* Mahoyo – Flowery - Finality

* Made in Abyss – Capital of the Unreturned

* Fate/Stay Night – Light and Darkness

Chapter CXXIX: Colourless-Last Players

* Mahoyo – Flowery - Finality

Galahad gripped his sword and rushed forth.

Aleister had lost his bet in the end: after the mansion had crashed and the commotion had settled, neither Saber nor Berserker had been severed from their Masters. More than one Servant remained alive, and thus the battle that would decide the victor of the Holy Grail had resumed. Now that the battlefield had been flattened and brought to ground level, they didn't have to mind their surroundings. Despite the struggle between Moonchild and Unborn taking place above their heads, the only thing that mattered to them were their opponents.

"Show me a little more; I will extricate down to the last drop of your essence!" Aleister wasn't really upset that his workshop's downfall had failed to do away with his fellow Servants.

If anything, the enthusiasm he showcased was less and less contained – even though his chin was still bloody from the punch Galahad had landed, the magus was beaming with a ferocious joy. When the knight charged toward him at full throttle, he seemed ready to welcome him like an old friend. But rather than face the holy blade head on, he snapped his fingers. With his invisible hands, he sampled many debris from their surroundings and called them to himself. His figure disappeared from sight as the rubbles kept stacking in a tower around him.

That was no defence against Galahad's stampeding approach.

With the first swing, the knight destroyed the thin layer of stone. As he had expected though, Aleister was already gone. That didn't mean Galahad could afford to turn away and hunt him down: someone else smashed through the other side of the fragile construct, a warrior of silver with his broadsword raised abovehead. Most likely, he had also rushed to attack Aleister, but now that his eyes had locked onto Galahad he had no intention to change his course.

Galahad didn't look away either.

When Berserker brought down his weapon, the Saber opposed his shield and deviated the broadsword which punched a crater in the ground. Then, in the same movement, the holy blade swung and left a shallow gash across Berserker's ribs and stomach. If the silvery Servant had not doubled down to tackle Galahad, his heart would have been sliced instead.

Nonetheless, when the steel cut through his flesh, bits of his body were blown away like grains of sand. The mirror-like skin covering him was flaking, sometimes strengthening and sometimes cracking. The same happened when he slammed into Galahad and shoved him away. With every hit he took, Berserker was falling apart.

He paid no regards to this decaying state and roared while brandishing his weapon again. Galahad landed steady just a short distance away, not far enough to warrant breaking off. But before he could clash a second time with Berserker, he felt something that made him look up – there was an unseen force pulling him forward. The entire hilltop of ruins was caught in a whirlpool that nabbed the two grounded fighters in its currents.

Galahad and Berserker were brought together by the well of gravity, but their respective gazes were turned upward: Aleister was watching his two catches from the air. After bringing them where he wanted, he waved his hand and weaved his Will into power. Two magic circles appeared on top of one another, swapping mana between each other until it formed a wheel of light. Seconds before it could bear its purpose however, the space where the spell and its caster stood was sliced apart – in the face of imminent danger, Berserker had promptly grabbed Galahad and given him the boost to close in on Aleister.

Although they had both acknowledged each other as opponents, the knight and the warrior also had the tacit understanding that Aleister remained the major threat out of them three. It would be reckless of the magus to corner them in a situation where they would gain to work together. Although, with the way Berserker had tossed Galahad, one could argue he had brought him closer to danger – the Saber couldn't ask for more and readily moved to cut through Aleister's plans.

"Doing the same thing over and over will not get you the same result, do you know?"

"...!"

His sword undid the attack that had yet to be launched, but failed to reach his real target. Aleister had caught the blade with a hand burning brightly. Immediately, Galahad switched his tactic and took advantage of the short distance to swing his knee into Aleister's stomach; he felt a strong resistance but it had connected nonetheless. Although he winced, Aleister showed no hesitation and lunged his other hand towards the knight, his palm alight with moonlight. Galahad raised his shield and struck at the elbow, making it miss his face by a hair's breadth.

Because Aleister's ability was keeping them afloat, their clash had turned into an aerial scuffle. Galahad should have an overwhelming advantage at such range, yet Aleister put a fierce passion into dishing out at least as much damage as he was taking. While they were locked against each other, luminous orbs manifested around them, effectively trapping the knight who didn't have room to get away.

But something much more fearsome was shooting in their direction – Berserker had broken through the shackles imposed by Aleister and appeared next to them with a roar. The broadsword came down with full force on the struggling Servants who offered such an easy target. On its path, it also happened to crash through the spells Aleister had prepared; the gathered energy became unstable and detonated.

All three were caught in the firework and plumetted their separated ways.

"That was a costly move for you to make." Aleister had gotten away without a scratch, and floated to the ground while eyeing the nameless Servant. "If it burns too brightly, your flame will wane sooner than you think."

Just as had occurred before, Berserker's body was fraying from deflagration. It seemed as though he would evaporate like smoke if left on his own. But the impact of his heels on the stone was no less powerful – as soon as he landed, the silvery warrior charged at his opponents with a warcry. Aleister teleported away from his fury but even he knew it wouldn't be so simple: when he reappeared, Galahad was there to cut off his escape.

Galahad's scrutiny was a greater obstacle than it might seem at first glance: while the magus was exceptionally mobile and hard to pin down, it was not as hindering if one could predict his destination. Wherever Aleister went, Galahad went as well, which meant that Berserker would follow. In other words, regardless where Aleister ran off to, the battlefield would find him. That was inevitable, since he had made ample showcase of his ability throughout this battle.

"But if you want to burn bright, by all mean, do!" When the holy sword came whistling for his neck, a magic barrier protected Aleister. It lasted long enough for him to step away. "Show me the depth of your determination, O heroes!"

"There is nothing for you to see! Your eyes have rotten from looking only at what is not!"

Berserker was closing on the two of them without fault.

He wielded his weapon with both hands, attacking relentlessly in a dance of destruction. The bicoloured sword tore through the air in quick succession, with such force that gales of wind rose in its wake. Each stroke sent shockwaves in the directions it was aimed at; though they didn't cleave through his opponents, the sheer violence of this onslaught gave him the aspect of a living storm. The ruins of Boleskine House suffered even further under the stomping of his rageful steps and the devastating weight of his sword. Large debris were turned into pebbles, which in turn were grinded into dust. The latter was stirred into clouds by the momentum of his attacks, and thus the silvery giant kicked up a sandstorm as he tried to mow down his enemies.

Galahad stood in the middle of the storm, dashing and diving under the large blade whipping the air. While he trusted his instinct to guard him against the latter, his true aim was to cacth Aleister off guard with the cover of Berserker's rampage. But the magus was not impeded by the tempest of dust, nor had he forgotten about the knight's tricks. A staff of crystal had appeared in his hands, and although he couldn't hope to overpower Berserker, neither did he run away.

Thus, the three Servants rushed into a melee dictated by the silver warrior's uproar.

