Hi guys! To start off, I own nothing.

Second, I apologise for how some countries are portrayed/going to be portrayed, but I need some antagonists. Please be assured this is not a reflection of actual feelings for the nation in question; this fic is set in an Alternate Universe where the nations behaved differently.

"Are we in agreement, gentlemen?"

There was an uneasy silence over the room, the sounds of clothes rustling as people shifted in their chairs clearly audible in the stillness. Most were throwing glances around, observing each other's reactions.

"Come now," said the same speaker, "surely you must admit this is the best way."

A general murmur indicating assent filled the room, but no one seemed any less uneasy.

"Well," continued the man, "I think I speak for the whole of Europe when I say-"

"Excuse me," said another voice, "but you don't."

The man shrugged in irritation. "Very well, if you wish to be pedantic, I speak for the whole of Europe except the United Kingdom-" and he shot a glance at the man who interrupted, as if to say, happy now? "-in confirming our support and participation in this plan."

"The United Kingdom agrees as well." replied the man who had interrupted.

The European delegate made a shrugging motion to the room. Really, it said, how eccentric and touchy these English are!

Four men sitting together glanced warily at each other, before one spoke up. "We confirm the participation of the Asian Federation as well."

"I must disagree!" said another man, standing up. "The reason you have agreed is because your mythology is widespread! You possess an overwhelming advantage!"

"Come now, dear sir," replied the European, amused, "you speak as if you are on equal footing with us even with conventional weaponry."

The man grit his teeth, sitting down and remaining silent.

"The Americas agree." replied another, and the hall was hardly surprised: Where the United Kingdom went, the Americas were bound to go. Colonies in all but name, they were.

The hall stared at the two delegates remaining. The European delegate quirked an eyebrow. The United Kingdom delegate leaned forward, the American delegate mimicking him.

"Polynesia agrees." said one man, posture slumping as if in defeat.

The man who had argued stood up once more, anger etched over his face. "The States of Africa agree." he spat, whirling around and exiting the room.

"Excellent." replied the European, "shall we say…two weeks from now, in Area-271B?"

Another general murmur of assent erupted around the room, and delegates grabbed their papers and briefcases, rushing to the airfields.

There was no time to waste in the first Holy Grail World War, after all.

Ved Krishna rubbed his palms as he finished his summoning circle, placing the carefully guarded piece of rock he had brought with him as a catalyst on it. The Government of India had spent a lot of trouble acquiring one of these, and they depended on him to make it count. If he got who he was aiming for, there wouldn't even be any uncertainty as to the outcome.

"Aayasi!" he called, using the ancient language of Sanskrit in an effort to ensure his summoning was perfect. He had to bypass millennia to summon the person he wished for, and every little bit helped.

An eruption of smoke burst forth, and Ved stepped back, watching hungrily as it cleared. In front of him stood the most majestic person he had seen, towering over Ved easily, at least eight feet tall and massively broad-shouldered. He wore a golden crown, jewellery and armour, partly cloaked by a green dhoti, a sort of skirt. His face was so fierce, so menacing that Ved flinched back instinctively, and in that instant, knew he had failed with his summoning.

For whatever else Lord Ram Chandra was, he was never this massive or this fierce.

"My lord," bowed Ved, speaking in flawless Sanskrit, "I am your humble partner in this endeavour. I beseech thee to aid me. May I know of your illustrious identity?" His catalyst had after all been a most powerful one, and it was always best to treat Servants with the best obedience possible.

When the man spoke his name, Ved didn't know whether to cry or laugh at the irony of it all. He had summoned the exact opposite of his desired result.

Still, at least the class – Archer – was correct.

Wei Xu glanced over at his Indian ally. Clearly, the man had failed – the brief expression that had flickered across his face told Wei everything he needed to know. And now he was bowing, of all things, to his Servant. Wei had been taught that one must establish dominance for a suitable relationship to form, and he intended to do just that when the smoke cleared.

He saw a man, rather fierce of expression, long, bushy red hair and untamed beard, wearing ancient Chinese battle armour and with a red-and-gold staff slung across his back. The man broke out into a wide grin, showing off his inhumanly sharpened teeth, and began bouncing in place.

"I am the Great Sage Equalling Heaven!" he shouted, "I am the Keeper of the King of Heaven's Horses! I am the Greatest General! I am the King of Monkeys! I am Sun Wuk—ong!"

Wei felt irritation. He had summoned the right person but he had no doubts about that. He wasn't incompetent, like his Indian ally. Yet why did his Servant insist on exposing himself so publicly? They were allies for now, but who knew what would happen in the future? No, he would have to chastise the man.

