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.

HA HA, ignore the bit below I'm just keeping it as a reminder of what happened. Anyway, my Beta is back and has sent me the edited version of this chapter. This has now been updated and all the little errors have been fixed. Huzzah, and all that. Anyway, I've also sent him the draft version of the next chapter, so hopefully I'll be hearing from him soon about that. With any luck that should mean it will be up for you all to reader even sooner than expected.

Alright, here's the latest chapter. BUT I WARN YOU, THIS IS THE UNEDITED VERSION. I'm putting it up because my Beta hasn't been able to get it back to me due to personal reasons, and because I feel bad keeping all of you hanging for so long. As such I'm putting this up and will make corrections and changes later. Now, I know that some readers might want to write in a review or PM to let me know what needs fixing, but honestly there's no need for that. I suppose some people might also make suggestions as to how the chapter itself might be improved, and such will be given due consideration, but at the end of the day it is me and my Beta that do the final cutting.

Also, as those of you that check out my Profile Page will already know, the next chapter is also pretty much finished. That's also been sent to my Beta, but as of yet I haven't heard back from him. I'm a little less sure of the next chapter though, so i really want his advice. Still, if I haven't heard back from him in a couple of weeks I suppose I'll put up that chapter too.

Oh, one last thing. I imagine that there might be some people that suggest I should get a new Beta so as to avoid these delays. You are of course entitled to your opinion, but for foreseeable future that's not a route I'll be taking. My Beta has been of excellent aid in the past and has contributed heavily to the quality of the chapters I've put up, so there will be no switching any time in the near future. I'm sure that whatever has had him occupied of late is a personal matter to which he is perfectly entitled. After all, neither him or I are getting paid anything for this. (Sniff Sniff)

Anyway, onto this chapter.

I honestly have to say that I'm somewhat surprised at the sheer bloodlust of my readers in regards to Alex. In the first three hours after the last chapter was put out I received more than a dozen requests for his painful death as well as several suggestions as to how that could be achieved. Gae Bolg seemed to be a favourite, though one inventive fellow sent me a PM involving his thoughts on the rather novel use of the Rings of Wind and Fire.

I'd also like to offer thanks to all of my readers who tried to help me find a place to read the Campione! Light Novels. Have no fear; I'm fully furnished with translations up to volume sixteen. I'll go looking for the last ones when I need them.

Also I've had a number of suggestions as to Servants I could use. On advice from some readers I've had a look at the latest batch of Servants to come out of Fate Grand Order, and I think I can see a number of promising contenders. Mind you, I don't think I'll be using complete copies though. As marvellous as many of them are I think that their creators might have been a bit overgenerous in the stats department. Arjuna is a good example, in his legend he was only able to defeat Karna through a combination of the aid of others, the disadvantages Karna had taken upon himself, the curses he was under and the use of dishonourable tactics. Yet in Fate Grand Order all his stats are equal or superior to Karna's. From what I've seen, which is admittedly just some general browsing rather than dedicated research, the Servants there seem to be somewhat more powerful on average than they are in the Fuyuki Holy Grail Wars. This might just be my biase though.

Anyway, please keep sending suggestions if you can. Several suggestions I've already received have got me started, and I've had a few ideas of my own. That said I still have quite a number of open spots, so if you have any ideas please don't hesitate to share.

On another note, a couple of my readers have asked me where Godou is in all this, after all with such great things as an island rising out of nowhere and a foreign Campione challenging Shirou shouldn't he be involved? Well, my rationale is that canon plot Godou mainly got involved because Guinevere and Lancelot interfered in his fight with Athena. As things stand he has no direct stake in the current chain of events. He is aware of the island's rise, but he's been told by Committee that Shirou has stated he will deal with it. The Committee are hoping to keep things between Shirou and Alex at the worst, and don't want to bring another Campione into it since the chances for chaos will then increase from serious to catastrophic. For his part, since it's Shirou's home that's been broken into and his guest that is mixed up in this, Godou is willing to take a wait and see approach and be glad that for once it's not him and his loved ones that are involved. After all, he knows how strong Shirou is, so he feels its okay to leave things in his hands.

SPOILERS!

You know, originally this chapter was going to cover the entire thing from start to finish, but after it got more than forty thousand words long I decided that maybe I should split it. On the down side that means you aren't getting the full story with this chapter, on the bright side it hopefully means there'll be a far shorter wait for the conclusion. Sorry if that's a bit of a tease, but them's the breaks I suppose.

In regards to Tiamat's thoughts on her immortality and how Alex can kill her; she is unaware of Black Lightning's last resort attack. Black Thunder would unquestionably have the power to kill her; however since it's a very infrequently used power she's not heard of it.

We have another original Noble Phantasm here. Jack the Giant Killer was actually a favourite fairy tale when I was little, even though as I grew I found it to be somewhat inaccurate, after all King Arthur never had a crown prince. Anyway, I know that the original fairy tale drew on Arthurian lore as a source and that the magic sword Jack received was inspired by legends of Excalibur, so I named it Calesvol, since that's the Cornish name for it.

Additionally, I've been thinking of using Jack the Giant Killer in my upcoming Grail War, I figure if the likes of the Phantom of the Opera and Doctor Jekyll are valid Servants then he is too. Given his Legend I'd say that he's eligible for both the Saber class and the Assassin class, though given that almost all his victories were bought through cunning and trickery I think that the latter class is the more suitable.

In the original Light Novels I was always a bit irritated by the culmination of the fight between Guinevere and Alex. To my mind it made no sense for her to fight as she did given that she knew about the Judging Furies Authority. When you take that into account it makes no sense for her to inflict so much damage to the local landscape if it would only serve to empower her enemy. With that in mind I've added a bit that I think is in keeping with Alex's devious mind and explains the situation away nicely. Normally I rather dislike messing with canon in this way, but this will be my sole exception.

Once again, my thanks to my Beta. I know things got a bit delayed, but we live in an imperfect world, so we've got to take life as it comes.

Anyway, please enjoy.


Chapter Thirty One: Dragons and Thunder

Tiamat didn't hesitate for an instant in bringing out one of her prepared trumps cards. She couldn't afford to, and she knew it. Right now she was in a battle with a foe that she would have been wary of even if she'd been at her full power, weakened as she was her situation was only a step or two short of being suicidal. That being the case her only option was to go all out and hope it would be enough. Hardly the most sophisticated plan, but as things stood it was only course of action that stood a chance of succeeding.

In a single movement her long shawl unfolded behind her, the length of cloth stretching out and going rigid until it stood behind her more like outspread wings than a mere garment. In an instant the spell circles that she'd woven into the cloth lit up as she funnelled magic into them, then the air around her burnt red as every circle unleashed a searing beam of magic.

This was the first trump card that Tiamat had created as a means to compensate for her weakness. It had been a trick that she'd used as a Divine Ancestor, creating a spell channel that she just needed to pump raw power into in order to initiate the intended spell. However now that her divinity was restored, no matter how weakened it might be, she could take the concept to the next level. Rather than using simple materials such as spider silk and carefully cured flower petals, she'd had access to the materials that King Shirou had been willing to provide her with as well as her own divine body. Follicles of her own hair had been woven among carefully prepared gold and silver threads. Her very blood had been used as a completing agent to bind the magicks into place.

The result had been quite satisfying. Her new shawl, a beautiful red and blue garment that she'd chosen because it was her favourite, had become a concealed weapon of the highest calibre. Simply by channelling magic into it, Tiamat could immediately release multiple attack spells of a level that very few humans could match, and those that could wouldn't be able to match the sheer number she could produce. As a Divine Ancestor she'd been able to use this trick to help her escape various tight spots, but as a true goddess she could use it to utterly decimate any mortal mage.

The creation of the shawl had been one of her first steps towards strengthening herself after her crippling. To be sure it wouldn't ever compensate for the loss she had suffered, but she'd felt it should at least be enough to help her deal with any mage vultures that came trying to slay a weakened deity in the hope of themselves becoming Devil Kings. All in all her creation had been a splendid bit of work and she'd been rather hoping for the chance to use it on some poor fool that ignored the protection offered to her by King Shirou.

However, in the current circumstances, her work was out of its league.

Alex didn't bother to pay the volley of spells any great attention; instead the vast majority of his focus was on the tendril wrapped about his legs. He'd moved to brace himself against their pull, and was presenting a smaller target to her a result. He was aware of what she was doing, but in the end he didn't regard her attack as overly dangerous, an opinion that proved itself justified as a couple of the beams struck him. Spells that could have melted holes in rock impacted on him with all the effect of a stream of water from a common garden hose. The Black Prince was rocked back on his rearmost foot, his clothing looked slightly scorched, but apart from that there was no other effect.

Not that Tiamat had expected there to be. Even if the spells she used were powered by divine magic they were still simply magic, nothing on the level of an Authority. The magic resistance inherent in all Campione was simply too powerful a thing for her to be able to break through with such a tool, one might as well try to carve up a boulder with a wooden knife. She might have hoped it would be enough to bring the God Slayer down, but it had in no way been something that she'd expected.

Instead her attack had served three purposes. Firstly it had bought both her and her erstwhile ally precious seconds. While Gascoigne was bracing himself against the largely ineffectual assault the fallen goddess and the Queen of the Divine Ancestors were able to move from where they'd been, putting space between them as the tried to use the small island's terrain to their advantage. Secondly the sheer sound and brightness of her attack, as well as the dust kicked up by her missing rays of magic striking the ground about him, would momentarily blind and disorient the fourth Campione, something that would hopefully buy them a little more time. Thirdly it would-

Her train of thought was cut off as a bolt of lightning shot out of the cloud of dust and struck the magical shield of spells that Tiamat had erected around herself. It wasn't a serious attack, if it had been it wouldn't have mattered how much power she'd placed into her protection, thus the shield held.

The loose gravel under her feet . . . not so much.

Gritting her teeth the Mother of Dragons managed to avoid letting out a startled yelp as her right foot, the one that had been taking most of her weight, slipped out from under her. Somehow she managed to keep her balance, but bereft of a firm footing she found herself sliding down the incline of the short rise on which she had been standing. It only took her a couple of seconds to regain her balance, but that was enough.

A warbling shriek of pain split the air as a lightning bolt arced out of the dust once more. This time though, it wasn't the thin attack from before, instead it was the full form of the Black Lightning. Even as the crackling divine electricity shifted back into the form of Gascoigne Tiamat was opening her shawl again to release another barrage of spells.

