EDIT: Hands can do so much. They're probably one of the most important and complex parts in our body and if you ever take a moment to just think about it and look at your own hands you'll get what I'm saying.

Hey everyone! 'Nother chapter here to stay. My beloved beta is hyped for the supposed "tournament arc" so I hope all of you are too!

Random shoutout to SentinelSlice for reading from the beginning and leaving inspiring, wise reviews!

I had this chapter done since the release of the last one and while that might sound like I'm holding things back from you, I am. Chapter 18 is hitting like a tonne of bricks. I got a job and I've just been totally incapable of writing decently so it has been waiting in the slow cooker for now.

Just dealing with a lot of heavy plot, motivation and character development. Throwing ideas back and forth and they're kind of hit-or-miss in my mind.

That's all my problem. The only issue you'll have is that chapter 18 might be rather late, but I'll do my best!


Shirou awoke in absolute exhausted agony. Every inch of his body was sore and felt like it was a hair's breadth from falling off. To make things worse, he had slept on his arm wrong and the entire limb was numb. So numb that he couldn't even move it if he tried. Instead, he had to grip onto his wrist and drag it around manually. The entire sensation was strange as Shirou was normally a morning person. He had never felt this way before.

Sitting up in bed, he gave a large yawn and weakly rubbed the sand from his eyes with his working hand. Was this what mornings felt like for Rin? If they were, it was no wonder that she hated them.

"Aren't you a sight for sore eyes." Shirou looked ahead, hazily focusing on a man who stood just a few feet away against the desk in his room.

He was old, at least seventy years with wizened gray hair and a dense, but not long, beard. His face was wrinkled, but it held a strange sort of youth to it Shirou couldn't quite describe. It was like the youth had been sucked out of him artificially instead of ageing naturally.

"I don't like this nightmare," Shirou mumbled, closing his eyes and collapsing back on the bed. He would have a nap to skip past this part of his dream. He mentally asked his brain to give him endless flame and screaming dead, not creepy old men watching him sleep.

There was a vibrant chuckle which clearly cut through the darkness of his eyes. "As much as it might seem like one, you are not dreaming, Shirou Emiya."

All sense of fatigue left his body, eyes snapping open as he forced his body to stand entirely too fast.

He had intended to stand, activate his circuits and project enough blades to fill the room. Someone knowing his real name was an extreme risk, it meant they knew everyone he was connected to. Even though Shirou had tried to be menacing, what actually happened was entirely different.

He tried to stand, failed miserably and merely threw himself onto his knees on the floor. As for his circuits, no matter how many times he envisioned the hammer of a gun igniting primer, nothing activated at all. He was empty, entirely dry.

Another chuckle. "That got you moving, although it was rather pitiful compared to your usual attacks." So this man had been watching him for some time. Looking up at him, Shirou realized even tracing wasn't working anymore. Regardless of the amount of effort, he couldn't glean any more information than what his normal eyes could estimate.

"What do you want with me?" the boy asked with obvious pain and confusion.

"Interesting, asking why rather than who." A hand was raised to scratch wistfully at his beard. "I suppose the who hardly matters if you know the why. Comrades and enemies can be nameless, so long as the intention is perfectly clear." The old man gained a distant expression, head drifting toward the ceiling as if he were envisioning something.

"If you're here to kill me, just get it over with. You know my name, so you must know what I'm capable of. Just leave my family alone." Through the body-wide stabbing pain, he managed to stand shakily with the assistance of the bedside night table.

"Believe me, my understanding of what you can accomplish is greater than anyone else to have ever existed. I know of your ability, Tracing, and I know you have access to the reality marble U-," he paused suddenly as if the bubble of comprehension within his mind had just popped. In the same jarring sense, he resumed speaking. "I think it would be best if you don't know the name just yet. Moving on, you have also been given your father's crest and access to the mystery Time Alter. Yes, you are an incredible specimen and while the quantity of your magecraft is severely lacking, the quality is extraordinary. If you need me to say it out loud, I have no intentions of killing you."

Struggling to even stand, Shirou's anger grew to new heights as he was spoken about like a lab experiment. "Then why invade my room, why spend so much time building up information?"

"Why does a magus experiment? Why do humans wish to explore? Why does a child play with toys?" The old man chuckled, offering a paternal smile before resuming, "fascination. There are so many paths you have or could have taken, but this one stands out above them all."

"What are you talking about, what sort of paths?" Trying to put more weight on his leg, he collapsed with a groan. He wouldn't be able to fight off an aggressive mosquito let alone this wizened magus, whoever he was.

"Shirou, whether you know it or not, your life and destiny is like a sheet of glass. Every decision you make has unforeseen consequences that set in motion events outside of your control. Even now, the world has been altered by your choices and soon you will understand precisely how. You might have heard of this and likely remember it as the butterfly effect."

Finally getting himself seated on his own bed, Shirou huffed an exhausted breath. "One small action can alter the future in unforeseen ways like the snowball effect, what about it?"

"What some people don't know, is that certain individuals are more susceptible to the butterfly effect than others. Put simply, you are essentially the walls of a house. Without you to keep things together, everything collapses. Everything depends on your actions, your design." There was a period of silence as Shirou tried to adjust himself comfortably. Without any strength to do so, it was an arduous process.

"What's the reason for telling me all of this?"

The old man shrugged. "I was bored, decided I should at least let you know that you're an outlier in a near infinite number of identical yous." As Shirou was about to point out how ridiculous that sounded, he remembered something and made a noise to express as such. "I also wanted to fix your condition before it gets any worse."

The man abruptly moved forward, grabbing onto Shirou's shoulders with surprising force. "Hey, what do you think you're doing!" he shouted, cries muffled as his face was thrust into the pillow on his bed.

Shirou slept half naked, wearing loose pyjama bottoms to at least preserve his modesty. At the Clock Tower, he had also taken to wearing his scarf when he slept. That way, if anyone happened to sneak in as this old man had, his identity would still be preserved. With his bare back exposed, the wizard ran sharp, animalistic nails across his skin, somehow activating his circuits without Shirou's involvement. "When your father's crest was implanted into your body, the process wasn't fully completed. Add to that, the fact that you simply cannot transfer circuitry in this manner through normal means, and you get a body-wide circuitry infection. Luckily for you, Avalon has been keeping much of the damage to a minimum." It felt as if the man was jamming knives in his back and it took all of Shirou's willpower not to make a noise as he spoke. "To try and protect you better, it's shut off the connection between your body and some of your circuitry, trying to quarantine the virus as it were."

He knew about Saber's sheath as well? Just how much knowledge did this man have? Shirou began to struggle, but his feeble muscles and the man's raw strength kept him in place. Deciding it was best to let the insane man do what he had to, Shirou held silent, waiting for the end. "You might have noticed a sense of lingering weakness whenever you utilized your reinforcement ability on your own body; each time you utilized mana from your half-healed, corrupted circuitry, you forced a virus into what had previously been healthy cells." He paused, and the strange sound of crackling confused Shirou more. "After this, you should be back to peak condition."

Ten minutes of the old geezer prodding, scratching and slicing into his back later, he finished the task and the sense of fatigue gradually hinted at fading. Turning his head to the side, Shirou gave a befuddled look. "Who are you?"

Looking at his wrist for a watch that didn't exist, the old man smirked. "It only took you fifteen minutes to ask for the name of someone who invaded your bedroom offering infinite wisdom." The old man took a step back so that he could bow. "Kischur Zelretch Schweinorg, your new advisor for all things interdimensional." Adding to the dramatic flair, the old man rose and threw out his arms, appearing quite pleased with himself.

When Shirou only offered a blank stare, he deflated significantly. "You have no idea who I am, do you?"

He shook his head.

Rather than sadness or disappointment, anger raced across his features. "This damned generation, don't any of you read books or research True Magic anymore? Zelretch really doesn't ring any bells? What about The Kaleidoscope, the Old Man of Jewels or the fourth dead apostle ancestor?"

Shirou furrowed his brow. "The only thing that sounds familiar is the apostle ancestor part, sorry." He remembered Rin briefly mentioning them once. From what little he could remember, the dead apostle ancestors were a numbered group of vampires and other entities ranked from one to twenty-seven. It could be said that lower numbered apostles were stronger, however, that wasn't always the case. The number rating was a blend of both the ancestor's power and their overall threat to humanity. If this Zelretch was the fourth, and since Shirou was still alive, he must have been incredibly powerful.

With slightly more energy than he had before, he sat upright and raised one hand to the side of his head as a dizzying sensation washed over him. The old man sighed, eventually returning to his confident self. "With your history, I can understand where the disinterest regarding the magus world arises, but please at least pretend to be respectful." Shirou nodded, sitting at attention as he waited for the man to speak. "I suppose now would be the time to say something inspirational, or say that I'm taking you on as my apprentice - but nothing comes to mind and I'm certainly not doing the latter." It seemed as if that comment was funny, as the man laughed. "I only wish to observe you, not break you."

Shirou raised one finger and opened his mouth to question what sort of teacher broke their pupils, but the old man continued before he could get a word in edgewise. "Like you could make sense of even my most basic teachings anyway!" From deep within his stomach, a chortling laugh barked from his lips, bending him over partly as his own joke sent him into rancorous laughter.

Sitting on the bed as he was laughed at, Shirou nearly wished he never met the man in the first place. After waiting a few seconds for his laughter to die down, Shirou asked his only question. "Is that all you came to say?"

The hysterical laughter gradually tapered off and after falling in volume, the man stopped laughing abruptly. It was strange to see how someone could go from one emotion to the other so seamlessly. "Almost, although this will be very brief. I cannot say much to influence your path, but beware the false King of Knights."

As fast as Shirou could blink, the space creating Zelretch's body distorted and shifted inward, collapsing into absolute nothing. Trying to rationalize what he just saw, he decided it wasn't worth the mental effort. "Beware the false King of Knights," he repeated, scowling to himself. Would he summon a fake version of Saber in the Fifth Grail War? It was a very open-ended warning, but that had likely been the intention.

Laying back on his bed to ease his sore body, he briefly went over what would need to be accomplished. Besides fighting at the end of the first-year qualifiers, his day was wide open, something he was immensely thankful for. Trying to fight in his current condition simply wouldn't end well.

