A smile crept up her face the moment she felt the familiar sensation. Once in a while she would be pulled out of her duties thanks to the meddling of the mortals. It was at these moments was she liberated from the shackles of the one she sold herself to. Even if they were blinks of an eye compared to the total time she had spent in servitude, these rare moments were always worthwhile.

She felt herself transform. She was returning to her mortal form to engage in mortal affairs. How long had it been since she's walked the earth in bone and flesh? How long had it been since she held steel in her grip? How long had it been since she felt the warmth of fresh blood splattering all over her face?

The ever annoying interference of gravity pulled her out of her musings. Mass and weight were always awkward to transition into. She felt her heart beat. Felt her muscles coil and unwind with every breath she took. Felt the teasing of soft cotton and silk under her dense silver plating. The erotic stench of blood in the air sent shivers through her.

Her eyes peered down onto the one who brought her through the cosmos. A pathetic excuse for a boy sitting on his rear, panting, sweating, and bleeding. How shameful. Though he had cuts from a blade, her experienced eyes could see they were nicks from him fleeing rather than fighting. His eyes were… baffled. Awestruck in speechlessness at what stood before him just as much as he was confused.

Nevertheless, she smiled. The blood was fresh. He had been running from something. And the smell in the air meant the danger was not gone just yet. Outside the workshop, she could feel the torrent of power waiting for her to come out. She will gladly accept its challenge.

But first...

"I have come forth in hearing your summons! I ask, are you my Master?"

*Scene*

Emiya Shirou didn't know what to say when asked that question. His mind still wasn't in the right place. Oh he recognized magecraft when he saw it— but he never knew he had a magic circle in his shed. He had been in this place so many times ever since he was so young and had seen every corner but never seen any sort of magical instrument. His so-called workshop was nothing more than a mundane tool shed where he practiced his craft.

Appearing out of the magic circle was an immaculate beauty unlike any other he had ever seen. She was flawless with a face as smooth as porcelain, green eyes as clear and sparkly as an emerald's, and hair tied into a tail with a single stray at her forehead as though each strand was woven out of gold itself. She was a head shorter than he was, but her presence alone made him realize the greatness she held was leagues beyond anything he could achieve.

She was donned in silver and white armor plating with painted red thorns etched into the metal. Her shoulders, arms, and right leg were exposed to reveal her fair skin. Of similar metal, a pair of gauntlets covered her hands up to her elbows and grieve-sabatons covered her feet up to her knees. Over her shoulders was a long white cape that flowed down to the back of her knees. By the angle she was turned, Shirou could tell without the cape her entire back would be exposed. Which meant her metal plating only protected her front.

She did not have a smile of pleasantry. She was not happy. Shirou could even say she was not a nice person in any way. This girl bore a smile like one would tolerate a cancer. It was twisted, corrupted, sickening, and eating away at her beauty. Her eyes shone with that of a predator. She was hungry and saw him as his next meal. But at the same time he saw disappointment as he was hardly anything of worth to her.

"…Master?" Shirou questioned. At that moment, a burning sensation on his right hand consumed his thoughts. Looking down to see what could have possibly be burning him were a series of crimson marks that were being etched onto his skin. They glowed as they appeared until the mark was finished. A crimson sword with wings remained at the back of his hand.

"It would seem that is the answer in itself," her smile curled to one side of her face. Like a Cheshire, her eyes narrowed in perverse glee as she looked towards the doorway. "Now wait here, little one. I shall make all your problems go away."

She dismissed him like he was a child. Perhaps it was just a front. Because as soon as she turned away and marched out the door, he saw that twisted smile consume her face. It was like she was the child instead.

He wanted to stop her. He wanted to tell her the blue man was unlike anything he had ever seen. But yet, somehow, that smile stopped him from moving against her.

*Scene*

Lancer twirled his spear as he patiently waited for the newly summoned Servant to come out of the shed. It was in his judgment to kill the kid before summoning the Servant. That way he wouldn't have to deal with the Seventh. But of course not. His Master told him to wait and see what the boy would summon. So, Lancer waited against his better judgment.

His eyes narrowed at the ever familiar miasma bombarding his senses. But he had never met anything with such a strong signature. It sickened him. Never before had felt a wave of blood.

It burned his nose. He could see an aura of red surrounding her. Hell, he could reach a hand out and grasp at it if he so tried.

