The Last Contractor

"So," Berserker said, stretching her arms as they walked. "You gonna tell us where we're going?"

Weiss glared over her shoulder at the blonde. The Servant was a few steps behind them, leather jacket straining around her shoulders. To say nothing of the shirt that just barely managed to hold in her ...

Weiss shook her head and turned back to Blake. "Why exactly is she following us? It'll cost you less mana to support her if she stays in spiritual form like Archer."

"She-"

"Can't." Berserker said cheerily and shrugged when Blake scowled at her in turn. "What? She's our ally. Plus, it's not like me being physical means I can't protect you."

"Every servant can dematerialize into a spiritual form," Weiss huffed and crossed her arms over her chest. "That's the whole point. You wouldn't want a nine-foot tall Heracles or a Pegasus-riding Bellerophon running through downtown Vale."

"Yeah, well, I can't. Dunno what to tell you."

Weiss narrowed her eyes and turned back to the road, muttering something under her breath that sounded very much like "That's not how it's supposed to work."

"Just a thought, but aren't Servants supposed to get summoned with their memories intact?" The blonde said, smirking as she stepped past, ignoring the white-haired mage glaring daggers at her back.

"Since you asked," Weiss snapped, taking faster steps to catch up with the much taller woman. "We're going to see the overseer."

"The what now?"

Weiss sighed and looked imploringly over at the darker mage beside her.

"The overseer. The representative from the Church? The man in charge of watching over the Grail War?" Weiss' eyes went wide when Blake merely shrugged. "How do you not know about this?"

Blake cocked an eyebrow at the shorter girl. "Might surprise you, but as an unregistered mage, I'm not on the mailing list."

Weiss opened her mouth to say something ... then thought better of it. Blake had a point. She couldn't possibly know some of the details of the war, especially since she wasn't one of the three families that built the ritual to begin with. Even if it was her fault for being unregistered; there were damn good reasons why any mage worth their salt was 'encouraged' to join the Association. Good reasons why they'd want to – magical knowledge and training being the most obvious ones. But criticizing Blake for something she didn't know, even if it was painfully basic ... Well, it won't do me any favors.

"The Holy Grail War has a mediator," Weiss said, trying to keep her voice neutral. The last thing she needed was to sound condescending. "Like a ... referee. For every ritual, the Vatican sends one of their more capable members, to make sure the war doesn't risk exposure to regular people. They also provide shelter for any Masters who lose their Servants.

"Why would the Vatican send someone?"

"Because the mages who designed the ritual called it the 'Holy Grail.' It's not a holy artifact, or even a physical grail, but the Catholics get touchy whenever someone uses the name," Weiss rolled her eyes. "Plus, he's a neutral party. If the overseer was from the Mages' Association, there is no chance he'd be impartial."

Blake nodded and kept walking, looking like she accepted the explanation. They walked for a few more minutes, until Weiss could just make out the point of steeple over the top of the hill. The path meandered its way up and around, doubling back a few times before ending at a wrought-iron gate. Behind the iron bars sat an old, nineteenth-century church. Long ornate windows decorated the front, framing a pair of double doors recessed into the white walls.

"Archer?" Weiss asked.

It's clear, the Servant replied, her voice ringing quietly in Weiss' ear. There's someone with him, but no other Servants.

"Alright," Weiss sighed. "Let's get this over with."

Blake watched as Weiss steadied herself, pushed open the double doors and stepped into the darkened church.

It looked like any other church Blake had ever seen. Granted, she wouldn't call herself 'religious' but she'd visited one or two over the years. Add that to the few depictions of a Christian church she'd seen over the years and at least it matched what she thought a church should look like. The late morning light trickled through the windows, casting shadows on the wood-paneled walls. Dark brown carpet ran the length of the hallway, leading to another pair of doors that opened onto the heart of the chapel. A pulpit stood on a raised dais on one end of the room, facing rows of pews, all with prayer books tucked laid out before them. Candles flickered before a statue of the Virgin Mary, lit by worshipers praying for their loved ones.

