---

Albert yawned audibly, the corners of his mouth stretching under the mighty exhalation. Flying. He hated flying. Whether it be Touko Travel or Virgin Atlantic, it always seemed like the least comfortable way to travel. No view, no leg-room, no bloody way to stop and take a shit in peace without stuffing yourself into a sardine can and spreading your cheeks wide above the cold, open air. And the jet lag. By plane or by broom, there was no avoiding the jet-lag. He felt like he'd been up for hours.

But that was impossible. It wasn't even a long flight to Edinburgh! They weren't even in a different timezone for crying out loud! This had to all be in his head. Stress-induced circadian dysrhythmia. That's it. Had to be it...

Albert sighed, glancing out the tinted window of the Greyhound tour bus. He really, really hated flying.

The young magus glanced back at the twenty-odd extra students who'd volunteered to come with them on this trip. They'd all been deemed unfit to be Masters, but they all wanted revenge on Ayondale, just like he did. Some of them even more than he did. He found that hard to wrap his head around, but seeing them all gathered here together along with the seven of them who had been chosen to be Masters, it really started to sink in, and Albert found himself taking stock.

Seven months. It had taken them seven months to plan and execute this heist, and just a day to see it nearly to its fruition. And they couldn't have done it all without the help of these people. Their accomplices. Their allies of justice.

The bubble-wrapped fabric in his backpack felt very unusual to him now. A weight he'd carried forever yet which still felt new to him. It was a possession he'd had for no more than a day, yet it felt like he would never be able to bear parting with it. Like a prize, or a curse. He slapped his cheeks.

Everyzing rides on zis now. Ze most important part of ze plan is not yet done. You must summon Claudius.

Lights flashed on above them as the radio intercomm blared, announcing that they'd arrived at their destination. The ruins of Urquhart Castle, one of the most spiritually-charged sites in the Highlands. The trees parted outside the window, and revealed to them the magnificent twilight visage of a castle whose once grand parapets had stood tall over the waters of the loch for centuries. The keep was little more than walls and towers now, but the dark blue sky and shimmering light reflected off the loch had a way of filling in the blanks in one's mind. They summoned forth images of a proud and mighty heritage, a bastion of the Highlands that stood just as tall today as it did five hundred years ago.

Albert studied it intensely, picking out the best spot to hold their ritual. There. In the courtyard, in full contact with the earth. The opening was surrounded on all sides by trees and decaying stone walls, hidden from sight if they could just clear out the rubber-neckers. He turned to his roommate and partner-in-crime Leon, who sat in the seat beside him.

"It's almost time. You ready for zis, Leon?"

---

"The whole world may change because of what we're about to do Albert, can anyone really say they're ready for this?" Leon retorted calmly as he fidgeted in place slightly.

Summoning a person from the distant past was the entire basis of their plans. If that failed then everything up until now was complete folly. What Leon worried about the most were two separate things: Not being able to control the summoned individual, and the Grail itself possibly rejecting them. Saying that Leon himself regretted what was going on was not inaccurate but he didn't fold, he kept going. He just hoped that cards were good ones.

"If you're asking if I am ready for this personally I'd say as ready as I'll ever be. I took the risks in joining up with this plan, but I won't suffer a life of mediocrity under that bastard anymore. I'll keep my end of the deal, come what may," Leon continued. He knew the statement was a bit redundant but he needed to get something off his chest. The young American boy had put his all into the plans so far...he just hoped that it held up.

---

Albert nodded. "Zat is good. 'Onestly, I cannot say I blame you for being nervous. Zis zing zat we're 'ere to do... it is no laughing matter. Not for us, and not for ze inevitable fate of ze Grail. It's public knowledge what 'appened ze last time someone tried to use zis zing to grant a wish."

The impish magus snorted. "Let us just 'ope zat pompous ass did as good a job cleansing zis zing as 'e claims. If zere's still some sort of 'ultimate evil'-type zing crawling around in zat Grail, it sure as 'ell isn't going to be my responsibility. Qui vivra verra, I suppose."

The bus rolled to a halt, and they all piled out in single-file, Albert and Leon at the back of the line. Albert cleared his throat and prepared a basic hypnotism spell to use on the driver.

"Good work. You'll be rewarded handsomely for this. The Highland Historical Preservation Society thanks you for your time tonight."

He kept the suggestion simple, telling him to politely get lost then dropping a well-known name and implying a reward as incentive. The man had been brainwashed once already today into driving a group of some thirty-odd kids out to Urquhart Castle after-hours, and it would help him sleep better tonight if he didn't incur any long-term brain damage from this.

The driver nodded dumbly, like a man just coming home from the bar, and then said simply, "Thank you for your business."

The doors rolled shut with a pneumatic hiss, and the bus driver departed, leaving them alone at the historical site with nothing but the illumination of the orange sodium lamps and the distant chatting of the night staff left working the graveyard shift. They snuck quietly past the guards and into the shadows, maneuvering about as stealthily as thirty teenagers and adolescents could until they reached the courtyard. Alone at last.

Albert dumped his backpack, and many others did the same, the loaded packs dropping to the ground with a coordinated thump. Nodding curtly at the assembly of students they'd put in charge of designing the summoning circles, they got to work painting seven large circles on the wet grass of the castle grounds, like field markings in a massive stadium. Quite an apropos metaphor, considering what they were here to do. The Holy Grail War was a competition grander than any sport or arena that had come before it. They had to get this right, and adequately setting the stage was just part of that.

Albert thumbed through his pack for the heavy cloth bundle he'd kept protected in plastic throughout the flight into Scotland. The priceless artifact was Emperor Claudius' own cape or paludamentum, stained with the emperor's own blood and vomit when he died. As far as catalysts went, you couldn't get much more specific than this.

Albert frowned. It was certain that any Roman Emperor would make a formidable Servant by merit of age alone, and the Roman practice of deifying their dead emperors could only help matters. Still, he wished the Roman Empire had just annexed Scotland too instead of stopping at Britain. Then his Servant might have gotten a fame boost from being here. And could someone like Ayondale really have not found artifacts for any emperor more impressive than Claudius? An emperor was an emperor certainly, but by all historical accounts, Claudius had not been a warrior or even an effective military commander. As a matter of fact, most sources had portrayed him as sickly and a coward, perhaps even a victim of cerebral palsy. Would a Servant like that truly serve him well in the Grail War to come?

He shook his head. It didn't matter. Revenge was what they were here for, not grandstanding. They'd all agreed that they'd conduct their Grail War fairly, and that the wish would be decided by group vote should it come to that. He only needed to worry about the strength of any potential Servants should their plans fail.

He gulped. Bollocks. Thinking of it like that when they'd come so far already, it really felt like they were on a time limit here.

Finally however, it was ready. Seven circles, arrayed facing each other. The rite of the Masters.



He turned to Leon and the five other students they'd chosen to represent them as Masters. Sonja Tiedeman. No one he knew was better at spiritual healing than she was, and they'd spent many an afternoon discussing the finer points of summoning and controlling familiars together. Olympia Whitehall. While he couldn't say he knew the girl, she had rather impressive eyes, and compensated for her abnormal lack of magical talent with literal firepower. Morgana Ironholdt. Heir to the minor noble house of Ironholdt, another Mystic Eye user, and their resident information expert. Ilse Koenig. An expert in the field of Alchemy and their "in" on Professor Ayondale. She'd been the one who'd helped organize the heist. And of course Leon, an American magus and accomplished duelist who'd been his roommate for the past two, going on three years now. That left him, Albert Prelati. Genetic freak and Lord of the Squid who very much wanted Arieh Ayondale dead and humiliated, in either order.

The students, finished with their work, gathered around the Masters. Their eyes were hungry with anticipation and curiosity. His chest tightening, Albert forced calm upon himself, shunting his anxiety into a separate room of his mind. Clearing his throat, he prepared to speak.

"Ladies and gentlemen," he said, nodding to each of his attending co-conspirators in turn. "It is good to 'ave you 'ere tonight. Truly, it is. Now I know we're all excited to see ze summoning take place, so I'll keep zis brief. No one came 'ere to listen to a speech, I know. Especially not one from me."

He laughed nervously, then quickly composed himself again.

"I just wanted to zank all of you from ze bottom of my 'eart for what you 'ave done. You've taken what were once private revenge fantasies and turned zem into a banner, somezing we can all stand behind. Our 'atred of Arieh Ayondale unites us. 'E 'as stood atop us and trampled us underfoot for far too long. It is about time someone shows 'im zat zose 'e oppresses will not lie down and take it forever. Tonight, we bring Arieh Ayondale ze death or dishonor crisis 'e so richly deserves."

Albert looked back and nodded at his fellow six.

"It's time to begin. Gather your catalysts and head to ze nearest circle."

Leon was only half listening to the people around him his own eyes darted around as his necklace, a mystic code, clung tightly to his neck (or at least that what it felt like to Leon) as he went about his business. He quickly gathered his resources, and grabbed his own catalyst from inside his pocket. He had kept it there just in case something happened to Albert on the way here. This...this shard of rock in his hand was far to valuable to let that son of a bitch take back. But then the question came....why? Why did he have this specific catalyst? He wasn't the one who grabbed it from the vault they stole the things from. He had been on guard duty being one of the more combative members during the heist. He was felt the rough rock in his fingers and looked down at the intricately carved thing. A shard of the Round Table...was this a game? Was Albert playing him? If Leon learned one thing about being Albert's friend these past three years, or so he knew that the guy was always scheming SOMETHING.

The shard....it felt heavy in Leon's mind more than it did his hand. The question kept racing around in his mind as he made the circle. Tracing carefully, and intricately. He felt his heart beating in anticipation for the toll this summon would do on him. An American summoning one of Britain's most treasured knights? What kind of sick irony was this? It felt so ironic he could almost taste the feeling as well as the dread. Who would he summon? Tristan the Lover? Lancelot the Traitor? Sir Kay Brother of Arthur? Dared he even contemplate what he would have to do to live up to King Arthur himself? Was it possible he'd summon Percival...Merlin? Perhaps some more obscure character from the legends he hadn't thought to research? God fucking damn it why was all of this on HIM? Some people would find it the highest of honors...others more like Leon had a knot in their stomach at measuring up to their station as basically becoming a squire, or possibly a king to rival Arthur to whoever he summoned. "No turning your back...no facing away....straight on...headfirst...never surrender unless you have no options. Father...why?" Leon mumbled almost without sound remembering the lessons. 'I am Sir Lancelot....master I will serve you to the best of my talents.' Leon could already hear the words in his head. His hand tightened into a fist for a moment before he stopped and took a breath, and then another, and then yet another once more. It would be a long night for the Winchester Family Heir...he knew it would be..."I am to accept no substitutes...live up to my own legend...fight....fight for the reasons I believe are true..." Leon repeated the words he had been told so long ago...it felt reassuring to know that no matter what...he had a home to go back to after all of this even for the worse. It lightened up his soon to be existent load a little more.

