Fate/capitol: America's Grail War

Chapter 0 - The Summoning of Heroes:

Horace Quinn groaned as he woke up. His short brown hair stuck up in large tufts and his gray eyes were glazed from sleep. He pushed his tabby cat off of his chest. He rubbed his eyes and looked at the alarm clock on the desk in his room. 1:15 in the morning, he thought. He almost immediately jolted awake.

"Well, guess it's time to get to work." he muttered.

His father, Tyson Quinn, a prestigious mage, working for the Mage's Association of the District of Columbia, had arranged for him to receive training in the arts of magic, which Horace quickly excelled at.

But, tragedy had struck five years later. Horace's mother, Helen, was struck by a painful magical disease that had quickly disabled her motor functions. Horace had used magic, more specifically, Heal Art: Diagnose, but had learned a horrible truth. His mother's Mana Circuits, the things that carried Prana and Mana for a mage, were being destroyed.

There was no cure. His mother suffered for five years before Horace and his father found an answer. The Holy Grail. Tyson had immediately tried, but the Grail rejected him, and Tyson quickly decayed into a desperate man.

Horace wanted, no, needed to win. He had researched for months. Studied for hours. Planned for this day.

Horace snuck out of his room, to his downstairs study, where a magic sigil was inscribed into the wooden panels.

He took a deep breath, and picked up the dagger, "borrowed" from the collection of weapons possessed by the Smithsonian. He placed the dagger in the center of the sigil, to use as the catalyst, and silently begged for a powerful Servant.

His watch beeped. 1:35. His Mana was fully available.

Horace was nervous.

He gulped. Sweat ran down his back. He would only get one shot at this.

"I call you, Heroic Spirit, to be bound to the core of a Servant. I will that you shall be my blade and my shield as I fight to claim the Holy Grail. I summon you! Rise, and fight for me, your Master!" Horace shouted, trying hard not to screw up.

Horace immediately felt Mana being drawn from him, and his Prana underwent a similar drain.

The sigil lit up and shone with a brilliant blue light. A figure began to form, as a mystical wind picked up loose papers and scattered them across the study.

The light suddenly died, and Horace gazed at the Servant he had summoned.

It had a skull mask. So that meant it was a member of the Assassin class.

But then, the Servant took off the mask.

And Horace stopped breathing.

She was beautiful. Long, flowing, shiny brown hair. Bright green almond shaped eyes. Full, plump, pink lips. She was well endowed, with curves that made Horace nearly drool. She wore an armored tank top, with plates covering her chest, stomach, and shoulders. Her legs, growing from a pair of ample hips, covered by a short black skirt, were long and smooth.

The last thing Horace noticed before passing out was her long tail and her cat ears.
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Katarina DeVries huffed impatiently. She dropped the chalk she was using to draw a sigil. She stopped to check the time.

Goody, only twenty more minutes.

At close to 11:00 at night, she was busy trying to summon her Servant.

She thought of why she was going to fight.

I never knew my parents. I only have a picture, but I want to here their voices. I want to know if they would be proud of me. This family did take me in, and teach me how to be a mage, but I want to know you, Dad, and hug you, Mom.