Pillows, that's what it was. For all the power behind the spells she was hurling at him, to him all they were was thrown pillows or cushions. They could have some force behind them, they might even hurt a bit if they struck him somewhere sensitive, and they might put him off balance if they hit him with enough force. But in the end the only way they could be any sort of threat was if he simply stood there and let them strike him for as long as her strength held out. Conceivably Tiamat might have been able to defeat him, a defeat by a thousand blows rather than a thousand cuts, but such a victory could easily be stolen by him doing just about anything. No, if she wanted to win she was going to have to use the few Authorities that she still had.

Another warbling shriek echoed across the small island as pallid white tendrils lashed out towards the spot where the Black Prince was standing. There was another flash of lightning as he dodged the attempt, and once again he was in another location.

Well, there went one of her plans.

Tiamat winced slightly as she saw where a number of her 'child's' limbs had been burnt off when Gascoigne had escaped his grasp earlier. The wounds were clearly painful to her creation, but she knew that he had more than enough divine power in his veins to recover, given time. Still, now that the advantage of surprise had been lost Snappy was far less likely to be of much aid.

Her original plan had been to use her barrage of spells to send the entire piece of stony shore that the fifth Campione had been standing on into the sea. Once there her creation would have held several advantages as the ocean would have favoured him even as it limited the power of Black Lightning. True, she hadn't been sure how divine lightning would react to being manifested underwater, but she'd hoped that it would at least impair it enough to grant her monster a further advantage. Then she'd been planning to use her third recovered Authority, Queenship Over Waters. It might not be as strong as when she was at her peak, but it was one of the few powers she possessed that could stand against her enemy. If combined with her Snappy and with Gascoigne trapped in an unfavourable battlefield it might have been enough to let her achieve a victory.

Not an option anymore though, the adopted son of Pandora had moved away from the shore and out of reach of her creation's tendrils. The island they fought on might not be that large, but it was big enough for him to be able to comfortably move around without putting himself close enough to the sea for it to be a concern.

Damn it!

That had been her best chance of not simply coming out of this alive, but actually being the victor. With it out in the open it would be easy enough for Gascoigne to avoid being caught by her pet again. As things stood the only reason Tiamat held out any hope for coming out of this alive and keeping Guinevere in the same state was that their foe couldn't bring his full power to bear on them. Though she didn't know the exact details the Mother of Dragons knew that at least two of his Authorities were currently engaged elsewhere keeping Lancelot and King Shirou from coming to Guinevere's rescue. That left him with three to work with, but for the time being it seemed that he was only using his signature one.

Internally the red haired goddess cursed herself for her lack of knowledge on the Campione. In the past she'd had little interest in him since he had in no way been relevant to her quest to regain her divinity. She'd simply taken steps to avoid crossing paths with him and left it at that. As a result all she really knew about him was his general reputation and the nature of his favourite power. She also knew about his Labyrinth since she had studied the island he had raised, but aside from that she was woefully ignorant.

So far he wasn't striking back, that was something at least. The lightning with which he'd lashed out with before hadn't been something to be truly concerned with. It had been powerful and could have hurt, but in mortal terms it was more like a slap to the face than it was a serious blow, at least to beings of such power as Guinevere and her. Enough of them could be dangerous, maybe even deadly, but each of their individual defences was strong enough to endure such attacks for a time at least.

So why wasn't he fighting back seriously? The Black Prince didn't have as savage a reputation as his more senior Campione, but even so he was regarded as one of the more cunning of his kind. If he wasn't returning her attacks, despite him having a clear advantage, then it must be for a reason. Perhaps he had to clear some condition in order to use one of his remaining Authorities? That would make sense, but just what conditions were they? Should she keep attacking? Should she assume a more defensive approach?

". . . and so this maiden begs that you lend her your aid in her direst hour. Please let the Steel that would have served you find a home in her unworthy hand, that it may once more taste battle and strife!"

Tiamat blinked in surprise as she felt a sudden surge of power come from behind her. The force of it was difficult to place, potent but delicate, Steely yet earth-like. Even the voice that spoke those spell words was hard to place, it was Guinevere's, but at the same time it sounded too mature, too rich, too sensual to be that of the immortal child. More than that though, Steel lingered on the words, a power that her erstwhile ally shouldn't possess. Knowing it was foolish, but unable to help herself, the Mother of Dragons glanced over her shoulder to the point where Guinevere stood.

The Witch Queen of Britannia was standing a little ways off, her hands extended before her as an amulet of some sort floated in the air between them. There was no visible sign of power, no glowing aura or spell words inscribed into the air, but for all that there was a gravity about her as though she were somehow more real and solid than the world around her.

"As ever this humble handmaiden seeks only to advance your will, to return you to the world so that the joyful masses might once more gaze upon your divine countenance. I implore you to allow Guinevere to wield the weapons that she has so painstakingly gathered for your majesty!"

When the attack came it was so fast that Tiamat was barely able to register it. The bolt of lightning bypassed her completely before she even saw it and only entered her field of vision after it was out of reach. The target was clear, the fallen goddess could see it all in an instant as her divine mind processed what she was seeing. Gascoigne was heading directly for Guinevere, a direct attack whilst she was engaged in her spell. The ocean was too far away to offer aid, Snappy was likewise out of reach and Tiamat herself was caught out of position. All she could do was watch as a faction of a second seemed to stretch itself into infinity so that she'd have all the time in the world to watch her failure. In some dusty corner of her mind she wondered at the strange effect, she could not move, she could not act, all she could do was watch with crystal clarity as she failed her host.

Weakened though she might be Tiamat was still a goddess, and so had regained her divine immortality. Blows that could kill a mortal could hurt her, but lacked the ability to take her life. Swift and dangerous though the Black Lightning Authority was it wasn't the kind of power that could slay her with ease; rather it was one she could endure for some time. Granted, it was a serious threat to her, but if she were to be killed by it then it would be a death by a thousand cuts rather than a single blow.

Guinevere's immortality was of a lesser quality though; perhaps it could be better described as 'unaging' instead. It had allowed her to lived for decades without growing a day older, but its nature was not such that she could survive a head on attack from the Black Prince. His bolts of lightning might only have been on par with a strong mage's attacks, but if he pressed them that would be enough to slay the eternal child.

The girl that Tiamat had irrationally decided to help was going to die, and there was nothing the goddess could do. Already power was building up within her as she readied to unleash her final trump card, but it wouldn't be ready in time! She had no time!

And then suddenly, she did.

The golden metal staff simply appeared in midair with an almost shocking suddenness. It didn't fade in or slowly materialize, one instant it was empty air, the next the staff hung in the space before Guinevere. It was directly in the path of the fourth Campione, and such was the sheer agility of his Authority that in her strangely accelerated mental state Tiamat could actually see him begin to alter his path to avoid the staff. He was moving at a speed that even gods would envy, and yet he was still able to change his path, it boggled the mind.

But what was even more incredible was the way the staff swung, as though gripped by invisible hands, striking the lightning squarely despite its attempts to dodge.

Time seemed to resume its normal pace as a flash of electric light seemed to consume the world. There was a noise like the very sky cracking, a sound so forceful that it felt like a physical blow. Then there was a sudden gust of wind as air rushed back in to the space from which it had been displaced.

Tiamat frantically blinked her eyes as she tried to regain her sight. The spots and pain quickly faded, far faster than any mortal would have been able to manage, and she was soon able to take in the scene before her.

Guinevere was on her hands and knees, uncaring of the dirt that was staining the cloth of her dress, her chest heaving for breath and her forehead dotted with perspiration as though she'd just run a marathon. The talisman that had been floating before her had apparently disappeared, but the floating golden metal staff remained. It had returned to a more relaxed posture and seemed to be almost vibrating with pent up energy.

For his part the Black Prince did not seem to be happy with this turn of events. Of course the fourth Campione was currently occupying the end of a short trench that had been dug into the earth by his own careening body, so that was hardly a surprise. For a moment Tiamat considered attacking him now, but such thoughts were abandoned as she saw him climbing to his feet once more. His clothing seemed to be a bit on the worse for wear side, scuffed and slightly torn, but aside from a slight reddening to one side of his face and him seeming to slightly favour one leg, that seemed to be the extent of the damage dealt to him.

Internally the Mother of Dragons bit down on a fresh string of mental curses. She'd been hoping that a blow to Gascoigne in his lightning form would do more damage than that. But by the looks of things the legendary vitality and durability of a Child of Pandora had once more proven their worth.

"Th . . . Thank you, your highness! Guinevere is . . . is grateful!"

The gratitude offered by the Divine Ancestor came out in between great gasps of breath as she sought to catch her wind once more.

Tiamat stared at her ally, then took another look at the staff. It took her a moment, but she now recognized it. This was the Ruyi Jingu Bang, the golden needle of the Monkey King. It was oddly different from the one that she'd seen Sun Wukong wield in his battle against Kusanagi Godou, its metal work of a different design, the colour of its golden surface a slightly different shade. Yet despite these differences she was absolutely certain that the weapon she was looking at was the staff of the powerful Chinese god.

But that made no sense! Why was it here? Why was it protecting Guinevere? The Ruyi Jingu Bang wasn't merely some weapon that could be picked up and used; it was an intrinsic part of the Monkey King's legend, his signature weapon and one of his Authorities. Why in the name of every ocean beneath the sky would it be appearing here and now? Especially when Guinevere had been praying to her king for aid. It made no sense!


-()-


This made no sense!

Carefully avoiding putting too much weight on his throbbing leg Alex glared at the staff that defended the kneeling form of his target. Of course, he knew that weapon; he'd observed it before when he'd been watching Guinevere's earlier activities. What had him perplexed was why it was appearing now and why it was protecting Guinevere. That was the weapon of a god of Steel, incompatible with an Earth goddess like the Witch Queen had been when at full divinity, as a Divine Ancestor it should have been totally beyond her use unless gifted to her by the god to whom it belonged.

But that made even less sense! She'd been casting a spell that called upon The King of the End, if any Authority was to appear in answer to that entreaty then it should have been one of his. Excalibur, Caliburn, not the staff of the great Sage Equal to Heaven, this made no sense!

Taking a deep breath the black Prince held it for a moment, then exhaled through his mouth. The breathing exercise was an almost childishly simple one, but it served its purpose as Alexander Gascoigne calmed himself and found his emotional centre once more.

Alright, things were going as he had hoped they would. The sudden appearance of Tiamat had thrown a severe monkey wrench into his plans as it had opened up options for Guinevere. His plan had been to force the eternal child to use her final trump card and sacrifice her immortality in order to become a dragon. In that form she would be much more powerful and dangerous, but he'd have been able to turn that against her. With the appearance of an ally though the entire dynamic of the battle had changed.

