'I don't want to lose,' I thought like a fool, before a grail that had been awoken, before a wish granting machine controlled by an entity that was all the world's evil given human flesh.
Laughter echoed, even though only I could seem to hear it.
"YOUR WISH... HAS BEEN GRANTED..."
The voice was hell. Every layer was another injustice, every wavering tone a record of past calamities- this thing spoke in the voice of human suffering, manipulated the agony of humanity to form it's words.
I clutched my head in agony, as I understood everything behind those words, and then...
I stood in the shattered, swimming, light of the Gate of Babylon, blood, but not mine surging through my veins; life, but not mine, pouring through the empty spaces of my memory. This grail war had happened a thousand- no- a million times, each time another variation on the same theme, each time, with innocents dying, and each time, with the same man clothed in the shroud of a saint fighting over and again for one, final chance of salvation.
And he never obtained it. He fought a million battles, and lost a million times, each defeat unlike the last, each inflicting new kinds of pain, all of them pointing to one thing.
He would never be allowed to escape his fate.
That was the truth.
On the other side, I saw myself, and in a million different shades of what had been, but now, wasn't. I fought, and more, I won. Not even once was Angra Mainyu— at last, I knew the thing's name— released. Not even once did the world fall to the ultimate evil. I stood in it's way, often with my comrades, but sometimes alone, and every single time I saw myself win. I saw myself stand before the counterideal to everything I stood for, and there, before I grew older, before I sometimes bargained with Alaya for greater power, before my own ideals betrayed me, I stood. I fought. And I damn well won.
In those memories, I saw Archer's folly, and in his own memories, I saw mine. We were two sides of a coin, two parts that refused to join together to form a whole. No more. As I became myself, as countless memories seethed through my mind like incandescent flame, I felt, deep within myself, the stirrings of a change.
Light darkened. Sound became muted. The King of Heroes' lips were still moving, slowly, slowly, so slowly as he mocked me, condemned what I was without trying to understand it, shouting his ignorance to the world for all to hear, and in the end, I couldn't have cared less. Until he said one thing that I just couldn't forgive.
"Mongrel... You aren't a hero! You aren't even worthy of being called a dog! Everything you've done is meaningless, the pathetic struggling of an ant before a god from another age. I'll show you the meaning of power! I will show you the purpose of strength! I WILL SHOW YOU THE TRUTH OF BEING A HERO, AND WHY SOMETHING AS UNWORTHY AS YOUR MISERABLE SELF CAN NEVER BE ONE!"
Rage. Pure, acidic rage surged through my mind! Glilgamesh, a man who had lived but twice, presumed to teach me the truth of being a hero⁉ In that moment, I cared nothing of the fact the man I was facing was a not merely a hero, but the King of Heroes. It didn't matter that he was more god than human! That he held an unlimited number of Noble Phantasms was beneath my consideration! All I saw was someone who denied my existence.
Everything I was!
Everything I sacrificed!
The purpose I had dedicated my life to, a million times and one!
It. could. not. be! TOLERATED!
One word surged forth in my mind.
EMIYA
I spoke.
"I am the truth of my soul
Nobility is my myth and salvation is my goal.
I have lived over a million lives.
Killing to save,
I fought endless battles.
Walking a million circles, I have finally understood
Walking through hell without regret,
Tearing at the gates of heaven without shame!
In a single moment, I became..."
Three words spoken to the howling wind, their very nature defiance, anathema to Gaia and Alaya alike. With those words, a concept was born.
And the warped, distorted world shattered like glass as my Grand Supreme Reality Marble consumed everything.
It occurred to me that this was probably what Angra Mainyu wanted.
It also occurred to me that I had never lost to Angra Mainyu before.
I would not start now.
Author's Note: Normally don't put these here, but today, I just have to. So, right, anyone who knew about this story before the deletion and repost knows that it was gone and I lost the original draft of this chapter because a person with a user account at Beasts Lair decided... Well, I'll just quote it!
"OKAY SO THERES THIS STUPID STORY ON CALLED TEH GAME OF KNIGS ALL RIGHT AND IT'S JUST DUM SHIT. SO I'M POSTING IT HERE BECAUSE YOU GUYS WILL AGREE WITH ME, THEN WE CAN GO TO THIS DOUCHE-FAG AUTROS SITE AND LEAVE REVWIES SO HE KILLS HIMSELF BECAUSE ALL THE REAL TYPE MOON FANES WILL HATE HIS WORK. DUNT LET ME DOWN GUYS OK GOOD. WITHUNT FRUTHER ADO... i PRESENT SOMETHING SO UNBELIEVABLY DUM FUCK SNOTSHIT STUPID THAT IT MAKES ME WANT TO VOMIT EVERYWHERE FOREVER, THE KING OF GAMES OR WHATEVER THE FUCK OK GOOD
\
ALSO FOR SUM RESON EVERTING IS CENTERD. fuck
OKAY, IM JSUT GONA POST THIS DISGRACEFUL S"
-Beast's Lair user account known as "THE ROAD TO ULTIMA GREY IS GAY FUCK"
So yeah, not especially coherent. Concerning the name of this user's account well, er... Quoth the chatspeak, IDK.
This person went on to post a very poorly executed MST of the ENTIRE FIC (For an idea of how poorly: Imagine exactly what you're about to read, with zalgo text haphazardly inserted at exactly one point. That is literally what the MST was.). Then the admins of Beast's Lair deleted the thread- oh, and I'd like to make something clear here: Beast's Lair is cool! It's this one person who's an idiot.
Following the deletion of the thread on beasts lair, the story was deleted from ffnet. I was devastated- I mean, yes, it was only 5k words, but it was some of my most inspired stuff. The idiot had won.
And at this point, I would suggest you brace for awesome. Because, you see,
Google fucking cached the MST.
Enjoy.
Awaken from dormancy. Stabilise variant prana flow. Initialize magical circuits, initialized. 9, 2, 27, 1: commit program thirteen, standby. Initializing thaumaturgical crest, initialized, activating, activated. Loading dependencies. Dependency one "Language" loaded. Dependency two "Fiction" loaded. Dependency three "Nasuverse/Beta" Loaded. All dependencies loaded, preparing for execution. Connecting ideas to fingers to keyboard... connected. Program committed.
Execute? (Y/N)...Y
it comes
This is a world without limits.
Blue. Above and below; the difference between sky and ground only demarcated by a subtle deepening of the colour. Blades clash. Sparks fly. Far in the distance, there is peace for the content, silence for the sleepers; but here, at the centre, everlasting war. Ten times ten thousand legends from myriad ages— past, present, and future alike fight each other. For glory. For the purposes they believe in. Those who are most valiant, who win the glory of courage or cunning in claiming the transient death of another Heroic Spirit so increase their legends and gather more integrity to their immortal existences; and such a thing is important.
Of all who are gathered here, there is not a single person who has not carved their legend into the world. Of all who are gathered here, there stand no beings whose names are unknown in the present day, aye, even in this godless, storiless time, their songs are still sung! Their stories are still remembered! Their legends are still venerated!
But,
There is also not even one person on this battlefield without a regret. Well, perhaps one... But such a person as would fight in this hell of war without a reason is beneath contempt.
To the north: A golden king in molten armour led an army of golden knights, abominations of emptiness clad in bronze armour and bound to his will as the King of Heroes.
To the south: A blue king, who gave everything for her people, failed, and died, lashed out with a squadron of dragons of pure magic diving from the sky at her command, punctuated by the silent, furious light of her sword.
To the west: A red king with the army that is his legend, and which forced him to turn back from his only desire.
To the east: A king in green and black, holding no army, his face handsome but unplaceable; a man with nothing but vague interest in his eyes and an open book in his hands as the very forces of nature bend against the other kings, water and electricity and air separating from the formless blue that was Caldera Valhallis to lash out against his foes.
In the midst of these Kings and Heroes of every name and Legend, a man of white hair and a bitter smile, in the crimson cerements of a saint, in his hands a bow which was not made for humanity. He stands below the "nothingness" that others have decided is the ground and draws a crimson spear of impaling light five times from the air, and then carefully Breaks each one, making them fragile, making them dangerous.
Here below the battle, it is silent. So silent, that it is almost as if sound doesn't exist. But it does. The archer takes one breath. Then two. A third.
He fires.
He fires, and Gae Bolg, The Soaring Spear That Strikes With Death finds the heads and hearts of every king save the one in green, and removes armies and weapons from the battlefield in a single, devastating strike, and in the space of a moment the battlefield falls silent.
The man, though he has no legend of his own he has struck a blow of such magnitude that it hardly matters that no one knows his legend, for in the gestalt of Humanity, Alaya, his name is now and forever echoing through the cold logic and inhumanity inherent in all of us: If you hypnotized any human and then tore the knowledge of the greatest Counter Guardian from their unconscious minds, all would answer: "Emiya."
And so it was that this man, a Heroic Spirit artificially created by Alaya,『The World Within The World』, a being who should have been manifestly unable to access this place, came to be here, fighting to increase his inexistent legend in the tiny moments of respite he was allowed between his use.
As the dead begin to stand, their wounds reversed because in this place there is no true concept of Time or Harm, the battle resumes. The man has already vanished on another mission for The World, and a distant call of a horn sounds the arrival of yet another King, this one perhaps one of the greatest and best known, with a legend remembered by one billion people. Behind him trails not an army so much a band of man and women in desert robes. But none of them are without Noble Phantasms, and their leader holds something beyond even the Golden King's knowledge.
Five stones fly from the blue and strike a man in the uniform of a Roman Legionnaire, and the spear in his hand disappears and a howl of triumph rises from the incoming army, for they have just taken permanent and irrevocable possession of the Lancea Longini, 『The Spear that Chooses Kings』. It lasts for all of thirty seconds, because then, without any warning at all—
An ocean fell from the sky.
Upon it's waters sailed twelve ships to the lands in the inexistant horizon.
And all was silent as the greatest legends of humanity drown under the implacable force of five hundred metres of water stretching as far as vision can travel.
All is still.
And upon one of those ships, another King smiles.
As bodies begin floating up above the surface of the water, he begins to laugh.
And then the come alive once more, and he is impaled upon so many weapons as even the Golden king might be proud, for this place is a hell of constant war, a featureless hell of combat and misery where the restless heroes come; they, who think their lives were not well spent, and fight to increase their legends and gain a chance at winning their desires.
Even heroes are selfish.
Even heroes can be decieved.
And the Grail War was a deception.
The crimson warrior strode out of the moments between time and space, having accomplished his task for The World. Having fought in futility so many times before, he knew, perhaps better than any other hero what he was walking into. And he cared little, because this time was the last. This iteration of the Holy Grail War would destroy the concept of Counter Guardian, erase it from his soul... And likely erase himself as well.
It mattered little. If freedom was to be death, then it was all the more welcome. In that moment, the Guardian became a Servant, and he projected the divine bow in his left hand... And something other in the right. The weapon was a sword in it's sheathe and the sheathe was the only thing that could contain it: thus it was stronger than the universe.