For the first time in his life, Shirou decided to sleep in and recover. Closing his eyes, he tried to empty his mind and let his mind relax.

"Sweet dreams."

It was the old man's voice, almost like he had whispered the words straight into his ear. Immediately Shirou's eyes snapped open and he lifted his head to survey the area. Only, he couldn't find a single indication that anyone had been within his room again. A trace of the air around him didn't even reveal changes to the ambient air temperature. If the old man had appeared and vanished before Shirou could see him, his body heat would have raised the temperature in the area partly.

With his heart rate up to a frightened level again, it would take a little longer to go back to sleep, but he could try to discern what the words had meant before he slipped off at least.

Sweet dreams. Was it a simple suggestion, or a foreboding message?

… … …

… … ..

"Without Shirou here I have no one else to go with!" Taiga dramatically fell to her knees, getting down to Kiritsugu's level before wrapping both arms around his one. "Going alone is so weird so I have to go with someone!"

While being shaken, Kiritsugu tried to keep the coffee cup in one hand stable as he raised it to his lips. "Fuyuki has had a spring festival for the past nine years and now you want to go?" He shook his head, cautiously taking one sip of his beverage. "I don't buy it for a second, this is a plan of some sort."

"I promise it's not, just come with me, pretty please?" Illya merely watched from the other side of the table, picking away at her breakfast with waking apathy. She had only woken up minutes ago and she had barely wiped her eyes clear. Her father was giving her a rather questioning glare from across the table and for the life of her, she couldn't determine why. Did he want her to come up with a way for him to get out of this situation?

"Why don't you go with Missy?" he proposed, still offering that peculiar glare.

"Mrs. Fujimura has already asked and I have regretfully declined," the girl in question commented. She settled herself down at one end of the table, turning to watch Illya eat the breakfast she made especially for her. "I have an appointment with a psychologist later today, so I won't be able to attend."

Kiritsugu nearly scowled, taking another sip. "I have one condition," he began, lighting Taiga's eyes with childish hope. "Illya has to come with us." Illya herself nearly choked on the piece of egg in her mouth, but Taiga, unfortunately, took that as excited acceptance.

… … …

Secretly, she had been hoping he would bring her along. It had been so long since they had done anything together that she had almost forgotten how much she enjoyed it.

While she might have played her part as the innocent and naive daughter, she understood their family's situation as well as Shirou. They were essentially fugitives and Kiritsugu couldn't go out in public because he was worried that he would be discovered by the Mage's Association. Or worse, Old Man Acht.

While she was sad that they couldn't have fun all across Fuyuki, Illya understood her father's reasoning. But now, their trail had gone cold and the Association was looking for them in an entirely different country. There was either no risk, or Kiritsugu had decided to take what little risk there was. Illya was able to claim her rightful place back on her father's shoulders. After all this time, she had almost forgotten what it felt like to be this high up. With Shirou being so tall, maybe it was time to move this responsibility to him, though she would have to find a way to convince him into it.

They weren't even past the entrance and she was already overjoyed. Beyond the ticket booth sat a handful of rides which each held happily screaming people, though the rides weren't what interested her. Illya had heard of the Fuyuki spring fair on multiple occasions from her friends at school. Everyone agreed that the fair's main attraction was in the various game stands.

Unlike other fairs, the prices in these stands were reputed to be low and the prizes were abnormally high in value. It was unilaterally known as the "perfect place for a date", or at least, that was what the boys in her class had called it anyhow.

Speaking of dating, Taiga was visibly upset with her presence. She had likely wanted this to be a private event between her and Kiritsugu but Illya just so happened to be an obstacle to her objective. Regardless, the teacher still held a bright smile.

As if it were some special occasion, she had put on a simple gray skirt and white polo. The outfit made her look a couple of years younger and with her hair in her trademark ponytail, the twenty-two-year-old hardly looked older than eighteen.

As long as Illya had known her, Taiga had only changed her hair once and that was years ago. She had cut her hair short to sit just around her neck but after Kiritsugu expressed a comment which was decidedly less than favourable, she had grown it out again to maintain a ponytail.

Even her father had dressed for the occasion, reaching far back in his wardrobe to withdraw a suit he had purchased long ago for an unknown occasion. The only difference between it and the old suit she remembered him wearing back in Germany, was that this one lacked a tie and the scent of cigarette smoke. Seeing as how her father had always loosened the tie anyway, it seemed natural that he would choose to discard it entirely.

Illya suddenly found herself being lifted from her father's shoulders, being deposited on the ground with a short explanation that he had to pay for their tickets. As Kiritsugu moved toward the booth, Taiga sidled up beside her and crouched down to her level. "Illya, I am willing to give you fifteen hundred yen for you to run off and leave your father and I alone."

There was a brief moment of confusion, but Illya suddenly realized her intention and a malevolent smile reflexively spread across her face. "Make it eight thousand and I'll consider it."

The bewildered rage that flashed across Taiga's face sent such sadistic joy through the homunculus, and she couldn't help but giggle at the display. "You-I can't believe you're extorting me like this!" the teacher hissed, glaring with resentment.

"You have plenty of money, Ms. Fujimura. Sparing eight thousand yen to get an afternoon alone with Daddy really isn't that much to ask for, is it?" Illya put on the most innocent face she could, enjoying herself immensely as the teacher reached into her skirt pocket to withdraw eight bills. Smiling wider, Illya tilted her head. "Did I say eight thousand? I actually meant twelve."

Blood rushed to her face in anger, serving only to the delight of Illya. The teacher spared a glance back toward Kiritsugu, realizing that she was running out of time. Diligently, the woman counted out four more bills and nearly shoved them into Illya's face. With deliberate slowness, the homunculus gently reached up to grip the bills between two fingers. Just as Ilya had timed, Kiritsugu turned from the booth and began walking toward them. Taiga was too enraged to notice, and his voice from behind drained all the colour that had flooded her face. "Why are you giving Illya money?"

The woman's eyes opened wide and she slowly turned to face him, barely stumbling out a single syllable before Illya took over. "Fuji-nee wanted to give me a little money for the fair. I wanted to say no but she really insisted," the girl explained in the cutest voice she could manage.

Judging by the way he seemed to hesitate, he had caught onto her plan. Even so, he merely smiled and extended a hand to offer them both tickets. "It's a good thing you have such a nice sister. Although, aren't you forgetting your manners?"

Carefully plucking the notes from her shocked fingers, Illya wrapped her arms around Taiga's neck while exclaiming her thanks. Being so close to her ear Illya whispered, "You snooze, you lose."

… … …

Standing in front of a large stand, Illya stared in awe at the man-sized stuffed toys hanging from the roof. "Step right up and shoot some ducks! Take down thirty and win the mega prize!"

Turning on her heel, she looked toward her father and stared up at him with childish hope. If there was anyone who could win a shooting competition, it was her father. "Come on Daddy, win me the mega prize please?" she whined, moving to grab him by the cuff. With little resistance, he followed her toward the edge of the stall.

"For just three hundred yen you can win a magnificent prize for your beautiful little daughter," the operator regaled, spreading his arms wide in reference to the myriad number of toys above him. Unlike how she would have expected, the man wore rather plain, basic clothing, though his voice was anything but. Looking between the man and Illya herself, Kiritsugu could only sigh in a sort of pleased defeat. Reaching into his suit, he withdrew the money and placed it on the table.

Sat on the very same tabletop were three rifle-like weapons, fed by a thick line full of small plastic balls. At the end of the stand, fifteen feet away, five sets of rails ran horizontally, indicating where the ducks he would need to shoot would come from. "Am I allowed to take a practice shot?"

The organizer hummed, shrugging impassively after a moment of thought. "For you and your pretty girl, I'll let you fire one shot at the wall."

Picking the weapon up, Kiritsugu looked it over carefully before placing it within his shoulder and peering down the iron sights toward the end of the stand. The entire back wall was designed to imitate a slough, with sprouts of grass and cattails surrounding a large lake in the center. By following the end of the barrel, Illya would guess that his target would have been a large cattail. Kiritsugu's finger moved from the side of the weapon to gently squeeze the trigger, firing a single orange-coloured plastic ball down range. She was surprised to see the plastic pellet go flying off toward the center rail, making a loud ping as it ricocheted off the metal.

Her father made a small hum, looking the weapon over and adjusting his stance. "Whenever you're ready," he mumbled toward the operator, who rather smugly pushed a button to activate the game.

Following a clunk of an engaging motor, the clatter of steel plates and chains subtly filled the air. Dead center at the top of the back wall, a counter lit up with two zeroes in bright red. Illya watched both her father and the end of the range with extreme interest. All at once, yellow ducks and white swans began streaming from the left and right, pouring into sight at a rate that was overwhelming for her. The speed of the chain was way too fast to be considered fair, but it didn't seem to bother her father any. Like a machine, Kiritsugu retained his composure and rapidly began picking off each duck with marksman-like precision. Ilya watched the number above climb steadily as plastic pellets pinged off the thin metal ducks. Not a single swan was hit, and as the number struck thirty, a buzzer indicated that the end had been reached.

The operator had his eyes locked on the far end of the stand, confusion, shock and fear emblazoned on his features simultaneously. "You uh, you actually managed to-"

"Which toy did you want, sweetheart?" Kiritsugu asked, looking down at his daughter with a wide smile.

Illya herself was beaming. Hopping in place, she pointed toward a stuffed lion that was almost taller than she was. Instead of waiting for the game operator to collect his jaw from the floor, Kiritsugu reached hefted her up by the waist so that she could grab the toy with both arms. Back on the ground with her victory claimed, she stuck her tongue out at the attendant.

Hugging her new toy tight, she also slipped a glance in Taiga's direction, winking before turning back to her father. "I'm going to go see the rides, see you in a few hours!" Before he could even answer, she had turned on her heels and had taken off deeper into the fair with the oversized plush within her grasp.

Illya giggled to herself as she darted around couples and random people enjoying themselves. There was no way her father would catch her and make such a big scene.

She knew exactly what Taiga had planned, and while she normally threw wrenches into everyone's plans for a laugh, Taiga had been trying so desperately for the last eight years to weasel her way under Kiritsugu's guard. After all that time and effort, Illya felt that the teacher deserved a break - however slight.

