"—You requested my presence, Imperator?"
"I did, Claudas. Have your men adjusted sufficiently?"
"The process seems to vary per person. On average, I would estimate a fortnight to rehabilitate the average man from start to finish."
Once upon a time, the black fog they now used for cover would have left them blind and stumbling. Today, they saw each other clear as day. Just one more miracle to add to the list. The herald of the gods was generous, indeed.
The Imperator kept his crimson eyes on the battlefield.
"And have there been any unforeseen consequences?"
Claudas adjusted his crystalline helmet, tightened his gauntlets. He marveled at their articulation. How blessed was he, to be granted the armor of the gods? Mercurius' divine blood filled him with strength!
"None that I know of, milord. The men are eager to prove their worth. To bring civilization to this place once more... I tremble in anticipation over the thought."
His words brought humor to the man - nay, the demigod at his side. Death escaped them, pain held no power. Needed enhancements, all of it, for they wrestled against the damned and the heretic. These wayward souls, bound and powered by their fake god's tendrils, fought Mercurius' divine army tooth and nail for control of this last pagan stronghold. But the generous Pantheon gifted them the opportunity to prove themselves in the face of their ancestral blasphemy. They would not waste their second chance. With the gods by their side, victory was inevitable.
"Take the first steps yourself, then," the Imperator recommended. "Demonstrate to the men the power we now wield."
Claudas stepped forward, to the deck's edge. Pushing the divinity to his eyes, he sought the battlefield for targets of opportunity. One caught his notice: a serpent of legend, a dragon, which streaked in like a comet from beyond the thunderous clouds. It aimed for the vessel stolen by the blasphemers - those confused, agonized souls who so desperately clung to the false god.
The ruinous powers wished to save their faithful. He would show them the error of their ways!
"By your leave, Imperator."
He vanished with a step. Wind gusted with Claudas' exit. It whipped at his cape and split the waves rocking the flagship.
And the Imperator merely grinned.
A crystalline centurion teleported to Sieg's direct front. The flash of lightning reflected off his cape and cavalry mask, his palm extended to his snout, and with a chill of realization the dragon opened its maw to eat him alive. Sharp teeth and the lick of flame engulfed the creature, but Sieg's panic grew evermore.
He had not tasted blood.
"Ruler! Jalt—"
Crystalline spikes skewered Fafnir's length from the inside. The pale light encapsulating Sieg's death left Jeanne and Jalter in a free fall with the centurion in the middle; enraged by her grief, the Holy Maiden loosed a burst of prana and lunged with her flag. He deflected the stab along his gauntlet's length, pushed it away, and with speed rivaling a Servant's impaled an emerald gladius through her chest. Blood erupted from Jeanne's lips; one hand grabbed his arm, the other reached the sword on her hip.
"O Lord, I entrust this body to you—"
Jalter blinked to the centurion's flank, her own flag already moving. Malevolence flashed within golden irises.
"La Grondement Du Haine."
"La... Pucelle!"
The gargantuan fireball lit up the dark skies. Jalter pressed onward through the wall of fire, fed it with all the power she received from the Counter Force. Jeanne dissolved to ashes; in her place stood the shadow of a man. The belching flames curled around his scorched armor and his beady crimson eyes, but Jalter continued to feed the inferno. She remained undeterred.
Yes: undeterred.
Even as his hand reached through the hellfire.
Even as his palm clamped around her face.
Even as the crystalline spike punched through her nose.
Even as it exited the back of her skull—
...
Her body went limp. Her form began to fade.
A supersonic arrow punched through the centurion's unprotected elbow, its force great enough to separate forearm from bicep. The champion Heracles took aim as he descended. The next projectile targeted the man's vulnerable neck, but with a speed defying all the World's laws, the emerald armor closes the gaps and sealed any openings. The demigod's arrow ricocheted off the centurion's collar without effect.
"—I see," spoke Heracles. "You are like them. A shame, to see their noble sacrifices turned against the ones they wished to protect."
The centurion made no attempt to reply. He aimed his covered stump, bracing it as one would a firearm, and shot off several crystalline shards. Heracles avoided them without issue, but chose to disengage rather than continue the engagement. He placed the Bow of Hydra between his teeth, tucked his arms, and dove head first into the tumultuous waters.
Overcome by gravity, the centurion likewise fell through the air in a controlled manner. He twisted through the skies, eyes peeled for his severed appen—
The point of a massive lance slammed into his chest; the armor dented and cracked beneath the blow's weight. It pushed him through the howling wind with its baleful light, an insufferable glow that tore the breath from his lungs and left his heart burning in his chest. Yet more heat overcame his back. From his periphery he detected a growing luminescence that matched the same horrid brilliance exuding from the spear.
Before he could regain his bearings, the centurion found himself pinned against the fiery walls of the Reality Marble. Its resplendence blackened his armor; the spear's owner towered over him. Cold, quiet words seeped from the decorative lion helmet.
"What mistakes hath thou wrought, King Claudas?"
Despite his precarious situation, Claudas, Frankish king of the Berry, felt no fear. The armor receded from his stump. He flexed his newfound divinity. From the waters came his removed arm, up through the rain it soared, and with a sickening squelch...
"—Mistakes?"
...reattached itself.
Sounded from the fog, the drums of war.
Thousands in number, that emerald armada.
Shades of the past, basked in crimson.
Those fallen ancestors.
"There are no mistakes."
Fate/ess
Mercury and Venus.
Mars and Jupiter.
Saturn and Uranus.
Neptune and Pluto.
They, the Pantheon. They, the Aristoteles.
Blue Grass - 4
Vampiric eyes burned in the black sockets of that mask.
The Lancer turned to the flagship in horror.
Upon that deck stood what once was a man.
The shepherd of an empire reborn.
"There are only the gods, daemon."
LUCIUS TIBERIUS
Power unbecoming of mankind rushed through his form.
Claudas found purchase on Rhongomyniad.
And with the power of the Grain.
Began to push it back.
"There is only Rome!"
Claudas shoved Lartoria back, lunged with his gladius. The blow deflected off her vambrace. She rained down strike after strike, thrust after thrust; none punctured the Spider's armor. In the shadow of the golden Reality Marble did they fight tooth and nail, their armored forms soaked by the torrential rainfall, all as the war around them raged. These two figures of myth and legend, natural-born enemies, perverted and changed by Tower and by TYPE.
Amid the flashes of lightning, Claudas twirled beneath the spear's deadly thrust. He charged, Lartoria backpedalled. Another miss. The centurion sidestepped her counter stab, ignoring the way his crystalline sabatons sizzled atop the Reality Marble's solid ether barrier. Prana flared within the King of Knights. Rhongomyniad pulsed.
Claudas jumped. A massive energy drill swept across the golden barrier. Lartoria planted her feet, pulled the lance back, took aim.
Mana Burst.
Superheated air blasted the centurion's body. He braced his body against the shockwave and let it carry him back. Lartoria tracked his movement. One thrust.
The golden spiral threatened to consume him. The Spider's armor locked itself in place, fired a burst of Grain straight up. The sudden change in velocity spared Claudas the brunt of the impact, and like a falling brick did his boots slam into the Reality Marble's barrier. He pulled on his gladius' hilt; it extended into a spear, a pike.
Lartoria again readied Rhongomyniad. Her helmet's visor observed the weapon.
"—I see. The Crystals' use of the javelins... Tiberius is the cause. They are pila."
Indeed, the crystalline polearm Claudas held at the ready matched those fired by the Crystals. They were the same: the legendary mainstay of the Roman legions, the pilum. The lion's helm tilted.
