I've had this collecting dust on my computer for months, believe it or not. It's the first chapter of my newest project - one of two I'll be working on once I finish Mastermind. The other one relates to that story, so I'll talk more about it there in that story's final A/N, once I put up the ending two chapters in (hopefully) a few days time.

To those of you who just got pinged and jumped expecting the grand conclusion - sorry! Seriously, sorry! The final chapter's around ~60 - 70% complete, so it shouldn't be too much longer now. I took a few days off work to try and bang it out, so hopefully I can wrangle in my perfectionist nature and get it done. Both 23 and 24 are monstrous - 23 alone clocks in at ~12,500 words. This story's being posted both to reassure people I'm not dead (again, ugh), and to sorta branch out into a new arena.

My core goals behind Fateless are threefold: to maintain an online presence post-Mastermind; to practice my pacing and character interactions; to attempt a different style of writing. Mastermind was (and is) very architect in nature, very rigid. Fateless is built sorta garden-style with more "gaps" in between set plot points to allow additional wiggle room and shorter chapters. There's no set chapter limit; I can make it as long or as short as I need. We'll see how it plays out with future update speed.

As a warning for any diehard Fate lore folks, I'm playing fast and loose here, mostly with Alaya's crackfic-tier characterization. It has a major role in this chapter only, don't worry. The core concepts at play in Fateless have intrigued me for a while, and I hope they entertain all of you, too.

Please: enjoy.


"Loose!"

Bowstrings snapped. Arrows flew.

Over the wall they sailed, into the shields and bodies of the advancing men. Too few dropped; hope dimmed.

"Cornwall bastards! Do they not see that man's insanity?" Tristan snarled. "Of all the times!"

"'Tis a good strategy. They know the granaries run dry."

"Gods damn it, Palamedes! Do not compliment them! Slay them!"

Palamedes whistled into his fingers, grimacing. The wall's archers fired another volley.

"You know I'm shite with a bow, Tristan." He raised his voice. "Archers! Loose at will!"

Tristan took aim beside them, his 'sleeping' gaze sorrowful. Palamedes' fellow guard did not enjoy using his bow in such a manner. Fancier of chivalry the man was, he thought it better to engage an enemy on horse or in melee. That went doubly for his former allies; a sad state of affairs, to be pitted against brothers.

Enjoyment and effectiveness, thankfully, were not correlated. He felled men at twice the rate of the others.

"Palamedes!" a voice cried. The guard sergeant turned to the wooden staircase leading down into the village proper.

"What news, Bedivere?" The one-armed man leaned against the stone wall, panting. "They take axes to the western gate! Sir Kay needs you there at once!"

Palamedes and Tristan shared a nod.

"I'll handle things here," the latter replied. "Be safe. You still owe me that ale."

"Aye."

Palamedes donned his helmet and left the wall. Tristan's jaw tightened.

A foul omen.


Shirou Emiya awoke to red skies and dead earth. Every gagging breath filled his lungs with ash and soot. High overhead, skirting the stratosphere's boundaries, a lone, malfunctioning fighter craft soared into the beyond. He lifted himself to a seated position, and beheld a cyan sphere orbited by twin concentric rings. Billions of voices spoke in unison.

"Hey you, you're finally awake!"

Wrong, Shirou thought, for he'd died not a minute earlier.

...

At least, he thought so. Agh, everything hurt.

"Where am I? Is this the afterlife?"

"Goodness, no! Gaia forbid it! You're in the future!"

Wonderful.

The sphere seemed to pause - if spheres could pause, that is.

"Or, well, Gaia would forbid it, if it could. But here, Gaia's dead."

Vision no longer swimming, Shirou stood and took stock of his surroundings. The fine powder coating the ground stained his hands a heinous shade of gray.

"You're Alaya, aren't you?"

"Correctamundo! We would say it's nice to finally meet you, Shirou, but we've already met!"

Yeah, about that.

"I didn't know you could speak."

"This place grants us a consciousness and a voice. We use it in cases of emergency. It's easier, you know?"

Shirou scratched his cheek.

"Then shouldn't you be calling Archer?"

"Hm? He's already here, because he's us! You and we! Also, he isn't. He's away doing, you know, Guardian things. Preventing calamities, mass extinctions, et cetera et cetera. You're readily available, though! One Shirou Emiya equals another!"

"That makes no sense. He can't be part of me and separate at the same time, can he?"

"You think multiverses run on logic and physics and concepts of the self? Pff, please. Besides, we need you for this. Not him."

"Doesn't that go against your rules? I never agreed to any contract."

"So you think!"

"I'm sorry?"

"Nothing! Remember how we said Gaia's dead? That's a problem, bucko. And believe it or not, it's about to get worse. See that fighter jet thingamajig aaaaaaaaall the way up there?"

