Chapter 1: Holy Grail War? Nope! Its Dragon Ball Wars!

In an endless expanse of white, a man idly flipped several luminous spheres in his hand.

"This solitude is getting old," he muttered. "I've made a decision. I'll choose a lucky soul at random and grant their deepest desire."

He tossed the beautiful orbs around, examining them with playful abandon. Who was this man? The answer held no weight; he couldn't recall how long he'd existed.

He only remembered that the last time he encountered others, they addressed him by a specific title: God.

However, that was such a distant memory, the exact timing lost to the sands of time.

"Hmm, simply granting a wish would be too dull," he mused, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. "Ah, why not hold a special competition?"

A murmur escaped his lips as if he'd spotted something intriguing. As the thought materialized, seven shimmering orange beads materialized in his palm, each pulsating with a varying number of stars.

"Let's set the stage for Earth," he declared.

Having pinpointed a suitable location and timeframe, God set about selecting participants.

Silence stretched. But then, a hint of recognition passed between two conscious entities God sensed nearby.

"."

"."

They were Gaia and Alaya, the guardians of this realm.

"Two participant slots, hmm?" God inquired, raising an eyebrow. "Not an impossible request, but choose wisely. Don't disrupt the balance more than necessary."

Alaya chimed in, "We understand your desire to recreate beings from other worlds and generate new Heroic Spirits, Gaia and I have no objections."

God, recognizing the merit of their request, readily agreed. After all, showing a little respect to the local authorities when playing on their turf wasn't a bad idea. He was, after all, quite amenable when the mood struck him.

"Very well then," God smirked, "This shall be known as the First Dimensional Dragon Ball War!"

Alaya spoke with conviction, "Let the games begin!"

Gaia's voice resonated with power, "This is a war where the victor truly claims their wish."

The seven orange beads in his hand shrank rapidly, then transformed into dazzling beams of light that shot off in different directions, each hurtling towards a predetermined location.

...

In the dead of night in Fuyuki City, an unknown ritual pulsed with hidden power. The Holy Grail War, a brutal competition for the omnipotent cup, was underway. Legend whispered of the Grail's ability to grant any wish, even a conduit to the enigmatic "Root." Seven participants, known as Masters, each commanded a summoned Servant, a legendary hero reborn for this deadly battle. The victor would claim the ultimate prize: the wish-granting device itself.

Tonight was the night of summoning for many Masters. Each chosen individual, marked by a crimson sigil on their hand, believed themselves to be the destined victor.

Waver Velvet, a young student from the prestigious Clock Tower mage academy, had entered this war for reasons cloaked in secrecy.

Bang!!

"Cough, cough."

A thunderous boom echoed through the night, followed by a coughing fit from Waver. The swirling dust slowly cleared, revealing a lone figure standing resolute within the remnants of the summoning circle. Relief washed over Waver.

The ritual, despite its explosive conclusion, had been a success.

'A Servant,' he thought, a spark of excitement igniting within him. 'But who?'

Waver didn't yet know which legendary hero he had summoned, but even that uncertainty felt like a victory in this peculiar Holy Grail War.

His hand tightened around the strange orange bead in his pocket, a nervous tremor running through him.

As the dust settled completely, Waver finally got a clear look at his summoned warrior.

The figure before him was breathtaking. His face, a canvas of stoicism and striking beauty, framed by raven hair and piercing purple eyes, exuded an unsettling aura. A luxurious white robe, fit for royalty, draped his slender form, further emphasizing his extraordinary presence. Despite his seemingly delicate physique, an undeniable power emanated from him.

"Are you my Master?" the newcomer inquired, his voice cool and collected. He gave Waver a brief, assessing glance before continuing.

"Yes!" Waver stammered, a tremor in his voice betraying his sudden nervousness.

The figure seemed unfazed by Waver's reaction. He cast his gaze around, taking in the breathtaking cityscape bathed in moonlight. "Is this Japan?" he murmured, more to himself than Waver.

Waver blinked, momentarily stunned by the question. While Servants retained fragments of their past lives, it was unusual for one to recognize their surroundings so quickly, even with the knowledge bestowed upon them during the summoning.

"Ah, never mind," the Servant said, seemingly brushing off his own curiosity. "It's best we introduce ourselves properly. A partnership built on trust is far more effective than one fraught with suspicion, wouldn't you agree?"

A faint smile played on the Servant's lips as he continued, "My class is Rider. And my true name is... Lelouch vi Britannia."

...