"What ails thee, Claudas? I knew you to be quite talkative."
The centurion shifted his center of gravity. Lightning crackled. Their capes twisted in the wind.
"I exchange words with men, not shades and blasphemers."
"Hmph. Ever the zealot. Very well."
The lance's vehement power illuminated the dark skies. Lartoria readied herself.
"I shall show to you the light of the heavens."
Grain flowed into the pilum. Angling himself, Claudas cocked the weapon back into an overhand throwing position. Two of his offhand's fingers pointed at Lartoria's center mass.
A name like thunder rolled through the storm.
"...Rhongomyniad."
Erupted the lance, shadow of the Tower. That malignant swirl of energy, harbinger of instant death, tore its way along the Reality Marble, poised to snuff his life in nary a microsecond. The centurion planted his foot, rocked forward.
"—Haa!"
The sound barrier: broken. Mach 2. Mach 6. Mach 10. Into the point, into the drill of oblivion. Evenly matched, Grain and True Ether warred against each other. But one destroyed the other - the counter was absolute. Rhongomyniad's golden point chipped away at the pilum's head, then its shank, then the shaft. Claudas recognized his defeat. He knew not how often his opponent could use that technique, or whether it had any limitations or weaknesses. His enhanced mind recognized all of this in the split second it took the deathly spiral to eat through his pilum's shank. And he also noticed that, due to the blast's size, his person, in that moment, was completely hidden from his opponent's view.
So he left.
Rhongomyniad tore apart empty space. The Noble Phantasm dissipated. Lartoria's helmet swiveled to the departing signature and at once moved to follow—
"Lancer."
Guardians Fujimaru and Kyrielight blocked her pursuit.
"Allow me my continued engagement, Master. He is a threat I alone can handle."
Fujimaru's orders came blunt and fast.
"Your primary objective takes precedence over the history you share with that man. Regroup with Lalter and depart for the Tower at once. Upon his arrival, inform Emiya that the Crimson Moon has created its own Ether Liners."
Lartoria stiffened at the term, for many uncomfortable reasons.
"—He will not understand, Master."
"He will in the future, that's what matters. You're to tell him of his sword's purpose, and urge caution in its use. It's our trump card. We can't allow our enemies to devise a counter."
The King of Knights inclined her helmet.
"As the Counter Force commands."
He turned to Mash once she left.
"Has Heracles gotten them through the Reality Marble yet?"
She shook her head.
"He is caught between moving them and defending against the Crystals. Other Servants are aiding him when they can, but their hands are full as is. Losing those three really set us back, Senpai."
Frustration boiled his nonexistent blood. Fujimaru grit his teeth.
"I will not allow that thing in the sky to desecrate everything Ado Edem stood for. The pride those warriors held, the things they sacrificed for the chance to fix this mess..."
His voice fell away with his sudden epiphany. Mash rubbed his shoulder.
"Senpai?"
"...Pride," he whispered. "That Heroic Spirit... maybe. Maybe."
A torrent of prana, far more than he had in life, burst from his person. Fujimaru focused on his connection to the Throne. He scoured its catalog for one legendary hero in particular. Mash kept her watchful eyes on their surroundings, for in these moments was he at his most vulnerable.
He found it. The Throne approved its summoning. A container was prepared.
...
In a phrase: a knight in shining armor.
"To think I would play a part in her story. Truly, the Counter Force honors us this day. Oh, how blessed are we!"
If the Crimson Moon fought with the faith and zealotry of men, so too would they.
"Can you handle this, Saber?"
The man visibly shook. It'd become customary during initial summonings for Fujimaru to question their clarity. Whether they knew where they were, or the objectives set before them, or that their information was correct and up to date with the situation.
"I urge you to refrain from asking pointless questions."
But not him. Not this one. This one knew. He'd devoted his life to knowing, researching, understanding. The Servant pierced him with a wild stare - the stare of a man on the precipice of achieving self-actualization.
"It is not a question of my capabilities. If I fall in this battle, you are to resummon me immediately. Are we clear, Guardian?"
Fujimaru couldn't help his grin.
"We are."
The Servant's shadow extended across the Reality Marble, wide and long, and within the black Fujimaru saw them: seventy-four thousand troops.
The entirety of the Third Crusade.
"Wonderful! In return, I shall give you my word!"
A manic, drunken grin spread from ear to ear. He drew his sword. His replica of the sword.
"So long as I stand here! By the glimmer of this blade! Our Founding King's long-awaited meeting—"
The most devout of her followers had come. He who would see them to their destiny.
"—shall be SAFEGUARDED!"
He focused on the Roman flotilla's crystalline flagship, where Claudas conversed with the commanding warlord. The golden motes took to the sky. To his blade they condensed, and then came the shout, the roar, the frenzied cry that swept across the battlefield.
"EX—"
Lionheart.
"—CALIBUR!"
"I do not understand its construction, Shirou."
"You're saying that like I get it myself, Saber."
"You are its smith."
He rubbed his neck in exasperation.
"I-I'm pretty sure it smithed itself..."
The three sat around Caliburnus, trying - and failing - to unravel its mysteries. Arthur, being who she was, had made it a point throughout her reign to understand her myriad mystical armaments inside and out. Without knowing their properties and purposes she could not wield them responsibly, and when one dealt with the likes of Excalibur and Rhongomyniad, irresponsible use resulted in injury or death for, well, everyone. Enemies, allies, and the user.
They had a good starting point; after all, Caliburnus wasn't completely foreign, given its existence as the end result of multiple Excaliburs and Caliburns fused into one. Its length, weight and other physical properties had all been recorded or otherwise made note of, so here the trio sat, comparing it to the swords they knew.
And that, naturally, resulted in some... strange observations.
"Thou art sure, Arthur, aye?" Artoria stressed.
Arthur swallowed her misgivings.
"As sure as one can be."
Namely: that the Thirteen Strictures - the Restraints of the Round Table - sealed the power of every Excalibur, but not Caliburnus. Never had Arthur used the Sword of Promised Victory at its full power. The Restraints were devised with purpose of establishing exceptional circumstances far beyond normal use. A battle against mortal armies, for example, outright breached seven Restraints at minimum. With the Restraints removed, Excalibur had the power to defeat the White Titan in a single blow.
Or so they had believed. Technically correct, perhaps, but the truth was always muddier.
Caliburnus as an entity stood beyond Excalibur at its full power. They were incomparable. Was a lightbulb brighter than the sun? Were the parts of a sword stronger than their sum? Together, the two Sabers vanquished a seemingly impervious Crystal using the Sword of Pride's golden blade and nothing more. Though Arthur had called its True Name, she hadn't released the energy within the mysterious Noble Phantasm. And that presented them with a conundrum, because Caliburnus' ugly truth could not be ignored.
It was only a sliver.
"Damn Alaya," Shirou muttered. "Could've at least left us a manual, or a list of warnings, or something."
Arthur fidgeted on her knees.
"What do you see, Shirou? Can you understand its blueprints?"
If Caliburn was a flickering candle, Excalibur a lightbulb, and Caliburnus a star...
"—It's funny," he admitted. "In my other lives, I remember sometimes thinking how cool it would be to really understand the inner workings of your sword, Saber. But now?"
What, then, was Caledfwlch?
Shirou sighed, long and hard.
"We... probably shouldn't make a habit of using this. Not without good reason."
Artoria leaned back on her hands, shrugging.
"'Tis Arthur's problem. Kanshou and Bakuya are more than enough for me. How far are we to Gabrosentum?"