"Yeah?"

"Its pilot is the last unaltered human. He's going to die in about... uh... two minutes? And when he goes, we go too. Game over, gg no re!"

The subconscious will of humanity sounded an awful lot like a toxic internet denizen.

...

That made a surprising amount of sense. Eugh.

"Isn't this just one timeline, though? Can't you... I don't know, Counter Force it or something?"

The sphere sighed.

"Unfortunately, every timeline we've observed converges here, at some point or another, including your own. Actually, no, that's incorrect. There is one exception, but that universe is in precarious shape as it is. We can't really mess with it all that much. Thankfully the last remaining Master over there seems more interested in playing Servant matchmaker than actually progressing the timeline."

Alaya paused.

"Akasha's purple pantaloons, that's a lot of keys."

"Focus, Alaya. Focus."

"Right, yeah, sorry. Uh, death sucks, dude. We don't wanna die. Extinction's bad news, y'know? Like, the dodo's one thing, but we're fuckin' humanity, right? Humanity fuck yeah and all that jazz. We're too good for that. So we've done a lot of searching, and we think we've finally found the point of divergence that sends things into the Type-infested shitter."

A sound reminiscent of snapping fingers nearly bowled Shirou over. In an instant the landscape changed.

Saber yanked the sword from the stone. The wizard Merlin watched from a distance.

A frown marred his face. "You're kidding."

"'fraid not, we were just as surprised. Like, King Arthur? Really? But we went over and talked with Gaia for a bit - shocker, we know, she's such a bitch sometimes, like, it's always, 'Oh my gods, you never come home for dinner anymore, Alaya!' or 'Won't you please think of the animals some more? You're out-competing your cousins!' or 'Have you considered renewable energy? How about veganism?' or-"

"Alaya? The divergence?"

"Anyway! Anyway. Gaia said it's because King Arthur's legend ends the Age of Gods. After that mana starts dissipating, and over time that leads to Gaia's death, and then ours. Which brings us to you!"

Oh no.

"Ooooooooohoho yes, Shirou Emiya! Yes in-dublity-deed! Who else would we turn to other than our most beloved champion? Her precious scabbard? The one who knows the legend the best?"

"Can't you send Shinji instead?"

"Agh, ew, no! Why would we ever do that? What, you really don't wanna see her again?"

"It's not that, it's just... look, I want to help, but the past is the past, and I don't want to fight against her. The sacrifices should mean something. I could never be Saber's enemy."

"Who said anything about fighting against her? Who said anything about Saber?"

"Huh?"

"Multiversal shenanigans, remeeeeeeember? Your Saber still exists. That past is still a thing. You ain't changing shit about your Saber, ya lil' lovestruck hero-to-be! It's a fresh timeline! We made some changes, too, you know, diverged the divergence! No fighting needed, not against Artoria!"

Shirou winced. Hesitation gnawed at his gut like a bad stomach ache. To him it still felt... wrong, in a way.

The scene faded to black. Several stage lights illuminated empty spaces.

"How about we sweeten the deal, then? If you do this for us, we will..."

In the first space appeared Shirou himself - or rather, his body, aged down to around eighteen. Something seemed off, though. Different.

"...give you a new biological body, amped up to heights of perfection not matched by even Gilgameeeeeeesh!"

An ice cold chill descended his spine. Alaya's sphere rotated ninety degrees straight up.

"Yeah! Touched a nerve, didn't it, fucker?! Stay away from that edgelord Angra next time!"

He had to be having some sort of fever dream.


"To the keep! Get to the keep!"

Breached.

Townsfolk bolted down the streets; Cornwall's forces entered with torch and axe in hand.

"Burn the child out!"

They dared set fire to her home. It would not be allowed!

One man had his back turned. Artoria swiveled out the cottage, grabbed the tip of her blade, and directed it into his neck. As he died she grabbed his torch and flung it into the approaching raiders. The act caught their attention.

"There! There, that one!"

She should've worn a helmet or hood, but no matter. It would spare her people.

"Come and get me, you dogs!"

An enemy archer pushed his way to the front of the line, leveling his bow and nocking an arrow. She put the dead man's body between her and the enemy. The projectile pierced his side.

"What are you doing?!" a voice roared. Kay grabbed her arm and dragged her away, to the retreating line of guards. Sir Ector awaited them.

"We must buy them time!" she challenged.

"Nay, you fool! We depart at once!"

But from the corner of her eye, she caught enemy soldiers setting fire to their primary means of escape. Panicked neighing bled through the flames. She wrenched her elbow from Kay's grasp.

The stables. The horses!

Her brother pursued at once; at his shout, their father followed.

"Get to the keep!" Ector bellowed to the men. "Protect the people no matter the cost! We give them nothing but stick and hay!"