This aura of blood was so thick the new Servant was wearing it like she would her skin. It moved with her, becoming one with her, obeying her command without a word. If Lancer were a lesser man the miasma would have made him drown in his own spit.

Instead he couldn't help but smile.

This blonde beauty walked out of the boy's shed with the grace of nobility, but her presence was that of a true hunter. She was elegant, but she was deadly. She was smooth, but brutal. She was stalwart, but fierce. Such contradictions made her dangerous, unpredictable, and Lancer wouldn't have it any other way.

They both eyed the other, fully inspecting everything they had to offer onto the field. Just as Lancer's smile grew, so did hers. All was quiet in the night as they stood there, continuing to eye the other like candy. Two hunters had met and only one will live.

"The kid sure did summon something interesting," Lancer twirled his spear before fixing himself into a battle stance. "Try to not disappoint, Seventh."

She snickered, a tone that rang like chimes but resonated like grinding metals. Beautiful, but tainted. "I thought I caught the scent of wet dog. Try to not die, pup."

If she could throw in insults at her own leisure, then surely it meant she was ready to die. If not, then Lancer would have been greatly disappointed. All it would mean was all the huff and puff was just for show. Even as he had prepared to fight, she continued to stand there completely unguarded. She waved off the declaration of battle as nothing as though she couldn't take a hint. So be it. He fired off the ground with his spear going in for a strike at her exposed abdomen.

"I accept your challenge!" she roared, thrilled as her face contorted in pleasure as her smile broke her face in two.

Two streaks of red clashed. Lancer's attack had been parried by a crimson gladius suddenly appearing in her hand. Instinct took over as his body moved before his mind could. His red spear twirled and pushed aside a crimson mace appearing in her other hand. Using the force brought by the mace to his advantage, he twirled his spear around to cut open her jugular. She lifted her arm slightly; a bladed tonfa intercepted the tip, but Lancer saw how it replaced the gladius that was previously in her grip.

The Seventh Servant swung her other arm around, replacing the mace with a similar crimson bladed tonfa. Immediately Lancer knew something was wrong. Such batons were used for close combat; with Lancer keeping a distance he couldn't help but wonder why she was trying to cut open wind.

He realized why when the blade extended mid-swing.

Lancer was able to dodge with but a nick to his chin. He was both annoyed and impressed; she had done more to him in a few seconds than what that Archer had attempted.

She took a step forward to close the gap between them. Both tonfa blades were extending to become long enough to reach the floor. In a flurry of swings, she brought both weapons around in a whiplash. Her control over them was outstanding as she knew when to twirl them between offensive and defensive grips. Lancer was easily able to parry each one while giving his own counters as he took a step back to keep his distance. But as he took that step, she stepped forward to close it.

Lancer's eyes narrowed. She was very experienced against opponents with polearms.

She swung both tonfas at the same time to have him block with the shaft of his spear. She had done so by having the shafts pressed against her forearms and using her entire body mass to push against him. The force made him pause his counter for but half a second. It was half a second she used to spin around, bring both her arms together…

The tonfas were replaced with a warhammer made of the same crimson metal. Lancer leapt away as the horizontal swing sent a ripple of air with her might. Had he not realized sooner, a large chunk of him would have splattered all over the lawn.

Mid-way through her swing, impossibly, the Seventh Servant turned it into a stabbing motion. The amount of force she put into the swing as well as the weight of the hammer should have had her complete the swing or at least slow it down with much effort. There was no sign of a struggle, no sign of shifting her footing, or of changing her grip. Instead, almost like she defied the laws of force, she was able to turn a horizontal swing into a piercing attack.

Lancer brought his spear up just in time to stop the crimson halberd from advancing any further. The axe side was locked into his shaft but it didn't stop the pike tip of the halberd from digging into his shoulder.

Wait. Halberd?

The blonde Servant twisted her wrist and swung the halberd diagonally. Lancer was able to push it away but the pike tip had successfully torn the wound a little wider. But it was nothing he couldn't handle.

Lancer charged, using his great Agility to cross the distance and get inside her guard before she could prepare a proper defense with that halberd. Bringing both hands close to the tip of his spear, he put most of his strength into a close-range stab.

The halberd dissolved into mist. His eyes widened. She crossed both arms just before he could finish his attack.

A crimson great shield blocked his path. His spear bouncing off the surface.

Like the shield had been made out of liquid, a crimson fist broke through and struck at his underjaw. He had no choice but to disengage.