In the inky blackness of a sprawling Fuyuki City mansion, one of the city's most influential figures, Tokiomi Tohsaka, awaited news with an air of anticipation. He cast a keen eye towards his disciple, Kirei Kotomine.

"Kirei," Tokiomi inquired, his voice laced with a hint of urgency, "have you completed the summoning ritual?"

"Yes, teacher," Kirei replied solemnly.

"Excellent. And the class of your Servant?" Tokiomi pressed, eager to learn the identity of his disciple's champion.

"Assassin," Kirei revealed, a hint of surprise showing across his usually emotionless face.

"Assassin, hmm?" Tokiomi mused, stroking his chin thoughtfully. "An unexpected twist, but not unwelcome. A capable Assassin, wielded strategically, could tip the scales decisively in our favor."

Tokiomi then shifted his gaze towards a figure leaning nonchalantly against the doorway. The man's stillness was unnerving, like a predator poised to strike. His long, reddish-brown hair was tied back in a simple ponytail, a stark contrast to the chilling scar that marred his left cheek. His eyes, devoid of warmth, glinted with a cold, calculating light. Dressed in the garb of an ancient ronin, a katana hung at his hip, its presence a constant reminder of the lethal potential it held.

"An exceptional swordsman," Kirei admitted, a hint of awe creeping into his voice. "In a direct confrontation, I have no doubt he could cut me down in a heartbeat."

A vivid memory flashed through Kirei's mind. The summoning ritual had been a chaotic affair. His father, overwhelmed by the Servant's terrifying aura, had lunged at him in a desperate, ultimately futile attack. Kirei still shuddered at the memory of the lightning-fast strike that had disarmed his father, leaving him a hair's breadth from death. The speed and precision displayed by the Assassin were unlike anything Kirei had ever witnessed.

"Battousai, the Hitman: Kenshin Himura," Kirei murmured, the legendary title rolling off his tongue. The name, undeniably Japanese, piqued his curiosity. Perhaps a delve into ancient texts and historical records would shed some light on this enigmatic warrior.

"Don't be so modest, Kirei," Tokiomi chuckled, swirling the crimson liquid in his glass of wine. "Servants are legendary heroes, beings of immense power. It's only natural that a mere human Master wouldn't stand a chance in a physical confrontation."

Kirei opened his mouth to speak, a question about Tokiomi's own situation forming on his lips, but the older man cut him off.

"Ah, but fear not," Tokiomi said, a wide smile splitting his face. "The summoning on my end was a resounding success, as I expected."

The joy radiating from Tokiomi was palpable. He had every reason to be pleased. The Servant he had summoned belonged to the prestigious Archer class, one of the most coveted designations. But this wasn't just any Archer; this was the legendary King of Heroes himself, the most ancient of all heroes – Gilgamesh!

Tokiomi's grin widened. 'These anomalies in the Holy Grail War,' he thought, a sense of triumph washing over him, 'might just prove to be the advantage I need.'

...

"Stop!" A frail voice, laced with desperation, pierced the night.

"Kill him! Berserker!" A shrill, almost gleeful command countered, the voice unmistakably that of a young child.

The purple-haired girl, eyes devoid of empathy, watched the scene unfold with chilling indifference. The object of her scorn, a wizened old man clutching a gnarled staff, stood defiant on the steps of an ancient building. A wicked smile played on his lips despite the precariousness of his situation. While Servants were undoubtedly powerful beings, Zouken Matou, the head of the Matou clan, was no mere pushover. He was a formidable magus in his own right.

A swarm of insects, conjured by Zouken's magic, surged forward. But their assault was met with a blinding light, evaporating them instantly. This power, unlike anything Zouken had ever encountered, filled him with a mixture of dread and fascination.

"Of all people, it had to be you." Zouken muttered, his voice laced with a hint of recognition. He cast a fleeting glance towards the source of a commotion outside, the sound of crashing metal and raised voices barely registering in his mind.

Before Zouken could react further, the monstrous Berserker slammed into him, its immense power crushing the old man's frail body. Yet, instead of the expected cry of pain, a chilling chuckle escaped Zouken's lips.

"As long as I gather these seven small beads, I can have any wish granted." He rasped, his voice raspy but resolute, "This time, in the Holy Grail War, I will seize them all!"

His eyes gleamed with a fanatical light, fueled by a desire that had festered for decades. The seven glowing beads, pulsating with an otherworldly energy, pulsed in his hand. This time, Zouken wouldn't be a mere observer in the Holy Grail War. He would seize control and claim the omnipotent Grail for himself.

