Prelude
High in the mountains of Western China, two heroes were locked in a struggle of life and death. One wielded a sword, the other a bow. They went from range to range, peak to peak at a speed impossible to follow with the naked eye alone. Thunderous were their clashes, demolishing the landscape that served as their chosen battleground. They battled until the mountains upon which they fought were reduced to canyons, and those canyons turned into chasms so very deep their bottoms were unable to be seen, even by those with keenest of eyes.
When it was finished, the two heroes stood facing one another on opposing mountain-tops with a chasm wide as an ocean separating them. Over the roaring winds, the hero with the bow spoke to her opponent.
"Why are you holding back, Saber? Am I not a worthy enough foe for you to still conceal your blade?" she proclaimed, pointing the tip of her bow at the hero of the sword. The bright, crimson flames coiled around the ends of its string seemed to be kept burning by Archer's anger alone, her eyes fiery and the horns protruding from her forehead giving away her demonic nature, as she waited for her opponent to answer.
Standing perfectly, unmoving, Saber answered clearly and calmly. "No, Archer," she said, sheathing her sword—if it could even be called such—in one smooth, crisp motion and shaking her head. "I never wished to engage you in the first place. My goal is to find and eliminate Caster, nothing more and nothing less."
"Are you saying you never took this fight seriously? You were mocking me, Saber?!" Archer snarled, but, Saber was already gone; leaving to continue her pursuit of Caster.
Lowering her eyes to the chasm briefly, staring into its maw, the fire in Archer's eyes smoldered to embers, her horns shrunk back down to stubs. She grit her teeth. Her grip tightened so strongly that if it what she held were anything else—such as the head of strong a warrior as Saber—it would've been utterly crushed, but, the tools of Servants, and Servants, themselves, were not easily destroyed. In humiliation, another insignificant scratch on the latter's blade, she gathered what lingered of her pride and left to reunite with her Master.
Having watched their battle unfold and come together and unfold once more to its rather anticlimactic conclusion from a safe distance away, its outcome predicted before either even drew their weapons, Lancer was awoken from her nap by the sound of her Master whining in her ear. He was famished and required attention. Stretching stiff muscles, Lancer picked something from that same ear, then hopped to her feet and pulled a piece of cooked, salted meat from her cloak. She tossed it to him huddled about her legs. He snatched it, chewing happily. It was gone in no time and he sat there, tongue out and tail wagging, satisfied. Patting his head, Lancer wondered if she should catch up to Saber and tell her where Caster had run off to. Her Master barked, and she nodded in agreement.
Right. Yes. Of course, what was she thinking... Caster was their hunt, and nobody else's.
And this was where the fun began.
At Clock Tower in London, England, it was nearly midnight the next day and the head of Modern Magical Studies, Lord El-Melloi II, had been relaxing in his flat playing the latest installment of the Total War series of strategy games when word reached him—annoyedly, by a pounding on his door—of a "mysterious landslide in China" that nearly wiped out an entire city off out of existence. Letting out a groan, it was painfully obvious that another Subspecies Holy Grail War had started, but, more importantly, why was Flatt of all magi the one relaying him this information?!
"Where's Gray,"—or as much as he'd rather not as she was also a thorn in his side just as much as Flatt here though for vastly different reasons—"Médée?"
Flatt beamed from ear to ear. "No idea!"
"Then why did they send you?"
"Oh, they didn't! I just wanted to ask you if—"
... Fuck.
Lord El-Melloi II slammed the door in his face and turned back to conquering the Greek City States as Macedonia, following Alexander the Great's Balkan Campaign as accurately as the game allowed. They were proving very difficult to conquer. He'd worry about this latest Subspecies Holy Grail War tomorrow. Better yet, he'd get Gray or Médée or both of them—the two of them worked surprisingly well together—to deal with it. Then his phone rang. He checked the caller ID and clicked his tongue. He couldn't ignore it like all the others. It was the Vice Director of the Magus Association, and Queen of Clock Tower, the witch who'd dumped her misbehaving apprentice in his lap for him to deal with, Lorelei Barthomeloi. He saved his progress, dialed the receiver's volume down almost all the way this time, then picked up the line.
"... Hello?"