… … …

… … …

Waking up for the second time, Shirou felt infinitely better. There was honestly no comparison between his condition then and now. Sitting up and stretching, the sore achiness of his body was entirely absent. As a test, he activated his circuits with his mental imagery, finding everything to be in perfect working order. Testing himself further, he ran a visual trace on the objects in his room.

A smile came to his lips beneath the scarf as all of his abilities checked out. Tracing, projection and reinforcement were all in tune and working with greater efficiency than he was used to. He then remembered his use of time alter in the tournament and suddenly became concerned with when the corrective effect would strike. Considering the thought, he determined that it had likely taken place while he was sleeping. Since there was no pain or other sensation associated with the effect, time had likely just flown by without him noticing. That might have been another contributing factor for how tired he had felt earlier as well.

Standing from his bed, he put on some simple, fresh clothing and traced on his "Robin Hood" outfit. He paused one last time to give a quick glance to the clock beside his bed, taking note that it was a quarter past eleven.

If he had to guess, Lectra and Luvia would be waiting for him in the common area to have lunch. Speaking of lunch, he was spending an exorbitant amount of his money on pre-made food that was sub-par in quality. Shirou had made a decent amount working at the Copenhagen, but if he continued this spree, he would need to cut into his father's money.

After a complaint he made one day, Lectra had commented on the matter and suggestion something intriguing; following a brief investigation, however, he found her idea impossible. She had asked why he didn't reinforce food to taste better or provide more nutrition. He initially dismissed the comment but after testing it out himself, he could say that it was a venture in futility.

For one, reinforcement only amplified a concept. Rather than provide a concept like alteration, reinforcement utilized mana to develop something further. In the case of his swords, it was usually durability or sharpness. That was accomplished by filling the porous space with mana directed toward the supposed concept. Unfortunately, in the case of a sandwich or food in general, there wasn't a "tastiness" concept for him to reinforce.

And while he could reinforce the nutritional quality of the sandwich to make it more filling, that nutritional value would return to inedible mana when the sandwich was digested. So while it would make him feel full, repeated use would actually lead him to starvation. It all meant that dealing with overpriced, unsatisfying food was in his future.

Once he was dressed and ready for the day, Shirou stepped out and re-locked the door behind himself. With the number of people able to easily access his room on a whim, it was more of a formality than anything.

If he happened to miss anything important while he overslept, Octavia would let him know so she would be his first stop before hitting the common lunch room. Yawning as he approached her desk, he passed a diminutive looking magus with glasses. Upon spotting Shirou, they cautiously moved to set their back up against the wall. Shirou briefly turned his head back while walking, curious as to what brought on such a reaction. That might have been a mistake because the magus nearly jumped in place, jogging in the opposite direction with some urgency.

Furrowing his brow as his curiosity shifted to confusion, Shirou eventually decided not to worry about it. After all, magi were a convoluted sort with their own obscure rules and obligations.

Reaching Octavia's desk, he gently tapped two fingers on top to make a hollow knocking noise. "Good morning, Octavia. Was anything new announced while I was sleeping in?"

The woman spun around in her chair, giving him a glare that lacked her usual plastic smile. While not the most frightening sight he had ever witnessed, it certainly ranked within the top five. "It's not nice to take things without asking you know," she menaced, narrowing her eyes defensively.

Looking away as embarrassment hit him full force, he tried to line up words that would placate her. He eventually landed on a defeated comment along the lines of, "So you were watching the fights too."

"I wasn't initially, but after hearing tales of a nameless magus who had defeated the Vernier team with their own mystic codes I had attended to see such a person with my own eyes." She leaned forward, clasping her hands and propping her elbows on the table to act as a resting place for her chin. "Moving forward, are you going to apologize to me, or feign ignorance?"

Shirou paused to roll one shoulder, buying him that precious extra second to think. "They were just so captivating when I first arrived that I entirely forgot to ask for permission. I also needed to provide Lectra with a little help and she doesn't know how to use a sword so..." he trailed on, staring into Octavia's blank eyes.

Just when he thought she might lunge for his throat, her face split into the familiar forced smile he was used to. "I'm just messing with you, I thought it was rather endearing that you valued my little trinkets so much to bring them into battle with you." She paused, leaning back into her chair which creaked heavily. "Besides, now I know what their combined attack looks like."

"It was a good experience for us all then," he surmised, clearing his throat. In a much quieter, more docile tone he asked once again, "Did I miss anything?"

"Nothing too important, they announced the schedule for the semifinals tonight, betting has opened up for teams and Lectra has been released on probation from the medical wing." Octavia's eyes flickered from his to someone behind him, smile growing a little wider in what he could only guess was surprise. "My, I haven't seen you around in quite some time."

He was in the midst of comprehending what she had just said when his attention was stripped away. Shirou only had to get the newcomer in his peripherals to know exactly who they were. Striding up to the counter with the authority and confidence of an ox, they moved right beside him and placed a long brown package on the counter with a thud. "I honestly think I have the worst luck of all the enforcers. Why can't I get contracts to hunt designates or take on magi escort missions like the others?"

"It might be because of your temperament, Ms. Fraga. The last time you were assigned to escort a magus, you broke your charge's nose because they were, quote, putting themselves in danger." Lifting both hands, the receptionist went so far as to make air quotes and offer a condescending smile.

The Irish woman scowled deeper. She looked just as Shirou remembered, however, there was something new hanging off each ear. Two ovaloid earrings in gleaming, polished silver. The visual trace he received from them absolutely baffled Shirou: they were approaching two thousand years old! "They were, and I stand by my decision. Is the Second Lord El-Melloi in today?" Noticing that she was being gawked at, Bazett's eyes flickered to the side before her head followed suit. "What are you looking at, kid?" The edges of her lips flickered upward. "First time seeing an enforcer in the flesh?"

Shirou clenched his jaw, making sure his mouth wasn't agape without his knowledge. He would have to inquire about her newfound, ancient earrings later, for now, he had to act like they were strangers. "If that is what you are, it must be."

Bazett narrowed her eyes, smile fading from her lips immediately. "You magi are all the same, ignorant to the people putting in the real work to uphold your precious Clock Tower." With little more than a "tsk" and a wave of the hand, she turned her attention to Octavia, who was observing with bated breath.

Holding his tongue, for now, he narrowed his eyes and leaned against the counter. At the very least, he knew she was back and her time lying low was over. "From what I know, Lord El-Melloi the Second is within his office and will be until the first-year qualifiers begin."

Bazett's eyebrow twitched at the mention of the qualifiers. "What time would that be?"

"The semi-finals begin around four o'clock." The smile on Octavia's face grew a few inches wider while she settled into a more comfortable viewing position for the show she was about to start. "Our black-clad friend here is one of the competitors in fact. From what I hear, his odds are quite high even while lacking his partner."

Bazett slipped a sideways glance his direction. "If this is one of the best this year has to offer, the quality of magi is really slipping." Hefting the package from the counter, the woman walked away from the counter with some haste. "Can't stay to play your games, Octavia. Have to get this thing delivered ASAP or else my pay gets cut." With a brief wave of the hand holding the parcel, the Irish woman casually strode deeper into the building.

"Just as boring as usual," Octavia called after her, refocusing her attention on Shirou. She opened her mouth, undoubtedly to spout something sly, but he was too quick to strike.

"Magi bet on the Magus Tournament?"

… … …

Octavia spilled a decent amount of information. Evidently, anybody with money who wasn't a competitor could place bets on which team would win the first-year qualifiers. In the real Magus Tournament, these bets were placed on each fight, although with stricter rules to curtail the throwing and potential conflicts of interest.

Beyond Magus Tournament betting, Octavia had told him a pile of other information, such as Lectra being released from the medical wing on probation. She wasn't allowed to leave the Clock Tower, use magecraft or come into contact with a mystic code until she was cleared.

He had also asked for an explanation on the mystic code part of her probation, specifically what they were in the first place. Shirou was hardly surprised to learn that he had been mislabeling an entire set of items for most of his life. From what Octavia told him, mystic codes were a type of support weapon wielded by magi with the main goal of amplifying magecraft or storing magecraft in some fashion.

This was different from conceptual weapons, as those types of weapons offered more than simple physical interference. They operate or affect an individual by enacting a concept. This was how Kiritsugu's Origin Rounds worked, enacting the old man's origin as a concept alongside the physical attack. They are often much more powerful than simple mystic codes only due to their ability to strike on multiple levels. This simple definition meant that much of Shirou's armoury held mostly mystic codes and that he only had three conceptual weapons: Origin Rounds, Avalon and the anti-magic crossbow bolts from Kiritsugu's physical armoury in Fuyuki. While it had been disheartening to hear, he at least had a better understanding of how to classify the weapons he stumbled upon.

Shirou had been so caught up in unpacking all the information he gathered, that he hadn't noticed the people around him as he moved through the Clock Tower. Walking through the halls was an entirely different experience than it had been yesterday. Rather than giving him strange but fleeting glances, people were either outright staring at him or trying to avoid him. The faces on those staring at him ranged from fear to intrigue to outright contempt. There was such a mixed reaction to him that he hardly knew what to expect with each person he walked past.

Then, as if she had appeared from the wall, the voice of Reines Archisorte almost made him leap out of his skin. "I knew I would find you if I followed the whispers long enough." Turning in mid-startle, he spotted a rather monotonous face that seemed positively disinterested.

"If you plan on scaring me every time you want to talk, I'm going to project a bell around your ankles." Her eyes were an equal mix of green and red, but as he took a step to provide some extra distance, green rapidly seemed to dominate.

"Would that make me your pet?" she asked with deadly innocence.

He gulped, taking another step back to watch her eyes become entirely green. This woman had the power to destroy him if she so desired. Perhaps not physically, but politically and socially at the very least. "I wouldn't call it that at all. It would just make it so I know when you're around."

"I see, well, in that case, I wouldn't mind." The edges of her lips twitched in a smile as she rested both hands over her front in a gesture that reminded him of Sakura. Unknown to her, a rather sizeable traffic jam had begun in the hall. Since nobody wanted to dare pass too close to Reines, they had stopped a few meters away, almost as if they had struck an invisible wall.

It was confirmation that, even without being an official Lord, she was still as powerful as one in a political sense. "If you're interested, I'm on my way to have lunch with Lectra and Luvia."