A man stood at the back of the room, his dark vestments making a long line of black broken only by his white priest's collar. He was tall, with grey hair and spectacles, and leaned on a cane as he spoke with the young woman in front of him.

"And it failed! Failed! Spells like that don't fail. I mean, sure, they could backfire or do something you didn't want or knock out the mage trying the spell, but something powered by the Grail shouldn't have had any trouble with calling a Servant!"

"Sometimes," the priest said. Blake swore she could hear the forced patience in his voice. "A summoning happens before a potential Master is able to-"

"Okay, fine," the short woman cut him off. She had ginger hair, with a white blouse over a bright pink skirt, and bounced with every third word. "But then why do I still have the command seals?"

The woman held up her hand, and Blake recognized them immediately. The faded red marks were there, pale and dormant. They were just like the ones Blake hid from her teachers when they appeared on her own skin. The pattern was different – it seemed like each mage's was – but they were definitely command seals. Or at least, the version that appeared when before summoning a Servant.

The priest leaned a little heavier on his cane and sighed. "The pattern surfaces when the Grail decides you're worthy and have a reason to seek it. If someone still manages to summon the Servant before you, there is little I can do."

The young woman looked up at the priest for a second, then let out a long groan of frustration before trudging back down the pews. She stopped as she passed the three of them, glancing from Blake, to Weiss, to the six-foot-two blonde standing behind them.

"Hey," she said, her eyes narrowing. "You guys are Masters, right?"

Weiss just blinked, looked the girl up and down, cocked an eyebrow, then turned without a word and walked up the aisle towards the pulpit.

Right. Such a fuzzy ball of compassion, Blake thought, staring after her for a second. Sighing, she looked back at the ginger-haired woman and tried to size her up. From what she'd overheard, the girl wasn't actually participating in the ritual. Not yet, anyway. If that was true, then at the worst, she was a potential master. Someone who could have participated if they'd managed to summon a heroic spirit. But if she didn't have a Servant, then she wasn't technically a Master. Which means she's not really a threat.

"... I am." Blake nodded. There was an aura of magic around the redhead, same as Weiss – if not quite as strong – but she didn't look like what Blake expected from an Association Mage. She was ... bubbly. Pleasant, even. It was a far cry from the arrogant self-importance Blake expected. Not to mention the ever-present stick up the ass.

"That's perfect!" the woman shouted, rubbing her hands together and grinning widely. "I'm Nora!"

"... Blake."

"Oh, wow! That fits you so well!" Nora grinned and turned to look at the blonde standing behind Blake. The Faunus watched as the ginger's eyes ran up and down the blonde, stopping once they reached the biceps straining against the sleeves of her jacket. "So, this is your Servant, huh? Man, she looks strong. Check out those arms – it looks like she could bench both of us!"

"Um..."

"So, you see Assassin yet? You see who summoned 'em?"

Taken aback by the sudden change in topic, Blake looked up at Berserker, who merely shrugged.

Well you're no help.

Hey, Berserker's voice chimed in the back of Blake's mind. You have a Servant to deal with, I'll handle it. Dealing with Masters and deciding what you want to tell them, that's all you.

"We never saw them," Blake said, giving Berserker one last stink eye. "The one time we fought her, she was alone."

The redhead's face fell. "Oh. Well ... thanks anyway. It was still nice meeting you, Blake. Wish you luck!" With that, she turned, waved over her shoulder, and slipped out the door into the hallway.

Shaking her head, Blake started forward down the aisle, catching up to Weiss in time to hear the priest.

"Miss Schnee. It has been too long."

"Ozpin." Weiss nodded curtly. "Something else go wrong already?"

"Just a mix-up. Nothing as chaotic as the last Grail War," he said, sounding tired. Blake didn't blame him. Running herd on a bunch of barely-controlled mages couldn't be an easy task. "I suppose 'something else' means the church burning last night."

"No, I walked here for the incense and the Catholic guilt," Weiss snapped. "Blake, this is Father Ozpin."

Blake nodded a greeting while the Father bowed his head. "And you must be the Master of Berserker," he said softly.

