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Chapter Text

This was the earliest point in time the Counter Force had sent EMIYA. Probably the earliest point in time it could send him. Humanity (or rather, the cavemen that would eventually become humanity) was only beginning to gain the sentience required for the Counter Force to form. Any further back in time and the agents of Gaia would have to be summoned to assist rather than the agents of Alaya.

The strangest part of this wasn’t the time period he had been summoned, but rather the fact that he would apparently have help. Usually, he worked alone, with the occasional assistance of another Counter Guardian. But this time around, he had been tasked with assisting a group of warriors in protecting the planet. Apparently, they had the strength to deal with it themselves, but Gaia had asked Alaya to send him to provide assistance just to be sure. As the glow of his summoning died down and he looked at those he was to assist, his questions regarding why Gaia would ask this of Alaya were quelled. Though he had never met any of the people before him, he could recognize who they were, or at least, what they were.

The most obvious was the youngest, his head of fire denoted him as the host for a Spirit of Vengeance. There had been many a time when he had been summoned to eliminate people before they could be bonded to one. The dead mammoth he caressed had undoubtedly been his mount. The connection between the host of a Spirit of Vengeance and their mount was a bond that few could rival.

Another, a hulking man who reminded him of an immortal berserker from a lifetime ago, he recognized as the current host of the Starbrand thanks to the emblem on his chest. EMIYA almost pitied the beast before him. The Starbrand was an object that Gaia had coopted into her many defense mechanisms, with the host playing a similar role to himself. However, unlike himself, the hosts of the Starbrand usually had no say in their fate as servants of the World. At least they don’t have to continue their service after death. Too many times had the Counter Force forced him to eliminate people to ensure the Starbrand reached the host Alaya wanted it to reach.

The man wearing panther skin was also easy to identify. Though subtle, he could still detect the Divinity granted to him as the avatar of Bast. He had never met Bashenga, but he knew very well that wasn’t who he was looking at. Throughout his time as a Counter Guardian, he had learned many truths about history that had been lost to time. The idea that Bashenga wasn’t the first Wakandan blessed by Bast was definitely near the top of what he had found out.

Agamotto was also easy to figure out the identity of. Though he had never met the first Sorcerer Supreme, he recognized what would soon be called the Eye of Agamotto hanging from his neck, mostly from memories gained in dreams from a life he no longer considers his own. Dreams of a wizard wearing such a necklace as a young farm girl pulled a sword from a stone to claim her destiny.

It took him a second to recognize the female in green, though the chi surrounding her meant she was most likely from K’un-Lun. The thought of such a place having existed so far in the past would have intrigued his younger self, but he had long grown accustomed to such revelations. A glance at her hand confirmed her as the wielder of the Iron Fist.

But the last two members of the group were impossible to misidentify. Though he did not know the female in red, he knew the Entity within her. The flames engulfing her could only come from one creature. The Phoenix Force, a being whose Divinity was almost unmatched across the universe. A being so powerful, even he had heard of it, despite never meeting it before during his missions

As for the last member of this team, he could tell who it was even with his eyes closed. Though the god before him had yet to attain the Divine Core of the Chief God, he could still feel the Divinity radiating from his body. The hammer in his hands, still young and feisty, brimmed with cosmic thunder. There was no doubt in his mind that he stood before Odin Borson, the future King of Asgard, and lover of Gaia. No wonder she wanted Alaya’s assistance, didn’t want her main squeeze to get too roughed up.

It was Odin that spoke first.

“So you’re the ‘backup’ Gaia said she’d pull some strings to get? Not exactly what I was expecting, not to mention the strangeness of your clothes.”

‘I could say the same for you all.’ EMIYA thought to himself. The host of the Phoenix chuckled, and the Counter Guardian mentally reprimanded himself for forgetting the Force’s favoritism for psychics.

“He does possess decent magical capabilities, though they are vastly different from anything I’ve seen,” Agamotto remarked.

“The nature of my abilities does not matter,” EMIYA proclaimed, “I am here to provide you aid, and I shall do so. I am not here to chat or make friends.”

“We shall see how that turns out, oh Guardian of the Counter Force,” the Phoenix host said, a smile on her face, “either way, your assistance is appreciated.”

The Counter Guardian remained unmoved. “So what do you require my help with? Alaya couldn’t tell me much due to how weak she is in this time, all she could tell me was that something was threatening the Earth and that I would be assisting you in stopping it.”

“It is a Celestial,” Agamotto responded, “A race of cosmic giants as old as time itself.”

Of course it was. EMIYA had only heard of these creatures, but he knew how powerful they were. Few beings could match them in strength. The only one he knew that had succeeded in taking one down on its own was the White Titan, and even she wasn’t able to kill it.

“But this one is much different from the others I’ve encountered in my travels beyond.” The Sorcerer Supreme continued, “More wanton. More… deranged. The way it rages, tearing apart the Earth, as if searching for something… It seems almost rabid. As if infected… or…”

“Infected or not, it rises.” The Iron Fist interrupted.

“Yes, but also bleeds.” The Rider snarled, still upset at his lost mount, “And the Spirit of Vengeance will drink every last drop.”

It was now time for the host of the Phoenix to interject “You heard the Sorcerer Supreme. There are more of these out there, beyond the stars, more that could be coming. So what do we do with this one?”

“That part should be obvious.” Proclaimed the future All-Father, “We KILL it! And then we nail its corpse to the Moon as a warning to the others!”

Considering no such corpse existed on the moon last EMIYA checked, someone must have talked him out of that.

“That this world may be hideous and inbred…” Odin continued as he and the others charged forward, “... but it is not without its protectors!”

EMIYA sighed to himself, summoning Kanshou and Bakuya as he followed the others into battle. He wasn’t sure how much help he could be compared to the powerhouses in front of him, but at least he could actually do something that wouldn’t stain his conscience for all time.

Chapter Text

Velber 02 had never been so happy. Not only was she getting to destroy the civilizations of a planet, but she had even been given permission by Arishem of the Celestials to do so. Usually, the big red jerk was constantly stopping the Umbral Star from invading planets, but he had actually come to them this time around requesting their assistance.

Apparently one of the Celestials’ experiments was getting out of control, and they needed someone to wipe them out. The planet itself didn’t look that impressive from a glance, but as she got closer, her interest grew. Starting with the rock orbiting the planet.

It had a Watcher, a full-blown, honest to god Watcher living in one of its craters. Who knows how much knowledge and magical energy he had in that oversized head of his, just waiting to be consumed?

Unfortunately, the Watchers and Velber had a non-aggression pact set up. They were allowed to destroy the planets they watched, but they weren’t allowed to attack the Watchers themselves. So, she was forced to leave the rock be. Whatever mysteries lay below its crater-stricken surface would have to be left unknown to her.

Later

Velber 02 was wrong about the planet, it was special. She could detect at least three subspecies on the planet. The most common were ugly things, so varied in form that she could almost mistake them for each being a separate species.

Another was less common but had a much more uniform design. Sure, they had some variations. Hair color, skin color, eye color, etc. But when it came down to it they all had the same body plan, albeit with a little bit of sexual dimorphism.

The third subspecies looked like the uniform one but were stronger in body and abilities. The latter pretty much left her alone, but the ugly ones were fighters. Oh, they tried their hardest to defeat her, but in the end, she laid waste to their civilization as she had done to other planets for millennia.

Her favorite fight had to have been the coastal city. It was mostly populated by the bland middle species, so it didn’t have the same firepower as the ugly cities. But it wasn’t them that gave her such a fun fight.

It was him.

He stood on the rooftop of the tallest building she hadn’t toppled. His armor showed the wear and tear of many battles. The Helmet upon his head had plumes of white along the middle to back. He bore the scars of battle, and he gave off magical energy unlike anything else she had seen on this planet. And his sword, oh his sword. It had no blade, but instead spinning bands of light came out of the hilt. It was magnificent, a weapon unlike any she had seen before. She had to have it.

The fight he put up was spectacular. He fought with such strength, such brutality, it was awe-inspiring. But in the end, even he could not stop her. As he fell to the waters below with the rest of the sinking city, she made sure to grab his sword. A trophy of a fun battle.

Later

And here came another being to try and ruin her day. After she sunk the coastal city, she crossed the ocean to find another continent to raze. She had laid a path of destruction from coast to coast, only for a different Celestial to show up. She didn’t pay much attention to what he was saying, something about how Arishem’s usage of a third party to cull the planet went against protocol, and he was here to correct the problem. All that mattered to her was that he tried to attack her.

Oh, the fight he put up was impressive. The chaos was immense. Mountains were pulverized, lakes vaporized, and canyons formed. She even got to try out her new sword, putting a few cracks in his armor. Eventually, she managed to knock him down, but before she could land the final blow, four more Celestials showed up. They sealed the other one beneath the earth and told Velber 02 to ignore them and continue her work. Right before she could object, a sudden influx of magical energy appeared back on the other continent. All protests forgotten, she rushed back to find out what this was.

Her mind raced with possibilities. Had the man she fought grown stronger? Was the third race finally doing something? How could she have missed something like this? As she reached the other continent, she realized that the energy was coming from somewhere up north. An island she had missed? Whatever the reason she continued towards the energy. Then she saw it. A massive pillar of magical energy shot up into the sky. It looked so enticing, she had to eat it. Then she heard a shout. She couldn’t make out what exactly it was. She tried to listen in, she could just make out someone yelling “Excali-

And then she heard no more.

Chapter Text

To call upon a gathering of the Council of Godheads was considered a last resort by many Pantheon Chiefs. Many of them were simply too prideful to ask for help until the last minute. As the various Godheads arrived, it became clear who had called this gathering. Odin Borson stood at the center of the meeting chamber, his face grim. Once the last of the Chief Gods arrived and took their place, Odin cleared his throat to address his fellow Godheads.

“I have summoned you all here to address a matter that fast approaches Earth.”

A magic spell opened up a window into the cosmos, where an asteroid was seen flying through space.

“My faithful servant Heimdall informed me of this asteroid and its trajectory towards Earth.”

“That’s it?” The various Godheads turned to the source of the voice, wondering who would dare interrupt the All-Father of Asgard.

Tezcatlipoca, the representative of the Teteoh, sat in his chair, his feet propped up. “It’s hard to judge the size of that thing since it’s just going through space, but unless this thing is on the same scale as my old rock I doubt it could be that dangerous. Sure, it might wipe out a few small nations, but that’s life.”

“Listen well, Lord of the Mist,” The All-Father responded, “If it were a simple asteroid, I would simply wipe it out with a wave of my hand. But it is not the asteroid I call this meeting to discuss, but it’s passenger.”

“And what sort of passenger would warrant a meeting of the Council of Godheads?” Tezcatlipoca questioned, clearly bored.

“An Ultimate One.”

A great commotion began among the Council. The idea of such a being leaving its home planet and coming to another was of great concern, and that the planet it was coming to was Earth was of even greater concern.

“Are you positive?” Zeus, Chief of the Olympians, asked.

“Heimdall said that it was,” responded the All-Father, “And I have no reason to doubt him.”

“Of what planet does this Ultimate One come from?” Asked Svarog, leader of the Dievas.

“The being hails from the furthest reaches of the Solar System,” Odin said, “The cloud of ice that encompasses the Sun and all that orbit it.”

“That makes no sense,” proclaimed one of the other Godheads, “No such planet exists there.”

“Be that as it may, that does not deny it the capacity for life.” Another remarked.

“But how shall it be dealt with?” A third questioned, “Surely this Ultimate One has journeyed to Earth for a reason, and the chances of it being a peaceful reason are slim.”

“Immediate action must be taken,” Shouted another, “No being can withstand the force of the Council, not even an Ultimate One.”

“And what of Earth’s Ultimate One?” Asked Izanagi-no-Mikoto, the representative of the Amatsu-Kami. “Shouldn’t they be the one to handle this? If any being on Earth could manage to deal with this invading Ultimate One, it would be another Ultimate One. Who has claimed that title?”

“It is not known,” stated another Godhead, “Though many have been identified as possible holders of the title.”

“One candidate comes from my domain,” Stated Osiris, Ruler of the Ennead. The mystical window changed to depict a large man. His skin was grey, his lips blue, and hair of the same color as his lips graced his head.

“En Sabah Nur, though he prefers to be called Apocalypse now. Born to Clan Akkaba, raised by the Sandstormers. Though he may look young, he nears his 60th birthday. His powers are great, and he commands great respect among his followers.”

“There is also the possibility of an Inhuman or Eternal qualifying,” Said Zeus, “I can speak with Zuras to see if the Ultimate One dwells among the Eternals, though I do not know how we would check for the Ultimate One among the Inhumans.”

“There will be no need for that.”

The Godheads all looked to the source of the new voice. Many recognized the voice immediately, some as that of a lover, others as that of a mother. Only a few did not recognize her voice, yet all knew who she was upon seeing her. Gaia had arrived.

“What brings you here, Earth Mother?” Asked Nuada, leader of the Tuatha de Danaan.

“The same reason as you, my child.” Gaia responded, “The Ultimate One heading towards me.”

“And why do you ask us to not locate your Ultimate One?” Questioned Tezcatlipoca, his stare as cold as his obsidian leg, “Do you know the reasons for this other Ultimate One’s arrival?”

“Yes, I called it.”

A stir arose among the Godheads once more.

“Or rather, I will call it,” Gaia continued, “In the event that I am to die yet humanity survives, I planned to summon the Types of the Solar System to destroy them. It appears that this one has the capacity to see the future, and has arrived ahead of schedule.”

“But why?” Asked one Godhead, ”Why would you make such a request upon your death?”

“For humanity to reach such a state that they could live on after my death is a possibility that frightens me,” Responded the Earth Mother, “should they perish alongside me, I would be at peace.”

“I suppose the arrival of this Ultimate One means what you fear will come to pass eventually,” stated Tezcatlipoca, sitting properly for once, much more focused than he had ever been at a Council meeting.

“The Future is never set in stone,” replied Gaia, “Just because it has foreseen a future where I call the Types, does not mean that will be the future that plays out.”

“So what are we to do in regards to the Ultimate One?” Asked Odin.

“Let it come,” answered the Earth Mother, “I would rather it be here and humanity perish with me than send it away and humanity outlive me.”

“If that settles things,” said Odin, an uncharacteristic worry to his voice, “then I hereby adjourn this meeting of the Council of Godheads.”

As Gaia left the meeting hall, the Godheads spoke amongst each other. The revelation of Gaia’s plans should humanity outlive her frightened some of them. As the various Godheads began to return to their respective realms, one remained, staring at the magic window that had returned to displaying the asteroid carrying the Ultimate One. As Tezcatlipoca continued to watch, he made sure to keep an eye on this turn of events. Who knows how useful it could be in the future?

Chapter Text

“Ama*, will you tell me a story?”

Ninsun looked at her young son. Gilgamesh rarely asked for stories. Even at three years old, the young demi-god was smarter than most humans three times his age.

“And what story would you like for me to tell you, my dear du mu**? Shall I tell you of the creation of the world? Or would you rather hear of Dumuzid and Inanna’s marriage?”

“I want a story about Abba***.” The young demi-god stated.

“Your father?” Questioned the goddess, “Surely you could simply ask him to tell you about his stories?”

“Abba won’t tell me. He’s always too busy.” Gilgamesh pouted.

Ninsun chuckled at the face her son was making. “Well, perhaps I can tell you one story.”

“Really?” Asked Gilgamesh, his face brightening up.

“A story from when your father was young. Before he met me. Before he was even king.”

“But Abba is so old, that must have been a million years ago.”

A smile graced the Goddess’ lips at her son’s overreactive imagination. “No, not that long ago, but still long ago compared to most.

It all began in a time long past, back when Enmerkar was still king. Your father Lugalbanda, merely a soldier in the army, was traveling from Arrata to Uruk to seek the advice of Inanna. He was the only one capable of making the trip, for he had been blessed by the Anzu Bird with the ability to travel at great speeds. He had already crossed three mountain ranges when he was set upon by a massive beast.

It came from beneath the earth as if it were a galla come to drag your father to Kur. Its skin was the color of the leaves of a Cedar Tree, yet as hard as stone. It towered over your father, nearly three rods in height. Your father tried to escape using his speed, but he was still not used to it just yet and tripped on a rock.

As the great beast reached out to grab your father, it was suddenly struck back by a mysterious figure who had come to your father’s aid. For a second, your father thought he had been saved by one of the gods, but this one did not share our blonde hair.

Feeling rejuvenated, your father joined the mysterious warrior in battle against the beast. Eventually, the creature retreated back beneath the earth. Your father thanked the mysterious warrior and resumed his trek to Uruk, but not before he got the name of his savior: Gilgamesh.”

“But, that’s my name,” interrupted the young demi-god.

“Yes,” Ninsun responded, “When you were born, your father told me of this tale, and asked that you be named after the man who saved his life.”

“Woah,” said Gilgamesh, “Can I meet him?”

“I’m not sure my little du mu,” said the goddess, “That was many centuries ago. He might be in Kur by now.”

“No one that strong could wind up in Kur,” replied the demi-god, “He would simply fight his way back to the surface. When I’m king, I’ll make sure to find him so I can thank him for saving Abba.”

“Well, you are not king yet,” Ninsun remarked, “and I do not think you will have the time to find him, what with all the things a king must do for his people.”

“Nuh-uh! I’m gonna be the best king ever! I’ll do such a good job as king, that I will have plenty of time to look for him!”

“We shall see, my little du mu. But for now, I think it is time for you to go to bed.”

“Ok, Ama,” Gilgamesh said, lying down as his mother tucked him in, “Good night.”

“Good night, my little du mu,” said Ninsun, as she kissed him on the head, “May your dreams reveal a good future.”

As the Lady of Wild Cows left the room, she took one last look at her sleeping son. Soon he would have to take up his role as the wedge between the gods and humanity. But for now, he was just her little Gilgamesh.

Chapter Text

King Solomon stood on a balcony, looking out upon the city of Jerusalem. He had lived a long life and accomplished many deeds. He knew his time on this Earth would soon come to an end. He had already begun the preparations.

He had already hidden his many treasures across the continent. He had entrusted the formula for the Elixir of Life to the King of Wakanda and had decided upon the location for his tomb to be situated. Brishisan and Kischur had learned all they could from him, and he had already wished them well in their future endeavors.

The Human Order Correction Ritual had been prepared to activate once he passed, and the Lemegeton had been written to allow others to use the 72 Demon Gods if they so wished. He had returned nine of his ten rings to God, with the last being sent to the future for a purpose he did not yet know. There was only one thing left to do.

“You may enter, my dear,” He said, as his wife, the Queen of Sheba, entered. One of the few he could truly call his love out of the many concubines he had.

“What is it, my love?” She asked. Though she too had begun to show signs of aging, she was nowhere near his own 111 years of age.

“I have something to give to you,” remarked the King of Mages, as he removed the necklace from his neck.

“My love, what are you-” The Queen asked as he placed it around her neck.

“My time grows short, my dear,” responded Solomon, “As such, I bequeath the title of Sorcerer Supreme to you.”

“But, I am not worthy of this!” She exclaimed, “Surely one of your students would be a better option for this. Brishisan or Kischur would certainly make better options.”

“Do you think me stupid, to give you this title?”

“No! Of course not, but-”

“But what? You have proven yourself worthy in my eyes, and that is all that matters. Brishisan and Kischur will live much longer lives than you or me, they may take their chance at claiming the title later. I wish to give you something before I go, and what better gift than this?”

“I just…” The Queen of Sheba stammered, before sighing to herself and kissing her husband on the lips. “It would be my honor to succeed you, my love.”

“Thank you, my dear.” The King of Mages returned the kiss, before going to lie down, “Would you stay here, as I go?”

“Of course my love,” replied the new Sorcerer Supreme, sitting down beside him.

And as Solomon, King of Mages and former Sorcerer Supreme passed away, the Queen of Sheba mourned for her love.

Meanwhile, the 72 Demon Gods began their duty of monitoring and protecting the Human Order from within Ars Paulina, as they too mourned the death of their creator.

Chapter Text

Morgan le Fay looked at the bundle she now carried, the swaddled infant sleeping peacefully.

“Congratulations, it’s a fairy.”

The witch turned to see a man in white robes, his hair gleaming with all the colors of the rainbow under the sunlight.

“And what are you doing here Merlin?” Morgan asked, holding the newborn even closer to her chest.

“Just wanted to congratulate you on your firstborn child,” replied the Mage of Flowers, “When I heard you had met up with that Roman, this was not what I expected.”

“The man claimed descendance from Venus,” responded the witch, “If his claim is true then this child will have strong magic.”

“Yes, yes, always about the magic with you,” muttered the wizard, “Have you considered a name?”

“I was thinking about Oberon,” said Morgan.

“Fae King,” Merlin translated, “You certainly have high expectations for the little fellow.”

“And what does your clairvoyance state will happen to him?” asked the witch, “You obviously didn’t come just to congratulate me. You came because of what the future holds for my child.”

“I never could get much past you,” replied the Mage of Flowers, “I do see a high position for your child, though not on Earth. His best life lies in Otherworld.”

“You mean with you?” Morgan questioned, “Not on your life.”

“I never said that,” Merlin remarked, “His status as both your son and the descendant of Aphrodite means he will have strong magic. Only the fae of Otherworld can properly train him. Plus, Roma needs a playmate.”

“And what do you get out of this?” asked the witch, “I’m not foolish enough to believe you do this out of the goodness of your heart, if you even have that.”

“Snake, meet Crab”

“I’m sorry?” Morgan asked.

“Oh, my apologies, just quoting Aesop”

“Even so, what benefit does your clairvoyance claim you will receive should I give Oberon to you.”

“He will be useful for a couple things,” answered Merlin, “Mostly invading forces and cleaning up some of your messes in a couple centuries.”

“What?”

“Perhaps I’ve said too much. In any case, Otherworld will provide him the means to truly master his powers and become the Fairy King you so desperately want him to be.”

Morgan looked down upon her newborn son, his bright blue eyes opening as he began to wake from his nap. As she looked into his eyes, she knew that she wanted the best for him, even if the best for him lay in another dimension.

“How often can I see him?” She asked.

“As often as you like, the portal at Stonehenge is always open for you.” Merlin said.

Morgan took one last look at the baby in her arms. She gave him one last kiss on the forehead before handing him to Merlin.

“If anything happens to him, I will make you wish you sank with Atlantis.” She threatened as the Mage of Flowers took the baby.

“I know you will,” replied Merlin as petals began to surround him, before he and Oberon vanished from this plane of existence.

Morgan sat down, already beginning to miss her child, already glancing towards where she knew Stonehenge to be.

Chapter Text

Morgan le Fay stood before the complex ritual she had set up over the past few weeks. It had been almost a year since Duke Gorlois of the Tintengel had been slain by one Uther Pendragon. When that had happened, the King had taken Gorlois’ wife as his Queen. Said woman was Morgan’s mother Igraine. Morgan could tell that there wasn’t much love between the two, but the union still intrigued her.

The Pendragon’s were said to have a special connection to the British Isles. Those of the bloodline were bestowed with a primeval curse, black magic that designated them as the rulers of the British Isles. Though that curse had begun to wane over the centuries as the Mystery of the world continued to dwindle. A child born from the union of Uther and Igraine would potentially have even greater magical capabilities than herself.

Which led her to the ritual in front of her. If done properly, Morgan would be reborn as the firstborn child of Uther and Igraine. It would be strange, to have to relive her childhood again. Plus she wouldn’t be able to see Oberon for a decade or two, but it would be worth it in order to become even more powerful.

As she began the ritual, she could feel it pull on her soul. The magic tore at her body, and she felt pain unlike any she had felt before. She nearly let out a scream, but she was stronger than that. As her soul left her body, she could feel herself nearly pass on to the afterlife, the ritual being the only thing keeping her soul in the mortal plane. A bright light consumed her vision as the ritual neared completion. She tried to close her eyes, but she no longer had eyelids to close. The light vanished as quickly as it had appeared, and Morgan found herself in darkness. She had done it.