"Aye, milord!"

She charged into the blaze, dismembered a man taking an axe to a door. Falling snow melted in the heat. Her family's cries followed her.

"Artoria!"


"No dice? Then in addition to the previous offer..."

The next space brightened. Dozens of his different versions appeared, all with their own stories, lives and proficiencies.

"We will unify all aspects of Shirou Emiya into one person. All your memories, all your abilities, all your..."

The sphere tried - and failed - to suppress its laughter.

"...skills..."

Okay, now he was a bit suspicious.

"Explain."

Alaya zoomed to his side. From the ether emerged something akin to a character sheet out of an old tabletop game. A highlighter floated across a phrase in the 'Skills' section.

"Read this."

...

'Harem Protagonist EX'?

The orbiting rings waggled like a pair of highly suggestive eyebrows. Steam billowed from his ears.

"I'm still not convinced."

"Oho! You drive a hard bargain, sir! Very well! In addition to both of the previous offers!"

Light intensified on the final empty space.

"We shall gift to you!"

Wait, hang on.

"A brand new, zero mileage, fully insured!"

Wasn't this too cliche?

"Suit of armor!"

Nevermind.

He and Alaya evidently had different interpretations of the phrase 'zero mileage'. The suit looked... not battered, per se, but frayed. Like some sixteenth century knight bit off more than he could chew, saw one battle too many. Shirou could tell, once upon a time, the armor had been a bog standard full suit, articulation and all. Whatever war it fought left it piecemeal; of the various joints, only the knees were protected. Its pauldrons were missing, as were the upper arm and thigh armor. Those vacancies exposed the short-sleeved chainmail shirt and gambeson tunic underneath.

The close helm once sported a crest. Once. Some force had whittled it down to the helmet and left a smooth curve in its place. Even stranger, both the gamebeson and knee-length surcoat sported his colors, black and red respectively. Crimson cloth wrapped around the left vambrace, for reasons unknown.

"What is this?" Shirou asked. "Why does it look like a medieval version of Archer's gear?"

"You've got it half right!" Alaya corrected. "Archer's outfit - your outfit - is a twenty-first century adaptation of this armor. And this armor is a medieval adaptation of Archer's outfit! They're one and the same! Ciel thought she was being unique and original; she wasn't. It's your Mystic Code, as much a part of you as Avalon or your Reality Marble. How you acquire it changes depending on the timeline, but the design is set in stone."

The entity's explanation only heightened his confusion. "You've lost me, none of this makes any sense. I'm not a knight or anything of the sort, I'm not even a magus. I don't understand how Archer's clothing translates into some weird suit of armor."

Alaya seemed to sigh.

"The first time we needed your services, we figured you needed protection. Things were getting existential, you know? You settled on this. The design's meant to honor the people you consider important. The left arm's wrap, for Sakura. The colors, for Rin. The armor, for your Saber. You're not a knight, no, but your Mystic Code is stylized after one. Because you're an Arthurian fanboy like that. You continued to modify it as the mission progressed. The articulated joints limited your mobility too much. Manifesting a full suit taxed your prana reserves more than needed. So on, so forth."

With every answer came more damn questions. Shirou felt the beginnings of a headache.

"Why don't I remember any of this?"

"Because you're not allowed to. The more knowledge you have, the stronger you become."

"I... what?"

"Do you remember your duel with Archer? Where he said you can gain skills through the absorption of past lives?"

What? A duel with Archer? Archer died fighting Berserker, what was-

"G-GYAGH-"

Pain rolled through him, head to toe. Shirou witnessed an entire lifetime of events. A struggle against himself, a promise with Tohsaka, Shinji becoming the Grail, a final battle against...

He clutched his head and gulped down air, trembling.

"How about now?"

"What... was..."

"Reality number two."

Tohsaka'd told him Archer's origins several years after the war, asked him to exercise caution in his pursuit for Saber, but... but to think...

So many weapons recorded. Far more than Caliburn, Excalibur, Avalon. The blade works, the barren field, the blood...

All that, just because he kept Saber from battling Archer in their first meeting?

"Who am I?" he whispered.

"A multiversal constant, one of a select few. You, Shirou Emiya, are purposely chained and kept separate from your other selves. Archer is the one exception, and we make sure to leash him and limit his knowledge, memories, and prana capacity before his various deployments. In all other cases, you are kept weak and intentionally denied entry to the Throne."

"Why?"

"Because your combined self is far too potent for the system to handle long term."

The character sheet appeared before him; the same highlighter marked Shirou's base stats:

Strength: E
Endurance: D
Agility: E
Mana: D
Luck: E
Noble Phantasm: ?

"This is you as you are at this very moment, after absorbing a single timeline's worth of information. In your 'original' form, you were even weaker."