Galahad avoided the heavy sword by very little and ducked under Berserker's arm to charge at Aleister. The latter had just leaped through space out of harm's way, but he had also spotted Galahad and thrusted his weapon like a spear. The air around the staff combusted and left a trail of blue sparks; when the tip struck Galahad's shield, it transmitted a magic shock. That was too weak to topple the stalwart knight but it effectively made him halt for a fraction of second, more than enough for Berserker to spin around and throw the might of his arms at him. Galahad brought up both his shield and his blade to block the massive weapon, but he was still blown away from his target.

"We're not the only ones who have found where we must fight." Aleister looked up. In the sky above, a myriad of lights were rushing like a meteor shower towards the titan of mud. The spectacle caused him to smirk. "I wasn't certain whether she could take action, but she has come to grasp her own abilities. Her compatibility as a Moonchild is admirable – our meeting was guided by fate after all."

While he mused to himself, Berserker had changed priorities and stampeded his way. On his end, Galahad had made sure to position himself opposite to the silvery warrior, so that the magus was caught in a pincer attack. In answer to this predicament, Aleister's smile widened – with a slight movement of his fingers, moonlight surrounded Berserker. Trying to stop the latter with brute force was a poor decision with an unlikely outcome. However, what he had cast wasn't an attack: when the light permeated Berserker, his physical power was increased.

Due to the sudden boost to his abilities, Berserker overshot and couldn't prevent Aleister from getting away. On the other hand, there was a target right in his line of sight.

"...!"

Galahad was as surprised by the surge of power from Berserker and jumped away. When the broad sword came down and stabbed the ground, it was the hill as a whole that shook. Galahad frowned and clenched his fist around his sword; if Berserker came at him again with that level of strength, he would have to finish him off somehow. He knew that the former Servant of Black was the one closest to his limit among them. But if he were eliminated first, Aleister would pose a bigger challenge as a single opponent. For that reason, the knight had not gone out of his way to attack Berserker too much. If the situation got out of hand though, the latter might become a greater hazard.

However, that wasn't what happened.

After suffering the recoil of his own attack, Berserker pulled out his blade but didn't chase after Galahad. Instead, he roared and hunched over as though to break free of chains. Before long, the ethereal glow around him scattered and vanished.

"Are you sure that's a wise decision?" Aleister asked. "As you are now, you can't defeat either of us. Maybe you need a helping hand?"

"You will not plant the seeds of your influence on me, fabulator." The nameless Servant growled.

"So you say." The magus peered at the black-and-white sword. "And yet you're approaching the deadline for the cost for your tenacity."

Berserker's weapon was showing cracks similar to its wielder's. At this point, the Servant of Madness was eroding even without help from his opponents. Like a dilapidated building, bits and shards of him were falling apart. Galahad looked at his face; although his gaze was still filled with an ardent will, the depth of his eyes was glassy.

"And what... if I am?" Berserker held his sword up. "My Noble Phantasm... is not the 'creation of a fake legend'. I was never a genuine Heroic Spirit, and so the sole power granted to me is to live out a legend that never was. Fake or not, there is only one end for heroes. Since I was summoned, I knew my time is limited."

He lurched and charged all the same toward the magus. Galahad did as much, making sure not to approach from the opposite direction.

"I do not mind." Caster chuckled. "For what it's worth, I welcome your stubbornness."

He twirled the staff in his hands before planting it into the ground. Galahad's instinct warned him and he glanced up; around a dozen magic circles appeared in a column above the magus. A drop of moonlight pearled from the Moonchild's heavenly mantle and fell through the first circle. Through each one of them, it grew larger and wilder. The knight evaluated how strong the spell would actually be – there was no time to destroy it, and so instead he hit the brakes and readied himself. Before Berserker could make it to Aleister, the light reached its final destination and revealed its full destructiveness: when it joined the crystal staff, the air erupted with heat.

Nearly everything on the hilltop was ignited at once.

The energy spread out in a volatile manner, as though fragmented into thousands of miniature explosions. Yet each one was a concentrated blast, spreading like wildfire while maintaining their intensity, and that made the whole all the more dangerous. Berserker had no conventional way of defending himself and it was too late regardless; he stopped, put his arms in front of him and braced up. While suffering the full brunt of the deflagration, he managed to keep his feet firmly on the ground.

That worked to Galahad's advantage: the knight had moved to stand behind the silvery giant, whose large frame was enough to block most of the explosions. This way, he could stake out Aleister's next move. The latter had not teleported to safety but instead stood in the midst of his own spell unharmed. That was fine too – Galahad promptly left his cover and bolted into the moonlight inferno. Through sheer resilience and speed, he kept in a beeline toward the magus who would no doubt feel his approach.

Sure enough, Aleister vanished – Galahad kicked the ground and soared.

Rather than exit the deluge of heat, Aleister had reappeared somewhere inside to conceal his escape. But the knight had already pinpointed that exact location: before the Caster had fully materialized, his shoulder was stabbed by the tip of a holy sword. A different light, white and immaculate, shone through the cracks in Galahad's body and extended to his blade – Aleister was blasted away. The chaos of moonshine around them came to an abrupt close as he barrelled away and crashed into the incinerated debris of his mansion.

"Yes, I am thoroughly thrilled." His figure emerged from the dust and the ashes, maimed but no less grinning. "One might even call it love!"

Most of his outfit had been ravaged, either by his own spell or by Galahad's pure light. The body underneath was not that of a human. Rather, his skin seemed made of layers of ethereal fabric plucked directly from the moonlit sky of his dominion, stitched together and grafted onto him. Aleister's entire being was resplendent with the incandescence of his Will.

"By all means, your chances of victory should be null." Fearlessly, he shot toward his opponents with his arms held out. "At so many steps of the way, you should have tripped and fallen! But again and again, you've surpassed these obstacle and exceeded my expectations!"

His fingertips traced pale arcs through the air, blazing trails which curved and rained over the other two Servants. Galahad effortlessly braved the barrage of plasma and darted towards him; Aleister took up the challenged and faced him with his fists for all weapons. Like claws of raw energy, his hands cut the air and struck steel without holding back. A few exchanges proved that he couldn't match the knight, whereafter the magus leaped and delivered a flurry of burning strikes. He was lighter than air, moving freely like the wind whereas Galahad was as sturdy and unmovable as the earth beneath.

But they were not left to duel for long – a broadsword twirled heavily and punched a crater between them. Aleister slid away to avoid the foot that came deepening said crater, while Galahad had to block the blade that was pulled out with full power. But Berserker's intervention did not dampen their spirits: the three Servants fought with their hearts and their souls, delivering blows while receiving them as well. Whether it was the might of Berserker, the shrewdness of Caster or the precision of Saber, any that gained terrain was thwarted by the others and their battle returned to a ruthless chaos.

"That brilliance is the potential that sleeps within Humanity!" Aleister partook in the melee without departing from his zeal. "The power to trump all odds and light the way! Each time you break through the wall of impossibilities, you become living proofs of the future I envision! Show it to me! The ineffable spirit that doesn't bow down to destiny or sense!"

Eventually, all three jumped back and increased the distance.

That was only so they could come charging back with all the more power.

Blades and fist approached simultaneously at blinding speed, their paths converging toward the same point. When at last they met, the ruins were shaken by the greatest tremor yet. The force of the impact blew sound away and hurled them in different directions. Galahad stabbed his sword into the ground until his course grinded to a stop; in spite of the shock, he remained on his feet and didn't so much as flinch. Aleister seemed to stagger while straightening his back, but the truth was that he had received no meaningful injury.

