"...That... explains much..."
Arthur's shaken, quiet voice cut through the insufferable silence. Focused tension suffused her armored form, taut yet uncomfortable, as though she expected the godslaying sword to make an appearance at any moment.
"That... day, when Shirou tried to use his... Reality Marble... when Caledfwlch unsheathed itself... Merlin told us those same words: two alone may hold the Last Phantasm, but one shard of its wielder shan't be enough. We lifted it only when we cooperated."
Artoria gulped.
"Walk forth unto thy destiny, and return the sword to Avalon, aye? We are the sword, Saber is Avalon. So then... to be prepared, if Caledfwlch becomes necessary..."
"Th-There's no need," Shirou interrupted. "I can use it if it comes to that."
None were more tense or stressed than he. Merlin sighed at the obvious attempt.
"Every time you use it, the sword breaks. 'Tis simple logic, silly boy. The weapon is held in the right hand, the shield in the left. How many of thy dear kings here misplaced the scabbard?"
The three kings glanced off to different directions. Merlin shot Shirou a look, her point proven, but the act only served to heighten his visible discomfort. Artoria ran her hand along the red fabric covering his vambrace.
"I can handle it, Saber. I am fine with Alter, am I not?"
"—This is different, Artoria."
"Different... how?"
Not accusatory, not disbelieving, just curious. Of all the present Pendragons, Artoria knew best the source of Shirou's hesitation. He experienced both sides of their conversational topic, he was most familiar with what they were about to do, and to her Servant, the odds were exactly fifty-fifty. Four attempts, two successes, a perfect coin flip.
Heaven's Feel. Failure.
Unlimited Blade Works. Success.
Miyuverse. Failure.
Grand Saber. Success?
Success resulted in power beyond imagination. Ascension to levels never thought possible.
Failure brought ruination.
His gauntlets came to a rest on her shoulders.
"Alter... was already dying. The woman you merged with was a faulty incarnation shunted across realities, at the weakest she had ever been. When you used Rule Breaker... I wouldn't doubt that from her perspective, I had stabbed her hours beforehand."
...
She chewed on her lip. He squeezed her shoulders.
"Were you Tohsaka or Sakura, I'd deny this immediately. You're an exception, Artoria. In your position, you're the only one who could hope to pull this off, because your Heroic Spirit, your Servants - they are weaker than you are. You're the one hero who is stronger alive than she is dead. That's why Saber and the Lancers are so interested by you, why Alter's chosen to supplement you."
She felt the kings' stares on her back. Shirou looked her in the eye.
"They're like me. In our lives, we never reached our full potentials. Much of our power is artificial. Their weapons had side effects that ultimately limited their growth. You, though... you've suffered no outside interference, Artoria. You're their purest version."
His words filled her with a strange, wondrous strength. Confidence bloomed in her gut. She could do this. She could harness their strength and their wisdom, and finally stand by his side as an equal.
"Will... will I still be myself, Saber?"
And then she saw the pain in those amber orbs, and it all came crashing down.
"—It's never just about strength, Artoria. The most important thing... is how similar you are to your other self. And out of every Artoria Pendragon I've known, you alone have no desire to be king."
It hit her.
She was just like him. That shard, the one in Alter's memories. The one who went against the grain, the one who intentionally discarded his natural goal to pursue something opposite. Just like him... she as well was willing to sacrifice everything for one person. And none of her other selves were like that. Not even the one they sought. That girl, too, was still King Arthur.
She was their opposite. And that meant...
"When... opposite world views intersect..." he continued, "...the result isn't... pretty, let's say. The more similarities you have, the likelier you are to come out of it unscathed. But in this case, your greatest strength is also your greatest weakness."
He struggles against Excalibur Morgan.
The beam ripples around the shield of petals.
Blades rip and tear their way from his person—
"You can handle Alter. Maybe you can work it out with Saber. The three of you understand each other, at least a bit. But you just met the Lancers, Artoria. You're strangers. Whenever I attempted a merge with my other self before truly understanding him, it resulted in the destruction of my body. Period."
He released her with a sigh, leaving her with her thoughts, and turned to Merlin.
"Is there a reason this needs to be done now? Is this just about Caledfwlch, or has something forced our hand?"
The witch scowled.
"A metal man with a mind of steel, now and forever. Nothing escapes those eyes, hm? No wonder Alaya adores thee. 'Tis quite simple, dear Archer: Pluto shall eat the Tower."
...
Utterly, absolutely, entirely—
"—That's impossible."
"Impossible by the World's logic, certainly. You forget the Aristoteles do not care. Pluto, the Maw, is a suicide engine, a planetary texture shredder designed to consume the most powerful energy source it can find, and then turn it to its own use by means of self-destruction. It obliterates its target's fabric of reality with one almighty blast, reforms itself, repeats."
...
An apocalypse.
An apocalypse, in three hours.
Arthur stepped forward, eyes wide and brow clammy. "H-How do you know of this creature, Merlin?"
That same serene smile came to pale lips.
"Because roughly two millennia from now, I and the five remaining Fae sacrifice our lives to halt the ruination it guarantees. The time table has sped up. Quite unfortunate."
Lady Vivian's tale whispered warnings in Artoria's mind. "Two... t-two millennia? Y-You mean..."
"Aye, we all have our part to play in thy Servant's little legend. We've not the time for a history lesson, however. The point remains: we cannot let Pluto devour the Tower."
"How are we supposed to handle this?" Shirou asked. "Rhongomyniad is the source of this Reality Marble, correct? I caught sight of a battle outside its border. That guy, Tiberius, he—"
"—sold his soul to the Crimson Moon for a chance to rebuild the Empire of his forefathers."
The witch saw no other way out of it, so she sighed and delivered the facts.
"This 'Reality Marble' you speak of, its source is the Tower, aye?"
"Y-Yes?"
"Why do you think things are fine in here, and damned out there?"
...
"'Tis not a Reality Marble, it is the Reality Marble," Lancer explained. "'Tis the Texture. It is the Age of Man concentrated upon a single point. In this case, the Isles."
Artoria turned to Shirou, intent on asking for clarification of terminology, but her voice died in her throat upon seeing his face.
Fear.
"—Why was I not informed?!"
Merlin's expression did not change.
"If you knew, you would move to intervene. Alaya needs you here, defending this position until the girl is no longer vulnerable. If Artoria dies, we lose. It is that simple."
Genuine, wide-eyed, utter fear. The kind of fear he simply did not display. A level of panic that compelled her to seek shelter, to board windows and hide in latrines and pray for divine intervention.
He was the divine intervention. And he was afraid.
Shirou - Archer - took a titanic step forward, his armored form having taken a posture that could only be described as Counter Guardian.
"You will tell me everything. What is the situation? What is going on out there, Merlin?"
The witch spoke a single word.
"Armageddon."
Armageddon.
While normally used as a synonym for the apocalypse or world's ending, in classic Christian mythology Armageddon referred not to the event itself, but rather its location. It was the site of the gathering, the stage upon which the apocalyptic armies would do battle. The Book of Revelation made mention of a gathering of kings to the site of the end times, for the sole purpose of conducting the great war in the name of God, the Almighty. The heavenly divine, so it was prophesied, would pour out his holy wrath against the armies of Satan, in one titanic, climactic confrontation for the fate of the world.
Satan's presence in this battle could easily be disputed, but two things remained certain:
Sir Ector thought Saber a god-sent angel;
And in 506 A.D., the Age of Man ended.
What better harbinger of the end times, then, than the detonation of King Arthur's blackened holy sword?
A black sun was birthed in those ashen skies; the crystalline lattice splintered, healed, splintered again. Valiantly the Crystals fought against broken sword's fury. Servants braced, legionnaires shouted. Choppy seas rocked the navies of both sides, their exchanged volleys marked by the glint of emerald and black powder and the agonized hum of mana. Mortal no longer, the armies of Tiberius fought the Servant defenders to a standstill. Spirits and vampires perished and reformed by the dozens, their continued engagement forced by the unseen gods guiding both sides.
Richard the Lionheart and the so-called emperor dueled atop the concentrated Texture. Excalibur Morgan's insanity gusted the wind into their capes and hair, strong enough to bowl over normal men and tear them of their breath. Lightning crackled, rain poured from the parted storm. Black clouds churned their endless chaos this way and that; tornadoes threatened to spawn from their rotation.
World against World. An invasion of the other, those creatures so unbeholden to Gaia's careful laws. Mere footwork broke the sound barrier. Projectiles defied physics. Mythical steeds and groaning Crystals violated aerodynamics, turned ninety degrees faster than one dropped a pin. No compromise, no words, apex against apex and slave against slave.
Such was the English Channel.
Tiberius' pilum met the sword Marmyadose in a grandiose shower of sparks. The Wandering King's army lunged from his shadow, deathly lances readied. Tiberius denied them the flesh they sought; he spun away with a sonic boom. Up came the spear, crystalline edge glinting, aimed for Richard's eye. A duck, a twist, a slash to counter, all to no avail.
