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Homurahara Courtyard(Banquet of Kings), Academy
@BB @over Illusion @reallydumb

A voice.

The call of the heavens.

One might call it a “second sense” of sorts that Timur felt. The thrum of the world was calling to him. The sand of the ground before him called to him. The School screeched for him to act. The swords in his hand trembled a bit before.

It was his only choice now. Even if the attack failed previously, if the voice of the higher existence was telling Timur to act now, he would act now. After all, that is how the man known as “Timur” lived his life. A slave to the will of fate, though someone that always rebelled against that which was not his calling.

The swords would swell towards the “Archer” before the attack would launch. That is what his “existence” told him. The second that the man had lowered what had given him the resistances against his swords previously, he would be struck with an attack from the very swords he had deflected previously.

Timur did not understand why that would work now, but it didn’t matter. That is what the sky itself told him. The ringing of that sound would always save him from his recklessness in the frontline.

And the moment that the attack would launch towards Timur, “Archer’s” body would feel a degradation equal or even greater than the one he had unleashed upon the city. Something that shook the very foundation of his Saint Graph. The power to “take” should be familiar to someone like the “Archer” that was before Rider, though Rider knew not of this.

That was when the twine of the bow snapped towards Rider.

It was impossible.

An attack which struck nine times; something that converted its existence to counter the thing before it. Truly, the attack of a hero of great worth. The attack struck Timur, shattering the defenses he had placed in front of him; his armor broken where the attacks had landed against him.

This was the attack that had felled the mighty Hydra of Lerna, the beast of regeneration and vigor. Surely a man could not stand against the might of such an attack, right?

But there Timur stood, bruised and battered by the attack. Never giving up. Never allowing himself to collapse, despite the damage he had received.


The sound Rider had made was not the voice of any mortal.

It was as if the sound of clattering metal was attempting to mimic language.

The smell of gunpowder filled the air from cannon fire.

And from that, his body began to regenerate to its former glory. The Demon Lord would not be felled by such an attack. After all, he was the greatest villain; The true hero that united the world under his rule. The brutal king that ensured his rule would be long and prosperous.

Though “Heracles” was able to pull himself together through the borrowing of a miracle of divinity, Timur seemed to lack such luxuries. However, as if through the power of wrath itself, he refused to succumb to his wounds and patched himself together.

The man who threw away his humanity so that he may fight and fight and fight in this decrepit form that the Grail had granted him. All for that “wish” of his. Something that even Timur himself has forgotten with time, but something that he longed for without fail.

This body was the result of that.

“Heracles. The greatest hero of Greek mythology. Any Servant worth their salt would know what that attack signifies. But you have never faced a foe greater than I.”

Laughing into the silence of the night after the greatest attack of the greatest hero had failed fell the greatest foe of humanity, Rider continued.

His silvered and ironed body glowed as the moonlight peaked from the clouds, though for the most part, he had retaken his previous form.

“I am the man who will unite the world. I cannot have you destroy it before it is mine. Therefore, nothing will stop me from killing you, bastard!”

There was no beauty in his form; only a man pretending to be human before the “greatest hero of them all”. However, Timur refused to surrender to his foe. The man that time and time again would fight against the dying of the light.

A “beast” greater than the greatest of dragon-kind.

The world called for his death, yet he refused.

Homurahara Courtyard(Banquet of Kings), Academy
@BB @over Illusion @reallydumb

“Gahahaha! You must really be made of something sturdy there, Archer,” Rider mused as he noticed that the enemy was not felled by his assault like he had expected. Instead, the various swords had pierced his body, as if a reminder of his desire to protect his Master, sticking out from his body similar to a pincushion.

“But how long will you be able to protect you Master, Hero?”

Sword would meet arrow, staying their course away from Rider. He would not allow himself to be damaged by the filth before him; by the malignant tumor that would threaten his providence. The world was his; that meant that losing the Grail and Fuyuki would be an insult to Rider. And that insult could not stand.


His power attempted to grab from his “territory”. The things his body was touching would be drained of power, and thus he would draw upon that power. To utilize what was “conquered” and turn it into a future conquest. To convert money from razing the greatest cities in the world, only to bring fortune to oneself. That was the true power of Timurlane, the greatest conqueror (Self-claimed). The man who would take from the world and grant himself the riches of the world.

However, the “power” he was expecting never came to him, and thus, this arrow’s course was only knocked off course rather than completely away from Rider like the others. Though his armor was of the highest quality, even it could not completely defend him from such an attack, the shock of such crushing and waning through his body.

