AN: ...Didn't think this would be so popular. But, uh, thank you everyone for reading it.

I plan on only having three Prologues before the story actually starts. For now, let's say "Prologue Shirou" is a self-insert. As soon as the first official chapter starts we'll be seeing canon Shirou. At least in personality.


Prologue (Part 2)

Steel is My Body

They called her the Earth Mother.

She was wild. She was untamed. She was primitive and cruel as she was beautiful and majestic. She was the Ruler of the World and had been since the birth of the planet. She was the cognitive will and incarnation of the planet itself.

She was most Old and Ancient, having seen everything from the beginning, having molded the course of creation with her own hands and witnessed the birth of life. She watched them shift and change through the ages into creatures of new, of how they Evolved into beings capable of withstanding her most archaic of trials. But still they followed her Laws and she loved them all the more.

And then Alaya came into being.

Humans sprouted out of nowhere, having Evolved from her own creations and rebelling against her Laws. They slew her creatures, they stole her crops, and they abused her Laws. They had no respect for the aspect of the planet and continuously plundered her treasures. Everything they did poked and prodded Gaia like an annoying thorn.

She had tried to remove them while they were young and still learning to walk. But no matter how many volcanic eruptions, seismic quakes, crushing storms, or petrifying blizzards she threw at them there were those that not only survived but triumphed. They learned to shield themselves against her destructive force.

When she delivered her greatest of beasts against them, they learned the art of the hunt. They learned to make fangs and claws of their own out of wood and stone. They learned to melt and harden the stone to make metal bend in whatever shape they desired. In trying to kill them she only made them stronger.

Instead of paying their respects for her nurturing, they created gods in their own likeness. And these Divine Spirits reworked her Laws to fit her standards. They experimented with her creations, with her children of nature, and twisted them into perverse incarnations of their Laws. Authorities, they had been called.

Gaia would never give up. Never. She unleashed plagues that wiped out every life it touched, including those of her kind. She created terrifying and demented Effigies to hunt the humans.

In response, Alaya created its own defenders of the planet. This counter force instructed humanity on how to survive against these threats and to be rid of them. Heroes sprouted, vanquished her beasts, and turned their fangs and hide into their own. Humanity continued to learn from her efforts and now as they had begun to reach their peak did champions come into being.

The cognitive will of the planet came to realize something. One day humans will grow and Evolve to the point where they will no longer require her presence. Humanity will contaminate the planet so far they will be forced to either die or adapt. And humanity had yet to be stamped out, always proving they will flourish no matter how harsh and wicked Gaia may be.

Fear. It was fear that the Earth Mother felt. A coding that hadn't been in the weaving that made her. Something that had sprouted just as the humans had come from nothing. Fear, a sense of dread that she will, one day, perish and her mortal enemy will continue to thrive without her.

This moment, she knew, would be the Evensong. And its hymn for her end was approaching.

She refused to allow all of her creation wither away while this infestation continued to live on her rotting corpse. To build their monuments out of her flesh and breed anew.

A cry went out. A howl of despair and desperation. It reached all corners of the universe and then some. A howl that was not missed by Alaya. It had been a declaration of war.

And Gaia swore she would become a part of this war. Let the Ultimate Ones come to rid of humanity after she was gone. Let them have their fill of blood.

But it would be Gaia who personally slew Alaya's champions. These Predators that dared to insult her name. And let it be she who would slay Alaya before her dying breath.

At the start of the Industrial Revolution, when humanity started its ascension and would begin to play the first hymn for the Evensong, Gaia manifested into the physical realm.

And the hunt began.

0-0-0

The King of Heroes lifted his head and stared out into the open space. His eyes faced the wall but his mind was elsewhere.

"He's dead," he stated with a bit of amusement in his tone.

Kotomine Kirei looked up from his desk. He had been preparing for the next sermons while his King lounged away on the comfortable sofa in his office, once more indulging himself in one of the priest's stores of wine. This was a normal occurrence ever since the end of the Fourth Holy Grail War. Most of the time Gilgamesh wandered around the world to see for himself how the world has changed since the primordial ages. But, after having his fill of disappointment, the King of Heroes would return to Fuyuki.

It was rare to see the King take an interest in anything these days. Especially when nothing noteworthy was happening. However, today was an exceptional day. Today, a strange man had appeared at the Kotomine Church and had asked for an audience with the King of Heroes personally.

Kirei would have struck him down if it were any other man. But this stranger… even Kirei could sense this man was above and beyond measure. He indulged the man with this request after receiving a name and presented it to his King. Gilgamesh's expression warped upon hearing this name, dismissed Kirei, and went to meet this man in private.

Shisharo Kaname. Kirei had spent the early afternoon searching for this name and came out empty. But the day was still beginning and his informants from the Church would uncover something for him. They always did. He was once a remarkable Executor and still held a heavy weight in the Church's foundations.

"So soon?" Kirei asked. He did not know how Gilgamesh knew about the man's fate nor would he question it. There were some things he'd better not know.

The King of Heroes placed his unfinished wine flat on the middle table. He stood with a grace that transcended human possibility and walked with steps that could not be heard. He was, in essence, the perfect human crafted by the hands of the eldest and most powerful of gods.

"Oh yes," the demigod announced with a feral and mischievous grin. "And it seems a new one has taken his place. The dog bit off more than he could chew. But it's strange… If the mongrel could hear the voice then he should have headed its warning. We never go to our deaths. This intrigues me, Kirei!"

At first, Kirei thought his King was crazy. Mentally unstable, sinister, and apathetic to all things beneath him, sure, but he never figured the Golden King was positively bonkers. It had started to happen after he was reincarnated at the end of the Fourth War. The King would mention of some voice whispering to him about everything happening within his kingdom. Kirei had thought it was some lingering residue from Angra Mainyu but found it to be something else entirely.

It was undeniable, as the years progressed, that there was something talking to the King. Something that alerted him to the happenstance of everything around him. The King knew when someone was scheming against him, when someone was approaching the Church, and if there was someone or something of notable mention within Fuyuki.

But never did Gilgamesh share his findings. He never told Kirei what this voice was, rarely what it shared, or of the things he came across when traversing the globe. Nor did he share the importance of the man who visited today or of these others he mentioned throughout the years.

It felt like Gilgamesh had joined some exclusive secret club and neglected to invite Kirei. If he had a heart he would have sobbed a tear. And he thought they were friends…

"Will I need to worry about damages?" Kirei asked before his King left the office.

"Perhaps," Gilgamesh reclined his head as he brushed a stray lock out of his face. "If this dog is wild then I will need to break it in. If it is some wolfhound… then it'd be best I put it down before it goes back to the wild. Either way, it's a dog that needs to learn its place."

Without another word, the King of Heroes excused himself.

0-0-0

Ludwig von Siegfried was on the same uncharted island he used when training his Knights of the Round. It housed the most dangerous of beasts and the most untamed of vegetation, a fitting place to harden the soft Brits into hardened survival experts. This island was used as a rite of passage in order to be inducted into the Round. Less than ten percent of the Britain's finest passed.