When he looked at the outcome of their clash, his smile dimmed.

"Although, one of us couldn't maintain that brilliance."

* Made in Abyss – Capital of the Unreturned

"..." Galahad turned his head to look at Berserker.

The silvery giant didn't stand back up.

His sword had been shattered for good during the impact and laid before him. The man himself was hunched over while sitting on his knees. His eyes had become dull and shallow. Nonetheless, there was still some life inside him: his limbs were trembling from an effort he couldn't achieve, his hands were vainly trying to push him up and to grab the broadsword which couldn't bear any more usage. After so many fierce exchanges, he now looked like a statue worn down by time.

"...Not... yet..."

A faint growl came out of his mouth, but it wouldn't convince anyone.

It was too late.

"Will you break that wall again? Will you fall here and disappoint me?" Aleister's eyes were cold. "Well, I suppose things have to fall back into place at some point. Your struggle was penned with despair instead of hope. You didn't have the strength to defy this world."

At that moment, far above their battlefield, the sky was streaked with pale blue light. It came from all around the Temple set over Fuyuki, converging toward a single dot shining like a new moon above this desolated land. It seemed the Moonchild was accumulating power for a decisive attack against the Unborn which still refused to stand down. When Aleister saw that, a cruel rictus stretched his lips; he raised his arm at the heavens.

"I will give you one last chance to surpass the odds." His sharp gaze landed on Galahad. "As it stands, I don't need your secrets anymore. Once the Moonchild has developped sufficiently, even that thorn in my side will be gone. Therefore, shall we see if you can keep your word?"

He closed his fist.

"Master, if you'd please – raze this battlefield to the ground."

"...!"

Aleister hijacked the energy assembling in the sky and prepared to use it for his own purpose.

Galahad tensed up. He had to kill the magus immediately, as unrealistic as it may be. If he took advantage of Aleister's confidence, maybe an opening could be found. That wasn't what his instinct was telling him, but at this rate he didn't have a choice. He had a promise to keep.

However...

After a handful of seconds had passed, the Moonchild's attack still wasn't coming.

"Hm?" Aleister's brows furrowed.

Evangeline held Anastasia's hands.

The ghostly girl was unsure how to react to the amount of mana swirling around them, nor to the Unborn's threat looming over them. But she didn't look away from her. Just as Evangeline had asked, she recounted what she had already told: her feelings toward the life she had barely been allowed, and the world she had seen during that short time.

"At first, you know, everything was cold. When we met, I didn't even know things could be warm. You looked at me with big eyes and you got upset with whatever I did. It was really hard to understand, you showed me so many new things but it also felt like I remembered them already. And then, you gave me a name. It made like a 'poof' in my head! Because suddenly... I knew who I was. I didn't have much, but it made me happy that I could be called something by someone else. And then... you told me to come with you, and I saw what it was like outside my house. When there was no more snow, I learned that grass is green and you made fun of me. And then... and then..."

There was no end of memories. She had opened her eyes for the first time less than a year prior, yet Ana couldn't stop recalling so many vivid details as though she had gone through an endless string of days. Sights, sounds, smells and sensations, mostly mundane scenes that would bore those who had been blessed with a normal birth. She was aware of it to an extent; that only someone who knew very little could see these memories as treasures. But how could she think of them as any less? Each moment, painful or pleasant, had been real. She had truly been there and she had lived every day of it, even though that should have been impossible. And so, she held onto them dearly regardless of their value.

"It didn't always turn out nicely, right? Sometimes I wanted to see the sun but it wouldn't stop raining. You were in a hurry, so I didn't get to stay anywhere very long, even when I wanted to see more. There's things my body wasn't capable of, and you didn't let me do a lot of stuff that looked fun. But, it also made me a little happy. Because someone cared enough about me to be angry. Because whenever things didn't go right, I could still look forward to the next day. When I learned that I was going to lose all of that... it hurt a lot, lot more than any time I've ever been sad. Like I was back in that house, wondering why I'm even living..."

"..." Evangeline's gaze was lost into the void, but her fingers tightened lightly.

"I didn't want to go anywhere! I wanted to keep discovering new things every day with you, and Berserker, and... ... ... and... I wanted you to be with me until the end. I thought that if I kept smiling, maybe one day you'd smile too... but that didn't work at all, right?"

Things had only gotten worse. Happiness wouldn't come simply by smiling while she buried her distress so no one could see. Evan too had carried her fair share of burdens, unbeknownst to her protégé. Anastasia had died before either of them could see the other's sorrow. And here they were now, both teetering on the edge of existence. Maybe Evan was right, perhaps it would have been better had they never crossed path. Evan wouldn't have had to go to such lengths. Still, it was oddly comforting. Even if it was too late for happiness, Anastasia could finally tell her how she truly felt.

"I don't regret any of the time we've spent together."

Ah, but, it really was too late...

The energy flocking to Evangeline was too much to fit in her gem-like body. It was unfurling around them like a capricious wind without abandoning them either. The Unborn was hindered by this turbulence but it would make it through eventually. Even if they escaped somehow, they would have to face the truth that they couldn't turn back time. Anastasia wanted to apologize again. But that would make her mother sad, wouldn't it?

"Ana..." Evan's crystal clear voice had weakened to barely a whisper. Yet she could understand every word of it. "From now on, you're going to see a lot more things. It'll be a long journey. So promise me you're going to be careful, alright?"

"Eh?" Anastasia blinked. "Evan, what are you doing...?"

"I can't love this world." The light was tightening its bind around them – no, Evangeline was squeezing it together in order to wield it as a whole. She tamed this power and forced it into the shape of her choosing. "No matter how hard I try, I can't muster anything more than hatred. If I went back, things would be the same. I will attract calamity again. It's too much for me... ... ... but you must go. I can't keep you here, you have to return to the world you love. You'll be able to look forward again, as many times as you want. But I won't be here to look after you... so please, don't do anything rash, okay?"

"What..." The translucid girl was still at a loss but a terrifying feeling budded in her. It dawned on her that Evan was slipping away from her. "Wait! I don't wanna leave you!"

She wanted to hold on to her more strongly, but Evangeline let go of her hands and drifted away. In a way, Anastasia could still feel her touch; an invisible embrace telling her not to follow, that everything would be alright. But she couldn't feel the same way: she wished she could go after her and stay together this time. Unfortunately, even this unrestrained body of hers was unable to fulfill that wish. Only their tears still flew together, although they couldn't be seen in the well of moonlight.

Evangeline stood back and spread her shattered arms, taking in so much energy that her shell glowed an intense white. Her expression was purged of its weariness, replaced with a mask of resolve.

Despite the radiant veil shrouding her, Ana was certain their eyes met.

"You know..." Evangeline's lips curled. "I can make miracles."

The luminous rays emerging from the pillars around Fuyuki fizzled out. All of the power she needed was in her hands now. At that moment, there was a unplanned interference: below them, atop of the hill of ruins, Aleister wanted to use her endeavor and redirect the energy she had painstakingly brought together. Evangeline swatted him away. She thoroughly denied the link between them, shutting off both Aleister and the Moonchild inside of her.