Shirou winced. A bit of an ego hit, if he was honest with himself.

"Oh, that reminds us. Here, you'll need this."

...

Its glow almost brought him to tears. Motes of light melded into his body, and his periphery caught the Mana ranking tick up to C.

"It's a Divine Construct," he muttered. "I returned it to Saber. How do you have it?"

"Present from Gaia. And yes, it's the one you know. The one 'you' had. We don't need the other versions, it alone will suffice plenty."

Other versions, huh?

"You called me a multiversal constant, right? How many timelines am I in?"

"Excluding the culled failures? Every one, barring a single exception. There are... quite a few of you. More than you can count."

He caught the implication.

"That exception, then, is it...?"

"The one we're deploying you to now, yes."

"How many times have I been deployed?"

"As your completed self, just once."

His heart pounded.

"And what are you sending me as?"

All the lights dimmed, until the suit of armor stood alone against a shroud of black. Billions of voices pounded against his mind.

"The Grand Saber."

Impossible.

"I'm not strong enough, Alaya. I barely qualify for Archer."

"Again, that is intentional. Observe: the stats of your completed self."

Another sheet manifested.

Strength: ?
Endurance: ?
Ability: ?
Mana: ?
Luck: ?
Noble Phantasm: ?

Things just got weirder and weirder.

"I... I have no stats?"

"Allow us to provide some context. Do you know why your existence irks Gilgamesh?"

"Because he's an asshole?"

An asshole lusting after Saber. A special kind of asshole.

"It's because you represent his story's end."

...

"What?"

"As you yourself told him, there is no rule stating a fake cannot rival the genuine article. Your copies will always be flawed, and they'll never match the real thing, but at your projection magecraft's highest level the difference is quite literally microscopic. If, for example, the genuine Balmung operates at one hundred percent, Shirou Emiya's projected Balmung will operate at ninety-eight. It grants you Siegfried's knowledge and abilities. The cumulative sum of all his accomplishments. At that point, you become Siegfried."

...

He...

...

"You both invalidate and celebrate Siegfried's existence. His legend, his story - while you hold Balmung, they become your own. Chronologically, he is from that point forward a stepping stone on the path leading to Shirou Emiya. 'This hero exists to grant him power.'"

There they stood, in the wasteland. Shirou shook his head in disbelief.

"Multiply that by every sword."

Hundreds.

"By every spear. By every shield."

Thousands.

"By every close combat weapon to ever exist, Phantasm or otherwise."

Millions.

"Gilgamesh - and, by extension, the Throne itself - cannot accept your existence. It is anathema to their timelessness. You represent the ending of the legends. You are the faceless, nameless humanity venerating the heroes of old. King Gilgamesh is the first hero, Shirou Emiya is the last. He wields the prototype. You wield the result."

Its logic terrified and baffled him in equal measure.

"Then... at its most complete, the blade works..."

"Is a direct connection to the central database. If the Throne is the core server, you are its sole system admin. The Reality Marble is your workspace, where you download the data and copy, paste, transform it at will."

His hands shook.

"The Servant system used in Fuyuki is a faulty knockoff of the Grand Servant system - the thing we use to supplement the Counter Force."

If he was a slice of the whole, then Alaya used him as the base because-

"You use different aspects of Emiya depending on where I'm being sent. This time the issue's with Artoria, so you chose me. I'm..."

"You are what the Servants assist. The end of the road. Humanity's panic button. The Monster of Alaya."


It burned.

"Come on, come on, come on...!"

Her childhood burned.

"Artoria!"

The wood gave way; the horses bolted. Artoria stumbled from the stable's blaze, wheezing.

"I'm... okay!"

Kay's pommel strike brought a man low. Sir Ector finished him with a stab to the throat. Burning cottages and the shouts of soldiers seared Artoria's mind, and it took all the willpower she had to just stand there and take another breath.

"There are far more than we expected," Ector growled. "We must leave at once."

Unacceptable. Absolutely not.

"Our duty is to the townsfolk! We cannot abandon them!"

Her adoptive father approached her, put his hands on her shoulders.

"They are not after the people, lass, they are after you. I know Gorlois. He is a man, not a beast. They will keep the townsfolk alive for the information they carry, but you they'll execute." He looked to Kay. "Come, both of you. We head for the tunnels."

"I've no word from Bedivere or the others," Kay said. "I fear for them."

They quickened to jogs. Artoria barely heard Sir Ector over the clashing steel and roaring flames.

"The men know their duties. They will protect the people and buy us time. Kay, the scroll."

Her brother grimaced. From a pouch he pulled a worn parchment tied by faded crimson cloth - a sinister, eldritch thing Artoria knew nothing about and loathed all the same for what it represented. Long ago it'd fascinated her, but she knew better now; her heart skipped a beat all the same. Sir Ector had long since drilled into both of them the scroll's purpose: should the worst befall her, she was to read its contents and hope for a miracle.

