Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Heroic Spirits.

While the particulars of how such spirits came to exist escaped him, he understood the underlining concept easily enough. Humans who had achieved deeds of such stature that their very names and existences were etched into the fabric of reality itself. Once their very souls had been fused into the Throne of Heroes, their strength grew based on not merely on their actions in life, but rather through the weight of their legends.

If anything, it was a process based on one of the most fundamental aspects of magic.

Belief.

And what were legends but another form of faith?

Ultimately, Harry Dresden didn’t find that particularly confusing.

Sure, it was a level of magic so far beyond what he was capable of achieving that it might have been impossible as far as he was concerned, but he understood the broad strokes of the concept. It was something that he could wrap his mind around, even if he had to break it down to its most basic component forms.

Rather, was what baffled him was the fact that he had been summoned as one.

Heroic Spirits were people who had been, well, heroes!

Sure, he had gotten mixed up in deadly situations more often that wizards three times his age did on an almost semi-regular basis and somehow managed to come out the other end without dying horribly. But that couldn't have been enough to etch his name and spirit into one of the most enduring forms of immortality. Who was he to stand alongside Merlin, Hercules, King Arthur, and every other hero whose actions in life shaped the very world, and whose legends endured for thousands of years after their demise?

Sure, he had vanquished a Fae Queen and prevented her from plunging the world into the next ice age…

…did battle with Denarians on multiple occasions…

…laid waste to the entirety of the Red Court…

…and went to war against an army of Outsiders…

…okay, maybe he could see where the Throne of Heroes was coming from.

Well, regardless of the Throne’s reasoning – he had been summoned.

He clicked his staff against the ground as his body finished materializing onto the mortal plane. He could feel the magic bind him in place, the power of the summoning circle containing the potent energies that made up his body, preventing him from escaping if he had been so disinclined to answer his summoner's call. While this would hardly be the first time his magic had been restrained against his will, he could now appreciate why creatures of the Nevernever despised being summoned in one of these things.

It felt as though his body had been wrapped in a straight jacket and then tied down with lead weights.

Though the physical room itself was almost as restraining since whoever had built this place apparently hadn't accounted for the possibility of accommodating someone of his height. The very edges of his scalp nearly brushed up against the ceiling, and just at a glance, he would need to duck to use the doorways.

Yet those were all secondary concerns.

The wizard could feel his lips move of their own accord, the words that sprang from his throat not ones of his making.

He spoke them anyway.

“Are you my Master?”

Even as he spoke, knowledge that he hadn’t possessed mere moments ago filling his mind, courtesy of the Grail.

He had been summoned as a Caster – a Heroic Spirit whose legends left them adept in magic and all its uses. He, along with six other Heroic Spirits who had been summoned as Servants, would do battle with one another for the chance of claiming the Holy Grail (not the real one) for themselves. Obtaining said Grail would grant the summoner and their Servant each a single wish to fulfill any desire they so sought.

In addition to being used as ‘living’ weapons, Heroic Servants who fell in battle would be used to power the Grail.

Talk about a poor retirement package.

Though as (admittedly tempting) as the reward was…it rankled to be bound to the will of another.

Harry had never been one to willingly submit to authority in life.

He had spent most of his life as the black sheep of the White Council, alternating between a rabid dog they needed to keep an eye on, and useful tool to be aimed at their enemies. While there were select individuals within the organization he trusted and respected, as a whole, he had kept his distance as much as possible.

Hells bells, he had spent most of his adult life attempting to escape the machinations of his Fae Godmother, and then those of the Unseelie Queen herself once his debt had been sold. Yes, he had eventually bound himself to her will as her Winter Knight, but only when the other options available to him would have scarred his soul beyond all recognition and left him little more than a monster wearing his own skin.

Even then, he had resisted bending to the will of Mab as much as he could.

Yet here he was, being bound to the will of another.

Unfortunately, his summoner was ultimately the source of his power while he was bound in this form.

While his Independent Action skill would allow him to remain in the world for an extended time without a Master to grant him the mana he needed to sustain himself, he would still eventually fade from existence. Regardless of how alive he might feel, Harry knew that he was merely a shade who had been forcibly summoned from the Throne of Heroes. Regardless of their power, the weight of history would eventually drown them out from the world as reality tried to reassert itself.

Refusing to bind himself to his summoner would result in his death.

“Woah! So cool!”

Harry glanced down at the man who had summoned him.

…are those leopard print boots?

Wow…he didn’t think anyone could be that gaudy outside of soap operas.

Though while his summoner's style of choice was undoubtedly an eyesore, it wasn't what drew his gaze the most.

No, that was reserved for the small issue that his summoning circle had been made from fresh blood.

The circle in question was the work of an amateur, that much he could tell from a glance. Its curves were jagged and unrefined, only barely holding the necessary shape to fulfill the ritual requirements. This kind of work was typically the sign of one who had only just begun their study of the Art and failed to grasp the importance of details. Instead believing that their new-found power would take care of the rest.

