Ideal x Answer

by LookItsADoggy

The man once named "EMIYA" realises something in the ruins of Einzbern Castle. No matter the people they meet, the place they're born, or the shape of their body, Emiya Shirou will always arrive at the same answer, the same conclusion; at Unlimited Blade Works. It is a female Shirou who proves the worth of Kiritsugu's ideals to Archer, and is left to wander the Moonlit World.

7. Act 0 Chapter 6 - Mirror And Shattering

Welcome to the deep end.

Nothing much to say this time.

I'm still riding the high of the manic bout of inspiration I had last week, so again, this one came out fast.

Please do not expect this pace to last forever.

And also, don't worry about me burning out. I can take care of myself. It's just that this spark of inspiration is just really massive. I think I'll slow down after the next release, which should be much shorter than this 34k monstrosity, anyways.

Yes, by the way, 34k. If you're not used to reading massive, massive stretches of writing, you are warned. Feel free to dip and come back and take breaks or whatever.

My only hope is that this pace is not causing these chapters leading up to that moment to dip in quality. It certainly doesn't feel like to me that I'm rushing, since alot of these ideas have been brewing in my head for years – I'm just executing them faster than usual – but I can't be the one to be the judge on that. You're the ones who have to tell me whether the chapter is fine or not.

You clicked on this to read something, so here it is I guess.

---

"Ideal" x "Answer"

Act Zero – "Journey" x "Belonging"

Chapter 6 – "Mirror" | And | "Shattering"

---

"Everyone, this way off the mountain!"

A shadowy voice echoed loudly in the chaotic courtyard, drawing the attention of the panicking crowd.

The mass split apart in every direction, the sky filled with black wings and bodies flying away to safety.

Streaks of rotten light flashed across the battlefield, all converging in on a single point.

"Gah!"

A wing was clipped, sending one of the fallen angels tumbling down from the sky.

Those who had panicked in the heat of the moment and took to the skies immediately regretted their decision, caught in the line of fire of the zealous dissidents.

It was hell.

The ground was swarming with people fleeing from the one-sided crossfire. The ground was so packed with bodies, sweat, tears and blood that one would find it difficult to breathe, let alone have space for their legs to carry them away.

People tramped all over each other, in a desperate bid to get away from the slowly growing number of attackers, all focused on one man.

The sky was a sure-fire death trap, flashing with vivid purples, violets, magentas and lilacs. Constant streams and thick volleys of light weapons and magic flew with no remorse, clouding the air so much to the point some attacks bounced off each other, redirecting both into the ground, causing mass casualty.

Azazel growled, flicking his head to the side as one spear passed by his shoulder, and swerving his body around to dodge a second. Then a third, fourth, fifth, sixth, seventh… the attacks never ended.

Two spears collided behind him, ricocheting off each other's surface, tumbling to the ground below and exploding as their cores destabilised.

Shit, he still wasn't high enough, or far enough away to prevent innocent casualties.

Seven spears rushed towards him at once, trapping him in place. Two came from in front, one from above, aiming for his shoulder, the fourth and fifth covering a possible defensive descent, and the sixth and seventh stopping him from twisting to the side.

No, not just seven. That was just the vanguard. Ten, twenty, fifty followed behind it.

"My name is Azazel, the Scapeg-"

He bit down on his tongue, stopping himself from reaching for his instinctive countermeasure.

No, he couldn't do that. This wasn't the time or place to be invoking his name.

There was something more important than winning here. Something more important than just crushing the opposition with every tool at his disposal.

"!" Something screamed at him. His nerves lit on fire and his feathers stood straight on end.

No, that wasn't the oncoming barrage of spears, it was something else entirely. What the fuck was inspiring this sense of danger?

Whatever it was, it was moving so fast that if took the time to look at it, it would've already hit him.

It didn't matter what it was, he needed to move.

He spun away backwards, twisting his head around to keep his view on the area he once stood.

"!" His face warped in sheer terror and shock.

A thin, jet black sword with a spiralling blade that more resembled a lance than a sword, shot into the sky just in front of where he once stood, piercing the air with an unfathomable rate of rotation.

That sword, it was certainly different from how he remembered it, but that was definitely-!

No, he didn't have time, the spears were still coming towards him, he wasn't sa-

And then the spears bent.

The moment their tips touched the space traced by the spiralling projectile, they simply caved in on themselves; their tip started to curl inwards, pointing backwards, then the entire body warped and twisted, shattering their rigid structure and completely fizzling the attack.

The incredibly volley of spears aiming straight for him all instantly disappeared.

A large explosion went off above him, waves of distorted energy rupturing through disrupted space, sending shivers through even his skin.

Finally given the space to breathe, he followed the path of the flying sword back to its source.

"!" His eyes widened.

The human girl with the wild, unkempt red hair stood tall, her hair billowing behind her from the force of her attack. The loose black cloak covering her body had long since flown away, blown back from the recoil, revealing a simple shirt and black baggy hoodie underneath, a small scrap of red cloth visible from her left wrist.

A gargantuan, alien bow of foreign black material was pointed straight at where he once stood, a small path of bent space still lingering on that trajectory.

That girl… did she really just…?

What a completely fucking brutal and relentless method of dealing with the attacks aimed at him…

He clicked his tongue, throwing his voice at her, hoping it could reach her through the chaos.

"Oi, lass! Worry about yourself and everyone beneath you! I can handle myself fine! If you have THAT much energy to spare, there are hundreds you can save instead!"

The girl with the solemn golden eyes made no verbal acknowledgement of his words, but nonetheless, turned her head downwards, surveying the still fleeing crowd.

"This is Cowboy. I've managed to pull a good chunk of the crowd down a wide, clear path, over."

"This is Orphan. Two stray spears exploded at the edge of the Archive. I count at least twenty-seven injured. Priest, where are you? Over."

"This is Priest. It's all gone to hell at the centre. Blade, I need you to clear a path, Laboratory to the Archive. Over."

"Busy."

A loud boom burst from the corners of the cafeteria, a dozen hostile fallen being thrown into the air.

A cloud of dirt and dust exploded upwards, born from nothing but pure force.

That was definitely Griselda, doing her usual thing.

"I'm coming."

A black blur shot across the battlefield, making its way towards Diethelm's position in an instant.

BOOM

An explosion of pure light erupted mid-air, born from eight spears colliding at just the perfectly incorrect angle.

It was incredibly bright, straining her eyes and threatening to blind her temporarily if she looked at it, but she simply could not afford to look away.

Letting that explosion out of her sight for even a split-second had potentially catastrophic consequences.

She narrowed her eyes, circuits of prana flaring up near her temples as she pumped more and more energy into her eyes, her sight becoming clearer, sharper.

The explosion itself caused no direct damage, but the lingering shockwaves emanating from its centre threw dozens, if not hundreds of spears off their intended paths, sending them all hurtling downwards towards the ground in a violent shower of light.

Not good, even a single one hitting the floor at the wrong angle, destabilising and exploding represented at least three injuries.

She wrenched the behemoth of a bow in her hands downwards, following the descent of the rain of light.

–The hammer struck, igniting.
The hollow barrel smoked.

A finger wrapped around the trigger, and–

Dozens upon dozens of nameless swords manifested behind her, perfectly suspended in the air without a support.

"Trigger, off."

She pointed the empty bow in her hands towards the mass of spears, using the weapon as a guide to aim each sword individually.

As she heaved the bow from left to right, each sword gathered behind her shot off into distance, tearing through the air with crackles and whizzes.

She was lucky that the spears were pointing downwards, exposing their thin, weak shafts. Regular, nameless swords probably wouldn't be up to the task if they had to contend with the powerful tips and edges of the projectiles.

As each blade made contact with their corresponding spear, they collided in a shower of sparks, disrupting the spear's core structure just enough to force them to explode mid-air, creating a beautiful, but terrifying display of fireworks, blazing brilliantly against the purple sky.

Something flared at the edge of her vision.

"Sister Shirou, look out!"

A spear of light was headed right for her, its shadowy tip pointing right between her eyes. It semed like her last two stunts had drawn the attention of the fallen in the area, making her a clear target.

Before she could do anything, something bright and yellow shot past her shoulder, meeting the attack head on.

A second bright, pure spear collided with the purple opposition, tearing right through it and landing somewhere far away.

Shirou scowled, twisting her head around.

"Fiamma, get out of here! This isn't a place you should be!"

She didn't understand why her voice was filled with so much scorn.

–Why!?

The young fallen angel, her face being one she would have seen in the reflection of a mirror many years ago, shook her head, frowning.

"I'm not leaving your side, Sister Shirou."

Shirou held back a growl, an inexplicable anger bubbling inside of her.

–Why don't you understand!?
Why don't you get it tha-

Again, something flashed at the edge of her vision.

Monohoshizao reflexively entered her right hand, her arm moving to deflect the oncoming attack without thinking.

The battlefield was getting more and more chaotic. Soon, she'd be completely occupied.

She wouldn't be given the time to think.

She wouldn't be given space to think.

She wouldn't get the opportunity she needed to properly sit down Fiamma and talk her out of this utter stupidity.

That inexplicable anger bubbled again.

No, no, no… no no no no no.

This couldn't be how this would go, this couldn't be how it would end.

She didn't get why – there wasn't the time to think about it in the opening battle of an active warzone – but she couldn't let this happen.

She needed to make that time and space. It simply had to happen.

Her eyes flicked towards the fallen angel who had attacked her.

Monohoshizao flickered away, replaced by a nameless sword that was pulled back on the bowstring and immediately flung forward, taking them out non-lethally.

Four of his allies who surrounded him immediately took notice of the sudden takedown of their comrade, and their heads immediately swung their heads her way.

One, two, three, four. Four more swords flickered into existence and were shot, all meeting their mark with perfect precision.

The chatter of her teammates vaguely registered.

"Cowboy here. Got one group to safety. Reckon at least four thousand evacuated in this one. Priest, how's it looking? Over."

"Not good. I reckon 60% are still yet to get to safety. Most are scattered. 35% I would say can't even get off the mountain, I think some are taking up shelter wherever they can. Over."

"I need to come back, got it. Over."

Shirou swung her head around, glaring fiercely at Fiamma.

"You need to get out of here, now."

"No." Fiamma didn't even shake her head.

"I'm not debating the issue." She growled uncharacteristically.

–Why the hell does this matter to me so much?

"And I'm not arguing it."

…

Shirou's nails dug into her right palm this time, blood dripping down her fingers and falling to the floor.

Fiamma's eyes strayed away from her, looking slightly to the left.

Shirou tilted her head away from that direction, letting an amethyst spear pass her by.

Wordlessly, she traced seven swords, flinging them behind her without looking.

Seven bodies fell to the floor.

"Stop it. You can be my guardian angel some other day." She went on, undeterred. "Just not today. Please, join everyone else and flee."

"I'm not fleeing."

"Why? Azazel isn't just hanging up there bearing the brunt of everything so you can stick around to get hurt."

"I'm not here because of Father Azazel. I'm here for you."

"I don't need it." Shirou tried to dispute her. "I'm far stronger than you. I can take care of myself. You won't help at all."

"It doesn't matter if I succeed or fail, if my help matters or not."

–Whether it was 'worth' it or not… they had an oath to protect. There was still that ideal to chase.
So, even if the world lied to them, even if they continued to lose everything, they would not care.

Shirou froze, her blood immediately going cold and still.

–…

Her bleeding hand stopped trembling.

"I made my promise. And I'm going to keep it no matter what. That's all that matters."

–Never once retreating.
Never once being victorious.

Shirou's body locked up, and a freezing shiver ran across her skin.

Solid steel poked out of the wounds in her hands.

"…"

–They did not think.
They did not feel.
There was just the ideal and they acted on it.

That machine had an ideal it wished to protect…
So they accepted their role.

And the result…

Emiya Shirou–

"Don't say that." She coldly whispered to the red-haired girl with golden eyes. "Don't you ever say that."

"Say what?" For the first time since they met, Fiamma defiantly glared back at her.

–The eyes of a hollow machine, whose life was burned away by a fire.

"That all that matters is your promise. The promise itself means nothing."

"No."

"…"

"The promise itself is all that matters."

–"A person who will never turn back, never feel something for themselves…
Because all that matters is their ideal."

"Why." It was not a question. It was not even curious.

It was just a single word, spoken hatefully.

"Because you showed me something beautiful. You saved me."

–A fire that overtook everything.

"It was not guilt. It was not responsibility."

Buildings crumbling down.

"It was just hollow admiration."

The steel beneath her skin rattled, sharpening.

–"As Fiamma, the child marked by flames…"

Red hair,
And golden eyes.

'Emiya Shirou, the child marked by flames'.

"You didn't need a reason to. You didn't need to think you were going to succeed. You weren't expecting anything afterwards. You did it simply because you could. Something like that… isn't it admirable? Beautiful?"

–The man curses himself every time he strikes.

"I ADMIRED HIS DESIRE TO SAVE PEOPLE BECAUSE IT WAS BEAUTIFUL!"

"You showed me something amazing, a distant ideal, a beautiful thought worth reaching for…"

–"BUT THAT WAS NEVER MY OWN THOUGHT!"
"WHAT ELSE CAN YOU CALL THAT OTHER THAN FOOLISH!? WHAT ELSE CAN YOU CALL THAT OTHER THAN POINTLESS!?"

"If you can reach for it… if you can do that without needing a reason, why can I not make this promise too? Why can I not reach for it without a reason? If I do, if I follow that… someday, won't I manage to be like you? Someone beautiful and radiant?"

–…One day… could she smile like that?
"You wanted to be like him and save somebody because you wanted to smile like he did."

"Fia-" Shirou didn't even get the chance to start.

"I don't care. I'm not ever turning my back on this. Even if it gets me nowhere. Even if I die."

–I won't ever regret it. Even if its fake. Even if its hollow. Even if it gets me nowhere.

…I won't turn my back on that dream.

"You're wrong." She muttered blankly. "You're completely and utterly wrong."

"No." The red-haired girl with golden eyes shook her head.

–Three words.

"It isn't wrong."

–"IT ISN'T…!"

I didn't have to accept his dream.
That night, on that porch, I could have just let him pass in peace.

But I didn't…

"..."

–Because I…

I believe in those words.

The eyes belonging to Emiya Shirou did not blink. Her face did not budge even the tiniest bit. By that point, there were no muscles left in her body, only swords.

–…

Oh.

A very, very, long time ago…

In a place far away from here…

–…

I-…

A man once ran through a fire and granted salvation to a hollow child.

–…

I see.

…That was one way of looking at it.

In another view…

–…

Emiya Shirou…

A broken man selfishly sought out his salvation, and found it by eternally cursing an innocent life to an eternity as a broken machine.

–…

That person really does deserve to die, don't they?

Just as it was true that a red-haired girl with golden eyes rushed in without thinking and saved someone innocent because it was beautiful…

–I've created something terrible,
haven't I?

It was also true that a selfish woman rushed in and eternally cursed a red-haired girl with golden eyes to a meaningless life that would never matter.

Emiya Shirou stared at the bad, old mirror.

She stared right into those golden eyes. She stared deep enough to see the reflection within them.

She saw a monster.

Two red-haired girls with golden eyes stared at each other emptily.

---

"My name is Kokabiel, and I made an oath. This peace will stand, and the Fallen Angel Faction will be united."

Several dozen bodies burst out from the shoddy tin roof of the bar.

Black feathers showered upon the five people remaining on the ground.

A red streak flashed towards Kokabiel, like lightning.

The sullen man batted it aside with his left arm, flinging it off into the distance.

A second hot red spear formed in Mastema's grasp, immediately replacing the one which had left it.

"Do you really think you have a chance, Kokabiel?" He smirked, flashing his wicked fangs. "Look around you, look at who surrounds you."

Kokabiel did not look upwards, wordlessly keeping his eyes focused on Mastema, the shadow in his right hand still writhing and twisting, forming into something solid.

It was Ciel who glanced upwards curiously, swatting away the cloud of black feathers that had begun to mar her vision.

Over a hundred fallen angels, possibly two hundred, littered the skies, spears at the ready.

Hoh?

She quirked an eyebrow, noticing something peculiar.

Usually, the more bodies that filled an area and the larger the fighting force, the less important and impactful each member was. One should be infinitely more terrified of the group that only brings ten people to a battle compared to the group that brings ten thousand.

The majority of the numbers usually would not matter, with most of them just being rank and file meat shields. She expected for that to be the case here, seeing that it was probably just a random group of dissidents with no real power, but…

Each one of the angels in the sky carried at least two pairs of wings, with those being the extreme minority. The vast, vast majority of them carried three, or even four pairs of wings.

"You know, I don't know whether this means Azazel was shittier than I thought he was at keeping his people together if this many people of decent strength are standing against him, or whether I should compliment you for being able to keep a strong group like this together."

She drawled, not fazed by the imminent threats.

"Why can both not be true?"

Ciel's gaze lazily dropped back to Mastema, not dignifying him with a response.

A small smirk tugged at her lips.

She was expecting this to be a quick, boring affair. This at least meant she would have to try somewhat.

"Bazett," she called out, not looking behind her. "How high do you think you can jump?"

Bazett looked up, squinting to evaluate the distance.

"High enough."

Mastema scoffed.

"And who do your little friends happen to be, Kokabiel? What little ants have you roped in this time? If you think they'll be enough to stop a legion of one hundred and seventy-eight ranked officers, I'm afraid you've gone more senile than I originally thought. Even you wouldn't be able to come out unscathed if we all attacked you at once."

Kokabiel made no move to defend himself.

"You would not be wise if you underestimated them."

Mastema's smirk widened.

He pointed his free arm towards them, and gestured with his fingers.

"And you would be an idiot if you underestimated us."

One hundred and seventy-eight bolts of light rained down upon them.

Ciel gave only one command.

"Mirana."

Pure white.

An intense wall of bright light shot upwards, covering the defending party, its flawless rays seemingly peeling back the very existence of the incoming attacks.

Mastema gaped with a look of shock and terror.

"White!?"

His shout was part disbelief, part anger, part fear.

The blinding wall lowered, revealing Mirana tightly clutching her rosary with her other arm lifted high above her, beads of sweat rolling down her forehead and her arm shivering at having to beat back such an intense volley with a single move.

"H-how in the fuck did you find a monster like that? White light!? There are ten-winged angels who can't even pull that shit off! How in the hell did you find someone like that in the Underworld!?"

"I did not."

His words set the enemy force on edge. Many held back a subtle shiver through their spine as the implications reached their subconscious.

"…You got outsiders involved in our business?" Mastema hissed at the sullen man, whose face remained unchanged.

"Odd. You presume I sought them out."

"…" Kokabiel's words echoed in his mind. His eyes mechanically shifted towards the group of three accompanying the sullen man.

Three cloaked individuals faced him. The one with blue hair was staring straight at him. The magenta-haired one was coldly studying their numbers and formation. The ashen blonde one – the monster of pure white light – tightly clutched the rosary on her neck, anticipating the breakout of a large battle.

…

A… rosary?

Mastema's stomach dropped through the floor.

Abject horror overtook his features.

"You…" The blazing red in his right hand fluctuated wildly, pulsing inwards and outwards, expanding and expanding.

Nothing but pure venom filled his words.

"Brought them…"

An angel did not need a holy object to channel their powers. The divinity was contained and channeled through their very soul and body.

No, those things – rosaries, prayer beads, bibles, crosses, vials of holy water…

They were only used by one group of people as focuses and weapons.

"INTO THIS!?"

Violent waves of anger exploded outwards, scorching the ground and blowing the loosely fastened cloaks away from the three bodies.

…Of course. He couldn't feel their presence. If they were trying to intentionally hide themselves, why would they face him in the open? Hiding wasn't the intent of keeping their presence hidden.

At least, not hiding from him.

The blue and blonde one wore nun habits. The last was dressed in a very human fashion, a grey unbuttoned overcoat worn over black business suit.

Pure Sons of Man.

Not those foul pretenders, those witches and wizards who gave up their humanity, but the real thing.