The golden king had Ea, a sword that was not a sword, forged from the corpsemetal of a long-dead star. If asked to measure it's strength, one would say it was unmeasurable, above conception. This weapon the Servant had called forth...
He drew the blade, and casually Broke it. Space screamed. Time shattered.
Here, in the Caldera Valhallis, the Artificial Heart of The Throne of Heroes, Akasha herself bled and took interest.
The archer drew the string of the only bow in existence capable of firing HIS Noble Phantasm, and loosed.
And here, in the Throne of Heroes, where the Souls of Heroes fight for the chance to gain a wish, the archer lashed out with a weapon that contained a concept so alien that it was horrifying to all the viewed it. Those who were not erased from existence went mad. Those who were mad, were shocked into sanity. Those with the fortitude to withstand the horribly alien thing that the Servant had loosed upon part of the Heart of Existence looked upon him in revulsion, anger... and fear.
The Servant spoke:
"Be it known that I will be summoned in this war. Be it known, that those who swear fealty to I, King of Blades, who pledge their lives as my swords shall be spared!"
The opposing Kings narrowed their eyes. Some of the unaffiliated Heroes came to stand with him, while the majority roared their defiance Archer smiled.
"Well. I suppose it was never going to be that easy. Come then! Face your deaths with your meaningless pride! Be true to yourselves, and perish! Trace... on!"
...I AM THE BONE OF MY SWORD...
⁌⁅⁑⁀'―‿⁂‿―'⁀⁑⁆⁍
And this is how the Fifth Heaven's Feel started. Before the servants were even summoned, in a stage that none of them would even remember, Kings clashed in a war more terrible and yet less damaging then the one that was to come. Save two, they were all copies. But here, they set the tone. Caldera Valhallis: Kischur Zelretch Schweiorg's contribution to the Holy Grail system. A place where the grail evaluates heroes to insure not only compatibility with the master, but evenness of strength, to insure a fair contest. The archer, by his mere existence, disqualified every Heroic Spirit that was not a King, and every King who had not a legend that bordered myth itself.
here, in this time out of time, the death of Gaia was set into motion
and now it begins
Chapter -1: Fate/Slow rise - START
The clocks in Tohsaka Rin's house ran on time. She succeeded in summoning Servant Saber...
How boringly predictable...
⁌⁅⁑⁀'―‿⁂‿―'⁀⁑⁆⁍
And yet some things were less so. Heroic Spirit Herakles, for all the renown he held, was not a King, nor was he even close. As such the summoning ritual backfired completely and a highly confused Illyasviel von Einzbern received a king clad in green and black who even had the audacity to claim that he wasn't even Servant Berserker (Incidentally, his ability to even make the claim instead of frothing at the mouth was proof enough.)
"-And you were supposed to be Heroic Spirit Herakles!" Illya shouted, concluding her rant.
The Heroic spirit in green and black sighed. "Oh very well. I suppose it's plausible enough to attempt. If not for that crimson idiot, he would have been here at any rate." The man frowned, and then, quite suddenly, a man an Grecian dress, (Herakles, Illyasviel supposed) stood in front of her. And it really was a completely different man, definitely not whoever she had summoned.
"H-h-how—"
"Is this even possible?" Herakles smoothly completed. "The manifestation of my legend. If someone could have plausibly been in my place, then I can exchange locations with them or assume their identity. Incidentally, the second ability only works if the target is dead." Herakles (Or not Herakles, Illyasviel realized) frowned, looking down at his hands. "I have to admit though, he really isn't suited for the container of Servant Caster. I mean, God Hand is a bloody useful ability, but everything else is going to be completely broken." He looked back up at Illyasviel. "Are you sure you wish for me to prosecute the war like this, Master?"
Illyasviel shook her head. Being able to assume another's identity like that was unheard of. Oh, there was magecraft that let one assume the appearance of another, even emulate their thought processes and mannerisms to an extent. But this man, despite confirming that he was still... whoever he was, underneath the guise of Herakles, had furthermore assumed the existence of Herakles, to the point that she was beginning to have problems remembering that the summoning had given her a different servant at all. She shook it off. This might not have been the card her family had wanted— but it was a card she could play.
"You had better return to your original form, Caster."
Herakles bowed, and said "As you wish, m'lady." And then, abruptly was not Herakles.
Yes, Illyasviel smiled, this was a card she could play. And exploit.
And win by.
⁌⁅⁑⁀'―‿⁂‿―'⁀⁑⁆⁍
When command seals had appeared on the back of Kotomine Kirei's hands three months ago, he had been bemused. He had then walked over to the local Daiei, brought himself the appropriate makeup, and carefully concealed the damning marks.
'Well,' he thought, 'at least I won't have to resort to... cruder methods.'
Never let it be said that Kotomine Kirei was a man who revelled in unnecessary cruelties: no, he was as an artist, and misery was the spectrum he painted in... and all to the betterment of a single, noble— though absolutely, inarguably evil— purpose. To that end, he had contacted the Golden King and received permission to attempt something... unorthodox.
Kirei looked down at the magical circle he had created with his own black blood, then up at the altar with the catalyst upon it and reflected on the events of the last grail war... his death... and his desire.
He smiled, and not even once in the history of the world had there ever been something so twisted and yet so inherently empty. It was a smile that knew nothing of right and wrong, good or evil, or the suffering of humanity— or rather, it knew of them, but viewed them as... Irrelevant. Meaningless. Purposeless. Empty. Like the smile itself.
Kirei began to chant the aria that would summon his Servant, his deep voice echoing through the halls of the empty church.
"Emptiness and Blood, and Gold.
The castle's gates stand parted,
devoid of faith, of subjects.
No one to witness it; the contract stands void.
Without future, without a past,
the corruption of the world is without a master,
and within itself is it's own source.
Beyond divinity stands the Truth as an impregnable wall:
the four gates are broken, the source is pierced.
This world has no trinity and needs no god. All is stagnation.
Pierce. Pierce. Pierce. Pierce. Pierce.
Five times and unbound: I swear to you,
I am all that is good in the world.
Your kingdom will be with me; my fate shall be with you.
Be it your will or be it your destiny, I call you forth by your will!
cOme!"
Kirei activated his magical circuits with the sensation of ripping his spine out of his back as he shouted out the last, strangely distorted word... And something came forth. A distortion upon the air, less like a servant and more like a natural Heroic Spirit, it hovered just within the limits Kirei's perception... And the false priest smiled.
Ah, yes: the feeling of victory. It was wonderful, even in his hollow soul.
⁌⁅⁑⁀'―‿⁂‿―'⁀⁑⁆⁍
While a man who should have by all rights been dead summoned a heroic spirit, a man who should have by all rights not even have existed in this world did the same. Truthfully, he had no need of such a thing. Truthfully, he didn't really care. He could feel it in the air: this war, unlike the last would be truly worth his time. A smile crossed his lips as he remembered the pain of almost drowning, and triggered his magical circuits.
All forty thousand of them.
He used no ritual. He ignored the grail. He simply reached into the Throne of Heroes and ripped a suitable Spirit out, an action befitting of a King.
He felt command seals appear on the back of his hand as he completed the contract by nothing more or less than sheer will and looked to his Servant expectantly. After a few moments, he grew slightly annoyed and deigned to speak.
"Be honored, Hero, to have been summoned by one such as I. Now, Your class, Your name, and Your legend. Speak them!" he commanded.
His servant saluted, and spoke: "Hail, Master. I am in order of asking Servant Rider, Odysseus, The King of Explorers."
He nodded fractionally. It was only natural for him to have summoned a King— And this one, he thought, he could actually live with.
Oh yes, this War would be interesting indeed.
⁌⁅⁑⁀'―‿⁂‿―'⁀⁑⁆⁍
At the same moment, two years in the past, a supporting character that people regarded at best as being a being lower than trash decided to prove the audience wrong.
Specifically, Matou Shinji told his grandfather, Matou Zouken, to go to hell.
This was not a smart move, but it was so incredibly out of character for the boy that Zouken had paused in shock for a full minute before his mind caught up with the concept of what had just happened. When he fully came back to himself he remained silent and listened to the boys continuing screed.
Ah.
It appeared as if he had inadvertently managed to create another Kariya. Well, he could work with that. The beginnings of a plan forming in his mind, Zouken tapped his cane to the ground and said, "Enough," as his familiars burst from the floor and terrified the boy into silence. While he had given the boy the very beginnings of the Makiri crest, he had stopped after the first week. The boy had two magical circuits of ridiculously low quality, hardly enough to do any significant thaumaturgy with... and yet... and yet, why not? The boy was useless, certainly, and chances were he would dimply die during the process. That didn't matter though, he could just as easily take a few of Fuyuki's citizens off the street and hypnotize them into being the proxy master of their servant.
On the other hand, if the boy did survive, his potential and ability to play his limited role would, at least be extended.
"Shinji, I agree," he stated, "Sakura's fate is unfair, and cruel..." And he really did think that. He just didn't care. "But tell me, in my position would you have done any differently?" Shinji began to refute that yes, he definitely would have, and Zouken smoothly cut him off. "The Matou—" (Makiri, he thought) "magecraft is dying. You don't have the potential to become our heir. Not truly. Sakura, though she is adopted, does have that potential. The side effects of our magic being implanted into her are... unfortunate, but as long as I might die, they are necessary—"
"—and what if you weren't to die?" Shinji asked. He swallowed, "What if I won the Holy Grail, and wished for your immortality?"
'Hook, Line, and Sinker.' Zouken thought dryly. Out loud he said, "Then I would, of course, do everything in my power to ensure that the..." he paused, "...damage was reversed. I will sign a Geas Contract to that effect."
Hope flickered in Shinji's eyes, and Zouken felt a moment of true disgust. Oh, how his bloodline had fallen. Well, at least as a proxy, he would protect the girl from damage until he was ready to use her.
Time passed, and two years later, Zouken's plans had changed completely. Shinji had only two innate magic circuits, and their quality was horrible. That, however, had absolutely nothing to do with the quality of the Makiri's Sorcery Trait. And it's quality in the boy was frankly greater than even his own. How he had missed this— Zouken wondered at it. Perhaps he truly has getting too old, if he had failed to notice this potential in Shinji the first time around.
Time, Zouken mused, was a strange thing. Two years ago, had he conceived of the idea of his worthless grandson as the heir of his legacy, he would have examined himself for mental defects. Now—
Now, after only two years of admittedly intense training, Shinji possessed fifty magical circuits with several more currently in the process of being completed. Further, he had managed to unconsciously absorb and integrate the portions of the Makiri's Crest he had been given, to the point where it was no longer truly accurate to say it was composed of Zouken's familiars, but more correct to think of them as primarily Shinji's familiars, that Zouken could exert some limited control upon. It was impressive, but also extremely confusing. Typically, when a bloodline decayed, it's sorcery trait decayed right along with it, but now Zouken was beginning to question some assumptions he had once made.