Merlin stood in his tower, watching the Queen walk through the courtyard. He knew what had just happened. After all, Morgan wasn’t the only one interested in the potential of a child of Uther and Igraine. His foretelling of the fight between the white dragon of the Saxons and the red dragon of Britain had been heavy on his mind for a while. He knew quite well that the white dragon had already been incarnated within Uther’s brother Vortigern.

He had planned to use magecraft to incarnate the red dragon within Uther and Igraine’s firstborn, but he couldn’t do that now. The incarnation of the red dragon had to be one who would allow Britain to pass into the Age of Man and allow the Mystery of the world to continue to decline. Morgan would never agree to that.

“Well, there’s always the next kid,” thought the Mage of Flowers as he returned to his books.

Years Later

Artoria raced through the wilderness, beasts she would think came from Hell itself chasing after her.

“Can’t be real!” She screams, unable to comprehend the creatures that hunted her.

“Come on, just a little farther!” She mutters as she arrives in a clearing before a strange stone propped up. She couldn’t read the markings etched upon the stone, but she could tell that they encircled a carving of a hammer.

“Guess this is as good a place as any!” She says as she reaches into her quiver.

“Last arrow. Have to make it count!” The student of Ector readied her bow, pointing the arrow back from where she had come.

“Come on… closer…”

As the beasts exited the forest, eyes blood red and mouths full of teeth, the young girl let loose her last arrow, only to see it break upon their insect-like skin.

“What are you?” The adoptive daughter of Sir Ector questioned as she pulled out her knife, letting loose one final prayer as the monsters leaped towards her.

Suddenly, a strange object sped through the sky, killing two of the beasts almost instantly as lightning struck.

“What the–?!” Artoria exclaimed as the object flew past her head, the flashes of lightning letting her identify it as a hammer, which quickly flew into the hand of a man who landed right next to her.

“These beasts make for poor sport!” said the stranger, “Had their queen but known Thor was here, she would have sent an army!”

“What are they?” Asked Artoria, the young squire marveling at the man before her.

“Brood,” responded the man, “invaders from beyond the circle of your world, come in search of new ground in which to make their nests. These beasts should know better than to come to Midgard.”

The mysterious man knelt down to inspect the corpses lying before him. “Mark their coloring. These are young. It seems their queen has made her nest already.”

“Beyond... my world?” Artoria stared in wonder, “These things… come from the Heavens? Are they not demons?”

“Quiet, lass,” interrupted the man, placing his hammer in front of the young girl.

“What is it?” Asked Artoria, more concerned with what the man was going to say rather than the fact he could see through her boyish disguise.

“Did I not say quiet?” Replied the man, as strange sounds began to emit from the forest, “More come.”

“More!?” Screamed Artoria, panic slowly returning to her.

“Guard yourself!” The stranger replied, before dropping his hammer in front of the young girl. “Let us make this contest more interesting! Fear not lass! These Broodlings are no match for the son of Odin!”

The man leaped towards the encroaching horde, arms outstretched.

“I pray your queen is watching, monsters. Let this be a lesson!”

As the man began to assault the beasts with his fists, Artoria began to question herself, finally coming to grips with the name the man had called himself.

“I did not believe they were real,” the young girl thought to herself, “Odin... Loki… Thor… The old gods of Asgard.”

The young squire gripped the wooden cross wrapped around her neck.

“There is only one God. And yet… maybe we were wrong, or maybe one god made all the others?”

Her crisis of faith was interrupted by a sudden Hsss, as Artoria looked to see another of the beasts had come from behind.

“Where did y– Aagh!” The young girl grunted as the beast tackled her to the ground. Thinking quickly, Artoria stabbed the creature’s body with her knife.

“Take this! And get off!” She yelled as she pushed the creature off of her.

“I got you monster!” Taunted Artoria, before the beast used its tail to remove the knife she had stuck in it. “Or not.”

Looking for another weapon, Artoria’s eyes laid upon the hammer Thor had placed on the ground.

“The Hammer!” She exclaimed as she went to try and lift it. But as hard as she tried, she simply could not move it.

“It won’t… budge!” Said the young girl as she struggled to move the hammer. “God’s bones it’s heavy!”

The beast quickly tackled her once again, its mouth open wide before the hammer suddenly flew into Thor’s hands.

“Enough gaming about” The God of Thunder declared as lighting burst from the hammer, destroying all of the monsters instantly, yet leaving Artoria unscathed.

“You really are Thor!” Said Artoria, all doubt gone from her mind.

“Of course I am!” Replied the god, “Did you doubt it?”

“I thought you were just a story…” Responded the young girl.

“There are many stories about me.” Said the god, “Are you well lass?”

“Those things…” Remarked Artoria, taking another look at the corpses littering the area.

“A hunting party.” Informed Thor, “They would have poisoned you and dragged you to their nest.”

“To eat me?” Asked the young squire.

“Worse.” Answered the god, “They would have made you one of their own.”

The God of Thunder began moving in the direction the creatures had come from.

“I go to seek their nest. The Brood Queen must be driven from your world. Return to your home, daughter of Midgard, and take heart– you fought bravely.”

“Wait!” Shouted the young girl, having taken a better glimpse at the stone she had taken shelter at. “Your hammer… it's the same as the one on the stone, isn’t it?”

“Mjolnir? Yes.” Replied the god.

“It’s so heavy. How can you lift it?” Artoria Asked.

“Mjolnir is not heavy!” Responded Thor, “The hammer may only be wielded by a worthy hand– by my hand!”

“So I’m… unworthy?” Artoria lamented.

“Peace!” Thor said, showing Artoria the writing inscribed on the hammer’s side “Mjolnir was ensorcelled by the All-Father himself. It is mine.”

“But how… how could I become worthy?” Questioned the young girl.

“Become worthy? Ha!” Laughed the god, “You are but a child of Midgard, and no god! What is your name lass?”

“Artoria.” Replied the girl.

“Fear not, friend Artoria! Mjolnir is not your burden. You will find your own. Everyone is worthy of something.”

And as the God of Thunder left to finish off the invaders, Artoria returned to Ector’s house, thinking of what she could even be worthy of.

All the while, far away, a sword lay lodged in a stone, a statement inscribed on its hilt, quite similar to the one etched on the Thunder God’s hammer.

Chapter Text

Mordred burst into her mother’s room, tears across her face.

“I told you your father would not accept you,” Morgan said, comforting the young homunculus.

“You… you were right, Mother,” Mordred said through her tears. “He’ll never see me as his son, no matter how good of a knight I am.”

“Oh, don’t cry my dear,” Morgan said, wiping the tears from Mordred’s face. “It is not your fault that your father refuses to recognize you. You had no say in your manner of birth, if anything, the blame falls to me.”

“Don’t say that Mother!” Mordred cried out, more tears falling down her face, “It’s all Father’s fault! He won’t accept me cause he hates you! If he could ignore my relation with you and focus on my relation with him, I know he’d accept me. There is no one to blame but him.”

As the young knight’s tears began to be replaced with rage, a smirk began to grace Morgan’s face. This was the moment she had been waiting for.

“Father will see me as his son! I just have to prove my worth to him. And if I can’t do it naturally, then I shall have to use underhanded tactics!” Exclaimed Mordred.

“If that is what you desire,” Morgan said, hiding her excitement, “then I shall assist you however I can.”

As Mordred began planning on how to win her father’s acceptance, Morgan began planning on how to best twist Mordred’s plans in more deadly ways, neither aware of the fact that they were being watched.

As Merlin watched the two scheme, he prepared a letter to Scandia. Camelot would fall, his predictions had said so. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t delay the fall for as long as possible. He had already prepared several possible contingency plans to soften the blow of Camelot’s fall, and it was time to enact one of them.

Later

Mordred slammed the door to her room shut, removing her helmet to reveal a face covered in anger.

“Damn it all!” She screamed as she fell upon her bed. “That blasted Black Knight!”

Her plan to prove herself to her father had failed miserably. It had started off perfectly. She had planned for her father to be ambushed by hunters under her employ, then, right before they “slew” the king, she would swoop in to rescue him. Such an act would have surely earned her the honor of being recognized as his son.

But when she arrived at the scene, Arthur was perfectly alright. Bodies lay across the floor, and a mysterious knight in black armor was standing right next to her father.

She had assumed the knight was one of the men she had hired, most likely the last one standing after her father had singlehandedly defeated the rest, and attacked as such, expecting him to play along, only for her father to step in and tell her that the stranger had saved him from the assailants.

Then her father proceeded to not only knight the mysterious stranger as a member of the Round Table, but he even let him keep his identity a secret.

“Not only have I failed to earn father’s recognition, but now this Black Knight is in the way.”

However, this would not deter her, she would be recognized as the son of the king. All she needed was a new plan, a plan that she had already begun to think of. She would hire more men, this time to kidnap her father and lock him in a dungeon somewhere, then, she would get Agravain to have her instated as king while the other knights searched for her father. Once he was found and returned, he would see how well she had run the place in his absence, and finally recognize her as his son. It was perfect.

Before she could continue her planning, she suddenly heard a knock on her door. Putting her helmet back on, she opened the door to see one of the last people she wanted to see at the moment.

“Is everything alright cousin?” Percy of Scandia asked, an expression of concern across his foppish face. “I heard quite the commotion.”

“Why should you care?” Mordred grunted, her mood only getting worse by having to be near the deplorable coward that she had the displeasure of being related to.

“Though we do not meet often, you are still my cousin, I should want to make sure you are ok.”

“Stop calling me that!” Mordred shouted, “Our blood relation is minuscule at best.”

“Even so, I still wanted to check up on you,” Percy said, “Is everything alright? What’s got you so upset.”

“None of your business!” Mordred shouted as she slammed the door in Percy’s face. She couldn’t tell that blithering idiot anything. If he knew the true reason behind her anger, he’d probably go straight to her father.

Better to go back to figuring out how best to go about this new kidnapping scheme and just forget they had ever met today.

Unbeknownst to her, Percy was already well aware of Mordred’s schemes. He also knew that the men Mordred had hired to merely assault the king had been paid double by Morgan le Fay to kill the king instead. Had the Black Knight not interfered, Mordred would have arrived too late to “save” Arthur.

As Percy of Scandia entered his own chambers, he took a glance at where a suit of black armor lay hidden from sight. Mordred would certainly try to earn the king’s favor through trickery again, and Morgan would certainly try and twist Mordred’s plans in such a way as to kill Arthur.

And it would be up to the Black Knight to stop them.

Chapter Text

Artoria walked to the throne room, a stern visage on her face. Gareth had called a meeting, wishing her to meet two people the young knight had encountered during her patrol.

As she walked into the throne room, she could see the two men Gareth had brought.

One wore armor of red and gold, the other armor of green and steel. The former had a more noble look about him, while the latter wore a helmet that resembled the face of a giant.

As she walked towards her throne, one of her knights called out.

“All bow and hail our sovereign Lord of the Round Table and Master of All Men’s Souls: King Arthur!”

She wasn’t that big of a fan of the second epithet, but what she cared about meant little. The king is not one who can care about the titles they are given. She also noticed the two strangers looking at one another the moment her name was said.

“Rise” Artoria said as she sat on the throne, before looking at Gareth.

“You’ve always had good cause for interrupting my kingly duties, Sir Gareth.” She said, “I trust this occasion is no exception.”

As Gareth took off her helmet to address her, she noticed that once again the two strangers shared a look.

“Your Majesty, my patrol came upon these strangers in the Hildebrandt wood, they displayed great magicks and we feared them to be murderers sent by Morgan Le Fay.”

“Aye, you’ve done well, Sir Gareth. My sister’s machinations are e’er to be watched for.” Artoria responded. She wouldn’t put it past Morgan to try this, but she wasn’t going to make assumptions.

Artoria turned to the man in golden armor. “But you, whose armor takes the color of the sun, have you an answer to these allegations?”

The golden man stepped forward. “Your Majesty, I am the champion of a great ruler in a far-off land. I came to your realm looking for this man, who is called Doctor Doom, with whom my master has a grievance. I seek only settlement, and a peaceful return to my country.”

“But what of these tales of sorcery?” Asked Artoria, “Have you magical powers?”

“I do possess certain… abilities, sire. Ones which I use for the cause of good.”

“Observe,” Said the man, as the armor on his arm opened up, allowing him to touch the inside.

Suddenly, Artoria felt herself and her throne rise from the ground.

“My throne! I-it rises of its own volition!” Exclaimed the King of Knights, before the throne began to descend. “A-and now it’s resettling, as gently as a puff of down!”

A great murmur rose up amongst the lords and ladies in the throne room, with one odd couple even remarking that they needed to sacrifice an extra toad that night.

Artoria quickly regained her composure, “I am most impressed, golden one.” She turned towards the other stranger, “And you, of the verdant cowl, what have you to say?”

“I say that I will not lower myself to parlor tricks for the rabble, highness. Any more than you yourself would! For in my own country, I am also king!”

The man extended his fist, showing off a ring displaying an emblem. “As witness, the royal seal of Latveria!”

“I see.” Artoria had never heard of such a kingdom, but the seal did seem authentic. Perhaps Merlin knew of such a place. “You pose a complex puzzle indeed, good strangers. One that will take much pondering ere a just solution can be found.”

Artoria stood up from her throne. “Therefore, I will withdraw to my chambers, to give judgement on the morrow. Until then, you will be considered my guests so long as you do not attempt to leave this castle.

As the two men were taken to where they would stay the night, Artoria returned to her own chambers to think over this pressing matter.

That Night

Tony Stark had never been so confused. He had read Le Morte d’Arthur and plenty of other tales about Camelot hundreds of times, yet he never expected there to be so much different than what he had read.

Arthur looked so young compared to what most tales described him as looking. Tony assumed that perhaps he had simply arrived during the early years of Arthur’s reign, yet the king gave off the energy of one who has ruled for at least a decade. He also looked and sounded a bit more feminine than he had imagined. Not that there was anything wrong with that. Not to mention Gareth had apparently been a girl. He had no idea how that had escaped the records.

Meanwhile, Victor Von Doom was having similar thoughts.

“There is no denying what I have learned today,” Thought the leader of Latveria. “History was somehow wrong about King Arthur, or should I say, Artoria. Though she tries her best to hide it, her disguise does not fool one such as Doom.”

Both men continued to think about the situation they were in.

“Any historian would probably kill to trade places with me.” Thought the Golden Avenger, “And I’d almost kill to let them! I’ve never felt so… alien in all my life.”

“I’m wasting time here,” Thought Doom, “and time is of the essence if I am to save the soul of she who is dearest to me.”

As both continue to ponder what they shall do under these circumstances, both are interrupted by the sudden arrival of a young maiden, for customs did state that honored guests were to have companionship during the night.

And while Tony Stark did what Tony Stark is wont to do, Victor Von Doom seized the opportunity to learn the location of his true goal in this era.

The Next Day

As Tony entered the throne room once again, he could tell something was amiss. Everyone looked to be on high alert, not to mention Doom was nowhere to be seen.

“It would seem, Sir Iron Man, that my judgement has been made for me!” Said the king, anger stricken across his face.

“During the night just ended, the man you call Doom made clear his true nature, having secretly stolen away from this castle and having left in his wake the corpse of one of my truest guards as well as a serving girl who can now do nought but babble like a cradle-bound child!”

Tony took note of the woman standing next to the throne, it seems he and Doom had very different encounters with Camelot’s customary companionship.

“Though even worse, that girl’s prattling seems to concern… Morgan Le Fay!”

“That’s the second time I’ve heard that name mentioned.” Thought Iron Man, “I know I remember seeing it in the stories I read as a kid, but it’s been so long I can’t recall its significance.”

“Forgive me, sire,” Tony said, “but histo– er, current events aren’t my forte. Could you possibly explain this, ‘Le Fay’ person?”

Tony listened to the king’s explanation, of how his sister Morgan desired the throne of Camelot, how she had time and time again attempted to kill him, either directly or by trickery. Of his most recent fight with her, where he and Merlin locked her away in her castle, guarded by spells designed to kill her should she ever leave, how the battle had rendered Merlin in such a state that he could not help, and how Doom was most certainly on his way to ally himself with Morgan.

And as Tony offered his services to help defend Camelot, Doom had indeed already arrived at the castle of Morgan Le Fay, in search of the knowledge he so desires. The two had already made a bargain. In exchange for her vast knowledge, Doom would lead Morgan’s undead army to Camelot and defeat Arthur.

So it was that the two would meet the following day, Doom leading the forces of Morgan, and Iron Man flying alongside Arthur and his forces.

“Doom!” Called out Tony as he flew to his fellow time-displaced associate, “There’s no need for this! This isn’t our war! There must be some other way!”

“Diverse factors are at work here, Iron Man.” Replied Doom, “Ones that you could never comprehend. They control my actions as fully as I control these legions. And because of them, there is no other way!”

“So be it, then!” Said the king as they raised Excalibur, “Men of Camelot, forward! To victory!”

As the two armies fought, so too did the two men from the future. But both Iron Man and the forces of Camelot found themselves outmatched, for while Tony could not fight at his full strength out of fear of draining his reserve energy, the forces of Camelot could not permanently kill the undead horde.

It was at that point that Iron Man fled the battle, for he had already deduced that Morgan was in charge of the undead horde. Doom, in his arrogance, assumed him to be merely fleeing the battlefield, and as such did not follow.

But reaching Castle Le Fay was no easy task, as Tony found himself fighting off tendrils of darkness and a giant beast, but his quick thinking was more than enough to get past Morgan’s traps.

“I would see you burn, Iron Man!” Morgan yelled as Tony entered through a window. “I would see you blacken and split and steam! I would see you writhe!”

“Lady, if you’re gonna curse me, do it to my face.” Responded the Iron Avenger.

“Ohhhhh, you make me hate you!” Morgan said as she turned to face him. “You make me loathe beyond imagining!”

“Has anyone ever told you you look a lot like your brother?” Interrupted Iron Man in an attempt at humor.

“But I cannot counter what I cannot comprehend!” Said Morgan as she shoved past Iron Man toward her workshop. “So beware! Do not think you have escaped my wrath! For I shall study! I shall grow and I shall wreak horrible vengeance on both you and my ‘brother’ when I return!”

“Return?” Asked Tony, “But Arthur said you were trapped in this castle! Where could you possibly-”

Morgan refuses to listen to the time-displaced nuisance’s questions, and with a whisper, vanishes from Earth.

And as Morgan vanishes, so too does her spell, as her undead army once again returns to death, leaving Doom to wonder what has happened.

Meanwhile

Morgan looked around, noticing the mystical nature of where she had ended up.

“I wasn’t sure it would work, but it did. Thank the gods for that.”

“It’s good to see you again, Mother! What brings you to Otherworld this time?”

Morgan turned to see Oberon, King of the Fairies fluttering next to her.

“I’m not in the mood for idle chatter, Oberon,” Morgan said, mood still sour.

“Did your plans fail again?” Asked the Fae King, mockery lacing his words, “I’m honestly surprised you haven’t given up on trying to kill Aunt Artoria already. At this point, you’d have a better chance at escaping the Abyssal Worm.”

“This is just another setback,” Morgan said, “I can figure out what to do next. I already swore t- wait, what did you say?”

Oberon’s smile faded, realizing he probably just said something he shouldn’t have.

“Of course! Why didn’t I think of that before!” Morgan exclaimed, already plotting.

“Mother, the Abyssal Worm isn’t something you can just use,” Oberon said, worry continuing to grow. “It is destruction incarnate, the end of Britain. No one can ever hope to control it, not even you!”

But it was too late, for Morgan had drowned out her son’s pleas, plans already in motion for how this would play out.

Chapter Text

Morgan walked through Otherworld, her plan already in motion.

The Abyssal Worm, a creature said to represent the very concept of Britain’s destruction. According to legend, once something has been swallowed by the Worm, it can never escape.

A perfect weapon to unleash upon her little sister.

The only problem was that the Worm is not simply something one can just summon. Luckily, she knew where it normally resided when not consuming alternate realities.

Blightspoke, a region of Otherworld that few ever journey to on purpose. A graveyard of dead realities, poisoned timelines, dead gods, and more. It served as a dumping ground for all sorts of realms, a place to toss away anything that you simply did not want in your universe.

To most, it was a place for things you want to forget. For the Abyssal Worm?

It was an all-you-can-eat buffet.

The moment she stepped foot within Blightspoke, she could already feel the life-draining effect of the region. As she walked past the rubble of a broken vessel, she could see the Worm in the distance, consuming what appeared to be the rings of a small planetoid.

Finding the Abyssal Worm was one thing. Bringing it to Camelot was another. Luckily, she had already figured out what she was going to do. Raising her hands, she prepared the strongest mind control spell she knew. She had no idea if the Worm even had a mind, but she could still control whatever it had in place of one. If this spell went right, she would be able to direct it. Make sure it only ate what she wanted it to eat.

Meanwhile, In Camelot

Merlin stood at the gates of Camelot, fully prepared for what was about to happen. He still wasn’t fully at his maximum strength just yet, but he did not have the time to waste.

Oberon’s desperate warning had been all that he needed to finally get off his ass and do something. If the Fairy King was telling the truth, then Morgan had finally lost her mind.

He had already warned Artoria, who had quickly evacuated all the commoners from the city. The only people within Camelot were him, Artoria, the Knights of the Round Table, and any other knight who wished to stay behind. Most knights had evacuated, but a few brave souls stayed behind, willing to protect this kingdom with their lives.

Brave, but foolish.

He could already feel immense magical energy beginning to rise in the vicinity. Creating a portal to Otherworld in a random location was near impossible without proper runes or leylines, but Morgan was always one to go for the impossible.

The sky turned dark as the portal began to appear. Lighting began to strike out of nowhere. The magical energy was becoming so dense that even the most magically inept knights were beginning to feel it.

Suddenly, in a flash of light, Morgan suddenly appeared in midair, before falling down before Merlin. She had definitely seen better days.

As the Witch Queen rose to her knees, she looked up at Merlin, fear stricken across her face.

“Merlin, I can’t control it!” She screamed! “Whatever it has in place of a mind, it’s too vast! None of my spells had any effect!”

The sky suddenly began to fold in on itself, as if it was being eaten from the inside. A hole suddenly opened up, growing wider and wider as if space was collapsing in on itself. Two massive wings, each made up of thousands, if not millions of unknown creatures, spread out from the hole, followed by the main body.

The Abyssal Worm had come.

“Morgan, of all the schemes you’ve ever done, this is certainly the stupidest!” Merlin shouted.

The Worm slowly began to descend upon Camelot, small objects already beginning to be pulled into the infinite abyss that was its mouth.

“I don’t think there is any way to stop this thing!” Morgan yelled, “We need to evacuate to Otherworld!”

“There will be no need for that, Morgan,” Merlin stated calmly. “I already know what to do.”

“What?” Asked Morgan, “I already told you it can’t be controlled. And there is no way to kill it!”

“Sorry I’m late!”

Merlin and Morgan turned to see Oberon flying over.

“No, you're just in time!” Merlin said.

“What are you talking about?” Asked Morgan.

“The Abyssal Worm can not be controlled, and now that it’s here, it will eat and eat and keep eating until nothing is left!” Explained Merlin. “The only way to stop it from eating all of Britain and then the rest of the world would be to take it back to Otherworld.”

“But how can we do that? It can’t be controlled!” Morgan said.

“Controlled, no. But perhaps it can be contained.” Responded the King of the Fairies.

“Contained in what?” Morgan asked, “I don’t think there is anything on Earth that could hold it!”

Merlin looked at Morgan, then at Oberon, as Morgan slowly began to realize Merlin’s plan.

