I'm scared. I'm scared. I'm scared.

Why are you here? Why do you have those eyes? Why does this world exist? Why are you?

As the buzzing of wings grew louder, more of the figure became visible under the moonlit night. A biological impossibility, an insectoid being that, as it came ever-closer, seemed to be no smaller than Siegfried himself. A dull grey exoskeleton that seemed to cover all its body barely glinting beneath the moon, it seemed akin to a beetle in its form, if one were to disregard the fact that it had acquired an almost humanoid gait to it as though it were bipedal. Its legs, thin spines lining along each of them atop the shell that encased it, tapered off into claws that had been tightly balled up in a manner akin to fists.

Why, why, why, why, why, I'm scared, I have to hunt, I want to live, I want to live, kill you kill you so that I can live kill and deny all hatred leave leave leave leave leave go away disappear into nothingness fall into nothingness condense amidst nothingness become naught under nothingness and gO AWAy aND lEt ME LiVE----------

The speed of its approach was certainly within the realm of Servants, something that a mere human couldn't hope to match with the frailty of their body. The insect began to retract its limbs as it approached Siegfried, legs seeming to fold within its body and turning it into a star falling from heaven. Or rather, perhaps a descending cannonball would be a more apt comparison.

...In this world, a Servant should be something unmatchable. Nonetheless, there are exceptions to every rule.

Such as, those freaks like the Magician who has hastened the end of the world, a human who is capable of fighting Servants.

Such as, those forgotten beasts lurking in a texture of reality below this one, fantastical existences that stand above even a Servant in raw power.

Such as, the being that had appeared before Siegfried.

Something that was certainly not a Phantasmal Race, but felt akin to an imitation of it.

_{Holy Grail}
Something that spoke out to his nature as Siegfried.

Yes, for in this world, there exists that boy who can materialize the wishes of mankind, granting them a form. A wishgranter who creates illusions. A wishgranter who creates demons.

If the evil dragon was a being that provoked terror, then this was a being kneaded from terror, from the desire to escape it, from a prayer that stretched out to the end of the world. In that sense, it was only rational that the one who carried the evil dragon's blood and the one who denied the premise of that very dragon would meet.

Imaginary demon. Materialized wish. Biological curse. Sixth Imaginary Aspect.

On the first night of the Holy Grail War, such a being descended upon he who had slain a dragon, falling from the sky to assault the Servant with nothing more than its own body.

From the moment they had left the hotel, Marguerite had been tense, waiting for something to happen. It was taking all of her self-control not to jump at every puff of breeze or every flicker out of the corner of her eye. Keep calm, Marguerite, she kept repeating to herself, It will do you no good to lose your cool now. Not after you've come this far. Not before anything's happened. She had no reason to worry as much as she was. Yes, there were other Masters and Servants out there, but what were the odds that they would encounter any this night? And even if they did, Saber would be able to hold his own, right?

Of course, she kept all these fears and anxieties in her head. To an observer, she strode down the street with the confidence of someone who knew exactly what they were doing. At least until the buzzing started.

At first, she had thought it to be the wind again. But then it grew louder, and was something coming towards them? When Saber materialized, she knew that something was going down. But she did not falter as he positioned himself defensively in front of her. To Marguerite Calder, staying upright and maintaining the appearance of being in control was second nature, as reflexive as breathing.

"Right," she said, "I'll act as support should you need it. For now..." The magus' voice trailed off as she took in the sight of the aggressor.

It didn't seem like a Servant. It didn't seem like anything she'd ever heard of or read about. It looked like a giant insect and everything about it looked sounded felt wrong. So wrong.

"My god, what is that thing?"

@Moonlit Sonata @Breo

Given how the opening scene to summoning his Servant had played out, the subsequent events had flowed surprisingly well. It could be said that the Berserker he had summoned defied the expectation associated with the class's name, but in this case, Stirner could hardly find it in himself to complain.

All the same, though, as talk of breakfast, lunch, strategy, and preparation all drew to a close, as the lonely moon floated overhead, bearing silent witness in the night sky, any semblance of peace was shattered.

---

---

It made sense that neither Stirner or Berserker had detected it. After all, it was neither a magus nor a Servant. Prana did not flow around it as one would expect while it had approached the hotel room that had been used as a temporary base of operations.

And yet, it appeared nonetheless. The flare of magical energy as its true functions roared to life left them with less time to react with than it would take to cast even a Single-Action spell. With a resounding crack, the wood of the hotel room door caved in beneath its blow, its figure darting into the room while the Master and Servant were in the midst of conversation.

It was a man. Silken black hair that came to an end below his shoulders, eyes cold with the utter lack of that spark common to living beings, he entered. On the opposite side of the city, another absurd being that equaled Servants had appeared, but at least that demon made sense. Beings of that demon's class would of course be capable of moving with a speed and strength far beyond mortal men, a fact that would be obvious simply upon setting eyes on them. This, though, had none of the presence that a Servant, a Phantasm Race, or a demon would possess. It was simply there, and yet it moved with a speed and grace that Berserker certainly could not match.

The man cut a straight line through the hotel room from its point of entry to the wall opposite it, heedlessly charging through the outer wall of the hotel room and leaving a gaping hole to the outside in its wake, the building itself shuddering at the sheer force behind the blow.

It was only after that hole had been formed that Berserker would notice his Master had been taken by the man, the escaping figure charging headlong into the curtain of night.

---

While she knew checking the situation on her own may have been a good idea, she also had the previous thoughts of what a situation like this may be. After all these were many possibilities, and she was not as familiar with some areas. Meanwhile her new Lord was a Magus. Thus he should be more versed in these areas.

“I would have but I just know it isn’t an enemy Servant. Thus I was unsure if it was natural to the area, or perhaps something that someone had placed there. It was my hope that as my Lord, you may know more than I on this matter. But if that is not the case then I apologize. I truly should have looked into it more.”

Giving her apologies with her head down, she raised it to see the motioning and opened the door to walk ahead of David. She was oddly eager to do well, and he was trusting her to protect him tonight. Her first act as a Servant.