“An interference? Geh, you are good, Hero. But playtime is over. You can't win! I am the greatest conqueror! I am the khan of destruction!”

The sound of grinding metal against metal. The attack’s impact was no longer there, interlaced between it was a grotesque contortion of metal like a chromatic tumor.

A wave of swords shot towards “Archer”, once again his Master’s life would be in trouble unless he was to defend against the barrage. In addition to this, the “razor storm” that once protected himself and his Master during the javelin barrage would once again be placed up to better protect him against the attacks levied against him. The Elephants were there for backup in the event that he took action against Rider. There was no way that Rider would lose. After all, he was the greatest.

Even if he had to drag himself through the mud, he would never lose.

That was the promise he had made.

That is what it meant to take a country for oneself.


Stay your course.

Shoot him with your swords.

Homurahara Courtyard(Banquet of Kings), Academy
@BB @over Illusion @reallydumb

He could still remember her face after all these years. She was crying, but he did not understand why she was. He could only continue to advance, against the odds, and take the world for himself. It was all the thief who had lost his ability to use a bow could do. But she was always waiting for him with a smile and a “welcome home!” and if that wasn’t enough to keep going, she would comfort him, though he would never thank her for her troubles. In the end, he would fight and fight and fight, even after she had passed.

Without once thanking her.

Without once telling her his true feelings.

“You are to leave, Slave. If you die before I say it is okay to die, then be prepared for me to follow you to the afterlife to seek my revenge,” Timur told his Slave, placing his hand upon the top of her head and rustling her well-kept hair a bit before he had turned towards the “invader” of the party.

Not the cute girl that had escaped. As long as a girl was cute, she had reason to be alive. Timur was a feminist, after all. Someone who believed that all women could be saved. That all women could save.

No, this was towards the goliath that stood before Timurlane. The being of ruin. The one that would bring death and destruction to the ritual he had been summoned to take part in.

He would protect her. Granting her control of a small portion of his forces, he would protect her.

“The grail is mine, but a King mustn’t lie to his Slave. I had promised to take it with my hands, and when I say I am going to do something, it is already done. This city, the grail ... I won’t let this man take from me what is properly mine!”

And with that…

A shot rose out from Timur.

A sword.

And then two.

And then four.



Until there were many weapons “grasped” outwards from his body.

“You are an abomination, you know that? You take from others so that you may keep everything for yourself. Don’t think you have the right to make the rules here, Hero,” the voice of Timur rose out. Though the savage king was always haughty and overbearing over others, this was the first time one might have felt genuine fear from a single, articulated sentence.

All shots aimed towards his opponent intending to skewer the man who had lead ruin to the world itself.

No matter how long “Hercules” waited there, no shot made it’s hit towards him.

...Instead, the figure of who was most certainly the Master of “Hercules” was the target!

His elephants and their guns were pointed towards “Hercules”. If he were to move, he would not hesitate to stop any aggression he could come up with, regardless of what it could be.


Who was standing there was no longer the person who had stood at the forefront of the banquet. His figure was surrounded by opaque darkness that consumed even the deepest recesses of sharnoth itself. Someone that “consumed”... perhaps the two were kindred spirits. Hell, Timur might have even considered the man a “friend”. But there can only be one person that can bring the world to salvation [ruin], and like his love for women, Timur would never share his world with anyone else!

"I won't let you save anyone, hero. Despair!"

He was no longer the King of Thieves all those years ago.

He was now the Demon Lord.

Homurahara Courtyard(Banquet of Kings), Academy
@BB [All the kids with their pumped up kicks]

“Gahahaha! I see you have been tasked with providing the entertainment for your king! A worthy offering, if I do say so myself!” Timur told the newly arrived man. After all, the death of a single person was not anything to concern Timur of, especially a boring man. If it was a cute woman, as a “feminist”, Timur might have been upset by the turn of events, but this was no the case.

“Going to a party without providing something of a service is rather rude, after all. Wouldn’t you all agree! Gahahahaha!”

Timur laughed again. He truly was enjoying himself at this moment. The brutality against other men was something that he simply laughed at in any given situation. He was the man who had made pyramids of skulls to show that even those who had surrendered peacefully to him would not be spared his wrath. A true scourge upon the world. However, his laughter stopped short when “Something” whispered in his ear. He could feel the thrum of the world itself for the moment as his attention began to draw itself towards a direction out of sight.