But Ludwig wasn't here for any of that.

He was here because this was the most vacant place he could think of. The furthest away from civilization and, especially, furthest away from his beloved queen.

It had been in the darkest hour when he got out of bed, gathered his things, and fled. There was no hesitation in his movements. He told no one where he was going or for what reason. He personally piloted the plane, set it on auto, and leapt off when it was at the appropriate height for a safe parachute.

He didn't even tell his Queen goodbye. She may never know what would befall on him.

Alaya had warned him on that eve. But its voice was so… quiet. So difficult to hear. And no matter how hard Ludwig tried to listen he couldn't make out the barest of whispers. Its single warning was the last thing he heard before silence was his only companion.

The Beast comes for you.

The Predator of Predators was coming for him. For eons it has left the champions of Alaya alone. There was a silent understanding that the incarnation of Gaia and the champions of humanity would never disturb the other. But, come the Industrial Revolution, it began to appear more often. A white beast that moved faster than the human eye could perceive. Even with the advancement of technology could no camera capture its movements. This thing was a phantom.

It was to be his death, he knew. He didn't need to hear Alaya to know this thing was beyond his capabilities. And he would need the voice of Alaya guiding him in order to survive against the Beast. But, the older he got, the voice has started to quiet down. And the newer generation of Predators could scarcely hear the voice of Humanity. The most recent, the King of Heroes, could hear a whisper every so often.

It was as though Alaya had abandoned them…

Had he more time then he would have alerted the others of his kind. He would have sent a cry for help. Together they would have overpowered the creature as their predecessors had countless times. But alone, isolated, and without the means to flee, Ludwig was stranded.

The best he could do was limit the damage. This was to be his last stand.

A fitting end for a Reincarnated Hero who would be celebrating his ninetieth birthday this coming spring.

Now, as he stood at the beach with his Gram Mk VII in one hand and his Circuits flaring, he watched the last sunrise he would ever see.

And there, hiding in the light of the rising sun, was the Beast. Coming for him.

"Do you know who I am?" he spoke in a voice of power, fueled by the cognitive essence of the World.

His Circuits hummed. Specks of diamond dust appeared through his mystery, soaking in the rays of the sun, and clotted to his skin. As his personal magic came through soaking in the rays of the moonlight, these crystals would soak in sunlight, dilute it, and convert it into moonlight. In essence, he had an infinite supply of prana so long as he never lost concentration.

More crystal dust appeared. They joined together, forming spikes and blades of every kind, floating around his vicinity with every edge pointed directly at the Beast.

His Mystic Code, infused with his mystery and channeled his Sorcery, spun to life. The cane he carried always blasted into a trillion microscopic fragments, cycling around in a vortex at a supersonic speed. This was Gram MK VII, a Mystic Code capable of matching blows with the greatest of Noble Phantasms that had tasted the blood of Gaia's most formidable of Effigies.

He had a means to slay the Beast if he so desired. If he used that instead of Gram he could have killed the Beast in one stroke. But he couldn't.

To kill the Beast meant to kill Gaia. And to kill Gaia meant to end all life on the planet. Humanity cannot thrive without the existence of Gaia before the Evensong. The Promised Time was yet.

And so he stood, weapon raised and magic crackling through the air. He pointed his invisible blade at the Beast who was but seconds upon him. He could not kill Gaia. Nor would he be able to flee from its grasp. It would forever hunt him until his blood soaked its talons.

"I am Ludwig von Siegfried," his voice sang the last words he would ever speak. "Second Predator, the Dragon Slayer! I leave my mark upon you, Mother of Monsters!"

The world was enveloped in crystal missiles that detonated devastating concussions that reshaped the territory. The ocean before him was split, reshaped into a valley of crystal, and cocooning the Beast in a prison of crystalized moonlight.

Not a second passed. Not a single instant paused as the Beast broke free without restriction. It tore through his prison without a single wound on its hide.

Ludwig lifted his weapon to meet the first claw coming for him.

0-0-0

"You're not going to tell Fuji-nee, are you?" Shirou asked as soon as things were settled.

Fujimura Raiga rarely worked on the field after he became the head of his little gang. And ever since his rule he had been clean… most of the time. So far every dirty deed had been by the cause of the Emiya household. At first it had been just Kiritsugu asking for favors. But now this was the second time Shirou had gotten involved with the unsavory side of the world.

Case and point. He had called the old man and asked if he could get a group to come by and remove a body from his yard. Raiga ordered his usual clean-up crew and decided to pay the boy a visit personally. Obviously he couldn't come at the same time as the carpet cleaners and so decided to come an hour afterwards with a few sweets in tow.

"Why don't you tell me what happened?" asked Raiga instead.

The boy nodded after eating one of the cookies Raiga brought. "I was there, sitting on the porch where Kiritsugu and I used to. The man arrived and asked for Dad. I told him Dad was dead and so he told me I was going to come with him. He promised nothing bad would happen to me. I took it as him trying to kidnap me."

"…And you killed him," Raiga stated rather than question. Shirou didn't respond, didn't blink, didn't move in the slightest at the words. Raiga always knew there was very little that could move Shirou. But to kill without going into shock…? Even Raiga had never been the same after his first kill. "It's good you called me instead of the police. I will take care of things. Shirou, how are you?"

"Different," Shirou stated. His scanned around the room in search of something.

"Different how?" asked Raiga. Perhaps the boy was in shock after all and was doing exceptional in hiding it. He always carried this blank look liken to a doll.

Shirou tilted his head with his eyes downcast, no longer scanning the room but more so… listening for something. He had a familiar distant look whenever Raiga had heard his men whispering things behind his back. "It's… new. I don't know. I've never felt like this before."

Raiga let out a sigh of relief. This was good. It meant Shirou was relapsing over his actions. Taking another's life as furthest from sacred and it would have horrified him if Shirou had been as apathetic about it as he would with everything else. He couldn't help but reach over and pat the kid's head. He was barely thirteen and had taken a life. Only a year younger than when Raiga did himself.

"Don't fret over it," he assured. "You did what you needed. It was my fault for not taking better care of you. Kiritsugu and I always knew one of his old marks might come looking for him. We did our best to hide his location but word always gets out. Hopefully this would be the last. I'll make round to make sure on that."

He would make calls to find out who this stranger was. Shirou mentioned something about a benefactor so the guy was hired help. A few calls and perhaps a few favors and Raiga should be able to pinpoint the origin of this stranger, this Shisharo Kaname.

Shisharo… it was a name that felt familiar but he couldn't quite place where he had heard it before. Something that was on the tip of his tongue…

"Will you tell Fuji-nee?" Shirou asked again.

"Do you want her to know?"

Shirou paused, tilted his head while his eyes looked up towards the ceiling. Raiga could almost see the boy weighing his options. And, for a moment, Shirou tilted his head further as though someone were whispering into his ear. He was thinking further into the idea.

"No, it's better she doesn't know," was his final conclusion.