“I am joyed you have decided to leave it to me. I shall not let even a scratch come to you, be it from a Servant, a monster, or whatever this creature may be if it is hostile.”

The smile that accompanied her worlds was oddly bright for someone who was getting ready to go out and possibly kill something. She hadn’t donned her armor again yet either, if only because she felt it might stand out. A just in case measure really.

Yukimura was not without worry though. The fact her Master didn’t know of the creature concerned her as he had made his base in this location. As well the thought came to her that if it was an Assassin Class Servant who could mask his presence as another sort of creature, then her Lord could very well be in danger and it would be her fault for leading him into it.

At the moment though she had to lead. Taking the front, as well as checking back occasionally with a glance, she made her way down the Mion River, to make it to where she felt the creature before. The silence would truly bug her along the way if nothing was said, so she had thought of a few things she could speak with her Lord about as well just in case. Since he hadn’t asked her to carry him, she’d have to walk at his pace rather than her own after all.

“… My Lord something occurs to me. This War… The winner receives a Wish at the end yes? Would you care to share yours with me and hear mine in kind? I will not be offended and understand if you refuse though. After all Wishes are something very personal, and can expose our desires.”

Even while she asked her question and clarified, she had her hand out to be ready for battle. She may need her spear at any given moment after all. There would also be the need to call her armor, and tie her hair back into a ponytail so it wasn’t in the way during combat. Unfortunately the fact she wasn't too fond of silence may prove to be a bad thing in the long run past this night.

@Breo @Moonlit Sonata

@Yukitamas

Seeing that his Master still had many more things on his mind, he turned around from his hasty exit outside the building as the moonlight drenched his form with darkness no longer covering it. His features were more pronounced under the greater quantity of light as Berserker shifted to face Nakae who leaned against the door. "Indeed, a wish for anything you would desire, it shouldn't be too hard to think of one right?" Berserker explained it exactly how it was to his summoner and continued to listen to them as they continued smoothing some things between them. "If you are a master, then I am a servant who serves the one who has summoned them. Us servants come from the Throne of Heroes, which is where we come from and you may find various figures as servants within the Holy Grail War such as myself." He summarized as he leaned against one of the wooden support columns that held the front porch together despite its age that whithered away the paint of its former glory.

Despite his lack of experience, from the knowledge that Berserker gained it looked like the system that the Holy Grail War operated on was a fairly simple one that anyone could understand on a broad and general level, but how the finer mechanics of such a thing worked was lost on him or simply weren't given to him to expand on how it worked. It, however, didn't seem to make his Master curious on how the wishing part of the Holy Grail showed itself to be but the look of determination on his Master's face seemed to part away any doubt that they once had about joining the event. Apparently, his Master had something on his mind that he really wished to obtain and looks like it would motivate him for at least a portion of the event...

Nodding in confirmation to his Master who confirmed the contract between them and began explaining some of the unique peculiarities about him as a Master, beginning first with what his eyes could see which were clearly something else. Claiming that it allows him to see essentially the world differently and his ability to 'see' pain. Which his Master continued on to explain how his vision worked which intrigued Berserker as he gazed towards the ground as he was deep in thought as he kicked the earth several times while his Master spoke with something resonating with his memories. Looking back up when Nakae finished "I believe I have an idea of what you are talking about..." Berserker said as he racked the memories in his brain that he tried to recall before finally saying "In the old temples, there are stories which said that some priests that had beautiful eyes that could see past the veil that separated the two worlds of the normal and supernatural world. Beyond the priests, there were said that some of the families who hunted demons back in Japan had eyes that allowed them to take down Monsters with them. However, such stories were said to entertain the thoughts of children and promote superstition but it may serve some purpose to what your eyes are." After reciting a few of the stories that he heard in an extremely condensed version, he stretched as he looked around the open area as he wondered if he should become incorporeal in case anyone was watching them. A samurai wasn't exactly subtle...

"A keeper of the dead? That is an interesting profession to strike up but a viable choice to avoid the living" Berserker said as he looked at his young master before going back to the handle of his sword that reminded constantly reminded him of his past and looked away from the blade. Deciding it was not his place to judge, especially from a person like himself he turned around and took a step forward. There, however, was still a flaw in his goal of finding a job in the cemetery as Berserker might as well announce it "If you get a job in a grave, would it not be exchanging your problems with the living with the dead? You claim to see the same thing on objects like living beings." Berserker said referencing the bracelet as he recalled the conversation that happened only moments ago, shrugging to his Master whether he took the moment to register it as Berserker continued forward.

"Shall we get going? It is getting late in the night, is it not?" Berserker nonchalantly said as his form began to shimmer "I'll be watching for anything suspicious, do not worry." Becoming translucent at the end of his sentence and while his incorporeal form was invisible to most, the current exception was his Master whose eyes were unique just like he had said earlier. With Nakae easily seeing Berserker exchanged his form to his spiritual body quite visible to him as the servant patrolled the area.

Alice de Arcobaleno
The Church - Interior > The road back

---

@Asuras@Moonlit Sonata

With a nod, the doll followed Ruler into the church, where they continued their conversation.

The part where Ruler mentioned there being more Servants than the usual seven being summoned was surprising to say the least, but the thought that Alice may have to fight more than just six opponents was beyond shocking; it was a nightmare. Were there even enough reputable magus joining this ritual? She remembered reading something about the grail pulling any and all Masters to it should they have a sufficient reason for wanting a wish granting vessel. Riffraff of all types would be pulled in, more than was tolerable with just seven combatants. She had counted on fighting only six other opponents after all.

All of a sudden, her house felt unsafe, even with all the safety measures she had made and was still making. Alice hoped she did not have to use a Command Seal this early in the war. Ruler did give her some more interesting bits of information after that, mainly that bit about the other non participants being expendable in moderation, but mostly more about the rules.

"Thank you for your time, Overseer." The doll bowed. "Your answers has been most helpful. Again, I apologize for not showing up personally. Perhaps one day, I might invite you out to tea to make up for it."