She didn't need either of those – this was something only she could do.

The Temple set around the city was a hand-crafted territory made specifically to sublimate the Moonchild's influence and enact the ritual to summon a foreign realm. At the core, it shared the same foundation as the magecraft she had learned for many years. In other words, it was possible to repurpose it into a gigantic magic circle, a ritual that had yet to find its purpose. As the High Priest, Aleister could use this world to his content, but its true master was none other than the girl who had become the heart of it. During her trance as the Moonchild, Evangeline had learned its intricacies well enough.

But what she was about to do was off the beaten path; she had to sacrifice that man's dream.

"You've died once but as long as you're here, your existence can't be denied." She told Anastasia. "I can't undo your death... but I can sever you forever from your fate! The only thing preventing you from living is a cruel rule enacted by reality. I won't allow it. You're not a girl who is both alive and dead. I don't know what your original name was, but you're only Anastasia Angelene now. If the world can't even tell that, I won't let it impose its will – this is my dominion, my ideal! If your fate is tangled in a link between the living and the dead, I will get rid of that bond!"

The light surged forth and flowed into Anastasia instead.

It didn't hurt nor did it pressure her, but it was a strange sensation indeed.

She didn't even have a choice in receiving it or not.

Something was being built inside her soul.

"If I recreate the Temple on a smaller scale within you, I can wipe the slate clean!" The crystal magus declared boldly. "It will be an inside reality that shall stay even without anyone to maintain it! You can have a life that only belongs to you!"

As these words left her mouth however, the cracks spread across her face and the rest of her body. But she paid it no heed: this Temple was an imperfect attempt to begin with, a fact all the more apparent when it was used for an unintended purpose. This result couldn't be helped. She had already accepted it.

"Once you're out there, keep smiling. Don't become like me." She closed her eyes. "You're... you're the only true miracle I've ever found..."

"Evan!"

Anastasia reached out her arm, but she would always be too far. When the last strands of light flowed from Evangeline to her, the Moonchild became as dark as the night.

Two giant hands closed around Evangeline Golodiaïev.

Between the Unborn's palms, a final crushing sound could be heard. The figure of the girl who had forsaken her future disappeared for the last time inside clutch of endless desires incarnate. But, that wasn't to say she would remain trapped: the Unborn's hands contorted, unable to contain something in its grasp. Even deprived of power, the Moonchild's remains were not for anyone to hold; her vessel fell apart and scattered as stardust through the firmament. A powerful shockwave was born from her collapse and tore through the titan's arms. It reached all the way to ground level and swept across the ruins. The tide of curses was hit and rippled, pushed back for only a moment.

But all of that was something happening far beneath her – for Anastasia, the most obvious change was herself.

Her translucid skin gained in substance and became opaque. All at once, she recovered many familiar sensations: the cold, the wind, the pain; she was deprived of the feeling of freedom that had been her sole comfort. This also meant she could no stay here. But although she had regained her weight and texture, her body fell softly like a snowflake, the last vestige of a dream.

None of that mattered.

She kept holding out her hands desperately, even though there was no one to reach anymore. Gravity was pulling her away from these skies where Evan had disappeared. Her tears flowed normally; now that the chill of winter was biting her, she could feel their warmth running down her cheeks.

"I still haven't said it..." The wavering pale blue of the Temple; the somber ember glow from the Unborn; all of it blurred together in her eyes. "I still didn't say 'thank you'... I wanted to tell you so much more... ahhh... hhh... Evaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaan!"

The three Servants were looking up in silence.

From their perspective, it might have been hard to grasp exactly what had transpired. Despite Aleister's command to launch an attack on Boleskine House, nothing had come from the shining dot. After a while, the light swirling in the heavens had ran out and disappeared without being used against anyone. The shockwave that followed confirmed the destruction of the Moonchild. Hence, no matter how confusing the process, the result was evident and only cemented itself as seconds passed.

Aleister wasn't oblivious. He had observed the flow of power and felt the changes in the Temple's texture. Moreover, considering the girl now falling slowly toward the hill, he immediately figured out the truth. In front of Berserker and Galahad's eyes, the magus's shoulders started trembling with a dry laughter.

"I see. That was an oversight on my part." Aleister held his face in contemplation. There was a dangerous look hiding behind his hand, one that couldn't settle one a single emotion. "I considered her regain of independence as a sign of progress, but she understood too quickly the system behind the Temple. Contact with an outside element might have hastened her return to consciousness. Even so, to think the Moonchild could disregard a command entirely... and to use the Temple in this fashion... It seems my designs are in dire need of revision."

He kept muttering to himself; even after reaching his conclusion, an unstable chuckle went on.

Then, a heavy silence fell on the hilltop. Aleister lowered his hand – and he pointed it at Berserker. In the blink of an eye, a blast of energy shot toward the kneeling Servant who didn't move a muscle to avoid it. When the projectile exploded though, Galahad's shield had absorbed all of the damage. The knight stood between the two Servants, staring defiantly at Aleister.

"What was the point of that?" The magus tilted his head with an incredulous smirk. "That one is already in his grave. You will get nothing for saving him."

"...If he's already dead, you don't need to attack him." Galahad retorted. "From now on, it's between you and me."

"Is it?"

Aleister walked slowly, taking only a few steps while staring at his lone standing opponent. There was no meaning behind his new position, although the way he scrutinized every movement of Galahad was like a wolf waiting to pounce. Traces of amusement came to lighten his expression but a dark smile throned in the middle of his face.

"Very well. Let us not dwell overlong on the past. A mere setback, like everything else along my path."

"..." Galahad held up his shield and his sword, ready to resume what had been interrupted.

At that moment a feeble voice rose behind him.

"Saved her..."

Berserker still had his face turned to the sky. There was nothing left to see though. His eyes were sunken and devoid of light. Even without moving, his body was still degrading; his hands were crumbling bit by bit while the rest was approaching breaking point.

"I saw it... that child was saved by her friend..." His lips were barely moving. "Name... she's still calling her name..."

"..." Galahad nodded, although that wasn't something Berserker could see.

"But... it cost the life of one. Despite not being of the same nature as us... even after disappearing, her deed hasn't faded... how beautiful..."

"...It's not only us." The knight said softly. "People disappear but they don't forget each other. In this era, I've seen people who call themselves weak, but they still stood strong for sake of another. What they did won't disappear, I'm know it."

"... ... ... Is that true...?" Berserker lowered his head to look at Galahad. "I am no one... scared of amounting to naught, I still lost everything to call my own. The final line of my story is already written. Even so... my existence could carry a meaning...?"

"Yes. You've already fought with them, right? They will remember you as well."

"...I see... ... but, I've failed... ... I can no longer save anyone like she did."

Galahad said nothing. It was obvious he couldn't help the nameless Servant, in fact it would even go against his interests. That was what anyone looking at them would think. Nonetheless, he had felt the earnest wish inside of that crumbling man. It was no less strong than the desires that had driven so many this far. Though he looked like a dwindling flame, that wish had not weakened in the least. And thus, Galahad chose to watch it until the end.