Wiping the blood off, Lancer's smile was replaced with a thin line of annoyance. Here he thought he was going to fight against a good Heroic Spirit who was just as skilled as he was in combat. True she was skilled; in fact, she was able to adapt to any situation with ease. But there was no dance as when two great warriors clashed. The song of battle would not play. She moved to kill— not to defeat, not to win, not even to not lose, but to only kill.

She was worse than that Archer.

Lancer was fighting nothing more than a coward.

Her Noble Phantasm was a fickle one. It could change without warning and its variety was possibly endless. But at the least he found out what that strong scent of blood was. Once more the crimson metal that was a great shield and what overlapped her gauntlet turned into mist, dissipating into the air. She stood in her silver and white armor without a weapon to hold, but he knew with but a thought something— anything— would come to her side.

Simply, her Noble Phantasm was blood. Blood in which can take the shape and form of whatever she needed and was more than durable enough to block his own Noble Phantasm.

She was dangerous.

She was unpredictable.

She was a stain on everything he believed in. This was no Heroic Spirit. This was nothing more than an overqualified murderer.

Likewise, her smile had faded into a thin line. She was not annoyed or frustrated like he was. If anything, she expressed something akin to… disappointment.

It was at this time her Master decided to come out of hiding. He had been watching their engagement for a while, but only found it to be safe enough at this moment to step out of the doorway.

"…Why do you not fight with your all?" she questioned. Her ruthless, bloodthirsty demeanor was gone, replaced with something akin to curiosity. "Is your will to live that weak?"

Lancer scowled at that. "Believe me, I would love to give you my all. But my Master is a bit of a coward and only wants me to inspect the competition."

Something he said peaked her interest. A brow was raised and a small grin pressed her lips. "Hoh? So you are under orders not to fully engage? Only to test my limits? A sound tactic— to investigate the potentials of the enemy and see which ones offer the biggest threat!" Her grin grew to a wide smile. "I respect your superior, coward or no."

"Of course someone like you would say that…" Lancer gritted under his breath.

She gave no sign if she had heard him. Instead, she continued with her smile growing more and more until it started to eat away at her beauty. "What say if... perhaps… I were to press you to the brink of death? To strike at you with my all, to force you into a corner and bring about your primal instincts, to force you to either flee with urine running down your leg or fight until your flesh is sanded down to your bones?!"

Lancer prepared himself. Her eyes became glazed as she was no longer focused on him but rather some sort of fantasy only she could see. Her body didn't tense for battle like a normal warrior's would. It shivered— shivered in anticipating pleasure.

"Sounds fun."

That was his only warning as the blonde Servant moved. His eyes widened in shock as he brought his spear up to block the swing of a claymore pushing him back. Were it any other spear it would have broken in half. But even as it protected him from being split in two, he felt his bones creak by the sheer force of her strength. She put her all into that swing, overcoming his own as she continued to sprint forward, pushing him back without control.

She giggled.

Splitting the claymore into two different serrated swords, she sent a flurry of swings his way without her previous grace. Lancer was caught in the first strike as he was forced to disengage from the push and bring his spear to only parry one of the blades. The swords were not made to kill, but to tear as much flesh as possible. One of them clipping his forearm and peal his skin hurt like a bitch.

He grunted in both pain and frustration as she pursued him. He brought his spear up to send his own barrage of stabs, attempting to keep his distance. His spear moved in a blur as he sent ten stabs per second. But despite his efforts, she was faster. The serrated blades became xaolin hookblades which she used to both parry and trap his spear. Their ridiculous reach carved into his body every time he tried to push her away. His continuous retreat was the only thing keeping her from landing a critical blow.

Suddenly one hookblade became a large scythe while the second sword became a long link of chains attached to said scythe. Now the distance he had successfully gathered was becoming his disadvantage. The scythe flew around his blind spots— around him, at the edge of his vision, behind him. With every second she sent the scythe at every angle imaginable, sometimes changing the trajectory midway to throw him off. She spun it around her to gather speed, pulling and releasing the chains to come at him in unpredictable ways.

Despite the destructive potential the chained scythe had, the blonde Servant was using the combination weapons without a shred of property damage. Her only target was Lancer and the landscape surrounding them was completely untouched.

She pulled the chains for the scythe to swing back at his left flank while charging forward with a new weapon in her other grip: a crimson spear of exact design to his own.

