The sun broke slowly over the horizon, bleeding light across the battered Australian district. The night's destruction was left raw in its glow: cracked streets, uprooted trees, broken glass littering the pavement. Smoke drifted in thin wisps where buildings had burned, and the air still carried the echo of clashing Noble Phantasms.
The Grail War's first true night of battle was over.
Cassie trudged along the edge of the ruined block, rubbing her shoulder. Every step felt heavier than the last. She glanced up at Rider, who floated just above the ground, his cloak rippling faintly as if ignoring the exhaustion of the night.
"That was a mess," Cassie muttered. Her voice cracked between frustration and fatigue. "She nearly got me. If Dad hadn't stepped in, I don't know if I might have ended up hurting a child…"
She stopped herself, jaw tightening.
Rider gave her a side glance. His tone was calm and measured. "You did well. Berserker is not an opponent you can defeat with raw strength while holding back. You learned how she moves. That knowledge will matter more than a single victory."
Cassie groaned. "I wanted to beat her into the ground, not just learn her 'moves.'" She kicked at a piece of rubble.
Rider actually smiled faintly at that. "That attitude… reminds me of my younger self. Always forward, always reckless. But listen, Cassie—survival is victory in this war. Every night you live, every battle you endure, makes you stronger."
Cassie frowned, but the words settled in her chest. She glanced at him again. "…Thanks, Rider."
He nodded once, then drifted alongside her toward the small safehouse they'd set up before the fighting began.
Across the city, Ace sat on the roof of a half-collapsed warehouse, legs pulled up to her chest. Berserker crouched nearby, his massive form looming like a shadow that refused to leave.
Her hands were trembling. She stared at them, frustrated.
"They weren't supposed to fight that hard," she muttered. Her voice was sharp, angry, but underneath it was something more fragile. "I thought… we'd crush them. Just like Cadmus trained us for."
Berserker rumbled, not with words but with presence. The aura of his power wrapped around her, protective and steady.
Ace took a long breath, pushing her hair out of her face. "No. We can still win. We'll win. They won't look down on us again."
Her fists clenched tighter. The faint instability in her body made her skin prickle, and she grimaced, ignoring it. "Next time… I'll make them take me seriously."
Berserker tilted his head, silent, but his loyalty never wavered.
Elsewhere, Connor sat on a stone bench outside a dim motel, his head lowered, sweat still running down his neck. The fight between Karna and Arjuna still replayed in his head—arrows like lightning, spears like sunfire. He'd been caught between two legends, powerless to stop it.
Constantine leaned against the wall nearby, cigarette hanging from his lips, watching the kid carefully. "Not your fault, mate. You're green. Too green. Anyone would shake, watching gods chuck fire at each other."
Connor didn't look up. "But I'm his Master. I should be… stronger." His voice was quiet. "Not just standing there, useless."
Karna stepped forward then, his golden armor fading back into spiritual form. His expression was calm, composed. "You were not useless. You stayed. You did not run." His tone carried weight. "For a Master, that is enough. Strength will come later."
Connor blinked at him, surprised by the words. Constantine smirked, flicking his cigarette into the street. "Listen to the man. He's been around. More than I can say for you or me."
Karna's gaze lingered on Arjuna's fading presence across the battlefield. His voice dropped, almost to himself. "…The Grail brings us together, only to pit us against each other again. There will be no peace for brothers."
Connor finally lifted his head, hesitating. "…But you still fight?"
Karna's eyes were steady. "It is what I am. I do not run from fate."
The boy fell silent. Constantine stretched, shaking his head. "Bloody Grail War. No one comes out happy."
***
Bruce stripped off his armor and tossed it onto the platform. He sat heavily in the chair, eyes on the screens replaying the night's battles from his hidden drones.
Saber approached, his cloak trailing behind him. Arthur's voice was calm, but edged with curiosity. "You look troubled."
Bruce didn't answer immediately. His eyes were locked on Ace's face frozen on one of the monitors. Finally, he spoke. "…She's just a kid. An orphan. They used her like a weapon."
Arthur folded his arms. "The Grail War does not forgive youth. You know this."
"I know," Bruce admitted. His voice was quiet but firm. "But I'm not going to let her end up like me. Or worse."
Arthur tilted his head, studying him. "Your compassion will make you hesitate. That can be fatal."
Bruce finally turned to him, his eyes sharp. "It's not compassion. It's strategy. If I can keep those kids alive, I can end this war with fewer bodies. That's the goal."