"I am."

"And we don't have a lot of time," the heiress chimed in. "Last night's fire was a cover. Someone, probably one of the other Masters, used it to hide the fact that they drained the life force out of their victims. Apart from being grossly unethical, they're risking exposing the Grail War and-"

"And making a blatant attack on the Church," Father Ozpin finished for her. "Saber's master voiced similar concerns."

Taking a breath, he pointed to the pews nearby before leaning heavily on his cane and settling down into a seat. Weiss stepped around and took a seat that gave her an unobstructed view of the doors, sitting with her back to the pulpit.

"You're right, the arsonist most likely is a Servant or a Master looking to gather more power," the father said, looking at the both over the rim of his glasses. "But without confirmation of which Servant or Master it is, there isn't much I can do."

"... really? That's it?"

"So far, they've managed to mask their attacks fairly well. There isn't enough evidence left behind, and you and I both know the Mage's Association won't step in until whoever this is risks exposure."

"Ozpin, they're not just going after groups of people." Weiss glared over the pews, her mouth a tight, angry line. "None of the temples of shrine in the city have been attacked. Just churches. They're targeting Christians, which makes this a matter for the Church, not the Association."

"You're right, but the Overseer for the Grail War can't interfere unless these actions place the ritual in danger of being discovered. You should know that better than anyone." "As the overseer, there is little I can do yet. As a priest, well, I sent word to the Vatican and called for an investigation, but I doubt they'll respond before the Grail War is finished."

"That's not-"

Father Ozpin cut Weiss off with a grown as he came to his feet, old bones and joints creaking as he pushing himself upright. Slowly, he stepped out of the pew, and made his way to the small bye-altar in the corner of the room. Crossing himself, the father took a match from the box and lit one of the votive candles. He stood in silence, the flickering light playing across his well-lined face and tired eyes.

"Thirty-six, Miss Schnee. Thirty-six people died in that tragedy. Thirty-six lives cut short so that one mage could gather power."

The father turned his head, slow and deliberate, his eyes glancing quickly at Weiss before moving onto Blake. His eyes never left her face, and for the first time since they had entered the church, Blake some something dark gleaming behind those spectacles.

"Too many of these candles have been lit today. I would rather not see any more. Not for this."

The pew creaked as Weiss stood, let out a short, exasperated huff, and started marching down the aisle. Finally, Father Ozpin blinked slowly, and turned back to the votive candles. Quieter than Weiss, Blake rose from her seat and walked silently towards the doors, Berserker right behind her, their longer legs making it easy to catch up with the shorter magus. They were almost to the door before the father spoke again.

"Miss Schnee," he called, the light on his glasses making his face unreadable. "The Vale Community Chapel is planning an evening mass for the victims. I'm sure you would be welcome to pay your respects."

Weiss waited until they were outside before she started muttering under her breath. Still fuming, she marched back towards the gate, her spine rigid with anger.

"Useless. Completely and totally useless."

"Weiss-"

"And 'nothing he can do,' my ass-"

"Weiss," Blake said firmly, stopping halfway to the gate. "He said he couldn't interfere with the Grail War."

"I know!" Weiss snapped, then closed her eyes and sighed. "I don't know what I was expecting. He's barely left that church in years, and he knows full well anyone the Vatican sends will be two months late and completely incapable of-"

You're not listening, Archer's voice said in the back of her mind. She means he said he couldn't interfere.

Weiss stopped, an angry rebuke already on her tongue. She'd had more than enough of Archer's editorializing, and ... and Archer and Blake had a point. She sighed and ran a hand over her face. Father Ozpin was supposed to be a mediator, a neutral party to the ritual. He had some latitude – if one of the Masters risked exposing magic in a way that couldn't be explained away as a mass hallucination or a gas leak, then he had the right to call in the other Masters to eliminate the threat. Even to compel them to assist. But without that kind of provocation ...

Blake cleared her throat. "How much trouble would he be in if he was caught helping one master, or two, against another?"

