[h3][center]October 29th, [color=6ecff6]1994[/color]
Cavern of the Grail, Fuyuki, Japan
The End of [color=6ecff6]One[/color] Story[/center][/h3]

Even there the fire raged. The inferno come to cleanse their wretched acts could be felt far under the Earth, the warmth radiating from the heart of the city felt as if the cool cave air was that of a warm summer day. The distant hammering of exploding transformer boxes was like thunder in the Autumn night. The retreating wail of the prefectural firefighters' sirens the only mourning this sorry scene would receive. His heavy steps thudded over the faraway sounds of calamity, the chittering of retreating insects heralding every pained stride. Beneath [b]it's[/b] baleful glare the weight of the curse became impossible. 

Under the looming pillar of the Greater Grail, a shriveled cadaver was laid out in blood and broken chitin. The robed elder croaked, stirring. It would take more than a few bulletholes to destroy that colony. The magus killer boiled out his blood, pores exploding, limbs sagging with the sheer agony of existence as his trembling hands worked at one last task.

[i]WINCHESTER, 30-06 SPRG[/i], the brass rim winking up at him read. Swollen fingers clutched the casing, staining it crimson as it was haphazardly flung free of the smoking barrel. Another, clutched between bruised knuckles, slammed home. It wasn't his fastest time. His wrist crackled as he flicked it out. The Matou elder raised his hand, winged insects leaping to his defense. The Contender snapped into battery. Fire scorched away the dark, a blooming ball of incandescence announcing the last shot of such a horrible war. Creatures shrieked and skittered from radiance. Matou burst, the terminal effect of the rifle round tearing apart the illusion of a body. Even as he hung in halves on the ground he cackled, paralyzed for a few more seconds. The constituent worms recoiled from the impact, the swarm invulnerable to the 'Severing' that would have befallen a whole being. 

The splash of inhuman blood was enough to reawaken the lungs of the even smaller creature huddled behind him. Barely half the size of the already shrunken Matou, a pallid, sullen face stared up at the shooter. Unnerving, unnaturally purple hair wreathed their tired expression. A bloodstained doll was clutched unconsciously in their fist, the shape of a rabbit contorted by their panicked squeeze. Glyphs ringed the two of them, magical symbols carved into the rock and painted over in fresh blood. Shards of something once golden, blackened beyond repair, laid around her. 

[b]"Never again."[/b]

A hero stood on the deck of a boat. No blood surrounded him. No turmoil lingered in the air. Only the pleasant smell of sea breeze greeted his scathed senses. Only the invigorating tinge of the ocean air welcomed his frayed skin. They were cheering. Hundreds of faces, blurred by unfamiliarity. They waved their arms and shouted from the deck of a boat sailing away. His ocean paradise bubbled. The keel bellow him groaned as it slowly split itself. He turned his back on the world of light, silencing those saved voices, facing the beast. Curses flowed around his feet, the roiling blackness of Evil gushing from the depths of the vessel as the coming flood forced it out. They clawed at his legs, and he fell down with them. Fluid-like hands dragged him towards the core. Her face split from the dark, sneering at him in victory. He held up his hand, thumbing away the safety on the detonator.

[b]"Just be a good sport and take it."[/b] 

Red eyes winked open around the cavern, the digital confirmations of enough bricks to blow down the haunted house around him. Faerielight drifted from his dissolving body, the effects of Avalon fading away, the compact complete. His thumb came down, one click drawing a thousand angry roars from the cavern walls. Light shone in on them, pressure evaporating the magical machine, splitting the mountain above and throwing the remains of Heaven's Feel to the depths below.

[h3][center]June [color=6ecff6]11th[/color] 2021
[color=6ecff6]Somewhere[/color] in Boston
Absent Foundation[/center][/h3]

The greenish light of the crypt played through the eerie fog veiling the room. Sounds like footsteps, or the soft clatter of shifting bones, played ominously within the bounded field. The scent of mana was so powerful as to be physical, a pressure that hung over all who dared to enter the chamber of the Grail. A chalice sat the floor in the center of the cramped hall, resting atop scattered bones and mounds of dust. Carefully selected scrawling surrounded it, profane markings of Magecraft etched into the remains of so many lives. 