Arthur gave a faint smile. "Then I will follow your lead, detective. But remember, even kings know that sometimes mercy must be wielded as a blade."
Bruce leaned back, hands steepled. He didn't respond, but the words sank in.
***
At the same time, in his penthouse suite overlooking the city, Lex poured himself a glass of wine. His movements were precise, calm, but the fury under his skin had not faded.
Gilgamesh lounged in a chair nearby, his golden armor now absent, replaced by simple robes. He sipped from his own cup with amusement.
"You hide your anger well," Gilgamesh remarked. "But it burns still."
Lex set his glass down sharply, the sound echoing. "They think they've escaped me. But they're wrong. Ace. Connor. They'll crawl back eventually. Their powers will consume them, and then—"
He stopped himself, smirking thinly. "No. I don't need them. I'll build better. Perfect. They'll be nothing but reminders of failed experiments."
Gilgamesh chuckled darkly. "Your arrogance will destroy you, human. And yet…" He leaned back, eyes gleaming. "…I find it entertaining."
Lex ignored the jab. He stared out at the rising sun, the city beneath him. In his mind, the war wasn't about Servants or Masters. It was about proving himself greater than gods.
***
Edward stood alone on a rooftop as dawn painted the sky in shades of red and gold. His coat fluttered faintly in the wind.
He watched each side retreat, regroup, nurse wounds and doubts. None of them noticed the faint ripple in the air around him, the weight of countless voices murmuring in the void he carried.
He whispered to himself, his tone quiet, heavy. "Pieces are moving. But the board's already broken."
His hand rested briefly on one of the pistols at his side. For a long moment, he simply stood in silence, the light of dawn reflecting off his shades.
Then, with a final glance at the city below, he turned and disappeared into the shadows.
The first night of the Holy Grail War was over.
But the seeds it planted—resentment, fear, determination—would only grow sharper with each sunrise.
None of them rested easily.
*****
The sun hung higher now, steady and bright, as the city of Valhalla shifted into daylight quiet. The chaos of the night before had left scars: scorched ground, broken concrete, air heavy with the faint taste of smoke and steel.
But now, under the warmth of morning, the war paused. For a moment, it felt almost like peace.
Ace sat cross-legged on a stack of crates in the warehouse they had claimed. Her jacket was folded beside her, and she wore a black and white tank top that had club symbol from cards.
Berserker stood by the window, his massive frame nearly filling it. His stone weapon leaned against the wall, silent for once.
Ace was quiet, staring down at her hands. They trembled slightly, not from fear, but from the familiar current that always ran through her body. A reminder of what Cadmus had done.
"Berserker," she said finally, her voice low. "Do you… ever think I'm just broken?"
The giant turned, his expression unreadable. His voice rumbled out, heavy and slow. "Not… broken. Strong."
Ace let out a sharp breath, half a laugh, half frustration. "Strong, huh? Cadmus didn't make me strong. They made me unstable. A bomb waiting to go off. You weren't there, but…" Her voice trailed off.
She closed her eyes. The memories came whether she wanted them to or not. White walls. Restraints biting into her wrists. The sound of humming machines. She remembered needles, cold metal sliding into skin, and scientists staring through glass like she wasn't even human.
"They used to tell me I wasn't a person. Just an experiment. Project Ace." She swallowed hard. "Every time I slipped, every time I lost control, they said it proved them right. That I wasn't human."
Berserker moved closer, each step deliberate. He crouched low, so his huge frame wouldn't tower as much. "You… are human."
Ace blinked at him.
"You… fight… You... Feel...human."
For a while, Ace didn't speak. Her eyes stung, but she blinked hard and forced it back down. She gave him a weak smirk. "You're better at pep talks than Lex. That's for sure."
He fell silent and stared with an almost expression. Ace nudged him with her feet. "What?"
Berserker turned his head, his heavy gaze meeting hers. "Worry..."
Ace gave a short laugh, though there was no humor in it. "What could a guy like you possibly have to think about?"
He didn't answer right away. His silence wasn't empty—it had weight, like every word he chose took effort to shape. Finally, he rumbled, " you..."
Ace's smirk faltered. She looked away quickly. "Don't waste your time. I'm a mess, Berserker. Always have been. I guess Lex and Waller called it right. A broken weapon is useless. "
The words spilled before she could stop them. She pressed her palms against her knees, remembering the cold sting of restraints against her skin, the sterile smell of Cadmus labs. The sound of doors locking. The way scientists whispered numbers and designations instead of her name.