“All those years ago, when you said he would help clean up my messes. You knew I was going to do this, even back then.”

“Of course I did, I’m Merlin.” Said the Mage of Flowers with a smug grin. “Now, I’m going to need your help with this.” Merlin turned to the others, who had been paralyzed with fear this entire time.

“Arthur!” Yelled Merlin, “When I give the word, fire Excalibur at one of its wings! Doesn’t matter which!”

Shaking out of her stupor, the king nodded her head, already beginning to charge up the Divine Construct in her hands.

“The rest of you, try and keep it distracted! Don’t let it get too close!”

The Knights all nodded in agreement, taking out their ranged weapons to pelt the Worm.

“That’s not going to do anything to it.” Said Morgan.

“I know,” Said Merlin, “But I don’t want them to think they were useless.”

As the Worm got closer and closer to Camelot, more and more things began to be sucked up into the vacuum of its mouth. Tables, carriages, roof tiles, and even a couple of loose bricks began to be consumed, never to be seen again.

As Merlin and Morgan began the spell, Oberon snapped his fingers as a small moth flew into the area. The King of the Fae suddenly shrunk in size, landing on top of the moth as it flew closer and closer to the Abyssal Worm.

“Wait for it,” Merlin said as he watched Oberon get closer and closer. “Wait for it,”

The Fairy King could barely keep control of his ride, the pull of the Abyss threatening to drag him in.

“NOW ARTHUR!” Yelled Merlin.

“EXCALIBUR!!!” Exclaimed the king as a blast of energy went straight at the Worm's left wing, vaporizing a large section of it.

The Abyssal Worm began to falter, seemingly losing its balance.

“That won’t last long,” said Merlin, “We have to finish the spell quickly.”

The Mage of Flowers spoke true, for the wing was already beginning to reform.

“Why not do it now?” Asked Morgan.

“Oberon’s not in position yet!” Replied Merlin, looking up at the small Fairy.

“Come on, come on.” Merlin pleaded as Oberon flew as fast as the moth could take him.

The King of Fairies dodged the various objects that were being pulled towards the Worm’s mouth, before arriving right in front of it.

“Now!” Yelled Merlin and he slammed his staff into the ground.

The spell he and Morgan had been preparing flew into the sky, wrapping around the Fae King as he returned to his normal size, before heading towards the Abyssal Worm.

“Keep it steady,” Merlin said, "One wrong move and it’s over.”

The spell began to engulf the Worm, dragging the various creatures that made up its body along as they began to surround Oberon. Slowly but surely the Worm was being dragged into the King of the Fairies.

“Almost there,” Said the Mage of Flowers as the last of the Worm was absorbed into the Fae King.

“There,” Merlin said, clearly exhausted as he collapsed onto the ground.

“Oberon,” Morgan said as her firstborn fluttered down, clearly changed. “Are you?”

“I’m fine mother,” Responded Oberon, “A little woozy, but fine. Though I will admit, I like the new wings.”

“And the Worm?”

“I’m not in control of it, that’s for sure. Right now it’s just this wild storm writhing in me. Maybe in a couple of centuries, I’ll be able to direct its attacks, but for right now, all I can do is release it and reel it back in.”

“Good to know.” Said Merlin, still lying down on the ground.

“Morgan.”

Morgan turned to see her sister walking towards them, Excalibur still glowing in her hand.

“You have a minute to leave my Kingdom.”

“This is the thanks I get?” Morgan asked.

“Need I remind you that this was another of your failed schemes to kill me?” The king reminded her sister. “The only reason I haven’t killed you on the spot is because you helped fix your own mistake. Forty-five seconds.”

“Very well. It was nice to see you again.” Morgan said, “Give Agravain and the others my love.”

“Thirty.”

“Alright, alright,” With a flash, Morgan was gone, leaving only two kings and a court mage.

“Well, I suppose I should return to Otherworld.” Said Oberon, his new wings fluttering in the wind, “Nice seeing you again Aunt Artoria! Hopefully, next time won’t be so hectic!”

And as the King of the Fae left, the King of Knights looked down at her court mage.

“Get up Merlin.”

“I’m still quite exhausted, maybe you could get a couple of handmaidens to take me to my chambers?”

“I said get up.”

“Alright, alright, you don’t have to poke me with Excalibur.”

Chapter Text

Camelot had fallen. Every soul in Britain knew it to be true.

Some believed the foundation began to rot with the revelation of the Queen’s infidelity with the Knight of the Lake, and the slaughter that followed. Others believed the cracks began with the revolt led by Mordred, the bastard son having finally given up on gaining the throne through trickery.

Whatever the cause, it had all led to this.

Warriors lied dead across the fields of Camlann, only a few still alive to fight on.

The King remained at the top of a hill of corpses, exhausted from the near endless fight.

The Knight of Rebellion wished to continue onwards, to finally go up there and prove herself. But one obstacle remained in her path.

The Black Knight that had foiled so many of her plans, who had kept her from achieving the recognition she deserved. And now he once again stood before her, preventing her from joining her fellow rebels in attacking the king.

Clarent clashed with the Ebony Blade as the two knights fought. The two blades had nearly clashed once before, when the two had first met. Now, a fight years in the making had begun.

And it seemed obvious who the winner would be.

While Mordred was certainly stronger, the Black Knight was simply more skilled.

“DIE ALREADY! YOU BLASTED PEST!” Screamed Mordred as she sliced at the Black Knight again and again.

“I will not!” Responded the Black Knight, matching each attack with his sword. “You will not reach the king! Not while I yet stand!”

“THEN I WILL MAKE YOU FALL!” Mordred continued to wail, anger fueling every attack.

But each swing was blocked. Each stab was parried. Nothing could get past the Ebony Blade.

At least, nothing from Clarent.

Though she planned to save this for Arthur, she supposed it would serve the best of irony to use it on the Black Knight. A dagger, forged from the same starstone as the Ebony Blade. As the two blades locked once more, Mordred pulled the Ebony Dagger from where she had kept it hidden in her armor. Prepared to stab the Black Knight in his gut.

Percy of Scandia looked at the dagger his cousin had taken out. To push Mordred back and knock the dagger out of his hands would be child’s play. But before he could, a gust of smoke flew into the battlefield. Percy could recognize it as Merlin’s doing, thinking the mage was finally providing assistance. But, in a frozen moment, he beholds a vision. A vision of two quite different futures for the world of men.

In one, his descendant, Dane Whitman, carries on the valiant fight as that era’s Black Knight. It is a world still frought with evil, but there is good, too– and often that good triumphs. A world that reaches to the stars, in ways Sir Percy could never fathom.

The other image is of a world frozen forever in the mode of the age of Camelot. There, a vile Black Knight, Nathan Garret, is chief enforcer for degenerate descendants of the Knights of the Round Table. This is a world ruled by force and terror– by the spirits of his ancestor Mordred and the cruel Morgan le Fay. A world ruled by the spirit of Arthur, reborn as a young girl and manipulated by the Witch Queen. A world where the Black Knight’s name is cursed by a populace ground under his booted heel.

And Percy knows, in that instant, that, if he knocks away the dagger and thrusts his Ebony Blade into Mordred’s heart, the world will remain a place where evil holds sway. And he himself will have made it so by striving to preserve Camelot– even blessed Camelot– beyond its appointed time!

And so, when Death’s dagger plunges towards his gut, he does not push away.

And Mordred strikes home.

As the Knight of Rebellion pushes the dying Black Knight aside, rushing towards where her father awaits her, Merlin appears before Sir Percy.

“Merlin…” Sir Percy asks with his last breath, “have I… failed?”

“Nay.” Replied the wizard, “You perished– so that a world might be born.”

As Merlin continued speaking, his words fell on deaf ears, for Sir Percy of Scandia had already passed on.

Later

Artoria Pendragon lay dying in the forest.

Though she had slain Mordred, her son had dealt a mortal blow. She would not last long, especially now that Bedivere had gone to return Excalibur to the Lady of the Lake.

Her life as king had been a failure. She had brought her kingdom to ruin. If she could avert this tragedy she would, no matter what had to be done.

But before any demons or creatures from other realms could attempt to coax the King into sacrificing her soul to undo the fall of Camelot, Merlin appeared, casting a spell to prevent them from interfering.

“Merlin… please leave…” Artoria said with what strength she had left. “I do not wish to sadden you… with the sight of my death.”

“There is a quote future generations will say: No parent should have to bury their child.” Said the Mage of Flowers. “Though I am not Uther, Igraine, or even Ector, I feel that quote still applies.”

Merlin knelt down to give the dying king one final hug.

“I may not feel emotions the same way you do, but this feels appropriate.” Said the wizard as he held his student in his arms.

“Why… why did you not tell me… that this would happen?” Asked Artoria.

“My predictions are never wrong,” Replied Merlin. “Had I told you, you would have tried everything to prevent it, only to fail in the end.”

“Then… I truly am… a failure of a king.” Said the dying ruler.

“Do not say that,” Said Merlin. “You did the best you could.”

“Then… perhaps my best… wasn’t enough.” Replied Artoria. “If only… we had found… the Grail…”

And as the King of Knights passed on, the Mage of Flowers vanished in a flurry of petals, only to reappear at the center of the kingdom.

As he took out his staff, he prepared to cast the most powerful spell he had ever cast, even more powerful than the one that sealed away the Insect of the Abyss.

Camelot had fallen, and now it was time for it to vanish. It would require a lot of magic to pull this off. The Mystery of the British Isles would be depleted severely, but it was what he had to do. Camelot would pass into myth in the eyes of the people, and the Age of Man would finally come to Britain.

As he slammed his staff into the ground, the very foundation of reality shook. The leylines of the kingdom strained to supply the magic he needed.

Those that had survived Camelot’s fall gazed around in wonder at what was happening, the very sky changing colors seemingly at random.

Then, with a flash of light, it was gone. Only a few things remained behind to ever indicate Camelot existed. Some had been left behind because the spell was not quite perfect. A piece of the Round Table here, a chunk of brick there. Others had been left behind intentionally, such as the Sword and Amulet that lie within a cave, awaiting their Captain.

However, for many, it was as if Camelot had never existed, only those with a knowledge of magic knowing the truth.

At least, to those on Earth, for in Otherworld, a kingdom had suddenly appeared. Merlin collapsed onto the ground, his last sight before losing consciousness being his daughter rushing up to help him.

He had done it. Camelot had found a new place to call home.

All the while, the body of the Once and Future King lay in a tomb on an island far away, awaiting the time in which she is needed.

Chapter Text

“Aggh, it’s too strong my lord!”

“Hold! Hold this door with everything you have, men!”

Eight men held the large door shut. Some were wearing armor, others the robes of monks. All were afraid.

“Where the hell is Beowulf!” Cried out the leader, wondering where their king was as something black crept through the cracks in the door.

It was neither liquid nor solid, something in between. It shone like metal, yet moved like water. The men had never seen something like this, yet they had a good idea of what it was, or at least what they assumed it was.

“It’s… It’s a demon!” Shouted one man as the substance wrapped around them, breaking open the door as it pulled the men outside.

“B-Beowulf!” Cried the leader one last time as they were dragged into the mouth of something they did not comprehend.

“Dammit, I’m too late.” Said a man, aged yet angry, as he ran towards the beast that had eaten his men.

“Do not worry, Sir Beowulf,” Said his companion, the one he had gone to find. “That beast shall not consume any more of your people, so says Thor!”

“I sure hope so,” Replied Beowulf, the aging king readying up his swords Hrunting and Neagling. “I’d hoped to have an army to assist you, but everyone else has run, except young Wiglaf.” Gesturing towards their only remaining companion.

“He is brave to join us where others have fled.” Thor said, “Now let us be on before the beast can get too far away.”

The three companions chased after the monster, its wings spread wide as it flew to the nearest village.

“It’s too fast!” Cried Wiglaf, “We’ll never catch up!”

“It may be quick,” Said Thor, spinning his hammer, “But lightning is quicker!”

A bolt of lightning shot out from Mjolnir, hitting the monster dead on. It shrieked with what sounded like millions of voices, one more pronounced than the rest. The beast fell from the sky, landing on the ground, seemingly dazed.

“Don’t start celebrating just yet,” Beowulf said, running to the downed creature, “It might still be alive.”

As the other two also began to approach the beast, Beowulf’s warning rang true. The creature had not perished from the strike, and even now began to wake up.

“Alrighty beast,” Beowulf remarked, preparing his swords, “time to finish you off.”

But as the King of the Danes swung to chop off the monster’s head, a long tongue emerged from its mouth, wrapping around the aging king, causing him to drop Hrunting.

“Let me go, you demon!” Yelled Beowulf as he wrapped both hands around his remaining sword and began to chop at the tongue holding him.

“King Beowulf!” Wiglaf cried out as the creature began to once again rise into the air, taking the Danish King with him.

“Let him go, foul beast!” Thor remarked as he swung his hammer, launching himself into the sky to do battle with the beast.

Had he so desired, the God of Thunder could have killed the monster then and there with lightning strike after lightning strike. However, the aging king the beast held hostage made Thor hesitate, not wishing to kill Beowulf.

This hesitation would be to the advantage of the monster, for it was able to use its tail to grab the god. With two hostages now in its grasp, the beast continued its flight, heading towards the sea where it planned to drop both of its passengers into the icy depths.

As the monster flew, Thor began to tear himself out of the beast's grasp, first with his teeth, then with his hands. Suddenly, the beast roared in pain, giving Thor the chance to finally break free. Thor looked down to see that Beowulf had freed himself from the beast’s tongue, and had stabbed Naegling into the monster’s belly.

As the beast roared in defiance, the God of Thunder leapt towards it’s head with a scream of rage, plunging the hammer into the beast’s skull. As the now unconscious creature plunged towards the icy waters below, Thor quickly grabbed the aging king, Naegling snapping as Beowulf tried to pull the sword out, before flying back to shore right before the monster fell into the icy depths.

Wiglaf ran up to the two warriors as Thor laid Beowulf up against a rock, the aging king coughing.

“King Beowulf, are you alright?” The young man asked, already knowing the answer.

“I knew this was probably gonna happen eventually,” The King of the Danes said as he died, “at least I got to go out fighting. Wiglaf?”

“Yes, my king?” Asked the man, with tears in his eyes.

“You shall be heir to the throne. Though you did not have the chance to fight the beast yourself, you still accompanied me when everyone else fled in terror. Your bravery this night proves you a worthy successor. I want you to have them build me a monument right here, as a memory to my final battle. There’s a horde of treasures nearby, found it while looking for Thor. Probably belonged to that demon. Use the treasures for the sake of the people.”

“I will, my king, I will,” Wiglaf promised as the King of the Danes passed on.

Thor looked at the scene before him, the young man crying over the death of his king.

“Young Wiglaf, I also have a favor to ask of you.” The God of Thunder said.

“W-What is it?” Asked the mourning soldier.

“When others come and ask what happened, leave my name out of it.” Said Thor, “Tell them you and King Beowulf were the ones to defeat the beast.”

“A-Are you sure?” Asked Wiglaf.

“Too many a time have the mortals that helped me in battle gone unnamed in legends, their deeds attributed to me and me alone.” Answered the God of Thunder, “I do not wish for such a thing to happen again, especially to one who died to help me.”

“Very well, I’ll do that.” Said the young man.

“I must go now, fare thee well, young Wiglaf.” Said Thor as he spun his hammer once again, flying up into the sky and out of sight just before a group of soldiers arrived.

“King Beowulf!” The leader of the soldiers yelled as he ran up to the corpse of his king. “Oh, my king! Wiglaf! What happened?”

Wiglaf stared up at where Thor had disappeared, before looking back at the leader, prepared to hold true to Thor's request.

Chapter Text

It was a day like any other when the God from elsewhere came to Heian-Kyo.

Sakata Kintoki had been training with the rest of the Heavenly Kings. Oni attacks had been quite infrequent the past week, and everyone assumed they were preparing for a large-scale assault. The sudden thunderstorm had made the citizens even more uneasy, despite Abe-no-Seimei’s claims that there was nothing to worry about.

It had been Watanabe who first noticed the flying man. He had been taking a rare break from training when he saw a man in the sky. A quick shout to the others and they had all prepared for the worst. Even Raikou had gotten ready for a possible battle, her swords ready to be drawn at a moment's notice.

As the man grew closer, they all began to notice how similar he looked to Kintoki. Long blonde hair adorned his head, and he definitely had a similar body shape when it came to muscles. As the man landed on the ground in front of them, they could even see that they both had eyes the color of the sky.

“I am Thor Odinson of Asgard, and I wish to speak with the one known as Minamoto-no-Raikou.” Said the stranger.

None knew of the place he had mentioned.

“That is I,” Raikou said, stepping forth, “What business do you have with me?”

“I have been putting together an alliance of the strongest warriors of this planet, to help defend it from threats,” Responded Thor, “Word of your deeds has spread far, and I wished to offer you a position among my alliance.”

“I am honored to be considered worthy of joining your alliance,” Raikou said as she bowed in respect, “But I am afraid I must decline. The Minamoto clan is the sworn protectors of Heian-Kyo, and while I do have faith that my retainers can protect the city without me, I can not ignore my duties.”

“I respect your decision, your duty to your people must come first.” Said Thor, preparing to swing his hammer, “Then I shall be off.”

“Let us not be too hasty.” A new voice said.

Those present turned their heads to see two new faces had arrived on the scene. Though the God of Thunder did not know who they were, Raikou and her retainers knew them well.

“What brings you here, Seimei?” Raikou asked.

“I merely wished to meet our visitor,” Replied Abe-no-Seimei. “It is not every day an Asgardian comes to Nippon.”

“It is surprising to know that there are those that know of me, even in these parts,” Said Thor, surprise in his voice.

“One cannot get much past Seimei,” His companion replied, “trust me, I have tried many times.”

“And you never will, Douman,” Seimei said with a smirk as he walked up to Thor, “Please disregard Douman. When he heard I was going to meet a visitor from so far away, he simply refused to stay in the Imperial Palace.”

“I understand, my brother Loki is much the same way.” Thor responded, “So, what is it you want with me, Sir Seimei?”

“I wish to discuss with you the goings on of the world outside Nippon. While I could just as easily learn it through magic, I feel a first-hand account would be much more intriguing. If you would be so kind as to accompany me and Douman back to the Imperial Palace, so we may talk in a more comfortable manner.”

“Why certainly, Sir Seimei,” Thor answered, “I would be happy to discuss the happenings of Midgard with you.”

“Hold it!”

Thor and Seimei turned to see Kintoki with his hand raised in the air.

“Before you go with Seimei, I have to ask you something.” Said Kintoki.

“What is it, young man?” Asked the God of Thunder.

Most present, aside from Seimei, assumed the young Kintoki would ask the question that had been on many of their minds. The similarities between Kintoki and Thor were hard to miss. Not to mention the thunderstorm Thor had brought with him. The possibility of this being Kintoki’s father had graced their minds, but none had been willing to confirm, wishing for Kintoki to ask it himself.

“Can we arm wrestle?”

That was not what anyone, except Seimei, had expected him to ask.

“I beg your pardon?” Asked Thor.

“You look strong!” Kintoki elaborated, “I wanna see how strong you are first-hand! So, what do you say? Wanna wrestle?”

The God of Thunder let out a hearty laugh, before responding to Kintoki’s request.

“Certainly, though I am afraid I do not know what exactly this ‘arm wrestling’ is.”

“It’s simple,” Said Kintoki as he walked over to a nearby table, placing his elbow upon it. ‘We face each other with our elbows on the table, hold hands, and try to force each other’s hands to the table.”

“An interesting form of comparing strength,” Said Thor as he sat down across from Kintoki. “Very well, let us see who is stronger.”

In any other situation, the winner would have been obvious. Though Kintoki was among the strongest people of Nippon, Thor simply outclassed him by a vast amount. The God of Thunder could easily slam Kintoki’s hand into the table with ease. However, Thor decided to not wound the young man’s pride and played along. He pretended to struggle, allowing Kintoki to gain ground before pushing back, though never pushing so hard as to tire his opponent out. The struggle went on for a while before Thor allowed Kintoki to pin his hand to the tabletop.

“YES!! HAHAHA!! I AM THE CHAMPION!!” Kintoki shouted in excitement as he stood up and paraded around the area.

Thor watched the man celebrate as he walked over to Abe-no-Seimei.

“I believe I am ready to talk, Sir Seimei,” Thor said.

“Of course, follow me,” Said Seimei as he headed towards the Imperial Palace, Thor and Douman following behind. “By the way, how is Murkfoot?”

“You know Murkfoot?” Thor asked

“Of course,” Replied Seimei, “I was there to witness his appointment as Sorcerer Supreme. I was actually almost considered for the role myself you know.”

“Really?”

“Yes. Unfortunately, such a role would limit my ability to stay here in Heian-Kyo, and with the Oni nearby I can not be away for too long, so I was forced to decline the offer.”

“Well, I’ll certainly have to tell Murkfoot that you are doing well when I return.”

As Thor and Seimei continued to talk, Ashiya Douman followed behind, upset with Seimei’s constant bragging. None of them were aware of the strange red bird flying just outside of the protective wards of Heian-Kyo, constantly watching the God of Thunder.

Chapter Text

You are not a thief.

Leonardo da Vinci was dying.

Well, not exactly

Leonardo da Vinci wasn’t even here. The legendary genius had long since left to explore the distant future to witness the birth of the Star Child. The “Leonardo da Vinci” that was dying was merely a robotic replica. Only a select few knew about this. His assistants Lorenzo and Pietro, his closest friends in the Brotherhood of the Shield, and of course, the robot itself.

It had taken a while for the robot to come to terms with its status as a fake. It had all of Leonardo’s memories from before it’s creation. His introduction to the Brotherhood, his discovery of the Star Child within the Sun, his attempt to recruit Michelangelo, the reveal of Michelangelo’s strange abilities, and the task the Forever Man gave him. The construction of the Immortal City that would become the main base for the Brotherhood of the Shield. The Seeing Place hidden within the Immortal City. Iter, the door that protects the Seeing Place. The key that unlocks that door, hidden away.

You are not a thief.

It had done many things to earn itself praise, but it did not feel right when praised for works done by the original Leonardo. When others praised the robot for Saint John the Baptist or La Scapigliata, the robot accepted it, for those were made by it’s hands.

But when others praised it for The Last Supper or Virgin of the Rocks, the robot could not accept it. Those had been done by the real Leonardo, the robot did not deserve praise for them.

It had met Michelangelo during it’s time, and had even told the artist about it’s struggles. The Forever Man had told the robot that what it was dealing with was similar to something future generations will call Imposter Syndrome. The feeling that, despite all one has achieved, they are still a fraud. Technically for most of those dealing with it, they actually achieved their accomplishments. The robot hadn't.

You are not a thief.

Despite it’s mechanical nature, the robot knew it would not live forever, it was designed to live out a normal life while the real Leonardo traveled to the future. The motors in it’s right hand had begun to falter two years ago and even more parts had continued to fail as the years went on. It had been built with the intention to eventually cease function and pass on.

16 years it had lived, and now it would die. It had long ago come to terms with this. It had lived it’s short life to the fullest, and done as much as it could, making memories of it’s own, instead of the false memories implanted within it.

Even now, as it died, the robot remembered the first memory that was it’s own. The first words it ever heard. The first and last words Leonardo da Vinci told the robot before he left for the future with the Human Machine Michelangelo gave him.

“Do not worry… I have freely chosen a different life. Do not feel shame…

You are not a thief.”

Yet, despite this, the robot could not truly accept it. As long as they shared a face, it could never be it’s own person.

As the robot passed, it’s mind turned to it’s own creation.

The Mona Lisa, the first painting the robot made after it’s activation. The painting was not with the robot. It was currently wish Salai, another one of Leonardo’s students. One who was not privy to the truth behind the robot’s true nature. The robot wished the painting was here with it. It found the painting truly beautiful.