The old Roman fort villa of Gabrosentum - modern day Moresby and Parton - overlooked the westernmost-occupied point on the Cumbrian peninsula. Roughly northeast of the Isle of Man, the fort and its harbor were their final stop before the voyage across the Irish Sea, to the Tower upon the island, Rhongomyniad. A long way from Artoria's home in Wales; without a doubt, the furthest she'd ever been from Camelot's walls.
She had mixed feelings. On the one hand, she loved the adventure, seeing new places. On the other, she would have preferred to trek alone. With Saber. Just the two of them.
Hmph.
She keenly remembered a similar situation in Alter's memories, whereby Sakura moved into Shirou's home full time over concerns that he was accommodating an attractive young woman of similar age, and that without Sakura's presence, they would be alone. Oh, but they could not have that! Goodness gracious, the humanity! Divine forbid Shirou and Artoria were left alone, by themselves, with no third party establishing ground rules.
'Twas not like she would eventually change her cognomen to, say, Emiya, or start wearing a ring. No, of course not. How silly. Nor would she ever hang up her sword and become a loving, doting housewife who swept the floors, folded laundry, and consumed excessive amounts of his homemade pastries. Nor would they, perhaps, open a small forge and make a business of selling utensils and goofy knick-knacks to their neighbors—
Ahem. Anyway!
"At our current pace, I believe it shall take us a day of travel," Arthur replied. "I must admit, I am eager to see how the fellow countrymen have fared in these parts. I did not have many opportunities to visit Cumbria whilst king."
While time obscured the true facts of the matter, historically the Britonnic peoples of Wales and Cumbria seemed to have considered themselves a single ethnic group. Indeed, the word 'Wales' was not Welsh at all, but rather derived from the Old English term 'Wēalas', which was assigned to the Britons by the Anglo-Saxons as the former retreated into the region.
The Welsh - that is to say, the descendants of the surviving Britons - called themselves 'Cymry', and their nation 'Cymru'. In their current region, through the quirks of regional dialects and language evolution, 'Cymry' turned into 'Cumbri'. Latinized, Cymru translated into Cambria, and Cumbri into Cumbria. Cambria and Cumbria, fellow countrymen. Cornwall was as well, technically, but that situation was far more complicated.
Aquae Arnemetiae straddled the southeastern limits of the Cumbrian ethnic region, and Uther Pendragon, despite his faults, was still a fellow countryman. The feud with Cornwall hadn't reached this place or its peoples, so any features marking the girls as possible Pendragons carried with them no negative feelings. At least here, they were still free to travel as they pleased.
Shirou stood, dusting himself off. Arthur and Artoria followed suit.
"I still can't believe I'm finally hearing you speak your native language, Saber. I've always been curious."
Caliburnus returned to the ether.
"And I shall never tire of hearing you speak Brittonic, Shirou. 'Tis humorous, the way things change."
Blessed be the Counter Force and its obstinate hatred of language barriers. What use was a Counter Guardian bodyguard, if you couldn't communicate? Japanese in Fuyuki and Chaldea, Brittonic in Britannia. All their bases covered. With a bit of modern English thrown in for added spice, of course, thanks to Archer and his silly preferences.
As usual, the camp's various projections faded at Shirou's command. Tents, sleeping bags, chairs and pots and pans all returned to Shirou's mental landscape, while Artoria kicked dirt over the campfire. Early on, before Arthur's joining, she'd asked her Servant why he insisted on conjuring sleeping bags instead of regular beds. He replied something about 'preserving the camping experience', whatever that meant. Artoria thought it a strange thing to focus on when the tent he most often summoned was spacious enough to comfortably house a king and his retinue, to say nothing of a party of three. Made of some futuristic material, as well - 'carbon fiber', Shirou had called it.
Just one of his many oddities and mannerisms, but Artoria didn't mind. 'Twas cute!
For around half a day did they trek through the late winter woods, with only the creatures and themselves to keep each other company. Cumbria had always been sparsely populated, and what civilization did exist was located along the shoreline. Mountains and hills made for defensible locations, but that was offset by the challenge of building the towns and castles in the first place. Even the Imperials had kept their presence in this region to a minimum.
And then, as the trees thinned and the forests became the sloping grasslands of the shoreline, Shirou lost his balance, stumbled, and grabbed a trunk for support. Artoria turned to him, concerned.
"Saber?"
He blinked - the kind of blinking one does consciously, to remove stars from the vision. Then he craned his neck to the south, a frown on his lips, and muttered an uncharacteristic, foreign profanity. Something in English, perhaps, if Alter's memories were in order.
His bow blinked to his hand. Artoria's concern morphed to resigned trepidation. Something had happened.
"Saber, what is it?"
He shot them both that detestable look she abhorred, that chilled, glazed-over, dead-eyed glance that served as the reminder of his eternal bondage to the Counter Force. The dagger she'd used to free Alter, Rule Breaker, came to his right hand.
"Master, Saber, ignore Gabrosentum and make for the shoreline. I'll meet you there. I need to stall them."
Arthur's sky silver armor covered her form, her gauntlets gripped Caliburnus.
"Stall who, Shirou?"
He nocked the dagger into the bowstring; as he pulled it taut, it elongated into a thin, narrow spike. Magical energy swirled.
"I'm not positive on the details. It was blurry, but something gave me a quick peek outside. It seems the last of the Romans has made a deal with the devil. From the state of those ships, he's conquered the Ostrogoths far ahead of schedule."
He launched Rule Breaker, then another sword back to back, the speed of his draw superhuman. Arthur's eyes narrowed.
"Tiberius. Come, Artoria. We must hasten our departure. If that man wishes to invade, he shall first target the Tower."
A burst of prana sent Arthur charging into the grasslands. Artoria did the same, but in her inexperience trailed behind, much to her own displeasure. They cleared the windswept fields in a matter of minutes and landed on the rocky beaches far to the south of the Roman fort. Even from their current position, they still could not see the Tower. Confusion pricked at her mind.
"That man, Tiberius," she asked. "He is the bastard of that deposed emperor, aye? Glycerius?"
Arthur nodded.
"Alter remembers well. He is not meant to antagonize these lands for another twenty or so years. Not until Theodoric's death destabilizes the Ostrogothic kingdom. He seized power through connivery and platitudes, and then had the arrogance to demand tribute after I ran his supposed 'tribune' out of Gaul."
The King of Knights brought a hand to her armored hip, then, and her expression grew awfully smug. Artoria feared her next words.
"The only 'tribute' I had Sir Gawain deliver was his nephew's head upon a silver platter."
...
Artoria dragged her hand down her face.
"The Sword of Pride fits you, truly."
"Hm?"
"'Tis nothing. Where is Saber?"
"Right here."
The man in question dropped to the ground next to them, in his armor minus the helmet. She couldn't help but agree with Arthur's silent sigh; while Alter's encounters with Archer were limited, she still knew his face and that omnipresent deadened expression. And though Artoria hated to acknowledge that ugly truth, in that moment she understood why, upon reuniting, the first thing Arthur had done once they were out of danger was check Shirou for his 'Archer-ness'.
His teasing, slightly sarcastic joviality, that boyish innocence to which she'd grown so accustomed... it all faded away beneath that blank, serious glare. It did not suit him. Not at all.
He was still Archer, because Archer was Shirou Emiya. He had not escaped. He could not escape, no matter how far they traveled or how often they entertained their silly little diversions.
She hated it.
And, to her immense surprise: so did Alter.
It bubbled and seeped up from the depths of her soul, that blackened king's annoyance. As if in one moment of utter clarity, every thought coalesced and unified into one almighty mental retaliation:
"Me, surely, but never him."
