looked like a younger, much flatter Sakura.

As a matter of fact, all three of them looked like Sakura. Two less so, this one who was petite and scowling and had her legs replaced by prosthetics, and a second one who looked down shyly, armed with gigantic metallic golden arms finished in humongous claws, and sporting the largest set of breasts Sakura had seen in her life. The one who stood at the lead of the trio, however, was fairly normal looking, pretty much identical to Sakura in everything but her much longer hair, reaching past down her waist, and her coquettish, kittenish even, smirk as she leaned towards the young summoner, winking an eye and jarring her arms on her own hips. "Hey there, good looking!" she happily greeted. "I'm Servant Moon Cancer. I ask of you, are you our lucky Master?"

End of Chapter Zero.