Sitting on his obsidian throne, Vlad Tepes observed the individuals before him with a curious glint in his pale eyes, head resting in a hand while the other sat atop his throne's side, "Proceed with the summoning." He ordered solemnly, a faint smile crossing his lips that seemed to terrify the more weak-willed individuals in the room.

Darnic stood by his side, hands behind his back as his emotionless gaze scrutinised every detail in the hall-like room they were in.

His gaze momentarily lingered on the young, childish Roche Frain Yggdmillennia and his servant, the Caster for their faction, Avicebron, also known as Solomon Ibn Gabirol.

The short, thin-looking child was the most talented member of the Frain, a family specialised in the making of golems who treasured the former more than humans (not entirely abnormal for magi). He was famous for his craft and spent much of his time in isolation, holed up in his workshop creating golems.

His servant, Avicebron, while miserably weak in the physical department, was someone who'd influenced history and thaumaturgy worldwide. He was greatly admired by his Master who refused to leave his side and called him Teacher.

The two together were wholly responsible for the rather massive force of superb homunculi and golems the Yggdmillennia had amassed over the course of the past few months, forces significant enough to be more than a simple obstacle for their many foes.

"Teacher, you think we'll get some good servants?" Roche tried to make small talk, inept as he was considering he was raised by emotionless golems who only knew to obey. He put both hands behind his head and relaxed into them, grinning in a childish excitement.

"Er..." Avicebron thought for a moment, his hesitation masked by his golden helmet, and fixed his blue striped cloak before putting a hand to his chin, "I believe so, the catalysts should allow for such a thing." He'd lived his life in seclusion and as such, was not used to such manner of conversation.

Roche hummed, satisfied with the logical answer, "We did get some good ones."

Their conversation was cut short by Darnic, who walked down the steps with clenched hands before inhaling deeply and regarding the gathered Masters with a stern gaze, "Begin the chant!" He ordered loudly and they obeyed, recognising his authority.

With Darnic and Roche already having servants, Lancer and Caster respectively, there were only four other Masters who had yet to do the same.

The seventh one was yet to be named.

"Tonight, the faction of black is complete."

Under the Apocrypha system which made the traditional 7 servant holy grail war into a 14 servant great holy grail war, two factions had been formed.

Red and Black, each with 7 servants, one of each class, under them.

The Yggdmillennia Masters gathered in the hall, standing over summoning circles, as well as those that had already summoned theirs were recognised as the Black Faction.

As ordered, the four began chanting in tandem as the summoning circles drawn lit up, illuminating the dark hall in an eerie fashion that made it's shadows stand out more than they would normally. It appeared as if they were trying to coil around all individuals present, held back by some mysterious force.

""""Let silver and steel be the essence. Let stone and the Archduke of contracts be the foundation. Let black be the colour I pay tribute to. Let rise a wall against the wind that shall fall. Let the four cardinal gates close. Let the three-forked road from the crown reaching unto the Kingdom rotate.""""

Of the four Masters, two were women and two were men.

The wheelchair bound Fiore Forvedge Yggdmillennia and her healthy but relatively inept younger brother, Caules Forvedge Yggdmillennia.

The insanely sadistic grey haired buxom Celenike Icecolle Yggdmillennia, of the near-extinct Icecolle Family and lastly, Gordes Musik Yggdmillennia. A plump man blonde who thought a little too much of himself for his fellow magi to like him, or even respect him.

They all wore the traditional Yggdmillennia uniform with white shirts and trousers/skirts accented by intricate golden embroidery, designed to suit them perfectly while conveying prestige and superiority over the common filth that sullied the world.

Something unexpected happened however, Fiore's words got stuck in her throat and her circle exploded in light, alarming all those present, "..?" The brown haired magus looked up in confusion, wondering what she'd done wrong when Darnic's voice interrupted her just as the light died down, leading her to fear she'd failed.

"Carry on!"

There was too much riding on this to stop over a minor inconvenience, all of them understood that and even though Caules worried for his sister, there wasn't much he could do to help her right now.

Clenching her hands as her face paled in worry, Fiore attempted to push through the failure and opened her mouth to chant again only to be stopped by a gloved hand wrapping itself around her mouth, surprising her enough to once more ruin her chant.