"I can't see the situation anymore," Shirou spoke. "My vision faded when that strange energy dispersed. I'm hopeful the Broken Phantasms I launched will clue them in. If whoever's outside can repeat that technique, I should be able to offer them some support."
He walked to the sea's edge, lifting his hand. At his silent command, two black swords appeared, their distorted forms wide and large enough for a man to stand on.
"These Hrunting variants have been modified for riding. They'll respond to your mental instructions once you attune them to your prana. I'll join you after, I need stable ground to maintain my accuracy."
...
"Never. Him."
...
They - she - walked right up to him. She flexed her hand to summon that loathsome, broken sword, that blasted antique.
"Then end it with this."
Arthur's eyes widened. His concentration broken, Shirou whirled to her, shocked. She stabbed the cracked holy sword point first into the ground at his side.
"—Are you okay, Saber?"
His mouth moved faster than his mind, and he blurted the words before fully processing the situation. Alter lifted a fine eyebrow.
"The girl gave me permission. I am surprised you can tell the difference."
It pleased her to see the speed with which his gaze softened.
"I can tell all of you apart. It isn't difficult."
"Good." She gestured to the sword. "Get rid of it, Shirou. Destroy it."
His brow tightened. She could tell he was searching for a way to deny the request without offending her. It mattered not. He could never offend her.
"—A knight needs a weapon," he answered at last.
She stepped closer.
"I have already found suitable replacement."
Shirou blinked. "A replacement?"
Alter balled his surcoat in her fists, peered up at the man she'd wronged in so many unfathomable ways.
"Correct. The girl and I have struck a deal."
She tugged the fabric, as if to prove a point.
"She may have Bakuya, but Kanshou is mine. I refuse to wield any putrid blade that has caused my Master agony. You shall remove it from my sight. Am I clear, Shirou?"
Two swords in two hands, wielded by two women caught in fate's throes. It took him a moment, but he smiled down at the girl talking through another.
"...Crystal, Saber."
"It is not a question of whether you deserve forgiveness."
"Excellent."
She stood on her toes, tugged him down to her level, and kissed him. Arthur bristled, but said nothing. Alter pulled away just enough to whisper into his lips.
"I am sorry."
He stiffened for a poignant second. The moment passed fast enough to appear an illusion, but she caught it all the same. He squeezed her shoulders - the girl's shoulders.
"I-I forgive you. I'll always forgive you, Saber."
"Shirou will always forgive you. You are you."
Nothing in her rotten, broken life could ever compare to the relief she felt in that moment. It slammed into her like Bellerophon. Like his merciful knife. And so, she said the words she'd long been denied.
"Thank you for freeing me, Shirou."
His jaw fell open, he shuddered, his grip tightened enough to be painful.
The good kind of pain. The pain of living once more, when all hope was previously lost.
"D-Don't make me do it again, you idiot!"
She leaned in again, pecked the corner of his mouth.
"Never."
And then they separated. Alter relinquished her control as Artoria returned to the waiting Arthur; she blinked her eyes back to green, her ahoge popped into place.
She also licked her lips. Arthur gasped, offended.
"Y-You! Which of you kissed him, Artoria?! Was it thee or Alter?!"
Artoria stepped up onto her assigned Hrunting. She flashed her counterpart a teasing grin.
"A lady doth not tell her secrets, thy majesty."
Aghast, Arthur fought off the rising blush marking her hesitation and stomped over to Shirou. Her armor clanked and chimed, he resigned himself to his duty. Silver iron gauntlets wrapped around his neck; the other Saber made a point of evening the tally.
...
Nodding with the same solemnity once used to confirm acts of war or tax hikes, Arthur patted his cuirass and walked back to the rocks.
"Do not dally, Shirou."
She too boarded her Hrunting, and onto the Irish Sea went the Pendragons. Shirou rubbed his neck, his thoughts on the sword left behind.
...
—I'll destroy it.
I'll destroy the magic circle, and the shadow along with it.
Angra Mainyu's fetal activity is slowly destroying the cavern.
...But I don't think it'll die even if the cavern collapses.
I have to destroy that thing here and now.
Is it possible?
...Yes, it's possible.
I'll go as near it as I can and attack it with great force.
Angra Mainyu can't move as long as it's in the black fire.
I'll cleave it in two before he can emerge.
If there's anything capable of such a feat, it's—
...
An ironic, rueful grin twisted Shirou's features. Armored fingers traced the weapon's cracked hilt.
"The greatest Noble Phantasm I know of."
"One of the spirits recognized me, though I know not how. The arrogance of her words bested me, and I responded when I should have remained silent. I believe my retort implicitly confirmed my identity. My apologies, Imperator."
Tiberius waved Claudas off.
"It changes nothing. Have you discovered anything noteworthy?"
"I have."
The King of the Berry directed the Imperator's attention to the top of the golden dome, where two figures cloaked in red conversed with an armored warrior, a blonde man neither of the Romans had previously seen. The latter unsheathed his sword in melodramatic fashion.
"Those two, the ones disgracing the war god's colors - they are the enemy commanders, I believe, and the source of their ceaseless reinforcements. As I withdrew, I overheard them delivering orders to the daemon that recognized me. They discussed some sort of weapon, something they believe might lead to our defeat. An expulsion of that sickening energy followed soon after."
"...And a new ghost now stands before us," Tiberius finished. "Well done, Claudas. You have achieved much."
"EXCALIBUR!"
A frenzied shout interrupted the conversation. Blinding brilliance evaporated the clouds and scorched the seas, and before either of the men could react, it bore down upon them. The flagship's crystalline hull trembled and took to flame.
"...!"
But there a Crystal hovered, shadowed before the golden light. The monstrous beam struck it center mass. It pulsed, it groaned. The light of their enemy refracted and deflected to the sides; their guardian fractured beneath the onslaught. Claudas shielded his eyes and squinted into the madness, but Tiberius glared his disapproval, confident in his god's defense.
At last the torrential energy dissipated. The Crystal's central structure, heinously cracked though it was, had managed to withstand the bombardment. Claudas took note of something, however, seen only from his vantage point. He turned to warn the Imperator, but it was too late.
A sword punched clean through the Crystal's cracked superstructure.
A sword with the velocity of a hypersonic arrow.
A sword aimed directly—
"Wh—?!"
The waves disintegrated.
The magical flames roared.
The world shook.
Caladbolg—
—at Lucius Tiberius' forehead.
Detonation.
An explosion far larger than any witnessed so far consumed the Roman fleet. The ships listed under its awesome force, though its damage was insignificant in the face of Mercury's protection. The two men regained their balance. Tiberius forcibly ceased the ringing that plagued his ears.
"Claudas, report."
"Its origin was some point inside the dome, Imperator. I did not think anything could leave."
"It forced its way out."
The two men turned to the newcomer. Alipantis of the Pastures, usurper king of the Spanish Visigoths, landed on the flagship's deck. He inclined his head to both men.
"Imperator. Claudas. Watchers in my fleet reported seeing a leading arrow gouging its way through the barrier. The arrow that assailed you followed on the heels of the first, exiting before the hole could close. A shot worthy of Mercurius himself."
"From where in the dome did the arrow exit?" Claudas queried. "Near the base, or the top?"
"Towards the top."
The Frankish king nodded. His enhanced mind ran through the possibilities and implications.
"A fireball of maximum size, yet negligible power. Judging from our distance to the dome, the arrow's speed, and the angle of descent, I daresay the arrow was fired from the inland, not the shoreline. Whatever loosed it would not have an eye on our position."