Saying her goodbyes, the doll exited the church, walking down the road once again. There was the rules to think about, and how she can use or bend it, but something Ruler said nagged on in the back of her mind. The Grail, before having only seven servants to wage war on one another, now had fourteen to wage that war, not counting the Ruler class now overseeing it. As far as she knew, the Overseer were usually some neutral party like the clergymen. It was probably nothing important, but the bad feeling she had persisted even then. The doll remained silent for most of the walk back, before finally speaking to Rider.

"What do you think, Rider?"

---

“I suggest you stand back, Master.”

So it was that Siegfried would meet his first quarry in the war. Not in the quiet night, softly exchanging greetings before letting their vaunted treasures sing the melody of steel clashing against steel. Not a fight of heroes, of skilled warriors without peer.

But rather, a battle against the putrid thing that revealed itself before him. He could not say it was the most expected event, but he would also not complain.

He was a shield and a sword. That was all there was to him, that was all there was to a Servant. Though his wish had been ‘to take the reins of his own life’, he must also not forget his place. And so, if this was the enemy, then he would cut it down.

…You, who are afraid. Do you think you are alone? Foolishness, for bravery resides in conquering one’s fear. He had been afraid, as well – the moment he had been tasked to defeat the evil dragon, he knew nothing else but the sheer terror that he had felt as he approached Fafnir’s lair. Yet, he had carried out his duty as a hero nonetheless, even if he did not remember how.

You, who deny that which incites fear, why do you show yourself before a hero, wretched thing? You, who wishes to flee from terror, why do you stand against one who would fight against it?

Ah, this body, bathed in the blood of a creature most terrifying, these veins through which runs the blood of a being that would have made lesser men shiver in their boots and surrender themselves to the end.

A smile parted Siegfried’s lips. A growl escaped his throat. It was unnatural, so unlike ‘the hero, Siegfried’ to show something other than a dispassionate façade even in the face of battle with this otherworldly being. Yet the blood of the dragon may sometimes prove that it has not been as diminished as some would think.

Balmung arose, reflecting the rays of the moon, an otherworldly shine to the Holy Blade of the Nibelungs. Muscles tensed like coiled springs, ready to release and do battle against that which was akin to him, yet not. Wait, wait, wait, now is not yet time. Let it approach a tad more. He couldn’t dodge, his Master was right behind him, after all. So all he could do was meet the assault head on.

It suited him just fine.

The moment it reached optimal distance – the falling comet would be answered with a rising star as Siegfried’s blade started its upwards swing, the full strength he could muster. Against lesser creatures, it would have perhaps stepped out of the realm of cutting – perhaps more akin to ‘obliteration’. But against this one, not even he could be certain.

“…Come, then. If you so wish to escape, then let me offer you deliverance.”

The words were spoken – but perhaps not even Siegfried could truly know what prompted them. All he knew was that the thing before him was an enemy. And, as such, it would be slain.

@ConstantlyComic @Moonlit Sonata

---

---

Hm. His Servant had posed the big question, hadn’t she? What did he wish to attain out of this entire affair, what would motivate him to enter this deathmatch with only one victor?

He was rather surprised it hadn’t come up earlier, really. Stepping out into the streets, he paused for a second – theatrical, perhaps, but that was just how he was. Allowing his features to relax, he decided to merely tell the truth.

“My wish is rather simple, truth be told – I seek only to further my family’s interests… Is what I should say.” He let the words hang in the air for an instant before speaking again. “Do you know the desire of Magi as a whole, Lancer? To reach the Root, by whatever means the deem necessary, through whichever path they have chosen. It is a timeless task and a thankless one – each will further the family focus as much as possible, and then pass on their findings and the will of our ancestors to the next descendant. Repeat, repeat, repeat ad infinitum or until one of our descendants manages to achieve that goal.”

There is a certain bemusement in his tone of voice – perhaps even a touch of annoyance, as though he dislikes the very notion.

“Can you understand, Lancer? My very family expects me to be yet another cog in the wheel. They don’t require anything from me except that I do my duty and quietly pass the mantle when the time comes.” His tone is more heated with each word. “As if. What is the point of being ‘just one more’, Lancer? Why not be ‘the one’, when the chance so tantalizingly presents itself before me? If the Grail is truly what they have claimed it to be – then, at the very least, even witnessing its effect will propel my work to new heights, let alone what victory would avail me, no?”

There is another bout of silence as he realizes he has spread his arms wide, as though to seize the whole world, coat billowing behind him, and he carefully returns to a calmer position, coughing into his hand in an attempt to retrieve the levity he had lost.

“Well, I suppose in the end, you might as well call me a selfish, ambitious magus – but I make no secret of what I am.”

@Ijoyen

Agility Parameter, B. That wasn't enough to react, not even to process, in time.

Minutes before, Berserker had been enjoying the hotel's room service with his young Master. He was shoveling nothing but junk food in his mouth, but Norton quickly had come to enjoy the junk food of the present day. Perhaps it had to do with being a distinctly American Servant summoned in that year, perhaps it was just the way some Servants could be impressionable regarding novelties. Noting that nutrition and hotel billing were irrelevant concerns, he'd also emptied the hotel room's minibar. He'd wanted to proudly announce himself from the roof, but had been asked not to.

Moments before disaster, he was confidently insisting to his poor Master that the broken crutch could be mended by his own hands, and would be better than ever before. Norton only had the barest minimum comprehension of magecraft gained from the Grail and (mis)understood from discussing strategy with Stirner. Even then, he'd boldly claimed that his completely nonexistent Handyman skill, would infuse duct tape with Mystery and confer that to the wood of the crutch.

It wasn't even duct tape he was winding around the pieces, it was scotch tape. Even after a night of strategizing, how could poor Stirner have any faith in his Servant when he acted like a complete moron?

Or when he was whisked away by a living explosion? There was a blast, and the room had a new entry with corresponding exit. Norton stormed from his seat, destroying the table, body reacting before his mind. Already, he could feel his prana supply being strung away.

