Fate Stay & Akame ga Kiru crossover

Chapter 01

The Fateful Encounter!

Deception & Redemption!

'It feels the same.'

The vehement flames, spilling from the Holy Grail itself, were lashing out and incarcerating everyone in reach within its loop, then devouring them until nothing remained. These flames encompassed everything they encountered. His parents, then his friends, and in the end, the village, were forfeit to the carnage; their screams of pain and angst went unheard by the dimming sky, as they were scorched until they perished, as they cursed the air with malice, abhorrence and pugnacity. But, even the fire spared one from the untamable inferno that inanely massacred people. The sole survivor, Shirō Emiya.

'Yes, it does feel the same.'

On a trembling leg, crimson blood tainting him, he forcefully pushed himself forward, hoping to survive. Every step he took renewing the anguish and numbing his will to live. It was cruel, twisted fate that left nothing, but void in those eyes as he continued pushing forward. The cries of those charred bodies still reverberating in his ear, he kept moving forward.

One step. Two steps. Three steps.

That was him, with the tenacity that can never be deterred, and can never be broken.

But despair had dulled his resolve.

Even after all these years, far away from that excruciating past, which took everything from him, lost in time, he never forgot it.

'It feels the same.'

The utter angst exhausted him of his remaining sanguinity, and then he collapsed on the blood-stained ground. His body yet breathing, but the life slowly fading in those dark chasms, as he prepared to join the incinerated and uncountable corpses scattered on the ground.

That little anticipation of seeing light again painfully attenuating within him.

'It feels the same.'

Exhaustion finally caught up to him, fully claiming his mind into blissful unconsciousness, pacifying his heart, albeit the sheer pain continued coursing inside his body.

Shirō's eyes suddenly flew open, revealing his pale steel-gray orbs that were devoid of all emotions, staring at an unfamiliar ceiling, as he ignored the rather soft comfort of a mattress and the gentle warmth of a blanket covering him. Casting his sharp detached gaze around, he tranquilly observed his surrounding but found no familiarity.

Pushing himself up to a sitting stance, Shirō winced at the redoubling pain that sent waves of excruciating pain throughout his body, his right arm clutching his left shoulder out of impulse. The blanket skidded down his frame revealing his bandaged and toned muscular torso and mortally wounded shoulder, his mildly long snow-colored hair bangs obscuring his closed eyes.

Where was he?

How had he got here?

Who brought him here?

Shirō knew nothing. He didn't remember anything that could answer him about his current whereabouts. All he recalled, the numbness creeping up on him until it immobilized him, confining him into a resilient frozen ice, and then he was cold. His eyes snapped open at the recollection.

"E-Esdeath."

Shaking his head, he ran a hand through his hair. He still had his pitch-black trousers. Throwing away the blanket, he stuffed his legs into his metal-plated, shoes. Looking around, he noticed his pitch-black armor on a table and the red folded shroud beside it. The next moment, he was donning his clothes, the armor tight on his muscled chest and torso, while the shroud covered both of his arms, shoulders blades, and from the back of his waist to his legs, the veil tied into an agemaki knot.

As he finished redressing, he peered at himself in the mirror. So many things had changed in these years, but it remained the same to him. He wondered why the encounter with Esdeath hadn't brought him death, and it was time to find the answers he sought. He reached for the doorknob, only for the door to creak open, before he found himself facing a tall man, bull horns protruding from the side of his purplish-blue haired head. Clad in distinctive white robes with red-trimmed edges over a black outfit beneath, tied by a red cloth around his waist while a red disc was attached on his chest region, he held a stave mace in his right hand.

Shirō's eyes narrowed at the impartial face of the man that exuded conviction beyond his comprehension. Something was off though. Could he really call him a human? Even for humanoid appearance, he had freaking horns on his head, and second, he didn't make any impetus movement from almost colliding into him.

"You are awake."

Shirō's eyes twitched once at the obliviousness of the man. "Are you the one who brought me here?"

"No."

Shirō's eyes twitched for second time, but that was it when abruptly the man reached out and smoothed a ripple in the shroud covering his right arm. Shirō was already flipping backward from abrupt motion out of instinct, his right lower appendage greeting the man square in the lower jaw with enough brute force to snap his head back, and sent him uncomfortably reeling away. The man dug his foot in the ground to halt his movement, creating a trench in the ground before he pivoted the mace, blades protruding from it as he leveled it at Shirō, only to use it to quickly circumvent the white Chinese falchion that almost beheaded him.

