In a sea of darkness, a point of light thrummed as though it were alive. A hand was laid on it, glowing with its own light as it caressed that.

That omnipotent cup filled with the blood of God.

That tool used to puncture a hole to that roiling sea outside of the human World.

That magic circle designed to actualize the third of the final True Magics, the third of the five tasks that remain for humanity.

The owner of the hand felt a smile come to their face, eyes looking warmly to that device. The work of the Three Great Families really was something incredible. If it wasn't for them, none of this would have been possible, but as it stood now...

"...why are you crying?"

Retracting their hand, the figure standing before that wishgranting device frowned slightly, before letting out a soft sigh. "There's no need to be like that, you know. If you had been allowed to leave the world forever, then that path would have been lost along with you. That can't occur. After all, you are the strength through which I will save humanity. You should be happy."

Even now, the figure didn't understand. The designers of this device were brilliant, so why did they make such a perfect foundation with such a flawed execution? It was that flawed execution that led them to ruin; had this not been the case, they would have achieved their goals.

No...perhaps not. Not all of them. After all, the collective is not to be underestimated. If you successfully do the "impossible" and create a door to that place that cannot be assigned a name, then before you can step into it, something will step out from the other side...

Turning their back on the Holy Grail, the figure smiled softly. The summoning of the Servants would begin soon, and with it, the Holy Grail War. By tomorrow morning, the Masters would likely begin binding their Servants.

"Goodnight, Justeaze. Sleep well, we'll soon need to work."

Uttering these words, the figure left.

And so, the curtain opened on a tragic play with its conclusion already decided.

---

As a Master, you have come to this city in pursuit of the 726th Holy Grail. As a result, there is only one path to follow: the destruction of all Masters other than yourself. All alliances that you forge are fragile, ready to shatter at the slightest touch.

The seven Masters have arrived in the city at the same time, and each of them must summon their Servant should they have any intent of surviving the day. In Fuyuki, there are four fallen leylines. Given this status, these areas are likely to be the goal of many of the magi; after all, any competent magus would view these four locations as the ideal ones for a base of operations.

The mountaintop Ryuudou Temple, perfect for the maintenance of Servants. The Fuyuki Park, unmarred by the tragedy that would have struck it in a different world. The Church on a hill, run by a man of the cloth. The Tohsaka house, abandoned since their line died out in the Third Holy Grail War.

So go forth, fight for your goal of that omnipotent cup which can grant any wish.

Perhaps this time, a miracle will occur.

Somewhere off in the distance, a ritual was occurring. Yes, within the chilly and bleak confines of a deserted 7-11 parking lot, great and terrible magics were at work. A filthy-looking hunched-over man twitched and shuddered like a marionette on tangled strings as he dragged himself around a chalked, faintly glowing pentagram, his attention fixated upon what looked to be the remnants of an oversize wooden stake, dyed faintly red. The circle began to glow and pulse with magical power as the magus chanted in Russian between sips of a blue raspberry Slurpee he had bought a few minutes before preparing the ritual.

["Heed my words! By the power of RASPUTIN, return to your mortal bindings, spirit born of man! By the powers of Grail, Earth, and Humanity, I call out to thee! Should you hear my missive, return to the living realm at once, great spirit! I hereby swear that, er, that... Hm."]

Rasputin scratched his beard, head bobbing back and forth haphazardly like a pigeon hopped up on meth. How did the next bit go again? Rasputin toyed absentmindedly with his Slurpee's straw as he pondered. The summoning circle was already up and going, so he couldn't go back and double-check either. Guess he'd just have to wing it.

["-In the name of, God, the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit! I am thou, thou art I, from the sea of mine soul I bind thee by blood and sweat, come forth from seventh heaven, Guardian of the scales!"]

As the pentagram flared, Rasputin reached into his robes and retrieved a mason jar of goat blood, spiking it haphazardly into the summoning circle more for emphasis than anything else. It probably wasn't necessary, but hey, Dracula. Maybe he was into that sort of thing.

@kusanagifire

Kurokiri Hyuuga

The clock ticks on, relentless, echoing in the silence of her house.

The girl works slowly, lines forming under her hand, tracing what would be the summoning circle in her basement, moving carefully on all fours as she did so. It was obvious that she was young, and her soft features only serves to amplify that fact. A soft humming was the only thing louder than the old clock ticking solemnly on a dusty table, as she hummed the parts to a barely remembered song. Finally the circle was finished, something pieced together from an old book detailing the summoning procedure. How her father came to have the book was unknown to her, but it was certainly useful now.

Kurokiri Hyuuga stood up and dusted her clothes off, preparing her chant. A war was starting and she was to be a participant in it. Her, the magus with barely any real skill to her name, save for something she developed herself. Her magecraft wasn't something the Magus Association would be interested in, she was sure. They were more interested in those more impressive magecrafts, like making lifelike imitation of the human body, or perhaps gems that spits a huge fireball and not be consumed. She had heard of those sorts of magecraft, but she certainly had not seen any of those. Then again, no real magus, as her father would put it, would ever go out of their way to meet with a Magus of Directions like her.

Wasn't it strange, she who had no real direction, being a magus of such?

Fill. Fill. Fill. Fill. Be torn asunder everytime you are filled.

Wasn't it strange, she who was but an unknown mage, being in this war?

Submit to the beckoning of the Holy Grail. Answer, if you would submit to this will and this truth.

Wasn't it strange, she who had no desire, being chosen by the Grail?

Come forth from the ring of restraint, Protector of the Balance!

A gust of wind blew suddenly, seemingly originating from the circle she drew. Kurokiri shielded her eyes instinctively, her clothes billowing from the sheer strength of the wind. If it did work, if she did manage to summon a servant, at the very least, she would give her best in the war.