Location: Urquhart Castle, Scotland.
Interacting with: The masters by association.
Magical energy: 177 out of 180.

"Two uniformed guards patrolling underneath the east ramparts..." Sonja muttered, as if a world away from the reality they were in. With both of her eyes pressed shut, one hand against the wall for stability and two feet spread comfortably at shoulder with, Sonja focused on the perception from her sparrow familiar. It was hard to see overhead - the transparent nature of its construction made it blend in with the night, taking on the dark blue from the sky above. With a gentle motion from her left hand and a faint glow from under her sleeve, the sparrow suddenly changed direction, weaving to keep the two security officers in sight. She could see the summoning site from above, and the group not too far from it. They were close. "..and.. go now. Don't stop, this is the last leg." After giving the word to the haphazardous pack, she opened her eyes - returning her senses to her own point of view - and made her way forward herself. She'd found herself a bit of a vein to work in doing this, operating in a support role: throughout the heist, she monitored the situation from above and below, keeping the party well informed and going where few others could fly or fit.

After crossing the last gap, Sonja briefly closed her eyes to check on the guards: fortunately, they were none the wiser. With her brief check completed, she moved to close in towards the summoning circles. As she dropped to a knee she slipped her backpack off her back, bringing it about to rest it on the grass besides her. A brief search gave her what she was looking for: several dirty squares of paper towel, wrapped snugly about a vaguely rectangular object. She reached forward to unwrap it before a voice drew her attention away:
"Ladies and gentlemen," the voice began, "it is good to 'ave you 'ere tonight..." It was as soon as that that she stopped paying attention. It was no secret she wasn't fond of speeches - while some of the younger conspirators, some as young as 15, might appreciate some stirring words, she was no such conspirator. She had almost 10 years over the youngest, even some of the selected masters, so it was only natural her tastes and preferences differed; or at least, that's how she justified it to herself. She returned her attention to the paper towel, now unwrapping it to reveal the prize within: the ancient head of a Japanese Ono, shaped in a crescent D and subjected to all sorts of deterioration and attrition. Most would be forgiven for not identifying the tortured bit of steel as an item of legend: the head of the Ono wielded by Kintaro, the Golden Boy. After stuffing the paper towel back into her bag, she gently set the axe head down in the center of her selected summoning circle.

While the speech went on, Sonja went about double-checking the summoning circle. Nothing less than perfect would do: they were up against the Clocktower elite, some of the best magus on the planet, as a haphazardous of rebellious adolescents and young adults. Too much was at stake for an oversight to end the grand plan after so much was already committed; for all she knew, Ayondale himself could be following them to their summoning circle, or could have even sabotaged it already. Which reminded her... Mid-way through the inspection, Sonja closed her eyes and waved her hand to update the sparrow's orders. From the perception of the nimble creature above, she surveyed the surrounds again and yet again, watching for anything out of place. Heavens forbid that Ayondale already has enforcers nearby...

Throughout the remainder of the speech, until the positions were taken by the seven masters, Sonja continued to inspect the circle and survey the surrounds time and time again. The summoning has to be perfect. There was no room for error, not against a superior enemy. It has to be perfect.

Olympia had been quiet the whole journey. It had never once crossed her mind in the time she had been under Ayondale's tutorage that anyone would make a move against him, let alone that she would get to be one of the larger parts of said movement. She knew what she thought was right. Arieh one day would have to pay for his cruelty and crimes. Why shouldn't it be by his own student's hands that that punishment be gifted?

But still, this went completely against her nature. Oly had never been the confident type. Unlike Marcus, she was used to second guessing her every action and going back on decisions she thought she was set on. And unlike Marcus she was far from being powerful. In her head she would have no value in this fight. She would hide behind her Servant every battle, let them do all the heavy lifting while she watched almost entirely from the sidelines. If he brother had planned on striking out against Ayondale, it would be precise, alone, and lethal. He would never fight in a group such as this.

Which is why she didn't say anything about leaving. Marcus would want to help, since that was his obligation as a brother, but it wasn't his fight. He had no reason to be there. He was a prodigy in Runic Magic, and Professors adored him. His place was on a battle field, sure, but not this one. Every day after classes were over, he would visit her. By now he would have found the note she had left, called their parents, and people from the Clocktower, but to no avail.

After that, while she had no guarantee, it was highly likely that he would leave her to to whatever she had set out to do. She had requested he not interfere. With a single sentence, she had removed his obligation to help. It sounded heartless, but Oly was used to it. He wasn't was man without empathy nor feelings, but he refused to get involved unless it was necessary. In any case his studies and his research were much more important than her life. That, if nothing else, she knew to be true.

She sighed, and looked up at the moonlit sky from the castle courtyard. It wasn't like she wanted to die or anything, but she probably would do in this battle. In time before getting the plane to Scotland, she had done what research she could on the Holy Grail War. It was a brutal competition of heroes of myth and legend alike battling to the death for the quintessential ultimate prize - a vessel that could grant any wish.

What would a man like Ayondale do with such an artefact? Since he was a Mage, would he use it to gain access to the Akashic Records? Or would he use it to gain mastery of the five Magics, perhaps? To think... A man of such selfishness and cruelty coming to possess something with nigh omnipotent wish granting capabilitues. That was an eventuality that could no be allowed to come to pass, by any means.

Her thoughts were broken as Albert began his speech. She listened carefully, taking rapid and shallow breaths in her anxiety. The moment was finally upon them... They were to summon their servants, and from thenceforth it would be a battle of life and death between the man they once called their Professor, his associates, and the others he had planned to become Masters. Arieh Ayondale... He would kill them all, wouldn't he? For interfering in his plans, he would make sure they never saw light again.

At least... He would do if he got the chance. That's why they weren't going to give him the chance, right? They had already put an end to his Holy Grail War, since everyone was summoning their Servants. He would come after them, she had no doubt; him and his Mage comrades. But they had Servants on their side. What could Ayondale's men do against them? Oly only hoped they wouldn't have to kill anyone...

With Albert's speech concluded, Olympia fished from inside her bag a small wooden box. She opened it carefully, and gently pulled aside the protective material and bubble wrap that filled it. Inside, underneath all of the wrapping, was a set of petrified feathers, joined together with wax. She lifted then from the box, and made her way back to the rest of the Masters, in preparation for the summoning ceremony. There was no turning back now.

Magical energy: 340 out of 340.

The journey itself had been rather quiet in Morganas own opinion. A journey she spent reading up on the artefact that she herself had selected from among the ones the young saboteur Albert had on offer. It appeared to be a holy relic of some sort belong to some king Constantine. Opinions seemed to differ on if he was a good king or a tyrant, never the less he seemed to fulfil her personal criteria for a servant and thus would serve her well for this undertaking. Sure she only really knew what it looked like from what others had told her. Perhaps she had been completely duped and was really holding some sort of fake object in order to make her even more dependant then she was. Wouldn't that be twisted?

Whatever it was she had good faith in her fellows that they wouldn't feed her to the dogs. One revenge spree was enough for now. The next few hours were quite tense, they had to get in, and also sneak in a blind girl because well. She wasn't going to alert every magus to her presence just so she could 'sneak' into a building with her vision intact. So she had to keep close to the group as best as possible. Picture a blind girl gently waving a walking stick as she walked in-between her fellow Clock-tower comrades and that was her as she made her way towards the summoning circles. Quiet as a mouse even for a blind girl without any of her usual clumsiness.

After what felt like hours Albert finally, finally did some speech he probably though up of on the way there considering the tone of his throat clearing. Don't ask her why but Morgana pictured him in her minds eye as a weedy gentlemen with a top hat and a curly mustache. The Generic villain cliche not that she could really prove herself wrong so she just associated people by voice and mannerisms. Though the way the speech kept seeming to drag on and on was annoying her. She didn't have as much time to spare as anyone else, both figuratively and literally. Though when he finally said they could go the circle, nobody moved faster then a certain Ironholdt heir.

She bumbled her way to a circle only really finding it from tracing her hands on the ground as she walked. It would appear to be quite humerous from an outside perspective but she didn't let that bother her. She set down her catalyst in her own circle before calling up. "Now then, since I don't know what everyone else is doing and I am hella' impatient." She said slamming down her cane on what she percieved to be the centre of the circle as her internal circuits began to work. As she removed all the supplys from her bag and prepared herself. As she began to speak her voice firm and clear.



She raised up her arms to shield herself from the unnatural gust of wind. The washing of magical energies as they passed over her felt good as she could feel another presence. She just hoped she hadn't been duped and ended up summoning some sort of prolific serial killer or something. Now that would be a terrible thing to occur. It really would be.

Location: Urquhart Castle, Scotland.
Interacting with: Berserker of Red @MeteorD; the other Masters of Red by association.
Magical energy: 177 out of 180.

With a few small corrections to her summoning circle, Sonja was content. As she tightened the bandage about her hand, her palm still throbbing from the blood she drew to complete the circle, she moved to stand and position herself just outside of the circle; there was no need to use magic on the wound yet, not with her medical kit in her pack and a summoning ritual pending. As far as she could see, the rest of the world was blissfully unaware of their presence, although it wasn't likely to stay that way once seven servants were summoned in succession. She only hoped the others shared her sense of urgency.