"... ... ... No..." The silver warrior's frame swayed slightly. "There is meaning... I understand. If my actions will echo beyond the veil of the end..."

He leaned forward. His battered, decaying body moved in spite of the immense effort it demanded. With a trembling hand, he grabbed the handle of the broken sword laying defeated before him. With a long breath followed a deep rumble, the Berserker bared his teeth and lifted his weapon – his lifeless face had regained a spark of fight.

"The final line for my life is written... but there's still room after the end!"

At that moment, a ray of light erupted from Aleister's palms. His target was still the same, as was his obstacle: Galahad blocked the spell and returned his entire attention to the magus.

"So you are still up to something after all." Aleister frowned. "I can't quite overlook that, can I?"

"...You can't. But you can't hit him either." Galahad replied.

The black-and-white sword was too greatly damaged to fulfill its role as a weapon. However, that wasn't the usage Berserker had in mind: he didn't jump into battle to dedicate his last embers to the two Servants he couldn't hope to defeat. Instead, he held up the broken blade with both hands like a torch. It was his sword, yet at the same time it was also the pen with which he layed down his destiny. Even in this state, he could try squeezing every last drop of ink it still had.

Letters started dancing around his joint hands, emerging from both the white side and the black side.

Aleister didn't intend to let him do as he pleased however. Since it was unknown what Berserker was about to do, that factor of uncertainty had to be eliminated. As such, the magus multiplied his spells and cast a barrage of attacks at the Servant who should have died already.

Galahad did not feel the same way – though Berserker's tenacity might affect him as well, he knew that wasn't it. More than confidence in his own strength, he understood that neither he nor Aleister had any place in Berserker's wish. And so, he protected the dying Servant as best as he could. Aleister went for feints and aimed in his blind spots but the knight was unyielding in his defence. He estimated that it could be worse; compared to before, Aleister was undoubtedly more frugal with the amount of attacks he was sending out.

Nonetheless, the upper hand belonged to the one who only had to destroy.

Galahad knew he was slowly being outplayed.

"For you... there is still time...!"

The floating letters swirled wildly around the broken edge, like a swarm of moth around a flame. In their centre, they merged into a delicate construct still searching for its own shape. It was a paltry result for the sum of his efforts, but he poured the entirety of his stubborn yearning into it without sparing a single drop. That was his meaning.

A blast of mana from Aleister spread into a grapeshot and closed in on them. Galahad used both his shield and his sword to take them down before they got anywhere near Berserker. However, before that threat was completely dealt with, pillars of light erupted from the ground around them. The knight destroyed them as they appeared, only for more to emerge in their wake. He realized they were here to restrict his movements.

Though he understood, it was too late: when he turned around, a pillar appeared at Berserker's feet and impaled him.

Pieces of worn silver flew in every direction.

But on his face, the corner of his mouth was turned up – an intangible clump flew from his hands into the air.

Turning back the clock a little, one would find those who fought desperately without care for destiny or the Holy Grail.

Michael was fencing left and right to repel the invaders who stepped out of the mud in droves. His phone was back in his pocket; unfortunately, his call hadn't gotten through. Since they were in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by destruction, maybe that was to be expected. He had been forced to settle for a voice message but would that reach anyone before it was too late? A little help would have been greatly appreciated.

Well, he shouldn't have gotten his hopes up in the first place.

Right now they couldn't count on anyone but themselves.

In this case, 'themselves' was pretty much Michael alone. Just like Ewald had asked him, the middle-aged magus did his best to contain the advance of the lost souls eyeing them greedily. As expected, this was too much for him: the water blades he cast through his rapiere were enough to cut through the mud effigies, but keeping up with their numbers all by himself was hopeless. Not only were they fearless, they were as aggressive as a pack of famished beasts; Michael had been made to retreat several times from their assault. In doing so, he had lost roughly half of the terrain he and his companions could stand on. The pile of rubble keeping them above the tide was now a stretch of only a few metres.

"Dammit! Calm down, will you!" He shouted before swinging his rapiere for the umpteenth time. The water spell became a highly pressured stream that cut through several attackers just in time before he could be turned into paste. "Why don't you go attack someone who deserved it for once?!"

Although he said that, he realized these things could go crazier than that. With how many were emerging and how strongly they wanted to kill the humans in front of them, he could expect them to break into a full-scale rush any second. But instead, the souls of Babel seemed to be hesitating at times, as though distracted by something else. The reason had to be the hellish colossus standing behind them. From the looks of it, the Unborn was the one giving them a reason to attack. At the moment, it was fighting against something else in the sky.

Perhaps thanks to that, Michael was still breathing.

Not that he would really know anyway. As if he had the time to pay attention to what was going on above his head.

"Shit, this is ridiculous..." Sweat was rolling down his face but he couldn't close his eyes or wipe it off. It must have been less than five minutes yet it could have been hours; his retaliation was already getting slower. "Ewald, how long is this going to take?!"

"I'll tell you when it's time! Don't look away from them!" The freelancer's voice resounded from above.

"What do you think I'm doing!?"

Ewald was the one who had spurred this plan into action, if it could even be called a plan. Michael could keep them alive in the short run, but it ultimately fell in his hands. As soon as the idea had hatched in his mind, Ewald had made a run for the cliff. The latter was effectively trapping them; even if they managed to climb it with a catatonic Silvelune and a worn down Maria, the horde would catch up to them in no time.

On the other hand, what if a single, able person were to do it? It was only a stack of rubbles, so there were plenty of handholds to help Ewald make his way up. After reaching the top, he had begun searching for the most strategic spots holding this pile together. The mud soldiers surrounding them were extremely dangerous, yet conversely they were fragile enough. They were wraith with a weak anchoring, which meant the only thing the cornered humans needed was a way to get rid of them en masse.

And they had exactly that: to reiterate, the cliff behind them was just a giant stack with hundreds of pieces. They were stable at the moment but it wouldn't actually take much to change that. If he placed 'bombs' in certain spots, the whole pile would come crashing down as it had done before. He had already laid out some spells on his way up, with just enough power to dislodge some pieces. With a few more at the top, the entire cliff would collapse.

"Michael!" He called.

"Are you done yet?!"

"Almost there. I'm going to turn this wall into a rockslide!"

"Excuse me?!"

"That will slow them down for a moment, on top of clearing a path for us! There's only one problem..."

"We're also gonna get crushed!"

"There's no other solution for us. We'll have to find a solution!"

"Are you kidding me...?"

As horrified as Michael was by Ewald's plan, it was frustrating to see he had a point. They had arrived in Fuyuki City practically destitute. From the very start, they'd had few cards in their sleeves. Right now, they had nothing. His arm was screaming in pain from the constant struggle of keeping the lost souls at bay. Even that wasn't enough; he still had to step back and give up more ground to them. Only a bit more and they would literally have their back to the wall.

Ewald's idea would offer a solution to both of their problems, but there was no way to avoid being caught in the aftermath. Even if they had a shield of some sort, they would end up buried under the rubbles and drowned in mud regardless.

Yet still, Michael truly had nothing better to offer.