Initially, he hadn't intended to sully his hands in this particular war. However, the unexpected turn of events – the strange anomalies within the system – had piqued his interest. More importantly, the selection of Sakura, the adopted daughter of the Tohsakas, as a Master had thrown him for a loop. Logically, it shouldn't have happened. Yet, here she was, thrust into the heart of this deadly conflict.

Zouken couldn't ignore this development. The potential consequences of the Holy Grail War, especially with an untrained Sakura at the helm, were too dangerous to leave unchecked.

Compared to Kariya, his adopted son and initial choice for the War, Sakura possessed a far greater aptitude for magecraft. A spark of curiosity had flickered within Zouken when he had considered Kariya's potential, but the young man had proven to be a disappointment. Even the Holy Grail wouldn't acknowledge such a failure.

Memories surfaced through Zouken's mind.

Years ago, he had contemplated manipulating the young girl after she was adopted by the Tohsaka family. However, an invisible shield of light, a source of immense power, had always thwarted his attempts.

Today, the summoning ritual confirmed Matou Zouken's suspicions. The girl's silent pleas, her desperate prayers, had found an answer in some unknown entity.

BOOM!

A tremor ran through him. The Crest Worms that powered his main body stirred, attempting to flee their hidden chamber. A wave of potent magic washed over him, a suffocating pressure that sent a jolt of fear through Zouken. His honed instincts screamed at him to escape, to vanish into the shadows.

Just as he prepared to bolt, a deafening boom resonated through the cavernous basement. A pillar of inky black light erupted from the ground, shattering the ceiling in its wake. The backup insects, Zouken's familiars, were instantly vaporized by the magical torrent. In the aftermath, only two figures remained.

One was Sakura Matou, her face a mask of chilling indifference. The other, a hulking warrior shrouded in an ominous black aura. Black armor encased his form, a wickedly curved blade pulsating with a dark energy hung at his side. His face remained hidden beneath a menacing helmet.

"Berserker..." Zouken muttered, recognizing the Servant class with a single glance. He forced down a surge of apprehension. The hulking figure exuded a palpable hostility, but Zouken, a seasoned magus, refused to crumble before a brute.

However, his bravado shattered in the blink of an eye. The Berserker lunged, its speed exceeding Zouken's ability to react.

"Stop!" Zouken's voice cracked with desperation.

Before he could even attempt resistance, the Crest Worm, the life force hidden deep within the shadows, writhed as if trying to escape its confines.

'How?' Zouken's mind reeled. 'My flawless magic, how could it be so easily exposed?'

The suffocating grip of mortality tightened around him. Fear choked his voice; he tried to speak, but the Berserker showed no mercy. With a brutal swing, it crushed Zouken's main body without hesitation.

"Arggg…" A scream, raw and primal, ripped from Zouken's throat. In Sakura Matou's heart, a flicker of twisted relief ignited. The old man, the source of her torment, had finally been reduced to dust.

"The Holy Grail War."

An orange bead, tinged with a faint glow, tumbled from the debris above. Sakura reached out, her hand trembling as she grasped it. The four-starred bead shimmered with an otherworldly beauty. A surge of knowledge flooded her mind, an understanding of the deadly competition she was now entangled in.

'But it's alright,' a cold certainty settled over her. 'Because I have Berserker.'

In her darkest hour, when her pleas for help went unanswered by her father, Tokiomi, her mother, Aoi, even her uncle, Kariya, or her sister, Rin, a single entity had responded.

Berserker, the "Warrior of Light," stood by her side. He was the strongest, of that Sakura was utterly convinced.

...

"Ugh, what is this place? Disgusting! It's like living in Marik Ishtar's shadow realm!"

Inside a grimy, dilapidated building, a young man with spiky golden hair wrinkled his nose in disgust. He'd been promised a wish-granting war, a chance to make his wildest dreams come true. Now, here he was, stuck in this pigsty with a psychotic killer for a teammate.

"Honestly," he grumbled, kicking at a stray piece of trash, "at least the freak had an 'accident.' Being stuck with him would've been a real pain."

Apparently, the killer Master had met an unfortunate end – a head-first collision with the wall, which the young man couldn't help but see as a stroke of luck for a certain Tohsaka family. Annoyed, he picked up the glowing orange bead that had rolled from the deceased Master's grasp. A prickle of unease ran down his spine.

"Caster, huh?" he muttered, examining the bead. "So I gotta fight with magic? But... I don't know magic. And what happens if the so-called Master kicks the bucket? Do I just get disqualified?"