Chapter 1
Rays of early morning sunlight slipped through the blinds of Médée's single window of her flat overlooking Clock Tower. Wide-awake, the serpentine dagger on her nightstand beside her bed unwrapped and out of its golden, leather-bound sheath, its iridescent blade was still ever changing colors; shades of violets, blues, and blacks. She grimaced, and angled her head in an attempt to see them differently. From scrapes, cuts, welts, and bruises to the gentler, soothing vibrant of summer; yellows, greens, reds, and oranges, fields of sunflower, hues of evening sun, these beautiful colors, reaching a hand toward it, her bangs fell in front of her eyes. Eyes wandering up and down the ancient, ceremonial weapon, it once belonged to her Servant, a witch from the Age of Gods, its hilt embellished with a single violet jewel. One of the catalysts taken into her possession after winning her Holy Grail War, the only one she hadn't destroyed or handed over to her mentor to do what she pleased with. A finger tracing its thin surface, she now held it to the light, thinking of how, even though she'd won and proven her worth, that her mentor had yet to recognize her. How, despite winning, she'd been saved and spared by Saber who destroyed the Grail with her Noble Phantasm. Of what transpired afterward, subsequently being barred from ever entering another.
It'd been two years since then.
Setting the dagger back down on her nightstand, Médée got out of bed, buttoned her shirt, and went into her kitchen. Pouring juice into a glass, she watched the pulp float around thinking of all those Holy Grail Wars which had taken place since. Gripping the glass, a reflection of her collarbone in the glass, deep scars from where Assassin's knives shaved her skin, she'd miscalculated and would've died if Saber hadn't been there to stop that fourth knife.
—A person like you, who throws lives away like they serve no meaning, has no right to have their wish granted—
She scoured her fridge for something to eat, and, blending an assortment of fruits and vegetables into a smoothie, set her cup on the counter before taking off her clothes and entering the shower. Letting the water run over those faint reminiscences upon her left hand where her Command Spells once resided, she could still hear Saber's words echoing in her head, the cold bite of her golden blade upon the nape of her neck. The Servant that got away.
The back of her hand throbbed.
—From here on, you will learn humiliation. If, in time, you come to know it as I have, then that is more than anything death could ever grant you—
Then, it was gone.
As painful as it'd come back.
Heading back into her bedroom, Médée began to pick out her attire for the day when her phone rang. She let it go to voicemail to finish her morning routine, already knowing who it was from and what it regarded. She groaned. She'd honestly had enough of Holy Grail Wars.
※※※※※
Arriving in the horse-drawn stagecoach to the Archibald mansion on the outskirts of London, Médée peered out its curtained window at the crest of the Archibald magi bloodline that hung proudly above the mansion's main gate and thought of the man who'd inherited one of Clock Tower's most prestigious titles in a Holy Grail War of his own. She recalled their first introduction, his fingers rapidly tapping away on some handheld device in his hands as she'd been forced to sit and wait for him to set it down shortly after the aftermath of hers, thankful the meeting wasn't being held at his flat for once.
Sent to him by her mentor as a punishment because hers leveled an entire city, let a rogue Servant run loose unabated, and cost both the Magus Association—and the Holy Church, though a boon, not a misfortune—an innumerable amount of joint resources to cover up, at the time, besides the gossip from other students and professors of his misadventures which floated her way, half the female student body voted him "most desired to sleep with" and painted him as this tall, dreary, intimidating figure, but, he was in actuality little more than a lanky, slobbering, chip and cigar craving fool, befitting what many parroted him as for an entirely different meaning that its original intention: Great Big Ben London Star—because only a fool would acquire such a nickname. Ever since, and oh so much to her great joy, she'd been stuck in her new position as an "official liaison" between he and her mentor about the Holy Grail Wars.
From what she'd listened to in passing, he was still tracking down leads and researching the false claims of a supposed "Great Holy Grail War" whether they be right here in London, a channel and several rolling hills away in Ireland, or such volatile places as Africa, the Middle East, and even America to source them. Many turned out to be squabbles between the local populace where a significant amount of magecraft happened to be involved, or petty pockets of rogue magi, or the whisperings of something long ago left forgotten and of no use in this current, modern age. Only a few were actual Holy Grail Wars, and they were only the smaller variants that both of them had participated in already.
Walking up to the mansion, her opinion of him hadn't changed: Lord El-Melloi was a dreamer severely in need of a haircut. Just a pawn used by Reines, left far too long to his own devices with that apprentice of his and who was now another piece yet to be knocked from her board.
Though, in order to convince her mentor that she still held some value as a proper apprentice, she had to keep up appearances. Had to keep going to these pointless meetings, and sucked in her disgust and disappointment through her teeth, tapping on the mansion's front doors.