He really wished Silvelune would just call Berserker here to help them. What was the point of having a Servant if she would end up in a situation like that? At the moment, Silvelune Arbonnaux was lying motionless on the floor; maybe she wouldn't even hear him. Moreover, Michael didn't know what was happening in the rest of the ruins. It could be that the grand scheme of things completely eclipsed the predicament of the few. But that didn't change the fact they were going to die in only a few moments.

The thought of it gave Michael some vigor, although it came from desperation.

The mud soldiers massed on his left to make a breakthrough. They merged into one large figure, while the rest of the ranks were quickly filled. There wasn't much to break in the first place, this line of defence was held up by the efforts of a lone father. His one strength was that he couldn't afford to fail.

"You stay away from my family!" Michael gritted his teeth and took an adamant step forward. "I'm not losing any of them again!"

Another high-pressure water jet crashed into the advancing wave of assaillants, destroying their shapes and sending them back to the sea of curses they hailed from. Unfortunately, that was only true for the regular, smaller aggressors. The large living curse was barely inconvenienced, it kept on even with a chunk of its body blown away. When Michael noticed, all he could do was stare in disbelief. His wrist was numbed by the repeated effort; by the time he tried to swing his weapon, his movement was weaker than before.

The larger curse stepped onto the platform and bent forward.

Simply by charging in the straight line, it would swallow the three of them.

(What am I–)

Michael knew he couldn't cast a spell in time. However, if he threw himself at that thing, then maybe...

"Hmph!"

"...!"

Before he could do anything irreversible though, something heavy flew past him. It was a rather large stone – Michael thought Ewald had put his plan into action after all and his heart stopped for a second. But that fear was for nothing, because no other debris followed. The actual culprit was none other than a raven-haired girl: with her arms alone, Maria had lifted a slab from their platform and had hurled it full-force. The stonde crashed into large mass of mud splashing the deadly substance all around. Michael and the girls were almost burnt by the drops of mud, but everyone was safe in the end.

"Don't touch my dad..." The skin of Maria's arms lost its green hue. The next moment, she wavered and fell to her knees.

"Maria!" The middle-aged magus immediately forgot he had almost died.

Despite the feat she had accomplished, it was obvious that Maria was not in any state to be stone-throwing. She must have been healing herself while Michael fought, but even now she had trouble standing. The look on her face told how much pain this cost her; but it also told she had no intention to back down for so much.

"They're back at it again... tch!" He forced himself to lift his weapon. "Don't worry. It won't be for long. Papa... papa won't let you get hurt this time..."

While Michael was looking away, their enemies were not about to give them a single moment to breath. And so he went back to hacking away. He couldn't ignore how much weaker his attacks were getting. Still, he stood strong. Because he couldn't let them past him, and because he didn't want that girl to see her father running away.

But there was no end to it. Once the horde pressed onward with the intention of trampling over them, cutting through one row or two made no difference. He could swing his weapon left and right all he wanted, what did it matter if it only earned them a second? If he fought back more aggressively to make up for it, he would only be draining his last reserves faster. He was already pushing past his limit.

As if to make light of his efforts, large bulkings of mud were emerging in great number and marched together.

When he saw that, Michael was stung by the reality that it was hopeless. It was barely if he could feel his wrist at this point. He wouldn't get to lament for long: the living tide was rolling up and demanded that they perish. There wasn't even time to put Ewald's desperation plan into execution. All Michael was able to do was to move in front of Maria and spread his arms, as pointless as that was.

At that moment, there was a bang.

Not on the platform or in the ruins – far above the battlefield, the destruction of the heavenly vessel resounded loud and clear. More than the noise, the resulting shockwave was felt all around the crumbled Boleskine House. Without warning, Michael and Maria were thrown of balance and fell over. They weren't the only one to falter however: the advancing horde of curses was struck and blown apart. The baleful tide was also pushed back, forced to recede to an extent.

Michael raised his head laboriously, feeling a twinge of hope when he witnessed the result. But he also knew it wouldn't last. Now he felt pathetic, struggling to get back to his feet when he should be up and fighting. Both he and Maria were looking up, hoping for another miracle, or simply to understand what had saved them.

And yet, none of them saw the strange clump which descended toward the platform.

Except for one person.

Silvelune was holding onto reality by a thread.

She was vaguely aware that she was on the floor, but any sensation from the outside world was faint at best. Sounds both loud and soft blended together in a tormenting cacophony. Her half-closed eyes couldn't see the people around her desperately fighting for their lives. The heat emanating from the mire of curses didn't affect her cold body. If anything, the last solid feeling she was allowed was the pain and emptiness from the hole still carved in her chest. The latter wasn't bleeding yet there was truly something missing. From the moment she had lost her mean of survival, she had been rushing hopelessly forward.

Above all else, she was aware that this was the end.

Her drifting consciousness was grasping onto her last memories. Her failure had been expected. But still, such a bitter feeling. She shouldn't have walked down that path, she was too weak for it. She had known that all along; when had it not been rubbed in her face? She knew... but... she had wanted to take her fate into her own hands, for once. So much had been decided for from birth, so much she wished she could tear apart. Instead of quitting, she had followed that path with everything she had. But in doing so she had dragged many people into it.

Maybe that was what she deserved. That brought her no comfort though.

Such a treacherous path only for this pathetic end.

And yet...

In spite of that, Maria wanted to save her. She had found more fight within herself than Silvelune could muster. It was almost insulting, after everything that had happened between them. Would it have felt better to be abandoned after all? If her childhood friend had been less stubborn, Silvelune wouldn't have made it this far. She would have been spared some agony... or not.

It wouldn't have given her any closure. She had already hurt that girl either way, that couldn't be taken back. In the end, there truly was only one outcome that could have justified the lengths she had gone to.

But it was too late.

She felt her bond with Berserker fading. At this point, it was only the consecration of her defeat. Nonetheless, in the dimming cradle of her consciousness, this news added another layer of regret. He had gone on fighting of his own volition, until the end. They had the same fate to share. She wished she could have learned more about him, hear his struggle from him and not from a book.

Ah, but she didn't want to think anymore. If she looked back on her life, she would only be piling up regrets without end. It was better to sink into the darkness that were already latching onto her. Forget about everything, even her fear.

She tried.

However, a strange feeling visited her.

Although she was drifting far away, something was approaching. She could see it even with her eyes shut: a small, colorless patch of light. It was as flimsy as shimmer on the surface of water, a vaporous object that could be blown by the wind. Somehow, she understood it was meant for her.

Inside it, there was a message.

I cannot go on further.
Don't be saddened, I was not hoping to be saved.
I had a reason to fight, I ran after it as long as I could.
This time I leave without grief.

Yet, I'd still like to see that dream fulfilled.
Even if I stop here, you can keep on.
It might be futile but that future is still there.

Will you continue?
If so, I won't abandon either.
I still want to fight by your side, if only for a bit longer.
Though I have little to offer, I give it to you.

This is not salvation.

If you press on, you won't be able to close your eyes.

Do you understand what it means to accept?

"..."

Yes.

