DISCLAIMER: All copyrighted materials belong to their respected owners.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: The Throne of Heroes where all whom transcend History and the World reside… From the common folk to they whom descended from the gods themselves, so long as their deeds, their very lives, become almost as legends to the inheriting generations that follow they become Heroic Spirits and thus earn a place of residency upon the Throne until such a time as they are summoned by whatever means calls for them. In these recent years, they answer to the call of the Holy Grail Wars and serve their Masters as Servants of distinctive Classes befitting them in death, as they would have in life. However, as many who bear witness to the wonders of the Kaleidoscope can attest, the Servants need not be limited to that particular World's History.

Now as I'm sure many of my readers are wondering, does this mean the end of my other series of one-shots, The Familiars of Zero? The answer to that can be summed up in two words. HECK NO. Like the Nostalgia Critic, I'm just taking a little break from the world of Halkeginia for a while, take a breather and be inspired once again as I had been all those years back when I first started, but it will be back. That being said, let's move on shall we?

Like its predecessor, From the Throne of Heroes is a series of one-shots featuring the ever-popular "what-if" scenario of Servants for the Grail Wars. However, unlike the many wonderful stories, this series will consist primarily of one new Servant per-story though I may do the occasional visit to the Carnival as it were as time goes on. There will be no order to the Servants or the Wars in which they take place though safe to say, the Fourth will be the most predominate of them. Why? Because the Fourth was the most awesome and offers the most opportunities to… cut loose… Heheheh…

Saber… masters of swords whose own legends often surpass beyond they who wield them. Lancer… wielders of spears, lances, any and all weapons that provide the extra reach that make striking them down all but impossible. Archer… the true masters of the long-range weaponry who possess such incredible strength of will that they virtually become their own masters. Rider… they who've mastered their mounts to such a degree that even upon their own feet they are a passing blur to untrained eyes. Caster… magicians, sorcerers, witches, and warlocks, they are the artisans of the magical arts, purveyors of spells and enchantments long lost to modern time and its scientific convention. Berserker… the mad dogs of war whose sheer physical might is rivaled only by their inhuman madness… Assassin… the shadow walkers who move silent and unseen by their victims until their blades are buried to the hilt in their heart.

Fourteen combatants in all, the seven Masters and the seven Servants whom they call forth from the Throne of Heroes to fight and kill to attain that which was named as the Holy Grail, that their wishes may be granted, one to the living and one to the dead. An absolute balance, a perfected measure of control… but a war is a war, and like all rules that have come before and like so many that will follow, they are broken.

Shattered.

Ignored.

Yet no higher price could be paid by the breaking of the simplest of rules for there, in the Holy Grail, existed something of… a loophole. Seven Masters and seven Servants, fourteen combatants in all. No more, no less.

Until the other classes were revealed… until one class was exploited.

Avenger… they whose lives were spent in the name of vengeance be it for themselves or others… It is not a true class, a substitute and nothing more. It was never meant to be used for few heroes of the past could fill the standard, and rare was it that the gifts of being an Avenger were welcomed. Summoned from frustration and slaughtered before the folly could be discovered, that which whom was called as Avenger was he who had, in life, been a sacrifice against all that is sin, all that is evil, all that is abhorrent of mankind. In his demise as a Servant, he had done what he had in life and so it was not the soul of an innocent, a soul of an avenging hero that was swept into the Holy Grail.

No.

What it was… what it is…

It is Sin.

It is Evil.

It is everything that mankind hates, loathes, and abhors about itself… all this and so much more was poured into the Holy Grail until that which it had been was no more. There was no holiness to this blackened Grail. The hellish monstrosity summoned forth by Avenger saw to that quite well. Yet… even in the deepest of darkness… there can be a spark, a tiny speck, of light that still shines, a soul willingly sacrificed so that a shared dream may together be realized.

The Grail has become corrupted… controlled by the Evils of the World but there is enough of its core, of her original self, that retains, that remembers…

That all rules are made to be broken… and that Avenger is not the only class that can be called…

Ruler… they whom sat upon their thrones and pedestals as the people below looked up to them to follow their every word, their every command. This is a class that any royal might claim as their right but it is not reserved for these self-righteous and oft pretentious fools. No, it is the right of those who inspire faith, who inspire loyalty, who are led as much as they lead.

Saver… they whom are the saviors of mankind even, some would even say especially, in death. Messiahs each and every one of them for they are the holiest figures of mortal kind, chosen by Fate, guided by Destiny, and protected by the Almighty. This is a class whose place upon the Throne of Heroes is not on the throne proper but above it for if they are second only to He who is King of Kings. Their purpose, their design, for the Holy Grail Wars is to be the saving force when all else has failed, when the degradation has gone so far beyond redemption it would take only the living embodiments of purity, good, and all that is decent, to reform that which has become broken.

