Chapter Twenty-eight: Under an Ancient Star

(*)

Who is there to compare with him in kingship?

Who like Gilgamesh can say:

'I am king indeed?'

His name was called Gilgamesh

From the very day of his birth,

He was two-thirds god, one third man,

The Great Goddess Aruru designed him, planned his body, prepared his form

A perfect body the gods gave

For the creation of Gilgamesh

Shamash the Sun gave beauty

Adad the Storm gave courage

And so he surpassed all others.

- The Epic of Gilgamesh

(*)

The king's voice rolled across Fuyuki, and what it brought was light, and a storm.

Like stars they appeared, points of golden light no larger than a man's fist. Ripples spread from them, as if stones had been hurled into a lake of molten gold, and as the light grew objects appeared in the portals.

Swords. Spears. Daggers. Maces. Everything from elaborate scythes that few could even hold to simple quarter staves, weapons of all shapes and sizes from all the world over. Some elaborate beyond imagination, some deceptively simple, but each and every one shone with the obvious quality of a master's work. Each of these weapons had clearly been the greatest masterpiece of an exemplary craftsman, even the simplest of them a work of art.

And each, of course very, very good at killing.

Gilgamesh gestured, and a hundred shining stars became, at once, a hundred comets.

(*)

Archer leaped back, the Shadow's tendrils lashing furiously at his legs even as a rain of projected daggers pushed back Assassin before it could take advantage of his disadvantageous position. The air around him thickened, like he was swimming through molasses, and without missing a beat he spun and released an arrow at the last place he had seen Caster, hoping to disrupt the spell before it could lock him down.

It was not the ideal battle, to say the least. Even as he slid to a halt, he could already see he had barely managed to make Caster dodge, Assassin was vanishing among the trees again, and more of the Shadow was welling up out of the ground, growing from a pool of darkness into the twisting mass of tendrils that marked the main body of the creature.

"You're wasting your time," Caster snapped. "Look around you. Sakura doesn't even need to be asleep for me to project her power anymore. Her subconscious is becoming her conscious, and once it does we've won. The new goddess is coming."

Archer smirked, because that was his default mockery expression. "Well. I don't see her here, so I don't think things are that cut and dried."

"You are earning yourself a truly horrible fate, you nothing," Caster hissed. "Once the Shadow has you, you belong to me. Your mockery will be repaid a thousand times over once that happens."

Archer looked up, past the Shadow as it welled up to roll over him like a wave, past the flying Caster...and winced.

"Well, if it makes you feel better, you'll probably be dead before that happens."

Caster opened her mouth to retort, before following the line of his eyes and realizing he was looking at something behind her...and turning to run.

Sweet Hecate, what fresh hell is th-

She did not have time to finish the thought before her cape was shredded...and her spine with it, the defenses her cloak and spells provided stopping nothing at all.

She fell, too stunned by pain to scream, as the world began to explode around her. But it was okay, the Shadow screamed for her as the golden arrows tore through it...

(*)

This is not Saber.

Lancer had fought Saber before, twice. Once before his freedom and once after. It had been an amusing fight both times, though she'd only survived by luck even against his weaker 'self.' Her invisible sword and uncanny instincts were really her only interesting points, as long as her Noble Phantasm wasn't unleashed.

Not so anymore.

Her blade was no longer invisible; rather, he could not have missed it if he wanted to, and the blackness of it felt foreboding even to him. It moved like lightning, leaving trails of unearthly emptiness where it passed, and though Saber herself was no faster than before he found he could not approach her. It was as if the burning black sword and the sheer force of her anger was pushing him backwards. The pressure of stepping in to attack threatened to crush him with every exchange, and the blade was wrapped in energy that extended its reach and sent a brutal shock up his arms each time their weapons met. Try as he might, he was unable to even get close enough for Gae Bolg's bloody aura to cut her; and of course her magic resistance would leave any rune he could cast worthless.

He felt, more than anything, that he was facing an advancing wall of metal that pushed forward and to move it back would require more strength than he had. A juggernaut that would inevitably roll over him, and so proceeded slowly and steadily; not the hurricane fury of Berserker, but a cold rage that knew it would eventually triumph and so picked away at him slowly and surely, striking with unrelenting force until the end finally came.

Their battle had lasted only a few scant minutes, and yet she had pushed him halfway up the temple steps without any obvious effort; slashed thin lines across his arms, his legs, even a strike to his chest just slightly too shallow to touch his heart, and yet she had taken no wounds in return. Unless he could somehow trap her with his Noble Phantasm, he was doomed.

In short, it was pretty awesome. He had thought it couldn't get any better, in fact, when the sky opened up and began to rain fire and death upon them both, and as the stairs to the temple shattered as though a dozen bombs had struck them, he laughed in the purest glee he had perhaps ever felt, because it was just. So. Perfect.

Shame the girl didn't feel the same. Women, right?

