A/N: *EDIT*

BEHOLD THE TROLLS!

Do you guys really want to make me cry?

Look at the bloody reviews for this story if you don't believe me. I'm done. So, unbelievably done. What's the point in writing when half the bloody review count is flames?! This shit is driving me crazy! That's it! I've had it! T_T Why am I doing this shit if I just get lambasted for it and no one bothers to review; no, everyone just jumps on the flaming bandwagon and tries to tear me down.

I...just wanted...to make people happy...

So!

Here!

DOUBLE UPDATE!

BEHOLD YOUR TRUE ARCHER! Not the false one in the Prisma Illya-verse. If you get Dracula Untold vibes from this, good. Its intentional. Now then, once again, here's True Archer. A deadly Servant, fierce as hell.

WARNING!

THIS. GETS. VERY. DARK.

IT MAY BE RATED M LATER FOR A REASON!

ALTERNATE UNIVERSE APPROACHING!

SUSPEND YOUR DISBELIEF AND EXPECT...THEMES.

Because people said Fate is supposed to be dark. Supposed to be gritty. Little bits of happiness to be sure, but on the whole, the Nasuvserse LOVES screwing with people. Nearly every single hero in the Throne has a tragic backstory of some sort; a warped legend to make your blood curl.

And since SOMEONE said I wouldn't do it; well. I had to.

Also, getting a lot of flak and angry words. Someone *that was the tag they left* keeps saying that each Naruto I write has no personality and that I recycle concepts from my stories. As they're anonymous and I can't respond to them, I feel this is the only way I can address them:

"I'm sorry.

You're right. I need to do better-no! I HAVE to do better. But what good does tearing me down do? That just perpetuates the cycle of violence. If you don't like my stories, then I understand. You don't have to read them but you have made your voice heard loud and clear. Can't we just agree to leave one another alone and let bygones be bygones? I thank you for your time and words of criticism.

You have been heard, my friend."

Warm regards,

~Nz.

Now buckle up, cause we goin' on a FEELS trip! Ready? Set! Go!

Reviews are love. Reviews are life. Reviews make me strive.

As ever, this will be gone in two days if folks don't like it.

References are glorious and I own nothing~!

Davy Jones and Bane are glorious.

As are others, of course.

And the quote says all:

Sorry if its short~!

"I don't fear the man who has practiced 10,000 kicks. I fear the man who practiced one kick 10,000 times."

~Bruce Lee.

A Most Unlikely Shadow

Do you fear death?

Do you fear that dark abyss?

All your deeds laid bare, all your sins punished?

No? Fair enough I suppose. Some are too foolish to fear death. Many live their lives in blissful ignorance, woefully unaware of that dark specter hanging over them. Others...others are brave. They laugh at danger, they walk right up to the Reaper and spit in his face, they barrel right through that fear; either with raw grit, Determination, or sheer bloody will. So you say you don't fear death. I commend you for that much, at least. You must be exceptionally brave. I'd tip my hat to you, if I had one. But I have another question for you.

Do you fear the dark?

You do? Tell me, why is that?

Why do men fear shadows, but not death?

Imagination.

Even the most hardened soliders think twice when they step into that inky blackness. They can't help themselves; because terrible things live in the dark. Horrible, unspeakable things. Monsters. Terrible, cosmic horrors. I should know. I've seen them. Eldritch abominations that would make your mind melt through your ears and leave behind little more than a gibbering wreck. Entities beyond the pale, beings capable of tearing universes to pieces, had they but the will to do so. I fear the shadows. I fear death, and the pain it brings.

You see, I was born in the dark. Molded by it.

I didn't see daylight until I was a man. By then the light was simply blinding.

And I decided, I didn't like the light. Too bright. Too painful Too...fake. That's all light is you see; the absence of darkness.

That's how my story started.

The Nara clan took me in when I was just a boy, preventing me from becoming an orphan, preventing me from being killed by angry villagers, preventing...so much more. And yet because of them, everything became so much worse. They raised me like one of their own. I even had a brother in a sense with Shikamaru by my side. That should've helped. Should've made things better. It didn't. I learned to use their unique shadow jutsu-which shouldn't have been possible in the first place-but I went beyond it. I learned...so much more.