Bazett, too focused on scanning the enemy to care about what was happening beneath them – trusting her companions to take care of the trouble in her stead – finished her appraisal of the enemy, and nodded.

"Thirty-seven. I can guarantee at least that many."

Ciel's eyes flickered over the one hundred and seventy-eight fallen angels in the sky.

"Two o-clock, forty degrees?"

Bazett nodded.

"Got it. I'll cover you on ten to one and three to five. Mirana, you're up for the rest. Think you can do it?"

"…" Mirana nodded shakily.

Mastema's eyes narrowed and sharpened. "I don't know what he whispered in your ears to get your kind involved in this… but you're all clearly too far gone to ever consider turning back as you should."

His dark green eyes started to burn red.

"This is your fault, Kokabiel. If you had only stepped up centuries ago and taken your place as rightful leader of the Grigori, these children wouldn't be here throwing their lives away fruitlessly for our battle. Your senility dragged the ones we were all doing this to protect into this."

The writhing, raging mass of burning light in his right hand, no longer fit to be called a spear, pointed its head straight at Kokabiel.

"My name is Mastema the Vile, whose name means the One who Persecutes, who is filled with 'hatred' and 'enmity'. The sinner is Kokabiel. The count is seven. This is all your fault."

And the black feathers that littered the air ignited.

---

A dull purple spear, barely bright enough to be noticed when flying through the purple sky of the Underworld, flew towards Shirou's exposed back.

–I lie here alone, forging iron upon this hill of swords.

It bounced off her skin harmlessly, sending a loud, empty reverberation through the air as it twirled backwards, fizzling away.

The two red-haired girls with golden eyes continued to stare at each other.

–No matter what, she had to look up to meet his eyes, and he had to look down to meet hers.

The younger one stared up at the older one with determined, angry eyes that seemed oddly hollow when one peered deep enough into their depths.

The older one stared down at the younger one with an empty stare, entrenched deeply in regret, horror and disgust.

The young one's fists curled up.

"Sister Shirou… why are you looking down on me?"

"…"

–"Such a disgusting creature… if you looked at it from an outside perspective, wouldn't you wish to kill it too?"
"Emiya Shirou is rotten to the core."

The words of the one who knew Emiya Shirou best, the person who formerly bore that name, echoed through her head, the imaginary soundwaves ringing with a muted tone, bouncing off the walls of her mind of steel.

"Why? I'm just following in your footsteps." Betrayal, scorn.

The little girl's-

–The moon hung alone in the night sky.
The hollow man smiled at the child.

The child looked away from the moon and the porch, smiling at the man.

"I'll make your dream come true. I'll become one for you. So just leave your dream to me."

Her smile and eyes, filled with yearning and admiration–
They were dead.

The girl was never alive.

-fists started to tremble.

"You were the one who showed me this path!" The little girl started to cry, her face twisting. "You were the one who saved me, who showed me that something truly beautiful-"

–One day… could she smile like that?

"-exists!"

The sky behind them lit up in a cacophony of warm colours, painting an eerie shadow over Shirou's face.

"…Why is it so wrong for me to reach for it?" The girl's face lowered to a whisper, tears still falling down her face, warped with sorrow from the assumed betrayal. "You… you're reaching for it too, aren't you? You're doing all of this to you can hold that beautiful-"

–The man curses himself every tim-

"THAT'S RIGHT!" He shouted. "I ADMIRED HIS DESI-

"-thing in your own hands as well…"

"…"

"…I just want to be like you, Sister Shirou."

–"You are not acting as Emiya Shirou, an individual. You're just a pathetic shell chasing the footsteps of a dead man."

An explosion of malice and curses, born from a dead man's regrets contained within his hand, went off in the distance.

"EVERYONE, FOLLOW ME!" Kairi's voice echoed, following behind it.

A sapphire light went off on Shirou's wrists.

"Cowboy. Got at least seven hundred following me. Over."

"Orphan, I want your eyes on Cowboy's group until their off the mountain. Over."

Shirou's eyes did not stray.

"Orphan, come in. Do you copy? Over."

"YOU…! WHAT DO YOU ALL THINK YOU'RE DOING, RUNNING AWAY!?" An unfamiliar voice, filled with nothing but unreasonable vitriol, bellowed.

"YOU PEACE-LOVING COWARDS ARE A TRAITOR TO THE TRUE CAUSE OF OUR PEOPLE! IF YOU WILL NOT FIGHT AGAINST THIS TYRANT, THEN DIE!"

Something streaked by behind her.

"SHIT, THEY'RE ACTIVELY GUNNING FOR THE INNOCENTS NOW!"

Shirou's fingers twitched.

She spun around wordlessly, a sword already between her fingertips.

She threw her entire body forward, propelling the weapon through the air with everything she had.

The nameless steel weapon collided with the spear of light, sending both hurtling away.

No thoughts coursed through Shirou's mind as she did this.

"Blade, I need you pulling double duty! Take over for me in gathering up everyone caught on the battlefield."

"Got it, you?"

"I'll be going with Cowboy. Orphan saved us this time but we can't rely on her marksmanship when she's needed in twenty other places at once. My holy barriers and wards will be needed to keep the larger groups safe."

She didn't have time. She didn't have time she didn't have time she didn't have time

The gargantuan bow formed in her arms again.

Seven sieging the Laboratory. Eighteen perched on top of the lounge. Thirteen trying to break the lock on the Treasury. Sixty-four in the air above the Knights Quarters, focused on the skies attacking Azazel. Hundreds more scattered everywhere.

A massive golden javelin fell from the skies like a thunderbolt from heaven.

Sixty-four turned into thirty-five.

The cold, logical machine-

–He was a machine to others. A series of cogs that could hold a sword.

-inside her took over.

The eighteen were targeting Azazel. The thirteen would only be a problem once they broke in and stole some weapons.

The Laboratory. There were certainly innocents trying to hold down the inside, who would be caught in the crossfire once the seven broke in.

Her path of action was c-

–"You chose to stand with the many, didn't you?"

"A hero has to save more people than they condemn."

-lear.

A sword appeared in her right hand, pulled back on the bowstring. As it was drawn back, it appeared to stretch and sharpen into a narrow beam, as if it was being struck by a hammer and being moulded into an arrow.

A sonic boom crackled through the air, making her ears ring as she let go of the sword in her hand.

Six more followed as the first met its target.

Her eyes swept the battlefield.

A group of three lunged at a mass of fallen angels trying to move between the crevasses between each building.

They suddenly found rods of steel lodged in their back, rendering them unconscious.

A squad of seven travelled on foot, closing in on the group Diethelm and Kairi were leading away.

They fell to the ground before her teammates even knew they were coming.

She didn't have time.

A distant tremor made her eyes snap to the other side of the battlefield.

Griselda charged towards the Consulate for Wayward Souls, her eyes set on four hostiles with blades of light lunging towards seven scared, unarmed researchers.

She wouldn't reach them in time. There were too many eyes set upon her. The fallen angels in her way would slow her down far too much to be able to reach those people before they were struck down.

The four attackers found themselves pinned to the walls by large hunks of iron, blacking out.

She didn't have space.

Three things flashed towards her.

From behind her, a soft orange light formed in Fiamma's hands.

The little girl jumped in front of Shirou, spear at the ready to ripost-

Shirou grabbed onto her collar without warning, pulling her away and spinning on her foot, twisting away from the trajectory of the three spears.

She needed it.

"L-let go of me, Sister Shirou! You don't need to protect me! That's my job!"

Shirou didn't heed the girl's words.

She needed time and space.

If she had those two things, then-

The ground beneath her wobbled.

"!"

Shirou looked down, finding the roof she was tremoring and cracking.

She swung to the left.

Four separate groups had noticed her. Instead of striking directly at her, they were aiming for the base of the building, intending on bringing her down from her position of advantage. Once she was forced to either take flight or hit the floor, depending on what her species was, then they could move to entrap her.

Shirou lost her footing, the ground beneath her crumbling away.

Fiamma broke out of her hold, swooping behind her and sliding her arms under her shoulders.

"Nn!" The fallen angel's grip faltered a bit, surprised at the weight of the one she promised her being to, not knowing that at that moment, her body was made of nothing but steel.

This girl… that idiot, she-!

She was just putting herself in danger! Fiamma was just making it clear she herself could not fly and was relying on her aid to do so, meaning every person who noticed her would be going for her.

A lilac spear headed their way. If it made its mark, it would find itself stuck in Fiamma's side.

Shirou brought her arm backwards, elbowing the young girl holding her in the stomach, causing her to flinch and gasp for air, reflexively letting Shirou go, and just barely letting the lilac spear scrape her dress.

"Sister Shirou!" She called out in panic, still intent on protecting her despite seemingly being betrayed by the woman, and the woman having now actively gone out of the way to reject her aid.

Shirou went into freefall, falling faster than Fiamma could fly.

She grunted as she hit the dirt, the reverberations travelling through the steel under her skin, all the way from her feet to her head.

She needed time and space.

If she could get those two things, then it wasn't too late.

It wasn't too late to still turn Fiamma back from this path of certain doom, from a fruitless, pointless life and a hollow dream.

Eight fallen angels closed in on her.

She needed a weapon that could deal with multiple enemies at once. Maybe not by itself, but it needed to be efficient in dealing with enemies when multiple copies of it were made.

A weapon that could function at any range, whether that be close quarters or from a distance.

It needed to be light and small, and have flexibility in its use. Preferably only one-handed so she could wield multiple.

…

Black materialised in one hand, and white in the other.

…In the end, despite everything, she had gone back to those two swords.

Their paths had diverged, but still…

Not unlike the blades themselves, she was drawn back into them.

–"I am the perfect you. The you which accomplished your goal of being a hero. You cannot match me."

Strength. Technique. Projection. Ideals.

It didn't matter. EMIYA had an answer no matter what it was.

Kanshou and Bakuya, the sorrowful, yearning, unfulfilled blades that were the preferred weapon of that man, filled her hands.

---

Azazel stared gloomily down upon the battlefield, still weaving in and out of the endless attacks headed his way.

He knew, he knew this was coming, but still, to have it play out in front of him, in reality…

It was brutal, heartbreaking.

Were this many people opposed to him?

Had he let this many people down?

How many of these men and women's friends did he let die? How many of them had he disappointed with his lack of command and leadership?

How many, over how long, had he let stray away and break off? How many grew bitter and jaded, continually disappointed and abandoned, and were forced to take it all on themselves?

He lend not a single bit of aid towards his people, he gave them no assurance, no comfort.

Some part of him had to wonder… some of these people… they weren't even dissidents, were they?

They didn't hate him, didn't want him to be deposed or overthrown… They were just sad and bitter. Just disappointed.

There had to be some number of them that didn't care before, were doing fine the way they were, and then were just angered when he now, after it was far, far too late to change the tragedies of the past, decides he wants to take action.

Why now? Why not back then, when it would have actually mattered?

…How many among those attacking him had those thoughts circling in their minds?

No, he-…

He didn't want to know.

If he knew for certain that there was even one, then he might give up on the spot and accept their judgement, closing his eyes and letting them kill him.

He couldn't ever know. He had to steel his heart and brave through this attack, through all their unreconciled anger and bitterness, and come out the other side alive. That was the only way his people would know peace.

But, there was a correct and wrong way to do this.

He couldn't ruthlessly annihilate the enemy. He couldn't just invoke his name and purpose, he couldn't bring out all of his terrible weapons of war, he couldn't just mercilessly use everything at his disposal to turn this battlefield into nothing but a bloody heap.

Because they weren't his enemies in the first place. They were his people. If he showed them brutality, then all of this was pointless. He'd turn into a monster and a dictator, bending his people underneath his feet and forcing them to submit to his will.

Equal grounds. He had to do this on equal grounds, using nothing but what any angel, fallen or otherwise, would be born with. No Sacred Gears, no terrible weapons of mass destruction, no invocations of God, no relying on his name.

A golden javelin formed in his hands. It was large and unwieldy, fraying at the seams from the instability caused by its sheer mass.

The only thing he could fight this battle with was the light that could be moulded in the hands of all of them, and the magical talent that he had honed over centuries of study.

He tossed it forward, reducing a group of sixty-four to thirty-five.

He prayed that the attack was not lethal, though some bitter part of him whispered back in his mind that some amount of death was inevitable.

He prayed that today would be a day of zero loss, that all those who opposed him could be taken to trial and judged, alive, but he knew that to be impossible. Even if only by accident, by sheer coincidence, people would die here, the numbers of the lost being in the hundreds, if not thousands.

It was useless to believe in the ideal of everyone being saved. As a leader, he had to be pragmatic, assess the best outcome, and move on.

He just hoped it would be him alone who would have to bear the burden of fighting and death.

Just him.

Just him and…

His eyes trailed down.

The red-haired unreasonable girl sniped down a group trying to break into the Laboratory, where there were undoubtedly many non-combat trained researchers trying to hide inside.

The heroic, unwavering Exorcist stopped another group searching for weapons of untold horrors, which would surely bring unimaginable devastation if ever wielded improperly.

The harsh-faced cowboy lobbed cursed grenades into the air, throwing off those who wished to slaughter the innocent. He picked off the stray attackers with a handgun that shot fingers loaded with curses.

The priest escorted the masses away, shielding them with barriers and wards born from prayers of love and protection, slowing down to pick up the injured and restoring them to full health.

And he was sure, far away from here, with Kokabiel, the other three were doing everything they could.

…Those seven human trailblazers who had come barging into the Underworld, looking for the future.

Really, he could not thank them enough. Not just for standing by his side in this mess, in being willing to fight for people that weren't theirs, in a world they didn't belong, not just because they had given them their faith that he would succeed in this matter and properly reform his organization…

But for coming here in the first place. If they had never come to the Underworld, never brought these rumours to his face… how long would this have gone on? Would he stay blind, stay complacent forever?

If they hadn't come to him, then this all would have happened far, far too late. It would have happened when the tides of time had already crashed into his people and destroyed their lives, far too late for him to be able to contain the damages and loss.

His eyes swept over the battlefield.

Azazel's mind started to fire off, solving one hundred equations each second, even as his attention was occupied by the unrelenting swarm of attacks being thrown his way.

He had to be as certain as possible with his every move. If he made one wrong calculation, if a single digit fell into the void, then that meant the death of someone uninvolved.

A massive ball of golden light formed above his head.

He retreated behind it, letting the massive blob of light absorb the oncoming wave of spears. He spread his arms, formulating a giant circle of precisely-inscribed runes.

The ball of light came apart, being undone by his own spell.

It unravelled into hundreds of individual threads, each thread solidifying into a long rod with a sharp edge and falling down from the sky at perfect angles, creating a brilliant shower of gold.

The spears fell upon his attackers, a few dozen of them striking true, with only half of them taking their targets out of commission.

Some were parried away, fizzling into nothing the moment they were batted to the side.

Others were dodged, falling to the ground and landing far, far away from any innocents.

He had made sure to calculate the velocity, angle and energy capacity of each individual spear perfectly. If they didn't hit their mark, then he had to be certain they could not cause harm to any unintended targets.

Once again, his eyes swept across the landscape of the changing battlefield, running through the calculations for a second time.

Again, the massive orb was formed, and again, he ran behind it.

However, this time, one thing escaped him because of the loss of vision that came from the orb.

Six warriors flew in from directly underneath him, charging at him with blades of light, disrupting the formation of his magic circle.

"Shit!" He whispered, disengaging, the orb slowly fading by itself.

He jutted out his left arm, making the circle with one hand, forming a golden spear in his right hand to defend himself from the six who had closed in on him.

The first flew straight at him. Azazel dodged the spear by ducking and stabbed him in the stomach from underneath.

The circle's threads were fraying at the edges. He made a gesture with his hand and tightened the loosening magic, reinforcing its structure.

The second and third attacked at the same time, coming in from opposing directions.

He arched his back as far it could manage, bending so far back that his vision went upside down, letting the two harmlessly pass by him, colliding with each other.

He held his spear up between the two bodies, feeding his power into it until it grew in length, stabbing the two falling soldiers through their shoulders on opposite ends and pinning them in place.

He corrected his posture and spun the lengthened spear in hands, disorienting the two caught on it, before throwing it to the ground, sure that the plunge, combined with their injury, would render them unconscious.

The fourth sneaked up behind him as he checked on the condition of his spell.

His instincts, worn down by time and quietened by the presence of his intense calculations, barely screamed at him loud enough for him to escape with just a small graze and light burn on his back. That had to be at least a six-winged fallen angel behind him.

He spun around, still keeping one hand in place maintaining the orb and its connected spell, lashing out with a kick that temporarily knocked the attacker to the side.

He held out his other hand, his palm pointing directly towards the enemy. A second, smaller inscribed circle hovered over his right hand, using his body as a circuit to connect the two spells, and through it, he channelled the light of the massive orb, shooting off four spears that all hit the six-winged fallen, sending him back towards the dirt.

He looked left and right, finding five and six. He pointed his right hand towards them, shooting off two spears towards each and dismissing the impromptu circle as soon as he was done.

Shit, his inscriptions were shoddy. That wouldn't do, he'd have to do the entire spell over again.

He wiped the slate clean and remade the spell anew, completing it at a rapid pace, once again sending down a rain of golden light, taking out a significant portion of the enemy's numbers.

…

But no matter how many of them were taken down, there seemed to be even more that would rise to take their place.

Their numbers… they seemed to be endless.

There…

There really were a lot of people who hated his inaction, huh?

Azazel chuckled bitterly to himself, getting sloppy as he was caught up in emotion, allowing a few spears to graze him.

…He should have expected this, he supposed.

He had over one thousand years of penitence, one thousand years of judgement, that he needed to face and overcome in this one battle. Of course, it wouldn't be over that quickly.

One thousand years… one thousand years of mistakes and disappointment.

The weight of the true scope and sheer size of the enemy force started to hit him in that moment.

He forced down the rising melancholy within him that was sure to distract him.

A golden light formed in his hands again.

He had to keep on going. He had to weather the storm… for everyone's sake.

---

The black feathers of Mastema, scattered throughout the air, ignited, exploding and enveloping the world in fire.

"!" Kokabiel snapped his head to the side, searching for his human companions.

…They were gone.

Strangely, there was no confusion in his mind. Some part of him already knew the answer, the answer being locked away, far, far into the past. That memory was just going to take some time to surface.

A dome of pure red heat isolated Mastema and Kokabiel, leaving them alone.

"You look awfully surprised and concerned, Kokabiel… really, I knew you were going senile, as evidenced by your earlier actions… but have you really forgotten about this too? Don't tell me I actually have to lecture you on what this place is."

"…" Kokabiel calmed down, his wide, frantic eyes slowly returning to normal.

He faced Mastema with his blood red eyes, giving him his normal dead stare.

"No, I can recall." He calmly answered him.

"The invocation of your name." He grimly remembered.

The power of the very first generation of angels, the eldest, wisest and the strongest, didn't come in the form of their purity of light, their raw strength, their intelligence and wisdom, their kind and understanding heart, or their capacity to wield magic.

No, their greatest strength could be found in their very names, given to them by the Heavenly Father. The invocation of their True Name was a powerful thing, able to overwrite the resting logic of the world around them and replace it with the core of the angel's very soul and identity.

With their True Name invoked, their beliefs, will, personality and very core of their being would be realised in the material world, held together and shaped by the definition of the name Father gave to them.

In function, it was not too dissimilar from that one particular extremely human form of expression and magecraft – Reality Marbles, he believed they were called – but in core and concept, they strayed quite a bit.

A Reality Marble was an individual's logic, will and way of life internalised within oneself, manifesting as a second set of laws that opposed the natural will of the world, becoming its own individual temporary reality.

But an angel's name was not a manifestation of their beliefs, it was their beliefs in their rawest, purest form, and it wasn't a second set of laws that opposed the natural world, it was the natural law of the world itself, simply being enforced and shaped through their name.

"Mastema, the One Who Persecutes." He looked at the small world of fire that surrounded him. "His identity is that of the one who judges the unworthy and punishes them through disaster. It is said it was through him the Egyptians who stood against Moses were judged, and through him their firstborns were slain."