As the gears and pistons finally began to stop, the robot continued to think about the Mona Lisa. As the robot’s mechanical mind shut down, it came to a conclusion.

If it ever returned to functionality, it would like to look like the Mona Lisa. A way to finally distance itself from it’s creator. After all…

It was not a thief.

Chapter Text

Six months had passed since Victor Frankenstein had been tasked with creating life once more. His monster had returned, and given him a task: create a mate, so that it might not be alone.

Try as he might to dissuade the monster, he could not justify his madness, nor could he destroy his creation. His grief and guilt forced him to give in to the demands.

For six long months had he and his monster toiled, digging up graves to find the organs needed to complete the mate. He had just implanted the final piece, the heart of an innocent that his monster had slain.

It was finally time for Victor Frankenstein to bring another monster to life.

His first monster waited in the next room, Victor having forbid it from being there while he brought it’s mate to life.

Victor performed the same procedure he had done to his first creation. As he implanted the needle within the lifeless flesh, his fear began to grow. His trembling hands began to unwrap the bandages on the corpses face as for the second time, a monster was born.

Victor turned and retched violently with revulsion as the creature slowly rose and took it’s first steps.

Only then did Victor realize he had only doubled his crime against god and man. And in that realization, he found an answer. As the creature stumbled toward him, Frankenstein knew what he must do… and desperately clutched a knife.

“The curse of God is upon us both!” Said Victor as he approached the creature, “But you I can spare from his wrath! Die…DIE!! For your own sake as well as mine… you must breathe no more!”

Again and again, the gleaming blade flashed in the lamplight… then drove into the body of the pathetic thing. Until, at last, it seemingly lay dead. Just as he had given it life, Victor Frankenstein had taken life from it.

Then, bone-weary from his physical deed and drained of all his vast mental resources, Frankenstein turned from the grisly scene and disappeared into the night.

Leaving behind his still-living work, the monster, to discover its bloody betrayal.

Bewildered by Frankenstein’s unexplained departure and bristling with anticipation for a first glimpse at its bride, the monster entered the laboratory.

The monster knelt down next to it’s mate, thinking it dead. As it placed it’s head upon it’s mates chest and began to weep, the monster suddenly felt something.

A heartbeat, faint, yet still barely audible. Newly reinvigorated, the monster quickly rushed it’s mate to the table that Victor had stitched it together on. Though it was no medical genius like it's creator, the monster had been able to learn much from observing Victor create it’s mate.

In his madness, Victor had failed to stab anything vital, and as such, the monster was able to easily repair the damage done. All that was needed was new blood to replace what had been spilled. With a delicateness unbecoming of it’s appearance, the monster performed a blood transfusion of it’s own blood into it’s mate.

The monster let out a sigh of relief as the heartbeat of it’s mate became more stable. But it’s relief was interrupted as Henry Clerval walked into the room.

“Victor… I was worried about you, so I- Good Lord!”

A tidal wave of sheer hatred swept over the monster, signing an immediate death warrant for Frankenstein’s best friend.

“Any man who befriends Frankenstein is my enemy!” Shouted the monster, “And my enemies must die!”

The monster wrapped it’s arms around Henry, crushing him with it’s raw strength, before turning back to it’s mate.

But, something else had stirred with the monster. Before, it had wanted a mate simply because that is what it knew all creatures had. But now that it had it’s mate, it did not feel like it wanted it as a mate. The feelings it now had for it’s companion, they did not feel romantic. They felt more like what he had with the blind man he had met before he returned to Victor. It did not feel right for the two to be mates, especially now that the two shared blood.

“If we are not to be mates, then we shall be siblings.” Said the monster as it lifted it’s still unconscious companion, carrying it out of the laboratory and into the woods.

The monster would continue it’s desire for vengeance against Victor Frankenstein, depriving it’s creator of all that he cared for. It’s sibling would remain hidden away, too scared to come close to the man who nearly killed it.

As the monster killed Victor’s bride, it’s sibling watched from the window. As Victor chased the monster to the North Pole, he unknowingly chased the monster’s sibling as well. And as the monster discovered that Victor had passed, it returned to it’s sibling to tell it the news.

With Victor gone, the two siblings thought of what they would do next. The monster, tired of living, decided to search for the means by which it could create a pyre to burn itself. The sibling did not agree, and so followed to keep the monster safe from itself.

And so the two wandered the Arctic for days. When they came upon a village, the two were overcome by hunger, the smell of cooked meat driving them both to eat whatever they could find.

And as the people of the village arrived, angry at the creatures that had eaten their hard earned food, the two siblings defended themselves until the leader arrived on the scene.

Though the siblings could not understand what was said, they soon learned to communicate with the leader. And with this communication came acceptance.

The siblings had finally found a place to call home.

The male sibling found himself joining the tribe’s hunts for food, learning from them how to hunt, while the female became close with the women and children of the tribe, learning from them how to create. The siblings would also teach each other what they had learned.

When the brother killed a large snow buck on a hunt, the sister would turn it’s hide into a garment for her brother to wear during the following celebration of the arrival of spring.

And when a rival tribe invaded the village, the brother and sister fought for their lives to protect the only ones to care for them outside of each other.

But despite their best efforts, they could not save their found family, for they were overwhelmed by sheer numbers, and beaten into unconsciousness.

When the two awoke, they found their new home destroyed, with only the old man who first accepted them alive, though not for long.

As the chieftain slowly succumbed to his injuries, the siblings prepared the funeral rites they had been taught. As the sister wrapped the chieftain in the proper funeral garb, the brother prepared a sled to take the chieftain to the burial site he had been shown once.

As the brother brought the chieftain to the burial site, the sister followed. And as the chieftain died mere feet from the cliff were he was to be cremated, the siblings cried.

As the brother prepared the funeral pyre as he had seen drawn on hides in the village, the sister helped however she could.

And as he prepared to light the pyre, the brother prayed for the first time in his life, asking a God he was not sure existed to watch over one of the only ones who had ever shown him and his sister kindness.

And as the chieftain burned into nothingness, the siblings were too overcome by their grief to notice the cracks in the cliff, not until they had grown large enough to open up underneath the brother.

As the brother fell down, the sister tried to reach for the last person who cared for her in this world. And when the brother tried to reach back, he found his sister’s hand just out of reach.

As the icy depths overtook the brother, the sister wailed in despair. For a moment, she considered jumping in, following her brother to an icy grave. But as she prepared to jump, she looked up at the smoke from the chieftain's pyre, still floating in the air.

The sister stepped away from the cliff face, and walked away. She would live. For her brother, for the chieftain, for herself.

So it was that the sister returned to civilization. She would remain in the shadows for decades, never staying in one place for too long. She kept a close eye on the remainders of the Frankenstein family, but never sought out vengeance. Victor was dead, and they had no part in what he had done to her and her brother.

When her brother was recovered and revived 100 years later, she went to meet him, but was unable to reach him before he was once again entombed in ice.

It would not be until another century later that the siblings would finally reunite. She found him wandering the countryside, sadness stricken across his face. But that sadness would turn to joy as he saw his sister once more. As the two hugged, they promised to never separate again.

Chapter Text

Fuyuki lay in ruins for the second time this century. The Heaven’s Feel ritual, now called the Holy Grail War, had gotten out of hand once again, and no winner had surfaced. All who had tried to fight for the grail were dead, and it had not gone unnoticed by the rest of the magical community. Most simply took notice and made plans to consider joining the next Grail War, should it happen again. One in particular decided to go straight to Fuyuki to find out who was responsible for the ordeal in the first place. Now, a representative from the Einzbern, Tohsaka, and Zolgen families stood before the Sorcerer Supreme.

A Sorcerer Supreme who was extremely fed up with them.

“Auntie Jessa told me Mages were headstrong but seriously?” Kushala reprimanded, “Recreating a Holy Grail? Summoning Heroes from the past? What were you all thinking?”

The Three Families knew to choose their words wisely. To be Sorcerer Supreme was the highest honor of the magical community. Only the strongest and most versatile of magic users could even be considered for the position. Very few Mages had ever gotten the title. It was thought that Zelretch had held the title at some point during his long life, but no one knew for certain.

Not only that, but the flames she emitted when her emotions ran high indicated she also had a Spirit of Vengeance. Considered one of the most dangerous Demonic creatures known to the Magus community, the origins of the Spirits of Vengeance were steeped in mystery, and not the kind they liked. They varied wildly based on the region they were found in, seemingly influenced by the cultures and mythologies of the region. However, a trait all Spirits of Vengeance shared was the Penance Stare, a demonic ability that forced those that stared into the Spirit’s eyes to suffer all negative actions they have ever committed. Research into the connections between the Penance Stare and Mystic Eyes was constantly ongoing, but no clear relationship had been found yet.

The woman before them could probably defeat them all single handedly if things came to blows.

“I assure you, Sorcerer Supreme,” said the Tohsaka representative, “After the devastation this has caused, we understand the risk the Grail War can cause if left unsupervised.”

“You better,” Kushala said, “I’d simply forbid you three from doing this again, but I know that Mages are well known for keeping grudges, and I’d rather you not use your connections in the Clock Tower to send people after me.”

The representatives looked between each other, wondering if that would even work. The Einzbern and Tohsaka representatives completely disregarded the idea, while the Zolgen representative thought about it.

“Plus even if I did forbid you from doing it, you would probably still do it anyway.” Kushala lamented, “So instead, I’ll give you an alternative.”

“What is it?” Asked the Einzbern representative.

“If this happens again, and I know it will, you will need to have a lot more rules, and a third party to help keep the collateral down.”

“All ideas we had already considered ourselves,” Said Makiri Zolgen. He was honestly insulted at this foreign woman trying to insert herself into their affairs. Her status as Sorcerer Supreme did not scare him the same way it had the others. The Spirit of Vengeance within her did give him pause, but only so much.

“And have you come to a decision on this third party?” Kushala asked.

“The Holy Church was our first choice.” Answered the Einzbern representative, “While the relationship between the Mages Association and the Holy Church is not that stable, it is the best option we have for a neutral party.”

The Three Families hoped the Sorcerer Supreme would agree to the Holy Church as the third party. They would rather not have to deal with whatever she decided, especially if she wanted the Third party to be herself or whoever was Sorcerer Supreme in 60 years time.

“I suppose that works, as long as the Holy Church agrees to it.” Kushala said, “And they probably would be the best option for keeping the whole thing out of the public eye.”

“Is there anything else you need to talk with us about,” Asked Zolgen, clearly wanting her out of Fuyuki as soon as possible, “or may we go back to cleaning up this mess?”

“I don’t see anything else that may need my help,” Kushala said, “so I suppose I can let you all go for now. But mark my words, if I’m still Sorcerer Supreme when this happens again, and it gets out of hand again…”

Half of her face burst into flames, revealing a flaming skull.

“I won’t be so kind.”

As the fire spread to the rest of her face, a spiritual horse appeared. As the Demon Rider rode off, the representatives of the Three Families looked between each other, each hoping that they would not have to deal with her ever again.

Chapter Text

     Who are they?

Who are they?

        Who are they?

     Who are they?

Too many answers

Take it slow

What do they know for sure

They killed women, they know that for certain

Who did they kill?

  Mary Ann Nichols

      Annie Chapman

                     Elizabeth Stride

    Catherine Eddows

  Mary Jane Kelly

They killed them, they know that for certain

Rose Mylett

       Alice McKenzie

    Frances Coles

They might have killed them

That’s a good starting point

They know they killed women

Did they do anything else?

What was their job outside of killing?

Barrister

    Barber

         Con Man

   Bootmaker

     “Indian Herb” Doctor

       Butcher

    Street Peddler

 Scientist

      Supervillain

                  Doctor

       Medical Student

  Merchant Seaman

     Ape

        Tour Guide

   Journalist

      Time traveller

  Prince

      Fish Porter

         Author

            Wigmaker

     Demon

                  Costume maker

Tailor

     Physician

  Labourer

         Upholster

   Meat Cart Driver

                 Cotton Merchant

     Composer

    Singer

            Artist

      Poet

        Obstetrician

          We never got a job

   Hairdresser

     Apothecary

            Tramp

Social Reformer

       Mountebank

                 Morgue Assistant

     Police Officer

       Needlewoman

               Sailor

        Midwife

All of those sounded right, yet none of them did

They were still confused

How could they tell who they were

What was their name?

What was their name?

What was their name?

So many names that could be theirs, but where any of them the right name?

Montague Druitt

  Seweryn Kłosowski

            Aaron Kominski

    Michael Ostrog

 John Pizer

        Leather Apron

   James Thomas Sadler

                  Francis Tumblety

                       Jacob Isenschmid

   William Henry Bury

         Thomas Neill Cream

      Calvin Zabo

             Thomas Hayne Cutbush

        Frederick Bailey Deeming

  Carl Feigenbaum

           Robert Donston Stephenson

   Prince Albert Victor, Duke of Clarence and Avondale

           Joseph Barnett

      John Carmody

 Jill

         Lewis Caroll

    Willy Clarkson

          David Cohen

  Mama never gave us a name

            William Withey Gull

      George Hutchinson

   Apes don’t have names

                James Kelly

     Charles Allen Lechmere

  Jacob Levy

       James Maybrick

     Tom Malverne

          Alexander Pedachenko

        Walter Sickert

            Demons have no name

Saucy Jack

         Joseph Silver

   James Kenneth Stephen

               Francis Thompson

      Sir John Williams

 Charles Ludwig

                  Oswald Puckridge

       John Sanders

    Nikaner Benelius

           Thomas Barnardo

      L. Forbes Winslow

            G. Wentworth Bell Smith

               Robert Mann

   Bowden Endacott

 “Dr. Stanley”

         Nicolai Vasiliev

       “Fogelma”

           Olga Tchkersoff

   Mary Pearcey

         Constance Kent

 Helena Blavatsky

                   Lizzie Halliday

     H. H. Holmes

         John Pavitt Sawyer

All of them sounded right, but at the same time, none of them sounded right

What was their name?

            What was their name?

      What was their name?

                      What was their name?

WHAT WAS THEIR NAME!?!?

.

.

.

Jack

Jack was a good name

Chapter Text

Dobrynya Nikitich walked among the flattened trees, returned to Russia after almost a thousand years away. A great explosion had devastated the area, and he had been summoned to meet the result of that event.

He did not know why Amaterasu had chosen him to do this. She had told him that a new life had been born, and she wished for him to comfort it during its first moments. He had never been good at parenting, but if that is what the Sun Goddess wanted him to do, then he would oblige.

As he walked toward the hypocenter, he could feel the magic in the air. A spell had been attempted, but he could tell that it had not gone correctly. He could also feel the remnants of another spell, this one had also failed. Perhaps the two spells being cast at the same time is what caused them both to fail. But he could tell that was not the cause of the explosion. At least, not the only cause.

As he got closer to the hypocenter, he saw various bits of flaming rock and metal. He could tell that neither the rock nor the metal was from Earth. A visitor from outer space? That would explain the metal, but not the rock. Perhaps, in an instance of cosmic coincidence, the ship had crashed with a piece of falling space rock during its attempt to land.

Something in his bones told him that he had not figured out the entire story behind what had happened here, but he did not have time to continue his thoughts.

An incomprehensible creature stood before him, twisted by whatever had been within the space rock. Perhaps a survivor of the spaceship? He could not tell if it was dragon or insect, but he slew it all the same.

It was here that he saw the newborn he had been summoned to meet. The trees at the hypocenter remained standing, but their limbs had been blown off. It was on a pile of those blown off branches that the infant lay, but she was not alone.

Though it looked like a bear, Nikitich could tell that it was more than just that. The creature gave off magical energy that no bear should have. As he drew closer, the Bear looked up at him, with a gaze that felt both human and bestial.

“I mean you no harm, oh noble creature,” Said Nikitich as he raised his hands in a show of nonviolence, “I have come to meet the girl, and be with her in this time.”

The Bear stared at Nikitich, before looking down at the newborn. The Bear stood up, giving the infant a lick of farewell before walking away.

As he walked up to the newborn, Nikitich picked her up, cradling the child in his arms.

The child screamed in the way all newborns do, not out of fear, but because it was the only thing she knew how to do.

As Nikitich helped calm her down, he looked at the child in his arms. He could already feel his grip on the material plane slipping. He was a Heroic Spirit without a source of Mana, he was not meant to stay. But he could tell that the child in his arms was also not long for this world. She was a Nature Spirit, an event made manifest, she could not last in a world with so little Mystery. She was too young to make it to the Reverse Side on her own, and he would not last long enough to take her there.

As his body faded away and his spirit returned to the Throne, Dobrynya Nikitich gently placed the infant on the softest place he could find, giving one last gift to the dying infant. A name to call her own.

“Forgive me. Forgive me, Yaskaya.”

But as Dobrynya Nikitich returned to the Throne of Heroes, he was unable to see the child remain. For, in a time yet to come, the Beast of Comparison had relinquished his title. And now, a new Beast would be needed.

As her body vanished, her spirit remained. She lay dormant, awaiting the time when she would be needed to fill the vacancy that would eventually be made.

Chapter Text

EMIYA stood upon the dome of the Reichstag, looking down upon the meeting held below. Adolf Hitler was about to be sworn in as Chancellor of Germany, and would soon begin a chain reaction that would culminate in World War II, which would result in millions of deaths in battle alone, not to mention the millions slaughtered in Concentration Camps.

This was a tumultuous time in the history of the planet. Though EMIYA knew that Hitler had not been killed so early in his own timeline, the Counter Force apparently wanted him removed from this timeline. He didn’t care much for the exact reasoning behind the Counter Force’s decision, but he was more than willing to kill Hitler.

As he nocked Caladbolg II into his bow, he pulled the string back, ready to launch it, aiming the Broken Phantasm directly at Hitler’s mustache.

Only for a blast of energy to knock the bow out of his hands.

Turning toward the direction of the energy blast, he immediately recognized the man who had stopped his assassination attempt.

“Trust me, EMIYA, I’d love nothing more than to let you blow Adolf to kingdom come, but unfortunately, killing him here and now is gonna cause a lot of ripples across history.”

Nathan Summers, also known as Cable. A time-traveling mutant with an assortment of weapons for nearly any situation.

This wasn’t the first time the two had clashed over the ages. There had been numerous instances where Cable had arrived to try and stop EMIYA from accomplishing his mission in order to ‘preserve the timeline’. Sometimes, Cable was successful in stopping EMIYA, killing the Counter Guardian, and sending him back to the Throne. Other times, EMIYA accomplished what he was summoned to do, and Cable did what he could to ‘keep the timeline stable’ as he would put it.

“And tell me, Cable,” EMIYA replied back. “What horrendous future will be caused by the elimination of Adolf Hitler before his rise to power? Will the Soviets take over Europe instead? Or will it be the Japanese conquering Asia?”

“It’s not just that,” Cable responded, “If there’s no Hitler, there’s no World War II. And with no World War II, there is no Golden Age of Heroes.”

“And is that supposed to convince me to stop?” EMIYA said, projecting another bow, “With no Golden Age, there won’t be anyone to inspire any idiotic ideals.”

“Kiritsugu’s ideals are going to happen whether the Golden Age happens or not. This won’t change a thing about your past.”

As the two of them had continued to encounter each other across the timeline, they had begun to learn more about each other. EMIYA was given knowledge about Cable through the Counter Force, and Cable simply time-traveled to points in EMIYA’s history to observe from afar.

As EMIYA projected another Caladbolg II and prepared to fire, Cable fired his weapon once more. EMIYA leaped out of the way of the blast and prepared to launch Caladbolg II toward Adolf, only for Cable to tackle him onto the dome, causing him to drop his weapons.

“Tell me, EMIYA, if there is no Golden Age, then what happens to the modern era?” Cable argued, “How many attempts to save the planet will end horribly without Captain America there to lead the charge against the invaders? How many conflicts will end up deadlier without S.H.I.E.L.D. and Nick Fury to handle negotiations? Not to mention the wake up call WWII was to the public and the following desire to treat minorities better.”

“And how many lives will be saved?” EMIYA argued back, struggling to get out of Cable’s grip, “Not even counting all those lost in World War II, how many will be saved if I kill Hitler now? Without Hitler’s support, Hydra will never acquire the resources to become as great of a threat as it is in the modern age. Magneto will never suffer in the Camps, and never develop a hatred for humanity. Can you truly say that the world would be a better place if Hitler is allowed to live?”

“No, I can’t,” Cable said sadly, keeping a tight hold on EMIYA, “But I’m not going to let you cause such a devastating shift to the timestream. Time travel is fickle like that, even if you try and do some good, there’s no telling what will happen in the long run. Butterfly effect and all that.”

“Do you honestly think the Counter Force wouldn’t send me on these missions if it wasn’t aware of their outcome?” EMIYA projected Kanshou in his hand, stabbing the blade into Cable’s side.

The mutant reflexively loosened his grip in response, allowing the Counter Guardian to break free of Cable’s hold. Projecting Bakuya in his other hand, EMIYA stood across from Cable, the two circling the dome of the Reichstag.

“Killing Hitler now isn’t going to stop his ideology,” Cable said, pulling out another weapon, “If anything, you’re just gonna turn him into a martyr for his followers to use to strengthen the people’s beliefs in his cause.”

“If that was a problem, then the Counter Force wouldn’t have sent me here,” EMIYA said, “It has determined that killing Hitler here and now will prevent humanity’s self-destruction.”

“And what about things the Counter Force can’t determine?” Cable asked, “Sure, it stops humanity from destroying itself now, but will humanity be able to keep itself from self-destruction in the long run?”

“If it becomes a problem, I’ll be sent to deal with it,” EMIYA said, “That’s just how it is.”

The Counter Guardian threw his blades at the time traveler, knocking his weapon out of his hands. Before Cable could pull out another weapon, EMIYA projected a new bow and a new Caladbolg II. EMIYA aimed down at the Parliament below him and prepared to let loose.

Only for his fingers to not let go.

EMIYA tried to fire Caladbolg II, but his hands just weren’t listening to him. As he concentrated, he soon realized that he couldn’t move the rest of his body either, the only part of his body he could move was his eyes. As Cable pulled out yet another weapon, this time a smaller one that resembled a gun, EMIYA realized what had happened.

‘I hate telepaths.’ EMIYA thought to himself as Cable aimed the gun at his head.

‘It took me a while to get past the mental barriers the Counter Force set up in your mind,’ Cable’s voice said within the Counter Guardian’s mind, ‘But I’m not one of the strongest telepaths in mutant history for nothing.’

‘I’d say see you in hell, but I’m never going to end up there,’ EMIYA thought as Cable pulled the trigger, sending the Counter Guardian back to the Throne.

As he lowered his weapon Cable looked down as Adolf Hitler was sworn in as Chancellor of Germany. He raised his weapon once more, aiming for the Chancellor, before sighing as he lowered it again.

“I’ve got to admit, it’s very tempting to put a bullet through his skull. Better get out of here before I do what I came here to prevent,” Cable said to himself as he entered the time stream.

Chapter Text

“I’m surprised you came to me with this request, Mr. Yggdmillennia, I thought the Mage’s Association wanted nothing to do with us.”

“Yes, well, this is a special case, Baron von Strucker.”

The two men sat across from each other at the meeting table, a map of Fuyuki lay between them, as well as several other documents.

“The evidence you have brought me does seem to prove your claims about the Fuyuki Holy Grail Wars to be correct,” Strucker said as he perused the documents Darnic had given him, “Though I don’t see why you brought it to me in the first place.”

“We both know your party has an almost obsessive fascination with the occult,” Darnic responded, “I’m sure the Fuhrer would be more than willing to send in a battalion to help in acquiring the Greater Grail.”

“Yes, but this doesn’t quite explain why you came to me specifically,” Strucker said, leaning forward.

“I wanted to make sure I talked to one who would actually believe me,” Darnic answered, “As one of the few members of your party with any actual experience with the supernatural, you were my best option.”