Because I wasn't naive.

They used their shadows to strangle, to paralyze.

I used mine to smother. To break buildings. Minds. People.

I learned to use it as a projectile, to carve off darkness and fire it like a missile.

And as my shadows sharpened, so too did my mind. I was never a genius, but I learned. Gods, did I learn.

Think on this for a moment; when you grow up in a clan full of geniuses, you don't stay dense for very long. You can't. No matter how much you might want to.

I always saw how others looked at me outside of the clan; at first, I wasn't able to put together the pieces. I didn't want to. I was just a boy. But as I grew older and stronger, I began to realize something. Everyone was... skittish around me; not just because of my name or the clan protecting me, but because of something else. Someone else. Eventually, a loud-mouthed Chunin known as Mizuki let it slip. He wasn't able to fail me out of the Academy, not with my grades, but he found...other ways to be cruel. Petty ways, small ways, until finally he got bold enough-or drunk enough-to attack me in broad daylight.

I broke his nose and three of his limbs with my shadows.

He told me.

And then I knew.

My entire life felt like a lie.

Everyone had seen, everyone had known, and yet...!

I snapped his neck and went to the Third for answers. I got them.

And.

They.

Broke. Me.

My parents-bah!-died to trap a monster inside me. I never had the chance to ask. Never got the opportunity to say no. And everyone. Lied. To me.

Son of the Fourth Hokage? Heir of the Yellow Flash? Why would I care about that?! They lied to me! They left me! My so-called "family" kept the truth from me, smiling all the while! My own brother! Don't give me that! I don't want your excuses Shikamaru's a freaking prodigy! No way in hell he didn't figure something out. And he said nothing!

The mind of a teenager is a fragile thing, mine even more so.

When I left, when I spat in Sarutobi's face, well...my sole regret was that I didn't have a camera.

They chased me of course, but they never found me. I was far too clever for that by half. I put as much distance between us as I could.

There was no salvation for me after that. No kindness. I died as I lived, roaring into battle. What's that? Savage, you say? Perhaps. I live by my instincts; nothing more, nothing less. If I don't like someone, I kill them. If I want to save someone, I save them. If I see something shiny, I take it. That's the way I was raised. I taught myself to think. To speak. To read. No one was there for me. Everything I have, everything I ever owned, I took, be it by force of cunning. There was no tragic backstory for me that wasn't born of my own volition. I left. I slept in a ditch and hunted game where I could find it.

I gave no one my allegiance; I did what I wanted, when I wanted, where I wanted.

Until everyone got the bright idea to start hunting me.

They...really shouldn't have done that.

See, that's the thing about the shadows. When you know them, truly know them, they get a bit...clingy. Possessive, even. Everyone in the Nara clan was always so careful when it came to using their techniques. Never too much, never too fast, never too far. Not me. In my arrogance, I barreled headlong into them and I paid the price. They dole out their secrets happily enough, but from the moment you learn them, you belong to them. You become a conduit for them, a portal in. I learned that lesson the hard way, delved into the blackest pit, and came back with forbidden knowledge. What was the price, you ask? My life.

My first death came when I was fourteen. I took several fire jutsu straight to the face.

Hours later, I crept into my killer's camp and strangled him in his sleep. Bastard.

At sixteen, a squad of Danzo's so-called "elite" managed to cut me down.

I rose right up and dragged each of them all shrieking into the abyss.

At eighteen, Akatsuki ripped the bastard fox out of my body.

In all honesty, I was glad to be rid of him; I never liked the furry bastard and he never liked me. He cursed me and I cursed him; even knowing that our separation would kill me, I still wanted him gone. It hurt. That pain obliterated all others before it; an agony that scarred my very soul. But it only hurt once. And I never felt that pain again. I would come back. He wouldn't. His passing made more room for the shadows.

And the shadows swallowed Akatsuki.

These so-called "elite" ninja; the baddest of the bad, strongest of the strong, smuggest of the smug. They overwhelmed me with numbers that first time, beat me down with sheer volume. They had surprise and timing on their side. As to the second...well. It didn't end the way they expected. I suppose I'll tell the tale. They died screaming-save a damn Uchiha who escaped-and I took all their strength, their abilities, their very jutsu, for my own. Some fought, and some begged. It made no difference in the end.