"Dancing around the point, are you? Stalling for time while your senile brain catches up?"

"…" Kokabiel did not dignify him with a response, instead just continuing. "Trial by fire. That is the true nature of your name's invocation. A world where you are judge, jury and executioner. You count the sins of the accused and prosecute them. For each judgement sustained, a mark of flame will pin down the body of the sinner, draining them of power. If the count is seven, and all seven judgements are sustained, then the accused will face certain death, and eternal torment in Hell."

Mastema pointed his arm towards him, the tips of his dirty blonde hair slowly lifting upwards and glowing at the edges, as if being lit aflame.

The writhing mass of red in his hands had finally settled, taking the form of a giant length of flames with sharp edges, like a sword. On its lower third, where its handle would have been, a massive ringed cross took its place, Mastema's hand clutching right at its centre where the axes converged.

The white-hot tip pointed straight towards Kokabiel's nose.

"We're already in the deepest pits of Hell, and you're an angel, so that parts not going to work. Instead, what awaits you is nothing but the void."

His blood red eyes, symbolising his love and wrath, did not blink even once.

He just frowned.

"Are you expecting this to be able to contain me, to defeat me?" There was no concern or fear within his voice. He didn't seem to be the slightest bit scared or worried that he would die, or even just lose. It was like he knew some hidden secret to bypassing the effects of Mastema's invoked self.

Mastema huffed, lowering his blazing weapon.

"If that's your attitude, then I'm afraid this is going to be easy. In case your senile mind has forgotten, my word is absolute here, upheld by the natural law of the world invoked by my name. I am Mastema, the One Who Persecutes, and my judgement is final."

He stepped forward, throwing his arm to the side, brandishing the massive sword of flames.

"Let's start this trial off with an easy one. The first accusation is thus."

He charged forward at Kokabiel, swinging down the monstruous weapon.

"Look at you! The shadow in your hand has still yet to coalesce into light!"

At that moment, Kokabiel's eyes narrowed, and a fully formed sword of purple light entered his grip.

He swung back at the oncoming sword, sending the two reeling back from the collision of their weapons.

Mastema pushed on, undeterred.

"Is that the sign of a warrior who constantly trains? Who constantly keeps himself prepared for war? What I see before me is a dull blade that has forgotten what it's like to fight, to always have an ambush lurking around the corner!"

He clutched the massive sword with both hands, bringing it down for an overhead swing.

Knowing that trying to contest it from below was pointless, Kokabiel stepped to the side and swung at it from the right, knocking the path of the blazing blade to the left.

The sword hammered into the ground with ferocious force, its impact sending a burst of flame up into the air, where it rejoined with the fiery dome around them.

Mastema's ten wings flexed, his black feathers suddenly bursting into flame at their base, propelled towards Kokabiel as if they were bullets.

"!" Kokabiel leaned out of the way and stepped backwards, trying to dodge the flaming bullets that came towards him.

Back and to the left.

One clipped his ankle.

Right foot to the side, hop away with the left.

One clipped his shoulder.

Left foot on the ground, bend out of the way.

One clipped his elbow.

The barrage eventually ended.

Kokabiel's clothes were torched and ripped in numerous places, exposing the pale white skin underneath, blood being drawn in certain places.

The sullen man still seemed unfazed.

Mastema scoffed, his eyes narrowing.

He heaved upwards, pulling his sword away from the ground.

"The Kokabiel I knew, the great stalwart warrior who stood steadfast, always facing the uncertain future… the astounding soldier who always stood on the frontlines… he would never have been caught by that attack."

He straightened himself, flourished his wings, and spread his arms, declaring his next words widely for the entire world, which comprised only of the two of them, to hear.

"You are lazy! Complacent! Unprepared! The sands of time have worn you down and you have seen it fit to be inactive in this utterly ridiculous ceasefire imposed by the Angels and the Devils! WHAT IS THIS IF NOT SLOTH!?"

A flaming stake pierced through the barrier of flames, shooting towards Kokabiel with impossible speed.

The sullen man did not dodge. He knew how this place worked.

It was a fruitless effort to try and avoid the stake, representing Mastema's judgement. It would find its way to him as a natural law of the world.

It sunk into his shoulder, penetrating his flesh deep enough for its tip to be seen poking out the other side.

Kokabiel stared down at his left arm.

His ring finger, pinkie and middle finger twitched. He had no more control over them. Articulating his wrist was nigh impossible and it felt as if his elbow tendons had been severed.

Still, he did not waver. He looked at Mastema with his blood red eyes like he had been hit with a mere breeze.

"The second sin is simple. We don't even need to go over it." Mastema spat, not moving any closer.

"You are an angel of love, but you still fell. The reason is simple. You are a being of hate. You could not help the anger inside of you build until it spilled over. The second accusation is thus. Your core is one of Wrath."

A second stake shot out from the dome, joining the first and plunging itself deep into his left shoulder, again.

It was almost as if the nerves had almost entirely been removed from his left arm. Two of his ten wings fell limp, and with them, his power was reduced to that of an eight-winged angel.

Already, the fight was unwinnable. The gap between an eight and ten-winged angel was insurmountable, especially if the ten-winged angel had a name gifted upon them by their Father.

Kokabiel, however, seemed to not care, standing up to his full height and facing Mastema with an unwavering stare, gazing deep into his soul with his blood red eyes.

Mastema scowled, his grip on his blade tightening. His blood vessels seemed to throb and pop in anger as Kokabiel met his eyes.

His hair grew even brighter, the tips glowing bright red, and its main body slowly glowing white.

"You…! Insolent, senile fool! WHAT THE HELL IS IT WITH THAT LOOK IN YOUR EYES!?"

His free hand shook in anger.

"Do you still think you have what it takes to win!?"

He pointed that hand at him, rudely extending his finger.

"You're a mere eight-winged angel now up against a first generation ten-winged with his name invoked! And you still think you can prevail?"

"…"

"The third accusation is thus!" He announced.

The dome of fire boiled and bubbled, humming with energy.

The temperature of the world inside, already unbearable hot, went up even further.

The world was preparing for the third judgement.

"Nothing but arrogance is what I see! You stand up to an insurmountable enemy, thinking you can win! And you think you can do so without even unveiling your own trump cards! Why!? Why have you not invoked your own name!? Don't you see how dire the situation is?"

He shouted at Kokabiel.

"…"

Still, he received no response.

That only served to anger Mastema even further.

"You know that everything is on the line for you! You know that this is it, your final chance at living! If you can somehow escape my judgement, then it is redemption and salvation for your being! Why do you not use everything you have at your disposal!? Do you think that little of me!? I am your brother, a son of Father just like you! You and I are equals, not superior and inferior! This is nothing but arrogance, nothing but an old fool deluded of his importance and strength!"

The tip of the third stake emerged from the dome.

"WHAT IS THIS IF NOT PRIDE!?"

The third stake struck true.

Eight wings became seven.

"…" Kokabiel regarded Mastema with a dead stare.

Still, he did not waver.

---

A black sword spun towards one of the approaching fallen, and a white sword towards a second.

Immediately, as they left her hands, Shirou traced a second pair, holding them up defensively.

The two thrown swords lodged themselves in the sides of their targets, causing them to stumble and grimace.

And then, the two swords started trembling, slowly scraping their way through the flesh, pushing forward even when no force was acting on them.

Some mysterious force, fuelled by their love, sorrow, yearning and unfulfillment, dragged the two blades together.

The twin swords tore through the flesh of the bodies they were stuck inside, toppling the two over and spraying blood all over the battlefield.

Shirou held back a grimace, bile rising in her throat.

This battle needed to end fast. If it did, then those two could be healed in time. If not, even if they were angels, they would eventually succumb to their wounds, and their blood would be on her hands.

–"All that was left was death. I held nothing but emptiness in the end. That is what being a hero means."

"Innocents… sinners… it stopped mattering after thousands of years. If I could save someone by killing another, it would be done."

The memories of that day – the sounds of clashing swords, the regretful, hateful words of that solemn man, and the petty, childish conviction of the hollow fool who tried to stand against him – continued to echo through her mind, entrapped within her skull of steel.

One of the remaining six came in on her left.

She stabbed Kanshou into the man's chest, knocking him to the ground with the blade still stuck in his abdomen.

Another came from the right.

She parried the oncoming blow with Bakuya and elbowed him in the chest, the steel beneath her skin causing a sickening crack to be heard as the man's ribcage shattered. He dropped to the floor, unconscious.

In the distance, two spinning black and white blades converged in on each other. They barely missed their counterparts, swinging back around in a circular fashion and returning towards her.

The tragic forces that dragged the two blades together also ensured they'd never truly reunite.

Two came for her head on.

She bent backwards, letting the spears pass over her shoulders, giving the returning twin blades enough time to lodge themselves into their backs, decommissioning them.

Two more were closing in from the far left.

Shirou pivoted towards the left, throwing Bakuya towards them with all of her might. As it flew across the ground, ripping through the air from the throw supported by her muscles of steel, over the fallen body with Kanshou stuck inside, their almost magnetic attraction ripped the black blade out of its resting place, hurtling it towards its partner.

The two blades found new homes inside the shoulders of two fallen attackers, the sheer force of her throw and force of the mystical attraction blowing them back and knocking them to the floor several metres away.

Two were left, coming at her from the right.

She projected a copy of Monohoshizao, calmed herself and closed her eyes.

Space bent in front of her, and three perfectly coordinated simultaneous slashes embedded themselves deeply in the bodies of the remaining two attackers.

She let Monohoshizao disappear, slowly bending her neck backwards to look up.

Fiamma floated down softly, a flaming orange spear in her hands.

"Leave. This is an active war zone now. I could keep you safe before when I was just an archer, but now I'm an active participant in the front lines of this battle."

Shirou spoke those words knowing they were useless before they even left her mouth.

She knew, because after all, she had seen that face in the mirror too many times, and she knew exactly how unreasonable Fiamma-

–Emiya Shirou

-was in her current mindset.

"No. It doesn't matter how many die, how many fall befall me… It doesn't matter how many horrors I witness, if they make me want to vomit or cry or collapse… I made that promise, I'll protect you to the very end."

–A hellish landscape.

Dead bodies, skulls, skeletons. They were held in place by a myriad swords.

It was numbing.

"I KEPT RUNNING, IGNORING THE PAIN, IGNORING HOW UTTERLY WRONG I WAS!"

"IT WAS ALL POINTLESS… SUCH HOLLOW ASPIRATIONS COULD NEVER SAVE ANYTHING!"

"Then-!"

–"If the only thing you can do is hold onto your ideals, then drown in your ideals and die."

"-…"

Shirou bit down on her tongue, not letting the hateful words he spoke on that day exit her lips too.

No, she wasn't trying to kill her. She was trying to save her-

–EMIYA sought to kill the Emiya Shirou of the past, the Emiya Shirou in his regrets. Not the girl in front of him.
So...

Emiya Shirou was not trying to save Fiamma, she was trying to salvage what was left of her fragmenting self.

Shirou turned her head away, her face shadowed in anguish.

Again, she didn't have the time, she didn't have the space.

And she needed both.

Hope fluttered in her heart of steel.

There was still a chance. She could still correct this. She just had to get her out of here alive. She had to end this battle as fast as quickly.

Shirou ignored Fiamma's watchful gaze, her eyes flicking from side to side.

Sixteen at the entrance of the cafeteria. Nineteen by the Library. Forty-eight swarming the House of Parliament, barely being held off by a single purple-haired fallen angel. Ninety-four, even more than before, littered the roofs of the Knights Quarters. Hundreds, if not thousands – where were they all coming from? The amount of hostiles and dissidents seemed to be multiplying rather than reducing – more littered the grounds and skies.

Golden javelins from above continued to rain down from the skies, courtesy of Azazel, but no matter how many fell, more seemed to take their place.

She ran forward, grabbing the copies of Kanshou and Bakuya and throwing them forward as she passed by them, recklessly heading straight into the enemy lines.

Black and white blades danced around her, coming in and out, circling and fanning constantly, becoming a black and white whirl of chaos.

Two in front of her. One retreating copy of Kanshou and an advancing copy of Bakuya.

–I need space.

Three descending on her. A momentary projection of Monohoshizao and a quick use of Tsubame Gaeshi.

–I need time.

One behind her. Fiamma's flaming orange spear tore cleanly through the attacker's shoulder, pinning him to the ground.

A spear came flying overhead, aiming for the red-haired angel.

Shirou threw a copy of Kanshou towards the spear, then bent downwards to let another copy of Kanshou fly straight past her and whizz towards the fallen who tried to attack Fiamma.

A second spear came from the opposite direction, also intended for Fiamma.

She roughly grasped onto Fiamma's dress and pulled her down from the sky, spinning around and tossing her behind herself, which was safer than hanging in the air.

"Sister Shirou, you don't need to concern yourself with me!"

Shirou turned around, not heeding Fiamma's almost tortured cries, looking around for anyone in need of aid.

–I do.

"I'm not important! I can handle myself, and if I can't… that's fine! But I'm not letting you stray your focus from your goal!"

–And I'm not letting you-

me

-throw your life away.

"I don't matter! I'm just being a distraction if you try to keep me safe!"

–You're the only thing that matters.
They're the ones distracting me from you.

"If you understand you're being a distraction, then leave."

"Not if it means leaving you to suffer this hell alone."

For a moment, Shirou paused.

–There was nothing left for someone like him. As he walked down the path, he was fated to be alone.

And he was left all alone, with nothing but his ideal.

–Yet, these hands will never hold anything.

She shook the momentary distraction off, leaving Fiamma without an answer. Again, she didn't have the time nor space to properly respond.

"I don't care about what happens to me if it means you can be safe, always looking forward, being radiant and beautiful as you were back then."

Fiamma's words turned sombre, the low vibrations of her voice hiding a touch of yearning and hope.

This time, the words made Shirou freeze.

She hung her head, facing away from Fiamma.

No matter what, that girl could not be allowed to see her expression.

–My life needs no meaning.

The thousands of blades inside of her sharpened, digging into the little flesh that remained.

It was starting to hurt just existing.

An explosion from the right.

Two fallen were trying to flee the area, pursued by five behind them.

–I can't make you understand here.
Please…

She repeated to herself.

–I need time and space.

Her eyes burned with a steely, desolate resolution.

–Fiamma, you're getting out of here alive.

If one listened closely, creaking steel could be heard from her joints.

–You're going to live a long, happy fulfilling life.

She ran at the danger, those who were trying to fight against Azazel's promised peace, and those who dared to target the innocent.

–You're not going to spend it protecting this faulty, useless machine.

She was going to save them.

…Whatever 'saving' someone meant.

–You won't die a futile death, changing nothing with it, as this hollow, distorted machine remains unchanged in the wake of it.

She ran forward and she ran forward.

–His mind was now vacant – if it was ever there in the first place – and his heart was now hollow – if it was ever there in the first place – but still…

But no matter how much she did, no matter how many people she saved and got to safety, no matter how many fallen fell in front of her.

They seemed to never end.

For the one named Emiya Shirou, the end that they so wished for… would never, ever arrive.

---

Mastema started to tremble. Deep inside, some part of him was getting scared.

Why, why!? Why was Kokabiel still staring defiantly up at him!? Wasn't it clear he had no chance at winning? Should he not be trying to bargain and plea for his life!?

The sullen man, with only seven of his wings remaining, held out his hand, and once more, manifested a sword of light within it.

"Three judgements have been cast upon you." Mastema spat with scorn. "And you still think you can stand up to me? If it were possible, I'd cast three more accusations of Pride against you just for that."

Kokabiel charged forward, not giving Mastema a single response.

The flaming angel swung down his fiery weapon, smashing through the much weaker sword.

That alone was not enough to get Kokabiel to retreat. Two more swords formed, one in each hand. He used the shattering of his previous weapon to his advantage, making good use of the fact that Mastema was now overextending, his blade still being swung forwards at nothing, and slashed at him with both blades.

"Gh!" They were not deep injuries, the gap between their power being far too large for any substantial damage to be dealt to the flaming angel, but nonetheless, blood was drawn from his blazing body.

Mastema recovered in time to kick Kokabiel away, his now much greater strength managing to send the crippled angel all the way to the walls of fire, scorching his back as he dropped to the ground.

"…Why are you fighting so hard?" He snarled, glaring at the sullen man, who was slowly getting up on his knees. "The fourth accusation is thus."

The trial commenced once again.

"You are drunk. The years of peace have gotten you wasted on them. You cling onto this fleeting fantasy of yours, this idea that everyone can live happily ever after, that nobody needs to be mad at each other ever again, not wanting to face the truth that such a thing is impossible."

He raised his burning sword, pointing the edge at Kokabiel.

"You are looking away from reality, looking away from your responsibilities as a Cadre and figurehead for our people. You are indulging yourself in the sinful pleasure of delusions of peace. What is that if not gluttony?"

The fourth judgement rang true, and a flaming stake pierced Kokabiel's abdomen.

Two more wings fell. Five were left.

He narrowed his eyes at his brother.

"Invoke your name, Kokabiel. Call it out. Its power is the only thing that can save you. Show me the wrath that defines you. Demonstrate to me the power that tore mankind away from the stagnation that came with their delusions of Heaven. Show me the power of the brother we so admired, the one that guided our people through the darkness."

"…" The sullen man did not answer him, finding some strength still left in his body, getting up on his wobbly feet and conjuring two more swords.

"You managed to fell even the Tower of Babel. You were a shining light for our kind, and even for the Son of Man. Why are you not calling upon that power?"

Mastema grit his teeth together.

"Why do you mock me so, brother? Am I that unworthy in your eyes? Am I such an insignificant ant to you that it's just not a big deal to you if you die to me? How is that even possible? You stand and fight, so you clearly wish to win, yet you don't call upon your only hope to do so?"

"…" The sullen man charged him once more, his blood red eyes unwavering.

And all Mastema needed to do to beat him aside this time was swipe at him with the behemoth of a sword.

Once more, Kokabiel was batted away, but still, he refused to fall.

…Weak. So, so weak.

So insignificant.

He could end this right here if he wanted to. He didn't need to cast three more judgements, or two, or one. He could end him with just his sword.

But while that fight would win him the battle, this was now about much, much more.

He needed to stomp out this cockroach beneath his feet.

He needed him to feel true, bottomless despair.

He needed him to feel what it was like to be absolutely lost, without guidance, without anyone to come and help him.

Like how Azazel had made their entire species feel for the better part of a millennium.

That would be his punishment for taking that bastard's side in this.

"The fifth and sixth accusation is thus." He started, skipping the preamble.

"From your sloth, born was your gluttony. Your complacency and laziness in this ceasefire led you to becoming delusional, creating a perfect fantasy world in your mind, which you continue to indulge in to the point of clouding your reason to the point of standing by Azazel's side while he spouts off about ridiculous ideals of peace, ignoring the only true method of solving our crisis."

Kokabiel got up on his shaky knees.

"And now, you cannot let go. You have to chase after that indulgent fantasy, ignoring reason, no matter what. You hunger for it, you need it. It overtakes every part of your being and eventually led you to standing against the true way of your own people. If Azazel wins today, he, and by proxy, you, would have led all of our people to ruin. Not only that, your senseless desire brought the innocent Son of Man into this."

Two feeble swords of light were formed in his hand.

Mastema ignored them.

"You senselessly desire and hunger for that indulgent fantasy. Is that not lust? To the point where you are willing to ignore the pleas of everyone around you for your own selfish purposes, benefitting no one and providing no substantial value even to yourself, as its nothing more than a mere delusion. Is that not greed?"

Two more stakes shot out, piercing Kokabiel's left thigh and right hand.

Three wings fell.

Two were left.

There was not even enough strength left in his body to stand.

Kokabiel fell to the ground on his knees, his wings hanging limply.

He could not even muster the strength to bend his neck up to properly look at Mastema.

At this point, Mastema would be surprised if he even had the ability to talk.

"And finally, the seventh accusation is thus."

Mastema walked all the way up to Kokabiel, taking each step slowly.

"…I'm sure many emotions are coursing through you right now."