Yet what was left of the Grail proper could not make use of either of them. The Ruler is to be the judge, the overseer between the final four combatants for the wish and Saver… No, the corruption was too great, too much for the Calling to reach such a hero's ear…

But… there was one more to consider…

From Across the Throne of Heroes

By Corvus no Genmu

"The Red"

This was a foolish attempt. He knew this. He had no doubt that it would end in dismal failure and bitter disappointment but when one has no other options left but to try, no other hope left to covet, then even the most foolhardy of ventures are worth the risk of bitter defeat. The runes were carefully scribed upon the floor, a studious mixture of volcanic ash and his own blood. All that was left were the words and the reagent, which he doubted would actually work given its dubious origin but in the hell that was his life Before the End could he really question its validity?

He placed it carefully atop the altar before taking his place at the opposing side of the summoning circle. He bowed his head and considered once more the folly of this latest scheme. It was a chance discovery, an impossible idea, an inconceivable dream, but if it could work… if he became a participant in this competition, this "war"…

Then he could have his wish…

And the End would become a Beginning…

"You who sits upon the Throne of Heroes… if thou would lend thy power unto me… if thou would travel the same path to retribution as I… then hear my call and answer! I am the soldier of the forgotten… as much a monster as a man… My eyes are stained with the deaths of innocents, my hands the blood of the damned, and my soul by those whom I left behind… If thou art willing to stand beside such a miserable being… hear me and come forth!"

Nothing…

Not a spark, not a light.

Nothing.

And then the ground began to quake as fire burned unseen in the air… Light brighter than the exploding birth of a star blinded him but nothing to deafen him to the question asked of him.

I ask of you, are you my Master?

Words, emotions, intent… it didn't matter how his brain interpreted the unspoken tongue or the overwhelming vastness that was there and was not. The vast dining hall seemed almost miniscule, tight and small for the behemoth awaiting an answer that came with hope and without hesitation.

"Yes."

Crimson light flared across the back of his right hand, lines twisting and turning upon the pale flesh to carve an image composed of three parts that united made the vague impression of a reptilian claw.

Then, the oppressive presence and its overwhelming heat were gone as if they never were. But he could feel the tether, the chains that bound him to his Servant and the Servant to him. His latest foolhardy ploy, his childish scheme, a false hope to be unrealized…

It had worked.

It meant a lot of things. It meant that he well and truly had a chance for atonement, that there was magic here though it was not as he knew it to be, and that the words and curious glances held more to them than he had ever thought. That the accidents of his childhood were no longer unexplained and with this realization came an outburst.

"I'm a wizard…?"

They were at the pier.

Seven in all though only two were fighting…

Saber and Lancer…

He knew this the moment their duel had begun, even halfway across the city. It was his bane and his gift. A friend, a rare commodity he treasured more than his own life, had once jokingly referred to him as "The One Who Sees" in reference to this gift and the fact the original bearer of the title, fictional though he was, bore such an opposing disposition that the only similarities that could be found was in that which made them stand separate and alone.

He sees but not with a mystical eye. He knows but he has no idea. He understands yet he rarely comprehends. That's how he had always been even before he had been Chosen. It was one of the reasons he had been selected really, to see the Truth where others could only see the Lies. It's how he knew to go to the abandoned mansion, how he found that one book in a library of thousands more of its ilk, how he managed to live while the others…

Well. That was the past and his eyes were looking to the future.

He arrived moments before Rider and his master did, using the overly dramatic entrance to mask his presence as he took a place amongst the shadows. He had seen the assassins and the Servant who defined that class. He had nothing to fear of the mages but the Servant Assassin was… wrong. A fragment, a piece that could attack as a swarm and overtake him if he wasn't prepared to committing enough property damage that even the best of these magi couldn't mask from the mundane.

So he stood in the shadows.

So he watched.

As the Rider descended from the Heavens on a chariot of lightning and proclaimed himself fully to the world and invited both combatants to join him on his conquest for the Holy Grail as his companions but also as his underlings. He listened to the refusals of the Lancer and the Saber, both stating with pride their stances in this life. He winced as the Rider shouted once more to the heavens that any and all Servants and Masters watching in the darkness step forward lest they earn the scorn of the King of Conquerors.

He worried that his Servant found amusement in the Rider's words but did not rise to the bait as another did.

Archer.

No…

His eyes narrowed and he saw the man beneath the legend as he had with Saber and Lancer.

Gilgamesh…

He listened to the golden Servant's boasts on his regality, his reign from the heavens above the lowly peons who dare to label themselves as kings in his presence. The Rider did not help to make the situation better by bringing forth the fact that none of those present on the open grounds knew the Archer for who he was.