None at all.

You see, strength means nothing in the face of darkness. Multiple bodies? Fodder. Multiple hearts? So much meat for the grinder. A body of paper? Mine was more shadow than flesh by then. Immortality? What does that mean when your soul is sundered from your body? Explosions? Annoying, if only for their light. Puppets? Kindling. You cannot poison the darkness. A chakra stealing sword? I wasn't using chakra by then, but I took it for myself regardless. The shark was devoured like a minnow in the ocean. Intangibility? Useful perhaps, but it did little more than buy Tobi time. Zetsu was last. I burned him out, root and stem.

The shadows don't care about your plots or plans.

To them?

You're just food.

Fuel in the proverbial tank.

I didn't expect to keep coming back; each time I feared it would be the last. It hurt like hell when I went into that abyss. The pain, the agony. Each time I tumbled into that void, something sent me back. But dying strips your sense of self away. I controlled the shadows. Then they started controlling me. Influencing my thoughts. They brought me back time and again, but each time I lost a part of myself. It made me stronger. Stripped away my doubts and hesitations. Cleared my mind. I learned an important lesson from them.

Life is cruel.

Why should the afterlife be any different?

Eventually, one of my deaths stuck. For real, this time.

I was offered a choice. A chance to postpone my judgement. One hundred years of service before the Throne.

Saber? No. Don't much like using a sword. Lancer? Fuck's a lance? Assassin? I don't think so. My life was never about killing. Some said it came easy to me. I disagree. It just...came. Caster? Nope. Berserker? Now that one's a little tempting. I did lose myself a few times on the way. Ah, the stories I could tell. Shielder? Pssh. I never hid behind a piece of metal. Shields mean nothing. I never became a Beast. I was never given a mark, never touched by a god, never had my mind break into a thousand pieces. Yet I need a class, you say? Find one that suits me, then.

Archer?

There you go.

Anything can be thrown. Anything is a weapon, right down to the very air you breathe. Your blood. Your body. Your mind. Your shadow. Even your soul. They can all be used against an opponent. That's right. I learned to weaponize the SOUL. Lets see a Caster do that. Every part of me became a weapon, but I was never a weapon. Do you see where I'm going with this yet? It was never about killing for me; it was about being left alone, a way to die and stay dead. Yet I couldn't do either, and so killed and killed and kept on killing everyone who raised arms against until nothing within a hundred miles would come near me.

Only one person managed to do that. She died.

Damnit, Karin. Why didn't you listen? I told you to listen.

If there was one thing I regretted, one bump on the wild ride that is life, it would be that.

I TOLD her to stay away. I pushed her. Shoved her. Shouted at her. But she didn't listen. Everyone around me dies. Why couldn't she understand that? She made it all of a year before my bad luck got her; she didn't die well. I still have nightmares about that day. But beyond that? I feel...nothing. Why should I? I had one hope in life. Just one. It died with her. Now?

I.

Am.

Death.

Give me a Master who knows that.

Give me a Master who hath seen the void.

Give me a Master who has stared into the abyss.

That's all I ask. I don't mind waiting until that time comes.

Tell you what, Throne, if you can find one, I'll gladly serve them to the end of my days.

(...0o0o0...)

The light burned.

"Silver and steel, the essence." Kairi Sisigou chanted stoically, willing the silent circle before him to stir. "Let stone and the archduke of contracts, be the foundation. Red, the color I pay tribute to."

Moments ago, the graveyard had been dead to both him and the world. Dull, and devoid of light in the night. Now it sprang back to life all at once. As though someone had thrust a blazing iron poker into the embers of a dying fire, so too did the ritual ignite, banishing the darkness for miles in ever direction. It was a brilliant show of light and power; a towering crimson pillar swelling to be seen and heard by any who dared bear witness. A beacon of hope against the dark and all the terrors it held.

It did not last long.