One, two, three, four.

"There must be many, many regrets. Maybe you wish that you had invoked your name earlier. Maybe you're futilely praying for those children you brought into this to come and save you."

He pointed his sword directly at Kokabiel's lowered head.

"I'm sure you wish you were anywhere but here, about to die. I'm sure you're jealous of Azazel, who must be having a much better time against a much easier opponent. I'm sure you're jealous of those outside this trial, and those three Sons of Man who only have to face eight and six-winged fallen angels. I'm sure you're jealous of me, even, how I can stand at full power while you have been lowered to nothing."

The seventh stake lurked.

"Surely, some of the feelings coursing inside of you… some of them must be those to jealousy. And what would those feelings be if not envy?"

---

Azazel looked towards the sky around him.

All across the horizon, tiny silhouettes with great wings dotted the skies, coming ever closer.

Being too focused on those beneath him, he never had the time to look outwards, beyond the hill that marked the Grigori's headquarters. And now that he did…

His face fell.

He chuckled, panting.

Even if he was the strongest among his kind, this was not an enemy that one could easily overcome. The enemies below him, that crept up on the mountain, that flew in from all across the Underworld, they weren't simply faceless two-winged fallen angels…

No, the battlefield at this point was practically devoid of those with only one pair of wings. Most angels with only one pair of wings were never meant to be combatants, and never chased combat. They were unarmed and untrained, seeking something other than combat in their life. Some were researchers, some were scholars, others took administrative roles, and so on, so forth. It was rare for any actual soldier to have any less than four wings.

And he wasn't just facing them either. It wasn't like he was just beating down on common foot soldiers and battalions filled with just the rank-and-file, no, there were faces he recognised, brothers and sisters he had once fought beside long, long ago. There were those with four pairs of wings who's faces he saw every year in the House of Parliament. There were generals of his armies of his armies who he saw dutifully and diligently arrive at the Knights Quarters day in and day out, training the next generation of their brethren to take up arms and defend whoever they swore to protect.

And all of them, all of them, now stood on the other side of this battle. Taking up arms and swearing bitter vengeance against him, and him alone.

And he told himself that no matter what, he was not going to invoke his name for this battle, that wasn't something to be used against his people, it was to be used against enemies. And he had also sworn to not use his Artificial Sacred Gears, as that would be nothing more than a slap in the face against everyone who criticised him, using the very fruits of his complacency to deny them their concerns and sorrows.

He laughed bitterly.

He told himself again, of course this wouldn't be easy. He knew it would be hard.

One thousand years of penitence. One thousand years of inaction of resentment. One thousand years of tragedies he could have stopped, but never did. One thousand years of judgement.

And he would have to bear it all alone. This was the cost of his failure.

–After today, no more.
This will be the last time I fail anyone.

But… to think it would be this painful…

His heart throbbed.

A thousand spears, glittering as if they were stars in this starless sky, descended upon him from above. The first wave of reinforcements, from all across the Underworld, had come to the side of the dissidents.

His eyes widened in panic, but that panic was not born from fear of his own safety.

He swivelled around, looking below him.

The priest and the Enforcer had managed to safely evacuate everyone.

Azazel let out a large sigh of relief, laughing in elation.

Below him, the battlefield raged on.

There were only three major combatants – plus a few brave stragglers who had mustered the courage to fight back against the overwhelming odds – who stood on his side, holding the ground beneath him.

Penemue and Quarta did their best to hold off attacks against the Treasury and Laboratory, the latter of which had not only become the one safe haven for those who had been unlucky enough to not be able to evacuate, but also in a way, a symbol of his meagre rule, being the place where he had spent the majority of his time and researchers locked themselves away in, shutting their eyes to the troubles of the rest of the world.

It was an attack on three fronts.

The zealous and fanatical sought to slaughter those hiding inside, ridding their kind of the weakness that Azazel had plagued them with.

The bitter and tired sought to destroy the symbol of Azazel's comfort and indifference.

The pragmatic and strategic sought to steal the experiments and weapons within.

Somewhere else, on the other side of the hilltop, the red-haired lass spun and twirled around the battlefield, dancing an elegant dance of death. Black and white swords spun around her, flinging in and out, forming a beautiful pattern that almost resembled the span of a flower.

At most, five minutes had passed since the end of his address. One could barely say that the battle had begun. The four of them would have to bear the brunt of this malice for at least another thirty minutes, if not hours, if not full days.

One minute passed. Eight hundred fell, nine hundred flew in from the skies to take their place.

Two minutes passed. Penemue seemed to be reaching the limits of her abilities – despite being a cadre, she wasn't really a great warrior, for the most part, she was just a secretary that was lucky to born in the first generation. The building of the Knights Quarters completely collapsed in on itself, trapping hundreds, if not thousands inside of the rubble.

By the time the fourth minute passed, only the two human women were left, standing back-to-back on the battlefield. Both had walked through hell before, this was nothing new for them.

Shirou was fighting two – no, three – battles at once.

One was the group of enemies in front of her.

The second was Fiamma's reckless behaviour, having to constantly pull her back from endangering her life to fend off blows coming in from Shirou's blind spots, and constantly pulling her down from the skies as the much stronger enemies caught on to her, and saw a nuisance in the weak two-winged angel.

And the third was the battle raging in her own soul, the parts of her body that were steel digging into the parts of her body that were flesh, drawing blood from inside.

The memories of that day continued to play like a broken record, over and over and over again.

–"I killed and I killed. I killed and killed and killed and killed. All just so I can save someone. Innocents… sinners… it stopped mattering after thousands of years. If I could save someone by killing another, then it would be done."

Having looked into that bad, old mirror, the memories flooded in, and no matter what, they would not leave.

–"Was I even thinking for myself? I don't remember. If there was a conflict, I was there. If there was someone who was crying, I was there. If something precious was in danger, I was there. I do not remember bringing myself to those places, I do not remember caring for those people, all I remember is fighting."

Why was she even there in the first place? For what reason was it that she dragged herself into this conflict?

–I came because there might have been someone who needed to be saved.

What did that even mean? What kind of useless, empty, vapid reasoning was that?

–There's no happiness to be found. There is no salvation to be gained. This is a battle I dived into without an end envisioned.

She was ready. She should have been ready. She swore to him that she would fight against the hollow fate that was Emiya Shirou's inevitable future. She came here because she thought was living up to that promise.

–"I will never regret it. No matter what happens."

"I don't care if I lose to a servant. I don't care if I lose this war… but I won't lose against you. I won't lose against myself."

"I WILL NEVER STOP BEING EMIYA SHIROU!"

She wasn't going to turn her back on anyone, she wasn't going to choose to save one group over the other, not like he did.

–"I turned my back. I said I would never bring despair to anyone in my view, so I turned away from them and left them in the dark to save another."

"I couldn't handle the burden… But eventually, I grew numb to it. To protect my mind and my ideal, I shut myself off from my emotions…"

She was fine with failing. It would hurt, it would hurt so bad that it would make her want to die, it would make her want to just give up and succumb like EMIYA did, but she promised that if she ever failed to save someone – save the people standing across from her on this very battlefield – she would never let go of that pain, she would hold it tightly to her chest, and then next time, maybe things would be different.

Maybe then, she'd be able to save one more person.

But…

…

'Saving' someone?

What the hell did that word even mean?

–"You understood nothing of what he did or why he did it. You just admired him. You wanted to be like him and save somebody because you wanted to smile like he did."

It wasn't wrong.

–"It isn't wrong."

She knew that for certain. It wasn't wrong to chase after that ideal. The childish fantasy of saving everyone and being a hero was something worth striving towards.

…

Again, what the hell did that mean?

She was chasing after something that was beautiful, but what exactly was it? Could she describe it? Could she see it in her dreams? Or was it just a stupid, formless thing that was ill-defined and nonsensical?

–"It isn't wrong."

Just three words.

Still, that was all she had.

She knew it was beautiful, but she couldn't tell someone why or how. It just was. It made Kiritsugu smile like so, it had to be.

That man, after a lifetime of failures, after years and decades of steeling his heart until all the life and vibrancy in his eyes had faded, after killing and killing and killing and killing and killing…

After sacrificing everything he knew, everyone he loved, turning his back on his daughter and his wife and all of his friends, acquaintances and allies…

After all the tragedies he caused to 'save'-

–There it was again.

That cursed, empty, meaningless word.

-some amount of people that outweighed the losses, and after all of that broke him…

He still smiled.

–Why?

"You understood nothing of what he did or why he did it."

One single, unconditional success. After a lifetime of failure, that was all he had.

And it made him smile beautifully.

If it could make such a broken, hollow man smile so radiantly…

What was it if not something beautiful and worth chasing?

…

Even after everything, after that battle, and all of the promises that stemmed from it, where was she in the end, two years later?

What had she done?

She had accomplished nothing.

Her hollow actions only served to doom a young girl-

–The face in the mirror.

-to admire her hollowly, just as she once had, and reach for that hollow way of living simply because it looked beautiful to her, just as she did.

–Emiya Shirou died a fool, never taking a single significant step towards their ideal.

She was still the same.

She was still the same she was still the same she was still the same she was still the same

nothing changed nothing changed nothing changed nothing changed nothing changed

–I have overcome a thousand battlefields.

The steel inside of her sharpened again, but she did not feel the pain.

The words of her Reality Marble's invocation echoed in her mind, ringing like steel.

The Reality Marble was the very truth of her being. It could tell no lies unless she herself, at the very core, was a lie.

She had 'overcome a thousand battlefields' and what? What did she have to show for it?

–The man fell to his knees. Nothing was left. His heartless, mindless, bloodless body could not continue.

–Yet, these hands will never hold anything.

In that moment of weakness, a fallen angel carrying a spear of light rushed towards her, striking at her back.

Fiamma moved to counter it.

Shirou tightened her fists.

She pulled the young fallen angel away from the risky manoeuvre, holding her to her own chest.

The spear simply cracked in half upon impacting her back, causing a loud reverberation to echo throughout the air and throughout her bones.

She turned around, seeing two wings.

Her body was encased in far too many layers of steel at this point for an attack from such a weak person to ever break through her skin.

At that moment, she was not thinking about the enemy in front of her.

A returning copy of Bakuya took care of them without her having to move a single muscle.

Her fists tightened further.

–No.

It wasn't meaningless. She had something to show for it.

–"I promise… for their sake… I'll-…"

Under the starry night, sitting on the wooden porch…

She had him.

–"Then, 'Sensei'… one day, I'll become strong. Strong enough to protect everyone around me, strong enough that you won't have to worry about keeping secrets. When that day comes…"

"…Could you tell me your name?"

He wasn't empty.

–"Hahaha…" I chuckled.
I couldn't help it.

His life had meaning.

–How innocent.
How pure.

…I'm jealous, really.

She didn't get it, but saving him mattered.

–"That boy, Isaiah… you care, don't you?"

He mattered.

–"Please, stay alive… stay alive…"

She remembered it.

–"Thank God…"

Her actions, her heart, they weren't empty that day.

The desperation that she felt as she pumped her legs with as much prana as she could possibly manage, praying that she wouldn't be too late.

The terror, followed by the rage, as the man chasing the boy started to beat him bloody, staining the pure white snow with red.

The determination to pull him away, to see his features light up with emotion and warmth, to see him as anything but the cold lifeless human dummy that he was turning into.

And-

–His empty tear ducts which had no more tears started to move.

The elation.

–A precious tear that fell down her face, glimmering as if it was a star itself.
A smile whose light and radiance washed away the cold, hollow bitterness of the snow.

The sheer relief and happiness – like what she imagined the salvation Kiritsugu felt inside his own heart to be – that filled her as the boy cried into her chest, alive.

It wasn't pointless.

It wasn't pointless.

Emiya Shirou wasn't pointless.

It wasn't just hollow admiration, and her death wasn't going to mean nothing.

There…

There was still hope.

She could still correct this; she could still save Fiamma.

–She could still save Emiya Shirou.

The building behind her burst, sending a deadly wave of rubble her way, large enough to collapse both her and Fiamma underneath it.

Shirou reached out to Fiamma, pulling her close to her chest.

The rubble fell towards her, intent on leaving any survivors.

She held her right arm to the sky, palm facing the debris.

The large fragments of what would be stone rooves and floors collapsed down on her.

They all shattered and fell apart as they reached her hand, one thousand swords of steel underneath the skin.

"…"

Fiamma said something.

She didn't hear it.

Shirou leapt over the rubble that surrounded her, intent on re-joining the battle.

She knew that it would be easy to get Fiamma to safety, to give her the time and space she needed to reconcile this mess she herself had caused by acting so irresponsibly, all she had to do was retreat from the battle herself, and Fiamma would join her.

–All he had to do was retreat. All he had to do was take one, single, tiny step back and it would all be over.

…For some reason, he had the instinct that if he were to retreat, he'd lose something much more important.

…But if she did that, she'd lose something far greater. Emiya Shirou would completely shatter, leaving nothing behind. She'd be turning her back from those in need, from a battle where someone could be saved, for the sake of her own feeble selfishness.

Turning around so Fiamma would live was not even a consideration.

Something descended from the skies.

Shirou looked up.

A shooting star with twelve black wings was forced to come crashing towards the ground.

"Father Azazel!" Behind her, Fiamma cried out, instantly recognising the wings.

Azazel's eyes widened as his ears received her voice.

His head snapped towards her.

"You…!? You can't be more than five- no, four hundred years old! What the hell are you doing in a place like this! This battlefield isn't a place for you to linger i-"

–"Let me down, you idiot!"

It was a different set of memories that flashed through Shirou's mind as Azazel speaks this time.

–"You-… Just let go of me! I can take care of this myself! I don't need your help!"

Ryuudou Temple.

"-n. You need to get out and leave immediately!"

"You're not going to convince her." Shirou shook her head.

Azazel scowled, frustrated with her words.

"Why the hell is that!? I'm not letting anyone innocent get caught up in my penitence! ESPECIALLY… not some four-hundred-year-old child!"

"Do you think you could convince me." Shirou couldn't even say those blank, emotionless words as a question. It was almost as if she had completely given up and resigned.

–More than anything, I can't stand to be a burden to him.

I can do something. I can help.

I can help I can help I can help I can help I can help I can help

"…" Azazel frowned heavily. "Tch." He snapped his head away, looking towards the massive army that had come from all the corners of Grigori territory to strike him down.

He didn't get what the hell the girl was trying to say, but he understood that it meant that child was as foolish and unreasonable as she was.

But, unlike the human, the woman who served as a trailblazer for the rest of her species…

He could not stand for this.

His nails dug into his palms as his fists curled even tighter.

–I don't know what your name is, kid, but…
I'm not letting you die.

She didn't have a place on this battlefield – the human woman barely did, but at least she understood exactly what kind of hell she was about to face and could manifest a thousand different magical artifacts out of her ass – it would kill him if a small flame like that was blown out in this harsh storm.

That red-haired, golden-eyed child's blood would not be spilled. No innocent would fall today.

He focused back on the battle, looking over the thousands of descending soldiers.

"Hey, lass, you think you got an-"

He cut himself off.

He had lapsed for a brief moment. He had lost sight of what he was doing this all for and was just about to break and lose all of it by asking the woman to conjure up a weapon that could take down the army.

But if he did that, he was essentially just personally ordering the slaughter of his own people.

And no matter whether they opposed his proposition of peace, or whether they were just bitter, he wasn't going to do something as inhumane as indiscriminately annihilate them just because he thought he was right.

"Nevermind." He sighed.

…This was just the first wave.

How much more of this would this small force have to endure?

Even if Griselda Quarta, that legendary bull-headed woman of infinite resolve, was on their side, who seemingly had no limits and would fight forever… if it came down to fighting possible up to half of the Fallen Angel Faction as a whole?

…It'd take more than just one, or even ten miracles to overcome odds like these.

He laughed bitterly.

…Was it hopeless?

Had he let it fester for too long? Was this malice too great for him to ever hope to overcome without force and cruelty?

The purple sky light up with a thousand stars, raining down upon the two.

Next to him, Shirou stepped in front of Azazel, circuits along her arm firing up.

She needed something. She needed either a weapon that could 'destroy all other weapons' or a shield that could stand up to one thousand arrows.

She closed her eyes, looking deep inside of Unlimited Blade Works.

But before she could do anything, something bright flashed in front of her, bright enough to paint her vision white even with closed eyes.

"!" Her eyes snapped open to react to the potential threat.

A pure white bolt of lightning danced in front of them, shooting straight up into the sky.

"Alright everyone! On my mark, one, two… three! Fire in the hole!"

A large beam of energy, thicker than several trees tied together, shot towards the oncoming volley.

Together, two attacks collided with the rain of light, wiping out the entirety of the wave of spears.

"That's-!" Azazel's eyes widened, instantly recognising that lightning.

His head whipped around to trace the source of the bolt.

"Baraqiel!?"

A gruff middle-aged man, with a sharp face, greying black hair and a grizzly beard with sideburns stared back at him.

"Holy shit! The prototype actually worked! Let's fucking go!" A group of giddy voices all cheered and high-fived somewhere to the left.

His head snapped in the other direction.

"Y-you guys!?"

A large group of fallen angels with one pair of wings and lab coats all jumped at each other, hugging and laughing.

The researchers surrounded a large, black, heavy object carried around on wheels. Black barriers and walls surrounded a long, thin barrel pointed towards the sky, with the tip of the barrel seemingly having space bend and distort around it.

Off to the side nearby, Griselda stood with folded arms, quirking an eyebrow, impressed with the attack.

Someone in the group noticed Azazel's gaping expression, jumping up and waving at him with a boisterous smile, still laughing.

"Yo, Azazel! Remember that thing we were talking about? Where pulling the antimatter through from the Dimensional Gap caused a massive unstable release of energy to allow it to properly propagate in this world? Well, turns out, the idea we had to control and concentrate it fucking works! Let's go, baby!"

Those were his friends, who he talked to nearly everyday as he walked about the Laboratory. They were complete dogshit as fighters – evident by the single pair of wings on their backs – but they all had an undying thirst for knowledge and hunger for invention, and they commonly exchanged ideas and research back and forth.

Azazel growled, shaking his finger at them.

"That's not important, you fucking idiots! What the fuck are you doing up here!? You should all have evacuated a long, long time ago! You get caught in a single instant and you're done, it's over!"

Griselda shrugged.

"Their idea, not mine."

Azazel spun around, probably not even hearing Griselda's response.

"And you!"

He pointed his finger at Baraqiel.

"The fuck are you doing here!? You have a human wife and daughter, don't you!? I gave you twenty years off for a reason, you dipshit! You're not to go on another mission for like what, nine more years! What the fuck are you doing here!?"

The gruff man, one of his best friends, just glared back at him.

"No, Azazel. I'm the one who should be asking the questions here."

Baraqiel stomped up towards him, their angry gazes clashing with one another.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing!?"

He slugged his friend across the face, sending him to the floor.

Azazel scowled, getting up on his knees.

He looked up at Baraqiel, screaming at him.

"What needs to happen! I was too late, I didn't do this over a thousand years ago, so I have to face this judgement! I'm doing what I always should have done, and was always too blind and complacent to ever do! And I'm paying the price for that mistake!"

"THAT'S NOT WHAT I MEANT!"

His best friend's heart wrenching shout silenced him.

"WHY ARE YOU UP HERE FACING THIS ALONE!?"

"…"

"DO YOU REALLY THINK ALL OF US WOULD JUST LET YOU THROW YOURSELF TO YOUR DEATH, LEAVING YOU BY YOURSELF TO TAKE THIS BURDEN!?"

Azazel's eyes widened, focusing on three particular words.

"WHAT THE HELL MAKES YOU THINK WE'D LET THAT HAPPEN, HUH, AZAZEL!?"

"…All… of… us…?"

Behind him, high up in the sky, a second rain of a thousand arrows was fired.

Azazel spun around, conjuring a golden light in his han-

"On your marks! One, two, three! Fire!"

But before he could, one thousand spears – no, two… four… five!? – shot up into the sky, colliding with the inbound wave of light.