He watched as the golden lights circles open wide behind the Archer as he declared that the penalty of their ignorance would be their deaths. Weapons emerged from the rippling portals and as he had come to know of the Archer, so too did the hidden Master discover the golden king's Noble Phantasm for what it was.

The Gates of Babylon opened wider as the ancestral weapons of those founded in legend took aim. The weapons were nameless, each and every one of them, but far more powerful than what they would become for these were the legends at their highest potential and they carried it from sharpened point to smooth hilt. Such was the nearly limitless potential of these weapons that even the slightest of contact upon their target would result in an explosive force great enough that the hidden Master wondered if now was the time to interrupt.

Too bad that somebody had beaten him to the punch.

Shadows twisted and turned upwards and remained as a ethereal cloud around the armored form of the Berserker but even with this darkness so strong, so powerful as to be a Noble Phantasm in its own right, he saw the knight beneath the shadows, the man beneath the legend and even in the presence of that man's sworn and betrayed "king" did the Master feel himself breathless once more but not merely out of surprise.

For he was not the only one to recognize the Berserker for whom he was… who he had been… and what he had done…

It started as a low growl but to those unawares of its origin it could very well have been thunder to their ears. Then, it rose in volume until there was no mistaking the hellion roar for what it was and even the golden clad Archer could not refrain from dismissing away the Gates of Babylon from the overwhelming fury that came with such a sound. Those weak-of-heart and weaker minded fell blissfully into the catching embrace of unconsciousness while those of steely resolve and burning passions of their own at least maintained the dignity of wakefulness though it was only they whom are blessed by the arts of magic, practitioners or creations-of it did not matter, who did not immediately collapse from the echoing tide.

In fact, of those present only two remained, for the most part, largely unfazed.

Berserker was already moving, leaping up seemingly in an attack for Archer but instead used the Golden Servant as a shield between him and the onslaught of fire that came surging forth after the Black Knight. There was no preparing, no escaping, such a sudden assault of flames that burned so hot that they blazed white at their edge and stunning blue in their center.

A massive shadow fell as something moved through the open air, tracking the fleeing speck of blackness with a burning trail of fire as the winds kicked up the smoke and ash away from the flapping of enormous wings. The earth shook as the originator of the hellion roar and equally hellish fires landed where the King of Heroes had once stood boasting his superiority above his fellow monarchs. The molten scrap molded to claws longer than a man is tall as a tail large and imposing with its spaded tip swung with clear displeasure made all the more apparent by the vicious sneer of fangs on the reptilian's snout. Crimson scales gleamed like bloodied rubies in the artificial lights whilst the pale spotlight of the moon highlighted the fury of amber orbs as the glared into the shadows, smoke trailing through clenched jaws as the furnace of innards stoked the fires to their full intensity and made bright the massive neck with its warm glow.

But Berserker was gone, retreated with his barely conscious Master carried tightly in his arms for even in the depths of his madness, the Black Knight remembered his own experiences with beasts such as what slain Archer in his stead and though he was by no means an apprentice in the art of slaying such monsters from the world he knew from such experience that his Master would not survive the battle to be had between him and the impossibly summoned Servant.

The Beast.

The smoke wafted away completely, the furnace dying to the softer embers of a mundane flame. He who stunk of blood and betrayal was gone and much as the desire to make an intended kill rather than one of incidence, finding such an insect in a hive was only going to lead to further frustrations and annoyances.

Speaking of…

Amber eyes narrowed before the triangular spade of the Beast's tail whipped forth through the air and brought the nearby crane down with a crashing of steel girders. Fangs flashed forward and bit down upon something which screamed bloodied murder before it was permanently silenced with a bone-breaking crunch and the remains spat down upon the ground between the Beast and the remaining Servants.

Assassin's head rolled forward until the skull of his mask was staring up at the Rider's grim face. He glanced back down at his master and saw that the boy had collapsed, from shock or the sheer enormity of the monster's presence. The Lancer was tense on the Rider's right, gripping both spears tightly in his hands. He couldn't move to retrieve his Master and flee lest he draw the monster's attention upon the man who wisely remained silent and did not dare draw the Beast's attention by ordering his Servant to take him and flee.

Truly it was a wise thing for the man to have soiled himself shortly before falling unconscious.

It gave him a reason for a change of clothes if nothing else.

From their hidden perches amongst the towering stacks, master and apprentice remained still as the dead and breathed just the same. Both were not unfamiliar in the ways of magic though neither could be claimed or considered as proper practitioners of the craft. Both had met and conversed with a living legend but it was a legend that did not live up to their inbuilt expectations, the dreams and imaginations of a childhood where the legends seemed as factual history of a forgotten past.

This?