It was possible that the Makiri had never truly decayed. Perhaps they had been evolving, loosing circuits but gaining a greater affinity to the concept of "Absorption" as the generations progressed— After all, when you possessed a mystery that allowed the creation of magic circuits, what need for the body to posses it's own? He remembered Kariya, the one-time "hope" of the Matou. Everything else considered, Kariya's affinity for the Makiri's Sorcery Trait had been very, very low despite the inherent, high-grade quantity and quality of his circuits. An evolutionary throwback? Zouken considered it.
If his affinity for the Makiri's Sorcery Trait had been higher, the damage from the absorption of the crest wouldn't have been so catastrophic— not that Zouken really cared about the damage, but it was an interesting, if circumstantial piece of evidence.
All in all though, Zouken was feeling light, as if a tremendous burden had been lifted from his shoulders. He had an heir.
He had an heir.
It didn't stop him from wanting the Grail's Wish, but for the first time in nearly a century, he no longer worried about his clan's future. Shinji needed work, training to gain the bearing of a proper Magus, but the boy had the potential... And that was why he had drastically changed his plans.
"Shinji, are you ready?"
His grandson nodded, once.
"Very well. Your catalyst?"
"I'm not using one," the boy replied, "I believe that summoning the Servant most perfectly suited for me will produce excellent results."
Zouken was sceptical about that... Until the King of the Chosen demonstrated his Noble Phantasm shortly after being summoned.
His grandson had been right. With a Noble Phantasm like that, it was impossible to loose.
Nothing was crueller, or more perfect a weapon.
Zouken smiled. Yes, he thought, with this servant, the Makiri would win.
⁌⁅⁑⁀'―‿⁂‿―'⁀⁑⁆⁍
And now for someone rather a bit more obvious.
Emiya Shirou watched in horrified awe as two warriors beyond the limits of human conception battled in front of his school, his awe for the graceful, beautiful knight in blue, and his horror for the distorted thing she fought. With a single blade, she held her ground against the monstrous presence, sometimes holding swords, or swords that here like guns, or axes, or any of a seemingly limitless supply of weapons, every last one as twisted at the thing that wielded them. It might've been seconds, it might've been hours, but at some point he found himself taking an unconscious step back...
A twig snapped, and a horrible attention descended upon him. It was like being stared at by a serial murderers rusty collection of tools, like seeing a blade not only used to end lives, for he could understand such a thing, but to end lives in enjoyment. Thousands of them. All aimed at his heart.
Shirou didn't remember starting to run, but he did remember when a jagged, distorted spear ran through his heart, and pinned him to the wall. with the strange sort of calm that only those suffering from extreme blood-loss can manifest, he noted it was a ridiculous, pointless, stupid way to die. He also noted, as his vision grew dim... that he was... doing it... anyw—
Shirou's eyes snapped open. He noticed three things. First, he was not pinned to the wall by a crimson spear. Second, there was no hole in his chest. Third— he looked down— third, he definitely had been stabbed through the heart. His uniform was cut where his chest had been pierced, and covered in drying blood. He shook his head, hard, shaking the bewilderment off. Now wasn't the time to question it. Now was the time to get the hell away from the scene. With that thought,
Shirou beat a hasty retreat from the school, only pausing to pick up a strange pendant he had found lying on the ground. He didn't know what it was, but...
It had seemed important, somehow.
The run home was easy enough, but the moment he entered his house, he knew something was wrong. He wasn't that talented as a magus, but to sense the subtle warning in his father's bounded field, he didn't need to be.
Something was here, and it wasn't friendl—!
He threw himself to the right as a golden sword materialized from nothing and tried to bisect him, only barely managing to dodge in time— where the hell did that come from⁉
But he had no time to think or even consider the question as another, and another, and another sword came down on him, and each time he only barely managed to escape.
And then he realized something.
This thing was toying with him! Something inside Shirou snapped, and he fired the gun in his mind, forming his magical circuit to do something, anything to make the think take him as a real threat...
And an eldritch white light that was not white in the way that humans understood the concept of white shone up from the ground. Shirou's vision blanked out for a moment, and when it returned, A man— 'No, not a man,' Shirou realized. The being before him was in the shape of a human— but it felt more like a god.
Something in the shape of a man stood, it's back to Shirou, facing the blur. Everything was silent. Then, the thing in front of Shirou laughed. Once. Hard.
"Hah! Well, that's interesting. Apparently, someone summoned a Heroic Spirit but was too incompetent... Or too smart to give it a proper container. Well, time to screw with a Master's mind. Trace, on."
A crimson spear appeared in the man's hand, and then five, then ten, and then dozens appeared floating in mid air around him. The figure made a slight gesture, and all of the spears crashed forward with tremendous force- and when the dust cleared, the... heroic spirit... Was gone. The not-a-human... turned around and for the first time, Shirou got a good look at him. He was tall, clothed strangely, had tan skin... and white hair despite a relatively youthful face. Something about him seemed vaguely familiar.
"Well. Seems like his plan actually worked," the man murmured to himself, before looking up to Shirou. "Master," he nodded, "Call me Servant Saver; though," he reached up and mussed his hair out of it's swept back style, "I think you know me better than that."
The sense of vague familiarity shattered and was replaced with an absolute one. The man was familiar for a simple reason. He wasn't familiar. He was a mirror. He was Emiya Shirou.
And so Shirou did something quite sensible though not exactly dignified, and fainted. Saver grunted, "Knew it would be too much for him," and picked Shirou up, carrying him into the house.
⁌⁅⁑⁀'―‿⁂‿―'⁀⁑⁆⁍
Meanwhile, in the Caldera Valhallis, all was silent. The battle was over, for now. All the servants save the last had been summoned, and the tone of the war had been set. Most Heroic Spirits simply didn't qualify to join. In the centre of the throne though, something unprecedented was about to happen.
It is not unprecedented for a Servant to eventually find a way to return to the Throne, but usually, the original they came from is all but unreachable.
As it happens, the two original Heroic Spirits fighting in the Caldera were not Saver and Saber. They were, rather, Caster, and the King in Red, the latter of which was better known as Alexander the Great: King of Conquerors.
When a cloaked figure weaving a trail of blood across the ground made it's way over to the original it was based off of, and spoke, it was for the first time in history that such a thing occurred. Words were exchanged. What words, we can not know as our narrator is no longer truly present in the Caldera. What he do know is this: At the end of their short discussion, the cloaked figure gave a salute of a subordinate to a captain, and then faded away. And then, the original stood up, and held out his blade before him.
And the Holy Grail then broke just a little bit, as the Original Iskander, was summoned forth into the real world...
Without any Master at all.
Chapter -1: Fate/Slow rise - END
Author's Notes and Replies to Reviewers
As Usual, Replies come First
mangagor: Thanks for your review, but... What? No, seriously, what? In what possible way could I have changed the contents of the narrative to make sure that I wouldn't attract the attentions of that ass over on Beast's Lair?
UNTensaZangetsu: Sorry that recovery hasn't been quick. While I was rewriting the chapter, it was literally like pulling teeth. No inspiration at all, you see.
d: Whose? Inquiring minds want to know.
AQZT: Replied via PM, thanks for the compliments!
Dinya: This story has a concurrently-updated copy on Archive of Our Own under the same pen name. I write and post on FFNET because just about nobody bothers browsing their Fate/Stay night archive, and I like my stories to be read.
Altasrand: Fortunately, the original which you enjoyed has been recovered in full! I'm glad that my writing was that evocative!
Here are the Author's Notes
Before I discovered the MST mentioned in the A/N at the top of the chapter, I had very nearly completed a rewrite of the first half of this chapter. It's not the original, but I can't let it vanish into obscurity, so it's included below. If you're feel disposed to it, I would very much like to know which you think is the superior.
Please note, though: You can proceed to the next chapter from here on out without reading it, and you will loose absolutely nothing. It's like an omake, in that sense.
Finally, it's a rough draft. Incorrect details will appear, ala Iskander's "leather" armour.
Original Author's Notes released w/ This Chapter
Question- Considering that at best, about 14 million humans were alive in Gilgamesh's time, and considering that the potency of magic decreases as world population grows, and further considering that there are between five and eight billion people alive during Fate Stay Night... Yeah, you know what? Forty thousand is probably understating it.
What else? Ah, yes,
First, the reference to gabriel blessing's work was entirely intentional. Next,
To be clear: I wrote this about an hour before I seriously researched what the actual interior of the Throne of Heroes is like. I'm going to keep my original interpretation because it is:
1) More epic.
2) Less depressing.
The canon Throne of Heroes as envisioned by Kinoko Nasu is essentially a domain where the souls of heroes are held in eternal solitude only ever able to experience the outer world by querying Akasha. Well, I kept that for the most part, but added the Caldera Valhallis. The Caldera is not a natural part of the Throne, but something installed there by... Let's say Zelretch, because it was never quite clear what his contribution to the whole enterprise was.
Anyway, see you next chapter!
And now presenting, The Game of Kings, Chapter Zero over Infinity: Another Caldera
NOTE: FOLLOWING MATERIALS ARE NOT CANON WITHIN THE GAME OF KINGS
Less than a year after the Fifth Holy Grail War began, Emiya Shirou was given power no human should ever have, and in that moment, something beyond the conception of the god who had bestowed that gift upon him was born. It was more than a reality marble, more than a supreme reality marble. A power beyond the conception of even the Gods, a black sphere, nothingness it's name and nature.
This is how Emiya Shirou's story begins. This was how Counter Guardian EMIYA's story ended.
However, to know the shape of the future, we must understand the form of the past; So let us turn back the hands of the clock. Turn them back to a moment before the fate of everything was gambled on the sanity of a single person. Turn them back to before ancient mysteries were awakened, to wreak havoc against humanity without mercy or remorse. Turn them back, to a set of scattered moments, and a moment scattered beyond the aegis of time.
Let us return to the beginning, and learn what price a world commands, and what madness was unleashed, when, in an act that was nothing less than base madness, a single man had the arrogance necessary to reach into the Heart of all that Is, Was and Will ever Be and make it bleed.
it comes
Blue, above and below. Here, in the forge of the throne there was only the vaguest of distinction between sky and ground, an imposition by the collective consciousness of the spirits that fought there, those who had either grudge or regret, a reason to want to reach out from this sterile realm and change the world once more: Their minds giving a place without a concept of space, space, and a world without time... something that was, at least, very much like it.
In this world that was not a world, they, the Perfect Beings of Alaya fought each other endlessly and without rest, for to kill in this place was to increase the power of your legend, and they who had the greatest legends would certainly be Called.
Occasionally, there would be a brief flash of light as the greatest prize of all was offered to seven at a time. The Holy Grail, a wish granting machine that could give you whatever you wanted, from simple material riches, to a rewriting of the past, to opening a gate to the heart of existence itself: nothing lay beyond it's gasp, and thus was it stronger than the universe.
Aye, for that sort of promise was the only prize worth fighting for, here in a realm beyond either time or death.