"Ace... not...broken." Heracles grunted.
Ace stared at him, caught off guard.
"Broken... weapon… not...care," Berserker continued. His words were slow, deliberate, but each one struck with the force of truth. "You… care. That… strength."
Her chest tightened. She blinked hard, fighting the burn in her eyes. "Strength, huh? Feels more like weakness most days."
Berserker's lips twitched in something close to a smile. "Then… I...weak...too."
That earned a small, shaky laugh from her. She reached out, pressing her fingers lightly against the back of his massive hand. "Guess we're both screwed up then."
Berserker's lips twitched in something that might have been a smile. He reached out, careful, and rested one giant hand near her shoulder without pressing down. A silent reassurance.
For the first time, she didn't feel the weight of Cadmus pressing down on her. For the first time, she felt… seen.
******
Far from the warehouse, Connor walked with Karna along a cracked stretch of road where weeds pushed through broken asphalt. Morning air clung cool to the skin, carrying the faint smell of salt from the sea.
The golden warrior seemed almost out of place under the ordinary daylight—armor gleaming faintly even when subdued. They had chosen this path to avoid eyes, a road lined with half-abandoned houses and empty cafes.
Connor had his hands shoved deep in his jacket pockets, head tilted down. "You know, I keep thinking about last night. About Arjuna. The way you two fought…" His voice trailed off. He clenched his jaw. "I didn't do anything. I just stood there."
Karna walked silently beside him, steps measured, until he finally said, "You did not run."
Connor gave a dry laugh. "Yeah, you said that before. But it doesn't change the fact that you were out there taking hits meant to kill, and I couldn't lift a finger to help."
They stopped. Karna turned to him, his gaze steady. "Do you know why I fight, Master?"
Connor frowned. "Because of the Grail?"
Karna shook his head. His expression softened—faint, but real. "Because it was the path carved for me before I could choose. My life was bound to war. My death as well. But you… you are different. You choose to remain true to yourself. That choice has weight."
Connor looked away, words stuck in his throat.
He remembered white walls. The mirror in Cadmus labs, the day they told him who he was. Not Clark Kent. Not Superman.
Just a copy stitched together from pieces of DNA. A project meant to replace a man who didn't want him.
"They said I wasn't real," Connor whispered. "Just a stand-in. Someone else's shadow. No matter what I do, I keep thinking maybe they were right."
Karna stepped closer, his golden armor faintly catching the sun. "A shadow does not struggle. A shadow does not doubt. You feel the weight of your choices. That makes you more than what they tried to write into your blood."
Connor froze. The words hit deeper than he expected.
He swallowed hard. "…You really believe that?"
Karna nodded once, firmly.
Connor's shoulders eased, tension breaking just enough to let a small smile through. "Thanks, partner."
Karna gave a faint smile of his own. "Always."
They started walking again, side by side. Connor finally didn't feel like he was walking alone.
*****
As the others rested, Katana lay against the tatami mat in the manor she had chosen with Shuten Doji. The oni was curled up nearby, half-empty sake bottle in hand, snoring softly.
Katana closed her eyes. Sleep came quickly, but it did not bring peace.
She stood in a garden. The sky above was warm, clear, the kind of evening where the air itself feels kind. A familiar garden—one that belonged to her home, years ago. The smell of cherry blossoms carried on the wind.
"Tatsu," a voice called.
Her heart clenched. She turned. There he was. Her husband, Maseo, standing in the path. His smile was exactly as she remembered: soft, kind, the kind of smile that could ease every burden.
She stepped forward before she realized it. "Maseo…"
He reached out, taking her hands in his. They were warm, steady.
"You've carried the sword too long," he said gently. "You don't need to fight forever."
Her eyes blurred. She tried to speak, but the words caught. "I… can't stop. Not until—"
He touched her cheek, silencing her. "I know. You're stronger than anyone I know. But even strength deserves rest."
The blossoms swirled around them, petals brushing her hair, her face. For a moment, it felt like she had gone back. Like the years of blood and loss had never happened.
She clung to him, her voice breaking. "I miss you. Every day."
"I know," he whispered back. His form began to blur, fading into light. "But don't let the past chain you. Live, Tatsu. Even if I cannot."