"An invitation to lunch? I have nothing in my schedule and I had intended to follow you regardless, so why not." The diminutive girl shrugged her frail shoulders, moving her arms to clasp both hands behind her back. "Lead, and I shall follow."

… … …

Shirou was suddenly yanked forward toward Luvia's face by the collar. Her face shifted from a pleasant introductory smile to absolute annoyed anger. "Why the hell is the head of the Archisorte family following you around?"

"Yeah, and why does she keep looking at you the same way Luvia does when your back is turned?" Lectra added innocently, getting a wild glance from the woman in blue.

To say having a face so close to his was uncomfortable would be an understatement. Tugging back to make some distance, he found Luvia's grip resolute. "Well," he began, trying to determine where he should start, "after the fight, I went back to my dorm and found her in my bed last night-"

Both girls suddenly looked as if they had been slapped, visibly recoiling from his suggestion. The two simultaneously shouted their surprise, and Luvia slammed both palms into his chest. Being shoved back with such force nearly toppled him over, but he barely managed to remain on his feet. For a girl who looked so thin and refined, she packed a punch when she wanted.

"What's the problem with the two of you?" While people had already been looking their direction due to Reines, the girls' outburst had sent everyone leering their way, "you're making a scene."

Reines herself on the other hand merely giggled and tugged back on Shirou's cape. Already off-balance from, Luvia, he stumbled a few steps further. "I had no idea you were such a savant with women, Blade. I suppose it only adds to your quality."

"Sa-huh? Look, all three of you," he pointed between the women around him, having to turn sideways to accomplish the fact. "I don't know if this is the best place to be discussing matters like this." People began whispering amongst themselves and motioning toward them now. If he didn't control how much attention they were gathering, people would start to get brave and a crowd would form. "If you would like somewhere more private, I may have a solution," Reines suggested, nodding her head to the left.

Shirou turned back to give her a look. He wanted to decline, say that it was too much to ask for but he knew that it was a flimsy excuse which wouldn't be enough to persuade the commanding Archisortie. Deciding it wasn't worth the effort to argue, he dropped his head and extended one arm in exasperation. "Fine, let's see what you've got."

… … …

"Just another benefit of being part of an influential magus family," the short blonde passed off, offering a short nod to her metallic maid. At the signal, the automaton turned to face the counter behind it. Littered across the top were beverages both alcoholic and soft as well as multiple appliances to craft whatever drink one desired. In this case, the maid turned on an electric kettle and prepared plates and teacups.

It had been a decent walk, but Reines hadn't lied about having a private room. It was situated beneath the lunch room within the first underground floor, so the journey wasn't too far. They only had to make the descent down a decrepit looking stairway of antiquated stone. Lectra had almost rolled down the staircase because she thought her hair had caught a spider web.

The private room they were in was bigger than he had expected. Longer than it was wide, the studio room featured everything to make living comfortable, with extra accommodations to seat a dozen people.

A surprisingly fleshed out kitchen sat to the left, complete with a bar and stools for seating. Next was a wall-set countertop with simplistic pot lights where the metal maid operated. Further down was a six-seater table that was pushed up against the wall. An integrated wall-closet followed, just before the bedroom area. As he had expected from a girl who dressed as extravagantly as Reines, the bed was lavish with throw pillows and soft quilting.

On the right side of the room, total chaos dominated. Two steps led into a sunken living room that held an ungodly large sectional, likely worth more than Bazett's home. It faced a large bookshelf set into the wall with a coffee table set up between. Further down the wall was a small desk with heavily used candles for lighting. The chaos in this area stemmed from the ungodly amount of books, papers and writing utensils strewn about in every direction. Four of the sectional's eleven seats held a person's weight in books and spare paper. As for the desk, the only reason he knew it was a desk was that he could see beyond the mounds of paper and piles of various items due to his tracing ability.

Based on how the room seemed to be entirely bare besides these two areas, the metallic maid likely handled the cleaning and it had been instructed not to touch the study material.

"I wish my place looked as fancy as this," Lectra mumbled, looking around the room with stars in her eyes.

"Tsk, and I thought the decor to be rather lacking. Far from what I expected if I were being honest." Luvia lifted her nose and turned her head to the side to adorn the most pompous stance Shirou had ever seen her make.

Throwing a strange look her way, Shirou began a reprimanding, "you can't be serious. Ms. Archisortie-"

"Call me Rei, Blade," came a brief interjection. There was an odd tone in her voice that scared him for a reason he couldn't quite place.

Pausing to throw the platinum blonde an uncertain look, he returned to his initial thought after receiving a short nod. "Rei kindly offered us a room so that we wouldn't be mauled by the other magi, the least you could do is thank her."

Luvia didn't respond with words, merely scoffing pretentiously as she moved with Lectra toward the bar stools. He wanted to ask what her problem was but just as he opened his mouth, the metal maid thrust tea into his hands emotionlessly. He wasn't even seated, was he expected to drink it standing?

At least Lectra wasn't being inconsiderate. Trying to take in the sights and simultaneously ignore Luvia, she offered a conversation starter. "So how did you meet Blade?"

Reines gingerly hopped up to seat herself on the countertop in the kitchen, facing the barstools and calmly accepting the cup of tea offered by her automaton. "I had initially heard of him through my brother and after seeing him fight in the qualifiers yesterday, I paid a visit to his bedroom."

Lectra, who had been taking a tentative sip of her steaming tea accidentally sucked in more than intended, scalding her mouth as she awkwardly sputtered and made noises of pain. Shirou lowered his head, realizing his fears were, in fact, reality. He was a toy in yet another girl's game, exactly what he wanted.

… … …

Shirou learned that he was to show up first in the semi-final round tonight from Octavia. According to her, his display last night had resonated with the officials enough to make him their star attraction. While the amount of fame was concerning, he could do little about it now besides throw his battle and leave. Though, if he did that he might find himself receiving even more negative attention.

Picking at the cuff of his outfit again, Shirou stretched to ensure that the suit was fitting as it should. "Why don't you just make your entire outfit like usual before heading out there?" Lectra asked, watching him from the couch with a disappointed gaze.

Returning the eye contact as he absently picked at his skin-tight suit, he explained his reasoning. "While it might not seem like it, projecting all of those clothes takes a considerable amount of mana and I'd like to preserve it if I could."

She paused, trying to find the logic in his statement. "So you would rather suffer heavy injuries to your body than spend a little extra effort making armour for your protection."

He chuckled, faced forward and rolled his shoulders to make sure his arms weren't restricted one last time. "When you put it like that, it sounds pretty stupid," she nodded, "but when have I ever done anything smart?"

"Touché, just make sure you don't get yourself blown to pieces, alright?"

He offered a smile, making sure to close his eyes and stress the features above his nose to make sure she understood his meaning, "no promises."

… … …

… … …

Shirou had unquestionably demolished his competitors. It was comparable to crushing a fly with a clap in mid-air, difficult only in that his opponents continually evaded the finishing blow. His level of performance in the arena was leagues different to how it had been yesterday. While he had felt awful last night and this morning, tonight, he felt better than he had in a long while. Thinking about just how long that had been, Shirou placed it before the entire werewolf confrontation.

"Looks like the finals are going to be us against you." A familiar voice tore straight through Shirou's thoughts and reflexively he paused in mid-step. It was Thirty-Two, the team who had asked for his aid in the Tournament. Shirou had just entered the hall to return to his dressing room, having noticed the team on his way. He had simply thought they wanted to gauge his combat power today as spectators, although it seemed they wanted to talk as well.

Turning on his heel halfway, he offered a questioning glare. Spotting the competitively smirking faces of the two men, Shirou offered his own challenging smile. "Pretty confident. From what I've seen, Forty-Four is pretty tough."

The dark-haired man made a passing motion with one hand. "Cake-walk, you just watch." Almost on cue, the announcer echoed through the arena to call both teams into the circle. "We'll talk in ten minutes, then we can settle the terms of your surrender."

Based off the way his partner's head twitched toward him, neither of the two believed they would win the final. They were merely holding up appearances or trying to bait him into surrender under some sort of threat. The two jumped from their seats and walked through the bounded field into the arena, leaving Shirou to return to what he was doing.

Just a quick nap until the final battle in the qualifiers, then he was an official competitor in the real Tournament.

… … …

… … …

Even with a hole in his shoulder, Shirou couldn't help but smile. He had single-handedly taken down the last team in the qualifiers and moved into the full Magus Tournament.

Thirty-Two had put in a decent fight, the hardest he had ever seen them try in fact, but it still wasn't enough. After all his training with Kiritsugu, Rin, Illya, Bazett and his battles with a genuine enforcer and magical beasts, Shirou was more than prepared to handle magi who were lacking combat experience. That being said, their abilities and weapons had been enough to catch him off guard once. Combining their weapons into a single technique, the rapier-user had refracted his light beam off the parrying shield, creating an undodgeable shotgun-spray that nearly took off his head.

The old man had once again approached him, asking if he wanted healing for his injuries. As they had both come to expect, Shirou declined, supporting the debilitated limb with his other arm. The gaping hole was merely two inches in diameter but it had struck in a place which rendered his entire arm inoperable. The last time Avalon had repaired a hole of similar size, it had taken a little over nineteen hours to regain functionality. To be fully restored would be another ten hours on top of that.

"Just don't push yourself too hard, kid. You've got a special gift and it would be a shame for it to go to waste." With eyes full of concerned admiration, the man nodded and walked toward the official's area to tend to the unconscious members of Thirty-Two.

Shirou had tried something new this time around: While he typically traced and fired each individual arrow he wanted to use, this time he had fired one arrow, then multiplied the projection a dozen times as it flew through the air. The effect was an instant hit, taking out the rapier-user in the confusion. Shirou had mentally added the tactic to his repertoire, finding that it was rapidly growing with possibilities. He was becoming a true force to be reckoned with and his potential only grew with each encounter. Each encounter that actually had a weapon he could use, of course.

Shirou turned toward the way out - toward his dressing room - and felt the blood instantly drop from his face. Striding toward him with an expression that could startle a gargoyle, was none other than Lorelei Barthomeloi.

Shirou had been prepared to deactivate his circuits and cool off his body, hesitating at the fierce look she gave him. After considering that, if she wanted him dead he would already be dead, he decided that being prepared wouldn't do much to help regardless.