He rubbed his temples, the beginnings of a headache blooming behind his eyes. This whole situation was a mess. With a sigh, he decided the least he could do was salvage something from this disaster. He hoisted the lifeless Master onto his shoulder with a grimace.

"Wait a minute," he said, a spark of hope igniting in his eyes. "Maybe this will work..."

A confident smirk replaced his frown as he clapped his hands together. A whirring sound filled the air, and a strange contraption materialized on his left arm – a sleek metal gauntlet with intricate engravings.

"That's more like it!" he exclaimed, relief flooding his voice. "Duel Disk and deck are here! Now, let's see what kind of cards I can use. No way I'm getting kicked out before the fun even starts!"

...

"Tell me," a voice, clear and unwavering, shattered the silence. "Are you my Master?"

Kiritsugu Emiya, a man hardened by years of conflict, raised his gaze to meet the eyes of the figure before him.

A young woman, clad in gleaming silver armor, stood bathed in the pale moonlight filtering through the window. Her expression was unreadable, a stoic mask that masked any hint of emotion.

Was this truly her? The legendary King Arthur, a figure whispered of in myths and legends? Or was it a cruel twist of fate, a Servant summoned from a different legend altogether?

Despite the initial shock, Kiritsugu maintained his trademark stoicism. He wasn't one for theatrics, and this situation, no matter how extraordinary, wouldn't change that.

With a curt nod, he silently acknowledged her as his Servant. 

This was a battlefield, not a stage for introductions. Irisviel, his ever-supportive wife, would be better suited to handle the initial pleasantries.

His hand instinctively drifted towards the Command Seals etched onto the back of his hand. Three glowing marks, a stark reminder of the power and control he held over his summoned hero. But with them came the weight of responsibility – the responsibility to guide his Servant to victory in this brutal competition.

"Hmm?" As Kiritsugu pondered the coming battles, his gaze fell upon a small, orange bead nestled in his palm. A single star adorned its surface, pulsing faintly with an otherworldly light. In the starkness of the night, it seemed almost ridiculously small, a trivial object to hold such immense power. A cynical part of him scoffed. Could this tiny trinket truly be the key to granting any wish, no matter how outlandish?

…..

"Kenneth, why are you being so difficult?" Sola's voice crackled with frustration. "You said it was just a simple rural contest, so why the sudden interest?"

Sola, on the cusp of departure, was fuming over Kenneth's unexpected presence. Despite her repeated warnings, he'd stubbornly insisted on tagging along. Now, her annoyance was bubbling over. Maybe she shouldn't have confided in him about this peculiar Holy Grail War in the first place.

This wasn't the traditional Grail War of legend. Here, Masters weren't vying for a singular, omnipotent cup. Their objective was to gather these strange, glowing orbs – "Dragon Balls," they were calling them – that supposedly held the power to grant any wish. Regardless of its legitimacy, Sola, chosen as a Master, felt an obligation to investigate. There was no way she'd back down now.

Unfortunately, Kenneth, with his usual chivalrous manner masking an irritating stubbornness, wouldn't be dissuaded. "Sola," he began, his voice laced with sincerity, "I'm here to assist you."

Sola snorted. "Assistance? This isn't a knightly quest, Kenneth. Lancer may manifest as a Heroic Spirit, but she's just a girl with uncertain origins."

"Magical girl? That's preposterous," Kenneth scoffed.

He then elaborated, revealing the true source of his concern. He hadn't been chosen as a Master himself, a curious anomaly. No, it was Sola, his fiancée, who had been selected. The whole situation reeked of something untoward, prompting him to take matters into his own hands. With him by her side, things might progress more smoothly, or so he believed.

There, leaning nonchalantly against the wall, was the cause of their bickering – the Lancer Sola had summoned. The young woman, with crimson hair tied in a neat black bow, wore a casual outfit that seemed incongruous with the gravity of the situation. A frown marred her otherwise youthful features.

"Hmph, you shouldn't underestimate Lancer," she interjected, voice laced with a surprising amount of authority. "If you don't have faith in me, then stay out of the way."

Sola, already on edge, mirrored the girl's displeasure. This was her chance, her opportunity, and here was this self-proclaimed "outsider" undermining her every move.

"Fine," she huffed, "if that's how you feel."

Kenneth, sensing his fiancée's rising irritation, cleared his throat and lowered his voice, a touch of his usual arrogance finally subdued. "Never mind. If you insist."

With this, the summoning of the seven Servants was complete, and the grand Holy Grail War of the Dragon Balls was about to begin.

===

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