Miracles saved no one. A blade did.

"Here."

Artoria pocketed it without another thought. Useless trinket.

"Let me go, Cornwall bastard! I'll kill ya!"

"P-Please! Please, she's not the child you- agh!"

She whirled in the commotion's direction. A Cornwall soldier dragged away a peasant girl of eight or nine years. The feisty child kicked and punched at the offending arm, to no avail. Another man kept his knee on a struggling elder, who Artoria recognized as the town's tanner.

The kid had blonde hair. She readied her blade and charged.

"Gods damn it!" Kay seethed.

Honor be damned, she wouldn't let the bastards separate yet another family. The girl was innocent. The Mad Duke wanted Uther's spawn? Fine.

The second warrior saw her coming, but he had not the time to warn his ally. A sword pierced his neck, cleaved out its side. His body dropped, the head attached by a sliver of flesh. Out of shock the kidnapper released the girl; Artoria ran through his exposed back. She tried to ignore the sickening squelch of metal on meat, pushed the man to the ground and took stock of the situation.

"L-Lady Artoria!" the girl sniffled. She wiped her tears on her sleeve in much the same way Artoria wiped her sword's blood against her trousers. It'd stain, but she'd rather that than using the soldier's and offending the dead. She looked to the warrior responsible for the second man's death.

"Palamedes."

His helmed visage calmed her little. If Palamedes had donned his helmet, the situation was grim.

"Milady. Are you injured?"

"I'm fine. How are you faring?"

"A few bruises, milady, but nothing that won't heal with a warm meal and some sleep."

Kay and Sir Ector caught up. She ignored her father's disapproving glower and instead helped the elder to his feet.

"And the men?"

"Gathering what people they can and making for the keep. We plan to hold there. Tristan and Bedivere are fine, as is Bors. We've lost some, but we expected it to be hard fought. We've instructed the men to surrender if cornered and stall with conflicting answers."

Kay crouched before the peasant girl. He ruffled her golden locks - the source of Cornwall's fury.

"You should be in the keep with the others, young one."

The child pouted in response. "I ain't afraid o' them! They can kick rocks!"

Her guardian, the tanner, put his hand on her shoulder. "We'll make our way there at once."

"Palamedes, escort them there," Sir Ector ordered. "We make for the tunnels as planned. Expect us in two day's time, and try to save what you can."

"At once, milord. I urge you tread carefully - some men have brought reports of overheard conversations. Cornwall suspects she's here. They grow desperate."

"Aye, we'll remain cautious. Gods watch over you, lad."


"So Archer was relegated to Archer because I'm banned from Saber?"

"Is the sky blue? Dude, you're literally a sword shaped like a human. You are the Saber, you're the embodiment of 'break glass in case of emergency'. The Saberiest Saber to ever swing a saber. Last time we deployed Shirou Emiya in full, you consumed seventy-two percent of the Throne's heroic library. All of the swords, both holy and demonic. The system had a fucking seizure. You made Gae Bolgs the size of ballista bolts. A Rho Aias covered a city like some science fiction forcefield."

Shirou felt ill.

"If I am what you say I am, isn't the suit overkill? Magical or not, you're sending me to fifth century England with armor from the fifteen hundreds. They've yet to invent the longbow, let alone rediscover steel. Nothing short of a Noble Phantasm will scratch it."

"Trust us when we say the situation warrants the protection. If we're deploying you like this, it's bad enough to need every advantage. Your armor will also allow us to correct a small... secondary issue we've detected with King Arthur's time period."

"A secondary issue?"

"When you think of a knight, what do you picture?"

Huh?

"Armor? Hello?"

"Armor from the Late Medieval or early Renaissance, to be precise. Something like..."

An ornate suit, different from his own, blinked into existence.

"...this."

"I... guess? I'm not sure what you're getting at."

"When do you think this was made?"

He gave the armor a once over. Decorated. Articulated. Sixteenth century?

"Same time period as my own?"

"This specific suit was worn by Lancelot."

...

Oh.

"See the problem? His helmet's a modified bellows-faced sallet. Early sixteenth century, not fifth. This level of protection is over a millennium before its time, and he's not the only offender. Mordred's in particular is especially egregious."

"How could that happen, though? Wouldn't it screw with the Greater History's progression?"

"It would if Arthur's legend had any real lasting legacy, but fortunately it's a blip on the timeline that disappears with the Age of Gods. It's retrocasual bullshit. We're partially to blame - the human subconscious has a particular vision when it imagines 'knight', and that vision can apply to and overwrite certain entities. The Round Table folks are who people remember the most, so we get things like Gawain and Percival walking around in Renaissance parade stuff. In reality, they should be wearing a breastplate and vambraces at the absolute most. Maybe a Roman helmet they found in the dirt somewhere, too."