"I am your Master." deadpanned Wei, "now kneel before me."

A flicker of surprise crossed the Servant's face, before an unholy grin broke out. "Yes, Master!" shouted the Servant, approaching within arm's length of Wei and falling into a quick bow.

Wei smiled. Now this was how you handled a Servant. He glanced over at Ved, intending to show him how to do things, but Ved seemed to be torn between laughter and surprise. Also, why did his legs feel cold?

Wei glanced downwards, and nearly fell over in shock. That- that Servant! He had- he had- pulled Wei's pants down around his ankles!

Said Servant was now leaping around the room shrieking loudly in excitement, pointing and laughing at Wei's misfortune.

"LANCER!"

The room had inevitably quietened when Sa'd al-Malik and the woman known only as Izanami had walked in. The former never said anything, inscrutable in his loose robes that covered everything except his face. His face twitched slightly in disapproval at seeing Sun Wukong hanging from the ceiling rafters and shrieking his name, with Wei blushing furiously and begging him to come down. He was followed by a humanoid figure that looked to be made of shadow, with a bone-white mask on it. Both Ved and a distracted Wei instantly knew it was Hassan-i-Sabbah – one of him, at least.

Izanami, on the other hand, was a homunculus created by the Japanese: her code-name indicated her as the strongest female homunculus they had designed, her body full to the brim with prana, her unblinking red eyes, black hair and delicate features hiding a beast of monstrous physical strength – compared to the average magi, although nowhere near Servants.

Still, it seemed that she had succeeded with her plan, for the massive bald figure that walked behind her, weapons all over his body, silent, unmoving and eyes of glowing red was clearly a Berserker. The Servant's strength backed by Izanami's prana would make them incredibly difficult, if not impossible, to defeat.

"…Pathetic." said Izanami, and Wei felt anger rising in him. Ved said nothing, having long given up on reacting to the woman's insults.

Sa'd al-Malik remained silent, tossing a paper down on the sole table in the room. TRAVEL ITINERARY, it said. Ved groaned, reading where the location was. He had to admit it was a fair location, but he wasn't used to the cold at all!

"Time to plan." said Sa'd, and the four Masters sat down on chairs seemingly conjured from sand with a wave of his hand. Three Servants stood behind them at their shoulders, contributing to the discussion. The fourth, however, was contributing in his own way, flinging pieces of wood from the ceiling down on the discussion, mischief in his eyes.

The four ignored him, continuing on with their plans.

Whatever you do, after all, do it only with a plan.

"Ready, brother?"

"Ready, brother."

With simultaneous flashes of light, two Summoning Circles flared into existence, the two Masters that waited beside them uncannily resembling each other. Castor and Pollux, the Twins of the Wind: famous greek magi, named after the twins of legend, were an obvious choice for the European Union's squad of magi. Devastating in raw power, unmatched in teamwork and with ties to one of the oldest mythologies in existence, it would be suicidal to leave them out.

Castor grinned. Pollux smiled. They were successful.

"Say, brother," said Castor, as they waited for the smoke to clear, "I wish we had been allowed to summon without a catalyst."

"We might have got matching Servants, yes," replied Pollux, "but you know, brother, that this way we get stronger Servants."

Castor nodded sheepishly, and Pollux smiled once more.

Two figures stood in front of them. The one in front of Castor was a slimly built man, his face obscured by a helmet in the tradition of ancient Greece, his body radiating faint golden light, although Castor didn't know whether it was because of the golden armour he wore or his body.

"Servant Rider has come to assist you in your quest." said the man.

The one in front of Pollux was much more ruggedly built, although still not of monstrous proportions. He too, wore a Greek helmet, and armour over his legs, but left his torso bare. A shield was fastened to his left arm, a spear slung across his back, and a sword at his waist.

"Servant Berserker is here." he growled, eyes flashing red.

Castor and Pollux smiled at each other and high-fived. They had done it.

In the next room, Franz Leider was swearing.

"Ach! You! Stain on my country! " screamed Franz in disgust.

The Servant in front of him merely bowed quietly, his military uniform's numerous medals jingling with the movement. His clean-shaven, aristocratic features were set in a mask of remorse. "I only wish for repentance."

Franz let his glance fall on the hooked, black cross on the Servant's military officer cap and spat on the floor. His Servant would have to show him his sincerity before Franz would accept this Rider.

Franz knew the man was supposed to be one of the more humane soldiers in the war, and he had tried to put an end to things. That, however, didn't remove from the fact that he had served great evil willingly.