They swung wide and Trimmau, the mercury golem that functioned as Reines's maid and bodyguard, beckoned her inside with a curt, if awkwardly mechanical, bow.
"Lady Veilleux, the Lord awaits you in his study."
Going inside, the doors shutting with a gentle, well-oiled creak behind them, she followed the golem through the main hall, ignoring the opaque, silver construct's explanations of her master's most recent additions to his master's collection of paintings and other fancy tapestries as they passed them by.
Another thing she couldn't stand: Reines's heartwarming favoritism of her.
While not having many face-to-face interactions with each other, Reines always made it a habit to be kind to her. Always having her maid escort her around the mansion when she visited, always telling her such things as "not to put up with the imbeciles who would do her wrong"—whatever that truly meant because she never did—and silencing any rumors about her person, it'd grown to become an annoyance. Before even leaving her flat, she'd already gotten a hold of Flatt for the red-ribboned gift basket full of expensive chocolates that would be waiting in front of her door after today's visit.
Upon reaching the study, she waited for acknowledgement to enter, then gave her respects to the girl in question who was nonchalantly sipping tea.
"It's wonderful to see you again," Reines greeted. She set her teacup down on the tabletop beside her chair with a welcoming smile. She then snapped at Lord El-Melloi II, who was now begrudgingly doing as she bade, filling her teacup with more tea. "How are you?"
At the least two heads shorter than her, behind that gentle, princess allure was very much a lioness and her pride. Having fought without rest to secure her title as head of the Archibald family upon being chosen for the position after first Lord El-Melloi's departure, Reines was seen as someone who would do anything to keep her standing within Clock Tower. It was partially the reason the current Lord El-Melloi was serving her.
"Fine," Médée answered back. "I am here by request of Vice Director Barthomeloi."
For that, she admired her ruthlessness more than her kindness, and when Reines turned to the Lord in question, who was already looking drained and defeated, commanding him to pour her a cup with another snap of her fingers, she would admire her and accept her kindness further if she dropped the façade of "the caring auntie"—as Flatt put it—altogether.
"Oh, I see." Reines frowned, then yelled at him standing the corner and grumbling to himself. "Did you hear that?"
Lord El-Melloi waved her away. "Yes, yes." He gave the formalities a wave as well. "I assume you already know why you're here." His brow wrinkled. "That woman, bothering me at—"
"Whatever you're babbling about isn't worth her time."
"Yes. Right." He sighed, bringing a hand to his face. "So, to start—"
"I'm sorry for his impudence," Reines added. She took a sip of her tea, seated in her chair again.
Lord El-Melloi glanced in her direction with a pained smiled as she casually took another sip, then continued. "So, to start… I haven't heard word of the Enforcer arriving back with you, and had planned to ask her, but…" he trailed off.
"You're still upset about not being able to go instead of the God's Holder? Honestly." Reines closed her eyes and scowled as she took a third. Dozens of empty boxes in a corner of the chambers read Yerba Mate. "Quit being a baby about it."
He ignored her. "Let's skip to the end, then."
"Why else would she waste her time with you?" Reines retorted, holding up her teacup. "Another."
"To be frank, I always thought the Vice Director dismissed these Wars as fools' quests…"
"Will you just shutup already?" Reines shooed him away.
Médée nodded her thanks. "Vice Director Barthomeloi has her reasons."
"Don't we all?" His gaze traveled to the shelves of books behind him briefly. "Proceed."
She did so.
When she finished, Lord El-Melloi rubbed his chin.
"Hm. I see… How disappointing... I suppose we should start from where I left off then. Hm... you recall what we spoke of last time, yes...?" he said, reaching into his coat pocket. His fumbled around, face darkening when something that should've been there, wasn't. "... Fuck!" he exclaimed, beginning to pace back and forth between Reines, the shelf, and his desk. After a few minutes, he picked up a cigar from the floor. "There it is…" He shot Reines a nasty look.
She didn't seem to notice. "Oh, don't bore her with things we all know are a load. Nobody wants to hear about another celebration in America which turned out to be just some little girl's private costume party. Or those kids in Africa who saw one too many Monty Python skits. Get on with the one you neglected to tell her because you were being overly critical of the costumes at the party. Rambling on and on..."