It was what her father would have expected of her after all.

Giorgio Armadi
[Fuyuki Blackcanine Bus Station, Outer Fuyuki]
7:30 Am

It appeared that Giorgio Armadi had arrived at his destination. Fuyuki city. After all, this was the place which he believe he could crash a few weeks. He decided that during his clearly sping break he should go visit somewhere. Perhaps it was fate that he decided Japan was an interesting place to visit. Tokyo, after all, was a fashion capital of the world. He had heard that there was some sort of Magi contest, and as a rather competitive person, GIorgio decided it might be fun.

After all, it was just some backwater magi battle. Something about summoning some servant to act as an avatar to the mages ability to combat other mages. If there was one thing he wished to prove by the end of this, it was that specialization of skill-distribution was superior to learning many forms of arts. Versatility meant nothing compared to a skilled tradesman in quality.

And Giorgio was all about quality. Giorgio wore designer clothing, ate only well-crafted foods, drove fast cars and listened to the only genre of music that mattered, Progressive Rock. Truly, a man of wealth and taste.

So Giorgio boarded the Blackcanine in Kyoto. Tokyo seemed like a dream to me now. As they have all gone, to look for Japan. Counting the cars on the New Fuyuki Turnpike, he was really searching for Japan out here.

Arriving at the bus station after a rather long busride, Giorgio cursed there were no airports surrounding the city. Then again, he did also suppose that accommodating an airport near the merely developing city would probably cost funds which the town could not, or would not wish to afford. It was not as if the city was really a tourist destination. The only real reason a foreigner would take residency, even for but a moment, in the city, would be for the Grail War.

“Tada,” Giorgio seemed to say to himself as he exited the bus doors, as if a light ensemble to his arrival. He had his goal. He had his mission. And he had a bunch of sticks. Yeah, try explaining that to airport security. Almost made him miss his flight. Luckily with a few persuasions and perhaps Giorgio dropping a few Euros, it was smooth sailing after that.

“Fuyuki city....” Giorgio said to himself, as if pondering some sort of life decision that would shape his future forever. “Not really the sort of place I’d really want to visit. Maybe the Blackcanine has a ticket back to Kyoto?”

Of course, they didn’t have room on the bus. It appeared he wasn’t the only one trying to get out of this place.

“Eh, I guess it is by the “wheels of fate” that I am stuck here. Not only that, but that bus ride really sucked. I asked for a the entire row, but they won’t sell me that. I knew I should have just rented a car in Kyoto.”

A light joke, but no one was really there to laugh at it besides Giorgio. A random foreigner who talked to himself seemed to be a bit out of place in such a relatively quaint place of living. Then again, if there were active magi within the city itself, perhaps the locals were more accustomed to strange-happenings? Either way, Giorgio decided after such an exhausting busride listening to some couple beside him talking about people in bowties being spies or other such oddities, he would stretch his muscles and push forward to his reason for being here.

After all, Giorgio, without the provocation of the Grail War, would most likely had just stayed in the cities, rather than the quaint towns of bumble-fuck-nowhere. Then again, he supposed compared to the locals here, his exotic self must have looked pretty fabulous and flamboyant by comparison.

“I even missed my morning coffee by an entire hour. I don’t know how this day could get any worse.”

Truly, this was the day Giorgio would remember as “terrible” in his memory. Unless something rather marvelous would occur, he felt it likely that there would be no salvaging this day.

“Whatever, that is not what is really important here, I suppose. What is really important is to join the war, I guess.”

He looked towards his hand. A symbol as if the curlings of a flower was inscribed, as if a tribal tattoo of sorts, upon the back of his hand. Giorgio felt that tattoos were rather uncivilized, but it was temporary, or so he would hope. They would be the reigns used to control his servant in case of emergency.

[Mion River, Under the Bridge]
8:00 AM

Therefore, from the busstop, Giorgio made it to the Fuyuki banks. A short walk of sorts. But one where he understood what he needed to do. Perhaps there were students going to school. Perhaps there were salarymen trying to go to work at this time. Or maybe some children playing near the incline of the river’s hills. That was not too important, but it did make Giorgio consider a spot where there wouldn’t be passer-byers trying to gaze at his rather … “innocent” activities.

After all, the life of a mage was a frugal one. Or so he was constantly told by his father. GIorgio never believed these sorts of ideals, wishing for a more exciting life of luxury and fun. Perhaps that is what drive Giorgio’s specializations?

It was done in but a moment's time. Giorgio’s calligraphy was top-rate, so his prowess in drawing a few simple circles would be rather “good”, to say the least. Unlike uncivilized mages of backwater country, Giorgio understood that a circle was a circle, no matter which way you draw it. So he just took a stick and etched what he needed in the riverbank’s clay.

Silver and iron to the origin. Gem and the archduke of contracts to the cornerstone. The ancestor is my great master Schweinorg.
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.
Shut (fill). Shut (fill). Shut (fill). Shut (fill). Shut (fill).
Repeat every five times.
Simply, shatter once filled.
――――I announce.
Your self is under me, my fate(doom) is in your sword.
In accordance with the approach of the Holy Grail, if you abide by this feeling, this reason, then answer.
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.
You, seven heavens clad in three words of power, arrive from the ring of deterrence, O keeper of the balance ―――！

… Maybe someone seeing him would think he was some sort of odd chuuni, but whatever. If someone did see him, he would take care of that. But the deed was done. And now, he would wait to see what partner this war would gift him with.

Shinobu
[Ryuudou Temple]
[8:00 AM]

The shortest Master of the grail war was feeling a little chilly this morning, but it was nothing that she couldn't handle. Days of meditating alone in the middle of the forest beyond her family's estate had prepared her for this. So, as she approached the Buddhist temple with a feeling of trepidation, she wasn't shivering from cold.