But those minute flashes were something like a heartbeat. And that which has a heartbeat, must, inevitably, have a life. And that life was waning. For with every pulse, a Holy Grail War was completed— and though there are an infinite number of turns upon the Kaleidoscope, there was only a very, very finite number of worlds that held that particular system— and so, a finite number of chances.
Every time that light flickered, the battle grew a little more frenzied.
Every time that faint luminance appeared, it took just a little while longer for it to reappear.
And what had once been a flickering strobe now hadn't appeared for days. Six of them.
On some basic level, every Heroic Spirit who wished for the grail understood the message. The next time that light appeared might be the last.
And so this battle between Heroes, what had once been a series of duels, that had become a set of guerilla skirmishes before descending into organized war... became nothing more then an endless massacre.
Six subjective days, it had been, since the light had last shown.
It wasn't even a question of when it would come again. Every last spirit knew: Today, or nevermore.
And so immortal blood spilled upon the ground, in an endless, blood tribute to the brutality of ages past. And some spirits hated it, but fought anyway, while some loved the slaughter and the chances at whatever small reveneges it could bring them.
But, as with all things, even among heroes, there were a few who were simply above the others. And so, leading them into battle were Kings: The most flawless examples of the ideals they are titled for.
To the East, a man in leather armour and a red cape, leading behind him an entire army that had ascended to become Heroic Spirits for the deeds they had carried out in his name, and for his glory. And yet it was their betrayal that lead to his fight here, in the Heart of the Throne.
To the West, a man in green clothes and black cape, dignified, a gentleman, holding open a book and hurling esoteric ideas against his foes, his legend known by many but his battle supported by none— and yet the equal of the others. Though this was a battle for a chance to change the world itself, he fought with nothing more than a vague interest upon his features, and what his purpose was by being here, none could say.
To the South stood one unlike any of the others. This king, clad in a golden raiment led an army of abominations of emptiness clad in bronze armour, for absolutely no reason at all. He stood and fought, slaughtered as he pleased and rained destruction upon his foes without mercy or restraint. This man was here for a single reason. His own amusement.
Finally, above the battlefield, shadows cast by nothing swirled in the manner of ravens; dragons, some of flesh and some of magic, Heroic Spirits of Gaia come to fight in their sister's name. Upon the mightiest one of all, a blood-red mountain that swallowed entire countries, stood the last great King, clad in blue dress and steel armour, holding a sword that promised victory, and a scabbard that held the idea of an Everdistant Utopia.
It had been this way now, for six days and six nights, a stalemate between the Kings while the Heroes fought all around them
But somewhere beneath what the spirits of heroes dead decided was the "ground", a dark-skinned man clothed in the cerements of a saint smiled as he created a bow, and decided to change all that. Once, twice, three times and five he drew from the air a crimson lance of cursed nature, and held them in hand, refining them until they would have been broken by any other, and then even beyond, until each one glowed like a radiant star of pure, destructive potential.
Slowly, the battle above came to a halt as the all who were fighting took notice of the bloody light, radiating up from under them.
In that moment, it was already too late.
Calmly, the man pronounced, "Gae..." and drew back his bowstring— And fired, roaring "BOLG!"
What had been five barbs of thorned light became well over a thousand as the Soaring Spear that Strikes with Death flew forth into the battlefield to take the lives of all who fought there. Few escaped, and all the greatest perished against the force of the onslaught, a single moment of death that seamed to stretch out over the course of hours, and left silence in it's wake as he vanished from the field of battle, called by his master for another task.
For, unlike all the other combatants, who were perfect existences in the eyes of Akasha, that man was not. He had no legend, and not a single history even remembered his name. But it didn't matter— if you were to rip the knowledge of the greatest Counter Guardian at the Planet's disposal from the collective unconsciousness of humanity in any world, they would answer with but a single name. EMIYA.
And this suited that man well.
In the moments after the Counter Guardian's apocalyptic strike, the dead stood up, their wounds mending as Akasha enforced it's concept of timelessness upon them, and slowly, the fighting resumed— but any semblance of order was destroyed, the stalemate of the four king's utterly obliterated, both by the archer's attack, and by the will of another King who had, after a great deal of time, decided to enter the fight himself.
Five subjugating stones flew from a great distance, striking a Heroic Spirit in the armor of a Roman Legionaire, and the gold-and steel spear vanished from that man's hands. A massive, sourceless battle cry came from everywhere at once as an entire nation of Heroic Spirits materialized from nothing as they embraced the concept of a definite location.
Leading them, a wise and well-aged man, holding that same spear known to all as Lancea Longini, The Spear that Chooses Kings.
This, for but a moment— For in the following seconds, an ocean fell from the sky.
and all but the Golden King perished under five hundred fathoms of a wine-dark sea as a final King stood upon the deck of his ship, and simply laughed.
The golden king simply swam until he reached the surface, not bothered in the slightest by such shallow depths. But other than himself, all the greatest legends of history drowned under five hundred fathoms of water, as a final king standing upon one of twelve ships simply laughed. Slowly, bodies began to surface, and then, to return to life.
And then, the battle resumed once more. Unseen, the Counter Guardian returned this time standing high, upon what everyone else agreed was the sky. He did not remain unnoticed for long.
Let me tell you a story. There was once a man. This man exchanged his freedom for power. When he realized the folly of his actions, he tried to rebel, and failed. For tens of thousands of years, he was nothing more than a machine that killed billions to save trillions. Then, his masters realized that he was far, far more effective when he was the one in control. So, some small measure of freedom was restored to him. And, then, his master commanded him a task. And he executed that task flawlessly.
Counter Guardian and Heroic Spirit, this man reached into the edges of Akasha, and grasped beyond it, and pulling from the nothing the first and only Noble Phantasm he would ever call his own. There, he drew it from it's sheathe, which was the only thing that could contain it— thus was it stronger than the universe.
For when the terrible crimson of the blade appeared within the Throne of Heroes, Akasha bled and took interest.
The battle froze, then, as every Heroic Spirit's gaze was inexorably drawn to the sky, and the Archer whose origin was a blade spoke in a soft voice. "I am the King of Blades. Those of you who are wise, stand behind me and fight with me. Those who are fools, stand against me and fight. Because I swear— This next War will be the one I fight in. And those who stand in way of that goal, I will strike down without mercy or remorse."
Not a single King was moved by his words. A few dozen heroes, however, did as he commanded. The rest however, simply looked at him with defiance, and so he spoke the name of his weapon, and took a single, careless swing, and every single Heroic Spirit within the battlefield sawa single, horrifying idea, a concept so utterly, innately alien that the sane were driven to madness, while the mad were shocked back to sanity.
"So be it!" The archer roared, and descending into the chaos, he surged forth, death incarnate— and the Final Fifth Holy Grail War's servants were set.
So this is how it begins: Within the Caldera Valhallis, Kischur Zelretch Schweinorg's contribution to the Holy Grail War, where a war more terrible and yet, infinitely less final than the Grail War iself was fought. To die was to gain notoriety. To live, was to increase in legend. To be chosen, however, was to be on a par with the other Heroes. When EMIYA unsheathed that blade, in a single act he disqualified all heroes who were not Kings, and all Kings whose myths did not border legend itself.
This is how a slaughter of Heroes became The Game of Kings.
seq13, qtni. Corspemetal of a dead star, mad and sane, the spear that chooses kings, the world within the world, cerements of a saint, Akasha bled and took interest, thus was it stronger than the universe.
Glistering fuck this is going to be a pain.
Yet More Author's Notes
That very last section was the sum total of the notes I used to write what came before it. I would reassure readers that I am quite aware of the definition of the word glistering. Given that that was all I had to go on, it's fairly remarkable that I managed the amount of correspondence to the original that I did, I think.
When I revise this chapter to it's final edition, some elements of the introduction to this alternate version are going to make their way into the chapter proper. Anyway, I have somewhat mixed feelings about this version. The original is much, much more clear about what's going on. This version was written without any reference to the original at all, and so it's less clear. At the same time, I think In terms of demonstating the sheer scale of the Kings powers, it is without question superior at certain points.
Near the end, you might have noticed some rough phrasing. That's because I remembered a handful of the most "iconic" bits of the original (before I recovered it) and tried to force them in. It didn't really work.
This chapter is already mostly revised, because I actually disliked the version I initially posted that much.
Chapter Changelog:
v.1: Initial release. Redacted due to a really stupid mistake.
v.2: Second release. Still not really happy with my characterization of Saver, he's supposed to feel like an Archer that some off-screen char dev happened to, but he reads like an entirely different character. Gah!
v.3: Minor Revision. Cuts out a lot of unintended dramatics on Saver's part, gives Shirou more dialogue, more.
v.4: The Sha Nagba Imuru update. Reworked a portions of the "training montage" scene to change the nuance of Saver's abilities. Also foreshadowed something, somewhere.
Todo:
v.⧞: Add more description, improvements to various scenes, etc.
Resuming interrupted program. Flushing circuits, flushed. Ready to resume execution.
Resume? (Y/N)...Y
There is a problem in Tokyo.
Tokyo was erased from the map.
This time, it's Taiwan.
An entire island was replaced with a crater.
Type Mercury is causing some problems for humanity.
An Ultimate One fell, a continent was rendered uninhabitable.
Counter Guardian, Gaia is actively attacking Us.
So, in a haze, he lifted his arm, traced the sword, and brought a world to heel.
Chapter -2: Fate/False king — START
I flexed my fingers, still somewhat unused to inhabiting the container of Saver. If I had known that this would be the result of being summoned by myself, then I wouldn't have made the deal that had led to it happening— but that's just the way of things, I guess. If there's one upside to being housed in something made to hold a divine spirit, it's that Gaia can't decide whether it wants me here or not. I can generate my own prana, and technically, that makes my skill of Independent Action superior to even Gilgamesh's. Honestly, if I could, I'd just stay in this container, sell some projected gems over a decade or three, and settle down. As long as I'm not properly and intentionally killed, I'm about as immortal as any lower-tier dead apostle, and it doesn't depend on Shirou at all.
Which reminds me: I really do have to get him to finalize the contract. As it stands, I don't have any command spells at my disposal, and that's... actually not really a matter of consequence, but I prefer to have and not need as opposed to need and not have. That led to a decision I had to make: Should I have Shirou remain uninvolved after that point, or, should I have him fight with me?
I groaned. The problem about launching conspiracies within a realm where time doesn't properly exist is that you might have uncountable aeons to plan your actions, or no time at all. This case was an example of the latter scenario, and I was left with a complex issue. If I had been summoned by Tohsaka, then I'd just drop a Rule Breaker on her and get the hell out of dodge regardless of my class, but Shirou has potential she doesn't. We share the same existence, and that means that he can absorb my own accumulated experience. The question is, can I convince him to use that experience in a way that benefits me?
In short, the answer is no. If I make redoubt to deception, however... It's possible. I doubt he'll apply that experience the same way I have, though.