"... so this gives him plausible deniability." Weiss pushed her bangs out of the way and resisted the urge to smack herself in the face. And why the hell didn't I notice that?

"So, he wants us to go to that church," Berserker said. "He probably thinks the Servant will go after the mourners."

The Faunus nodded. "Makes sense. If this Master is using churches as their hunting ground, the service would be a perfect target."

"And as the Overseer, he can't just come out and say it," Weiss finished, and growled under her breath. "You're right. Come on, let's go."

The Vale Community Church was a much newer building that Father Ospin's. The style was more modern – a low squat building made of a dark stained wood that looked more like a concert hall than a chapel. A large sign sat in the front of the lawn, moveable letters announcing the evening mass to pray for the victims of the two fires. Even with the sign, Blake couldn't tell which kind of church it was. Her best guess was some denomination of Protestantism. Maybe Lutheran? Presbyterian?

Leaning against the seat back, she pulled out her phone and started searching. At least figuring out the difference would keep her busy. It's not like we have anything else to do.

It had been hours since the three – four, Blake supposed, if they counted Archer – of them settled in the nearby park. An old gazebo in desperate need of a paint job had been set up along the gravel path, probably for small events or musicians. Luckily for them, it gave a perfect view of the church doors. And provided at least some protection against the cold.

It took them a little over an hour to catch a bus and make their way across town to the church – with a short delay to pick up food for Berserker. Turned out being materialized all day made the heroic spirit rather hungry – four-course meal levels of hungry. So, several sandwiches heavier, they managed to make it to the church well ahead the parishioners, giving them ample time to check the grounds. Plenty of time to hunt for any sign of a trap or of the kind of preparation that some sort of soul-sucking ritual would require.

They'd found absolutely nothing. No sigils drawn in the dirt, or sketched on the church walls in chalk, or etched carefully into the stone itself. There was no evidence that a mage had ever even looked at the church, much less planned to harvest its supplicants for energy. Which was why they were now huddled beneath the gazebo roof, coats tugged tightly around them as they watched cars slowly begin to fill up the parking lot.

"Morons," Blake heard Weiss grumble for the fourth time since they settled into their position. "They know someone is burning down churches, so they're gathering to pay their respects ... in a church. Just brilliant."

Blake clicked her phone off and looked over at the heiress. The white-haired girl had been touchy since they left Ozpin's, something that had only gotten worse while they waited.

"It's symbolic," she said, watching another family walk through the open doors. "They're making the statement that they can't be scared away. That this kind of violence won't intimidate them."

"I know what they're trying to do, but they could just as easily have the meeting on the church lawn where there's no building to burn down around them. Or ask for a police presence at least."

"I'm gonna take a wild guess that you're not particularly religious," Berserker drawled, lounging back against the wall.

Weiss let out a derisive little laugh, shivered, and clutched her coat even tighter. "I grew up with an absent father figure. Last thing I need is a fictional one."

"Subtle." Blake watched the last car turn off its lights before the driver stood and made his way to the doors. Ducking back down, she checked the spell that kept Adam's blade within reach – she couldn't exactly walk around in public with the thing, but it was always good to make sure she could grab it when something happened. The subspace pocket she stored it in was still ready and waiting for her, and it only took her a second to whisper the words to let her reach inside.

Blake closed her eyes and wrapped her hand around the hilt, feeling the grip against her palm, then let go. Convinced it was there, she pulled her hand away, and whispered the word that would close the pocket again. As much as she wanted it close to hand, carrying a blade near a church when two had already burned to the ground wasn't the best way to stay under the radar. But at least she knew it would be ready when she needed it.

She glanced over at the others, noting the way Berserker sat, perfectly relaxed and lounging back against the wall. She seemed perfectly calm, even sleepy. And yet ... she still had that tension in her muscles, that look like she was ready to attack at a moment's notice. Well, Blake thought. It's what you'd expect from a pre-modern warrior. If she really was some sort of Viking, then she must have lived waiting for enemy raiders or an attack on her ship. And here I am, checking to make sure my weapon's still where I left it. And Weiss ...