Lord El-Melloi took a seat at his desk. "Yes, well, I wanted to make sure of that one before sharing it with you, and after some more looking into it, I can say this one might be worth our attention." He leaned back in his chair, linking his hands together, cigar between his teeth. "The MENA branch of the Association is up to something. The Director of the Academy has reported strange rituals being performed around the ruins of Babylon that were similar in nature to those in Fuyuki rituals. Of course, you already knew this..."
"Oh, get on—!"
He cleared his throat. "What I didn't tell you was that Gray went to investigate shortly after you left. She's already on her way back, but, in her search found a water source running underneath what remains of the city. Multiple, in fact. Moreover, she discovered what appears to be an entrance in the heart of the ruins, but that's not what's significant about this one." Snuffing out his cigar, he snorted. "What is, is that Gray discovered signs of incantation circles, like those used to summon Servants. Though, whether or not they were successful is anybody's guess."
"Like the catacombs."
"Yes."
While she hadn't bothered to read the findings in full, something to do with an armored shadow entity which was reminiscent of the ghost-liners in these Holy Grail Wars, the Servants, and that its name was supposedly Kay.
"And Hephaestion."
Lord El-Melloi gripped the armrest of his chair, knuckles white. "Yes."
"That's all?"
He nodded.
"Then I'll make sure the Vice Director hears of this," she concluded.
She was turning to leave when he stopped her.
"Before you go, I'm confident she can handle anything that might stir, but it would be wise to send a team as a precaution, just in case. Preferably, one with knowledge and familiarity of—"
Reines scoffed. "A Holy Grail War. Like yourself."
"At least I have an interest in something besides sucking up to the Vice Director through her apprentice and drowning myself in tea all day," he countered with an exasperated sigh.
As Reines glared at him, Médée felt it best to give her respects again, receiving the same back, and leave the Lord's study, hearing shouting and something as it shattered as soon as the door closed.
Trimmau escorted her out.
Entering the stagecoach for the ride back to London, regarding these strange rituals, Atlas was an academy located in the mountainous regions of Egypt. Primarily specializing in alchemy, its authority was lax and its members even moreso. Last she heard, the new Director that'd taken over about five years ago was working diligently to organize the branch into something of a higher discipline. No Holy Grail Wars were taking place or had in that region as far as she knew and ashamed to admit she knew of and though his name escaped her, Médée guessed his own personal research might've been utilized to perform such a feat as summoning and binding a ghost-liner of that level. Also, other than a punishment for her, because of her mentor's whole reason for being involved with the fool and his hobbies in the first place, of those Dead Apostles that they knew by name, Sumire was only one of her kin to overcome the traditional weakness of water, able to submerse herself without consequence. The ruins of Babylon had no running sources of water, having all dried up an Age ago. Seeing as how Sumire could also manifest water and live in it, it wouldn't be far-fetched to say she might be hiding there, as well. If anything, she knew her mentor would be elated at this news...
※※※※※
The elevator doors parted.
Médée made her way to mentor's study, but found the Vice Director not there. Instead, she was within one of the buildings the Department of Archaeology spread itself between. There, her mentor, usually straight faced and unflinching in everything she did, was staring intensely at a sword on display before her, bending the baton she usually used to smack particularly irritating students with so hard it might snap in half. Trickles of blood ran down her chin from how hard she bit her lip, dripping onto the baton.
"If it ever comes here again, it's dead," she snarled, not even noticing her presence, she was so infuriated.
"... Vice Director?"
Her mentor snapped out of it. "It's... nothing, for right now." She wiped the blood from her chin and looked over at her with a solemn expression. "So, what did he have to say?"
She paraphrased.
"Very good." Taking the sword from its display and handing it to her, her mentor continued. "If there is truth to this, then there's the unmistakable certainty that one of them is behind it. Given the… ambiguity… of whatever it truly is, I want to be prepared for it. There's no telling what might happen..."
"And this sword is...?" Large and heavy, judging by the embroidery on it sheath it looked like a weapon not used for combat, but, ceremonious occasions.
"Keep it, I have no use for it anymore. I'll arrange a team as he suggested. Once I have their names I want you to get in contact."
"Wait… I'm not going this time?"
"No."
"What?" She protested. "But I can handle it better than whoever you send in my stead!"
Her mentor's expression darkened. "The last time I let you go off on your own, you ruined the reputation of three of Clock Tower's most prestigious bloodlines. I still have to go through the trouble of replacing them again. My answer is final. Instead, you'll accompany me. There's a matter I must investigate and I want you to see how to properly handle it."
She lowered her eyes to the sword in her hands. "Yes, Vice Director."