Man, he missed the good old days. Magic was a lot simpler when all it could do was fix the random appliance or reinflate a volleyball.

"Then wouldn't sending me back with 'my' suit just exacerbate the problem? Why not give me something more period appropriate, like an old Roman set? Or pre-Crusader?"

"We're not overly concerned about the suits themselves, but rather the reason they exist. Your armor will let us offload causation."

Ah, he understood now. He could see it in the armor's design. A flared neck guard styled like Saber's, the simplicity of the plate's make. The sheer functionality and lack of ornamental obfuscation would lend itself well to reverse-engineering.

"Something without a logical basis is magic, which means all those suits were magical by default. I and the suit will be magical, and if I arrive at the proper point everyone else can base their designs off of what they see in my armor. A single magical cause with multiple logical effects, instead of multiple magical causes. Less strain on the system?"

Alaya sniffled, so very proud.

"That's our little Monster! Oh, you're so adorable!"

Ugh.

"Indeed, the suit will be magical. As a Mystic Code, it'll grow with you and you'll be able to form or dismiss it as needed."

Like Saber's.

"So we're clear: you're certain I'm not rewriting Saber's history?"

"Don't you worry about that, your dear king is safe and sound. This Artoria's a bit... how should we say... different. But don't worry, you're gonna love her. We promise."

"And she's my Master?"

"Nope, it's Kay."

...

"Ha! Bahaha! You should see your face! Ahahahaha! Of course it's Artoria you numskull! Who else could it be?!"

"I-"

His jaw snapped shut. He needed to be absolutely sure about this. Tohsaka always told him to think things through before jumping in feet first, right? This was by far the most important decision of his... his life? His lives? His deaths?

Alaya edged real close.

"Remember how Masters affect a Servant's stats?"

"...Yeah?"

A third sheet. This one had actual values, augmented by a so-called 'Master Artoria'.

...

"S-Seriously?"

"Seriously. And you get the GARmor. Oh, also, she's cute as sin in this timeline too, like you have no id-"

"I accept the contract."

He didn't have much of a choice, now that he thought about it. Saber or not, she was still Artoria. It was his duty.

"Thank you, Shirou. Before we begin, we have one final request."

"Which is?"

...

Whatever mirth Alaya once had disappeared without a trace, replaced by the raw power of humanity combined.

"Until the ritual finishes, whatever you do..."

The entity vanished. Darkness engulfed the world. Shirou's armor cocooned around him like a steel coffin, its magical weight far too much for his incomplete soul to bear.

"Aah... aaaagh-!"

It collapsed him to his knees. A summoning circle blazed to life beneath his feet. Furious blue cracks rippled across the stratosphere.

"...do not look at the sky."

Chaos encroached on reality. The world itself fractured apart, and the very heavens shattered like a pane of glass.

Movement became impossible; he struggled to lift his head against the helmet's weight. Pain coiled around him. Flames licked at his form.

"Aaahh... that's...!"

Through the vortex of fire, Shirou Emiya beheld the Greater Grail. The tower's omnipotent shadow cut deep across the land.

But the Grail lacked Angra Mainyu's influence. Golden light seared his vision and eclipsed the horizon.

The earth quaked. A monumental statue rose at the circle's outer edge.

The Pawn of Saber.

"This... is..."

Purest ether lashed against him. From the icon raced glowing circuitry, a swath of parallel lines that ascended his body and chained Shirou to his destiny.

"Not a heroic spirit or a holy spirit, but a soul of a mere human fated to disappear from this world."

"This... is why... I was...!"

To his fate.

RITUAL: GRAND SUMMONING

The stars swirled. His mind screamed at him, urged him to obey with its insidious whispers.

Look!
Touch!
Know!

Muscles urged. Bones compelled.

He refused.

"Sa...ber..."

One thought to drive him.

"Saaaa...beeeer...!"

One thought to save him.

An untold number of tumorous growths sprouted from the Pawn, fell to the ground with sickening squelches. They convulsed into bodies, into people.

Into him.

Into the various iterations of Shirou Emiya.

Attempting to move his left leg shattered every bone from the femur down.

"Aaagh-!"

But the armor held. He used that to his advantage, and planted the rounded sabaton.

Shirou knew what he had to do.

The process repeated with his right arm. Shoulder - dislocated. Hairline fracture in the clavicle. Tendons in the elbow - severed.

Caliburn pierced the ground beside him. His fingers cracked as they curled around its hilt.

Immeasurable pain. Pain to rival the first time he projected this sword.

The other versions projected their weapons.

They charged.

THE THIRD MAGIC:

He braced himself, and stood. Obscene snapping echoed inside the armor.