The first sword slammed into the stairs between them, crushing half the temple steps and forcing them apart; Lancer leaped back to the temple gate, and Saber back to the bottom of the crushed stone that had once been the temple steps. Neither had much time to complain, as the blast that forced them apart was the first of many, a rain of golden missiles that ripped into the streets and mountainside like a bombing run, leaving craters the size of houses at the worst of the blasts. Even the mountain's boundary field seemed to be of little help, the sacred barrier burning with white light as it repelled, at best, half of the weapons that struck it.

But Lancer was not really impressed until one actually hit him.

It wasn't a lethal blow, obviously; he was very hard to kill. But as Gae Bolg twirled to block three of the shining missiles, one of them actually twisted in mid-air to slide past his guard and impale him through the right shoulder, slamming him backwards almost to the actual door of the main temple building from the sheer impact.

He lay on his back for awhile, savoring the pain and considering the implications. Unlike Archer, who had merely somewhat confused his ability to reflect projectiles, this new mystery assailant had powered through it. For a normal archer, this was impossible. He looked at the blade that was still impaling him, a gilded rapier that shone with an inner light while simultaneously having a blade so slender it was nearly invisible, making it seem the weapon was both more and less solid than a normal blade.

A Noble Phantasm. He didn't know from where, he knew it matched no hero he had ever heard of, but such a bizarre blade could only be a Noble Phantasm. They all were. He smiled.

A Servant so strong it can break every rule and overcome every defense. For whom the greatest of treasures are no better than arrows. His power must be beyond belief.

Oh, I have to fight this guy.

He leaped to his feet, all liquid grace and shark-smiles, and ripped the sword from his shoulder, charging back to the stairs and leaping straight down. He briefly took a nanosecond to appreciate Saber again...cloaked in a swirling aura of black mist, her sword cut aside a half-dozen arrows in as many seconds, outright shattering a dagger that appeared to be made of gleaming ice. She truly was amazing.

He landed on ground level, kicked off, and lunged to stab her in the back, because admiration only got you so far in life. Her combat instincts knew he was coming, the way her muscles tensed proved it, but to turn and block him at that moment would leave her open to storm; he had her and she knew it, but she couldn't do a damn thing about it. Delicious.

And shining, moon-white blade slammed into his spear in mid-thrust, forcing him off target. He spun with the impact, using the momentum to launch another attack and drive his blade at Archer...

And nearly lost the grip on his spear in sheer bafflement as Gae Bolg impacted on Archer's blades, held in Archer's stance, but not in Archer's hands.

"Shirou, get back!" Saber commanded, slashing aside an axe that sought her head, the impact exploding brilliantly as the incoming weapon burst into flame as it neared her. "You are-"

"Go!" the kid snapped...no, Lancer decided. Not a kid. Not the inept child trying to fight with a poster, not the half-conscious amateur wielding swords that shattered like glass, those were Archer's swords, as real as the real things. "Find whatever is causing this and stop it! I'll watch your back."

"You'll die!" Saber snarled.

"You will," Lancer agreed mildly, though curiosity as to just what the Hell he was looking at kept anger from him.

Shirou didn't turn to look at her, just kept his gaze locked on Lancer, and smirked. "If I do, you can contract with Ilya. It will probably be better for you anyway. But if you die here, we're all done for, so just go!"

Saber charged, vanishing in a burst of wind and power as blades rained down around her, and Lancer barely noticed her leave. That is a very familiar look on his face. Those swords. That stance. Just what is going on here...?

He blinked a few times...and smiled, dropping into a stance and ready to charge. "So, when I kill you, does Archer die too? Because I gotta say, the look on his face when he vanishes without a fight would almost be better than killing him myself."

Shirou blinked in confusion, but realized talking wasn't a bad plan here; whatever the bombardment was, it was following Saber now. He could hear the blasts getting further away. Any extra time he could buy her with this lunatic far, far away was extra time she had to stop it. "What are you talking about? Archer isn't my Servant."

Lancer chuckled, sidestepping as a beautifully crafted halberd roared past his ear. "Haven't worked it out? Or, Hell, maybe I'm wrong, but that's okay too. I'm gonna kill you for fun no matter what."

He charged, the lance tearing through the burning night, eager to see what new tricks the kid had to bring this time.

(*)

It hurt.

It hurt.

Her extended power, her Shadow, was awake and moving on its own, unleashed from her control, acting on primal instinct. The power it drew from her was agonizing, its hunger boundless despite the souls Caster gorged it on. Each step felt like a hundred meter dash in terms of the energy it drew from her.

Her body had been pierced again and again, blood pooling around her, and it would not heal. She was an avatar of the darkness a herald of All the Evil in the World, and any wounds her body suffered should have regenerated in seconds. But these wounds resisted her, the blades piercing her body denying the mystery of the Shadow, and the worst, the deepest cut, the golden spear that had struck the small of her back and severed her spine, sang to her a song of mortality as she bled into the soil...

