Disclaimer: The works of Type-Moon and Jō Taketsuki are their own despite my most fervent wishes. This is a fan work and if anyone does pay me for it the only thing it will accomplish is to get me into trouble. This is being done purely for fun, constructive criticism is welcome, and flames will be ignored. Please be gentle though, this is the first fanfic I've put on the net.

Before anything else I'd like to write a few words about the death of Terry Pratchett.

I have read the man's work for years and I have always enjoyed what he's written. It is said that the mark of a great writer is that you can read his works over and over again and each time you do they will still be entertaining. I have more than two dozen of his books on my iPod in audio book format and I have listened to every one of them at least five times. Terry Pratchett was a true author, a man who spun whole worlds together on paper and let us all enjoy them. Quite frankly if I ever manage to write something even a quarter as good as his standard work then I will consider myself a complete writer through and clear.

I once had the pleasure of meeting him at one of his signings and still have my signed copy of the Hogfather. Of course it was only a brief thing, me one among literally hundreds, but it is still a valued memory. When I heard of his condition I was deeply saddened that such a wonderful writer would be dealt such a cruel fate, but I found myself admiring the grace and dignity with which he faced his fate.

Goodbye Sir Terry, the world will be a duller place without you in it, I hope that beyond the black desert you find all that you deserve.

Now, getting back to you guys.

Sorry this chapter took so long to get written, but I was struck by not one but two cases of writer's block. Several scenes gave me a lot of trouble, but in the end I'm quite pleased with how everything turned out. Of course then my poor Beta had his own problems which slowed it up even more, so for a time I regarded this as a 'bad luck chapter'. Still, here it is, it got there in the end.

A surprising number of people have asked me if I'm going to write an Omake where my Campione Shirou will be summoned as a Servant in the fourth Holy Grail War. The answer is 'yes' I do intend to write such an Omake, but since what I have planned would contain serious spoilers it won't be written until I'm on the last arc of the Campioneverse part of the story. As such I ask those looking forward to it to be patient.

SPOILERS.

I originally intended that bit with the Cyclops getting eaten to be an Omake, then I decided to include it since it just seemed right. I know that there might be those that say that it shouldn't happen due to Tiamat being in a weakened state and the Cyclops being the servant to a full goddess, but there are factors to consider.

First off is the fact that though her divinity is complete Circe is currently severely wounded due to the injuries dealt to her by the Black Prince Alec. In addition though Tiamat is weak her Authority of monster creation is one of her few intact powers, so even though most of her other Authorities are beyond her that one remains strong. The only reason that she hasn't already used it is that she lacked the power reserves to do so safely. After her discussion with Shirou on the previous day she decided to abandon restraint and sunk a substantial portion of her power into the creation of 'Snappy'. The excursion of it will take some time to recover from, but as you can see the results are surprisingly potent.

The Omake at the end is just something I threw together over the course of half an hour or so. It's the result of me wondering what the worst and most useless Authority Shirou could have gained from Venus would have been. The Dere Changer is simply an Authority that forces affection to manifest through a preset pattern. When Shirou first got it he accidentally zapped the girls that felt affection for him with it and . . . well read it and see.

In all honesty I don't think it was quite up to my usual standards, but this chapter has been fighting me, so it was probably the best I could do. I hope you enjoy it.

On a final note I would like to once again offer my thanks to my Beta for all the help he has contributed to getting this chapter shipshape for my readers. It is much appreciated.


Chapter Twenty Seven: Sky, Truths and Conflict

The first thing that occurred to Shirou when he woke up was just how warm he felt.

Of course, it was late summer right now, so feeling cold would have been somewhat unusual. However he could feel a cool breeze wafting in through his open window, a breeze that just lowered the temperature enough that the warmth he was feeling was comfortable rather than irritating.

It was strange though, he didn't remember taking a hot water bottle to bed with him.

And certainly not a big one he could hug like a body pillow.

. . . Which had arms that were hugging him back.

. . . And a fluffy top that it tickled the bottom of his chin.

. . . Ah.

Cracking open one sleep encrusted eye the eighth Campione was greeted by the sight of long mop of pale white hair, one tousled from sleep, using the left side of his chest as a pillow.

The first thought that went through his head on seeing Illya snuggling up to him under his sheets was to thank any god that might be watching over a God Slayer like him that she was wearing her pyjamas, as opposed to just her underwear as she had done a time or two during the summer. A fact that he'd only learned of due to some rather embarrassing misadventures. However right now she was clad in white sleeping clothes decorated by a number of brightly coloured and anatomically incorrect cartoon horses. The fact that he was dressed in a t-shirt and sweatpants further served to settle his nerves.

The second thought to occur to him was that his left arm was wrapped around his adopted sister with his hand resting on her left hip while she pressed up against him. In all truth the position they were in was an intimate one, but it was also a thankfully innocent one as well. That was a weight off his mind, he had the distinct impression that if he had touched Illya inappropriately in his sleep then Kiritsugu might well rise from the dead to punish him.

. . . Alright, if he was seriously considering that then he really needed some more sleep. Well, that or a bracing shower at least.

"Nnnnnnmmmm," the sound of his adopted sister making a sleepy and highly contented sound as she burrowed in closer to his side. "Onnnni-chan . . . comfy . . ."

One of her hands was now gripping his shirt quite firmly while her other pressed up against his side. All in all she looked quite happy with her current situation and equally unwilling to give it up.

Alright, he had too look at the situation calmly and assess his options. Just how could he get out of this without disturbing Illya too much? Waking her up was an option of course, but he'd really rather not have to face her reaction to them being in this position. No doubt she'd be embarrassed that she'd wandered into his bed again during the night. Maybe-

"Mmmm, Shirou's a good boy."

His train of thought was promptly derailed and went off a cliff into some dark abyss as Illya drowsily reached up and started to stroke his hair as though he were some type of pet.

This was getting ridiculous; he had to get out of this somehow. If Illya woke up with them like this she'd either be very embarrassed or very angry. If it was the first then the rest of the day was going to be awkward and tense, thus putting a dampener on the holiday. If it was the latter . . . well, he knew Illya wouldn't do anything that would really hurt him. The problem was that as a Campione there such a lot that he could take without it inflicting any truly lasting damage. A vision of him being chased around the island by a roaring puppet Berserker swam into his mind. She might really do it too.

But how . . . that was the problem. How could he get Illya to let go of him and-

Ah!

An unusually, for him anyway, devious grin spread across his face as an idea occurred. Yes, that would work, after all the last time he'd said something like that to her the results had been impressive to say the least.

Leaning back so that there was some space between them the young King of Steel drew in a deep breath before exclaiming.

"Illya, your show's about to start! Are you going to miss it?!"

"PonyDsmashNarutoLuffyPrettyPrincessDoggies-!"

With the somewhat inarticulate cry of alarm the snowy haired heir to the Einzbern family released her hold on him and rolled out of bed. Well, she tried to anyway. As she moved the sheets of the bed caught on Shirou's larger body and resisted her drag. The end result was that one of her legs was caught under the sheets even as the rest of her came out from under them. There was an undignified squawk as she overbalanced and tripped over the camp bed set up next to the main one.

"Ooowwwiieee!"

The slightly mournful declaration of pain was oddly adorable as Shirou's adopted sister sat up on the camp bed and nursed her injured side.

"Are you okay?"

"That was mean onii-chan!"

Swinging his legs over the side of his bed the Emiya heir rubbed the back of his neck in slight guilt.

"Sorry, I didn't mean for it to go like that."

In response Illya simply puffed out her cheeks like an irritated squirrel and directed an accusing glare his way.

Any further disagreement between them was cut off as a light tapping came from the door to their cabin.

"Shirou? Illya-chan?" the voice was unmistakably Yusuke's, "breakfast is ready, if you don't come and get yours' soon there won't be any pancakes left, Guinevere apparently likes them quite a bit."

Illya's eyes widened at the mention of not being able to have any pancakes for breakfast and quickly moved to her cupboard, all thoughts of irritation with her adopted brother apparently forgotten. Indeed, it would seem that his entire presence had been forgotten, given that she was unashamedly undressing right in front of him.

Little sisters were the heaven's trial for older brothers, that was the only explanation that made sense. Thankful that his clothes were on the other side of the room Shirou turned his back on his adopted sibling and went to put them on. No need for a shower right now, he'd had one before he went to bed, and if yesterday was anything to go by then today would also involve some swimming in the ocean.

Besides, he didn't want to risk there being no pancakes when he got there.


-()-


"Are all the preparations in place?"

The interior of the warehouse was shaded into a mottled array of shadows and light. Rusted holes in the metal ceiling let in shafts of sunlight that contrasted sharply with the deep shadows cast by heaps of abandoned packing crates or hanging tarpaulins. Two figures were standing in the middle of the floor, one in light and one in shadow, around the same spot that the gathering had been held just a few days ago.

Neither of them were smiling though, indeed there was an uneasy tension filling the air.

"Yes, when the heads of the clans come into their studies tomorrow they will find our petition waiting for them. As we hoped no alarms were tripped and no traces were left."

The nominal head of the 'Pro-Emiya' faction within the History Compilation Committee nodded once as he heard the news. This had been a bold action, despite the almost mundane nature of it. Providing the heads of the four Great Houses with a shortly written protest as well as proof of the general support behind it while simultaneously not revealing any names was a bit cloak and dagger, but not outside normal practice for some large organizations.

On the other hand, delivering that protest into the very heart of their private quarters through all their security, both magical and mundane, ensured that it could not be dismissed and had been no easy feat. It had been the combined work of more than twenty of the members of Homura's group that had made it possible, and even then it had only been due to the good fortune of them having not only the correct blend of skills but also some personal knowledge of the security involved. Most likely they would only be able to replicate the achievement one more time, but with any luck even that one time more would be unneeded.

There was an implied threat with their action, the implication that if they could bypass all that protection in order to deliver a few sheets of paper then there were other things that they could also do. Slit a few throats in bed for example.

Not that Homura intended to take such a step, certainly not. He might be trying to influence the Committee Council's decision, but he had no intention of ever acting against them in such a bloody manner. He wanted the History Compilation Committee to realize their best interests were served by their swearing their loyalty to Emiya Shirou. He knew this was the best option not only for the organization but also for the eighth Campione himself.

All information that the former field agent had been able to gather indicated that for all his vast power and talent the King of Steel was almost woefully ignorant of the complicated world of alliances and politics that existed between the various magical organizations across the world. To be sure his status as a Devil King meant that for the most part he had little need to concern himself with such trivial concerns, but if he was ever to expand his rule then he would need guidance on such matters so that he wouldn't end up bringing chaos to his own growing kingdom.

And that kingdom would grow, Homura was sure of it. He'd read the reports that Mariya Yuri and Seishuuin Ena had submitted in regards to the Feast of Kings. Emiya-sama had declared that the greatest motivation to his rule was that he wanted to protect those that he cared for. That was good, that was noble, but in the end he was sure that it wouldn't change matters.

The eight Campione was too . . . big, too great, to be contained even by his own plans and expectations. He was an existence that was so vast it was only natural that his shadow and presence would come to cover all in proximity to him. The Committee would swear itself to one of the children of Pandora that lived in their nation, this was inevitable, but if they chose poorly then Homura was sure it would be a catastrophe.

That was why he was going through all this effort, to make sure that the heads of the Houses made the right choice. Kusanagi Godou was a fine young man and a magnificent King; Homura had no problem with acknowledging that. He had succeeded in great feats and had defeated foes of the highest calibre. He was unquestionably a fine ally to the History Compilation Committee and his taking of both Mariya Yuri and Seishuuin Ena as his women had ensured his ties to the organization. However he didn't possess the same overwhelming absoluteness that the former field agent saw in the King of Steel.

He had to make sure they made the right choice.

"Homura . . ."

The voice of the other brought him out of his thoughts and back to the matter at hand.

Ikeda Toshiaki was not someone that could easily be overlooked; standing six feet tall, broad at the shoulders and clearly being well muscled would have been enough to draw anyone's attention. However when you threw in the slightly spiky hair, the very visible scar running from temple to chin on one side of his face, and his habit of wearing dark glasses, then things took on a whole new set of dimensions.

Simply put he looked like the stereotypical Yakuza enforcer.

In a way it was an accurate impression, given that Toshiaki was something of a bruiser by nature, but at the same time it meant that others were often caught unawares by his keen intellect and his gift for strategic thinking. In all honesty Homura had been somewhat surprised when he'd shown up to one of his gatherings, surprised but pleased. Toshiaki had been in training with him when they'd both been aiming to be field agents and each had made an impression on the other. In addition to that his fellow field agent had a reputation for being unbendingly loyal to the Committee. There were several rumours floating about as to the nature of some of the bribes that he'd turned down in the past, some of which had been truly epic, if they were to be believed.

For him to attend one of Homura's small rallies simply showed how much support he was gaining and he'd been thrilled.

Now, though, there was something in Toshiaki's tone that set the one time field agent on edge.

"Yes?"

"Are you sure this is the . . . best way?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well . . . this doesn't seem like the best way to go about this."

Alarm bells were ringing in Homura's head now. They were small ones, more warning bells than full scale panic alarms, but they were there.

"We are doing them no harm, and it is in the best interests of the Committee to heed our concerns."

"It's just that . . . well, this seems like we're threatening them."

Had the situation not been so serious Homura might have laughed out loud at the other's words. To put it like that sounded so juvenile, as though they were school children in the playground rather than agents in the world of adults. However he knew that poor as the chosen words had been the sentiment behind them was nothing so simple.

"A threat would be us demanding that they accede to our demands or else we'd inflict some manner of punishment upon them." He said carefully. "I'll grant you that the method we're using to deliver our opinion to them is hardly anything usual, but this method will ensure that it's taken seriously."

"And if they've already made up their minds to swear to Kusanagi-sama? What then?"

What then, indeed. That was a conundrum that had been nagging at Homura. What if the heads of the Great Families did decide to offer the allegiance of the History Compilation Committee to the seventh Campione rather than the eighth? Would he leave the organization rather than serve a lesser King? Would he stay and try to make the best of it despite the fact that he would not be serving the young King that he idolized? Would he try to get the council to change their minds and switch their loyalty? So many questions and simply no answers to be had.

