Fate/Stay Night

Title: Fate/Noble Shade (Fate Friend Insert ft. BakaSmurf) [COMPLETE]

Synopsis:

A self insert", except that the former has zero knowledge of the setting they're being oh so gracefully shoved into, unlike the latter. In this case, Basically, his character gets thrust into the events of F/SN and has to blindly maneuver them himself, completely unable to see the path to the golden ending like a self insert would.

Genre: Adventure & Friendship

Rated: T

Words: 430k+

Status: Complete

Spoilers:

Chapter 1: When It Rains

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He awoke to the sound of pouring rain. The man groaned, clutching his head as he shifted where he lay. Droplets peppered his clothes and the dirt beneath him was damp, easily sliding through his grip. When he opened his eyes, he found that it was nighttime, raining, and he was lost in the middle of the woods. Woods that looked nothing like the snowbound boreal forests of northern Canada, he noted with some trepidation.

Unsure of his physical state, he tested his appendages; flexing his fingers, arms, legs, and toes before considering standing. It didn't take him long to realize that his right arm was bandaged, quite tightly he noted, and that he couldn't move it. Otherwise, he seemed to be mostly fine.

As he cautiously forced himself to his feet, he idly took inventory of everything he had on him. A black tuxedo graphic t-shirt under a black button-down with red pinstripes worn with the sleeves rolled up to the elbow, black denim pants, and a pair of ordinary black hiking boots. His trusty favorite jacket which contained some survival essentials, however, was nowhere to be found, to his great annoyance. At least his fighting knife was still strapped to his belt, though on the wrong side for a non-functioning arm.

On top of that, his entire backside was covered in mud, which would cake in his long hair quite unpleasantly, and the rain was giving him quite a chill on top of that. He took deep, calming breaths, noting that losing is cool would accomplish nothing before he attempted to determine where he was, and how he'd arrived there.

...Nothing. Last memory was… Walking to work. Crossing the street between the store and the library… Then darkness.

But then, a voice had pierced the black, a voice that was almost identical to his own. The words it had spoken were odd, like a chant or prayer. Somehow, now that he was recalling them, they burned into his mind with resounding clarity.

"For the essence, silver and steel.

For the foundation, gems and the archduke of contracts.

For the ancestor, my great master, Schweinorg.

Close the cardinal gates, be bound to the circle, and follow the three columns of the Sephirot to descend from the Crown to the Kingship.

Fill and lock, fill and lock, fill and lock, fill and lock, fill and lock.

Repeat five times.

But those moments should cease to be once passed.

Set.

I hereby propose:

Your fealty shall be mine, and my fate shall be yours.

If you heed the Holy Grail's call and obey my will and reason, then answer me.

I hereby swear that I shall be all the good in the world.

That I shall repress all the evil in the world.

One of seven heavenly beings, bearing the three great words of power, come forth from the cycle that shackles you…

Guardian of the Scales!"

Before he could even begin to process the overload of information, words appeared in his mind's eye.

Your wish shall be granted, Demi-Servant Assassin. All you must do is claim the Holy Grail for your own.

And then they faded, leaving him alone.

He stood silent for a few moments, before words found themselves escaping from his lips unheeded. "What by all the Gods of Fire and Fuck…!?" His eyes pivoted around wildly, trying to see if he could find the source of the prayer/chant through the rain. With a snap the button holding the safety strap on his knife was popped out and the blade in his off-hand in accordance with his rapidly raising heartbeat triggering his flight or fight response thanks to the unsettling uncertainty of the entire situation.

Nothing.

He stood silent, waiting for something to happen, whatever it would be, while wondering if it would be a good idea to pick a direction and start running.

"When I responded to the Grail's summons, I cannot say I expected such a development," spoke up a deep, raspy voice from directly above him.

He jerked back in shock, directing his arm upwards and falling on his back again as he lost his footing at the surprise voice from above, letting out a curse as he scrambled back to his feet at directed his gaze upwards.

A pale skull stared back at him from the tree line, surrounded by a pitch-black void.