She understood all too well – if she held out her hand and grabbed it, there would be no more running away. If she returned among them and persisted to live in that world, she would have to face her own actions. The past couldn't be erased in pursuit of the future. If she tried to ignore it and run with all her strength, she would never escape it. She had already told herself that it was fine, that she could live with shame. Now though, she was handed the choice to give up and run away. Otherwise she would really have to carry that blame on her shoulders.

If she said it didn't terrify her, she would be closing her eyes again.

At the core, she was exhausted.

Wasn't it easier to pretend she had done enough?

...

...

...

"...hhh... ha..."

Unacceptable.

It was too late – after soldiering on all this time, she had gotten a taste for it.

She wanted to accept it. Her arms wouldn't move at all though, her whole body was heavier than lead. Nevertheless, she yearned for it. She wished with all her soul to get her hand on that flickering hope, imagining how it would feel to cling onto that rope despite everything. That must have been enough for Berserker's last will; in answer to her resolve, it floated down.

Without the need for her to say or do anything, it found its place – it fit into the dent in her chest and took a definite shape at last. Silvelune Arbonnaux was traversed by a jolt from her head to the tip of her toes. The rest of the world came flowing back to her all at once.

* Fate/Stay Night – Light and Darkness

When the echo of the Moonchild's death died off, the dark water was already gaining ground .

"And now what?"

Michael was panting heavily while staring nervously at the indefatigable horde spreading like a wine on a white napkin. In every direction, the living curses were merging into towering shapes. They were not holding anything back anymore; once these pounced on them, there was nothing Michael or anyone could do to prevent it. His arm was hanging limply by his side, the last of his strength was used to hold his rapiere. As the large figures emerged and stepped forward, his mind drew a blank. They didn't have much of a choice anymore.

Michael looked up and shouted:

"Ewald! Do it now! Send that heap of shit tumbling down!"

"But you still don't have a way to protect yourself." The freelance magus was crouching at the top of the cliff, seemingly about to climb down. "If you wait for me, I can set u–"

"There's no time!"

They were not going to get another occasion like this one. That strange shockwave just now had granted them a a short window, maybe thirty seconds at best. The delay between the moment the cliff was weakened and the moment it would spill over the horde couldn't be ignored in such a short span. They couldn't wait for Ewald to reach them and cast a bounded field.

Survive.

What they needed was a way to survive.

Michael looked left and right restlessly, ready to grasp at the tiniest straw if it gave them a ray of hope. But what did he expect to find on this isolated mound of junk? Just because they had a problem didn't mean the solution existed. He knew that but pushed the reality out of his mind. He kept looking around while the blood was draining from his face.

"Maria...!"

Silvelune, who had been inert for a while now, suddenly started moving. It was a gruelling process for her battered, feeble body, but she gave the effort anyway. With a heave, she managed to flip over and tried to lift herself up with trembling arms. That was as far as she could push it. But the look in her eyes told she had more in store: in this position, she could hold her hand toward the raven-haired girl.

"I'm not giving up...!"

Maria blinked once and set into motion. She was still partially on the ground after the explosion, but as soon as her friend reached out to her she sprang to her feet. Even if she was in better shape, she still wasn't far from collapsing herself. In spite of that, she made it to the sickly girl's side and she grabbed her hand. In the meantime, the tide was gaining on them and new figures emerged.

"Silvy! Are you–"

"We'll talk about it later. First, you have to take us out of here, Maria."

"B-but... I..." Maria stammered for a bit, but she quickly discarded her hesitation. "What do you have in mind?"

"You've done it before, inside the Tower of Babel. If there's somewhere you want to go, you can."

"That's..."

"I know, you're flat out of reserves." She clenched her fingers around Maria's hand. "But I'm not!"

Shining lines ran between their joint hands and over their forearms. Maria should be able to feel the magical energy Silvelune was giving her. Even if she didn't, her friend's strained expression was a dead giveaway: something as simple passing on mana would be an effort for her in any situation, let alone this. Silvelune bit her lip and held on through, even though veins were popping on her face.

Maria perfectly understood what she wanted. Although it didn't heal her body, she felt a second wind and didn't think twice - she let go of Silvelune's hand only to seize her friend by the waist. She wouldn't be really able to carry her but thankfully there wasn't much distance to cross.

"Dad!" Her father was not as quick on the uptake. Maria grabbed his arm and held it firmly. "We're doing this!"

The lost souls of Babel had formed ranks and they were no longer hesitation. A living wave of mud was charging toward them. Maria stood up with difficulty, aided by Michael. With her two passengers by her side, she focused – her legs turned crimson red.

"Firebird in summer, the sky is blue but the apple is golden!" She poured magical energy into her 'wings' and bent her knees to gather some strength. "Three mountains and one valley for a crown!"

A multitude of ravenous arms sprouted from the black mire to tear them apart. Impact was imminent – but she was ready. Magical energy was expelled from her legs and she jumped up; the three of them soared, leaving only a red trail behind them. In order to reach enough height, she had to give a second kick in the air, causing searing pain to run through her calves. The horde couldn't catch them and crashed into the cliff. They wouldn't give up for this little though, and without a second of pause they started scaling the wall of debris like a crawling swarm.

But they had forgotten to account for their missing target.

When Ewald saw the trio rising in the air like a rocket, he took it as his cue. Several dry noises followed activation of the seals he had put in place; some of the debris around the cliff received a nudge and were slightly dislodge. That alone greatly weakened the stability of the fragments stacked together. The impact of the horde into the wall had only accelerated the inevitable.

In an instant, the slow sliding turned into a stream of debris spilling out onto the flow of curses. The latters were unabatted by the ambush and pressed onward. But it was too late to fight against the landslide; once the first debris started rolling, more and more were dragged into their momentum, and soon it was this entire side of the hill which collapsed.

There was still a problem though: Maria couldn't fly. Her magecraft had only given her a strong burst, one that wouldn't last very long. If they fell down now, they would end up in the middle of that avalanche.

"Three feathers for three hopes!" She clenched her teeth and poured more mana into her legs. The moment she expelled it, she received a shock as though her bones were being stomped. "Ants and water whisper counsel, oak mask and olive hair for monsoon!"

She made a new leap, although her condition and the weight she had carry made it impossible to aim; the trio made a series of uncontrolled spin through the air. Maria had to hold onto her father and her friend with all she had to not let go. Despite how dangerous it was, she had to keep going. Silvelune was still doing her best to fuel their escape but she wouldn't last either. The next bound stirred every nerve in Maria's nerves, on top of shaking her stomach to the point of nausea.

It propelled them all the same, albeit at a poor trajectory which migitated the efficiency.

Beneath them, the landslide ran over the living curses, pushing back the tide even further while raising large clouds of dust.

"In the court of the Bird King, coats of blue do not riv– Agh!" The fifth time, the pain was so intense that her sight blurred.

Interrupted in her chant, Maria closed her eyes shut and bit the inside of her cheek. The aching in her legs was still too much to conquer, she couldn't regain her focus. At the very least though, her magecraft had partially activated, providing a small burst. It only carried them a bit further and sped their descent. With that momentum, avalanche or not they would smash into the ground. All they could do was watch; Maria had nearly exhausted the mana she had received, she could only plummet like a wounded bird.