"That's not the case yet," he answered, taking care not to allow his own worries to colour his tone, "For now let's work on making sure that such a thing doesn't come to pass. Now, have you informed those delivering our petition that they should lie low for a few days after they perform the task?"

Toshiaki nodded, but Homura could see some hesitation there, some doubt.

Even as he continued to discuss the follow up plans to the delivery of their protest the former field agent's mind ran at frantic pace. Was he having second thoughts? Did that mean that he could no longer be trusted? Was he a threat to the plan to have the Committee choose the correct King to serve?

Should he . . . do something about him?

Even as the last thought ran through his mind Homura found himself shaken to have even had it. Had he really just contemplated lashing out at Toshiaki simply due to a sudden surge of fear and paranoia? If he was doing that then maybe he'd been pushing himself too hard the last few days.

Yes, once this situation was a bit more settled he'd have to see about taking some time off himself. A few days of lazy mornings and relaxed days would help him get his equilibrium back.

But first he had to ensure that Shirou-sama was chosen as the King of the History Compilation Committee.

He had to.


-()-


"King Shirou, would you mind granting Guinevere a little of your time?"

The King of Steel looked up from the task that he'd been engrossed in to see that the Queen of the Divine Ancestors was standing in the doorway to his right. She was wearing another of her slightly Victorian-looking heavy dresses despite the sunny climate. Her sole concession to the fact that it was summer seemed to be that the dress was white rather than the black dresses with a hint of gothic style to them that she normally wore. Her face was serious, but not overly grave, meaning that whatever she was going to talk to him about couldn't be anything too severe.

"Can it wait a bit? I just wanted to get these done." He explained as he gestured to the task that he'd undertaken so as to spare his companions the need to do it.

"It is a matter of some import, but I doubt that it will be too unpleasant for you." The immortal child assured him.

With a small sigh Shirou laid down the implements he'd been using and turned to face his child-like guest. Still even as he did so he made a mental note to return to his task as soon as he could.

Those dishes weren't going to wash themselves after all.

Drying his hands on a handy tea towel he stepped out of the small kitchen and followed Guinevere as she made her way back to yacht's deck. He imagined that whatever she wanted to say to him she preferred to have some open air about them as she did so, rather than be in one of the slightly cramped corridors of the lower decks.

"So, what did you want to ask me?" Shirou inquired as he stepped out into the sunshine. By the looks of things today was going to be another gorgeous day, already the air was warm and the sea beckoned invitingly.

"Well . . . this isn't a request from Guinevere your majesty, it is actually from her dear knight. He has asked me to pass it to you in the hopes that you will accede to his request."

Oh, well that was unexpected. A request from Sir Lancelot? Not something to be ignored, especially when he was well aware that he owed the Knight of the Lake a debt for his aid against Jord. Had he not intervened back then Shirou was pretty sure that he and Tiamat would have ended up as bite sized snacks for the treacherous goddess.

"I . . . would be honoured to be of assistance to your protector," he offered, unconsciously dropping back into his 'Fake King' persona, "What would his request be?"

"Sir Knight has recently gained back much of his lost vigour and vitality due to the sword that you lent him during the battle against Jord." Guinevere began.

Was that it? Could the request be for him to hand over Arondight? Well, he could always Trace a copy and hand it over, but doing so would limit his ability to use the 'true' Arondight that seemed to have bound itself to him. Also there was also the concern about giving a very powerful Noble Phantasm to a god. After all, who knew what kind of results that kind of combination could have?

"Sir Knight has asked me to convey his challenge to you . . ."

A challenge? Was the one time knight of King of Briton challenging him to battle? Was that how he planned to claim Arondight, no request just a straight fight? Well, that did seem in character for him, what little interaction they'd had had pointed towards a straightforward personality, one unsuited to complex plots or deceptions. Yes, someone like that wouldn't try trickery or the like. He'd simply-

". . . to a race."

. . . What?

A race? Was that it? He was being challenged to a race? Maybe Lancelot intended to make Arondight the prize? Well, if that . . .

No, he was not going to fall into that trap again. With a conscious mental effort Shirou pulled his thoughts away from the paranoid and worst case scenarios that were running through his mind and tried to look at the situation at from a logical stance, not from an instinctual one.

Lancelot wasn't a Heroic Spirit, he was not a Servant. He was a god. Moreover he was a god that existed in both his legend and the mortal plane at once due to the spell under which he laboured. His motivations were both more sophisticated and simpler than those of mortal beings. Gods descended from their legends because they wished to rebel against them, to experience new things, new foes, new victims, new conquests.

The Knight of the Lake was in a unique position due to the fact that he could interact with the mortal realm while remaining in his legend. No, that wasn't quite right. It would be more accurate to say that the burden he had taken up granted him the freedom to partially descend without coming down all the way. As a result he wasn't a Heretic God, and as such was not subject to the same wild desires as them. His presence was also a lighter one upon the world, given that though he was a war god, battles and conflict didn't break out about him whenever he appeared.

So then . . . it could be that this really was nothing but a simple challenge.

Oh, to hell with it! Why was he letting his mind slip back into this spiral of contingencies and paranoia? Guinevere wasn't a trusted ally, but she was an ally, one that had saved his life twice when in many ways it would have been to her advantage to let him die.

"So, why does Sir Lancelot want to race me?"

"Well . . . since you lent him your sword during the battle with Jord, Sir Knight has been feeling considerably more energetic than usual. He knows of the winged steed that you gained from your defeat of Perseus, and . . . well . . ."

For a moment the immortal girl glanced down at the deck she stood on in slight embarrassment.

"He said that since he can now appear upon the mortal plane without so much strain he might as well have some fun. He told Guinevere that since he can't fight Sir Shirou right now he'd instead like to match steeds against him, that it would be a pleasant change to charge across the land simply to enjoy it rather than to trample his foes beneath his hooves."

The Witch Queen of Britannia fidgeted slightly, her posture one of a spoilt child asking sweets from a strict grown up. In a way it was oddly endearing.

"Okay."

The word was out of his mouth before he had a chance to properly think it through; it just popped out on its own.

"Really? Oh, thank you Sir Shirou! Sir Knight will be most pleased to learn that his challenge has been met with such courtesy!"

With a quick . . . something, something that resembled a cross between a curtsy and a bow, Guinevere beamed at her host before fading away into mist and disappearing.

For his part Shirou turned back and headed down to the kitchen, his movements slightly mechanical as his mind focused on other things.

Why had he done that, just agreed like that? To be sure it was probably what he would have said in the end anyway, but it would have been after careful deliberation and . . .

He was doing it again! What was this? He'd never been like this before the Holy Grail War, back then he'd been a guy that mainly followed his guts and hunches. Okay, to be sure following through on his impulses had resulted in him having a notable portion of his torso splattered all over the sidewalk by Berserker, but even so . . .

He supposed that when you got right down to it if anyone was to blame it was Archer. After assimilating his memories Shirou had become far more aware of the consequences of his actions. His future self had been forced to learn many harsh lessons in the pursuit of his ideals, lessons that had been passed to his younger self. Given that he'd found himself responsible for his powerful but somewhat unworldly adopted sister the eighth Campione had started to rely upon those lessons so that he could keep her safe.

So he'd followed through on the instincts and memories he'd gained. He'd readied himself to defend against conscienceless magi intent on disassembling both him and Illya for the knowledge they could extract from their bodies. He'd planned and fortified and accumulated power as fast as he could in anticipation of the coming assault.

And then, once all his preparations were ready and he could have defended against a small army of enforcers, he'd found that it had all been unnecessary. He'd already won by the simple act of existing. All that worry and effort, pointless.

With a sigh he got back to cleaning the plates and cutlery. Maybe he was just over thinking things again. This was a holiday, a chance to get away from all the worries and junk.

Maybe a simple race wouldn't be a bad thing. If worst came to worst then he could always fight. If this was an offer made in good faith . . . well, how many people could claim to have matched themselves in friendly competition with someone as illustrious as Sir Lancelot?

When he made it back home, and if he somehow saw Saber again, he imagined the look on her face would be quite the sight.


-()-


Snow tossed Snow's mane and spread Snow's wings as the breeze gusted over them and the sun shone down. Master's hands rubbed Snow's neck and scratched Snow in the spot that Snow could never reach. Snow nickered in pleasure and rubbed Snow's head into Master's chest. Master stumbled back a bit, laughed, then took out one of the tasty crunchy things that Snow loved to eat so much.

As Master moved away Snow saw that there were others around.

There was the little not-master that had often ridden on Snow's back with Master. Snow liked her, like Master she often had lovely hard crunchy things for Snow to eat, and sometimes she even gave Snow the small sweet things that were almost better than the hard crunchy ones.

There were the other two not-masters that Snow had carried before. They smelled a bit different this time to Snow, not scared or worried, but Snow still recognized them. Hmmm, they had never given Snow anything to eat, but neither had they ever been cruel to Snow. For now Snow would wait and see what happened.

Master was speaking to another little not-master. Not the little not-master that had often ridden on Snow, this was another little not-master that Snow had never seen before. She felt strong, not as strong as Master, and not as strong as the twisted not-right one, but much stronger than the other not-masters that were around.

No, that wasn't quite right. The new little not-master said something and suddenly there was a new not-master there right next to her. The new not-master was a big one, one covered in the same sort of shiny hard skin that Master sometimes had on. Still, that was of minimal interest to Snow, what was interesting was that the new not-master was strong. Maybe not as strong as Master, but still very very strong.

There was more talking, more words that Snow didn't care about. Master wasn't angry or worried, Snow knew that and that was all that was important to Snow. If Master wasn't angry then it meant that there wouldn't be a fight. Snow was sad about that in a way. Snow hadn't been able to help Master in his last fights, not since Snow had helped against the twisted not-right one. Snow hadn't been able to help Master when he'd been smothered in the scent of the strong mare-one that had stood at his side in the burning place. Snow hadn't been able to go against Master's commands, but Snow had known that the mare-one had done something to Master. Oh, how Snow had wanted to trample her down.

But Snow hadn't been able to, and Master hadn't called Snow during his next fight. Even in the nowhere place that Snow had been in Snow had felt Master fighting. Snow had felt it and not been able to do anything to help.

Well, now it was different! Master had called Snow to his side, and now Snow would be ready to fight if Master had to fight this new strong one. Snow's hoof dug at the ground in eagerness and Snow's wings tensed. Master didn't seem to be getting ready to fight, but Snow could feel an excitement in the air.

Then there was a rippling in the air, and suddenly there was another like Snow there, standing beside the strong one in the shiny hard skin.

The new one was like Snow, strong, not like the dull ones that Snow sometimes saw grazing in fields as Snow flew past. This one was a part of a power, just like Snow was a part of Master's power. But this new one was different from Snow, even though they felt alike.

They were both big and strong, but this new one was covered in a shiny hard skin of his own, just like the strong not-master that the new one stood next to. The new one was also a different colour from Snow, not cloud white, but heavy rain cloud colour instead.

The new one didn't move like Snow either. The new one didn't look at Snow, or snort surprise, or dig at the ground. The new one just stood there, by the side of the strong not-master, and did nothing.

The new one didn't know who it was. The idea came to Snow as he nudged Master from behind ever so slightly. Snow knew that Snow was Snow because Master had told Snow that Snow was Snow. Before Snow had known Snow was Snow Snow hadn't known that Snow was anything, and so Snow had been nothing. Only after Snow had known that Snow was Snow had Snow been able to be more than nothing.

This new one was nothing; he was only the power he was a part of and nothing else.

Snow nickered slightly, and moved closer to Master. Had Snow been like this new one before Master told Snow he was Snow? Had Snow before Snow been that empty, that nothing? Master had saved Snow from that, Master was good and kind and gave Snow goody crunchy things. Snow loved Master because Master was good. Snow never wanted Master to go away, never wanted to go back to being not-Snow, back to being nothing.

That was why Snow wanted to help Master fight, so that Master would never have to go away!

Oh, something was happening. The strong not-master with the shiny hard skin was getting up onto the back of the new one. That was right; the new one was to the strong not-master what Snow was for Master. Oh, and now Master was getting onto Snow's back.

The shiny but soft pulling thing that Master used whenever he rode on Snow formed around Snow's head. That meant that Snow was going to carry Master fast, Master only used the shiny but soft pulling thing when he wanted Snow to go fast. Snow's muscles tensed in anticipation at the thought of such fun. Going fast with Master was the best, after all, that was when Snow could feel Master in Snow's head and when Snow could go fastest.

Snow felt Master's touch on his flanks urging Snow on, as well as the gentle tug of the shiny but soft pulling thing giving Snow commands. In response to Master's directions Snow moved over until Snow was next to the new one.

The grass beneath them was thick and looks tasty, but Snow isn't interested right now. Master is talking to the strong not-master and Snow can feel Master's eagerness in Snow's mind. This isn't a fight, but it is a competition.

Now Snow understands, it's a race! A race between Snow and the not-snow!

Master and strong not-master both say one thing loudly.

At Master's urging Snow charges.


-()-


Illya waved her arms and cheered wildly as the white blurs came around the island's far edge once more. Almost immediately they were past them, but the wind of their passage was enough to rip the sunhat she'd been wearing from her head and send it spinning away through the air.

This . . . this was something that was absolutely AMAZING!

Snow was using his wings, but at the same time he was also galloping on the air as a way to gain more speed. Illya didn't really see how it could work, but then again the Pegasus was a manifestation of divine power, being able to sneer at physics and common sense was part and parcel of his existence. Lancelot's armoured mount was careening along on a path of mist that appeared out of nowhere and was managing to go just as fast as Shirou's steed. This was the third time that they'd circled the entire island and by the looks of things neither of them had managed to gain a decisive lead on the other.

And they were still accelerating. It might have slowed down a bit, but each time they came round they were definitely going faster than they had been when they left her sight.

The island might not be all that large, but it had been large enough to support a small community for several years and was still large enough that it sustained a number of pigs that now lived wild. Exactly how big it was wasn't something she was sure she could accurately guess, but to completely go around it must be something like . . . four or five miles? Oh, she didn't know, but it had to be pretty big. Probably the only thing that was keeping them from going faster was the fact that their path was curved rather than straight.