This was everything those stories said and more for this did not meet their expectations but shot them down and ground them into dust, particularly in the eyes of the stand-in Master of Saber who was doing a marvelous impression of a guppy, cuteness and all. As for the Saber herself…

Were it in her possession, she'd have returned her blade to its sheathe. Were she not in the presence of enemy Servants and already sporting a major injury upon her left wrist the Saber would have dismissed her weapons and armor alike in the presence of this Beast for just as she had recognized the Lancer by his legend so too did she know this Beast through his.

Rather, through hers.

Amber met emerald as an ancient beast gazed upon a young royal. One was clearly a monster's gaze, inhuman and ravenous in its intensity and the other, while human, contained the same semblance of power for theirs was a shared bond betwixt destiny and fate. Yet now, centuries past the time in which they made their marks in history and legend, is when they should meet. It might have been a moment, it may well have been several minutes, either way the staring contest was won by he who looked away with disdain from she whose eyes carried more than her soul in its evergreen depths.

The tapping of wood and footsteps knocked gently upon the sacred silence instilled by the Beast's full emergence into the Holy Grail War but it was the voice of the Beast's Master who shattered it fully.

"I suppose that we all should be grateful that you didn't deem it necessary to swallow, eh?" The Master stood beneath the shadows of a half-spread wing so while the details were lost there was no missing how much he favored his left side or the cane he leaned upon. His glasses, which seemed a size too large upon his face, gleamed in the light and his smile was a touch mad as he looked upon the remaining Servants in turn until his gaze fell upon the Rider. He bowed his head with an apologetic smile. "I'm sorry but as enticing an offer as it is to fight under your banner, I'm afraid that neither my Servant or I would bow our heads to you, King of Conquerors."

Rider blinked twice before he roared with laughter. "You are more than I expected from the Master of such a Servant!" He chuckled as he shook his head. "At least I can claim an interesting night out of this."

The Master of the Beast shook his head. "As I said, we will not bow to you but I never said that alliances were out of the question. We have seen for ourselves that the death of Assassin was more than a slight exaggeration on Archer's part, and there is Caster to consider, but that's a conversation for another night with less… excitement shall we say?"

He turned away and started once more for the shadows but paused. He did not turn back but there was a small twitch of movement, the slightest glance out the corner of an eye. What he saw confused him but as much as he wanted to inquire he held tightly to his parting words. The night's excitement was great enough and he needn't add to it with accusations of the Saber's status as…

Well, that was a topic for another night.

He admired the stonework of the castle. He had a thing for them, a passion really, for such places that brought to mind the fairy tales of his youth. Though given recent experiences he supposed that calling them mere tales was hardly fitting… but that was neither here nor there. At the moment, he was enjoying an amusing show between two Servants who still remained the rightful Kings that they had been in their legends long past. To be fair, most of the amusement came from their respected Masters. The Rider's young master looked torn between having a nervous breakdown being in the middle of enemy territory and throttling a man who could easily break him like a toothpick. The Saber's… stand-in was probably the nicest title he could use for her, looked torn between being confused and angry at the red-haired Servant and the meek Master who had supposedly supplied the Rider with the funds to afford a barrel of wine.

Speaking of, he'd best make his presence known before his own Servant does so for them both.

"If this is to be a dialogue rather than a war, I admit to my own interest though I must question your reasoning King of Conquerors." The Master of the Beast stepped forward from the shadows of a nearby archway. He smiled with eyes closed to the shock and horror that his revealed presence brought forth to those unexpected of his arrival and of his true appearance. "After all, if the Grail were to fall to the hands of royalty then it would have summoned seven kings instead of three."

In the open as he was, there was no hiding the young man, a boy barely into the full cusp of adulthood really, that was the Master of the Beast. His smile was a mask of cheerfulness and his glasses gleamed brightly, hiding the pained winces found in weary brown eyes. He favored his right side as he walked, putting much of his weight on his cane as he walked with carefully measured steps. He was dressed plainly without any distinction of his rank among the magi and in a crowd of the mundane he'd easily have been lost were it not for the scars. Burns by the looks of them, that covered most of his left arm and went up to just beneath his eye on the same side.

The Master of the Beast stood beside and between the two Servants and struggled with sitting himself down, moving an uncooperative limb aside by way of his cane until a hand gripped him gently by the arm.

Whether it was the shock of his appearance, both physical and sudden, it came as no small surprise to the younger Master to find himself with the shockingly soft hand of the Servant Saber assisting him to his seat on the ground. Though sore that he had to be helped at all, the Master did not keep silent his gratitude and spoke them with a soft whisper.

"Why have you come here, Master of the Beast?" asked Saber, keeping her grip upon his arm.

"Arthur."

Saber blinked. "What?"

"My name." The Master of the Beast clarified with a self-depreciating smile. "It's Arthur. Arthur L. Kuromori." He pulled his arm free from her lax grip and answered the unspoken question. "Hardly coincidence I think, meeting the very person I was named after but then there is no such thing as coincidence is there…?" He shook his head. "As to why I'm here, well, this is to be a Grail Dialogue yes?"

