Chapter Text
The Holy Grail War, a battle royale style ritual competition from the far East that grants the winners a Holy Grail capable of granting possibly any wish. It is the ultimate stage where magical practitioners get to test the limits of their abilities and Jack Kline will take part in it.
According to Lord El-Melloi II, North America’s leylines are weaker, more brittle, than those of South America and Asia. It was a fact that prevented magi from the continent to recreate the conditions for the ritual. It wasn't until the late 19th century, when the Greater Grail of Fuyuki became corrupted, that the three head families of the ritual gave a piece of the Greater Grail and a duplicate of its Lesser Grail to an ecclesiastical province of the Catholic Church in Kansas.
The head families had hoped that the Church would use its influence on American soil to find a way to purify the sacred relics. Whatever they do with it after was their business so long as they shared the method of purification. The Church, along with the Mage's Association and various private and government sects, managed to do so in less than a decade. There have been three stateside Holy Grail Wars since.
Pontiac, Illinois.
Jack is standing in his living room where all furniture are pushed to the walls. He stands at the center of concentric chalk rings with Enochian symbols, lined with assorted blue crystals and gemstones at the outer edge. In his hands is an eons old, fossilized angel feather.
This will be his first ever summoning ritual. He planned this accordingly. He designed every bit of the circle’s formula so his Magic Circuits don’t overload. He meticulously studied the fossil and worded his incantation precisely based on the results of his research on the Fuyuki Holy Grail Wars and the Great Grail War of Trifas.
Jack was a kid when he first showed signs of natural magecraft. His grandparents were so supportive that they immediately enrolled him in the Clock Tower. Over a decade later, right before graduating, Command Spells appeared on the back of his right hand. They looked like a tattoo of a sword in between outstretched wings. Since he was taught that Command Spells were emblematic, he took this as a sign to use the angel feather as a summoning catalyst.
The Kline family wasn’t a mage family (they think Jack’s magecraft comes from his father’s side). But they were considered to be political assets. His forefathers, and even his late mother, were able to seat people into the presidency. Which led to the fossil in his hands be in the possession of the Klines.
His grandparents were ecstatic when he video called to show his Command Spells. They wanted nothing more than for Jack to get what he wants in life; and he wants nothing more than to meet his parents. And the wish-granting abilities of the Grail could make that possible.
But the elder Klines had mixed feelings. They knew that the Grail Wars were deadly affairs and more often than not, Masters chosen for it ended up dying. Jack told them not to worry because he was taught by Lord El-Melloi II, a survivor of the Fuyuki Grail Wars. That didn’t seem to ease their thoughts though but they dropped it after that.
He checks his watch. 12:00MN. It’s Thursday now, so he needs to start the ritual.
“In front of me is the North, behind me is the South, beside me are the East and the West. I am the eye, wherever I step is the center of the universe. Wherever I am is the world. Oh, Divine Spirit, fill this circle with a proper vessel, fill, fill, fill, fill, and fill again. Until a contract with you the Holy Grail makes. Until a contract with you I make…
“I undertake this oath to be your guide and uphold what is just and right. Seventh Heaven, clad in the great words of my ancestors, come forth, Guardian of the Scales!” he shouts the last words, finishing his evocation.
All the bulbs in his living room explode as lightning and thunder violently assault the skies above his house. He barely sees all of the gemstones and crystals obliterated into fine dust. The fossil lights up and a surge of magical energy throws him towards the wall behind him. When the light dims he sees the silhouette of a tall figure with massive wings.
Yes, an angel! he thinks.
After a moment he hears the scraping of broken glass on hardwood floors, the clinking of metal, and the soft buzz of electricity passing through copper wiring. His living room lights turn back on as if they didn’t explode just seconds before.
At the center of the magic circle is a raven-haired man that’s wearing a suit and— Is that a trench coat? Jack inspects the man from a distance, eyes squinting and his head tilting a little to the side. He doesn’t notice that the man seems to be mirroring him.
“Are you the one who summoned me?” asks the Servant with a canyon-deep voice. Jack wants to say ‘Yes’ but he’s still dumbfounded. A literal angel stands in front of him. He stands up and dusts himself and straightens his clothes.
A silver short sword drops down from the angel’s right sleeve and he raises it, eyes glowing a bluish white; there’s a vague impression of wings on the far wall. I got Saber?!
“I will not repeat myself. Are you the Master who summoned me?” he booms, voice more commanding than asking.
Jack shakes himself, “Yes! Yes, I am the Master that summoned you!” He extends his right hand and introduces himself, “I’m Jack Kline!”
The angel shakes his hand, “Then I am your Servant in this Holy Grail War. It is a pleasure to meet you Jack Kline. I am Castiel. I am an Angel of the Lord.”
Jack beams at him and then he paces around the room, muttering to himself. “I knew it!” he shouts to the ceiling, “I knew I could do it. Only Jesse, Lord El-Melloi, and Flat believed in me. No one in the Clock Tower believed I could be chosen for the Fourth War! Nobody believed I could summon a Divine Spiri—”
“I am sorry to disappoint you, Jack.”
Jack stops pacing and looks at his Servant. “Disappoint me how?” he asks, his smile persistently clinging to his face.
Castiel looks away and his hands find the insides of his trench coat pocket, “I am Fallen.”
Jack doesn’t know what that exactly means. But if the way Castiel averts his gaze and his childhood Sundays of bible school were any indication… he surmises that the Servant no longer has the Authority that a member of the Heavenly Host should possess. Which means Castiel is no longer a proper Divine Spirit.