She reached out desperately as he faded. "Please—don't go again!"
But the garden was empty. Only the petals remained, falling into silence.
Katana's eyes snapped open, tears wet on her face. Shuten Doji stirred, mumbling in her sleep, then settled again.
Katana wiped her face quickly, sitting up. The weight of the sword at her side felt heavier than ever. She whispered into the still air. "I'll carry you… but I'll try to live too."
Her voice was steady, but the ache in her chest did not fade.
Morning came again, slow and quiet. Each Master and Servant carried the night's scars differently—some with newfound resolve, others with buried pain. But for all of them, the Grail War was only beginning.
And the bonds formed now would decide how far they could go.
*****
Valhalla City changed when the sun went down. By day it looked like any sprawling metropolis—glass towers, wide streets, neon bleeding across polished billboards. But at night, when the sky darkened and the lamps sputtered to life, it revealed itself for what it truly was: a stage.
Streets emptied, alleys deepened, and silence wrapped itself around the city like a cloak. It was made for battles, and everyone who walked its streets after dusk understood that.
The first night had drawn bloodlines, tested weapons, and laid bare grudges older than the city itself. The second night promised escalation.
Batman stood on the roof of a half-built skyscraper overlooking the river. The unfinished steel beams groaned under the wind. He scanned the cityscape, every movement methodical, his mind piecing together information gathered the night before. Saber stood a few paces behind, his hand resting lightly on the hilt of his blade.
"You're restless," Saber observed.
Bruce's eyes didn't leave the skyline. "There's too much I don't know. Identity of Caster and Assassin. Caster's a danger with Luthor pulling the strings. And Katana—" He paused, his jaw tightening. "She doesn't belong in this."
"You've seen the look in her eyes," Saber said evenly. "She made her choice. As did you."
"I don't accept that," Batman replied, his voice sharp. "People like us… we don't get to walk away. But she still can."
"So, what are you waiting for?" Saber asked softly.
"I'm listening," Bruce answered. His voice was calm, but his body was coiled with focus.
"To what?"
"The city," Batman said. His eyes narrowed. "It's too quiet tonight. That means they're moving."
He didn't need to wait long. A shadow flickered below, precise and deliberate. He knew the shape immediately. Katana stepped out from the darkness at street level, her blade glinting faintly in the light.
Bruce dropped from the beams, landing without a sound. Saber remained above, watching.
"Katana," Bruce said as he straightened, cape falling around him.
Her eyes were hard, her stance sharp. "Batman."
"You don't have to do this," he told her. "You've lived enough battles. This war isn't yours to fight."
Her grip on Soultaker tightened. "It is exactly mine to fight. The Grail demands blood, and I will give it."
"There's always a choice," Bruce pressed. His tone sharpened, but there was weight behind it—something close to pleading. "Killing isn't the way."
"You still cling to that illusion," Katana said coldly. "I've seen what happens when you hold back. The only mercy in war is ending it quickly."
Her blade came up in a swift arc. Bruce moved with it, parrying with his gauntlet, the steel screeching as sparks scattered across the pavement.
"Then I'll stop you without killing," he said.
Katana's eyes narrowed. "Try."
They clashed. Her strikes were fast, disciplined, honed by years of training. Bruce countered with precision, using his armor and cape to redirect, disarm, delay. She pressed harder, each swing meant to break his defense. He gave ground, never striking to kill, only to disable.
Above, Saber's head turned suddenly. His eyes narrowed as the air shifted.
"Assassin," he murmured.
From the shadows of the unfinished skyscraper, movement darted fast—quicker than human eyes could track. A figure cloaked in darkness lunged, twin blades glinting with poison's sheen.
Saber's blade was already moving. Excalibur sang as it cut through the air, meeting the twin daggers with a ringing clash. Sparks exploded, light and shadow fighting for control.
"So you choose to face me directly," Saber said evenly. His stance was calm, balanced.
Assassin's reply came like a whisper, a voice without weight. "Not directly. Never directly."
The figure blurred, vanishing into the dark. Saber shifted, sword angled low, senses sharp. Every sound carried weight: the creak of steel, the hum of the wind, the whisper of feet on metal.
Assassin struck from behind, blade slicing for Saber's neck. Excalibur turned just in time, steel on steel again, sparks scattering.
"You won't find me so easily broken," Saber said, pushing Assassin back.
Assassin melted into the shadows once more.