"Then this will be our secret," Raiga agreed. While he hated keeping secrets from his adorable (if not handful) daughter, he understood the necessity of it. This was Shirou's affair and he handled it responsibly like a grown adult. Raiga respected his decision.

Actually… the responsible thing to do would be to call the police, not the leader of the city's main Yakuza. But that was beside the point.

"Would you do this old man the kindness of making some more tea?" Raiga asked. He decided to spend some more time with Shirou to make sure everything was fine. He might even stay for dinner. It had been a while since he shared a meal with his ward and his daughter, who he know would be freeloading off the boy yet again after her lessons.

Shirou returned to his blank persona, nodded, and moved through the clockwork motions of brewing tea.

While Shirou distracted himself with the kitchen, Raiga mused the story in his head. Without a doubt that assassin was a trained killer. He wore the appropriate gear, had the hands of a wetworker, and had chosen the perfect time to strike. Shirou had been alone with everyone in the neighborhood preoccupied with their own daily business. The street was cleared out and the Emiya residence was empty.

The assassin had studied the schedule and workings of everyone near the Emiya house.

There were holes in this story. Such as how Shirou was able to take out an experienced killer. With a sword, based on the wounds left on the assailant. And where did he get a sword in the first place? Taiga wasn't that irresponsible to purchase him something like that and the strict laws would forbid any store from allowing Shirou to purchase it himself. And he couldn't have acquired it illegally otherwise it would have gone through Raiga's sources.

"Raiga-ji," Shirou returned to place a fresh brew of tea in front of the older man. "I need to step out for a bit. Can you watch the house for me?"

"What's wrong?" asked Raiga. "Do you need something?"

Shirou was hardly paying attention to him. His stare was locked towards the sliding door that would lead back out to the gardens. "I'm… going to meet with someone."

He didn't say anything else nor would he wait for Raiga's response. He simply walked away.

Raiga took a brief moment to take a drink of his tea. Oh how he wished his brew master could take a lesson from the kid. This tea was better than the herbal crap his specialist called healthy.

The moment passed. He got up and went straight for the phone.

"It's me," he said. The receiver had answered after the first ring. "You still outside? Good. The kid is stepping out. Keep an eye on him but make sure he doesn't see you."

0-0-0

Shirou walked down the street, listening to this new voice at the back of his head. A voice that was his own and yet not his. A voice that sounded so familiar as though it had been a part of him since the time of his birth and yet so alien. But still he listened. Perhaps if he was a normal boy he would have found faults to distrust this new sensation. Instead, he found no reason to neither trust nor distrust it.

It was calling out to him, telling him to follow the sound of a second voice echoing throughout the town. This second voice had come out of nowhere and had told him the originator of the voice was coming for him. A sort of declaration or self-invite, he supposed.

The voice in his head was warning him about danger. The one coming for him was dangerous. Very dangerous and of the same league as Shisharo Kaname. Though Shirou had done quick work with the man with the bladed mysteries, this new threat could not be so easily dealt with. They may have been of the same league, and Kaname was no challenge whatsoever after perfecting the man's sword techniques, but it couldn't be excused they were two separate threats.

This new thing coming for Shirou was a different kind of threat. He could never explain it but he knew this thing could crush Kaname just as easily as Shirou had. Kaname may be a god with the blade, but this thing could overcome the mystic swordsman's technique with raw power.

Something like this couldn't be met with the same methods as with Kaname. Simple sword techniques wouldn't be enough. And, the voice told him, Raiga would be put in danger if Shirou allowed this presence to approach his home.

So Shirou left and moved towards the second voice instead of waiting for its arrival. He went down the street, crossed over the bridge, and came across the shriveled mess of a park. The walk had taken him close to an hour.

He looked around. Something in his core shivered by being here. He knew where this was. This was the land that had been consumed through the Fuyuki Fire. It was where Kiritsugu had found him and had been his earliest of memories. The city had never recovered from the catastrophe. They made the land into a park with a memorial placed somewhere around here. There was even a playground for children to play on.

But no one dared to come through here. The land was tainted with something wicked. Even someone as ungifted in magic as Shirou knew this place was… wrong.

This was where he stopped walking. The voice in his head told him this was the best place to meet with the new stranger. And rather than meet him at home, the new presence had changed direction to confront him. The second echo had noticed his presence and was approaching him.

Shirou didn't have to wait long. Ten minutes at best.

"Hoh…?" mused the golden figure approaching him. A young man with golden hair, porcelain skin, and beaming red eyes. He was dressed in fine silks and leather of signature fashion. He carried himself with an inhuman grace no dancer could walk and a stature any model would murder for.

Of course, to Shirou, all he saw was another person. His eyes absorbed every detail about the man's expression and gestures.

His smile was simply divine. Perfect teeth and not a single wrinkle. "Certainly an exotic creature. I will admit I wasn't expecting an Ultimate Killer to be so… young."

Shirou said nothing, only to keep staring at the new figure and soaking in his presence.

"You insult me," the golden man said. He cocked his head back while placing one hand on his hip. "But as you are young and ignorant of your surroundings I will forgive this slight. When you have become one of us, you should have come directly to your King instead of idling about. And you dare to stop here and make me come to you? A servant who doesn't know his place would normally be whipped."

Shirou listened to every word. But while he did, most of his attention was locked on the golden man's expressions. The way he flaunted about, the way he swayed his hands in graceful fluent motions, the way his face twisted into a smiling sneer, and the way he continued to cock his head back so to further look down on the boy. He recorded all of these things into his head.

"King?" questioned Shirou.

"Yes, I am your King. Everything you see is my territory," he spread his arms about so to emphasize his words. "The world is mine and you are only here because I permit it."

"…Who decided this?" Shirou asked.

The smile dropped but there was still a look of amusement coming from the King. "I did."

"Why?"

"Because I am the strongest," was his answer. "Because the world was mine from the very beginning. All of its people, all of their treasures, everything on this planet has always been mine."

Seeing as how nothing about this man would change, Shirou finally considered his words. He was King. He was declared Strongest. Shirou mulled this over, assessed the man's presence, and listened to the voice in his head.

"No, you're not."

The golden man's face dropped into a stony look. His eyes narrowed into a sharp gaze. "That's quite the bold statement, lowborn. An attempt at a jest? No, you lack the thing most vital to attempt any humor. Tell me, why do you deny the existence of your King?"

Once again, Shirou observed the man's reaction and took everything given. He opened his mouth and gave his reply, more curious to see the King's reaction instead of disturbed by the inner voice's cry to not say these words.

"Because we're equals."

Shirou's hand moved before his mind could register what would transfix. All he saw was a ripple of gold and a streak of silver coming at him faster than a bullet. The back of his hand met with the silver missile. The impact knocked him off his feet and to lie flat on his back.

His arm was an absolute wreck. The bone was split into several splints with a few protruding out of his flesh. The skin that had deflected the missile was ripped clean off his hand with his knuckles shattered into dust. He hardly felt the pain, oddly enough. His mind only registered the damage to his arm with an uncomfortable sensation coming from his arm— the only indication other than the lack of mobility something was wrong.