No, Franz wouldn't forgive so easily.

Alessandra de Luca toyed with the dagger in her hand as she watched her Servant emerge from the smoke. His outfit was clearly Roman in its antiquity, and he certainly – she licked her lips – looked good, short hair over regal, yet earthy, features. His hands and arms were brawny and callused, speaking of time in war. Alessandra smirked, as she flicked her dagger, aiming straight for her Servant's head.

It was deflected in an instant with one of his own.

Alessandra turned and walked out. "Come, Assassin." The man followed.

The European Union was ready.

In London, another two men simultaneously called forth their Servants, although this time there was nothing alike about the two.

One, dressed faultlessly in evening dress, perfectly creased suit and immaculately knotted silk tie. The other, in a shirt with a few buttons open, badly maintained pants, and a cigarette hanging from his lips. The former wrinkled his nose in disdain. The latter made a gesture with his fingers, telling the former where he could go.

The two Servants stepped forth as one, the one opposite Kent, the faultlessly dressed man, wearing a crown over a rusted helmet, full body chainmail and a breastplate with the cross of St. George on it. A sword hung at his hip, and his steely eyes, partially obscured by bushy red-brown eyebrows, gazed at Kent with confidence. His strong jaw tense, his slightly unkempt moustache and beard speaking of some hardship. The one opposite O'Shea, the other man, also wore a crown – although he was much more regal-looking than the first. A highly stylised, ornate crown perched atop unruly silver-blonde hair, embossed golden armour shining, his hand glowing ethereal silver. A long broadsword was fastened at his back. A scar ran across his face but detracted nothing from his fine features.

Both spoke. "Servant Saber has come."

Kent's lips twitched. O'Shea grinned widely, not caring as his cigarette dropped to the floor.

The United Kingdom was in business.

The Americas were poor. Colonies of Britain in all but name, their prodigious wealth had gone towards funding better and better projects in the United Kingdom, with the leftovers being channelled towards the needs of the Americans.

The Rebel Government was not happy. Their military might dwarfed by the United Kingdom's, they were forced to watch as a puppet government despoiled their nation. Now, they had a chance.

"Unfortunately, we don't have good catalysts." spoke the President bitterly. "The two of you will have to make do with these."

The two mages bowed, and began the ritual.

"Remember," continued the President of the Rebels, "you pretend to support our friends-" the last word was all but spat out "the English, but you have to win. The nation depends on you."

The two mages didn't respond, focusing entirely on their summonings.

Jill Murphy watched with bated breath as a figure stepped out of the smoke in front of her. Wearing a coonskin cap, a jacket of bear fur and with a rifle in his hand, Jill knew who this was instantly. One of the Rebellion's heroes. She couldn't have done better.

"I've come ridin' a streak of lightnin', missy! Archer is here for ya!"

Cetanwakuwa – Attacking Hawk, to translate his native Sioux – watched carefully as his Servant stepped forth. Dressed in what he recognised as Incan robes, Cetanwakuwa watched as the man stepped forth, a glowing orange lance embossed with a stylised image of the Sun on it in his hand. Red robes swished as he walked. "Servant Lancer has descended from the Sun and arisen from the lake to rule this war."

Cetanwakuwa – 'Ketty' to Jill, who honestly couldn't pronounce his name – thought that they might have a slightly better chance than they had expected.

Unknown to both Balun and Adeben Kwame, their summonings were similar, even though they were separated by thousands of miles. Both were from nations whose myths were not widespread enough to compete with most other countries. Both were weak magi who didn't know how they would survive. Both had the weights of a whole nation on their shoulders.

For both, the Grail decided it would help out. No simple heroes would be summoned – oh, no.

For Balun, his summoning was accompanied by the rushing sound of water and a rainbow spontaneously forming over the part of the Outback he was located in. A dark-skinned man in traditional aboriginal robes stepped forward, and Balun fell to his knees. He knew instantly this was no man. No, this was something more.

For Adeben Kwame, his summoning was accompanied by a sudden outpouring of spiders from his summoning circle, spiders that had not been in the Sahara a moment ago. An old man, back bent double with age, leaning on a staff and his long white beard touching his knees. Adeben Kwame unconsciously imitated Balun, falling to his knees and bowing. He knew who this was. Which African didn't?

Both divine forces in human form spoke, the former hissing and the latter smiling. "Servant Caster has formed."

Perhaps the African Union and Polynesia had a chance after all.

So? How was it? Go ahead and review!

Try guessing the Servants too ;)