Now, Lancer was enraged.

He ducked under the scythe coming from behind. It sailed past him and dissolved into a wall of red mist, concealing the Seventh Servant's location temporarily. Without a doubt she will come at a different location to throw him off. However, it won't matter…

*Scene*

She leapt high into the air, using the spear Dux Legionum took the form of to vault. She spun, twisting and adjusting her center of gravity to her advantage in order to bring about the maximum power in her next strike. She knew what sort of spear this blue entity held. By the feel of it in her fingers she knew it was an anti-infantry weapon which could also be used as a javelin. In fact, its greatest potential lied within long-distance throws. A marvelous weapon in close combat, but far more deadly against invaders climbing fortress walls or charging cavalry men. And by the unique design of this barbed spear in particular, it was more than powerful enough to slay monsters in which mortal weapons could not.

Were she an actual warrior, one who enjoyed comparing who had the bigger shtick, she would have found poetic irony in using a reflecting weapon against this blue spirit. But that would imply she actually enjoyed fighting— that she enjoyed facing her greatest fear like some sort of masochistic idiot. This would just be another weapon design Dux Legionum could mimic. But another tool for her to use in her arsenal.

But another article to improve her life expectancy.

At the climax of preparation, she gave it her all as she spun her body around one last time to launch the crimson spear at her target. Her phenomenal strength and superior speed would not allow her opponent to easily dodge. Should he see her and prepare any proper defense, she will plow through. Should he attempt to dodge, the spear will still cripple him no matter which direction he fled and no matter how fast. At best, he would be able to avoid a fatal blow.

"Gae…"

Something resonated in the air. Something so fowl, dark, malevolent that it rivaled the magics binding her Dux Legionum. It sang a song of hunger like a wild dog howling at its pack for prey. The air had become thick as the resonation littered the spirit's signature into a super-compressed substance.

When she broke through the blood mist concealing her location, her eyes immediately caught sight of the origin of the heresy. The blue spirit's spear was vibrating with power she had not seen since the prime of her crusade. She should have recognized it was one of those weapons mortals came across once every generation or so. The barbed tip of the spear in her hands should have been the only clue she needed. She even knew it was something capable of slaying greater mystic beings.

A Noble Phantasm.

This was no mere spirit. She had been horrendously wrong and was going to pay the ultimate price for her foolishness. She felt great power radiating off of this being but had taken his appearance to be nothing more than an overcompensating effigy. No, this was no mere wraith, elemental, spirit. This was…

"Bolg!"

…A Hero.

Two spears flew through the air. Two shockwaves filled the night. The first was the spear the blonde Servant unleashed onto her grounded target. As he had been attacking rather than preparing a proper defense, he was left open for her strike to land true. However, the second shockwave had come from the blow of his spear. At the command of his Noble Phantasm, his barbed spear all but flew from his hands, twisted, spiraled at impossible bends around her projectile— it would never miss its target because its target had already been pierced since the invoking of its name.

The weapon of Phenomena Defiant Works struck through her chest plate and tore through until the tip cut a hole through her cape. It had struck her heart true with enough force to suspend her in the air in a moment of weightlessness.

But the world was cruel. Gravity, ever so hateful, such a spiteful creature, gravity, took hold of her and sent her crashing mercilessly onto the ground.

In a last bit of defiance to the world and its cruelty, lying and staining her summoner's lawn with her blood, she looked up at the night sky and bit her thumb at it. Those Primordial douchebags up in the heavens, especially that filth who enforced the laws of gravity, should be throwing a hissy-fit like the little girls that they are for her gesture.

Smiling at the sight of a star going out, she let her hand fall and succumbed to death's embrace.

And waited…

*Scene*

Shirou removed his arms from his face when the chunks of dirt and rock stopped hitting him. He wanted to shout something as he saw when both weapons landed. He saw but a flash as a streak of red of the blue man's spear warped and hit her square in the chest before he had to protect himself. Without a doubt she had been hit with a lethal wound. He prayed the spear had missed something important but knew from the feeling in his gut she wasn't going to get back up from that.

"No!" he shouted instead. He would have called her name if he had taken the chance given to him to learn it. It had been less than a minute when they shared that awkward meeting. Instead of following his protocol of being a good host (even with surprise 'guests' such as her) and going through his usual tact of politesse, he stared at her like a gaping fish and let her walk out.