But she would endure. One step. Another. Her body burned and froze all at once, and she felt as though her organs had turned into blades within her. But with each step, she told herself again that she. Would. Endure.

But she would endure. She had been broken and beaten and died an ignoble death before, and she had survived. She was a failure, a weakling, she had lost her love and her pride and everything save the need to continue. Souichiro had fallen, Sakura had abandoned her, but she would survive. Claw and rip and drag herself by the bloody nubs of her fingers to victory. She. Would. Endure.

With agonizing step Sakura took toward Matou Manor, she told herself it would all be over soon.

With each agonizing inch Caster pulled herself toward the writhing Shadow, she told herself it could not possibly end like this.

Technically, they were both right.

(*)

Rin Tohsaka strode through the halls of Matou Manor, and with every fiber of her being fought to resist the urge to burn the place to the ground.

Zouken was not in, apparently. Or at least if he was, he had not reacted to her presence in his basement lab.

...Lab. Ha. Call it what it was: his torture chamber.

Seeing it through the scrying gem she had snuck into Sakura's coat had not prepared her for the reality of the place. The worms were vile enough on their own, observed from a distance. But up-close, able to analyze the construction, work out the dweomers, determine not merely what their function was but how they did it...

She knew, merely from observing, that they were cheap constructs, born more from time and raw power than skill. She could have taken the spells woven into their flesh and produced something far greater than their original designer could have ever thought to use them for.

Knowing what they did, however, she fervently knew she would have rather chopped her own hands off than make such an attempt.

She had left Rider down there with a terse order to kill every living thing in the room. She wasn't certain if that would accomplish her goal, how many other familiars Zouken might have, but the loss of the main hive certainly wouldn't benefit him. Besides, she needed to be alone, right then.

Training to be a magus, both under her father and under Kirei, was agony. To take on the Tohsaka crest had been the work of years and each step of it was like having iron spikes driven into her soul. And so, when she had seen Sakura's strange behavior at school, the changes to her body, she had known it was the result of Makiri magecraft. She had just assumed, and not unreasonably, that Sakura was facing the same pain as her, and just was not handling it as well.

God, she had been wrong. The sheer depth of her ignorance, and that final preconception being ripped away...it was too much. She wandered, half-conscious, barely able to even feel the rage she knew she should have. She was simply on the verge of an emotional shutdown.

And it was in this state she found Sakura's bedroom.

It wasn't bad, actually. The house as a whole was cold, and dank, and clearly had been cared for only the bare minimum. Everything was old, and worn, and smelled vaguely of mildew. So when she walked into the room to find a serviceable bed and desk, clean carpet, and recently painted walls, it was rather surprising. It was hardly luxurious, but it was at least a bedroom. Somewhat Spartan, but not totally uncomfortable.

That was the worst part, really.

The room looked, on its surface, fairly pleasant compared to the rest of the house. A place that a young, abused, girl might go to find something like refuge.

At least until you looked more closely at the bed, and found on the dark covers, a few drops of dried brown blood, and something paler.

Barely noticeable, unless you were looking at it. Sakura might even have thought it had been fully cleaned. But those few, scattered drops of dried fluid told a story that Rin had, on some level, been desperately hoping would not be true. And somehow, it felt...worse. The basement had been a thing of pure horror, but it had been honest. It didn't offer the lie of security while just being another torture chamber beneath it.

And given the nature of the evidence, it meant Zouken wasn't the only one who needed to die here.

Still in a half-trance, she left the bedroom. She would be back later, to burn it, but for now she had to get back together with Rider and search for more evidence, another lab, anything. Focus on work, and don't think. Focus on work, and...

"What are you doing here?" a cold, unpleasant male voice asked from behind her. "Haven't you taken enough, Tohsaka? Or did you just come here to rub in that you made me a laughingstock again?"

Rin, as a rule, didn't think much about Shinji. Frankly, once she had Rider, and had taken from him the last thing that made him have any value as a person, she had more or less forgotten he existed. But at the sound of his voice, she turned, and she considered this had been an error.

He was paler than usual, his skin having an unhealthy sheen of sweat, and his eyes were filled with something between despair and madness as he glared at her. He looked like a man who had given up on life, she mused; like one who had realized that he had no reason to go on, and his body was simply giving up and sliding into the same void his mind had already surrendered to.

Or maybe that was just how she saw him. Or maybe it didn't really matter.

He opened his mouth to say something, and she didn't hear it over the blood pumping in her ears. His face was simultaneously hateful and plaintive, as if looking at her made him sick, but he was so desperate for someone to acknowledge him that he just couldn't care anymore.

She might have pitied him a bit, earlier. But now, all she could think of was a stained bedspread, with just a few drops of blood, and a few drops of something paler...