The stalemate was fated to be broken - the gods fought in Armageddon, and they had just arrived. Tiberius retreated with a burst of Grain. Richard, meanwhile, survived for two exclusive reasons: the followers within his shadow told him to duck; and the champion Heracles, hero of Greece, forced him against the Texture's golden surface.
And in less than a second...
.̶̤̆,̸͙͆.̵̧̈́,̵̠́.̶̲̉,̵͈̓.̴͕͗.̷̰͛,̷̜́.̷̺̇,̴̹̚,̴̬̑.̶͉͝,̵͙́.̸̢̄-̵̧͛,̷̪̕/̵̲̓:̶̘̉,̷͕̽-̶̯̈́/̵̣̉:̴̳̐,̷͓̍.̴̮̍,̴͖̂.̸̡̔-̴͓̓/̵̪̈,̸̦̓.̶͉̓-̵̖͆/̵̧͆,̶͍͂—̷̮͘.̶̜͘.̸̻͛—̸̞̀,̵͇̂.̷̓͜-̶̭̂/̴͓̕,̵̹̾—̸̻͑/̶̭̈́.̴̮́.̷̪͘.̴̗̀.̵̯́_̷̘̕.̴̥͘-̷̺̊.̴̼̑:̷͍͛;̸̢̋,̴̣͌.̴̻̾-̵̞̚;̴͉̍,̵͙̽:̴̬͋.̸͕̀ ̴͙̂
...everything perished.
Servants vanished. Crystalline vessels capsized. Legionnaires became paste.
Richard's warrior instincts screamed. They told him to move, to hide, to seek shelter. But Heracles kept his body splayed against the barrier, just as low himself.
"Do not move, Wandering King. If we are to meet them, as we both wish, we must survive the next minutes. Remain still."
Richard blinked, hissed. "—Alcides?!"
Whatever internal reaction to the name Heracles may have had never changed the grim, statuesque expression upon his face. He spared a passing, almost fond look to Marmyadose.
"Formerly. You speak to Heracles, son of Zeus and Alcmene. Here as Archer under the Counter Force's directives. I read of Alcides' tale within the Throne; you are a follower of the King of Knights, are you not?"
Some of the tension drained from Richard's shoulders.
"I am. My apologies, I mistook you. I am Richard I, the Lionheart, loyal champion of King Arthur. Here as Saber. What do you ask of me?"
"Your assistance in ascertaining her location."
"May I ask why?"
The demigod's chiseled black eyes drifted this way and that, attempting - and failing - to track the ongoing carnage. His palm's pressure against Richard's shoulder lessened.
"Where the King of Knights is, so too will I find the Archer."
Richard frowned. "The Archer?"
"Correct. An interesting tale, but one of substantial length. We have not the time to discuss it here. Will you aid me?"
An easy choice. "I shall."
"I thank you."
And with that, the mountainous hand disappeared. Richard shifted himself, careful to heed his shadow's whispers, and for the first time beheld the carnage substantial enough to give even the greatest of the Greek heroes pause.
He caught three glimpses. Three short, sporadic after images, centered within a zone of absolute death.
The Crystals.
A titanic spear.
And a woman with angelic wings.
Tiberius was nowhere to be found. The Roman flotilla skirted the edges of the black mist, their hazy figures in full retreat. They were not stupid, and neither was Richard. Richard knew extinction when he saw it.
From above, just within the range of their amplified hearing, came the chirping of birds and the fluttering of wings. Every nerve within the Lionheart's spiritual body fired in sequence.
RUN
Heracles stood to his full height.
"To the entrance."
They sprinted. No defense. No offense. No attempt at safety. There was little point in defending oneself against a god. If the god wished them dead, dead they would be. Their only chance rested in a desperate dash through the apocalypse. The King of Knights was inside the Reality Marble, the last remnants of the Age of Man - there they would find temporary safety, and enough time to formulate a plan. He assumed Heracles sought this Archer for that reason.
The chirping deafened. Right at their backs, right in his ears, overtaking the howling, rushing wind. They powered down the side of the golden dome, their mad sprint near vertical, to find a dozen Crystals denying them passage.
"By the gods, what—"
"Do not pause," the demigod commanded. "Hesitation is death. Run."
And then came the Venusians.
And in that moment...
.̴̥͝,̷̘̑.̴̄͜,̸͓̓.̶̫̎,̴͖͑.̵̝̇.̷̪̿,̸͖̐.̶̻͝,̶͓̊,̶̨͊.̶̡͋,̴̺̾.̷̜̒-̵̨̀,̸̐͜/̸̪̏:̷̥̎,̶̘͘-̵̳̂/̴̘̔:̸͔̿,̵̘͌.̷̟͌,̵̭̍.̵̗̿-̸̣͂/̶̛͎,̴̮́.̵͕͂-̸͓̈́/̶̨͠,̴͈̎—̷̖͝.̷̗̉.̸̧́—̵̱̅,̶̧͒.̷̰͐-̴̨͛/̸͍̂,̴̣̐—̵͈̑/̵̞̿.̸̹̈́.̶̪́.̵͈͊.̴̣̈́_̸͇̋.̵͙͌-̴̯̾.̷͖͌:̶̥̉;̷͓̊,̷̬̒.̸̱̈́-̴̜͆;̴͎̇,̴̮̊:̴̪̇.̷̅͜ ̶̫̽
.̸͖͋,̶̭̈́.̴̢̃,̸͎̕.̸̪̕,̷̜̉.̴͖̕.̵͕̌,̴̼́.̸͇̚,̷͎͊,̴͚͝.̷̬̓,̴͍͑.̴̦̄-̸͙̄,̶͔͛/̵̮̎:̴̛̬,̷̗̒-̷̛̱/̶͇̂:̴̦͒,̴͎̍.̴̜͐,̵̹̓.̶͈͊-̵̠͋/̸̘̑,̸̕͜.̸̥̔-̵̖͊/̸͔̍,̵̨͒—̶̨̔.̶̱͝.̴͖͋—̸̞̓,̶͎͐.̴͎̋-̶̦̀/̷̹̔,̴̫͌—̶̭͑/̶̨̾.̴̲͑.̸̳̑.̶̪͒.̴͎͋_̴̰̑.̴̰̂-̴͚͗.̵͉̉:̴͔̂;̷͕̀,̸͚͛.̸̪͑-̴͉͌;̵̘͐,̷̛͙:̴̧̄.̵̞̌ ̴̗̊
.̷̻̍,̶̚ͅ.̴̹͊,̵̨͆.̶̣͑,̸̢̈.̴̪̓.̴̯͌,̵͙̿.̷̥̎,̶̟̈́,̵̙̃.̸͚̂,̶̜͒.̶͕́-̴̰̉,̴̯̃/̴̜̓:̶̟́,̸̣̈́-̶̱̐/̶͇̃:̶̰͂,̶̼̀.̸̟͘,̸̜̿.̸̭͐-̴̨̚/̴̯̈,̸̓ͅ.̴͍̕-̸̧̽/̵͖͒,̸̢̈́—̶̤̎.̵͓̂.̶̳͒—̶̩̆,̸̛͖.̶̹̔-̴̧͗/̸͍̄,̸̱͠—̴͇̅/̵͕̄.̸͖͝.̷̳̈́.̵͋͜.̸͓͗_̴̫̽.̸̞̉-̵͕̃.̸͕̎:̶̝̾;̸̩͋,̸̹͆.̸̞̎-̷̞̊;̸̥̂,̴̦̀:̵̪̽.̵͕͆ ̸̲́
In that horrifying, unholy, impossible moment—
His heart in his chest.
His throat hoarse.
His vision cloudy.
His annihilation imminent—
Richard the Lionheart could not see what happened.
They were beyond logic. Beyond reason.
The gods warred.
Death fought death.
Calamity unto calamity.
He squeezed his eyes shut.
He crossed his arms in front of his face.
Panting, praying, hoping—
Grain and ash and sparks and the screeching of the daemons—
The Lionheart knew, then, that everything up until that point had been a fanciful lie. Does a man give his all to the slaying of the ant? Does something above all rationality care for the laws of mortal and divine?
The Crystals toyed with them.
The Romans were slaves.
The Servants were helpless.
Flashes of sulfuric feathers, emerald splinters, the shattering of glass, the rage of Mars itself—
And the TYPEs were trying to kill each other.
In the blink of an—faster than light did an eldritch horror teleport within their personal space. A woman. A woman with long, blonde hair, with two angelic wings sprouting from between her shoulders. Her nondescript white dress fluttered in the wind, her cheerful grin promised obliteration.
"̴E̸h̴e̸h̷e̸h̶e̴h̶e̶~̶"̸
Her arm - straight out to the side, her fingers gripped a Crystal intent on—shattered with her bare hand.
Their measure was taken before either Servant comprehended the chaos called Armageddon. Something wholly infernal lurked beneath her innocent visage. The woman parodied mortality.