He would have moved to her aid if it wasn't for what he saw when the dust cleared.

Towering over the silver girl's corpse was the blue spearman. He gripped his red spear and yanked it out of her torso, grunting in pain and effort in the process. By no means had he been well-off on his own. He had one hell of a wound to deal with. By what Shirou could figure, the opposing spear of the girl's had struck him through the shoulder, had run its course through his body, and had made a new hole through the spearman's hip. He must have curved his body at the perfect angle at the last minute to minimize the damage so the spear would not tear anything important. Large amounts of blood poured out of his body in quantities a normal person should have been dead by now.

But this wasn't a normal person. This was an impossible thing Shirou had no chance of surviving against. Earlier in the evening the spearman was simply toying with him as he tried to defend himself with a Reinforced metal poster. He had treated Shirou like it was a chore. He hadn't been using a shred of his full potential like he had shown against that red thing back in the schoolyard.

Shirou froze as those scarlet eyes met his.

"You sure did summon something, kid," the spearman grunted as he couldn't help but turn his spear into a crutch. He gave a feral grin as he gripped his wounded side. "Didn't think anything other than the Berserker could hurt me so badly this early in the War."

Meaningless words to Shirou. They were supposed to be a sort of compliment, something in regards to minor praise from the spearman. However, by the glint in his eyes, the spearman would continue his hunt to the very end.

"But you're still the Seventh," the blue man concluded. He hefted his spear off the ground and stood tall. The wound in which would leave any other person debilitated meant next to nothing to him. He shouldn't be standing with the amount of pain his body must have been going through, but Shirou had already figured, for the umpteenth time this night, this was something beyond human.

"…You'll be a problem later on."

Sweat fell from Shirou's brow as the blue thing took his first few steps forward. They were simple treading steps that would cross the distance in a matter of seconds. But as this lancer came closer and closer, time stretched as Shirou's mind raced through infinite possibilities to further his survival. He could run, he could try to call for help, he could try to fight this thing on his own once more, he could try to plead with this creature.

But all thoughts came to the same conclusion. To try anything wouldn't even prolong anything. He will die. It was as simple as that.

Despite his inevitable demise, Emiya Shirou would refuse to go along with Fate and willingly die.

"…Oh swath of flame within my bosom,"

There was a… flicker of something red distorting Shirou's vision. Perhaps it was there, perhaps it wasn't. It wasn't something anyone could have seen. It was something only within his vision. Simultaneously, the blue spearman couldn't help but turn his head as something… unwelcoming was attracting his attention. He too was seeing red, but not the same as the one Shirou was. Rather, to be more exact, it was a different frame within his own vision just the same as Shirou's. Two reds taking the same space; two reds implanting its image into their minds separately.

A red shadow. No, a red something masking a person. But was it truly a something? The figure of red was not taking up space, did not present any form of appearance, did not radiate anything natural to indicate it was there to begin with. The red blur— streak— shade— pigmy was something that could not, should not, does not exist within this realm ruled by Gaia.

Yet, the spearman flinched as both he and Shirou saw it smile.

"Is this love?" it said, continuing is obscure creed. It did not talk, did not produce any sort of sound by any means, but it was still heard. "Or is this the thrill of what it means to face defeat?"

It shifted, pulsed, convulsed like a living organism— a bacteria— a virus— a plague that should not be here. The red error forced its way onto the plane the two stood in. It grew a head, hands, legs, a body. It stretched out muscles, veins, bones, skin. It then had a height, an identity, a vision, an appearance, a presence.

"No, this is nothing more than the bittersweet reminder of what it means to be… mortal," silver, white, and red threads cycled around the body to give it clothing of woven fabrics and hardened metal.

The blonde girl stood before them, a loving smile on her face as her eyes continued to glare in such intense ferocity. There was not a mark on her as her body had been… rejuvenated. "Victory has betrayed me and defeat my only friend. Without victory, I shall cry in the name of love. With defeat by my side, I shall exact my vengeance!"

The blue spearman's eyes widened. "What the hell are you?"

At her silent command, a pair of Roman gladii materialized in her grip. At the same time, a new layer of red was over-coating her already donned armor. Like a living liquid, it stretched over her body, covering her exposed skin in the dense red metal. It had fit her perfectly without a single flaw in its design. Armor to defend against slashes, crushing blows, piercings.

