Author's Note: I read all the messages that readers send me, including Private Messages. I don't always answer it, then I don't always have the time. To give some general answers, I gave a lot of information in the "special" chapter. Most of the other questions will not be answered... because it would be revealing important elements of the story. I also feel quite annoyed by the remarks of some readers who almost accuse me of making the characters of Fate Stay Night act like... well themselves. Yes, Shiro acts like Shiro. So what? I am of the opinion that if I had made Shiro or Rin act differently, I would have received so many criticisms and probably from the same people.

The Beginning of the End...

6 Sun's Dawn, Refuge, Menevia Kingdom

Not a single ray of sunlight touched Refuge.

A misty shroud hid the sky. A sprawling hydra fed by the flames of a thousand blazes. The capital of the kingdom of Menevia lay in chaos of ruins. The buildings once proudly erected were desolate. The streets and squares were now covered with rubble.

Even at a distance, the walls resounded with dull rumbling, transformed by the shelling into gigantic resonance boxes. Bang, bang the crash was reflected from place to place. It pervaded the flesh, flowed through the veins, infiltrated the bones, invaded dreams and memory becoming as intimate to the body as was the beating of the heart.

Valendil Ceberhas used an observation tower on the third wall as his headquarters. From its hoarding, the imperial general contemplated a spectacle even more terrifying than the crash of the projectiles. The plain and surrounding hills were covered with black or green armors that converged on the investment trenches.

"Watch out!"

Leontius grabbed his general by the shoulder and showed him an enemy trebuchet. The warning came too late. The arm of the war machine had just relaxed. In an instant the ball of fire grew disproportionately, leaving an igneous mark on its passage. Fortunately, the firebrand missed the tower a few meters to crash in the middle of the nearby streets. At the point of impact, a new column of smoke stinks of the atmosphere, testifying to the birth of yet another outbreak of fire.
Ceberhas shivered, aware of the danger of the situation. Turned towards the Couillard(1) firing platform, he called the servants, dressed with the tabard decorated with three yellow roses of the kingdom of Menevia, ordering them to destroy the enemy trebuchet before it did any more damage.
The Bretons militiamen had identified the danger and were already active. Before the besiegers could rectify the attack, a block of rock crashed on their machine, destructing it completely.
Satisfied, Valendil returned to the disturbing scene that took place a few yards away. Three gigantic five-storey assault towers had crossed a section of the ditch filled by the orcs engineers. The first was already approaching a part of the wall weakened by the bombing. The wooden protections had been broken up and the parapets had been clipped, depriving the defenders of all shelter.

Yet a hero was watching over the city. Without him, it would have fallen a long time ago.

A figure dressed in black leather armor, wrapped in a scarlet coat, jumped on one of the clipped walls. The wind lifted his hood, revealing his face... With his tanned skin, his silver eyes, and his white hair, many women swooned on the passage of the impressive warrior... But, above all, his sudden appearance caused a panic among the goblin archers charged of pushing the besieged out of the walkway. They also recognized him... but they were much less enthusiastic than the girls of Refuge.

No doubt they would have fled without the presence of Orcs in Orichalcum armors. Passing through the ranks of the goblins, whipping the small humanoids on the fly, shouting threats, the guards forced the archers to notch their bows and shoot their arrows towards the figure standing on the ruined walls.

Archer had a caustic smile and raised his hand:

"Rho Aias!"

A red clarity radiating around a white core, centered on his palm, illuminated the ramparts. Suddenly, the brightness was replaced by an amazing five-petaled flower that bloomed before the hand of Fuyuki's Fifth Grail War Archer.

The legendary shield of Aias the Great was a Conceptual Weapon offering an absolute defense in front of any thrown weapon. Obviously, the version Traced by Archer didn't equal the original but...
Seeing the clouds of goblin arrows coming to break upon the translucent aegis, one understood the arrogance of the reincarnated Servant. Even a thousand arrows couldn't hurt him.