Immediately, his thoughts drifted to Lovecraft at the sight, and the hairs stood on end as he felt the colour draining from his face. On the one hand, it would be nice if he was just dreaming, though everything felt too real for that to be the case as he did his best to control his breathing and not lose his cool at the eldritch sight.

The skull bobbed in place, and an odd noise echoed from it. Belatedly, he realized it was chuckling. "Worry not, human, for I cannot harm you. You and I are bound, regardless of our feelings on the matter." The skull tilted to the side, like a bird. "Truly a curious development. Allah works in strange ways, it seems."

Allah? That was a name he recognized clear as day. Immediately, the small part of his mind that wasn't on the verge of panicking began to wonder if he had somehow managed to encounter a Middle-Eastern mythological creature he wasn't immediately recognizing. It was still mostly just mindless panicking, though.

"Your continued silence and panic does not bode well for the War ahead," the skull sighed. "Then again, we Assassins tend to be the more unsettling of Servants to humans. Perhaps you would be more liable to speak were I more visible?"

The man blinked, and the skull-thing was standing before him. No longer hidden by trees and shadows, he could see that it was roughly humanoid, though it was hard to tell through the thick, black hooded cloak that shrouded its entire body. The skull seemed to hover in place within the hood, the slits that made its eyes frozen in apparent glee. Once the being stood up to its full height, he realized that it had to have been at least a full foot taller than him.

At the new development, the more primitive part of his mind wanted him to start panicking further. But he resisted, and with a deep breath forced it down. Panicking had never done him any good in his life, he knew from experience that he had to keep a level head, and lowered the blade in his hand with another calming breath.

Servant? Assassins? War…? A good deal of questions were being raised right then, with scant few answers, which the man decided he really ought to go about correcting as quickly as possible. He still felt quite sane despite having not taken his eyes off the skeleton, and so that ruled out a Lovecraftian horror. He searched his memories for floating talking skulls he could recall from mythology, modern or otherwise.

"...Are you a Mimir?" He finally asked the unsettling skeleton that was now occupying a tattered black cloak.

"I know not of which you speak, and I've never been called such in life or death," the creature responded. The being leaned forward, once more tilting its head. "You… truly have no idea about what is happening, do you?"

He glanced around once to see if anything else had appeared where he wasn't looking, and seeing nothing glanced at his still tightly wrapped and non-responsive arm. "Not the faintest clue." He responded before looking up and making eye- ...Er, eye-to-socket contact with the skeleton man. "I was walking to work, in the middle of subarctic Canada in the dead of winter not five minutes ago." He motioned around himself with his good arm, still clutching his knife. "To say the change in scenery has been drastic and thoroughly disorienting would be an understatement."

The skeleton man let out a raspy laugh. As its shoulders shuddered, a long and slender dark arm came out through the cloak on its left, unnaturally stretched fingers resting against its face.

"The Assassin class must have truly offended the Holy Grail for it to allow such a thing to occur!" it groaned in-between chuckles, its damaged voice laced with amusement. "To be given a vessel who knows nothing and then forced to share his body… Ah, how ridiculous. Perhaps this is meant as a challenge?"

The cloaked skeleton abruptly ceased its merriment and stared into the man. "You and I are the same, now," it declared, its hand moving to part the cloak on its right side, revealing a tightly-bound stump of a right arm… exactly the same as the man's. "And we share the same fate. Only Allah knows why, but we, Master and Servant, have fused into one being. Together, we shall claim the Holy Grail and have our ultimate wishes be granted."

The man stood silently for a moment, taking stock of the situation and the skeleton he'd gathered to be an assassin of some kind's words. They were… Worrying, to put it mildly.

"If we're… Bound together, I dare say it would be wise for you to tell me who, or what, you are. And maybe offer an explanation on what exactly is going on here." He stated, finding himself rather unsettled by the references to Allah, and the supernatural tone of the entire situation as it was.

"The latter would best be answered before the former," it replied, seeming to relax somewhat. "Tell me, what do you know of the Holy Grail? And of magi?"