She reached into the sheathe beneath her coat, and drew the Azoth dagger her father had left her. She didn't often carry it, but these days you could never be too careful. Any tool could help.

She had a good idea of how to use this one.

(*)

The black lance pierce his weapons again, the swords shattering and the cursed weapon's bloody aura digging into his arms, cuts springing up from nothingness.

Lancer was toying with him, gleefully torturing him for the thrill of it, Shirou knew that much. He had (somehow) Archer's skill with these blades, or at least some portion of it...but he wasn't Archer. The Servant was taller, stronger, faster. Equal skill or not, Archer was able to fight in ways Shirou physically couldn't. Lancer was too much for him.

Which is an excuse.

You have to beat him. If you cannot do it, then become someone who can do it.

But he couldn't. The gap between human and Servant was too great. He could Reinforce his muscles, but he would never be a physical equal to the the monster in front of him.

... And if you cannot do that, then create something that will allow you to defeat him. Change the rules. For every foe there is a weapon, for every challenge there is a tool. Look at the monster in your path and create the blade that can slay it.

He knew he couldn't. Lancer was beyond him, and no weapon he could hold would change that, he knew it in his mind, but his heart, his instincts, and the burning behind his eyes told him that if he didn't, Saber, and Tohsaka, and Ilya would still have to face this laughing maniac who tortured and murdered for the fun of it...!

And in that crystal moment, the tool to use became clear.

I am the bone of my sword.

Steel is my body, and fire is my blood.

Lancer charged, delighting in the hunt, the smell of blood filling his nostrils...and getting a tad bored. He wasn't bad for a human, really, but it was time to speed things up and find someone closer to his own level. Maybe chop one of the kid's arms off, see what happened? Yes, that would be kinda funny, and also bring the fight to a quicker end so he could go find Saber. The tip of his spear lashed out ahead of him, to pierce through the boy's guard before his blades were replaced, then hook in under his right arm and slice up...

The boy, rather than blocking or trying to parry, leaped backwards, casting himself out of sword range and making Lancer almost groan in annoyance. He was trying to run away? Boring. Boring. Without slowing, Lancer took a step, digging his heel into the pavement to redirect the charge just slightly, extending the strike, fully intending to just end things right now...

And the boy slashed aside his spear from well outside the range of his swords, diverting his charge off to the side. Eyes widening with shock, Lancer dug his heels in, halting the charge and spinning to slash across at the boy's neck, only to find that he had dodged back again...and while doing so, struck back. The black lance struck only air, and Lancer hissed in pain as something slashed across his chest. He leapt back himself, observing the boy as he fell into a defensive posture...and laughed.

Shirou Emiya stood opposite him, in a stance that he himself had taken a thousand times against a thousand foes, and the crimson spear in his hands radiated bloodlust.

Lancer shook his head in bemusement. "You know, kid, I almost like you. You're either brave as a hunting wolf or too stupid to give up, but either way you at least make me laugh. But do you think a replica spear is gonna save you? A few of my tricks and a cheap version of my weapon doesn't make you a Lancer."

The boy didn't respond, verbally, but the way his eyes darted over Lancer's shoulder involuntarily told a story all its own. The spearman spun again, his blade twirling to repel a dozen silver arrows; not the brutal golden missiles, but the simple blades of his least favorite bowman. He cast his gaze around for where the pompous ass might have taken position, ready to charge...

And the kid tried to stab him in the damn back!

"In the back?!" He snapped, stepping into the thrust, letting the blade slip between his arm and his body, and catching the shaft with his free hand. "Really, you little shit? You think being annoying to me is your best option here?!"

The kid's gaze was hard and unapologetic, which admittedly won back a few points. "You tried to do the same to Saber. Now it's even."

Lancer snapped his blade up to show the little moron that it would be 'even' when Shirou Emiya was exactly one head shorter, only to discover he didn't have the time for even that one-second kill. Mid-stroke a slash became a parry as Gae Bolg turned to slice aside an arrow incoming for the side of his head, and he hissed in pain again as the boy ripped his copied lance free, the blade peeling through his armor as it was pulled out of his grip.

Troublesome, Lancer thought, watching the boy drop into a defensive stance again as he tried to pinpoint where the damn sniper was...

The kid jumped back, a retreat faster than he should have been able to manage as a human, Lancer's own practiced footwork speeding it. And Lancer realized he had been set up in a big way.

Archer descended on him from above, a flying leap straight from the trees lining the mountain, an arrow leading the way; not a tiny dart, but a spiralling, shining blade that would have crossed hundred kilometers, being fired from less than a hundred meters away. It should have strcuk, seemed impossible it could not...but for all its speed, Lancer was unparalleled. As impossible as the attack was, Lancer's parry defied it, and he slashed the glimmering arrow aside.

And the instant it touched Gae Bolg, the Broken Phantasm detonated right in his face.