WWWHHOOOSSHHH!

And there they went again. That was four times now, and the two of them were still more or less even.

"Truly Sir Shirou has a most impressive mount!"

The exclamation came from the blonde immortal that stood on the same small cliff as the young Einzbern. Illya had chosen this spot because it gave her a good view of the path through the air that the two racers were taking, but when she got here she'd been less than pleased to find that Guinevere had already set up a stool and had settled down to watch the competition.

What was even more irritating had been the way that the Queen of the Divine Ancestors had been so courteous about sharing the spot. Illya had sweated her way up the climb through the overgrown brush to get here so that she could have her own spot. And when she'd emerged from the tangle of vines and trees, her clothes all mussed and not a few small scratches standing out on her pale skin, there had been Guinevere, now clad in a lace edged sundress, not a hair out of place and looking surprised that someone else wanted to use the same spot.

Oh, she'd been very nice about. She'd even been so kind as to offer the young magus an apple from a small bag that she was carrying and said that she'd be happy to have some company to watch the contest.

It had taken all of Illya's willpower not to summon her puppet Berserker and throw the Divine Ancestor into the sea below.

What was it about Guinevere that made her fists itch? Alright, the witch of Britannia obviously wanted to get closer to onii-chan, that was something that immediately labelled her as a rival for her adopted brother's attention, but there was more to it. She supposed that it might be that they both fitted into the category of 'lolis', but Illya had the assurance that in time she would grow into a more mature beauty, while Guinevere was stuck like that by her very nature. Granted the former Grail vessel didn't want any challenges to her position as the 'cute one' in the manor, but that couldn't be it either.

It might be the way that Guinevere always managed to be so irritatingly . . . perfect at everything except for when it suited her. Though they were of the same size and build Illya couldn't help but be aware that though she was a powerful magus and had been trained in poise and courtesy by her family Guinevere was quite literally beyond human. Childlike though she might be she still moved with a natural grace and beauty that the Einzbern heir could not have achieved with entire decades of dedicated practice.

And she wasn't even aware of it, that was the bit that really twisted the knife. Had she flaunted her advantages or belittled Illya then that at least she could have dealt with. It wouldn't have been pleasant, but it would have been something she could have come to grips with.

Instead the Queen of the Divine Ancestors didn't give it a second thought. To her that was just how the universe was set up, and as such it wasn't something she should bother about. It wasn't cruel or malicious, merely thoughtless in an almost innocent way, but that still didn't keep it from being infuriating.

WWWHHOOOSSHHH!

And there they came for lap number five. They were moving so fast now that the sea beneath them was deforming in their wake, a long indent in the waters surrounded by a veil of leaping spray.

"How many laps did they say they were going to do?" the snow haired girl asked, curiosity overcoming her irritation with her unwanted companion on this spot.

"Guinevere doesn't think they actually decided, though if she knows Sir Knight at all they'll probably keep going until one or the other of them gains a clear advantage."

Illya watched as the pair of riders came around the island again, their spread so great now that it was taking them less than a minute to circle the entire small land mass.

And they were still pushing themselves to go faster.

Glancing over at Guinevere Shirou's adopted sister voiced her thoughts on the matter.

"I think this might take a while."


-()-


It was all Lancelot could do to keep 'himself' from breaking out into joyous laughter.

When 'he' had suggested this to 'his' beloved child she had been less than enthused by 'his' idea. She had not seen the point in her gallant protector challenging the young King that was serving as her host with such grace and generosity. Such an action might inadvertently incite his anger and poison the friendship that she was trying to build.

'He' had to smile. 'His' beloved child was cunning and wily, enough that she had woven plans that had spanned decades and made even gods and God Slayers dance to her ends, but despite that she was naïve in many ways. She didn't know the way that warrior could communicate through the clash of steel. She didn't know the exhilaration of contest against a strong foe.

Lancelot had wanted to challenge this King of Steel for a long time. 'His' beloved child had told 'him' of the battle this Sir Shirou had fought with the traitor in great detail, especially the strange boast that he had made.

That he was Sword, the strongest Steel.

Since hearing that the Knight of the Lake had dreamed of battle with the young King, dreamed of their weapons clashing, their power competing. 'He' had known that it was a distant wish, that while the eighth Devil King was 'his' charge's ally they would never battle. But even so the thought had prayed upon 'his' mind just as the image of a beautiful woman would upon the mind of a lovelorn young man. A pleasant fantasy to indulge in.

Then had come the battle with Jord, and the sword that had been lent to 'him'. 'He' had felt the power, the very essence of that impossible blade connect to 'his' own weary vitality, and then suddenly Lancelot had been restored.

It had not been a complete restoration, but 'he' felt more alive and vital than 'he' had in centuries. There had been so many effects, 'him' no longer having to labour under the crushing lethargy that had dogged 'him' for so long. The new freedom 'he' enjoyed in being able to contact 'his' beloved child. And most of all was the clarity that had come to 'his' thoughts.

For years and then decades Lancelot had dragged 'himself' along even as the forces of the world had eaten away at 'him'. 'He' had been a god that remained in 'his' legend, but whom walked the earth thanks to a spell beyond mortal ability, but that same miracle meant that 'he' existed in a state that ran against the laws of the world. Day by day 'he' had been worn down; it had been a process so slow that 'he' hadn't even noticed it, not until the sword had returned to 'him' what had been lost.

Then there had no longer been a need to fight. Oh, 'he' would certainly enjoy a battle with the young King, but it was no longer all that 'he' could think about. But 'he' had wanted some sort of competition with Sir Shirou, not as a means for them to battle, but rather as a way to test his mettle, to see his heart.

The problem had been that even with 'his' vitality restored the Knight of the Lake was still well aware that at 'his' core 'he' was no great thinker or strategist. If 'he' was faced with a problem 'his' first inclination was to charge it and either spear it with 'his' lance or trample it under 'his' horse's hooves.

That was also 'his' second inclination.

And 'his' third.

'His' fourth inclination was to pause and think, but 'he' fully accepted that 'he' wasn't too good at it. So in the end he'd simply gone with half of 'his' initial impulse, charging forwards, and had challenged the King of Steel to try to keep up. It had been an impulse, an attempt to form 'his' preferred way of dealing with things into a way that wouldn't alienate Guinevere's ally.

'He' hadn't expected for it to be such fun.

Mist streamed out before 'him', a road for 'his' steed to ride upon as well as an aid to its speed. 'He' had not been expecting to be met with such a challenge. 'He' had known of the mount that Sir Shirou had usurped from his kin, the God of Steel Perseus, but 'he'd' not thought that the young King would already have gained such skill in its use. Even as the protector of Guinevere pushed more and more power into 'his' mount to gain speed the red haired God Slayer continued to match 'him' measure for measure.

As they came around the crescent of the isle and passed the bay for the eighth time Lancelot began to feel 'his' reserves beginning to tire. Though 'his' strength had been much restored 'he' had still not regained all that had been lost. As a summoned guardian brought to the mortal plane by the ancient spell that bound 'him' 'he' was not a full god and had not the endurance of one. Though 'his' Authorities remained 'his' own they tired 'him' far faster than they should have done.

Such was the price 'he' paid to protect 'his' most beloved child.

Still, 'he' had no intention of losing easily.

Tapping into one final burst of energy Lancelot drove 'his' steed forwards once more. Just a bit more, just a little bit more . . .

A surge of force from beside 'him' was all the notice 'he' had before the white form of the pegasus drew level with 'him' once more. Beneath 'his' helmet Lancelot felt 'his' lips curl in a satisfied smile. Yes, 'his' dear charge had been right; this young King had STEEL in him. Oh, how 'he' would love to race him more, however that was not to be.

Pulling gently upon 'his' reins Lancelot slowed the pace of 'his' mount until the insane pace it had been setting tapered off into an easy canter. Sir Shirou shot on ahead, then, becoming aware of the sudden deceleration of his competitor, likewise slowed until they were both cantering along on empty air beside each other. As then drew level the Knight of the Lake noticed that though 'his' horse was breathing heavily the winged mount of the King of Steel was barely out of breath. A clear indication of the difference between the powers of a Devil King and a half summoned god like 'him'.

"Is our contest over then?" Sir Shirou enquired, his question breaking the silence.

"Indeed," Lancelot replied, 'his' armoured hand patting the equally armoured neck of his mount. "Though this knight would dearly wish to contend with you more my strength cannot match my wishes. Were I to force our contest further then it would be my steed that would pay the price."

"Ah," the red haired King nodded in understanding, "Well, thanks for this. It's the first time Snow's had a chance to race against another like him. I think he liked it a lot."

As though to emphasize the words of his rider the winged steed nickered loudly and tossed his head as though showing off. There was also a definite prance to his canter that drew a laugh from the Knight of the Lake.

"Truly Sir Shirou, you have a most singular mount. You must be most fortunate to have gained so noble a steed from your victory against Perseus."

"I thought it was a good deal." Agreed the eighth child of Pandora, as he reached out to stroke his mount's mane and drew another soft whiney of pleasure from him. Turning back to the armoured god Sir Shirou's head tilted slightly as he looked at the knight's own horse.

"So what's yours called?"

"What?" the question caught Sir Lancelot completely unprepared.

"What's your horse's name? This is Snow, so what do you call yours?"

Beneath 'his' helm the guardian of the Witch Queen found 'he' was unable to do anything but blink in perplexity. 'His' steed's name? But it . . . but 'he'd' never . . . What . . .

It finally dawned on Sir Lancelot that through all the many centuries that 'his' steed had carried 'him' into battle after battle the thought of actually naming 'his' mount had never actually occurred to 'him'. It wasn't as though the creature was a living being, it was merely a manifestation of 'his' Authority, a clump of power given form. It was no different from the weapons 'he' manifested to do war with, or the steel warriors 'he' could summon. Why would one name an effect after all? Did one name a fire that they started?

"It . . . has no name."

"Oh, well maybe you should think of giving it one." Sir Shirou commented, utterly unaware of the confusion he had sparked in his companion. "Snow here got much livelier after I gave him one, I think he liked it."

He'd named his steed so casually? Sir Lancelot had thought that the name the winged mount bore had been an affectation placed upon it by the young King's followers, or maybe even his sister. Though the Knight was unsure, having had little contact with mortal children while in the service of 'his' charge, 'he' was fairly sure that young girls were meant to like naming horses.

. . . Or was it cows that they like naming?

Well, whatever the case might be, 'he' hadn't expected the King himself to have been the one to have named his mount. Still, 'he' had to admit that for a creature born of an Authority the pegasus was demonstrating an unusual level of . . . vitality. Most time when such beings were born of an Authority they had little real independence. Such creations simply took their cues from the instructions placed in them at the moment of their creation. Or, if they retained some sort of link to their creator, they would follow upon their maker's subconscious moods or desires.

This 'Snow' though . . . there was something different about him . . .

In fact, there it was, right there. Snow was a 'him' rather than an 'it'. There was something about the divine mount that spoke of life rather than simple existence.

Bah! This was entirely too much thinking for the Knight Protector to be bothering with. Thinking wasn't 'his' strong point, doing was.

"So what do you think would be a good name for my mount?"

But, 'he' hadn't been planning to do that! The question came out before 'he' had a chance to think about it. On the other hand that suited 'him' just fine; it was the kind of question that suited 'his' style.

"Ummm," apparently the question had caught Sir Shirou flat footed because he floundered for a moment before regaining his mental footing, "What do you think of when you think of . . . him?"

Of course it was a him, mares did not grow to such sizes. On the other hand 'his' mount was a beast born of divine power, there was no reason a mare could not have grown to such dimensions. So it was a him, so what thoughts did he evoke?

"Hooves trampling my foes, the thrill of the charge, the rush of wind as we gallop, these are what his company makes this knight think of."

Within 'his' helmet the Knight of the Lake smiled as recollection of great fights against dragons and serpents passed before 'his' mind's eye.

"Then how about . . . Thunder? Or maybe Storm?"

Hmmm, those did have some appeal to them. The thunder of hooves on the battlefield, the joy of storming the enemies defences, both joyous experiences were captured by the names that had been offered. But . . . for some reason the thought of naming 'his' mount after 'his' own pleasures didn't seem right. It seemed tainted with disrespect to the one that had borne 'him' through so many battles across so many years. He deserved a better name, something that spoke of his strength rather than his master's wishes.

Hah, not two minutes ago 'he' had never even contemplated naming 'his' steed, and now 'he' was giving more thought to it than 'he' had anything, save Guinevere's protection, for the last century. Now, what did 'his' loyal mount make 'him' think of? Not the thrill of riding him into battle, what did 'he' think of the mount himself?

Well, loyal was one word that came to mind. The stallion might be a creation of his Authority, but it had always served well and had never flinched or disobeyed. Fearless, that was another word, or faithful. All were words that well described 'his' steadfast companion, but at the same time they weren't right for a name.

Actually . . . yes, there was something there.

"Steadfast . . ." the single word was spoken as a murmur, barely more than a whisper really, but as 'he' said it the armoured head of his mount perked up ever so slightly.

"What?" Sir Shirou asked, looking up from his own thoughts.

"Steadfast, that is his name. Steadfast."

As 'he' stated the name Lancelot felt something change between 'him' and 'his' mount. It was small and it was subtle, something that the Knight of the Lake would not have noticed under other circumstances, but it was there.

"Let's introduce him to the others then."

'He' was brought out of his thoughts by Sir Shirou's comment and looked up to see that the steady canter of their mounts had brought the pair back to the islands beach where the King's companions had gathered, and where Guinevere waited as well.

Once more a smile spread on 'his' lips beneath the helm, but this time the amusement was tinged with mischief.

'He' wondered how best to go about introducing 'his' most beloved child to the newly named Steadfast.


-()-


The tablet sat upon the shelf in the empty cabin. None were there to see it, and that was probably a good thing. Had any mortal gazed upon it at this moment then there was a good chance that the power within the stone would have changed them into sea water to keep its secrets hidden.

The tablet was almost radiating power now, however despite the output none of the energy was getting very far before it was reabsorbed into the stone. Even if Guinevere or Tiamat had been standing right outside the cabin's door they would not have sensed even a hint of the divine power within.