"̵Y̸o̵u̶ ̸t̷w̴o̶ ̷a̴r̴e̸ ̴n̸e̸c̵e̷s̸s̷a̵r̷y̶!̶ ̶C̴o̶n̶g̴r̸a̶t̷u̶l̴a̵t̷i̵o̸n̸s̴!̵"̸
Richard gasped, choked, as the dainty hand threatened to crush his windpipe. The girl shoved both men hard up against the golden dome as they fell through the black skies. Reality snapped high in the sky. A new god entered the stage. Above the Reality Marble: a hole. A hole in the fabric of spacetime, nine tendrils sprouting from the depths. The golden dome fluctuated; the new arrival stabbed into its surface and began to rip the Texture apart. The barrier twisted, spiraled, up into the singularity.
It was eating the Age of Man. It was eating Rhongomyniad.
The girl's finger - a finger also on his throat, that was not possible - touched the barrier, cleaved it asunder just enough to give them passage.
"̵O̵f̵f̶ ̶y̷o̵u̵ ̷g̴o̴!̶ ̶B̴y̷e̸-̷b̷y̷e̸!̶"̴
And they fell, fell, fell—
The longer Merlin speaks, the more afraid I become.
I fear for my home, my family, and most of all: him. I fear for him.
I need to do this.
I cannot let him struggle against this insanity by his lonesome.
"As of this moment, the Crimson Moon has claimed ninety percent of the planet's surface area," Merlin hums.
"To protect both Rhongomyniad and itself from the reborn Empire's Grain contamination, Gaia has retreated the Age of Man's Texture to the British Isles. In doing so it has strengthened the boundary to nigh impervious levels, and spared itself from the poisoning."
Shirou's mind races. He delves into his millennia of experience, searches for a solution to the impossible.
"—That's why you hid Arthur. You knew this was coming and wanted an extra layer of separation."
"Mhm."
"But even if Arthur's out of danger, I don't see an out, Merlin. Gaia is safe within the Reality Marble, but it's essentially trapped itself. If the Texture is somehow breached..."
"Do not see an out, or do not want to see an out?"
Shirou pauses, his body stiff. Off to the side, Arthur seems to reach some conclusion, as have the Lancers.
I alone remain in the dark, but that is fine. I cannot help but think things shall change soon enough.
All at once, Shirou relents.
"I understand that's the only solution, but I'm still concerned about the population. They've acclimated to the Reality Marble's pressure, probably, but this..."
"It is guaranteed death against potential death."
My trepidation soars to new highs.
My brother and father and the others!
I lick at dry lips.
"W-What about the population? What are you doing?"
A stiff, uncomfortable silence ensues.
Lancer eventually sighs.
"Restarting the Age of Gods. We must release the Tower and hoist the anchor. 'Tis our only choice. With the True Ether of the Age, Gaia and Alaya will stand a chance against the Grain."
The... the Age of...?
"I never intended to bring you to Arthur," Merlin explains.
"I am bringing Arthur to you. To that end, the merge is necessary. There are too many terminals of authority present. The Tower knows not who to obey. Nor can we release thy Servant selves, Artoria, for thy Heroic Spirit is under quarantine for temporal corruption. It can come here in all its totality, but summoning or releasing individual Servants is no longer possible.
And even if we could: by thy lonesome, you and Saber Alter will not have the strength to bear the full brunt of the Tower's might. Nor can we simply kill you off to lessen the numbers. Thou art mortal, yet also the anchor for Artoria Pendragon's disjointed soul. Without you, there is no hope for a successful unification, and Caledfwlch shan't ever be properly wielded, as is necessary for the coming storm.
Lastly, and perhaps most important: Arthur shall need thy guiding experiences if he is to weather the chaos. Despite my best efforts, he is very much the model King of Knights, with all the good and bad... perhaps even more so. The more reigns experienced, the more potentialities we might prepare for."
"..."
I...
There is... much to absorb.
I open my mouth to ask dozens of questions.
I need clarification about a great many things.
But before I can speak a word—
.̵̬͒͌;̶̨̛̣͙̎̃-̸̟̓̽͑;̴̩͍̝͂̏:̵̻̐̿-̷͓̅̐̚;̵̬̄̀̎.̴̜͂̂͝;̶̯̺̳͒̍͝/̸̺̳̓̎;̶̮̈́-̵̩͑:̵̛̞̊͗ͅ-̴̫̿̈́:̸̨̮̜̓:̴̢͐͒-̸͈̥͎͊͂͘;̶̪͖̞͊̀/̷̼̯̌́͜.̸̦̃̒,̴͖̻͛͗͐-̶̧͙̄̓̚?̴͇͙̈́̏͘/̷̤̲̍,̸͙͗̀̊/̷̙̞͍̈́:̷̳͕̓-̶̝͈̏͂:̷̛̭͈͍̑͒/̷̻̃̌͘(̵̘͊:̸͎̈́̚,̵̧͔̜̓͐̇.̸̳̯͔̂̉̕,̷̝̙̖̀͐̌-̸̙̱̀́;̸͕͆̓ͅͅ-̷̗̾̽͐,̵͓̎͗/̷̘̣͊?̴͚̼͔͑̅/̴͇̦͛̽̄,̶̦̙͆͐̓-̶͎̹̌̇͒;̶̳̫͔͂͐-̸͙͚̒̾̔;̶͇̰̬̈́͐/̵̧̡͙̐̊ ̶̧̢͑
The Tower shudders...!
It rocks—my balance leaves me, what is—?!
I see genuine emotion reach Merlin's face for the first time.
It is shock.
The witch is actually surprised.
"—It bypassed my clairvoyance...! Quickly, we are out of time. I must alert Arthur. Come, all of you!"
She turns to Shirou.
"Archer, you must find some way to stall it whilst the Pendragons undergo the joining."
His helmet coalesces around his head.
My heart sinks. I wanted him here. I wanted him to watch, to stand guard.
"Shirou."
Arthur approaches him, hands him Caliburnus.
—I turn away.
No matter my feelings, she has still known him longer than I. She is his Saber, not me.
This is the second time they shall separate.
"Saber, I..."
"Whether I say goodbye depends on thine answer, Shirou. Am I becoming Artoria, or is Artoria becoming me?"
Despite the Tower's tumultuous cacophony, all noise seems to vanish.
The moment is quiet. We all stop, even Merlin.
Something like this... he alone has experienced it.
We are all horribly curious.
Who among us shall perish? When Artoria Pendragon emerges, who shall greet him?
Who shall speak the words, who shall think the thoughts?
"...You are becoming each other. There is no submission or domination. You are one person who has lived through multiple lives and accumulated multiple roles."
We comprehend his words, but not the meaning or concept behind them.
His is an existence above ours, akin to the TYPE that assails the Tower.
Lesser beings cannot hope to understand.
Shirou sees our hesitation, and attempts to clarify.
"Listen, all of you. You can all exist in one place because your experiences differ. They qualify you as separate beings. Don't think of it as a Heroic Spirit. There's no entity reading your stories, you're living them. You all have green eyes and blonde hair. Your names are all Artoria Pendragon.
The differences in those experiences will be the biggest burden you need to overcome. You'll be judged by yourself. You need to find something you can all agree on. A common goal, a singular belief you can unanimously rely on to push past your differences.
If you can't do that, the differences in your worldviews will tear your soul apart. But if you accept yourself, one person will emerge, because only one Artoria Pendragon can be in this reality."
The Lancers and I remain confused, but Arthur's face shows nothing but relief.
"'Tis the same as the Chaldea summoning, then. Excellent."
Pulling at his surcoat, she stands on her toes and pecks his helmet's faceplate.
"I shall see you soon, Shirou."
Her actions are like a lit candle in my mind.
'Twas the same technique Alter used earlier.
The same.
That is it - we are all the same.
There is no we, there is I.
I am Artoria Pendragon. In all worlds save this, I am King Arthur.
I am Arthur, I am Lancer, I am Lalter, I am the girl they abandoned.
My shoulders relax, but the trepidation remains.
All this time I have competed against myself.
Trained against myself, argued against myself, consoled myself.
Arthur's doubts are my own. She is the me of three years ago, so unsure of herself and her destiny.
My duty now is to learn of - to remember - my Lancer selves.
But...
But do they wish to learn of me?
I wish I had more time.
When I look up again, Shirou is gone.
Merlin has sent him away. To the physical island, the Isle of Man.
Arthur stands next to me.
She takes my hands in her own, looks me in the eye, smiles.
"I will see him again."
My smile is her own. They match.
She, at least, I can hope to understand.
"I will see him again."
We walk hand in hand to our counterparts.
Lancer sighs.
'Tis the same sigh I huff whenever Kay talks himself out of a defeat.
"Ready?"
"Aye."
"Aye."
Merlin leads us to the center of the room.
"Call forth the authority."
Lancer and Lalter stab their lances into the floor, crossed in the shape of an X.
I recall that the Excaliburs and Caliburns paired themselves similarly the day Arthur forged Caliburnus.
Just like then, today we forge another sword.
—But my name is not Caliburnus.
The two lances dissolve into a thin pillar of light.
It must be a scaled representation of the full Tower.
Merlin's apathetic expression tightens.