A great helm covered her head, but as she took a stance for battle both Shirou and the blue man could not help but know her smile had grown from ear to ear.

"I am the Leader of Legions," she began to recite with pleasure, excitement, pride, and anticipation crumbled into one emotion. "The Prefect of Briton, Provost of Rome's Navy, Prime Spear of all Centurions! I am the White Dragon of Victory, slayer of the enemies of Rome! I am the King of Lost, I am Lucia Artorius Castus!

"And I shall always return," she concluded.

Something clicked right then. Like all silence of a quarantined room being broken by the drop of a loose bolt. It was not the announcement of her identity that triggered this. Rather, it was her expression that had done so. It was a trivial change— something that happens on normal occasions throughout the world. Yet, in this moment, it was something earthshattering.

Instead of seeing the spearman as a challenge, something that might push her to defend herself, she now saw him as a threat. It was that subtle change in the state of her mind that changed her entire presence.

He was to be killed, simple as that.

*Scene*

Lancer moved as everything about him screamed to get the hell away from this abomination. She launched out of the ground, kicking up dirt in her charge, and swung her blades in his direction at enough speed and force to clip him with the wind she created. They were shallow gashes and he was more than glad he did not try to block that time. In her strike, she had circled around his position and had been able to move between him and the red-haired Master.

Right now, Lancer's Master was telling him to retreat.

'Yeah, no shit.'

Lancer grunted as the hindrance of his wound was limiting his mobility. Not only was she at least a rank higher in speed than he was, he had been crippled by her last attack. He should have tried to dodge a little better. Who would have thought this small, petite Servant could dish out some hurt against him?

No, he corrected himself. This wasn't a Servant. Or at the least it couldn't be. Whatever she had done to herself had completely ignored the curse of Gae Bolg. What sort of Noble Phantasm could she possibly have that could pull off something like that? It didn't just remove the curse and bring her back to life. She had been given a new body, a new identity, a new existence! Something like that required an Anti-World Noble Phantasm at the least! He doubted even that old witch of a teacher could pull something off like that.

Oh, he heard her little self-motivational speech about who she was. Lancer had heard of an 'Artorius' before, but the exact details seemed to elude him at the moment. The information from the Throne wasn't coming in as clearly as he liked. His only theory was this Artorius was a vaguely known hero.

Lancer leapt away like his life depended on it— scratch that, it did depend on it. She continued to keep herself between him and her Master while bringing her ridiculous assault. Constantly— constantly!— those blood weapons of hers would switch shapes and confuse him to no end. Be they blades, hammers, clubs, axes, spears— any sort of weapon from the common to the exotic came at him in impossible transitions. By her tenacity and this newfound strength, she had been able to tear him into shreds on many occasions. And no matter how hard he tried, he could not find a gap in that blood armor.

He thought about using Gae Bolg once more. But that would be if, and only if, he could get enough time to use it. Added into the fact the prana cost of reversing cause and effect didn't help one bit. He'll be completely defenseless if he used it one more time and found out she could 'reappear' all brand-new again. It was times like this the conditions of his Noble Phantasm were a pain in his ass.

Bloodied and beaten to exhaustion, Lancer had finally made it to the top of the gates. He had a fraction of a second to breathe. Looking down with his peripheral vision as the time would allow, he saw her about to leap with a pair of serrated blades.

"Wait! Stop!" his saving grace became her Master.

Like an obedient Servant, she did not leap after him. She kept her knees bent and arms raised, ready to attack at any given chance.

He saw her eyes narrow through her visor.

"It's been fun, but I think I'm going to bail," Lancer said with his charm despite nearly falling apart. "But next time won't be so different. Come at me now if you want; but if you do… you will die."

Artorius gave no response. In fact, she did not so much as twitch. She continued to stand like a statue in the same pose as before. However, Lancer could feel the intense glare she was giving him. She wanted to go after him. He could feel her killing intent.

Rather than continue to push his already shitty luck, Lancer turned and went into his astral form as he retreated back to the church.

*Scene*

Dux Legionum evaporated into mist at her command. Her weapons and armor were relieved as she stood in her previous attire. Why had she listened to the plea of her summoner? This Hero she had just faced had a means of killing her that required minimum effort. It was almost unfair, but she had faced worse in her time of servitude. Surely, this Hero was a threat onto herself and to her summoner. She could understand why he required her services.