"Mademoiselle, the beauty of your chant is such that it wounds my ears to hear. I fear my very core might be scarred if it continues." The voice was curt, young and gentle yet somehow grating to hear, clearly male, "If you want for translation, I am happy to oblige as your summoned servant."

"Wha?" Shocked by the absurdity of the situation, Fiore's eyes widened before they scanned the other still chanting Masters, hadn't they noticed what was happening? She did see the Lancer slightly straighten his posture.

"Oh so you truly don't understand, did man start going backwards?" The voice continued, and Fiore wondered whether it was all a part of her imagination, "I said the chant fucking sucks."

"W-What about the others?" Fiore questioned, all of them were using the same chant, she could hear it but not her own voice.. She'd clearly spoken though yet no voice had left her mouth, "How... am I speaking?"

"Through our entwined destinies you speak, ignoring nature your voice reaches me."

"What?"

"It's cause I'm standing behind you with my ears covered."

Alerted, Fiore attempted to turn around but felt a gentle hand hold her head straight, "Just wait till they're finished." And left with no other choice, she obeyed. If even her Lord Grandfather failed to notice the intruder, it was logical to assume she stood no chance.

What was this faint sense of connection and familiarity though?

The chant was left for the other three Masters to finish and Fiore admitted she didn't hear any of it, her mind in overdrive as she tried to understand what was going before suddenly, it all made sense, "I didn't fail?" The faintly glowing command seals on the back of her palm proved her theory.

An explosion of light filled the hall, blinding all to what transpired as the chant finished and when it cleared, four individuals appeared in the centre, three of them kneeling with their heads lowered and a hand on the ground, the other on their knees.

Frankenstein's Monster, who murdered his, rather, her own father in rage when he refused to make for her a spouse the same as her. Perhaps that was why her face was veiled by a dark fabric and she wore a sort of white bridal dress accented by gold outlines, a mace lying at her side the same colour as the horn protruding from her forehead. Understandably, she was Berserker, contracted to Caules.

The Saber was a tall, broad man with long, wild grey hair and an armour that revealed his chest, letting all see the green vein-like appendages that were spread across, pulsing with raw power. The mythical sword at his side conveyed his class as a servant.

The other two servants' classes weren't up for debate.

With one wearing modest white robes coupled with rudimentary goldish armour, no weapon to name in hand other than a bow and long light hair that fell down to his shoulders. His brown eyes carried wisdom that contrasted sharply with his apparent age. His stature was the most impressive thing about him, his thick arms and legs pulsing with power as he took in his surroundings.

The last servant didn't deem it proper to kneel and stood idly, smirking at the Masters.

He wore a black uniform with golden buttons that reminded Darnic a little too much of his collaborators from the second world war and a dark cape that covered his left side, it was only the length of his left arm. The blade that Fiore had been granted as a Catalyst hung from his waist and his right hand rested on it's hilt leading them to believe it was Rider.

'Rider' was of average build, slightly taller than the norm and lean with dark hair and eyes. He had the sort of face that would easily get lost in the crowd if not for the ghastly scar running horizontally over both his eyes.

There was a certain ruthlessness to his gaze and the sort of uniformness only machines could have to his gait.

Gordes grinned, immensely pleased with the outcome and so did Celenike, except hers was accompanied by a deep blush that conveyed her sick nature. Fiore stared at her servant with a judging gaze, visibly unamused by his earlier 'prank'.

Out of them, only two spoke,

""Answering your calls, we have been summoned. We are the servants of black. Our destinies are together with Yggdmillennia. Our swords are yours to wield!""

"Ew, you guys actually said it. Imagine that, nope, couldn't be me." Rider wrapped his arms around himself, face scrunching up momentarily before he turned to the Masters and pointed at them with a gloved finger, "Screw whichever one of you programmed that in. Why would you be so desperate for validation that you'd force people to call you great?"

His fellow servants sweatdropped at his eccentric behaviour with the exception of Berserker who growled and tilted her head, confused with the weird man.

Darnic Prestone Yggdmillennia felt insulted.

* * *

You can find up to 7 chapters ahead at patre0n.com/Bleap

(A bit behind but rest assured, will be complete in a few days.)