All right, Shirou gets to live to see morning. Next issue, Saber and Assassin were beating the crap out of each other last night. Tohsaka doesn't have the required mentality to have summoned Assassin, so, excepting insane machination on the parts of either Kirei, Shinji, Zouken, or an unknown party, I'm dealing with her doing her little Emiya Redivivus thing. I could use that.
That left me with Assassin. I had never crossed a King with an ability or legend like what Assassin was using, though. The phenomena itself was almost like Gate of Babylon, but... no. It was corrupt, and those weapons are absolutely null quality. Absolutely worthless by the standards of a Heroic Spirit, and it was holding a physically impossible number of them. So Assassin was an unknown quantity. Lovely, and a problem for much, much later.
More importantly, Tohsaka is following the most common predefined roll she can take at the beginning of the war in spite of that, which meant she essentially lived the same life as most possible variants do, which means she has semi-regular contact with Kirei. Time to make my opening move.
I projected Tarnhelm and donned it. Of all the noble phantasms in my library, this was the most broken one: It let you transform into basically anything. I became Emiya Shirou not wearing Tarnhelm, and clothed in his damaged, bloody school uniform. Then, using it's secondary ability I made myself be somewhere else. Specifically, I made myself be standing at the gate of Tohsaka Manor. I quickly projected Caliburn for it's special ability of fucking with Arturia's mind, then placed on the ground before me, took ten steps back, sat down, and waited.
It didn't take long. Maybe two minutes after I arrived, Arturia dropped to the ground from somewhere, and without any preamble demanded, "What business does a Divine Spirit have with the Heir of Tohsaka?" Ah. You know what never gets old? Meeting someone who you know, and not being recognized. Never. gets. old.
"The Holy Grail War," I said, then an idea occurred to me, and I switched from Japanese to Brythonic because nobody ever considered that the grail gave servants literally any language they needed to speak. "I noticed ten years ago, in the last competition that a new God was about to be born. A Divine Spirit, from a device constructed by mortal hands and means?" I laughed, long and hard. "Ridiculous! And yet it truly does exist, and if not for a last minute intervention, that God would have taken form and walked upon the ground." I paused, and drew myself to my feet in a way best described as casually ominous. Once standing, I continued.
"So I sped up the process a bit— I'm interested in helping the God within the Grail... out." I smiled, deliberately keeping the expression from appearing genuine. Rule number one of playing the role of something above the conception of humanity: make efforts to appear to be, from a human perspective, mentally unstable. They, viewing you as the abomination from beyond the stars, will see it as evidence of an inhuman mind.
I continued the charade, "I am the Anrai no Shirokami, Master of Servant Saver, and participant in this Fifth Holy Grail War! I have come to thank your master, Servant Saber. Without her assistance, I would have been out of this war before it even began. It would have taken many long seasons to heal myself. As recognition of her assistance, I wish to offer myself as an ally! Your fate shall be with us..." I paused, and opened my eyes entirely too wide, "And our fate shall be with you!"
I smiled, and let the silence stretch out a bit longer than anyone normally would before continuing, "Regardless of her decision, I have also come bearing a gift, given in good will and without malice. Should you choose to become my ally, it is given in good will alone. To remain my enemy, as recompense for healing me. In either case, remember that that which I give, it is trivial for me to create."
I reached into nothingness, and Arturia tensed— tracing the Gate of Babylon was worth the decades it took to learn it for it's sheer bizarreness of seeing your hand disappear into thin air— and withdrew what was basically a ridiculously upgraded version of Rin's main gem. Ten years of prana? Try a hundred!
...granted, I had gotten all of it by harvesting Shinji, Zouken, and True Assassin's souls entirely too many times, but hey, I had to get that prana from somewhere, and lets face it: they were all bastards. Mythic Spirit Kojirou was a pretty decent guy once you got past his strange little sparrow-genocide complex, Zouken invented a Magecraft that required anyone who it was used on to be raped forever, and Shinji... was Shinji.
I placed the gem on the ground, and said, "I'm going to leave for now. If you think the idea of an alliance with someone who can do what I did to that gem sounds like it might be fun, then I'm available on..." I traced a planner, and flipped through it, pretending to examine dates, made a sound of recognizance, and dismissed it, "Basically any midnight at the Emiya estate. Fujimura Taiga knows where it is, Tohsaka knows who Fujimura is. It was a pleasure meeting you King Arthur!"
Then I made myself be in Hawaii for a few second before going back. As expected, Arturia was staring at Caliburn in total incomprehension.
"Forgot this," I said, picking it up. I warped away again, dismissing the projection of Caliburn as I did so.
The white god of dark lighting is a stupid name that has some history behind it. Some history that is possibly more stupid than the name itself. But it sounded slightly ominous, especially after I flaunted a ridiculous, and more, recognizable ability like it was nothing. Especially since it had let me accomplish my goals without giving up my real, ultimate purpose in coming here. A single sentence.
"I'm interested in helping the God imprisoned in the Grail... out."
Eventually, it would reach the ears of Kotomine. And then...
Well, that was getting ahead of myself, really. I took a brief detour to relocate Shirou, still unconscious, to a Siberian train station before making my way to my ultimate destination: a nondescript patch of forest in what was, for the moment, the Democratic People's Republic of Korea. Twenty years from now in another world it had been my main base of operations, now— I pulled my Noble Phantasm from nothing, unsheathed it and carved a canyon in the ground.
Now, it would be once more. Using Noble Phantasms to create a modern day Petra is the kind of thing that I was reasonably sure no other Heroic Spirit would even think of trying, because they aren't quite utilitarian enough to realise that, if it can leave giant craters on mountains, then with the proper finesse, it can carve cities just as well. Yeah, I have an arsenal that puts the contents of the original Gate of Babylon to shame, but paraphrasing a famous writer, it's not the swords that were dangerous. It was my mind.
None of the masters would conceive of this tactic either. Dad probably could have, but he would never have had it done. Not his style. The thing about building a stronghold is that it gives the enemy a clearly defined target to attack. Kiritsugu was more of a knife in the dark kind of guy.
It took most of the rest of the night to get the place up to a decent level of functionality and security, but, since it was right above a confluence of Ley Lines, I got to ignore a few of the typical requirements around the creation and anchoring of complex bounded fields. Although my prana felt strangely heavy, for some reason. I paused in my work, but upon examination, nothing was incorrect with the field themselves, which meant it was probably just another idiosyncrasy of Class Saver.
Considering things like Bloodfort Andromeda, I could understand the precaution.
The main purpose of the fields was stealth, stealth, and once again stealth. If a Master figured out where I was, we'd have to ditch in minutes, but considering the opposition, no matter what defensive measures were put in place, I'd likely only gain a few additional seconds for hours of extra work.
Fortunately, the location worked in my favour in that respect. It was why I had chosen it in life. The entire forest was one of Gaia's strongholds, radiated enough of it's own mana to more or less short out any high-level thaumaturgy, and hated anything that could be called human. The only reason that bounded fields I had just thrown up continued to exist is because my Rin had spent years designing them to work in this environment.
That was before she had left.
I shook my head, clearing my mind of literally ancient history. I had better things to do than worry about a world that I would never see again.
There was still one problem though. Everything that would have been in the real one was missing.
Fortunately...
Trace, on.
That was simply fixed for all the important rooms. Unfortunately though, you can't eat projected food unless you want Gaia to attempt the correct the molecules that your body took from it and put to use— it was basically like extreme radiation poisoning, when the projection finally wore off and the micromachinery in the cells was torn to pieces by suddenly-missing atoms. As a Servant, it wouldn't hurt me, but...
I shut down that memory before it even had a chance to surface. That Holy Grail war was probably the only one I had ever honestly tried to win. He didn't deserve to die like that. Nobody deserves to die like that.
...
There was enough food in the old house to prevent me from needing to sell some swords to an antique shop. So, there were the final items on my itinerary for the night: Stock the kitchen, and then grab Shirou from that train station.
⁌⁅⁑⁀'―‿⁂‿―'⁀⁑⁆⁍
While Counter Guardian EMIYA tore through the Emiya household's pantry, Regular Human Emiya was in the process of dragging himself to consciousness in the same house. The contradiction of suddenly being in said house when he should have, by all rights, been in Siberia was lost on him as his attempt to wake was helpfully expedited when Saver thoughtfully poured a cup of cold water on his counterpart's face. Before he even knew what he was doing, Shirou had jumped back and traced Kanshou and Bakuya, holding them in a stance that was almost but not quite flawless.
Saver raised a finger, opened his mouth, then seemed to think better of it, smiled and then said, "Well, this has got to set a record for something. All right, let's see. You're not Saber, because I know her style and this isn't it. Assassin is also out of the question, something that wrong wouldn't be able to conceal it's nature. Berserker... Hahahaha, no. Archer or Rider is possible, but more likely... You're Caster, aren't you?"
"What, how—" stammered a flabbergasted Shirou. In Middle English.
"Well," Saver drawled, "I wasn't really certain, but then you just went and confirmed it for me."
Shirou blinked, cursed quietly, and then Kanshou was replaced with a thin, leather bound book, and Bakuya with a much more ornate one, both of which then vanished. Saver clapped slowly. "The King of Blades is just delighted to make the King of Stories' acquaintance."
Caster sighed. "You remember our last meeting as well as I, Counter Guardian. You do realize that this would have been better done after about a week, correct? We could've turned it into an excellent tragedy!"
Saver shrugged. "Perhaps. Or, we could work together to create something a little bit less cliche. The student turning out to be 'evil'' plot twist is... kind of old, man. I think it even pre-dates you. Simple tragedies like that a dime a dozen in this day and age. People might be affected by the tragic death of Emiya Shirou, as his mentor teaches his greatest enemy all of his secrets... But come on, Caster! If I could give you a plot summary of what you were intending, it can't be a story worthy of your expertise! Your skill! Your talent! So help me to help you make this something to be remembered!"
Caster thought about it for a moment, steepling his fingers, then asked, "And if I don't condescend to help you?"
Saver grinned, then traced a bow. As it came to be, stars began to fade away until the only source of light in the sky was the slowly lightening horizon. "Then I stop flattering you and move on to the next tactic. You recognize this bow, Caster. You know the arrows I fire from it. My stock is full, and in this war, I am willing to break every last one of them. Right here," Saver leaned in closer, "right now." He let the bow fade away, and starlight returned. "You can help me change the direction of the narrative, or I can obliterate it before you get anything of any value. Gaia will die. Alaya will die. We will die. There will be nothing. Unless you do. as. I. say." Saver bared his teeth, and then, in a much more cheerful voice, asked "Questions?"
Rather than answering, Caster simply frowned— and then he found the tip of a crimson spear at his neck. Saver smiled grimly. "No. Your Noble Phantasm may be a perfect counter to the more powerful aspects of my own, but it's blind to more subtle abilities like Gae Bolg's antiunit form. In the time it would take you to rewrite the world, I would Cast the Spear, and aim it at you. You could stay where you were, and it would hit you. You could exchange your existence with mine, and you would commit suicide. If you switched with someone down the street, you would still die. I was only asking for your help to preserve your pride. You have no choice. Rescind Emiya Shirou's death, Caster. Now."
