A/N: (EDIT! YES, this is Naruto. He's simply changed. In summary, this is basically a story of what would happen if Naruto and Kurama merged...with the latter being quite distraught about it and being the dominant personality.

Now, then! Someone pointed out that I've been ignoring "best girl" so here, she gets a route.

They also cried foul that she "died" in the last story so here. I'll throw you a bone.

Also!

Bloody hell.

I hobbled home this evening to get smacked with vitriol and complains about "A Most Unlikely Beast" and how dark it got.

So lets explain:

A Most Unlikely Beast isn't the end of the Most Unlikely Series, he's just the second Act. An antagonist. One starting with the weaker iterations of himself and working his way up. He's in for a RUDE awakening if he thinks he can just trample the Nasuverse like some raging Berserker. As we've seen, that world tends to bite back. HARD. Furthermore that Naruto is not a traditional "Beast" in the Nasuverse sense, but styles himself as one, false though he is. Tiamat or Goetia would absolutely ruin his day if he tried to face them.

Did you really think I would let the series end like that?!

So there.

Have a story then.

Because I'm irritated.

And guess what? I write best when I'm angry.

Now then, the question you need to ask yourself is thus:

How long would you hold to an oath when you're the only one keeping it?

Some break their oaths for anger or lust, or even anger. Some don't last long at all.

And some...some keep their word to the grave and beyond and woe to ye if you get in their way.

Again, this is basically a story of what would happen if Naruto and Kurama merged...with the latter being quite distraught about it.

"Are you...Berserker?"

"Sorry, runt. Right body, wrong spirit."

~Alter Ego.

A Most Unlikely Alter Ego

He was their weapon.

They ripped him from the arms of his dying Mother and Father to make him theirs, heedless of their final wishes, of their last words. In that moment his parentage didn't matter to them, nor his bloodline. Danzou saw the potential; he saw opportunity, and thus, he seized it as one would any other. He took that baby and spirited him away from the Hokage in the chaos. By the time the old man realized something was wrong, it was already too late; in the coming years they systematically broke that babe from the quick; molded him into a tool for the village. For their biding

Only hours old and already his fate was sealed.

Just as I was sealed inside of him.

Oho? Confused are you?

There's no need to be, you'll understand soon enough. Think this story is about me now, do you? The tale of the great Lord Kurama and how he ravaged the world and made reality his bitch? Is that what you're expecting here? You'd be wrong. This story isn't about me; its entirely about that blond brat; the boy who who was taken. The boy who fought. The boy fell. They made him a weapon; in that, Danzou certainly succeeded. My host learned to kill his enemies in all manner of alarming ways. Some of them were downright subtle, even. But for all their attempts to break him, he wasn't quite the tool they wanted.

That boy had hopes.

That boy had...dreams.

Emotions many would never know.

That old warhawk may have broken him on the outside, but the boy still held true to the core of his being that was his true self, though you'd never know it by looking at him. He remembered his name and he clung to it like a drowning man would a piece of flotsam in a storm. A steely core that he refused to give up to anyone, no matter how much they hurt him. And they hurt him often. Be it branding his tongue with a cursed seal to ensure his silence or imposing crushing restrictions on his chakra system or cutting off a toe for disobedience, the boy was born and bred to obey.

But despite that, he still held onto his self.

He talked to me, you know? Confided his fears in me.

I suppose there was no one else to converse with after all; the runt was only ever allowed out of the foundation for missions, and always under close supervision. Acquaintances were not tolerated by the Root. Friends were discouraged as were distractions. Any potential romantic entanglement was actively destroyed. But no one could observe his every waking moment, much less his dreams. When he found me in the seal, he was afraid, at first. Then he realized what I was, and he started talking. He never shut up. Stubborn kid.

I ignored the little gaki at first.

He talked about the most pointless things; because anything was better than silence. I tried to tune him out. Even succeeded there for awhile. But was just...so. Damn. Persistent! I lasted all of three months before I finally broke down and started to listen.

And in listening, I began to learn.

Silence becomes a burden after so many years.

At least he was smart enough never to enter the cage.