Under the protection of Rho Aias, Archer drew his big black bow. Then the ex-Servant extended the other hand... a slight contraction of his face and appeared a strange sword. Its blade was not flat but looked like a corkscrew.

Placing the sword on his bow, he stretched the rope and... the sword lengthened, thinned... turning into a strange arrow wrapped in an increasingly intense red glow.

Dissolving his shield, Archer released the rope of his bow with shouting the name of the Noble Phantasm that he had just caught from Unlimited Bladework:

"Caladbolg!"
The legendary sword of King Fergus - transformed into an arrow - crosses the sound barrier in a deafening "bang"... not leaving the goblins a moment to prepare for the arrival of the Broken Phantasm. The sword-arrow disintegrated by touching one of the siege towers. Immediately a dazzling white light burst upon the battlefield, briefly depriving everyone of sight. A moment later, the violent explosion deprived the audience of hearing.

When the defenders' senses returned, they could only discover a ravaged landscape. The goblin assault trenches, their outposts, even the siege towers had disappeared. The fire burned several hundred meters around, centered on a large crater.

Unfortunately, the assault was general. In dozens of other points, the siege towers advanced towards Refuge's walls. Archer could not be everywhere and the defenders, exhausted and their ranks lightened by eight months of siege, they no longer had the strength to resist such an assault.
Some siege towers were set on fire or destroyed... but even more, reached the fortifications. When the first drawbridge came down on the second rampart, a formidable cry was heard coming out of the throat of a horde of Goblins. Rushing to the assault, they spread themselves on the walkway.
"Now!"
The legate Trebonius had just brandished his sword to designate the assailants he was overlooking from the third rampart. The imperial archers he commanded, wearing chainmail and light iron helmets, dropped a volley of arrows that opened a gaping hole in the ranks of the Goblins. Touched by lethal wounds, humanoids flapped their arms and fall to the bottom of the ramparts. Their cries of terror and pain made the first ranks hesitate but behind them, others replaced them.

At the gates of the towers, the Goblins stumbled upon a phalanx of imperial lancers. The humanoid warriors hurled insults and rushed forward, determined to take the obstacle by a brutal assault.

However, violence was insufficient. Formed as a turtle, the Imperials ranks was a fortress with a wall made of tiles-like shields bristling with spear points. While the Imperials stacked the corpses in front of their lines, the archers placed on the third rampart decimated the enemy's rear. The determination of the Green Skins was shaken. Nevertheless, the danger was not yet eliminated. Other mobile towers approached the walls.

The defenders fired several shots of flaming arrows to try to set them on fire. Alas, the enemy had anticipated. The towers were covered with fresh skins that had been coated with vinegar and then covered with earth.

Seeing the arrival of a new assault tower, the legate Trebonius swallowed. In this kind of desperate situation, wildfire performed miracles. It was a dreadful weapon, a deadly liquid that ignited at the slightest shock and which continued to burn even on water. Various means were used to project it to the enemy, from strident and unruly rockets to tubular flamethrowers. These were highly unstable death devices known to explode comprising a tank containing a mixture of very fluid oil and cedar resin. Pumped to a bronze tube protected by a shield, the incendiary liquid could be projected at about ten meters.

All of a sudden, there was a great rumble. A fireball followed by an igneous trail -as long as a spear- collided with a siege tower. Burning oil spread everywhere, communicating the fire to the plank structures. Horror seized the crew. The siege machine threatened by fire, they jumped into the void with atrocious howls.

The vision of their comrades transformed into living torches froze the goblins who had taken place on the walls. They broke free without looking back. Even the reserve regiments lost all courage, retreat seen to them healthier than an assault of this hell.

A formidable hurrah crossed the walkway. Wherever the eye looked, the enemy retreated.

"Your Excellency?"

Valendil abandoned his observation post to turn to the man who had just called him. He was a knight of the Order of the Rose in plain armor and armet helmet. One knee down, he waited for the general's permission to speak.

"What is going on?"