The dread growing in his gut failed to dissipate as he scanned the smiling redhead for any self-inflicted wounds.

There were none.

…but there were a handful of blood splatters staining his hideous purple jacket.

The man almost seemed to be bouncing on the edge of is heels, his empty smile only stretching further across his face.

“Are you a demon?”

That's not something you should be excited about.

Harry gave the rest of the room a glance.

Two decapitated heads stared back.

In his youth, a sight such as that would have made his stomach roll and left him with nightmares for weeks to come. Even now, he could recognize how naïve and hapless he had been. His years as Chicago's only wizard detective had introduced him to sights far more terrifying than something as simple as decapitation. Though his experience with the dark corners of the world and monsters lurking within such shadows had hardened his fortitude, sights such as this would still never fail to garner his rage.

Especially when a child was involved.

The youth in question had been bound for quite some time if the rope burns around his wrists, and ankles were anything to go by. His mouth had been taped shut, nothing more than muffled moans and sobs slipping through as tears ran down his cheeks. Harry swallowed with the realization that the kid had likely spent the last few hours staring at the decapitated corpses of his parents as this killer desecrated them.

“Do you want to eat him?”

Harry turned his attention back towards his sum—the killer.

This bastard didn’t deserve to be called that.

Something shifted in the killer’s gaze.

Perhaps the man noticed how his expression was twisting in anger, or maybe his senses were attuned enough to recognize the barely restrained power that crackled up his hand-carved staff. The air itself grew thick and heavy with tension as the mantle of Winter blasted out in full force, the predatory threat of the mortal’s bloodlust utterly drowned by the primal and savage magics of the Winter Court. He loomed over the pale man, his shadow nearly engulfing the entire room, suffocating any sense of control the murderer might have possessed over the situation.

From the child’s resumption of struggles, he must have looked like a monster.

The killer flinched.

Harry stepped forward, his lips curling.

Whatever survival instincts the redhead possessed took control, his body flailing widely. He struggled to remove himself from the path of the far, far more dangerous predator that had made itself known. His limbs contorted without grace or control, lashing out at everything in their reach as he tried to pull himself away, the black-clad book falling from his grip with a dull thud. Even as he latched onto the back of the sofa to pull himself up, his spotted boots slipped against the polished wood floor…

…and broke the circle.

It felt as though someone had lifted a weight off his chest.

His power flooded the room, no longer constrained by the magic of the circle.

To the killer, it must have felt as though he had gotten a flashbang to the face.

The killer's desperate screaming and struggling were ignored as Harry stepped forward, closing the distance between them. At the same time, he brought his staff up to swing. It wasn't the most elegant use of his focus. Still, it was a big heavy stick, and thanks to The Winter Knight Noble Phantasm, he was pretty strong compared to a vanilla mortal. The crack that echoed through the room sounded as though a pair of stones had been smashed against one another, his arms shuddering from the weight he had put behind the blow.

The murderer dropped.

He wasn’t dead, his chest still heaved up and down…but he wasn’t getting back up.

Harry kept his gaze locked on the man’s prone form even as crimson fluids oozed out of the man’s cracked skull, drenching his hair and pooling at the base of his head. His body’s muscles refused to uncoil; his magic still held at the ready to be unleashed at a moment’s notice.

The seconds passed.

Nothing.

…that was easy.

With a satisfied grunt, he turned his attention to the sole living occupant of the room.

He had a kid to help.

The streets were empty.

Unnaturally so.

Shadows slithered out from the alleyways as though living entities unto themselves, suffocating out what little illumination the flickering streetlights could provide. There almost felt as if there was an intangible weight to the darkness this night. As though it was attempting to drown out the city itself. Even the distant luminosity of towering skyscrapers and their neon signs felt faint compared to what they should have been.

Whatever the cause was, it seemed as though the people of Fuyuki had abandoned their roadways for the night.

I guess I’m not complaining.

Though it was…unsettling to witness a city of this size so quiet (even while in the grip of slumber), it did avoid attention being drawn to him. Given the circumstances, Harry couldn't help but feel the tiny bit grateful at the unnatural presence that seemed to be suffocating the life out of the city. If only to avoid people asking questions that he couldn't provide answers for.

Namely, why are you out in the middle of the night with a kid that looks nothing like you?

Harry gave the kid in question a glance.

Getting the kid to accept that he wasn’t a demon summoned from the pits of hell had been understandably difficult. What with everything that had happened to him this night. While Harry couldn't say it was the worst introduction to the supernatural world, it was still pretty up there. He didn’t even want to begin to imagine the nightmares that would plague this kid for the rest of his life after having to witness the murder of his own parents and subsequent desecration of their corpses.

The kid was strong…but even the strong could break.