It went on like that for...hmm. How long was it? Eighteen years?

When it finally became clear that they couldn't break him to their means, Root sent him on an impossible mission, against an impossible foe. The boy didn't protest. Though he killed that foe, that "Pain" though he perished in the process. I should've gone with him, yet I remained. In his last dying moments he freed me. Unshackled me. Released the seal-no, beyond that.

He gave me his body. His flesh.

Humans can be kind. This was the ultimate act of that kindness.

I did not expect him to do it; this, any of it. For me to live. For him to die. To wear his skin as if it were my own. All my power remained, yet it was the guise of a human-of his face!-that I found myself consigned to. A fell cage of living flesh. We became one, but he vanished. What remained was a strange meld of consciousness that neither him nor me...yet I can't feel him here anymore. He should be, but he isn't.

And I wept.

I loved that boy like he was my own son. The boy I never could have. He was good and kind and they killed him. I mourned his death with my new face, with tears I'd never shed before; beat the ground with frail human fists. Feeble human fingers. I roared with a voice that was not my own, but neither was it his, rather some strange union of the two. There was no one left to mourn the boy but me. No one in Root would so much as bat an eyelash at his death, the emotionless bastard.

I wanted to destroy them. Not only them, but the village Those that hurt him.

To rip and tear as I'd never done before.

But he'd made me promise.

"Protect them. Protect the village. Protect the world."

So I did...albeit not in the way he expected. I don't think Naruto's idea of "protect" consisted of returning to the village and slaughtering every member of Root. When I returned, everyone panicked of course. I couldn't well hide my presence; I'd never been taught how, and demonic chakra tends to...leak when you're angry. Its the demon, they cried! Its the devil! He's possessing the boy! Ha! Got a few good chuckles out of that one before the end. Even the Uchiha brat soiled himself. Priceless.

Oh, some of them tried to exile me-execute me, even-but I wasn't having any of it. Would you believe I wound up saving them, in the end? I outlived all those who wanted me dead.

Since then, I've traveled the world. Sowed a few wild oats, wandered, that sort of thing.

They even built a temple to me at one point. Ironic, isn't it?

I have endured horrors that would make most rulers wail in frustration and terror alike; an army of undead, a sea of abominations that take the face of your allies, even an invasion from the stars themselves. I faced them with the boy's friends by my side and together, we smashed them all. I stood with my brothers and sisters and we sent the Rabbit Goddess shrieking back into her seal. Together. My legend was never forged alone-no, not once. I only ever triumphed because I had allies to stand behind me. Hrmph.

I did not succumb to hatred then, and I will not this day.

In my twilight years I faced my greatest challenge yet; a fool incarnation of myself calling itself a Beast. Or at least, it aspired to such a lofty title. Foul creature. Fool! I've seen a true Beast from afar once and I dared not tangle with it. But this? This was no Beast. Just a mad dog pretending to the title, a creature driven mad by pain and loss until it could only kill and feed off the pain of others.

I pitied it.

This so-called "Beast" wore the boy's face, but older. Harsher. He said was going to devour me. Erase me from history. He said a lot of things, come to think of it. Drunk on his ego and power. I remember the crazed look in its eyes, the slavering drool from its maw. It told me it had killed two others, that I would be the third, a feast to fuel its fire. I took exception to that.

For nine days we fought each other.

Nine nights we raged against one another.

On the tenth my world was given a victor at last.

That's right; I sent that whelp running back to his realm with his tails between his legs...WHILE I WAS STILL ALIVE. Dwell on that for a moment. I did not best him as a Servant, or an agent of the Counter Force, or even a fellow being of destruction. I did what must be done. I did not hesitate. I showed no mercy. No doubt he thought me easy prey in my old age. More fool he. If it had not fled from me like the craven it was, I would've slain it. Pity. No doubt he'll be thinking twice before he deigns to strike at us again. My heirs are even more powerful than I was in my prime-they'll give him a thrashing when they come of age.

I sired half a dozen children from three different women, and I'm only just now beginning to see grey in my hair.