But none of his attention was on his ruined arm. In fact, he hardly acknowledged the crippling wound. It was but a second thought.

All of his attention was locked on the projectile the King had fired at him from seemingly nowhere. The silver streak had landed a few meters to the side after his hand had budged the instrument just enough to avoid a fatality.

It was a weapon. A sword. A scimitar made out of ivory through a method long lost through time. It had been crafted by a whitesmith, offered to his godking and warlord, and was then taken by the one rightful king. Though it was nothing in comparison to the finer of treasures, this was still a weapon of legend. A Noble Phantasm. A crystallization of a concept, of a legend, a weaponized myth made real. By all means this weapon would have killed Shirou without resistance had he been a regular boy.

This was one of the countless treasures of Gilgamesh, the Babylonian King of Uruk.

It dissolved into golden motes of light as the King called it back into his treasury.

"Such blasphemy is punishable by death, mongrel," the King of Heroes snarled. "You dare to lay claim to be my equal? There was but one who could stand beside me and you are not him—"

"You're using it wrong."

The humor was gone from Gilgamesh. His eyes flared with anger and murderous intent. An oppressive sensation consumed the area as his ire rose. "Lowborn dog, I wash my hands of you. I thought to honor you and have you serve me well. But I see you are beyond training. Be gone."

Another Noble Phantasm fired out of the Gates of Babylon. Another nameless weapon of a forgotten legend. A spear made of a tail from the scorpion people.

This was successfully deflected.

Shirou's arm had been a blur as he brought it around. The scorpion spear was knocked aside with impossible speed and strength. The weapon flew at him faster than a bullet with enough force to leave a crater into the ground. And yet the boy had been able to deflect it as though it were a mere labor.

In his hand was the ivory scimitar.

Gilgamesh's eyes widened at the sight of it. His appraising eyes that could understand the worth of any treasure on the globe read into the quality of craft into the blade. And, dare he say, the blade in the boy's hands was greater than the one he had previously used.

The blade was made of the same bone of an ancient beast, but it was as though the beast had been superior to its original self. The edge was sharper, the blade denser, the curve more efficient, the handle comfortable with a better grip.

The Noble Phantasm wasn't a mere forgery of his treasure. This plagiary was superior.

"…Thief," Gilgamesh's eyes flashed with an unholy rage. The air around him rippled as a wall of treasures appeared at his command. They were of the least value, but still immaculate creations above and beyond the worth of anything humanity could currently create. "Faker. How dare you take what rightfully belongs only to the One True King! How dare you insult me by claiming yours is superior! The punishment for this crime is death!"

Shirou stared. Not at the golden man but at the wall of silver gleaming behind him. His eyes flickered around, capturing every sword, every spear, every blade protruding out of space. They were beautiful, of that there was no denying, even to one as oblivious to the concept of beauty to a hollowed existence such as his.

But they were flawed.

He knew where their creation when wrong. He knew where their maintenance went wrong. He knew where their use went wrong. He knew where their existence went wrong.

All the more, he knew how this golden man wasn't using them correctly.

"You're not using that right," he said.

"…Die," Gilgamesh sighed, dismissing the boy's existence from reality. And as it is declared by the King, so must it be.

A barrage of silver fired out of the Gates faster than any bullet. There was a fragment of a second as they crossed the distance to reach the target of their King.

Shirou moved, forgetting the bone scimitar entirely as his hands brought forth a pair of swords. The scimitar faded into nothingness without a trace of it ever existing. In his hands was a sword forged from the blood of a desert beast and in the other a wooden spear with a spade made of iron. Though these two weapons mirrored the ones coming right for him in the first wave, there was something transcendently different such as night and day.

The ones in Shirou's hands were perfect. There was no flaw in their creation. There was no flaw in their handling. There was no flaw in the way he swung them around at the perfect angle and at the perfect position for utmost efficiency. Both weapons were superior to their original selves.

His knocked the King's weapons aside.

However…

His mind processing, the voice screaming at him to run when instead he chose to instruct the King in the art of blade-works, his hands dismissing the two weapons and using another set in each hand, perfecting their creation and perfecting their handling…

He failed to repel the onslaught of twenty more blades behind the first pair.

Spears, swords, arrows, daggers, pikes, all manner of weapons pierced through his skin with little resistance. His body did not recoil from the force, though the ground erupted from the concussion of the hail. Each blade dug into his flesh and impaled him to the floor.

Nerves and tendons cut, his two perfect weapons were dropped. Before they could touch the dirt did they simply… vanish. As though they were never there in the first place.

Shirou sagged forward but could not fall. The series of weapons impaling him kept him standing. He felt nothing; no pain in his death. The King had been thorough and skillful in his aim. Vital organs were pierced.

Such included the spear piercing through his right eye, penetrating the brain, and piercing out of the skull.

"Hmph," a sneer escaped the King's lips as he willed his treasures back into his armory.

With a flash of gold, the weapons disappeared. Shirou's body collapsed to the ground as gallons of blood gushed out of the wounds. His body was drained dry within seconds.

"Be grateful you were slain by my hand," the Golden King looked down at the mangled corpse such as how one would look at roadkill. Disgust was his visage. "You could have served me well. I'd have fed you until you were plump, dog, but instead you chose to bite my hand. Perhaps in death you will learn how to pay your respects to your betters."

The King mulled over his thoughts and took into consideration his own influence graced by Alaya. He would never be one of Alaya's dogs, never, but he could never turn a deaf ear to the whisperings of Alaya. And, somedays, rarely, when he was feeling gracious enough, he would listen and permit Alaya a favor and rid the world of the monsters. Even he was not so arrogant to ignore the Will of Humanity. Only a foolish king would ignore the heeds of their advisor.

But right now… Alaya was being quiet. Alaya wasn't saying anything.

Which meant there was nothing to say, Gilgamesh mused.

Leaving the bloodied corpse of the most recent and late Predator littered on the ground, Gilgamesh began his stroll back towards the Church.

While it was his role as a King to issue commands onto his subjects and to enforce his rule, it was not his job to remove the filth.

Surely someone will come along and clean up this mess.

0-0-0

He wasn't dead. He was never truly alive in the first place. No, the human being that was once ***** ******** had died long ago in the Flames of Angra Mainyu. What remained now was a burnt out existence. What remained now was no longer human. What remained now was merely an idea, an aspect of a dream, a concept of progress, given shape and form and made corporeal.

He, now named Emiya Shirou, was fully aware of his surroundings despite his current condition. He was not in pain, though there was something telling him of the damage his body had absorbed. Consciousness may have been out of his reach but Shirou was still made aware. He could not perceive the physical world as he would when awake, but things were so clear to him in a new manner he couldn't explain.

It was the voice, he realized. No, not really a voice. It was more liken to a recollection of knowledge from within the deepest reaches of his mind rather than a voice speaking to him. Information processed in his head, memories surfaced, and thoughts cycled.

But all this wisdom came from the present and future. Shirou knew everything happening around him and knew what would happen as if they already did. He could not have memories of the future.