With his circuits offline, the chilly stale air of the arena came as a blessing, although that might have been the woman's aura washing over him as she neared. "Haruto Takahashi, you have claimed victory in the first-year qualifiers of this year's Magus Tournament. I have come to express my congratulations and offer you the option to move into the official Magus Tournament ranks as a C-tier competitor."

Shirou frowned partly. Only C-tier? He had expected to be a B-tier with how easily he had gone through the competition. Moving on from himself, another matter of concern struck him. "Will my partner receive this opportunity as well?"

The woman visibly scowled, chilling the air and almost making him flinch. "You are the sole victor from team six. Either you proceed to the Magus Tournament alone or not at all."

Shirou imagined that a sigh would only piss her off more, so he held it back in his throat. "I accept. I wish to move on into the official Magus Tournament," he nodded.

The woman maintained her scowl, head twitching in what he could only assume was a nod. "Very well, you will receive a schedule which will include which battles you are to appear in from Octavia Leyland."

Shirou nodded and expected her to turn and walk away, but when she remained in place with that scowling glare, he understood there was more for her to talk about. Nearly ten seconds of awkward, staring silence passed. It was more than enough to put him on edge, so he was somewhat surprised when her question finally arrived. "Are you able to create anything more than mystic codes?"

Shirou furrowed his brow, trying to appear as confused as he could. "Apologies, Lady Vice Director, but what do you mean by more? I am able to project a large quantity of simple things like plain swords, but very few mystic codes," he explained, hoping she would buy his outright lie. He could project nearly as many mystic codes as he could average weapons.

She narrowed her eyes accusingly, looking him over for a moment. With a haughty huff of breath, her examination concluded and she turned slowly to walk away. "Very well then, you have given a sufficient answer to my question."

As calmly as she had arrived, she exited in the same fashion. Shirou found a breath he had unconsciously held escaping from his lungs spontaneously. At least his first encounter with the Vice Director had gone well. He could definitely see why Kiritsugu had mandated he keep his distance. Unlike most magi with extreme capacity like Illya, Lorelei Barthomeloi was fundamentally different. A visual trace had told him that her entire body was shrouded with mana like a dense barrier. What was even scarier, was the fact that only a small amount had actually dispersed. If he didn't know any better, he would think she was a natural magnet to mana, something which went against everything he knew.

Thankfully, he wouldn't have to think about it should he keep his exposure with her to a minimum. The stabbing pain in his shoulder reminded him that it wasn't a good idea to be standing around idly.

… … …

… … …

With his mouth agape, he watched the victor of the qualifier with awe. "How does a guy like that kick so much ass?"

There was a "tsk" which turned his attention to his good friend. "You can't be serious."

Turning his head, he asked the most intelligent thing he could muster, "What do you mean?"

"I mean, he's limiting his magecraft to a single path rather than expanding to use more useful spells. If these fighters were any good, they could see that he's telegraphing his next move by creating the weapon he's preparing to use." The sisal-haired boy leaned back in his seat. "I could totally beat him."

Unable to stop a snorting laugh, he watched the boy within the arena speak to the Vice Director herself. "Don't kid yourself, Svin. If you were being bombarded, there would be no way you could keep up with how fast he changes tactics. Remember the first or the last fight between him and Seventy-Three? Both teams thought he was cornered but each time he pulled out something new from his bag of tricks and broke all expectations." Leaning forward, he propped his head up on his elbow and further dissected the fights in his own mind.

A push against his elbow dropped his face before his body could react quick enough to recover. "And you could one-handedly throw him around like a ragdoll?" Forcing air through his teeth, Svin rolled his eyes. "Don't kid yourself, Flat," he mocked.

Flat smiled, looking between his friend and the boy they were arguing about. "I guess I'd have to find out the good ol' fashioned way."

"You're not really considering-"

"Want to be my partner?"

"Absolutely." At the exact same instance, both men rose from their seats to carry out their shared objective.

… … …

"Six! Hold on for a second Six!" Flat shouted, stumbling over himself before awkwardly recovering just a few steps away. He would have been somewhat respectable too if it wasn't for chicken-boy slamming into the back of him and sending him onto his face.

Groaning in pain as he slid along the tiled floor, a girl's giggle reached his ears. "Don't mind my friend, he's a very clumsy individual," came a classic excuse from Svin. Scrambling to his feet, Flat gently bashed his shoulder into Svin's, knocking the boy off to the side before offering a greeting smile. "Svin is such a nice guy, always covering for my mistakes. What he meant to say, was-"

Hands wrapped around his mouth, silencing him before he could relay the entire message. While his muffled cries barely got through, a comment from the strawberry blonde behind their intended target did. "Looks like some twins with a rivalry problem to me, dunno about you, Blade."

Rather than try and bite his way out of Svin's grasp, Flat spoke two muffled words: "Game select," and froze the boy's body in place. Simply ducking beneath his stationary friend's hand, he ran a hand through his hair and offered a charismatic smile. "So your name is Blade, Six? And this must be your partner in the qualifiers, I'd recognize a face like that anywhere." He watched the girl rapidly shift from snickering in amusement to blushing in a brief instance, cheeks flushing at the unintentional compliment.

The sound of someone struggling to speak came from behind, likely Svin trying to force his way through the magecraft holding him in place. Through it all, Blade looked unimpressed, eyebrows inching downward. In the time it had taken Flat and Svin to get down to the screening area for the arena, he had gotten dressed in a rather strange outfit. They had seen it before of course, in the battle against Fifty-One the outfit had protected Blade from the flames. "So what did you want to talk about?"

The amount of disinterest flowing from the man visibly struck Flat like a wall. Recoiling his head, he stumbled back, bumping into Svin who comically toppled backwards like a statue. "Wasn't expecting that reaction. I just wanted to ask you for a little favour was all."

Narrowing his eyes, the man in black casually tilted his head almost like he was checking on Svin. "What sort of favour?"

A bright, beaming smile spread across Flat's face. Dramatically, he pumped his fist in front of himself and threw the opposite hand out as if he were fanning a cape. "Since neither of us are in the Magus Tournament, we challenge you to a two-on-one duel to see if we can defeat you in combat!"

Blade's eyes softened and blinked rather slowly a single time. Still holding his position, Blade shrugged his good arm. "A challenge, you say? Sure, but not right now. If you couldn't tell, I'm still nursing a bad arm and since I will be participating in the Magus Tournament tomorrow, I don't want to damage it more than it already is."

Flat could feel his eyes sparkle as he nearly bounced in joy. "Don't worry about an injured arm, I can fix that real quick." Adjusting his dramatic pose to thrust his palm toward Blade's shoulder, he repeated "Game select" and pictured the repair of the man's arm in his mind.

Shock spread across Blade's face as flesh, bone and muscle filled the hole and rendered the area good as new. While Blade examined the healed area with his good hand, a groan from behind signified that Svin had regained function. When the healing was completed, Flat lowered his hand and chanted "Game over."

As far as Flat knew, what had just taken place was his only downside. He was entirely unable to cast differing magecraft on separate entities. "I hate when you do that to me. I have no idea how many times I have to tell you that, but every time you freeze me, I'm going to remind you." There was a noise of rushing air as Svin blew hair away from his face.

"As crass as my accomplice might be, we're both interested in how we might fare against someone who seems so formidable in combat." Svin rested his arm on Flat's shoulder, offering a cheeky grin as Blade returned his attention to the two of them.

"Well, I have no reason not to fight anymore." Experimentally, the man with the scarf rotated his shoulder and tested its condition.

"You're seriously going to battle us both at once just like that?" Svin asked with some surprise. "You don't require any time to prepare or rest up?"

He shook his head, crossing both arms over his chest now that he was able. "I still want to go out for dinner tonight so the earlier the better."

Flat smiled just a little bit wider, threatening to split his face open if he went any further. "Then why not right now? We should be able to use the arena now that the qualifiers are over."

… … …

Blade rather boredly strode out to the far end of the arena, adjusting the gloves on his hands. "So how are we establishing the winner? Just like the tournament or first to bleed?"

Svin filled in on Flat's behalf, bouncing on his feet to get his blood moving. "Like the tournament is fine by me: until one side can no longer continue fighting."

"Then the bell to start can come from Lectra," came an ominous tone. Blade moved into a martial arts stance, keeping one fist ahead of his chest and the other tight to his hip.

"I still can't believe you're doing this, but I know you're too stubborn to back out now," his partner sighed from the sidelines. She was sitting cross-legged on the floor just behind the bounded field of the competitor's seating area. Dejectedly imitating a bell, she made a "ding-ding" and the battle began.

Immediately, Flat looked toward Blade and chanted "game select" to lock him in place. Surprisingly, the man froze up on the spot. Flat made a proud chuckle, pumping his fist while maintaining eye contact. "You're up, Svin!"

At the call of his name, the boy shot forward like a bullet. With Svin being a master in beast magecraft, he was able to augment his limbs with the powerful image of any beast he could imagine. As his nickname as the "Chicken Boy" alluded, he often used chicken legs or bird claws as his go-to. Insults aside, Svin was rather powerful and his beastly imagery always offered an edge to every altercation.

Halfway to their target, Flat grew confident that this was going to be an easy fight. There wasn't much anybody could do when they couldn't move. Or so he thought.

As if on cue, Swords rapidly appeared within the air above Blade, clouding the space like locusts. After the first dozen, Flat stopped counting and tried to warn his friend.

Before the first syllable could come out of his mouth, the projectile weapons had already been fired, both at Svin and him.

To say they were fast would be an understatement. They were speeding toward him like arrows and at best Flat had a second to prepare. Deciding that holding Blade was secondary to surviving sword-rain, Flat rapidly chanted "game select" once more to select the oncoming projectiles as a whole.

The extreme velocity of the weapons coupled with the fact that they were a mystery developed by another magus meant they couldn't be frozen like normal physical objects as easily. Instead, Flat had to redirect their path to strike somewhere in the distance behind him.

Then the noise of rushing air at his side stripped his attention once more. A blade was mere feet from him, coming in fast toward his chest. With no possible way to stop it through magecraft, Flat leapt to the side, watching as the tip impacted his shoulder - and exploded.