Was this really okay?

This place, Fuyuki City, was soon to become a warzone. No, it was possible that it already was one. She couldn't know when the other Masters had arrived, they might even already be set up, ready to strike against any late arrivals before they summoned their Servants. That was the kind of person a Magus was. So, as she carefully approached the best summoning location in the city, it was only natural that she was tensed for combat.

...

She had encountered the barrier on her way in, but she had at least enough experience to realize that it wasn't put in place by an enemy Master. Her first approach had been twenty minutes ago, when she circled the temple and carefully observed her surroundings, searching for signs of enemy activity. When she didn't find any, she approaches the back side of the temple grounds, finding a place where there was less of a chance of her being discovered. Once there, she surveys the land briefly and sets up next to the lake.

"Alright, time to get started." She takes a small receipt out of her pocket, reading the hastily scribbled instructions and reminding herself of the general structure of the magic circle. Reaching into her convenience store bag, she pulls out a small plastic package containing two sticks of white chalk. She uses her teeth to tear a hole in the plastic, tearing the package in half from the point of the rip in order to free the chalk inside.

Drawing the circle was easier than she expected. Leaning over the small, flat space of dirt she had discovered, she draws the magical circle, frequently referencing the drawing on the receipt for accuracy. Once she finishes, she settles into a meditative position next to the circle, closing her eyes for an instant to move her awareness from the outside world, to the inside.

...A familiar sound reaches her inner world, and the sensation of magical energy coursing through her body comes to her. Driving in the fast lane. Time to hit the magical highway of the mind.

Summoning- Start.

Her mouth moving was just a formality. She concentrates on the stream of mana in her mind. She would have to anchor the Servant to the world the instant it arrived. That was her responsibility as a Master. Everything else, she knew, would be done by the grail. It was a ritual so simple, a child could do it.

Chant- Finish.

Her eyes remain closed. Instead, she watches the opening in the center of the circle with the eyes of her mind. All of her senses tear themselves from the ritual going on inside of her body, and instantly she becomes aware of her surroundings. The air was surging with power, and she could almost hear the light emanating from the magical circle in front of her. She could feel something, like an invisible mass forming in the air in front of her, an unknowable pressure that indicated the presence of something from beyond mundane perception.

Her Servant was here.

Qiūyuè bows her thanks to the pickup truck as it starts back down the road. A hand waves out of the driver side window for a moment before becoming vaguely obscured by stray bits of dust kicked up by the vehicle. Qiūyuè comes to stand and turns towards the stairs leading up to Ryuudou Temple. As far as she's made aware, there's a collection of monks living and tending to the temple grounds and the townsfolk seem at least aware of this - a passerby in his pickup truck was more than happy to drop her off at the stairs. With a vague huff, she dusts off her robes before she produces a tourist pamphlet from her makeshift blanket-backpack.

Whilst hiding out in the temple was her best bet of avoiding detection by the other masters, or at least as far as she could see it, she didn't want to risk being caught. There might even be any monks there, but even then there could be so many that privacy may be almost forgotten. Ideally enough, the temple happened to be surrounded by a dense forest which should hopefully provide the concealment and missing resources she needs. With her quarterstaff in tow, acting as something of a walking stick to help with the climb, she sets off into the forest to the north of the temple.

---

After adding the last of the details to the summoning circle with her quarterstaff, Qiūyuè swiftly brings it up above her and sharply sends it off to her right to flick the excess dirt aside. The stage for the summoning is set: a large, intricate summoning circle is drawn meticulously into a cleared circle of dirt, with a mostly flat-topped stone sitting on one side and her blanket laid out and folded neatly on the other. As the final part of the preparation, she takes a curious piece of metal from her robe and gingerly sets it in the center of the mostly flat-topped rock. The metal is visibly old and plagued with rust and other deformities with sects having rotted away to reveal the internal construction, where it appears it was supposed to attach to something off. The pommel of an arming sword, formerly of the sword belonging to the honorable Baldwin IV.

After taking a deep breath in to steel herself and help her gather her thoughts, Qiūyuè steps around the circumference of the circle and comes to sit on her folded blanket; in a practiced set of movements she sits crosslegged and moves to lift her feet to rest atop the opposite leg before she brings her fingers to fold in her lap. After a final revision over the construction of the circle, she closes her eyes and take a firm breath in to announce:
"To the likes of the heroes, willing and able: hear me true, as a chosen of the grail." Some form of light comes to the circle although exactly how it looks is lost on her, with her eyes tightly closed.
"I declare: as a man of honor and good report, thy intentions are just and true.
"I propose: walk upon this Earth again so that I may entrust thy fate to thee.
"If thou would see my cause fit and just, then with the blessing of the holy grail,
"follow my calling and come to me."

Despite the light growing nigh-blinding and the very nature of the ritual itself, Qiūyuè remains calm and steadfast. For her, this is her ultimate and final trial. As far as she can see, she can not falter.

@Moonman

Hector Cavala

Buying a hotel room wasn't cheap, especially considering the latent spacing issues Japan routinely suffered. Hector had managed to make do, fortunately, with a relatively nice room. Most criminals didn't have a travel agent, but Hector was happy to have one now.

The cleaning lady was probably going to be cross with him about the mess he made on the bathroom floor. Even though chalk is easy to get out, the intricate runes Hector had drawn out using it were going to be a pain to wash off. However, that was not Hector's problem. Hector's biggest problem right now was trying to remember how the chant went. As far as Hector knew, chants were largely unnecessary. A formality for an informal conflict. However, it just wouldn't do to shamelessly copy over another Mage's chant from a previous Grail War. This one would have to be special.