How many years do I have left before this body finally gives out? Another century? Less? Who can say. Not as long as I'd like.

Its been a good life. But I can't let it end. Not yet. This body isn't mine. For all intensive purposes, I'm just borrowing it-have been borrowing it-all these years.

I live, and will continue to live, not as a monster, but a man. I will protect this world from those who would do it harm. Even if my power breaks, even if this flesh grows old and gray, I will fight for him. To avenge the wrong done him so long ago. My wish is not a wish, because I will make it a reality. I will return him to this body we shared. I sometimes wonder if he's still influencing me somehow; if the last dying dregs of his soul somehow merged with mine and yet live on. That...shouldn't be possible. They killed him. Didn't they? Is he still here? Why can't I see him? Can I save him? Does my wish have any merit at all? No. It can. It has. It must.

I will see his smile again.

I will bring my friend home.

I will fight to see that dream realized.

(...0o0o0...)

This wasn't Berserker.

On a certain level Illyasviel von Einzbern knew it should be a Berserker. Yet it wasn't. She knew the moment the smoke began to clear. As the the light swelled and swirled around her in the ruined temple, bringing with it the biting sting of winter, she found herself dissapointed. Her magic circuits hummed quietly, not hurting her as she'd expected, but simmering softly in her veins. There should've been pain. She expected the pain. But, it never came. She didn't understand. Why wasn't she in pain? She'd been forced summoned him early, without the Grail to aid her.

This should have been Heracles.

"FINALLY! SOMEONE SUMMONED ME!" A roar rattled the word, causing her to tuck her head in her arms. "Do you have any idea how long I've been waiting?!

Nope! Not Heracles! Definitely not Heracles!

"Wait a minute." that strange, eldritch voice-a blend of two beings made one-growled as she continued to cower before him in the freezing ruins, "Something's not right here. I don't sense anyone. Where are the rest? Where are the Servants? Am I early? That shouldn't be possible...

"What is this?!" a shrill voice shrieked! "Who are you?!"

...you're noisy. Will you kindly shut up?"

One of the Einzbern elders spluttered fiercely in protest, only to be rendered a red smear on the wall by the newcomer. Illya never saw it, but she most assuredly heard it. She knew that sound all too well. She heard him kill two more before she finally managed to muster some semblance of her voice-and her usual confidence-despite the confusion clamping down on her throat. As gratifying as it might be to let the newcomer slaughter all those who were making her suffer, she couldn't allow it; not when she needed some of them alive.

...s-stop!" she dared to raise her head.

It was the right thing to say.

Her Servant stilled his hand, fingers wrapped around Grandfather's collar. At her command, he dropped the the aging man like a piece of trash. The wounded Einzbern wasted no time in clamoring away and Illya felt the briefest pang of satisfaction at the sight of seeing someone so proud-someone who had hurt her-humbled so severely by a Servant. He had power, if nothing else. But why wasn't he Heracles? A small, stubborn part of her soul still cried out against this injustice...at least it did, until those eerie scarlet orbs rounded on her.

"Oh, there you are, runt." he hummed happily. "Sorry. Didn't see you."

He seemed entirely too happy for his own good, yet Illya felt herself bristle beneath her cloak all the same.

"Did you just call me short?"

He gazed at her for a long, terrifying moment, as though he were peering through her, gazing into the very depths of her being.

...you seem familiar." the word was a mumble. "Have we met?"

Mute, the red-eyed girl shook her head stubbornly. "No. I've never seen you before."

"I see. Someone's interfering with the Grail War again. Poor unfortunate soul."

"Wait, what are you-yeek?!"

When she finally dared to blink the Servant up must've moved; because now he was currently kneeling before her, dropped down on his haunches in an attempt to get a better look. She glimpsed worn black clothes that had been battered by a lifetime of wandering, accompanied by a faded metal plate around his head bound by a black cloth, worn to near obscurity. Steaks of silver flecked through worn blond hair, a stern face framed by whiskered cheeks and a strong jawline. And those eyes. She couldn't forget those eyes. Never those eyes. They were the eyes of a beast, red and slitted, yet somehow they seemed...warm. Almost kind.