Caster let out a long-suffering sigh. "You realize that there will be consequences." Saver nodded.
"And if remain in that body any longer, there will be consequences for you as well," Saver dismissed the lance. "Emiya Shirou's existence is infected with a Reality Marble waiting to be born."
Caster's face paled considerably. "I see. Very well." Then, in another language, "Non sanz droict."
The world began to grow muddled, as if it were being rained on with only Caster and Saver remaining in perfect clarity as everything was washed away, and the world assumed a form in which Caster hadn't killed Shirou. Then, Caster vanished and Saver was abruptly in the kitchen in the middle of making a very simple breakfast. He couldn't remember how he got there, but... Shirou was alive. 'Probably the King of Stories,' he thought, scowling.
⁌⁅⁑⁀'―‿⁂‿―'⁀⁑⁆⁍
"Caster," Illya ordered, "I want you to go retrieve Emiya."
The King of Stories was frowning. "It wouldn't work, Milady."
"Well why not?" Illyasviel asked, slightly exasperated at her Servant's quick refusal.
"Because that boy went and summoned something nasty," Caster muttered in his native tongue, then in a more normal voice, he replied in flawless German, "Emiya is a Master, and his Servant is someone I've met before. I know we'll have to fight him eventually, but that Servant's Noble Phantasm is, ah, as they say, a perfect counter to my own abilities." ("Everyone's abilities, really," he muttered in his native language.) "If we're going to face him, it would be better if I did it using the identity of any Servant able to participate as a Caster other than myself."
"I didn't know it was possible to overcome your Noble Phantasm, Caster." Illya commented in her own fluent Japanese, disbelief evident on her face. Caster grimaced.
"Normally it isn't, but that infuriating man has multiple Noble Phantasms capable of interfering with me despite my abilities."
"Do you know their names?" Illya asked.
"They don't have names per se. He fights with ... I suppose the best way to call them would be weaponized concepts. Distinct from conceptual weapons."
"And why is that?" Illyasviel asked.
"Imagine a bow that carried the concept of 'All the Starlight in the Sky'. That would be a normal Heroic Spirit's Noble Phantasm. He fights with All the Starlight in the Sky, and gives it the concept of 'Bow'. It's one of his abilities, to take innate properties of a thing and enhance them to the point of becoming something else. Have you ever heard of Broken Phantasms?"
Illya nodded, slowly.
"He has taken that idea and perfected it. A Noble Phantasm in his hands is equal to it's broken form without fragility. A broken phantasm in his hands... Better not to consider it. The effects are devastating."
"You know a great deal about Emiya's Servant, Caster. So tell me, what is his name?"
"He has none. That is his legend; He is the Hero that Nobody Knows, garbed in the cerements of a saint and of uncrowned head; in the throne spoken of in whispers and lowly-voiced dread: The King of Blades."
Illya frowned. "Your composition is not equal to your legend, Shakespeare."
Caster grimaced, but nodded. "I fear that the time I spent within the Throne with neither paper nor pen to properly compose has not been kind to my ultimate skill... And then there's the fact that we've been switching back and forth between German and Japanese every few sentences. Rather jarring, that."
"Quite."
⁌⁅⁑⁀'―‿⁂‿―'⁀⁑⁆⁍
While the god who looked like me made what looked like a western-style breakfast in what appeared to be a kitchenette carved into a cliff face, I tried to figure out what the hell. And failed. And tried. And failed. I'm not sure how long I spent doing that, but the sudden sounds of a plate clinking against the stone table broke me out of my reverie. I looked down at it. Eggs sunny-side-up. Two of them. Bacon in a "U" shape.
I blinked at the plate. It clicked. Smiley face.
W-what?
"Your brain is going into a confusion-inspired shutdown... now." The god announced, and poured a cup of cold water on my head. "Now," continued the god as I spluttered, "You are once more fully alert." He frowned. "Taiga Fujimura. She needs to be removed from Fuyuki. It won't be like previous ones— if she stays, she's going to die."
"P-previous what?" I stammered. This guy jumped from topic to topic in such bizarre leaps that off guard was the best you could hope to be.
"Eat first. The matter I have to talk to you about isn't anything even resembling light conversation, and once you're clued in, you won't want to spend any time doing anything but... Well, I'm just not going to say another word until you eat."
So, I worked through the absolutely weird breakfast as quickly as possible and without any conversation. The atmosphere was strained, but everything considered? I mean, I almost die, wake up in what felt like a desolate military base, and then a bloody god, a god who looks like a bizarre, white-haired tan-skinned older version of me, makes me a completely surreal breakfast and alludes to ominous things, before refusing to say anything until I ate said bizarre breakfast! These were things that had happened, and most people would be at the edge of their sanity right now. So a strained atmosphere is handling it admirably.
I practically inhaled the food, wanting to get it over with while he worked through his plate methodically. When he was finally done, he wasted no time in cutting right to the chase, though.
"I am you, from the future. The details of how that is possible will be covered shortly, along with the verification that I tell the truth. The most important information will be handled right now, because if this world is anything even remotely similar to a typical one, you have no idea what the Holy Grail War Ritual is. Do you?"
His tone was so serious that I didn't even hesitate when I answered "No."
"All right then. Here's the basics. The Holy Grail War Ritual is Magecraft with one foot into the realm of Magic." He paused, looking like he was waiting for something. When it didn't happen, he pinched the bridge of his nose, and asked in a long-suffering voice, "Did Kiritsugu have the basic competence necessary to cover the distinction between the two for you?"
"He said that they were different things," I offered.
"That's a 'no', then. I swear, him half-assing even the theory aspect of our education is a universal constant. Idiot. Loveable idiot."
He paused, shook his head slightly, and continued, "Right. Magecraft is anything that uses prana to accomplish something that science could technically do. It doesn't matter if it would be insanely expensive to do it with science, only that it's possible with science. Magic is something that uses prana to do something that science can't do, period. So on one hand... Did you know that Kiritsugu's dad had invented what's most simply described as time travel Magecraft?"
"That's possible?"
"Sure, if you're going into the future. But it was just Magecraft, not Magic. Anyone can travel to the future, and anyone can do it faster than other people. All you need is immense velocity, that's Einstein's Theory of Relativity. But travelling to the past... That's Magic. Science can't do it, period. It's physically impossible. Before we go any further, you should know that I don't count. I came here from a location where time doesn't properly exist— it's semantics, really, but at the same time, it's not a violation like travelling to the past from the here and now."
"So the Holy Grail War Ritual is a hybridization of Magecraft, and three kinds of Magic. The first Magic is Zelretch's Kaleidoscope, which opens up gateways between parallel worlds without crossing through areas without concepts of space and time. The second is Einzbern's Heaven's Feel, which allows human souls to be materialized, and ultimately, is the key to immortality. The final Magic doesn't have a formal name. Really, it's not even recognized. It's effect is that it allows one, and only one wish to be granted. The wish can be absolutely impossible, and it will still be granted.
"To decide who is worthy of it's wish, the Holy Grail selects seven worthy individuals to be Masters, and seven legendary Heroes to be Servants— Well, I say that, but it's not quite true. This ritual has been repeated five times, because each time before the present day, something has gone wrong. The first time, the entire thing imploded in on itself because of an error that Kischur and the Tohsaka had made, the second time Zolgen Makiri was about to loose and commanded his Servant to break it's noble phantasm, killing everyone but him and destroying part of the ritual, making completion impossible. The third time around, though, was when someone deliberately chose to break the rules. For some reason that I will never understand, the Einzbern decided that summoning the Anti-Hero whose legend was 'The embodiment of all that is evil in the world.' sounded like a great idea. Four days into that war, their Servant dies, the grail absorbs all the evil in the world, and the war is over because whoever killed that servant also managed to break part of the ritual.
"Sixty years later, ten years before the present day, the fourth war began. The details of what happened in that war are important. Our father participated in that war, and one of our adversaries was summoned during that one as well. It was also the reason we became what we are. So, listen closely and remember every word, because we won't have time to cover this again..."
⁌⁅⁑⁀'―‿⁂‿―'⁀⁑⁆⁍
Over the next hour, I told him everything that I knew about that war, and it was a hell of a lot. About the Einzbern master, our father. Gilgamesh. Iskander. But the really important material I covered was what made a King, a King. For mortal humanity, the term simply means a leader, a ruler. A dictator backed by religion and tradition. It's not like that for Heroic Spirits. For them, it's more of a title earned by merit, usually compounded by the reverence of mortals. On one side of the spectrum, Arturia is the King of Knights because she is considered the perfect example of chivalry; her deeds in life are absolutely heroic but barely play a role in that title, what with authors heavily fictionalizing her legend, and those fictionalizations then making their way into popular myth and belief. People don't know of Auturia for her deeds, they know of her because she is King Arthur.
On the other side of the spectrum, Gilgamesh is the King of Heroes because, he was the first and thus, due to the nature of how the Throne judges things, most perfect example of a hero. It's a significant title, because if you look at the criteria for ascending to the Throne of Heroes without accepting a contract from Alaya, Akasha needs to consider you a perfect being. Gilgamesh is considered the perfect example of a prefect being.
Among humans, anyway. The title of King means nothing to non-human heroic spirits. I skipped that little tidbit because the only way we'd ever see one is if a True Ancestor decided to become a Master, which has absolutely never happened. Arcueid Brunestud not being a Master in the Fifth Holy Grail War is, for reasons that elude me, a universal constant.
I am considered the King of Blades, and am the only Counter Guardian to attain such a title because I am the only existence capable of wielding my Noble Phantasm, which is outside the understanding of even Akasha. Metaphorically, if an Ultimate One is outside the understanding of a foreign world, then Akasha is the planet, and I, the horrible abomination from beyond the stars. Lovecraft reference intended. My Noble Phantasm looks beautiful to me, but judging from the reactions of others... It's an abomination, not just because of what it can do, but at an absolute and fundamental level. This, however, was a perfect example of information that would probably make Shirou wary about me, so I didn't mention it.
The most important thing I did was give Shirou a vested interest in fighting the war. I didn't know if Shinji was fighting this time and I couldn't rely on him doing something repugnant to get Shirou's hackles up. Fortunately, Kotomine had thoughtfully solved that problem for me. I told Shirou about Kotomine and Gilgamesh's little "Prana Battery", and it was all the cassus belli he ever needed. He was instantly ready to do incredibly stupid things and get himself killed. I've got to figure out how to temper that...
After a few minutes spent clarifying some things for my younger self's edification, it was finally over. We reached the present day, and I told him why I was here, instead of upon the Throne... Which was, of course, a lie. I've never seen the true Throne of Heroes. Just Caldera Valhallis. He didn't question it though. It probably had something to do with the fact that, as far as he was concerned, I was proof that his dreams would come true. I may have, ah, forgotten to mention certain salient facts about the nature of my existence.
Now, for the most important part. I spoke, "So we have our work cut out for us. Those children have suffered long enough, but before we can do anything about it, I have a question that you must answer yes to."