Like it had been a bubble, as soon as the sword impacted him it just vanished into blue-gold sparks. Rolling across the ground to stand, Flat refocused on where their opponent had been, finding a blade levelled at his nose. Uncrossing his eyes and following the spine of the weapon, he was put face-to-face with the cold orange eyes of Blade. Looking behind him, Flat watched Svin desperately try to claw his way out of a cage made entirely of blades. For each weapon he managed to destroy, two more took its place.

Slowly lifting up his hands in surrender, Flat couldn't help but smirk. Simultaneously, he and blade echoed the same two words: "Game over."

… … ...

… … …

It was Sunday, the day of rest. Rather than attend church or offer prayers up to some mythical non-existent being, Kiritsugu put his time into something much more useful and tangible: maintaining his armoury.

It had been a ritual for him since his time working alongside Natalia. Every Sunday and after each use, Kiritsugu tore apart his equipment and rebuilt it to working condition. With the pieces of several pistols strewn about his desk, he paused for a small break, leaning back in his chair to let his eyes rest from the harsh lighting against miniature parts. After so much repetition, he was an expert in nearly all conventional firearms. It only took him ten minutes to disassemble, clean and reassemble a jammed weapon.

A knock on his door sent him upright and before he could find a way to conceal his musings, it cracked open to let Missy's fingers in. "I don't mean to intrude, Mr. Emiya but-" she paused upon spotting what he was working on, eyes recognizing the threat instantly. Rather than leave hurriedly as he had expected, she actually took a step into the room and closed the door behind her.

He took a second to debate what he might have been able to say. Eventually, he decided that it was best to ignore the issue entirely. "Yes, Missy? What did you come to speak to me about?"

The woman blinked, eyes casually stirring from the mess of parts and pieces strewn about his desk to his own unmoving eyes. "Ms. Fujimura called for you. I told her you would call back at your earliest convenience." She took a hesitant step forward but locked up when he narrowed his eyes accusingly.

"I appreciate that, thank you."

"I hope you don't take it as rude or intrusive, but would you mind if I watched you work?" Kiritsugu was surprised, but he didn't allow the emotion to appear on his face. Missy hardly asked for anything directly, going about it indirectly through suggestions or absent comments about her desires. To ask outright was something new for her.

Looking between her and the pieces on his workspace, he couldn't quite find a reason to turn her down. "If you're interested, there's no reason to stop you." Turning to face forward in his chair, the girl enthusiastically moved toward the side of his desk, crouching partly to get a good view. For someone who had never seen a gun in person before, she seemed awfully interested in the pieces ahead of her.

Picking up where he left off, he began assembling the slide of the weapon he was fiddling with. Since he had a spectator, he decided that he should at least explain what he was doing. "The slide in my hands belongs to a-"

"Glock-18, a special order of the Austrian government and the only select-fire variant of the Glock-17, right?" Missy recited information like she had known it all her life, speaking about a gun as casually as the weather. He could only blink, turning to face her with some confusion.

"I don't remember buying you any books that might have told you any of that." Partway through his words, she seemed to realize what she had just said, furrowing her brow while her eyes flickered in deep thought.

"And I don't remember reading anything quite like that either," she paused, looking at him directly before turning on her heels to move toward the door. Before she could, he caught her hand and made the girl squeak in surprise.

"Hold on one moment, let me test something." Releasing her hand when he was confident she would stay, he stood and gestured toward his chair. "Have a seat," he suggested, gesturing once more to coax her into settling down. When she was seated, he moved behind her and looked over her head down at the table.

"What would you like me to do, Mr. Emiya?" she asked softly, hands twitching on her knees while her head moved between the parts of four separate pistols ahead of her.

"Humour me and try to put these weapons back together." Her head twitched, turning slowly to look up at him with confusion clearly written on her face. Nodding forward, she seemed to understand that he was serious and she cautiously reached out to pick up the slide he had just been working on.

Unlike most firearm owners, Kiritsugu was incredibly methodical in that each weapon underwent regular detail stripping. Each gun he owned was in immaculate condition only because they were restored to like-new condition after each use.

His total dismantling seemed to do little to halt Missy, however. While her hands trembled and there was obvious uncertainty in her motions, she was maintaining a steady pace while successfully finding and applying pieces.

It was almost as if she had at one point been familiar with what she was doing, only it was so long ago that she was forced to operate by feel. He watched with mild interest as she completed the slide and moved onto the body, assembling a complete pistol from pieces within fifteen minutes.

Cautiously, she set the weapon down onto the table and looked over her fingers questioningly. Breathing out a lungful through his nose, Kiritsugu leaned back from the chair and leaned his hip against his bed. "Rebuild the next three, I will collect more weaponry for you to work on."

"But I-"

"We might have stumbled upon something relevant to your memories, it would be a good idea to strike while the iron is hot, as it were."

… … …

… … …

A reverberating clang echoed throughout his skull, painfully jarring Shirou awake. Snapping upright in his bed, he pushed one palm to his forehead to force away the pulsating agony that rang through his skull. When it failed to ebb away, he hissed to the cool night air and looked down at himself. His entire body was twitching, every muscle alive and active like he was hooked into a strange full-body muscle stimulator.

Activating his circuits, he chanted those cursed words, "I am the bone of my sword." The clanging that had initially awoken him returned, as did the scent of molten metal and the ambient crackle of roaring flame. Throwing the covers off his body as his circuits began heating his skin, Shirou looked over both hands, clenching and opening them several times.

He mumbled the words over a few times, trying to determine what they even meant and where he had heard them in the first place. The former he could piece together while the latter only gave him a pounding headache. Trying to concentrate on who or what had given him access to that information only resulted in pain.

His dream had been about that place again. While he still had no idea what it looked like, it felt eerily familiar. That sense of familiarity was the only way he knew it was the same place as before.

For an inexplicable reason, he felt as if he had reached a wall with his reality marble. As if two lines were all he would be able to accomplish, regardless of how much effort he put into developing it. If such a thing were the case, it would be a good idea to allocate more of his time toward a realistic goal.

Deactivating his circuits, Shirou looked over his hands. To make his father happy and to protect his friends, he needed to be stronger. If Shirou simply had access to more mana, he could easily deal with any threats to his family. Though he had access to more, didn't he? He had converted his nerves into circuitry before when he was younger. It had allowed him to cast magecraft without knowing how to properly access mana. What could be the possible harm in doing it again?

Instantaneous death, crippling of limbs and circuitry-based mana implosion all leapt to mind, but those were all for normal people. Shirou was far from anything considered normal. Not only did he have a matching element and origin, but there was a centuries-old relic of the Fae embedded within his body. It had saved him from killing himself when he first converted his nerves, why wouldn't it keep him alive now?

Repeating the words to begin his reality marble, an all-too-familiar pain struck him. The red-hot rod was jabbed into the base of his spine and his body began producing extreme amounts of heat. As the nerve expended all the energy it had once held, Shirou converted another to fuel his hungry miracle.

With the pain and heat produced doubled, Shirou stopped at two. With sweat turning to steam on the surface of his skin, the boy sat quietly in the darkness. He ran a quick trace of himself, decoding the deeper information to discover that only one of the two nerve circuits he made had actually bonded to his body's natural circuitry.

In theory, if he continued converting his nerves into circuitry, even once a day with a fifty percent success rate, he could potentially expand his reserves with dozens of trash-tier circuits. While each nerve circuit would barely hold two units of mana, it was more than he had previously and that was all he could've asked for.

Deciding he had tortured his body enough, Shirou spared a glance at the clock on his night table. Five in the morning was a touch earlier than he usually woke up, but it was close enough that he decided to stay awake. He could use the time to exercise longer or prepare for the Magus Tournament tonight.

The real Tournament had begun on Monday, and it was nothing like the qualifiers. First and foremost, Shirou's trip to the screening area had taken twenty minutes longer than usual because the halls and area outside were packed with fans and idle competitors. Secondly, the competitor seating area that had previously been empty was now jammed full of other magi chatting amongst one another. Last but far from least, the announcer had taken on a fresh breath of life and had hammed the entire introduction performance.

Even the competitors themselves were more liberal, gesturing toward the invisible audience and flaunting their success after a victory. It was much more about showmanship than respect. There was also a large difference in both the quality and quantity of the contestants. As Shirou had found out, the strongest of the first-years barely qualified as the weakest of the main event. Shirou actively found himself struggling to pull his way through. While he could have used his more lethal techniques to fast-track battles, the thought of harming someone solely to make a spar easier didn't sit well with him.

Closing the door to his room after exiting, Shirou looked down the hall to Octavia's desk. Even though he had seen Bazett a couple of days ago, she still hadn't given him any word personally. The only explanation was that she was having trouble reaching him in the Clock Tower. Mulling the matter over, he decided to pay a visit to her house when he wasn't busy fighting magi in his evenings.

Tapping on the hard stone surface to get her attention, he gave a silent question with his eyes. Fluidly understanding his meaning, she read off a chart beside her. "Since you've won two consecutive battles in a row, you'll be squaring off against a high ranking C-tier magus known as Kiera Eliphas. Should you win that battle, you'll fight the victor of a B-tier battle between Ayaan Turner and Ivan Gregori." Settling the page down, she beamed up at him, clasping her hands on the desk. "Anything else I can do for you, Faker?"

Logging the names down in his mind, he stumbled over Ayaan. That was the pig-headed blond who had threatened to tear him apart. Oddly enough, their brief encounter in the cafeteria had committed the name into memory. Kiera also rang a bell, but at the moment he couldn't quite remember since his mind was cluttered with Modern Magecraft theories. Instead, he decided to ask a question regarding another pressing matter. "My name is Faker now?"

The receptionist shrugged passively, maintaining her painted smile. "It's what I've heard being thrown around. It makes sense, considering what you do."

Shirou hummed, considering whether he liked the new nickname or not. Eventually, he concluded that it was irrelevant. "Any other news?"

"You'll be happy to hear that Flake has made a semi-full recovery. He has come out of his coma and has been seen stumbling around his room a few times. It seems that his legs aren't functioning one-hundred percent, but at the very least he isn't crippled." It was odd to hear morbid details being relayed through smiling lips, but Shirou didn't let that bother him.

"I'll have to pay him a visit sometime," he began, pulling away from the counter.