With a sharp breath in, Sonja lifted her left arm, presenting her bandaged palm towards the summoning circle and supporting her arm with her right hand resting atop her left upper arm. The blood had yet to reach the bandage itself, contained promptly by the dressing underneath. With a bit of pressure from her right hand, she could feel her magic crest pulsing in anticipation under the sleeve of her jacket. What she had failed to mention to the others was her plans after the summoning was done: she had no intention to simply summon a servant and sit a protest on the grass. Instead, she planned to take her servant and deal with Ayondale herself. While the premise of the grail was tempting, the idea of murdering children to take it was discomforting; although, it would take much more than murdering a rogue professor restore her families status in the clocktower-

She forced the thought from her mind. She knew that this wasn't the time to let herself down.
"For the essence: silver, and my own blood."
She was making her move now:
"For the foundation: stone, and the archduke of contracts."
...her last chance at defeating Ayondale, and restoring everything she has ever had.
"For the ancestor: Lavrentiy the Faded, the first of my kin."
Until Ayondale was defeated and the aftermath was dispersed, there was no other option.
"Let the gates in all directions be shut, rising above the crown, and let the three-forked roads to the Kingdom revolve."
With a gentle tilt, she turned her left hand to be in a vertical fist, and with a gentle nudge from her thumb, she pressed open the vial of liquid silver. It ran down her hand, over her skin and between her fingers, until dripping from the very bottom and falling onto the summoning circle. With every drop that fell, the circle grew brighter: glowing a brilliant green, as is standard for the stage.
"Fill, fill, fill, fill, fill."
She had almost no appreciation for where the others were in the process. In the case none would share her sense of urgency, she would bear it alone: if Ayondale's men were to be on their trail, both her and her servant would be ready. Everything had to be perfect.
"Repeat five times and destroy each when filled." She paused briefly, before delivering the next word as if a firm command: "Set."

As the circle shifted color to a faded yet brilliant blue, in the style of her family crest, she continued. Her voice was quiet, yet commanding: she had no interest in making a show of her summoning, yet had every intention of controlling it to the end. Precision and magic went hand in hand.
"I hereby propose: become my champion, the warden of my fate. If you submit to the call of the Grail and will obey this will and reason, then answer me."
She was nervous, but she refused to show it. She refused to be accepted as anything less, especially in the presence of younger magus.
"In exchange, I hereby swear: I will bear the virtues of the Kingdom of Heaven, and smite those of evil where they may be found. Thou seven heavens, clad in a trinity of words, come forth from the cradle of restraint: by both my oath and yours!"

The light became blinding, too much for Sonja to bear. Tried as she might to look into it, to look for the servant she summoned, she couldn't bear it. She sealed her eyes shut in favor of maintaining her posture, until the very end.

@1Charak2

---

A brilliant light emanated from the summoning circle, glowing brightly, and intensifying as the incantation continued. The power being poured through the circle can be felt by everyone as powerful winds began to pick up. Of course, this was all expected. The amount of magical energy it takes to summon a heroic is immense, far too much for a normal Magus to accomplish on their own. Most of the power used to summon one comes from the Grail itself, after all. And to summon as many as seven of them, let alone fourteen? Truly, the Holy Grail's power is undeniable.

And so, a Heroic Spirit comes forth, heeding the call of the magus who summoned him. His body slowly manifests, forming out of a blinding light far more awe-inspiring than the light emanating from the circle. Like a beacon of hope, this light shines across the field, giving those present an idea of just what sort of hero has been called forth. Not one of Man, of the Earth, or of the Heavens, but a Heroic Spirit of the Stars; One who has left behind a great hope in the history of humanity.

As the winds died down and the lights dimmed, a figure can be seen standing in the middle of the circle. A white-haired man, wearing a shining suit of plate armor fit only for a king. The waning light of the summoning circle played tricks with the heroic spirit's gleaming armor and, along with his unearthly countenance, gave the man an appearance of a great and mighty hero.

A true Champion of Christianity.

---

The Heroic Spirit opened his eyes, looking at the magus who has called him forth. A pale, frail-looking girl, and with the strangest of eyes, as well. Despite her frailty, her call to summoning was... strong. Strong enough to draw him forth to the one class this specific Heroic Spirit despised the most. One that he would otherwise refuse under normal circumstances.

"I must ask of the one that stands before me..." the Servant began to speak, facing the white-haired magus. His voice had a strange tone to it. Commanding, yet calm. Imposing, yet elegant. It is one that would only be fitting for the likes of an Emperor, one who managed to reunite an entire nation once deep in conflict.

"Are you the one that is to be my Master in this Holy War?"

As he asked that last question, a subtle strain had appeared on his face that only the more observant patrons would bear to witness. It could be best described as an expression one would make if they had a headache. And indeed, this assumption wouldn't be far from what this Servant-to-be is experiencing, as a seraphic, yet foreboding voice began to speak only to him, deep within the recesses of his mind.

---

A continuation of thought, the moving-on from a distant Throne. To one who hasn't inhabited this realm in ages recent, the feeling was pleasant, yet not something to revel in. No longer an empty projection into the world, the figure was being granted a body in the world, draining the one who had called forth the hardened anchor made for the sole purpose of keeping this Heroic Spirit in the world. The first coherent words were being formed in the mind of this being before even having been fully materialized.

"Heh, rather impressive effort, reforming the great body of Me."

An arrogant thought, but what was one to expect from a Hero? True to his words, the body was absolutely shining, blinding the eyes of those who stared directly. The likely, and most logical reason for it was the magical energy that surged in the circle and vessel that were experiencing a complete overcharge to successfully manifest the Spirit in question. However, that belief wasn't shared by the one who was summoned, his mind set on that the body of his could blind both young and old with its sheer perfection. He 'allowed' the light to settle down, dispersing into a thin cloud that would come to reveal the figure that was standing in the center of the glowing circle. With eyes set on the young girl before him, he waited. A smile, partly out of concern, but mostly a mild senes of amusement.

"Ahhh, of course it would be one like this who summons Me. Though, I don't dislike it."

Considering his identity, it couldn't be called anything but an inevitability, even if the cause had been pure chance. He knew very well how it was to be in the shoes of someone who ended up having to resort to something drastic, and it was clear that the circumstances of this Holy Grail war weren't normal. Out of gratitude and respect, he kept the smile on his chiseled face, waiting for the girl with the bloodied palm to open up her eyes. As long as he was there, there would be no need to worry. He would make sure she, and everyone that had been brought with her, knew this as a fact.

When her eyes came to open, there was only one sight that would catch her eyes. The nature surrounding him, the small 'crowd' of Masters, and even the presence and knowledge that other Heroic Spirits would be brought into this world. None of that was noteworthy anymore. The only thing to look at anymore, was the very embodiment of confidence, a figure meant for others to aspire to be. A japanese man that looked almost too western to be who he was supposed to be. His short, blonde hair was cut in an old-fashioned and clean way, but that was the only thing that could be called 'historic' about him. Outfitted in modern high-roller type fashion, everything he wore could very well have been assumed to be foreign imports for astronomical prices if they hadn't manifested in a way like this. His shirt couldn't be called as much 'high-collar' as it was an exaggeratedly wide v-neck, decorated with a 3-set of golden necklaces hanging at different heights. In fact, the man was wearing several sets of golden jewelry. Multiple rings on each finger, bracelets, and a golden Rolex watch of all things. During less dire circumstances, that description alone wouldn't bring fault to anyone who would ask if the sole reason to summon him was for his fortune alone.

However, anyone who gazed at him in this moment would undoubtably be able to say that isn't the case. Beneath the black sunglasses and golden decorations was a man with an oustanding physique, hardened and tempered by nature. A body that remained unrivalled, and could only be described by the words on his champion belt. The one who stood there, was none other than the 'Boy' of the past and present. An unwavering determination lay like an unbreakable foundation in his eyes and smile, the muscled arm gripping a hold of the mysterious metallic axe in his hand, casually lifting and laying it across his own right shoulder before he spoke his first words.

"The fantastic Golden Boy has come to your service. No matter what happens, I will see ya all the way to the finish line. Nice to meet'cha, Master."

There was no need to reaffirm that she was his Master. Everything from the silent emotions she showed, to the forcefully steadfast posture said it all. She was prepared, and he would live up far beyond those expectations. At this moment, his conviction as Berserker had been set, to bring them both victory in this Holy Grail War.

Olympia watched, nervously, as the first of the chosen Masters began their ritual, listening closely to the incantation used as to not forget in her anxiety. She stood, in awe, as a light shone from the carefully drawn out ritual circle, and a gust of wind blew around the courtyard, announcing the successful summoning of a Servant - one they would be utilising in the up and coming war against Avondale.

She looked down at her own Catalyst, and eyed it anxiously. In her hands she held feathers that made up the flying machine created and flown by Daedalus, the creator of the Labyrinth that imprisoned the son of King Minos - the Minotaur. He was a genius inventor and engineer, but Oly could only guess at what Class he would be summoned as; her research hadn't extended that far.

Taking a deep breath, the Mage shook her doubt from her mind. There was little point in worrying, let alone regretting her decision to join the fight. She, and everyone else surrounding the circles, had a reason to be where they were. They shared a common enemy, and a single truth; Arieh Ayondale had, through one mean or another, for one reason or another, ruined each and every one of them, and Olympia was proud to be one of the chosen few to act as a Master.

Every action from there-on-out would bring with them grave repercussions, but to her - and likely to everyone - those consequences were more than worth it, for every ounce of pain and suffering they could inflict on that man's pride and person. This was right, this was just, but beyond that, it was deserved. That, Olympia had no doubt about.

With those thoughts in mind, she steeled herself, and took a step forward. Then another. And another, up until she stood face to face with her own Summoning Circle. She placed her Catalyst in the center, and backed off to the edge. Once there, she took another deep breath, and exhaled slowly. She was really here, with comrades joined under a banner of shared cause, about summon of man - or woman - of myth and legend, who would fight with her against a man who had caused both her and her compatriots such pain, anguish, and despair.

Olympia stretched out her arm, over the Summoning Circle, closed her eyes, and took a third deep breath to calm her nerves. With the exhale, she reopened them, prepared and determined, and began her own summoning. She glanced over to some of the others, who had also begun their own summons, but quickly turned away as to not get distracted as her own Circle began to glow.



At the end of the final verse, the circle burst into light, causing her to raise her arm over her eyes to protect them, and a gust of wind billowed out into the courtyard, blowing back her hair and jacket. It... it had really worked. Even with her defective abilities, and lack of circuits... she had actually managed to complete the Servant Summoning Ritual; something even her brother had yet to do. Truly, this was her greatest of achievements thus far.

The light from the circle swam heavily with magical energies as the circle formed the door to the Throne of Heroes, the Holy Grail beckoning forward the Heroic Spirit of the man famous for deeds of grand architecture and invention as winds poured forth, as if to blow away anyone unfortunate to be unsteady on their feet. The wish and will of his Master carrying his spirit towards the physical world, the light coalesced at the centre of the summoning circle as the body of the chosen hero began to form, before the light and roaring winds died down.