"I have just returned from Tower Sixty-seven, Excellency. Our situation is most precarious. The enemy managed to bring a ram just below the walls."

"A ram?" asked the imperial general.

The knight nodded:

'Yes, Excellence. It's gigantic and ogre-powered."

"Did you try to set it on fire?"

In a gesture, the Aldmer showed the towers that continued to burn. But the knight answered with an affirmative nod:

"The fire didn't catch." He hesitated… "In fact, the flames broke on some sort of… invisible wall."
Valendil startled. For a moment he considered asking the Breton to repeat what he had just said. However, the tense expression of the knight informed him only too well of the reality of the information.
"A wizard?"

"That's what I thought, too, Your Excellency."

Valendil put his hand on the shoulder of the prefect who led the cleaning of the last pockets of enemy resistance:

"Leontius!"
The officer turned around:

"Yes, general?"

"Find me one of the guild mages. I need them to tower sixty-seven."

"Where do you want me to get it?"

"Ask King Eadwyre, these are his mage, after all, he must know how to find them."

Leontius was going to comply, but his general called him back:

"I need backup too."

The dubious air of his first officer struck Valendil:

"Is there a problem?"

"Not least," Leontius joked, "what reinforcements? Even women and children are mobilized to fight fires."
The prefect led his chief to a section of the tower that dominated the square used for gathering the reserve troops. Apart from the cavalry company in charge of defending the general and some debris of units in sad condition, there was no one left.

"We are already committed to the limits of rupture."

"In that case, I'll go alone. Just find a mage."

Beckoning to the Knight of the Rose to open the way, Valendil descended the stairs at his heels. Only a small handful of Imperials' legionaries followed them.

When they reached the battlements, the little troop crossed the ranks of the archers to join the segment of the wall which dominated the one attacked by the ram. From the tower, one could not see the enemy sappers, too close to the second rampart. But the soldiers installed on the round road were clearly visible. To their helmets Gorodets (2) Valendil recognized the Refuge Guards, an elite unit. They had organized a human chain to throw stones and balls by the machicolations. Others reloaded the crossbows of the shooters concealed by the hoarding.

This sector of the fortifications had suffered greatly. One of the towers that framed the rampart had lost its top two floors. The covered way had partly collapsed. The breach was three meters wide and as high. At his feet, on the interior side, civilians and soldiers were busy. Scaffolding had been lifted to allow the workers to repair the damage. Assisted by pulleys, they hoisted blocks of stone and evacuated the rubble.

Quarrymen, diggers, and mortar spoilers had a most ungrateful job. What they rebuilt, the enemy worked hard to destroy.

"General Ceberhas?"

Observing the situation, Valendil had not waited for anyone to approach him. He turned around:
"Who am I speaking to?"

The Breton who was advancing smiled. Despite the bloody bandage pressing his forehead, the man appeared in good disposition. The Elf shook his hand.

"I am the officer commanding this area. Thank you for coming so quickly. However, I believe that ultimately your help will be useless to us. Sorry to bother you."

"Did you kill him?"

"The sorcerer? Finally, yes. We have thrown mines at him. I hope I can now destroy the ram… "

A cry from the second line of defense cut him off. All eyes turned to the intact tower. A man had opened the window of the tower:

"The enemy is retreating!"

An acclamation concert greeted the news. On the nearby rampart, the Refuge Guards embraced, happy with the outcome.

Without transition, Valendil found himself on the ground while stones of all sizes bombarded the walkway while smoke and dust made him cough. His ears were still ringing with a great bang…
Painfully straightened, the imperial general stopped to watch the walls dismantled. His mind struggling to understand what he saw. As by a fantastic landslide, more than six meters of fortification had collapsed ahead. The slope and the ditch had turned into a chaos of broken rocks.
An undermining...

The assault was used to hide that the engineers had hidden a mine in the breach made by the ram. Its explosion had pulverized an entire sector of the fortifications.