Octavia leaned back in her chair, producing a creak from the unoiled joints. "As far as I know, both you and Lectra are unable to visit on his request. It seems he wants nothing to do with either of you and all charges have been dropped."

"So Lectra is off probation? That's great news," he assumed, watching Octavia's smile widen.

"While Flake Ortenrood may not be pressing charges, the Clock Tower still is." Seeing his reaction, she answered the question caught in his throat. "It's on grounds of Tournament rule infringement. Lectra intentionally injured a competitor beyond what was necessary and for that, she'll be punished."

Shirou sighed in defeat. "There's not really much I can do for her then, is there?"

"You? Not at all, although…" she trailed on, pausing for a brief moment before shaking her head partly. "Nevermind, it was just a stupid thought." Giving the girl a strange look, he decided that it would take too much effort to try and weasel any information out of her.

"Well thanks anyway," he stated genuinely. Stepping away from the counter he waved partly with one hand and took off down the hall. "Have a good morning, Octavia."

… … …

… … ...

Putting on the Tournament suit was becoming significantly more routine. He had memorized the parts which typically got caught or twisted and required fixing and had cut the time of put-on and take-off to about five minutes, three if he was rushing.

While fighting new competitors who could actually defend themselves was a little more exciting, he certainly found the lack of a partner lonely. Without Lectra around to ask questions or be her general energized self, these battles felt unimportant.

Sighing, he projected his true outfit overtop his existing suit and strode out into the hall to try and find a spot in the competitor seating area.

Oddly enough there was, a single open chair at the front even though several people were standing to watch the battle. It was almost as if the other contestants had left it specifically for him, how kind.

… … …

Standing across from his next opponent, Shirou rapidly recalled all that he knew about them. Kiera Eliphas, close friend or possible significant other to Ayaan Turner, user of a strange magecraft that broke the mind of other magi. Beyond that, he really didn't know much about her.

Placing one hand on her hip, she looked him over and scoffed. "I wonder how you'll feel after getting beaten up by a girl."

Shirou snorted, shaking his head through a chuckle. "It's happened before and it will happen again but it won't be to you, that I can be sure of. I've met plenty of women in my life who are powerful, some even more than myself." He shrugged, holding up his hands. "I don't really see how them being women really matters."

Kiera's face flushed red, pompous stance faltering as she reached behind her back to withdraw a whip. The very plain, standard bullwhip made him want to roll his eyes. The announcer boomed for the fight to commence and Shirou immediately felt off. He couldn't quite determine why or how, but something wasn't right anymore.

"Did you know that whips are the most easily exploited weapon? There's a reason we only use them on livestock you know!" Tracing his bow into his outstretched hands, arrows leaped to mind and became overcharged with mana. He wasn't expecting her to go down so easy, he merely wanted to test her ability with a whip. If she was any good, his arrow would be struck out of the air.

Unexpectedly, he fumbled when trying to draw back the string on his bow. Taking an instance to look over his fingers, he realized that he was exactly half an inch off where he should have been. In the midst of questioning why, alarms went off in his head and he faced forward to see the tip of a whip moments away from colliding with his face.

He tried to lean backwards to duck underneath the attack, but instead practically flung himself flat onto his back. Rather than making a crack as the tip fully extended, the end of the whip practically exploded with compressed blades of wind, slicing the area in every direction.

At the very least, he hadn't been caught in the attack, but his position was far from ideal. "My my, I must admit I'm surprised. Even though I hold a greater number of circuits in higher quality, you are still able to defend against my mental invasion." The silver-haired woman smirked like a wolf leering over a sheep. "I suppose I'll just have to get a little more personal. Though, with you floundering about it won't be too hard."

Gritting his teeth, Shirou kicked both legs over his head, rolling to his feet and reinforcing his body as much as he could. He had no idea how this invasion worked, but somehow she was slowing his reactions and throwing his body off center. What made it worse, was that the degree or area of effect was randomized each time, he had no way of adjusting.

Projecting Elizabeth's altered blades into his hands, he watched as one appeared three inches in front of him. Having to stretch to grab the handle, a sickening chuckle rang through his ears. He was being toyed with, she was amusing herself with his fumbling.

Moving into a slightly ajar stance, Shirou shook his head to rid a feeling of nausea and fogginess. "If you're so confident, why don't you try and come at me?" Shirou growled, imaging several simple blades. Unlike the other battles where his bombardments had been hollow weapons that would cause no harm, this time he was using the real deal.

If her supposed mental invasion saw beneath his mask or could see his memories, he and his family in Fuyuki would pay the price. Even Bazett would be in danger. Kiera huffed, cracking her whip around her a few times.

She took two steps forward, then quickly rained down blows. Trying to block and parry with his swords wasn't working as it should have. He couldn't slice them outright due to the whip being reinforced and he couldn't parry or block either because each time he did, his reactions weren't quick enough to pull the blade back before it was already wrapped up and being thrown from his hand.

He was caught in a cycle of clumsily projecting and sacrificing swords to protect himself. On the sixth set of blades, he projected one that was simply out of his reach and took a heavy blow to the shoulder. Upon impact, it felt like he had been crushed by several converging walls, pressure from all sides making powder of his bones. It was a disgusting, grinding noise that still reached his ears as he was thrown backward from the impact.

Landing on the dirt with a groan, he remained in place for some time, staring up at the ceiling as he caught his breath. "After all your battles you're still just a weak-minded magus at the end of the day. After defeating you, I'll be able to claim a spot beside Ayaan as a B-tier magus." Somehow, her voice seemed even more condescending than Luvia when she referred to Reines.

Grunting, Shirou rolled onto his front and pushed himself up with one hand. Even with one arm demolished, he was still in the fight. "You should focus more on fighting and less on talking."

Taking a little longer than usual, Shirou projected a thin chain to wrap around his arm and body as a rudimentary splint. Raising one hand, the light-shooting rapier formed just off to the side of his hand. Eventually gripping the handle, Shirou forced mana into the tool. With light, imprecise jabs, he scattered shots of thin light beams at Kiera's position. A touch late to react, a beam of light grazed her hip. The cry of pain she made was almost as loud as the sizzle of flesh. Coming to her senses, the whip snapped up to wrap around his good wrist.

Shirou tried to yank Kiera toward him through the whip, but his muscles failed to obey and he was sent stumbling toward her instead. In the same motion, she made a swirling motion with her other hand and a sudden gale collided with his back. Already off balance, Shirou was sent sprawling on his chest just feet away from her. He suddenly felt as if he were being sat on. Shirou could hardly even lift his head to watch her place a foot on his back.

Grunting as she ground her heel in his back, he tried in vain to move even a finger. He came to the rapid realization that her ability was based on proximity. She had been trying to get him closer all along and it finally made sense.

Withdrawing her foot, she kneeled down to his level, whispering in his ear as he sat immobilized. "Has anyone ever told you the story of the last competitor I faced, Adam Enfield? Believe it or not, he did kill himself." Her hand grabbed a fistful of his hair, yanking his head up roughly. "Although I planted some very convincing suggestions in that thick head of his to push him to the edge. So why don't I see beneath that scarf of yours and treat you to the same experience at the same time?" she hissed, wrapping her other hand around his eyes.

… … …

… … …

… … …

It was dark here, peaceful in a way. It was warm here, cozy and inviting - Shirou didn't want to leave. Although, someone was calling his name, one of them at least. Rather than being panicked or afraid, the tone was soothing and motherly in a way.

There was a brief snapping sound and his eyes fluttered open to a beautiful sight. It was Sakura, standing in the doorway of the stone shed. One hand reached up to the right side of her head to tuck back the strand of hair tied with a ribbon, all while rays of dawning sun illuminated her face lovingly. The air within the shed was musty, stagnant and chilled. But with the door sitting wide open, the scent of spring, erratic bird chirping and warm rays of sun began to fill the space.

Shirou sat up abruptly, feeling the blood rush from his head as he looked over his hands back to front. "I'm back in Fuyuki?" he mumbled, looking up to his childhood friend who stared back with worry.

"Senpai, are you feeling alright?" Abruptly, her hand reached out to touch his forehead. The sensation of her skin on his tingled and warmed his very core. The girl hummed, declaring that he "felt normal". "Though if you aren't feeling well, you can stay home."

More confused than ever, Shirou raised a hand to his forehead. "What happened? I was…" He blinked, finding his memories impossible to access. If was different to being unable to remember something. Forgetting events still left foggy remnants he could piece together, it certainly didn't feel like an empty void. The thought brought on a sense of déjà vu which he quickly placed. It was the same memory loss problem he had following his obscure dreams, those few differing from the Great Fire.

"You were practicing your reality marble all night again," she huffed, pushing out her lower lip. "Illya and I both think you're pushing yourself too hard and if you keep it up, you're going to hurt yourself." She bent down to his level again, looking deep into his eyes. "With how you're acting, you might have already."

Shirou furrowed his brow, looking off to the side as he concentrated on his memories. Something wasn't right, everything felt wrong, but he couldn't explain why. "Where's the old man?" he suddenly asked, moving to stand. In the middle of his motions, he was able to look around his workshop. He couldn't tell what, but some specific things were absent.

"Having a cup of coffee with Missy and Bazett as always, why?" The confusion on her face rapidly grew to worry and fear.

Abruptly as he stood, Shirou continued his questions. "What's my favourite colour?"

"Orange - Senpai, you're scaring me." Sakura took a step back, holding onto her hands in front of her chest.

"Is Rin Tohsaka your sister?"

"I don't see how-"

Shirou narrowed his eyes, taking a step forward for each step she took back. "Is my sister a homunculus?"

"Yes!" Sakura shouted in panic, stepping out of the shed into the backyard.

Shirou gave his head a rough shake, closing his eyes. "Besides Illya, only three other people know that information." Both hands clenched into fists at his sides. "Kiritsugu Emiya, Shirou Emiya and whoever you are."

Sakura, who had admittedly been acting normally passably well, suddenly stood tall and smirked mischievously. It was sickening to see a girl he knew to be so timid making such a grimace. He had put things together so quickly due to minute inconsistencies. His workshop had been missing his father's safe and the specimen Rin had broken looking for bath salts had been fully intact. While those might have been easy to miss, "Sakura" wearing the ribbon on the right side of her head wasn't.