All of this happened when he picked up the blade that was Fuyu no Kishi, the katana of Shisharo Kaname. All of this happened when he learned of the technique that could sever Law; that could ideally cut anything.

All of this happened when he stole the skill of a Predator. No, not steal. He revaluated it. He remade it. He broke it down, plucked out all of its flaws, and made it better.

It was how he was able to kill Kaname.

The knowledge had guided him, had told him how to fight Kaname, how the man would move and what was the best method to counter him. It told him when to block, when to counter, when to charge, when to dodge. This guidance combined with his perfect control over the blade had overwhelmed Kaname.

Shirou didn't understand it. Perhaps if he was normal and could produce the same thoughts and emotions of a normal human being he would be… frightened? Would he be frightened? Was that the appropriate response to this situation…?

Well, Shirou thought nothing of it. He simply accepted this newfound potential and moved on.

He knew the instant when the Golden King would approach him. He knew the Golden King would come to his house and he knew what how he should prepare for his arrival. Instead, he went to confront the King under his conditions, recalling the little things Kiritsugu had tried to teach him in regards to human preservation. On how to save people.

Shirou knew he was being followed. And he also knew the Golden King had struck down Raiga's employee before Shirou could do anything about it. But he couldn't understand why.

The information filtering in his head had told him his chances of survival were slim. Of how he was susceptible to damage in his current condition. They told him he had little to no chance of overcoming this. Even with the newfound revelation of blades appearing into his arsenal Shirou could never hope to defeat the King of Heroes.

But, something deep within his core made him defy this King. This collector. A mere collector took care of his treasures and never used them for their intended purpose. It bothered him. An inch he could not scratch sent shivered throughout his body at seeing the white scimitar thrown at him as though it were nothing more than a flying rock.

He chose to defy the King and to show him how to use this blade.

And he defied his own survival instincts to do it.

Here Shirou was, a pile of mesh and blood.

But he was not dead. One cannot be dead if they were never alive, truly. This boy, if he could still be called that, had been melted by the Flames of the God of Sin and Evil. In the outcome, he had become something… new.

Both his origin and his intended purpose had been scorched. They had melted together into one being. To merge into one being without separation or classification.

He was once an Incarnation— an idea and natural reaction processed by the planet. But not of Gaia, no. He had been an Incarnation of Alaya. He once bore the aspect of Sword. And yet, he had once been human. He was once a human child who carried the aspect of Alaya within him. He would have grown into a skillful wielder of blades, could harmonize with them, and could use his human heritage to progress humanity further with his gift.

Instead, both Sword and Humanity had been melted down, had cooled, and had made into one.

All that remained was…

Shck, shhck, shhhhhhck!

A finger twitched. A hand with severed tendons dug into the ground. The sound of grinding metal screeched as the hand moved.

How inefficient, something within Emiya Shirou's mindscape said unto itself. This body was inefficient. It was flimsy. Weak. So easily broken.

A blade must be capable of withstanding the burdens of its purpose. It must be able to withstand. A blade does not bend or break over something so trivial.

And if it does, then it must be made better. If it shatters, its metal must be hardened. If it breaks, it must be refolded again. If it is blunt, it must be sharpened.

Shhhck, shhhhhhhck, shck-shck-shhhhhck!

Blades folded over the hand. Blades, smaller than anything humanly possible to create, overlapped another, wove together, and worked as one. They replicated the intricate patterns of tendons, of muscles, of skin, of bone.

A hand of silver was made.

Emiya Shirou was made aware of what transpired to his body. He was made aware of the whereabouts of the Golden King and made aware of the people looking for him. He did not know how much time had come and went, however. More than enough if people were searching for him. Hours? Days?

He was also made aware of the thing within his core. Of how it worked to return the flesh even as its master was not present. It shouldn't have worked, but still it obeyed to his will as though he was its master. It was no blade… but there was still something intimate about it. It was of blade-shape but not an instrument. And yet… he was drawn to it such as how he had been naturally drawn towards Kiritsugu.

A sheath.

It was a protector of blades. To conceal the instrument in times of peace and rest. Yes, to preserve the efficiency of the instrument.

It did not obey his command— there was no need. It… listened to his desires. It came to his aid willingly of its own accord.

Knits of blades dressed the wounds while this construct of protection, this creation named Avalon, transfigured the blades into flesh.

0-0-0

He wasn't surprised to climb out of this dreamlike awareness of his surroundings and into actual awareness so soon. He had been shot in the chest and was told he would be under for a few days, only to come out within but a few hours. In this case, he wasn't surprised to find himself in a hospital ward either.

Well, he can't recall a time in which he had ever been surprised. He had ample time to study the appropriate reactions from Taiga, however.

He once tried 'flipping out'. Apparently he didn't do it right because both Taiga and Otoko applauded him, literally, doing a flip.

Once again he found himself in a tedious position. Within a few minutes after he had stirred awake was he bombarded with a heavily sobbing Taiga that lunged at him from within the hallway. It was as if she had suddenly sensed his coming about.

The voice, whatever it actually was, had warned him beforehand. Not that he needed it. He could have heard Taiga's rampaging footsteps.

After that was something of a routine, he noticed. Otoko was right behind Taiga, had pried her free of him through another mighty bout and triumph, and had taken her share of asphyxiating him between her breasts. He found he could hold his breath for an impossible amount of time… or didn't need to breathe in the first place.

Ayako had been there as well, trying to hold back the tears while she badgered him about making her worry. In her shadow was Sakura, which made his head tilt in something liken to… surprise? Curiosity? Whichever of those two he was supposed to be feeling and falling short. In any case, Sakura had been just as worried for him and looked ready to cry more than anyone.

With the peace disturbed, the almost comical repetition of the previous events played out. The nurse came in to kick everyone out for making too much noise and harassing the patient (Shirou) while his injuries were still tender. Then came in the doctor to run a few tests. Then came the police officers to ask him questions on how he was injured and if anyone had done anything to him. And then came the doctor again to run another set of tests.

He told the truth. He told everyone of the golden man who assaulted him with Noble Phantasms after their argument of positions. No one believed him. They chalked it off delusions from his traumatic assault and would investigate further on their own.

It was not his friends or his guardian who reentered once everything was completed. It was Fujimura Raiga who entered. He shut the door behind him and slowly approached one of the seats near the bedside. He took his time taking his seat and getting himself comfortable.

A cold gaze glared at Shirou by the time he was acquainted.

"Why don't you tell me what happened?" he demanded in a calm voice that defied his expression. It baffled Shirou. "They found you drenched in blood with your clothes shredded. Not a scratch on your body, mind you. One of my men was found that way. Except, he was filled with holes."

He had no reason to lie to Raiga. Nor could he pull off the appropriate expressions and gestures to weave a conceivable lie. He retold his story about the Golden King just as he did for the officers and his visitors.

For a while, Raiga didn't move. His aged and scarred face was locked in a dark expression.

"What made you leave the house?" Raiga asked next.