Ceberhas shook himself, trying to escape the horrifying stupefaction that nailed him to the spot. The sound of trumpets and bugles was everywhere. The battalions that were in the trenches brandished their banners to rush towards the breach. Many wore siege ladders with them. At their sight, a click was heard in the mind of the aldmer general.

Shaking the soldiers and officers who were rising, Valendil pointed his sword at the ranks of the Orcs in armor:

"Open fire! Quick! All able-bodied men on the ramparts!"

Slowly the torpor was dissipating among the besieged. A Couillard, then two, archers, crossbowmen, began to shoot. Soon a hellfire concentrated on the assailants, decimating their ranks. But other battalions, many other battalions, left the trenches to charge into the breach.

Coming from other sections of the rampart, reinforcements poured on the ramparts. When the first ladders leaned on the walls, halberds, swords, and various projectiles welcomed the new arrivals.

15 Sun's Dawn, Refuge, Menevia Kingdom

The wind blew like a soul in sorrow and rattled the stench of decay, the humidity of the rain, and the smell of burnt wood.

A spit drifted over the sea, it rained and reminding us that spring had begun.

Refuge locked up in tense silence. Corpses were rotting in the ditches and along the ruined walls, thousands and thousands of bodies. Death had made them all alike, equal in the ultimate brotherhood. The units and enemies of the previous day mingled among the wrecks of the siege machines. Here, an assault tower still smoked, further, it was the dismantled carcass of a casemate on wheels.
Time, motionless, hovered on the battlefield.

On the ramparts, the soldiers tried to rest a little longer. They did not leave their posts or their armor anymore. They would sleep there, without dropping their weapons. At times a soldier was seen moving or coughing, but the activity was as if engulfed in anxious inertia.

Two bretons officers, spewed, feverish eyes over a three-day beard were leaning against the hoarding. One of them held a spyglass pointed at the enemy camp.

"What is this rumor?"

Songs and music reached the walls weakly, deafened by the distance.

"Tribal shamans reshape troops. Enjoy their hymns, old man. When they stop, the assault will begin."
He had no need to say that it would be the last. The previous general assault, ten days earlier, had allowed the capture of the second rampart. Since then, the besiegers had not stopped bombing and attacking the fortified positions of the third line. The garrison was at the end of its rope after several weeks of uninterrupted fighting. Conversely, the Orcs had instituted a rotation that allowed them to always have fresh troops on the front line.

In the camp of the army of Orsinium prevailed a hive activity in full turmoil. The artillerymen were busy around their rooms, greasing the mechanisms, piling up the stone balls. The trenches were full. Goblins and Orcs were checking their weapons one last time. Further away, out of reach of the garrison's Couillards, battalions were formed in squares. Others were still coming from the back in long columns. As far as the eyes go, the troops converged, more than a hundred thousand fighters.
At the center of this organized disorder, there was a crowd core that did not move.

Shamans dressed in monstrous masks danced in ecstasy. They played flutes, bagpipes, sistrums, and drums, singing atrocious melodies. On a platform, three Orc dancers had embarked on warrior choreography. Proud and barbarian, they were naked, covered with sweat by their wild jousts. Their cemeteries were constantly clashing among the cries of the soldiers contaminated by their bellicose drunkenness.
Above them sat Agraggush, the Orc warlord, surrounded by soldiers of his personal guard. As usual, he wore his strange deep black plate armor, crossed by red veins that glowed with a malevolent fire. Spikes and blades appeared all over the metal surface, giving it an ugly appearance... It was a daedric armor forged by mixing blood from a daedra - a demon from Oblivion- with molten ebony.

All around Agraggush, relics had been gathered from the defenders of Refuge: Piles of cut heads, armets and morions helmets, gauntlets. Flags of units covered the ground. There was even a splendid polychrome oriflamme hanging upside down. The white stallion which had been the emblem of Prince Pelagius can be recognized (3).