"Soul of the mind, key to life's ether," Hector said, sprinkling a handful of rich incense over the middle of the summoning circle. The innermost runes of the circle began to throb, as if through the eyes of a half-awake man.

"Soul of the lost, withdrawn from its vessel," Hector said, delicately placing a worn artefact in the circle. It wasn't very interesting. To the outside observer, it looked like an incredibly rusty, incredibly dirty toy whistle. In truth, it was a tool of unimaginable power: a Catalyst. The Cavala family knew all about Catalysts, though few had ever used one. This one had passed itself down through three generations of Magi, and had been kept entirely as it was the whole time. In retrospect, it probably would have been better to clean it.

"Let strength be granted, so the world will be mended." Hector gently poured a measure of liquid from a nearby bottle. Libations for the dead are standard practice for summoning them, but classical necromancy probably didn't ask for the use of convenience store wine, and probably didn't ask that the bottle be half-drunk before pouring.

At this point, Hector realized he forgot the rest of the chant and his Servant still hadn't arrived. Struggling for something to say, Hector's brain shot into overdrive. Pure inspiration surged through his synapses, and Hector resumed chanting with renewed vigor.

"How many times I gotta tell y'all I'm second to none!
No magazine's top ten cause I'm negative one!
So I don't pay attention to them dumb folk,
Cause I'mma always be in first like the clutch broke!"

Hector briefly wondered where he'd thought that up. Suddenly, it all came to him-- Big Pun! That Puerto Rican bastard had come through for Hector once again! Illuminated by the bright lights of the summoning circle, Hector laughed uproariously. The lights and sounds surging forth from the epicenter of the circle reached a shrill crescendo, nearly blinding and deafening Hector all at once. Without a doubt, magic was happening, and Hector was glad to have caused it.

"Ay, Servant!" Hector roared into the maelstrom of magic in front of him. "Get your ass over here!"

@Flamelord

With the girl's eyes closed, an ear-shattering, thunderous screech of what sounded like a bald eagle. Accompanied by it, the chorus of flapping which filled the air, no softer than the strident scream that acted as its prelude. Amassed above the summoning circle, a large flock of bald eagles all clumped together into a vaguely humanoid shape. As the spell neared its closing, the birds dispersed, seeming to dematerialize as they left the circle, leaving the room covered in black and white feathers. Standing at the center of the circle, with proud and solemn bearing, the visage of a young man with long, red hair and a suit. In his right hand, the barrel of a matchlock rifle, the wooden stock posted on the ground.

Through his nose, the man took his first breath. With his left foot, he took his first step. His hand picked up his rifle, switching with his left as his right slid down to the wooden rifle grip. The barrel was pointed down, away from the girl. The man cracked his neck to the left and to the right. His shoulders rolled back and forth, popping into place.

The revived president looked around, still in his circle, as if searching for someone taller, though only seeing the girl in front of him. The servant kicks around his summoning circle before sauntering out of it, rifle held in hand. He held his right arm over his rifle, keeping it stable against his body as his left hand reached out. His palm pressed gently against the girl's cheek.

Then, with a short back-swing, he slapped the girl across the face. "How 'bout put on some clothes?" he barked, southern drawl hanging heavily on his words. "I don't see nobody else 'round, unless you wizards can turn invisible. Ain't nobody bossin' me around in their underwear."

Shinobu
[Ryuudou Temple]

The young girl's first experience with her Servant was the thunderous, stinging pain of being slapped, and then the sensation of flying through the air and slamming into something hard. Without realizing it, the American President had launched the poor amateur ninja right towards the back of an enemy Master who was summoning their Servant a few feet away. It was an incredible miracle of timing and ignorance, as the enemy Master had failed to notice the girl summoning her Servant nearby, and had begun her summoning a fraction of time after Shinobu began her own.

Because of this, if the timing was just right, it was possible that the high velocity loli might interrupt the enemy's Servant Summoning Ritual.

Either way, the impact was going to bruise. A lot.

She did remember to anchor her Servant, though. She may have been a failure, but she had one job, and she was going to do it correctly.

@vFear@Hantu Kongkek

From the blinding crescendo of magic that Hector had whipped up, he soon got his answer. The chant itself was irrelevant, beyond any effort to summon up a particular class of Servant which he had not included. If you thought that it would work then it could be as half-assed as you wanted. Hector definitely wanted it to work, and in turn that meant that he was definitely going to succeed.

A wind blew through the hotel room as the magic built to its height. It smelled of the earth and nature, like the deep forest that one might visit. Yet it was also wild, hostile, a realm that bowed for no master. Whether Hector could handle what that meant remained to be seen as the summoning began in its fullest, mana gathered and given shape, form, a body for a Heroic Spirit to dwell within. It was time for the Grail War to begin.

As the light and sound faded away Hector would find a man before him, if the term could even be applied to the figure which stood crouched in front of him, with blond hair, bird wings and claws for feet, yet with human hands and wearing clothes. He eyed Hector as things settled back down to normal, a dagger strapped to his hip and a lute on a string around his neck.

"...I take it you're my Master then," the 'man', said at last, voice a drawl with something unintelligible in it as well as the tint of a Russian accent. Whatever Hector had expected, this was what he had gotten. Time to see how this would all go.

[The Airport, 6:30 AM]

"Kid, I'm going to have to ask you to step aside."

The burly TSA officer looked down on the young man standing in line at the security checkpoint as he said this. Then again, the young man was noticeably less than five feet tall and probably looked like a 14 or 13 year old instead of a college student, so pretty much everyone looked down on him come to think of it. It was just sort of a natural state of being for him.

Wes Downgate sighed, screaming internally as he put on a weary smile. "What's the problem, officer? Something wrong?"