The three men noted the embroiled conversation occupying the enemy commanders and the warrior responsible for the golden blast. Claudas turned to Tiberius.
"A sighting arrow, Imperator. Its originator did not expect to hit us. I expect the next to be far more potent."
Tiberius nodded.
"The enemy will factor this new weapon into their defensive strategies. We must deny them the opportunity. Claudas, take your men and infiltrate the dome. Find the origin and see it destroyed. Alipantis, take the fleet west to cover their approach. Prioritize its safety until the weapon is dealt with. I will handle the enemy commanders myself."
"By your will."
"At once."
The three men separated. Another wave of energy rolled off one of the enemy commanders. Tiberius couldn't identify the culprit at the present range, but it changed nothing. He would eliminate them both at once.
One step closed the distance. They backed away, having expected him, and the swordsman whirled to their defense. A vain effort - the divinity of the gods enhanced his every movement. Tiberius' crystalline gauntlets wrapped around their throats. He hoisted the commanders into the air, intent on decapitating them with strength alone. The young man choked out his final words.
"N-Now... Cas...ter...!"
Right as he began to squeeze, a gargantuan blade descended from above and claimed both his arms. The commanders and Tiberius both backpedaled. Reality distorted; the red-clad enemies blinked away, gone, reclaimed by their false god. Sneering, he lifted his bloody stumps. The severed appendages reattached and healed without so much a scratch.
A new ghost - a woman - stood alongside the warrior, holding the outlandishly large blade like one would a staff. Her armored robes twisted in the rain, a crack of lightning illuminated the strange cross marking her forehead. She graced him with a look laced in disappointment.
"How low you have sunk, Lucius."
Hmph. To be addressed with such familiarity by one of the false god's dead. Disgusting.
"I know not who you are, daemon, nor does it matter."
His pilum came to his side. Frenetic shouts of ghosts and legionnaires alike marked the entrance of Alipantis and the fleet. Crystalline javelins tore through the storm like waves upon a beach. Tiberius readied himself.
"Before the gods, you are all the same."
A faint, emotionless smile tilted the girl's lips. That accursed energy seeped from her every pore.
"As arrogant as ever. Very well, emperor. It is only right I reintroduce myself."
The warrior fell into position by her side. She handed him the blade and summoned a staff. Her eyes flashed.
"Servant: Caster. My name is Artoria. And your defeat..."
The bells began to toll.
"...is my responsibility."
Castoria.
The loophole in the Throne's quarantine of Heroic Spirit Artoria Pendragon. Divergent enough to bypass the lock on the holy sword, Excalibur, due to her not being a wielder, while at the same time remaining strong enough to supercharge the other loophole in the ban: Richard the Lionheart.
The Lionheart did not technically wield the holy sword. His Noble Phantasm, like Emiya's, was based in mimicry. He could replicate Excalibur's effects in any weapon he wielded.
Including Marmyadose.
In the midst of that war torn chaos, they fought. They clashed against Emperor Tiberius, with his newfound, unholy powers. Every blow unleashed a shockwave that rippled across the rain-filled heavens. The two Servants closest to the legend of that mythical woman, yet at the same time far enough removed to provide the solution the Counter Guardians so desperately sought:
Excalibur.
For through Richard's True Name release, the Grand Saber had found them, and lent his support. Before their departure, they'd informed Richard of their hypothesis. While living, they'd encountered a situation in which the Grand Saber's power had reached them across timelines. It emerged from Sir Bedivere's arm, Airgetlám, which in itself was a disguised, alternate Excalibur.
They believed Richard could do the same. With enough power, with a strong enough Excalibur fired from a strong enough weapon, he could act as a targeting beacon for a magical artillery strike launched by King Arthur's strongest, yet least known knight.
Richard brought Marmyadose down hard on Tiberius. The man sidestepped the blow, but the evade presented an opportunity. The Lionheart planted his foot, twisted, maneuvered into an uppercut. He roared his fury.
"Excalibur!"
Tiberius blurred backwards; his former position erupted into a column of golden energy. And then, in that same spot upon the Reality Marble's surface: a hole. An exit wound... formed by an arrow. Another surged from the depths. Another, another, another. Black arrows streaked red up into the clouds. Muffled explosions sounded in the stratosphere.
And then came the storm.
Over a hundred Hrunting projections fell like rain, each attuned to an individual target. Five swarmed Tiberius, whose pilum became a whirlwind of protection. The spear knocked and battered the homing swords away; their reinforced structures ensured their continued survival, however, and as they spun they corrected their courses to re-engage. More Hruntings passed them like missiles. They swerved and evaded intercepting javelins thrown by the legionnaires aboard Alipantis' fleet, ducked under and over friendly airborne cavalry, homed in on the Crystals.
This Noble Phantasm was too weak to do any damage, but that was not the point. Richard and Castoria saw it for what it was.
The Hrunting copies lodged inside the Crystals. The Grand Saber was marking his targets. Castoria took a breath, prepared for the next step. Ethereal swords took up position behind her back.
"The furthest island, the capital of sins, and the last dragon is in my heart! We will not yield to any destruction! Gather, guardians of the Round Table!"
The bells chimed. Richard held Marmyadose at the ready, but Tiberius moved to stop them. He closed the gap in a split second, pilum aimed at the Lionheart's unprotected head. From the Saber's shadow rushed his fellow kings of the Third Crusade, Phillip II, Frederick I, and all their men. With one thrust of their mighty shield wall did they halt Tiberius' advance, all as Castoria's voice called aloud the release of her Noble Phantasm.
"Round of Avalon!"
The explosion of light flowed into Richard, who brought the gargantuan blade down to his side. Everything within him flowed into that strike.
"EXCALIBUR!"
Tiberius saw it coming. The Roman emperor pushed Grain into his legs and flung himself into the air. Momentum carried him over Richard and his godlike blast; faster than either Servant could blink, his pilum tore Castoria's head from her shoulders. Glinting light marked her return to the Throne.
One Servant down, but it was too late. Another hole had appeared in the Reality Marble, and through it came a black sword. A blade, cracked and chipped, overwhelmed by an energy signature far beyond any felt on that battlefield.
Servants across the siege line stilled. The fabric of everything flexed, as if incapable of containing the weapon's existence. The Broken Phantasm breached the clouds; its entrance disintegrated the storm. Rainfall evaporated. Lightning dissolved. Shadowed in the crimson of the moon, there it arced, belching black and red.
The Crystals' instincts ordered their haste. They withdrew from the offense and took up positions above the Roman flotilla, arranging themselves into a defensive lattice of interconnected, emerald Grain. A solid crystal barrier blocked the descending sword from hitting the fleet.
The tactical redeployment gave Heracles the time he needed to at last push the vessel of the Church survivors into the golden dome. It split open to allow them passage, and there Tiberius found his opportunity. His roar carried far.
"CLAUDAS!"
Under threat of that descending blade, Claudas and his legionnaires sprinted across the waves and into the border, their passing attempts as destroying the vessel thwarted by the Greek demigod's continued protection. Claudas urged them onward, their invasion urgent. They, too, felt the approaching power. They, too, understood the concept of annihilation.
The Crystals seemed to brace.
It descended point first towards the crystalline lattice, its velocity supersonic.
Every single Servant in that battle prepared for impact.
The legionnaries collectively raised their shields.
And so the Broken Phantasm came.
The Rounds of Lionheart covered their liege with the shadowy shield wall. The blackened holy sword reflected off his pupils.
Excalibur Morgan.
...
O̴M̷A̸K̷E̶?̷
...