(*)

Nothing, not one other thing in his world, could have infuriated him as much the sight of her charging toward him, black and silver against the flames of his wrath.

She was still beautiful, which was the worst part. On the outside he might have still found her appealing, had he not known what she was within.

She had let another touch her. Despoil her.

She was defiled.

With each step she took toward him, he grew more enraged. He rained down swords upon her, blades of power and majesty, and she swatted them aside in their dozens. The black sword she carried, a mockery of her holy blade, trailed lines of darkness through the air, and she moved with a strength and clarity she had lacked in their previous meeting. She was something closer to the Saber of the last War, in terms of power. Greater, even.

She should have been beautiful beyond imagination, but instead she turned his stomach. Saber, his Saber, was supposed to wade through the filth and gore of this world untouched, unbowed, suffering eternally but letting nothing stain her. She was to be broken only by him, in the moment that would define her life forevermore. Now, though, like a gilded wrapping around a rotten fruit, she was comely on the surface but vile beneath.

She turned onto the street he had chosen, and looked up at the small apartment building he had perched upon. Her steps tore apart the pavement as she charged, and her gleaming black sword shattered an ancient spear he sent to take her head as though it was simple kindling. She leaped, a hurricane of power roaring around her as she practically soared, clearing the top of the building in a single bound, bringing her blade down.

The Gate opened wider. He heard her snarl in fury as her attack was met and blasted back by a hundred shields, each as magnificent as the blades he hurled; ranging from simple bucklers of polished bronze to tower shields that seemed forged of a single giant diamond, gleaming with light like an inner star. Against a wall such as this, even the mightiest demonic sword would fall short, and she was thrown back, her own power turned against her as the wind was repelled by the mighty guardians.

Gilgamesh smiled at her, feeling as if he was in a dream. He had not felt like this in so long, striking with such fury he felt disconnected from his surroundings. To remember his true rage like this was a bit distasteful, but with each second the sight of her stoked it to new heights, and control was impossible. So he moved slowly, as if in the dream, and smiled as he spoke.

"You are not mine, anymore. I saw you as my treasure once, but you should not have let that thing touch you. I could look past your infidelity if all you had done was take a lover, though I would have to kill him. But to allow your core to be corroded without my consent? That is a sin that will never be forgiven, Saber."

Saber looked up at him, and he felt both allured and sickened by the look in her eyes; she gazed upon him with consuming wrath, like a rabid animal, and he was both disgusted by such unseemly behavior from her, and slightly pleased at the notion that she was here with him, in that haze that clouded the eyes and twisted the stomach. It was appropriate, in a way, for his love to meet him for the last time in this maze of dark passion where neither of them could control their blackest impulses. She would not speak to him or challenge him, but merely followed the cry of her blood to take his head.

It was not Saber. This thing was not her, not really. But she was still elegant, in a way.

He snapped his fingers, and more golden portals appeared across the sky. He smiled all the wider in his anger, and his thoughts took an amusing form: Burning together in madness, let us craft bloody carnage to our heart's content.

Dance with me, my dear Saber.

(*)

Sakura wasn't sure what she was expecting to find, when she entered her home, but it wasn't this.

The front door had been torn off its hinges, the damage suggesting someone had punched holes in it to get a firm grip. Further in, the door to the basement chambers had likewise been crushed, and from within she heard none of the chittering of the swarm; Grandfather's worms had either been killed or retreated into deeper holes. Either way, it was clear the labs and manor had been attacked.

A Servant? God, she hoped not. Senpai already knew about Zouken's true form, but seeing the worm pit itself, perhaps recognizing what they were...she didn't want him know about that. He would feel awful for not preventing it, and what was about to come would make him sad enough. She was here to protect him, not torture him. But then, the only other active Servants she knew of were Rider and Archer, and she didn't want nee-san exposed to...

... This.

Rin stepped down from the upper floors, and Sakura froze like a deer in the headlights. She was pale, her skin a nearly grey pallor, and she had a sheen of sweat over her forehead, but it was fine, it was all normal, nothing was wrong. Sakura knew this, knew that she wasn't seeing what she thought she was seeing, her mind wouldn't let her piece the puzzle together for her own safety.

Because more than tired, she looked horrified. As if she had seen her own ghost. And the thing that seemed to have filled her with that horror was seeing Sakura.

And her hands, both her hands from the wrist down, were coated in blood.

"... Sakura?" she whispered, her tone suggesting she wanted to be anywhere, anywhere but where she was. "What are you doing h-"

"What did you see, nee-san?" Sakura asked, her tone soft but firm. "And what did you do?"

Her sister did not look her in the eyes. "I saw everything. You know I saw everything. The worm pit. The bedroom. All of it."

Sakura's blood ran cold as she heard the exact opposite of her hopes, but she continued, "I...see. And what did you do...?"

"I had Rider destroy the labs. She should be finishing up. I couldn't let those...things exist. And then I... I found something upstairs." She paused. "Evidence."