Standing amidst the dying light, a figure had formed, wrapped in white robes. A tall and not untrained body, Scholarly but not frail, with dark brown hair, bleached lightly by the sun and reaching to his neck with two long strands stretching past to reach the middle of his chest. White Grecian robes flowed across his torso, looping from his left shoulder and down to his knees, tied with a white sash at his waist with brown leather sandals on his feet, An intricate, looping bracelet adorning his right arm. A chill passed over him, obviously unfamiliar with the scottish cold, and as if in response a long cloak of burgundy red formed across his shoulders, reaching his ankles and fastened with a bronze clasp over his right shoulder.

His eyes opened and settled on the girl in front of him, the one that would be his Master for the duration of this Holy Grail War. His gaze was sharp but warm, with a wisdom and intelligence almost palpable but tempered by the heart of a loving father. To a man of his intelligence and with experience of being in contact with Gods themselves, he could feel the ebbing flow of Mana between them and it was a simple task to identify her as his master. Still, he felt that he should ask, if only as a formality.

"I ask of you, young one, are you my Master?"

The Heroic Spirit of Daedalus, Caster of the Grail War, stood patiently, awaiting her reply with a dignified, scholarly air.

As James stood in front of the silver and bloodied circle that would summon his Servant, literally recreating a person from history long since past, he couldn't help but reflect on the events that had happened to lead up to this point. The heist, being given his Catalyst, the flight over, the insufferable coach ride and then breaking into Urquhart castle itself, during which, Multiple times, had to guide the blind girl Morgana so that she didn't step too far and compromise the group, and then penultimately painting the summoning circles on the grounds of the courtyard.

His Catalyst was light in his hands, wrapped carefully in protective materials to prevent damage, and yet the heaviest object he could have ever of held in his life. It was a solid reminder of what he was here to do, what they were all here to do. He didn't know why exactly the others were taking part, nor did he even care, but the fact of the matter was that everyone present was so to strike back at the half-masked bastard gracing himself with the name Arieh Ayondale. He let out an involuntary growl at the thought of the man, but quickly reigned it in with the memory of his lover's advice. He couldn't lose himself now, not on the edge of something this important... That wasn't to say he didn't have his own ideas on how he'll be playing this Holy Grail War though. He wasn't just going to sit around with a stolen Heroic spirit, a living death machine by modern Magus standards, as an act of defiance; he was going to take his war directly to the vile man's doorstep, and he wouldn't be the only one judging by the looks on some of his fellow Master's faces, the older girl Sonja in particular.

He watched as the first three stepped up to summon their servants; Lancer, Berserker and then Caster. He unwrapped his own Catalyst, a fragment of the original letter left by Balthasar Gerard addressed to the Prince of Parma, now brittle and hardened with age before placing it down in the centre of the circle and took a hissing breath though his teeth before he began the chant that would change everything and fully cement his revenge.



As the light spilled from the circle and wind began to whip across him, he quickly raised a hand to cover his eyes while the other held onto the strap of his Mystic Code, slung across his back within quick reach should he need it. A toothy smirk, close to an almost savage grin, broke across his face as the light began to fade, until it had dimmed enough for him to lower his hand. A single soft laugh, almost cruel and expectant, escaped his throat and he produced an engraved lighter and a single black cigarette from his pocket. Lighting up the black stick of tobacco, he placed it between his lips and took a long drag before slowly blowing out a long trail of smoke as he looked at the figure in front of him. Tonight, The Servant Archer had joined the Holy Grail War.

Location: Urquhart Castle, Scotland.
Interacting with: James Hartnet @Shadow Daedalus; the other Masters of Red by association.
Magical energy: 600 out of 600.

It's a terribly unique sensation: being constructed in tidal waves of mana, under the careful direction of the grail. It's almost as if drowning in the sensation of pins and needles, yet every part of you grows as it goes on. Was this once common, a long time ago? It's an interesting thought.

As the light faded, with his being now constructed, the french assassin came into view. Contrary to the accounts of the assassination, he was quite well presented: a crisp black doublet with steel buttons and a large hat seemingly made to be worn on an angle stood out as the most obvious features - need not mention his crisp, almost flowing facial hair - with white underdress under dark sleeves, trousers, and boots following behind. Beneath his belt, sagging slightly underneath his waist, was another belt: this one with a large pouch at the left hip, accompanied by flasks of black powder and other such odds and ends for a certain wheellock pistol.

Archer stared at the young magus in front of him, shooting a quick glance to the rifle worn on his back, as his left hand wandered down to his belt. He tugged on the bandoleer of sorts, testing its weight and feeling its features, before shifting his expression towards a scowl - his mustache twitching with irritation.
"Archer, then..." he muttered to himself, as he turned his back to his would-be master to then take a few steps back from the circle. His right hand lifted from his side, his fingers stretching out for a wheellock carbine to spontaneously form between them: it was certainly a longer firearm, perhaps intended to be carried with both hands, but he wielded it with one regardless. As he came to stand effectively beside his master, a couple of paces in front, he spoke in a quiet voice, with his weapon close in hand: "The formalities can wait. Can you explain what's going on here? Why all seven servants are being summoned in the same spot?" His gaze darted between not only the spawning servants, but also their would-be masters, cautious of some sick interpretation of the Holy Grail War or worse: something deeper, a conspiracy. He even shot a few glances to his would-be master to ensure he wasn't lifting a knife to his back.

Ilse Koenig

Prima Materia

---

Staring into the contents of the velvet-lined box in her hands, Ilse Koenig couldn’t help but experience a strange and ironic sense of kinship with the concept of a “Servant”. The trappings of the Holy Grail War aside, the ultimate purpose of these magical simulacra drawn from the Throne of Heroes was to serve as sacrifices in order to fuel the wish-granting capacity of Holy Grail. To earn the title of supposed “victor” would become hollow the moment the suicide Command Spell was issued and the ruse revealed.

For a Heroic Spirit, even the vestigial shadow of one stuffed into a fragmentary container, such a sacrificial existence was a tragicomedy with a cruel end. For her, it was a fate she had long since accepted; her only purpose was to grant her mother’s wish, and her only birthright would be death - but whether that be her own or Ayondale’s had yet to be seen.

Yet Ilse held no pity for the poor Servant-to-be, the legendary Khagan slain by the aged and tarnished arrow lying amidst the box’s soft, red fabric. There was no room nor need for such a sentiment here; her objective lay not with the Grail and world beyond, but with the world that is. She would summon the Servant and use it to destroy Arieh Ayondale, his research and all of his supporters. After that point, her Servant could fight as it wished, and the rest of the bunch could squabble for the wish to their heart’s content; her goal would be accomplished - no “sneaky Tohsaka shit because she wanted to the Grail all to herself” required.

But first, she had to summon the Servant.

Ilse set down the case and lifted the relic from its resting place, transferring it to a makeshift altar of collapsed stonework. The ground before it was unmarked - an intentional choice. A gem may fetch a heavy price, but an uncut gem was worthless; for that reason, she would draw the ritual formula herself.

From one of the pockets of her coat, she withdrew a vial of attuned mercury and uncapped it, allowing quicksilver to flow into the engraved template. As the metal flowed, filling the four patterns of departure within the circle of erasure, she chanted:

“Ye first, O silver, O iron. O stone of the foundation, O Archduke of the Contract.
Hear me in the name of my great teacher, the Archmagus ■■■■■■■■.”

For a ritual so fervently and judiciously prepared for, the actual summoning of a Servant was a surprisingly trivial affair powered mostly by the Grail itself. The evocation needed no need no elaborate incantation nor perfect circle - such things were for the vanity of magi. All the Grail required was a catalyst and the will to use it.

“Let the descending winds be as a wall.
Let the gates in all directions be shut, rising above the crown, and let the three-forked roads to the Kingdom revolve.”

With the final drops of hydrargyrum slowly dripping from their vessel, Ilse took her position at the fore of the circle and drew a gloved hand to her chest. Slowly, deliberately, she removed the dark glove from her right hand, umbilical wires retracting seamlessly back into her sleeves of her clothes, to reveal the crimson stigmata, a fetal Command Spell, that had marked her as the Grail’s chosen long before this fateful night.
_{Fill. Fill. Fill. Fill. Fill.}
“Shut. Shut. Shut. Shut. Shut.
Five perfections for each repetition.
And now, let the filled sigils be annihilated in my stead.”

Moonlight glinted off the ritual circle’s silvered surface as the dull thrum of magical energy began coursing through it. Of course, Ilse was well aware that the ritual was little more than a meaningless affectation. But being ‘meaningless’ did not necessarily make something ‘worthless’. She lifted her arm above the summoning circle. They had already come this far, and Prelati boy had made his bold declarations; what reason did she have not to play along and put on a good show?

“Set.”

In an instant, the circle was alight with a scarlet radiance.
_fate
“Let thy body rest under my dominion. Let my doom rest in thy blade.
If thou submitteth to the call of the Holy Grail, and if thou wilt obey this mind, this reason, then thou shalt respond.”

With every syllable the metaphysical weight pressing down on her grew. Within the field of the formalcraft circle, it was hard to tell, but she could feel her circuits responding. She could feel her outstretched hand burning with mystery as the vague red shapes coalesced into the three crimsons strokes of the Command Spell. But that sensation was transient, as gone as quickly as it came. Most of all, she could feel a mighty presence channeling itself through her body, growing stronger as she neared the climax of the ritual.

“I make my oath here:
I am that person who will become all the virtue of Heaven.
I am that person who is covered with all the evil of Hades.”

Growing surges of mana-saturated wind circulated around her circle, threatening to force her back with greater force as she continued the aria. But she refused to yield ground. Firm and unrelenting, she forced her hand into a tight fist, as if to throw force behind a metaphysical blow and she reached the apex.

“Thou seven heavens, clad in a trinity of words, come past thy restraining rings, and be thou the hands that protect the balance!”

A pillar of blinding white erupted from the circle as roaring waves of magical energy tore through the courtyard, sending detritus flying outwards with its mighty gale. Caught within the maelstrom, she could not feel, see or hear what was going on around her, but she understood well what the steady tug of magical energy along the artificial leyline meant.

Within the epicenter of the dispersing fog, amidst the fading light and the dying wind, was the Servant she had summoned.

Death is a strange place, is it not? A collective of lost souls travelling and surging through the energies of the world, as if no longer a spirit but now a resource for everything to build. The tidalwaves of clashing mana thrashing anything in it's path, and this lone spirit lingered as a part of it all. As a part of the greater picture. As a part of the eternal blue sky.