"Emiya Shirou. Are you my Master?"
Without any hesitation, he answered, "Yes!" and then hissed in pain as command seals carved themselves into the back of his hand.
Why do I feel like such a scumbag right now? 'Possibly,' suggested a small voice inside of me, 'because you just basically had your innocent, younger self sign his death warrant?'
Yeah, probably.
⁌⁅⁑⁀'―‿⁂‿―'⁀⁑⁆⁍
His face grim, he asked his question, and after everything he told me, it was without hesitation that I answered, "Yes!"
He smiled, and then there was a sharp pain centred on my right hand for a moment. It wasn't bad compared to forming my magic circuit. I held my hand up before my face, and saw three red marks inscribed there.
"Those are command seals," He said, "They let you give three impossible orders to me, and force me to accomplish them. Do not waste them on anything mundane."
I frowned. "Like— what, I could tell you to cause world peace and—"
"—No," he cut me off. "Don't even joke about that. Depending on how that command was interpreted, It would either be so weak it would have no effect, or I would be forced to deploy my entire arsenal simultaneously. If it was the latter, then the best case scenario would be the absolute destruction of the entirety of Japan and a good deal of Asia. After all," he said, his expression strangely bitter, "After such a catastrophe, the oceans would drain into the remaining crater, decreasing the sea level by about fifty feet. The currents and subsequent tsunamis would cause a total collapse of well over ninety percent of ocean life, and annihilate populations within a few hundred miles of any coasts. Weather patters would also be harshly changed, leading to the collapse of most agricultural options. Humankind would die back until at most ten, maybe twenty thousand would exist. All of them would need to work together to survive.
He stopped for several long moments, and nearly whispered, "World peace."
Shakily, I nodded. And wondered what I had done in the future to gain such a preposterous amount of power— or more to the point, what threats the future had provided, to force me to gain such absurd strength.
My future self stood up from the table, taking the plates and utensils, to the sink. He placed them in, made a soft noise of amusement— and then they vanished. Projections? He turned back, then and walked back to the table, but didn't sit back down. Without any preamble he continued.
"The best way to use command spells is for very specific actions. You could order me to dodge an unavoidable blow. You could tell me to win against an enemy that's stronger than me, and I would gain the strength to overcome them. But no matter what, you should not ever use a command spell to give general orders. If I were a lesser Heroic Spirit, the danger would hardly be so great. As it stands though, I hope you realize the seriousness of the situation."
"I do," I said shortly.
"Then we need not touch on the matter any further. Unless you have any questions?"
Well, there is this one thing...
"What do I call you?"
"Saver," he answered, "You should also think of me as Saver— I am a future version of Emiya Shirou, but I'm not exactly a future version of you. The Fifth Holy Grail War that I lived through was very different from this one— for one, I didn't exist yet to be summoned."
"Ah," I said intelligently, "Well then, Saver," I said, testing the name, "You never mentioned what we did to become a god."
Saver looked confused for a moment, before realization dawned in his eyes and he let out a harsh bark of laughter.
"We didn't. There are nine classes it is possible for a Servant to be summoned into. The standard ones are Saber, Archer, Rider, Lancer, Caster, Assassin, and Berserker. Originally, though, Zelretch wanted the Grail to use Divine Spirits rather than heroes. Gods, essentially. The concept proved untenable because it would have caused Holy Grail Wars to have a cycle time in millennia instead of just sixty years, but the components of the ritual designed under that concept were never removed. Two of the containers designed to imprison Divine Spirits were completed when the idea was scrapped. The first was what the Einzbern summoned in Heaven's Feel Three, Servant Avenger. The second is what I was summoned into, Class Saver. My legend, such as it is, gave me enough affinity for the concept of 'Saver' to be summoned into it. Thus, my soul is wrapped in a shell made to contain divinity, and what shines out, the world recognizes as a God."
Saver looked up. "It isn't quite a good thing. The containers of the seven Heroic Classes are designed to offer enhancements to the souls that inhabit them. The Divine Classes are meant to limit the spirits they contain. I'm far below my regular strength, and what's even worse, I can't pass for human. My Divinity attribute is rank A, on the level of a true god. Anyone who notices me will realize, like you did, that they are looking at a god. I can't walk around in public, not like this. The only real positive of being Saver is that, since Gaia and Alaya both desire the existence of gods, you don't have to provide me with any prana. If I were in a regular class, I'd have to expose my hand to the field too soon to compensate for that." Saver shrugged. "It is what it is, and it's far from the worst situation I've ever been in. Once you're competent for field work, remind me to tell you about one of the Wars where I was summoned as a regular human. Those were fun. Took some pages out of dad's book."
I tried to imagine a regular human being fighting against something like Saver, failed, tried harder, and still failed. Then I remembered something. Saver was probably telling the truth, something this outrageous would just be absurd to make up for the hell of it. Still, I had to check. "Saver, what's your proof that you're my future self?"
Saver looked startled for a moment, then smiled a bit. "That, is the simplest thing of all. Our bodies are made out of blades."
I'm not sure what happened after that, but some time later, I slowly blinked, feeling like I had been viciously punched everywhere at once. Something cracked, then flowed over, and I caught the tell-tale scent of raw prana in the air. "W—" I gasped, drawing in a lungful of air, as I pulled myself to my feet, "What was that?"
"I tapped your Origin by sympathizing it with my own. It's... generally not a very pleasant feeling, though, in your case, you needed it. We'll be covering details about that tonight. But today... today, we are doing what all young heroes do to suddenly gain power that they really shouldn't have."
I fired a shot in the dark, and asked, "A demonic pact?"
"What? No! That's pop culture bullshit." (Pop culture bullshit when, I wondered. It definitely wasn't something popular in the present.) "Something far worse." Saver's ever-present smile became a bit feral, "A training montage."
⁌⁅⁑⁀'―‿⁂‿―'⁀⁑⁆⁍
"First thing's first," began Saver, "Your method of creating prana is incorrect. Kiritsugu really should have caught on to it, but he was a bit busy fighting a curse from a god, so..." he trailed off, cleared his throat, and continued, "Anyway, what you've been doing is converting your nerves into rudimentary magic circuits. For a few, really, really specialized applications, it's a smart thing to do. For standard Magecraft— not so much."
"Wait... Magic circuits, plural?"
Saver nodded. "Yeah, plural. Generally, more is better, but higher quality can also play a big role. Proper mages have written entire libraries on the subject, but essentially, they're organs of the soul. Your body has a heart, your soul has magical circuits... Though in that metaphor, lungs would be more accurate. You have twenty seven, which is above average for a first generation magus, and they're also of a greater level of quality than a standard magus. They won't be even close to enough when I'm done with you, but fortunately, they won't have to be, once you're ready.
"Back on topic. To access them... Actually, they're already open. It happened when I pinged you with our shared origin. Try feeling them out, it shouldn't be too hard... Just remember that your normal methods are completely invalid. Look for something else."
It took awhile but eventually, I found them. "Good," Saver said. "The next lesson would be using magic with them, but for us..."
Saver whispered a long chain of nonsensical syllables that seemed like a spell and then the concept of light ceased to exist.
"Saver?" I shouted, "I can't see anything!"
Silence, and then Saver's voice, "This is your first lesson. Relying on mundane sensibilities in a conflict against Heroic Spirits is the path to a swift death."
There was a flash of pain, and then a thin gash opened itself on my cheek.
"Just because you can no longer see doesn't mean you cannot grasp—" he stressed the word strangely— "the world. Improvise!"
Improvise? Improvise how⁉ I Reinforced myself just to buy some time, and the blade that hit me shattered against my skin.
"Good first move," came Saver's voice, from what sounded like right in front of me. I threw a wild punch, and hit nothing but air. As I stumbled, Saver kicked the back of my knees, sending me to the ground, and before I could recover, I felt the bite of something static against my neck, "But you really don't seem to have grasped your situation."
There was that weird stress again. I— I had to think. I had to keep a level head. This was supposed to be training. The purpose of training was to learn. I couldn't learn if I was dead, so Saver wasn't going to kill me. I wasn't in true danger.
What was he trying to teach me?
Grasp.
Light didn't exist here.
Grasp.
But maybe, it didn't have to exist.
Grasp.
So, what did I need to see?
Grasp.
Everything.
Grasp.
I reinforced my body past the limits of what I'd normally attempt, moved down, rolled, hurled myself to my feet and jumped away from Saver. As I shot through the air, I began to cast my most familiar spell.
'Begin structural grasping. Define Target: Air. Begin Analysis.'
And then, just for a moment, I saw.
Outlines. White shapes against black nothing. The Magecraft wasn't working properly, Instead of obtaining blueprints of what I was looking at, I just saw the meaningless exteriors in empty monochrome.
Swords. Countless swords, stabbed into the ground, and an outline of Saver, standing on the crest of a hill, the blade he had wounded me with nowhere in sight. I fell back to the earth, skidding to a stop. At length, Saver spoke once more.
"—Congratulations. You've kicked off the transfer of accumulated knowledge."
"...what?"
"Consider it a cheat that only we can use. You are my past self; therefore, you share the same existance as I do. Therefore, you can obtain access to all of my skills, and my knowledge and memories. Because of that, you are the only human capable of attaining the level of Heroic Spirit in this day and age. Neat, isn't it?"
I couldn't think of anything to say to that, so silence just stretched out.
"I stopped using vision a long time ago," Saver suddenly said, "just started Grasping everything all the time. Refined and modified the spell a bit to make it more efficient. Once you get used to it, it's better than what it replaces. A few years after I really got used to it, light stopped existing here— structural grasping doesn't need any light to function. It works on other principles. Now, try again."
I did. And somehow... somehow, it was easier than it had ever been.
A faint, sourceless wind blew around us, kicking up dust that at once obscured my 'vision', and that I saw perfectly through. As far as the limits of my perception went, there were swords. Countless swords, majestic swords, swords with stories and histories that I couldn't understand because they were all entangled in something more fundamental that was completely alien to me. And... I realised something. I was actually seeing it in jittery motion now, not just a snapshot, and I could discern the basic properties of the swords as well.
"This isn't... Saver, where are we?"
"Everywhere. Somewhere. Nowhere. Earth, but not as Alaya knows it, and definitely not as Gaia wishes it to be. This is my Reality Marble, Shirou."
I remained silent, and Saver interpreted it correctly, explaining the term.
"A Reality Marble is the establishment of a lens that is a world. Alaya, the world of humans, is Gaia viewed through a human lens. A Reality Marble is Gaia viewed through an alien lens— or more appropriately, a personal lens that has origins that absolutely can not be traced back to Alaya." He let that statement trail off for a moment, before continuing, "Some are simple. They overwrite, or establish alien physical laws. Of those kind, one might see a Reality Marble that denies the existance of Mana. Another might give the user the ability to consume other existences, and add those existences to their own.