And, when it was time to crash–

"Ei aus Erz!"

"...!"

"...!"

Someone was there to receive them. Ewald spread his arms wide and tried to catch his falling companions. He didn't need to brave the chaos of tumbling stones: thanks to the inclined angle and Maria's last effort, they had actually traveled far enough from the edge of the hill to escape being grinded into paste.

They had made it.

The landing was a different story – catching them would result in at least a few broken bones without the promise of breaking their fall. Ewald wasn't foolish enough to rely on his guts though: when the trio barrelled down from the sky in his direction, he simultaneously cast a spell. It was similar to the seal he had used to absorb the mansion's crash, so as to soften the blow when the two parties would collide. Even with that, he received a rough tackle and made a tedious fall backward amidst the rubbles.

But in the end...

"Well done!" Michael managed to stand up.

It was a success: the four humans had made it out of that deadly situation. Once the ruckus would settle down, the army of lost soul would no doubt come charging back, maybe even sooner. Now that the former Masters weren't stuck, this wasn't as much of an issue. They even had a head start, although the rough terrain meant they couldn't waste time.

All of them understood that – even so, Maria wasn't moving at all

"Hey, Maria..." Michael shook her shoulder softly. His daughter showed no response. "Hey, can you hear me?! Maria...!"

"She's breathing." Ewald reassured him before the middle-aged magus could have a panic attack. He checked on the raven-haired girl and nodded. "You can't ask more of her for now."

Even after losing consciousness, Maria was still clinging to Silvelune and Michael. They had to pry her hands off as gently as possible. It was impossible for her father not to be worry-stricken, but for now he had to accept that there was a greater priority. Ewald took hold of Silvelune and lifted her on his back; she wasn't responding much either, though her half-closed eyes showed some satisfaction. Michael did the same for Maria.

"Let's go while we have time."

"I know..." Michael gulped.

There weren't many options: they started walking toward the top of the hill. There was no telling what they would find there. But until then, they bolstened their spirit with the fact that all four of them had made it back alive.

In truth however, there were five people here.

No one noticed the phantom concealed behind his illusions, watching the exhausted survivors. In particular, he he showed a grim interest for the unconscious girl. An invisible hand was outstretched toward her neck. There was no one to stop him – just a little more and he could snuff that life. If he did, his brother would get a taste of what he had suffered through for all these years.

Then they would finally see who truly understood who.

It was that simple...

"..."

After a moment, he only looked down at his hand.

A silent sigh slipped from him.

In the end, he turned away and left them.

Berserker had crumbled down completely.

Galahad looked down at him even though his life was already faded. After Aleister's spell had successfuly struck the nameless Servant, his body had cracked and fallen apart like an egg shell. Chunks and flakes of his silver skin were strewn over the ground, yet without a trace of blood or any organic matter; his remains were hollow like a moult. Before long, even those fragments turned to golden particles and were washed away by the wind.

Only two Servants remained.

The knight turned toward his final opponent.

"An unpredictable one to the end." Aleister wore an expression of contentment. But the look in his eye was something fierce, fed by grit and scorn. "What did he accomplish with that? Nothing that could save him. Was it worth putting yourself in the way of danger, Saber?"

"..." Galahad silently squared up.

"Ah, yes." Aleister's pupils twisted into the shape of crosses, over a swirl of sinister willpower. "There's a more important question to solve first. Will it be you? Or me?"

The magus turned his open palm to the sky. The artificial moonlight was rekindled as pale blue lines ran across the firmament once again. The Temple's leftover had not entirely vanished yet, its power surged from the pillars standing all around Fuyuki to answer his call. Aleister received that light until he had become alike to the starlit night sky. And, when the flow of power came to an end, he threw a look of challenge at his opponent.

"The answer hasn't been decided yet. There is still a place for me on the winner's throne." A staff of crystal materialized in his hand. "Once I've dealt with you, I can start over. There are more than one human fit to become the heart of my new future. I have the means and the proof of my success."

"...I will obtain the Holy Grail." Galahad shook his head. "The future you seek cannot accept the present. You can chase after it if you want – it will only ever exist in your dreams."

This was it.

No matter what happened next, this would be a short battle. Both of them knew they couldn't afford it. Aleister's resources had suddenly become very limited, he must have been measuring them carefully for his next move. Galahad wasn't sure how much longer he could endure either. Their respective plan of action wouldn't change much from before; in other words, it would come down to who could gain the upper hand the fastest.

With the firm intent of being the one, the knight stepped forward.

"There's no need for that."

"...?"

"You..."

Before the two Servants could resume their final battle, a third voice joined them. Footsteps echoed around the hilltop, preceding the appearance of a lanky silhouette who made his way toward them. Although Aleister looked at him as a stranger, for Galahad it was a familiar face: while he had only seen him once, it was impossible to forget the presence of that man who seemed as thin as the air around him.

Inheim Argas stood between the Saber and the Caster.

He turned his back to Galahad without sparing a glance, even though his next words were aimed at him:

"Servant Saber – you can leave, this has nothing to do with you anymore. I will take care to finish things here."

The knight tilted his head, unable to understand the meaning of the illusionist's words and actions. It was so puzzling to him that he forgot to be surprised of Inheim's arrival in the first place. He wasn't the only one to feel that way either.

"Is this a jest?" Aleister let out a raspy chuckle. "I can tell who you are but this isn't your place. You're wasting my time."

"...He's right." Galahad gave Inheim a quizzical look. "This is my battle. I must win quickly, for your son's sake."

"Then what are you lingering here for?"

Inheim finally looked back at him over his shoulder. His expression was exactly the same as in Galahad's recollection, placid and undecipherable. Yet, the knight couldn't help but think something had changed.

"You already have what you want. Nothing keeps you here. You can go back to your Master. You had better hurry, in fact." The illusionist brought his attention back to Aleister, who had lost his smirk. "If all you care about is the Holy Grail, there's no need to look back. I also have a responsability for this battle."

"..."

Galahad still held some apprehension. That being said, he also felt that Inheim was perfectly serious. The thought of Leo pulled him away from the heat of strife and the desire to finish things once and for all with Aleister. The Holy Grail War... to him, this quest wasn't about eliminating all of his opponents. It was about securing the future and happiness of those he had met during this second life.

Eventually, the holy knight overcame his indecision and spun around.

As he ran in the opposite direction, he could tell Aleister tried to conjured spells to stop him, but none of them reached. Soon, the hilltop was behind him. Leo was somewhere in these silent ruins, but where? Galahad tried to contact him through their mental link, to no avail. An uneasiness was growing rapidly in his chest. Not because of Inheim's words but because of what he saw: a land ravaged by the flames and malice of this War. Even though the end was close by, this atmosphere wasn't one of triumph.

"...!"

Then, it happened.

A shiver in his soul. It wasn't anything physical and yet to Galahad it was as vivid as if he had been stabbed in the heart. As he brought his hand to his chest, his eyes widened.

It felt as though his surroundings were crumbling into oblivion.

"...Leo?"

Thank you for reading.

Somehow, this might be the chapter of Rongodamiant that demanded the most polishing during proofreading. Gotta discover new feelings before the end.

~Legends Storyteller