Falling.
Falling.
Falling.
Crunch.
"...Ngh! What the—?!"
From his prone position, Ado Edem chanced a swivel of the helmet. Doing so graced him with more questions than answers. In a word: empty. Nothing. No ground, no sky, no Aristoteles or blasted wastelands or wholly unbecoming otherworlders. When Saber mentioned a 'Ritsuka Fujimaru, last Master of humanity', he'd expected a grizzled war veteran, someone right at home in the halls of Witch Swift Umbrella, not... well, a boy. Kid didn't have a lick of facial hair. But he did well enough, and they got the Last Seed out, so—
Where was he? Why wasn't he dead? Where were Iri and the girls?
It seemed safe enough, albeit far too quiet for his liking, so he decided to stand. But as he attempted to do so, an armored gauntlet forced him back to the ground.
"Ado! Stay down!" a muffled voice hissed.
Ado craned his neck in the voice's direction, to find the current Tine Galat, Gwalchmei, peering off into the endless, formless horizon. His palm had a firm hold on Ado's pauldron - Saber's pauldron, he mentally corrected - and beyond the man, Edem spied more of their compatriots equally prone and wary: Getlam; Ginus; Aught; Novem; Dight. Ado glimpsed his four daughters and their mother on Dight's other side, and only then did he allow himself a breath. Good enough. They'd try to find the others later, but for now, just having this many First Knights together in an unknown land was more a boon than a curse. They were long overdue for some good luck. So he buckled down and let himself relax, and followed Tine's visor to...
"...What is that thing?"
...a floating... blue orb? It reminded him of Saturn, almost, if Saturn was blue and on fire and had two rings instead of one. Eugh, Saturn.
"Hell if I know," Tine grunted. "Think it's an Aristotele? Thing's got that creepy alien look about it, yeah?"
"No," he refuted, "too small. A-Ray, maybe."
"A-Rays're humanoid, dumbass. Can't be."
"Right, but it could be something one of the Six conjured up. You know how they like their magical bullshi—"
"I don't CARE! This needs to STOP, Schweiny-chan!"
Ado's jaw clicked shut, because the thing was talking.
"What do you mean I'm not allowed to call you 'Schweiny-chan'?! That's an adorable pet name! ...What? Listen! No, listen! If that lil' white-woman-killer can get away with giving you pet names, why can't I?! It's not fair! ...Yes, I know! They're right over there! Of course they don't, that's the problem! We're on the fourth fucking loop, dude! It's happened four times already! I'm getting sick and tired of this, it's like a stupid never-ending carnival ride! I have quantum nausea! QUANTUM NAUSEA! Schweiny-chan, I don't even have a mouth! How am I supposed to puke without a mouth?! It isn't faiiiiiiir!"
Ado could barely hear himself think; it was like a billion people moaning in his ear all at once, and frankly, he didn't know there could be that many people in the first place. But when he flexed his palm, when he muttered the aria to start Slash Emperor's formation, nothing happened. He looked to his palm in a bout of panic.
The seed wasn't there.
"—Tine. Ti—Gwalch, I don't—"
"—Supernova's gone."
Tine was a statue, frozen in place. Ado knew by now that, under normal circumstance, roaring flame and oozing plasma would be leaking from the burly man's visor and flowing from the gaps of his armor. The malformed Galatine Tine called his Knight Arm coated his very skin and bones. In its absence, he probably felt naked. Ado empathized, he really did; he knew what it was like, though his initial lack of a Knight Arm came about by choice. He wanted the thing inside the scabbard.
In a way, that made it worse. The others were born with their weapons, but he'd earned Slash Emperor.
Ado pushed his hand into the other Ether Liner's back. "Breathe, Tine."
While he consoled his stricken companion, the blue orb continued its insane rambling.
"Every time this happens, things get a bit stranger, that's all! That's all I'm saying! It's just—d'ya remember the first loop, Schweiny-chan? Where he fell through the ceiling and, like, two days later randomly fought Gaheris at the camp? Remember how simple that was?! Yes that loop mattered, what do you even mean, like yeah it lasted for the multiversal equivalent of forty-five minutes before the second loop overwrote it but I had so much more FREEDOM! WAAAAAAAAAhaaaaaaaaaaaa it isn't faaaaaiiiiiiiir! Why am I trapped in here?! Get me out! I'm going crazy! I didn't even do anything WRONG! So I said his abs were better than Gilgamesh's! So WHAT! GILGAMESH IS AN ASSHOLE, who CARES?! C'mon! C'mon c'mon c'mon pleeeeaaaaaase get me ou—fine I'll start the omake, jeez."
And then, to their utmost horror, an enormous shadow covered the endless white. Whatever light source this strange place had was soon covered by an endless sea of silky smooth red. Some kind of... fabric...
"Run," Ado whispered.
The Ether Liners ran for the hills.
It was a... curtain?
...
Memelord Alaya presents:
The Mind of the Grand Saber
...
"Order! These chambers will have order!"
Archer banged the Kanshou gavel on the table. The microphone carried his voice through the stadium, beyond which rested the eternal wastes of the blade works. Up above, giant displays broadcast the happenings of the council to the far corners. Sectioned into separate branches, thousands upon thousands of Shirou Emiyas occupied the seats, each with their own minuscule differences.
The central council, a sizable round table, seated the core representatives. The table was spacious, fit with a projector display and all sorts of functions by which the representatives - those of the self-proclaimed 'True Endings' - might discuss the business of the Grand Saber Superconsciousness.
One section in particular took longer to quiet down. Archer banged the gavel again.
"Fate! I order you to silence!"
The seats of World 02.00 - the Fate route - would not be silent. They blew on their white-and-blue vuvuzelas, and with loud cheers waved their flags in the air. Small, chibi-style Artoria faces featured prominently against the fabrics' white backgrounds.
Meanwhile, the route's representative, Shirou-02.15, lay sprawled over the table, face down in a pool of his own blood, unconscious from yet another Saber overdose. His third time in the span of an hour.
"—Tch."
Archer stood without a word, projected his bow, and fired off an explosive Caladbolg arrow into the heart of the section. Their shouts and screams were music to his ears. The panic lasted but a moment; the smoke cleared to reveal them unharmed, if not sufficiently chastised. The Counter Guardian dusted himself off and cleared his throat before resuming the meeting.
"Before we move to the matters at hand, we must discuss a new appointment to this Council. This person in question has a prominent role in a notable reality, which compels us to offer him a place at the table."
Hushed murmuring overtook the stadium. Archer banged his gavel for silence, then gestured for the newcomer to approach the stage. The young man in question was quite the oddity: black hair, not red, with thick tattoos coiling about his entire body. A red headband kept his hair out of his eyes. Archer pierced him with a fierce, disapproving glower.
"Allow this appointment lightly, the Council does not. Disturbing, is this move by the Counter Force."
The new representative nodded. "I understand."
The stare down continued. Archer crossed his arms.
"You are on this Council, but we do not grant you the name of Emiya."
"—What?" the young man muttered, shocked. "How can you do this? This is outrageous! It's unfair! How can you be on the Council, and not be an Emiya?!"
The Counter Guardian's glare hardened.
"Take a seat, young Sehai-kun."
Shamed, the young man inclined his head.
"...Forgive me, Satan."
A pause while he found his spot, then:
"—It's 'Actually'!"