'The Holy Grail,' the skeleton kept referring to that so casually… "The Holy Grail, as I understand it…" He paused, taking a moment to gather his thoughts on it. "It's supposed to be a drinking vessel of some kind, first mentioned in Arthurian legends, if I'm remembering correctly." He stated, straining to recall everything he could on the subject. "I believe… Jesus Christ is said to have drank from it during the Last Supper, and afterwards it was used to gather his blood during his crucifixion."

He furrowed his brow, trying to scrape together anything else he could on the matter from his memories.

"That…" He started, "Is really all I can recall on that specifically." He paused again, this time pondering the question about magi, which he assumed meant magic. "I've only ever known magic to be a myth… Though…" He quiet for a moment as he glanced at his arm and the cloaked figure as he considered the entire situation. "I'm beginning to suspect that it's a good deal more real than I previously thought."

"Magi might take offense to you calling their craft "magic"," the skull man stated dryly. "But yes, you would be correct to suspect so. I would be far more apprehensive of our pact if you did not." Its gaze wandered to the side briefly before it continued. "As for the Holy Grail, it is indeed likely such a thing as you described existed. However, the Grail we seek is not the same, for it is an omnipotent wish-granting device of unfathomable power."

"Seven magi come together to partake in a ritual called the Holy Grail War," it told him. "Through the Grail's power, they each summon a Heroic Spirit of legend, and then do battle against one another. The victors, both Master and Servant, earn the privilege of having their wish granted by the Holy Grail."

The first thing that popped into his head was that there was no way in Hell this Holy Grail didn't corrupt the user's wish in some manner. It always worked out that way with wishes, punishing the poor sap in some karmic or ironic manner… Though, he was more immediately concerned with the terms 'Master' and 'Servant.'

"So," He started. "From what I gather, you're an Assassin class Heroic Spirit, and for some reason I cannot fathom: I've been Shanghai'd into a competition which I've never even heard of before now and will be forced to fight for what I honestly have to admit sounds like a prize that is too good to be true in a very deadly, karmic way?"

"The Grail's power is real," the Assassin insisted with utmost faith. "Anything weaker could not perform a miracle such as returning the greatest beings mankind has ever produced to the mortal world. Doubt all you like, but the evidence of its power resides within you." It jabbed a black finger at his chest.

The hooded skull turned to the side, its hand retreating into the cloak. "Another Servant approaches," it declared lowly. "Conceal your presence, lest you be discovered."

The man was annoyed by having question and answer time cut short, but attempted to obey and took cover behind a particularly large tree, hoping the Assassin hadn't meant for him to do some magic shit he didn't know how to perform.

The Assassin shook its head. "Not like that," he chided, a small measure of amusement in his hoarse voice. "Presence Concealment, one of the trademarks of the Assassin class. Lose yourself in the air around you, meld with the shadows. Focus, and you will only be seen when you desire it so."

Immediately, the man found himself grinning at the thought of how useful such an ability could be in many circumstances, then did his best to focus and attempt to become invisible from his spot behind the tree.

The sensation he then experienced was… hard to describe. The dark, rainy forest shifted for a brief moment, shadows stretching and sounds becoming muted, before it returned to its previous state.

The Assassin nodded its approval, but otherwise did not move. Soon after, the sound of feet splashing in mud could be heard among the rain. The man turned to the source, and saw… a woman-

Enemy.

A spike of animosity briefly surged in the man's chest at the sight of her. On some instinctual level he couldn't place, something very clearly wanted him to fight, and kill, her.

As she drew nearer, it was evident she was heavily injured. Splotches of red tained the black and purple robes that covered her body, the golden trim at the edges of her clothes marred by blood. Ragged breathing came from beneath her hood, which was topped by an odd golden leaf at her crown.

"Caster, no doubt," Assassin commented. If her lack of response was any indication, he went unheard. "How fortuitous of us."

The woman, apparently Caster, let out a yelp when she slipped onto the ground. She crumbled in a heap on the mud, hissing in pain as she flipped onto her back. She stared into the stormy sky above, the unsteady rise and fall of her chest all too clear.

"It would be wise of you to kill her now," Assassin declared. "Even with only that knife you have on you, it would be easy."