Strength Parameter, B.

The Emperor's boots slammed into the floor, launching him out the side of the hotel like a cannonball. Whiskers of his mustache and beard billowed like a pouncing lion's mane, while Berserker roared with outrage worthy of his class. The force of his leap carried him quite a distance, enough for his average momentum to be horizontal rather than vertical, like a jet engine's descent onto the tarmac. Landing on the road below, Norton tore down the street. Each step kicked enormous plumes of dust, gravel, tar, and dirt in his wake, as the asphalt unzipped. Chunks of the street were torn away each time his boots struck the ground, his frenzied pursuit leaving a ruinous fissure. The noise was incredible, as the thundering fury of Berserker shuddered through the street. Drainage infrastructure under the streets caved in under his rampage, however, momentarily slowing him as he plowed through debris and leapt up the street again. The rupture of gas lines and snapped power lines ignited a smoldering trail of fire within the fissure, though that could be seen as fortunate by the poor souls tasked with covering this up.

But, his Master was growing further and further, the black-haired man that snatched him away only lingering as a momentary afterimage that Norton only realized after it had been too late. Was it Assassin? No, whatever it was, it wasn't a Servant. Sensory recognition in the Emperor's subconscious noted that dismally, as he felt his prana dwindling. For a brief minute, the decrease to his parameters actually helped a little, as Norton's charge stopped pulverizing the road under him.

Too little, too late. No, even if his prana supply wasn't draining away, Norton never had a chance of catching up. Where even in the city was he now? Where was his poor little lad of a Master? Norton's feet slowed, feeling heavier and heavier each step. Archers could maybe last without a Master for enough time to figure something out. Even other classes could muster something. But a Berserker? A Berserker without a Master was like a fire starved of oxygen.

Would the Emperor burn himself out just like that, his only act of note in this Grail War being a failure to protect his Master, after breaking the lad's crutch? "Sorry, lad...I guess you were better off calling someone else." Trudging through the streets, Norton looked at the top half of the crutch he'd clenched in his hand the whole way. The other two pieces had broken off the moment he landed on the street.

In theory, he could try and eat souls until he could find his Master, but who was to say his Master was even still alive? Besides, Norton scornfully noted, he'd already done enough harm. This was the end of the troubles he'd be responsible for here.

Luck Parameter, A.

Ten meters.

The falling enemy drew ever-closer, a being that only had eyes for the being that it had marked as its enemy, for the thing it had been ordered to hunt. Yes, for as long as it killed what stood before it, as long as it destroyed that frightening thing and returned it unto the dust from whence it came, it wouldn't have to face that thing who made it feel a fear like no other.

Five meters.

At this point, not only Siegfried but also his Master would have noticed something abnormal. As if a light breeze was gently flowing against them, the falling star's approach brought a strange force with it, all the while it continued its descent.

One meter.

The force grew with each passing moment. By this point, it had reached a level that the human would need to dig her heels into the ground below just to stay stable, as though were she to not, she would be knocked off of her feet as if by a strong gust of wind. And yet, shielded behind a Servant as she was, the wind generated by its approach should have been blocked by her Servant's body. So then, why...-

Half a meter.

The dragonslaying blade flew up, cleaving a path through the air towards the enemy to strike it down, and yet as it grew closer to the demon, that strange repulsive force only intensified. As though Balmung and the demon were two magnets being pushed away from each other, with each bit of distance reduced between the edge of the blade and its target, the effort exerted by Siegfried to keep the sword in motion increased exponentially.

One decimeter.

By now, Marguerite would be nearly about to bowl over if she were to take a foot off of the ground, that profane thing's existence pushing her back. Siegfried himself was of course not in such a state, but at this proximity his strength was insufficient to fully negate the repulsive force, his blade slowing down in those last few moments.

One centimeter.

Were the Servant's physical abilities not at the peak among Heroic Spirits, even keeping his grip on Balmung would have been near-impossible.

One millimeter.

The previously-tyrannical force behind the sword's swing had been overpowered by the demon's repulsion, brought down to a level that could only be called pitiful. On the last remaining vestige of momentum in it, it continued forwards if only just-

Zero millimeters.

-And collided with the demon. In that instant, a harsh vibration ran through Balmung and up Siegfried's arm, the dragonslayer filled with the sensation that, were either his blade or his body less hardy, they could have been torn apart by that contact alone. An instant later, the demon's figure leapt back, legs reemerging from its frame as it came to rest on the ground, standing on two of its legs as though it were a man whilst the other four were held out in front of it.

...no, not standing. Floating. Its lower legs were suspended above the ground below, propelled away by the same force that Siegfried and Marguerite had just experienced, no doubt. Was air even allowed near it, or did it exist in a vacuum around itself? Even if Balmung had gotten close enough to it to check, the prospect of a living being reaching that level of proximity was unnerving at the least.

Looking upon the enemy, it was obvious that Siegfried's attack had failed to harm it, not because it possessed an especially hardy body like the Servant himself, but simply because by the time the attack had struck it, its strength had fallen even below a mere adult human's punch in might. And yet, it had leapt back immediately after the collision; was it simply fear, or was there more to it?

Regardless, standing opposite the Saber-class Servant, the demon was still, awaiting the next move of its opponent.

---

...nothing.

Despite having reached the area that Yukimura had felt the presence approaching upon not long ago, any inkling of its nature seemed to have vanished.

Had it left the area upon Yukimura's departure, looking for greener pastures? Had it hidden itself somewhere? Had it left this reality entirely?

Well, regardless, the pair seemed to be alone where they stood. Simply a human, a Servant, and the lonely moon floating above.

The survey of the city had been rather uneventful thus far. For his part, Ernest had tried to familiarize himself with the streets as well as he could. He had been distracted in this endeavor, however, by the arrival of his familiar at the church. Unfortunately, the magus was incapable of speaking through his chosen familiar. Human Thralls were certainly capable of speech, so long as their vocal cords were mostly intact, but the bird was a bit problematic in that regard. It was unfortunate, but the dove had been sent primarily for reconnaissance purposes anyway. Through the bird, Ernest had observed Ruler and the doll, which evidently was the familiar of one of the other Masters. The magus had heard of a family of mages that specialized in the use of dolls at some point, but he struggled to remember the name. Regardless, it was intel, and any bit was helpful.