Blake looked over as Weiss shivered, her arms wrapped around her sides, practically shaking as she watched the church. The shorter girl was already getting a little blue – some of the color in her cheeks was gone, and from the way she was shaking, the cold had to be getting to her.

"Don't you have some sort of heating spell?"

Weiss looked up and glared over the tops of her arms. "I do. And if I use it, I have less energy for whatever decides to attack this place."

"True, but-"

"I'm fine. I don't need you worrying about me."

Closing her eyes, Blake took a steadying breath and stood. Just until Rider's gone. Then I don't have to listen to her snipe any more. Jamming her hands into her pockets, she walked over to the edge of the gazebo before looking back at Weiss. "Well, it's seven-fifty. Let's just head in."

The heiress blinked, then looked back at the abandoned parking lot. "You're sure?"

"Might as well." And it'll keep you from freezing to death out of pride.

Blake couldn't help but notice that for someone who wasn't that cold, Weiss sure moved quickly. It was barely more than a few seconds before the shorter girl caught up to her.

"Wait. Before we go in, I need to know something. Especially if we're going to fight together." Weiss took a long breath and pushed her gloved hands deeper into her coat. "Berserker ... she does have some sort of Mad Enhancement, right?"

Blake met Weiss' gaze and bit the inside of her cheek. For now, Weiss was an ally. Emphasis on now. There was no telling how long this little détente would last. For all Blake knew, as soon as Rider was defeated, there was every chance Weiss would try to stab her in the back. Or more likely, order Archer do it.

Well, maybe not every chance. Weiss had said she disapproved of Jaune interfering with their fight. She seemed to have some fairly strong scruples about fighting fair, even in a ritual where one servant, Assassin, was specifically designed to take out other Masters rather than targeting the other heroes. But that doesn't mean she won't turn on you, a small part of Blake's mind whispered. It was the part that always sounded like her mentor, like Adam correcting a stance or her aim, drilling some new fact about magic or combat into her.

It was a part that had been getting louder of late.

She glanced over at Berserker, trying to see what the blonde thought of Weiss' question. The blonde just shrugged – it seemed she was fine with whatever decision Blake made.

"As far as I can tell, she goes into a rage," Blake said after a moment. She might as well tell her. Weiss would probably figure it out after seeing Berserker in combat for more than a few seconds. "The more she fights, the more she gets hit, the stronger she gets."

"And the stronger her enhancement gets. Hmmm. That might actually be a good thing," Weiss said pensively. "Most Berserkers are barely-controlled thugs. Having one who only gets the boost during combat could be a blessing in disguise."

"Assuming combat lasts long enough for it to activate."

Blake swore she could hear Berserker's grin in her voice. "And assuming the Ice Queen don't freeze to death out here."

"I am not freezing!"

Rolling her eyes, Blake took the steps at the base of the church two-at a time, getting to the entryway before the others could catch up. Ready to get in and hopefully be done with this, she reached out and wrapped her hand around the door handle.

She froze the second her hand touched the wood. The moment she did, her skin started to crawl, the hairs on the back of her neck standing on end. Blake took her hand away and was on the third word of the spell to retrieve her sword before she stopped herself.

"Something wrong?" Weiss asked behind her.

"Not sure." Shaking her hand, Blake tried to forget the feeling she'd had touching the handle. "Anything about this feel ... 'off' to you?"

"We're hunting for an unknown Master who is sucking the life out of people to feed their Servant. And by 'we' I mean myself and a classmate who I didn't even know was a mage until a few days ago, who also happens to be a participant in an age-old ritual that will, eventually, force us to fight each other," Weiss finished with a sigh and stepped up to stand beside Blake. "Yes, it feels odd."

"I meant about the church."

"I know. Look, if anyone asks, we were friends of one of the victims."

"Which one?"

"No idea," Weiss shrugged and reach for the handle. "They should have a list in there, so just pick one-"

Weiss pushed mid-sentence, and the door swung open. Whatever Blake had felt touching the door was nothing compared to this – it felt like cold air rushing out an opened door, if that air was made of muck and worms squirming along her skin. She felt cold, colder than the winter air outside, the sheer malevolence of the gloom inside the church chilling her to the bone.