Harry ceased walking for a moment to adjust his grip on the child, fixing the blanket he had wrapped around him to better shield him against the biting chill that blew past them. The cool breeze only further emphasized the blotchy red spots on the kid’s cheeks as it irritated the skin. The tracks of tears long since dried became even more apparent in the almost nonexistent lighting. The wizard swallowed as a slight whimper loosened itself from the child’s lips, his expression contorting in terror even in his slumber.

It was a look that Harry had unfortunately witnessed many times before.

Mostly in the mirror.

Even a lifetime failed to lessen the weight of Justin's betrayal.

Prey. Weak. Devour.

Harry pushed aside the dark whispers of Winter burning within his heart with practiced ease.

He found himself less willing to combat the darker urges that had directed themselves towards the cause of the child’s misfortune.

It would have been a simple matter to have finished the job right then and there. Even without utilizing his magic, The Winter Knight provided more than enough strength that he could have simply beat the man to death had he desired. Hell, he could have just pulled out his revolver and shot the man in the head.

It would have been easy.

Simple.

And traumatizing.

The kid had been through enough tonight.

Had the man possessed more power, he might have reconsidered allowing him to fall into the hands of mortal authorities, but all it took was a quick check to see that his power was almost nonexistent. Maybe the man could have put together a minor curse with enough time and training, but it would be more irritating than deadly. Honestly, he was willing to bet the only reason he had been summoned at all was because the man had juiced up the spell with the sacrifice of two innocents.

He didn’t have the power on his own.

No, binding the man with ropes and restraining him in a circle had been the best option.

Once the police were alerted to the man’s current condition, they would be able to take him into custody without issue. Then the man would spend the rest of his (hopefully short) life trapped in a tiny cell like a caged rat. It was a bitter consolation, but at the very least, the kid would see some justice done in his family’s name.

Though speaking of the cops…

…the police station finally came into view as he turned to the corner.

Even without the Grail having downloaded the Japanese language into his brain, he would have been able to recognize the building for what it was. While it lacked the familiarity or trusted ruggedness of Chicago's police department, there was no mistaking the quiet confidence that the building seemed to exude into its surroundings. Even the shadows suffocating the nightlife of the city found themselves rebuffed as they attempted to encroach on the building.

They have no idea what’s coming.

He sincerely doubted the Fuyuki police department had much experience with the supernatural, at least not to the same extent of those who had served alongside him in Chicago’s Special Investigations Division. There were probably a handful of cops in the know about the dangers lurking in the dark corners of their civilization, but individuals like that tended to get sidelined in his experience./p>

Nobody would accept ‘eaten by vampires’ written in a report.

Which meant the Fuyuki police had no idea what was about to descend on their city.

The rules of the Holy Grail War might forbid the involvement of civilians in their battles, but when the prize on the line was the chance to wish for whatever you desired…well, rules had a way of falling to the side.

Evidenced by the child currently held in his grip.

“Hey, kid,” he murmured quietly.

It took some more gentle prodding on his part to rouse the kid from his slumber. But soon enough, the kid managed to extricate himself from the grasp of sleep, eyes blinking as he took in the world around him. There was a sluggish haze in his eyes, as though the child was viewing everything from behind a screen. Harry had to bite back a snarl at the dullness that gnawed at the boy’s spirit, the vigor and strength that he had possessed when held captive all but absent.

Not all scars were physical.

“We’re here,” he offered, leaning down to allow the child to remove himself from his grip.

Contrary to what he expected, the kid was almost reluctant to plant his feet on the ground. For a passing moment, it almost seemed like he was going to try and climb back. His tiny hands refused to remove their grip from his coat, clutching as him as though he was the world’s biggest and meanest teddy bear. A shiver passed down the boy's spine despite the thick blanket wrapped around his body…and deep-down, Harry knew that it had nothing to do with the chill in the air.

W-where?”

The kid’s voice was croaked, a consequence of spending the last few hours screaming for help that never came. The young boy licked his lips nervously as he eyed the street with a desperate paranoia, as though he feared that the monsters his parents told him didn’t exist might come crawling out of the shadows to finish the job.

A flinch struck him as the hoot of an owl echoed down the streets.

“Police station,” he answered with the same gentleness he used on Maggie whenever one of her nightmares reared their ugly heads. With deliberate slowness, he lowered himself down to the boy's level as best he could, gently brushing his hand against his shoulder. The boy tensed for a moment, and his gaze turned wild with fear and terror. But the second it clicked what was happening, the terror found itself banished, and the kid leaned into is grip even more. “…look, kid?”

The boy glanced up.