All eyes turned to the section of the audience reserved for members of World 03.00, Unlimited Blade Works. One of the Shirou variants had stood from his chair, cupping his mouth so his words could carry further. Another oddball, this one's voice did not match his compatriots whatsoever. Archer noted with disgust the graphic t-shirt this particular Shirou wore: a picture of Artoria in a dress, bent over in a sexually suggestive position. The pose was angled to focus on her rear end, and the word 'BAEBER' crawled up the outside of her exposed thigh.
"His name's 'Actually Satan'!" the idiot continued. "The 'Actually' is import—"
His head snapped back, impaled up to the hilt with a longsword-turned-arrow. One of the other Shirous next to him, recoiling in horror, tightened his grip around his Tohsaka plushie.
"...Sorry about him," the UBW representative, Shirou-03.12, grunted.
"I... I-I... waaaant... thaaaaat..."
Everyone ignored him. Archer fought off his headache.
"The discussion phase is next. Are there any topics the representatives wish to bring before the Council?"
"I have one, yeah," spoke Shirou-04.18, the representative for Heaven's Feel.
Archer nodded his permission. "You have the floor, Mr. Spring."
04.18 cleared his throat, considering his words. The three sections comprising the 'Our Worlds Are Fucked' alliance - Heaven's Feel, Miyuverse and Prillya - collectively leaned forward in their seats, breaths held in anticipation. Their realities were set to the highest difficulty ratings, with the most opportunities for something to go terribly wrong, and so someone who had aced everything and walked out unscathed - relatively speaking - was seen as a hero to the common Shirou.
Excluding one Shirou in particular, of course.
Down in the first row of Heaven's Feel, Shirou-04.14, resident of the so-called Bad End 38, 'Sparks Liner High', leaned back in his seat, yawning, and scratched his elbow. His incredible jawline flexed; his exquisite, utterly perfect, 11/10 muscles rippled; his sharp red locks, not a strand out of place, fluttered in the invisible breeze. The Root, detecting this sequence of events, slowed the universe so it might record his incredible actions for, ahem, later, and the Shirous seated nearby were knocked unconscious by the sheer amount of GAR oozing from this man's every pore and follicle. Had women been present in the Reality Marble, their panties would have dropped. Especially Salter's.
Especially Salter's.
...
What were we discussing again? Ah, yes, right.
"We're feeling a bit left out over here, Archer," 04.18 complained. "Why is it that our Saber always get the short end of the stick?"
Archer cocked an eyebrow. "Explain."
"Well, it's just... we're trying to find their Saber..."
He gestured to the rambunctious Fate route, whose members worked together to unfurl a giant, section-wide poster mock-up of Artoria in her one-piece nightgown. The caption along the bottom read, 'WE BELIEVE IN HAIR-DOWN SUPREMACY'.
"And we're traveling with their Saber..."
Next, he pointed to World 03.00's audience. Though a bit more split by Tohsaka v. Saber infighting, the members of Unlimited Blade Works nevertheless raised their foam Caliburnus toy swords high and unfurled their own section-wide poster, one far raunchier than the Fate route's: a close-up view of Rin and Artoria sharing a steamy, passionate, sloppy kiss, with far more tongue than lip. Several Shirous passed high fives and congratulatory backslaps to a very proud Shirou-03.11, achiever of the 'Sunny Days' ending.
"But our Saber gets, what, stabbed again? Seriously? Don't get me wrong, Archer, Artoria a cute, but it isn't really fair to Salter when she's the only one to get assimilated, is it?"
04.18 turned to his audience for support.
"Is it, guys?!"
For most of World 04.00's audience, it was Sakura or bust, and so, though they cheered their agreement, their reactions weren't as unified as the other branches. In lieu of the giant posters, they held up more personalized banners and signs, upon which were written things such as: 'Men are corrupted by darkness!'; 'tfw no smol goth borgar king gf'; 'Dark Sakura is technically naked!'; 'SHINJUKU MASTER RACE'.
Archer pinched the bridge of his nose in exasperation, sighed, then reached under the table and pulled out a massive booklet labeled 'Fateless Script'. Licking his index, he flipped through the pages until he found the relevant passage.
"I understand your aggravation. According to this, [FATELESS SPOILERS, BLEEP]. Does that alleviate your concerns?"
...
04.18 picked his jaw up off the floor, as did everyone else.
"...Archer, you jackass, what the hell? That's a massive plot twist, you can't just go and spoil something like that."
"Did it, or did it not, answer your question?"
"I-I guess, yeah, but—"
"Excellent."
Archer clapped the booklet shut and tossed it over his shoulder, expression blank.
"Is there anything else before we move on to the main topic?"
Silence.
"Very well. First, let us offer our appreciation to the young Gohan, for his offering of Rider's swimsuit in this matter."
"Nice work, Gohan!" roared the audience. The bashful Shirou grinned and blushed under the praise.
Additional cheers and whistles came from the section of the stadium reserved for those Shirous hailing from the Carnival worlds. The two branches had become fast friends since the merge, and together they'd been delegated responsibility for the Grand Saber's cooking. The peaceful nature of their realities was a boon for recipe acquisition, as well as general proficiency in the culinary arts.
"—Ngh, damn, my head..."
The ruckus brought Shirou-02.15 back from his Saber-induced coma. He winced against the sharp glare of the stadium's illumination and groggily took stock of the situation. As he regained his bearings, Archer tapped a button by his microphone, which pushed the main topic of that day's meeting to the monitors hanging above the representatives' table. The Counter Guardian cleared his throat.
"Let us discuss the memory."
Against his better judgment, 02.15 lifted his gaze to the monitor. Amber orbs bugged out of his skull.
"H-Holy shi—!"
A geyser of blood erupted from his nostrils. The force tilted both his head and chair back; down he went, out cold. His section loosed a visceral shout of excited surprise, then likewise fell to the memory's power.
Archer nodded grimly. He jotted something down on a piece of paper, careful to not look directly at the monitors, and sniffed back a red droplet leaking from his nose.
"Fate's thoughts have been recorded. Unlimited Blade Works."
Arms crossed, 03.12 pondered the image long and hard. Artoria stood statuesque in the Roman bath, eyes squeezed shut and lips puckered in a way both awkward and adorable. He took note of the way her fists clenched down at her sides, the blush covering her face from ears to neck.
03.12 exhaled. "Teasable."
Archer required more information.
"On a scale of Zouken to Rin, if you would."
...
03.12 closed his eyes, dead serious.
"Issei."
The chambers gasped; a ranking not given lightly. Archer tugged at his collar.
"—I see. Heaven's Feel."
Where 03.12 focused on their Master's state of mind, 04.18 instead observed her appearance. Salter's golden eyes and pale skin tone. Rider's swimsuit. A body type just shy of Sakura's, yet at the same time honed since childhood by martial exercise and warfare. Were a sword a woman, its name would be Artoria.
04.18 nodded to himself.
"Sakura's close second. Medium is premium."
High praise, coming from a man who went to such lengths for a single, troubled girl. Archer grunted.
"Very well. Miyuverse."
"Protective... urges... rising...!"
"Prillya."
"I want her to call me onii-chan."
"We will be having a talk later. Chi no Gohan."
"Take the Grand Saber's helmet, alter its size and shape so it fits over the lion plushie's head, and offer it to her as a birthday present. Fifty-fifty chance she takes the top off, and a kiss is guaranteed."
...
"Why are his ideas always so good?"
"We need to step our game up."
"Seriously, it's not fair."
Archer wrote that down.
"Noted. Carnival."
"The Carnival wishes to piggy-back off Gohan's idea. Artoria is Artoria, no matter the form she takes. Her competitive streak means she'll want to offer us something equally potent for our own birthday. Provide subtle hints nudging her in the direction of the gothic lolita maid outfit."