"Those are the most common type. There is another though; the type that transforms the deepest expression of oneself into a world. That's what this Reality Marble is. It contains every legendary weapon, flawlessly recorded over the course of ten thousand years of accumulated experience, and contains the shared memories, experiences and lives of that the humans who wielded those weapons as well. These swords are memories, perfectly recorded and made real." Saver spread his arms to encompass the entire landscape. "This, Shirou, is your inheritance. But at the moment, you don't meet the qualification to posses it.
"As of now, you only understand Swords. You need to understand human nature to obtain this ability."
The spell broke. "Wait. What do you mean by that?" I asked. "I mean, I think I understand human nature as well as anyone else— I mean, wouldn't someone who fails to understand human nature be completely unable to live normally?" Saver raised one of his eyebrows, and I elaborated, "They wouldn't be able to form any kind of relationships, or understand the wants and needs of others. They'd just go through their life carelessly— and they wouldn't really be able to understand the nature of good and evil. I— we— want to be, or in your case, are a Hero. How can you want to do good and save people, if you don't understand good, or what it means to be saved?"
Saver looked at me oddly. "You know, I don't remember being so philosophical in my life. I just chased my goals more or less blindly until—" saver cut off and shook his head, slightly, then continued, "until I reached them."
I shrugged.
"You said something that didn't really make sense— seriously, what did you mean about human nature?"
"What I said." Saver said, a bit of humour in his voice, "You want a better explanation? Grab the sword directly to your left." I carefully reached out, closed my hand around it hilt and—
⁌⁅⁑⁀'―‿⁂‿―'⁀⁑⁆⁍
My eyes unfocused slightly as a strange sensation overcame me, a white blade forged for-
"—king? My King, what...?" I held up my hand. Sir Bedivere fell silent, and I frowned. for a moment, it had felt as if... No. It was nothing important.
Just a memory of a sword.
⁌⁅⁑⁀'―‿⁂‿―'⁀⁑⁆⁍
Shirou lost his balance and fell over the moment his hand came into contact with The Sword of Promised Victory. It probably wasn't fair, throwing him into Arturia's History, but if he couldn't weather it... Then I couldn't trust him with the power that would eventually become his.
I gazed out over the landscape of my reality marble, taking in everything from every angle. The swords and histories of every Hero stabbed into cracked obsidian, the eternal, silent, lightless thunder in the sky illumining an ocean of gears and darker things behind them. And my own Noble Phantasm, as a solitary red star in an eternally cloudless, empty patch of sky. Ah, and if I looked closely enough, the sheer weight of accumulated history in my own inner world would crush me without remorse.
Alaya had a philosophy. The reach of humanity must always exceed it's grasp.
Which is fine, until someone like me comes along, to close his fist around eternity.
Then, worlds die.
The King of Blades? Call me a butcher of sources. Call me the harbinger of the Aristoteles. Call me Alaya's most favoured dog. But a King? That's just a role I wear when I need, and discard when it becomes inconvenient.
I sat, and continued existing under the light of a crimson star which shed no light, in a world without a concept of light. I waited for my younger self to either pass or fail the first of a thousand tests of character, integrity, insight and strength of will. And if it looked like he would become me, or even had that potential... Then as a King, I'd administer the only justice I knew how to give.
Death.
Chapter -2: Fate/False king — END
Replies to Previous Reviews, Character Stats and Author's Notes:
Replies to all reviewers who made their reviews prior to 6/24.
(No reviews from the previous chapter had responses that contained information of public interest. Therefore, there's not need to make my responses to them public. I would, however, like to thank, in order of submission of review, AQZT, InsertRandomUsernamehere, and UNTensaZengetsu for taking the time to leave their thoughts.
You are all goddamn amazing.)
Character Stats
Ranking System Explanation
F is a regular human. EX is beyond quantification. Plus modifiers mean that, if certain preset conditions are met, it can become more powerful. Minus modifiers mean that the stat of attribute in question isn't quite at the listed rank, but it is also significantly above the previous rank, eg, C- isn't quite a C, but it's more than a D.
In short, each rank is equivalent to:
F: The amount of hell one Kotomine Kirei can raise without outside assistance.
D-: Ten Kireis, Equivalent to Canon E-Rank
D: Twenty Kireis, Canon D
E-: Thirty Kireis, Canon C
E: Forty Kireis, Canon B
C-: Fifty Kireis, Canon A
C: Sixty Kireis, Canon A+ when the conditions for the power-up are met.
B-: Seventy Kireis, Canon A++ when the conditions for the power-up are met.
B: Eighty Kireis, Canon A+++ when the conditions for the power-up are met.
A-: Ninety Kireis, Canon EX Begins Here.
A: One Hundred Kotomine Kireis, Canon EX
EX: Unlimited Smile Works: 『The Hill of Kireis』
Now, this system predicated on relative measurements of Kotomine Kirei is a bit subtle. Of particular note, the Luck statistic is reversed. F-, or having no Kotomine Kireis in your life is, of course, much luckier than even having one. To note this phenomena, the luck statistic is italicized to mark the inversion.
Servant Saver
『The Hero that Nobody Knows』; 『The King of Blades』
True Identity: Counter Guardian EMIYA
Master: Emiya Shirou
Alignment: Chaotic Emiya
Major Arcana: Justice
Minor Arcana: The King of Swords
General Stats: Strength(E), Agility(D), Mana(B), Luck(EX), Endurance(A), N. Phantasm(?)
Origin: Sword
Element(s): Sword
Class Skills
Independent Action (EX)
Because the planet recognizes him as a Divine Spirit and a contradiction simultaneously, Gaia is incapable of deciding weather or not EMIYA should be removed from the world. As such, EMIYA is fully capable of generating his own Prana and does not need any to remain in the world, though he lacks any divine abilities that Gaia would normally grant a manifested God.
Divinity (A)
To contain gods, you must use materials on the level of the gods. A normal Saver would have this skill at level EX, but EMIYA has degraded this skill unintentionally because he lacks any natural divinity trait. Anyone who sees him will still eventually realize (incorrectly) that they are looking at a God.
Degradation (B)
The container of Saver is designed to contain the strength of Divine Spirits. As EMIYA is simply a Counter Guardian, it is much, much more effective than it should be, and most of his attributes suffer accordingly.
Personal Skills
Clairvoyance (?)
Eye of the Mind: True (?)
Magecraft (C-)
Thousnads of years of subjective experience have given Saver a gret deal of time to refine his Magecraft. Unfortunately, even though he is far above what any human in the present day has ever achieved, by the standards of his competitors, he is still a third-rate magus. Not that he cares.
High Speed Aria (F)
Saver seems to be able to do this, at least for his reality marble.
Noble Phantasms
[unknown] (?) - 『?』
A reality marble. When manifested, it pulls it's user and up to fifteen targets into a world that is a barren obsidian hill stretching infinitely out into the horizon. Impaled on the ground are all the blades EMIYA was ever seen, from cooking knives to cursed lances. Once within this world, EMIYA can use his magecraft without any cost other than the inherent cost of maintaining the marble itself.
EMIYA has stated that it stores not only the ubiquitous blades, but the completely and perfectly recorded abilities of the wielders as well. At the very least, the memories of long dead heroes seem to be as much a part of it's composition as the blades themselves.
Tarnhelm (Derivative Phantasm) (A) - 『The Helm of the Dragonslayer』
Tarnhelm is one of the very, very few pieces of armour to truly attain the nature of 'Noble Phantasm'. Originally possessed by Gilgamesh in the Gate of Babylon. Used by the Hero Siegfried. It holds two abilities. The first is a peerless ability of transformation, allowing the user to generally assume the form and natural abilities of anything they transform into, to the extent that it is possible to become phantasmal species. However, as it only grants natural abilities, if one become a dragon, one must learn how to be a dragon. If EMIYA became a servant, he would gain nothing from it but their form. It is not able to create or destroy divinity in it's user.
Tarnhelm's secondary ability allows it to take it's user anywhere as needed at nearly luminal speeds- essentially, there is no location on earth that can't be reached without delay.
[unknown] (Derivative Phantasm) (?) - - 『All the Starlight in the Sky』
A pale white bow with an etherial quality about it. Properties unknown, but Caster refers to it as "All the starlight in the sky, given the concept of 'Bow'." Apparently, a broken phantasm without the fragility that state usually implies.
Servant Caster
『The King of Stories』
True Identity: "Shakespeare"
Master: Illyasviel von Einzbern
Alignment: Masterful Playwright
Major Arcana: The Magus
Minor Arcana: Two of Cups
General Stats: Strength(E), Agility(C), Mana(A), Luck(E), Endurance(E), N. Phantasm(EX)
Origin: Unknown
Element(s): Unknown
Class Skills
Item Construction (?)
As a Caster, Shakespeare should have this skill, but it's parameters are currently unknown.
Territory Creation (?)
As a Caster, Shakespeare should have this skill, but it's parameters are currently unknown.
Personal Skills
Misattributed Identity (A++)
Because of the uncertainty surrounding his true identity in the modern age, Shakespeare is able to exchange the existence of anyone who could have plausibly been in his place. He can also assume the existence of anyone who might have been there otherwise, but is dead. This ability transcends Space and Time, and actually rewrites history so that Shakespeare was always where or who he was but any events that happened to him will have happened to whoever he exchanged existences with. This ability is vulnerable to an attack that carries a variant of the concept "Always strikes the intended target".
Noble Phantasms
[unknown] (EX) - 『?』
A book. Usage is realized when the phrase "Non sanz droict." is spoken. Has the capability of rewriting history. Any requirements for it's use, or limitations to it's use are presently unknown, but it seems to be unable to affect other Noble Phantasms that interfere with causality, based on Shakespeare's comments.
(＞ಠ益ಠ)＞AUTHOR'S NOTES＜(ಠ益ಠ＜)
Tarnhelm originally came to my attention in Ol'Velsper's story, I Put on My Robe and my Wizard Hat. If you haven't read it yet, I recommend you do so. It's pretty damn awesome.
Just to clear something up though, because I fear (especially as the story goes on) that some people might think this: The narrator is not an unreliable narrator. Ever. If I wrote something happening, the safest thing to do is assume that it actually literally happened that way. The only exceptions to this are when I'm writing in first person PoV, which is limited by what the character knows, and just about any dialogue, because people lie.
I know that the Aria for Structural Grasping is off. Unfortunately, at the moment, I can't remember the verbatim and don't feel like sifting through the visual novel for the information.
I am the bane of my essay— wait, shit
"So," I said, just making sure I had heard correctly, "Your contract with Alaya, it's basically a type of Magecraft. Like the contract we have."
"Yes, but billions of times more powerful," Saver confirmed. Oh god, tell me I'm not this stupid.
"So, Saver, what's the effect of Rule Breaker again?"
"To nullify any contract. Why?"
It... What...
I pulled a blackboard out of nowhere important, really, and drew a super simplified diagram of Rule Breaker and a circle.
(72 hours later)
"So you use Rule Breaker A, on Counter Guardian Contract B, I finished, triumphantly. Surely, he'd understand this t-
"I don't follow."