"That it is boy," agreed the Rider, presenting a cup of wine to Arthur with a smile. The Master of the Beast took it with a nod of thanks and took a small swallow and grimaced. The Rider laughed heartily at the sight. "Too strong for you?"

"Hardly. Too weak." Arthur looked upwards. "Would you be so kind as to spare one of your acquisitions?"

Single eyebrows were raised before the twins shot up to meet them as the Beast raised his head up from outside the castle walls. Amber eyes glared down not upon the humans but the opened barrel of wine. A disdainful snort of ashen smoke expressed the Beast's opinion of the drink. The Beast stood upright and reached over the castle wall to drop a barrel of his own, its top already torn free with the liquid concoction within set aflame at its center.

Rider, deciding that tasting the wine presented by a dragon was far more prudent than asking such ridiculous questions like where the Beast had acquired it or had said Beast kept appearing out of nowhere with little evidence of being Astralized beforehand. Not one to do anything halfway, the Rider took not a small sip but a large gulp of the warmed wine and found himself wondering just when the world had decreed it necessary to tilt slightly upon its axis.

"This… is excellent wine!" He exclaimed jubilantly and proceeded to pour several cups for everyone no matter that they refused to remain in place on the ground. "Your Servant has fine tastes boy!"

Arthur smiled but didn't give away the joke hidden in the Rider's words as he took a small sip of his cup. "Only the finest of wines would satisfy his palette, believe me. Too bad that possessing such fine spirits is not a prerequisite to attaining the Grail eh?" He chuckled, his cheeks slightly red.

Perhaps a sip was too much to take after all.

"While I don't deny that this fine drink deserves an equally fine vessel from which to drink," said the Rider, "the Grail is not a drinking cup. First, you'll have to tell us the scale of your wish for the Grail."

"The scale of my wish?" Arthur repeated, his grip tight upon his cup. He smiled and like before, it was an empty thing, devoid of any happiness. "I'm afraid you'll have to provide an example Rider if either Her Majesty or I are to weigh our wishes properly."

To his surprise, Arthur found himself with an embarrassed Rider who took another long drought of wine before he answered. "True incarnation."

"What?" The Saber started in surprise though her outburst was a quit whisper to the startled shout of the Rider's master who ran forward to shake the larger man's shoulder.

"What?! Hey, wasn't your goal supposed to be world conquest—Urk!"

Arthur was impressed. He doubted any other man could attain such distance with the flicking of a finger to the younger man's head.

"Idiot. What's the point of having some drinking cup conquer the world for me? Conquest is a dream I'll entrust to myself. All I want from the Grail is the first step of that process. Even if mana gives us form in this world we still ultimately remain as Servants. I want to be firmly rooted to this world as a living human." The Rider clenched his fist tight, no one noticing Arthur's eyes flicked over to the Saber for a second in time. "And with a body of my own I shall defy both Heaven and Earth. That is what the act of conquest is about. It is how it begins, proceeds, and is finished. Such is my path of conquest."

"Defiance of Heaven and Earth…" Arthur mused, his fake smile small and almost gone as he took a drink.

"That's not how a king should be." Saber stated.

"Oh? Let us hear what you wish for then," said the Rider.

"I wish for my homeland's salvation. With the omnipotent wish-granting device I shall avert Britain's fate of destruction."

Arthur didn't speak, didn't gape, he only stared with narrowed eyes upon the King of Knights as though she was the most disgusting thing he had ever seen and now, with her declaration, she truly was as such in his eyes. He might not possess a gift of words but given what he had already seen of her it wasn't hard to put the pieces of the puzzle together and the image they created was certainly not befitting the King of Knights. "You… That is why you made the deal? That is the bargain you struck to be here not as you should but as you are?"

The Saber's eyes widened in surprise but Arthur was far from finished as he pushed himself up on shaking legs and trembling arms not from pain but from simmering rage.

"You… would lay down everything that you are, everything that you have been, and everything that you continue to be… just so that you won't exist? So that the life you lead, the victories and the defeats would be laid at another's feet, and the blame and the praise could be placed upon another's shoulders? I had expected the King of Conqueror's wish, the wish of a man whose legend was cut far too short but I respect that he does not desire to start anew where his story ended but to craft another legend here, now, at the beginning rather than at the end."

He was advancing upon her and though she knew not what her body was doing without her conscious thought, she was retreating from him because just as what Arthur saw in Arturia so too did she see something, someone, she had known in life. A bumbling old coot of a mage but the dearest of friends and one whom she had seen angry, truly angry, once before and it was the sight of a similar rage that made her the mouse instead of the lion.