If he was to be completed, he would need to prove it to himself.

"Come... at... me..."

The first Shirou through the flames held aloft a monstrous slab of a weapon, utter fury twisting his features. Cyan circuits twisted up his deformed arm.

"You monster!" he howled, his voice broken. "While you chased a dead woman, Sakura continued to suffer! She never! Stopped! SUFFERING!"

Agony pierced his mind. Memories of a time unknown danced in his vision.

Of a girl in black armor.

Hatred. Raw hatred. Caliburn's light surged; its blade demanded vengeance. He pulled it back, all his pain forgotten. Muscles convulsed. Ligaments tore. His heart snapped in two.

"You... you... you... youyouyouyouyouuuuuu...!"

Of a girl with a knife in her chest.

"...abandoned...!"

Of a girl lost to the very thing they promised to defeat.

The sword swung. It aimed to kill. To destroy. To annihilate.

And so, Shirou Emiya began the hardest battle of his life:

"SEEEEEEEIIIIBAAAAAAAAAA-!"

That of self-acceptance.

"Bringing it about..."

A pillar of raw magical energy erupted from the Grail's orb, and pierced the Swirl of the Root. Its shockwave enveloped all.

"...is an act of God."

HEAVEN'S FEEL


Fire spread from roof to roof, the glow ominous against the setting sun. Artoria shivered despite the heat; whether her chill came from the continued snowfall or something else, she didn't know. The muscles in her legs spasmed from exhaustion. Kay shouldered a Cornwall pursuer into the keep's wooden wall.

"Keep going!" Sir Ector shouted. "We'll-"

He cut off far too suddenly. Panic pricked at her mind, and she looked over her shoulder to find a deep gash in the side of his leg.

"Sir Ector!"

He paid the blow in full; his attackers decapitated corpse fell to the floor. Two more men took his place. Ector turned and met her eye, for perhaps the final time.

"RUN!"

A sob died on her lips, for she wasn't yet ready to lose them.

"The gods bless you, Artoria!" shouted Kay over the chaos. "The gods bless you!"

Metal to metal, sword to sword. Limbs removed, entrails eviscerated. Blood splashed her cheek, its source unknown. She bolted down the stairs, into the cellar, a dozen men on her tail. They broke past her family's stalwart defense; their shouts spurred her desperation.

"That's the one! That blonde there! After him!" their frenzied leader ordered.

Yes, indeed: her childhood burned. Set ablaze by a destiny she never sought, a fate she never wanted.

"For Lady Igraine's honor! For Duke Gorlois! Kill the Pendragon!"

The scroll in her pouch began to glow.


"I'm surprised you made it this far."

Caliburn supported his exhausted form. Blood coated him head to toe. All of it was his.

Literally.

"Are you really?"

"Hmph. If you must know, I placed my bets on the Superhero." The man in red smirked. "Well? Feeling hypocritical yet, Saber?"

Shirou clenched and unclenched his armored hand. No more shattered bones, thank god. The soreness wore off a bit.

"Can I ask you something?"

"If you win, you'll get the answer anyway. But by all means."

"I get that the realities aren't infinite, and that they can only vary so much before being pruned. But why is it that you influence me in so many of them? It seems like you're always there in some form, even if it isn't directly."

Archer put a hand on his hip. "What, I'm forbidden from looking after my various shards?"

"Shards?"

"My, Saber, you really are clueless. All that knowledge and experience you've gained, and you still don't get it."

"And you're still an asshole. Just a question, jackass, jeez..."

"I'm sure it mentioned being a multiversal constant."

"It did."

Eternal fire surrounded them in a blistering ring. This would be their arena.

"The fragmented pieces of Shirou Emiya function as a part of the Counter Force's alarm system, a sort of detection network that passively watches over humanity. You call it being a hero of justice."

...

He should've been surprised, but he wasn't. Not after what he'd seen in the memories of his various selves.

"There exists a positive correlation between a timeline's overall health and that particular Emiya's heroic desire," Archer explained. "It is an easy metric humanity's subconscious uses to judge the state of the world. On one end, you have the paradise universes, where your existence and views simply aren't threatened. The Carnival, for example, or that strange place where we exist in a perpetual cooking show. As the timeline's prospects worsen, you begin to stray from your ideal self, until Shirou Emiya ceases to exist. Sakura. Miyu. Grand Order. Notice any similarities?"

What the fuck? "They're all shitty."

Archer shook his head, exasperated. "Heh. Putting it mildly, I see."

"And where do you fit into all this, Archer?"

"When I am not being deployed, my own fragments are inserted into the timelines in various forms - whether that be as a Heroic Spirit, a class card, or something else entirely - in order to maintain the health and well-being of Shirou Emiya. I offer support when needed. I reign you in if needed. Of course, none of this is ever revealed to us outside these select occasions. My memories and personality are always tampered with to suit the purpose. That is my role, as Shirou Emiya's purest version."