"I hereby propose." he swore, raising his voice to be heard above the unending roar, "Swear your fealty to me, and my life shall be your sword." a shadowy stain spread forth from the circle, but he paid it no heed as he felt his magic circuits begin to simmer and seethe. "If you abide by the Grail's summons and follow thine own laws, then heed my call!" The stain was now a black hole, actively swallowing all light, sucking up every bit of mana he offered it and more. "From the Seventh Heaven," the words choked in his throat as he fought to finish, as he fought not to collapse, "Wielding three words of power, come forth from this circle of binding!"

There was no light now.

Only darkness, large and looming.

A hand cold as ice closed around his throat.

Still, the scarred magus willed himself say the final five words.

"Guardian of the Heavenly Scales!"

Something snapped.

There could be no other word for it; one moment there had been a hand around his throat; in the next, that crushing pressure fell away. Air rushed into the void and he forced himself to cough, to inhale. To breathe. When he propped himself up on his elbows he thought heard...laughter? A faint, distant sound of footsteps paced away from him, barely heard among the ringing in his ears.

And then he saw.

And then he knew them.

And then he realized what he'd done.

The Necromancer swore softly as the light faded. "Oh, son of a bitch."

He hadn't been able to secure a proper catalyst for the Ritual, so he'd trusted it to Fate instead. Whatever he'd called to this plane had nearly killed him before being bound. Even now he felt icy waves of killing intent all but stabbing at him, testing his mettle, his resolve, his purpose. All the night seemed darker for their presence, their body a veritable pit that swallowed all light.

And yet for all the fear he'd felt a moment ago, he couldn't bring himself to cut the contract. Not yet.

For that was undoubtedly a Servant standing before him, a being steeped in shadows.

At first glance, he almost appeared normal...if you ignored the eyes.

Spirits, what had he summoned?

They were black, blue irises set against shadowy sclera. His was a lean face underneath the hood, those cold orbs framed by whiskered cheeks and shaggy blond hair, a mess many only narrowly held in check by a strip of burnt crimson cloth tired around his forehead. His clothes seemed more shadow than cotton, rippling and shifting as he moved. That wasn't a body he'd call malnourished, but...what was the word? Wiry? Yes, that was the one he was looking for. Steeped in a cloak of living shadows with only his face and hands visible, the newcomer regarded him with quiet cynicism.

"Servant, Archer." his voice was flat, colder than the grave itself. "I have responded to your summons, Necromancer."

He considered him for a long, pressing moment in utter silence.

"Now, then." the young man asked softly of him.

Eyes like death bored into his very soul.

"Are You My Master?"

He had to answer.

...yeah. I am."

That was it?! That was the best he could muster?! What kind of half-baked, lackluster response was that supposed to be?! Behind his stern countenance the scarred magus groaned internally at his mental slip. He'd meant to come off as aloof, yet those crystal blue eyes only regarded him with further scrutiny. But he-Archer-made no move to attack, so the Necromancer didn't either. One hand ever-so-subtle rose to his marked wrist with an easy grace, preparing a Command Spell in case of treachery-

"Those Marks offend me." when the Servant spoke again, he nearly flinched. "Remove them from my sight."

Reluctantly, the Necromancer did as he'd been bade.

He wasn't sure why.

Archer stepped forward, and the shadows stepped forth with him as though he were their lord. Sisigou watched the Servant keenly, marked hand at his back, yet ready to spring forth at the slightest provocations. Blast it all. He'd been hoping-praying-for a Saber. Not...this. How did this young man even qualify as an Archer? He saw now bow anywhere in sight. Only shadows. Only those keen blue eyes. Yet something in his very soul swore otherwise, insisting that this was indeed a marksman, for all appearances.

"What kind of man comes to a graveyard in search of hope?" Archer asked. "Well? Answer me."

"A desperate one." Sisigou retorted. "I want to win this Grail war-no, I have to win it."

"Oh?"

Those feverish blue eyes narrowed into hooded slits, considering him as one would a passing ant, one he might crush at any time. When he finally smiled, the Necromancer glimpsed teeth, sharp teeth that had no business being in a human body. He walked like a human. Even talked like one, for the most part. But knew at once that this Servant wasn't what he appeared. He was something...worse. A ghost. An apparition. A creature bound up in the Grail by chance perhaps. Something not to be trifled with lightly.

"And why is that?" Archer's voice was a rusty chuckle.