To this, he turned towards Nebuchadnezzar and began to speak.

“Let me answer you who asked what it means to be a King. A king’s duty is not to his people. It is not to any semblance of country; any duty to those who wave his banner. A king’s duty is to himself! A subject works for a king, and when ordered to die, should die. That is what it means to be a ruler. That is what it means to take the emblem of a country for oneself. And that is what it takes to become a great ruler. A duty of a king is not to his subjects, but for his subject to have a duty to their king! The actions of a king should not reflect concern for his people, but concern for his possession!”

Timur began his life as a poor thief with nothing to his name and rose to become one of the greatest empires to ever exist in the world. A being of infamy whose brutality was nothing short of cruel and unusual to his opponents, and even to his allies, but all in the name of “expansion”. He wanted everything. Fame, women, wealth, and … he had forgotten the last thing that he wanted a long time ago when he had steeled his heart for himself and his possessions.

He could not let this “other” kill his Slave. Even if they were not the person who bounded them to this world, they were the person that had sworn their fealty to him through choosing him as the summoned Servant in this Grail War. The very act of summoning Rider meant submission to his whims. The very act of abandoning his Slave would mean abandoning all he owned, and Timur was not the sort who would ever share his toys and allow someone to ruin his possessions. He would protect his Slave with his very body of blades, making sure that she would not be harmed, along with himself in a storm of blades.

“However, when someone attacks what you own, you are to destroy them to the utmost of your ability as a leader. That is your responsibility for your possessions. And this person, who had targeted my SLAVE and my LAND, I shall show them no mercy. Come, my hordes. Rage! RAGE! RAGE!!!”

The first shot rang out behind Timur with his “Super Elephant Invincible Delhi Destruction Force”.

And the second.

And the next.

And then the next.

All at the same time, together in a cacophonous symphony of cannons were all one could hear, drowning out the air like a hymn of destruction. However, beyond the cacophony of his weapons, one could hear a sound. A sound that struck fear into the hearts of men who had heard it upon the battlefield.

... And what sound was …



Homurahara Courtyard(Banquet of Kings), Academy
@BB [@ everyone Else that is at the banquet I'm literally too lazy to tag fifteen people]

At the banquet was the disgusting device formed from interlocking blades; the asymmetric monstrosity of spikes and jagged edges and twisted metal. And upon it sat the Demonic Lord Rider and his imposing image, frightening the very hearts of mortals. A killer without peer who had killed a sizable percentage of the world population through his brutal reign.

The Brutal King Timurlane.

“Geh. How boring ...”

Rider could not help feeling rather disappointed with the turnout of the banquet he had so readily prepared. He was not the sort to truly care for such parties, or rather, he was not the sort to care much for the current crowd of the party. A bunch of burly men and children along with a few faceless NPCs; the things he hated the most. The intent of the party has failed. He would have to teach his Slave what it means to fail their king later tonight.

“Well, enough of the pleasantries. I was never much for talking small.”

...Of course, there were no pleasantries exchanged between Rider and his guests.

Regardless of those who had shown up were up to his tastes, they were still those who had taken his offer of communion. And he accepted them into his “home”. Into his “possession” because they are of the same cloth as himself; a hero. After all, Rider was the greatest hero to have ever existed (source: Rider).

Retracting the bladed throne back into his body, like a spider retracting its web, he continued.

“I shall get straight to the point. I am the rightful ruler of everything. Therefore, this grail already belongs to me. If you want to serve your betters, I’d ask every single one of you to give me your head; it will save me the trouble of taking it from you. Of course, if your Master is cute girl, I’ll even let them serve me. Gahahaha!” Rider said to the guests at his party, naturally as asking for someone to pass them the salt shaker at a family gathering with a smile that showed rows of sharp teeth behind a vicious, shark-like smile.

He was the demon who had slew the back of the Persians. The devil who had salted the earth of the Levant and the fiend that had burnt down the great cities of Delhi. A man that truly loved war, not only for the wealth that it brought him but also for the pure enjoyment of brutality against his fellow man.

There was nothing that the fiendish man had said that he didn’t believe. After all, he was the greatest conqueror. The man who had set up his dynasty as leaders of the world, yet their passivity prevented proper subjugation of all. Perhaps Timur himself could be considered a bit of an anomaly in some regards. Someone who forced his opponents to submit themselves to him or face annihilation at his hands. If there was something he wanted, he would take it, regardless of the cost it might take.