"You are a dreamer, Arturia Pendragon!" snapped Arthur, using the Saber's name rather than her titles. "A dreamer who dreams of rest rather than adventure! You dream of being forgotten, of oblivion whilst my own Servant dreams of living! Of being awake rather than asleep as you clearly are!"

The Saber's eyes widened, pinpricks in globes of white. "Impossible. How can—"

"Once, I had a title of my own. Once, I was jested by friends and allies as being the One Who Sees and what I see here before me is not a Saber and most certainly not a king. What I see before me is a little girl who dreamt herself a King of Knights and now tired of the dream wants not awaken from it but to banish it away as though it never was! What I see…" He sighed, and seemed to collapse upon himself, putting all of his weight upon his cane as he leaned forward on trembling legs. "A bigger mess than I realized." He looked up at the shadows of the castle walls. "I admit my surprise, I did not think that I warranted so much attention."

"What?" The question, amazingly, came from the Master of Rider, which earned a small smile from the Master of the Beast in response. Trust the Master of the brashest of Servants would manage to keep his wits about him.

"Though the shadows aid you, the darkness is far from your ally. Come out, all of you. I want them to see how many Assassins it would take to kill a crippled monster." Arthur called out and in answer the Assassins emerged from the unnatural shadows. One, then three, then seven, and the numbers kept growing until well near a hundred stood throughout the ramparts and castle walls.

The Masters moved to stand close to their Servants though only the Saber had taken invisible sword in hand. Rider, still in his casual attire, was amicable as ever as he raised a filled cup to the crowd of Assassins.

"Now, don't hold back! Those who'd speak with us, come forth and take a cup with us! This drink is as your blood!"

A dagger shattered the cup on its way to impalement on the ground just beside Arthur. The wine spilled over the Rider's shoulder in a large red stain and to his credit, the Servant didn't even flinch as he glanced down at his ruined shirt.

Oppressing silence.

Unnatural stillness.

Which meant only one possible thing.

"… Shit." Arthur muttered.

"I did say this drink is as your blood. If you insist on spilling it… So be it." The wind roared in a tight tornado around the Rider who was now no longer in appearance a muscular and boisterous man but a muscular and boisterous King of Conquerors. "Pay close attention Saber! It looks like I will have to show you how a king truly stands!"

The small spark of light that Arthur had seen in the Rider's heart expanded outwards, swirling and twirling as it gained greater magnitude until all who stood upon the castle grounds had been absorbed into its shining depths. Yet it was not a place upon which the gathered found themselves though it could be assumed as such as it did appear every bit the magnificently large desert. No, it was the crystallization, no, it was the realization of the Rider's very soul. Everything that he was, everything that he is, and everything that he could still be was now grafted into reality itself, but to put it in the simpler terms of the magi…

"A Reality Marble…" whispered Irisviel. "Unbelievable…"

Arthur admitted his own disbelief to himself as he eyed the unspotted and unconscious form of his Servant who somehow still managed to cling to an emptied barrel of wine here in this realized reality of the soul. He knew of the rare and often exploited weakness of dragons but had hoped that given his legend, the Beast would have proven far stronger in that regard.

Or it could be because of that very legend he has that weakness at all… thought Arthur. After all, was that now he and his rival were imprisoned in the first place? He looked back towards the approaching army of Alexander the Great and smiled. I guess we can sit this one out…

And so he did, standing back and watching as the boisterous Servant proclaimed his own magnificence as his army of thousands of heroes surged forth and overtook the band of Assassins in a massive tidal wave of steel. Many of the manifestations of the Assassin tried to run but where was there to run from the soul of a King? Yet, there remained one standing, not in defense or even attack but in acceptance. Perhaps it was her who was the True Assassin or perhaps she was simply the most sensible of them. In the end, it didn't matter for she died just the same as all the rest though perhaps with the honor in having the King of Conqueror behead her with his own blade.

Then, it was over and the blinding desert day was returned once more to the heart that carried it and the castle night resumed its reign in the midnight hours. Arthur took one last drink of wine as he felt the Beast stir outside the castle walls, awake and mildly confused. Sending a silent promise of explanation, the Master of the Beast set his cup down and turned away from the rest of the gathered Servants and their Masters.

"I think I've said all that need be said this night… but no, I suppose there's something else I should say." Arthur looked heavenward. "I came here to find out for myself whether I would find remorse in killing the two of you. That in some way your wish or those of your Master's could possibly outweigh my own. I was wrong and I was right. I respect your wish to start anew in this life rather than what you were before, King of Conquerors so my Servant and I will face you as you faced the Assassins, at your strongest or not at all."

The Rider's face was unnaturally calm but he nodded all the same, a small smile tugging unseen at the corner of his lip.

"As for you." Arthur didn't even deign to look at her but there was no question as to whom he was referring. "Six billion, nine hundred seventy three million, seven hundred thirty eight thousand, four hundred and thirty three."