“I know this has been a really scary night for you. I…I can't promise that it's not going to get any scarier," he admitted, speaking as gently as possible. Even then, a whimper escaped the boy's throat, and Harry found himself learning to hate his summoner all over again. In a fair world, this kid wouldn’t have had to have suffered through this nightmare of a night, to have his parents slain and defiled before his very eyes. His only concerns should have been about school and not contracting cooties. Yet instead of that, his whole life had been upended and stropped away, forever separated from the family he knew and loved.

The world wasn’t fair.

That was something Harry had learned at a young age.

Nonetheless, that didn't mean this was right.

“But I’m going to need you to be brave for a few more minutes…do you think you can do that?” Harry asked, his staff creaking in his grip as he did. He swallowed as he judged the distance between them and the station doors – a few yards at best, but that distance might as well have been miles as far as he was concerned. “If you can’t…I can come with you.”

Screw the rules.

This was more important.

The kid sniffled, snot dripping down his nose.

“…icandoit.”

Harry made out the whisper, even as it was nearly drowned out by the alley.

"Alright," was all he could really offer. After all, what could he possibly say that could make things better? He wasn't a Knight like Michael, who could light even the darkest of circumstances with his hope and unending love of mankind. If anything, he would probably only make it even worse for the kid if he tried to comfort him. No, better that he was in the hands of professionals who could deal with this kind of thing. “I need you to walk into the station and give them your name and address…and let them know the bad guy’s been restrained.”

The kid sniffled.

“…okay.”

Despite his affirmation, the child refused to release his grip.

Harry didn’t rush him.

He deserved to go at his own pace.

Several minutes passed.

…that’s it, screw secrecy, I’ll—

The kid let go.

Harry slowly stood up to his full height as the kid shakily took a few steps towards the building entrance.

He made it all of a foot before he froze.

The child’s muscles tensed, his body shaking and trembling as it did. Harry could feel his gut twist, taking half a step forward to comfort the boy and guide him into the building himself, consequences be dammed.

He glanced down.

The kid’s arms were wrapped around his leg as best as they could manage, clinging like a limpet.

“…thank you.”

The kid bolted before he could muster a response.

It wasn’t until the child passed through the doors of the station that Harry felt a weight release itself from his shoulders.

Hardly a satisfying conclusion…but he had to admit that it was probably one of the better ones.

A ghost of a smile made its way onto his lips as sirens echoed through the streets, their blaring screeching blasting away into the suffocating shadows. It was only then that the Heroic Spirit allowed himself to dematerialize, the magics that held his physical shell together dissipating as he entered his astral form. He ghosted through the streets and back alleyways, his mind churning in barely restrained thought.

The Grail War had already claimed innocent lives tonight.

…he had a feeling they would be but the first.

Chapter Text

The city was quiet.

Eerily so.

Granted, that may have just been his admittedly skewed perspective on the matter.

Chicago had been his home for so many years, and there had never been a single instance that he could recall where the city felt as silent as Fuyuki did now. Even the late-night commuters that he had become accustomed to were utterly absent, the streets bare of any sense of life or purpose. Buildings and bars that he would have expected to remain open even at this hour were closed, their windows darkened, and doors boarded shut. Skyscrapers that should have ignited the night with their blaze were dim and paltry in comparison. Their illumination nearly suffocated by the ever-encroaching darkness.

Only the pale moon provided the barest sliver of luminescence.

Yet even as alien as the environment was to his senses…

…he could tell something was off.

The silence that hung over the city went far beyond the realm of the mundane.

For all that humanity tended to blind itself to the truth, the constant companions they made with their pets tended to be far better at recognizing reality. It was the reason that owners would often discover their dogs barking at empty spaces, or cats howling as they fled from shadows corners. They could see the world for what it really was and understand the threats lurking in those dark places. If animals tended to avoid certain areas, that was a decent indicator that something dangerous had claimed that location as a home or some serious black magic had gone down.

This city?

They were silent.

The discordant cacophony of noise that should have echoed through the streets and alleyways failed to materialize. The howling of dogs had long since ceased, the screeching and hissing of warring alley cats having stilled. Gentle birdsongs had been replaced with stark emptiness, and what few creatures he did come across in his astral form were actively cowering.

It was…nerve-wracking.

Did they know?

Probably.

The atmosphere was thick with tension and magic, so much so that his astral form almost felt as though it was sloshing through warmed gelatin instead of air. Even without extending his senses beyond his form, Harry could feel the buzz of magic thread through every nook and alleyway of the city. The average person on the street wouldn’t recognize it for what it was, but even those who would deny the existence of magic to their dying breath would be able to tell that something was wrong.

You couldn’t hide the effects of a ritual this large.

Though maybe I should be focusing on that little matter.

He was one of the participants, after all.

But first, he had a question he needed answering.

Now what?

A rather important question considering the circumstances.

As of this moment, he was a Masterless Servant.