'Tis as much worry as she can display for someone who is not her ward.
"One hand upon the person on thy left. The other upon the terminal."
We take up position around the authority in the cardinal directions.
My left hand comes to rest on Arthur's shoulder.
To my right, Lancer grabs my own.
Before I join my right hand to the authority, I take a final look at the command seals connecting me to Saber.
Things I should not have, but have received all the same.
I realize I have never studied them all that intently.
They faded into the background. Not once have I considered their use.
Not to learn his name, not against the Crystals, not now, when he leaves to face a daemon on his own.
'Tis ironic, I suppose, that I now take notice.
He is my Saber. We are both Sabers.
Yet, his command seal is a stylized arrow.
It is a true reflection of his idiot self.
An archer that fights with sabers.
A swordsman that uses a bow.
Never one without the other.
A sudden bout of humor overtakes me. I swallow my laugh.
My hand enters the light. Our light.
Merlin gives her last instructions.
"Connect thy prana to the authority. Understand thy other selves, and exit the other side as one person. Good luck, Artoria Pendragon."
We close our eyes.
I release the dam, I open the gate.
Just as he instructed me all that time ago.
...My vision whites out—
"Is King Arthur here?! Where is the King of Knights?!"
I am on a hill.
I overlook a field of death as a red knight dismembers the last of my defenders.
The warrior leans on her sword, coughs, gathers her breath.
And then notices me.
I wait for her.
It is the duty of the king to provide an example to his subjects.
Even if she has turned against me.
Even if Camelot has fallen.
This person is still my knight.
I must await them.
She holds out her arms.
"Well? What now, King Arthur! This is the end of your kingdom! Face the consequences for not recognizing me as king!"
...As king?
What is she talking about?
The thought has not once passed my mind.
I ready Excalibur.
She is lost. Confused, perhaps. But nevertheless, she poses a threat to the kingdom.
For the safety of the people, despite the pain it gives me, I must strike her down if necessary.
The knight extends her gauntlet, frenzied.
"Is it hate? Do you hate me? You hate me because I was born to a witch?"
...Was born to?
I do not understand her words.
She is a knight. The circumstances of her birth do not matter.
Even the lowliest, should they prove themselves, may earn a place at the Round Table.
She hunches over, outraged by my silence.
"—Answer me, Arthuuuuur!"
She attacks. I move to defend.
A sudden pang of grief surprises me.
It loosens my grip, and so the collision of our blades sends Excalibur flying some distance down the hill.
—I am temporarily disarmed. No matter.
I shall retrieve Rhongomyniad.
When combined with our current positioning, the lance's length shall grant me an advantage against that sword, Clarent.
I must delay the knight while I prepare.
"I have never hated you."
A low, muffled gasp hisses from the knight's helmet.
Confusion prickles at my mind.
—Did she not know that?
Why would I hate her?
She is one of my valued knights.
Rhongomyniad is prepared.
My prana swells. I aim the lance at her center mass.
She readies her defense. My heart sinks.
I understand I must eliminate Sir Mordred, for the safety of the populace.
Therefore, so she may pass in peace, I shall answer her question.
"If you wish to know why I did not give you the throne..."
—I close the distance using Mana Burst.
"...it was because you do not have the capacity of a king."
I tell her the simple truth.
The lance pierces her. It is a single, fatal blow.
The impact shatters her helmet. Blood spills from her li—Medraut?!
"Fa...ther..."
"—SHIROU!"
Panic. Panic. Panic. Panic. Panic.
I am panicking. I cannot stop panicking.
I see red. My vision fogs. Am I crying?
Something - someone - is holding me down.
"K-King Arthur, p-please...!"
The voice sounds like Sir Bedivere.
I do not care.
Everything escapes me. My kingdom, my purpose.
It burns away in the white hot horror fueling my every lamentation.
This emotional intensity comes foreign to me.
I know I am acting illogically.
I know my outburst is threatening the success of this mission.
I know that in this moment, as we lay here defeated, the dying man in the center of my vision is our greatest chance of victory.
I know that victory is essential.
We must defeat the Goddess.
We must halt this madness.
I do not care.
"DO NOT DO IT, SHIROU!"
His red sleeve burns away.
His scarred skin blisters.
Tan bleeds into red.
The projection is killing him.
Goddess Rhongomyniad stares blankly. I curse her to the deepest pits of hell.
Does she not see? Does she not care?!
He is Shirou! She must stop him! She must talk him down!
He will kill himself! He will destroy his body to save them all!
It cannot happen! She cannot let it happen!
He must understand, he must understa—!
A knot ties itself deep within my mind.
The weapon he summons is flawed.
It is by its very definition a hollow replica.
Still Archer lifts it, reeking of that faux charm I loathe and despise.
His voice is filled with pain.
"—Here I come, Artoria."
Artoria Artoria Artoria Artoria—
"Artoria!"
I choke around the Lion King's gauntlets.
I know not where I am. There is nothing.
I am up. I am down. I am sideways.
Floating. Buried. Alive. Dead.
When did this happen?
When did this monster appear?
For how long have these hands clamped my windpipe shut?
How did I get here? What is...?
The creature is killing me.
I cannot think straight.
My mind is fractured, my body lame.
This person is far beyond me. I am just a girl...!
"Submit."
H-Hush.
Do not speak. My eardrums are about to burst just because of my choking. I cannot spare the effort to listen to your voi—
"Artoria! Fight it off, Artoria!"
A voice screams in my brain.
My brain is too large. It presses against my skull.
These things, these memories, they cannot fit!
They cannot cannot cannot cannot cannot—
My body reacts to her frantic warning before my mind does.
"—Ex..."
My draconian core races faster than the fastest horse.
"...calibur...!"
I swing something into the Lion King's neck.
The blade bends against her skin like melted iron.
The impact goes through the sword into my body, permeating damage from the top of my head to my toes.
"—Ah."
I am flying.
The attack I made with all my might did nothing.
—I am no match against her.
Artoria Pendragon is not allowed to even stop that monster.
My body is floating in the air.
No, I am flying.
I am like a thrown lance, hurled dozens of yards by the impact.
I might fly back to Camelot.
That is how much stronger she is. Escape is impossible.
Time has stopped.
I am still flying, and I should die when I fall to the ground.
Having seen the difference in our power, I accept my fate, but...
"You're the one hero who is stronger alive than she is dead."
...I feel his hands on my shoulders, urging me on.
"Gah—...!"
I frantically reach out.
My hand catches hold of something.
Someone's hand...?
"Ah—haa...!"
It feels like I have been hit in the back with a warhammer.
My heart, already pushed to the point of bursting, expands further still. It cries in pain as though a crack runs through it.
"Haa—ah—ah...!"
I can only draw in a single breath.
I need air, but it feels like I will explode if I take another.
"Haa, gu, haa—!"
But my body moves.
That single breath gives me the strength to stand.
I use the entirety of my draconian core to move my muscles and—
"I shan't let you have the child, Rhongomyniad."
Saber Alter steps in front of me, Kanshou readied.
Her voice is weak, her armor fractured. She knows she cannot win.
...That is the golden enemy's true identity.
The Goddess, Rhongomyniad. A divine spirit.
Our ultimate form. The highest we can ascend.
But... but she is not Artoria Pendragon.
She has green eyes, and blonde hair, and pale skin.
But she is lifeless.
Holding the lance, her entire being exudes apathy.
...That is something completely different.
Engulfed by Rhongomyniad, she is a monster who can only seek humanity's salvation.
She does not see who she attacks.
The divine spirit cannot recognize Saber Alter's figure, let alone mine.
"Extinction comes. I must act. You cannot be allowed to doom humanity. The Tower must not be raised."
She raises the lance against the living thing in front of her.
Time is stalled.
"—I do not care. I have chosen her over they who abandoned us."
Salter's words are unyielding.
But the Goddess pays no attention. She aims the lance—
"Saaaabeeeeer—!"
I run.
I was flung about ten yards.
This distance is nothing. I will make it if I run.
One breath. The prana fueling my body is like an explosion, and the igniting thought is like an icy blade—!
—I step in.
My body feels light. Time seems to stand still.
—I will make it.
I will certainly make it. But even if I do...
—I could not do anything with the sword that came to me. I could not match her.
'Twas the sword of my other self. Not me. Never once did I want that sword!
So...!
—I search for that gift he gave me.
The thing that let me face Salter.
Something that can match even the Goddess...!
—It is clear.
It can be nothing less than the sword he carries—!
"...!"
—I block the strike.
It has heeded my call.
"—Ah...!"
A crack.
A crack runs through Bakuya.
At the same time...
"..."
"Aaah—!"
I am hit with feedback that is almost strong enough to kill me, punishing me for using something that is not my own.
I am flung away.
Bakuya shatters beneath the Goddess' second attack, and my body slides across the featureless world like fresh manure.
—Fading.
My consciousness is fading.
I cannot think.
I cannot think even if I gather up everything.
My body revolts.
My blood overflows.
Four lives not my own slam against my skull.