"You really are messed up. You had so many memories crammed into your head that it was like you lived three entire lives." As the fake Sakura spoke, the world around him dissolved into an empty black space. White circles sat just below him and his fake friend. The warm and inviting feeling faded immediately, replaced with a smothering, cold depression.

With this new scene change, memories of past events came reeling back to him. He was a competitor in the Magus Tournament, he was fighting a woman named Kiera Eliphas and she had somehow brought him here, a place he could only assume was his mind. "Blame my father for that," he remarked, snarling at the desecrated image of his friend.

"Yes, your father, the renowned Magus Killer. I understand why you are such a formidable opponent in the arena, being his disciple and all. Though, looking that far back in the past is rather boring, why don't we look at something a little more recent?" Like a transition in a low-budget movie, an incredibly blurry image of the harbour of Fuyuki popped into place, focusing as time passed. A cool sea breeze settled into place, marred with a thick coppery scent of spilled blood. Just off to the side were three distinct bodies piled on top of one another in various states of injury.

"Slaughtering an enforcer and two freelancers in cold blood on your own, all while using banned magecraft that would place you as a sealing designate no less." She made clicking noises with her tongue, waving her finger. "Naughty, naughty." Chuckling hollowly, she paced to the side. "I don't think I'm going to have you kill yourself anymore, that seems too basic. In fact, I think I'll turn you in to the Association and be rewarded for it." She stopped, twisting on her heels to look at him. "Of course, I'll destroy most of your reasoning to keep you nice and docile so that you can't weasel your way out of my plans."

"If you get the chance," he barked, clenching his fists and calling for the activation of his circuits with mental imagery. Heat blossomed on his back as his crest reinforced his body with mana.

The false Sakura faded away finally, vile image of a smirking silver-haired woman appearing. "If you've failed to notice, you're stuck in your own mind with no control. I hold all the strings here, and you're just my adorable little puppet." To accent her point, she motioned with one finger and forced his body to step back to a healthy distance.

Shirou narrowed his eyes, gritting his teeth with a harsh scowl. "You know everything about me?" Rolling her eyes, she gave an overemphasized nod. "Then you've become a threat to me and my family." Thoughts of Kiritsugu and Illya massacred flickered around his mind. Visions of cold, red eyes staring up at him asking why he had let her down, why he had caused her death. As if sensing a disturbance, the harbour seemed to melt around them, surprising the silver-haired woman. "And you've put me in a place where going all out isn't going to come back and bite me."

"Aren't you forgetting that I control you entirely here?" There was a crack in her voice, indicating that she wasn't even sure of that herself anymore. The sea-breeze faded away, and the buildings began to ooze downward like heavy oil.

Raising his head, he glared at a new threat with fury in his eyes. "You made a mistake. A reality marble is the outward projection of someone's inner world. If it's strong enough to rewrite the world itself, then what chance do you have of holding it back?" He shouted, taking a step forward as the scenery became colour-smeared masses of viscous fluid.

She opened her mouth to speak, but "I am the bone of my sword" cut her off. While the harbour continued to melt into a congealed mass, something new flickered beneath. It was bright, standing out from the dim scene immediately. Tears in the "walls" of the harbour began to poke through as if someone was stabbing holes into a canvas.

"What do you think you're doing? You're going to kill me?" she asked, suddenly realizing her situation. She had gone through his memories, she knew exactly what happened to people who threatened his family. "You can't! You'll be investigated by the Clock Tower!"

"I'll kill you here and hope that your real body dies with whatever you are. They won't investigate me if you die to your own magecraft!" Shirou barked, opening his hands so they could be filled with Elizabeth's blades. As commanded, they appeared in all their green and silver glory. There was no reason to hide their real identity anymore, Kiera knew much more incriminating details than where his swords came from. "Steel is my body and fire is my heart." At the end of the second line, a ring of fire six feet high exploded from his feet, rapidly expanding outward to consume the area entirely. The fire lacked heat, but a wind carrying hot air had spawned from nowhere.

As the flame ring expanded, the environment shifted into something entirely new. Beneath their feet was a large expanse of cracked red earth with small tufts of grass sporadically strewn about. Matching the grass in random placement, were large sections of burnt earth. As if a blowtorch had been taken to the ground, charred black bits crackled and popped with residual heat. Impaled in the ground in every direction were the weapons he had "collected" over the years. The weapon types didn't end at swords, extending to hammers, maces and everything in between. In the distance, Shirou could easily spot the mystic code bo staff and the magecraft parrying shield. In the sky, beaming extreme heat onto the ground below, was a large burning ball of orange flame. Unlike the sun, this ball was threateningly close, enough to see each individual lick of fire.

In the distance behind Kiera rose a large hill of barren clay. On the very peak were two swords of emerald green and silver which were crossed at the guard. "You're crazy, you can't do this," she repeated, taking large steps backward. "Even if I can't control you, I can still battle you with your own abilities!"

Before Shirou's own eyes, the woman became a carbon copy of himself and familiar blades appeared over her shoulders. It was almost like he was looking in a mirror, although this copy was significantly more terrified than the original.

A blade was fired from the growing collection, grazing Shirou along his side as he simply sidestepped. Rather than leave internal organs behind, the wound was sealed with sword-scale, fortified for the next impact.

The first sword was all that Kiera launched, staring at the wound she inflicted with sheer horror for some time before resuming her barrage. With the blades within his hands, he slashed oncoming weapons out of the air, breaking both weapons as the identical miracles cancelled one another out entirely.

Growing tired of deflecting and breaking swords, Shirou formed his own barrage of weaponry. Unlike out in the real world, his weapons appeared instantaneously. If Shirou had to guess, it was likely a feature of being within his reality marble.

Rather than run or sprint to his opponent, Shirou walked, watching the panic spread across Kiera's face as he neared. She was climbing the hill backwards, putting her all into skewering him with blades but each volley was repealed by an identical one. Very few managed to get by, but those were easily dealt with by a slash of the blade in his hand.

As if the world had been helping to close the distance, Shirou closed in on his identical copy to within ten feet, climbing the clay hill to its peak. "Stay back you freak, you monster!" his own voice shouted to him, but the words fell on deaf ears.

His copy stumbled as their hips backed into the copy of Elizabeth's blades, a memento for his deeds, a reminder of the blood on his hands. He had killed four people in total, but Elizabeth was the only one to leave him with a symbol.

Continuing to walk up the hill, Shirou watched his copy project two inferior blades before moving into a shoddy-looking stance. Why she switched to swords instead of using a known weapon like the whip was beyond him. Closing the distance between them, Shirou deftly swatted away the poor defence created by his copied self, throwing both of his copies' hands to the side so that their midsection was wide open.

The swords in his hands swung to the front, thrusting forward into the stomach of his doppelganger. There was a strange "urk" noise as both weapons seated themselves. Shirou watched as his own eyes and hair turned into dull silver, Kiera's true image returning as she gripped onto the weapons running her through. Rage and disgust enough to match his own face spread across her features.

"You're a monster, a freak of nature." She paused to spit in his face, a mixture of saliva and blood which landed on his cheek. "You're so broken, you can't even be killed in your own mind." With trembling hands, the girl reached up to wrap both hands around his neck. With her failing strength and blood-covered fingers, she couldn't get a grip decent enough to choke him. "Your life will be cursed, Shirou Emiya, mark my words." Sucking in a breath through blood-stained teeth, she bared her teeth like a wild animal, scowling heavily.

Shirou clenched his hands around the grips of each sword, reciprocating her gaze with one of his own in equal intensity. "I'll do whatever is necessary to protect the ones I love, even if that means being cursed a thousand times over." There was a gasp of air before Shirou yanked his blades upward and out. Dismissing his weapons, Shirou lifted his head to watch the world crumble away like a shortbread cookie.

This was his inner world?

It seemed so barren and hostile. To think that this was his true identity brought a chill to his spine. "An empty, charred wasteland filled with swords," he murmured, gazing up at the ominous ball of flame. Like cracks in a sheet of glass, black lines had spread across its entire surface until it seemed ready to explode. Closing his eyes to enjoy the warmth on his face, he mumbled one last thing as reality began to return.

"It fits me perfectly."

… … …

Shirou's eyes opened to hands. Two sets of fingers were concealing his eyes, allowing only a portion of the light beyond through. He realized that one set of those fingers were his own, that he was pressing the hand of his opponent into his face to keep it there.

Easing pressure from his own hand let the woman's hand fall as well. It was awkwardly dragged away from him as the woman's body collapsed to the side with a thump. Mobility in his body was returned to him and with it, he used his one good arm to push himself off the dirt. Standing, he looked over the crumpled form of his opponent whilst an eerie silence blanketed the arena.

She wasn't moving.

Her chest wasn't rising and her eyes maintained a distant look. It was unlike the hollow, vacant eyes of a traditional corpse. The only way Shirou could describe it was by comparing it to a wild animal locked in a glass box. A look of panic, hopelessness and despair.

Shirou had the darkest feeling that she was trapped in that final moment of anguish before the mental landscape broke down. Even after what she had planned, was it a justifiable punishment?

The stagnant silence continued as Shirou deactivated his circuits and allowed his projections to disappear. Taking a few steps back as a blend of emotions washed over him, the announcer broke the silence. "It seems that Kiera Eliphas has…" He trailed off and the door to the official's area raised to spew a half-dozen concerned looking people out. "I believe her own magecraft has backfired in some way, bear with us while the outcome is determined." As Shirou had expected, most of the attendants rushed to the deceased girl, checking her condition and verifying that she was in fact dead.

Shirou himself had hardly noticed the familiar old man giving him a shake while trying to ask what happened. The boy himself was lost in his own mind, having a great moral debate over his actions.

He had killed five people, how many more would threaten his family and force his hand? Closing his parted mouth, Shirou swallowed thickly and decided on one thing: He needed to find Flat so he could heal his shoulder again.


Not much to say at the end of this one. Remember to favourite, follow and leave reviews! If you can remember, please give some thanks to my beta for continuing to help me provide you all with quality writing. They put in an incredible amount of work and help me in many ways.

Sorry again for what I can only expect will be a large delay between this chapter and the next. It's nothing related to my personal life or anything which would give me an excuse at least, just some writer's block I suppose.