"Even now, something tells me to be wary of you, and should it come to a duel between you and I, know that you are to hold nothing back, as I will unleash everything at you, in turn. Now, go prepare, before things grow more troublesome."
Médée bowed, wrapping the sword in cloth and leaving her mentor's presence.
※※※※※
In a small diner in the middle of nowhere significant, after dropping off that insufferable magus and his charges, Arturia watched her Master play around with a game setup on the table involving the removal of—thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, a total of fifteen—pegs from holes on a triangular board until only one remained as they waited for their food to arrive. In that time she asked what they were to do about him.
"Hmm." Moving one of the pegs, her Master removed another and was already down to seven. Six to go. "Yes, he'll definitely betray us…"
"Then—!" Arturia rose from her seat, intending to head back immediately. "Master! Allow me to—"
Her Master gestured for her to sit back down. She shook her head. There was only one peg on the board now. "Just because you hate him doesn't mean you get to leave and kill him. Not yet, anyway. Well, at least until he comes back. He's obviously been practicing, scheming, waiting for the opportunity. Besides, I need you here."
She did so, slowly. "... Master?"
"Mistakes happen," her Master said, replacing all the pegs. "Right now, you and I have more important things to do." She thanked the waiter who brought out their food then, giddy as a child upon seeing the large milkshake being placed in front of her.
Arturia looked down at her own food, a cheeseburger and steak fries. Her Master's magical energy was sufficient enough that it was unnecessary requiring to preserve and sustain herself through rest and the consumption of food. There was no reason she needed to stop and eat other than pleasure.
"We'll be leaving this country shortly," her Master continued, taking a large scoop of her milkshake. "Oh, that's delicious," she shrieked. Wiping her mouth with a napkin, she presented two tickets as before. "This is where we'll be going."
Arturia accepted hers and read it. Their destination this time was Beijing, China. The scheduled time was tomorrow morning.
"I won't bother you about the details right now other than another Holy Grail War is happening there." Already finished, she pushed her milkshake to one side. "Ah, I'm going to order a second milkshake, how about you?"
Arturia shook her head. "This is enough for me." She looked down at her cheeseburger. Too much ketchup. A fist in her lap, watching it ooze out the bun, she frowned.
Her mind went back to that night when she'd been looking down at the small sight of her previous Master, blood seeping from underneath his all but lifeless body, and the enemy Master who'd rendered him in such a state. Remembering their brief duel to the death, cut short by Assassin, the moment after when she'd raised her sword with the intent to end her the magus's young life, only to lower it back down, and turn away to the large, ominous, and gaping crimson ringed portal in the sky above both their heads—the Holy Grail she so desired—with a heart heavy with sorrow, deceived and blinded by her pride.
… That time… Why had she…?
—This path… I don't believe it's the wrong one—
Standing on that lonely battlefield again, blood pooling under her son's corpse, this was the final outcome of her pride, her wish, and the devastation it wrought. If only she hadn't been King, then…
"What, don't like your food?"
Hearing her Master's voice, Arturia looked back up.
—Oh, dear little sister, how I wish to see the glorious day you hold aloft your spear again. It will be quite the sight indeed—
The Round Table being disbanded, Camelot falling, her companions—her friends—all dead. Everything they built—all those many years—unraveled as if they never happened. All of it her fault because she hadn't seen the reality of her reign. Hadn't bothered to lower her eyes to those she led. Truly, honestly, paid them the attention they deserved. If only she hadn't been the one to pull the accursed thing from that stone. If only she hadn't been King, then she wouldn't be here, crying over the slain though she wept no tears... Yet, the remorse that came to her was already a fleeting memory of the past. A past she as King once resigned herself to without conflict. Accepted without recompense. Now, with her new Master, all of that would become undone. The World would be set right. She gave a thin smile. "... I'm fine, Master."
"I can get you a new one..."
"No, Master… it's alright..."
There was a lapse of silence.
"... Are you sure?"
Swift and absolute, as an executioner's blade down upon the neck of the accused, Arturia nodded. The King, ordering the final judgement. The King she never had the right to be.
Her Master gave her a long look, but, finally gave up and shrugged. "Suit yourself."
Arturia's eyes went back down to her cheeseburger.
Her Master was an oddity. An impossible existence, most definitely, but, under her everything would be fixed, the mistake of her existence as The Once and Future King corrected, and, as she watched her call over the waiter to order that second milkshake, her failures undone.
Originally Posted by Imperial
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