"... And then you found nii-san," Sakura said, the fear in her blood coalescing into cold, black certainty.

"Yes," Rin whispered. "Yes, I did, and I'm not sorry. He deserved to-"

She was cut off, then, by Sakura taking a few steps forward and folding her into a hug.

"I'm sorry, nee-san. I'm so sorry..." Sakura murmured, stroking her sister's hair.

"W...what...?"

"All those years. In the darkness, with the Makiri... it has been awful, nee-san, as awful as all of it looked. You've seen no lies here. This is a house of monsters.

"And I never, ever wanted that blackness to stain you too. I could handle it when it was me, but now you've been dragged down into their world too, turned against your nature. If I had acted earlier, maybe I could have protected you..." Sakura whispered.

Rin relaxed into the hug slightly, a sob just barely contained under her voice as she said, "No. No. It's my fault, all of it. I should have known, should have seen what they were doing to you, but I was afraid to look. If I had done something, stepped in sooner...!"

"Shhh," Sakura murmured, feeling her own tears coming, but oddly happy despite it. "You would have done this. And this was never what I wanted for you, nee-san."

"No! This isn't about me, its about you," Rin snapped, pushing Sakura away and leaving bloody handprints on her sister's shirt. "After what they did to you, this is what they deserve! The only thing I feel about Shinji is 'one down, one to go,' and that's all you should feel too."

Sakura sighed, a tear running down her cheek as she smiled. "Thank you. I'm glad you want to protect me. But... I have to protect you too, nee-san. If I can, I need to keep you far away from all this. Because you really are a good person, and there's still hope for you.

"Not like me."

Rin opened her mouth to retort, but found herself cut off by a sudden, almost blissful rush of vitality...

Matched by a sudden shock of pain as the book in her front coat pocket burst into flame. Rin had just enough time to throw her coat off and see it ignite as the Tome of the False Attendant burned inside it, before something slammed into the back of her head and everything went black...

(*)

The dance continued.

Gilgamesh knew he was being barbaric, but it was hard to care. He had bonded with Saber on a new level, something lacking the kingly dignity of their prior love, and yet beautiful. The blades fell toward her like raindrops, a dozen at a time, ripping apart the building and streets beneath them.

And yet, each one failed to pierce her. Each one was parried, or dodged, or cut into metal shards by her power. Kirei would probably be annoyed by the display, most particularly in that he had almost certainly killed at least thirty of the mongrels that dwelled in this hideous city and not bothered to be subtle about it, but he found he hardly cared. Let the priest have a harder job, he should learn to enjoy his work anyway.

This was fun.

Saber stepped in, and a dozen blades scattered from her power. The wind around her roared like a hurricane, a shield against all attacks. Her blade shone with black rage and cut down each missile sent her way. She leaped into the air, the wrath of Excalibur slashing through a blade made of shimmering ice, a scythe that called for her blood and cut down immortals, a spear made of lightning and flame. Noble Phantasms, blades of magic and mystery, and they shattered against the sword of the Black Faeries as though they were made of glass and dust.

Magnificent.

She sailed through the air, descending on him like a flying predator. Saber brought her blade down, and from nowhere the shield emerged; not a marvelous treasure, but a wall of thick iron that Beowulf would go on to use in his final battle against the dragon that would take his life.

The shield had not held against that dragon, and it would not hold against the black wyrm who slashed her fangs at him now. But it did give him time to reach for something more...potent.

Saber's blade screamed, sparks and black light roaring out as Excalibur slashed deep into the iron barrier, ripping through the prototype just as dragonfire would tear through the final product in Beowulf's own legend. But as in the legend, the shield served its purpose; allowing its master to bring a more lethal tool to bear.

Saber's eyes widened as the shield shattered, and her descending weapon slammed home against Ea. The crimson light of Gilgamesh's finest treasure ignited, the whirling blade burning against the black light of Excalibur. The blast slammed against them both as the weapons strove to destroy each other, forcing them apart and dealing the final deathblow to the unfortunate building; the remains of the structure fully split in half, leaving both Saber and Gilgamesh standing atop a pillar of what little remained.

Gilgamesh smiled. "And now, the stage is set. You have proven worthy, black imitation of Saber. I was wrong about you. You are not some foul crawling maggot as I feared, but a furious black dragon spreading her wings wide across my kingdom, while all in her shadow tremble! A beast, but a beast of legend and a worthy foe indeed!"

Saber did not speak. Her eyes had lost all traces of their true shade, having become toxic golden orbs that showed nothing but hate. She planted her feet, black light swelling around Excalibur. Gilgamesh trembled in desire, stunned by this unorthodox and yet somehow still magnificent creature. The darkness tore off her blade, dancing around her like flames, wind and black mist rolling off her in waves that tore apart the landscape.