The man gave the Assassin a quiet stare, though he wasn't particularly surprised by the assertion. He wasn't sure if speaking aloud was wise while in concealment, and so attempted to think at the skeleton, to test if they were capable of nonverbal communication. [If you can hear me, I won't kill without good reason beyond a vague declaration of someone being 'the enemy.] He paused, hoping it worked as he resisted the apparent magically-induced impulse to attack.

Assassin laughed. "You will only be seen or heard once you prepare an attack," it informed him. "Except when it comes to me, of course. And you feel it, don't you? The compulsion to slay her," it pointed at the woman for emphasis, "She is one of six you must defeat, before you can claim the Grail. She would do the same, were the positions reserved."

He had to admit, in that moment, with the compulsion in the back of his mind, he was very much tempted to act on the Assassin's advice, though… "Are we supposed to be assassins, or murderers? Is she evil? A murderer? Rapist? Give me something. I'm not averse to the idea of doing what's necessary to stop evil from acting, but I'm not going to just obey base urges like some kind of animal." He stated to the skeleton, hoping it would be straightforward with him at that moment as he clutched the dagger in his hand a little too eagerly.

The Assassin stared at him for a few moments, the empty holes between the eye sockets boring into him. "She is a Heroic Spirit, as I am," it eventually told him. "Immortalized forever for her deeds. I know not sure who exactly she is, nor what land she hails from, but know this: it is undoubtedly stained with blood and death. She wouldn't have accepted the Grail's summons if there wasn't some wish she'd kill to see granted."

It gestured back the way she came, where the man could just make out city lights in the distance. "If she has pursuers, they would not be likely to let such weak prey escape. Either way, she will die. Kill her yourself or leave her to her fate."

The man pondered his options for a moment. If this entire situation was some sort of survival game, and if she would indeed jump on the chance to kill him herself, then it would in fact be best to bite the bullet and put her down while the opportunity presented itself. Not to mention that he could be sure that, if nothing else, he could make her death quick when for all he knew her pursuers intended to make her suffer.

"Although…" Assassin mused. "Another option. Let her live. Put her in your debt. I sense another presence, coming from the other way, though it is human. If they continue on their path, they will find her." Its shoulders shrugged. "I would simply kill her and be down with the affair, but if she were to know you 'protected' her until she was safe, then perhaps…"

"And if nothing else," the man started, "I'm sure she'll be weak for a while. If I don't like what I hear from her, I imagine we would be able to overpower her?" He asked, hoping the question might appease the Assassin in some way.

"Casters are the only class that Assassins could indeed physically overpower," the Assassin allowed. "However, they are a tricky sort, with their magecraft. If you were to kill her, it would have to be while she is totally unawares, lest you find yourself unmade by curses or whatever ungodly spells she may command."

Thinking on the situation for a moment longer, the man came to a decision. "I don't want to act rashly. We'll wait, see who her pursuers are. I doubt you'd have suggested protecting her if you didn't think we'd be able to best them either through battle or guile, and if we do, if she trusts us the opportunity to strike while she's unawares should still be available, if diminished, yes?" He posited.

"A true Assassin always finds a way," it boasted, its cloak wavering. "We will discuss our path later. The meandering human is in that direction," it pointed, "And away from where she ran. I do not need to inform you how to look helpful, I trust?"

"I imagine we don't want everyone knowing of our abilities, if we can help it…" the man thought openly to himself. "What would you suggest if we're try to help her? Remain hidden and attack her pursuers from a hidden position? Stand in the open like some wannabe hero, or something else?" He asked. "I'm rather new to this, and I'm open to suggestions."

"I do not sense her pursuers," Assassin told him. "No Servants. Only the human. If you must seek direction…" It looked down at the woman, still clinging to life at their feet. "Attempt to carry Caster toward the human, make it seem as though you are trying to find shelter for her. If the human is uninvolved in the Grail War, then this may endear you to them. If they are… well, Assassins can far more easily slay a Master than a Servant."

Just then, Caster let out a bitter laugh. "In the end, I'm going to die like this again?" she asked in the pouring rain, her voice filled with incredulous amusement. "Passed around for the convenience of others, exploited…" She sounded lost, wounded, hysteric. "Reviled as a traitor…"

With a shuddering breath, she lifted a gloved hand to the sky. "All I wanted…" She began to sob. "Was to return to my homeland."