This time, Shirou had a little more difficulty answering. The officers had asked a similar question, asking him why he was alone, and he had replied with he was going to meet with the Golden King. They didn't believe him and moved the interview to the next topic. But Raiga asked a similar question with a different resolution.

"I knew he was coming for me," he shared. "I didn't want you hurt."

Again, Raiga was quiet.

"Was this… golden man related to Shisharo Kaname?"

"…He was one of us. And he said he was our King."

"One of us…?" Raiga questioned.

Shirou didn't answer. He had no answer to give because he knew just as much as Raiga.

"You are an impossible child," Raiga sighed. Shirou wasn't sure what the man read into his blank face, if anything at all. "I don't know what happened, Shirou-kun. Emiya-san has entrusted me with your safety and that's a promise I don't take lightly. Whatever's after you because of Emiya-san… I will protect you from them."

Raiga was quiet for the last time as he thought about something in his head. With a nod, he groaned as he rose out of his seat. Before leaving, he patted Shirou's head, a rare form of affection from someone as hardened as Raiga. Though he spoiled Taiga rotten, he rarely showed any physical affection.

The door shut and Shirou was left to himself.

He wished he had a mirror. He had witnessed some new expressions he wanted to replicate. But they were branded into his memory and he would emulate them once a mirror presented itself. He couldn't wait to return home.

Instead, he sat still in this isolated room. Without blinking. Without breathing. He was as still as a statue without the need to project human emotion without human interaction.

But still, this constant awareness of his proximity notified him to all the happenstance within the hospital complex. Within the district.

Within all of Fuyuki.

It was dark by the time he stirred out of this stasis.

The Golden King was coming for him.

0-0-0

"Couldn't you have made something better instead?" Shinji complained about tonight's dinner. "I'm tired of beef curry. It's all you ever make since you brought the recipe from Emiya's house!"

"…I'm sorry, nii-san," the monotone and quiet voice belonging to Matou Sakura was barely above a whisper. As soon as Shirou's ward had escorted her safely home, Sakura let the façade drop. Her eyes had gone dead and her body went into its routine work. Grandfather had been generous enough to allow her time out of the house so long as it didn't disrupt her schedule with… training.

"You went to see him, didn't you?" snarled Shinji out of frustration. "Fuck. It's always about Emiya with you lately."

"Now, now, grandson," a voice as soothing as rotting flesh and wriggling worms came from the shadows directly behind Shinji. "Is that any way to treat your sister?"

Both children of the Matou manor froze. Shinji whimpered and nearly released his bowels. Even Sakura's eyes widened in fear of this creature appearing.

"G-Grandfather," the only emotion Sakura could truly feel escaped her tone— fear. Sheer and utter terror for the creature masquerading as an elderly man. "I did not know you were… having dinner… with us…"

"Hoh…?" a toothy smile stretched his cracking lips as the beady eyes of Matou Zouken peered at the plum-haired girl. "How chaste would it be for me to not spend time with my dear grandchildren…? For shame, Sakura. Am I not a loving and nurturing grandfather?"

She couldn't answer. He didn't expect an answer anyways and released a series of acidic hacks that should have been laughter.

The ancient Magus that was Zouken slithered with an inhuman grace that defied his aging and rotten body. He moved such as how a centipede would crawl on its hundred legs. He limped, he slouched, and he wobbled on his cane, but he moved in such a way no human could have.

He released a weary groan when he took his seat across of Shinji at the long table. His blackened eyes ignored the incompetent failure as they continued to observe Sakura. "Tell me child, how fairs the Emiya boy? I hear he was recently hospitalized. I hope his injuries were not too… crippling."

Matou Zouken had some genuine interest in the boy of Kiritsugu. Some. The boy was as much of a failure of a Magus as his grandson but that hadn't been the point of his intrigue. While the boy may not have the Magic Circuits required to be a Magus, he still had something within him that the Makiri line had in short supply.

The boy had a zesty sum of Od, of prana developed by his body. Every being produced this magical essence but his worms detected an impressive quantity and quality in his production.

That alone didn't make him anything special. No. But it did make Zouken think about the better future.

This boy could be a replacement for Shinji in Sakura's training. And if so, then finally the old Magus could get rid of this freeloading waste of sperm. All the better if Sakura had some interest of her own in the Emiya child.

But this wouldn't be the first time Zouken had heard the boy had put himself in danger. Sakura had mentioned a few events in which the Emiya child was self-destructive. This would be the second time in which the boy had been hospitalized. All within the same year, at that. If this were to be a reoccurring thing then Zouken would either have to advance his plans or drop them entirely.

"…S-Sempai is fine," Sakura shared with a bowed head and averted eyes. She hadn't the courage to look at the monster pretending to care about her, however she knew better and so spoke clearly and courteously. "His injuries were minor. He… He should be out of the hospital soon…"

"What a reckless child," Zouken cackled. "Tell me, what brought him there?"

It was a mere whim to ask this question. A curiosity he would normally ignore. But he chose to ask this anyways more so to humor the notion of him being a tender grandfather. It was nothing more than a drama to him. A piece of entertainment as he watched his grandchildren squirm.

"He… He said he was attacked by…"

A Golden King.

No. It was impossible. And yet… Zouken knew full well of the conclusion of the Fourth War. He knew of the reincarnated Servant. That was but five years ago and Zouken had heard nothing about that Servant since then. But there was no mistaking his identity. This ample description was no mere coincidence.

What could have stirred the King of Uruk out of his cove? What could have made the once ruler of the world to strike down a mere boy? Had it been an unfortunate event in which the boy had been at a wrong place at the wrong time? Had it been by a mere whim?

What's more, how did the boy survive?

Zouken mastered his emotions and pressed further without needing to shift his expression in the slightest. "Is that so? Why don't you tell me what he told you?"

0-0-0

Everyone had left with Raiga leaving a few of his men to keep watch on Shirou. They were some of the burliest men of the gang and two of Raiga's most experienced… garbage men. There Raiga went again talking about 'taking out the trash' when that wasn't what he did for a living. Shirou never understood what the man meant by this obvious lie. Wasn't that the point of lies? To deceive people?

It was late in the hour, past visiting hours and yet Raiga had managed to convince the staff to permit his goons to watch the hallways where Shirou slept. Or should have been sleeping. But how could he have slept knowing Death was coming for him?

Though the clinic was always open for emergencies and the occasional straggler who injured himself, most of the staff had gone home and the hallways were cleared out.

The golden man had entered through the main entrance, his presence like a vibrant sun protruding its own brilliance and announcing his arrival for all to see. Or, to better define the situation, to alert Shirou he had come for him.

No one stopped him. No one paid him any attention. The golden man walked by staff and security despite his grand and obnoxious presence unhindered. It was as though he were but a phantom for only Shirou to perceive.

Shirou got out of bed and went for the door, seeking to confront this golden man for the second time.

"Oi, Emiya-chan, somethin' you need?" asked one of his… bodyguards.

"Ya, if you want'ta drink or something, just ask. Banjou or I will get if for yeah," replied the other.