Shirō went with his momentum, and countered with another rotatory swipe of his black falchion that was parry away by the lower adjunct of the truncheon, which set off a mild oscillating convulsion upon impact; his build maneuvering by then to elude the overhead charge that shattered the ground upon impact.

Shirō leaned back to let the backhand miss him by inches, before he brought both Kanshou and Bakuya down at the assailant. The overhead charge was intercepted by the staff with such agility that it almost left the sword user flabbergasted, but he concealed it well. Experiences from such perilous situations didn't allow him the luxury to lose his cool in the midst of a battle. As Shirō quickly leapt back, he promptly sidestepped, before dodging around with such grace, which left the deathly counters of the mace-holder acknowledge thin air in-between, while he let his mind wonder about his current predicament.

He definitely wasn't weak. However, the peculiar man standing in front of him was potentially competent enough to duet his sync. Not surprising, when he has confronted several who adequately outclassed him. But, that was the difference. He had contended with many, and the experiences he gained shouldn't be taken lightly. Then, does that imply, this man was stronger than he let on?

Shirō stiffened as he watched the man standing his ground, barely moving a muscle. Egotistical, was he? Or, was it his dignity? None in this realm or any other should be capable of holding themselves with such poise in these circumstances, not after testing him at least. Even the Teigu holders of this realm would be unnerved, otherwise, at the very least, they would disclose their mental perturbation.

Except for one.

Esdeath.

That woman outclassed him in the swordplay. Yes, that what it was to her. A mere means to amuse herself, effortlessly mastered by her. Such an adept she was when it came to atrocity. But, this man wasn't her. Though, he was presumably as skilled a fighter as her.

"What is your name?"

"Susanoo."

Shirō sweat-dropped. Apparently, this man was also irrationally calm, and lacked the ability to unveil emotion. However, Shirō still acknowledged the name with a faint bow of his head. "I am Shirō Emiya." He leaned forward, strengthening his footing on the ground, before bursting forward, the ground exploding at the propulsion of the sword wielder.

However, Shirō watched carefully as Susanoo stepped towards him with his mace inclined at him, and then an instant later reappeared right next to his side. The sword bearer's eyes widened in shock, and time seemed to have slown down as the mace swung at him. Manipulating his frame from the curve of the horizontal trail, Shirō countered with the flat surface of Bakuya, before driving his elbow into the throat of the attacker and sending him flying across the area, Susanoo's body slamming hard into the ground and created another trough in the process.

Shirō stood his ground, as he pondered the situation. Astonishingly, Susanoo only seemed to be countering his attacks. It may be his surreal anxiety, or, perhaps, it is what he failed to conceive until then. The lack of Holy Grail in this realm, and yet his summon must be the cause. However, the most dubious thing was the absence of his master, the dearth of trace to track his master and his disinterest to search for his master.

It was all peculiar.

The probability of deeming his next act a mistake was high, when he reflected the unfamiliarity, but Shirō chose to trust his instinct. He let Kanshou and Bakuya dematerialize in thin air, and straightened himself, discarding his battle-posture. Susanoo acknowledging the act by retracting his mace, the glistening blades disappearing instantly.

"Why did you attack me?" Shirō scowled incredulously, folding his arms on the chest. Perhaps, to obscure the slight twitching of his fingers and restlessness.

"You had worn your clothes unfittingly. I merely chose to correct that."

Shirō blanched at the response. "You were doing what!?" He face-palmed and shook his head, several beads of perspiration accumulating on his forehead. "Never mind me there."

"Well, I should be rather saying that, please don't mind Susanoo here." A feminine voice interrupted the conversation, prompting Shirō to look at the purple-eyed, short silver haired woman in her teens. An eye patch over her right eye, she was wearing a black suit that exposed her cleavage; her mechanical right arm tucked on her hip, and a cigar help in her left hand, while a black cloak over her back whipped in the slight breeze. But, what caught Shirō's attention was the impish grin on her face. "He is just a perfectionist-freak."

"And who would you be?"

The woman puffed at her cigar. "Najenda. I am the leader of the assassination group, Night Raid." She then looked at the young man, and extended her mechanical arm. "And, I am here to ask, how would you like to join us?"

Just a small prologue to get the feel of the story. Akame ga Kiru isn't a lengthy anime, but it will still need some working. I would most probably post smaller chapters. Update would be strictly on response I get. No review, no motivation, no urgency, slow update. Something like that.

Thanks goes to "The Wyandotte" for proofreading the chapter.