He swivelled around again, looking behind him, past Baraqiel's back.

"Governor General, sir!"

A man he'd never seen before, with a measly four wings on his back, stood up straight and saluted him.

"23rd, 24th and 25th Battalions, reporting in! Awaiting your command, sir!"

"You…" Azazel whispered, stunned into silence.

Behind him, five thousand fallen angels all stood shoulder to shoulder, spears of light tightly held within their arms, boldly facing the sky.

"…what the hell are all of you guys doing here?"

---

"Everyone, down this way!" Kairi called out, jumping down from the deep slope onto the base of the mountain, a flock of fallen angels following him.

This would be the last of them. That was the last group that needed to be evacuated out of the battle.

Shortly behind him, Diethelm ran downwards, panting and sweating.

"Good… we've at least gotten to safety now." He nodded to himself, getting his breath under control.

He spun around, facing the anxious, scared crowd that had followed the two of them.

"Come on, this way, everyone else is waiting."

He gestured towards a certain direction, bringing this group of evacuees over to the rest of them.

They had arrived at the base of the mountain, but that wasn't a guarantee of their safety.

His eyes flicked to the horizon.

Coming in, from all sides, thousands and thousands and thousands of tiny winged silhouettes littered the sky, almost blotting out the purple backdrop.

There were far, far too many of them. They couldn't say with absolute certainty that just getting them off the mountain was enough to keep everyone from harm.

Luckily, nearby, they had discovered a shelter that had been built for emergencies like these – the Grigori had the foresight to understand their headquarters were quite a valuable strike target, and one likely to result in a large disaster with a lot of collateral – and had been able to take advantage of it.

The last stragglers trickled inside the shelter, allowing Diethelm and Kairi to sigh in relief.

"That's everyone, right?"

Diethelm asked his comrade, not entirely confident in his own count.

Kairi just shrugged.

"Probably, beats me."

Diethelm gulped, wiping the sweat off his forehead.

"Well, let's ask someone who can confirm."

He raised his wrist to his hand and spoke into his bracelet.

"Orphan, Blade, come in. Over."

"…"

"Need anything?"

Griselda answered back.

Diethelm bit his lip.

Shirou hadn't answered a single time since the tower she was perched on fell. He was confident she was still alive, as the last time he was up there, she was dancing around with those flying swords of hers, but it was still concerning that he hadn't heard even a single word from the woman who, out of all of them, was the most dedicated to the protection of the innocent.

"Just one thing." He continued on, shelving the concern away for later. She was still alive – if she wasn't still fighting, Griselda would have said something – that was good enough for now. "How many people do you still see up there that haven't been able to get away? Over."

"None."

"Good."

He looked towards Kairi, nodding.

Kairi nodded back, a grave look set on his face.

…It was time to venture into hell.

The two steeled themselves and prepared to walk outside the bunker.

"W-wait!"

Someone ran up behind them, calling out to them.

A dishevelled young man, tightly clutching a weathered and beaten tome to his chest, with a measly two wings on his back, looked at them with a lost, panicked expression.

"Y-you two! Where… where are you going now, saviours?"

Diethelm and Kairi shared a look.

The Enforcer pointed a finger upwards.

"Back into Hell."

The man – probably a scholar of some sort – widened his eyes.

"U-up there!?"

His jaw dropped in disbelief.

"B-but why!?"

His question echoed throughout the bunker, drawing the attention of the thousands and thousands of fallen angels who had run away, who had been led to safety by these two wingless strangers.

The bunker, once filled with soft cries and hushed whispers, the air weighed down by confusion, panic and misery, went quiet and still.

All eyes were put onto the two.

Kairi groaned.

"…It's complicated. But I'm not in the position to run away from this."

"A-and why is that, saviour?" The man asked, unable to turn away from his burning curiosity, despite his common sense and fear screaming at him.

"…You have a family?"

"N-no…" The young scholar shook his head, confused at where the rough-looking man was leading this conversation. "Lust is my sin, but it is lust for completion of knowledge, n-nothing carnal."

Kairi sighed.

"My bloodline's quite renowned for making a lot of mistakes with family issues. Full of unrepentant, selfish, bloodthirsty bastards who never cared for anyone aside from themselves. Got to the point where it blew up on itself… all that's left now is me. Me and my stepdaughter."

He pointed his thumb at himself solemnly.

"I'm the only person she has to look up to. If I do something, act a certain way, then she'll see it and follow. Ain't got any other role models to look up to. Follow?"

The scholar nodded hesitantly, his question still unanswered.

"If I run away from every bit of trouble, if I value nothing but my own life, if I turn away from a stranger on the street in need of bread, if I look away from a helpless chap getting beat up by a bunch of thugs… what do you think she'll learn from my actions?"

"…"

Kairi took his thumb away from his chest, pulling the finger in, and pointing at towards the roof once more.

"That's it. That's the only reason I'm going up there."

His words echoed through the bunker.

The young man stared at him with wide eyes, whatever notions he had completely shattered in that moment.

Following that statement, dozens – hundreds, even – of heads turned to face one another, each sharing the same hesitant look. An unspoken thought was shared between all of them.

"The only way I can teach her to live properly, to live well, to be kind and happy… is to face directly towards another's peril, and show her it's worth it to help another person. It's worth it to be kind and give a hand to stranger. I have to be the one to teach her and set that example… and if it means giving my life to do so, well… she'll be alone, but at least she'll know how to do the right thing."

Diethelm sighed, scratching the back of his head.

"…It's nothing so noble from me. It's just that the teachings I grew up with, the word of the Lord, contained within this book…"

He reached into his pocket, pulling out a small bible and waving it lightly.

"…won't allow me to let people go into something by themselves, and suffer alone. If there are idiots brave enough to turn their back on the rest of the world, and jump into something alone, I have to be there by their side to tell them their voice will not be lost. The death of the lost sheep, who strays from the herd, dying alone with no one to hear them… that fate is the most tragic of them all, and as one who strives to be a Good Son, I cannot sit by and let those idiots face everything by themselves. I'm not going up there for any other reason than because the idiots in front of me are going in by themselves."

…

"I-I see." The scholar looked down, biting his lip, seeming like he was struggling with something internally.

With their small conversation coming to an apparent end, the two humans turned around, ready to leave the bunker.

"O-one more thing…"

Again, the scholar stopped them.

The two turned back to stare at the wavering man.

"T-the two of you… you are both human, fully human, born of Alaya, are you not?"

"…"

…

Kairi chortled.

"Heh. That easy to spot?"

His admission made everyone in the bunker breathless.

The new information made every fallen angel who had run away stare up at them with wide, unbelieving eyes.

The scholar gulped.

"I-… M-maybe not to everyone here, but I can see it. I-I was watching when the Library of Alexandria was lit ablaze. T-that was the catalyst for my descent. A-and… why would you two be concealing your presences yet showing yourselves in public if that were not the case?"

Diethelm let out an aggrieved groan.

"Yeah, yeah. We're two regular ol' powerless humans going head-first into the land of monsters. We know, we know. Get it over with. If that's all, we really gotta get going now, understand?"

A distant tremor shook the building.

"Feel that? Things aren't gonna get any better up there, and we have to provide all the aid we can give to Azazel and the rest of us."

"Y-you…" The scholar swallowed down his nerves. "You will fight alongside the Governor General, despite being complete strangers? Despite not belonging to this side of the world? Despite not having any stake in this battle, merely being strangers who could not stand to just look on?"

"Yep. We know." Diethelm rolled his eyes. "We're stupid. Biggest idiots in the last seven centuries. We know. We've heard it all before."

"…" The man looked down.

His arms trembled.

His fingers curled inwards, balling into fists.

"T-then I'm coming with you!"

That made the two of them pause.

Diethelm frowned.

"Now, hold on. Look, there's no reason for you to go up there with us, just because we're being extremely stupid, doesn't mean you have to be extremely stupid too. Azazel's not up there taking on this fight so you all, the people he wants to protect, can come forward and off themselves like idiots."

"Why can't we?" It was a simple question.

"Well, because-…"

Diethelm trailed off, furrowing his brow.

For some reason, he couldn't answer the simple question.

His silence echoed throughout the bunker.

"If you two can fight for such simple reasons… t-then.. what are we, people who aren't strangers, people who do have a stake in this battle, meant to be!? Why is it a stranger that must come to the aid of the helpless fellow being beaten by thugs, and not that fellow's friends and family!? Why did the herd let that sheep out of their sight in the first place!?"

The heads started to turn again.

Up at the very, very front of the crowd, one of them nodded.

A stranger turned towards the trio and ran up, unfurling four wings.

"Then I'm coming as well." This second fallen angel, dressed in a military uniform, probably no more than a common foot soldier, came forward, boldly declaring this to the two strangers. "The Governor General bore his heart out to everyone, all of us. He laid his heart and soul bare, and for the first time in millennia, let all of his weakness, every cursed thought in his mind, out into the public, for all of us to hear."

People started to murmur in the background, louder than before.

"Even if he's doing this for our sake… why should we let him fight alone?"

With his words, a dozen more affirmed something to themselves, stepping forward.

None of them had anymore than two pairs of wings.

Slowly, the voices started to climb, and shouts could be heard pushing through the large bunker, echoing all the way from the back.

"He's defending his people out there! As one of those people, don't I deserve to have my voice heard!? I don't want to be locked away and hidden like some fragile treasure… I believe in the Governor General's dream too! I want for our people to know peace and unity as well!"

A large mass of bodies, two dozen this time, pushed through the crowd, past thousands of struggling bodies, and joined the group at the front.

"This is the first time he's ever been honest with us! I'm not letting this be the last time ever! The Governor General will live to give a second order, then a third, then a tenth, then a hundredth!"

This time, a hundred bodies came swarming to the front.

"Agh! Screw it, you know what!?" A loud, angry voice called out. "Honesty's a two-way street, or whatever, right? He's giving us honesty now, I gotta give him my own! Fuck that bastard, ya hear! I got two thousand years of grievances to air out to him, TWO THOUSAND, YA HEAR!? I'M NOT LETTING THAT BASTARD DIE BEFORE I CAN PUNCH HIM IN THE FACE!"

A hundred more came forward, their wings spreading.

"I-I wasn't sure, but you know… e-earlier, on that mountain… I thought I saw… her, you know?" One of them spoke up meekly. "That famous human woman, Griselda Quarta."

The name made everyone jump to attention.

"They say a lot about her. I wasn't sure if I was really seeing her fighting earlier, or if it was just a hallucination of my panic, but… those two guys are human, right? That means it really is probably her up there. I-if we have a woman like that by our sides, t-then I think I can have the confidence to do anything!"

This time, a thousand people stepped forward.

Kairi cracked a small grin.

That woman's name really held such a big pull, huh? Even on this side of the world, just her mere presence was enough to inspire confidence in a thousand men.

"What, are you serious!?" A zealous, disbelieving voice shouted in response. "THE Griselda Quarta? She's up there, alone!? With just the Governor General!? Facing all of them!? To hell with that! I'm not letting him hog all the fun! I want to say I got the chance to fight by her side as well! I wanna get in a promise with her! Azazel, you fucking scumbag, dipshit, playboy! Tryna' keep her to yourself, huh!?"

"Woah, really? You know what, fuck it, I guess I have to be in. I mean, she's still human, right? Even the legendary Griselda Quarta has to have her limit somewhere… and boy am I gonna be pissed if she gives out up on that hill before I ever got a chance to shake her hand."

"This is our fight too! Not just his! Peace! Unity! For the future, I say!"

"We can't just stand here and run away while the biggest battle of the century is happening right in front of us, can we? I wanna say I was a part of history too! I wanna see my name written in the history books as a valiant hero who stood shoulder-to-shoulder with the Governor General, with Griselda Quarta, fighting for something right!"

"Gah! You humans are always the fucking worst, I tell you! All of you, complete idiots! Angels are meant to be the ones protecting you, who decided it should be the other way around!? I'm not gonna just let my pride be squashed by some random stupid humans who had bigger balls than me!"

Slowly, but surely, everyone had found their own reason to fight.

Some were touched by their leader's brutal and honest show of his regrets and feelings.

Some truly wished to believe in the dream he showed them.

Others found their reason rooted in their sin; their pride wouldn't let them run away, their wrath towards the other side – or even Azazel – made them just want to run up and punch something, and some lusted for fame and glory.

There were those who were fathers and mothers, like Kairi himself, who were radicalised by that brave human stranger's words, wishing to set an example for their children to follow.

Others were awed by the humbleness and simplicity of Diethelm's reasoning, thinking to themselves that if it was for that little he was willing to throw himself into hell itself, then they had no reason to be bystanders either.

Kairi just laughed.

"Alright! Looks like we got ourselves a fresh batch of idiots!"

Diethelm just sighed, knowing at this point, there was nothing he could do to stop these people from coming up with whatever stupid reasons they felt like justifying to themselves to get them to jump into this battle.

Reasoning didn't work in the Reverse Side, or something. He was getting really tired of that shebang by now.

"Are all of you really sure about this?" Diethelm sighed, finding he could no longer really care that much about the idiocy in front of him.

He received nothing but nods and the flexing of wings.

"That's hell you're all about to walk into. And don't give me any smart talk about us already being in hell. I mean it for real. A lot of you are gonna die to stupid shit that could have been prevented. Is this really the legacy you want to leave behind?"

Not a single person in that bunker wavered.

Kairi clapped his hands, smirking.

"Great! Then let's show those idiots some hell of our own!"

The incredible flock of everymen came bursting out the door, ready to take flight and come to the aid of their leader, when suddenly-

"H-huh, wait… d-do I see…!?"

Hundreds of fallen angels flew in from overhead, spears at the ready, determined looks on their faces.

"D-dad!? W-what is he doing here! He should be with mother, at home! They were on their honeymoon!"

"D-dear! W-where are you going! You're gonna die up there if you go alone!"

"Mother!?"

They were all faces that the people below recognised.

"Y-you! You fucker! You disappeared on me for three months and left me dry on that bet! I want my money back!"

"Sis? Wasn't she supposed to be out on a mission?"

"Oh!? Them, too!? They got the message? Alright, now I'm really fired up! Let's go!"

There was a fatal flaw in everyone's assumptions.

Azazel got it wrong. Kairi and Diethelm got it wrong. Many of the fleeing fallen got it wrong, and even many of the enemies got it wrong.

The thousands, thousands, and thousands of silhouettes all converging in on the mountain were not all enemies. It was simply mathematically impossible for them to be.

What had happened in that bunker was not at all an isolated incident. It had only taken them longer since they were caught right in the centre, with five minutes of pure chaos and destruction sowing mass panic and terror through their numbers, scattering them before they even had a chance to think.

But eventually, they came to the same conclusion many did.

It was true that there were many, many fallen angels who were bitter, who opposed peace, who wished for war and wished death upon Azazel. It was true that many snapped in anger and grief at his words that threw away and showed no regard for all of their previous suffering…

But it was also true that there were many, many fallen angels who felt humbled by their leader's honesty. There were many who were galvanised by his words, many who were inspired, who heard his words and wanted to believe in the thing he spoke of. Many desired to keep the peaceful world around them intact, and many knew that a large resentful force would be targeted at Azazel alone.

Fallen angels all across the world, who had fallen from all different sins, who had all different amounts of wings, who had all led different lives and believed in different ideologies, came together at once, to the side of their Governor General, who for the first time in a thousand years, was showing some spine.

Azazel assumed he was going to fight this by himself, utterly alone.

The world showed him he was not.

---

Shirou stared wide-eyed at the assembled allied forces.

People from all walks of life, scholars, researchers, librarians, scientists, magicians, warriors, administrative workers, even mundane things like chefs and seamstresses, gathered around them.

And again, hope fluttered in her heart.

She laughed.

There-…

There was an end in sight.

She could see it, victory.

It was right there, just beyond their grasp.

If they just stepped forward and ran for it, they could reach it.

And, and then…

She would have time.

She would have space.

Shirou smiled, some of the steel fading beneath her skin. The bleeding, caused by the sharpened miniature blades hiding underneath, stopped. The pain lingered, of course, but her mind was never focused on the pain anyways.

She could do it… she could still save Fiamma, properly.

She could still save Emiya Shirou.

Shirou shook her head, recollecting herself.

…She couldn't get complacent.

She shouldn't just stop right there because there was a chance at victory in sight.

This battle, even with allied forces, would still be long and terrible.

This way, there would be even more innocents who would fall.

There were still those who needed protection, who could be 'saved'.

Even if she still didn't know what that word exactly meant… she was certain that now was not the time to rest.

Azazel blinked.

"You… you all…" He was completely and utterly dumbstruck.

Baraqiel huffed.

"I don't know what the hell you were thinking, Azazel. Why did you think you had to take this all on alone, you God damn idiot… when, since fucking when, were you alone? Not even on the first day you fell for the sake of your love, were you alone. This isn't your fight, Azazel. It's ours. Every single fallen angel, all across the world, has a stake in this. You can lead us there, but you yourself do not get to dictate our future. We do. And we're choosing to believe in you, to stand with you."

"Hah…" Azazel snickered, his thoughts catching up to him.

Despite himself, he could not help but let a genuine thankful smile spread across his face.

…Right.

He was not a dictator, he did not want to be. That was the reason he was refusing to his weapons of war, the reason he was refusing to invoke his name. He should have realised this would happen much, much sooner.

"Open your eyes." Baraqiel finished. "Stop wallowing in self-pity. This was no better than what you were doing for the past thousand years."

He extended his hand towards Azazel, who was still on his knees, reeling from his blow.

"…Heh… Thanks, you guys." Azazel accepted his friend's hand, pulling himself up.

Some part of him still wanted to shout at them.

He wanted to deny their help, not wishing for the involvement of innocents… but they had just demonstrated to him that this was not only his battle. He may have started it, he may have been at the centre of it, but in truth, this was a battle to be fought by all those who sought to protect the future.

No matter how much he wished to shelter and protect them, to minimise the casualties and deaths… it was not his place to tell them what to do. The best he could do was carefully guide them on the path that led to the least injuries.

He closed his eyes, and took a deep breath in.

"All right then, you chucklefucks!" Azazel bellowed, every one of the several thousand men and women ready to receive his command. "If you all want to dive into this hell, you're doing it my way, got it!? I'm not having a single one of you die on my watch if I can help it! Two and four wings, you're up the back! I don't want you all coming anywhere close to the front line, okay? Long range support and blanket fire only! Sixes, you're all covering the ground! I don't want anyone trying to break into the Treasury or Laboratory, got it? Feel free to get the help of those-"

He pointed his finger towards the smug researchers.

"-idiots and bust out their experiments or whatever, but no matter what, you are not to use ANYTHING from the Vaults, those weapons are NOT to be used against our own kind, we clear on that!? Eights, you're up with me. We're beating them back and securing this mountain! Do not let a single one of them sneak past you and get to anyone with a lesser amount of wings than you. I don't care what it takes, block their spears with your guts if you have to! Now scatter!"

Black wings burst all across the mountain, repositioning and zipping through the cloud of feathers.

Azazel turned to his side, looking at the four outsiders who had kicked this whole mess off.

"Priest, I don't think I need to tell you much. Get to the injured and drag them out as best as possible, but don't you ever leave the general vicinity of the backline. Get a force of magic adepts with you and focus on maintaining a defensive barrier around the support fire group."

He turned to Kairi.

"Cowboy, was it? Honestly, I don't know shit about what to do with you. Best I can do is tell you to stay safe and look for stragglers."

Then, Shirou and Griselda.

"Quarta, how high do you reckon you can jump?"

Griselda looked up, narrowing her eyes.

"High enough." She answered simply, not knowing she was echoing the exact words of her ally from far, far away.

"Then you're up front with me and the eights. And you, lass, how much is left in your tank?"

Shirou closed her eyes, calling on her remaining circuits.

"…40%, I would say."

"Good enough. Get as far forward on the ground as possible, keep your eyes on first, anyone who seems like they might break through our line, then second, on me. I have almost no doubt there'll be a bunch of ten wings, some of my original brothers and sisters from a long, long time ago, arriving very shortly. They're the big danger, our goal is to suppress them as much as possible. If we can't contain them, everyone on this hill blows up."