Gritting her teeth, Blake forced herself inside, and nearly stepped on the body lying the foyer. Her eyes went wide as she stared around the church, horror gripping her chest. The pews were filled with still, lifeless bodies, slumped forward in their seats. A priest in a dark suit had collapsed on the steps to the pulpit, lying limply across the carpeted stairs. Whole families lay together, children falling forward onto the floor as they passed out, followed by their parents. The lights were still on, but the whole room felt ... dim – as if the light itself was being snuffed out.

"Shit," Weiss swore, running over to the nearest body. It took her less than a second to pull back the man's head and put her fingers against his neck. After a second, she met Blake's eyes, and nodded. Swallowing, Blake did the same, checking the nearest teenager, a girl with her head lolled back against the seat. There was a pulse, a faint one, but she could still feeling it with her fingers.

We're too late, she thought, as the magic in the room began to pull at her again. The feeling came back – that sense of falling, sinking, of stubby, malformed fingers pulling her-

Pain. For a split second, all Blake felt was pain, and the sinking stopped. She looked down and found Weiss tugging on her arm, hard. The shorter girl's eyes were wide, her pupils dilated, her face pale as she said ... she was saying something ...

"... on. Blake, come on. If we hurry, we can probably the spell before whoever this is starts killing people."

"R-right." Blake shook her head and forced herself to start moving. She had to focus. Whatever this spell was, it was affecting her mind. Biting the inside of her cheek, Blake felt the short burst of pain spread through her mouth, pushing the slimy squirming feeling back a little more. There. Focus on the pain.

Her legs felt like they were encased in mud. Growling under her breath, Blake pushed and forced herself forward, grabbing the teenaged girl's arm and hauling her bodily onto her shoulders. A hand grabbed her other arm, and she looked up to find Berserker standing there, two full-grown men slung over each shoulder. Weiss was on the blonde's other side, muttering under her breath and half-dragging one of the other women from the congregation. Archer – when did she materialize? – was already moving towards the door, a man under one arm, her sword in the other.

The doors to the church flew wide, crashing into the walls behind them. Without waiting, Blake dove behind one of the pews, already reaching for her sword. She laid the girl down and crouched, holding onto the adrenaline to keep the magic at bay, searching over the top of the bench for whoever had cast this monstrous ritual.

A short girl, with a close bob of orange hair and freckles speckled across her nose, stood in the doorway. Blake could see the aura of magic around her hands, but she wasn't the one what caught her attention. It was the knight at her side, dressed in full plate armor and holding a massive longsword at the ready.

For a split second, the six of them just stared at one another – Blake, Archer, Berserker, and Weiss crouched by the bodies in the pews, the knight and the girl in the doorway, lit from behind by the streetlamps.

Then the girl pointed at the four of them and spoke in a high-pitched, almost chipper voice. "Saber! Don't let 'em get away!"

Dramatis Personae

The 5th Grail War [Master - Summon/Identity (RWBY character)]

Weiss Schnee – Archer / Identity Unknown (Raven)

Blake Belladonna – Berserker / Kara, Yang Xiao Long (Yang)

Jaune Arc & Winter Schnee – Rider / Achillea (Pyrrha)

Penny Polendina Einzbern – Saber / Identity Unknown (?)

Glynda Goodwitch – Lancer / Sun Wukong (Sun)

Nora Valkyrie – Assassin / Identity Unknown (?)

Peter Port (dead) – Caster / Identity Unknown (Cinder)

Roman Torchwick – Caster / Identity Unknown (Cinder)

Caster – Assassin (False) / Identity Unknown (Neo)

Writer's note: Well, there's Saber and his master. If you'd like the speculate about who the master might be or the servants' identities (and if you get it right I will actually tell you) please feel free to leave a review. Or if you just want to say you liked or didn't like it. Or leave constructive criticism. Or even just to say hi. Really, I enjoy reading anything anyone leaves.