"Purest version?"

Kanshou and Bakuya materialized in his hands. He swung them into a reverse grip.

"Yes. I am what Shirou Emiya becomes without any intervening variables or outside influences altering his development. You could call me the core of your soul, your true self."

"And... you're okay with this? Okay with me being the dominant personality, when it should be you?"

"You misunderstand, Saber. When two pieces interact, the result is usually catastrophic. It depends on where their personalities align in relation to each other. But when all pieces are put together, we function as a completed puzzle. There is no dominant or submissive. We become one soul. I, too, am Saber. We all are."

He tightened his grip on Caliburn's hilt.

"You seem oddly eager to participate. I expected you to show more distaste at the potential of recombining with your younger variants."

"Unlike you, I see only an opportunity. I'm more than willing to play along if it gets me what I want."

...

What a screwed up existence. Saber took up a stance.

"I see. So the contract itself exists outside time, huh? We truly are a Monster."

Counter Guardian EMIYA's smirk never faded. The twin blades swung to his front, in their classic readied positions.

"Hmph. Of course. That is what it means to be a hero."

The fires roared. The Grail's spire of light shone bright in the distance.

"I am-"

"-the bone-"

"-of-" "-my-"

"-sword." "-sword."


"Leander! Caius! Take four! With haste! The rest of you, guard the entrance!"

"Aye milord!"

"Aye ser!"

Six men chased her into the tunnel. Its far end's light grew evermore distant and hollow. Distant echoes whispered through the walls, sent from the men above as they struggled to buy her time. She fumbled for the scroll in the pouch.

"To hell with this!" she gasped aloud. "To hell with this, to hell with this, to hell with this!"

Energy swirled within her, inaccessible, its mere presence taunting. She longed to release it; she didn't know how. Omnipresent darkness prevented the scroll's usage. The footsteps behind her kept her moving.

With a gasp Artoria barreled through the snow-covered exit, stumbled, tumbled. She rolled to her feet and pushed through the frost, into the forest. The men emerged a moment later.

"Caius!"

"I'm on it!"

The man named Caius readied his bow. His aim was true; a piercing, unholy pain carved its way through Artoria's left tricep. The scroll dropped to the ground, and her panicked form followed. Her escape slowed to a crawl.

"'Tis useless, Pendragon!" one of the men barked. "Come now, on your feet! We'll give you a noble's death, as thy rotten bloodline demands!"

Powdered white obscured the scroll meant to save her. Artoria cursed her luck and cursed her death. She turned to face them and readied her sword, left arm limp at her side.

"My life was saved!" she hissed. "My life was saved, so I won't die that easily!"

Cornwall's men approached. A faint shimmer swirled beneath the snow. The girl grit her teeth, backed away to gain distance.

"I need to live, to fulfill my duties, and I can't do that if I'm dead!"

Her enemies only readied their weapons in reply. Their formation widened into a semi-circle around her; Artoria put her back against a tree.

Howling gusts fueled her words. A dull, throbbing ache took hold of her right hand. Heart pounding, adrenaline surging, she hollered aloud the denial of her fate.

The men charged.

"I won't be killed in a place like this, for no good reason, by men like you, who kill people like it's nothing!"

But the World saw no denial.

Tornadic energy whipped the snow aloft, covered her doomed last stand in the frenzied haze brought by chilled turmoil and a storm of blades.

Unbeknownst to all, upon the scroll was etched a summoning circle. A ritual from a time not yet reached, created by people not yet born. Its maddened activation threw Artoria into the tree and to the ground. Men shouted. Men died. A decapitated head dropped to the bloody snow by her feet.

Indeed: the World did not see denial.

Through the fog - a lone figure's shadow. Six bodies and the frost before her, embedded with swords.

The World, instead, saw acceptance.

Clouds parted. The gale became a breeze. Snowfall dotted her vision.

"Found you."

A muffled whisper dispersed the haze. Time stopped.

An armored warrior of soot and crimson gazed upon Artoria, his hands empty and idle. He stood within that graveyard of steel. Arcana's winds churned about him.

"Ah!" he spoke. "Forgive me, I mean you no disrespect. Let me start over. This should be done properly."

This scene - but a second in length - would stay with her for an eternity.

The figure smoothed the cloth covering his armor. He adjusted his helmet. Squared his shoulders. Collected himself, cleared his throat.

For though insanity had descended upon Artoria Pendragon's world...

...

"I ask of you."

...here, in the silence of this man's arrival, she found naught but peace, and a chance to catch her breath.

Fate/ess

The blades glinted in the moonlight.

Prologue - 1

"Are you my Master?"

THE LAST SABER