"Fuji-dono will be upset if he finds you've been outta bed."

Shirou paid them as little mind as he possibly could. There was no point in observing their expressions simply because he already knew their habits would be frowned upon by society. Nor would they good for conversation either what with the heavy slang they spoke. But they were still employees of Raiga. He took some consideration into their wellbeing.

"You should leave," the boy said. "He's coming."

The two men looked at another, more so slow to realize what he had meant rather than puzzled. They were more muscle than brain.

In the meantime, the golden man had quickly arrived at this floor. He strolled out of the elevator with his hands in his pockets and in a leisurely pace. Now that he was this close Shirou could almost perceive the casual, if not smug, expression on the King's face. His presence was drawing nearer.

"Never mind," Shirou turned away from them and began to walk down the hallway. "He's here."

"Oi, oi, oi, hold on now!" one of the men put a hand on his shoulder to stop him. "Where do you think you're goin'? Fuji-dono said—"

There hadn't been any warning. The voice or knowledge guiding Shirou had said nothing in this instance. There was only a streak of silver and then… blood.

Before either of the men knew what happened, both their skulls had been impaled by a matching set of knives. The force of each projectile had been swift enough to cleave cleanly through them and throw their bodies back.

Had Shirou known about the prior attack he would have deflected them. Though he cared not for the men individually, it was still branded into him by Kiritsugu on preservation of the human body. To be a hero and to save people.

As he watched their bodies collapse to the floor with puddles of blood and chunks of grey matter seeping out of their shattered heads, Shirou had pondered what he should be feeling in this instance. Fear? Dread? Sorrow? Disgust? Those were the sort of expressions he had seen on television in horror movies— the closest comparable situation he could think of— but he never practiced them in front of a mirror. Nothing stirred within his core at the sight of death.

It didn't bother him that they were dead. He accepted it and went to face the King.

"You're beginning to become a real nuisance," said the golden man as he stepped closer. There was an amulet around his neck with a ruby glowing dimly. With it on even Shirou had difficulty acknowledging the presence of this man. He might have even missed him entirely hadn't the thing at the back of his mind told him beforehand.

"When your King commands your execution, you are to obey and die," he snarled further. "Thrice now you've insulted me. But, this is a fault of mine own. It is as they say… Fool me once, shame on you; but fool me twice, shame on me."

"…What are we?" Shirou asked, ignoring the ramblings of this King.

Gilgamesh's brows crossed. He put a hand to his hip and tilted his head. "Hmph. Had you asked that before I may have felt obliged to answer you. But there are no last rights to a common thief. Only death."

Behind him, the wall of gold rippled as weapons of legend protruded out of space. These were not the nameless trinkets of vagabond warlords or heroes of mentionable tales. These were the regalia of great kings and gods alike. Blades blessed, cursed, forged of blood and steel pulsed with power.

Each one of them was a weapon that would tear flesh and keep life from recovering. They were weapons designed to negate all manner of mysteries to preserve life. No wound delivered from them would heal and some would render the flesh a rotting mess.

They were weapons the King would use to make sure Shirou remained dead.

Shirou knew of them. He knew of the legends. Each and every weapon was a prototype to the weapons of name and history. He knew of the heroes, villains, gods and demons who would one day wield them when the King's Treasure was scattered to all corners of the globe. He knew what each weapon represented and what they could do.

He also knew of their flaws, as he had before.

"You're not using them right," he couldn't help but share with a sharp tone. His brows had creased. He was… annoyed? What that what it felt like? Something within his core was bothering him at the sight of these instruments being treated so… carelessly.

He stepped forward with a sword in his hand. His bare feet clattered against the cold floor as he approached the Golden King.

Gilgamesh's eyes narrowed only slightly at the words. He had heard them before and he had grown weary of them. It was but more blasphemy from a mad dog to him. At this point, he was neither amused nor insulted at the claim. For he was King. It was by his decree on how he should use his treasures.

His eyes locked on the sword in the boy's grip. A simple plebian instrument of no worth whatsoever. Everything about it had been intended to be as insulting and worthless in its creation. Despite the boy's… gift to make all manner of weaponry exquisite, this sword in his hand wasn't worth a second glance by the King.

Shirou curled his fingers around the Fuyu no Kishi. A pedestrian blade made for a pedestrian man. Made out of mundane metals and abused in mundane scenarios.

"Die… mongrel," so commanded the King.

Shots fired. Streaks of silver distorted the air as constructions of unearthly nature launched at the boy. Each blade had its intended purpose. Every trajectory would be vital. Organs would be pierced and limbs would be hacked off. Even if he should dodge one or two the others would be there to take their place. Even if he were to block or deflect the first wave there will be others to overwhelm him. There was no getting around this onslaught.

With such a mundane weapon such as the Fuyu no Kishi, it was impossible to compare to the greatness that were the Noble Phantasms. The white-hilted katana was furthest from legendary. Trying to oppose even the weakest of its superior breed would have it shattered.

As with the blade, so too was the man who wielded it. Shisharo Kaname was an ordinary man. He had no Magic Circuits nor was he blessed with the mysteries of his grand ancestry. He was not given the divine blood, having been the bastard of an affair. All he had was his wits, his skill, and his pride.

Kaname had developed a technique that should not have been. It was not a skill that surpassed any other. It was not faster, stronger, more cunning than its counterparts. It did not allow him to defeat monsters, the uniquely gifted, nor even any of his peers.

He did not need power or skill. Though a master of swordsmanship in his own league, there was something more to this technique. Or rather, to be more specific, there was nothing.

Because…

Shirou swung, replicating Kaname's skill and technique in a single stroke. The Fuyu no Kishi swiped across the open air before the Noble Phantasms would be upon him. He hit nothing.

And nothingwas sliced.

Noble Phantasms shattered into glass and dissolved into dust until they became nothing. The air became sterile as a streak of void left its scar on the realm of Gaia. The void collapsed, bringing all of space around it to close the gap. The walls around them crumbled, the tiled floor shattered, the lights went out. The entire building shook as this gap, no thicker than the edge of a sword, had demanded all of reality to stretch in order to fill the hole it left.

Chtck!

Gilgamesh's eyes widened as he felt the disturbance. There, behind him, was a golden crack floating upon empty space. It was no bigger than a hair and hardly visible. But it was there.

It was a crack on his Gates of Babylon. Something that had been impossible. The Gates were not actual physical doorways. They were temporal space that acted as a link to another dimension. No weapon save for his greatest treasure could pry open the doors.

And yet, there it was. The impossibility.

This was Kaname's technique. This was what put him at the ranks of the Predators, to make him one of Alaya's champions and a hero of humanity. It is what he used to slay anything and to defend himself against any opposition.

If he had placed his foot like this. If he had his fingers curled around the hilt like this. If he swung in this exact angle at this exact speed.

Kaname had, accidentally, discovered a hole within not just Gaia's logic. He had discovered a flaw in the omnipotent design of the Root of the World. The World records and analyzes all manner of information proceeding within its domain. There was an infinite number of possible situations with an infinite multitude of solutions to a single problem. The World knew this, knew of every outcome, and knew of each possibility.