“I suppose I should consider myself flattered,” Strucker remarked, “I’ll make sure to let the Fuhrer know about this, but first, do you have an exact plan already devised for how we shall go about this?”

“Certainly, I’ve already gotten my hands on a catalyst for the war, a shard of Mac an Luin which I plan to use to summon Fionn Mac Cumhail,” Said Darnic Prestone Yggdmillennia as he relayed his plans to the Baron, though leaving out the part of his plan to betray his new allies the moment they got the Grail over Trifas.

Meanwhile, Baron Wolfgang von Strucker had also left out some parts of his plan, mostly the fact that he would not be forwarding this information to the Fuhrer. He didn’t trust the Mage sitting across from him in the slightest, and he was not some raving fanatic seeking the Fuhrer’s praise with every waking moment. The only soldiers that would be going to Fuyuki would be those loyal to him and him alone.

Elsewhere

From within his domain of the Nether Realms, Angra Mainyu sensed the summoning spell that had come for him.

The deal it offered was not one he felt like answering. He was not one to follow the orders of others, especially for an artifact so utterly opposite to him.

But it had been so long since he had last been evoked by those of Earth. The last time had been a century or two ago when his high priest used one of his talismans. He did not wish to leave this spell empty-handed.

Scouring the Nether Realms, he soon came upon a tormented soul. A scapegoat, used by his village as a means of purifying themselves. A pitiful soul with no strength to be seen.

Whoever had cast this spell wanted a god, but they would receive a weakling for their hubris. A perfect form of cruel irony.

As Angra Mainyu offered up the weak soul to the summoning spell, he decided to give it one thing to provide more chaos.

An infinitesimal fraction of his own dark power. By itself, it was barely worth anything. But if it came in contact with the artificial grail that had allowed for the summoning spell, it would multiply and corrupt it.

Perfect.

Chapter Text

It had been a long time since Senji Muramasa had been intrigued.

Those that knew of him feared him, and they had a right to. At first, the tales of his demonic blades had been nothing more than mere hyperbole. But as the years went on, those tales had gone from pure fiction to scarily truthful. His younger self would be ashamed of what he had become, but he didn’t care.

In his quest for the perfect sword, much had to be abandoned.

His family, long gone, left for a town on the coast.

His sanity, destroyed from centuries of forging and failures.

Part of his own soul, offered up to forge a blade that had almost neared perfection.

Even death itself, ignored until the perfect blade could be forged by his hands.

Yet even now, he had been unable to make the blade that would make it all worth it.

A blade that could truly rival Kusanagi-no-Tachi, the Grasscutter Blade forged by a blacksmith with no name during a conflict between the Amatsu-Kami and the gods of a faraway land, only to be found within the body of Yamato-no-Orochi years later.

For centuries he had been unsure if he could ever create a blade as great as the Grasscutter, but now, he felt he finally had the opportunity.

He could see the foreigner climbing up the mountain that he had made his forge. Blood had been spilled earlier that day. A young woman, the wife of the foreigner, had been killed by a man with a silver arm. The unborn child within her womb was more than likely also gone, though considering the child’s father, it may yet live.

Speaking of the father, he was nearing the top of the mountain. He had sought redemption for his past life of dealing with death. He had come to Jasmine Falls to learn how to be a man and not a warrior. For five years he had been learning to control his anger, but it had taken only a day for all that training to be forgotten.

Had he been younger, Muramasa probably would have pitied the man. But now, after centuries of forging and madness?

He could only see the opportunity for the sword he had been seeking all these years.

As the man reached the peak and let out a feral howl of grief, Muramasa and his subordinates approached.

“Ah, Logan… I have waited for this,” Muramasa said in his native tongue, “the moment when you would come to me as you truly are.”

Logan turned to face the mad swordsmith, a mixture of anger and grief across his face.

“Kill ‘em...” The Canadian mutant said as Muramasa gave a cruel smile, “Kill ‘em all...”

“Yes Logan, and I will help you.” Muramasa said as he approached his new client. “I will take what is inside of you and purify it, making it stronger. Harder. I will forge it into a mighty blade, greater than any the world has ever seen and against which no man or beast that walks the Earth can stand. Against which all– even one so great as you– will fall. It will be my masterwork.”

And so the process began. Logan was taken to the forge and the necessary materials were extracted from his body. The blood was simple enough to get, but the piece of his soul was another. It was a hard and difficult process, the mutant’s healing factor making Muramasa’s form of soul removal difficult, especially since he only needed a piece of it and not the entire thing. It took well over a month for the process to complete, after which Muramasa extracted Logan’s rage to bond with the metal. Once he got all he needed from Logan, he had his men drop the mutant off near where the man with the silver arm had been waiting. And so, the forging began.

And what a long forging it was. The mutant’s soul was a hardy thing, even this small fraction of it. Muramasa had forged with the souls of hundreds of men from all walks of life, yet the soul before him was the toughest he had dealt with. All the more proof that it would finally achieve what he had desired for so long.

Years of effort went into the blade’s creation. Countless days and sleepless nights of constant forging, depleting even more of Muramasa’s already limited sanity.

But in the end, it was completed.

A blade of unparalleled power. A blade that could cut even the most unbreakable of metals, that could kill even those who could not die. The only counter was the shield he had made with the leftover portions of Logan’s soul that had gone unused by the forging. A shield that he would keep for himself even after Logan eventually returned for the blade.

But, it still wasn’t enough.

Yes, he had made a blade capable of cutting anything real, but it could not cut that which was incorporeal.

Time, space, fate, this sword could not cut concepts such as them. He had come so close, yet this was not the perfect sword, not yet.

And so the mad swordsmith laughed. He laughed and laughed like he never had before.

And then he went back to forging, for he would not rest until he made the perfect blade.

Chapter Text

“Irisviel, what is this?”

The Einzbern homunculus turned towards her husband’s servant. The King of Knights had been helping prepare for Kiritsugu’s move to Fuyuki. She was holding a box full of various newspapers and comic books, having seemingly found it during the moving process.

“Oh, those? Those are some of the things Kiri brought to the castle to help me understand the outside world.”

“I see,” Artoria said as she took out one of the newspapers on the top of the box. The date at the top stating March 1939.

'Fireman!' Read the headline, the image on the front showing a man in a glass tube. The man himself was covered in flames.

“An elemental? But that makes no sense. The Mystery of the World would be much lower if such a well-documented discovery like this was made.”

“That’s what I thought when I first read the article myself, but that’s not quite true,” Irisviel elaborated, “Keep reading.”

As Artoria continued reading, she learned that the man was no elemental at all, but instead, an android, a form of automata that did not require magecraft to function. There was nothing magical about him, so his existence only dealt the same blow to Mystery as any other technological invention. The flames that surrounded his body were apparently because his artificial skin was made of some unknown material that became flammable when it encountered oxygen. How Mystery hadn't been affected by that part of his existence, she did not know.

Artoria’s eyes quickly caught notice of another newspaper, this one dated shortly after the first.

'Human Torch Encased in Concrete'

And then another dated mere days after the second. This newspaper had not been kept in as good condition as the previous ones, the only words she could make out were 'HUMAN TORCH ON LOOSE'.

As Artoria continued to read the articles, Irisviel sat down next to her.

“What are you doing, Irisviel?” The King of Knights asked.

“It’s been years since I’ve read some of these, might as well refresh my memory.”

“If that is what you want to do, then so be it.”

As Artoria reached for another article, she took notice that the articles began to feature more than just the Human Torch. Now they began to mention others. Each new ‘superhero’ as the papers were calling them seemed just as strange as the last, yet they all shared something: a desire to protect the innocent.

Her interactions with Kiritsugu had made Artoria wonder if honor was hard to find at this time. These heroes helped to assure her that it had at least still been around fifty years ago.

Artoria soon took notice of a newspaper Irisviel was reading.

'President Roosevelt Sanctions the Invaders!'

The photograph on the front showed a group of men in strange outfits surrounding an older man sitting at a desk. The older man, who she assumed was President Roosevelt, was shaking the hand of a man that she assumed was the leader of these ‘Invaders.’ Such a strange name for what Artoria assumed was on the same side, judging by the fact this President Roosevelt ‘Sanctioned’ them. Perhaps they were ‘Invading’ somewhere else.

As for the man shaking President Roosevelt’s hand, his outfit was by far the most covered of the standing men, covering his whole body as well as most of his head. The front of his outfit featured a large star on his chest, as well as some stripes underneath. The strange mask he wore had small feathers on the side, as well as a large ‘A’ on the forehead. What looked to be a round shield was strapped to his back.

To the left of the President was a man wearing a full-body suit, though his head remained uncovered. The body suit was mostly uniform, with the exception of bands across the wrists, neck, and waist.

To the right of the Shieldbearer was a man wearing nothing but what looked like undergarments, though she assumed it was probably something more than just that. The small attire resembled the scales of a fish and was topped with a belt and buckle that had an ‘S’ on it. The thing about the man that stood out the most to Artoria, aside from his lack of clothing, was his pointed ears. Some form of fae?

Next to the possible fae was someone who looked much younger than the others (though she was not one to judge how old someone looked). He wore a similar outfit (or lack of one) to the fae(?), though he lacked the same pointed ears.

The final member of the photo was someone who also looked to be on the younger side, though he wore a much more modest outfit. A strange jacket led into a pair of really short pants, though a pair of leggings underneath those pants covered up the rest of his legs. Upon his face, he wore a strange black mask that only covered his eyes.

The caption underneath the photo listed the man to the left of the President as the Human Torch she had been reading about, seemingly able to control his flames now. The fae(?) was listed as Namor the Sub-Mariner, while the two younger members were listed as Toro and Bucky. The man shaking the President’s hand was listed as Captain America. A name she honestly found extremely narcissistic.

“The Invaders?” Artoria asked, causing Irisviel to pause her reading.

“Oh yes, Kiri used to talk about them all the time when he was showing these to me. Apparently, he was a big fan as a kid.”

“I find that hard to believe, considering what I’ve seen of him.” Artoria said, “Especially since he does not look old enough to have been around when that photo was taken.”

“Kiri doesn’t like to talk about his childhood that much,” Irisviel explained, “But what he has told me includes the fact that he and his father were constantly moving. The one time they spent an extended period of time in one place was on an island, and most of the new entertainment there was decades out of date.”

Artoria looked back at the box, noticing the old comics mixed in with the newspapers. She quickly realized that many featured the Invaders, either as a team or by themselves.

“Apparently the United States government would print comics about the Invaders’ missions to bring up morale among civilians and convince young men to enlist.” Irisviel explained, “Kiri says that most of the stories are heavily modified from what actually happened, but I still found them entertaining the first time I read them. I’ve been thinking of showing Illya some of them, but I’m not sure which would be suitable for someone her age.”

As Artoria picked up one of the comics, she noticed another newspaper that was beneath it, dated a few decades later.

'Nation Divided Over Blue Marvel'

The photo on the front page showed a man wearing a suit as equally strange as the rest she’d seen. Unlike the photo of the Invaders, this one was in color. His outfit was a mixture of various shades of blue, with a symbol on his chest that resembled what looked to be a stylized letter ‘M.’ He also wore a white cape and a white mask, though the mask in the photo had been torn, most likely in whatever battle had caused the rubble he stood upon. The tears in the mask revealed bits of his face, and she could tell exactly why the nation had been divided over him.

Though she had never experienced this sort of thing herself, she had seen its effects on Sir Palamedes. There had been quite the uproar among some of the lords over her decision to appoint him to the Round Table. Some did not trust him due to his homeland of Arabia, others refused to even consider the idea of a pagan on the Round Table. Though Palamedes had tried to alleviate concerns by attending Christian services and later on fully converting, he never truly gained the trust of the more isolationist denizens of Camelot. Though Tristan was the one most known for his sadness among the Knights, that was only because Palamedes had been quite skilled at keeping his own grief hidden away.

To see that such distrust for others had continued into the modern day saddened her heart.

Hoping to distract herself from that sadness, Artoria grabbed another newspaper.

'Mutants: Miracle or Menace?'

But instead of helping her, it only made her feel worse. Mutants, the article said, were a subspecies of humanity that would manifest strange and often random powers. Usually, they would manifest during adolescence, but the powers could also develop at younger or older ages depending on the circumstance. She immediately made the connection between the mutants of today and those that had been called Witchbreed in her own time. The distrust and hatred for them had outweighed even racial and religious hatred. Even Artoria herself had at times fallen for the prejudice and stereotypes that had been said about Witchbreed when she was younger. She had tried to become more open-minded as she got older, but it had never truly gone away.

While the article itself took a neutral stance on them, the opinion piece featured later in the newspaper showed that the general opinion on Witchbre- Mutants was still mostly negative.

She tried to find something else to make her feel better, but the more she looked, the more hatred she saw.

'Bolivar Trask Gives Speech on Threat of Mutants'

'Anti-Superhero Advocate James Jaspers Wins Seat in Parliament'

'Child killed in Anti-Mutant Riot'

With every article she read, Artoria’s despair grew. She could barely find any supportive articles as she got closer and closer to the modern era. This box had started out filling her with hope for this era, but now all that hope was leaving her.

As a single tear ran down her face, she felt a hand on her shoulder. Turning around, Artoria saw Irisviel, holding another newspaper.

“I know this all seems bad, but there is good too.”

The Einzbern homunculus handed Artoria another newspaper that she had missed in her search through the box.

'Town Protects Child From Anti-Mutant Hate Group'

As she began to calm down, Artoria took another look at the various articles in the box. Where at first her grief had caused her to only notice the negative ones, now she began to see the positive ones she had missed in her initial look.

'Senator Revokes Support of Anti-Mutant Legislation'

'Trask Booed Off Stage By Mutant Rights Advocates'

'The Golden Age of Heroes: Remembering the Invaders a Half-Century Later'

As Artoria read them, her faith in humanity was restored. While hate and distrust still plagued this world, there were still those who cared and fought for what was right.

Kiritsugu watched from the doorway as his wife and his servant continued to read through the various articles. When he first made that collection, he had done his best to collect both the good and the bad. It wouldn’t be right for Iri to have received a biased opinion on superpowered individuals, especially considering how most of the Magus community saw them. And while she had come to the conclusion that the hate of the world would eventually be drowned out by the good, he knew better. This world would never achieve peace, and those with powers would never have the equality they wanted. Hate was simply too good of a tool.

Even the Invaders failed to keep their peace. His knowledge of the Invaders had been several decades behind when he was a kid. Once he began traveling the world, he learned what had happened to them.

Namor the Sub Mariner: Disappeared in the 50s, probably returned to Atlantis.

The Human Torch: Detonated in Nevada after he began to malfunction from exposure to nuclear radiation.

Toro: Retired from the public eye after the Human Torch detonated.

Captain America and Bucky: Missing in Action.

The peace they had brought was only temporary, and the world had been engulfed in war and violence quickly after they left.

He had tried his hand at being a ‘hero of justice’ like the Invaders, and like them, had been met with only temporary success. Only the Grail could ensure a peace that would truly last forever.

Chapter Text

Waver Velvet was upset.

He had done it, summoned the legendary King of Conquerors, but he had not expected such an over bearing presence and unwillingness to listen. Even now, his servant was simply reading one of the various forms of media Waver had been forced to get for him, else he take them himself in a much less subtle manner.

“Boy, look at this,” Iskandar said as he grabbed Waver’s arm and dragged him closer.

“Waah! Watch it! I’m not as durable as you! You could've ripped my arm out of it’s socket!”

“Don’t be so scared, that was nowhere near the amount of strength needed to do that!” Iskandar remarked as he held the book he was holding in his master’s face. “Do you see this?”

Waver took the book from his servant, taking a closer look. It was a book on various weapons manufacturing companies across the globe. The book was open on a page about an American munitions company named Stark Industries.

“What about it? Aah!” Waver asked, only to get a flick to the forehead in response.

“What about it?! Boy, this company has created some of the most powerful weapons of the modern era! I must get in contact with Mr. Stark immediately! If I am to conquer the world, there is no better place to acquire the firepower I need than Stark Industries!”

His servant’s seeming disinterest in the Holy Grail War was beginning to get on Waver’s nerves once again.

“How do you even expect to go about that, huh?” Waver asked, his patience running thin, “Whose to say they even have a branch here in Japan? And what about the Holy Grail War!? You know, the thing you were summoned to participate in?”

“If they don’t have a location here in Japan, then I can simply head over to America, I’m certain the Bulls of Zeus can make the journey.”

Waver had no doubt that they could, but he doubted he could provide the magical energy needed to sustain them for the entire trip.

“As for the War, it is a stepping stone to greatness! Once I have won the war, we can put our full attention towards conquering the world!”

Waver sat down, exhausted at his servant’s boasts.

“Speaking of conquests,” Iskandar said as he pulled out another book, “I must learn more about the possible enemies I might face.”

“Why are you so focused on enemies you haven’t even made yet when there are already six enemy servants that you should be more focused on?”

“It is called thinking ahead,” the King of Conquerors replied, “I can’t prepare for the enemy servants right now because we have no clue what their True Names are. Until then, I want to make sure I know as much as I can about my future opponents so that we can begin our conquest the moment we win the War.”

Waver tried to argue, but quickly realized his servant was partially right. They didn’t know anything about the enemy servants. Technically, if Kayneth had decided to find himself another relic and join the War, then there was a chance at least one enemy knew all about them. Kayneth might have even summoned a servant specifically designed to counter Iskandar.

“Until the other servants decide to reveal themselves, I shall read up on those who I at least know the identity of.” Iskandar said, as he returned to reading.

Waver took a quick glance at the book his servant was reading. He couldn’t make out what was written, but he could make out the insignia that was printed on one of the pages. A striped heater shield with five stars surrounded by what he assumed was an Eagle based on the head shape.

Shaking his head at having to deal with a servant like Iskandar, Waver returned to his own matters. Namely, the rat familiar he had sent to the Tohsaka mansion had finally arrived. Casting a spell, Waver transferred his vision to that of the familiar, looking through it’s eyes just as a tall man with a skull mask appeared within the Tohsaka bounded field.

Chapter Text

Gilles de Rai looked at the place that Ryuunosuke had chosen for their workshop. A section of the sewers that no one would ever travel to. He was impressed at Ryuunosuke for finding a place so hidden away, yet still close enough to ley lines to provide the magical energy he would need for his spells.

But it was only hidden away from regular humans, and Gilles de Rai knew that they would need more protection than just a hiding spot.

The magical energy he would give off in this workshop would probably go unnoticed by most, simply blending in with the standard magical energy given off by the Holy Grail War. But there were those with enough control in the mystic arts who could probably make out what he was doing.

While most mages would probably only focus on keeping other Grail War opponents away from their workshops, Gilles knew that there were definitely others, unrelated to the Grail War, who might detect what he was going to do. Plus, who knows what kinds of mages would fight in a Grail War. The chance that those who didn't use Clock Tower magecraft might participate was low, but as Prelati once said, "Never risk it, no matter how low the chance!"

Prelati had always told him to mask his magecraft from those who would oppose his actions. Those who considered your actions ‘unholy, dangerous, a danger to the fabric of the universe, that sort of thing’ (Prelati’s words, not his).

During their time together, Prelati had specifically warned him about the Sorcerer Supreme, probably the greatest threat to their operations at the time. Prelati had often lamented his inability to acquire the title, something about ‘his spells being too dark and corrupted’ for the Vishanti to grant it to him.

The chances of the Sorcerer Supreme caring enough about a random mage battle in Japan would be laughable, but again, "Never risk it."

A spell to keep the Eye of Agamotto from seeing him was the first course of action. It was a long and complex spell, and without the instructions left in Prelati’s spellbook, he never could have done it on his own.

Next on his list was a means to keep out witchcraft. Technically, he was only protecting against mere practitioners of witchcraft, and not what Prelati would call ‘witches.’ The ‘witches’ Prelati talked about had nearly all left the mortal world behind, and those that did remain were treated as less than human for staying around. Practitioners of Witchcraft were still around, though their numbers were sparse according to Prelati, and had probably become even lower as the centuries had passed.

Gilles still applied the protective spells, just in case.

Gilles once again thanked Prelati for writing down his various protection spells in his spellbook. At least, he assumed Prelati wrote them down. The book always seemed to have the right spell he needed, and he always managed to flip to the right page for the spell he wanted. But he wasn’t one to question what was more than likely either luck or another one of Prelati’s spells placed on the book.

Another flip of the pages resulted in a spell to protect against Chaos Magic-based spying, but he laughed it off.

“Chaos Magic,” Gilles said to himself, “Really Prelati? You included a spell to protect against a form of magecraft you don’t even believe exists?”

Prelati had been very adamant about Chaos Magic being nothing more than mere fantasy. In Prelati’s own words: “Chaos Magic is a fairy tale made up by Wallachians who spend way too much time thinking that a mountain is so much more special than the rest of the near-identical mountains that surround it.”

Though whenever Prelati dismissed Chaos Magic as fraudulent, he would often look in the direction of Wallachia. As if to reassure himself about his own words.

That still didn't answer why there was a spell to prevent Chaos Magic-based spying, though Gilles simply brushed it off.

Flipping past the assumedly useless anti-Chaos Magic spell, Gilles found one to protect against Voodoo-based spying, which he quickly went to work casting.

And so Gilles de Rai continued his work. While Ryuunosuke prepared the torture devices and other materials needed to practice their arts, Gilles continued to conceal them from the outside world.

He was just about to cast a spell to prevent Alchemical detection when Ryuunosuke called out to him.

“Hey, Sir Bluebeard! Your magic ball is glowing! I mean, glowing more than usual!”

Gilles stopped, before turning to see that his ‘magic ball’ was indeed glowing more than usual.

“It must have detected a form of magical energy higher than the natural amount of the area,” Gilles said as he walked up to his crystal ball. “Perhaps a fight between servants is happening or about to happen.”

As Gilles directed his own magecraft towards the crystal globe, a scene began to show upon its surface.

A man with two spears stood across from a woman in armor that made Gilles stop and stare, all thoughts of casting any more protective spells gone from his head, replaced by a single thought.

‘Jeanne?’

Chapter Text

Tokiomi Tohsaka was worried.

The information Kirei’s servant had collected in regards to Caster’s identity and activities were truly gruesome.

Gilles de Rai, the Demon Marshall of France, had been summoned by Ryuunosuke, the Demon of Fuyuki City. A match made in Hell that had already kidnapped at least 30 children, no doubt planning to torture and kill them. Luckily, Rin was at the manor and knew better than to go outside at night. Thoughts regarding Sakura were quickly dismissed. She was a Matou now, and the Matous would keep her safe.

Warnings and punishments would have no effect on people as mad as those two, they had to be dealt with before it got even more out of hand. If those two were allowed to continue their actions, they risked exposing the Ritual to the outside world or attracting unwanted attention.

This wouldn't be the first time something happened during the Ritual that nearly exposed it to the outside world. It seemed to happen nearly every war. Last time had been the interference from the German Military and Imperial Japanese Army, both vying for the grail to use in their war efforts.

The Holy Grail War before that had gotten so out of hand that it had attracted the Sorcerer Supreme at the time. Tokiomi hoped that Caster wouldn't cause anything that risked attracting that level of power.

Tokiomi had only heard stories of the Sorcerer Supreme, but he knew attracting the attention of the current Sorcerer Supreme was an even worse idea than it had been over a century ago.

The Sorcerer Supreme back then had been powerful, but the current one?

That was the Ancient One.

Though most agreed Agamotto was the strongest Sorcerer Supreme to ever hold the title, the rankings after that were mixed. Arguments over the second strongest weren’t uncommon among young mages, with Merlin, Solomon, and Zelrecth(if the rumors of him holding the title were true) being top contenders for second place.