That much, she could do. And it would mostly keep Fiamma out of harm's way as well.

The massive black bow entered her hands again, and she looked towards the sky.

…

The opening salvo of the battle, lasting ten minutes, had concluded.

Everyone had taken up arms, chosen their side, and tied their hearts to their sleeves.

The real battle, the actual war, would begin now.

The Fallen Angel Civil War had truly begun.

---

The seventh stake shot towards Kokabiel.

His hand, almost seemingly against his own will, flicked upwards and caught the stake, like his palm was magnetically drawn to the fiery object.

"…" Mastema showed no visible signs of surprise.

"You're denying it?" His question was flat.

In response, Kokabiel's powerless hands tightened around the burning stake, causing his fingers to burn and smoke.

"T-…hat's… a wea-…k… accusa… tion…"

There was, of course, a fatal weakness in Mastema's invoked name, one both knew completely.

Mastema's trial, fundamentally, was not wholly under his control. Some parts of it were certainly absolute, and his word was certainly law here, and his judgements could be final, but they all hinged on something greater.

The same records that mentioned Mastema being the one to cast judgement upon the Egyptians in the form of the curse of the firstborns' death, had also mentioned a peculiarity, a second action that seemed almost contradictory to the plague he consequently enforced.

Mastema had been recorded as inciting the actions of the Egyptians, aiding them in their slavery of the Israelites and adding fuel to their persecution.

Obviously, there was one question to be asked – why? Why did he stand on their side, only to turn his back on them and condemn them with one of the greatest curses in history? Was he just a simple turncoat? Was he an agent of chaos, acting for whoever he pleased?

The answer, in truth, was much more simple.

Mastema, fundamentally, was not a 'judge'. He was not one who was knowledgeable, who was wise, who was impartial. He could not cast his eye upon someone, instantly comprehend every part of their soul, and submit an unbiased, objective judgement of their worth.

Mastema was 'the One Who Persecutes'. He was the one who 'pinned the blame', who hated the other and condemned them for their actions. He was not the ultimate, objective arbiter of justice, he was simply the one who sought to subdue and overwhelm, forcing his opponent into the space of being 'wrong'.

The Egyptians who had mistreated the Israelites were not any different after his manipulations compared to before. They were no more or less blind, no more or less sinful, no more or less unworthy after they had persecuted the Israelites. All Mastema had made them do was something they would have eventually done anyways, as their souls were already rotten to the core.

So why, then, did he do it?

Because what he needed was 'evidence'. Something he could use to 'pin' the 'blame'. He forced them to act so when he subjected them to his hateful trial, they would not be able to deny his judgement when faced with their actions.

With the evidence staring them in their face, the Egyptians could do nothing to deny their sins, and they were forced to accept the blame, subconsciously accepting Mastema's accusations, allowing the absolute judgement to befall them.

It was also mentioned in that same record that it was Mastema who counselled God into suggesting that Abraham be put to the proof, ordering the sacrifice of Isaac. But when Abraham denied that course of action, Mastema's prepared trial had crumbled, and he could do nothing to condemn both Abraham and his descendants.

Mastema needed evidence. It was the needle that tied the threads together. Without it, his accusations were baseless, and his judgement weak. Every time his name was invoked, he had always made sure to carefully manipulate the accused's actions to be completely undeniable.

…In this one case, he had not been prepared.

He was never expecting to fight Kokabiel. Kokabiel, in his mind, was never to be an enemy. He was an older brother, an idol to aspire to. He was the one who he sought to replace Azazel with. He was who he envisoned leading their people in the war he sought to incite.

He was utterly unprepared to commence his trial with Kokabiel as the accused.

"…I…" Kokabiel whispered, his voice weak, but unbroken. "have… no rea…son… to be jealous… of another."

The burning stake in his hand started to flicker.

He clenched down on it.

"I brought… everything… down upon… myself. I have no other… person… to blame… but me… I must… accept that… and look forward…"

The stake shattered in his hands, and his voice regained its strength.

"…" Mastema did not move. No surprise showed on his face, and he did not appear to be threatened.

He stared emptily at the down man, blazing sword still pointed towards his lowered head.

"Envy is not my sin." Kokabiel declared, denying the seventh judgement.

"Lust and greed… to claim that I emptily lusted for peace, and the greed for that delusion has turned me blind… that is weak and vapid reasoning."

"…"

Kokabiel's finger twitched. One of his wings started to rise.

"I did not desire peace. I did not desire anything… for these centuries we've been stuck in the Underworld, unable to lend our aid to Humanity… my eyes were stuck firmly on the present. On the young and weak before me who had to decide their future. On those who dared to break through the veil that separated out worlds, seeking to strike at Humanity. I was focused on nothing but those who fell before me, and those who wished to sneak by me."

The stakes in Kokabiel's left thigh and right hand started to waver and flicker, like they were being blown away by a strong wind.

"Lust and greed are not my sins."

Three more wings rose from Kokabiel's back.

"A glutton? One who carelessly indulges? That's… laughable. How can such a thing ever be possible? These blood red eyes of mine… they taint my vision every day and night, I am forced to view the world through these sickening lenses… I am never to stray from my path. I am never to forget that which I have dedicated myself to. It is simply not possible for me to indulge in any temptation that comes across my view. The burden I bore though my eyes will not allow it. Gluttony is not my sin."

The fourth judgement evaporated.

The world around them continued to burn.

"Pride? What pride is there in me?"

Neither of them moved from their positions.

Despite having the strength to get up, move and fight, Kokabiel stayed on his knees, lowering his head.

And despite the enemy in front of him defying his judgement and regaining his chance at victory, Mastema made no move to finish the fight, still staring glumly.

"…I am not here out of pride… I am here because that man, Azazel, his words… are beautiful. His pride, his determination and vision for the future… they enlightened me, they humbled me. I can never replace that man as leader… he is heading to a place none of us can reach him in… the 'future'."

"…"

"I believe in his dream. I believe in the vision he presented to everyone only minutes ago. It was only today, when confronted with the coming future, that the desire of peace you judged to be my weakness arose. If that is the path that man wishes to take, if that is the shape he believes the future to be… then as his servant, his subordinate… who am I to stand against him?"

"…"

"And I was never fighting despite my weakness because I thought I would win. I never had some trump card up my sleeve to turn the tides. Even this much is just an accident. I was fully prepared to accept whatever judgement you threw at me, so long as you truly believed in it… because I know that man to be doing the same."

"…"

"How many people's judgement, resentment, and accusations do you think he's facing? He bears the brunt of that by himself… he is out there, suffering far more than me… the least I could do… is face this much for him."

…This fight… Mastema was fighting Kokabiel, but that was not the end goal.

He was fighting Kokabiel as an extension of his resentment against that man's ineptitude as leader. His condemning of Kokabiel was nothing more than a flimsy extension of the bitterness he had built up over a thousand years against that man.

…But Kokabiel himself was innocent. He simply just could not stand for the fact he chose that man's side over his.

"…I fight because I must. Because he is fighting a much worse fight than me, and if I wish to stand by him, to share his dream… I must at least be able to take on this small burden. That alone is why I push on."

"You still did not invoke your name."

Mastema spoke up for the first time since Kokabiel started denying his accusations, bitter, but quiet.

"Do you envision Azazel invoking his in the battle he is facing? He would not invoke his name to cast judgement upon his fellow brothers and sisters… so I do not deserve that right either."

…What did that say about Mastema then, who would do such a thing?

"Pride is not my sin."

Two judgements remained.

Eight wings bloomed proudly from Kokabiel's back.

The two brothers remained still.

"Sloth…" Kokabiel whispered. "You are right in one thing. My blades have gotten dull. This era of peace and quiet has caused me to lose my edge. I am no longer the perfect warrior that I used to be."

"…"

"…But… that does not mean my heart has wavered. My dedication has never once weakened. If all I have lost is my physical ability… then all I must do is train. You are right, sloth has weakened me, but I swear, that I will not let that be any longer. To face the future, I must become a greater man that I ever was in the past. If I wish to guide Humanity, if I wish to see Azazel's vision come true… then I will break those shackles. Mastema, brother, I promise you that much."

"…"

"Sloth is not my sin."

Only one judgement remained.

"…Wrath…"

It was a simple word, but a powerful one.

It did not need to be said to either of them how much that one word had shaped Kokabiel's life.

"…is my sin, indeed… but it is not a mark of shame. It is not something to condemn me with. It is not a weapon to wield against me, an object to blame my weakness on, an excuse to be used on mistakes. Accusing me of wrath, treating it as something that makes me lesser… that itself is a mistake. Wrath… is my whole being. It is my only 'pride', not a mark of shame…"

SQUELCH

"But my greatest weapon."

Mastema looked down, not flinching as he did so.

…He had been pierced through the stomach.

"…"

He did not react with surprise or anger.

Just as Kokabiel had accepted his six judgements earlier, Mastema now accepted all of Kokabiel's denials.

"Wrath is not my sin. Wrath is my love. The only thing that makes me whole."

…

"Heh." Mastema snickered, a small smirk tugging at his lips.

He stumbled backwards, losing control of his legs.

"…Golden light, huh?"

A blade of bright golden light – not the shameful, pitifully slow to form purple from minutes ago – was the weapon that had inflicted that one fatal injury upon him.

"That's…" He let the smile spread across his face. "That's the tall, radiant Kokabiel I remember."

He collapsed on his back, facing the fiery sky with a smile on his quickly whitening face.

His glowing hair slowly died down, and the burning sword in his hands crumbled at its seams.

He accepted his fate with grace and dignity.

…At any point, he could have won. If it was really what he cared about, then after the fourth judgement, Kokabiel was weak enough to be cleaved in two by his burning sword of hate and persecution.

And maybe… maybe at the very start of this fight, before Kokabiel had let a single judgement fall upon him, maybe back then, he was trying to kill him, trying to win with everything he had.

But…

But when Kokabiel faced him without anger, without any words, not denying any of the accusations he thrust upon him, some deep, hidden part of him faltered.

He was standing his ground, he was fighting… but he was never fighting him… Mastema, the One Who Persecutes.

Mastema, at that point, probably without knowing it, upon seeing the brother he so dearly admired stand up again and again with that silent conviction… he had already stopped trying to win.

It became about trying to unveil and crush Kokabiel's soul through his seven accusations. He wanted his brother to face him with everything he had, but he just kept on refusing.

He wanted him to despair, he wanted him to admit he was wrong so they could stand on the same side again, shoulder to shoulder like in the good old days. When that seventh judgement was about to strike true, he had resigned himself to victory.

It was not the outcome he desired. It was hollow, meaningless. He couldn't crush Kokabiel's spirit, he couldn't get him to see the error of his ways… he couldn't get his brother to face him.

When Kokabiel grabbed onto the final stake, and denied that accusation, he realised something.

…He didn't care about winning anymore. Rather, he really didn't have any chance at all in the first place.

There was no way, weakened by sloth or not, that if the mighty Kokabiel really tried, that he could have won against him.

In a way, he was glad.

The man he admired, whose shadow he had chased for so, so long…

He was still as radiant as ever.

Some deep part of him, lodged in the back of his mind, whispered, growing louder and louder. It wanted Kokabiel to get up, to defy all of his judgements. It wanted to see him rise to his full glory and defy Mastema.

…Because if he did, if he stood up once more, then it meant that Mastema never needed to worry. It meant Kokabiel had never strayed from his path, and once again, was leading everyone into the future as he always did, and that he was the one who was blind, too bitter to see he was on the wrong path.

More than wanting to be correct, to be victorious, at that point, he had wanted to see his idol take his proper place once more. Thoughts of rebellion, of war, of proper and righteous vengeance, of bitterness, tragedy and loss… they had become nothing more than distant thoughts.

Footsteps approached Mastema's bleeding body.

Kokabiel stood solemnly over his fallen brother.

"It…" Mastema closed his eyes, scowling. His voice was as bitter as always. "It wasn't really about war. It wasn't really about vengeance. Or the devils. It's just…"

He sighed, his lungs empty.

"…We've lost a lot of brothers and sisters, you know?"

"…" Kokabiel hung his head, remembering.

"Yomiel, Turiel, Shamsiel, Bezaliel, Chazaqiel… and so, so many others…"

"Batariel, Daniel, and even… him." Kokabiel added onto the list of names.

"…I just couldn't stand it, you know?"

He chuckled hollowly, blood falling from his lips.

The world around them started to fade.

"I couldn't stand the fact that he just called off the war, rendering their deaths meaningless. What had they all fought for, died for? And I just… couldn't stand it. Seeing him turn his back and shrug away all the responsibility… run away from it all and deny the weight of it. I just… really wanted to punch that bastard in the face just once, scream at him and tell him to beg for their forgiveness. I just wanted… I wanted their death to mean something."

"…"

"Igniting the war again… fighting the devils that killed them and bringing an end to that farce… that was my stupid, selfish, blind way of doing it… I did it because I thought I was the only one who cared… I'm Mastema, the One Who Persecutes… I blindly hate and blame… not exactly the best person to lead the future, no?"

"…"

Mastema coughed, hacking and heaving, blood spraying all over his lips.

"Hey, Kokabiel… brother… is he… is that man… Azazel… is he really up there? Is he really trying to face everything, letting the past catch up to him? Is he really trying to make up for it all, willing to accept all the malice and bitterness of everyone? Do you promise… do you swear on your name that he's really going to do it?"

As long as those lost brothers and sisters' memories would not go to waste, as long as their lives were not fruitless, and their sacrifices not mistakes, then he would be able to pass peacefully.

It was for that purpose he had been thinking of rebelling, because the way of war and vengeance and mutual death was the only thing his hateful mind could conceive of as a proper answer.

It was for that reason that some deep part of him buried in his subconscious didn't kill Kokabiel while he was weak, why he was so angry at Kokabiel for seemingly standing against him in the beginning; because he thought that he too, the admired brother, was spitting on their lives, and desperately wanted him to see what he saw, want what he wanted.

He thought standing on the side of Azazel signified that he was turning his back on the brothers and sisters they lost, but through this fight… through seeing Kokabiel deny all seven of his accusations… he could see that was never the case.

"…"

Kokabiel raised his hand, swearing a solemn oath.

"I swear, as Kokabiel, Fallen Angel of the Stars… Azazel is truly fighting up there. He is taking everything his people are throwing at him. Not only their hate, bitterness, resentment, and vengeance… but their happiness, their hope, their dreams, their love and their wishes."

"T-that's…" Mastema hacked again. "…good. I-I can leave it in his hands, y-…your… hands, then… i-if he's going to make sure t-that… e-…very…one… di-didn't d-die… for nothing… a-and you-…'re gonna b-…be by his-… s-…ide, t-then I can… c-can…"

"…"

"…rest… easy…"

Mastema's mouth shut, his lips curling into one last smile.

Kokabiel bent downwards, and closed his brother's eyes.

"May your soul find salvation, brother."

The world around him collapsed, and once more, he was standing in the Underworld as it should have been.

One hundred and seventy-eight bodies laid around him. Some were beaten and broken in places, others were scorched, and others were impaled by swords.

It was unclear how many were alive or dead.

The sullen man looked for his three companions.

Bazett and Mirana were moderately injured, their clothes torn and scorched, but they did not seem to require immediate medical attention. It was almost certainly a fierce fight that had happened out there, one that brought the two to their limits, but one they ultimately prevailed in without suffering heavy damages.

He looked to the left.

Ciel stood with her arms crossed, unfazed, untired. Unlike her two companions, she seemed to be perfectly fine, like she barely spent any energy during the battle.

…Just as he expected. That fell in line with what he suspected the truth of her nature to be.

"Let us depart at once." He gave a simple command. "That man… he will need all the aid he can get. We know not how many will stand by his side during this oncoming war."

He closed his eyes, remembering the face of the fallen brother who lied dead on the floor beside him.

Mastema… and him… they were both old relics, who belonged to an age long past. Neither of them truly were fit to walk towards the future, their usefulness and lifespans having expired long ago, but still… they tried.

Mastema had spent all but his last moments opposing the passage of time, hanging on to the memory of those who had departed long ago.

Kokabiel… he… it was his job to see that the future that approached would pass without bringing harm to anyone else. He could not allow another to fall to the canyon that existed in the void between eras.

---

A fierce battle waged on the hilltop.

Miniature earthquakes constantly erupted beneath them, as Griselda leapt up in the air to catch foes, coming down and hitting the floor with incredible force, massive tremors following every leap.

Barrages and streams of light arced across the sky without end, painting the purple sky with a myriad warm colours.

Translucent white walls sealed off one side of the mountain, shutting off all attacks that came towards the conglomerate of people hiding within, allowing them to attack from safety. At the base of the wall, Diethelm, along with several fallen angels, could be seen standing in a tight formation, upholding the barrier with everything they had.

A constant stream of bodies ran in and out of the Laboratory – guarded by a convoy of six-winged angels alongside Kairi, who was holding out his firearms and standing guard on the rooftop of the building – researchers and soldiers carrying massive experimental weapons over their shoulders, unleashing never before seen firepower on the enemy.

Shirou forced the bile down her throat as the air started to smell of burnt flesh and feathers. She watched as bodies fell out of the sky and innards dropped on the ground, bare, rotting.

…How many of the falling bodies were alive? How many of those who were dead could have been saved in another time, another place? How many of those deaths could she have prevented?

How many was she going to fail today?

She forced the thoughts, as well as the rising memories of that day, away, focusing on the sky above her.

They were winning. They had already secured most of the ground area, with the six-winged angels who had been ordered to stand guard now striking at the enemy from below, increasing the pressure on the dissident forces.

Their far superior co-ordination and leadership was beating back the rebels, the other side relying on sheer numbers and mass of incoming bodies to hold up their attack, an advantage that quickly dwindled as an equal amount, if not greater, joined the side of Azazel.

The battle still would not be over any time soon, likely to take several more hours, or even days, but their chances of victory, of keeping the fragile peace of the Reverse Side, were rising.

Two ten-winged shadows approached from the distance, splitting the sky with their unfathomable speed.

That was them, the great enemies that Azazel had spoken of.

Azazel narrowed his eyes at the distant silhouettes.

A grey-haired woman with mad, red eyes, and a towering, green snake-eyed, brown-haired main.

"Ananiel. Ramiel."

He grimly acknowledged them.

The two stopped their flight, a decent a distance away from him.

A massive blast of wind rushed past them as they braked.

"So you two are the first of the original brothers and sisters that will oppose me… I hope you two will be the last."

"Azazel." The woman, Ananiel, spat. "…What kind of idiocy is this?"

Azazel sighed, familiar with these two's unreasonable nature. There wasn't a point in answering them.

"Peace? You really think that weak thing will happen? Do you think that I'd allow that? Our people are bred and destined for combat. Never in a million years will I let you sully our glorious legacy by suggesting something as treacherous as peace."

"…" Azazel frowned.

He never understood her, even when she first fell. In a way, even black then, she had been one of the black sheep. Trying to reason with her, trying to argue their people were more than just mindless savages who fought and killed, that they were better than that… he knew it well to be useless.

"I never expected much of you, Azazel…" The other cadre, Ramiel, narrowed his eyes. "But this? This is a new low, even for you. Who do you seek to protect with this move? The weak, the unworthy?"

"The innocent." Azazel snapped back. "And the young. Those who will live to grow up in the coming future."

"So the weak." Ramiel reconfirmed. "And the unworthy."

Azazel snarled.

"Our species, Azazel, is superior." Ramiel scowled. "We are completely and utterly free, not like those lowly angels or devils. We have the means to seek out true strength, true individuality. We are the only ones who can rise above their birth programming, and ascend to become something greater. True fallen angels are those who reach and attain greatness through individualism. The cowards, the weak, the feeble and the complacent, who are fine rotting in peace, never reaching for the future…"

He summoned a spear of light to his side.

"Have no place amongst us. Your peace will ruin us, Azazel. It will rot and stagnate the young, stop them from ever becoming anything worthy. I will stop you where you stand."