If had just been the two of them then Guinevere would have had no option but to become a dragon. Alex was simply too fast and agile for her to be able to use spells against him, and even if they hit their effect would have been negligible. Had she changed the Holy Grail into a fake god then it might have given him some trouble, but if she'd been alone she'd never have been able to do it fast enough that he couldn't have prevented her. As a dragon she was durable enough to take any attack he could deal with his normal use of Black Lightning, and she have had the raw power to strike back hard enough to hurt or even kill him. Had it been the two of them then it would have been her only choice with any chance of success.

It had also been the choice that he'd wanted her to make.

With an ally on her side though, everything was thrown off. Tiamat might not have her full power, but she was still a threat a magnitude of power greater than Guinevere. Her spells might not be able to seriously hurt him, but they were far from a non-factor. More than that though, her creation might be on the lower end of the scale for divine beasts, but it was still strong enough to be a credible threat if it got a hold of him. Add to that the simple fact that he wasn't completely aware of how much of her power Tiamat had recovered and he was left unable to fully account for her.

Worse, her being here was buying the Witch Queen the precious extra seconds she needed in order to bring out the options that he'd hoped to deny her.

The simple fact of it was that he wasn't in a bad position, but he was effectively stalemated. The only Authority he had casual access to right now was his Black Lightning, his other divine powers being either otherwise engaged or temporarily out of his reach. With his Authority of speed he was nigh untouchable, but his ability to deal damage was severely curtailed. To make matters worse Tiamat might not be able harm him, but she was able to hit him, and in his lightning form that was all it took to send him flying. Add in that impossible staff that had shown up and . . .

As things stood they couldn't hit him easily, and even if they did they lacked the raw strength to deal any meaningful damage. But by the same token he wasn't in a position to deal them any real harm. Tiamat was strong enough to resist what attacks he could casually use, and Guinevere now had her own defences, all of it led to the stalemate in which they now stood.

And worse, this situation was more to their advantage than it was to his. As the fight dragged on it would become increasingly likely that one of their allies would arrive to further tip the odds in their favour. Lancelot and Emiya Shirou were both caught by powerful Authorities, but even so he felt that their elimination as factors was far from complete. The Knight of the Lake was the very embodiment of the knightly ideal for a reason. Even in her half summoned state she had been formidable enough to protect her charge from a number of attempts on her life from him and a number of other enemies. Now that she had fully manifested, her strength should be even greater. Then there was the eighth Campione, Emiya Shirou might be the youngest to his rank, but he'd already earned quite the reputation in the magical world. Killing three gods in his first week as a Campione, organizing the Feast of Kings, defeating two other God Slayers at the same time, making a goddess his houseguest along with a Divine Ancestor. His list of absurd accomplishments continued to grow, as did his infamy. Powerful though his traps might have been, either of them might be able to escape given time.

He needed to finish this quickly. Alright, that was established. The old plan was a wash, he shouldn't try to dispute that, it had to be changed, adapted to the new factors.

Tiamat, she was the main obstacle. Once she was out of the way he could probably use his original plan in an altered form. That staff was going to be a stumbling block, but a few ideas for dealing with it were already starting to form in his mind.

He frowned slightly as he made a short dash to one side, not fast enough to become lightning, but swift enough to dodge the barrage of spells that the Mother of Dragons had unleashed at him.

This promised to be . . . challenging.


-()-


He couldn't use Rule Breaker.

The Noble Phantasm of Caster had been the first option to occur to Shirou as he tried to work out a way to free the Gem Sword without detonating it. Unfortunately in this case it wasn't quite as useful as it would normally be.

As far as he could see there were two targets it could be used on, the Gem Sword itself or the calf sacrifice it was impaling, unfortunately neither were viable options. If he used the iridescent dagger on the sword the results would most likely be catastrophic. When used against enchanted artefacts Rule Breaker could unmake them, cancel them out of existence, by returning them to a state that could be described as; 'before they were made'. Against normal Mystic Codes or even more powerful Mysteries this effect was most admirable. It was swift, efficient, and almost completely impossible to defend against. Rule Breaker was well deserving of its reputation as the ultimate anti-magic Noble Phantasm, but even so it wasn't of much use in this case.

The problem stemmed from the very nature of the Gem Sword. Normally, when a target of Rule Breaker was cancelled, any stored energy it had was dissipated along with its components. However in the case of his creation that wasn't really possible. The Gem Sword contained a vast amount of prana, far too much to be simply dissipated into the atmosphere. If he did use Medea's dagger on it he strongly suspected that all he'd do would be to unmake the physical container and let all the stored prana run rampant.

If that happened then the best case scenario was the release of a flood of prana that would contaminate the area for miles in every direction and end up making the vast majority of Tokyo an unliveable jungle-like hell. It would be terrible, but he'd survive it and the inhabitants of the city would have the opportunity to evacuate. In the worst case . . . it would be akin to setting off a nuclear weapon. He'd most likely be severely injured, if not flat out vaporized, and everyone else caught in the blast and its shockwave would also be killed. Hell, it might end up sparking a war if the government thought that they were under attack by terrorists or some sort of foreign power.

Using it on the calf might be a bit safer, but not by much. The Noble Phantasm might be able to dispel the familiar, but that was a pretty big might. Despite its fragile appearance the calf was a part of the Labyrinth, and as such it was a divine creation. He knew that Rule Breaker could unmake spells cast by divine beings, but Authorities were another matter. Rather than simply being spells powered by the overwhelmingly powerful magic of a god Authorities were intrinsic to the gods themselves. To compare them to the spells deities used was to compare the spells of a Master to the power of a Servant's Noble Phantasm, there was simply no contest.

Medea's dagger was described as 'an indulgence from the age of gods', but even so Shirou was reluctant to use it directly upon this divine power. Under other circumstances he might not have been so reluctant to test it out, but in the current situation the stakes were simply too high. If it did have the effect he thought it did then the Labyrinth would begin dragging out prana from the Gem Sword in order to try to sustain itself. If it did that then in all probability his Mystic Code would rupture and detonate in very short order.

So, he couldn't use Rule Breaker.

That meant that one of his most reliable options was out, what did that leave him with?

Other Noble Phantasms? He had a number that had 'Anti-Magic' properties, Gae Dearg, for example. Unfortunately the spear of Diarmuid of the Love Spot wasn't of any use, since all it did was pierce any magical projection it touched, something that would only serve to worsen the situation. He could think of a few others, Noble Phantasms that consumed magic energy, or that cancelled it out altogether, but none of them were right for the task. Those that could work quickly lacked the strength to deal with the sheer amount of prana in the Gem Sword, those that could didn't work swiftly enough or had some other sort of limitation upon them.

This was not to say that any of them were weak, each and every one of them was a weapon from legend after all. The issue was the simple scale of the problem. Shirou's personal reserves were such that even a high class Caster would have been envious of them. He had enough prana that he could have easily sustained multiple Servants fighting at their peak capacity. Quite simply it was a mind bogglingly huge quantity, and it was an amount that he'd been investing into the Mystic Code on an almost daily basis. It had been months since he'd begun to store his prana there, long enough that even with its flaws it had been able to accumulate dozens of time his full capacity. A Noble Phantasm might be a crystallized Mystery from legend, but that level of power would be enough to shock even a god.

Alright then, what other options did he have? His Authorities, could they do anything? Well, he could try burying the Gem Sword in riches, pile on a solid covering of jewels and precious metals until it was smothered in literally tonnes of the stuff, and then break the Labyrinth. Could that work, would such a tactic contain the blast when the Mystic Code fractured? It just might, it was unlikely, but the sheer weight of so many metals and gems might be enough to contain the blast. Of course, that wouldn't do too much for the prana that would leak out. Such an approach might prevent a detonation from causing damage, but the city would still be rendered uninhabitable.

What else? Could any of his armours help? Not really, donning the Armour of the Champion might let him survive if the sword exploded, but if it did then Guinevere would already be dead, along with a large portion of the Tokyo population. The same went for the Titan Knight, it might let him survive, but that was all, it wouldn't let him succeed.

Not the armours then. None of the Authorities he'd gained from Perseus would help, nor would the bow he'd gained from Venus. What did that leave him with?

Curses without End, could that help? Well, maybe. If he used the right combination of curses he might be able to do something, weaken the prana itself, dilute it enough that even if the Gem Sword broke the effects would be mitigated enough to be dealt with. Alternately he could try to create a curse beast, perhaps one based around hunger or consumption. If he invested enough power into its creation the resulting monster might be able to devour all the prana in the sword before it could cause any harm.

Of course, there were a number of problems with either plan. If he did manage to make a monster of that calibre, and if it did manage to absorb all the prana in the Gem Sword . . . well, that could become almost as great a catastrophe as the sword exploding. Curses without End was the most unruly of his Authorities. Though the Authority itself was oddly devoted the creatures it produced were nowhere near as amicable. Each time he made one there was always a sense that they were testing his control over them, pulling on their leashes to see just how far they could go. If one of them were to grow strong enough there was a chance that it might slip away from him and go on a rampage. That was why Shirou had always been reluctant to use that aspect of the first Authority he'd gained. He was fairly certain that he'd be able to re-establish his control if he had to, but he was also painfully aware of what one of those monsters could do if it was allowed to run wild for even a short time. What one of them could do if it was bloated upon a vast feast of prana . . . that was a thought to fuel nightmares.

And then there was the other problem, one that afflicted any use of Angra Mainyu's Authority. Namely that regardless of how he used it any use on a level sufficient to get him out of his current situation would exact enough of a price upon him to leave him incapacitated for too long. It hardly did him any good to bring down the Labyrinth if immediately afterwards he was left paralysed for the next couple of hours. Granted, he could simply hold onto the power, delay its release until a safe time, but that was a perilous course to take. He was going to have to fight a fellow Campione after all, and all it would take was one hit strong enough to make him lose his hold on the Authority.

If that happened mid battle, then it pretty much guaranteed his defeat. Curses without End was powerful and vicious, but its weakness was that if it didn't win the fight it might end up losing it for him. His battle with Mordred was a good example of that, since losing his hold on the curse-based Authority had left him pretty much helpless. If it hadn't been for Guinevere's appearance and Arondight's impossible reaction to her being in danger he wouldn't have left that battlefield alive.

It was an option, but it was a bad one. Still, could a beggar really be a chooser? What other options did he have?

Clenching his fists in frustration Shirou took a couple of seconds to try to calm himself. He had to think about this rationally, he had to be smart. Archer had faced a number of time critical situations; he'd managed to get through them by steady nerves and a tight rein on his emotions. Observe the problem, analyse it, find the weak spots, the angles, and then exploit.