But he won’t let this dash his hopes. The strongest Angels were akin to Pagan Gods. And according to his research, the weakest of them could still go toe-to-toe against the run-of-the-mill familiars that any of the Holy Grails could summon.
“It’s okay, Castiel. Or should I call you Saber to hide your true name?” he asks, walking closer to the raven-haired Servant.
“I am sorry to disappoint you again,” Jack’s smile completely falters, “I am Berserker.”
The room was wide, like the entire floor of the building was left without dividers and the columns were laid bare. This was just the main lobby. Further inside, past the main doors, Castiel could hear the muffled and labored breathing of hundreds of individuals.
A short stout man in a black velvet suit walked up to him. “Feathers! Where have you been?” asked the man with his raspy tenor voice.
“I’ve been rather occupied, Crowley,” Castiel answered, daring the other man a look that screamed Do not ask further.
Crowley stepped closer and whispered, “The stench of that Impala is all over your overcoat, Angel.”
The angel walked towards the doors. “Our deal still stands,” Castiel said, “Hacking into the Greater Grail is of utmost importance.”
“If mother dearest and Moose find out, we’re both in a heap of trouble with the Church.”
“They won’t find out. Or Rowena already has but she doesn’t see the need to do anything. She is the Grand Caster after all.”
“You're just so sure, aren’t you? We don’t want Squirrel angry at you. Don’t we, Castiel?” Crowley said in his most sarcastic and challenging tone. Castiel stood just in front of the time-worn doors and glared at the man.
It was a dream.
Jack wakes up in his bed; unsure of what occurred in his dream; uncertain about the events of last night.
The first thing he does is video call his grandparents and tell them the summoning was a success. He gives them broad strokes and left out the details like “Fallen Angel” and “Berserker”. Before he ends the call, they congratulate him on being a step closer to meeting his parents.
He opens his phone’s contacts and tries to call his boyfriend back in the Clock Tower. He lets it ring a few times before deciding to just leave him a voice message.
Jack sits for a while in his bed. He already feels defeated and the War hasn’t officially started. He blames himself for filling his own head with delusions and flights of fancy.
Now, a formerly Divine Spirit Berserker is his Servant. Jack can’t lie to himself. He at least wanted one of the other two knight classes if he didn’t get Saber. But that’s all in the past now. He just has to make do and give the War his all, without dying in the process. There’s no way around it.
He makes his way downstairs and heads for the kitchen. He spots Castiel, sitting at the table, drinking coffee. This baffles him since Servants don’t need food or drinks for sustenance as they have their Masters to provide magical energy for them.
“If you’re thinking about why I’m drinking coffee… I’m doing it mostly out of habit,” Castiel says, matter-of-factly.
The young Master takes a seat and stares at his Servant. Lord El-Melloi and Rin showed him clips of their respective Grail Wars that they were at liberty to share. The Berserkers were practically monsters, weapons of mass destruction too clouded by madness to even converse with. He remembers Lord El-Melloi telling him the defining characteristic of Berserkers isn’t their destructiveness or madness, but their single-minded, obsessive pursuit of one particular thing.
“There’s something else in your mind,” the Servant says.
“I’m just wondering how you’re a Berserker and I can still have a conversation with you,” Jacks shares as plainly as he could. There are other questions running through his mind but decides against them for now.
“Won’t the Mad Enhancement mess with your ability to think clearly?”
“It tastes like molecules,” Castiel says, standing up and draining the rest of his coffee down the sink.
“What?”
“The coffee. It takes like molecules,” the Servant vaguely explains. Castiel sits back down, “I’m an Angel. I can’t taste anything for the sum of its parts.”
Jack stares at him. Now he’s thinking about Angel biology and— He’s still wearing his trench coat. Now he’s thinking about Angel biology and why Castiel’s wearing an attire that makes him look like a 9-to-5 office worker?
“For the record, I am one of the few Servants to actually qualify and not just conform to the Berserker class.”
“I just—I never encountered your name in my studies before,” Jack admits. “I guess there’s just so many Heroic Spirits that there’s really no way to observe and record each and every one,” he says, mostly to himself. He might bring it up with Lord El-Melloi after the War.
Berserker hums, biting his lower lip and then lets go. “I doubt I have ever been observed as a Servant. I was put into the Throne of Heroes fairly recently. Just around two decades ago, as a matter of fact,” he says as such an aside that Jack is taken aback.
“But then again, I shouldn’t remember any of my previous summonings. The system you use here doesn’t allow for—”
The Servant continues talking but Jack zones out. Not only were his expectations not met, he even got assigned a modern age Servant. Newer Servants are generally weaker because of the lack of Mystery in the modern age, coupled with the fact that their legends and history haven’t taken root in the world. But at least that explains the trench coat?
“—But I am proud to tell you that that feather you used was in fact mine.”
Jack hums. It’s a nice thought that Castiel has been, in a way, with his family for generations now.
“So, Castiel, why are you a Berserker?” Jack asks. Right now he’s thinking of ways to better their position in the coming War. Asking Castiel about his story will definitely help with how he'll go about things.
Castiel stands up and grabs the loaf of bread from one of the kitchen cabinets, a butter-knife from the drying rack, and cheese spread from the fridge, and places them in front of Jack.
“I'll tell you some other time. Eat . We must meet with the War supervisor,” he says, making his way to the door.
“And from now on please call me Berserker,” Castiel follows up as he leaves the kitchen. Jack picks up the butter-knife.