I feel the chill of Rhongomyniad's influence, the slow creeping of her control...
The ominous feeling will turn out to be true, and I shall start losing what I value the most.
Where do I focus? Everything is... fuzzy...
I am here, and I am there.
Pale white walls, a frozen world outside.
Fresh food, a girl with black hair.
Everything is spinning. Everything is jumbled.
Who am I? Where am I? What—
"Ah—"
I am enveloped by a rushing wind.
I am enveloped by intense light.
I lost it, I lost it.
I lost it amid the agony.
I cannot find it, even though I search.
My mind turns into a single flickering mote within the omnipotent Tower's light, lost to everyone, burning out, burning out, burning out, burning out—
"Artoria. Get thyself together. Focus on me, not them. Remember me. Just me."
A dagger stabs my confusion.
It enters my chest. I see his face.
There, before me, is Salter.
I am on the endless white expanse.
I am about ten yards from the Goddess.
Her dead, glowing eyes stare into my soul.
"...!"
My consciousness returns.
This is no time to be on the ground.
My body still moves.
The only external wounds are light burns from where her lance knocked me away.
'Tis just pain. My tongue tried to gasp for air. I have none in my body, so I desire more.
That is all.
Everything important is inside my body.
I know not what condition it is in, but I can still fight—!
"Let us get away from here, Saber...!"
I grab Salter's hand and stand up.
My body is fine, but I need air.
I must get away from the Goddess to regain my breath—!
But.
"...Hmph. Artoria, do you understand what is happening to you?"
Salter pulls away, as if denying my assistance.
"..."
Something is wrong.
Rhongomyniad is right behind her.
I am myself, my head is not working due to the lack of air, and I cannot think why Salter might say such a thing.
"Saber?"
"...My apologies. It is fine now. Run away by thyself."
"..."
Salter turns to face Rhongomyniad.
I cannot think straight.
So I get angry instead.
"Stop with thy angst, Saber! We have not the time! Let us go!"
"...?!"
I pull her arm.
Her wounded figure. Her desire to help me in such a state does not sit right with me.
"What are you doing, Artoria? I said you have done enough. You can make it alone. Run."
She tugs away her arm.
My teeth grit.
"Stop it! Were you not paying attention? The whole point of all this is for us to cooperate!"
And I pull her to my side.
"...?"
Salter's eyes ask me why.
She is an idiot.
I should not need to explain myself—!
"If I do not protect you, how am I supposed to face him again? He cares for you, you stupid charlatan! Stop believing yourself to be expendable!"
The corner of her eye twitches.
"—You are a fool."
"If I am, so are you! We are the same person, Artoria! I am his foolish Saber!"
Something resembling surprise flashes to her aloof face.
"—You..."
The Goddess continues her approach.
"She comes! Run!"
I can think later.
For now, I must get away from her as fast as possible...!
—'Tis a bit strange.
I am pulling Salter and running at a speed far beyond Artoria Pendragon's abilities.
But no matter how far we run, the endless white does not change.
Rhongomyniad stays the same distance, though she walks and we run.
'Tis as though we have been running in place.
"Ah, haa, ha, ha—!"
Salter is the one breathing hard.
I am not out of breath, perhaps because my body is numb.
My lungs burn from the lack of air, but I am not breathing.
The draconian core, perhaps.
The difference between me and my Servant selves.
"I am... fine...!"
Salter's gauntlet burns in my grip.
She has never truly healed from her wounds.
Her returned freedom has left her far too frail to continue.
"...!"
My vision flashes red.
I have a headache.
Things I never knew flow into my mind.
Thoughts are useless.
I must flee.
The divine spirit is closing the distance while we dally.
We cannot escape her. 'Tis pointless.
My legs shake, so even if we could escape, I doubt it would be for long.
There is nothing here we might hide behind, either.
Not that it would accomplish much.
This is the end.
We cannot run away, and we cannot take much more of this.
I need to return to Shirou. His battle is far more dangerous than mine.
If he has perished while I ran...
—No.
That thought is useless.
I need to focus. I concentrate on the bashing against my skull.
The sole reason we are here in the first place.
Arthur and the Lancers... or rather, their memories.
I am afraid.
That is it. I fear what will happen.
I fear Shirou's warning.
If I cannot accomplish this, I shall die.
I will be torn asunder.
—And the longer I fear, the longer I stay, the easier it will be for Rhongomyniad to corrupt us.
Guaranteed death against potential death.
That is what Merlin said.
If I cannot contain the information, it shall drown me, and I shall die.
I must risk losing myself against handing my body over to the Tower...!
Even so, I cannot imagine what will happen.
'Tis a warhammer bashing my head.
My vision blurs. My stomach turns.
'Tis corrupting my mind. 'Tis making me forget my promise.
My brain will be bashed into fine paste, and everything shall end there.
"..."
My promise.
I promised to deliver him to her.
I promised to meet her, for his sake.
I need to be determined.
The answer is already there.
I must bring Shirou to his Saber.
I know what that means.
I have to release the Tower, return to Shirou, and bring him to Avalon.
I wished for a miracle that I cannot hope to accomplish.
I am still wishing with all my might.
I know it is a dream I might not make come true, but never have I considered giving up.
In the face of that desire, my other 'selves' are naught but worms slithering through the dirt.
They are not her. They are not the one he seeks!
They cannot make me forget.
I shan't ever forget!
Then I have to go.
I have to reunite Shirou and Saber.
'Tis impossible.
Shirou is facing a god of annihilation, and only destruction awaits him.
It will take a miracle to defeat Pluto.
—Aye.
Aid that is impossible with human powers.
If I am to perform a miracle that exceeds human capabilities, I must ascend past the realm of one human.
Artoria Pendragon does not have the power to to help Shirou Emiya.
But the Grand Saber does.
To do that...
The ground trembles.
The embodiment of the Tower closes in.
"—I am going. I shall defeat her, Saber."
She glances to me, expression blank.
"...Hmph. You truly are foolish. You shan't come back, Artoria. This is not something that can be undone."
"I shall bear it. I shall bear it even if I almost die, so you need not worry about me.
—Oh, and you are foolish too, Artoria."
Salter looks over herself. Her hard eyes soften.
She is dissolving. Bits and pieces of her armor fly away and merge with me.
She allows herself a small smile.
"...So I am."
She huffs, turns to face me, grabs my hands.
—Just like Arthur.
"I will see him again."
"I will see him again.
I am left alone with Rhongomyniad.
All my focus turns to Saber Alter.
I know her the best. I know that she is me.
I shan't be overwhelmed. Not yet. Not here.
If I concentrate on that single life...
I prepare the trigger.
I grab that silly strand of hair that never cooperates.
...then I shall stay myself.
"...Wait for me, Shirou. I shall return to your side shortly."
I barricade my other memories. I feel their wrath grow louder.
But I shan't let them take my dream away. There is nothing to be done about it.
Saber Alter will lock them away once I pull.
I know not if I will be successful. If I will come out myself, or as something vastly different.
There is only one way to find out.
The Goddess and I approach each other.
—My mouth goes dry.
Fear does not disappear with determination.
I want to scream. I want to cry for my father and brother.
—If I return sane or not.
I am terrified of myself. Of my selves.
Of the things they have done. Of the ways they threw me aside.
'Tis justice, I realize.
They laid me behind stone walls.
And now I shall do the same.
Regardless, I feel no hate for them.
My death is only natural.
I will disappear even if I stay here.
But if I am going to die either way, I shall choose the method that will keep 'me' alive longer.
'Tis only natural, aye?
So there is only one thing I fear.
And that is losing myself completely before I see Shirou and Saber reunited.
"Heh... hehehe..."
That is what I fear.
That is the only thing I am scared of.
That is why my head hurts so much.
That is why Salter told me to focus on her alone.
Even when my life is at stake, I do not wish to forget.
...The Goddess' appearance is not someone else's business.
I will be like her if I give in to the pain and lose my mind.
No, the fear will always be with me as long as my alternate selves exist.
This headache is the embodiment of a nightmare that seeks to undo everything I am.
But.
Why did I do this in spite of that?
I alone can become like him, he said.
But I am still horribly scared.
'Tis paraxodical. I fear the things that brought me to his side.
The sword. The kingship. The Grail.
Not Rin. Not Sakura.
Artoria Pendragon is his natural equal.
I can save him. I can walk beside him.
I can learn and grow. We can help people.
He said I will be judged by myself.
Salter called me foolish.
—Salter.
She was right. She is right.
I understand Salter.
"Aye. That is good enough."
The atonement lies here.
In the face of Cornwall's wrath, I hid.
I betrayed myself as the King of Knights and sacrificed many lives in order to protect a few.
But there is something I cannot give up, and that is why I continue to live.
My hand tightens around the golden lock.
Live or die.
The Goddess stabs her lance at my chest.
My free hand lifts to reach for it.
And at the same time.
I take a deep breath and pull that silly strand of hair—
...
...
...
At that instant.
The world crumbles apart.
"Ah."
Blowing despair.
A strong wind blowing faster than the greatest of storms.