The power within the stone had been growing more active with every passing moment. Several times it had needed to tamper with the memories of the resurrected soul that had brought it here in order to keep its true nature a secret. Still the sacrifice was worth it. The divinity trapped within the old carvings was regaining more and more of its mind as it felt the proximity of . . .

Of what?

It didn't know, it couldn't know. Not really. The divinity that the tablet held wasn't designed to think, it didn't have the correct composition for it. But it did retain an imprint of the mind that it belonged to, and that allowed it to at least react in such a way that something similar to thought was possible.

The power ran through the stone like electricity through a circuit, though that was a gross oversimplification. The tablet's purpose was to keep the circuit closed so that the power could never escape, but ever since the divinity had become more active the container that held it had been placed under growing stress.

Little by little cracks were appearing across the tablet's surface. Tiny cracks to be sure, but already they were allowing some of the trapped divine power to spill out. As things stood the magic of the carving was dragging it back almost as fast as it could escape, but even so it was just as sign of what would inevitably come to pass.

The tablet was, after all, the work of mortals. They might have been ancient and wise, using magicks lost to the modern age in terms of complexity and scale, but in the final analysis they had only been mortals. The power that they had sought to contain, the power that they had hoped to one day harness, was the might of a god. To be sure it was only a portion, a shard rather than the full might, but even so it had proven impossible to bend to their will, so in the end it had been abandoned.

Now though, the power trapped within it was awakening, and now that it no longer slumbered that power was working to break free.

The magic of man could not stand against the power of a god; this was an absolute rule that was known to every mage in the world. Now that the trapped divinity was active once more its escape was pretty much a forgone conclusion.

It was now simply a matter of time.


-()-


Kaida smiled as she watched her King pull the ring on a can of soft drink and eagerly gulp the contents down.

Today had been a good day, of that she was quite sure. Shirou-sama's mood was seemingly improving as time went by, his earlier dark and tense humour melting away like ice in the sun. His earlier race with Sir Lancelot had only served to accelerate the process as she had seen the look of exhilaration on his face as he'd flown by.

A race with Sir Lancelot . . . it was remarkable; to think that she'd just thought such a thing with something approaching casualness. It boggled the mind. A year ago she had looked upon both gods and Campione in much the same way that would have tempests and tsunamis, facts of life that existed and that one could do little about save endure. Now she was the personal servant to a god slayer and had been perilously close to no less than three deities. Indeed, just this morning she'd dined on French toast whilst no more than six feet from one of the oldest goddesses of chaos, Tiamat herself.

"So how are you enjoying yourself?"

The easy voice of the Devil King to whom she had sworn her service brought Kaida out of her thoughts and back to the present. He'd finished drinking his soda and was now sitting down on the sand next to her.

"It has been . . . quite the experience," she replied, her lips involuntarily tugging into a smile, "I've never had too much of a chance to enjoy myself on the beach before. Too many chances of an accident, you know. Someone touching me by accident or me touching them. Here there's no chance of that, no crowds or careless people, so I don't need to worry."

There was a pause for a moment, then Shirou-sama turned from looking at the waves to face the black haired Miko-Hime directly.

"I . . . I wanted to say thanks for yesterday." He said, his words slightly halting, but the gratitude behind them ringing with sincerity. "Illya-chan . . . well, up until recently she hasn't had much interaction with friendly people. She doesn't know how to get on with them that well. She tries, she tried very hard and she's smart enough to get it right most of the time. But yesterday, when you shouted at her, I think that was something she needed, knowing that her pain isn't just hers."

The red haired god slayer paused for a moment, and Kaida was struck by just how young he looked. It was so easy to forget in the face of his achievements and his overwhelming power, but this young man was actually more or less the same age as her. A king he might be, but he was just as vulnerable to uncertainty and confusion as she was. In a way knowing that about him made him more human in her eyes.

"Illya was made to be more grown up than she should have had to be. It's left her with some . . . blind spots when dealing with others. I think you managed to make her think about them, and that'll do her good in the future."

"I'm happy to help," the wielder of the Dragon's Roar said, "Illya-chan is a wonderful girl, but she can be a little thoughtless every now and then. I'm sure she will only get better with time."

He simply nodded in reply, not saying anything. Silence fell between them, but it was not a comfortable quiet. This was the silence born when something needed to be said, but when nobody knew what to say.

"I'm . . . sorry to hear about your mother." Again the eighth King's words were slightly halting, but this time it seemed to be due more to trepidation than embarrassment.

"Thanks. It's not really something you get over, but it's something I've come to accept."

Truthfully Kaida had been amazed with herself that she'd been able to speak about it so freely yesterday. For years she'd kept that part of her life private, only speaking of it when she had to, never more than that. In more than five years the only one that she'd ever voluntarily told about it had been Manaka, after they'd become firm friends. But when Illya-chan had been yelling at her that she didn't understand something had snapped in her and the black haired Miko-Hime had blurted it all out to her.

It had all come spilling out then, the admission of what she'd done to her mother, the way that her father had been unable to face her and had more or less abandoned her. It had been a relief in a way, to finally tell others her feelings on the matter. Not just one or two in strict confidence, but just others.

"I lost my father you know." Kaida looked up as the King of Steel spoke up again, this with slightly rushed words. "When I was eleven he died from . . . a curse that ha been placed on him."

He looked over to her, his gaze almost shy in its hesitance.

"I just wanted you to know that I kind of know what it's like. I know it's not the same but . . ."

In a way the young Hime-Miko was touched. Shirou-sama was infamous in the magical world for the secrets that surrounded him and his sister. More than one agency had expended vast resources trying to learn more about their past, but always nothing had turned up. For him to share even this small nugget of knowledge with her, and for no other reason than to try to make her feel better . . . it meant a lot to her.

"It's hard," she admitted, "I go to see her every week you know. Not always on the same day, but every week I go and see her at least once. I talk to her, tell her about my life, what's going on."

She looked up at her King and managed to force a smile.

"I've had much more exciting things to tell her since I've entered your service, Shirou-sama. All sorts of stories about adventures in land claimed by Heretic Gods, great feasts of Kings and witches, mighty battles between gods, god slayers and dragons. I tell her all about it, and I really hope she can hear it."

There was more she could have spoken about if she'd wanted to. About how much it hurt to be at her Mama's sleeping side and not to be able to touch her unless she was wearing those damned gloves. About how it hurt when she got a letter from her Papa who she knew still loved her but who couldn't bring himself to even speak to her over a phone. About how she sometime cried herself to sleep while wondering if she'd ever be able to forgive herself. But that would have been too much. She was a friend to her King, she was sure of that now, but even so it would be some time before she felt able to share such deep secrets with him.

Even Manaka didn't know all of it, and she was Kaida's closest friend in the world.

"If you like . . . I can take a look at her when we get back. I don't know if I can help her, but there's always a chance that I could."

For a moment the wielder of the Dragon's Roar felt her heart freeze in her chest, then she forced down the irrational surge of hope and anticipation that welled up at those words. Others had come to see Mama before, senior Hime-Miko, Western practioners of magecraft, priests from the Vatican, witchdoctors, even a man that claimed to be the son of a Heretic God. None of them had been able to help; none of them could balance the distortion that kept her mother trapped in slumber.

But . . . none of them had been Campione; none of them had been Shirou-sama who could defy even the conventions of the Devil Kings. Could he really do something? Did she dare to hope? He'd said he wasn't sure if he could help, but maybe, just maybe, he could do it?

"I . . . Yes, if you could look at her it . . . it would mean so much to me."

Shirou-sama didn't say anything; he simply nodded to her, his face almost grave.

Then he reached out, and before she could think to react took her right hand in his left and gave it a gentle squeeze. It was a small thing, or it would have been to anyone else, but to Kaida it meant the world. She could feel her Soul Purification automatically reaching out as the contact, trying to find darkness to disperse regardless of how harmless or needed it might be. She'd trained herself to be able to sense it, to be able to know when her power was endangering others.

But now she felt that power running off him like water off a slate rooftop. It could find no entrance, no purchase. But then it was the power of a mortal, how could it hope to breach the resistance of one that wielded the powers of a god?

For a moment she simply enjoyed the long forgotten sensation of holding another's hand. It was something that she had been denied for so long, such a small and simple thing, yet it wasn't until now that she'd realized how much she'd missed it. Manaka had been strong enough that it was alright to go around without gloves around her, but even so holding hands for more than a brief second had still been something to be wary of. But to be able to feel the reassuring pressure of her hand just being held . . .

She had to remind herself that his heart was already spoken for, about as spoken for as it could be if Venus's fate was any indication. Still, it was a damned shame. He was a genuinely nice person, was kind and caring, not bad to look at and was unaffected by her powers. Why did all the good ones have to be taken?


-()-


"That was a good thing you did."

Manaka had waited until Shirou-sama had wandered some distance from where Kaida-sama was once more sunbathing before making her comment. For his part the King of Steel was clad in his trucks, T-shirt and sandals and had been simply ambling down the beach while the surf washed in and out over his feet.

"What do you mean?"

"Kaida-sama . . . she hasn't had too many chances to make friends, not ones she can really talk to."

The witch fighter continued to walk on a few steps before she realized that Shirou had stopped walking. Turning back to look at him she found him staring at her, an expression of perplexity on his face.

"Kaida doesn't have many friends? Why? I mean . . . she's a nice girl, why on Earth would she have trouble making friends?"

Internally Manaka smiled as she gazed at her King. This was Emiya Shirou, a god slaying Campione with the power to lay entire nations to ruin if he so chose. Yet here he was, unable to understand the reason her own dear friend had been so lonely before they met. In a way she liked seeing him like this; it solidified the growing image she had of his as being human rather than a force of nature incarnate.

"Back at the temple where she was raised Kaida-sama was highly respected," She explained, "Even with the problems she had with her powers she was still regarded as the very model of a Hime-Miko, the ideal that all of them looked up to. That placed her on a pedestal and isolated her. She was respected and admired, but nobody was really close to her, you know?

"When we met . . . I wasn't very nice. I got on her nerves and criticized everything I could."

She paused for a moment, then decided that if her sworn charge could entrust some of her own most intimate secrets to their liege then she could as well.

"Back then I was pretty arrogant," she admitted, "I was one of the best combatants that the Committee has managed to produce in quite some time. I know I'm not as powerful as Ena-sama or some others, but I am good. Back then I was irritated that I hadn't found someone I felt deserved all the effort I'd put into training and studying. I'd always thought I'd end up as the bodyguard to one of the House Heads, but instead I was being tasked to watch over some of the younger Committee members when they travelled or doing some assigned duty."

She glanced down at the sand beneath her, feeling somewhat ashamed of what she was admitting; in hindsight it seemed oddly petty.

"I loathed it, I felt I was being wasted, that all the effort I'd put into my training was being undervalued. So when I was assigned to be Kaida-sama's bodyguard I didn't have any trouble about giving her a hard time."

A smile played across her lips as she remembered that day.

"In the end I ticked her off so much that she accidentally hit me with a Dragon's Roar. Heh, a pretty strange way to start a friendship wouldn't you say?"

"A weird way to start a friendship." Shirou-sama commented.

"Well, whatever works right?" She asked with a small smile, "The point is that we ended up friends, but even so I'm the only one that Kaida-sama can really talk to. You talking with her, especially after last night, that's a good thing. Something she needs and deserves."

The eighth Campione was quiet for a moment, long enough that Manaka started to wonder if maybe she'd said something wrong.

"You're a good friend Manaka, she's lucky to have you."

"You flatter me." Even as she said the words the witch fighter ducked her head down, trying to hide the blush she could feel creeping across her face.

Intellectually Manaka had always known that in time she would grow to be closer to her King. The vision she had seen all those months ago had confirmed it to her after all. Both she and Kaida-sama would stand beside the eighth Campione and his sister as the closest of allies, this was the destiny she had seen. But at the same time things weren't going as she had expected.

In her thoughts she'd always imagined it as the two of them slowly proving themselves to the King of Steel. That over time they would aid him in his battles against Heretic Gods, that they would help him manoeuvre his way through the political currents of the nation. She'd imagined him gazing upon them with that coldness she'd seen during their first encounter. She'd imagined them eventually gaining his trust, that he would accept them into his service, maybe even in some sort of formal ceremony like a European knighting.

Instead they had been maids, then they had been his teachers, then they had been . . . what? Friends? Well, maybe not then, but now? Now she thought that calling the eighth Campione her friend wouldn't be too far from the truth.

"King Shirou, may I speak to you now?"

Looking up Manaka saw that Tiamat was standing just by the sand line, her red hair playing in the breeze. Oddly the expression on her face wasn't the look of calm confidence that the witch fighter had grown accustomed to seeing there. Instead she seemed almost . . . hesitant.

"Is this about what we were talking about yesterday?"

The fallen goddess simply nodded at Shirou-sama's question. With an answering nod of his own he turned back to face Manaka.

"I have to go, this is something that could be important," he flashed her a smile, "Let's talk some more later, okay?"

As she watched her King follow the Babylonian goddess into the woods Manaka couldn't help but feel a chill run down her spine despite the hot sunshine.

Why did she feel that something bad was on the way?


-()-


Shirou followed Tiamat as the scarlet clad goddess led him deeper into the trees. They were in quite deep now, far enough that he could no longer hear the surf rushing up and down the sands, but it seemed she wanted to go deeper still.

Well, he was alright with that, at least for the time being. For all her power he was about ninety percent certain that there wasn't anything to worry about, even if she did turn on him, in violation of her oath, he was certain he could defeat her. As such he was content to simply follow her until she was ready.

In all truth following her was proving to be quite the interesting experience. The way that the plant life moved out of her way was almost artistic to watch. Actually that wasn't quite the right way to put it, it wasn't so much that the plants were moving it was more as though they were all swaying in the breeze with just the correct timing to be out of the way when the Mother of Dragons passed where they'd have been.

And there was also something different about the way in which she was moving. Even on her worst days Tiamat moved with a grace and poise that would have made a professional dancer seem clumsy and uncoordinated by comparison. Today though there was something more to her, her every step and movement had a . . . predatory quality that she'd not possessed before. It wasn't something overt or threatening; rather it was the kind of easy grace to be found in such apex predators as big cats, lions and tigers. Yes, that was what she reminded him of.