"No," the TSA officer said, looking confused. "We just need to know why your bag has all this... blood in it."

Two large duffle bags filled with materials and two large coolers stamped with biohazard stickers lay open on a table next to the checkpoint conveyor belt.

"Oh, those?" Wes said, looking at the bags then back up at the airport security officer. "I'm just going to a freemason Illuminati sex party for devil-worshippers. We cut the heads off of goats as a sacrifice to the seven-headed god Baal and then we commit acts of rape and sodomy covered in its blood."

The TSA officer stared at the little boy. Wes sighed. Sarcasm was lost on the witless, he supposed.

"It's for a school project. I have all the paperwork for biohazard transportation filled out right here."

He flashed a packet of documentation with all the relevant signatures and approvals. Of course it wasn't really. It was just a simple hypnosis trick. Wes could've easily done this the legal way of course, but momentarily exposing himself to any coincidental observers as a magus was much less risky than leaving a paper trail with all his personal information on it saying he came into the country carrying gallons of animal blood and other magecraft related paraphernalia. Besides, the chances of him being spotted by another magus here were monumentally slim, so long as he didn't act overtly suspicious.

The TSA officer squinted at the paper.

"Huh. Okay, yeah uh... it checks out, I guess. You... you have fun with that, kid. Whatever it is you're doing."

Wes put on a fake smile. "Thanks."

"No problem. _{Fucking weirdo..}" Wes heard the TSA officer mumble as he walked away. Yes, being looked down on was a natural state for him. But that just made it all the sweeter when he got a leg up on the people who said he couldn't do it.

The new Master grabbed his bags and quickly zipped them shut. He exhaled.

"Okay. Slow and steady wins the race. You can do this."

Painfully and arduously, the 18 year-old Clocktower student lugged his two heavy duffles across the airport. He was tempted to use strengthening just to make this a little easier, maybe not have to stop every few minutes to catch his breath, but he needed to do some things on his own, dammit. Besides, he'd already risked exposing himself as a magus once this morning on a calculated risk. That was enough.

Finally he made it outside to the airport taxi, and dumped the bags in the trunk. He climbed in back, and for the second time this morning the taxi driver looked at him like he was a total weirdo.

"What the hell you got back there, kid? Dead bodies?"

Wes decided to skip the sarcasm this time. "Just some supplies, sir. Here."

He handed the taxi driver twenty ¥50 coins and a piece of paper with an address written on it. A remote warehouse by the docks of Fuyuki city.

"Can you take me to this address?" Wes asked.

"... That's the docks, kid."

"Yeah. I know."

"So..."

"So?"

"Why do you wanna go there? Look kid, I'm not taking some random minor wherever he wants to go with no adult supervision and no idea what he's up to. How about you just take your money back and use it to call mommy and daddy? They can come and pick you up, alright?"

Wes felt and nearly heard a vein bulging in his forehead.

"Actually, sir, my parents are both dead and I'm a registered adult attending college in London. You need to see my ID?"

Wes flashed his driver's license in the taxi driver's face, confirming beyond a shadow of a doubt that he was as old as he said he was. The driver's response was awkward.

"Oh. Ummm... I'm sorry to hear that-"

"Please," Wes said, massaging his forehead. "I have had a really rough night getting here. Come to think of it, a really rough morning too. I just wanna get where I'm going. Can you do that?"

"Yeah, uhhh... sure, kid," the taxi driver said, starting the car. Wes plopped back in his seat, relieved. Their course plotted, he laid back his head and started to sleep as he awaited his arrival. In Fuyuki City.

[Fuyuki City, Docks, 7:30 AM]

"Uhhhh... you want what??"

"Your shed, please. The one by the edge of the property. I'd like to live in it for the next few weeks if possible."

"Look, kid, we can't really-"

"I'll pay you rent."

Wes dropped a heavy bag of yen coins into the man's hand. Five minutes later he had the key. He walked over to the shed, an old corrugated sheet metal building approximately seven meters long to five meters wide to three meters tall. Unlocking it revealed an empty room littered with old junk and lit by a single bare bulb. The floor was hard concrete, and there were of course tell-tale signs of leakage here and there. It was hardly the lap of luxury.

But it'd do.

Wes unpacked his sleeping bag and his laptop, setting his coolers of chilled blood aside. Leaning up against the wall, he quickly started making orders for various essentials to be shipped to the warehouse. Tools, mostly. Also living supplies, like a genny, a stove, some water and MREs. It was a start, but he had a lot of shopping to do over the next couple of days if he wanted to show up those geriatric farts running the Association.

Closing the lid on his laptop, Wes took out a paintbrush, some sketch paper he'd rolled up the night before, and all six pints of his blood he'd brought with him. He'd been hoping to save at least some of this, but he'd use however much he had to. He couldn't afford to skimp on quality here.

Wes taped the sketch paper to the floor so it wouldn't move, then locked the door. He got on his knees. Slowly, methodically, be began to paint, filling in the gaps in the paper and drawing the circle on the floor in his own blood. As he painted, he ruminated to himself.

It's all the Association's fault, he thought. No, it's the damn geezers up at the top who keep promoting this ass-backwards lifestyle we have for ourselves. Never changing, never truly moving forward, always clinging to titles and bloodlines and traditions. The world is changing. And I'm gonna make you change with it.

Finally, he was done. He hadn't brought a catalyst. That was the one thing he refused to steal from the Association. Not on any moral grounds or because he felt sympathy for people like Kayneth Archibald, the Lord El-Melloi. Because from the very beginning he'd known the only option for him was to let the Grail select someone who was compatible for him.

He wasn't stupid. Many Masters had died before at the hands of their own Servants due to poor compatibility. He wasn't going to let his ego demand he summon a specific or even a famous or overly powerful Servant only to be killed by his own vanity later. He'd stick to his guns and make do with what he was given, like he always did. That was the best and only course of action for Wes Downgate.