The sole spirit rested for now, when a massive ray shot up into it's home. Many of the other spirits curiously closed into the portal, yet none could enter. Only the lonesome soul could, and it knew. And so it entered the magical vortex, answering the call within it's heart, and accepting the task asked of it. The strange sensation of the surging mana that somehow eventually started to form it's body again, the numbness surging through the mound of mana-infused flesh, and the merging of the spirit and the newly formed body now standing in the middle of a magical circle.

What is this? The scents, the sounds, and the flickering of eyelids leaving sight. Ah, so she has been summoned back to the world again, it is. And the feeling of soft fur to her hand made her fling her head back to see the white mane of her favored horse. "Oh,
this thing. Grail War was it? Alright then." She muttered lowly to herself in thought, before looking over at the others in the room, a soft smile on her lips, "Yo. I s'ppose I'm the Rider, is it? Nice ta' meet ya'll. And ye'swell, Masteh." She nodded in direction at the young girl before stepping forth with her horse by her side.

---

Albert watched in amazement as each circle briefly flared to life, casting a brilliant light across the courtyard that coalesced into tall, imposing figures who only seemed to become more and more solid as the light faded into darkness. They were like shadows, taking form only when the candle's flame dwindled. Shades of their former selves. Of heroes who shone brighter than a thousand of these circles.

He glanced nervously down at his own catalyst. Had he really made the right choice? By and afar, his catalyst was one of the oldest they had in their possession. According to the theory of Mythic Regression, that would make his Servant one of their most powerful by default. Only Olympia's Caster, for he assumed the great inventor could only ever be summoned in such a class, could outdo Claudius when it came to lineage. And besides, he had wanted an emperor, not a warrior. Someone who could unite and lead the team. But...

He glanced at the magnificent, glowing figure that Morgana had called forth. Constantine. Another Roman emperor three hundred years descended from Claudius, lauded as the savior of Christianity. If an emperor was truly what he had desired, could he have not gone with that instead? This man looked as though he could fight and lead, and do both well. Claudius' age would not matter a single squirt if his Servant was incompetent and could not fight. Could a man like Claudius even be a Heroic Spirit? When compared to these shining figures-

Albert balked at the gaudy monstrosity of a man that Sonja had summoned. The man was literally shining. In fact, he more than any other Servant he'd seen here could be described as the pure embodiment of legend and heroic fantasy. Gold adorned practically every inch of the massive beast, making him rich as a king, and his modern attire made him look as though he belonged on the deck of a yacht surrounded by rich, young socialites rather than a blood-soaked battlefield. The gorgeous creature was a vision of radiance, perfect in every way.

How could he possibly compete with this?! If he summoned some jerky, cerebral palsy-ass lookin' motherfucker to the fight, he'd look like the Ugly Duckling and the tortoise from Tortoise and the Hare got together and gave stillbirth to some unnatural mutant vortex of pure failure! He'd be playing second-fiddle in his own master plan! Hardly the glorious victory he'd imagined. Professor Ayondale would likely die laughing before he could get his revenge for-

He slapped his cheeks and took a deep breath, letting it sit heavily in his lungs for a few seconds before exhaling.

Get it togezer, man. You are a Prelati, for Christ's sake! It doesn't matter what Servant you summon, you cannot back down now! Qui n’avance pas, recule! Let zem laugh if zey wish! Zey 'ave done so your entire life! Why would zey stop now? You do not concern yourself wiz zem! You do not concern yourself wiz ze scorn and ze foul-mouthed abuse of zose who refuse to understand! You will summon your Servant 'ere today, and you will show zat whoreson Arieh zat you are a force to be reckoned wiz ze same way you've shown everyone else! Ze 'ard way.

He gritted his teeth, steadying himself. That bastard son-of-a-bitch would regret the day he crossed him. Nobody made a fool and a puppet out of Albert Prelati.

Placing the paludamentum in the center of the circle, he decided for himself the words he would use to summon the emperor.

---

Infinite nothingness that was all that Locusta saw in her infinitely black abyss. It was safer then the roman empire after Nero's passing she could grant it that much. Honestly she couldn't concieve what she did wrong. All she did was kill a few people. People die all the time! She was just expediting the process. Locusta furrowed what she perceived to be her brow. As she began her recitement of poisons from the top because if this was her personal hell she might as well keep working on her jingle.

"♫♪♫♪~Cyanide, Mercury, Basilisk, Mamba." She began her voice cracking slightly so it sounded rather obnoxious. "Poisons are all I know." She quickened her voice in order to sound like a presenter. "So come one and come all because..." she paused for a moment to build imaginary suspense "We have... Manticore, Widow, many ways to end a life, so come on guys don't use a knife! Poisoning is the way to go~ Hey hey!~♫♪♫♪"

She tossed that concept aside in the deeper recesses as she began to think again. Honestly she wasn't a songwriter she was a A class Poisoner. This was like the 300th time she had thought about song writing, She was certainly doing better then anything else. Who knew dying stretched time to the point of near infinite.

Then suddenly everything went black...

Locusta blinked, she could have sworn that she was just a moment ago positively, undeniably and undoubtedly dead and yet here she was standing in the middle of some arcane summoning circle wearing her favourite outfit. She paused for a moment as she processed it all. It's been about 2000 years since shes been dead... Throne of Heros...



Someone actually summoned her!? Locusta quickly turned to see her would be Master as she looked him up and down with her eyes like some mad crazed dog. He was short. He was unimpressive. He looked like he was a child. "Adorable little thing aren't you." She said giving the kid a reassuring smile. He was probably lost and had accidentally wondered into this mess and now he was gonna get himself all killed. Not on her watch! She strode with a bubbly waltz as if she was either drunk or slightly deranged. "Weedy arms, terrible fasion sense, I mean where is your toga. Yup, your a mage. Good to meet you Master, I am..." She paused for a moment checking that everything was in order. "I am the class of Assassin which makes sense you know, I mean it is what I do for a living." She laughed before she paused to slapped her cheeks gently to reaffirm herself. 'Stupid Locusta, your scaring the kid.' she thought. "I'm sorry for being talkative I was just cramped in nothingness for so long and now I am alive again and there are so many wonderful wonderful new things that I've never knew would come to exist. Like metal flying birds called planes! PLANES! Not as cool as some of the stuff I've seen but cool, Master I want to crash a plane." She said pausing to take a breath.

Then Locusta paused as she realised this wasn't a typical summoning the 6 other classes were already present and she was acting like a right giddy fool which was terrible for business! "Oh by the gods." She mumbled as she composed herself, the concept of a bubbly ADHD girl vanishing into thin air as if it never occured. "So. Master. What undertaking are we going to do." She said her voice absent of any feeling as she finished tying her hair with a lace from her outfit. She seemed like an entirely different person. Her eyes truely cold and unfeeling, like a killer who knew killing like a mother knew her kids. Her green eyes stared narrowly at everyone, the murderous intent was obvious, though her Master could probably catch the slight wink she gave him if he was fast enough.

---

As the smoke cleared, Albert got a good look at just what kind of Servant he'd summoned. And then another. And then another. And then he promptly kept looking until his brain stopped refusing to acknowledge what it was he saw.

"Breasts...?" he said dumbly, looking the woman up and down. "Don quoi?"

He had... so many questions.

Quickly realizing the absurdity of what he'd just said in front of a Heroic Spirit, and possibly a Roman emperor at that ("when you have eliminated the impossible" etc.), Albert cleared his throat and tried again.

"Yes, zat is me. I am your Master... Assassin, was it? Not quite what I'd planned..." he said under his breath. Noticing the way she stared at the other students, he addressed her calmly and said, "Zey are not our enemy. For now at least. I fully intend for us to fight, but we must be civil about zis. Lower... whatever your weapons are. I'll explain everyzing in a moment."

And 'ave you explain a few zings to me, he thought. His mind quickly refocused.

Lancer.

Berserker.

Caster.

Archer.

Rider.

And now... Assassin.

He furtively glanced up at his own Servant, consumed by his thoughts. They had summoned six so far. That left Saber. And Leon. He turned to his friend of three years and smiled congratulatorily.

"Well my friend, it looks like I drew ze shorter straw zis time. Ze 'onor of summoning Saber falls to you. All's ze better, really. Personally, I don't zink I'd be cut out for dealing wiz ze chivalrous types."

Albert placed a hand on Leon's shoulder.

"You deserve it, my friend. I really zink you do. I can't imagine trusting anyone else wiz zat kind of power. Besides myself of course," he said, smiling wryly. "Now go on. Ze crowd is waiting~"

True to his word, the rest of the students had caught on to what had just happened, and had begun crowding around him to watch the final summoning, offering words of praise, encouragment and congratulations. The summoning of Saber was no small thing. It was only natural for the Master summoning the war's most powerful Servant to receive some fanfare.

Albert smiled. Plus it was fun watching Leon squirm sometimes.

---

Leon looked around at the other Servants. He was amazed at the fact that this was a thing. So far little had happened in the way of interaction. Leon tried to look at them but he knew that what little time he had left. He had to summon his servant...given the remaining options he believed he only had one option left...Saber. He felt a sudden pressure...according to the research he managed to uncover...wasn't Saber supposed to be the most important piece in a holy war? Come to think of it...what was their end game after this little revenge scheme? A holy war needed to be done once summoned were they just going to have all these poor souls murder each other immediately after their dirty work was done? This whole war suddenly became more repugnant the more Leon though about it. He advocated clean, and honest fights not bloody warfare. Good thing he got the piece least suited for the assassin class in this whole bargain. Leon looked at his circle and noticed however as he held up his hand in front of it...that it wasn't done right. A few hastily made lines were out of place. Leon growled. He considered using his wind magic to fix it quickly but that would waste time if he botched the whole thing.

Instead, in front of everyone, Leon went forward and on his hands and knees quickly began to rearrange his circle with his hands. Using his hands to rearrange the silver dust he had used to make the circle, and using what was left of it in his pouch to finish the circle once more. Leon managed to do it easily enough. One who had started learning the art of combative mage craft from his elders would easily be able to spot errors in their technique, and modify it. Changing a semi-complicated summoning circle wasn't Leon's common practice but it certainly was a small issue in comparison to what he had done before. Leon got up, his clothes slightly dirtier now, as he raised up his hand. Leon fought, and conquered the raging unease inside of him. He couldn't make a fool of himself, and he couldn't make an mockery of the Winchester Family in front of legendary heroes.