In spite of the ever present urge to put her down on the spot, a wave of pity at the women's words washed over the man. Immediately he understood that his life for the next while would probably suck pretty much across the board. "Couldn't have lamented that she won't be able to keep kicking puppies, huh…" He muttered to himself as he lamented the plan to manipulate her.

It left a sour taste in his mouth, but it was time to be practical, and if the Skeleton Assassin was telling the truth, she wouldn't hesitate to kill him herself, so… He shrugged.

"One last thing," the Assassin stated before he could reveal his presence. If it was at all moved by Caster's tearful ramblings, it gave no sign. "You are the true Assassin now, and I am but a wraith in your mind. She will be able to sense your nature, but do not let anyone know of me." It paused. "For clarity's sake, call me Hassan. But only in your mind."

The man nodded, quickly making a note of the apparently Islamic spirit's identity and his apparent new found title of 'Assassin' as he stepped behind a tree so he wouldn't just bamf into existence before the woman known as 'Caster.' With the cloak lifted, he swallowed his distaste, stepped out, and moved to her side warily.

Her head turned to face him near-instantly, lowering her hand back into the mud she lay in. As he drew near, he could make out more of her features beneath the hood. Though he couldn't see her eyes, it was evident there was an elegant, almost haughty beauty to the woman, even marred by mud and blood. Teal-colored hair, wet and ragged, fell from her head and dipped into the filth beneath her.

However, she said nothing.

He took a knee, lowering himself into a position from which it would be easier to lift her. "You look like you need help." He started kind of awkwardly once he realised how bizarre the entire situation was, and how he was putting himself in a dangerous position before a supposed enemy his instincts were telling him to kill her right then and there.

He noted that lifting her with just one arm would be… Awkward. "Can you walk?" He asked. "My arm is hurt, otherwise I'd just lift you up on principle." He stated as he offered her his left hand.

"W-Wh-" Caster tried to speak, but then hissed in pain.

"What is happening here?" spoke a monotonous and clear voice from behind them.

He spun in place, instinctively trying to move his right hand to his knife, and internally groaned when it didn't respond before clumsily placing his off hand on the hilt instead, though he didn't draw it. Just wanted to let the person know he was armed. That's what someone that just happened upon an injured woman in the woods would do, right? Be on edge and protective? Yeah, probably.

The man who had stumbled upon them was tall, and utterly rigid. Stern and emotionless Japanese features stared at them, unmoving and indomitable like a mountain. Despite the harsh pouring rain around them, he was wearing what looked to be an immaculate business suit, the only practicality about him being the umbrella he delicately held in one hand.

He waited silently.

The apparent Assassin considered the situation for a moment, and immediately angled his face towards 'Caster,' not taking his eyes off the Japanese guy as he did so before addressing her. "Do you recognize this man, miss?" He asked warily, doing his best to come across as clueless and protective of the woman.

She seemed as though in a daze, her purple lips parted slightly in disbelief. Then after one last bitter chuckle, her head lulled to the side and she stopped moving. She was still breathing, but…

"Oh crap-!" Assassin cried out, and to his own surprise his concern wasn't even entirely faked.

The Japanese man was at his side in an instant, pressing his fingers against the woman's throat. All the while, his expression didn't change. After a few moments, he said, "She is still alive. I will carry her to my home." The man then looked Assassin over, peering at the bound right arm through his square-rimmed glasses. "You are injured as well. Come with me."

Assassin nodded as he rose to his feet, and internally found himself confused at the lack of further questioning. Not that he was complaining, it gave him time to formulate an excuse for why he was injured and in the middle of a forest in the middle of nowhere. Not to mention that the man had been speaking Japanese, but he understood, and spoke it flawlessly.

[What in God's name have I stumbled into?] Assassin wondered to himself as the Japanese man lifted Caster in his arms and stood to his full height.

Unheard by the Japanese man, Hassan laughed in the shadows. "Allahu Akbar," it replied.

A/N:

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