To those at the party, this Demon Lord seemed terrifyingly defiant and ignorant to the thoughts of those around him. After all, what mad-man declares his intent to kill the most powerful individuals' humanity’s imagination had to offer?

... Like father, like son.

Living Room, Abandoned House, Western Farms

….A hero

A genuine hero.

She had done it. Tabethya had succeeded in her attempt to bring forth a great hero. The Lancer Class servant, clad in silver armor that reflected the limited light pouring itself through the dilapidated house’s window, sparkling as it refracted off of the orbicular shoulder of his pauldron. The autumn wind from the very same window also picked up, gently jostling his cloak as he stood there with an unflinching smile plastered upon his face. He was incredible.

She was awestruck. Tabethya could hardly move.

His eyes shined. A beautiful man whose eyes shone with the vigor and strength required to be a hero. That was the “Servant: Lancer” Tabethya had pulled from the aether itself!

Although Tabethya attempted her best to stifle her vacuous glee at having obtained such a powerful-looking Servant, it was for naught. After all, she had not expected to get too far into this Grail War. She was a weak-willed woman who simply did as her uncle wanted her entire life for as long as she could recall. Therefore, she believed that she would not summon anything of value.

She had imagined summoning some sort of Berserker she would not be able to control and dying within the first few moments of the Grail War. Perhaps, then, she could finally find respite from the wills of others imposed upon her.

But this man was much greater than that.

Oh, introductions. She probably kept her Servant waiting. She had hoped he would not be too angry with her. After all, when people were angry, she usually found herself hurt. That would not do. That would not do at all! She hated pain!

“A-Ah! Yes, yes, yes. L-Lancer, right? I will be your Master T-Tabi, T-ab, Tabetthya. P-Pleasure to meet you! Use me as you like!” she stammered, hardly able to form a coherent sentence around this shining man’s visage.

“W-What would y-you like to do, L-Lancer?”

Outskirts Forest, A small clearing, Outskirts

The sound of fire. The sound of war. Ten shots rang out behind where Rider was standing, and ten rounds landed where the strange man had been summoning his Servant. Though Timur hoped to kill him before the summoning would take place, he doubted he could be that lucky. Or more aptly, he doubted that a man who was summoning within his territory would be so brash as to not have a plan. Even if he was a brutal man, he was cunning in his thoughts around warfare. No one would send a single mage to stall his advancing army, right? However, the enemy could not decern the location of these shots.

Rider did not know who this man was, nor did he truly care. After all, death and destruction were the only things that laid within his wake. Timur could not allow this to occur. To pouch on his property without permission would be against any-and-all of his rulings.

He was the Brutal Khan.

He was the ruler of this land.

The man that would unite[destroy] the world under his rule.

He simply stood there, his brightly incandescent sword in one of his hands. There had to have been at least two dozen meters between himself and the intruder, but this was nothing to a Servant. A toothy smile was present on his face as if he was enjoying himself, his black cape flowing within the wind. His dark armor reflecting the light caught flowing below the treeline from the jewels adorning it.

And it was likely he was. Combat was the only thing he enjoyed as much as women, after all. No, it wasn’t the combat itself. Perhaps, more aptly, it was the spoils of combat that he was truly after.

“This area belongs to me, but I’m a generous man. Leave, and maybe I’ll consider sparing your life! Gahahaha!”

Of course one might assume that shooting the people you are negotiating with would not be the most ideal way to ensure that your desires were met, but to the conquering khan, there would be only shows of strength against opponents. However, Timur was a man who would never lie to an opponent. That was the sort of man who united nearly the entirety of the middle east, India, and the steppes believed in.

However, regardless of his words, he kept looking towards his opponent with contempt, his sword raised aggressively.
???, ???, ???

Here we have a single child.

This child had lost everything. Everything important to this child was lost.

At first, they didn’t have the slightest idea as to what they would do with themselves. Everyone the child had known was now gone; their brother, their sister, their mother, their father. They were all taken away from them in an instant. The child would not be able to see them again, and they would never return to her. They were gone.

An adult came to their side and began to talk about something, however, this child had no idea what the adult wanted. The child had never met the man before, nor did they understand what the man wanted of them.

The child was ready to cry.

The child was trembling.

The child screamed and cried. Tears running down their cheeks, the child screamed for help. They did not stop. They could not stop. It was as if it was a reaction to a stimulus that was uncontrollable; an involuntary action taken by herself. It was as if they were watching themselves through a pane of glass. It was unreal.