As the circle flared up Leon stood there proudly in front of the thing. He felt his magic tingle in response to his successful work. He breathed in calmly, and slowly. With the ease of a trained professional Leon began his ritual.

"Let silver and steel be the essence. Let stone and the archduke of contracts be the foundation."

He began to say his words aloud, and clearly he pushed the pressure to the back of his mind. He couldn't think of what would happen next, or in the future. He needed to concentrate in this moment. Too do anything otherwise could be fatal, or risk further errors in the summoning.

"Let the heroes of old hear my call for war is coming. Let rise a wall against the wind that shall fall."

Leon said with more intensity as he held his hand aloft his clothes fluttering in the wind. His pride as a mage radiating from his voice, and his inner fortitude to win coming forth. If he was to be a master he would give it his all. His partner would know he would not back down.

"Let the four cardinal gates close. Let the three-forked road from the crown reaching unto the Kingdom rotate."

Leon called out further as he used his left hand to clasp his right holding onto it tightly. Leon was now sure he had succeeded as the light spiraled around the circle around the piece of the round table. He no longer harbored any doubts. Even if he had to fight these other heroes, heroes of insane legends, he would do so. He would not disgrace anyone here.

"Let it be filled. Again. Again. Again. Again. Let it be filled fivefold for every turn, simply breaking asunder with every filling."

Leon called out loudly as he uttered the last part of the incantation he held stalwart in his mind.

"An oath shall be sworn here! I shall attain all virtues of all of Heaven. I shall have dominion over all evils of all of Hell! – From the Seventh Heaven, attended to by three great words of power, come forth from the ring of restraint, Protector of the Balance!"

Leon called out fiercely his utter confidence showing itself he would not be a paper lion! He would stand ready for all of this! No matter what may come he would do his family proud! He would make his own legend!

....

Or at least that's what Leon thought as suddenly the spiralling magic died...it flickered...and nothing happened. Leon growled in defiance. He would not be denied if he had come this far!

"An oath shall be sworn here! I shall attain all virtues of all of Heaven. I shall have dominion over all evils of all of Hell! – From the Seventh Heaven, attended to by three great words of power, come forth from the ring of restraint, Protector of the Balance!"

Leon called out once more but in that one moment...all his hopes were dashed...Leon saw his magic fail. It faded, and fizzled, and died out right in front of him. There was no glorious celebration. No light. There was no servant to come to his call. Leon's heart didn't drop...but his pride...it was all worthless it seemed. Leon wasn't angry that he had failed...he was disappointed...and ashamed in himself...he wasn't worthy. Leon dropped to his knees in front of the circle. In front of all the other mages. His eyes stared blankly in front of him for a moment. And when the full weight of what had happened came crushing down on Leon...he knew what had happened. There was only two explanations...one was that the piece was fake...and that the catalyst was objectively worthless...or that the grail had decided he was not worthy. Leon knew then and there that Albert wouldn't screw him like this...would he? No it was likely Ayondale had foresaw all of this...no that wasn't equally as damning as believing Albert would do this. The grail must have rejected him. "No....no...am I..." Leon paid no attention to anything around him as he looked onto his hands...and found himself searching for where his own ineptitude had come from...

"Am...Am I really that worthless?" Leon mumbled quietly to himself. There were no tears, nor were there any lamentations of his own failure. Leon's only fault...it lied with him. The Grail, Arthur's knights, and everything around him...had looked into the bottom of his soul and found him a failure unworthy of it. A fool who tried to play at powers to big for him. He shouldn't have come. The only solace Leon felt in this moment, if it even was a solace, was that for him this whole endeavor was over...he would return home to America. His parents wouldn't sell him out to the clocktower, and the Mage's Association for this. At least there he could contemplate how his failure would be rectified in the future...or would he continue to shame himself in the future just like he had now?

---

Albert watched the circle ignite with no small level of satisfaction and pride. They'd done it. They'd actually done it. They'd ruined their professor's precious fake Holy Grail War. Suck it Ayondale, you obnoxious, plagiarizing prick! You ass-kissing aristocrat! You cheap, lying, no-good, rotten, four-flushing, low-life, snake-licking, dirt-eating, inbred, overstuffed, ignorant... blood-sucking...

Something was wrong. A sharp *zap!* like the crackle of a burnt-out lightbulb struck out across the grounds from inside Leon's circle. The mist around him faded to nothing, the building energy disappating.

What? Albert thought as his mind instinctively kicked into overdrive. He activated his Memory Partition, immediately descending into full-blown problem-solving mode.



The circle had failed. The summoning had failed. Why had the summoning failed?! The catalyst? No. They'd verified it themselves. Even then, the ritual did not necessarily need a catalyst to summon a Servant. It was just a crapshoot without one. The circle or its ingredients? Possibly, given Leon's last-minute alterations to the design, but that should only cause, at worst, deviations to appear in your Servant's appearance or skills. The ritual itself was fairly foolproof in its design. So long as the Holy Grail had acknowledged or chosen you as a Master, it always summoned a Servant. The incantation then? See above.

Everything had been perfect! The circles, the ingredients, the catalysts, the incantations... was it a problem with Leon himself then?

Then it hit home, the force of the realization blindsiding him. Leon couldn't summon Saber if somebody else had done so already...

Oh merde.

It was about this time that Sonja's familiars started to go unexpectedly dark. The three separate rooms running parallel in Albert's mind collapsed into one cohesive cognition as his accelerated sense of time seemed to slow his body to the speed of a snail crawling through mollasses. His perception slowly returning to real-time, Albert's head turned degree by agonizing degree to face the crowd as his eyes darted to the treeline to check and see if they were there. Good lord, he could already see their eyes! They had been right there.

And they'd never seen it coming.

"DISPERSE!"

The tranquiline treeline burst into frenetic, active life, a hundred spells cast out of the forest with such fury that their cover seemed to erupt like an active volcano, revealing nearly a hundred elite magi. And Arieh Ayondale. Standing next to a towering man wielding a brilliant flambard.

"Ah yes, there you are," Ayondale said, though his words could reach none of their ears. "My precious students~"

Albert focused on him, panic and fury clouding his mind.

"Assassin!" he yelled, calling her to his aid. He would not die here.

The spells' fury continued. Gandr, air cannons, strokes of lightning and dark masses of wicked curses. Fireballs, flames, pressurized water cutters, then earthen shrapnel followed by clay bullets. Familiars who dashed across the open grounds assuming forms of all kinds, some crashing into their targets like bullets while others mauled and strangled. It was a slaughter. A scene befitting the word "battlezone" that unfolded in an instant, claiming the lives of students left and right. They fell like baby birds crashing down from the sky, their blood tinting the moonlit grass a vibrant red.

Two of their classmates died in the first few seconds. Sixteen more followed in the moments that came after. The assault, lasting only seconds, never seemed to cease, spells being cast with little delay between incantation and action as high-speed words and single-action curses poured out of the mages' mouths like a vile liquid. Screams dominated the quiet sounds of the night. The only ones who survived... the only ones who could survive... were the Masters. The rest were all dead.

Atop the hill, surrounded by his meticulously groomed strike force, Arieh Ayondale surveyed the carnage below, his eyes critical. He sighed as he assessed the damage, both to the castle walls and the students. They had each been destroyed utterly, but neither completely. Not quite.

"As expected, those thieving rats survived," he said, tsk-tsking as he took in the speed, power and defensive capabilities shown by the Servants the children had called forth using his catalysts. "Richard, go take care of them for me, will you?"

The man standing at his right wore a magnificent cape and fur coat, his sword gleaming in the light of the Highland moon. He turned to face Ayondale, kingly clothes ruffling, then made a small bow with his hand over his heart, smiling as he did so.

"In life, I was born of a rank that recognized no superior but God," he said with a deep, syrupy smooth voice that had just the merest hint of a French accent. "In this Holy Grail War, however? I am your faithful Servant. Ask of me what you will, Arieh. I will complete each task without fail."

He smiled somewhat mischievously.

"Although it might be difficult for me to defeat all of them right now, I think."

Arieh snorted, sharing the smile.

"You may drive them off. That much will do for now. We only need them out of our way."

The smile of the man named Richard morphed into a predatory leer, his white teeth gleaming fangs that looked far too much like a lion's. He drew his undulating sword, appreciating its shape and size with quiet solemnity before lowering it, and stepping out onto the blood-soaked battlefield.

"As you command then."

Leon reacted mostly out of instinct the first words that came out of Albert's mouth had been disperse. Leon on his hands in knees wasn't in any sort of shape to roll, or duck out of the way. The words came unbidden to his own will, "Shatter the earthly planes that rock the world. Four winds conjure to me!" Leon called out using his power to manipulate the wind around him into a massive wind storm pushing him forcibly out of the way of the on coming attacks.

Od Count: 125/140

Leon wondered if his life was actually worth saving at this point...wait...there was one option left to him....he could...no...definitely not...using that spell here would disgrace not only him but his entire family. More attacks came he recognized them as curses but he couldn't remember their origin. It killed others but Leon himself was adept at dodging, and rolling along with the wind to guide him he escaped all but minor harms to himself. He was not a masterful duelist yet but he was worked hard into his role. He decided then and there that spell won't be used now. Besides using up every inch of his mana to use that spell to cast his last ditch effort of his family's techniques wouldn't work. He needed TIME, and his very life force to compensate for his inefficient training to call upon that power regardless.

The servants didn't care about his well being regardless. He was an outsider after all why bother with dead weight? He'd fight for himself. Selfish it may be but none of the others now lacked for self defense. "The four winds of the great planes rage on further!" Leon roared as he took to himself and headed down to the water. He kept the wind around him ready to deflect whatever may come at him. It was hard to concentrate with all that was now happening but he had to force the other stuff from his mind. That thing must be a servant...even so...Leon was in his element in a fight and now that he literally only had his shredded dignity, and his life to hold onto he needed desperately to get to the lake. "Damn you Ayondale!" Leon growled to himself. If he could get water he could access his full arsenal. What he had now was only sufficient for offense. It was pitiful he couldn't hope to hold out longer than that. Water, and wind...the core elements of the four winds of the planes Earth. Flow...flow, and feel the spirit of the world itself recognize you. Don't be grounded by the Earthly planes. You are that which gives life to the planet. Flow...flow...FLOW! Leon rushed forward his senses keenly aware of danger if he was going to die like a worm. He'd be the damn most annoying worm he ever knew.