He didn’t regret what he had done, not for an instant. The man who had summoned him had killed a family in cold blood while intent on summoning a demon to finish the job with their child. While hardly the worst evil he had ever gone up against, that didn’t diminish the horror of what he had done for his own twisted amusement. Harry didn’t even want to imagine what would have happened if the man had summoned a Servant who fell more in line with his twisted thinking and apparent lack of morality.

Yet…

…he had been his summoner.

By refusing the offered contract, he had refused a stable and steady supply of mana.

To most Servants, such an action would have resulted in their almost immediate banishment from the mortal world.

As powerful as they were, their ability to sustain their power against the crushing weight of history was limited in the extreme. Likely a safety feature constructed by those who had created this ritual to ensure that Servants wouldn't try to eliminate their Masters to gain a second chance at life. A few of the more powerful Heroic Spirits would probably be able to last until sunrise on their own reserves if they were topped off. However, they would quickly fade if they used even one of their most meager abilities.

Thankfully, he wasn’t most Servants.

One of the personal skills that he had been summoned with, Independent Action, granted him the ability to sustain his own presence within the mortal world for an extended period. Assuming that he conserved his power, it was likely that he would be able to remain in the world for five or so days without a Master to provide him strength. He wouldn't be able to access most of his Noble Phantasms outside of claimed territory, but considering that most Servants wouldn't be able to last much more than a few minutes without a Master, that was hardly an insurmountable issue.

Though while it allowed him to survive, it wouldn’t let him fight.

Without a reliable method to replenish his mana reserves, he would likely fade from existence after the second or third conflict he found himself in. Though even that came with the assumption that he would be able to survive those battles at all, given that he currently couldn’t access all but his most basic Noble Phantasm. In a war where he would be battle it out against six other Servants who wouldn’t have such restrictions on their power?

Not great odds.

Do I even want to fight?

Others might have considered him mad for even entertaining the notion of dropping a once in a lifetime opportunity.

He felt it was a prudent consideration.

Harry would be the first to admit that the idea of even a single wish being granted by the Grail was a tempting prospect, but years of cynicism presented a certain level of wariness to the concept. Assuming that the Grail was capable of performing such a feat (the information it inserted into his skull said it was, but that was an obviously biased source), what was the price? Even beyond forcing complete strangers to kill each other, that wasn't the kind of power to be handed out without strings attached.

Plus, what would he even wish for?

Sure, there was an odd thought or two that would be nice to see made reality…but it wasn’t an overwhelming desire.

He felt no pressing urge to go murder strangers over such abstract thoughts.

So why was I chosen?

Harry allowed himself to grind to a halt as he considered the question.

One of the braver (or perhaps foolish) stray cats slunk out from one of the shadowed alleyways. Its inhuman orbs gleaming with life and vigor even if twisted and matted fur spoke otherwise. A low growl hissed out from the back of its throat as it arched its back at him, attempting to make its pitifully thin form appear larger than it was. The Heroic Spirit gave the stray little mind as it yowled and spat at him, chipped claws and cracked teeth tearing at a form it could not touch, only see.

…better yet, why was a serial killer a summoner?

Thanks to the information the Grail had downloaded into his head, he knew that it sought out those with strong desires and wishes within their hearts so that they might compete more vigorously than others would. But certainly, the Grail (or at least the group who had designed the Grail), would have been discerning with who they granted that power, right? The ability to grant a single wish was not power to be used lightly. In the wrong hands, something like that could accomplish incalculable harm should they desire it so.

Even more concerning, why had it chosen someone so weak?

Harry passed through the stray cat, ignoring its howling as he resumed his search.

The empty and run-down warehouses surrounding him were a decent start for a hiding place (at least for the moment), but they weren’t quite what he was looking for. Mentally, he marked their location off in his head so that he could return to them should he need to. However, there was still enough time until the sun began to rise over the horizon to search a little more.

Besides, it gave him more time to think.

Harry couldn’t bring himself to believe for a single instant that the Grail had been so bereft of choice that a serial killer was on the shortlist for those that it wanted to grant a nigh-all powerful wish. Even ignoring the dangers of allowing someone like that to be given a wish, the man wouldn’t have been anywhere near powerful enough to fuel a Heroic Spirit for any length of time. Heck, he had been barely powerful enough to summon one!

At his best estimation, the man would have been capable of inflicting minor curses had he possessed the proper training.

Nowhere near the power to fuel a Heroic Spirit, much less a Noble Phantasm.

Sure, there were methods of getting around that issue (many of them unethical), but what would the point be in selecting someone who couldn’t provide the mana a Servant needed to stay in the world when there were plenty of others who could. It was somewhat hard to accept that in the entirety of the White Council, there was nobody who could have served as a better Master than that killer. Taking that idea at face value would be a beyond ludicrous idea.

Which once more begged the question – why had he been selected?

…I bet other Servants don’t have to deal with this.