He needed to get his sword away from the Labyrinth, that was the basic problem. Wait, actually, no it wasn't. What he needed to do was get his prana away from the Labyrinth; the sword itself was fully expendable. Alright, if that was the case, then the next step was simple logic, could he still access the prana in his Mystic Code while it was being used?

Reaching out he tentatively touched the huge sword shaped jewel with his fingertips. There was no reaction, no spell traps, no sudden crumbling, no increase in the prana being drawn, nothing. So far so good. Engaging his magic circuits Shirou drew upon the stored prana as lightly as he could.

Again no reaction, the trickle of power ran into him as smoothly as spring water through a fountain. In short order he felt his reserves top off and began to experience slight pain as he took in more prana than even his enhanced form could hold. For a moment he considered drawing in as much as he could, but then he dismissed the idea. Even if he absorbed all he could to the point of tearing himself apart from within he'd barely be able to dent the amounts the Gem Sword held. No, he needed another option.

Alright, he could draw power from it, that wasn't a problem. The problem lay in just what to do with that power once he had it. Could he use it to Trace Noble Phantasms? Trace the most costly weapons he could again and again, deliberately exhausting himself and then replenishing his prana by drawing from the sword? It could work, though such an approach would be hard on his circuits and wouldn't be too fast. In the best case scenario he'd be out of here in just under an hour and not be in any shape to do much Tracing until he'd had a chance to recover. Not the best circumstances under which to face off against one of his fellow Kings.

What he needed was somewhere to store the prana. Too bad his only Gem Sword was-

Oh.

Oh, damn, he'd been Stupid! In the current magical world the Gem Sword was regarded as a unique and incredible creation, but to Shirou it was a half assed Mystic Code that he'd cobbled together and hadn't been able to improve upon. It had worked well enough that he'd used it rather than break it down and start again, but even so it was a largely simple design that any semi-competent user of jewel craft would have been able to complete in a few days. The young Emiya had an advantage there though; he could use Rule of the Underworld to create his jewels in any configuration he chose, something that let him bypass the whole 'shape the gem' process.

It had taken weeks of trial and error to get it right, but once he had the design fixed in his mind it had been easy enough to create.

And it would be just as simple to recreate if he so wished.

The rest of this world thought that the Gem Sword was something unique, the creation of some brilliant ancient wizard or something of that nature. Shirou knew that wasn't the case, but he'd grown used to thinking in those terms, so used that he'd forgotten something important. To him the Gem Sword was ultimately worthless, it might have immense value to others, but he could create ten, a hundred, even a thousand if he so chose. What was valuable was the prana it held. The vessel was easily replaced, the contents not so much so.

"All wealth, all value, all that rest beneath the earth are mine. My riches, my treasures, my wealth. For I am the Wealthy One!"

The spell words came easily to him as he drew upon the Authority he'd usurped from Hades. It was slower than he'd normally do it though, rather than appearing whole and completed the sword shaped gemstone started at one point and grew almost organically from there. Still, this wasn't something he could afford to do incorrectly. Though every passing second screamed at him to hurry he forced himself to take his time, to get it right the first time.

When vessels like this were normally made by Jewel Magecraft users it was a long and involved process. To start with you needed a gem that was of a certain size, a size that was not only uncommon but also very valuable. This was the major stumbling block that prevented the craft from being widely used. Then there was the fact that the jewel had to possess a natural affinity to magic, preferably by having had some contact with natural spirits or something similar. If it met those criteria then the magus in question could begin the process of carefully introducing prana into it to build up a well that could become the reserve to a Mystic Code. It was a long and laborious process that required skill and concentration. Someone like Rin could produce some truly remarkable effects given her talent and power; she could create jewels that could unleash attack even Servants would have to respect. Granted it took her hours or even days to simply make them, let alone empower them, but even so it was impressive.

If she ever realized that Rule of the Underworld let Shirou create such jewels by the second . . . well, it was an even toss up between her killing him on the spot or trying to seduce him away from her sister, consequences be damned. Actually, if she ever saw the results death was probably the best he could hope for. In the art of Jewel Magecraft what he was doing was taking an exquisitely forged multi-tool and then using as a hammer to beat a piece of scrap into a vaguely acceptable shape. Rule of the Underworld was a superbly accurate and responsive ability that let him do in seconds what should have taken weeks or even months of painstaking effort. Unfortunately he lacked the skill and the knowledge to use it properly, hence his rather brute force approach.

The result had been the Gem Sword, an almost complete failure that had the sole redeeming quality of having near infinite capacity for prana storage.

And now he was making another one.

Well, it wasn't quite the same. He had learnt a little bit since he'd made the last one, but it had been so little he'd deemed insufficient to warrant making a new one. What improvements he was making were tiny, unlikely to yield more than one or two percent increases in efficiency, if even that much. Still, at this point it didn't matter, what was important was that it could store the energy he wanted to put into it.

As the sword finished forming Shirou took the hilt in his hands and stabbed it into the ground next to its older sibling blade. Aesthetically the two swords were largely similar, both were a riot of different colours and both were rather crude in their forms. Shirou had experimented with cleaner lines and a more defined shape, but for some reason doing so reduced the efficiency of the resulting Mystic Code. In the end he had held to this scheme, a giant gemstone that looked as though it had been crudely hacked into the general form of a longsword by some impossible caveman.

It felt right though, a gut deep feeling that it would work. Leaving one hand on its pommel he reached out and laid his other hand on the pommel of the Gem Sword impaling the calf.

From one he drew power, power that he then passed through to the other. He could feel the prana flowing through him, entering his circuits through one hand then travelling through them to exit his other hand and into the second sword. It was a constant flow, a current of prana that his body would never have experienced in any other circumstance. He wasn't tapping his own reserves, he wasn't even using the prana, instead he was simply acting as a circuit through which the energy flowed.

Were this any other energy, were he channelling the power of some other mage or god, then his magic circuits would be starting to overheat and tear. Shirou might be a Campione, he might possess a body enhanced to support powers that would have shredded any mortal that tried to use them, but even so there was a limit to how much even divinely augmented prana channels could take. Right now, he was letting a flow of energy roughly equal to the entirety of his reserves flow though him, again and again and again. With any other power it simply would have been too much, even for a God Slaying King.

But it wasn't another power; it was his own prana, the natural energy that shot through his magic circuits every day. It was a familiar power, one that his body was superbly able to cope with. It wasn't comfortable, it wasn't easy, but it was something he could deal with. It was something that he could handle.

He felt . . . bloated, as though his blood was swelling slightly in his veins and pressing up against the skin. He felt hot, as though that same blood were heating up, simmering slightly as the power rushed through it. He felt shaky as his muscles twitched and spasmed ever so slightly all through his body. But most of all he felt impatient! The transfer was happening, but it wasn't progressing as fast as he wanted it to, it would be finished soon, but not as soon as he wanted it to. Would it take too long? Would he arrive only to find Guinevere already dead?

All he could do was continue the transfer. That, and hope that she could survive.


-()-


Guinevere was elated!

He had answered her! After all these years, after so long her king had heard her plea and had lent her his strength so that she could defeat her foe and revive him!

In the past she had called upon him many times, but almost always he remained unresponsive. The only exceptions to this had been the times she had polished and revived the remnants of Excalibur and when she had invoked the power of the Arrow headed Disc. In the case of the sword that was simply granting vigour to an old and abandoned weapon, not truly connecting to her beloved master, merely using what he had left behind. The Disc was another matter, but at the same time it was similar. The disc was a part of her lord, an Authority left in the care of her 'mother', the Earth Goddess Gweynhefar, and had then been passed onto her. It was an Authority of her king given form, entrusted to his handmaiden so that she could harvest the fallen gods of Steel so that they might one day serve as his weapons.

She had been dedicated in her duty and had collected the essences of several such gods in the past. In more recent years she had been less successful though, and in the last decade the only one she had been able to acquire had been that of Sun Wukong. Even as she thought that she felt an unexpected tinge of guilt that she had stolen an Authority that might have belonged to king Godou. Though she hadn't had too much contact with him the other King of Japan had been civil to her at the Feast of Kings. Ah well, it was hardly an issue right now.

What did matter was that her King had answered her; he had lent her his Steel and provided her with . . . what had he provided her with? The staff of the Monkey King seemed to be wielding itself without any commands from her; did that mean it was intended as some sort of bodyguard? Or would it instead attack her enemy on its own, leaving her and Tiamat-sama to aid it with their own attacks?

Lightning flashed across the small island as Gascoigne moved once more. Even with her magic enhancing her vision it was too fast for Guinevere to track, all she could see was the burning afterimage seared into her eyes by the brightness of the living electricity. The fourth Campione wasn't attacking directly; instead he was circling them wolf-like. He would move to one spot, pause for an instant and resume his human form, then shift back into lightning and move again. Each movement and then pause were measured and alike, a clear pattern that even she could track.

Why? That made no sense, why was he doing something that would so easily let him be anticipated?

The answer came to her even as the golden staff swung around to interpose itself between them. It was deliberate, by letting himself be anticipated he could himself anticipate the action of an enemy. It was a risky strategy, something akin to deliberately leaving a gap in your defences so that you knew where your opponent would attack, but if it was done correctly it could be used to lead your enemy into an assault on your terms.

It was a subtle thing, something she was only able to spot due to the years that she'd spent with her dear knight at her side. Guinevere was no martial expert, but over the years she had grown able to at least recognize certain tactics and strategies that were used in mid-combat.

Unfortunately Tiamat didn't.

It all happened so quickly that the Queen of the Divine Ancestors was only conscious of it because she'd been looking in the right direction at the exact right time. Anticipating where Gascoigne would next appear the Mother of Dragons had raised her hands. She spoke no words, but Guinevere could feel her drawing on the power of an Authority even as she made a grasping gesture. In response the ocean near to the shore that their enemy was anticipated surged upwards and forwards. It wasn't anything as simple as a watery blow, this was a hammer coming down, a hammer formed from literal tonnes of water propelled by her power.

But it hit nothing.

Telegraphing your intended actions that way was a dangerous gamble. In the end it came down to who could anticipate the enemy better. Could you see when they were going to move, or would they move before you were ready? In such situations it was the one that made the right choice first that would have the advantage.

Tiamat was a goddess, and she had been one of the oldest of all Divine Ancestors, before she had regained her divinity, but one thing she had never been was a warrior. As a goddess her method of combat had been more akin to a force of nature, bringing her Authorities to bear upon a foe until they were crushed. As a Divine Ancestor she had learnt the values of caution, conservation and subtlety, she had learnt to focus her power and gain the best results she could, but even then she had never taken the front rank in battle. Alexander Gascoigne, on the other hand, was intimately familiar with the battlefield. He knew how to read it, how to play to it, how to exploit it.