Od count: 120/140

The young Mage held her breath nervously as the wind buffeted her form in the darkness of the evening. As it died down, she pulled her arm away from her eyes and brushed down her now disheveled clothing, intentionally avoiding the Servant now stood in front of her, acclimatising to the night chill of Scotland.

Slowly, and cautiously, Olympia raised her head upwards, taking in her Servants appearance. She stopped at his face, the whole experience of looking upon such a well known Hero leaving her short of breath. Her legs shook, and she felt her words catch in her throats as she was asked the most important question of any Holy Grail War.

"Y-y-" she stammered, struggling to get the words out, "Y-yes, I-I'm your Master!" she finally exclaimed, steeling herself with a smile as she spoke. With this accomplishment, she could truly consider herself a Mage. She wasn't powerless anymore.

Olympia took a moment to look at and observe him. Inside, she slightly berated herself; how could Daedalus have been summoned as anyone but a Caster? But more than that, she was proud. While she hadn't researched much on the theory of Mythic Regression - barely any, in fact - but from what she knew, the older the Servant, and the more fame associated with it, the more powerful.

In that case, it was only reasonable to assume that Daedalus, a man of well known legend, would hold considerable power. For that reason, she couldn't help but feel proud. If that theory held true, it would mean she had successfully summoned a terribly strong Servant, right?

And a Caster, no less. It seemed fitting that the weakest Magically in the group would summon forth the strongest Magic user of the Seven. Her gaze drifted to the over Servants as the coalesced from within the light and wind, and found herself filled with awe at the sight of so many great Heroes stood awaiting command from her compatriots.

Her train of thought was quickly redirected, however, as Albert began his own summoning. The penultimate summoning. Olympia watched, still awestruck, and hung on every word of the incantation the boy spoke. She studied the circle as it bloomed into a fluorescent beacon, and stood steadfast against the raging wind that followed to watch as the Servant took form within.

The Assassin class had been summoned, it sounded like. She looked around at the other Servants, taking them in and identifying their classes one at a time. As she was right, which chances were she wasn't, the only class left to be summoned was... Saber. One of the three Knight classes, and the strongest of the seven Servants the Grail could summon.

So Leon would be the Master of Saber? Oly couldn't say she knew the boy, at least not well. But she trusted Albert in this endeavour. If he trusted Leon with such a great undertaking, then she would too. This war was nothing without trust, after all. They had to work together to ruin Ayondale. If they didn't, and started fighting amongst themselves... there was no way of telling how many he would kill in the disorganisation.

"Let's watch Leon summon his Servant, Caster!" she chirruped, beckoning Daedalus towards the ever expanding crowd surrounding the summoning circle. Though, she found herself caught towards the back of the group, but quickly made her way through the crowd, allowed through as one of the Masters.

"Finally... we can all get our just revenge." Olympia thought, but caught herself as she did so. Sure, this was something to relish in... they would destroy the man who had destroyed them, but... at what cost? People were going to die, at his hand. They were fugitives after all; they had crossed and stolen from a powerful, and influential, man. Who knows at what lengths he would go to to attain his own revenge..?

But then the summoning failed. One of their Masters had... failed to summon their Servant..? What did that mean? Was he unworthy? Hadn't Albert and him checked out everyone to see who would fit the bill? But the Grail was sentient, after all... had he been rejected by it? That was impossible... they were the chosen Seven, meant to bring justice down upon and destroy and cruel man, worthy of such punishment. The cause was just! Everyone else had managed to summon their Servants!

Olympia turned her head as she heard the cry. Her vision lit up with the release of magic of all kinds, and she could only stand in horror as the spells ripped through the previously still and tranquil air, and then immediately the bodies of whatever students happened unfortunately in their wake. Her paralysis was momentary, however, as what little training her family gave her kicked in.

She twisted to the side and ducked down, dodging a few of the shots that made of the hailstorm of magic that rained down upon the students. As she regained her footing, she took off in a run towards a wall, where her bag was located. From the cover, she looked out across the field, and her eyes widened at what she saw.

The bodies of the people she had considered comrades... stained in blood, ripped apart by magic... she felt sick. But the feeling dissolved into dread as her eyes trailed up to the treeline. The moment she set eyes upon Arieh Avondale... fear filled her very core, shaking her being beyond that of her Origin. She wanted to run. That was her natural instinct, only strengthened as she looked upon his Servant. A Saber class... the reason Leon couldn't summon his own...

But she couldn't run, could she? Even though she wanted to... she felt compelled to stay, fight, defend her comrades... no. Defend her friends.
"Caster!" she called out, "Distract the Servant with the others! We all have to get out of here!"

From there, she unzipped her bag, and pulled from it a small slingshot. She fished from the castle wall, which had been bombarded and obliterated almost fully by Magic, a piece of stone, and then drew from her bag a blade; an Engraver - a tool designed to engrave runes into most any surface with minimal damage. With it, she drew three runes: ᚺᛊᚦ; Hagalaz, Sowilo, Thurisaz.

As soon as she had finished, she placed the stone into the sling of the slingshot This was the moment of truth. Olympia took a deep breath, stabilising her pent up anxiety, and stood from her cover. She couldn't tell if the Mages Ayondale had brought could see her, but neither did she care. As soon as she was stood, and ready to fire, she pulled back on the weapon, and launched the piece of stone in their direction.

With it in the air, she ducked back down, and activated her Circuits. She focused, imagining the runes she had engraved igniting into light. In response, the runes did so, accepting her magical energy, and activating. With energy applied, the rock began to pick up speed. But nobody watching would notice that. What they would notice, however, would be the way the piece of material light up in a bright and unstable flame, and how it hurtled towards them at a speed somewhat unnatural of an object fired from a slingshot. A Firestorm Arrow.

21/24

Location: Urquhart Castle, Scotland.
Interacting with: Berserker of Red @MeteorD; Arieh Ayondale (mentioned) @Turboshitter; the other Masters of Red.
Magical energy: 177 out of 180.

As the light faded, Sonja clutched at her arm while repressing a grunt between gritted teeth. Her circuits thrummed with power, bringing a sensation of vague pins and needles across her while body, while her command circuits - previously dormant, following on from her family crest and running down her arm in a matter not unlike a tattoo sleeve - came to life midst a sensation not too unlike a bad burn. She clenched her fist briefly, helping herself tolerate the spot of pain, before all seemed to calm: the burning vanished as quickly as it arrived and the pins and needles gently faded. As she gently opened her hand and lowered her arms, she looked up to survey the results of her summoning, where her gaze then froze.

Even with her familiar circling overhead, feeding her information from its surveys and examinations, Sonja found it difficult to pay attention to almost anything else. She had never seen so much gold in her life: gold hair, gold jewelry, even a gold weapon. With his physique and the purity of his skin, he may as well be radiating gold. Her jaw came slightly ajar as she frankly stared, no doubt impressed - if not amazed - with the heroic spirit before her.

"The fantastic Golden Boy has come to your service. No matter what happens, I will see ya all the way to the finish line. Nice to meet'cha, Master." the spirit spoke: the Golden Boy himself, Kintarō of Mount Ashigara. While the servants visual lack of modesty did a point of irritating her, when he spoke - his confidence, the assurance in his voice - she felt relieved. In some ways, she felt hope; maybe the odds weren't as bad as she had thought. Although his voice served a second purpose: it brought her back to reality.
"Thank you." she pressed out, lifting a hand to quietly clear her throat afterwards. It was a bit of a stumbling return to the present, but it could have been much less dignified. "I understand this must be confusing for you: all the servants being summoned in one place. Let's find time later to discuss the details. For now though, there's a few more to come, and I'm worried we're being followed..."

Sonja dropped down to a kneel, gently collecting the catalyst and placing it back in the paper towel. She hesitated for a moment, considering the servant next to her: this catalyst did belong to him, so would it be right to return it? For now, she decided to postpone the thought. She gently sat the catalyst back into her bag before moving to heft it back up and stand once again. While she did move her gaze to survey the other servants as they arrived, curious as to the nature of their cast of rebels and outcasts, her attention remained elsewhere: the perception of her familiar circling routinely overhead. Even reassured as she was, with the Golden Boy besides her, she still couldn't bear the thought of letting her watch waver. Ayondale was smart, as much as she loathed to admit it; for all she knew, he could've let the heist happen. Nobody climbs to the top of the clocktower without making the right friends and executing the right schemes.

As the final servant failed to summon, lacking both light and someone to come out of it, Sonja's attention shifted to her own perception: to the castle courtyard and the last master to summon his servant. She watched as some of his thoughts came to his expression, no doubt confusion and frustration, before retreating to her own thoughts. As far as she knew, he had the command seals as issued by the grail, so then why did the servant fail to summon? After a moment of thought, she felt a pang in her gut, a sudden rock of unease sitting in the bottom of her stomach. Something was wrong. As she closed her eyes to focus on her familiars perception, her expression shifted to one portraying unease despite her best efforts to stifle her reaction. She scanned over the treeline and the castle alike, searching for wards and agents alike, trying as she might to identify why the summoning failed. It was then when she spot a flash of light, a brilliant purple orb rushing towards-

Sonja hunched forward in pain, sharing the sensation of her servant shattering to pieces. She clutched at her chest as she dropped to a knee, eyes sealed and teeth grit. The burst of pain was only brief, but it was certainly not pleasant. As soon as she could, she forced her eyes wide and swung her head up, opening her mouth to warn the others of the ambush before-
With more spells than one can rightly perceive at once slamming into the castle and renegades alike, everything erupted into chaos. She couldn't tell exactly how she evaded it: whether she threw herself into cover or was moved there, everything was happening far too quickly to perceive. Around her, other rogue students fell in drives: whether slammed by bolt, fire, or otherwise, they were cut apart. She reached over to one of the first to fall, dragging him towards him to survey his condition, where she quickly found there was little she would do with her healing magic. There was so little she could do; so quickly, she'd gone from hopeful to powerless. In her mind, she couldn't help but ask why?

As the dust settled, she looked up to the two men atop the hill. While one definitely concerned her, the other stole her attention almost immediately: Ayondale. How could she not notice this? Even despite her familiar above, despite her sheer focus to having everything be perfect, how did she not notice the ambush? Her thoughts wandered towards her family crest. Was she even worthy of bearing the crest if she couldn't detect nigh-100 magus? She could have very well continued in her internal debate if her attention wasn't drawn away from Ayondale, to the man besides him: clad in brilliant clothes and carrying a wavy sword to match. As she focused on him, her command seals throbbed.
"A servant..?" she asked herself, quietly but not so quiet that it couldn't be heard. It only took a moment for her to realize what was happening; once she realized, with the rush of fight-or-flight adrenaline surging through her, her eyes widened in urgency while her expression steeled in focus. "They have Saber!" she called to the others as she fumbled to stand, "We can't take on that many magi and Saber without the initiative! We need to go!" In the distance, a she heard a familiar voice calling out something similar to Caster. She only hoped it would pan out without going worse than it already had.