Harry supposed it said something about his luck that he had been the one to be summoned by a serial murderer out of all the heroes whose histories and names were engraved into the Throne of Heroes. He doubted that other Servants needed to practicality tie themselves in knots to decipher the insane logic behind the Grail’s choice in contestants. More likely that they had been summoned by people whose personalities and desires actually matched their own unlike his—

Wait.

The Heroic Spirit paused as he considered implications that had previously eluded him.

A serial murderer summoned him.

Without a catalyst.

…that shouldn’t have been possible.

While the principles were certainly advanced, in the end, the process of summoning a Servant was a simple matter of forging a thaumaturgical connection between the summoner and the hero. Usually, this could be accomplished by using a catalyst, something that possessed a substantial connection to the hero so they might gain their attention from the Throne of Heroes. While it was indeed possible to create such a link without a catalyst, the range of possible summons dwindled significantly, restraining the summoner to heroes that most closely matched their personality.

While Harry wouldn’t deny that he wasn’t a good man, he wasn’t that far gone.

Given that the man hadn’t been using a catalyst, the hero who answered such a summons should have been more in line with the murderer’s twisted method of thinking. Which…considering the power that Heroic Spirits possessed, it was probably for the best that he had been summoned in place of any of them. He didn't want to begin to imagine what sort of devastation a Heroic Spirit in line with the mind of a serial killer could create given the opportunity.

Though it still left the question – how had he been summoned?

He supposed it wasn’t impossible that a third party could have interfered with the ritual. It would have had to have been someone powerful, the Throne of Heroes wouldn’t be bent to the will of just anyone. But given how many enemies and allies he had made that possessed that level of power, he supposed that didn’t really narrow the suspect pool down much. He couldn’t even tell if something had manipulated the summoning ritual. This was his first time undergoing one from this end of the spectrum.

He had nothing to compare it to.

Maybe Bob would know.

Once he got his Workshop setup, it would be a simple matter to activate Companions of the Wizard.

Even without a Master.

…assuming you’re going to put one together.

Right…there was still the question if he wanted to participate at all.

In all honesty, he would be content with letting one of the other half-dozen heroes take possession of the Grail for their Master instead of claiming it for himself. He didn't feel a desperate need to have a desire of his fulfilled by a nebulous wish-granting device, nor did he feel particularly motivated in attempting to murder complete strangers over it either. While he could certainly carry on in his current situation for the next few days, merely sustaining his life to obtain a prize that he didn’t feel motivated in acquiring felt…unsatisfying.

You could enjoy life.

There was a lot one could get done in five days.

…and yet…

…something didn’t sit right.

It was certainly possible that the founders of the Holy Grail War were simply less discerning to their choice in participants than he was. It was also equally plausible that his summoning at the hands of a deranged killer was simply a random accident, happenstance as a result of the man’s complete lack of knowledge of the Art. This entire situation could very well be the result of minor mistakes born from a magical ritual whose power far outweighed any good sense its creators possessed.

But when have I ever been that lucky?

Harry considered his options, bereft of them as he was.

…there was really only one choice he could make.

“I’m impressed.”

“Wait, really?” Harry asked as he finished his account of the events that had brought him to this point. His captive audience had remained mostly silent throughout it all, allowing him to work and talk in relative peace as he tried to get everything set up. Though if the low growls from Mouse were any indication, his summoner was fortunate that he had been handed off to the police instead of having a hole torn in his neck. “…why?”

"That's got to be the fastest I've ever heard of a Heroic Spirit turning on their summoner,” Bob gleefully offered, his voice thick with schadenfreude. The orange flames that served as his eyes danced with obvious amusement, flickering in and out as his equivalent of rolling on the floor laughter. “I mean, there was that one time in the Second Grail War where that Berserker guy tried to gut his Master, but that was a whole day after he got summoned! You’ve had to have set a new record for sudden but inevitable betrayals, Boss.”

Harry scowled.

“You didn’t see him, Bob,” he growled out, his grip tightening. The small table held within his hands began to creak as it was subjected to pressures that it had never been designed for. He slammed it against the ground with a tad more force than necessary, years of dust and grime falling off as its legs cracked against rough concrete. Probably not the best way to treat his Workshop equipment, but he couldn't bring himself to care.

Territory Creation.

One of the greatest advantages of the Caster class.

Under ideal circumstances, any Master's intent to summon a Caster Servant would have likely already picked out a location from which they could establish their Workshop prior to cementing their contract. Said Masters would have also likely foreseen the need to stock said territory with some necessary supplies so that their Servants could utilize their Item Construction skill to its fullest ability. With how lacking most Casters were in direct compared to other Servants, forgoing these preparations would practically guarantee defeat.

But he had already established this entire situation was far from ideal.

If his summoner had made any preparations, he wasn’t really in a position to share them.

Instead, Harry had been forced to locate an area to establish his territory on his own.

Easier said than done.