"What?"

"That is the weight of my wish. It's the same wish as your Master's own." Arthur looked to Irisviel and the pale-haired homunculus knew that though he was looking at her, he was speaking to her husband. Even so, she tilted her head in confusion, as pain seemed to well up in the younger man's eyes as he gazed upon her and wondered to herself why he had flinched when he first set his eyes upon her. "The only difference I suppose between us is in the context." He bowed to her. "May your remaining days be good to you as you deserve, Miss von. No, I'm sorry, Mrs. Emiya."

"What—How—?" Irisviel tried to stop him, to try and spot him from the darkness but she had not the same eyes as he and though she thought him gone by way of magic she had no clue to the truth. That Arthur was merely leaning against the opposite side of the wall, tears falling from his eyes as he pressed a hand against his face.

"For him… She's killing herself for him." He whispered, seeing another woman's face in place of the Lady Irisviel's own, blood trailing from her heartfelt smile from the joy that he would live even as she would not. "Damn it…"

He had to give credit where credit was due. He had thought that the Caster would make a grandstand out of his final fight in the War and the madman certainly overfilled that quota. He hadn't expected a man with no real claim of power, no real legend beyond his treachery to his Lady, to command the power necessary an eldritch abomination straight from the depths of whatever pit of damnation spawned it. He stood back in the shadows of the shore, unseen even by the keen eyes of the Lancer by simple fact that the Heroic Spirit had not turned his eyes away from the abomination making headway through the river towards sustenance and, ultimately, full realization into this world.

Will you not fight?

His hand clenched the top of his cane tightly. Though they were not words spoken or heard, he understood the intentions, the instinctual methods behind the mind of his Servant.

It is not a matter of will… Not anymore. He had seen how little harm came from the Rider's lightning, had witnessed the cleaving of tentacles by the invisible sword of the Saber, and had watched as burns were wiped clean and sliced limbs regrew in the blinking of an eye. The power to end this battle… was not his to command. It never was, not even then when he had earned the right when no one else could. So the Master closed his eyes to the world and begged of his Servant to cast forth his flames once more.

The answer was hardly unexpected. What do I gain in the helping of humans? What do I acquire in the aiding of children?

His own, he sincerely hoped, was not so expected. Recognition.

Silence.

So he continued, There upon the shore, are people, mundane the whole lot of them, but they hear it, they see it, and they know it for what it is. Yet they cannot see the man who rides the lightning or the girl wielding the air as her steel. But they will see you. They will recognize you. They will know that the Age of Gods lives still if not in the World then in its People. They will see you as you are and they will whisper the name of your People with reverence and fear.

Silence still.

Then the air was rent by a legend's roar. The wind blew as a gale beneath massive wings, which carried forth a crimson Beast to the heavens to soar with primordial grace upon the air. Fangs revealed their ferocity with a hellish light before that light came gushing forth in the form of flames. A stream of dragon's fire flew down and burned all that it touched, the river water ignited as their bloodied cargo became like sin and was vanquished just the same. The tentacles were not so much burnt as they were ignited and ruptured as unbelievable heat met flesh unaccustomed to the temperatures beyond that found in dismal pits of watery graves. The body of the abomination screamed as its flesh was vaporized down to its core yet whereas the tentacles were lost completely, the remains of the flesh quivered in their futility to heal before the next onslaught of fire could rain down once more.

Salvation came to the abomination in a most unexpected interruption.

"Berserker…" whispered Arthur, startling the Lancer and Irisviel with his presence as he stepped up to stand beside them at the shore, his gaze locked on twin motes of light shining in the sky above the battlefield. The Beast twisted in midair and dodged as one light was caught and devoured by the abomination. It screamed as new tentacles ruptured free from its body but the burns remained unchanged. It would need far more than the body of a single man to manifest its full potential.

Much more…

The second mote of trailing light gained a purplish tint as darkness enveloped its entirety in a physical shroud and reddened veins of blood pumped beneath metallic flesh. In life, it had been a McDonnell Douglas F-15 Eagle, a fighter jet like any other of its breed but in the grasp of the Black Knight, of the Berserker who fought under Someone's Glory and bore a Knight of Honor, it had become a part of a legend and so was no longer a mere machine.

It had become enchanted.

And by the Berserker's will, it became almost alive as twin engines roared their fury, carrying the blackened steel through the air and twisting about in a tight circle as it spat forth a storm of bullets in a long trail first across a score of tentacles that were unfortunate enough to be in the way, past the startled and soon confused Saber, and upwards to their real target. Bullets that were admittedly only semi-capable of piercing the thickest of armor made up for this weakness by being highly explosive upon contact.

Yet even enchanted bullets did little more than bring the attention of the Beast away from the abomination.