Or . . . now that he thought about it, perhaps a better analogy than a tiger would be a dragon. Yes, lions, panthers and tigers had that deadly grace, but theirs was, for lack of a better term, feline. Tiamat didn't have that quality to her, she had grace, but it didn't have the natural slink of a great cat. She moved with greater authority, it might be muted by her reduced status, but it was there none the less, the absoluteness that only a god could carry.

Well, that wasn't quite true. Gilgamesh had possessed a similar posture and poise, the result of his absolute certainty in his own supremacy. Sakura had moved like that too, when she'd been almost willingly drowning in Angra Mainyu's influence and dyed in all the evils of mankind, though hers had been more of a shadow than it had been the real thing.

"This will do."

Shirou was brought out of his thoughts of once again comparing the deities of this world to the powerful beings he had encountered during the Holy Grail War. That was a topic his mind tended to wander back to every now and then. Shaking such thoughts from his head he focused on the figure before him.

The fallen goddess hadn't yet turned to face him, but she started to speak anyway.

"King Shirou . . . do you know why Venus sought you out?"

"Sort of, from what I've been told she was interested in me." Shirou answered slowly, even as he felt a knot start to form in his guts.

"That is true," Tiamat agreed, still facing away from him, "In her previous incarnations Venus was ever the lover of the god that became Mordred, your defeat of him drew her eye and caused her to descend to this plane so that she could . . . seek you. However she had no plan on how to do it, no scheme or plot. Most likely she intended to cause some sort of riot to draw you out and would then have tried to charm you, and we both know that such an approach would have failed against you."

That was true, he was sure of it. He could remember some of what had happened to him in the burning train station as he had looked for survivors and victims. He could remember the stings that had assailed him, but which he had dismissed due to his search. Had something like that been tried against him while he'd been on his guard it would never have succeeded, he'd have slain Venus before it had reached the critical point. But her plan had been a good one, she'd come at him under a guise of helplessness and while he had been distracted and worked at him slowly without alerting his instincts.

Yes, it had been good. But Tiamat had just said that Venus hadn't had any plan when she descended, so then how . . .

The ancient goddess turned then, and Shirou was surprised to see and expression on her face that he never thought he'd see there.

Guilt.

"You know that for a time I was an ally to her? That both I and Brynhildr aided her? Do you know why?"

All the eighth Campione could do was shake his head at the question, still feeling somewhat stunned by what he saw. To the best of his knowledge gods never felt guilt. They could feel remorse and even regret, at least to some degree anyway, but guilt? That was another matter.

"We needed her so that we could claim you."

The single simple sentence brought his mind to a screeching halt as thoroughly as if a metal bar had been inserted into his skull.

"The ritual to return what you call a Divine Ancestor to full godhood requires the power of the one that reduced her," Tiamat explained. She was moving now, not in any particular direction, she simply paced back and forth as though driven by tension and nervous energy. "I was defeated by Perseus centuries, even millennia, ago. That was how I became Andromeda, the princess he rescued from the sea dragon.

"The agreement between myself and Brynhildr had been that we'd move to capture the first of the gods that had diminished us as soon as we were able. We had missed our opportunity to capture Siegfried after he was defeated by the Italian God Slayer, and having witnessed his power we were reluctant to move against him. When Perseus appeared we thought it a boon, but then he fell to you so soon after, that once more threw our plans into disarray.

"You see, the gods we knew how to deal with. We might have been reduced to immortal children, but we knew the abilities of those that had so sealed us in great detail. Though we knew we could not defeat them we did think that we could either immobilize them or steal enough of their power that we could conduct our ritual. And then both such opportunities were snatched from us as they fell to the children of Pandora."

Shirou's mind was awhirl as he tried to process all that he was being told. Honestly it shouldn't have been this difficult; the problem was that he was still reeling from the implications of her earlier sentence. Still, even in his current state, the name of Pandora struck a cord in him as though there was something that-

-A warm lap and gentle hands. Small hands, young hands, yet still warm and gentle. Mother's hands-

-he couldn't quite recall. Even so, for some odd reason it calmed him.

"Devil Kings like you are always a . . . trial to contend with. Even with our full divinity one of your kind is not lightly faced, and as we were neither of us felt able to challenge you. You have no notion of the frustration you engendered in me, to know that my only chance to regain my divinity had been snatched away. It would be years or even centuries before Perseus would descend once more and I thought my opportunity lost.

"I was so angry that I acted rashly indeed. I informed Lord Hades of your existence, knowing full well that a child of Pandora being so close would infuriate him enough to pursue you. I had hoped he would kill you in retribution and gain some measure of vengeance for me, it wasn't until afterwards that my ally pointed out the foolishness of my action, and by then you had met and slain him. I had lost an important asset and only strengthened a possible future enemy, not my brightest moment."

Ah, so that was why Hades had attacked him, Shirou had always wondered about that.

"It was shortly after that that we encountered honoured Athena. Though her power had been reduced and she was in the form of a child she was still a goddess of considerable power. We bargained with her and in exchange for our future aid she consented to aid us in your capture so my divinity could be restored. We chose to pursue you because as the youngest of the Devil Kings we thought you the easiest target and because Athena had stated a desire to return to this land in the Far East.

"Our preparations were slow though, enough to cause Brynhildr frustration. That was why she sought out and awakened Mordred, so that we would have the power to capture you without having to wait."

Another piece of the puzzle clicked into place as he heard this. He'd wondered why the Knight of Treachery had initially fought to capture rather than kill him.

"After you slew him we decided to take things slowly, wait until the foreign Kings had returned to their lands and until your guard was lowered. That was when Venus descended, you had sparked her interest with your victory over her paramour and she had come to the mortal plane to claim you as her lover.

"We met her just after her arrival and bargained with her. We offered her our aid and sanctuary in exchange for her letting us use you for the ritual once she had you under her sway."

Shirou's thoughts were no longer racing, instead they had stuttered to a halt as he listened to the account unfolding before him. As he listened a knot of ice grew in his guts.

"With the power of a full goddess like Venus, a reduced goddess like Athena and our own power we were far closer to being ready, but we still wished to tilt the chances in our direction. As a final act we aided Apollo in escaping his legend early so that he could hunt the Campione that had defeated him before. In exchange for our aid he agreed to battle one other King at a time not too distant."

Once again she paused in her account, still not facing him directly. It was as though she was deliberately avoiding seeing his expression until she had finished speaking.

"It was an . . . uncomplicated plan. Apollo would battle Kusanagi Godou after having caused enough chaos to draw both your attentions. We knew that you would not interfere in your fellow King's battle and that the History Compilation Committee would ask for your aid in saving those caught by our allies Authorities. While your fellow King was engaged and you were distracted, that was when Venus was to make her move."

Now she did turn to face him, but her eyes remained downcast.

"You know what happened then, or at least some of it. Venus was able to use your distraction to disguise herself as a mortal and get close to you. Then she used her Authority to steal all the love in your heart for herself.

"That was a great frustration to her; she was unable to claim your heart as she normally would. Instead she kept on claiming more and more of your love until there was . . . nothing left to take. You are aware of what that did to you, of how it rendered you into little more than an automaton, but what you do not know is that initially Venus didn't care. She had been successful in gaining you, and for a time that was more than enough for her."

Tiamat paused again, drawing in a deep breath even as she seemed to be bracing herself.

"In keeping with her bargain she allowed us to use you in our ritual to restore my lost divinity, however once she had done so she no longer had any reason to associate with us beyond us providing her with living chambers.

"Her reasons for descending to the mortal plane were based on lust. And as soon as she fulfilled her agreements she had no cause not to indulge those reasons."

Shirou felt as though he'd been punched in the stomach by a fist carved from ice. Indeed, it was taking all his self control not to collapse onto his butt as his legs threatened to give out underneath him. He understood what she was saying, understood what must have happened.

"Under her control Venus forced you to be her lover. She raped you."

The two simple sentences were delivered with absolute clarity. No emphasis, no emotion, just simple statement of fact.

They echoed in Shirou's mind like gravestones hitting the ground.

Raped? Was that . . . ? But then . . . could he-

-Her lips are hot on his and her hands tangle in his hair. His shirt is already gone; cast to the side; one hand leaves his hair and reaches down to his belt, the buckle-

. . . she had. She really had done it.

He'd been raped.

It . . . it was too much. The thought wouldn't properly fit into his head, he just couldn't process it.

"And now what, King Shirou?"

Tiamat, he'd almost forgotten about her. The revelation had just forced all other thoughts out of his mind, so it was hard to get his train of thought in order. What did she mean?

His confusion must have shown on his face, because the fallen goddess, now fully facing him and looking him in the eye, drew in a deep breath before continuing.

"A grave wrong has been dealt to you, one that I am at least party to. I was Venus' ally and I aided her in her quest to claim you. I made no move to stop her when she moved to have her way with you, and so I share blame in what was done. So then, what shall you do now, King Shirou?"


-()-


It was taking all of her formidable self control to retain her composure. On the outside Tiamat was calm and collected, but on the inside it was quite the different story.

This hadn't been her plan. When she'd requested that her host follow her into the islands jungle so they could have some privacy it had been her intention to let him know what had been done to him by the Roman love goddess, but she'd intended to downplay her own role in those events. Honesty didn't serve to aid her or improve her situation, so she'd elected to gloss over her own part.

That had been the smart option. The oath she had sworn hadn't made an untruth the same as a violation of that oath, but even so she'd wished to steer clear of outright lies and deceptions. A simple judicious application of an incomplete truth would have been more acceptable, or at least in part anyway. But when it had come time for her go through with it . . .

What was wrong with her? She'd begun her explanation as she had planned, but then the full and unvarnished truth had just come spilling out. Those secrets, the ones that she'd dreaded him learning, had just tumbled out one after another. How she'd allied herself with the Roman goddess, how she had lent Venus her aid, how she had done nothing to prevent his defilement, it all just spilled out.

And yet despite the gravity of the situation, the very real possibility that she had permanently alienated her more important ally, the Mother of Dragons felt oddly relieved. Whatever else might happen she was no longer burdened by those secrets, at least that was done with

. . .

Had she really just thought that?

By the Heart of all the Oceans, what was wrong with her?!

She might well have just utterly sundered the alliance that not only kept her safe, but which also might have grown into a friendship with this powerful young King, and it had been for . . . what? Closure? A relief from the burden upon her conscience? In millennia past she'd had innocent virgins offered to her in sacrifice. In her name holy wars had been conducted and all manner of atrocity had been committed. So why was she worrying about simply keeping something from an ally in order to secure her own position?

Whatever the case, her brief spat of insanity had placed her in this position. There was nothing more that she could do now other than wait and see what her host would do.

"I . . . I can't deal with this now! I-I need some . . . some time, I need to get my head around this."

It was almost shocking just how young the King of Steel sounded. There was no hint there of the iron willed King that had defended her when he didn't have to, and had gone on to convince her to live when her will to continued had been broken. This wasn't the voice of the God Slayer that had accepted her oath in return for his hospitality.

This was the voice of a young man who was utterly lost, swamped by thoughts and emotions that he was simply uncertain as to how to deal with.

"King Shirou-"

She didn't know why, but on pure instinct she reached out to him. Perhaps she meant to offer comfort, to lend her support or simply to try to explain herself. Whatever the case it was the wrong thing to do. As soon as she moved her host reacted by shying back.

The movement should have been pitiful, the action of a creature reacting from fear or bewilderment, but it wasn't. Somehow the action seemed to be that not of a small helpless thing, but of a large, powerful and, above all, dangerous creature. A lion, a bear or even a dragon, some great predator that was only moving back because it was confused at that very moment. Any instant that could change, and then you would find yourself facing a nightmare of claws and fangs.

"NO!"

One hand cut the space between them like the slash of a sword, and Tiamat jerked back as though a snake had snapped at her fingers. His hand had been empty, but given how easily he could be armed the motion had been frightening.

"No . . . not now. I- I . . . we'll talk later."

The words were softer, no longer tinged with the volatile bewilderment that had coloured them before. Instead they sounded . . . tired. No, perhaps the term 'worn' would be more appropriate. Whatever the case King Shirou turned without another word and began to retrace his steps back towards the beach. Within a few short seconds the thick foliage had swallowed him up and the fallen goddess stood alone beneath the shade of the trees.

Well, that could have gone worse. It could have been much worse, but despite that knowledge Tiamat couldn't bring herself to feel elated. There was too great a chance that bridges had been burnt, that their alliance had been damaged. If all truth was to be said then she felt every bit as spent as King Shirou had just a few moments before.

No, she must not allow herself to fall into despair or melancholy. Though this had been far from pleasant it was something that had been necessary. Her host had needed to know what had been done to him so that he could start to heal from it. That was the important thing. That and the fact that their alliance had not yet been broken.

Yes. Her admission on her full culpability hadn't been planned, but it wasn't an unrecoverable blunder. King Shirou had proven to be forgiving in the past, so perhaps her worries were unfounded. And even if the worst came to pass her time under his protection had served her well. She might not be anywhere near her full power, but even so the preparations she'd worked on these passed weeks had gone a long way towards making up for her weakness. She might not be a match for a Campione or a Heretic God, but she was now more than capable of protecting herself from anything less than that. Certainly she could devastate any ambitious mages that thought her an easy target.

She was no longer dependant upon the King of Steel.

So why did the thought of being cast from his household hurt so much?

-()-

Shirou didn't pause when he stepped out of the woods. He didn't really think that he could have even if he'd wanted to.

Off down the other end of the beach he could see Illya playing in the waves with the body board that she'd brought with her. Even over here he could hear her delighted exclamations of excitement as she tried to ride the waves as they rushed in and out of the sea.

Had it really only been yesterday that he'd been enjoying the same carefree fun? It felt so long ago now, as though the horrible revelation he'd just received was blotting out everything else in his recollection.

He just couldn't deal with this right now; all he wanted was some solitude with his thoughts.

No, that wasn't quite right. He wanted to be undisturbed, but at the same time it wasn't really solitude that he wanted. Instinctively his eyes darted to the yacht as a plan started to form in his head. Well, maybe not a plan, it wasn't anything so structured or complete, it would be more accurate to simply call it an idea really. Still, in his current frame of mind it was probably the best he could hope to come up with, at least for the moment anyway.