The Overseer was far from what he expected. He had been led to believe that the position was typically filled by a representative from the Church, though having a Servant fill the position made more sense, he supposed. Ernest had found himself distracted by Ruler's unique aura for a moment, until the arrival of another Servant. The doll called him Rider. Anything else was difficult to ascertain. The bird managed to catch the first half of the conversation, but was unable to make out much once the others entered the church. Again, an unfortunate occurrence, but any knowledge of the competition was helpful. With that, Ernest set the dove off again to circle near the church for observation purposes. Perhaps he would be able to spot another Servant. In the meantime, he needed to share the information he'd gleaned with Nim-

The sound of a car door flying open grabbed Ernest's attention just in time to see Nimrod darting off into the forest. The Servant had shouted something to him as he bolted, but Ernest hadn't been able to make it out.

For a moment, Ernest sat there, dumbfounded. Why had Lancer run off? What was going on? Were they in danger? He had already lost sight of Lancer, and in the dim night light he wasn't even entirely certain which direction he had gone. The confusion was only amplified by the fact that the limousine was still in mot-

The limousine was still moving.

“STOP. Stop the car!” Ernest slammed the base of his cane against the floorboard, and the Thrall in the driver's seat brought the vehicle to a screeching halt. The baffled magus leaned out the open door of the car, peering into the dark forest before him. If there was danger, running into the forest was almost certainly suicide. That thought kept him in the limousine. A surge of anxiety filled the stoic mage, and for a moment his frustration bubbled over. “Lancer! Lancer what is the meaning of this?!” A feeling in the pit of Ernest's stomach told him things were taking a turn. A turn he had not expected, and one that was almost certain to be unfortunate.

This was not what Ernest had envisioned even moments ago. No, shouting into the night, baffled and concerned was not what he had wanted at all. He shook, his hands wrenching tightly around his cane. Again he shouted, straining his ears afterward to hear anything. Silence. Only insects and birds.

Wait.

In an instant, Ernest had commanded the second dove, the one that had been following the car, to fly into the inhospitable darkness of the forest. The chance of finding anything was still small. Lancer was far faster than the familiar, and it was difficult to even ascertain which direction Nimrod had went. Still, the mage spurred the creature onward, beating its tiny wings with savage force against the night air. He was seeing through the dove's eyes now. It was difficult to navigate the forest, but he could still vaguely sense Lancer's energy in the distance, and so he pushed the bird onward. Onward and onward, with enough force to severely endanger the delicate frame of the familiar, undead or not. Ernest felt desperation boiling in his veins. His heart strained in his chest. Despair gouged a pit in the depths of his stomach. The further the bird flew, the closer it got to Lancer, the deeper the black hole grew. Something was very, very wrong.

---

His glare towards the putrid thing in front of him did not diminish in intensity for even an instant, even as his body still reeled from the aftershock of the clash. In any other circumstances, the sensation would have been met with perhaps fear, perhaps excitement – the sting of pain after so long was an almost alien feeling to Siegfried. However, in the current circumstances?

This was not some mighty hero, sorcerer or ruler of legend. This was not some terrible villain, witch or tyrant. This was a disgusting thing that dared stand before a hero in spite of what it represented.

The blood in his veins boiled, so unlike him that if he would step back and observe from the position of a third party, even he would have found it baffling. Green eyes illuminated by the moonlight and the soft glow of Fafnir’s sigil carried a strange sort of enmity towards this thing that was too similar and also too different.

“Why are you here?” He found himself asking despite the fact that he shouldn’t, that he would have normally kept silent even in such circumstances. “Run off and hide in a cave, dredge. That is all you are good for.”

A sickening creature it was – both in appearance and in what it represented. His stomach lurched as he observed it, both disgust and rejection mixing in a very potent cocktail of emotions. But why did he despise it so much? Not even he could fully understand. Perhaps it is simply a result of the core being too similar – a reality not even Siegfried wanted to accept.

Balmung was kept in a defensive position, held before Siegfried – for whatever good it was worth. The thing had already proven it could make it through his swing, no matter how much pride the dragon-slayer held in his own ability or that of his sword. Even if he managed to repeat his earlier feat and send it away the next time it tried to rush at him, it’d all be the same.

…Don’t you understand? Go away. You are nothing but a wretched creature that has no business here. You are not wanted here. Leave and never return, demon. A hero is one who conquers what you deny, he has no need of you.

His grip in the handle tightens just so as he waits for the being to make the next move. He has never been one for offensive engagements – and, in this case, it would prove a fruitless endeavor at the moment.

Perhaps not even he wants to admit it, but in a way, even heroes feel fear – and though the creature in front of him does not scare him, what it embodies is a different story. After all – what else is there to Siegfried once the evil dragon is taken away?

He pauses and takes a slow breath he does not need, trying to calm himself and analyze the best path of action, even though not much comes to a mind that is distracted with thoughts of destroying the demon before him, rejecting everything it is and everything it embodies. He takes half a step forward, Balmung shining under the soft moonlight, then another step and then another, blade readied to answer any sudden attacks and to attempt to find a way through the monster's hide.

Perhaps he is, indeed, afraid of whatever this is.

But that was fine. He did have a history of killing things he was afraid of, after all.

@ConstantlyComic@Moonlit Sonata

More than seven...

The thought instantly piqued Rider's interest; with so many more opponents, his plans and notions would have to be all the more careful and potent. He hoped, too, that Alice's skills as a magus could sustain him well enough to deal with an inevitably more frequent onslaught of opponents. For the time being, he wagered she was a top-quality magician, and there would be no issues there. Thanking the Ruler for the brief hospitality, Rider followed after the minuscule doll, thinking for a moment that they might be faster if he were to carry it instead.

