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Alaska. The site of the current Holy Grail War, a ritual comprising of seven Masters and seven summoned Servants, seven pairs fighting for the omnipotent wish granter. Copied off the ritual based in Fuyuki, t...
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Somewhere Along the Iditarod Course, Alaska
Snow was falling lightly. Heavy panting and the sound of pounding feet. Twisting shapes turning a corner, pulling along a sled. Pine trees stood proud and tall with a light dusting of white atop the branches and pine needles.
A roaring noise and they veered to the right. Snow was coming down the mountain, cascading as it brought down trees.
"That all you got, Caster!?"
A series of slicing noises and flashes of light followed the shout, then the sound of cracking ice. Pieces the size of cars rained down below, piercing the thin layer of snow, bits of small ice flying in the surrounding area.
Barking and growling. The dogs raced further away while the musher looked back in disbelief. Mountainous jagged pieces of ice erupted from the snow, only to get shattered into chunks. He swore he could see someone racing across a jutting ice spike, gleaming spear in hand. The reflecting sun was too bright to be able to make out what they looked like, but he knew they were unnatural.
The ground rumbled as the avalanche proceeded despite the supernatural elements clearly in place. That's what the musher focused on escaping from, praying his dogs could make the desperate run for their lives. It was only good fortune that it lead him and his team further away from whatever battle was unfolding behind him.
He thought he saw someone skiing down the mountain. Unusual for someone to be way out in the middle of nowhere doing such a thing, but then again, it wasn't his problem, not with everything else happening. It was up to them to save themselves.
...
Seward, Alaska
Ryan rubbed his arms with his gloves, breathing out as he stepped inside the hunting shop. He smiled at the gruff-looking man behind the gun counter as he shook the snow from his wool cap, revealing his black hair. "How's business?"
The man grinned behind his large beard. "It's not just you if that's what you're hoping. If it was, I'd be out of business and be setting up shop in Texas." he folded his arms. "Say, I heard your 18th birthday was soon."
"Today actually." Ryan smiled.
The man laughed and reached beneath his counter, producing a 30.06 Springfield rifle. "You know, been saving this especially for you. You've had your eye on it for years now. Decided I might save the one you kept eyeing."
"You even allowed to do that?" Ryan laughed, not caring in the slightest as he picked up the rifle from the glass counter, marveling at its weight. "Got the bullets to match old man?"
George guffawed. "Who do you think I am!? Of course!" He brought out the boxes of ammo, setting them heavily on the counter. "Gonna cost though."
"Don't worry," Ryan pulled out his wallet from his coat pocket. "Got my birthday money."