A fierce wind that does not allow the existence of ordinary people, let alone allow one to stand up.
Therefore, it is not wind.
They are rushing flowers, and my body is sliced by their thorns.
Are these Salter's memories?
The things she saw on her journey to my world?
Or are they...
"—Ngh..."
My eyeballs are slit.
My back sinks into the gust.
I cannot lift my hand or fingers.
My blood flows backward.
My mind is bleached white.
There is no pain.
Feeling pain and enduring it are too human-like to happen here.
There is only the Tower. There is only salvation.
"Ah... ah..."
I am melting.
I cannot even groan in protest.
There is nothing.
I have no way to fight it off.
I need to move forward, but I cannot move a finger.
"Ahh... ah—"
I melt into golden splendor.
My body and mind impassively crumble apart.
Go forward.
Why am I here?
Keep going forward.
For what am I here?
Go to the other side.
Why am I fighting?
Pass through the flowers and move forward.
"..."
—I am disappearing.
My body already lost. I clench my teeth, not letting my mind lose... but it is disappearing.
What did I come here to do...?
I shan't make it.
I cannot move, no matter how hard I try.
I cannot stay, no matter how determined I am.
I try to clench my right hand with my whole existence in jeopardy.
If I can, I can manage.
If I can move any part of my body, I can move forward.
Something cracks.
I cannot even clench a fist.
My eyes are sliced apart like butchered boars.
The thorns stab into my eardrums.
My vision fades away.
Within it...
—I see an unbelievable image.
"Ah."
She is standing.
She is standing in these flowers.
She is standing, walking to the other side.
—As if it is a matter of course.
The wind of thorns has no effect on her. She walks forward, her white dress and golden hair billowing behind her.
"Ahh. Ah."
Strength is back in my jaws.
I grit my teeth.
The command seals throb on my right hand.
The woman in the white dress takes no notice of me.
Set in a peaceful expression, her face is turned away. She ignores me as I am engulfed.
For her, this result was expected.
Artoria Pendragon cannot stand against these thorns.
She knew there is no future for the woman who abandoned her destined duty and wished for something out of her reach.
She is right.
The throne I abandoned will judge me.
But she...
...
...
"—Shalt thou be joining me?"
...
...
As if to urge me, as if to believe in me.
She is waiting for me to get there!
"—'Tis not 'shalt thou be joining me'."
My vision focuses.
I force as much prana as I can into my body.
My limbs cut through the thorns like Kanshou and Bakuya.
"You shall join me—!"
I pass the woman in the white dress with all my might.
...
...
...
—I am in control of the authority.
The light has died down.
TYPE:Pluto is directly above the Tower.
It is inside the Texture. A height of roughly three to four miles.
Shirou is blocking its descent with a fully powered Rho Ais.
The shield shall not last.
It will take less than five seconds for it to consume Rhongomyniad.
—Therefore.
The outcome of this battle shall be decided within the next five seconds.
My mind is clear.
I know the scope of my power.
The draconian Magic Core, the gift of the red dragon, fueling Mana Burst.
'Tis the forced redirection of prana and ambient mana, using reinforcement, alteration, selective targeting, and development through continuous practical usage.
A sudden burst of redirected magical energy, managed by the tactical magical strengthening of the musculature and skeleton.
Inheritance of battle technique and experience from Saber, Saber Alter, Lancer, Lancer Alt—
—AGH!
N-Nay! Nay, Saber Alter! F-Focus on S-Salter! Salter, Salter...!
I cannot handle her way of using Mana Burst! I am too inexperienced!
I must contain this release to a single appendage until my body is better acclimated!
Magecraft is... ineffectual against TYPE:Pluto...! It shall end us with a single detonation!
Anti-Purge Weapon, 'Caledfwlch', is not usable. I am not yet at Shirou's level!
I can only utilize the skills Artoria Pendragon has used, or the Noble Phantasms she has gained familiarity with across her lives—Salter's life!
—I must fully release Rhongomyniad's Thirteen Strictures!
"...!"
I hold my breath and put all my magical energy into my right arm.
Right now, I only need to understand this weapon.
I already know what will happen.
I need to reunite with Shirou.
I have to go beyond that field of flowers and find myself—
Rho Aias shatters.
The Aristotele lunges.
My magical circuits spark crimson.
I take the authority into my right hand.
I shall utilize the full potential of the pillar of light—!
"Seal thirteen! Decision start!"
I see them. I see them all, in a circle around me...!
"The enemy must be more powerful than oneself. Approved."
Bedivere.
"The battle must be one against one. Approved."
Palamedes.
"The enemy must not be an elemental. Approved."
Lancelot.
"The battle must not involve personal gain. Approved."
Galahad.
"The battle must not be against humanity. Approved."
Gaheris.
"The battle must not be inhumane. Approved."
Gareth.
"The battle must be for truth. Approved."
Agravain.
"The battle must be an honorable one. Approved."
Gawain.
"One's comrades in arms must be courageous. Approved."
Percival.
"The battle must not be against one pure of heart. Approved."
Tristan.
"The battle must be one against evil. Approved.
Yeesh~! Something that ugly has to be evil, right? Let 'im have it, Toria!"
Mord—Medraut...!
"The battle must be to live. Approved.
Never stop living, Artoria."
My... my brother...!
The spire of light disappears.
I kneel on grass and dirt.
The orb in my hand is heavier than the world itself.
My arm shatters under its weight.
The Maw rushes for me.
"Ngh... aaaaagh—!"
I scream, I shout, I lift my arm.
I aim at the central singularity.
That hole of black, so very putrid.
If it is the Tower the Aristotele wants...
"This is a battle to save the world!"
...then the Tower it shall HAVE!
"RHONGO—!"
A flash, a spark, my fingers snap in twain.
"—MYNIAAAAAAAAAAAD—!"
The Tower roars like Gaia itself.
It is the furious howl of one trillion raging beasts.
It is the snarl of the dragon and the rage of the lion.
The ground beneath me craters.
I see red and gold.
The lance of light punches through the central singularity and exits the other side.
All at once, the daemon recoils, shudders.
,̵̗͙̳͌'̷̪̈́̔,̵̩̹̀?̸͉̩̾,̷͚͂̅̚.̸̺̣̮̓̑̚,̵͈͆.̷̡̨̏͘͘,̴͎̗̿͋/̵̜̈́,̴͍̹̓͂ͅ-̸͎̏:̵͙͇̋ͅ,̴̲̇̀̕,̵̜͗-̶̤̺͒̈̀:̵͔̙͗͑̀:̷̙̻̀̎̆-̸͎̥̂̑͝/̵̥̲̖̐̈́:̴͇͆/̵̧͇͐.̵̻̮̐͠,̵͇͓͈̾̄̇-̴̡̟̎̿?̷̧͉̱͛̽̍:̴͋̎̾͜,̴̡̦̼̈/̸̲̉̿-̵͚͓͙̽͝,̵̘̥̔-̶̛͔̩̅̋,̶̛̬̱̱̒͝/̵͚̌̈,̴̟͂͂-̸͕̖͓̚,̸͙̺́̓̅/̴̩̫̑̊,̴̨̮͉͛:̸̢͛̍̋-̴̡̱̥͛̚̚,̶̪̒:̸̗̪̏͜-̸͖̃̇́.̷̢́͐͝,̴̭̽̈.̴̦̙̅͐́ͅ;̷̣͓͕͊́:̷̡̖̤̍̚.̶̧̈͜,̴̡̊̔̏,̷̞͉̻̈́:̴̧̰̤̀̏/̴̗̳͐͋̀,̴̜̓/̴͕̋̂̈,̸̨̱̓̍:̶͙͎̫͑̍̈́.̵̭̫̜͒̚͠.̸͚̥͊̌̋,̸͖̄:̴̠̫̀͊̌:̸̭̟͉̀͑̃
—And yet... still lives...
"...Ah..."
For something to withstand... the true Rhongomyniad...
All my life drains away.
I slump to my knees, my power spent.
So this is where I die, then...?
...Blast it all, I really wanted to...
"I... I am..."
A voice from my side.
A figure kneels in the blasted wastes.
He coughs blood.
—That is...!
"—the bone... of that... s-sword..."
His armor is ruined. His helmet is gone.
Never have I seen him in such a sorry state.
Caliburnus and Avalon circle overhead.
The scabbard comes to my side, lending its aid to my shattered arm.
"Its steel... is my b-body. Its light is... my blood..."
The words of his chant are different. He is choosing them with care.
Even if that is so, I... I cannot...
S-Shirou... if Shirou tries to use it again... he will...!
"It has g-guided me... for over a thousand years..."
I struggle to lift my right hand. I need to stop him.
Just this once, I need to use a command seal.
I cannot let him do this.
He is not a weapon, he cannot...
"My f-failures are... t-temporary. My wounds... are fleeting..."
—But what if he can?
"I've withstood... pain... to follow... in her steps..."
...I need give him the chance.
I need to let him try.
If he believes he can do it, then I need to believe as well.
He can do it.