The rooftop became a battlefield of absence, Saber's eyes scanning for the faintest flicker of movement. The duel began not in strength, but in patience—steel against silence.
*****
In the old quarter, Constantine muttered to himself as he lit another cigarette. "Should've stayed in bloody London. Cheaper booze, fewer demigods trying to get me killed."
He felt them before he saw them—footsteps, strong and fast. He spun just in time to see Cassie, her fists glowing faintly with divine spark, rushing him head-on. Achilles followed a heartbeat later, his spear angled with lethal precision.
"Found my punching bag!" Cassie grinned.
"Oh, piss off," Constantine spat, stumbling back. He flicked his cigarette, muttered a sharp incantation under his breath, and a wall of flame burst up between them.
Cassie punched straight through it, fire scattering in waves. Constantine yelped and dove sideways as her fist cratered the street where he'd stood.
"Bloody kids," he cursed. "No respect for a man's smoke break."
Achilles' spear came next, whistling through the air, forcing Constantine to roll behind a half-collapsed wall.
"You can't run forever, mage," Achilles called, his voice steady and sure.
"Wasn't planning on running," Constantine shouted back. He lit another sigil in the dirt with trembling fingers. His magic flared weak but sharp, binding the ground with runes.
Cassie jumped over the wall, fist cocked back. Constantine gritted his teeth and triggered the sigil. Chains of fire lashed up from the earth, coiling around her midair.
For a second, she was caught.
Then she ripped them apart with a snarl.
Constantine's face paled. "Ah, bollocks."
Achilles was already there, spear driving forward. Constantine barely raised a warding circle in time—the impact cracked it like glass.
He stumbled back, swearing. "Next time, John, pick a bloody easier war."
****
On the city's southern edge, Ace walked with Berserker along a wide boulevard that led out toward the docks. The streets here were lined with empty towers, windows dark, every sound echoing louder than it should.
She kicked at the pavement, trying to mask the tension in her chest. Berserker walked beside her like a silent wall, his heavy steps steady, the club strapped to his back.
For a moment, Ace almost felt calm. But then a voice cut down from above.
"Well," it said, dripping with condescension. "Good to see you're still alive, Ace. It's time to come home."
Her whole body went rigid.
Lex Luthor hovered above them, immaculate in his battlesuit, its thrusters humming softly. Beside him, arms crossed and golden eyes narrowed, floated Caster—Gilgamesh himself.
Ace's breath hitched. The sight of Lex froze her blood. Every memory came flooding back—the cold rooms, the endless drills, his voice telling her she was property. Her hands trembled, and her thoughts spiraled with anger, sadness, and a sick pull of hesitation.
Berserker stepped forward, massive and immovable. His hand lowered gently onto her head, grounding her. His voice rumbled with simple finality:
"I… protect… Ace."
Gilgamesh snorted, uncrossing his arms. "Pathetic. A broken doll clinging to a beast. And you," his golden eyes fixed on Berserker, "dare to raise your weapon against me? You'll be buried under my swords."
Golden portals shimmered into existence behind him, blades and spears glinting within.
Ace's fists clenched, her breath ragged.
She could feel Lex's gaze on her like chains. Part of her wanted to crumble. Part of her wanted to scream. But Berserker's steady presence held her still.
Lex raised a hand, signaling. "Subdue her. Don't kill her. She's still useful."
Gilgamesh smiled thinly. "It will be entertaining."
The first volley of weapons screamed from the portals, streaking toward Ace and Berserker like falling stars.
Berserker roared, stepping in front of her, his club rising with thunderous force. Steel met steel in a storm of sparks. The ground shook with the impact.
Ace's fear burned into fury. Her eyes locked on Lex. "I'm not your tool anymore!"
Lex only smirked. "You'll remember your place soon enough."
*****
I'm watching you kids. If there's a sudden injury during halfway and you failed to become a pro basketball player, Daddy will be gone for milk before you can say, "Wait...What?"
It's rather simple really. I don't wish to settle for mediocre. I will deliver quality work, and hope for the same level support to reciprocate. If it's bad , you can cuss me out and drop the story. I am not writing Oscar winner story.
But if it's good, show your support. And no, silence doesn't count. Even if a million people read your story, it doesn't matter if you don't see any visible changes.
I get some of you prefer to be a ghost, but is it too much to ask say a few words from time to time, vote or even leave a review if you want someone to take their time to write for you? Covid really fucked up our communication skills it seems