"…Why, boy?" she sighed in… agitation, she supposed. She did not look at him as he came to her side. Artorius continued to stare at the spot where the Hero had disappeared. She couldn't even pick up his scent. What strange magic it must have been for him to simply vanish from this plane of existence. Was it perhaps one of the Arch-types, or was it something more potent such as a Defiant Work?

"…Are you all right?" he asked instead of answering her question.

Her head tilted slightly at his tone. This boy was truly concerned for her welfare despite the conditions of their meeting. One might say they had known the other for quite some time. If so, this era was either transcendently more forgiving than hers or the boy was a naïve fool. If the former then there was something powerful at work— which wasn't so undoubtable seeing as a Hero of the lost past was involved. If the latter however…

"Well. Now, why did you have me cease my advance? Master, did you not call me here to protect you? How may I do so if the threat continues to exist? Surely you couldn't fancy me so much as to keep me prolonged here through inane methods?"

There was a bit of fire in her last question. But truth is always revealed once danger enters the situation. She wanted his honest answer, not some pre-scripted nonsensical recite.

"…Shirou."

Or he could avoid the question altogether.

…Which she will have none of. "Master, summoner, boy, child— I shall call you whatever deems fit. You expect me to show you respect when it hasn't been earned? You summon me to your aid, draw me into battle without preparations, and now desire me to address you as a person when you've hindered the thing you've brought me here to perform? When you have my respect, I shall call you otherwise. Now, answer my question."

Rather than faltering or wilting like the naïve child she believed him to be, he took a step back and bowed respectively. "I'm sorry."

She turned her head this time to look at him. It was an unorthodox politesse, and one she rarely saw at that, but she could find the merit of his attempt to appease her. Therefore, she decided to give him some doubt and listen to what he had further to say.

He lifted himself as he looked squarely at her eyes. "I don't know what's going on. I don't know what I did to summon you. I don't know what that thing was, what's been happening this evening, or even what you are. I'm sorry if I've been an inconvenience. But I don't want anyone to die while I'm around."

Well, this was a perplexing problem. She thought to herself for a moment. A mageling had called her from her den from the celestial beyond to be bound in servitude… unintentionally? It was not the first time a mortal had ripped her out of the cycle of her liege, but those moments had been something marvelously impossible. It was easier to rotate the plates of the heavens by sheer physical force. The idea alone was ridiculous, childish, however never was it impossible.

But to do so by accident? If what he said was true, and the sincerity of his tone told her as much, then she would have been dragged down the higher planes in a form of the highest frequency permissible in this world. Something akin to a… what was it they were called…? Divine Spirit. Yes, something akin to a Divine Spirit.

But to be dragged down, forced to adapt, to alter her frequency and registration to be fitting of a mortal body? This boy didn't just move the heavens accidentally. He had, unknowingly, rewrote the Laws of the universe at the same time.

She couldn't help but laugh.

"You know not what you have done, child," she said between breaths as she started to calm down. "The magics required to perform such an act… Nay, nothing but the errors of the Abyss may entitle you to this ability. This transcends—"

Anything else she had to say was cut off as a new scent filled the air. She inhaled, following the trail of a breeze only she could detect. The Bounded Field around the parameter of the manor was still active; no natural interference such as animals, the mundane, or, and especially, the wind. Yet her nostrils flared at the presence of a new identity. Normally this would be ignored, but the two coming close to the estate sent her alarms.

The first was insignificant, but should not be ignored nonetheless. It smelled of… earthly minerals. Salt, mercury, granite, and countless others grated and grinded into one substance, refined into beauty only great time and the might of the planet itself could accomplish. Rare, uncut jewels in other words.

The second, however, smelt of sulfur, ash, blood, and Steel. That made her wary.

Not just because it was Steel. Because it was the exact same metaphysical scent of her Master.

"Castus-san…?"

"Lucia or Artorius," she replied mechanically as she had done so countless other times in her prime. "I take pride in myself and in being the eleventh head of gens Artorii."

He looked at her with concern as she hadn't looked at him in her reply. "Artorius-san, are you sure you're all right? You… and that spear…"

That was not what he wanted to ask. He was, as they say, pussy-footing his way around what was really on his mind. Yes, Artorius could see the genuine concern written on his face. But there was also confusion, which in turn was growing into a parasitic fear. Humanity always fears what it does not know, especially something they can never understand. This boy had witnessed a force mortals were never to come across.