A lump formed in his throat. What if something went wrong? What if he forgot the words?

He took a deep breath. "Relax Wes, you prepared for this."

Popping in his earbuds and playing a pre-recorded sound file of him reciting the chant from paper so he wouldn't get stuck, he began the summoning, bringing the circle to life with his words.

Silver and iron to the origin. Gem and the archduke of contracts to the cornerstone. The ancestor is my great master Schweinorg.
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.
Shut (fill). Shut (fill). Shut (fill). Shut (fill). Shut (fill).
Repeat every five times.
Simply, shatter once filled.
――――I announce.
Your self is under me, my fate(doom) is in your sword.
In accordance with the approach of the Holy Grail, if you abide by this feeling, this reason, then answer.
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.
You, seven heavens clad in three words of power, arrive from the ring of deterrence, O keeper of the balance ―――!

He stopped and smiled as the circle flashed, grinning ear to ear. He hadn't thought about it much in the middle of all the righteous fury and indignation, but he was actually summoning a Servant. He'd get to meet a legendary hero!

His inner and outer nerds squeed. This was so cool!

@Lonewolf685

---

Out of time. This phrase was appropriate in more than one way to describe what was being summoned within that circle. Out of time, in a literal sense, first from a world three thousand years before this one. Out of time, in a figurative sense, to complete a task that would soothe her weary soul. And of course, out of time to rest, perhaps to dream. She was being summoned to this world because their was work to do, and people to kill.

Time for war to begin.

The last great queen of the Amazons opened her eyes to the mid-morning light. Information of a new and peculiar sense was taking root in her brain. Fuyuki, Japan. The Holy Grail War. Masters. Servants. The years that had gone by, the things that had happened. What had become of the world... If the cup hadn't pushed that part of her mind back, she felt like she might've screamed. Instead she was just a passive observer. The more she learned, the more it felt right for the world to be this way.

Eventually, her mind and her eyes adjusted, and she looked around. She'd been summoned in her combat gear, draped in her usual fur mantle. Whoever had summoned her had taken shelter under a bridge to do so.

A magus, she reminded herself. The words felt slimy on her tongue. She had dealt with spellcasters and witches before. The queen couldn't say she was fond of them. Being forced to work with one was hardly ideal, but it was necessary if she wished to sustain her existence in this world.

Oh well, so long as it isn't a man... she thought, then turned around. A blond, rather strapping young man stood at the circle's boundary. The only one in sight who could have summoned her. Her, the mighty Penthesilea, queen of the Amazons.

It was at this point in time that Mad Enhancement became active for some reason and Penthesilea felt the shackles of madness overtake her.

"Graaaahhhhhhhh!" she roared, pounding the ground with earth-shattering strength. The display was a fearful one, but as it continued unabated for the next few minutes, her abuse moving on to some rocks and then the support beam of the bridge, one couldn't help but start to look at it like it was a destructive child's temper tantrum.

@ADamnFiddle

Lancer

Once again, he had come into this world, this beautiful wretched world. Once again he was called upon to protect, but to protect what, and for what purpose he knows not.

A crimson light bathed the area but for a moment, before the circle was engulfed in cloth, red billowing cloth moving madly around itself. Just as suddenly as it started, a last burst of wind blew causing the cloth to flare outwards, revealing the figure within as the cloth disappeared, leaving behind a tattered cloak around his neck. A tall, armored figure, blood still spattered down one side of his armor, dripping slowly onto the pavement. He carries an aura of darkness around him, an aura of dread that would send most cowering in fear.

Lancer raised one gloved hand, opening and closing them, as if affirming he was indeed real.

"Ah, but to feel this air once again." Lancer turned his gaze towards the summoner. "I have heard the summons, o wild one. Are you the one I am to serve?"

He smiled, a wide grin that bared his fangs.

The beating of Taiko drums filled the shed, a chorus of percussions rebounding off the walls and meshing together into a pounding cacophony that subsumed the frantic beating of Wes's heart. A pink light blinked into existence amidst the summoning circle, pulsating in time to the Taiko's chorus.

"Fear not."

A reflector wreathed in gold appeared amidst the light, spinning on it's axis almost beyond perception.

"Your Vulpine Concubine has heard your call."

The ancient mirror rotated faster and faster, light dancing off it's surface in a blinding cacophony of light and sound.

"The summons has been answered and salvation brought upon you!"

A final, all consuming flash of light and sound before all went still. The drums ceased in totality, not an echo remaining. The pink light grew soft and dull before fading away with the ritual circle.

"By my blessing, our union shall be prosperous in the face of all opposition!"

In their place was the reflector, which shifted to the side as figure seemed to walk into existence from the now empty air. With a spring in her step and warm smile on her face, Caster stood before her Master brimming with confidence.

"I have come, my Master."

Hector gave Solovei an interrogative look, taking all of his Servant's features into account. From the look of it, Solovei was probably the fifth-most obnoxiously-dressed person Hector had worked with. The feathers and bird feet were going to be problematic, but that was something Hector could work with. All in all, Solovei looked like a better investment than the last bird-themed criminal Hector had hired.

"Yeah, you got it. Hey, you got that 'Knowledge' thing, right?" Hector pushed about 1000¥ in assorted coins into Solovei's hands. "There's a Seven Eleven across the street from here. Can't miss it, it's got a sign with a '7' and an '11' on it. Buy me some smokes and a Diet Coke. The clerk doesn't know English and I don't know Japanese, so I gotta use you. Do this, come back, and we'll talk about this Grail shit."