The Berserker soared past, crimson visor meeting amber eyes for the briefest of moments, and then it was soaring heavenward before twisting back for another pass. Missiles flew from beneath steel wings and the Beast did not so much run as make use of the equally massive and stupidly flailing form of the abomination. Enormous wings flapped with gale producing force before the inferno was unleashed in blazing balls that shot forth and left a burning trail through the air as they shot past closer and closer to their twisting and winding target.

The Beast twisted sharply, fangs biting and just missing the F-15 as it shot past. He fell upon the bridge and took roost at its highest point with wings tucked in tight only to suddenly unfurl them with a roar that set forth a stream of dragon's fire across the river, splashing over the top of the towering abomination, and further still. A roar almost inhuman in its ferocity but still produced by a human voice and intentions, answered the call and charged forth on wings of steel.

No one could understand what was occurring, for most either had absolutely no idea and those few that were in the know only had the most vague of ideas. No, only the Master of the Beast knew what the Berserker had done, what the abomination could not achieve even if it was to reach full realization into this material plane. The ancient tales of knights and dragons were not forgotten and the actions of the Berserker were deeply modernized, it followed the same ancient formula of yesteryears. The knight had cast forth a challenge to a dragon, but such a fight was made worse not by the classifications of the Servants. What did it matter, their classes when it was they who were the force of reckoning on this battleground? Berserker or Beast, knight or dragon, it did not matter when one saw deep beneath the masks and saw them for who they were.

Lancelot of the Lake as the Blackened Knight of Camelot, the Betrayer of King Arturia, the Berserker of the Holy Grail War…

Against Y Ddraig Goch as the Red Dragon of Wales, the Benefactor of King Arturia, the Beast of the Holy Grail War.

And knowing this, Arthur L. Kuromori, Master of the Beast, the One Who Sees had only one thing to say

"Well isn't that just fantastic…"

Through the next gazing of the Kaleidoscope...

"The Insane"

Statistics:

Class: Beast
Identity: Y Ddraig Goch the Red Dragon of Wales
Basic Stats:
Alignment: Chaotic Neutral
Noble Phantasms: EX
Strength: EX
Endurance: A
Agility: C
Mana: EX
Luck: D

Class Skills:
Independent Action: EX
Magic Resistance: B++
Presence Concealment: Unknown*

Personal Skills:
Battle Continuation: A
Instinct: A
Monstrous Strength: EX
Prana Burst (Flames): A++
Draconian Dominium: A+++
The Standards of a Connoisseur (Spirits): A

Noble Phantasms:
Suspension of Disbelief: Seeing is Believing: N/A
The Linked Chains of Agony: Mother Nature's Sympathy: A
Dragon's Breath: The Desecrating Flames of Ruin: A+

Exposition:
Draconian Dominium: A+++
Being one of the few dragons of legend who was not slain and instead lived for several centuries to be a body of prophecy that brought an even greater legend into being, Y Ddraig Goch is the most powerful example of his race and nigh immortal even with the strongest of modern and ancient magic. Only weapons with a long history of dragonslaying are capable of injuring him but to kill him would require a mortal blow made within the first five minutes of the battle's start otherwise victory is far from assured.

The Standards of a Connoisseur (Spirits): A
Having impeccable tastes for only the finest of wines and other such alcoholic drinks, one cannot accept anything less than the finest of spirits. Due to his high rank Y Ddraig Goch is not only easily susceptible to being distracted by potent drinks but is fully capable of being knocked out after several barrels' worth of drink.

Suspension of Disbelief: Seeing is Believing: N/A
An Anti-Unit Noble Phantasm possessed by all Phantasmal Beasts in the modern world. Variable in strength and power by the Phantasmal Beasts in question and the nature of those surrounding them. In the case of Y Ddraig Goch, mundanes cannot perceive him at all while Mages and Servants can but only so long as they are aware of his presence, or are in possession of Mystic Eyes. If he is hidden by some means or is not in their direct line-of-sight, his presence cannot be perceived even under the most direct of circumstances.

The Linked Chains of Agony: Mother Nature's Sympathy: A
Like Suspension of Disbelief, it is a Anti-Army Noble Phantasm that is constantly active and is similar in nature to the Frankenstein Monster's own Scream of the False Lifeform insomuch that its strength is variable by Y Ddraig Goch's injuries. At its weakest, it sends a pinnacle of matched pain to all whom hear it. At its strongest… plants wither, animals drop dead where they stand… and children are born still as stone…

Dragon's Breath: The Desecrating Flames of Ruin: A+
An Anti-Army Noble Phantasm, Dragon's Breath is, as its name implies, a blast of flames hot even to melt ordinary steel at its lowest temperature. The colors of the flames vary upon temperature and can be fired in either a stream exceeding a city block or condensed balls of plasma that can travel several miles and explode upon contact.