"Perhaps some other time, boy," she dismissed his apprehension for a later time. With the threat of Steel getting closer quickly, she gave him a light push aside as she marched on to the gates. "For now, wait here. Do not move. I shall secure the area."

*Scene*

The only warning Rin got was Archer appearing out of his astral form. His yin-yang blades were at the ready. She didn't get the chance to ask him what was wrong.

Something crashed into Archer, something with more than enough force to drive him back with a great grunt of effort. The shockwave of whatever struck him sent Rin fumbling back until she lost her balance. There was just no way she could have prepared herself.

Archer put up his best guard against this savage Servant. Savage because no matter how many opening he gave her she would not fall for his tactics. She swung her weapons around without any form from what he could tell. Everything was just coming at him too fast for him to be precise.

He had remembered this instance when his younger self would run out to try and stop Saber from killing an unknown intruder, which would turn out to be Rin. The memory came back at him but a second before Saber burst out of nowhere. He knew she was powerful, but he had overestimated her level of strength and speed.

But he didn't remember Saber having red weapons.

She spun to apply twice as much power to her next strike. Even crossing his blades in a solid defense, Bakuya and Kanshou shattered as he felt his bones creak. His teeth clattered even when he had his jaw clenched the entire time. It felt like he had been hit by a meteor.

He had been rattled so much he had no chance of avoiding her next attack.

"Archer, disappear!" commanded his Master.

Artorius cut air as Archer vanished into his spectral state by the power of his Master's Command Seal. The pair of crimson machetes was halted right before they were to crash into the ground. She twisted her wrists and was about to launch herself at Rin next.

Rin had another idea. In haste, and in great desperation, she pulled out one of her family jewels and flung it at the blonde Servant. Pulsing her magic through and activating the incantation, the jewel exploded in a storm of A-Rank wind magecraft. Servant or not, it should be more than enough to at least maim them if not outright kill them if it was a critical blow.

A red arm broke through the cyclone and reached for Rin. The girl had no time to gasp as the Servant came out unscathed with pure red armor protecting her entirety. She gripped onto Rin's neck with enough strength to bruise. With more pressure she could snap it in two.

…Maybe saving Archer wasn't such a good idea.

Rin stared horrified at the pair of glowing green eyes behind the visor's helm. They were cold, unforgiving, vengeful. The crimson armored Servant pulled her arm back to deliver the final blow with a stiletto forming in her grip.

"Artorius, stop!"

Rin could have sworn she saw the Servant roll her eyes. But she couldn't tell as soon as those words were shouted from the gates Rin was shoved onto the ground. At the release of the death-grip, Rin broke out into a fit of coughing.

"More nonsense about not killing, boy?" the Servant turned away from Rin while her crimson armor dissolved into mist. Yet Rin knew she was still keeping an eye on her and would finish the job should Rin try anything.

The boy she had come to save, Emiya Shirou, approached the blonde Servant, Artorius, with a look of anger and disappointment. "Yes. I told you, I don't want anyone killed while I'm around."

"Hmph, which is why I told you not to move." Her tone changed from irritation to equal disappointment, "This kindness of yours will be the death of you, no matter how noble it is."

He said nothing more to her as he went around her to help Rin. "Miss, are you… T-Tohsaka?"

Rin stood on her own and patted the dirt off her skirt. Her neck still ached but this wasn't the time to show weakness. With the grace and elegance of a Tohsaka, Rin addressed the boy with suave. "Hello Emiya-kun. So it seems you summoned one too."

He stared dumbfounded for a moment before recollecting himself. He clamped his mouth shut and tried a different approach now that he knew who he was talking to. "I see… You're a magus too?"

"I am," she replied coolly but could not hold back the slight perspiration gathering at her brow at the glare Artorius was giving her. "I take it you know next to nothing about what's going on…? I thought as much. Very well. I guess since you saved my life I should return the favor. I might as well tell you what you've gotten yourself involved in."

"…Yes, I would very much like to know. Come inside. I'll make us all some tea."

Rin only nodded, no longer trusting her own voice. Shirou she knew she could trust to not pull anything. He had a reputation of being a kind-hearted pushover. His Servant, however, put Rin on edge. When Shirou gestured for her to follow, Artorius waited until Rin had passed. Behind her, Rin could feel Artorius' eyes examining every part of her. It was like she was looking for a reason to take Rin out.

Shirou sure did summon something alright.