With the current resources, he possessed (pretty much nothing), attempting to locate a suitable position to manifest Demonreach had been dismissed as impractical. Trying to track down an abandoned building that he could squat in without arousing suspicion from Servants and mortals alike was already a challenging enough prospect. Never mind trying to locate one intersected with a decently sized ley line. Possible, but certainly not something that could be accomplished within the span of a single night by someone who possessed little to no knowledge of the local area.

As such, he had been forced to…compromise.

Yet somehow, I still have a bigger workspace than I did in life.

Harry wasn’t sure if that was sad or funny.

The apartment complex he claimed had clearly witnessed better days.

Paint peeled off the sides of the building in strips that taller than he was, years of ocean breeze wearing away at brick and mortar. Windows had been shattered by the dozens, with only crude wooden planks left to shield the inside of the apartments from the ravages of nature. Every conceivable entrance that could be located had been sealed off, chains as thick as his wrists binding the doors shut, and even those were thick and heavy from corrosion and rust.

Still, it was solid.

…okay maybe that was an exaggeration, but at least the upper floors wouldn’t collapse in on his head.

…maybe…

…possibly…

…it was better than nothing.

“He had been excited about summoning a demon to kill that kid," Harry hissed his lip curling into a contemptuous sneer. The mistakes of children who didn't know what they were getting into were one thing. Purposely attempting to summon a malevolent entity for the express desire to end someone's life was an entirely different matter. He could feel his rage and the fury of Winter mix together, twisting and thrashing so much it was impossible to tell where one ended, and the other began. “He desecrated the corpses of the kid’s parents and forced him to watch. He deserved everything he got.”

The orange flames performed the spirit’s equivalent of a shrug.

"I'm not defending the guy," Bob offered with a theatrical sigh. "But look at it from his perspective. He had been ready to summon a perfectly respectful demon to do his bidding, and instead, he got your sorry ass. Quite frankly, I wouldn't wish you on my worst enemy.”

He snorted despite himself.

Given his track record, he supposed that wasn’t an unfair assessment.

His anger didn't abate, but the slowly building desire to track down the man and rip his spine out began to settle. There was little doubt to the wizard that the killer deserved to suffer for what he had done, but he had already made his choice in how to handle the madman. The fury of Winter that had threatened to roll over his mind was pushed back down into the dark corners from whence it came. It was in times like these that the mantle of Winter proved to be the most dangerous – not when they disagreed, but when they agreed too much.

“Besides, look at the bright side of things, Boss. We got summoned to Japan. Japan!” Bob gleefully exclaimed, flames dancing with barely contained mirth. “Do you have any idea what the women here do to spirits like me? Just one night out for myself, Boss, that’s all I ask.”

“…Bob, I don’t have a contracted Master, and you want me to waste energy so you can go have some fun with the ladies?” Harry drily asked as he took his seat. The aged leather squeaked and groaned as he settled his weight onto it. The unmistakable snap of a spring breaking echoed through the room but was promptly ignored. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t been forced to endure worse circumstances before. Mouse settled himself next to him, the dogasaurus immediately offering his large doggie eyes…to which Harry crumbled before almost instantly.

Much petting was given.

“Think of it as intelligence gathering.”

“Bob.”

“Ugh…fine.”

“Thank you,” Harry murmured, just barely disguising the faintest ghost of a smile that danced across his lips. As annoying as he could be at times, the Heroic Spirit was grateful that his friend had been summoned as he had been in life. “You have any thoughts as to how he was able to summon me in the first place? I would have thought it impossible without a catalyst, especially given how opposing our personalities were.”

“Hmmm,” Bob hummed, flames closing as though deep in thought. “You sure he didn’t have a catalyst? They don’t always have to be big and flashy, sometimes they can be as seemingly insignificant as a necklace you might have once touched. If he didn’t have any other preparations and no opposing links…with the extra oomph from two human sacrifices powering the ritual, he might have summoned you with something that small."

“No,” Harry grunted, even as he continued to pet Mouse. His lips curled with thinly veiled disgust as he brought the murder scene back to the forefront of his mind. “He didn’t have anything on him aside from the clothes on his back. Even the murder weapon came from the victims' kitchen. If he did have something connected to me at one point, I didn't recognize it."

“What about the book?”

What?

“Book?”

“…the book. You said he had a book with him," Bob noted, his tone turning curious. Mouse shifted from his comfortable position, staring at him with his eerily discerning gaze. Harry couldn’t help but feel somewhat dizzy as his friend continued to speak, the words reaching his ears hollow and far-away, as though he was listening to them through water. “Did you check the book? Even something as simple as a passage about you could have been enough to trigger the ritual’s requirements.”

Harry frowned.

Why hadn’t he checked the book?

