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This is a parody of Fate/Stay Night.
I have no connection to Type-moon or Kinoko Nasu, who hold the rights to the Fate universe.
This is my first story. You can critique me, but please don't flame me.
Fate/Stay Night: Cursed Sword.
フェイト・ステイナイト：妖刀。
Prologue: Transmigration
False transmigration of the mind (music) /wSjHRKBfl94
This is a nightmare: my usual dream.
My mother has me in her arms, cradling me. She speaks softly to me like she always does. The words carry no meaning, only sentiment. Love, confidence, satisfaction. This is the doting mother I am familiar with, a firm existence within me since I was once inside her.
The basest want is to be comforted and protected. To be enveloped in the warmth that a mother can only provide. The desire to be born as a beloved child.
Yet it is an empty happiness.
We are not alone here, never alone. A family is there too, father and sister both. They sit watching, unmoving, just staring at me unblinking with vacant eyes. What was once black is now red. I can endure if only for that miracle.
Even a mother's love goes so far: how could anyone tolerate what I am? Nevermind love.
Her eyes darken, and the compliments lose their sense of love; I know what comes next. I am both spectator and a victim, perhaps even a perpetrator.
The kind mother that had shown her love twists into an agent of spite. Her gentle cradle becomes a suffocating hold, and the words that carried subtle love shift into intense hate. What had been words without meaning become a cacophony of clear denunciations and blame.
She scowled at me; it was a look of complete disgust. She blames me for everything. I never knew why.
"You are not my son!"
She scratches my arms with claw-like nails.
"Why did you kill him?!"
She bites into my neck.
"It's all your fault!"
She rips into my eyes with her fingers.
Even dreaming, I have always vaguely recognized the abuse to be fake; thus, it has never brought true pain, but this time it is excruciating.
My father and sister simply watch. However, their eyes communicate a desire that was not present before.
"Is this how it is? that no matter where we go, you will follow me you-u...you demon!"
She cuts into my throat.
"Bring."
She elbows my nose.
"Him."
She knees me in the stomach.
"Back!"
The dream ends. The pain disappears, but the memory of it is like a phantom on my body. Indeed, I was born into the world, but without love or comfort, I feel that I am no different from a miscarriage. That self-disgust wraps around me and stings my skin, it is the denial that I was even born. I was not born like this, but I did become this. It was not my fault, but I did not deny it. I could not say no that day, and I let the blood flow from one to the other. That crime: it was the first, and I would be cursed with it for the rest of my days.
Yet I do not regret it; I would take on any penalty for the one reward I gained that day.
This is the point where I would usually be woken to the warmth of my real Mother shaking me awake and comforting me, overwriting my fears by truly cradling me in her arms. That has been the occurrence since I've been born to this curse. A curse that I confront in my dreams yet haunts me in life as well. This time, no such saviour comes.
There is no catharsis. My real mother, for the first time, is not there. I drift on, through the ocean, sinking surely to the bottom.
My mother had once brought me to some kind of expert on dreams, an old lady who lived in the place mom came from; it was very far away. She couldn't stop the nightmares, but she did teach me how to stay in a state of….. Lucidity? I think it's called.
The hope was that I could control the dream myself through effort.
Unfortunately, all it ever accomplished was making the dreams even more clear and frequent. The pain only feels more real.
I am here; I am lucid. But I don't control the dream, and I know that I will never be able to overcome it. Even waking up is just a postponement for the continuation of this dream. A whirlpool finally takes me in.
I am falling. It is the sensation of no control.
Falling. Falling. Falling.
I am falling to my centre, the place where I center my mind.
Falling. Falling. Falling.
I fall straight into the only other dream that I have. 'Dream' may not be the word for it because here I am in control; it is my world. There is no landing; the falling just stops abruptly. It is a dream, after all.
I am sitting on a hill.
A typhoon encircles this place, enshrouding the far sky in darkness. The wind howls in all directions, but I don't mind. It's soothing. There is no rain.
There is a sword that is stuck in front of me. I know that it is stuck but I can't even reach it, for it is ever-distant.
I cannot reach it, because I am encircled by swords. It is a prison... or a throne, depending on how you would see it. I can't leave the hill, but I do wish I could make it to that sword. For some reason, blades have always fascinated me, and that one seems to shine more than anything.
It is not so crazy, Dad likes to talk about how he can trace his lineage back to some famous sword maker, Muromazo, or something. It's not that crazy then that would have them here, in a place built on what I like.
...I just have to wait for mom. She's... never taken this long to wake me before. I can't help but be nervous.
