If all of Type-Moon's characters were ranked by sheer misery, Waver probably wouldn't even make the list.
But if it were ranked by who was the weakest in their youth… then Mr. Waver Velvet would definitely be near the top.
In this Fate/Apocrypha parallel world, Rhodes's butterfly wings had stirred a hurricane that completely overturned the original storyline.
The one most affected was none other than Waver himself. Thanks to Rhodes's interference, he never managed to get his hands on Alexander's Catalyst. Instead, he had to use a "by chance" relic tied to Queen Medb.
Yes—that Queen Medb. The infamous "Slut Medb" of legend. A capricious temptress who delighted in sleeping with heroes throughout history, stealing their bloodlines, and raising armies from the offspring.
But don't mistake her for weak. For all her chaotic love life, Medb was a powerful Heroic Spirit.
Aside from her Rider-class Noble Phantasm—the Iron Chariot—she also held the terrifying ability to create warriors from a single drop of blood. And not just any warriors: soldiers bearing the blood of heroes, each one comparable to a Heroic Spirit. They lacked Noble Phantasms, and demanded wonderful amounts of mana from their Master, but still—what a terrifying trump card.
The problem was, hardly anyone could control someone like Medb. Waver, in their very first encounter, was threatened into dissolving the contract and lost command of her completely.
—A pathetic sight: the so-called Master bullied and thrown out by the very Servant he summoned. A ridiculous little anecdote of the Holy Grail War.
And yet, the boy who'd exited the stage before the play had even started ended up as the only Master to survive. Mocked by countless peers, nearly executed by the Mage families, Waver somehow limped back alive to London.
Not the Clock Tower, though—he couldn't. The Archibalds had branded him a criminal and were hunting him. So Waver, poor scapegoat that he was, could only hide in London itself, where he barely scraped together enough to eat.
Curled up in the filth of the slums, Waver survived only because the noble magi loathed the foul stench of the place and its even fouler residents. That disgust was his only shield, the reason he wasn't slaughtered alongside poor Kenneth.
But now, an uninvited guest stood outside his shabby wooden shack.
This was London's underbelly: rotting trash and foul water strewn everywhere. It was already 1996, and the city's planning was immaculate—but every city still had its slums.
Waver huddled inside, and then—knock, knock, knock. A crisp knock at the door.
He jolted upright, blood draining from his face.
No doubt about it—street thugs didn't knock. Only nobles carried themselves with such infuriating courtesy.
"Wh-who…" His voice rasped, weak with hunger. The thin boards offered no protection, no comfort.
"Someone here to help you. Want to live like a magus again, Waver Velvet?"
The voice was youthful, still boyish, yet it carried authority. Just a few words, and Waver's heart leapt with hope.
"You… you can really…" He mumbled, almost dazed, and pushed the door open.
What greeted him froze him solid. His body shook uncontrollably, his face pale as death.
Corpses. Dozens, piled in heaps. Blood and flesh scattered like garbage. The slum dwellers reduced to mangled remains, their sticky blood flowing into the gutters, filling the air with a choking stench that made Waver gag.
But he couldn't move. He couldn't even scream.
Because standing before him, a boy about his own height traced scarlet runes with his fingertips. Magic circles flared into being, dazzling and cruel, bending Waver's body to his will.
[4th-Ring Enchantment — Dominate Person]
This spell came not from the world of Magecraft, but from Faerûn. A spell of Arcane Magic. Rhodes had spent two months' worth of Strings to unleash it at maximum power.
The effect was absolute. Even hiding in his shack, Waver was seized by the spell and forced forward, compelled to kneel like a pitiful dog.
"That's enough, RyuZU." Rhodes's lips curled in amusement. At his words, a graceful figure stepped out behind him.
RyuZU's gray dress was splattered with blood, but on her it only looked more hauntingly beautiful. The twin scythes she carried dripped with fresh gore, which she calmly siphoned off with Magecraft into her dress, as though tucking it neatly away.
"Don't worry, Mr. Waver. We're not bloodthirsty killers." Rhodes said something so absurd even he couldn't believe it, standing amid the pile of corpses. "We need your abilities. And as for what happens if you refuse—well, you've seen that. You're a clever man. You know what choice to make."
"Rotting corpses, or a life of luxury. Anyone would know the right answer."
The boy smiled faintly, the cruelty in it unmistakable. Waver trembled head to toe. He wanted to run—but his legs wouldn't move.
"Tell me your answer, before my patience runs out, Mr. Waver."
Rhodes held out a parchment: a self-geis contract. The neat, flowing script listed conditions more oppressive than a slave pact.
"I…" Waver's voice broke. He glanced at the bloody heaps, imagined what would happen if he said no… and finally signed his name, pouring what little mana he had into the parchment.
"Excellent. The contract is sealed." Rhodes grinned like a fox that had just raided the henhouse. He waved his hand lazily. "Drop the stage, Marianne."
Magic rippled through the air. The corpses vanished. The blood was gone. Even the iron tang in the air dissipated like smoke.
"Surprised? Didn't expect that, did you?" Rhodes laughed, eyes glinting with mischief.
And poor Waver, played like a fiddle, could only stand there dumbstruck—like a statue carved from despair.