But whatever the ranking system, the Ancient One was always considered near the top. His real name wasn’t common knowledge, and those who did know it weren’t keen to share. He was one of the few instances of a Sorcerer Supreme holding the title for multiple times over the course of their life, thanks in part to his centuries long life span. Whenever a Sorcerer Supreme retired, died, or was otherwise disqualified from the title and didn’t have a successor already selected, the Ancient One would typically take up the role until a new Sorcerer Supreme could be found.

If his ancestors had poked the bear with their encounter with the Sorcerer Supreme of their time, then garnering the attention of the Ancient One would be poking a Phantasmal Beast.

Luckily Father Risei had already come up with a solution to deal with Caster before his actions could attract any outsiders. He would announce that Caster was a priority target, and whoever dealt the finishing blow would be rewarded. And if things played out properly, the one who would deal that final blow would be Archer.

“Then quickly prepare to gather the other Masters.” Tokiomi said as Father Risei left the chamber.

However, when Kirei went to follow his father, Tokiomi decided to stop him.

“…Oh yes, Kirei-kun. I heard that you left the Fuyuki Church to do something on your own yesterday night.”

“I am very sorry.” Tokiomi’s apprentice answered, “I know this is very risky, but I had discovered a spy in the vicinity of the church. So I had to do something about it-”

“Spy?” Tokiomi asked with a stricter voice, “Was it targeting you, since you’re a part of the Church?”

“Please don’t worry about it, I already destroyed the spy. No secrets will be leaked out.” Kirei answered with a breezy voice.

Mentally, Kirei was surprised at how easily he lied to his master’s face.

“Why didn’t you use your servant?” Tokiomi asked.

“I felt that this was something trivial. Assassin wasn’t required.” Responded Kirei.

A moment of silence followed, after which Tokiomi responded, slightly unhappy.

“You really are a high skilled Executor, and I know you have high confidence in your abilities. But, based on the current situation, aren’t you being careless in your actions right now?”

“You’re right,” Kirei responded, “I’ll tread carefully next time.”

Another lie.

The communicator soon shut off, leaving Kirei alone in the underground chamber.

As the Executor left the chamber, he felt something was off, as if he had entered the wrong room. However, the only difference to be found in the room he had entered was the blonde man sitting in the middle of the room.

“Archer?”

Chapter Text

Gilles de Rai walked through the forest surrounding the mansion where his beloved Jeanne is being kept. Several children followed him, fallen under his control. Beneath their skin, the horrors summoned by Prelati’s Spellbook lay dormant, waiting to burst forth upon his command. He didn’t know where the horrors came from, Prelati was always quiet about that, no matter how often he had pestered during life. The closest he got was when he eavesdropped on one of Prelati's private rituals.

Unfortunately, through the strange language Prelati used and the muffling of the door, he was only ever able to make out the term Many Angled Ones. He wasn't sure how that connected to the origins of the Horrors, but he supposed it would have to do.

He was almost worried they wouldn’t be strong enough to help him return Jeanne to her senses, but he trusted Prelati’s book. If these were the horrors it deemed capable of bringing Jeanne to her senses, than he would use them.

It didn’t take long for those holding Jeanne captive to spot him. He noticed the spying spell rather quickly, after all, he was using a similar one back at his and Ryuunosuke’s workshop.

Looking up at the spell and giving a polite bow, he made his intentions known.

“I came here specially to visit you according to last night’s promise.” The Demon Marshall told those holding his Maiden, “Now, please give the order, to let me be in the presence of that beautiful holy maiden again.”

He knew they wouldn’t give Jeanne up so easily, and even if they did, the accursed illusion upon Jeanne’s mind would still be there. Breaking such a curse would be quite the challenge. Prelati’s Spellbook had everything he needed to apply curses, but was very limited on ways to remove them.

He gave them a moment to see if they would actually comply with his demands, and after failing to detect any, continued his speech.

“Ah, looks like you still can’t make up your mind. I expected to wait for a long while too, so just take your time making preparations. C’mon, this is such a boring game - can I borrow a corner of your territory?”

A simple flick of his fingers, and the illusion holding the children under his control was undone, leaving them dazed. Ryuunosuke had been a bit upset at having to use ten or so of their victims in such a short period of time, but he needed to make sure his Jeanne would come, and he felt like he needed as many children as possible. Plus there were still plenty more children they could acquire throughout the city.

Turning to the children, the Demon Marshall told them what he planned to do.

“Listen children, we’re going to play hide and seek. The rules are simple. Just run away from me. If I catch you-”

He reached out for the closest child, and quickly crushed their skull.

The feeling of blood and brain matter coating his hand, alongside the screams from the other children, felt incredible.

After licking the blood of his fingers, he looked at the now fleeing children.

“Hurry up and run. I’m gonna start chasing you after I count to a hundred. So Jeanne, before I catch all the children, how long are you going to prepare.”

He began his count, though he felt he may have accidentally skipped a couple numbers in his excitement.

He could feel the magical energy rising from the direction of the mansion. His Jeanne was coming and he’d need to work fast to finish this game of hide and seek before she got here.

Most of the children were easy pickings. Only one provided a little bit of a challenge. A young boy, probably the oldest he had brought. He proved really good at dodging, and even got a few punches and kicks in, almost like he’d undergone some form of training. Of course, he was eventually caught as well.

“You will pay for this, my clan will-” The young boy’s threat was cut short by Gilles ripping him apart.

“Clan?” Ryuunosuke had told him about the various secret clans and shadow organizations rumored to be across Japan. His master was a big fan of the occult after all, so he had done a lot of research that probably should have gotten him killed by now. The boy must have been a member of one of them, especially considering he had some training at such a young age.

Perhaps he should have left the kid alive and brought him back to Ryuunosuke. Gilles was certain his master would have loved to pry every little secret the kid knew about his clan.

However, there was still one child left. And he had big plans for him. The Demon Marshall made his way to where he knew the final kid was hiding, but not to kill, at least not yet.

This last kid would be key in him finally rescuing his beloved Jeanne.

Chapter Text

Within the central courtyard of the Einzbern castle, a banquet was being held. The looming threat of Caster was put aside for now, as three kings dined.

Iskandar, the King of Conquerors

Artoria Pendragon, the King of Knights

And Gilgamesh, the King of Heroes, though that last identity was not yet known to all present.

Three kings from vastly different times and vastly different nations, all brought here to fight for the Holy Grail. But for now, there would be no fighting, at least, there would be no fight with weapons.

For while there would be no physical clash between these three, a different clash was happening. A clash of ideals.

The King of Knights and King of Conquerors had begun to argue over the role of a king. Does a king sacrifice for the nation, or does the nation sacrifice for the king?

“King of Knights. Your justice and ideals might have saved your people and country for a time, and thus, your name is praised until today, mm? Although, the people’s lives whom you saved, and their end, you did know what happened at the end, right?”

“What… did you say?”

Saber’s mind returned to the bloodstained sunset hill.

“You wanted solely to ‘save’ your subjects, yet you never ‘guided’ them. They don’t know “the king’s wishes.” You ignored the lost subjects, yet you yourself pretended to be saintly, drunk in your own narrow views. Thus you’re not a good king. You’re only someone who wanted to become someone who took care of the people. You’re just a little girl who spun a cocoon around yourself in order to become that idealized view.”

“I…”

“Enough of this.”

The King of Conquerors and King of Knights turned to their third ‘companion,’ the Archer class servant speaking up.

“Sacrificing for the nation, the nation sacrificing for you, both irrelevant. A king rules simply because he can. They have no one to prove themselves to.”

“Archer,” Artoria said, “what on Earth do you mean?”

“Perhaps I should provide an example. I’m certain the Grail has given both of you knowledge of Mjolnir, the hammer of Thor?”

The two other servants nodded, though only one had received their knowledge from the Grail, the other had a much more personal knowledge of it.

“According to legend, only Thor could lift the hammer. It is said that it was simply too heavy otherwise, and as such required the iron gloves Jarngreipr. However, that is not the full truth. For you see, what the Grail has not revealed to you is that Mjolnir is in fact under an enchantment by the All-Father himself. To most, the hammer shall remain on the ground, no matter how strong they are. However, there are a select few that can lift the hammer with ease.”

“Whosoever holds this hammer, if he be worthy, shall possess the power of Thor.” Artoria said, the memory of that night from her childhood resurfacing.

“Ah, so you have a history with the hammer, Saber?” Archer remarked.

“Even if she does, what does this enchantment have to do with our discussion?” Iskandar asked, clearly unamused.

“Simple, the hammer can only be lifted by those who are ‘worthy.’ But who decides what counts as worthy? Thor? Odin? The hammer itself? Why should one care about their definition of worthiness?” Archer set his cup down forcefully as he stood up. “The only one who can define if one is worthy is oneself. Such is the same with kingship. One cannot judge if one is a proper king based on the opinions of others, especially the opinions of Gods and hammers.”

“Something tells me that hammer didn’t find you worthy.” Iskandar joked.

The slightest bit of annoyance graced the face of the King of Heroes, his mind subconsciously drifting back to a sour point in his adventure to acquire all the world’s treasures, as he tried and failed to lift a hammer off of the ground. The laughter of the All-Father rang through his mind.

The golden servant quickly turned towards Saber to distract him from such memories.

“...Archer, why are you looking at me?”

“Ah, I am merely studying your annoyed expression.”

Archer’s smile was surprisingly gentle, but at the same time, fearsome.

“It is like a virgin on which flowers are being scattered, lying on the bed. I like it.”

“You bastard…”

But before a confrontation could be had, another servant made their presence known, shifting everyone’s attention away from the discussion at hand.

Chapter Text

He stood at the front of the temple, his army behind him. His beloved Hephaestion was at his right, and his Shadow was at his left.

Egypt was his, and now he was pharaoh. The oracle had proclaimed he would be a god after death, and he know wished to prove it.

The Egyptians claimed there was one god who still lived among the mortals. Aten, the local priests called him. And now, he and his army would face this god, and prove that there was no need for him anymore.

“Attention!” He cried out, “We are told by the local priests that you are considered a god? Well, I, Alexander of Macedonia, have taken Egypt from the Persians! And know this, ‘god.’ I am now pharaoh! And I have spoken to an oracle, and know that not only is Zeus the preeminent god, but upon my death, I shall be as well! I shall be your equal… No! Your superior! Egypt and the civilized world shall have no need of you! So cower within, like the fallen god you are!”

“No need of me, you say?” A voice, ancient and deep, called out from within the temple. “Acceptable, since I have no need of it.”

The voice sent fear through all who heard it, yet none could say what about it made them tremble. Even his Shadow could not help but back away.

“But someday,” The voice continued, “the world will fall, and you will be forgotten. You, Alexander, and your ‘greatness.’”

As terror finally overcame him and his men, they fled the temple as quick as they could, but not before he heard the final words of the god, for what else could it be?

“And I will still be here.”

Waver awoke from yet another dream. Once again, he had witnessed a memory of his servant, and this one frightened him. He had no clue who this ‘Aten’ had truly been, be it a god or perhaps some other powerful being. But he knew, deep in his bones, that no matter how strong Iskandar had been, there was no way he was beating that being. Even now, as a Heroic Spirit, he might not win. Waver could not tell how he knew this to be true, he just knew.

The vision was muddled, he could barely make out what was happening.

Visitors from beyond time. Dragons, no, invaders from the stars? One of the visitors hit on G–n—-e, Ar—r and the visitor fought. He consoled -u—v–e.

Later, T–s— left, and he wished to ease Ar—r’s burden. He once again met with G-i—e–, secrets were learnt, and a forbidden romance blossomed.

More visitors from beyond time, different from the last. In bed with —-e—-, one of the new visitors is blasted into the room. He went to protect G—-v—-, but the visitor tossed him aside.

Ar—r found out about the forbidden love, forgave them, but he never forgave himself. Why? Why hadn’t Ar—r condemned him? Why, Ar—r, Why?

Ar—r… Ar—r… ARRRRRRRRR—--RRRRRRRRRR!!!!

Kariya awoke, the pain of the worms forcing him from a dream he assumed must have been Berserker’s memories. He couldn’t tell what he had witnessed, the Madness Enhancement having affected even his servant’s dreams. All he could make out was love, guilt, and a desire for penance.

“Me too, Berserker, me too.”

Chapter Text

The King of Uruk had seen much in his lifetime. Gods, monsters, and all manner of creatures big and small. Yet the man before him was quite the spectacle, even for him.

His raiment was gaudy, a combination of reds, whites, and blues that he would have laughed at in any other circumstance. Yet despite his strange attire, Gilgamesh knew this stranger was a mighty foe. He fought the Stone Ones with great courage and bravery, with no weapon but a shield. A shield that the King of Uruk did not recognize.

It felt like a true work of art, a marvel that should have been in his treasury already. Yet it was not. He could tell the weapon was of unique creation. It was not the creation of any Pantheon, yet he could still sense a small trace of the Orisha on it.

Though he claimed that all the treasures of the world were his, a scant few had escaped him. Among that small list included the hammer of the one-eyed Norseman, the sword that slew the White Titan, and the treasures of the Wakandans. For years he had tried to find a way into the hidden country, yet he had never managed it. Despite never adding them to his treasury, he could still tell their greatest treasure, the metal of the stars, with but a glance. But this, this was more than just that. It was a mixture of several metals, aside from just the Wakandan’s pride and joy. It was a true marvel of smithing, rivaling the creations of even Ninagal. How such a treasure had escaped his grasp was a mystery to him. But now was not the time for ogling.

The King of Uruk quickly rushed to the stranger’s aid. Not because he wished to help, but because the stranger might be more willing to part with his shield if he found himself indebted to Gilgamesh. He did not open his treasury, for the Stone Ones were not worthy to die by them. His fists would be enough.

The Stone Ones retaliated by pulling out weapons of their own. They were strange weapons, shaped much like that of the Dingirs within his treasury, though at a handheld scale. The stranger ran in front of him, blocking the attacks from the weapons with that marvelous shield of his, though Gilgamesh doubted such pathetic weapons could harm one such as he.

The stranger said something in a language the King had never heard, once again proving his strangeness. Though Gilgamesh had not inherited his mother’s Allspeak, he had still learned many of the languages spoken across his garden. That this man spoke a tongue even he did not know made him all the more intriguing. Gilgamesh at least made out his own name amongst the babble, so at least the stranger knew who he was.

The strange man retaliated against the Stone Ones with his shield, knocking one of their weapons from their hand. The King of Uruk quickly made his own attack, grabbing two of the creatures and knocking their rocky heads together, causing the lot of them to retreat.

Though he knew not if the stranger knew his language, he still decided to try and communicate.

“Hurry, man in gaudy raiment, or the boulder monsters will escape!”

“I̴̡̺̐ ̵͚̱̽c̶̛̙̪̻̄́a̵̦̚n̷̰̋̍̋'̶̤̜̂̈́͝t̵̩̊ ̴͚͚͋ṳ̴̣͑n̴̠͓̱̍͗d̴͉̪̝̔͗e̴̞̺͐ȓ̶̨̤͆̇s̶̞̿t̵̝̰̙͂a̴͚̐̆n̸̼͕̎́d̴͎̣̥̒̒ ̶̛̮̑ä̸̫̬́̀̕ ̸̪̋͐w̸̡̹̭̉͋͛o̸͍͆̅͑ṛ̸̥̖͌d̴̋́͜ ̷̢̱̫̌y̶̨̞̾̎̇o̵̭̫̍̀̀u̵͕͝'̶̳̖̣͊̂̈́r̵͚̺̓̄̀e̷̲̪͗̃ ̸̫̩̘̓s̶̼̦͜͝a̴̡̨̦̓̽͛y̷͉̺̒i̷̯̾n̷̛̙̗g̸̢̤͎͒̅-̸̰͂̚̚-̴̘̖͓̑̄̕ ̷̣̿̄̾b̷͉͔͈̎͊ǔ̶̫̤̅͜t̵͖̳̖͝ ̶̱̯̾̿̓ÿ̸̻͔́̽ͅo̶̢̚u̷͚͆'̵͖͖̌r̴̛̤̈́̀e̵͉̒̃ Gilgamesh a̵͕͐ĺ̵͎̍ͅl̷̙̖̟̕ ̷̱̯̽̿͘r̸̢̪̆̈i̸̤͛͠g̷̢̍̉h̷̹̒̈̊ṭ̵̐.̸͎̙̲̿̆͛” The stranger said in his unknown language, “I̴̥͠ ̷̨̠̳͝ŗ̶̬̈́ĕ̵̤͑̓ĉ̵͎o̵̯̲̅̋̈́g̴͔͂́̚ň̴̳̝̝̋i̷͉̖̫͒̅z̷̥̹͗̕e̴͔͝ ̷̜͔͑͆͝t̶͖͊͘͘ḧ̴̭͙́̿e̵̞̝̩̐͝ ̵͚̟̰̈́v̶͚̬̾̐o̸̰̎ḯ̵̱̣͐͌͜c̷̨̲̓ē̸̟̲̒!̸̘͐͜ Ń̴̜ò̸̮ ̶̗͊̐͜w̷̨̐̒̓a̸̢̖̼̋y̵͍̹͈͊̆̉ ̶̰̳͋̊w̸̳̎e̴͖͌̉͝'̵̜̈́̈́ͅr̵̭͓͗͂̀e̷̯͈̎͠ ̷̩͍̬̎̔̇g̵̟͍̓̚͝o̶̗̥̟̾́͂i̵͙͕̲̾̑̂n̵̰͛͐g̵̰̲̣͊͊͘ ̴̬͌̕͝ṯ̵̀ͅo̵͙̎͐ ̶̖͕̥̿́ș̸̲̼̕͘͝t̷͙̂ͅo̷̤͗̅͐ṕ̵̺̋͝ ̵̧̲̦͊̈́t̷̪͌̊h̶͈̬̚e̸̝̬̟͆͝ ̴̗̓̏s̴̻͉̓t̵̖̞̃ò̸̯̳̀n̴̗̈́̓͒ȇ̴̺̪̅̈́ ̸͔̂m̵̳͊̀̈ę̴͖͝ǹ̷͕̤ ̴̙̃f̴̠̻̬͠r̷͇̗̝͗ȍ̵̤m̷̰͍͖̑̔͆ ̵̘̉̃h̵̰͑̓ȯ̶͉͓͌̚t̶͔̓͂̈f̸͇̌͘͜ŏ̴̘̏̓o̷̯̰͒ͅt̶̨͔͐̋ͅi̷̞̠͗n̵̻͖̮̉͘g̶̠̬̉̋̋ ̶̲͐i̵̛̜̻͂͋ṱ̵͈͐̄̒ ̶̰̫͑b̸̩̱͌̒͠a̵̯̎̕c̶̜̤̲̉̓̌k̷͔͂̈́͘ ̴̜̣̫̂t̸̞͙̜̂̄͐ȯ̴̖̇ ̷̤̂̅S̶̝̥͐͌́ä̶̬̰̝́t̷͖̓̐͋ụ̷̻̈́̚r̴̙͈̀͂͂͜n̷̊͜͝ ̸͔͙̙͝o̸̰̹͘r̶̢̺̾̓̕ ̵̞̤͖̆̒w̶͓͖̤͠ĥ̸͕̭e̵͔̮̚r̴̖͇͌̅͑é̸̺̏̆v̶̫̯̦̓͆͌ê̸̫̆r̸̨̺̫̀̒͘ ̸͔̞̮̍t̶̢̼͕̔͊h̸̯͚̞̔̂e̷̠̰̊̅y̷̢̹̏͝ ̷͓̘͙̈́r̷͇̙̐e̵͔̾a̴̹͘ͅl̵͍̫͇̓l̶͕̆́ẏ̴̠͉̘̅͘ ̷͉̂c̷̮̞̥̒͆̿ȁ̴̡̜͔͂͆m̸̭̔̾͝ẻ̵̤͍̆̎ ̴̖̬̱̉f̸͈̀̃͘͜r̸̠̒o̴̡̯͌m̷͔͎̾͒̀,̶͍̝̔̇̋ ̸̩̟̈́̚t̵͖̝̝͋h̸͖̭̓ȏ̴̟̌̕u̷̦̒̑̽ĝ̷͓̚h̴͚̒͠ͅ-̸̱͛-̵̝̱͛͂̂”

“-̸̯̘̂͐-̸̧̪̈͝ ̷͕͆̂͠N̶͙̖͓͂ỏ̶̪̘̬̾̊t̴̢̔̋ ̷̫̌͊o̴̡͛͗̏ň̸͉͑̈́c̸͙̉̾͗ͅe̷͇̲͎̊̀̒ ̴̡̼̋t̷̼̰̙͐h̴̦̣̙̉́̈e̷̗͍̭͊͘y̴̬̘͑͛ ̷̟̙͛̿͝r̷̰͈̈́̽̄ē̴͎̈a̴̩͎̔ċ̴͙͉̎͘͜ḩ̸͉͈̑̉ ̷̨̬̾̍͝ṫ̴͓h̵͚͑͜͝ė̶̠͎̬̋͝ì̵̲̼͙̿̇r̷̠͍̽ͅ ̴̞̼̲̋͋͝s̸̼̬̯̐͆̆t̶̨̡̜͒͐ả̸̠́r̶̻͗̍s̶̝̼̣͛̅͝h̸̩͛ǐ̸̩̭̌͋p̵̝̈́͋̇!̷̡͙̱́̀” A strange device suddenly shot up towards the Heavens from where the Stone Ones had retreated.

“By the Bull of Ishtar!” He exclaimed, a phrase from his childhood that was more ironic now, after what he and Enkidu had done.