Judging that his troops had reached the height of excitement, Agragush raised his hand to demand silence. Straightened to his full height, he waved his sword towards the ruined walls. His speech was but a cry of hatred and disgust towards the besieged:

"The pale, soft-skinned vermin is hiding behind the dust walls of their lair. They don't dare face us. But the time has come for our triumph. With one breath we will tear down their ramparts. We will reverse them as a children's building game. Our anger will fill the sky and terrify the cowards lurking in their dens. We will tear their steel armor to rip off their stinking entrails. Their stupid bleating and vain prayers will no longer be heard. Their children will grow up forgetting them. Their companions will be our slaves. And their impure presence will no longer defile our country!

A formidable howl of enthusiasm aroused the gathering.

Agraggush smiled in himself, despising these gullible fools as much as his enemies. Madness made the eyes of the Orc shine. While waiting for the carnage, the beating of his heart accelerated. His patience and his long years of intrigue would soon bear fruit. Even King Gorthwog would have to recognize his power and authority. Then, who knows? All hopes were allowed…

The palace of the kings of Menevia was an impressive manor house with yellow stone walls and a roof of red tiles. The central building had three floors and was loaded with turrets; the two wings had only one floor.

The building was accessed through a French-style garden where the statues of gods were next to benches lined up under trees imported from distant lands. The door of the palace opened at the top of a colonnades' gallery accessible by a double monumental staircase.

Beyond, a large entrance hall extended. It was paved with marble and two large fountains decorated with statues decorated it.

Usually, the place offered a serene and majestic vision to visitors. But the vestibule had been transformed into a field hospital. Without a look, Archer crossed rows of precarious litter boxes. Men covered with bloody clothes were delirious or groaning. The overloaded healers went from one to the other, trying to bring a little comfort to the poor cripple. Unfortunately, they lacked everything. Without laudanum and opium, the orderlies could no longer do much to relieve pain. The wounds were infected because the turpentine was gone and the oil was missing.

Other nurses wore stretchers from nearby rooms. Exhausted, they staggered under the weight they carried. The surgeons were not much better. The blood-stained blouses, with empty eyes, they ate or slept among their patients.

Even after centuries, Archer could not contain the helpless rage he felt at the sight of time of suffering. He had worked his whole life to save the unfortunate. He had devoted himself without asking anything and he only received the betrayal in response.

Dead, the man who called himself "Archer", had served Alaya. For this entity, he had killed all those who represented a danger to humanity... but never, never, he has seen an end to misery, to suffering.

It had turned the young fool he had been into a cynic with a sarcastic smile.

What he had experienced since his arrival on Nirn had hardly helped him to change his view of the world. There was no need to explain to him that the Masters and Servants of the Grail War had not brought peace to this world... and the current war was their fault, or rather HIS fault... since he was also called "Shiro Emiya". Archer felt furious at his other self and his awkward vow. Shaking his head, the hero Emiya inspired and then expired. He had to keep his mind clear. He had come to speak to someone very stubborn... probably a family defect. A furtive smile appeared on Archer's lips. These two girls drove him crazy... yet...

Pressing the step, Archer crossed the heavy bronze door guarded by two Knights of the Rose leaning on their swords. In the following rooms, the spectacle offered to him was as pitiful as the makeshift hospital. The bombings and fires had driven many people out of their homes. Initially, some rooms of the palace had been allocated to them. But the guards, overwhelmed, had let them spread in the corridors. Whole families were waiting there. Sitting on the floor, they hardly spoke, no longer cried, without a complaint they spent days looking at the wall in front of them. The carefree children who played in the streets no longer existed. Eight months of war had been enough to make them too young adults.

Arriving at the top of a staircase, Archer went to knock on a door framed by two Refuge Guards. A clear soprano replied, the voice of a very young woman... of a teenager:

"Enter"

Sakura Tohsaka was writing, sitting behind her desk. The girl had long hair- adorned with a red ribbon above the ear- and like her eyes, they have the color of the petals of the Japanese cherry tree (4). Dressed in a simple pink dress, she was lovely... especially if you liked young women with a nice round chest.
She had a shy smile at his entrance:

"Oh, Archer-san."