Shirou is Shirou. Shirou is my Saber, and I have faith in—
My vision breaks. I see stars.
—No. I am fine. If I am with Shirou, I will be fine.
I gasp for breath. I focus on his words.
"As long as I live... as long as I stand...
—I... am... that girl's..."
Our eyes meet. I ignore the blood dripping down his face.
He is hesitating. He asks for my permission.
I gather all my remaining energy into my voice, lick at dry lips, swallow whatever trepidation remains.
"—You can do it."
Amber eyes widen.
Caliburnus and Avalon begin to glow.
He breathes his response.
"...greatest work..."
Out of all the lives I have lived...
Out of all the things I have seen...
Two memories stand above the rest.
Two memories I shan't ever forget.
Two memories I carefully keep tucked away within my heart.
"A Noble Phantasm is based on renown, not strength. It's a summary of a hero's legend. If those acts aren't known, the Phantasm doesn't form. I have no legend."
Magical signature updated. Listing.
Servant
True Name: Shirou Emiya
Container: Saber (Grand Saber/L)
Strength: EX | Endurance: EX
Agility: EX | Mana: EX | Luck: EX
"And besides, if I could have an object or concept that represented me... I'd prefer it to be something peaceful."
...
That day, a young man was reborn in hellfire.
He gave his rescuer hope.
That day, a young man convinced a king that her reign was not a mistake.
He gave his king hope.
That day, a young man stepped back and reevaluated his goals.
He gave his classmate hope.
That day, a young man convinced his future self that his ideals were not a mistake.
He gave his future self hope.
That day, a young man threw away everything to rescue a girl in need.
He gave his junior hope.
That day, a young man wanted to live.
He gave his older sister hope.
That day, a young man wrote the Notes.
He gave a civilization hope.
Shirou Emiya does, in fact, have a legend.
He earned that legend the moment he was reborn.
He devoted himself to that legend.
No matter his path, his choices, or his end.
Each and every single time.
To focus on the cause is to ignore the result.
They are two sides of the same coin.
And no one ever seemed to realize this.
Not even him.
But he was worthy.
She knew he was worthy.
...
Noble Phantasm
KIRITSUGU
The Passing of the Scabbard
Type: Conceptual
(always active)
Rank: E- ~ EX
(Strength varies per person.)
Range: N/A
(Human population.)
Effect: UTOPIA.
Description:
The Concept of Hope, given form as a grandfather's paradox.
A scabbard creates a sword. A sword creates a scabbard.
One cannot exist without the other.
Fuyuki's Great Fire fuels both his trauma and his resolve. If the Reality Marble is the foundry, and the histories of the Noble Phantasms the raw materials, then this is the golden radiance that fuels the process of creation and links it all together.
It is the light of Avalon, Rhongomyniad, and Excalibur.
It is the moment a boy and a girl finally reunite.
It is the crystallized wishes of a species looking to the future.
And above all else, it is a father's tearful smile.
The first is the moment he was summoned to my side.
F̵̥͆a̵̱͒t̶̛̮e̴͕̍/̶̧̚é̸̤s̴̪͛s̸̹͠
Fate/stay night
D̷͚͌e̸̡̿s̶͑ͅc̶̺̽e̸͉͝n̷̥̅t̷̡̉ ̶̲͝-̷̬̎ ̷͎̔2̵̚͜
The Last Episode
Ä̶̻ ̴͈̈́S̴͋͜W̶͈͑O̷̧͒R̸̥͛D̷̺̃,̴͖͗ ̷̺̓A̶̧͐ ̷̤͋S̸͘͜Ć̷̯A̸͚̕B̵̯͆B̷̜̓A̶̛̪R̴͙͌D̸̥͌,̶̲̆ ̶͓̕A̵̺͑N̸̢͠D̴̢̽ ̷͙̈́A̸̛̯ ̴̱͗F̴͙͗I̴̭̅R̷͙͗E̵̠͆
EMIYA
The second is today.
It is an understanding of the heart, and not the mind.
He cannot comprehend the act he performs.
It is as natural to him as a fish swimming in the sea.
In the same way I knew him, despite his denials.
In the same way he called me king, despite my rebuttals.
In the same way we are subconsciously drawn together.
So too does that man accomplish this thaumaturgy.
It is a miracle.
Were others to see it, they would call it the same.
The sun is the sun, the stars are the stars.
Shirou's Noble Phantasm is a miracle.
I believe what I am seeing.
I choose to believe.
It is not something forced.
It simply is.
It is passion.
It is joy.
It is appreciation.
It is love.
It appears from the ether.
The sword comes to him of its own will.
It offers itself to him. It seeks his soul's anvil and hammer, his Reality Marble.
'Here I am, good smith,' the sword whispers.
'I have come to be remade, as you were.'
Their unspoken conversation is revealed in the tears I have never seen him shed.
In the impossible way the sword floats about his person.
He does not touch. His hands cannot hold anything of substance.
But his spirit can.
The golden wisps, those motes of the Avalonians' waltz, caress the blade.
They spill from the crimson wrap of his gauntlet.
From the gaps of his armor.
From the scabbard and the Sword of Pride, dancing together in the skies.
The crying smith asks,
'What do you wish to be?'
And Excalibur replies,
'Something beautiful.'
The pommel unscrews.
In those next moments, I see it.
Shirou Emiya reaches his pinnacle.
Shirou Emiya dismantles the Sword of Promised Victory.
It is an act of the gods.
It is not meant to be.
And yet, there is no violation.
No refutation can be heard.
Not from Alaya.
Nor Gaia.
Nor any of his peers.
Or any of his enemies.
Because Excalibur... will always be Excalibur.
The crossguard separates from the hilt.
The blade condenses.
All its pieces change.
They come together in ways never before seen.
These parts, so meticulously crafted, are given new purpose.
They become something more.
And I cannot help my tears, despite the doom so readily approaching.
Because more than anything else, I wish to watch this.
It is my duty. My honor. My reward.
He gives my sword a purpose beyond murder.
The legends of my other selves...
It is like this that I wish to remember them.
'Use this,' speaks another.
A shimmering shadow approaches.
It is an outline without features, a person both present and absent.
A copy, yet more.
He is a shade of azure, long ponytail billowing.
At peace with himself in spite of the world's ending.
A red lance extends to the smith.
His voice echoes.
'Take it, Archer. Show me.'
Gae Bolg floats into the smith's orbit.
And to the void...
His tears are steady, his hands shaken.
...returns the spirit of Cú Chulainn.
One after another.
'Archer.'
'Archer.'
'Archer.'
'Archer.'
Four more come and go.
Into their pieces.
Into those parts he so meticulously knows.
Their legends.
And their histories.
And the people who used them best.
Each of them a weapon given new purpose.
Altered and twisted, their taint shifts to beauty.
A bloodied blade becomes shimmering wings.
A shaft used to impale, a spine used to support.
He weakness is strength.
His frailty is passion.
His suffering is resolve.
His despair is hope.
All these things, once so malignant, now gleam under his watchful eye.
Neither Archer nor Saber.
But just a man with a dream.
A human, a boy, hollow, yet so hopelessly alive.
It at last comes to his palms.
My exhausted legs move.
I silence their protests.
Their agony does not concern me.
I must see.
I want to see it. I want to see it. I want to see it.
I want to see his miracle.
This projection.
This creation.
The greatest of Shirou Emiya's works.
My mind threatens to split.
The pressure burns against my eyes.
My vision wavers. I force it to comply.
It will observe this moment if it is the last thing it does.
I care not about the repercussions. Nothing else matters. The eldritch horror edges closer to enacting our demise, but I know its effort is futile.
I believe in Shirou.
I drag myself across the ruined landscape.
I gasp and I pant into that raging apocalypse.
I shield my eyes against the scabbard's protective brilliance.
As it and Caliburnus shelter we, their foolish children.
"S-Saber! Sab...er...! L-Let... let me...!"
He waits for me.
He wants me to see.
I am the only one who will ever know this happened.
I stand here a witness to his endeavor.
I collapse into the dust and dirt at his side.
The wind batters us.
He turns to face me fully.
Arms extended, Shirou opens his palms.
His face is pleading.
Helpless and desperate.
A small child, tear-stricken, seeking the approval of another.
He shows his proudest work to his dearest companion.
The mimicry stands in his palms, its beady eyes aglow with Excalibur's golden light.
It ruffles chain-like feathers inherited from the Rider's whips.
A skeleton of stone, from the demigod's sword-axe.
A beak from Rule Breaker.
Legs built from Assassin's katana.
Sinuous muscle, a gift from Gae Bolg.
A songbird.
A mimicry of life.
Weapons no more.
A fake that mirrors the real.
It is just like him.
Mercy from chaos.
Peace from war.
Love from hate.
And life from death.
Shirou has created something akin to himself.
It is the most beautiful thing I have ever seen.
"I... I love it...!"
His eyes light up. The tears sparkle on his cheeks.
He knows not why he sobs, and that is fine.
Beauty needs no explanation. For the first time in his long, tortured life, he has found pride in his abilities.
And I am proud of him in return.