But Kaname had, in a sense, performed a feat of actions blind to the World. And if it could not have been seen by the World, then it didn't exist for the World knew all.

Therefore, a technique blind to the world did not exist. And, therefore, it could not cut anything existing because the technique did not exist in the first place.

Such was the nature of this glitch. This error in the coding of the World not even the World knew about. And such a glitch warranted the wrong attention.

For this technique invited the machinations of a virus the Root could not defend itself against.

Alas, the true origins and design of this act was ignorant to Shirou. The boy did not know anything about the greater cosmos or of the battle between existence and… that which doesn't. All he knew was something developed by Shisharo Kaname to be able to slay anything that came across his path.

Gilgamesh could not help but let a small grin escape his lips. He knew. He had come across that which doesn't before many a time. Since his rule in Uruk as he traversed to Hades. And once more at the conclusion of the Fourth War.

"I've changed my mind," he said suddenly. "I grant you mercy. Be thankful, little pup, this King has permitted you to live further. Only out of my amusement. The moment you begin to bore me, I shall return and finish what has begun."

It was a shame he had lost several of his treasures. A few of them he loved dearly while the rest he adored simply because they were his. They were of higher value on the grand scale as well. He will miss them, and he almost wanted to execute the boy for erasing his treasures from existence. But he was King and needed to exude his influence. He will… tolerate this slight. For now.

He thought about demanding the pedestrian blade out of tribute. The thought went as quick as it came. There was no reason to include something so plebian to enter his vault. Why, it was almost as blaspheme as a beggar dining with royalty.

"What will you do now, I wonder…?"

Shirou lowered the blade, but the… instinct, he decided to call it since it was both a voice and knowledge, it told him to keep his guard up against this higher being. "What are we?"

The King mulled over the question for a moment. He decided to throw the dog a bone.

"There is no 'you and I'. There is no we. You are a dog of Alaya, a whelp used in the hunt to slay the enemies of humanity. Predators. Creatures of the apex order who stand above the lowborn. The mightiest of the human breed.

"Do you know who I am?" he asked with a voice of power.

The boy stiffened. His eyes sharpened at the notion of this presence. This indomitable and overwhelming aura permeating the hallway. No longer was this Golden King a man. He was a beast, a monster of unspeakable power in the shape of a human.

The King's voice echoed throughout the hall as he spoke through the authority of Alaya.

"I am… a Predator. I am, the Sovereign."

With another smile, the presence dropped. Though the intoxicating aura of death vanished from the vicinity, the King's natural presence alone was still something grand to behold. There was still a thick weight to him. Having the influence of Alaya only added to it, such as placing a mantle around his shoulders while he wore his crown.

"Do you understand now?" grossed Gilgamesh as he swayed his hands around. "Do you see now why I am the One True King? Even the World acknowledges my authority. It's only fitting. Even without such a title I am, without a doubt, the rightful ruler of this realm."

The boy tried to speak. Tried to reach into his core and call upon the same authority the King exuded. It was there, deep within his heart of hearts, in the same spot where the instinct guided him. He could feel it churning by his will. He wanted to call for it.

"I… I… I am…"

But something blocked him from finishing the sentence. It was there. The words he wanted to say, the mantle of authority this being called Alaya had granted him, he wanted to share with the King on who he was.

Gilgamesh brought his head back and released a throaty roar of laughter. "The pup is trying to bark?! I don't know why Alaya chose you to be his wolfhound. But you must first let your fangs grow, little pup. Tell me, do you have what it takes to fulfill your duties and kill indiscriminately? To hunt? To dominate those who oppose you with crushing ferocity? You, who lack the bare basics of what it means to be human, how do you plan on being a champion of humanity?"

Shirou tilted his head as he answered, as though it were as plain as day and the most obvious of answers. "I'm going to be a hero of justice."

Another smile. "Of whose justice? Mine? Or yours?"

"…Of justice itself," he answered after a moment of consideration.

"I look forward to finding what sort of justice you arrive at," said the King. He brushed a few locks of stray hair out of his face and put his hands into his coat pocket. His posture was lax and his face was charming, but he was still furthest from harmless. He was still as deadly as could be. "I shall call upon you periodically. You will tell me of your learnings of this justice until you give me a satisfactory answer. Or until I grow weary of you and deliver the killing blow. Tell me, what is your name?"

"…Emiya Shirou."

Gilgamesh absorbed the name and recorded it to never forget. "There is no reason to give mine, am I right?"

Shirou shook his head. He knew the King's identity upon seeing his inventory.

The Golden King waved him off, dismissing him from his presence. But it was the King who turned and walked away. The hairline crack on his Gates had been mended. He walked briskly, with an impossible grace no mortal in this day and age could ever hope to replicate. He oozed dominance and authority even as he was leisure in his posture and with his back turned. Shirou knew if he tried to attack his back the King was more than prepared to defend himself, if not strike down Shirou for his folly.

As soon as the King had entered the elevator around the corner and gone down to the first floor, what mystery he had brought with him had vanished. The fire alarm went off suddenly with sprinklers spraying water everywhere. It soaked Shirou and filled puddles on the floor. The blood from earlier began to create swirls of red at his feet.

Someone would eventually come to check on the situation. Shirou wondered what would happen when he told the staff and police officers the truth. That the Golden King had returned. No doubt they wouldn't believe him and come to their own conclusion.

He wondered what Raiga would say after learning two of his best men were dead…

0-0-0

The Beast slept, recovering from its battle.

The one heralded as the Dragon Slayer had kept the Beast at bay for three hours. Three hours was a tremendous amount of time for any human to keep up with the greatest of Phantasmal Beasts. After all, this was no slouch. This was Gaia herself manifested into the physical realm so to better hunt her prey. The White Wolf, but a spawn of her power, was nothing in comparison.

And yet, the Dragon Slayer had been able to survive for so long. And he had kept his word and left his mark on her.

Her flesh had been torn asunder by his magic. Her bones crushed. Her fangs blunted. Her claws rubbed raw. A deep gash ran down her back and across her chest. The Dragon Slayer had been cunning and precise in his attacks. He listened to the wisdom of Alaya and struck where the Beast was weakest.

Weakest was the incorrect word. He struck where she was the least strong. For she was power itself.

Even the greatest of Alaya's champions could do little against her. Though these wounds hindered her movement, they were not permanent. They will heal and she will be moving again soon enough. All he had managed to do was prolong the inevitable.

In the end, the Dragon Slayer fell. He could have killed her, and Gaia knew this herself, but he chose not to. He was not foolish or self-destructive. He knew what it would have meant to use that which doesn't against her. To kill the Beast would be to kill Gaia, and therefore would mean the end of the world.

Until the Evensong arrived, humanity needed Gaia to cradle them.

But she would not have that. Once she found the champions of Alaya will then she be at peace.

And so the Beast slept… dreaming of how she would kill her next prey.

Across the sea, the Divine Beast Predator turned to stare back at the Beast.