---In other words---

There was no answer.

It simply sowed its curses.
It simply screamed its resentment.
It simply cursed the world itself.

And what became of this child?

Well, as it turns out....


Living Room, Abandoned House, Western Farms


A Holy Grail War was not something that, under normal circumstances, Tabethya would wish to participate in. After all, she was rather timid herself and often found herself at the mercy of others to tell her what to do. That was, after all, how she ended up joining this war. A request from her distant relative.

Well, if Tabethya was here in Fuyuki for a Grail War, she might as well enjoy herself while she was there. If she was going to be here for a week in a place where she had never visited before with the limited intel she could find about the area on hand.

The more rural farmland would allow her to accomplish her goals better. Magi, like herself, were beings that would prefer not to engage others, and with Tabethya especially, she held a degree of dislike for being in any form of the spotlight.

She had found an abandoned house towards the forest that seemed a bit rundown fo her taste, but it was merely to summon a Servant. She likely did not wish to live in an abandoned home, but as a Master, it was dangerous to move without her Servant. As a magus, however, she could not just summon a Servant out in the open. To grant sight of the moonlit veil to those who were not magi was against the established rules of magecraft. After all, it was a craft of secrecy. Anyone who saw her would have to be killed.

It took the albino girl but a few seconds to draw the magical circles on the ground with some chalk.

With a deep breath, she began.

---To the void---
---Upon the World, I call upon you---
---The Knight---
---The one to grant me Power---
---The one to grant me joy---
---The one to grant me love---
---The one to grant me protection---
---I shall provide you my body---
---I shall grant you form---
---I shall grant you glory---
---I shall grant you victory---
---Therefore, heed my call and let me grant you new life!---

A shine glared on the world, and before her, and the heroic spirit chosen to be her Servant would appear before her!

Throne Room, Einzbern Mansion, Einzbern Forest

Rider sat in a throne, or what one might consider a mockery of such. A disgusting device formed from interlocking blades; an asymmetric monstrosity of spikes and jagged edges and twisted metal. His blades were a symbol of his reign. Even to those who had surrendered without conflict were not spared from this demonic god of war.

His bored expression conveyed his irked self, his arm sitting on the rest of his “chair” while he crossed his legs, reclining back resting his head on his shoulders. His eyes were cold and inorganic, giving off a stinging light from the flickering fire beside him.

“You dolls were going off about how a Grail War might be interesting. I thought it couldn’t be the worst thing. This is a waste of my time. Boring. Worthless. If everything in this world is this boring, I shall destroy it. Maybe I’ll even rip apart your little “mistress” while I’m at it!”

To either side of him was an Einzbern homunculus, voiceless to the complaints of this brutish man. This was his throne room. A place where the desires of the king would always be met. Where the masses, in a single declaration, are used to their limit for the benefit of a single person. That is what it meant to be “king”.

However, there was no response from these two women, and with an annoyed “tch”, he sighed and stopped laughing. It appeared that he wanted some sort of reaction from these two women, but much to his chagrin, his statement failed to, at least obviously, produce any sort of rise between these dolls. When one was not gotten from them, he simply went back to looking bored.

“Where are you, Slave? When I am bored, you are to come to my side. Never keep me waiting. The next time you make a mistake, I shall punish you harshly. I have already used the two you had left for me, and they had bored me. We shall expand our influence elsewhere. This world belongs to me, yet this city does not? What sort of stupidity is that, slave? You are to accompany me. Gahahaha!”

While Rider was speaking out loud, it was clear that, through the shared connection to his Master, he was able to communicate with them. Though he was the “Servant”, it appeared that he held a degree of disdain for his Master. No, perhaps it was more apt to state that he held a degree of disdain for all who stood before him, and all that stood with him.

He was the conqueror of cruelty.

He was the demon of war.

He was the Grand Khan.

The King of Samarkand.

The man who brought cruelty to the world before him.

He was the king of this castle, and it was his territory. His “city” that he would bring prosperity to, yet ruin to all else. To destroy, so that one may prosper; that is what it meant to be a conqueror.

The Greatest Amir stood up from his chair, pushing himself to his feet with ease. And with that, he proclaimed the person whom he had answered the call of the grail.

“Hurry, Slave! When I say come, you shall be by my side already! We shall take this city for our own, then the world itself! Gahahaha!”

@Mr President

Okay boomer.

That being said, my Master SHOULD be ready soon (tm), so be ready for it~!
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