Gilgamesh's grin widened, and Ea spun faster and faster, drawing in power, absorbing rather than emitting. A perfect counterpoint to the black sword casting off dark fire in all directions.

The black dragon spreads her wings, and the world burns beneath her gaze.

But a legendary monster will always be slain by a legendary hero.

"My joy and my rage are kindled, and the sight of the dragon sings in my soul!" He screamed, his grin manic and his eyes burning with madness. "Fall, beast of black myth! A stage worthy of your defeat has been prepared!"

Saber stomped her foot down, stepping forward and shattering the pillar of concrete that held her aloft, and roared, "Excalibur!"

He had never been more furious. He had never been more happy. Saber would always be magnificent, no matter what form she took, and while she still had to burn for allowing another to touch her...she would burn brilliantly.

"Enuma Elish!"

(*)

Lancer leaped out of the explosive cloud, his armor shattered and the flesh of his face and chest burning off. He skidded to a halt, his mind an intermingled mess of pain, rage, and sick admiration. It hurt, but it had been such a good plan he couldn't help but admire it too…

The air whistled with arrows, and he slashed his still-smoking spear up, only to find not a true arrow, but a pair of those matched blades circling around him; not striking in, but around.

Cutting off his retreat.

Spirit and Technique, flawless and firm

Archer landed in front of him and charged, a single smooth motion with another pair of the swords in his hands. He immediately hurled them straight on and created another pair of the blades in his hands without missing a step as his charge continued.

Our strength rips the mountains

It was cunning, trying to create an attack that he couldn't deflect by producing attacks from all angles at once; no matter how fast Gae Bolg might be, the spear could not be in six places at once, after all.

He underestimated Lancer. The blade could not physically do what he sought to avoid, but it mattered very little. Lancer's speed was beyond human, beyond Servants even, and to him even a nanosecond of delay was enough. The spear spun in a single perfect arc, striking aside all four projectiles in the space of a half-second…

But there were six.

Our swords split the water

He hissed in rage as his counter was pulled just a bare instant longer than he had planned, a third pair of the weapons screaming at his instincts as they approached from directly behind him, matching the pair coming in from ahead and complementing Archer's original strike slashing in from the sides.

Our names reach the Imperial Villa

Lancer set his posture, his blade descending just slightly too late, his weapon just barely not blocking Archer's final charge. The twin blades slashed in, an x-cut that tore into his shoulders from above before he could fully halt them, his spear pressed up against Archer's forearms and stopping the full descent…

And Archer, smirking, dropped the blades and grabbed onto Lancer's spear, holding it still and ensuring he could not block again.

The two of us cannot hold the heavens together.

Shirou Emiya struck him from behind, an x-slash from below that mirrored Archer's blow. Lancer spun his body, trying to get the remains of his armor into the path of it. The twin blades slashed through the broken metal, digging into his sides, stopping halfway through his body. Blood filled his mouth as he felt the metal cutting through his flesh, his organs being pierced one by one, stopping just short of his spinal cord.

And Archer, his smirk vicious and his eyes cold, kicked Lancer in the chest to push him back further onto the swords and grabbed his own blades, ripping them from Lancer's shoulders and slashing in on the trails of blood Shirou had carved.

The stroke ended with Shirou and Archer, their movements perfectly choreographed, slashing past each other and avoiding their charges becoming tangled or even slowed despite the close proximity. It was a truly fantastic sword dance; somehow brutal and yet elegant, beyond the cold pragmatism that usually marked Archer's technique, or the half-formed amateurish slashes of Shirou.

Lancer would have appreciated the artistry of it a bit more, if he had not been busy falling between them, cut in half at the waist.

Archer, without a word, turned and projected a sword, slashing down at his head, fully intent on ending it right then and there, the elegance of the sword dance entirely gone.

Lancer, were he capable of doing anything but coughing up blood, would have laughed out loud when Shirou stopped his downward slash with an identical blade, twin silver broadswords meeting in a shower of sparks.

"Dammit, brat!" Archer snarled. "They regenerate faster than normal Servants! If we don't destroy the head or heart he'll just come back!"

"We need him! He's a rogue from the Shadow, he doesn't obey Zouken or Caster!" Shirou snapped right back. "If anyone might be able to help us cure Saber…"

"Cure her? You seriously believe…"

"I have to believe!" Shirou said. "Because it's my fault. She was wounded in a battle I started. She's been corrupted using her power to protect me. There has to be something I can do, because right now she's not even herself anymore, and I refuse to just let her die!"

Archer tilted his head to one side. "Ah. I see. After all this, every pain you've suffered… you're still a child. I forgot how dense youth can be, before they've learned…"

"I don't know what you're talking about. I don't care what you think," Shirou said, snapping their blades apart and holding a defensive posture. "Maybe Saber can't be helped. Maybe things are just too dark. But I'm not going to stop trying. I can't."