...
"We need to separate them."
"I heard Harem Protagonist positively scales with a world's pacifism setting."
"Oh, of course. But if I try it, everyone ends up in worm-filled torture porn until Alaya brings down the hammer. I should file a complaint."
"Sounds disgusting. Want a hug?"
"—Yeah. Yeah, that would be nice, Shirou."
"Not a problem, Shirou."
Archer noted that down, too. He continued through the sizable number of representatives: Strange/fake; Requiem; that one section reserved for the insane sons of bitches who intentionally failed high jumps again in the Clock Tower gymnasium to unlock the legendary Luvia route. They and many more offered their thoughts on the frozen memory the monitors displayed. After he finished with representatives from the Limb of Man, Archer moved to the other Limbs governing countless more branches and twigs. When all was said and done, he banged the gavel for a final time.
"We will now give this Council's thoughts to the impartial librarian for tally and score assignment."
The hushed conversations died, the lights dimmed. Archer left the chamber by means of elevator. The monitor switched to a new display - that of the stadium's hidden second level, where all but three were banned from entering.
The stadium featured three levels: two chambers of countless Shirou Emiyas and their respective representatives each took up the first and third floors; the second floor was a soundproofed, dimly lit library occupied by a single Shirou. Archer shared a nod with his identical counterpart, Nameless, who sat at the head of the second Council and likewise carried his own list. Together they approached the man who served as librarian and impartial judge of all their memories. This ominous Emiya sat upon a luxurious seat, reminiscent of a royal's throne, dyed deep onyx and lined with golden trim.
The librarian's sacred duty was of paramount importance. He alone stood as the objective cornerstone, the one who condensed their scattered, disparate opinions into organized, cataloged thoughts and emotions usable by the Grand Saber. Without the librarian and his impartiality, his lack of opinions and memories, the unified soul would fall apart. He was the blank slate reflecting the combined Shirou Emiya.
Archer and Nameless handed the man their expansive documents. The librarian spent a moment to read through their contents; upon finishing, he crossed his arms and closed his eyes.
None dared do more than breathe. They waited. And waited. And waited some more.
"—As the judge of these Councils..."
A single spotlight shone upon that man. The camera feed zoomed in on his face.
"...I rank this memory..."
Emiya Alter's sharp gaze snapped open. The light flashed on his eye's corner.
"...EX!"
And the stadium indeed rejoiced.
Confusion Corner
oh boy everything's backloaded now
i may not have thought this through properly but THAT'S OKAY we'll just put 'em after the omakes yeehaw
j-jannu?
it was a cameo appearance, sorry :(
BEST SIMP ALERT
where my strange fake homies at
[black man reverse meme]
The Castoria section in this chapter was written pre-Lostbelt 6, well before we knew anything about the girl. That being said, I don't think there's any real reason to rewrite it; I managed to salvage her involvement in a later chapter and make it work with the magic of hindsight and "it was totally this sort of situation i SWEAR"-tier exposition.
But who ARE these guys, wtf?
And now on to the main beef of this Confusion Corner: the BBEGs! All the Roman newcomers introduced in this chapter are Arthurian villains of varying prominence; Lucius Tiberius and Claudas are both up there in how central they are to the Arthurian myths, while Alipantis is actually one of the eleven sub-kings subservient to King Rience; he's standing in for his boss because Rience is busy back on the mainland. For those familiar with Hollow Ataraxia, King Rience is the rebel beard-shaver who threatened to cut off Saber's ahoge, and I'm dead serious when I say that is by far my most favorite plot twist in all of Fate, even more than Saber being a woman. It's so fucking accurate for Rience too, because yes, he is that petty. But we'll talk more about him much later, once he appears in the story proper. Our focus for now is on the other two.
Claudas and Lucius Tiberius are both central to Le Morte specifically, in that they represent, respectively, the "early game" and "mid game" bosses Arthur needs to face (Rience is also the "early game", and Lancelot is the "end game"). As we talked about in last chapter's Confusion Corner, Claudas is responsible for a whole host of issues plaguing Gaul - issues so severe that they bleed over into the British Isles and Arthur's territory. To say nothing of Lancelot and his family, Arthur (and Uther before him) had political alliances with both King Ban and Bors the Elder, and so he's dragged into the conflict once the war with Claudas starts. Then, sometime later, he gets a missive from Rome saying he owes the emperor tribute.
Arthur laughs.
The Roman emperor is Lucius Tiberius.
Note what I just said - Roman emperor. NOTE what I... y'know what lemme just copy-paste from Chapter 14's Confusion Corner:
Notes' chapter titles (VERY IMPORTANT - these act as Fateless' six core plot threads):
i. Original Sin
ii. Public Garden
iii. Roman - HELLO YES THIS ONE
iv. After Images
v. How A Star is Born
vi. Glitter Love
Believe it or not, Lucius does, in fact, have a canon character design for Fate - for as much as we can call Fate/Prototype canon, that is (nasu pls i beg). Google search him and you'll find a picture of him clashing swords against Proto!Arthur. But he isn't just in Proto, either - in FGO's Camelot Singularity, for those of you who remember, Bedivere actually introduces himself as - you guessed it - Lucius. Yes, he is in fact referencing Lucius Tiberius, because in several myths Bedivere doesn't survive to Camlann, and he falls in battle against the Romans during Arthur's war in the mainland.
Wanna know why Gaia's got Britain on lockdown? It's cause Tiberius is a power-hungry sumbitch, and this time around, he's made a deal with the Moon. If you couldn't already tell by the glimpses we've been getting from the outside world, he's, uh, already won. Vampires OP.
wtf was with the bolded dialogue tho
So back in Ye Olden Days, the very first unreleased prototypical draft of this story was... far different than what you're reading now. This may come as a surprise, but... uh... Fateless was originally a crackfic.
i mean it's still definitely a crackfic but it's more of a super high effort shitpost y'know what im sayin
The thing our poor Ether Liners encountered was the last vestige of that crackfic origin: Memelord Alaya. The Memelord's... fuck, uh. Lemme think.
okay
The Memelord is the internet.
Literally it's an unholy fusion of the canon Counter Force with the modern day human subsconscious - aka, memes, shitposts, and post-ironic humor. It's like four different levels of meta or something. Fateless' original chapter 1 featured this thing dropping in on Shirou during his little merger and wanking the everloving shit outta him, because that's what this fandom does, lol. But, as is readily obvious, the story eventually evolved in a different direction, and so the first chapter was rewritten into its current iteration and the Memelord was retconned into the pits of hell.
"Then why's it still in the story?" I hear you ask. Well, because there are readers here who slogged through that original first chapter - some of them liked it, god bless you guys - and it'd be disrespectful to them to pretend like it never happened. Its wacky, fourth-wall-shattering idiocy is, at this point, an honestly integral part of the story, even if its been chained to Omake-land. The "four loops" it mentions are the four rewrite/clarity passes Fateless has endured, in which various disparities are cleaned up, prose is tidied, etc., and because the Memelord's been here since the very beginning, it's seen it all happen. The "camp duel with Gaheris" is a meta reference to one of Fateless' prototypical chapters that never saw the light of day, for example.
I guess, in a strange way, you could say it's the story's mascot. Will the Ether Liners remember anything that happens in Omake-land? Hell fucking no they won't. Are they there for an actual, story-related reason? Hell yes they are. Is Omake-land the dankest of all Fate-related acid trips? Yup! Would I have it any other way? Nooooooope!
that reminds me, i still need to reupload that original chapter 1 to a google doc, i think it's still on my pc somewhere? lemme go look brb