Hector gave Solovei a reassuring pat on the shoulder and diligently set to smudging the chalk runes away. People generally didn't respond well to finding runes in their bathroom, or at least Hector didn't. He assumed other people didn't like them either.

"Oh, and before I forget," Hector said. "I don't want nobody knowing I'm with you, so you're gonna keep it subtle and legal. Got it? I know you can do it!"

Baldwin IV
The Lord's Day, anno domini 2012

The light emanating from the circle was peculiar, to say the least. At first glance, it seemed to be pure white. Yet upon closer inspection, it appeared more in line with the deathly pallor of a man diseased. Not only that, but foul smoke emanated forth, carrying the stench of rot and sickness. However, within this foul mire, movement could be seen. Humanoid in figure, what lay within gradually rose to its feet. While the being's form was still veiled in smoke, that was about to change. Behind the Servant arose a new shape: the outline of a massive cross, formed from light.

In but an instant, the putrid miasma and pestilent light were banished from the world, consumed by the blazing radiance of the sacred icon. Though the light was blinding, it gave off a pleasant warmth, comparable to a parent lovingly embracing their child. After what felt like an eternity, the cross slowly faded out of sight, leaving naught but a man clad in ancient armour. Standing tall, proud, and resolute; he looked to be no less than a shining paragon of perfection. But, a pond's surface oft hides what lurks beneath. Echoing the foulness heralding his arrival, a number of barely perceptible flaws marred the purity of the man's being.

While the man's left arm firmly gripped the pommel of his sword, his right limb was left to dangle in an almost pathetic manner. The man's posture was impeccable, that much was true; but, a sharp eye could see that it was maintained by force of will, entailing an internal struggle against a foe no man could hope to match. Above all, his eyes were the most revealing. Behind the slits of his great helm lay two green pools, filled with sorrow and steely resolve in equal measure. They were the eyes of a man among men, at once broken and adamant, brimming with experience no lad of his age aught to have. Taking a step forward, the man dropped to his knees and bowed his head.

"Good day, madam. By the grace of the Almighty and your will, I have risen again, bearing the title Rider. May I have the pleasure of knowing your-"

Baldwin paused, struck dumb by a sudden turn of events. What appeared to be a small goblin had come flying out from seemingly nowhere, and proceeded to slam into his master. After taking a moment to process what had just happened, the Leper King arose, and lumbered over to take a closer look at the offending object.

A child, albeit a rather odd-looking one. The Orientals are truly a mystifying folk.

Were the circumstances any different, the Servant would have gladly struck some sense into them. But, one was not to commit violence without undue reason, especially against a child. Thus, Baldwin used his good arm to hoist the girl up by the wrist.

"I do believe you owe the good lady an apology, and myself an explanation."

The Shed, 8:00 AM

And then suddenly, Taiko drums. And pink light. And a spinning, talking mirror.

"Uh..."

"Fear not."

"Uhhhhhh..." Wes said.

"Your Vulpine Concubine has heard your call."

"UHHHHHHH..."

"The summons has been answered and salvation brought upon you! By my blessing, our union shall be prosperous in the face of all opposition!"

"Uh... huh..."

The overblown theatrics finally stopped as a voluptous figure appeared from behind the mirror. She was tall, much taller than Wes (though again, not in and of itself an impressive feat). Her clothes were dark purple and she smelled of cherry blossoms as pink as her hair. But most importantly, she had eyes like a fox. And ears. And a tail.

Immediately the analytical part of Wes' mind went into overdrive.

Okay, judging by the clothes and the drums she's definitely Japanese. Fox ears narrow it down further. She must be a kitsune. Probably a nine-tails. There have only been a few foxes in Japanese folklore and mythology famous or noteworthy enough to have their names recorded, which is bare minimum amount of fame required to qualify as a Heroic Spirit. And since she called herself my... "vulpine concubine", she must be...

"You're Tamamo-no-Mae, right?" he asked, hoping he hadn't gotten it wrong. Which means she's probably Caster. Though Assassin may not be entirely out of the question...

@Lonewolf685

Even with her eyes closed in her meditative position, the series of colors and sensations was simply spectacular to observe; from a pure white with an underlying plague to a sheer holy brilliance, it's almost guaranteed there'd never be a second screening of such an event.
"Good day, madam." came an unfamiliar voice, prompting Qiūyuè to open her eyes and look upon the man. Even with her preparation and discipline, the awe came up in her expression: before her was a servant in the flesh, the key to her final trial and a legitimate hero of history. She moved to stand to offer him a bow-

-before a high-speed out-of-control loli slams into her side, sending her tumbling to the ground.

Qiūyuè lets out a bit of a gasp as she's initially hit before letting out a grunt as she slams against the ground, narrowly saving her forehead from crashing down on suite with some subconscious help from her arms. She lies on the ground for a brief moment to gather her bearings before she pushes herself up. After briefly flicking over the exchange between the child and the king, she dusts off her robes before stepping on the end of her quarterstaff to bring it sharply upright for her right hand to snatch it. She uses it as something of an overgrown walking cane.

Qiūyuè - after catching on to the nature of the exchange - turns to face the young girl expectantly. She waves her arm as to ensure the sleeves of her robes cover the back of her hand before she turns to face the girl expectantly.

@Moonman @Black Alice

@Turboshitter

Giorgio Armadi
[Mion River, Under the Bridge]

Well, to say the least of this situation, Giorgio considered what he had found himself within to be a bit odd than his normalcy. He had understood the “class” system used for this war.

The Saber was the class of swordsmen. Those heroes whom had donned a blade for their country, for comrades, for themselves. Giorgio understood that according to the base class, this happened to be one of the, if not the strongest class. However, that did not mean that the Saber was constantly the strongest servant, but rather a very likely contender for victor of the war. Unless you are takeuchi. Clearly the Servant Giorgio had summoned was not this class.