The Mother of Dragons had timed her attack well, though she couldn't match the speed of her enemy she had set the watery surge in motion to begin just as Alex shifted to his lightning form. He would arrive, regain his human aspect and then be struck by enough water to reduce a trailer truck to scrap.

Only it hit nothing. The Black Prince had correctly guessed when she would try to exploit his pattern, how Guinevere had no idea, but however he'd done it he'd changed his pattern at the exact moment that it would do the most harm. Instead of being struck by Tiamat's hammer of water he instead appeared further off to the side than anticipated. As he regained human form the sudden burst of spray thrown up by the crash of the huge wave obscured him from the view of both his enemies. It was a brief thing, but in that instant he moved once more . . . and they lost him.

Guinevere frantically tried to catch sight of him again, but it was as though all she could do was catch brief glimpses of him out of the corners of her eyes. Every time she turned to try and spot him he was only ever in her peripheral vision, gone by the time she tried to focus on him. Where was he?! Where was-

Sparks exploded into her vision once more as the Monkey King's staff swung around in a blur to once more intercept a lightning bolt. Tiamat must have spotted the electrical explosion because she spun in place to look their way.

Only to be sent sprawling as Gascoigne's form slammed into her from the side, the sheer speed at which the Campione had been moving lending him enough kinetic energy to knock the goddess off her feet.

A bluff! The Witch Queen realized it even as the Black Prince regained his feet and shot off once more. The lightning strike that had been deflected by the staff hadn't been his main body; instead it had been one of the lesser bolts that he could release with ease. While she and her ally had been distracted by the staff intercepting it Gascoigne had attacked Tiamat.

But why had he done so in such a mundane manner? Using his enhanced Campione body in that way was a semi-understandable tactic; after all he could soak up punishment that would have left even a powerful mortal mage crippled. However to use such an approach against a goddess, even one as reduced as Tiamat, was absurd. Certainly, he had been able to knock her off her feet, but that was all, aside from getting some dirt on her clothes the attack had accomplished nothing.

Actually no, that wasn't all that he'd managed to do. As the Mother of Dragons regained her feet her expression was positively murderous.

Another shower of sparks cast sudden shadows as lightning once more ricocheted off the staff. This time the burst was larger, the result of the Campione himself hurling his lightning form against it. Once more the divine weapon had been able to swat him away, but this time he wasn't sent sprawling, instead he came to a skidding landing, his form completely balanced and his posture ready to go again. Tiamat was turning to face him, but with the cloud of dust he'd kicked up as well as the sheer speed of his movements she just wasn't able to keep up. Even as her eyes sought him he was already moving again, this time sideways through the dust, so fast that her eyes couldn't lock onto him, they were always a fraction of an instant behind him.

Seeing it from the outside . . . Guinevere could only marvel at it. She could feel her eyes beginning to sting from the sheer intensity of the magic she was forcing into them, but she couldn't look away. Doing this, fighting on the front line as it were, was against her nature. She was a Handmaiden, her task was to sooth the hurts of her liege, polish his armour and weapons and offer up her strength to him when he needed it. She knew some spells of battle, but those that she knew were meant to be cast in the support of the warrior that fought on her behalf.

Still, she could not shirk her duties, too many times in the past had she allowed her timidity to cause her to flee rather than meet a challenge. This close to her goal she could not let herself falter, not now.

And that meant aiding her ally!

This time it was Tiamat that was the target of Gascoigne's attack. Once again the bolt of lightning came from an oblique angle as the Black Price used his superior agility to stay out of his target's line of sight. As a result the thin fork of lightning struck her left shoulder blade with enough force to cause the goddess to stumble a couple of steps.

To her the attack was no great thing, more of a slap than a true blow, enough could be dangerous, but just a few were painful more than anything. More an insult than a concerted attempt to harm her. so rather than inflicting any damage all the Black Prince had managed to do was to further infuriate the one most likely to be able to seriously harm him.

It didn't make any sense. Though she regarded the fourth Campione as something of a louse, Guinevere was forced to respect his brilliance in battle. The man was both intelligent and cunning; certainly enough so that he could see it was a bad idea to anger the diminished goddess any further. As things stood Alexander Gascoigne seemed to be at something of a disadvantage. For whatever reason it seemed that the only Authority he had immediate access to was his Black Lightning, a useful and powerful Authority, but not one suited for direct confrontation. As things stood it seemed like best outcome he could hope for was to defeat his enemies though a death by a thousand cuts. Not to his advantage since Guinevere was fairly confident that the two of them could likely hold out until Sir Knight was able to free herself.

The sea suddenly erupted into a towering burst of spray as what looked like a serpent made of water lashed out at the spot where the Black Prince had been standing a moment before. Once more the attack missed as he moved away, but Guinevere thought she saw the logic to her ally's actions. The stones sand and gravel where Gascoigne had briefly stood was now sodden with sea water, enough that it might cause trouble to him if he set down there in his electric form. Or perhaps not, it was hard to tell since it was an Authority they were dealing with. Guinevere had little interest in the science of mortals, but she was aware of how lightning functioned in the natural world, however lightning with thought and will might be less likely to expend itself in water or be earthed into the ground.

Another shower of sparks snapped her from her thoughts as the staff whipped around her to intercept another assault. This time the explosion was ferocious, sufficiently that the immortal child found herself stumbling back a step as the tiny bolts of stray electricity ionized the air and static played across her skin.

That had been his true self, not ranged attack. Her defender had sent him hurtling through the air again, but once more there was no lack of control to his movements. Instead he seemed to be even more in command of his movements as he regained his lightning form and once more attacked Tiamat, ramming into her before escaping any retaliation she might have lashed out with. He took up a position on one of the small rises near the shore and began to pepper her with smaller bolts of lightning.

The attacks were minor by comparison to his lightning form, but they were still potent enough to cause pain and minor damage. The goddess immediately raised a protective spell, but the defensive screen of magic quickly began to buckle under the sustained assault. Drawing on her own strength Guinevere pulled together an attack of her own, it was a roiling mass of water and lightning mixed together, the power of neither being allowed to escape the spell shell that held them. As soon as the globe was finished she pushed it, the ball of conflicting elements shooting off like a cannonball freshly fired.

It missed, of course. Though swift the Black Prince was able to see it coming and had little difficulty in dodging it. Still, it served its purpose, breaking his concentration and giving Tiamat the chance to retaliate. A jet of fire ripped across the area where the fourth Campione had been standing just a moment before. Guinevere took a certain pleasure in seeing the sudden franticness to his movements. That time he hadn't been moving so easily, that time he'd had to dodge an attack that was a serious threat.

The tongue of fire that had licked out at him hadn't been anything that would normally be seen in nature. The fire had been a striking purple with a core of molten gold to it, the fire of a goddess and the fire of a dragon.

Yes! This could work! Unlike her attempts to use the sea to her advantage this Authority was more potent and more directed, an arrow as opposed to a whip. Most likely she'd been holding onto it as a final trump, one that could be brought out when she had need. Guinevere could tell that its power was unquestionably greater than the spells Tiamat had used before, greater than the blows of water. Why hadn't she been using it earlier? Had she been waiting until Gascoigne had shown a weakness or opening? Well, whatever the case might be, it would seem that anger had been enough to drive her to use it now.

The British Campione was on the move again, shifting between lightning and human form with an almost dizzying speed. It was an odd technique, but Guinevere could see its effectiveness. The flashes caused as he shifted from matter to energy combined with the sudden increases and decreases in his speed to make him not merely hard to track but also hard to even look at.

But Tiamat was managing it. The eyes of a goddess could not be compared to those of a mere mortal, even the eyes of an immortal child were but chaff by comparison. Her eyes might hurt as they stared into the flashing glare, but they could hold the motion now that they had a grip. Another burst of fire shot forth, this time coming close enough to clip the edge of his shoulder. The material of his jacket smoked and smouldered, but did not catch fire. In a frantic motion the Black Prince suddenly reversed course, even as he slapped at the smoking shoulder.

This was working! With the staff to act as her bodyguard the Queen of the Divine Ancestors was free to use what power she could to support the weakened goddess. Honestly, she couldn't believe how fortune had favoured them, Gascoigne had undoubtedly been prepared to kill her, but the inclusion of the Mother of Dragons had thrown those plans off. At a guess Guinevere thought that his plan had been to strip her of any protectors and isolate her so he could kill her with Black Lightning before she could become a dragon.

The thing was that though Tiamat was diminished the Black Prince was in a similar situation. He had expended his ammunition taking care of Sir Knight and Sir Shirou, not thinking that he'd need much to deal with his main target. The fallen goddess had taken him by surprise though, she was powerful enough that in his weakened state and with Guinevere to back her up she might be able to hurt him or drive him off.

And even if she couldn't, she was buying time, and every second that clicked by was to their advantage. It was time for either of her allies to free themselves from the Campione's traps and come to their aid. It was time for Kusanagi Godou to become involved, something she was fairly sure would help her prolonged survival if nothing else. And it was time for the Grail to regain its strength.

For the time being the sacred vessel was tired. Its reserves of power were nowhere near expended, but it required a short period of time to 'cool down' before it could be used once more. When it did she would transform it into another false deity, a powerful one that could aid Tiamat. With an ally of such strength to support her the Witch Queen was certain that Gascoigne would be forced to flee or die.

What happened next was so fast she was barely able to keep the sequence of events straight in her mind.

The fourth Campione had converted to lightning once more, arcing in to strike the fallen goddess directly. Once again her protective spells were able to take the hit, but they collapsed as Gascoigne's energy form ricocheted off them. There was a momentary pause as he landed, and to her elation Guinevere saw that his stance was weak, his footing unsteady. Tiamat lashed out with another blast of flames, but he was moving again, but slower than before. Again she exhaled the dragon fire, and again he moved, this time turning into lightning. This time the goddess was able to track him once more, and the jet of purple and gold flame missed him by scant centimetres.

Again he turned into lightning, and again he fled. Tiamat had had spun in place though, this time clearly anticipating his intended destination, a blast of fire shot out ready to incinerate the God Slayer the instant he arrived.

Guinevere's eyes widened as she saw the oncoming river of dragon's fire heading straight at her!

The staff sprung into place, its form more of a disk than a shaft as it spun madly in place. There was a cracking, a great noise like a palace breaking, and then there was a new surge of blinding light.

Then there was motion, and then there was pain.

It took Guinevere a few moments to understand what had happened. It took that long for her to get her mind in order as her body screamed at her. Blood flowed from a number of deep scrapes and her dress was torn in numerous places, the force of the explosion that had gone off no more than a few feet from her had been powerful. She'd been sent rolling across the sand and gravel with enough force that even her immortal form had taken damage.