"I think we have our work cut out for us," he said plainly, vanishing into his spiritual form. Conspicuous as an autonomous doll was on its own, it was far less visible than himself were he to remain tangible. "With double the contestants we will need to be on heightened vigil, if we weren't already. One would be apt to take to home for the night with so little information to go off of..." Rider paused.

"And yet, gleaning some information may be even more powerful given the circumstances. Certainly with so many Servants participating, we'd be bound to locate at least one by mere chance. If you were so willing, we might even be granted an opportunity to dwindle the enemy's numbers. The first night may be too soon for some to cope with, if they are want to prepare like yourself, Master. Even now my own lieges may come across a Servant nearby without us ever coming into direct contact with one another."

@Berserk Gene

---

"Jeez, the low-flying aircraft today...is there a military base near here...?"

She had almost choked on her mochi when the sonic boom came from just overhead, it felt like. Seriously, who flies that low? Over a city? Well, it's away from the bridge, so things are a bit sparse and it's more town-like, but still. Have some courtesy, dammit!

...Granted, she's complaining about almost losing food that she bought from a 100-yen store. Thinking about that feels a little pathetic, so the girl doesn't dwell on it.

"Let's see...47600 left...? This would be easier if I knew how long I had to make this last..."


Even in the summer, she wore that hoodie. For a long time, she didn't have access to things like laundry, and that one set of clothing was what she had. When one lives with only a single outfit for a while, it's easy to get attached. She could easily imagine that even if she had something like a closet, it would just be filled with that same hoodie, or that same jacket, or whatever.

It was pure white, once, but after countless stains of everything from food, to blood, to grass, to just wiping her nose on it every now and then, it was kinda more grayish, with a few holes patched up here and there. You need to throw it out and buy a new one, she'd hear all the time. Hell, with this kinda cash, maybe she could, but fuck it, the thing's comfortable and dirty clothes are nothing new. Plus, she doesn't really know how long this holy cup war thing will go on for, and running out would be less than ideal. Not that she couldn't manage, but the convenience of having money to buy quasi-real food beats out the convenience of clean clothes that are just going to get dirty again after one or two fights.


She just caught the tail end of it, but that building...

...Is there a hole in the wall?

Yeah, a massive exit crater just...kinda...going through the wall. On the umpteenth floor.

They should really get that fixed., the girl thought to herself for the briefest of moments, not realizing that the hole was new until a dude just fucking cannonballs out of it like the asphalt is a goddamn community pool and it's his day to piss in it.

She didn't even see him land. What the fuck. "Jesus shit, that dude just went full-on Dangeresque..."


The girl is muttering banal things to herself during this time.

But still, she realizes...this isn't normal.

It's something of a shock mechanism. The second piece of mochi, out of a pack of four, nearly falls out of her mouth, snatching her mind back to reality as she instinctively catches a chewed-off half of it, red bean paste soiling her fingers.

The breadth of the leap. The speed. And more than that, the delay between 'intent' and 'action' was almost zero.

If something like that came straight at her, there might not even be blood left.

It was enough to make her shiver. This was a whole different ball game, for sure. Different than the goons in her home neighborhood, or even the fucking zombies.

This was...

This really is a 'war'...isn't it...?


The pit in her stomach turns as she follows the potholes in the street. At first, she figured they were just that — which was strange, because normally they're pretty good about fixing those. Well, the ones that were on fire were somewhat more excusable, as far as repair timelines went.

Then she started to notice that the holes were all rather evenly spaced. And some of them were vaguely foot-shaped.

A storm with arms and legs had blown through this area. That storm. It was the only thing she could think.

...I should probably just turn around.

Who wouldn't think something like that, following a trail so absurd?

But the alternative, was what? Turn around, go somewhere else, and then what? Go home? Tell Hana and Yuko that she had chickened out of the whole thing, and that she didn't really care about Asuka all that much, and just pretend that none of it had ever happened?


The vision of those red eyes haunted her, even now.

She had to turn them blue again. Somehow, someway.


_{"...Then, move quickly."}

She whispered it to herself. Her mantra. The words that had given her courage in the past.

Move more quickly than the speed at which the world spins, and you can surpass it——


...That looks like him.

There's a dude in an old military uniform and a top hat (with fucking feathers in it, no joke) just kind of standing around in the middle of the road, with a surprisingly forlorn expression.

At first, her plan was to just observe. Figure out what was going on. Her immediate goal was to find a way into this ritual, and this clearly had something to do with it, so just keeping a safe distance and seeing what was happening seemed like a relevant thing. She definitely, in no way shape or form, had planned on trying to interact with the flying, pool-pissing monster of a man that had, presumably, caused the flaming swath of destruction behind her.

But he looked...defeated.

It was a little unnerving, when her Eyes looked at a person and saw nothing. A person devoid of 'intent'. A person who...just...stood there. Sleeping while awake, not caring about the dreams they saw.

It certainly wasn't the vision of the mindless beast of rage that she would have expected, having seen everything up to this point.

What...happened to him? What had caused him to do what he had done?

She had only seen it for a brief part-second, a space shorter than a blink.

But when he had flown out of the side of that building, so far behind them now, the 'intent' surrounding him had been 'to protect'.


"You, uh..."

Her mouth opened before she thought about whether or not she should speak. Before she realized that, maybe the moment the sound left her throat, the space she was standing on would just become another 'pothole'. Before she remembered what the person in front of her was capable of, and before she realized how absolutely little she knew about him aside from that simple fact.

But, hey, she had started a sentence, so might as well finish it.

"You, uh, might not want to stand in the middle of the road." Izumi Airi referred to the man somewhat nonchalantly, covering up her fears and doubts behind an indifferent persona. "You know...cars...that sort of thing. _{Though I'm kind of more afraid for the cars at this point.}"


With both of her hands in the pockets of that dirty, patched-up hoodie, Airi hadn't noticed.

The symbols on her hand were no longer blurry or smudged, but whole.