It was ready. The Cup of Heaven was reborn at his fingertips. Free of the machinations of lesser men, removed from their deluded expectations. No ill fated plotting, no psychopathic desire for Akasha in its design. He would do it. He would make their two worlds [b]Whole[/b] again. How fitting, that the world of man and myth would require a magical machine to rejoin. He could only throw his head back and laugh, a shrill cry of delight for the eve of his rebirth. Not just his. The world. Oh, if only there were a single one of them smart enough to thank him. How those stuffy magicians would throw themselves at his feet, bless the soil he trod upon for saving the crumbling castle of Magecraft.

[b]"Magick! It's Magick, damnit!"[/b]

A small fist crashed into the dust, the voice and body responsible for it all wheezing over the sudden rush of particulate. They coughed on the ashes of the dead for a few moments before their composure came back to them, and for the last time they raised a hand up to the swimming silhouette of a chalice before them.

[b]"The pieces are gathered! By my will, awaken! Awaken, Holy Grail! Awaken and recognize your founder, your [i]Ruler![/i]"[/b]

The will screamed and the world answered. As it was, as it shall always be. The air shook as in one flash of light the constituents fused. Shards raked across the ground, drawn to the center of the room and flung along the lines of the myriad magical circles drawn out there. The birth of the Cup of Heaven was over in a second. Illuminated motes of floating dust fell to the ground, the shivering of the world stopped, and the faint hum of power that defined its presence fell silent. The room met with darkness. He stared intently at the ghost of his right hand, knowing that even if he could not see its shape in the dark he would soon see [i]them[/i]. The answers to his work, the glowing crimson marks of a Master, his right as Master of the Grail manifested...

But there was no answer that day.

[b]"Medicine man... What treachery is this?"[/b] In pitch dark he rounded, directing his voice at the man propped against the wall at the far end of the room. Amber colored eyes flashed up from staring into the glow of his cigarette. A smug smile broke out over his light tan, and the medicine man stood up to brush off his vest.

[color=82ca9d]"No clue, but it looks like you've got your money's worth. I'll be taking my pay... and my leave, if'n you don't mind."[/color] He crossed an arm behind his back, affecting a bow before taking a cautious step aside before another backwards, towards the door.

[b]"You aren't going anywhere. How can the Grail activate without choosing me? Preposterous, I built the damn thing. You've done me for a fool, fellow, and I won't be having it."[/b] The blood in the medicine man's veins chilled. The whole room began to cool, icicles falling from within the fog as moisture began to sap away.

[color=82ca9d]"You sure about this little guy?"[/color]

[b]"Deadly."[/b]

"[i][color=82ca9d]Draw.[/color][/i]"

[h3][center]June 29th, 2021
[color=6ecff6]Boston[/color] Park Plaza
Discordant [color=6ecff6]Starting[/color] Bell[/center][/h3]  

The Seals had appeared weeks ago. There was very little official oversight to the war, few reports of Masters-candidates actually summoning Servants. Of course the successful options were keeping things hush-hush. The Grail War had always been looked upon diminutively. The savage sacrifice ritual of the far east had been downgraded to completely off the books at that point, with only lukewarm moves by both the Church and the Association following the bizarre letters they'd been distributed. 

But it was all real.

There was no telling how many Masters had come to Boston or how long they had been there. Maybe they'd have the full deck ready. Maybe they wouldn't be in town for months. It didn't matter because the Grail War would start in earnest that very day, ready or not. 

It was still morning. The sun was surely rising over Boston Harbor, casting the waterfront in golden light. They found themselves seated in a brighter place, between white curtains, below the golden trimming of the hotel's lobby. TVs hung over the bar counters showed pretty faces reading out the morning news.

Police were still warning tourists to move in groups following a string of killings in the North End. Sound enough advice for prospective warriors too. It was set up to be a slow Saturday morning for the real world.

For them, it was the end of peace.

[b]"Let's go, Assassin."[/b]