The Lancer was the class of spearmen. As one of the knight classes, the base class was stronger than other classes. Though compared to the Saber base class, the lancer held very little advantage. However, the forerunners of this class tend towards great agility, displaying exceptional CQC prowess, while capitalizing on weaknesses. Clearly the Servant Giorgio had summoned was not this class.

The Archer was the weakest of the Knight class, but still comparatively strong.Servants placed within this class excel in possessing powerful Noble Phantasms, are able to act as highly effective scouts due to the skill “independent action”. However, archers tend to be less useful in closer engagements compared to the other Knight Classes. However, their range and ability to kite opponents tended to make them formidable regardless of the occasion. Clearly the Servant Giorgio had summoned was not this class.

The Rider was the class of mounts. The companionship of beasts was a commonplace in stories of old. From horses to pegasi, the Rider was able to tame and act as a cavalryman with their mounts. However, to constitute a Rider, one must have the ability to “ride’ a mount. And have a mount. Clearly the Servant Giorgio had summoned was not this class.

Assassins were the classes of intrigue. Those who had taken to the shadows during their life, using their stealth to claim their victims. Able to nearly disappear from the world at whole, the Assassins specialize in “picking off”, for lack-there-of a better term, those whom had become separated from their Servant. However, Assassins tended towards a bit of finesse in regards to their skills. Clearly the Servant Giorgio had summoned was not this class.

Casters were the class of Mages. The strongest casters of spells throughout the history of man were placed in this class. Mages with abilities that might have been eventually surpassed by modern comprehension, but at the same time, beings so powerful modern magi might be incomparable to their prowess. Magic is like a lake. As more people drink from the lake, the “total amount of water” gets divided to more and more people. However, mages tended to use magic, not brute force as a means battle. As well as being able to talk. Clearly the Servant Giorgio had summoned was not this class.

So it was clear what Giorgio had summoned. Giorgio took off his designer shades and inspected the thing before him, if only as a passing glance.

“Berserker, eh?"

The, well, Berserk figure was before Giorgio as if a haunting shade of pure anger. It might have been a bit upset at its draw from the Throne of Heroes. Of course, Giorigo could not say that he did not sympathize with the anger demonstrated from the beast. If Giorgio was a hero, they’d most likely wish to stay out of any sort of battles, and to be robbed on one's sanity tended towards an odd feeling, as Giorgio could only imagine. Then again, Giorgio didn’t really understand the grasp of the Throne of Heroes. Perhaps it would be boring merely existing as a soul within such a place.

Either way. Giorgio was not really “happy” per se with his drawing. Not that he was upset, but more so he wished that he had summoned a more eligant Servant. Perhaps the class of “Saber” would have been a better suit for the Flamboyant Giorgio. However, at the same time, Giorgio had to say he respected the bestial Servant he had summoned. Though not one to believe to show force against those who are not needed in a situation, Giorgio respected the strength of someone. Those who had made themselves through their own desire of strength were respected and honored by Giorgio. Surely he had summoned someone like that!

“Hmm, perhaps I should try to converse with my Servant. Clearly it is upset at something. Then again, it does seem a bit angry at something. Would it really be wise? I suppose I do have those Command Spells. If they try anything funny I’ll just be forced to use one.”

Giorgio was simply glad that the Berserker he had summoned would not try and attack him. After all, he did not wish to force his hand towards a Command Spell. Given only three of the spells to control the powerful summoning that is a Servant, a Magus would act as the “chains to the Servant on earth”. Sort of like the relationship between a portable electronic and a battery.

“Berserker, I free you of your madness, if you are inclined,” Giorgio told his Servant. If they wished to speak with the man, they would be freed of their madness. Perhaps they could come to an understanding about appeared outrage of the bestial Berserker.

"You're Tamamo-no-Mae, right?" he asked, hoping he hadn't gotten it wrong.

@Turboshitter

Her surprise at being so easily identified could be clearly seen by anyone with a keen sense of perception with years of training in the study of body language and micro-expressions. The tensing of the jaw, that way her sandals shuffled uncertainly, and the minute widening of the eyes were good indicators of this.

For everyone else, they would have to settle for seeing her vulpine ears bolt upright with ramrod stiffness.

"Ara, what a clever Master I have." Her cheer sounding forced in juxtaposition of her bombastic entrance. "Yes, I am indeed the unmatched beauty, Tamamo-No-Mae. Was I everything you could ever hope for in a future wife?"

A twitch, and one ear was firmly against her head. Her uncertainty in this situation mounting ever hire with her immediate discovery. Not to say she didn't intend to reveal herself in totality to her most clever Master, but she wasn't looked upon fondly by history, on account of the that snake in the grass, Seimei. Tamamo had sincerely hoped she had time to ingratiate herself with her Master, maybe have a nice candle lit dinner under the stars and reach a few more flags in their relationship.

Eyes downcast, she was somewhat heartened to find she summoned based on compatibility and not catalyst. That could only mean good things, or so was the hope of histories most prolific murderer. (It was Self Defense! -Tamamo )

It appeared as if after three centuries, the president had forgotten his own strength. He held his rifle firmly in both hands, fingers pattering along the wood and metal as he took a second to contemplate what had happened. It wasn't before long that the president took off in an easy jog in the direction he had smacked the girl toward, consciously keeping his rifle from swinging too wildly, barrel facing toward the sky. It was then when he noticed a man and a woman dressed in very different garb, but both definitely adults.

By the hair, Jackson grabbed his Master, pulling her away from the older woman before quickly putting both hands again on his firearm. "Huh. Sorry for the little toss up. I don't reckon neither of y'all have got a spare set of clothes. This young lady seems to have misplaced her own."