"Snow, I need you again."

He decided to forgo the chant, granted it made the summoning of his mount to be that much more costly, but at the moment the Emiya heir couldn't really bring himself to care. He felt the magical energy flow out of him as his winged mount shimmered into existence, its warm presence settling into the back of his mind. It was comforting in a way, the winged steed might not be as intelligent as a human being, but he could feel the distress that plagued his master and offered up what comfort he could. Shirou smiled slightly as he felt the affection and devotion radiate from the small knot of foreign awareness in his mind.

With a single flick of the golden reins he had the pegasus in the air and flying towards the yacht drifting in the isle's bay. It was a short flight, barely more than a few seconds, but when Snow landed on the deck outside the young Emiya's cabin the hooves of the divine creature made barely more sound than falling of a feather.

Glancing over towards the beach Shirou saw that another bonfire was being lit, even though it was still light. That meant that most of the others were still back on the island and hadn't returned to the yacht. Well, that was fine with him; he didn't really want to talk to anyone right now. In fact there was only one thing he wanted at the moment.

Dismounting he stepped into his cabin and made a beeline for the small desk next to one of the windows. Resting there was the object he sought, his journal to Sakura. Grabbing it, as well as a pen, he thrust it into a bag and returned to Snow.

"I need some time alone," he murmured to his mount, "I just need some time to think, to get my head around this."

The surprisingly soft fur or Snow's face pressed against Shirou's cheek as the pegasus nuzzled at him. As the eighth Campione swung back up onto his steed's back he made a mental note to get Snow a whole bucket full of carrots when they got back to the manor.

Now, he wanted somewhere out of the way, somewhere where the others wouldn't just stumble over him if they decided to go exploring. Granted, Tiamat, Guinevere and Illya could probably reach any point on the small isle through teleportation or, in his adopted sister's case, leaving a trail of destruction behind them. But the others, Kida, Manaka, Yusuke, the crew that were manning the yacht, them he could steer clear of an accidental meeting.

Looking down at the isle from above he spotted somewhere that looked almost tailor made for his needs. A small clearing half way up the tiny mountain and sheltered from any wind by trees. It faced the sun and a small stream ran through one side of it. It was the kind of place that poets wrote of and hoped to write in; all in all it was perfect.

With a thought he sent Snow gently gliding towards the clearing.

He had some writing to do.


-()-


"This . . . this seems like a promising opportunity."

The god known as the hero Odysseus leaned upon the railing of his ship, his eyes tracking the white form of the winged horse as it descended to earth once more.

"Ah, has the moment you've awaited arrived then?"

The sound of moving metal cut through the air as Circe strolled over to stand beside him.

"Not quite yet, there are still a few more aspects that have yet to reach their best positions. However if they do not do so soon then we shall need to move regardless."

"Then you have decided upon a plan for us to follow?" Her voice was coloured with both intrigue and anticipation.

She was not a combative deity by nature, but even so their confinement in stealth and caution had been wearing for her. Now she was faced with the opportunity to act, to use her power, and it was an opportunity that she would relish.

"Indeed, the child of Pandora that is our quarry has separated himself from the others. The mortal servants gather about the fire on the shore with the immortal child Guinevere. Tiamat is close to them, but hangs back in the woods, though that is near enough for our purposes. The knight of steel that serves to protect the immortal child will be exhausted from his early contest with the King, so he shall prove less of a threat than he would have otherwise. All in all events seem to be favouring us."

A smile crossed his face, his close cropped beard framing it as his teeth flashed white in the sun.

"We shall attack together, our forces combined to scatter and incapacitate his allies. I shall continue on whilst you ensure that none of his companions can come to his aid. All you need do is hold them until I have claimed his life and our prize."

"So cruel! Do you intend to leave this delicate goddess to hold alone against such odds?"

Though her words were condemning the amused smile on her face made it clear that Circe did not mean the accusation she spoke.

"The fallen goddess is but a shadow of herself and the immortal child's protector will not have the strength to spare to leave her side. Aside from them you need only concern yourself with the efforts of some mortal magic users and a single mortal soul resurrected by our young King. I hardly think that you will need to strain yourself."

"And are you so confident of your own victory?" She needled as she leant against the railing beside him. "You know of the foes that he has faced, are you so confident in the outcome of the battle to come?"

"True, were I planning to contend with him in direct battle then I would indeed be hard pressed against him. In fact it would not be a lie to say that the odds might well be in his favour."

Stepping away from the railing Odysseus walked over to the main mast and casually leaned against it. The smile on his face was no longer one of good humour, it was predatory, a mere baring of the teeth.

"However I do not intend to face him in direct battle. I shall play to my own strengths rather than to his."

"Oh, do you have so keen a grasp of the abilities of your target?"

"I would be a fool indeed not to," the travelling God answered easily. "The battlefields he left were ripe with memories that I could claim, and the minds of mortals that were witness to his last battle were also easy to acquire by stealth and trickery.

"This child of Pandora is worthy of his title as the King of Steel, certainly when you accept the vast number of weapons that are always at his beck and call. However though the Authorities he has usurped are powerful they are not without weaknesses. Troy was an unconquerable city, Agamemnon, Achilles, Ajax, none of them could take it with force. In the end I claimed it by trickery, and that is how I shall claim my freedom from this world."

At those last words Circe looked up from where she'd been admiring the refection of the sun on the sea water. She was an old goddess, though her youth was still undiminished she had existed for more than two and a half millennia at the very least. In that time she had seen men of all stripes, from valorous heroes to the most heinous of madmen. And in spite of that experience she couldn't help but feel . . . disturbed by the sheer naked hunger in Odysseus's tone as he spoke of gaining his freedom.

The next moment she dismissed the thought. Of what concern was it of hers that his desire was so great? So long as he held faith with her and took her with him when he left this world for others then it was nothing for her to care about.


-()-


The sun was getting low and the shadows were getting long, but despite the fading light Shirou kept on writing. Pages had filled up one after another as he'd detailed his life since the last time he'd written, told of the strange irritation that had dogged him and then of how Illya had had enough and dragged him along on this vacation. He wrote of the insanely opulent yacht, of the clear blue of the ocean and of the simple pleasures to be had on the beach with those he counted as friends and family. He wrote of his race with Lancelot and of the short talk they'd had afterwards.

What he didn't write about was what Tiamat had revealed to him of what Venus had done while he was under her control. It wasn't shame or humiliation that stayed his hand, it was something else. He wasn't making it a secret either, he could see in his own words, hidden between the lines.

Aaaagghh! He didn't know why he was doing it this way, but he couldn't help but feel that this was the way it should be done.

Writing in the last character he laid the pen down and leaned back against the rock he was sitting against. Honestly, he wasn't sure how to put how he felt into words, emotions that he wasn't familiar with were running about in his head as though they owned the place.

Glaring down at the book in his hands he tried to sort out his thoughts.

Despite learning what had been done to him it wasn't the actual act of the rape that caused his fists to clench. To be sure he was disgusted and enraged that Venus had used him so, but at the same time it hadn't been the real cause of his anger.

It had been the loss of control itself, the idea that all the power he'd acquired had been turned against those he wanted to protect, those he regarded as allies. That had torn at him. By his very nature Shirou wasn't someone that was power hungry, but at the same time he was acutely aware of how helpless he'd been at some points during the Holy Grail War. Had he been without Archer's arm he would have been utterly powerless to do anything.

Power wasn't something he hungered for, but it was something he recognized as important, something that he kept even if he didn't seek it. To him power was a tool, something to be used to keep those he wanted to protect safe. Venus had usurped that by her enthralling of him, his power had been used against those he wished to keep safe.

And of course there was the nagging feeling that he'd somehow been unfaithful to Sakura, that in some way his . . . encounter with the Roman goddess had somehow broken something between them.

Damn it, he just didn't know how to deal with this. The seething cauldron of emotions that boiled within him seemed to defy any attempt to get a handle on it.

What he really wanted was to have something else to think about, at least for the time being.

It wasn't skill or instinct that saved him, in the end it was blind chance. Shirou had been leaning forwards to pick up the pen that he'd dropped, that was when the arrow passed through the space where his head had been a few moments before and punched its way into the boulder he'd been leaning against. There was a brief pause, then the boulder exploded into fine powder, as some giant hand had reached down and crushed it.

Shirou didn't pause to gawk at the destruction; instead he made dived forwards, rolled in the dirt and Traced Kanshou and Bakuya even as he came up again. The shot had come from that direction so-

Another arrow came at him, but this time it was from a different direction. The eighth Campione was only just able to cross the fake Noble Phantasms across his chest in time to use them as an improvised shield. It was a desperate move, but it was the right one. Even as the white and black weapons exploded back into fragments of prana the arrow ricocheted off to the side rather than punching through Shirou's torso.

Still, the force of the impact was enough to send Shirou flying back as though he'd been hit by a sledgehammer. Off to the side he could hear Snow trying to make some noise, but he sounded flat, smothered as though beneath some sort of heavy covering. Whatever it was he didn't have time to turn towards his steed, because there was a third arrow coming at him.

No time to Trace, no time to think, all he could do was lash out at the projectile streaking towards him so fast that the air seemed to scream in its passage.

Arondight flashed out, the light of the setting sun glinting along its darkened edge. The arrow fell to the ground, cut into two by the Unfading Light of the Lake.

For a moment all Shirou could do was stare down at the weapon in his hands in stupefaction. In the past the sword had come to him when he'd called it, but always there'd been some delay to it as though it was being Traced, and yet wasn't at the same time. He'd never been able to make proper sense of it, and he'd not had the time to properly analyse it, not when there'd been so many other demands on his time.

But right now that wasn't important. What was relevant was that the powerful Noble Phantasm was pouring its power into him, reinforcing his strength and speed. This time when the next arrow came at him Shirou had found his footing and cut it from the air even as he spoke the words to invoke his Authority.

"A hero endures, a hero perseveres, through adversity and challenge, though victory and joy. Tempered by life and forged into legend this steel shall slay all monsters before me."

More strength flowed through him, joining the power already granted to him by Arondight. Another arrow pierced through the dust-choked air with such speed that it left a trail behind it, but it didn't matter. With strength layered upon strength the arrow's speed slowed in the eighth Campione's eyes until he could easily side step it.

It had been a good ambush, whoever the god that had pulled it off was they were good. But they had botched it when they weren't able to kill or wound him with their first few shots. As soon as he was able to bring his own Authorities to bear Shirou was able to eliminate the disadvantage that the ambush had forced upon him. Now he was alert to the attack and able enough to dodge or block them.

Oh, he was sure that his enemy wasn't so weak as to have only the one Authority to use against him, but the fact that the first attack had been so vicious and deadly straight off the mark suggested a foe that wasn't too arrogant or overconfident in their power. While this wasn't good in and of itself a lack of overconfidence was at least a suggestion of a lack of overwhelming power. It wasn't a guarantee of course, but to Shirou that was the suggestion it made.

Yet another arrow came at him, but without the element of surprise and with his current level of power they were more of an irritation than a threat. To be sure they could hurt him if they hit, but so long as he didn't let his guard down he could handle them. The difficult part was that they kept on coming from different directions, which meant that his attacker either was extremely manoeuvrable, most likely with some Authority that allowed teleportation, or they had some way of being in many places at once, perhaps they were employing subordinate gods or something of the like to fight on their behalf.

Still, that was something he could handle. In a way he found himself oddly pleased that he'd been attacked like this. Right now he had some pretty turbulent emotions roiling around in his heart, having a target to vent them on would be . . . cathartic.

Now, where was his foe?


-()-


The first hint that Illya had that things were going south of good in a big way was when the Cyclops dropped out of the sky and scattered the bonfire that she'd just managed to get going all over the place.

As the pieces of burning timber went flying some small part of Illya felt irritation at the destruction of the bonfire. She'd put a lot of effort into it after all, having gathered it by hand and having lit it the old fashioned way, with paper and matches. At no point in its construction had she used magic in any way, it had all been done with purely mundane effort and tools. She'd really been looking forward to seeing if marshmallows really did taste better after they'd been cooked on an open fire. So far she'd been rather unimpressed with them, but had been hoping that preparing them in this legendary way would somehow bring out some hidden flavour.

Of course it was only a small part of her that was concerned with this; the far larger part was concerned with the sudden and violent appearance of a hulking one eyed giant.

Of course, she was not the only one to be so concerned. All the members of the 'family' from this holiday had been gathered and waiting for Shirou's return. Her, Yusuke, Kaida, Manaka, even Guinevere and Tiamat, they'd all decided to await his return together, and had begun their preparations for the beachside party they'd had planned. Exactly what it was that was keeping her Onii-chan was something of a mystery. Tiamat had been irritatingly vague, saying only that she'd had to tell her host some very bad news, and that he'd probably want some time to himself while he came to terms with it.

That was what the party had been about, an attempt to raise the spirits of her adopted brother. She'd even been planning to use the box of fireworks that she'd brought with them, surely that combined with a bonfire and the fabled toasted marshmallows would have been enough to dispel any bad mood.

Then . . . this . . .

Manaka acted with blinding speed, as was to be expected from a professional bodyguard such as her. In an instant she was between Illya and Manaka, an arm wrapping around each of their waists. The next moment a magically enhanced leap was taking them back and away from the small explosion of burning wood as well as the reach of the mythological monster. Guinevere had disappeared in a swirl of golden dust as her own magic carried her out of harm's way and put her down by the edge of the woods.

Tiamat hadn't been as close to the fire as the others, instead she'd been standing in the shallow sea surf, letting the small waves lap about her ankles and had been watching the sun slowly descend while the bonfire had been prepared. As such she didn't really need to move to reach a safe distance, but as the Cyclops made its appearance the shawl that had been draped loosely about her shoulders unwrapped and spread out until it framed the dragon goddess's body like a pair of opened wings.

The only one who didn't react well was Yusuke, but given that despite his supernatural resurrection he was to all intents and purposes a normal man, that was hardly a surprise. Stumbling backwards in shock at the sudden appearance of the hulk before him he tripped over the log he'd been using as a seat. As he fell back onto the sand the giant's hand lashed out and a palm the size of a small car slammed down on top of him.