"…" Azazel closed his eyes, frowning bitterly. "So… there's no chance we can come to a common understanding, is there?"

He… he had to cut these people off entirely. Despite how cruel and wicked they were, he, in some way, still thought of them as one of his people. But the pragmatic part of him knew that these two people and their mindsets were a cancer that needed to be cut out from the roots if their people ever wanted a chance at peace.

He braced himself for the coming fight.

He was about to fight two first-generation angels bearing the full power of their invoked names, with just himself and firing support from the human lass below, armed with nothing but his magical talent and light powers.

""My name is-""

"-ame is Shemhazai, whose name means the One Who Sees the Name!"

""_!"" The two fallen angel's mouths moved, but no sound came from them.

Azazel's eyes widened, recognising the voice.

He spun around.

"Shemhazai!"

A man with short, silver-white hair and a tired look in his purple eyes waved at him. A purple beret hung loosely off his head, and he wore a light purple trenchcoat.

"Yo." He floated up to Azazel, keeping his eyes trained on the enemies in front of them.

Azazel chuckled.

"Glad you could make it… your presence certainly makes things a lot simpler." If it was just ten minutes ago, he would have been surprised and probably would have fallen to the ground in shock. But by now, he fully accepted the fact that his people were going to involve themselves in this battle, one way or another, regardless.

He was just glad he could have his best friend by his side.

"Yeah, yeah, I know. You wouldn't be able to do it without me, yadda yadda." Shemhazai rolled his eyes. "Really, Azazel?"

He sighed.

"Couldn't have sent me a message ahead of time or anything? Would have saved you a lot of trouble and blood if you could do just that much."

Azazel winced, turning his head away sheepishly.

"Haha… sorry, had this whole episode just now where I was determined to take everything on by myself. Didn't even want to call you to my side."

"You're a fucking idiot, you know that?" Shemhazai deadpanned at him.

"Yeah, yeah, I get it." He smiled, looking back at Ananiel and Ramiel, who shook quietly in anger.

Shemhazai's name had an incredibly simple power behind it. He was 'the One Who Sees the Name'; he could instantly comprehend the name, and thus identity, truth, and core, of any person or object within his sight radius, and he gained full control over what names and truths were allowed to be spoken into the world.

It wasn't that strong of an ability, really. Its use, most of the time, was limited to just making him either a very good investigator or a very good advisor. However, there was exactly one incredibly niche situation where his name was invaluable.

Shemhazai was born into the world with the express purpose of being the safeguard against every other angel. His name allowed him to completely suppress the names of any other angel, forcing them to fight on even grounds.

It was particularly bad against angels from the first generation of the Heavenly Host, where the name was not only something to be invoked, but the very source of their being and power. With Ramiel and Ananiel's names silenced, he wouldn't be surprised to see a particularly special and prodigious eight-winged angel be able to fight one of them one on one.

"LASS, CAN YOU HEAR ME!?" He bellowed out into the air, hoping the human girl could hear him. "I GIVE YOU FULL AUTHORISATION TO UNLEASH YOUR FULL ARSENAL! GO TO WHATEVER LENGTHS YOU MUST TO TAKE DOWN THE TWO BEFORE ME!"

He normally would never, ever trust a mere human to take on a task as gargantuan as take down two first generation angels by herself, but if they had their names suppressed, and if it was her, then there was a chance.

He fully recognised that weapon she unleashed at the beginning of the fight to bend and warp the first volley that came his way. If she had something like that in her arsenal – and also something like Carnwennan – and was fine just blowing it up as a defensive measure, completely bastardising its original purpose, then he was completely confident she had much, much more up her sleeve.

Two small glints of red were all the warning Ananiel and Ramiel got.

Azazel narrowed his eyes, manifesting a dozen golden light spears by his side and shooting them towards the pair, pinning them in place.

He was fine calling for her aid, but that wasn't meant he was going to just let her do everything. He had to help her as much as possible, just as she was trying to help him as much as possible.

Shemhazai floated back and up, assaulting them from another angle.

Ananiel barely managed to twist out of the way of all three angles of attack, letting the mysterious red projectile completely pass her by, taking light damage from the other two barrages.

Ramiel, however, was not as lucky.

A crimson red spear, with a shaft over two meters long, embedded itself in the man's thigh.

"Ngh!" He grit his teeth, holding back the roar of pain.

Azazel's eyes glanced over the spear.

Gae Dearg.

–Hoh? I see.

It was a smart choice for a first attack. If it was that spear, then in truth, it didn't really matter whether or not the spear actually landed. As long as it grazed their bodies, then it did their job. Any actual injury was just a bonus.

The primary purpose of launching it as an initial attack was to break through and nullify any magical defences that the enemy might have had on their person, or even defenses that might have been circulating internally, utilising the spears properties. Once they were fully exposed, then the actual attack could commence.

"Shemhazai, distract Ananiel!" He called out to his friend, putting all of his focus on Ramiel.

Direct contact was made with that spear, he was an extremely vulnerable target by now. All he had to do was occupy him enough for the next weapons to come.

Azazel tightly grasped a light spear in his hand, rushing forward and striking at him directly.

Ramiel looked up, having to pause in pulling out the spear embedded in his leg to avoid the oncoming strike.

While he was focused in front of him though, a second attack from below struck true.

A solid black metal arrow pierced through his abdomen, sending his body into shock.

Azazel briefly scanned the projectile.

It had several spikes and edges coiling around its core and seemed to have a handle that belonged to a sword. It was hard to recognise what it was at first, but when he focused on the peculiar shape of the handle, he was fairly confident he got it.

That was Beowulf's sword, Hrunting, twisted and morphed into an arrow.

This time, Ramiel glared directly towards the ground, searching for the source of the two weapons that had harmed him.

Two red-haired, golden-eyed girls, one young, one adult, stared defiantly up towards the sky. The adult one held a monstruous black bow in her hands, pointedly directly at him.

"Grr…" Ramiel growled in anger, manifes-

Something was wrong.

"!" Azazel leapt back, his sense for magic energy screaming at him that something volatile was going off.

–What the hell is-!?

The arrow in Ramiel's abdomen cracked.

–The sword!?
Did she-

A massive explosion engulfed the sky, with Ramiel at its centre.

As the smoke cleared, Ramiel could be heard hacking and heaving, something wet falling out of his mouth.

He was hunched over, his shoulders shaking as they went up and down. Most of his clothes had been charred away, and his flesh had been burned to a crisp near his abdomen, the foul smell of his charred innards drifting through the air.

Azazel gaped, the girl's capabilities and tactics wildly exceeding his expectations.

–Gae Dearg comes first to break down any magical defence, equalising the enemy's strength.
Second comes Hrunting, a sword with 100% accuracy to pin him in place, altered to explode.

A risky plan, but if you can get someone else's aid, like mine and Shemhazai's,
To distract the enemy and ensure the first hit strikes true,
Than even someone like Ramiel would become vulnerable.
It would have been a fairly lopsided fight if Ramiel was able to access his full power and invoke his name,
But Shemhazai's presence ensured we're dealing with a greatly weakened version of our enemies.

He smirked, impressed.

–Alright girl.
Let's see it.
You've set up all the pieces.

Let's see your finishing touch.

"…Y-…OU!" Ramiel roared in rage, gathering all the power he could into a mighty orange spear.

"HOW… DARE… YOU!" He howled with all of his might, sending the gargantuan weapon bolting through the air, screeching and roaring as it broke and split the air.

The small red-haired girl stepped in front, foolishly thinking she could do something.

The other one pulled her back, and threw her to the side, tossing the child away at least a dozen or so metres.

She held her arm up to the sky, facing the weapon of destruction alone.

A large explosion went off at ground level, shaking the mountain to its core.

A giant pink flower, its petals formed from light, emerged from the smoke. Its layers seemed to crack and dent, but the oddly shaped shield managed to hold against the attack, if only barely.

While Gae Dearg was capable of cutting away almost any defence, it could do nothing to protect its wielder from any offensive power the enemy might have wielded.

The woman dismissed the shield, and pulled back her final arrow.

Ramiel's instincts screamed at him to get out of the way, but his body refused to budge. The combined force of the earlier two attacks had almost completely immobilised him.

The third and final arrow, a sharp, thin sword whose blade twisted and curled in on its centre, was notched. As the woman pulled it back on the gigantic bowstring further and further, it seemed to pull and stretch, condensing and thinning down into a dense, coiling black arrow.

It was launched towards him.

It ripped straight through the centre of his chest, exploding behind him.

The force of the explosion sent his body hurtling downwards, crashing into the barely standing House of Parliament, completely destroying whatever little structure it had left, collapsing a whole building's worth of rubble on top of him.

Azazal smirked.

That was certainly an impressive sequence, and quite a spectacular display of the variety of her arsenal. That alone probably wouldn't have been enough to take down Ramiel if his name hadn't been silenced, taking away much of his fighting power, but they weren't facing that situation, they were facing this situation.

The girl did what she needed to, and she did it with absolutely brutal efficiency.

He turned to face Ananiel, who had been occupied by Shemhazai for the past dozen seconds.

"Well, looks like there's just one lef-"

---

Ramiel groaned, covered in debris, bleeding in the darkness.

No. No. No.

He-

He wouldn't let this happen.

That was a human. A small, tiny, insignificant gnat.

Her!? Best HIM!?

He could never allow that to happen.

He crawled forward, shoving the rubble above him away with whatever strength remained in his dying body.

No, above that. He couldn't let Azazel just win.

He had to do something, something, to spite that bastard one final time before he passed.

He knew that if he conserved his power, focused all of it on healing himself, maybe he could live past today. But what would that life look like? Almost undoubtedly, it would be a disgusting world he awoke to, filled with a fucking degenerate peace.

Just the mere thought of it angered him.

He would never, EVER accept that stagnation.

He crawled forward, observing the battlefield with blurry eyes.

He couldn't let Azazel just go on like this, unfettered, not having lost a single thing. He had-

He had to be able to take something away from him.

Something like the innocent weaklings he so desperately tried to protect. Those fucking disgraces who weren't strong enough to live up to their full potential, instead choosing to waste away and make nothing of their lives, of their aspirations.

His eyes stopped moving.

Yes. That would do.

An unhinged smile broke out across his face.

---

"-t, huh?" Azazel smiled, slightly relieved. As things looked, while the civil war had just started, today's battles were coming to an end.

The defeat of two first generation cadres would send the rebel forces into panic, demoralising those who were currently on the mountain. There would certainly be more to come, but who was to say how long those cadres would take to come? And how many of them would even be on their side to begin with?

Already, the rebels had begun to scatter, no doubt choosing to gather in some distant corner of Grigori territory to recoup their losses and fight another day, recognising that fighting over the mountain was a lost cause with how heavily defended and reinforced it was in its current state, the full force of the Laboratory's experiments being brought out into the open.

He sighed, slowly floating towards Shemhaza-

Something orange flared at the very bottom corner of his vision.

"!" He recognised that colour.

How could he not?

The person that light belonged to was literally standing across from him literally just seconds ago.

He didn't need to think twice about what that man was trying to do with what was undoubtedly his last breath.

–That idiot!

If he just conserved all of his remaining strength, he could have lived!

WHY THE HELL DO YOU HAVE TO DO THIS!?

JUST TO SPITE ME!?

He spun around, shouting desperately towards the ground.

"LASS!"

The human woman stood still, hanging her head, expressing some inexplicable sorrow he didn't have the time to understand.

"GET THAT CHILD OUT OF THE WAY!"

---

Watching the fallen angel fall from the sky, tumbling into the crumbling House of Parliament, Shirou bit her lip.

She lowered her head solemnly, her fists trembling.

She had indiscriminately attacked someone with full consciousness and awareness of what she was doing.

She completely and utterly beat him to the ground, decimating him, brutalising him.

She had to; completely ending the fight, no holds barred, before he even had a chance to react was the only way to stop any potential collateral damage from happening.

And it sickened her.

It was vile.

Disgusting.

The only thing she could do to calm her heart was slightly off-set the detonation timer on Caladbolg II, setting it off to explode behind the enemy rather than inside him. That way, he could at least live if he focused all he had left on survival.

Or at least, that's what she thought.

She was fairly confident that's what would happen. It was also entirely possible that fallen angels had no such defensive or healing mechanism inside of them and he would just bleed out and die, his organs having been completely destroyed, but she prayed.

She prayed with all her might that some part of that man was still salvageable. That his blood wasn't on her hands, that she wasn't going to fail in showing even someone like him mercy. She was going to try and save even him, a bloodthirsty, reasonless, savage, warmongering beast.

She wouldn't choose the many over the few. Not like Archer did. Even if it killed her, even if her failure to reach for that goal meant the death of others.

"LASS!"

Azazel?

Shirou snapped out of the thoughts that were distracting her.

Something orange glowed at the edge of her vision.

"GET THAT CHILD OUT OF THE WAY!"

Her eyes widened, her head immediately snapping towards Fiamma, who she had tossed to the side several metres away to keep safe from the brunt of the spear's explosion.

An intense, gargantuan orange spear rocketed across the battlefield, originating from the fallen House of Parliament.

It was heading straight for Fiamma.

No one else was close to Fiamma.

Griselda was all the way out in the distance, at the very front of the battle. She hadn't even turned her head to see what was going on behind her.

Shirou had to do something.

She pushed as much prana as she possibly could – maybe going even further than the limits of what they could handle – into her legs, trying to give herself as much speed as possible.

She desperately reached her arm out, trying to close the distance between them.

She needed to push Fiamma OUT OF THE WAY.

The spear blazed towards Fiamma, who only then, reacted; her young, immature instincts were not as sharpened as Shirou's or Azazel's.

…Her first action was for her head to snap towards Shirou.

–WHY!?
WHY ARE YOU LOOKING AT ME!?

The spear was too large, too fast, too powerful. Even if she did somehow manage to lean to the side, the colossal spear would still manage to kill her by ripping off the right half of her body instead of the centre.

Fiamma herself knew that she would never be able to move in time. She was just a young four-hundred-year-old angel who had spent her entire life watching from Heaven. She had never once pushed herself, never once participated in an active battle.

Shirou grit her teeth.

Time slowed to a halt.

–I'm not going to make it.

She didn't have the time.

She didn't have the space.

–I'm not going to make it.

She wouldn't make it if all she did was run. She couldn't just run and hope she could push Fiamma down.

She needed explosive force.

She needed to jump.

…

Some part of her understood the full implications of what she was about to do.

Jumping meant letting go of her control of her position and momentum, letting physics and gravity take control for her.

Jumping in a way that let her reach Fiamma meant jumping in a way that would put her directly on the path of the spear, taking the blow and potentially being fatally wounded – dying – herself.

She didn't let herself think about it.

In that moment, all the person named Emiya Shirou thought about was saving Fiamma-

–Emiya Shirou

-from the oncoming fate.

–the spear or the future?

She jumped, and left the ground.

She stretched her arms forward as far as she could, reaching towards Fiamma.

Two metres.

…

The red-haired girl with golden eyes smiled.

–It was an empty expression.

One metre.

For the briefest of moments, Shirou's mind wandered.

–"Come back home alive. Do not throw your life away."

She hesitated.

Her focus slipped away from what was in front of her.

–"Is there anything you'd like for dinner?"

…

Half a metre.

–"Yeah, Isaiah's been saying he wants to try cheesecake."

The red-haired girl with golden eyes was pierced, falling to the ground.

---

"There is no such thing as an end for a hero."

"There was still conflict. I was still alive. So even if they weren't saints, even if they didn't deserve redemption, I still moved to save them, simply because I was still alive."

"Never stop."

"You are still 'Emiya Shirou', a fool to the end."

"Someone who does not regret. Who will kill selfishly to save another because they cannot help but long for a child's fantasy. A person who will never turn back, never feel something for themselves, because all that matters is their ideal… You are still that person. You are still Emiya Shirou."

"Emiya Shirou should have died in that fire. Emiya Shirou should never have sought to become a hero."

"Eventually, there will be a time where you stand in the same place as I am right now."

"Farewell. You had no chance to begin with."

They didn't care. There was still something they had to do.

So even if the world lied to them, even if they had continued to lose everything, they would not care.

There was just the ideal and they acted on it.

"Your ideal is not even your own."

"You're just a pathetic shell chasing in the footsteps of a dead man."

"THAT'S RIGHT! I ADMIRED HIS DESIRE TO SAVE PEOPLE BECAUSE IT WAS BEAUTIFUL!"

"I KEPT RUNNING, IGNORING THE PAIN, IGNORING HOW UTTERLY WRONG I WAS!"

"IT WAS ALL POINTLESS… SUCH HOLLOW ASPIRATIONS COULD NEVER SAVE ANYTHING!"

"No… in the first place, I didn't even know what I wanted to save!"

…

…

…

Emiya Shirou died a fool, never taking a single significant step towards their ideal.

---

"HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!"

A maddening laughter could be heard from the pile of rubble.

A spear pierced Emiya Shirou.

…

A tiny, barely luminescent orange spear was thrust towards Shirou's shoulder at the last second, altering her momentum just enough to allow her to stray from her intended path, making her fall to the ground uselessly.

…

Fiamma smiled.

At the very last second, during that one tiny brief moment where Shirou had lost focus, she had managed to conjure a spear of light in her hands and hold it out towards her hero, keeping her from pushing her away and taking the blow for her.

The massive orange spear tore right through her body, puncturing out a large circular cavity in the centre of her chest, her arms barely staying on her body by a fraction of a centimetre.

"FIAAAAAAAAAAAAAAMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!"

A single cry, echoing with steel, could be heard on that hilltop, everything falling silent around it.

The red-haired girl with golden eyes fell backward, the momentum of the spear passing through her knocking her to the ground.

Shirou rolled to the ground, the spear lodged in her shoulder immediately fading.

The steel beneath her skin shivered intensely.

The blades inside her started to grow.

She could barely move.

"Fi-Fia-…" Her throat grew dry. The words failed to come out.

She trembled and shivered, crawling towards the fallen child desperately.

"Fiam-Fiamm… Fiamma…"

–why.

There was no saving her.

The entirety of her torso was blown away.

Even if resurrection existed, there wasn't anything left to resurrect.

"No." She uttered, the tears falling from her cheek. "No."

She crawled up to the child on her knees, dirtying her clothes.

"Sister… Shirou…" the child's voice reached out to herself, still remaining conscious somehow.

She was smiling.

–why are you smiling.

"I'm… glad…"

–what are you happy about.

"you didn't… have to die… for me…"

–what are you talking about.

"I could… save you… just once…"

–save.
what were you saving.
what did that mean.

"You can… keep on… being… beaut-…iful…"

–what did you mean.
what was that.
how did you save me.

"No. No. No." Shirou shook her head, the tears falling onto the fallen child's face. "No, no, no."

She wrapped her arms around what was left of the child's body, holding it to her chest like she could still somehow be salvaged.

–w-…

…

what…

"No…" She trembled.

The steel inside of her grew and sharpened even further.

–WHAT DID YOU MEAN YOU WERE SAVING ME!?

A massive blade tore through her skin, coming from inside of her.

–YOU WERE JUST LIVING AN EMPTY LIFE REACHING FOR SOMETHING OUT OF NOTHING MORE THAN HOLLOW ADMIRATION!

"Fiamma…"

The pain didn't even register for her.

Her golden eyes hollowed out. All the colour and light had faded.

–WHO CARES IF ITS SOMETHING BEAUTIFUL!

YOU DIDN'T HAVE TO GIVE YOUR LIFE FOR IT!

YOUR DEATH WAS POINTLESS!

WHAT DID YOU END UP SAVING!?

ME!?

THIS HOLLOW MACHINE NAMED EMIYA SHIROU!?

A second blade tore through her skin, protruding out of her back.

–WHAT DOES SAVING ME EVEN MEAN!?

I WOULD HAVE JUST THROWN MY LIFE AWAY FOR SOME OTHER MEANINGLESS NONSENSE, SAVING SOMEONE ELSE!

A third and a fourth blade burst out of her stomach, passing through the hole where the child's chest once was.