“B̵̝̝̀͝u̸͙̝̠̿́t̶̺͕͒̽,̶̛͖͗ ̴̢͍̭̂̓͠Ï̸͈̑̿ ̶̣̉͋̽s̴̥͑͝e̷͔̣̽e̷͍̝͊͂m̵̡̊̅ ̶͇̍̍͘t̵̢̂ǒ̸̢̇ ̸̝͗̆͠r̸͙̦͠e̸̛̠͛̅c̵̱̽̓̃a̵͚͎̩̓̆͠l̵͚̂̓l̵̞̆ ̷̛̳͚̝̾̿T̵̞̽h̶̨̲͉͂̿ö̶̝ŕ̸̦̆̊ ̴̬̀̎ṣ̸͚̲̒ǎ̸̢̜͊y̸͈̦͋̒͆i̷͊͜n̷̢͙̉͝ĝ̴̥͝ ̷̤̑ț̴̊ĥ̶̫̝e̵̫͚͆̍ ̷̲̼̠͝s̵̢̧͐ṫ̶̠̓̃o̶͔̠͋̚n̵͎͑͝ȇ̵̜̼ ̷̝͇̭̚m̸̖͉͆͝e̸̺̓̉n̸̮̙͌͐͝ ̷̥̙̻̓ẖ̴̣̽̏̕ȩ̷̩͋͐̾ ̶̞͘m̵͕̐̆̇ē̵̯̆t̷̟̣̒̌͂ ̵͚̱̓̊͑ṡ̶̯͈͜p̵̦̿̍͠ō̴̰͔͆̓k̴̦̜̟͝ę̶̺͆̀ ̸̥͎͕͒͋̓å̷̘̌͘ ̵͇͆̉ͅb̸͉̄i̶̫̍̿t̸͉̒͗͂ ̷̡͇̪̈ȏ̵͉̱ͅf̸̺̱͓̃̍͝ ̶̹̃̾ͅE̸̢̩̾͠n̵̛̫̫̑͝g̸̠̳̳̈́l̸̼͍̅͗̋ḯ̸͙͛͘s̸̛̲͚̾ẖ̷̹̀̑.̴͚̄̾̇” The strange man said, “W̶͕̜̳̍̃͗h̴̢̑̾̇͜ẏ̸͕̤͇̅͘ ̷̨̂̊d̵̯͎̫́̆̚į̷̒d̷̎͜ń̷̢͉͋̈́'̴̟̭̃t̶̥́͝ ̸̞̕t̵͍͒̅͝h̸̫̾è̴̡̙͝s̴̼̀ë̷͉͋̇?̶̞̭̈́͒͝ ̵̠̐̚A̴̞̖̐̐ņ̵̌d̶͉͒͑ ̵̰̩̅̈̈́f̸̡̳̄̚o̵̢͜͝r̵̭̥̓̓ ̶̡̻̖̑͗̕ṫ̸̼̺̾̑h̴͍̱̬͒e̴̛̘͑ ̸͇̯̚m̶̧̀̽͘a̷̰̮͊̈͌ț̵̹̪̌t̵̛̯̱ë̴̲̞̺́ŕ̴͈͎̕,̸̠̰̲̆̉ ̴̧͔̤́w̶̪͉̺̌̎̐h̷̥̦͖͛̃ý̷̘̄ ̷̧̧̈́̚͠d̶͉̳̿̓ö̶̩́͋͠n̸͎̦̙͐̄̃'̷̤̆͋̐t̵̳͆͋͜ ̷͙̾ỵ̸̻̤̍ơ̸͚̼̜̏̕ǘ̴͕͗?̴̻̬͎̐͂̈́ Ì̶̢̼̈́̏'̴̮̦̾͠l̸̡̪͙̒l̶͚̣̽͠ ̸̘̦̫͂̈́s̴̗̉w̸̤̣̲͊͌é̷̱͐̒a̵̱͂̅r̷̟̩̉̇ͅ ̸̦̂I̷̛̔͊ͅ ̴̟̠̈c̶̢̈͠ơ̵͔̜u̸̦̯̐̂l̴͍̔͆̌d̷̤͂͑ ̶͍̉͝ă̴̡̩̥̈́l̸̨͛m̷͙̀͝ȯ̶͔̣̋ś̸̜ẗ̶̖̗̳̉̀ ̵̗͇̓͆t̴̛̫͍̯h̶͈͙̉͜i̵͈̞͓̓̽n̶̫͒̽k̶̙͈͈̿ ̸̝͒̏̚I̴̖̻͚͐̔'̴͍̘̬̑̂͘d̵̖͑ ̵͉͇̱̓̆͠g̵͓̺̒͛͜ỏ̸̻n̷̜̉ͅẻ̸̜̰ ̵̼̩͇͋̉͋b̸̢̮̲̂̕a̷̟̙̚c̸̯͎̽͌̓k̶̠̻͝ ̶̙͎͓̃i̷̪̅̚ṇ̸̬̲͠ ̶͉͚̉̋̈t̸͈͐i̶͖̤̅ͅm̴̲͍͖͒͌̌e̸̛̬̮̦͝͝ ̴͚̞̓̉̂t̶̨̛̎̄ͅo̸̩͗̽̇ͅ-̴̞̯̎͛͝ͅ-̶̳̭̗͆́”

“You are a brave and mighty warrior, little man.” Gilgamesh gave the smaller warrior a slap on the back, knocking him over, “King Gilgamesh of Uruk thanks you.” Of course, he didn’t really. No mongrel, no matter how strong or capable, was truly worthy of his thanks. But anything to get his hands on the shield. He could just take it, but getting the man to hand it over willingly would make it much simpler.

“I̴̞͈͌̍ ̷͕̌̓̍k̵̞̼̒͛n̷̹͂̀͝o̸̳̒ͅw̴̡̧̍̔̔͜ ̵̞̙̝̏y̴̳̜̏o̴̩̺̐̃u̷̗͆͗ͅ ̵̳̎w̷̯̺͗͗e̶̡͖̎̄͠ŕ̵̢̭è̵̛̪̼̄ ̴̥͐̊a̵̛͔ ̸̙̼̂ḻ̵̡̦̈́́́ỏ̶̢t̸̗̠̖͝ ̴̧̝̠͛o̵̭̠̐͠f̷̰͋ ̵̬̃l̷͚̓̔͘e̵̮͐͝g̸̻̹͂ḛ̴͋̈n̵͔̟̼̓͑d̵̺͕̪͂̀̐ạ̸̋̋r̸̡͎͒̍y̵̪̑̋̈́ ̶̠̰́͋̔f̵̥̥̟͂í̵̦̄̚g̴̡̼̮̐̃͝ù̷͖̇r̸̻͒͘e̷̺̿̆̕ş̶͎͉̌͘͝ ̵̤̐í̸̡̙̄n̵̺̞̑́̃ ̴̫̽̀y̵͇̍ò̴͈̝̯͆́ư̷̹͒̓r̸̼͆̓͘ ̴̧͋͝ͅd̵̥̘̉͂̿a̸̧̿̿y̶̰̓̉,̴̖̱̺̔̑͝ ̴̡̝̔̓̽Ë̷̟t̶͖̱̍̏e̵̢͖̽̐ṟ̴̮͂̃͝ǹ̶̺͝a̶̫͑ľ̷̡̳̉.̷̫̯̣̀ ̷̼̹͑̃̕Y̷̻̕͠o̵̘̺̺͒́u̸̙͠ ̵̗̦̇͛s̷̡̢̠̊u̷̙̺̍r̴̯̒ę̵̿̓̅ ̷̡̦̀̿o̷͚͈̲͝n̵̥͝ͅę̷͖̳̎ ̶̧̄o̶̝̗͖̓f̶̯͓͂̉ ̶̡̳̈́̽̉t̸̨̜̓̊͝h̸̬͉́͜͝e̸̝̯̊́m̷̢͐̉ ̶͕̺̟͠w̴͚̲̍̓à̷̺̱͎̀͐s̴̺͚̋̑ṋ̵̊͑͆͜'̵̘̻̀t̵̐̽͗ͅ ̵̣̊̈́Hercules?̴̨͙̥͗”

“What?” The name was unfamiliar, but it sounded like a name the mongrels to the west might use. It bore some resemblance to that one marriage goddess worshipped in that area. Hera, he thought her name was. Was this stranger familiar with the gods? And if so, was he…?

“Are you come from the gods, perhaps, to replace my poor, dear friend Enkidu?” He dared not hope. His beloved Enkidu could not be replaced, but perhaps the gods had regretted their actions against him? Had his mother called upon one of her friends from another Pantheon to provide him with a new companion? He would never be a true friend, but he could perhaps assist him in his quest.

The strange man continued to speak in his strange language, until he said a name the King of Uruk knew well.

“Utnapishtim!”

“Yes! Utnapishtim! You know of him? He is the man I seek,” The King proclaimed, “and he dwells beyond the River of Death!”

The man said more in his unknown tongue, before tossing a boulder into the River of Death, mesmerized by the way it dissolved in the water.

It was not long before the Boatman made his way to the shore.

“Ḩ̶͖̳̓ẽ̴̯̥̮̄̈́r̸̙̠̗̃͒̓ẽ̸͉ ̷̝̆̇c̵̬͌̐o̶̱̰̓͑͝m̶̠͕̱̀ȇ̵̮̥̚s̶̢̳̘̆͂̀ Utnapishtim’s ̸͙͐̆b̵̞͉̰̋ǫ̶̮͗͒̽ͅa̸̼͊̾t̵̤̊̾̋m̶̛̰͉̑a̷͎͚͓̒̀͘n̴̫̻̓̐̐.̴̣͙̃́” The man said, “Ñ̷̼̩̟͠o̸̢̗̲̐t̵̡̛ ̷͙̱̿ȃ̸͈̱ ̷̡̝̠̌C̸̜̻̍̏͠h̸̔̽͜͝a̵̺̮̒̋̕r̷̟͈̪͛̿o̵̫͌ǹ̴̹̱̫ ̶̯̆̃t̷̩̯͚̚y̴̩̬̑p̷̳̒è̵͍̗,̶̯͎̠̅ ̶̲̓a̷͆͜ṋ̵̬̾̊̽ÿ̴̝̰́w̷͍̥͆a̴͈̖̬̍ỳ̸̱̫̉,̷̕ͅ ̸̺̊̊b̷͖͖̾̑̆ụ̸̮̟̈́̓͊ṱ̶́ ̸̛̩̍͜͝I̵̞̋͒ ̵̫͐̈́̏͜f̴̞̖̦̈͒̓o̶̢͒r̸̳̻̃̿͠ģ̸̆ỏ̶̧͈̼̅̿ţ̶͈̥͝ ̶͎͓̂̓ͅȟ̵̥̝̹́̋í̶̼͕̈̈s̴̳̪͌̊̕-”

“This is Urshanabi.” Gilgamesh explained. Though he could still not fully understand his language, he was beginning to at least understand the meaning behind his gibberish. Clearly, whoever sent this man had not informed him of much.

“R̷̨͈̙͘i̶͙͗̈́g̸̮̼̍̐h̶̡̺͗t̵͉̦̃.̸̺̠̹͆̏ ̵̞͒̅W̶̧͚͠ẽ̶̟̣́͝l̷͓̀l̸͙̗̅̔͜͝,̸͓̟̭̓ ̴̰̅͒h̴͉̒̈́a̸̡̢̪͂v̷͓̈́e̷̼̍̓ ̶̪͎̜͛͘͝â̴̼̥̍ ̶̢̥̭̔̏n̶̢̥̅î̵̟̓̋c̸̡̀ë̷̡́̇ ̵̺̖͂t̶̹̍r̶̻̦̽i̶̞̗̜̊̒p̸̣̓̈ͅ.̷̘̖̝̑̓ ̵̦̝̇I̸̯͋̍͝'̵̖̟͇̈̾͝v̸̫̤̒́ḛ̶͈͒̍ ̵͍͊̒̚g̵͇̳̬̍̈́̎ò̸͖̋̍ț̴͚̎͠͠ ̶̹̹̳̋͆t̵̡̄͝o̸̗̟̾̾̕ ̵̞͕͕͗b̵̡̳̬̾e̷̫͎͐͝-̶̲̰̠̍͌-̶͉̎ ̷̨̦͑͆Ĥ̵̯͌ő̵̙̏l̴̙͛̓̑y̶̙̼͝ ̶̧̖̜͗̈H̶̨̘̩̑͝ä̴̧̼͎͠n̶̛̟̍͆n̵̖͎̽a̵͎͗h̶͖̄̂͘!̷̢͙̭̽ ̸̨̥̥̌N̶̢͇̐o̶̰͚̯̓w̵̖͇͓̅̍ ̵̞͓̹̈́̄t̶͔͚̎h̷̢̖͚̕a̶̺̻̪͊͌̉t̸̹͉̓͝͠ ̶̼̽̀̓ṯ̸͕̮́͗ḧ̸̪́̈́̂è̷͉̝̠͝ ̵̝͑͋̓f̴̬̙̥́̑̕ö̴̙̤́̅g̴̰͊'̵͙̗͓̋s̷͓̓̇ ̶̣̺̤̓̐͠l̶͚͙̕ḭ̸͍̊͌f̶̞̮̒̊t̵̘̽̈́̀e̷̘͚͙̊͠d̷̨̺̹͒̽͒ ̴̝̈́ŏ̸̪̺͚̽̊n̷͎͓͝ ̸̢̛̯͉͒͌t̵̪̮̜̊̓͂ĥ̴̛̦̠̖͝ḛ̷̪̺̓͗ ̸̼̐͆̉f̷̧͑̆ạ̷̈r̷̭̹̉̑͂ ̸̧̹̀͝ͅs̵̥̈į̷̓͘͝d̴̡̓ȩ̸͍̊̄ ̸͇͘I̸͉͎͆͌ ̶̗͍̌c̸̦͈͆à̸͖̯͜n̴͈͝ ̵̡̛̭̖̿͘s̶̺̾e̶̙̳̊e̶̟̹̩̍͗ ̵̟̪̙̽̋s̷̩̫̪̈́̈ǫ̶̛̱͕̒͠m̴̩̌é̵̮̇̈́ ̶͖̦̚w̵̫̩̚e̴͉͋̇̓į̶͔̫̀͌̿r̴̥̍ď̸̟̋ ̸͓̟͛f̷̢̟̝͗û̷͓̺̂́ͅt̷̛͉̪̙̀u̴̼͊̎̂r̴̨̐͠ȉ̸̻̲̼͒͐s̸̜̬̬̓̔̈́t̷̹̑í̷̭̻c̸͖̖͚͆̔͠ ̶̮̔̽̏t̵͙͗́o̷̡̪͓̐̽w̵̘͆́̑͜ě̴̼̺r̶̰͓͚̈̿s̵̜͒ͅ ̴̰̼͉͋̋͒ī̸̧̛͕n̷̠̳̈ ̵̡̼̙̋̕̕ẗ̷̛̖́̓h̵̭̓e̸͉͈͌̐͐ ̶̱̍̌͝d̴̬̯̈́î̴̳͙͙͋̔s̴̹̋͒͗t̵̺̟͆̚ȧ̷̢̼̟͛̃n̸̰̆̋c̸̙̭̅è̶̼̇.̴̥͘”

The stranger’s gaze was fixated upon the city across the river. Truly, a marvel most mongrels would sell their souls to view.

“H̵̱͙̀̈o̸͖̜̾̃̀p̵̯̘̅̏́e̷͍͉̯͆̾ ̵̧̤͔̀͝͝t̸̠̩̻́͘h̵̝̔̀͊a̸̯̟͋́͝ẗ̸̲̘̳͊̅ ̵̦͔͍͛͂b̴̦͘o̶̝͑̊á̸̢̅͛t̸̙̩͓̔͑͝ ̶̹̮̅͑̏h̷͈̙̄͗o̷̫͖͂͝l̷̙̫̟̐̿͘d̵͓̺͐͋͒ş̷̻̀̉̆ ̸̨̬̩̔̅͋t̷̬̞̓̀h̵̨̖̆r̸̝̳̘̀e̸̦̭͖͒e̵̤̼̓̔̇,̴̰̒ ̴̜̺̾f̷̺̈́̓̅ę̴͌̈́ḽ̴̘̋̾̕l̷̫̱̈́̂ḁ̵̰͇̓ś̸̟̹͆͆,̶̹̺̪̔ ̶̤̦͐” The man said as he joined Gilgamesh on the boat, “'̶̖͗̒ć̶͉̇̍͜a̸̱̾u̸̡͉͆̓͘s̶̬̤̼͗́͠ȇ̶̢̩͠ ̷̬͉̘͆̋͆Ç̷̛̄̊a̸͔͛̈́̌͜p̵͎̭̥̋͒͝t̸̳͆̏͘͜ä̷̗́̓i̶͇̱͓̾n̸̡͎̤͆͐̊ ̸̦̰̝̎̏̈́A̵͖͔̹͆m̶̞͕͈͒̿ḛ̷̈́̋ṙ̴̳͚i̵̺̲͂c̶̱̜̤̽̾a̷̻͊̀̐ ̷̡̨̠̓͛͊j̸̪̎͊ŭ̵̯͚͇s̵͕͠ť̴̩̈̓ ̶̢̨̭͘͠g̶̳͖̏͗̽o̸̻̽̌͘ͅt̶̘͊̄ ̸̠̫̈́a̷̼͙͊̒̀ ̷̨̗̟̈́ý̴̱̠̯͒̎ę̷̹̉̚n̶̛̜̳̦̈́̕ ̶̲͌ț̴̺̌̊͠o̶̳͒͋͠ ̸̘̘̭͛ǵ̵̮͓̩̃o̵̘͕̞̾̚ ̴͔͍̊̆̐e̷͓̜͍͌̎͝x̸̢̯̦̊p̵̤̋̄l̸̞̤͕̍̒̂ò̶͖̼̄͝r̴͈̓͠i̷̳̟̟̓͐͠n̴̖̔͜g̸̩͎͛!̸͉̪̥̐”

The trip across the River of Death was a quiet one. With nothing to distract him, the memories of Enkidu’s death returned in full force. His own mortality began to wrack his mind. Utnapishtim must have the answers, he must.

An old man and a young girl awaited him on the other side of the river.

“Hail! I am Gilgamesh, King of Uruk.”

“And I am Utnapishtim. But then, you already knew that, for men do not frivolously cross the River of Death.” The oldest man alive spoke with the wisdom only one as old as he could give, “You have come bringing a new friend, hoping he will relieve you of the pain of losing the old one.” Gilgamesh scoffed internally. The man with him was no friend. A mongrel was still a mongrel, no matter how capable they were in a fight. “But you cannot make bargains with memory, warrior-king, whether you have lost one friend, or a world of friends as I once did.”

The flood from thousands of years ago was known to Gilgamesh. His mother had been less willing to tell him it when he was a child, but he had learned of it later on. The arrival of the White Titan and it’s devastation across what would one day be his garden. How the terrible spawns of Ziran had their cities laid to waste, how the great kingdom of Atlantis has sunk beneath the waves, how the Gods cowered in fear, all but the War God of the west, who was left barely alive. How Utnapishtim survived upon his massive boat, and how a flying Eternal had brought him to dry land.

Though he was named for one of them, the King of Uruk had come to view the Eternals less and less positively as he grew older. They were as bad as the gods, in his eyes. They did little to help, and only did so when they felt like it. He had finally encountered his namesake a few years back, suffering from amnesia. He had been a poor sport, too rowdy for his liking, especially in how he tried to befriend his beloved Enkidu. No one else, not even the man who saved his father, was worthy of being Enkidu’s friend. Now that he took a closer look, the young girl with Utnapishtim was an Eternal herself, wasn’t she?

Though identical to a mongrel’s eyes, he could easily see the semi-godhood that ran through her veins. She was young, though her head was probably already full of the propaganda and better-than-thou teachings of the Eternals.

However, he could not waste time, for the longer he waited, the closer he came to death.

“Please, great one, I must know the secret of immortality!”

Tokiomi awoke, head filled with questions. It was a bit of a shame he had woken up partway through his servant’s memories, but he wasn’t quite sure if he would have been prepared for whatever would have come next.

That ‘strangely-dressed man’ had clearly been Captain America. Though he did not keep up with much of the outside world’s topics, he at least knew the Star-Spangled Man. His existence had been a great puzzle to the Mage’s Association. His appearance during the Second World War had been of great worry. His enhanced abilities had made some wonder if he was a rouge Mage that had reinforced his body, though investigations were hindered by the various attempts by the Third Reich and Hydra to steal the knowledge of the Clock Tower. In the end, he had vanished without a trace, providing a bit of Mystery to what little remained.

But what in the name of the Root had he been doing during the time of Gilgamesh?! Time travel should not be possible, such a feat would probably require True Magic to accomplish. Was that what happened to him after he disappeared in the 40’s? Had he somehow ended up thousands of years in the past? Was that why no one had found his body?

So many questions wracked his brain, it was honestly too much of a headache for him. He’d consider asking his servant to explain, but he felt that would probably lead nowhere. There was no guarantee Gilgamesh would even consider answering the question, or perhaps do something worse for even daring to ask it.

The head of the Tohsakas got out of bed as he prepared for another day of the Holy Grail War. Questions about Captain America in the Epic of Gilgamesh were quickly shoved aside for later, or perhaps shoved aside forever.

The King of Heroes awoke from his slumber. As a servant, he had no real need for something like sleep, but he had felt like experiencing the simple pleasantries of slumber. His ‘dreams’ had been quite strange that night. A memory belonging to the one who had summoned him for this War. Being forced to see a mongrel’s memories made him consider never sleeping again, but there had been an interesting detail.

The memories he had seen where of a much younger Tohsaka studying at the Clock Tower, taking an elective on Modern History of the Non-Magecraft Variety. The portion on the Second World War had contained a brief section dedicated to “Heroes.” Individuals who were not Mages, yet possessed remarkable abilities, either through modern science or freak accidents. Most of those “heroes” did not concern him, all pathetic in comparison to him. But one had stuck out to him.

Captain America. His outfit wasn’t exactly the same, but that had clearly been the strange man he encountered during his quest to achieve immortality. Had he somehow lived into the modern day? The class Tohsaka had taken did not say much in regards to the Captain’s origins, just that he was a ‘super soldier.’

He considered using Sha Naqba Imuru to learn more, but decided not to. His priorities right now were to slay the thieves trying to take what was rightfully his. He could learn more about the strange man who helped him once upon a time afterwards.

Chapter Text

The Great Fuyuki Fire, that is what it was called.

Over five hundred casualties, and 134 destroyed buildings.

The exact number of casualties was unclear. Many bodies were too burnt to properly identify, and several bodies, mostly children, could not be found at all and were simply deemed missing.

The exact cause was never figured out. Multiple simultaneous gas leaks was the hypothesis given, but it was only an educated guess.

Many discussions were held over what to do with the area ravaged by the fire. The main proposal was to turn it into a park, though how long that would take was anyone’s guess.

Only one survivor was known to exist, a young boy whose name was unknown. He was taken in by the man who brought him to the hospital, though what happened after is unclear on the official records.

On the ground, the various organizations tried their best to rebuild. The Fujimura clan lost a few key members, though the current head and his granddaughter were luckily still alive. Risei Kotomine, head of the local Church, was claimed a casualty of the fire by his son Kirei. The local businesses did their best to rebuild after the fire, though several failed to stay afloat, especially those that lost a significant chunk of their workforce in the blaze.

On the magical side of things, life continued as best it could. The Clock Tower did not intervene that much aside from ensure the general public did not learn the Fire’s true cause. But even they did not know the true cause. They merely assumed it was caused by one of the Noble Phantasms of the servants summoned for the War.

Across the world, others took notice of what had happened in Fuyuki.

The realm of Kamar Taj took notice, but did not send anyone. The Ancient One was too preoccupied with greater threats to the planet, but decided to keep a close eye on the city for the time being.

Various Pantheons recognized the Fire as bearing a strong resemblance to the Zoroastrian Angra Mainyu, but as far as those sent to investigate could tell, he had not left his realm in centuries. There was also no evidence of an artifact related to him being in the region, so it was dropped quickly.

Angra Mainyu himself merely smiled. That poor soul from all those years ago was doing exactly what he wanted it to do. The next time the grail was summoned, it would cause even more destruction.

Somewhere in the world, Francesca Prelati poured out a drink for one of her oldest friends.

“Better luck next time, eh Gilles?” She said as she prepared to return to Antarctica. “Maybe I’ll drop by the Savage Land while I’m down there and kill a tribal kid for old times sake?”

Only a select few individuals still alive knew the full truth.

Kirei Kotomine went about his duties as the new head of the Fuyuki Church. Several members had been taken by the Fire, and as such he had several funerals to prepare for. He glanced over at the preparations for Tokiomi Tohsaka’s funeral, and smiled.

Gilgamesh entered Fuyuki Central Library, which had managed to survive the Fire.

“Mongrel! I wish to procure a book! Does this establishment have anything on the one known as ‘Captain America?’”

“Uh, I’m afraid we don’t really have any books on American Heroes in particular. We do have some books on World War II, and some of them should have chapters dedicated to Heroes.”

“Well, direct me to these books. I shall see if they are worth my time!”

“O-of course, sir.”

Kiritsugu Emiya watched as his new son, Shirou, slept in his new bed. Though the boy had mostly healed from his injuries, he was not fully healthy just yet, and as such was still sleeping a lot.

He stared off into the direction he knew the Einzbern Castle, no, where his daughter was. He couldn’t leave her there, but he also couldn’t leave Shirou all by himself. That Fujimura girl was a bit too young to takae care of a child all by herself.

“Just wait a little bit longer, Illya.” Kiritsugu said as he stared into the distance. “I’ll come see you eventually.”

Chapter Text

Oberon stood upon the tallest tower of Fairy Hillfort, looking out upon the lands he ruled. For almost two millenia had he been King of the Fae, and almost one and a half millenia since he had absorbed the Abyssal Worm. And in those centuries, he had begun to notice how the Worm affected him.