Blearily she looked up, tying to find her enemy, see what he was doing. The Black Prince was calmly standing on one of the dunes, his face a mask of composure and his stance utterly devoid of the earlier signs of injury and panic. He didn't favour either leg and there was no hunch or defeated slump to his shoulders.

A trick, Guinevere realized. All of it, his change in tactics, his apparently growing panic, his seemingly frantic attacks, it had all been a trick mean to lure them into acting as he wished. He'd infuriated Tiamat with his seemingly ineffectual attacks while at the same time displaying credible weakness. Seeing her foe slowing and angered by his actions the fallen goddess had bought out her most powerful direct attack. Once she had used it he'd evaluated it and immediately begun to lead her where he wanted. Tiamat had been so focused on keeping a bead on him that she hadn't realized the direction in which her attacks were being led until it was too late.

Stupid. STUPID! How could she have done this? How could she have let herself underestimate him? Alexander Gascoigne was more than just his Authorities, he was a Campione, his lack of power was like the bands on a snake, nothing but a declaration of how dangerous he really was.

No, now wasn't the time to focus upon past mistakes. Now was time to take stock of the present and try to ensure that there was a future.

Gingerly Guinevere climbed back to her feet. It was a difficult action, one hampered by the pain that radiated from seemingly every part of her body, but in the end she regained her footing.

Though none would probably realize it, the act of getting up was a surprisingly heroic action for the immortal child. In all her long life she hadn't had much cause to grow used to pain. With her devoted guardian to watch over her Guinevere had never suffered any great harm. Oh, she had experienced the odd scratch and bruise, and even once cut her palm open whilst hurriedly preparing a potion without being careful enough, but in the end they had been minor hurts that any child might endure. Never had she been faced with the pain and consequences of violence, that was something she'd always been shielded from. Pain like this, from a deliberate blow, that was new to her.

But she wasn't crumbling from it, she wasn't fleeing or frightened by it. Instead she was gritting her teeth and continuing. How could she not? When Sir Knight had given her all to help her, when Sir Shirou had come to her aid even though he was no longer obligated, how she dishonour either of them by being so easily discouraged?

Alright, for whatever reason the Black Prince was refraining form pressing his attack. Guinevere wasn't sure why he was doing so, but for the time being she was just glad that he was. As things stood the situation was not good. Tiamat had also been struck by the explosion, and though she had weathered it better than the Witch Queen of Britannia it was quite clear that she had not gone unscathed. The shockwave had been enough to not only throw her into the sea, but also to visibly burn her. Her left arm and shoulder were an angry red, the divine flesh raw and scorched. Her eyes were also slightly unfocused, as though she were having trouble collecting her thoughts.

As for the staff that her King had bestowed upon her . . . it was just gone. No hint of its presence remained apart from the crater that had been blasted into the loose dirt and gravel of the artificial island.

That must have been his plan, the only way that he could neutralize both the fallen goddess and the divine weapon that had opposed him. By tricking Tiamat into pitting her most destructive remaining Authority against the power of the Monkey King's weapon the fourth Campione had been able to trick them into a sort of mutual annihilation. Without the power of a god of Steel to back it up the golden staff hadn't been as powerful as it should have been. When faced with the fires of a dragon, the natural enemy of Steel, the weapon had been unable to endure; it had only been able to retaliate against its natural enemy by releasing all its power as it broke. The Mother of Dragons had suffered from that, not simply the detonation, but also the feedback as the staff had enacted its pyrrhic retaliation.

And just like that the situation was now almost solely in the God Slayer's favour. His prey was defenceless, her only present ally weakened and disoriented. Her Grail had yet to recover and there was no way of knowing when her allies might arrive to save her. If Guinevere wished to still be alive when they arrived, she had only one card left to play.

Guinevere's small figure began to expand.

Her doll like body swiftly grew a covering of pristine silver-white scales as she swelled in dimensions, her limbs lengthening and her muscles growing. The formal dress which she'd been wearing held intact for a few seconds, the magic in it resisting destruction, then tore apart. Long and sharp claws grew out from the tips of her fingers and toes, her tiny neat slipper like shoes shredding as they cut their way free. Wings sprouted from her back, great white things already as large as a small ship's sails and only growing larger as they increased in size along with her. Guinevere's beautiful features melted into utter inhumanity, reptilian eyes replacing her red ones as her pupils narrowed and scales covered her face. Teeth grew sharper as her skull and jaws lengthened, her face now a monstrous mask of reptile majesty.

Yet for all its draconian terror the face of the transformed Guinevere was not twisted by ferocity, instead the entire form of the white dragon that now stood where the Divine Ancestor had once been carried a sense of solemn dignity.

This was the form of a dragon. Witch Queen Guinevere had finally used her trump card as a Divine Ancestor. Releasing the seal of dragons and snakes, she temporarily retrieved her former divinity as a mother earth goddess.

However, the price was the forfeit of Guinevere's remaining life. For all the power that it granted her it was not something that she could sustain for long. A few days at most, that was all the time she had left to her. In exchange for her immortality she had regained the power that had once belonged to the goddess she had once been. Over in the surf she could see Tiamat once more regaining her senses, her face chagrined as she saw what had become of her erstwhile ally.

"My apologiessss honoured Tiamat," Guinevere's voice was a sibilant hiss as the winds carried it about the artificial island, "I did not wish it to come to thissss, but against our foe no other optionssss remain."

There was a pause as the white dragon reached her full size. Huge, powerful, sleek, graceful, all those described her new form, but at the same time they couldn't capture the essence of the transformed Divine Ancestor. In sheer size she was larger than Jord had been, her build, though still slim, was thicker, less serpent like, her longer length bounded in cords of thick muscle that moved with sinuous grace. Her scales weren't as heavy, more like chain mail than armour, and her wings spread into the air, huge shields that blotted out the sun. She was an awesome sight, one that would have inspired fear and worship in any mortal that saw her.

Alexander Gascoigne simply stared at her with calculation in his eyes and the faintest smile on his lips.

Sparks of lightning manifested around him even as Guinevere's muscles tensed for action. Without a word the mortal enemies surged towards each other.


-()-


More . . . just a little more . . . almost there . . . done!

Time was a strange thing, so flexible and elastic. All sorts of things could make it stretch and contract, make an instant seem like an hour or have an hour seem to be an instant. Shirou honestly wasn't sure how long he'd been here, letting the prana flow through him. Every second he'd been wondering if he was taking too long, if Guinevere was alright, if Gascoigne wasn't already standing over her limp and broken body? A part of him had raged at the time it was taking him to complete his task, but another more rational part was actually somewhat pleased that it was going as swiftly as it was.

Now it was done, he could feel the sheer weight of the enormous amount of prana he'd transferred now sitting comfortably in the new Gem Sword. The transfer hadn't been perfect, both his own failings as a magus and the flaws in the Mystic Code had resulted in him losing about a full quarter of the energy he'd been transferring. A massive amount to be sure, but given the normal inefficiency of the Mystic Code he was honestly surprised it did so well. Exactly why it had was unknown at the moment, but he made a mental note to investigate as soon as he had some spare time to work with.

As things stood the lost prana was still considerable cause for concern. Though only part of the full amount it was still a huge quantity of prana, easily several times the amount he naturally held at the best of times. Still, it wasn't as catastrophic an amount as would have been released had the first Gem Sword broken, and due to leaking out slowly as the transfer took place it was far less violent than a far more sudden release would have been.

To be sure this island wouldn't be benefiting from it, had the amount been lesser or more controlled then it might have been to the land's betterment, given that this island was almost entirely a wasteland of rocks and dead dirt. Fertility could have been imbued into the sparse soil and life might have begun to bloom. As things stood though there was simply too much energy contaminating the area, if anything did grow then chances were that it would be mutated and cancerous rather than healthy. The same could be said of anyone that tried to settle here, it wouldn't be quite as bad as trying to live on irradiated land, but it wouldn't be far off. People that stayed here too long wouldn't sicken, but they would end up getting . . . twisted. Small cuts would heal wrong, becoming vicious scars or cancerous growths, emotions would run out of control, baser urges would become more insistent. Shirou had spent some time researching the matter after he realized just how much prana he'd begun to store in his creation. Illya had been able to fill him in on most of it; his own research had dealt with the remaining blanks.

And given him a few unpleasant dreams as well.

But that wasn't of any great importance right now. Once this entire mess had been dealt with he could come back and see if there was anything he could do to mitigate the damage. If worst came to worst then he'd simply have to see about having the entire island closed off. He imagined that the History Compilation Committee could come up with some sort of suitable horror story to keep people off it, maybe some spill of irradiated waste or some toxic chemicals. It didn't really matter what they said, so long as it kept the general public away from the place.

Right now he had other concerns, namely dealing with the Labyrinth now that it could no longer leech extra energy out of the stolen Gem Sword.

The original was still stabbed through the calf, but it now only held them slightest traces of the vast reservoir it had once contained. The Authority was still drawing upon the sword, but for the moment the pull was minimal since it wasn't under attack. As things stood it would most likely naturally collapse in a few hours at the absolute most.

Not soon enough.

Well, he knew what to do about that. Once again the black bow of his alternate self materialized in his hand, and once again a Noble Phantasm followed it into existence. This time though it wasn't the curled form of Caladbolg, instead the sword that was Traced was flat and straight. Over a metre in length it wasn't one of the longswords that Shirou tended to favour, instead it was a full sized great sword. The large blade, a weapon meant to be wielded two handed, settled in the Campione's right hand and was held with almost casual ease despite its size. He looked at it for a moment, then the weapon began to change.

When Caladbolg had altered after its Tracing it had stretched in length, the sword becoming longer and thinner, assuming a form more suitable to be fired by the bow. This time the weapon contracted the metal and leather compressing into a single shaft that was easily notched to the bow's string. In a single motion Shirou drew the shaft back to his cheek, sighted the point and released. It was all done in a single second, but that was all the time it took to render the transformed Noble Phantasm unstable, cracked, broken,

"Balmung."

The name was little more than a whisper, but it carried the weight of the sword's legend. This was the sword of the Heroic Spirit Siegfried, a weapon that was simultaneously holy and cursed by its origin and use, the weapon that had carved away the life of the evil dragon Fafnir and elevated its wielder into legend. When used as a sword the Noble Phantasm could stand in the company of many other legends, when its power was unleashed armies could be decimated.

By using it as an arrow Shirou was able to turn its nature as a Broken Phantasm into a single attack of awesome power, one that even an Authority like the Labyrinth could not withstand.