Shirou hugged the child's remains even tighter.

–WHAT DID YOU END UP ACCOMPLISHING WITH YOUR LIFE!?

YOU ACHIEVED NOTHING BY 'SAVING' ME, YOU DIDN'T CHANGE MY FATE AT ALL!

YOU COULD HAVE BEEN HAPPY!

YOU COULD HAVE LIVED AN ENTIRELY DIFFERENT LIFE!

"FIAMMA!"

–IT SHOULD HAVE BEEN ME THERE!

IT SHOULD HAVE BEEN ME DYI-

…

…

The final cruel memory struck.

–This is his end.
This is your end.

The truth hit Emiya Shirou.

It was going to be her.

–"You will die the same way you lived. As a foolish machine."

If Fiamma hadn't kept her from pushing her away, it would've been her dying the empty, hollow death.

She would have been the one giving her life for something that ultimately, didn't matter. In the end, she would have brought no change. She would have accomplished nothing. She would have saved no one.

And if not then, then in the future. Somewhere else, this exact situation would have occured with someone else instead of Fiamma.

Emiya Shirou would have died that same death inevitably. No matter what.

–Emiya Shirou died a fool, never taking a single significant step towards their ideal.

Shirou had not simply just failed to save Fiamma.

Fiamma had died the death that was fated for Emiya Shirou.

–this is your end this is your end this is your end this is your end this is your end this is your end this is your end this is your end this is your end this is your end this is your end this is your end this is your end this is your end this is your end this is your end

–U̝̫̣̦͇̰̣͌̓̾ͨ̐̆ͮ̓͝Ņ̵͍̪̠ͧ̀ͪͨ̌̚͜?̧̰̟ͭ́̃̎ͦͧͣ̇͞?̴͖̭ͤ͊͝͡?̛̘̳̭̬͕͈͔ͫ͂̽?̸͙̪̻̟̘̮͈̗͗̄͡Ṫ̶̷̘͎͈̄̒̌̕?ͯͧ͛͏̛̤͓̳͎͡D̢͇̳̳̯ͦͪ̏̆ ̨̯̲͍ͨͫ̋ͬ́ͤ͛̒B̨̩̟̪͕̙̩͎͔̝͐ͤ̔͌ͮ͠?̳̭͚͙͒̿̆̅̇ͫͩ̆͢͟͝?͉̙̰̗͖̰͂ͪ͋̄͠Ḑ̤͈̬̩̜̩̥̐͋̋ͤ͘?͙͍̭̞̰̩̘̖͑ͣ͒͆̄̈ ̴͇͈͊͑͆̀Ŵ̗͇̺̹̪̙̥̎͑͒͜?̳̜̰͎̬̪̤̀͋̚ͅͅ?̯̮̟̮͙̟͎̻̾͆ͨ͝K̮̖̲͚̩̰̟̺̺͑ͣ̕?̩̣͈͓̫̱̰̮ͧ̽ͧ́̓͗̂ͪͪ͠͠

"No."

Three more blades burst out of her.

"NO!"

She screamed with all that remained of her hollow heart.

Two dozen blades began poking out of her skin.

At that moment, Ciel's squad arrived on the scene.

Ciel's eyes widened at the scene in front of her.

She immediately dashed towards Shirou, chopping her on the neck-

–Fuck.
Holy shit, that hurt even for me.
What the fuck is her skin made out of!? Swords!?

-to knock her out, attempting to stop the explosive bursting of swords from inside.

The woman fell limply to the side, but it wasn't time to relax just yet.

The swords still seemed to be extending out of her, slowly pushing further and further out of her flesh.

She needed to think. Quick.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

Ciel's head snapped up, shouting towards her entire team, even Diethelm and Kairi, who were stationed far, far away.

"EVERYONE, TAKE YOUR SHROUDS OFF AND GIVE THEM TO SHIROU! DIETHELM, YOUR ASS HERE, IMMEDIATELY!"

The sheer amount of urgency in her shout forced the team to assemble in less than twenty seconds, all of them unravelling the fragments of the Shroud of Martin they wore on them, wrapping them around the parts of Shirou that didn't have swords jutting out.

Luckily, that seemed to do the job, as the blades started to retract back into her skin.

"Everyone." Diethelm commanded them sternly. "Move."

They all shuffled to the side, letting the team's medic take a close look at her.

"I-…" Diethelm scowled. "Damn it. She's alive. Stable, physically at least. Can't say shit for her mental state. Probably breaking and fracturing even in her sleep at this very moment. We can patch her up, but I don't know how much helping her physically is gonna help."

He rummaged his hands over her bleeding body.

"I got no fucking clue what any of that was. What the hell was forcing swords out of her body like that? Some kind of internalised magecraft gone berserk?"

"…A Reality Marble, most likely." Kokabiel, who hovered over them, his gaze focused on the lost Fiamma, commented.

That conclusion fit all of the observations he had made about her earlier.

Diethelm reeled.

"T-that accursed thing? Are you fucking kidding me?" He looked down at Shirou, furrowing his brow and biting his lip. "…No, looking back, that makes a lot of sense. Shirou, of all people, would definitely have one of those."

"…" Kokabiel made no further comment, staring silently at the lost child.

A minute later, Azazel descended from the skies with a heavy face, Ananiel having successfully been dealt with.

"That lass… she gonna be okay?" Like his brother, Azazel's eyes were focused not on Shirou, but the dead child.

–Damn it.

He clenched his fists.

–An innocent life. On my watch.
The blood is on my hands.

The self-hatred and loathing started to course through him.

Blood was drawn from his palm.

"…Yeah, she should be stable. The kid though… hell, there's not a lot Holy Resuscitation can do. Maybe if I unlocked my Balance Breaker but…"

Diethelm snarled.

"That roadblock's been a pain my ass for years at this point."

Azazel hung his head, his golden bangs shadowing his face.

His bloody fist shook.

"You get her and the rest of your team out of here. You've done all you could."

His eyes snapped open, his fierce eyes burning the dead child's face into his mind.

No matter what, he would not ever let this memory go. He would never forget the face of that child, the one life he failed today.

"You dealt with Mastema, you protected me during the opening bout, you got everyone to safety. That's all I could ever ask of you. The rest of this… from here on out… its our fight. Not yours. We have to settle this by ourselves, without you. As far as all of you should be concerned… this mission of yours, Team Fogwalker, is nothing but a complete success."

"…" The team hesitantly looked at each other, the obvious unspoken concern about Shirou and Fiamma being communicated without words.

"You don't have to worry about anything, brats. I made a promise, remember? The peace will stand, and this faction will be united."

…

Ciel sighed, relenting. "Team Fogwalker, we're heading out. Our job here is finished."

"…Go back to the Laboratory." Kokabiel advised them. "The teleportation circuit should still be live. The security locks have already been bypassed. Ride it back to the embassy you came from, make your way back to that border town, and return to the Surface. We will handle the rest."

With a grave expression on her face, Ciel wordlessly hoisted their unconscious teammate onto her back, silently gesturing towards the rest of her team.

She slowly walked towards the Laboratory, the sounds of battle dying down around them.

…It was a complete victory. They did everything they set out to do.

It sure as hell didn't feel like it, though.

---

Azazel floated into the sky, intent on ending this battle as fast as he could. He would not allow for any more of the innocent to fall.

"…"

Kokabiel was left behind, staring at the deceased child.

A million thoughts ran through his head.

This child shouldn't have died.

The sullen man's fists shook.

His eyes burned with a blazing resolve.

"It seems… I have made a mistake in judgement."

He turned to glare at the remnants of the House of Parliament, where a madman's echoing laughter could still be heard.

He stomped towards the debris slowly, holding out his hand.

The world around him fell silent.

His wings flexed and spread to their full span, spreading black feathers all across air.

A soft breeze, seemingly coming from nowhere, blew the feathers towards the rubble.

"I made an oath. This peace will stand. And the Fallen Angel faction… will be united."

Every step of his was heavy and deliberate.

Ramiel, in his dying moments, felt something heavy and terrifying lingering in the air.

He started to choke.

"There was one thing I did not account for." The sullen man reflected glumly. "The old relics who refused to let go of the past. They cling on, infecting the present like a cancer. Their childish, selfish mindset dooms everyone around them to stagnation and ruin."

A large black length appeared in his hand.

Ramiel swore he saw the black feathers flash white.

"They deny the passage of time, holding up and pushing against the gears that keep the world turning. As they try to push back against the future, thousands of innocents fall forward from the loss of their stability, dooming all of them, when they all should have arrived safely in the future."

A great black broadsword, one that could only be wielded by a giant over two metres tall, settled into Kokabiel's grip.

"If the future is to come, then I must cut out the cancer at its roots. All remnants of the past must burn and crash, withering away until not even their dust is left behind."

Ramiel's laughter ceased. Whatever remained of his body started to shiver.

The feathers, which still seemed to be pure white, blew by, surrounding the two in a storm of feathers.

Kokabiel raised his hand.

The main body of the greatsword was a solid white, with the edges contrasting it as a solid black. It lacked a guard, simple black leather straps wrapping over and over to join the handle and blade together.

For the most apart, aside from its sheer size, it looked to be an ordinary greatsword.

It should have been an ordinary greatsword…

But…

Something flickered.

Ramiel's heart leapt out of his chest in fright.

He swore he saw a flicker of a blue flame.

"N-no… no…" He cried out in fear.

Kokabiel closed his eyes, reminiscing.

"Old friend… it seems it must come to this. I am sorry that your legacy will be tarnished by my ineptitude."

His grip around the sword tightened.

"The sun will rise, and so cometh day. The light shall pass, and the sun shall set. At the setting of the sun, when dusk and twilight converge, the bell must toll once more."

Kokabiel lowered his arm, hooking the tip of the greatsword underneath the crying Ramiel's chin.

"N-no, get away from me! Get away from me!" Ramiel cried out in pure fear, wriggling what was left of his body, trying to get as far away from the sullen man as possible.

"When the evening bell tolls…"

His blood red eyes were merciless.

"Your name is called."

His arm drew back.

"Ramiel."

A flash and a swing–

"Hand over thy head."

---

Off into the deep end we go.

This span of 3 chapters is… going to certainly be something.

It's not going to be 3 chapters of tragedy, pain and suffering, but it is going to be 3 chapters of pure Shirou.

I said before that Shirou was getting drunk on life.

Here comes the crash.

Welcome to the bottom, in more ways than one.

A lot of things to go over on this one, mainly about the central trio I outlined last time.

Actually first though, I'm really fucking pissed. The site's editor keeps doing this thing where you cant have multiple consecutive exclamation marks or sequences of !? and its really fucking annoying. There's a lot of times in that last third where I really want that to be there and it just pisses me off the site doesn't let it happen.

Lets start things off with the easiest one, Kokabiel.

Yes, that sword is exactly the sword you think it is.

That is Azrael. Kokabiel having this sword, and thus a connection to the First Hassan, is the idea I was talking about at the start of this arc, and the root behind this portrayal of him.

I've said it before, and I'm going to say it again, when we hit the present day of DxD, this fic is going to go into some very unexplored territory.

It is not going to be a simple matter confined to Kuoh. Oh no. Kuoh is like the last leg of the Excalibur Arc. When we hit Act One, we're coming out of the gate swinging.

But we're not going to be there for a while. The mystery of the First Hassan's relationship will be kept hidden for quite a while. Kokabiel and co. will retreat into the background for the rest of Act Zero. For now, the focus will be on just Shirou.

Moving on from promises I almost definitely won't be able to keep and hype that I will almost certainly fail to live up to…

I kind of wish I had one or two more scenes last chapter before we had the split to expand upon Shirou and Kokabiel's relationship. There's no real space to do it in this chapter.

That final scene, by the way, aside from the obvious shock factor, is meant to be setting up the future of Kokabiel's character without any ambiguity. I'm not going to say what exactly is happening, not because its meant to be vague, but because spelling it out ruins the point.

And then, of course, we come to Fiamma.

I'm definitely worried about a lot of things regarding her. I really hope what little we did get to see of her was impactful, and the parallel drawn towards Shirou actually makes sense. The plan was always to introduce her and kill her in the same arc, and there's a lot of ways that can go wrong.

Biggest problem, of course, is just… whether or not it feels like she mattered at all, or represented something important leading up to this. I think at the very least, I was okay with how she played into the previous two chapters.

Her introduction went smoothly and her first real show of character (the crying in the forest) did its job in allowing that bridge between Shirou and her to be formed. I think if I were to change one thing about the last half of Chapter 4, it would be lampshading the inevitable conclusion she comes to in her first scene, rather than saving it for Chapter 5. Its only really done with a few jokes and allusions to the similarity of her appearance to Shirou, and never really paid much attention to at all.

Chapter 5, I'm mostly happy with. The parts of the bedroom scene relevant to this topic were short, but, I think it was fairly evident that the few lines drawing attention to those characteristics were going to become important. And, that's fully unveiled later after the negotiation when Shirou, subconsciously at that moment, has realised she's created a complete monster.

Not just any monster, the monster found in the mirror.

And this chapter deals with full brunt of that realisation. She desperately tries to pull that younger version of herself out of making the same mistake, living the same life she does. She finds herself trapped between saving those on the battlefield who need help, and saving Fiamma by getting her to live some other way, and then, she realises that she's trying to save herself when she's pulling back Fiamma, she starts to understand exactly how hollow, how shallow and empty and disgusting and fake, 'Emiya Shirou' truly is, and for a moment, sees what Archer saw inside herself. And it starts to break her. It's not explicitly spelled out in the last section because she's unconscious, and it'll be brought up throughout this next arc, but her Reality Marble is starting to strain and come apart at its seams.

Overall, I think I'm happy with how much she's appeared, and I think she has enough scenes to not make this just feel really flat, but maybe I could have added one small earlier scene comparing saving Isaiah to saving Fiamma.

Second problem is yet to come, and that's whether or not the impact of her death, explored next chapter, seems reasonable. I can't comment on this here because… well, it hasn't happened yet.

Anyways, yes, this was going to be Fiamma's role from the very start. From the moment I wrote the sequence with Rin, I knew what I wanted the ending of this arc to be; Shirou does manage to keep her promise, prioritising her own life (if only realised in the form of a brief moment of hesitation here, which then allows for Fiamma to push her away against her will) and then losing something incredibly important by doing so.

Originally, that role was going to be given to some fallen angel character that… actually existed in DxD canon, like… fucking Mittelt or some shit, but that didn't end up working out because… holy shit there just are no fallen angels in DxD. Species straight up doesn't exist.

So then I realise I have to make an original character for this, and if I want this storyline to actually work, that means the character actually has to matter and mean something personal. There's quite a few ways I could have done this, but I'm going to just skip over the development process. Tl;dr making an original character ended up being the better choice anyways since it lets me push at boundaries and make things like this.

The end result was Fiamma, a twisted reflection of Shirou in a bad, old mirror. A child who at a baseline, was similar in all the wrong ways, and because of her own actions, inherited all the wrong things.

Somehow, this isn't the first time I've done this. I did a really rushed, bad version of this in my other fic LMAO. If you're getting flashbacks to that very questionable pacing… don't worry. I'm much better at this then I was 3 years ago, and I'm handling it with far more care and purpose than I did then. I'm not just writing this story on a whim like I was that one, and I'm not trying to skip and brute force past necessary sections like that one. I really want to slow down and take the time to properly explore the ins and outs of this situation. That is the entire purpose of this fic.

In an odd way, she is to Shirou what Shirou was to Archer. When all those parts of her are projected onto someone else… well, its understandable, no? Why Archer wanted to kill such a person?

And so, its quite a stark moment of realisation for Shirou at the very last moment, when Fiamma pushes her out of the way…

Because were it not for Rin, that would have been her.

For the exact same reasons, she would have done the exact same thing.

Fiamma dies a hollow death, the hollow death, that in every other world, was Emiya Shirou's hollow death, born from her hollow way of life.

Emiya Shirou would have died unable give Archer a proper answer. She would have died the empty fool that Archer so despised, as the machine that she swore to reject.

And it's that, which drives her Reality Marble's stability over the edge, it's that which becomes the source of her outburst of emotion.

It's not just the tragedy of the situation, the unfairness. It's not just the regret at having strayed from her resolution to save everyone for a selfish reason like cheesecake. It's the thought that for all she said to Archer, for all the promises and oaths she's sworn to him and herself to one day change… she still hasn't. She never will.

Shirou, through Fiamma, confronts what she believes to be the unchanging future; the inevitability that her death will still be hollow and meaningless.

And so, our hero now has to pick up the pieces.

It's worth noting that the way I've laid it out in this author's not isn't fully how she understands it.

The way she sees it, Fiamma is everything she is, not just the parts that were hollow, that didn't work. Like briefly alluded to in the chapter itself, Isaiah's existence is proof that she already has changed. She just has to realise it, she just has to understand exactly how important that boy is to herself. She hasn't reached the point of maturity and self-actualisation where she can look inwards and properly separate those parts of herself. It's up to her to make it to that point now.

Good luck, Shirou.

(In other words, Rin the MVP and GOAT. Expect to see a lot of her in this next arc.)

If you have any questions about 'why didn't Shirou do x' or 'why is Fiamma doing y', I would at least try to hold off on them until next chapter. That's going to be our introspective chapter where we dive into everything that happened here.

Azazel and co. I don't really have much to say on this front, I think they stand strong enough on their own in their scenes to say everything they need to themselves. The only thing worth commenting on here I think is Baraqiel.

Yes.

I don't think I need to say anything about this. I think saying his name is enough.

This is the reason that happens, and I think its extraordinarily funny to say it this way because I'm a sicko bastard.

Ciel, Bazett and Mirana sadly get off-screened here. Their fight just… doesn't really add anything. Sorry. I did want to eventually give Mirana the spotlight in this arc but thematically it just… doesn't mesh.

True Name invocation. Uh, I just thought it was a cool idea to mess with, and I do eventually want to go somewhere with this in future arcs. This chapter was mainly to just introduce the idea. Yes, they're basically just extremely narrow Marble Phantasms whose scope is limited to the definition of an angel's name. Marble Phantasms are probably a closer comparison compared to Reality Marbles, but the allusion is made here because… Shirou.

I can think of one more thing to note.

Leaders, moreso the general idea of 'figurehead', in this story have quite an elevated level of importance. Multiple reasons. One, the simplest reason, helps to pull the world I want to build together really well.

Two, and probably the more important reason, its always important to at least have some point of reference to constantly compare Shirou's progress towards being a 'hero' with. These people stand at the front of their factions, bravely and selflessly leading the way into the fog of the new era, serving as idols to aspire towards, to strive towards. They're the source of many hopes and dreams, gallant figures who protect all those underneath their umbrella, and guide them towards the future…

Sound anything like a 'hero' to you? It's not fully the ideal that Shirou strives for, but it shares enough similarities to always make it something to point out.

Overall, I'm pretty happy with this chapter. I thought I would have like… a lot more to say in this AN (well, more than I've already said) but it turns out the chapter is just fine speaking for itself on most fronts.

Funnily enough, I think my favourite part of this chapter is just the giant line of ….. Legitimately made me giddy to type down.

(P.S god fucking damn it ffn really doesnt like repeated punctuation. have to do some wack shit to make it go through, so if it looks a bit weird, sorry.)

See you next time, when we start the, uh… I don't know what I'm calling this next arc. Its not really tied together by a plotline like this one was (that being the Fallen Angel Rebellion) so much as it is pulled together by Shirou's emotional journey, with each chapter mainly having its own self-contained plot.

'Shirou Arc' just sounds kind of… sappy, and really, that suits Act Zero as a whole far better than just this one small portion of it. I guess I could also title it 'Glass' since that's the common unifier in the chapter titles (all 3 will be "Glass" | and | "something", like this one was "Mirror" and the one before it was "Child") but… eh.

I think it'd be really funny to call it the 'Rin Arc', so I'm probably just gonna go with that.

See you next time, when we get back to London.

Much love, cheers.

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Next time: Her heart is of glass. Letting go, and a king's farewells.