Could it even understand language? No doubt, that "sound" that been emanating out from it during its descend had a certain timbre to it that was reminiscent of language, but truly being able to understand human language was another matter entirely. Regardless, the demon at least seemed able to gauge the intent behind Siegfried's words as it floated above the streets.

Just what was it fighting, for that man to be able to survive being so close to it? There was no question about it, a living being should not have been able to shoulder what would happen upon making contact with its body; even for its siblings, that was an ironclad rule. And yet, this thing with its damned shine had managed it; even if there was the buffer of a sword, it had managed to make contact.

Would he be able to survive outright contact? The thought alone was enough to make the demon shudder, but it couldn't afford to stay focused on musing over such repulsive matters. No, for now it had to hunt. It was neither brilliant nor powerful, it was not capable of controlling the tide of a battle or dominating its enemy, but out of its siblings, it was without question the one with the strongest defense. And given that its enemy's sword, while inexplicably making contact with its body, had failed to so much as harm it in the slightest, the conclusion was a simple one: unless it possesses a hidden strength, this enemy "cannot kill it".

So then, all it needed to do was wear him down.

Without warning, as Siegfried approached, the demon's body rocketed forwards at the Servant, clawed appendages reaching out to strike at him. Throat, heart, shoulder, stomach, the four attacks were launched with a frenzied level of coordination, bringing with them that feeling of repulsion that the dragonslayer had acquainted himself with seconds earlier.

---

What had drawn Nimrod's attention to the point where he saw it prudent to leave his Master without a word, blocking off their shared perception as he charged headlong into the forest?

While Ernest had no way of knowing this, it could not have been something of the same make that was combatting a dragonslayer and had nearly emerged at the riverside. After all, while Nimrod could not be called the "strongest Heroic Spirit" of this war, against those beings he possessed an absolute advantage. So long as he was not so prana-deprived that use of his true Noble Phantasm was possible, the thought of a demon born from human wishes and distortions opposing him was laughable.

So then, as the dove flitted into view of where Nimrod had come to a halt, the question was raised of why?

Why had Nimrod left his Master's side so abruptly?

Why had he materialized his spear?

Why was the hand of a black-haired man now piercing his heart?

Its eyes empty, the man's head turned to face the dove as it arrived, almost as if it was looking through the dove and into its owner. The hand that had not been impossibly stabbed into Nimrod was lifted up, palm outstretched towards the dove.

And, no sooner than being able to catch the sight of something crystalline glinting in the palm of the man's hand, was the dove's vision filled with a blinding white. Its karmic line to Ernest was cut immediately, its body presumably destroyed by whatever had just occurred.

A handful of seconds later, the line between Nimrod and Ernest suffered a similar fate.

It had all happened so fast. The bird fluttered within view of Nimrod just in time for Ernest's deepest fears to be realized. The magus' vision, shared with his familiar, fell upon Lancer and the strange, dark-haired man, and as Ernest saw the man's hand pierce his Servant's heart, he felt a bolt of anguish spike through his own chest. As the eyes of the dove met the cold, empty eyes of the mysterious, terrifying figure before it, Ernest felt his veins freeze. Then came a blinding flash.

As his vision returned to his own eyes, Ernest felt the pit of despair in his stomach expand to consume his whole being. There was no mistaking what had happened. His Servant was gone, all his hopes had been decimated in the first night of the war. The blank gaze of the black-haired man was burned into the magus' mind. That wasn't a Servant... truth be told he had no idea what that man was. Not that it mattered. What mattered was Lancer was gone. Ernest sat, frozen for a moment, his eyes peering blankly into the forest, the gravity of what had just occurred ricocheting through his body. In what seemed to be a stupor, he turned away from the forest, closing the door of the limousine. He was a Master with no Servant now, and whatever it was that had killed Nimrod, he had no chance against it. He was in danger, but no adrenaline coursed through his veins. No, he was still in shock. His reactions now were automatic, mechanical, his mind was far, far away. The words slipped loosely from his mouth. “T-the Church... To the Church.” The wheels of the limousine began to roll.

Ernest sat in baffled silence in the back seat of the vehicle. A shaking hand slid into the breast pocket of his jacket, withdrawing a gold-plated lighter and a single cigar. Trembling, he brought the cigar to his mouth and lit it, taking a deep inhale of the pungent smoke. He seemed remarkably calm, considering what he had just witnessed, but in truth his mind was far away. He remembered something someone had once told him...

“I tol' ya when I first metcha boy, ya set to lose, always have been. It's someting you've got to understan', child. To be you is to lose, it's part of who ya are. The mos' 'portant part. Your 'sociation would call it ya Origin child, and ya Origin is Loss. No sense in cryin' over it, or fightin' 'gainst it. It won't change.”

Ernest shivered. No. It couldn't be over so easily. But it was. It was all over, just as quickly as it had begun. His Servant was gone. His hopes of claiming the Grail were gone. His only way of bringing her back, of being happy again, of being the man he used to be: all gone. The mage slammed his cane against the floor of the limousine. “Damn it...” The lit cigar smoked in his tremoring hand. “Is this really all that's meant for me? To fail?” The tremor grew stronger.

“IS THIS ALL THERE IS?!” He slammed the cane into the floorboard again. “To lose?” He slumped against the window, watching the lights of the city pass by. “Marie...”



The rest of the ride was spent in crushed silence. The limousine finally came to a slow stop, and Ernest half-stumbled out of the vehicle, steadying himself with his cane. He slowly began his trek up toward the Church, eyes unfocused, occasionally taking a long drag from his cigar. The limousine's engine died behind him. The Thrall still sat inside. That was fine, it didn't need new commands now.

Ernest came to a stop near the front doors of the Church and grit his teeth before taking a deep breath. “I've lost my Servant. I've come here seeking... sanctuary.” The word felt wrong. What sanctuary was there now? Had it all been for naught? Was he truly bound to this fate? He waited for reply at the door of the Church.