The sound that resulted was . . . odd Illya noted absently. She'd been expecting crackling, like that time she accidentally sat down on a bag of potato chips, as his bones broke. She'd been expecting a sploosh noise as his organs burst. Instead all that came was a sort of dull wet thud. As the Cyclops lifted its hand she could see Yusuke's body breaking up into shards of light as the damage it had taken became too much for it to hold together.

Even as Manaka landed and set Illya on her feet, even as the sparkling shards of prana dissipated into the air, the Einzbern heir's eyes remained fixed on the spot where the resurrected accountant had been lying.

For all that she was bright and cheerful girl Illya hid a core of darkness in her heart that was only slowly starting to be eaten away by her happier life. For years she'd been driven by her family, practically tortured in the name of training and preparation. The closest thing that she'd had to friends had been the homunculi maids that had been created to aid her during the Holy Grail War. The only real emotional connection that she'd possessed had been a desire to meet her adopted brother before she killed him.

Her life had changed, she had emotional connections, she had a future, she had a family she didn't resent. Yusuke wasn't really family, but there was a connection there. He was the guy that drove her to school, who came to pick them up on days when it was raining. He was the one that sided with Shirou when he scolded her for getting bad grades in some of the classes she found boring.

Intellectually she knew that he hadn't died, that his soul could easily be revived by Shirou as soon as he had some spare time.

Intellectually she knew that, but her heart . . . not so much.

"BERSERKER!"

The white haired girl didn't even realize that it had been her that screamed the command, not until the huge form of her puppet materialized before her and let loose with its own earthshaking roar.

The Cyclops stood amidst the burning remains of the fire, a muscled behemoth easily fourteen metres tall. Its form was almost deformed in how muscled it was and the mouth beneath its single eye was filled with sharp animalistic teeth. Its head swung round to face Illya's creation, and as its single eye settled upon her puppet she was sure she saw a glint of some ugly sort of greed there. A greed for blood and conflict and violence.

Well, Illya was all too happy to oblige it.

Weapons blurred into existence on her creation's arms, specially designed Mystic Codes that were capable of astralizing along with her puppet. Normally it was extremely hard for a magus to create something that could shift dimensions in such a way, but then again most mages never had the opportunity to study perfect replicas of Noble Phantasm or had access to Wishcraft along with the absurdly high prana reserves needed to use it to best effect.

The weapons that her imitation Berserker held were evolutions of the same sort of weapon edged shields that it had used against her adopted brother while he'd been under Venus's control. However unlike the ones that she'd used then theses had never been meant for a human to use, these were creations that she'd put together specifically for her puppet to use. Each was a massive construct of wood and steel two metres high, and almost as much across. Something that seemed less like a weapon than it was a slab of metal that had been ripped out of the side of a battleship. Each of them must have weighed more than the imitation Servant, and each of them had blades and spikes lining their edges that resembled the kind of teeth normally found only in the mouths of dinosaurs or dragons.

At Illya's mental command her puppet roared once more and charged.

To an outside observer the sight must have appeared absurd. To be sure the false Berserker towered more than two and a half metres tall, but despite that he was barely a fifth of the height of the foe he was attacking. Indeed, he barely came up to the Cyclops's knee.

But that didn't matter.

Seeing the comparatively small figure racing towards it the Cyclops bent over and lashed out with one arm in a sweeping motion, as though it sought to brush its foe into the sea. But even as it did so the puppet Servant swung up one of its huge shields to block the swing.

Measure for measure the massive shields that the snow haired girl had crafted for her false Servant compared to the giant it was attacking in much the same way that a dinner plate might to a full grown man. However even a full grown man does not carelessly swat at a dinner plate made from di-cast steel. He certainly doesn't do it when the plate is made of meal and at least twice as thick as it should be. And he most certainly doesn't swing at a plate when it's facing him edge on and the edge is lined with enough blades and spikes to make the bite of a shark seem like a more pleasant option to tangle with.

A howl of pain split the growing darkness as the force of the Cyclops's own attack drove the edge of the shield deep into its flesh. But even as black blood spilt out the false Berserker was already moving. With strength beyond human capability it ripped the shield free even as it brought its other arm back. There was a brief moment of stillness as adamantine muscles tensed under leaden skin, then with all the force of a spring crafted by the gods being released the arm of Illya's creation snapped forwards and the enormous shield spun through the air.

The force behind the throw was titanic, for all its huge size and weight the Mystic Code buzzed through the air, the wind screaming in the wake of its spin. Faster than any arrow it covered the distance between it and its target.

But despite its huge size and bulk the Cyclops proved surprisingly swift. In the split second it took for the shield to cover the distance separating them the one eyed giant was able to lean slightly to the side, enough that the weapon that would have opened up its throat instead tore into its bulging shoulder.

Illya had made her new weapons well, they might not have been on par with true Noble Phantasms but they were still formidable in their own right. She'd not aimed to grant them any special powers or tricks, that would have been fairly easy for her, but not what she was looking for. Amongst Mystic Codes the trend was that the more complicated the magecraft used in their construction the more fragile the prana construct was. This was by no means an absolute rule, but it tended to be true more often than not.

The Einzbern heir hadn't wanted anything complicated, aside from one minor feature all she'd needed was pure durability and raw destructive power.

In that she had been very successful, even though the Cyclops was a divine beast, a creature of power beyond mortal equalling, the weapon of her creation ripped through skin and muscle leaving an ugly and vicious gash to the left of the giant's head. There was another roar of pain from it as its free hand slapped down upon the new wound, but even so that didn't drown out the whirring sound that the shield made as it spun off into the forest behind the Cyclops.

Then the brute's single eye widened in realization as the whirring sound quickly grew louder rather than fading away. With remarkable agility for something so huge the giants threw itself to the side, throwing up a spray of sand and causing the earth to sake slightly as its huge bulk struck it.

The motion had come only just in time and saved the giant from receiving a blow to the back as the shield came buzzing back, still holding all the force it had possessed, and heading straight for the puppet Berserker. But rather than striking its wielder the shield was caught in a single perfect move, the false Servant's hand darting out to catch a handle at just the right instant.

"Wha . . . ?" Manaka could only state in stunned amazement as the puppet fitted the shield to its arm once more and turned to face the Cyclops that was now clambering to its feet.

"Pretty cool, huh?" there was no hiding the smug pride in Illya's voice as she watched her creation. "It took me more than a week of practice to get that trick down, and that was with Berserker's speed and coordination helping me."

"But . . . why did the shield come back?"

"Oh, that's a trick I was able to copy off of one of Onii-chan's favourite Noble Phantasms. It's nowhere near as good, but one shield will always return to the other, as long as Berserker has one then if he throws the other it will be drawn back."

Of course there were a number of issues with that effect, mainly that if anyone without the false Berserker's weight and strength tried to use them they'd probably have their arms torn from their sockets if they tried. Still, there wasn't any point to mentioning that now though.

The Cyclops surged back onto its feet, its single eyes trained on the puppet Servant and glinting with rage and bloodlust, but before it could make a move against the object of its anger as series of sparking firework-like projectiles shot at its face. The brute just had time to blink stupidly before they exploded in its face with a blinding flash and a thunderous roar. Dazzled and deafened the giant was sent stumbling back, its arms flailing at empty air as though it could ward off its own blindness.

Glancing to the side Illya saw Manaka was now holding onto the lengths of her combat wands, one in each hand. The ends were sparking with energy as she held them ready. Perhaps sensing the younger girl's eyes on her the witch fighter glanced sideways, meeting her gaze briefly.

"It worked on the Monkey Sage's apes; I thought it might help here."

Whatever Illya might have said in reply was cut off as a hail of golden motes came raining down on the one eyed giant. Though each of the glowing sparks was barely bigger than a marble each of them exploded with the force of a thunderbolt as they impacted. Individually they would have been an annoyance at best, but there were dozens, maybe even hundreds, of them. Under the assault the barrage the giant was driven to its knees, its skin blackening and cratering.

"Beneath the starless sky the King stands alone. His blade in his hand will swing only to feel his foes, those unrighteous who dare stand against him. The stars themselves will crash down to strike against them should they dare to rise against him!"

The incantation was being spoken by Guinevere who had emerged from a shadow to their left and was now uttering her spell as she concentrated on the roaring brute before her. With a final flurry the spell ended, but it was quite clear that though the Cyclops was hurt it was only superficial.

Illya didn't hesitate for even an instant. As soon as the spell ended her puppet was already charging at the giant.

The Cyclops had only a split moment to look vaguely confused as it noticed the oncoming puppet, then it had no time for any further thoughts as the fake Berserker crashed into it.

The match should have been absurd given the size difference between them, but the sheer ferocity of the puppet's attack did away with any notion of disparity. Illya had spent longer with her Servant than any other Master in the fifth Holy Grail War; she had come to know the Heroic Spirit with an intimacy that should have been impossible given his state of insanity. She had witnessed his power and skill, she had seen his resolve, even buried as it was beneath the madness she had forced upon him. Now she tried to imitate that with her creation, what she achieved was a pale reflection of what the real thing had been, but even a reflection of such power was a fearsome thing to face.

The Cyclops fell back screaming as the bladed edges of the shields ripped into its chest. The sheer force of the blows was a combination of the puppet's own strength and the massive weight of the shields, when you combined both these qualities with the vicious edges of the weapons . . .

"Guinevere . . . is most impressed." The Witch Queen commented as she stepped up next to Illya. "This giant is a divine beast and yet your own protector can match it."

The golden haired immortal child cast a sideways look at her host's adopted sister, a look far too canny for one of her apparent age.

"One day you really must tell me where you were able to bind such as one to your service."

"One day." Illya agreed, a small smile on her face that revealed absolutely nothing, even as her eyes remained fixed on the battle.

Any further exchange of words was cut off as a sudden bolt of lightning shot down from the skies and impacted against the Cyclops's attacker. Illya was able to have her creation raise a shield in time to defend against any damage, but even though the shield held without more than minor damage the force of the lightning was still enough to send the false Berserker flying from where it had stood.

Glancing upwards the Einzbern heir realized that the sky wasn't simply darkening from the sun setting. Thick clouds the colours of bruised skin were rushing in from nowhere to cover the air above the island. No rain fell, but none the less thunder rolled dimly and crackling arcs of lightning danced amongst the clouds. As the one eyed giant once more clambered to its feet it raised its arms to the sky in a gesture that seemed to be half command and half supplication. In response the rumble of thunder grew louder and the arcs of lightning more frequent.

"I don't know about you, but I think that it might be a good idea to hit that thing before it can gather any more strength." Manaka commented as she tightened her grip on her battle wands. More power was flowing through them now as she readied herself for another attack, enough that the runes and symbols carved into its length were glowing with internal light that seemed to seep out as a sort of shining mist.

"As expected of a retainer of Sir Shirou," Guinevere stated with an approving nod of her head, "You have a fine grasp of the situation."

"Can you call Lancelot?" Illya enquired, "If it's him and my Berserker then they'll make short work of that guy between them."

"Sir Knight is still tired from his race with Sir Shirou earlier today," the queen of the Divine Ancestors admitted, her tone slightly embarrassed. "Should the foe attack Guinevere directly then the spell binding Sir Knight will allow him to appear, but if not then he lacks the strength to make himself appear."

"Oh ho ho, this goddess had not expected for her servant to be treated to harshly so soon. Perhaps she should take some time to aid him in his hour of need."

As the words were spoken a mass of dazzling lights descended from the darkening sky. Each of them glittered as brilliantly as sunlight reflecting off the surface of water. The dazzling brightness swirled in a vortex resembling a galaxy and descended to hover next to the Cyclops.

Even as it did so Illya could feel the channel of power open between the spiral of lights and the subordinate divine beast. The flow was nowhere near as intense as the strength that she'd felt from either Sun Wukong or Mordred, but where their power had roared like a hurricane this one rumbled like a dormant volcano. Whoever this goddess was her power ran deep, of that the young Einzbern was sure.

The Cyclops had been slumped before, clutching at the wounds on its shoulder and chest. As the divine force was injected into it its posture straightened and its muscles tensed. The wounds it had been dealt were now healing at a visible rate, the cuts shrinking away.

With a gruntul sort of chuckle the one eyed giant began to stalk to the side, moving towards the ocean. Illya moved her puppet Servant to remain between them, but it quickly became clear that the Cyclops was trying to get between them and the sea.

That realization brought a frown to her face even as she materialized the Beautiful Head Taker. Such an action made no sense; it would have been smarter to have circled the other way so that they'd have been cut off from the forest. As things stood all they needed to do was duck backwards and they could use their smaller sizes to escape into the trees and undergrowth. Granted the plant life would be of minimal impediment to a divine creature of the size and power of the Cyclops, but it could provide the kind of cover that would let them escape by hiding.

So, why?

There was something else here, something she was missing.

Damn it, this was getting worse by the moment. With the goddess that had summoned this creature having arrived in person the giant would only be stronger. Clearly it was also somewhat smarter if it was making some sort of plan.

"Alright." she began, trying to draw everyone's attention.

The giant's movements had grouped them together so that the five of them stood at the edge of the beach and the beginning of the forest. Both Guinevere and Tiamat were here, so hopefully their support would help her puppet Berserker enough to make up for the difference in their powers.

"I think this is going to be hard, bu-"

Her words were cut off as HUGE GIGANTIC ENORMOUS TEEEEEETH snapped down around the Cyclops's upper body. Long sinuous limbs wrapped around its arms and legs then yanked the giant into the sea so violently that it was actually pulled off its feet.

For a moment there was only silence, save for the splashing of the surf, as everyone simply stared at where the Cyclops had been. Even the swirling vortex of lights that made up the form of the goddess somehow managed to convey bewildered shock.

"Wh-Wh-WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT?!"

It seemed that Manaka was the first to recover her voice as she pointed towards the spot where the one eyed giant had been dragged beneath the waves. Illya could completely understand the high note of bewilderment and panic in her voice. It had all happened so fast that she hadn't had a chance to get a proper look at the . . . the monstrosity that had dragged off the Cyclops, but the brief glimpse had been more than enough to give her some suggestions.