I want Mommy. Thunder cracks in the far distance. A dream of thunder and broken steel; an ever-present yet ever-distant promise that this is what I will one day find.
Perhaps the dream is real, and she really does hate me… 'No! Don't think of fear!' If you bring fear into your dream, you will summon it to you. That was a clear rule of a dream. The musk of fear is the tastiest aroma to a predator, and in dreams, all fears can be made reality. But this is my world, it is a place that anything but me couldn't possibly enter... right?
A world of swords and storms has been my fortress, the place where I am safe and strong.
Impenetrable: that is what it is supposed to be... When did it get so dark? As if the sun had been blotted out and even the far strikes of lightning were hiding in fear.
It began to rain- no, it began to drip... Like how rain comes through the cracks of a window in a storm. Except that it was coming in through the cracks and squeezing itself into my mind. A dark mud: Murkier than what should be allowed in a sane world. Something that is out of place even to a nightmare, for you must know of something in order to dream it, yet I did not know of something as horrible as this. Broken lines form on the wall of my mind, as it was crushed under the weight of the overwhelming flood.
First drops and then a stream... And finally, a river of black, coiling around the swords that surrounded me on the hill. 'It shouldn't be here. It shouldn't be here. It shouldn't be here. It shouldn't be here! It shouldn't be here!' If even inside a lucid dream, you are not safe: then what is there left to do?
Mud soaks into everything; It covers the ground thinly like water in a rice field. But it stops short of coming to me, the swords protect me. That doesn't mean that I am completely spared from it; there is an unbelievable heat.
The wind started to die down. It could not live with such an intruder, as everything burns. By then, it had already been too late. 'It was too late, by the time you were born.' What truly scared me was not the mud, nor the heat but the simple understanding that I was no longer alone here. It is supposed to be my refuge, where I was promised safety. When I was born cursed, it was only right I would attract something similar to me.
And yet, I could feel it... a presence. It took some time, time in which the heat only became more apparent, for that off feeling to manifest. The mud, which had stopped right short of me, coalesced into a creature… no- a woman, about my mother's age. She was born out of the burning mud as if it was natural, yet she was the opposing colour: pure white.
Her skin was ashen, lacking any blemish. She wears a black and red dress, but her face revealed a far more startling sight... Wide-open red eyes with a tint of yellow, and snow-white hair. Insanity, a promise of death. Look at this, and only despair can be found.
A black crown holding a black circle radiating the feeling of a hole straight to hell. In two words, she was mesmerizing but grotesque.
I couldn't look away, even as my skin began to melt.
Her smile entranced me; it was nothing like my mother's kind smile or my sister's dopey one. It conveyed no mirth, more akin to the twisted scowl I saw from the Mother in my dreams than any real smile. A fear made manifest, come for me specifically. My only wish was to escape. So it took that wish and granted in the worst possible way.
I was entrapped. It was that grotesque smile that moved to form two words. Her mouth moves out of sync with the sound, almost as if she were singing, "Found you."
"No-" Don't...! "Not again...!" Don't take it all away again...! But such protests were nothing compared to the hatred in that ocean simply seeking an empty vessel to hold it.
My legs were taken first, then my hands, and my body and my arms and my face. Until it reached my eyes and eat them too to reach my brain. Then it ate even that as if it was the most delicious thing of all. It took all the memories and events of Saijo Shirou and smushed them like a bug. And so I am swallowed whole, snuffing out that part of me that could not live with wickedness. Everything burned but the unbreakable steel, some swords melted under the strain... but others harden and became unbreakable. It all pressed together and created a monstrous coalescence of steel.
...And in the remains of that mangled metal, a flicker could be seen... and a mind of steel was born.
The Hurricane cleared, leaving a world entranced by the night.
"Hah..." A sigh echoes out in the now empty world. Her victory would come yet, for her birth had only just begun... A vessel she was attuned to. Yet it would be a certain miscarriage. It was a rule that life can not survive when faced with this curse, so it must be the case once again here.
...And yet... 'Unfair, in all the endless worlds, what are the odds that such a thing would happen? One prison to another...' Two fakes that are melded together can sometimes turn into something real.
(Music stop)
The dream ends there. I am awake, but the heat and smoke don't disappear. I knew that I would never lose that feeling of being burned alive.
Author's notes.
This is the intro to a story I have got in my head.
Some background: This is Shirou dreaming, parallel to the start with the fight between Kotomine vs. Kirutsugu and ending with the start of the fire.
Please leave a review, this is my first story, and I can't improve without feedback!
If you want to be a beta reader, then pm me, I would greatly appreciate such a thing. But I know no one is that crazy.