@Moonlit Sonata

---

The entire lack of any presence at the riverbank now that time had passed had Yukimura fairly embarrassed, as she looked to her master, then the river. While her face started to turn as red as her prided armor. Turning to her Master, she twitched a bit before laughing in a very tense fashion, rubbing the back of her head.

"Well my Lord it... Seems to have left. I guess it didn't live here as I assumed then... So nothing to worry about... Oh um!
I don't mind at all! In fact I understand what you mean. There is nothing wrong with being selfish or Ambition. If anything they are good things. They drive us forward. I much more prefer serving a Lord who knows he's selfish than a Lord who'd claim they are doing this for the world."

Responding to his comments on her previous question as a distraction, she desperately glanced around the Riverbank. If anything she was very mortified by this result. She had made such a deal out of reporting to him about it and how she wanted to be sure, but when it came down to it? It went nowhere at all.

"If you're interested... My wish is simply to fight to my hearts content. I don't need a new life or to change anything,
I simply wish to enjoy the time I shall spend here during this war."

The smile on her face was nice but also gave away how much this had thrown her off.

@Breo

@WildChocobo

He shook his head. "I only see the pain of things that are alive, but I see other things with objects as well. It's rare, but things here and there are noticeable, those things aren't really a bother, the only thing I have a problem with is the obvious. " The normal and the supernatural visible, huh? Perhaps there was merit to the idea of such. But what then was the explanation of his eyes specifically? They were related but surely the stories would have described this vital aspect that plagued him most of all? "On top of that it isn't just sight. If I touch what I see it seems to bring that pain to both me and that person. I see things, glimpses and flashes, context as to how that pain originated. It's not fun, so don't take it personally if I say I don't want to touch you, or give you a hug." He spread his arms wide before opening and closing them a few times like a rigid, robotic crabtoy. "It's better for both of us that way." A quick glimpse of his phone followed after the display and the time stated on it in turn brought him to look out towards the city outside. His hands stuffed themselves in his pants pockets, a pair of simple slacks that were a big baggy as though trying to intentionally make it hard to define the shape of his legs through them.

"Tch... Alright." he spoke before making his way out of the Ghost House, pocketing his phone as he came out into the outside world that was faintly illuminated by the moon. "Hey, Berserker. What are you anyway? You're a servant, right? Also where should we be going anyway?"

Without any input he simply began to retrace his path, deciding to wait for Berserker's guidance while on the road. Even if it was hard to remember the road, or rather see it as the same he walked down earlier today, the presence of Berserker and his branding making him feel quite suddenly, and accutely, as though something were amiss in the war. Well, it was mentioned that it was a war, a competition after all. That meant there were others, like him, like Berserker. But just as equal in value an explanation was that it was just plain hard to see the road, especially as the city was covered in darkness.

"Also do you need to eat or something. We might have to plan out a budget or something in that case."

---

The half step forward slowed to a complete halt as the Servant of the Sword was suddenly assaulted by the insectoid being. For one that reeked of such fear, it was certainly quick to jump into the fray, wasn’t it? Steps were retraced, Balmung moving like a flash of silver and Steel, not to cut at the offending appendages that sought to harm him, but rather, to place itself as a second barrier between the attacks and his own body. His baleful glare did not diminish in intensity even as his feet moved back, an attempt to dodge the volley of hits – it had already proven capable of making him reel even through his invincible skin, and that was with Balmung as a medium. Letting it score a hit was not something he looked forward to.

However, the situation was still salvageable. After all, his skill in defensive battles was not something to take lightly.

…Possessing an ability that allowed it to almist nullify physical blows, prowess on par with a Servant’s and capable of launching blows that would give even him trouble. Disgusting as it was, the dragon-slayer would at least admit that this enemy was not one he could dismiss so easily. Nonetheless…

Maybe there was a limit to how much it could withstand. Though the blow had not made a dent, he had definitely felt feedback corresponding to it connecting. Perhaps a normal physical strike would be able to do it if it possessed enough kick behind it, but as it was, his own limits seemed to place such a feat beyond his capacity. Nonetheless – there was more to Servants than such things.

He could use that.

Certainly, it was above standard Parameters by orders of magnitude – assuming the reduction he had felt was the standard, there would still be more than enough leftover, and though he might have held the idea that ‘unveiling it so early is overkill’ there was a small,darkpart of his psyche that whispered that it deserved such.

Still, he was reticent – if only because of the implications it could have if it was a mistake, ori f it failed. Even success right now could prove their undoing later if the circumstances were not optimal, all considered.
As expected, though he would have liked to do things by himself, it seemed that he was falling back into the habit of letting others decide for him. His lips thinned as braced for the oncoming assault.

“Any ideas, Master?”

The words were spoken softly, but even if lost in the buzzing, Siegfried’s tense – almost frustrated – expression was rather clear. He had never faced something like this in life – and though he did have a facsímile of what might have been a plan…

Well. Second opinions are wonderful things.

@Moonlit Sonata@ConstantlyComic

Her sight as a Master would say it all. Every parameter but Luck was E, currently. Her sight as Airi could even indicate that his "intent", if it could be called that, was 'to fade'. Defeat was all it could be called.

At the sound of her voice, however, the portly man turned his head, surprised. Concern? Obliging her was natural, even reflexive. His body felt like soggy lead, and there was visible effort in staggering off the street to the sidewalk.

Norton collapsed on a street corner, shakily pushing himself up to lay his back against a streetlight to look up at Airi.

"Lass...you can't be normal, if you aren't scared." Despite saying something rather weighty like that, his mustache was curled upwards over a smile. With his old uniform, he looked like a wounded, even dying soldier. The saber at his side evaporated, as he unconsciously ceased to manifest it along with his hat. Prana conservation was all he could attempt.

Or perhaps not. Norton understood what this chance of fortune could mean, and a sense akin to a faint throbbing within his spiritual core egged him on.

"I'll fade away in a minute or two without a Master, lass. Please, contract with me! I have to set things right!"

The Emperor's eyes looked up at hers. His intent was "to survive" for a moment, but it catalyzed a higher intent: "to rectify".