His first instinct was to lie, to deflect the attention of this creature.

And so he did. "I want to win it for the fame, of course. Its a passion of mine-GURK?!"

Clawed fingers locked around his throat and hoisted him upright in the same instant, slamming his back against a particularly large grave. Stone shattered at his touch, splintering like so much rotten driftwood, and Kairi found his shoulders grinding painfully against another in short order. And another. Another still. Another. Archer bashed him through three more before he finally ceased; leaning to bring those blazing blue eyes to bear upon him, that vicious gaze dominated his vision, filling the Necromancer with dread.

"The truth, now." the Servant purred. "Lie to me again, and I'll feed your limbs to you."

And so he told him; the truth, why he was here, what he wanted. Everything.

In return, the Servant told him something else. "Naruto."

"What?"

"My name is Naruto. Tell me, Do you fear death?" he inquired. "Are you afraid of the dark and all its horror?"

He was going to kill him if he lied. Sisigou knew this; saw in those cold eyes. All around him the shadows writhed, shifting in the air, in the ground, in the graves. At the slightest provocation, at the merest deception, they would attack. How fortunate then, that he couldn't bring himself to lie in the face of this new horror he'd summoned. And so he spoke, and so he spoke, that lone Necromancer. Thus his fate was changed.

"Am I afraid of the dark?" A quiet shudder shook Sisigou's shoulders despite his best efforts. "Yes. Immeasurably."

It was the right answer, for Naruto's grin only grew.

A hand like ice found Kairi's shoulder.

And the shadows receded.

"You'll do."

A/N: As ever, I own no references or quotes.

There. Now you have True!Archer!Naruto, in all his grisly glory.

Ohohohoho I am going to have FUN with this story, you have no bloody idea.

Its also a chance for me to introduce the prime Servants I've been holding back for this very moment.

Aye, like Avenger, this Naruto is an alter. The difference being he's not afraid to murder the ever-loving shit out of someone. He's...Chaotic neutral at best. Not a vampire, but he doesn't like the light, not int he least.

Next chapter will be better and longer.

NO this Naruto isn't the villain I've been promising, but he's not very nice. Lets see if Papa Sisigou can bring him back to the light, eh? I know, I know, he didn't summon Mordred in this story. Hurts me to do that. HOWEVER! I didn't say she was gone now, did I? Archer Atalanta, however, isn't in this story. She has a starring role in others, and...well. That would be telling now, wouldn't it? Still, I don't want to cheapen characters by flinging them all over the place.

*whistles innocently*

Reviews are life, Reviews make me strive, Reviews Keep Me Alive.

So, in the Immortal and Eternal words of Atlas...

...Do Leave A Review...would you kindly?

And of course, enjoy the preview!

You want slaughter?

You'll get it.

(Preview)

"Men do not fear swords, Master of mine." Archer snarked. "They fear monsters. They run from them. Sometimes...that's what it needs. Fight evil with evil. Dark against dark. Madness vs. Madness. For the night is dark and full of terrors." Archer snarked back, his smile revealing entirely too many teeth. "I am that terror. Command me, and I will be a plague upon your enemies."

"What are you?"

That ghastly face leaned closer.

"I," it began coldly, "Am the solution."

The enemy Servant barely had time to croak before seven shadowy missiles skewered them from head to toe.

Archer's smile was death itself, cold and unflinching.

Sisigou whistled softly. "Well. That's one way to do it. One down."

"Berserker?"

A blond brow rose.

"No, I'm Archer. You're Berserker."

Atalanta laughed then, and it sounded almost like...a sob?

"You idiot...look at you. Just what happened to you in your lifetime?"

To his complete, unutterable dismay, his fellow alter stepped forward, grabbed his face...and kissed him.

*EDIT* What? I did say ARCHER Atalanta isn't in this. I MADE NO SUCH PROMISES FOR BERSERKER!ATALANTA! BRING ON THE MADNESS!

"Don't die. I need you alive."

"Aw, never knew you cared, kid."

...I will stab you. Right here. Right now."

"Can't do that, remember? If I die, you go back to the throne."

The shadows swirled and for a fleeting moment, Kairi wondered if he'd shoot him.

R&R! =D