"You can," Archer said, flatly. "Because I'm going to kill Lancer, right now. And you're going to learn that Saber is beyond saving at this point. And you're going to suffer, horribly, but then you're going to learn how the world works. You can't save everyone. You can't even save most people."

"And that's a reason to stop trying?"

"Yes. Because if you don't, you're going to end up…"

"Like you?" Lancer whispered.

Both of them jumped, apparently having forgotten he was between them, and he chuckled through the blood in his mouth. "I swear. You two. I don't know which of you… is more of an idiot. It's funny, but also kind of… pathetic that I was killed by you."

"You're not dead yet," Shirou said. "And if you help us…"

"I won't," Lancer said, and his smile was oddly calm. "In about ten minutes, I'll have regenerated. And then, I'll kill you both, or you'll kill me. It doesn't matter which."

"You can't be…"

"Can't I?" Lancer asked, closing his eyes. "This was a good fight. To do battle on this level… it was really fun, even when I lost. I don't mind dying here. But if I can live and keep doing battle, I will. Those are the only two paths. Both amuse me, so whichever you pick."

Shirou narrowed his eyes. "What if we could help you? Drive out the darkness? With you to research, and Saber still not totally lost, I bet Tohsaka and Ilya could work something out. You could be free again, instead of a slave to that thing. Doesn't that sound better?"

He chuckled. "I've never been free, kid. Whether it was the Lord Chulann, my Master in this Grail War, the hungering darkness… no matter what I might say or wish, someone has always held this dog's leash. I don't want to be cured. I don't want to be saved. I want to face the strongest foes I can find until I stand atop the world, or until I die. The closest you will get to 'help' from me is studying my corpse. You can't contain me. You can't control me. I am going to die in a war to shake the world, or I am going to kill you all. You have until I can walk again to decide."

Archer sighed. "Well. The boy won't quit, but I'm more realistic, Lancer. Let me do it. A legendary hero should end with some dignity, even if he is a rabid dog."

Lancer's eyes flashed. "Yeah, you better kill me now. Because you're first when I finish healing. Food for the Shadow, every drop of blood. So you make it a hero's end, or I'll give you an ending fit for a dog, you mouthy bastard."

Shirou opened his mouth to protest, cutting off only when Archer raised his blade again to end things. Shirou fully intended to stop this, to hold onto any child's hope, and all three of them knew Archer was quite willing to cut right through him to finish off an enemy. Lancer smirked at the show.

And then he died.

The blast ignited between them as a golden missile slammed home, the shock of its impact hurling them both back; Archer landed gracefully, his eyes immediately locking onto the new threat, while Shirou fell, too shocked and furious to have anything like grace.

The blade was absurd. Larger than even Berserker's sword by a hundredfold, no human could have ever wielded it; it was easily the size of a city bus. It stood proudly, beautiful and shimmering in the night; beneath it a crater that would have swallowed a house sat in the pavement, punching down into the sewers below and shattering the ground there as well. Under the tip of the blade, a pool of shattered armor and mangled gore was all that remained of Lancer; he had not merely died, he had been obliterated, leaving only scraps of blood and bone as his head and torso were reduced to little more than a puddle seeping into the sewers.

And on the hilt of the blade, standing on the guard with a wide smile and staring down at them, was a figure who could only be the golden Archer who had attacked them the first night they had encountered the blackened Lancer. Shirou could feel the menace in the air, the power roaring off him in waves. He felt small, and weak, a mouse under the gaze of a falcon, as the Servant looked down at him from his perch.

In his one remaining hand, Saber hung loosely, wrapped in a heavy chain. Her armor was shattered, her legs and arms had been broken, and her eyes were dull and unresponsive; unconscious with her eyes open, or simply too crushed by pain to react? It didn't matter. Shirou's instinctive, primal terror at the beast in front of him was overcome by sheer unthinking fury at the sight of Saber in such a state, and the gaze he cast the monster responsible was as defiant and vicious as any he'd ever shown.

The golden Servant tilted his head to one side, his eyes empty and dismissive. "I don't think you should stare at me like that, boy. I did you a favor, and executed a mad dog you were too weak to put down. Be proud to have the King notice your existence."

"Let. Saber. Go."

The man laughed, the sound chilling from the true joy in it. "Ah, defiance at every turn! And from another miserable fraud, counterfeiting my treasures? I am going to cut out your eyes for daring to gaze at me in anger, and tear out your heart for mocking my treasury. But first I have a more pressing engagement, so remain still until your time of execution. Obey this command, and I shall end you with some mercy."

He turned to face Archer, who looked the closest to scared Shirou had ever seen him, and his smile was mocking and cruel. The sky turned golden, lights igniting across it, as more and more blades began to slide out, aimed and ready.

"Now then, Faker. I believe I told you when last we met just exactly what I was going to do to you for your insolence in maiming me. Shall we get started on that?"