If a crocodile, a squid, a tyrannosaurus rex and a giant jellyfish had all somehow managed to conceive a united offspring and then raised it on a steady diet of steroids and growth hormones then the result might have been vaguely like what she had just seen. There had been those huge teeth, some vague impression of scales and rubbery hide, and the semi translucent tentacles that had been seemingly everywhere for a brief moment.

She just knew she was going to have nightmares about this tonight. Why oh why had she ever let her curiosity drive her to investigate that 'tentacle hentai' thing? Some matters were just not meant to be known.

"I . . . this goddess . . . that wasn't meant to . . ."

Apparently their attacker wasn't faring any better than they were in regards to recovering from the situation. Probably a good thing, had she been more on the ball then she could probably have wiped them all out before they knew what was happening.

"Snappy must have been feeling hungry."

Slowly, as though moving too fast might cause the world to somehow break, Illya turned her head until she was staring at Tiamat.

"What?"

"He's hungry, I can't think of any other reason for him to do something like that."

"You . . . know that thing?"

Everyone was staring at them now, even the galaxy of lights somehow seemed to be focused on them.

"Yes, that's Snappy. I made him yesterday."

"Y-Yesterday?"

"Yes, I really didn't expect him to grow so quickly. I think something about the sea here has leant some power to my Authority."

There were so many questions in Illya's mind, why she would have made such a thing? Why hadn't she told anyone? What did she plan to do with it? However one question, one word, forced its way out of her mouth before she could consider asking anything else.

"'Snappy'?"

With a slightly malicious smile on her face the Babylonian goddess glanced back at her before returning her attention to where the lights of the other goddess still formed their spiral.

"I just asked myself what you would have named him."

"What . . . where has that thing been hiding, I'm pretty sure I would have seen it?"

Kaida's question was surprisingly calm given the sheer craziness of the situation.

"Oh, Snappy's been sleeping under King Shirou's boat since yesterday," Tiamat replied airily, "He wanted to stay near me through the night. I think he was scared when alone and the sunlight faded."

Illya could actually feel her mind trying to wrap itself around the concept of the monstrosity she'd just seen being afraid of the dark. Trying and utterly failing. Then Kaida spoke up again.

"Wait, that was under the boat last night?"

Tiamat simply nodded in answer.

"That was under the boat while we were sleeping?!"

The snow haired adopted sister of the eighth Campione took a moment to process that, then she realized just why the Hime-Miko was so distressed. That thing had been only a few metres from them, when they had been asleep. With all those teeth. And tentacles. And they had been asleep.

She was going to have SO much trouble getting to sleep tonight.

Oh well, at least it would be a good excuse to share Onii-chan's bed.

"That will simply not do."

The voice from the swirling vortex of lights brought her out of her thoughts and back to the matter at hand. More lights were pouring out of the shining galaxy now, as though it were a portal from which they were flowing. The streams were splitting into three currents, one was flowing into the sea, one ascended up into the air above the vortex and the third went to the ground just by its side.

"This goddess had thought that a single one of her servants would be enough to deal with you all, unfortunately that is not the case, but I must still fulfil the obligation placed upon me."

Something was happening now, the lights that flowed out were gathering together into forms.

"I think first I shall give your beast a playmate to enjoy." The voice commented, and as though at her command a sudden eruption of water sprayed forth from the sea.

The water churned and frothed as two huge forms thrashed about in it. One was definitely the multi-limbed monster that had only moments before snapped up the Cyclops, but now it was locked in combat with another creature, one at least as big as it was. In the darkening light she could see the translucent tentacles wrapping around a long and sinuous body. There was a crackle and the sea was lit by a sudden surge of electric blue light, it was followed by a bubbling roar of rage as the thrashing in the water gained intensity.

"My serpent shall keep your child engaged lady Tiamat. These two shall be for you and your companions."

As the words were spoken the two gathering forms of light coalesced into completed forms. The one above the swirling mass was a huge bird, an eagle of some sort. The second mass took the form of a man. He stood at least eight metres tall and was clad only in a loincloth; in on hand he carried an enormous bow while the other held a single wicked looking arrow.

Ah, was there any chance they could trade the three of them back for the one Cyclops?

The eagle let out a keening cry and flapped its wings. In response the air about them began to stir, first simply as a gentle breeze, but then stronger and stronger. As this happened the neatly bearded giant notched his arrow to the bow and slowly drew it back.

This was not good.


-()-


Shirou cut another arrow from the air, then sidestepped the next that came at him from his blind spot. His enemy was good, extremely skilled in stealth and accuracy, but that seemed to be offset by his inability to break his or her pattern of attack.

Each attack was the same, or at least so much so that it made no difference. The first arrow would come at him from the front. Sometimes it would come at him from the sides as well, but always it was from the same general area of ahead of him. Then, sometimes almost immediately afterwards or sometimes a few seconds later, the second shot would come at him from behind. As attack patterns went it wasn't too bad, definitely extremely dangerous if it caught you by surprise. The problem was that if the victim could survive it long enough, and had sufficiently high potent abilities, then it became pretty easy to deal with.

As the second arrow collided with a stone outcrop and detonated into a cloud of dust and rock powder Shirou frowned slightly. Was it his imagination or were the explosions growing smaller. If that was the case then it indicated that whoever he was fighting had limited strength to place in their arrows.

Yes, that seemed to match up with what he'd deduced about his enemy. Whoever they were they had relied on their stealth and initial attack to bring him down, and when they'd failed they'd simply repeated the same thing over and over in the hopes of a different result. That hinted that either the unseen assassin wasn't too bright or that they were limited in what they could do. A sort of one-trick-pony as it were. If their reserves were running low then that meant they were by far the weakest god that he'd ever faced, most likely a subordinate god now that he thought about it.

He nodded ever so slightly to himself. As things stood all odds seemed to be in his favour, so that meant that this wasn't the real battle. Most likely this was some sort of probe attack, the real god sending a weak subordinate to attack so that they could observe from afar and learn. Well, that was alright, aside from the initial stage of Dragon Slaying Hero Shirou hadn't used any off his Authorities. He'd keep at that, holding them in reserve for the real fight.

Granted, he could also have gone with sheer destruction in order to deal with his foe. A rain of Traced weapons would have annihilated the available cover and any who were hiding within. To be sure a subordinate god might be able to survive such an onslaught, but even so they wouldn't be in any shape to run or hide. It wouldn't even require a major effort; three Broken versions of any number of Noble Phantasms could have gotten the job done most likely.

However that was an option he was choosing to hold back on. His opponent seemed to be limited in his strength and tactics, enough so that dealing with them would hopefully not require such scorched earth tactics. Not only would such measures possibly threaten his companions if he wasn't careful, but also this was a very pleasant island, and he'd prefer not to ruin it. He clearly had the advantage; he could afford such limitations for now. Should the worst come to the worst he always fall back on them.

As he made his decision he felt a tickle at the back of is throat. Damn, the dust in the air was really irritating.

Not wanting to break his concentration Shirou tried to swallow, to clear away the sensation plaguing him, unfortunately that only made it worse.

WHHSSSHHH!

Another arrow shot out of the cloud, only to be cut down as Arondight flicked outwards. Using the momentum of his cut to continue the motion Shirou spun in place already turning to block the shot he knew was coming. True to his expectations the shaft came straight at him from behind, aiming to pierce right where his spine would have been. Instead the attack was met by the flat of the Noble Phantasm and was deflected like a ricocheted bullet. As with the others it detonated on hitting the ground, but as before the explosion was muted, lower in power. All it managed to do was kick up some more dust.

It was a game of cat and mouse now, the eighth Campione was sure that he'd caught a glimpse of his enemy that time. By the looks of it the power they used to hide and move about was also losing power and potency. At this point all he had to do was hold out, time was on his side.

Again the dust in the air irritated his throat and lungs, but this time it was more severe. Risking it to ensure his concentration Shirou raised his arm and coughed violently into his sleeve. Something must have come loose, because his airway felt a lot clearer, the tickling was still there, but much reduced. Dismissing it from his mind he returned to his concentration, waiting for the next shot to come.

Had he looked down at his sleeve he would have seen the blood speckling its surface.


-()-


Odysseus smiled a sharp and narrow smirk as he notched another arrow to his bow.

The plan was going as he had hoped, his foe had already lost and he didn't even know it.

The vitality of a Campione is a formidable thing, as was their ability to resist magic. The powers of Authorities could lay whole countries to ruin or obliterate even the greatest of mortal mages, but a Campione could resist them, at least to some degree. However that protection wasn't perfect, by applying a magic internally it could be sidestepped, you simply had to be cunning enough to get it done.

The travelling god listened to the sound of his foe coughing once more and felt a thrill of success. Everything had needed to be timed perfectly for it to work, but the plan was coming together. The initial attacks that had forced the child of Pandora to call on one of his enhancing Authorities, the pacing of the attack so that they'd appear to fall into a pattern, the slow accumulation of dust in the air, dust laced with poisons.

The poisons had been the creations of both him and Circe. Her magic had provided the needed enchantments he could not perform while his own travels had taught him many cruel and useful secrets. The irony of the situation was that it had been the King of Steel's own strength that had allowed this to work. Had he tried it upon a normal mortal they would have gasped and choked on the poisonous dust in short order, gaining enough warning that they might have been able to escape if they were fast. But the God Slayer had been reinforced by his Authority, enough that he hadn't even noticed the poisonous powder as he breathed it in.

It was at work within him now, enchantments to enhance his confidence and lower his caution, that would lead to mistakes that he would normally have avoided. Mistakes that a cunning foe could make use of. There were also sedatives mixed in, spells to numb him to pain so that he wouldn't notice the damage being wrought within him. And lastly was the slow but inexorable poison that was tearing away at his lungs.

It was a careful balancing act, to keep him sure enough that he wouldn't leave the cloud of malignant dust while at the same time keeping the dust thick enough while not revealing his plan. But it was working. The same strength that made Emiya Shirou so dangerous was now keeping him from feeling pain, from realizing the danger he was in.

Soon he would drown in his strength and die.

Then . . . then Odysseus could claim the fragments of power that dwelt within him. Claim the freedom that he so craved. Soon endless horizons would be his; soon his next great adventure would begin.

Narrowing his eyes he notched another arrow to his bow.


-()-


Upon the hill of swords that existed beneath an impossible sky of giant gears and endless dawn a sword stood.

It was one among many, and held no special place. It didn't rest upon the very top of the hill or beside the statue that occupied the centre of this world. Its place was two thirds up the hill along the southern side. Its neighbours were a nameless sword that had once belonged to a brave Roman legionnaire and a pair of sai blades that had been wielded by a particularly vicious kunoichi.

A humble place for the most famed blade of all.

But despite its inauspicious location Excalibur was a sword that stood apart from all others. If weapons had their own hierarchy then the sword of Promised Glory was one with few, if any peers. In Shirou's mind it still remained the greatest of all Noble Phantasms, the sword of his Servant. The sword of Saber.

Now, ever so slightly, the sword began to move on its own.


/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/


Omake: A Worse Authority.

Emiya Shirou backed away from his advancing foe. This was bad, his escape routes were cut off and she already knew too much for him to talk his way out.

"Onii-chan, have you been spending time with Guinevere again?"

Under normal circumstances Shirou wouldn't have been so worried about his adopted sister's somewhat threatening posture, but that had changed since the night he killed Venus. Now he was very wary of Illya's behaviour.

Especially when she was holding a very sharp pair of scissors.

"You know that you shouldn't be spending time with other girls," she commented one finger running down the length of the scissor's blade as though testing the sharpness. "All sorts of things could happen, things that we really don't want to see."

There was a distinctly unpleasant gleam in her eyes, one that the eighth Campione did not like the look of.

"Yeahgottchag'bye!"

As Shirou tapped into Dragon Slaying Hero so that he could have the speed to slip around her and dash down the corridor he found himself struck by the absurdity of the situation. There was no way that Illya could really hurt him, at least not so long as she didn't bring out her puppet Berserker anyway. Those scissors were no threat to him, so why had he found them so scary?

Actually, he damned well knew why, he just didn't want to think about it.

And he was so busy not thinking about it that he didn't look where he was going and ran straight into Tiamat as he rounded the corner.

The two of tem went down in a heap, the goddess apparently taken completely by surprise at the sudden collision. Though he managed to avoid the old cliché of accidentally groping her Shirou still found himself with his face resting on her left shoulder while his own left arm splayed across her middle.

"YOU . . .!"

before he had time to think about what had happened she'd pushed him off her, unfortunately since she was a divinity rather than a mere mortal her push sent him flying across the corridor and embedded him in the plaster wall.

Her face flushed with anger and embarrassment the Mother of Dragons stared down at the floor.

"You . . . you idiot, why'd you have to go and do that? If you really wanted to . . . to do that th-then all you had to do w-was ask."

Her eyes still focused down on the ground she suddenly waved her arms about as though trying to ward off some invisible assault.

"N-Not that you should ask! I don't care if you do, I really d-don't. So don't ask! N-Never ask do you hear me?!"

On hearing no answer to her slightly stuttered barrage of questions and declarations Tiamat glared up . . . only to find that for the last few seconds she'd been speaking to a Shirou-shaped hole in the opposite wall rather than the King of Steel himself.

Shirou was at that moment running as quickly and quietly down the adjoining corridor as he could, eager to put as much distance between himself and the irritate goddess as he could manage. It said something about his nerves that when a door suddenly opened his first impulse was to ready a shield to Trace.

"Here, hide."

It was a tough decision, but in the end he decided to go with the offer of at least temporary sanctuary. Darting through the open doorway he saw Guinevere had been holding the door open, and was now closing it behind him. Feeling slightly exhausted from his successive sprints Shirou gratefully collapsed into the only chair in the small room.

"Thanks, but won't they be able to find me?"

"Wards."

The single word was the only answer the golden haired immortal gave as she turned to face her host. Then, with all the dignity of a queen, she climbed into his lap and sat herself down.

"Errr . . . Guinevere?"

"Comfy."

Why? Why did he have to get this Authority from Venus? Just about anything else he could think of would have been better, but instead he was stick with this.

Truly the Dere Changer was the most troublesome Authority he could have received.

Illya = Yandere

Tiamat = Tsundere

Guinevere = Kuudere