The emptied Gem Sword shattered. The ground beneath the calf into which it had been stabbed shattered. The calf itself shattered into golden motes of magic. The very world around him shattered as the Labyrinth fell. In a distant part of his mind the King of Steel thought that this must be something like what would happen at the End of Days. The world about him heaved and cracked, existence itself seeming to break apart as the huge Authority came to pieces, but though he felt his guts churning at the scene he didn't let himself be slowed by it.

Snow stood in place, visibly skittish with what was happening, but none the less remaining as a rock solid presence beside his master. Even as the ground under his feet shivered Shirou grasped the reins of his winged mount and dragged himself up onto his back. As soon as he was in the saddle the young Emiya found himself feeling less . . . pressured by the collapse of the Authority. Perhaps Snow's own divine aura allowed him to repel the wrongness that seemed to pervade the air. Perhaps it was as simple a thing as him no longer being in contact with the ground. Whatever the case Shirou didn't feel as though snakes were writhing in his stomach any more, and that was the important thing.

"Okay, let's go. Snow, up!"

At his master's command the pegasus beat his wings and lifted up into the air. About them the sky was cracking like a pane of glass, but that didn't bother the divine mount. It knew where his master wanted to go, the knowledge was as instinctive as knowing how to breath, and now that the power of the Labyrinth was broken Snow had no difficulty in making a half turn and immediately headed in a specific direction. For a moment it looked as though the winged horse was going to fly into a chunk of cracked sky, then the broken reality of the shattering Authority was gone and Snow was gliding through clear and normal skies.

Shirou let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. That had been more than a bit intimidating. To be sure he had been witness to the stability of reality fracturing before. He had experienced the shift between worlds that had brought him and Illya here, he had seen the tunnel that Odysseus had opened up, he even knew of the warping of the world he himself could inflict when he manifested his Reality Marble, but despite those experiences he had still found the destruction of the Labyrinth to be disturbing.

But that wasn't something he had time to consider right now. Beneath him the stony land of the island was swiftly running out as he and Snow approached the shore. His mount had many gifts, but one of the most useful was his ability to home in on Shirou's desired target. At this moment he wanted to find Guinevere, so his winged steed was carrying him directly towards the Divine Ancestor. By the looks of things she wasn't on this island, the eighth Campione wasn't quite sure why that was, hadn't this place been her goal? Well, whatever the case he could ask her once he'd found her and seen her to safety.

Any further thoughts were cut off as he caught sight of the scene that he was rapidly approaching. The first thing that he saw was the form of Lancelot hovering in the air. At least he thought it was Lancelot, he certainly recognized that horse, after having raced against the steel wearing war mount and being witness to its naming Shirou was pretty sure he'd have been able to recognize it anywhere. Its rider on the other hand . . .

The figure atop the armoured steed was definitely not the plated and helmeted war god that the red haired teen had met twice before. Instead the rider upon the mount was slimmer, more lightly armoured, and most definitely female. The armour was of a different make and style to the heavy plate that had once completely sheathed the Knight of the Lake, but despite that as soon as he saw her Shirou was completely sure that this was Lancelot he was looking at.

It was . . . odd, as though the experience of meeting Saber for the first time had been blended with the moment he'd learnt of her true identity. He'd seen Lancelot as . . . well, not quite a friend, but certainly as a friendly acquaintance. Not really an ally, but as someone with whom he had allied in the past. Whatever the case there had had been a sort of tentative connection, one born of respect between two that knew they might one day be allies or enemies depending only on the loosest of circumstances.

Looking at her now, the eighth Campione couldn't help but see a certain similarity between the revealed goddess and his one time Servant. It wasn't based on looks; physically the only thing that was really similar about them was the colour of their hair as both were golden blonde. Aside from that there was little in similarity. The goddess's eyes were blue in place of Saber's green; her hair was wilder than Saber's neat bun, her armour more archaic than Saber's pristine protection. And yet for all that there was an undeniable similarity, something he could see in the simple way that they held themselves.

"Do not approach King Shirou!"

The shouted order rang clearly across the distance between them, its clarity undiminished by the intervening space. Was it a challenge? Was she for some reason going to keep him from going to Guinevere's aid? But why, it made no sense for her to be here denying him passage rather than aiding her charge. Was it a betrayal? Was she being compelled to do so by so Authority controlling her? Had Guinevere decided to take Gascoigne on herself and Lancelot was now guarding the duel so that none could interfere?

"Though one is shamed to admit it this knight has been captured by Prince Alex's trap. Should your majesty draw too near then you will also be caught by his black orb."

Oh . . . it looked like he'd let his imagination run away with him. Idly some portion of Shirou's mind wondered just when he'd started to over think things like this. It was starting to be a bit of a bad habit, trying to work out all the angles to every problem as soon as he encountered it. Someone like Rin, a natural and gifted intellectual, was more suited to it. She could do that, look at a problem and see it from all directions, then use that insight to work out a plan. Shirou wasn't really wired that way, and he knew it. Archer had possessed the Eye of the Mind; he'd been able to see not the angles, but rather the paths. He'd been able to work out which ones led to the route he wanted to take, but he'd never been overwhelmed by what he could see.

By contrast Shirou was much less able to read the possibilities that his mind threw up. The trick, he supposed was being able to discard the wild ones and quickly whittle your way down to the plausible ones, then working from there.

Still, that was of no importance right now. What was an issue was that Lancelot was apparently trapped, and if he wasn't careful he might end up in a similar position. Finding the cause of the knight's situation wasn't exactly hard; as the eighth Campione drew closer he could feel the outer edges of the attractive force that held Lancelot in place. Interestingly it didn't seem to be exerting a pull on the loose dirt or rocks about; it seemed only to be affecting the beings with magical energy. Once he could feel its power it was only took a short moment to find the source.

Just as Lancelot had said it was a large black sphere partly submerged in the ocean. In size it was huge, easily big enough to fit a house into, but more impressive than its size was the power it seemed to subtly radiate. The Knight of the Lake wasn't a weak deity by any stretch of the imagination, but even so she was trapped by the force that the sphere exerted. Even from where Snow now hovered, on the outer reaches of its power where the pull could be resisted, he could feel the strength behind it. It was like dipping your fingertips into a fast flowing river, the force of it wasn't enough to take you away, but you damned well knew that if you got caught in the thing your chances of escape were slim to none at all.

Shirou didn't hesitate for an instant. Lancelot was the ally of Guinevere, and however else things might be between them the red haired Emiya was certain that she would always act to protect the immortal child. In the current circumstances that would almost certainly mean an ally, for the short term if nothing else.

Once again he Traced the bow; it was the only real option since getting close to that thing was not a sensible proposition. Ranged attacks would hopefully allow him to destroy it without having to risk getting anywhere near to it. As the bow formed he idly noted that he had yet to use the bow that he'd gained from Venus, however as swiftly as the thought crossed his mind it was dismissed. Aside from the meditation needed to work out just what the Authority was the eighth Campione hadn't so much as touched the potent power. The Golden Cupid was actually a very powerful Authority, one capable of bypassing almost any sort of defence, long ranged and almost totally effective regardless of such things as magic resistance. Its effects could be devastating if use by indiscriminate hands, virtually any target could be enslaved or broken or simply rendered a non-factor.

But he refused to use it, even the secondary ability of the bow, to act as a launcher for his Noble Phantasms. He didn't care that it was actually better at the task than the one he'd 'inherited' from his other self; he still found the mere though of using her power to be utterly repulsive.

Which Noble Phantasm would be the best to use in this situation?

Ah! That would be just perfect!

The sword that came to mind was one that had been collected by EMIYA during one of his many 'errands' for Alaya. Under other circumstances he wouldn't have used this Noble Phantasm against something like the black sphere before him, but he knew something about the Authorities of Gascoigne.

The Labyrinth had been gained from Minos, his lightning from Ramiel, and his summoned aid was from the goddess Melusine. He didn't know which deity the Judging Furies had been taken from, but he did know that the fifth god that the Black Prince had been confirmed as having slain was the divine beast Behemoth.

Well, the sword that he was Tracing had slain the Behemoth back in his world as well. Granted, it had been a degenerated and weakened version of the once mighty phantasmal beast, but even so it had been a creature only a step or two below a dragon. Even if not formally acknowledged by mankind in legend and lore that kind of achievement left a mark upon the weapon, a mark that could be of use now.

The sword was, in a word, silver. The blade polished to a mirror sheen, the hilt an elegantly simple silver design with traces of gold to serve as highlights, the hilt wrapped in black leather with a simple silver sphere with a sting like point. In the next instant it changed, elongating and thinning as Shirou's unique magecraft altered its form to make it more suitable to serve as an arrow.

Notch, aim, release. A simple, almost mechanical set of movements performed so easily and instinctually that there was no question as to whether or not his arrow would strike the target. All that was left to do was wait for the resu-

The black sphere shattered as the arrow struck, pierced and released its power, a pulse of force radiating out from it with enough force to send both Snow and Steadfast tumbling through the air for a few moments. It was only briefly though, in short order both the divine mounts regained their balance and were once more hovering upon empty air.

"One thanks you for your aid Sir Shirou!" Lancelot declared, nodding her head in gratitude. "One feared that King Alex's trap would prove too much to escape before he had slain the precious child."

"So Guinevere is still alive?" Shirou blurted out the question before he had much time to think. Still, this did alleviate a fear that had been gnawing at him. She was still alive, the Labyrinth might have kept him held up, but she had managed to stay alive, he still could save her.

"Let's go!"

There wasn't time for more talk; they had to find her as soon as they could. About them the Labyrinth was still in the process of collapsing, like some beast so huge that even though it was dead it took time for its entire body to realize the truth of its situation. Technically the two of them were almost outside it, held only on the outermost fringes of its power, but even so there might still be some difficulties to overcome. They would be minor at worst, but even so they might consume precious seconds.

He just had to hope that his wayward friend could hold on just a little longer.


-()-


The air almost visibly rippled as Guinevere spread her wings wide and began to flap. For a moment Tiamat didn't understand what was happening since it didn't cause the dragon's massive body to take flight, then the air began to move more rapidly and the realization hit her. The flapping her wings weren't meant for flying, instead it had a completely different purpose.

What the vibrant dragon wings were trying to produce was wind.

The air before the white beast moaned and then howled as a vortex of wind formed around Guinevere's transformed body. The howl rose into an eldritch scream as the vortex immediately turned into a cyclone, loose stones and sand were swept up by it as the increasingly violent winds swept artificial island. Alex was almost blown away, his footing only maintained by his use of his Authority to anchor him in place. For her part the Mother of Dragons didn't even attempt to fight the winds, it was pointless. Instead she dove into the surf, letting the waves carry her out far enough that she could continue to watch without risking being caught in the forces being unleashed.