As if sensing its completion, the songbird takes flight.
Higher and higher it soars.
Beyond the demolished forest, beyond the smoke and ash.
The metallic wings carry it past the dancing sword and scabbard, into the TYPE's corruption.
The injured Maw opens. Pluto senses the power that lurks within.
The bird flaps and twirls into the vast depths.
Shadowy Grain pulses and ebbs.
There is a groan. A tremor.
—Pluto burns away.
Golden motes catch it from within. Searing tendrils, their ends aflame, become the chains to which the monstrosity is tethered.
The bird is gone, and in its place is only power. And all at once, every speck, ever particle of Grain, comes apart into a brilliant, burning rain.
"...!"
The clouds are sundered, the light shines through. My tears continue to fall.
In all my lives I cannot once recall crying as I do now, for they are sobs of awe, of pride for this man by my side.
We are weak. So horribly, impossibly weak.
But together...!
"H-How did you do that?"
I ask the question without expecting an answer.
I know that he does not know.
Miracles are miracles for a reason.
But I wish for him to think about it.
Because I am a horribly selfish girl, and I want to see it again.
"I... I-I just..."
I wait.
I shall wait as long as needed.
A day, a month, an eternity.
One day he will find the answer.
I know that for a fact.
He will find it, and he will tell me, and I eagerly anticipate that moment.
"I... I knew we couldn't win. S-So I... I just imagined... what could..."
The golden motes surround us.
They blink like fireflies, drift like a weightless rainfall. The wind stirs them, and they shift and tumble in response.
The dance continues evermore. Never shall it stop.
"Do you... think you could do it again?"
He tries to blink away his tears, but they refuse to cooperate.
Shirou stares at his trembling hands.
I take them into my own.
"I... don't know."
"I think you can."
"You think so?"
The wind takes hold of my loose hair. Somewhere in the chaos, my ponytail came undone.
I bring our hands to my chest. The sword and scabbard dance in the golden brilliance so reminiscent of our goal, that paradise called Avalon.
And...
As my mind teeters on collapse...
As the burning pain leaves me gasping...
As my alternate lives threaten to split me to the bone...
As the returning Age of Gods blinds my periphery...
As that light heralds the coming of the legendary king...
...I can do naught else but give him my brightest smile.
"Yes. I believe in you, Shirou!"
His shoulders shake.
His face contorts.
And his crushing hug gives me peace.
...
...
...
"A-Artoria?"
"Yes?"
He pulls away, and gives me a strange look.
His ruined gauntlet carefully prods against my head.
"What... happened to your..."
—I feel the insufferable strand of hair pop back into place.
I thought myself rid of it at last.
Once removed, another takes its place.
My heart sinks.
It sinks further at his pained chuckle.
"S-Stop laughing, Saber!"
"S-Sorry."
Confusion Corner
up then down then up then down then—
Some parts of this chapter, namely the Lion King's cameo appearance, had the unfortunate effect of knocking Fateless!Artoria's character development a tad off balance, so they've undergone minor rewrites to smooth out her progress and better contextualize the situation and later chapters. It originally read like a conclusion to her central arc, whereas it was meant to be the beginning, as in many ways Fateless!Artoria's journey parallel's HF!Shirou's, just in the opposite direction. I'm happier with it now than I was before... and also glad to be done with its edits, lmao. This single chapter took up the vast majority of my time and probably extended Fateless' hiatus by like a solid week, fucking hell.
Anyway, on to the real meat.
wtf is this fanon wank about him having a NP omg ugh
Fate/stay night as a whole focuses heavily on the downsides of Shirou's mindset, the problems surrounding his total disregard for his safety and sense of self - but rarely does it mention the effect that mindset has on others.
And when it does, in those rare times we're pulled out of his head to see how others perceive Shirou's actions, we see something utterly fascinating:
—The battle ends in an instant.
It really does end in one breath.
The boy, with trembling lips, said he was going.
He suppressed his fatigue and fear, put his hand on the red restraint, and walked away from the girl.
She went out to stop him.
She hesitated for a second, wondering what she could say.
She couldn't come up with anything, yet still followed after him.
It wasn't even ten seconds.
But that slight hesitation determined the outcome.
"Shir—"
She emerges, following the boy.
The battle has already ended.
The giant who once protected her disappeared, his eyes fixed on her.
Wind blows through the clearing, as if signaling that the conflict has ended.
[next slides: Shirou in the sunlight, back facing the reader, his arms at his sides, the Shroud of Martin billowing in the wind]
The figure is all that's left in her vision.
"—"
The battle has ended.
It's not the power of the heroic spirit's arm.
Using his own power, the boy fought against his death and won.
The girl keeps staring at his back.
He will never turn around and look back again.
He has released the Shroud and defeated the giant. His figure looks heroic and powerful.
There's no doubt left in him now.
He cast away all agonies when he released the cloth and used projection.
"—Shirou."
The girl keeps watching him, filled with sorrow.
His body looks like someone else's now.
—It's a foolish and sacred end with no return.
[ Fate/stay night, Heaven's Feel, Day 15: Nine Bullet Revolver - in which Illya sees the result of Nine Lives Blade Works ]
It's commonly said that Shirou has neither a legend nor Noble Phantasm. olcon spews his stupid interpretations, Hot Takes Edition: What if I told you that was a lie?
his NP is sheer fucking willpower
The little secret Fate/stay night never outright states is that there are actually two kinds of heroes, and Shirou tries to be the former while embodying the latter.
The former is a capital H mythological Hero, the kind Homer praised to kingdom come. Achilles, King Arthur, Heracles, Leonidas.
The latter is a firefighter.
In the last chapter's Confusion Corner, I talked about Shirou's struggle against himself, this idea that he's being pulled in two different directions between his humanity and his overwhelming idealism. But as a result of this, he oftentimes lands right in the middle.
That is to say: just as Shirou ultimately wants to see the people close to him smiling, those same people see Shirou's acts and deeds for what they are.
Heroic.
They see a young man throwing himself into situations far beyond anything a normal human should be able to handle; they see him come out the other side wounded but alive; they know he's going to do it again; they know he's going to get hurt; they worry about him. But they also know he isn't going to stop. They know that if they're in trouble, he is going to be there.
Shirou's legend - and it is a legend, because it's consistent across all three routes and all other forms of media - is the act of giving hope to his friends and family. His Noble Phantasm is getting back up when others wouldn't, powering through things that should kill him, and fixing the problems plaguing his significant others whether onlookers like it or not. Analyses of his character so often focus on his trauma, on why he shouldn't be doing these things, that, oftentimes, the end results get overlooked.
And the end results of Shirou's actions are always positive:
Fate:
When all seems lost and Berserker is bearing down on Saber, when it seems like she's failed in her search for the Grail, her Master steps forward with a sword she thought she'd never see again.
UBW:
When Rin is distraught over Archer's damnation, over the fact that he's fading away and she is powerless to break the chains that bind him, he instead tells her that he'll be fine and that he won't lose hope, and then redirects her focus to her future life with his younger self. He gives her a goal to strive towards.
HF:
When Sakura is backed up against a corner, when her life just cannot get any worse than it already has, the young man she hopelessly pines for steps forward and offers his support. And when she can't handle it and slips further out of fear and guilt, he charges into the black and pulls her to safety.
This extends outwards beyond FSN to stories like Carnival Phantasm and Emiya Gohan and Hollow Ataraxia and Prisma Illya, where through his everyday actions, like giving Kojiro a sandwich or helping Medea learn how to cook, Shirou brings his community together, and it's all because his trauma leads him to do good things and be a good person.
That, I think, cannot be ignored. So I made it his Noble Phantasm.
Kiritsugu: the Passing of the Scabbard can be summarized as the end result of Shirou's actions. It's the manifestation of the hope and happiness he gives to others through his own perseverance and creativity, willpower and grit. It is, in essence, his determination and adrenaline condensed into a magical concept. It's what the fandom calls "being GAR".
This concept plays a critical role in Fateless, and though it might seem like the events of this chapter happened at random, they'll have far reaching consequences later on. We're going to revisit all of this further down the line, and should some of you reread the story, you might see things foreshadowing this "concept of hope". Chapter 12 in particular features it prominently - the Cornish army runs into Shirou's malfunctioning reality marble, the "grounded star", specifically because they see their impossibly utopian hopes and dreams on the other side.
Fateless' Ether Liners themselves are a symptom of this hope as well, though theirs is a case of logical extremes perverted by context. All they had was the hope Shirou gave them, and so their hope in him over time grew into religious zealotry and fanaticism. Their faith in him was so absolute, their loyalty so unwavering, that they modeled their ways of life on doing for others what he did for them - and that includes repaying his hope with their own. If you remember Ado's plan, it was to "save" his High Spark no matter the cost, even if it meant he and his fellows all died in the process, with no regard to their own safety or well-being. And not once did any Ether Liner voice issue with that plan, or the means by which it would be accomplished. Sounds an awful lot like someone we know, doesn't it?
You'll see the beginnings of what I mean a few chapters from now.