An oil lamp illuminated the scene with a yellowish clarity. Natural light no longer entered through the two tall windows pierced into the right wall. Boards had been hastily nailed up to close them after a shot had shattered the windows. A few pieces of glass on the ground reminded us of the accident.
Advancing with stiffness, Archer wondered how to approach the problem. The best was to keep it simple.
"Sakura-chan, I promised your sister to protect you until she returns. Except that Refuge will fall at the next assault and that it is imminent. I think it's time to go...

Nervous, Sakura got up after grabbing some papers on her table and bowed to greet him as she passed Archer. Clearly, she didn't want to hear that lies ahead and... she was running from reality. The reincarnated Servant sighed and took her by the arm as she passed before him.

"Sakura, I don't think you want to hear this. But it's over... one hero can't change anything anymore. The city will fall on the next assault. You have to leave if you don't want to die with them."
But Sakura shook her head, her eyes closed, as if she refused to see the truth:

"No, I don't understand anything you're saying, Archer-san... let me go."

A throaty chuckle was heard:

"But Archer is not wrong..."

Sakura and Archer froze upon hearing this feminine, hot, sensual voice... They turned towards the door. A figure wrapped in a long patched coat stood in the frame of the door. Behind her... on the ground... the two guards were bathed in their blood.

What happened then was so fast that no human could have followed the movements of the two ex-Servants.
A long chain emerges and Archer blocked the attack with Kanshou and Bakuya, appeared in his hands. Spinning, the two Chinese swords cut out the mantle that fell to the ground... empty.
Passing Sakura behind him, the hero Emiya recovered the two swords that were returning to him like boomerang before raising his eyes to the top of the wall.

Like a giant spider, a woman hung on the moldings, upside down. She was dressed in a short black dress highlighting a sculptural body. Her long hair of a more red-violet than those of Sakura fell almost to the ground, so thick that she could almost only wear them as a garment. Yet the most amazing was her face. The beautiful woman's eyes disappeared behind a mask, and a red glyph glowed on her forehead.

Sakura almost cried out recognizing her:

"Rider!"
Archer was tense... Obviously, the Rider of the Fifth Grail War wasn't coming as a friend. Medusa dropped to the ground, landing on her hands laid flat before placing her feet sleeved on long thigh boots on the ground and straightening up with strange jerky gestures worthy of a puppet.

Half hidden behind Archer, Sakura looked at her... friend and worried:

"Rider-san, why are you here? What... what do you want from me?"

There was a moment of silence, and Rider's attitude seemed briefly hesitant. She replied in a surprisingly soft voice:

"I'm sorry, Sakura. I... I'm not free of my actions. He asked me to bring you back and I can't disobey HIM. Archer, if you run away without trying to stop me, I won't hurt you."

The hero Emiya refused to lower his blades.

"What about Sakura?"

"She and I are alike. We went through the same trials. When I see her, I see myself at her age... she's like a little sister. I would never intentionally hurt her."

"But what about HIM hurting Sakura?"

Medusa's awkward silence did not require any comment. Archer's famous sarcastic smile played on his lips:

"I see... Sakura is very lucky not to have Rider for a friend... or should I say Medusa? In your company, she is so safe."

The mockery irritated the reincarnated Servant who made her chains swirl.

The fight began...

Author's note: Next time, the first fight between Servants... you all expected it, right?

(1) Couillard: a kind of light trebuchet with a counterweight made of a sandbag that gives it its name. (Couille = bourse... I can't help it if in modern French this word only serves in anatomy).

(2) On Earth, these helmets are typical of medieval Europe. Conical and lined with fur they are adorned with a tip at the top, the Gorodet also has a nasal protector. They are worn on a camail of chainmail that protects the cheeks, neck.

(3) Eldest son of King Eadwyre of Menevia, killed at the battle of Bjoulsae.

(4) Called in Japanese... Sakura