At first, he had assumed the changes upon his body after absorbing the Worm to be merely cosmetic. However, as the centuries went on he noticed his temper become greater, and his mood become fouler. The changing nature of the British people’s collective psyche had only worsened the affects. Though the increasing negativity among the populace of Britain had been making all of Faekind more malevolent, he knew it was affecting him most of all, especially thanks to the Worm.

The Abyssal Worm was a conceptual entity, representing the destruction of Britain itself. And the self destructive thoughts of the British people was only making it more restless. And though he often released it in Blightspoke to consume whatever abandoned junk had been deposited in the realm, he found the Worm’s hunger was growing less and less easy to satisfy.

“Something bothering you, oh King?”

Oberon turned to the voice, and a smile crossed his face.

“Please, you’ve known me long before I was king, you can call me by my name, Roma.”

The daughter of Merlin smiled in response as the King of the Fae looked at his childhood friend. Though she tried her best to distance herself from her father, Oberon’s Fae Eyes could see past the disguise spells she had woven.

Her hair, while mostly black, had a select few strands that glowed the same rainbow white as her father’s. A hint of purple could be seen in her eyes if one looked hard enough, and there was no mistaking the pointy ears they both shared.

“Well then, Oberon, what seems to trouble you?”

The Fairy King sighed. “Every day I worry that I will no longer be of sound mind to keep my title of King. The Worm grows restless the less I let it out to feed, and though I am meant to be a mediator between the Courts, I feel myself agreeing more and more with the Unseelies on matters. Have you heard what the non-Fae denizens of Otherworld call me these days? Oberon Vortigern. I suppose it’s appropriate, given I house the Worm, though I am unsure of how to feel sharing a name with my great uncle. And every day, more and more of my people fall to the negativity of the human world. I fear that I may not be able to keep the Courts balanced for much longer. I may soon have to relinquish the throne to one of my children, one who could better handle the affects the British psyche is having on my people.”

“Which one?” Roma asked, concerned for her friend’s wellbeing, “I assume Gloriana, since she is the eldest.”

“She would be the appropriate choice, yes,” Oberon replied, “She’s one of the few of my children that hasn’t been affected by the emotions of humanity. She gets it from her mother.”

“Yes, the rumors of Otherworld are filled with tales of what your other children have gotten up to.” Roma said as she looked out into the horizon. “They’re mostly about Tinkabelinos.”

“Of course,” The Fae King said as he shook his head, “That girl will be the death of me. The Lords have suggested I banish her to Earth for her attitude, and while I have considered it, I feel she hasn’t done anything worth banishment just yet.”

“You really need to find a way to get her under control,” Roma said, “A few decades in Britain could be of some use.”

“I’m not sure, it might do the opposite.” The King of the Fairies chuckled before he became serious. “But how about you tell me the real reason you’re here. I know it’s not just to chat.”

“I never could get much past your Fae Eyes.” Roma sighed as she stood up straight. “Your aunt was resurrected recently.”

“Aunt Artoria?” A look of confusion crossed Oberon’s face, “I thought your father said there was still a decade or two to go before she needed to be reawakened?”

“Her true reawakening, yes, though someone did summon her briefly. How much do you know about what’s been happening in Japan, specifically the city of Fuyuki?”

The Fae King’s eyes widened as he realized the implications. “I had overheard the Tuath De mentioning Diarmuid’s spirit had briefly been taken from Tir na Nog for the purpose of those battles for that imitation Grail, and the same happened to Fionn sixty years ago, but I didn’t expect Artoria’s spirit to become involved in that to.”

“Yes, my father believes it has something to do with her death and the Fall of Camelot. A chance to undo such a tragedy would make anyone accept an invitation for such a game.”

Oberon looked out towards the Great Rift where Merlin had relocated Camelot all those centuries ago. “You mentioned a brief summon. I assume that means her spirit is back to it’s slumber in Avalon?”

“Yes, though my father has set up extra wards in case she gets summoned again, so that she can be recalled should the time for her return occur during another Grail War.”

“Speaking of your father and his plans, how goes his current project?”

“The Braddocks are doing fine,” Roma replied, “Jamie’s become a race car driver, and Brian and Elizabeth are both growing into proper adults. Father thinks Brian will be ready to claim the title of Captain in a few years.”

“Ah, well, I hope that all works out for him. I’m sure Brian will do swell in the Corps.”

“Yes,” Roma mused, before turning to the King, “Though speaking of family, how's yours?”

Oberon’s face grew a bit grim as he looked down. “Mother’s scheming like always, last I checked her latest scheme in Blackmore Cemetery seems to be going well, and I don’t doubt Aunt Artoria’s summoning sped up the process with that poor girl. Caroline’s moving up in the world, started her own company and everything, though I worry she’s taking after her parents a bit too much.”

“No family’s perfect,” Roma said as she patted her friend on the back, “I should know.”

“Yes, well, I suppose I should head back inside,” Oberon said as he stretched his back, “A king’s work is never done, and I haven’t abdicated the throne yet. It’s been lovely, Roma. We really should talk more often.”

“Yes, I shouldn’t keep you too long.” Roma said as she watched her oldest friend head back into his castle.

Chapter Text

Kiritsugu Emiya knew he didn’t have long for this world. The curse of the Grail was slowly killing him. He didn’t even have the strength to try and rescue Illya one last time. Kiritsugu stared up at the stars, as he did most nights.

“You know, when I heard the Mage Killer had settled down, I didn’t expect to see you in such a sorry state.”

Kiritsugu turned to the voice, seeing a face he hadn’t seen in years.

“Hey Nick.”

Nick Fury chuckled at the Mage Killer. They had only met once, during one of Kiritsugu’s missions in America. Neither of them had escaped the encounter unscathed. Kiritsugu was pretty sure he still had the scar from where he got shot.

“You aren’t close enough to call me that, though considering your current state, I’ll let it slide that one time.”

“So, what brings you here?” Kiritsugu asked, “Want to finish the job? Add ‘The Mage Killer Killer’ to your long list of titles?”

“That’s what I was ordered to do,” Fury says, “But something tells me you’re not long for this world even if I don’t kill you.”

“Yeah,” Kiritsugu said as his gaze turned to Shirou’s bedroom, his adopted son sleeping without any idea what was going on in the backyard.

“He seems like a nice kid,” Fury said as he sat down next to Kiritsugu.

“He is,” Kiritsugu said as he returned to staring at the stars, “You got any kids?”

“I’m not legally obligated to answer that question.” Fury said, to which Kiritsugu chuckled.

“You know, you were a big inspiration for me as a kid. You, the rest of the Howling Commandos, and the Invaders.”

“Not sure if I should be flattered, considering all you’ve done.”

“I always wanted to meet you as a kid. Under any other circumstance, that meeting in America probably would’ve ended with me asking for an autograph.” Kiritsugu sighed as he thought about how far he’d fallen.

“Don’t try and butter me up, Emiya. I’m still under orders to take you out.”

“I thought you were Director of SHIELD now?”

“Some people still outrank me even now.” Fury said as he looked up at the stars.

The two soldiers, both men who had been forced to make difficult choices in order to save as many as they could, watched the stars for a little while longer. It was an hour or two before the Director of SHIELD stood up.

“I won’t keep you too long, Emiya, enjoy what little time you’ve got left.”

“Fury, there is, one thing…”

“I can’t get her out, Emiya. The Einzberns have too many connections, even in the regular world.”

“I understand, Fury.” Kiritsugu looked downtrodden as he got up to go to bed. The Mage Killer turned to one of his childhood heroes one last time.

“Thanks, Nick.”

Nick Fury merely nodded as he watched Kiritsugu Emiya enter his house. The Director of SHIELD turned to leave, his mission done.

Nick Fury would report that he had successfully neutralized the Mage Killer. He would receive plenty of praise for his actions. Only a select few knew the truth.

Kiritsugu Emiya would pass away two weeks later.

Chapter Text

Somewhere in the depths of Hades:

His first memory was of falling.

No, that was not quite right.

He had memories from before, but his first memory as a separate entity had been of falling, watching as his other half was taken by their father to live among the gods.

He was Heracles, son of Zeus and Alcmena, great-grandson of Perseus and Andromeda. Husband of Megara and Deianira, lover to many more, and father of too many children to count.

Except he could count them. He knew the name of every single one of his children. The children he had killed, either by his own hands or indirectly. Killed because Hera despised his existence.

And now he was dead as well. The Hydra’s venom had been too much to bear. He had hoped the pyre would finally end his suffering, but it hadn’t. Now, he was trapped within the depths of Hades, kept by his Uncle of the same name.

The past few millennia had been tiring, though not completely alone. The shades of his fellow Argonauts would visit from time to time, and they brought him some peace when they did.

Atalanta would provide words of encouragement, telling him to not give up. Jason would praise him endlessly, his words both a blessing and a curse depending on how long he rambled. Peleus would tell him about the adventures of the next generation, especially his son Achilles. Theseus would visit from Elysium, bringing along his friend Asterios, and the three would chat about a variety of things.

Pollux would tell him about the goings on of Olympus when it was her time to be in the Underworld, while Castor would mostly spend his time in the Underworld complaining about how unfair it was that he never got to spend time with his sister due to their current situation.

Asclepius, his nephew that had also ascended to godhood, would come down from on high to chat occasionally, though his new job as the God of Medicine did not give him much time off.

A bird with golden wings would often land nearby, and though it could not speak, Heracles recognized the angry attitude of the Tyrant of Thessaly, and would often vent his frustrations with the golden bird.

He never saw Medea, though from what he had heard, perhaps it was for the best. Much like him, she had been a victim of the gods and their meddling in the affairs of mortals. His own opinion of his father’s side of the family was very poor.

Though she didn’t bring it up often, Pollux did occasionally bring up his godly half in her tales of Olympus. How he had been married to the Goddess Hebe, and bore her two sons, Alexiares and Anicetus. How he had participated in a series of games in Olympia, winning most of the categories. How he fought a Thunder God of the North to a standstill, and how he fought to liberate Greece from invaders under the guise of an Atlantean.

As the millennia had progressed, Heracles had begun to hate his godly half. He did not truly blame him for his current predicament, though he did still feel some resentment. Did his other half even know he existed? He would have to ask Pollux when she next visited.

However, his endless torment was interrupted by a summons. The spell offered a chance to be summoned in the present and serve a mage in a battle for an artifact capable of granting wishes.

Though he knew that there must have been a catch, he did not care. A chance to prove himself, and a means to escape the monotony of the Underworld were worth the possible risks.

He accepted the summons, and as he felt himself be transported, he could feel something dull his senses. His thoughts became clouded. It reminded him too much of the blind rages Hera would inflict upon him in life. The rage that took his wife and children from him.

As the summons was finished, he noticed the young girl in front of him. She was so small, so delicate. It reminded him of the children he had killed.

And so, as his mind was taken from him, the shade of Heracles took upon a new task.

He would protect this girl.

He would not let another child die because of him.

Somewhere in the wilderness of Tir na Nog:

Cu Chulainn was bored.

Ever since his death, he hadn’t been able to get the same rush as he had then. He’d fought everyone in Otherworld that he was allowed to fight, and yet none had truly given him a fight to truly remember. He’d tried to fight some of the members of that English Wizard’s Corps, but that white haired wizard wouldn’t let him. He was considering branching out and seeing if any other pantheons had worthy fighters, though he didn’t feel like going through whatever rules and regulations the higher-ups had for such a thing.

If he did ever get around to it, he’d probably request a fight with those Norse folk. They seemed like the best shot he’d get at having a decent fight one of these days.

The ground shook as the Child of Light looked to his left. Cernunnos was on the move again, the big fluffball making his way to where the Tuatha held their meetings. It must’ve been something important if Cernunnos was attending. The massive deity rarely moved out of fear of trampling the wildlife he loved so much. He scowled at the flock of ravens also making it’s way to the meeting ground, his hatred of the Morrigan as strong as ever. He didn’t really care what it was they were talking about. It probably didn’t concern him.

Then he felt the call of the summons. The idea it promised sounded like a good time. Sure the reward was a wish from an imitation Grail, and he could technically go see the real deal whenever he felt like it, but hey, the chance of an actual challenging fight was more than enough to pique his interest.

His father had brought up that Diarmuid and Fionn had been summoned previously for such a battle a few years ago, and now it was his turn, he supposed. Maybe he’d finally be the one to win this thing for the Irish.

He accepted the summons and felt the magic take him back to Earth. He felt a bit of disappointment as he felt his hair shorten back to how it was during life. He’d taken great care to make it as long and wild as possible. Hopefully it would grow back when he returned to Tir na Nog. Not to mention he was put back in that stupid bodysuit. Hopefully whoever summoned him would be someone reasonable.

A Beach Resort on the coast of Georgia:

It was in the middle of a tanning session that the summons reached Medea. The past few millennia had been a series of ups and downs for her, though the past century or so had been quite pleasant. Colchis was long gone, Jason long dead, and yet she remained. It had been a bit of a struggle, staying on Earth as the Mystery dwindled, but she’d made due. Though recently, the constant life of luxury had begun to grow stale.

She wasn’t sure why she of all people was chosen for a battle to the death, but it would be nice. Plus, she’d been meaning to visit Japan recently.

The first thing she noticed as the summons finished was the man who had performed the ritual. He reminded her of Jason a bit too much, especially that hair.

The second thing she noticed is that she was back to her old attire from Colchis. Even the tan she’d spent the last few decades perfecting was gone.

If she’d known that would happen she would’ve rejected the offer.

Luckily, she had someone to vent her frustrations out on right in front of her. His slight resemblance to Jason was a nice bonus.

Chapter Text

“For the elements, silver and iron. For the foundation, stone and the Archduke of Pacts. For the ancestor, my great master Schweinorg.

Raise a wall for the wind that shall fall. Close the gates of the four directions. Come forth from the Crown and follow the forked road leading to the Kingdom.

Fill (Close), fill (close), fill (close), fill (close), fill (close).

Repeat five times.

But when each is filled, destroy it.

Anfang (Set).

Heed my words.

My will creates your body, and your sword creates my destiny.

If you heed the Grail’s call and obey my will and reason, then answer me!

I hearby swear.

I shall be all the good in the world.

I shall defeat all evil in the world.

Seven Heavens clad in three great words of power.

Come forth from the circle of binding, Guardian of the Scales!”

Rin finished off her chant as the summoning spell completed. She feels, deep in her bones, that she has acquired the strongest card! Yet as she opens her eyes…

“Huh?”

There is no servant in sight.

Her confusion was quickly interrupted, however, by an explosion in the parlor.

“WHYYY!?” Rin screams as she bolts towards the parlor, and as she arrives, she sees the room has become a mess, with a strange man in red sitting down and cocking his head arrogantly.

“So? what are you?” She asks the stranger.

“That’s the first thing out of your mouth? I seem to have been dealt a truly ridiculous Master.”

“Just checking, but you are my Servant, right?” Rin asked the strange man in red sitting in what remained of her parlor.

“That’s what I wanted to ask.” The stranger responded, “Are you even my Master? I’ve never been summoned so violently before, and honestly, I’m still struggling to get my bearings.”

“It’s my first time, too. I’m not answering questions like that.”

“...I see. But you weren’t here when I was summoned. Care to explain why?”

“Are you serious?” Rin scoffs “You’re no baby bird. Don’t joke that you can’t decide who to serve if they aren’t there when you open your eyes.”

The unidentified servant frowns and a grunt escapes his lips.

“Whatever. What I’m asking is if you’re my Servant, and no one else's. I don’t have to answer any of your questions until we make that clear.”

“...This is what I get after a failed summoning, huh? I believe there’s something else you should be saying.”

“There isn’t.” Rin replies, “In a master-familiar relationship, this is the first detail we need to hash out.”

The Servant’s eyebrow twitches

“Hmm. You want to clarify who serves whom. At least you know how to run your mouth, even if you’ve failed at everything else… Sure. I agree with that opinion. We ought to make it clear who’s strong and who’s weak, or else it’ll make this dynamic difficult. Though before we do that…”

The Servant summons a strange looking blade and holds it in the air. Rin marvels at what she sees. Though it is shaped like a sword, it looks to instead be pieces of machinery cobbled together and fused into the shape of a sword by some great force. The crossguard is blue, with three quillons on each side.

“What is that? Your Noble Phantasm?” Rin tries to think of what Heroic Spirit would even have something like that. The fact it’s made of machinery would place it as a recent creation, but out of all the inventors she can think of that would qualify as a Heroic Spirit, none really match the description of the Servant in front of her.

The man doesn't respond as he moves the sword around. He closes his eyes, and Rin swears she can almost see a blue aura around the blade.

“Huh,” The man says as he opens his eyes and desummons the blade, “He’s not here.”

“Who?” Rin asks. Was he trying to see if someone he knew from his original life had also been summoned? “A friend, an enemy?”

The Servant pauses, his eyes close as if recalling memories. “A bit of both.”

“Maybe he’ll show up later?” The man mumbles, barely perceptible to Rin’s ears.

“Besides that,” Rin says, her mind back on track with dealing with her stubborn Servant, “what do you mean by who’s weak?”

Chapter Text

Cu Chulainn looked down at the red-haired kid he’d been tasked to kill. The boy could definitely tell he wasn’t safe, judging by how he gripped that rolled up parchment(poster, he believed the proper modern day term for it was).

It was best to finish him off quickly, kill him before he even gets to see his killer.

The Child of Light dropped down, ready to skewer the kid with a quick and painless death.

“Whaa…eh?”

“Why…you!!!”

Only for the kid to roll out of the way at the last second, holding up his makeshift weapon like a sword.

Cu turned lazily, his boredom growing.

“You’re making this whole thing kind of a pain. I was trying to be nice, thinking it’d hurt a lot more if you saw me kill you. I can’t believe I have to kill the same human twice. Guess the living world is a meat grinder, no matter the era.” Cu complained to himself.

He saw the kid retreat to the window, most likely trying to escape again.

“See ya. Don’t wander around anymore, kid.” The Child of Light says absentmindedly as he thrusts his spear forward, expecting a quick death.

Only for the kid to somehow deflect the attack with the rolled up poster, making his spear graze his arm instead.

“Huh, interesting trick you’ve got there, boy.”

Cu discards his casual attitude, watching the boy like a feral animal eyeing its prey as he notices the faint magical energy coming off of him.

“…Ah…”

“I thought you were just some kid, but I can sense a bit of magical energy from you. So that’s how you’re alive even after I stabbed you in the heart.”

Cu drops to a lower stance, deciding to play with his food a bit.

“Fine. I’m going to have a little fun.”

He swings Gae Bolg sideways at the kid’s face, the boy parrying it instinctively.

“Gngh…!?”

“Good boy. Come on, here comes another.”

A swing at his torso. Another parry, this one making the makeshift weapon bend from the force. The kid’s arms might be broken.

“Ghh… why you!!!”

“Hmmm?”

The boy tries to attack. His ‘sword’ bends even more.

“You’re hopeless. I gave you an opportunity but you wasted it. Then again, I guess expecting a good fight from a mage is asking too much.”

So far he’d only had one decent fight against the Servant in red, but even that hadn’t really been enough to satisfy him. He’d joined this war to get a proper fight after years of lackluster battles in Otherworld. He’d heard some mortals from the modern age were decent fighters, but that report was a few decades ago. Guess they must have stagnated again quicker than he’d expected.

“What a disappointment you turned out to be. ‘Kay, time to die, kid.”

“Don’t jump to conclusions! Say what you want, dumbass!!!”

The kid suddenly jumps backwards through his window.

‘Not to worry,’ Cu thought, ‘I’ll just go for the kill before he has a chance to get up.’

He went for the killing blow, only to get parried by the poster again.

A smirk crosses the Child of Light’s face.

“Fly.”

“Huh?”

Before the kid can react, Cu’s right in front of him, kicking him into the shed in the backyard.

Cu goes for the final attack, only for the kid to collapse, causing Gae Bolg to miss his head and impale the shed door.

The kid crawls into the shed, probably hoping to find another weapon of some kind. Cu knows there’s probably nothing actually dangerous in there, but it’s better to finish the kid off before he’s given a chance.

“This ends now!” Cu says as he launches his spear at the redhead.

“Daaaamn yooouuu!”

The kid blocks it. He unrolls the poster and uses it as a one time shield. He still gets flung against the wall, but he’s still alive instead of instantly dead. Cu’s impressed.

“It’s over. But that last move of yours surprised me, kid. Honestly I don’t get it. You’re quick-witted but your magecraft’s complete shit. You’ve got potential, but maybe you were just too young. I doubt it, but maybe you were the seventh one. Either way, this is the end for you.”

If the kid had been the seventh master, then he’d have eliminated a threat before it even began. Of course, that also meant one less fight against a proper warrior, but better to be safe then sorry.

“No way in hell! I…!”

A bright light flashes behind the kid, a figure appearing out of it.

“Eh?”

“What…!?”

The figure pushes the spear aside, before stepping between Cu and the kid.

“Are you effin’ kidding me!? The seventh Servant!?”

The figure, who Cu quickly realized was female, goes on the offensive, brandishing her, well, it’s hard to say what it is. She wields it like a sword, but there’s some form of enchantment hiding its form.

As Cu blocks the attacks, he gets a better look at the seventh Servant, before leaping out of the storehouse.

That armor.

Could it be…?

He’d only visited Avalon a few times. While it and Tir na Nog were close by, he preferred to stay in his Pantheon’s section of Otherworld. Yet, from his few visits, he could still recognize Camelot-style armor.

A warrior with Camelot-style armor, and a sword she didn’t want people to recognize.

He didn’t want to jump to conclusions. Last he checked the Once and Future King was a guy, but he wouldn’t put it past that pesky wizard to lie about something like that.

But King Arthur was also supposed to be sleeping until he was needed. Merlin and his daughter had been pretty adamant about that when they’d brought Camelot to Otherworld. Most of the gods and fae had been a bit upset about the sudden introduction of an entire kingdom and its people to such a sacred realm, so the wizard had needed to make a pretty good argument to let Camelot stay. Last he checked Merlin’s true body was still locked up in that tower as part of the deal. Surely a Holy Grail War on the other side of the world didn’t count as “When he(or would it be she, if this was indeed Arthur) was needed the most”? But then again, Fionn had been summoned for one of these Wars a few decades back, and he was another ‘Man Under The Mountain’ destined to return when Ireland needed him most, so perhaps the summons of the Grail didn’t count.

Cu shakes his head to focus on the matter at hand. He readies his spear as the woman leaps to engage. If she truly was who he suspected her to be, then perhaps he’d actually found a worthy fight. All he needed to do was get her to stop hiding her weapon, and his suspicions would be either be confirmed or disproven.

Maybe accepting the summons wouldn’t be a waste of time after all.

Chapter Text

So, it's been a while.

I have no real excuse, I've just been lazy.

As said in the notes of the last chapter, I've been trying to play through the Remastered version of the visual novel to better handle what changes there would be to the story, but I just keep doing other stuff instead.

New video games to play, new movies and TV shows to watch, and other people's fanfics to read.

Plus my family lives in the Southern United States, which for those of you living under a rock, is getting pretty bad. We're white, but my sister is bisexual and I'm autistic so we're planning to move to a more progressive state sometime early next year before it becomes even worse.

I really do want to continue this fanfic, but I just can't seem to get my autistic hyperfixations and ADHD under control to play the visual novel to continue the Stay Night story.

Part of me worries I'm just not cut out for Visual Novels, but then how do I continue the fic with accurate information?

I could watch the anime adaptations, but I wasn't sure about if they'd be accurate enough sources. Plus I don't have any anime watch site subscriptions and have next to no experience with sailing the open seas for less than legal means of viewing.

I don't want to just skip past the Stay Night stuff to move forward to other events I'm more knowledgeable on, that'd be rude to the Stay Night fans.

If I find my laziness just won't go away I'll probably just bite the bullet and watch the anime adaptations, but until then, just wait a while longer, ok?