The Empress and the First Battle
A city drenched in twilight. A world scarred by war.
And now, a figure who should not exist stood at the heart of it all.
The Empress.
She had no Master. No summoning circle had brought her forth. And yet, she was here.
Her golden eyes swept over the ruined battlefield as if she had seen it all before, as if she had known this war before it even began. Her long black coat billowed in the wind, her stance relaxed but unshakable.
The Masters and Servants who had gathered for the ritual stood frozen, caught between battle and awe.
Saber—Black Rock Shooter—narrowed her burning blue eye. She felt it.
This presence. This impossible existence.
The Empress turned toward her, her lips curving into the barest hint of a smile.
"You feel it too, don't you?"
Before anyone could react, the world itself shuddered.
The First Battle had begun.
---
The Blade and the Spear
It happened in an instant.
A spear flew through the air—a crimson blur cutting across the battlefield like lightning. The ground split where it struck, tearing through the ruins with terrifying force.
Lucian Orsova, standing atop a crumbling skyscraper, barely had time to shout.
"Lancer—attack!"
Black Gold Saw, the demonic knight clad in red and black, lunged forward. Her massive blade swung down toward Saber in a single, merciless strike.
But in that moment—blue fire erupted.
Saber twisted her body, her black katana meeting the giant blade in a blinding clash.
The force of the impact sent shockwaves through the battlefield. Buildings crumbled. The earth cracked. Dust and fire raged as the two warriors clashed again, their movements too fast for the untrained eye to follow.
Lancer grinned, her eyes gleaming with bloodlust.
"You're strong. But let's see how long you last!"
Saber said nothing. She simply moved.
Her blade, the Black Blade of the Shooter, was a weapon of nightmares—fast, precise, and merciless. Each swing sent arcs of blue flame into the air, cutting through the battlefield as if the world itself feared her.
But Lancer was no ordinary opponent.
Her massive sword, King Saw, was a weapon made for destruction. It did not parry—it overwhelmed. It did not cut—it shattered.
And in the midst of their deadly duel, the other Masters and Servants watched.
They knew.
This was only the beginning.
---
Far from the battle, hidden in the skeletal remains of an ancient tower, a lone figure watched.
Dead Master, the Assassin-class Servant, stood on the edge of the ruined spire. Her skeletal hands rested lightly on the hilt of her twin scythes, her green eyes glowing with eerie amusement.
"Let them fight," she whispered to herself, her voice barely audible against the wind.
Her Master, a shadowed figure wrapped in tattered robes, stood behind her. His expression unreadable.
"Shall we move?" he asked.
Dead Master tilted her head.
"Not yet. We watch. We wait. And when the time is right..."
She lifted one hand.
From the darkness, chains slithered forward, wrapping around the ruins like a web.
"...We strike."
---
On the battlefield, Saber and Lancer's clash raged on.
Sparks and fire rained from their weapons as they struck again and again, neither gaining ground, neither relenting.
And then—a golden arrow flew.
A streak of divine light cut through the battlefield, forcing both combatants to separate. The moment they did, a new presence descended.
White Rock Shooter, the Archer-class Servant, landed atop the remains of a collapsed cathedral. Her bow still shimmered with holy energy, her stance firm and unwavering.
"This battle is over."
Lancer spat blood and growled.
"Tch. Who gave you the right to decide that?"
Archer raised her bow, her glowing blue-white eyes locked onto her target.
"Heaven did."
Her Master, Father Elias, stepped forward from the ruins. His long coat billowed behind him, the rosary at his side glowing faintly with magic. His voice was calm, yet it carried an authority that even Lancer had to acknowledge.
"This war has already begun. But it will not be a battle of meaningless destruction."
Saber said nothing. But she did not lower her sword.
Lucian Orsova, standing behind Lancer, smirked.
"Oh? And who's going to stop it? You? Or that so-called 'divine' Servant of yours?"
Archer's fingers tightened around her bowstring.
The tension between them could have shattered the world.
But before another blow could be struck, before another battle could ignite—
The Empress moved.
---
She did not attack.
She did not shout.
She simply stepped forward.
And in that moment, reality itself bent to her presence.
The dust settled. The flames flickered. The wind died.
And all eyes turned toward her.
The Empress—the one who should not be here—stood at the center of the battlefield, her golden gaze sweeping over the warriors before her.
"This is not your war."
Her voice was soft, yet it rang through the city like a decree from the heavens.
Lancer tensed. Archer's grip on her bow tightened. Even Saber—who had shown no fear throughout the battle—watched with quiet wariness.
The Empress smiled.
"But if you insist on fighting..."
Her fingers snapped.
And the world shattered.
---
To Be Continued...