Illya choked down a whimper.

"Are you...Berserker?"

The Servant, this red-eyed man, stood then, planted a hand in his pocket and sighed.

"Sorry, runt. Right body, wrong spirit. Alter Ego, at your service." he replied readily, though his gaze turned hesitant thereafter. "My true name...isn't really important, so lets just skip that and cut to the quick, eh? I'm going to go out on a limb here an' assume you summoned me. So!" those sinister scarlet slits narrowed on her with frightful intensity. "Are you my Master, princess?"

Princess?

Despite her doubts, Illya almost caught herself smiling. No one had called her that since Papa. Not since-

The thought of Kiritsugu Emiya snapped her frayed thoughts back to reality with ruthless dispatch, weaving them into a writhing tapestry of anger and ill-simmering rage. Papa. Mama. They'd abandoned her-or so she'd been led to believe-leaving her behind. And for what? That boy. That failure. That...nothing. Yes. That's right. She had a mission. A reason for participating in this war. She had no need of a wish; she just wanted to take her revenge on that...thing that Papa had replaced her with.

"I...yes." marshaling her scattered emotions, the petite girl forced herself to stand, ignoring her simmer circuits. "Now take me out of this place, Servant. I expect a demonstration of your skills when we return home."

"Oho!" the Alter Ego beamed. "My Master has a spine after all! Good to know."

"Just do it!"

A cold wind answered and his mouth quirked into a small smile.

"As you command, princess." he declared.

In the next instant he bent down and scooped her off the floor as though she were just that. She had all of half an instant to blink-to sputter-before her Servant gathered his legs beneath them and moved. He did not leap away into the distance, did not teleport, and most assuredly did not warp. It was a simple expression of pure, unparalleled speed, one that left the poor homonculus hanging on for dear life. Her Servant bolted forward in a streak of black and silver and the world rendered itself a white, snow blur around them. Illya almost fell off outright, were it not for his ironclad grip.

"Hweh?! What are you doing?! Put me down!"

"Don't wanna. Its faster this way."

Illya blinked. Once.

Twice. Thrice.

Oh.

Oho.

Ohoho.

She understood, now. Her Servant was playing games with her. Trying to deceive her. This must be Berserker. If not Heracles, then another infamous Berserker of another sort. Clearly, he was her Servant, willing to do as she said without hesitation. Yes. That was good. She could still salvage this. She could still have her revenge. Everything was still within her reach. Yes, this was a Berserker. Had to be.

Chaos would stem from that ill-advised decision.

In hindsight, poor Illya had no one to blame but herself.

The hilarity that ensued...well...her Servant might be to blame for that.

A/N: And there you go. As ever, this'll be gone in two days if you don't like it.

Open Servant spots mean open votes!

Obvious references are obvious and I don't own jack.

Naruto and Kurama sharing one body, one mind, one consciousness. How quaint.

Rather reminds me of Jekyll and Hyde now that I think about it. I hope you enjoy it!

Its also a bit of a running gag that everyone considers our boy a Berserker when he IS NOT.

Now, then! Here we have someone who isn't quite Kurama, but neither is he Naruto. A strange unholy union, but one who inherited the best aspects of both. Think of this Servant as the opposite side of Beast!Naruto, one who held to a singular promise and will live by it.

There.

So in the Immortal Words of Atlas...

...Review, Would You Kindly?

And enjoy these previews.

I worked hard on 'em

Also, no EMIYA in this story. I've done that to death.

I present a better alternative.

OPEN SPOTS ARE OPEN VOOOOTES!

(Previews)

"Quiet, shorty."

Illya pinched his side.

"Hey!"

"And what are you? Some beast?"

"Careful, now, Servant. This beast bites back."

"Feisty! I like it!

"Archer...Tomoe Gozen."

Alter Ego clicked his tongue. "That...might hurt."

Then she unleashed hell upon him and he could only run headlong into the barrage.

"Berserker! Kill her!"

Illya watched her Servant miss half a step.

"How many times do I have to tell you? I'm not a Berserker!"

R&R~!