It had been evident from a quick check that the man had been a dabbler in the Art at best. With the pitiful amount of power that he had wielded, it would have been practically impossible for the man to practice casting spells and curses by his lonesome. He would have needed a guide, a starting point from which he could work. More importantly, creating a summoning circle (even a crude one) designed explicitly for contracting a Servant wasn't something that typically came up in casual conversation.

He would have needed instructions.

Detailed instruction.

The kind that would have been contained within a book.

So why hadn’t he…

“Someone spelled the book,” he murmured, the pieces clicking together. The Heroic Spirit rose from his seat and began to pace the room, shoes kicking up waves of dust as he considered the implications of his realization. “Someone put a spell on the book so that other people wouldn’t notice pay attention to it.”

Now that he could recognize what it was, he could identify the influence it possessed over his mind.

It wasn’t much, really nothing more than a gentle psychic nudge to ignore the book, to place it in the background alongside other unimportant details. Yet that slight nudge had been enough to throw off a Heroic Spirit (a Caster no less) off the trail and dismiss what should have been a pretty obvious clue as unimportant. Whoever had constructed the spell hadn't just been powerful enough to keep it juiced for who knew how long they had been skilled enough to make the mental intrusion almost entirely undetectable.

Even now, the thought felt no more alien than the rest of his mind.

This hadn’t been the work of some petty warlock coming into their power, but rather a master of their craft.

Dangerous.

“He couldn’t have made this,” he proclaimed, turning his gaze back towards Bob. “Brute forcing a summoning ritual through human sacrifice is something I could buy…but this? This would be like demanding a toddler to paint the Mona Lisa with a lit stick of dynamite in hand. He would have been more likely to make himself forget about the book than anyone else. There’s no way the man who summoned me could have constructed something this powerful and subtle. That means…”

Dread coiled up his stomach as the realization sunk in.

“Someone wanted him to find that book.”

Given that the spell had been skillful enough that even a Heroic Spirit had fallen under its sway, there was certainly no way that someone like his summoner could have seen through it. Not unless he had been guided towards the book by someone else, or the original creator of the spell had ensured that he wouldn't be affected by it. That meant either the caster or someone who was at least aware of the spell would have had to purposely set it in the hands of a serial killer.

Unless he hadn’t been a serial killer originally.

Harry grimaced.

If the caster had been skilled enough to create something that could affect a Heroic Spirit, they would have been more than powerful enough to influence the unprepared mind of a minor talent. The man he had dismissed as a deranged lunatic could have been another victim in this whole mess. He hadn't sensed any magic on the man at the time, but it wasn't as though he had done an in-depth search either. Given that he had missed this, there was no telling what could have been lurking underneath that insane smile.

Dread transformed into horror.

“Would his Command Seals recognize if he was enthralled?” Harry asked, turning his attention back towards Bob. The spirit of intellect had been silent for the past few minutes, no doubt mulling over this new information. “I mean, if the person who enthralled him forced him to use one of his Command Seals on me, would the spell recognize that it was being made under duress and cancel the effect? Or would it be too much to ask that the people who made this ritual considered that as a possibility?”

“…as far as I'm aware, they would still accept the commands," Bob offered, earning a grimace from the wizard. "I mean, most of what I know about the Grail War is second-hand information at best. All things considered, it's still pretty new to the magic scene and my, uh…former owner didn't consider it worth his time to investigate. I have a general idea of how the Command Seals work, but I would need to see one myself to be able to say for certain.”

“Right,” Harry murmured, his mind racing.

At the very least, an unknown party had manipulated (possibly enthralled) a minor talent into summoning a Heroic Spirit to participate in the Holy Grail War. Either they had transformed a perfectly innocent man into a serial killer or had been willing to hand off the power of a Servant to one. Quite frankly, Harry wasn't sure which idea was more terrifying. But it didn’t take a genius to figure out why someone would want to do that; the chance to be granted a nigh all-powerful wish without any of the risks of participating in the war?

Though that raised more questions.

How did this third party know that the redhead would be chosen as a Master?

Had his summoning been intended or accidental?

Bob was right, there had to be something within that book that possessed a bond with him, however meager it might be. It certainly made more sense than the Grail believing he had much if anything in common with a (possibly) deranged serial killer with a penchant for torturing children.

Yet to prove that he would need to examine the book firsthand.

Which meant raiding an active crime scene.

Or the station itself if they had bagged it up in evidence.

Don’t forget you need to check your summoner for enthrallment.

Right, that too.

But first…

“Bob, is there any way of removing the Command Seals without killing the Master?”

He had known that he would need to deal with the Seals eventually; they were simply too dangerous to remain in the hands of his summoner, whether his serial killer persona was born from his actions or the manipulations of others. While killing him had always been an option (though now not until he established guilt), he hadn’t wanted to traumatize the kid any more than he had already been. Plus, the retrieval of a dead serial killer instead of a live one would raise far more questions and scrutiny than he wanted.

“How do you feel about limb removal?”

…this was going to be a long morning.