As she rushed for the opposite end of the courtyard, seeking out an escape route she spot from above, she called out to her servant:
"You and Lancer have the best odds at holding off Saber, maybe Rider too! Can you keep Saber off us!? I'll heal you if you get hurt!" she paused before now calling out to the other masters: "There's a way out over here!"

---

He couldn't help but feel an ever-burning excitement within himself. While he had come to 'know' how the Holy Grail War worked, the fact that all of these Servants were summoned in a single place gave him a rather optimistic outlook on the going-ons of this sacred battle. After all, it was a competition in some ways, although the conflict could end up more brutal than desired. It was a well-known fact that ever since he had been a child, competitions of strength had been one of his most favorite activities, and even at this 'age', he still hadn't outgrown it. Or at least, those were his first thoughts concerning it. "I'm worried we're being followed..." Aaah, it was too good to be true after all. Nonetheless, the fact that the others hadn't begun fighting immediately on the spot meant they all likely had a good reason for it. Very well, he'd bear with it for now.

While his Master went to collect something, he glanced over at the rest of those who had been brought down to this land by the ceremony of the Holy Grail. It was embedded into his 'Knowledge of this Earth' that all who were called down for the War were Heroic Spirits with great deeds and actions held to their name. Even though that was the case, there were only a few who fully caught the attention of his rather 'simple' mind. A white-haired man, adorned with an armor as graceful as it was threatening. The second; A woman not too tall, but certainly battle-hardened. He only gave them a few moments of attention, but it was clear to him already that those were the ones he wished to clash with the most. Neither of the two seemed to be Saber however, the reason for that being obvious when the light of the 7th circle begun to wither. Someone had failed their summoning, a young boy now on his knees, dressed in the failure of his attempt. It was strange, and sadly, he wasn't fast enough to catch on why. Only a few seconds passed before the next irregularity occured.

His Master was overcome with pain, her eyes shutting tight. It was undeniably an unpleasant feeling to have all of the sudden, but at the very least, it served as an immediate warning for Berserker, his senses immediately steeling themselves for the occurence. What was percieved as an 'instant' by the people of this world, was merely a 'fast happening' for the supernatural Servants who had long-since grown accustomed to the concept of immediacy. Both him and his Master were in the line of fire, bound to get caught amongst the incoming rampage of offensive-type spells and lesser familiars that were being materialized in the hands of the hidden mages.

"Tch!" Practically acting on instinct alone, his arm reached out for- or rather, at his Master. With a Servant like this, there was no room for delicacy, but the Golden Boy knew very well of his own strength. She hadn't yet recovered from whatever it had been that assaulted her, but that wasn't a primary concern in this situation. A bolt of lighting, a quick single-verse spell, had been aimed through the cracks of the ruins. While not deadly, the nature of the spell made it near-instantaneous. The Golden Body forged from Mother Nature and its blessed enviroment could barely feel it scraping against his outstretched arm, yet was aware enough of it to block its path towards his Master. The muscular hand 'moved' her aside as lightly as he could when acting purely on reflex, resulting in her being flung aside behind one of the older pieces of rubble, the ongoing path of the barrage blocked off by a large piece of the ceiling lodged upright in the ground.

All of it took but a single motion, but it was still one filled with regret and inadequacy. Around him, the young onlookers were falling to the ground in droves, their screams of terror driving into his senses. Because he was a Hero, he knew very well where his priorities should be. He had little hope of staying manifested in this world if he was to go after the children losing their last breaths in a desperate attempt to save them. The correct course of action was simply to secure the safety of himself and his Master, getting them as far away from the battlefield as possible.

But even if he was a Hero, he was Sakata Kintoki. The Golden Boy for young children to look up to, for them to depend on. His strength would give them a security and aspirations for the future, yet he was doing nothing to save them. For a brief moment, he could hear his mind begging to succumb to the Madness of his Class, to steal away his reason so that he would rush in without thinking about these unnecessary things. In the end, it was not the twisted mind of a Berserker that moved him forward, but the innate sense of justice that had been gained from his endless tales. His teeth grinded against eachother, taking a single step towards the screams. His back was turned away from his Master, not revealing his pained, yet enraged expression. However, despite his best efforts, his back screamed his desire to 'protect'.

"MASTER!"

A desperate yell for an order. For the premission that this 'beast' needed to go wild on the battlefield.

Seconds. Mere seconds. It took no longer than that for his Master to respond to him. It couldn't be said yet if it was coincidental decisionmaking, or if it was a genuine affinity between Master and Servant, but his wish had been granted.

"I gotcha! Don't worry about me and just focus on getting as many as you can away from here!"

He couldn't be happy during these circumstances, not at all. Rage however, was a different thing entirely. One long stride, continuing into the next. Massively broken footprints left behind by each area he trampled might as well have been crushed beneath the broken debris from the ruined castle walls for all the historical value it was to retain, as the Golden Berserker broke into a stampede. Utilizing the incredible burst speed of Servants, and the power of his own bear-like body, he resembled a bulldozer dropped onto the battlefield, tearing up the ground beneath as he rushed forward with his golden axe in hand. The only comfort that could be found in any of those inhabiting this battlefield were the ones behind that admirable back, lucky enough to have him on their side for this fight.

"LANCER! RIDER! I don't know anythin' about either of ya, but I'm lettin' you fight alongside the great GOLDEN Me tonight!"

His words had a lighthearted and arrogant sense to them, but the tone of his voice was everything but. It was impossible not to take this ambush seriously, and trusting 2 Servants he knew nothing about that he was bound to have to fight against eventually in the future was all but wise. However, if it meant saving the lives of those who had even just a single more day left in their bodies, then he would be willing to take that risk. It was strange. The man was undoubtably a demonic presence on the battlefield, instilling fear in those who dared to even turn their sights at him. Yet, that dependable spirit of his was similar to a divine spirit guiding people from above.

Regardless of what he may be, his eyes were set on a single objective. The man heading down the green hill in the distance, fearless even with a Heroic Spirit moving towards him. A class feared in every Holy Grail War; Saber.

The mighty Rider stood proudly by her new master, casually examining her rather dull, empty-looking expression with a lazy eye. The many years spent in her beloved Sky had truly turned this once conqueror slightly lazy and rusty, and her knowledge of this war thing was rather.. lacking. Basically she knew that she was a Rider, well-fitting the Mongol conqueror given her absolute mastery of horses, but beyond that she knew little. But one thing was certain, once she was back in the groove, the warriors standing around the summoning circle would realize that it was no fluke that she, who started out with only her two brothers, could conquer almost all of Eurasia.

"So, lil' Missy, ye'n'me 'll be partners, aye?" The conqueror spoke with a common tone, her words sounding similar to steppe bandits with their casual yet lethal tune, as if affirming that she who conquered the world had roots amongst the foul kind that murdered for food, mounts and coin. An imposing voice, a voice that could speak to any man or woman's heart, no matter how gutteral or foul her tongue was. And soft, motherly, calming as well.

Genghis softly rubbed her chin in thought as her eyes found the other summoned spirits, some seemed recognizable, others completely unknown. In specific, she found the one called the Lancer and the one called the Berserker interesting. One dressed in fabolous garments with this holy air surrounding his very being, and his shining armour made him seem a Byzantine. Perhaps? She knew of the people living in Seraglio-point, residing within a massive, grandeuse city protected by massive walls quite similar to those Chinese scum. Genghis' eyed Lancer for a moment longer, as if attempting to place him in her massive map of important personalities, but of course she failed for now. And so she looked over to that Golden man, noting his physical appearance being of Asian heritage. Chinese? Korean? Perhaps he was one of those strange people across the ocean? Genghis couldn't quite place it, but it didn't matter just yet. Besides, she couldn't rely on those Chinese filth's texts and scrolls to speak truth. Fuckin' aristocrats.

The next one to come to summoning was apparently an assassin. The Chinese Slayer gazed across the female briefly, and quickly noted that she was definitely not a warrior type. Thin arms, slim body, and apparently no eye what-so-ever for combat. And yet she was summoned as a Heroic Spirit, meaning she certainly could affirm the "looks can decieve" theory. And how this assassin spoke so proudly of poisons quite loudly? Indeed, she must've been a killer in life as well. Rider shrugged lightly. She was of no importance right now, nor could she even place her looks. Perhaps she too was Byzantine or some other weird person West of the Thracian peninsula.

Rider shrugged again, rolled her shoulders lightly, peering onto the failed summoning and the shocked look of the magician. Nonchalantly, she waved a hand in front of her mouth as if bored, waiting for something to happen. All these warriors and heroes, no combat? Boring. And as if her thoughts resounded through to the eternal blue sky, her wish was granted. A flurry of magics came flying towards their location, the younglings around perishing in great numbers. Certainly that would phase someone unknown to the life of war, but Genghis had committed much worse atrocities than this. While her body moved about, quickly a hand raised to grab her Master's wrist before forcing her onto her beloved, white horse; Tseneglegch, while all this happened, Rider's thoughts was still aloof and sloppy. "Master, come along,
would ya'? Big Sis'll protect ya' frail, lil' body, don' worry. Les' join this 'ere Zerkah 'nd Lanceh in ba'hl, aye?" She muttered sofly, calmly, motherly even to the girl, while a mischievous grin lingered on her lips. She was now waking up.

"Aye, Zerkah, les' get a lil' bloodshed goin'!" She yelled back to the Golden boy, her heels kicking into the flanks of her horse, the mighty steed raising to it's hindlegs with a vicious battlecry leaving it's snowy muzzle, before quickly landing down to start his stampede. And the sound of the stampede alone echoed through not only the ruined building, but the entire city, the sounds of not only one buttens of thousands of horses galloping forward despite there only being that one horse. And the resounding charge came up beside the berserker, her imposing grin alone seemed to bring an air of confidence to those charging on, steeling their hearts as if defeat was no option. "Lanceh! Yer' laggin' behind, ye are!" she laughed softly while preparing an arrow to her bow, "Nd color me crazy, ye two 'andle tha' Spireh', aye? Lemme handle tha' group o' magi."