It galled the diminished goddess to admit it, but as things stood she might no linger be in much of a position to aid the transformed immortal. Tiamat had used up a great deal of her strength when she'd employed her Dragon's Breath Authority so many times. Looking back on it she was furious with herself for having been gulled so easily by the act the Black Prince had put on, but at the time she'd thought she was only a step or two away from bringing down the vexing enemy.

Weakened as she was taking refuge in the salt water was the best she could do. Having become a dragon Guinevere now controlled power on par with a full goddess, so if she concerned herself with an ally she wouldn't be able to employ that strength to the fullest. Also being in the ocean would allow Tiamat to refill her reserves of power more swiftly. She was a goddess of the ocean, so being immersed in it could only aid her. It was a small aid to be sure, not the equal of what she could call upon had she been at her full strength, but it was something.

As she brought her head and shoulders out of the water she could hear the voices of both the God Slayer and the girl-become-dragon. The wind tried to steal them away, but her divine senses were enough to catch them.

"An interesting strategy, sealing my movements in your territory?"

"Correct!" Guinevere's voice was still sinuous as before, but there was iron resolve there as well, "Alexander-sama, Your Highnessss may possssessss the ssspeed of lightning. Neverthelessss, asss long as you are immobilized, it'sss no threat at all!"

The magical wind caused by the Divine Ancestor was not simply a strong air attack; such a simple approach would have been beneath the Queen of the Divine Ancestors. The cyclone formed up masses of air to strike at the Black Prince with great ferocity, trying to hammer him into the ground. Additionally though there was a curse mixed into the wind, one that had wrapped around his tall, thin physique like a snake, sealing all movement.

It wouldn't be an exaggeration to say his immobility was like being bound by metal restraints, after all, if Tiamat had divined the type of magic correctly, this was a type of bondage spell intended to restrain unruly targets of great power. The curse had reached out to all living things on the artificial island, even insects and bird that had hidden when the fight began. The only one left untouched was the white dragon transformed from Guinevere, she alone able to move freely while her opponent was left with no choice but to stand still.

Standing inside the cyclone that conferred such an absolute advantage, the white dragon bellowed. A long defiant animalistic sound that was followed by the sibilant tones of her transformed human voice.

"Alexander-sssama, Your Highnessss should prepare yourssself!"

The words weren't meant as a warning, to a mere mortal they wouldn't have left enough time to matter, and to a Campione such a thing as a warning was immaterial in the first place. The words were more of a battle cry than anything else, a means by which the transformed immortal could raise her fighting spirit as she lashed out at her long time foe.

The frontal attack came in a blur of speed, something as large as the dragon should not have been able t move at such velocities, but in the face of divine power the logic of the natural world had no sway. Guinevere's attack was threefold, first her claws, huge curved natural blades that any knight would have acknowledged as the equal to any blade forged by mortal hands. Following the claws came her fangs, smaller than her claws, but every bit as strong and tough, and backed by muscles that could have crushed steel into scrap. And behind both of these came her sheer bulk, should each of her other attacks be dodged then she would simply smash her foe beneath her sheer weight like a mortal being struck by a train.

But Alexander Gascoigne was a Campione, and thus possessed absolute resistance against magic that far surpassed anything even a powerful sorcerer might be able to attain. The curse that held him might have been cast by a divine class sacred dragon, it might be intended to restrain a magic resistant target like him, it might even have been reinforced by the ambient magic left behind by the earlier fight. The black Price was not one to face capture so meekly.

"Be thou faithful unto death! And I will give thee a crown of life!"

This was a trick that could only be accomplished by the more experienced Campione. Alexander Gascoigne had possessed his power for more than twelve years, of all the 'modern' generation of God Slayers he was the oldest and most versed in the advantages of being a child of Pandora. Tiamat had seen it used in the past when she had chanced upon a Campione and a god locked in combat decades ago. Though neither of the combatants had been of any import to her she had taken the chance to observe them to increase her knowledge.

By chanting spell words he could raise the magical power residing in his body. This could have a number of effects, such as strengthening an Authority or preparing himself to draw up more from his reserves, but in this case he used it to increase his magical resistance. As he finished the wind's curse pressing on his body disappeared, the curse broken as his protection to it surged stronger. As soon as he had his freedom the fourth Campione instantly used god speed. A mortal would probably think he teleported, but with her own divine senses Tiamat was just able to follow what happened. In an instant, Gascoigne had charged behind the white dragon and leaped lightly, touching the dragon's back with his hand. Of course, it was no mere touch since he'd been in his lightning form the brush from his right hand allowed him to deliver a jolt of electricity to her vulnerable spine.

Sparks flew into the air, but only for an instant. Faster than a striking snake the dragon's head whipped around, teeth snapping out at her attacker. Her fangs closed only on empty air though, since the Black Prince was already gone

"Nnnnggghhhh . . . Sssuch troublesssome agility!"

A rumbling sound came from the dragon just before Guinevere spoke, a strange accentuation to her words. As was befitting of the power of a gigantic dragon god which surpassed divine beasts, the electric shock seemed to have done no damage. The white scales had taken the attack and turned it without any seeming difficulty. Tiamat should have felt elated by this, if the fourth Campione lacked the power to actually harm the transformed Guinevere then this battle was once more a stalemate. The problem was that every other time such a thing had seemed to be the case it had only been part of the Black Prince's overall strategy. He hadn't moved to attack when she'd transformed, so this had to part of his plan as well.

Further thoughts were driven from her mind as the magical wind began to increasing in momentum. Tiamat could feel it as Guinevere once again poured divine power into the whirling air, strengthening it, driving it on. The wind roared, bellowed and moaned as its power doubled and redoubled, ferocious gusts lashing about like invisible whips. This rampaging wind's purpose was entanglement in addition to blown attacks. The fallen goddess could feel the power gathering around Gascoigne's body as he was once again constricted by the magical wind, unable to lift a single finger let alone make use of god speed.

"Tsk."

Despite his dire situation all the God Slayer did was make an annoyed little sound as though he spilt tea upon his clothes, a sound that was almost completely lost in the winds.

Once again he was caught in a perilous situation, his body bound by the curse of restraint to the point where had the winds not held him in place he might well have fallen over. Taking advantage of this, Guinevere swung the white dragon's massive tail around in a brutal arc. Being struck by that mass of scales, flesh and bone would be no different from being pummelled by a steel beam from a building construction site.

Once more Alexander Gascoigne raised his magical power and managed to struggle free of the wind's curse. Utilizing god speed at the last possible instant he was away as the tail was only a finger's width from his body. But as he returned to human form Guinevere once more infused the wind with divine power.

This was essentially an endlessly repeating cycle.

Using the instant when the wind restrained Alec, Guinevere used the dragon's body to attack, swinging the sharp claws on her front and back limbs, biting down with her fanged jaws, charging with her massive body or swiping with that unexpectedly agile weapon of a tail. Then he would raise his magical power enough to break free of his bindings and dodge at the last moment.

Ultimately it was a cycle that favoured Guinevere though.

Maintaining the great cyclone of winds was draining, but having to constantly spike his magical power must be even more so for the Campione. Guinevere could attack with nothing but the brutal power of her transformed body, powerful enough that she was smashing stone and ripping up the ground with ease. Yet such attacks cost her almost no stamina at all, meaning that she could keep them up all day if she so chose. Quite simply if things continued as they were then her victory was assured.

The Black Prince was once more caught, but this time the former Witch Queen didn't physically attack. Instead she unleashed the breath attack for which dragons were so famed. Even over the howl of the gale the high pitched keen of her breath could be heard as it turned into a linier tempest filled with shards of ice. It lashed out in an onslaught of merciless ferocity, seeking to smash any living being in its path, slicing them apart, freezing them.

Once again the attack struck nothing as Gascoigne broke his bonds and escaped. Still Tiamat was certain that he was breathing heavier than he had been before. His face also glistened slightly with a light coating of sweat. He was definitely being pushed, his reserves of power taxed again and again as he was forced to expend them. Little by little his choices were being whittled away, or at least so it seemed.

"You know, Guinevere? I really am quite impressed! I never though that you'd prove to be such a troublesome foe to fight. Had you used this power while Lancelot had been at your side I do think that I'd have had quite a harrowing time surviving. Still, do you think it's enough? I still have aces up my sleeves and not much time remains before checkmate. Do you think that you can defeat me in time?"

Guinevere did not have the leisure to respond to Alec's questions. Instead the ferocious dragon was using her gigantic wings to further fan the magical wind, once more increasing its power to hold her foe.

In the end this could be described as the battle between a lion and a cat. No matter how agile Alec was, suffering a single strike from the dragon would result in instant death, regardless of his enhanced constitution as a Campione. Hence for Guinevere, as long as she cautiously kept up her pursuit of her prey and delivered a decisive blow it didn't matter how much damage had been dealt to her by her enemy.

"Are you planning to stall until your protector is free? Yes, I do think that he . . . ahem; she will be able to escape the power of Wicked Greed. Were all it took to defeat her then she would hardly be Lancelot, would she?"

Again there was no response to his comments, only the roar of the winds as Guinevere lashed out again, only to once more be dodged. All about them the winds were tearing at both the sky and earth, sand and stones were being whipped about, yet somehow it never seemed able to strike the Campione in any significant manner. The curse in the winds would catch him, and then he would escape.

"Or are you hoping that Emiya Shirou will come riding to your rescue? Do you even think that's possible? He might be a senseless and reckless young fool, but even I'll admit that he is a hero that slays evil gods and defends the ignorant masses of this world. Do you think that such a hero will come to the aid of a monster? Do you think the brave knight king will save the maiden that is now a dragon?"

His words were cruel, those of one seeking to infuriate. Tiamat wasn't sure what magic was allowing them to be heard over the fury of the gale, but if she could hear them then Guinevere could as well. This was immediately proven correct as with a roar that shook the ground the white dragon lashed out again, this time with a gigantic fist of air that smashed a crater big enough to fit a house into on the spot Gascoigne had been occupying the instant before.

"Well, that was quite impressive. I suppose that the indignation of a dragon is not to be taken lightly. Still, you do know that it makes no difference I hope? You've driven away your former protector with your own actions! You're a monster now, a dragon! Do you think that he'll ever welcome you back into his home now? Do you think you can ever return?!"

Once again Tiamat could make out the tiny flinch in the huge form of the dragon that let her know that the fourth Devil King's words had struck true. Fool girl, even though Guinevere didn't acknowledge it the fallen goddess knew that the Divine Ancestor was hopelessly smitten by the young king that granted them his hospitality. Her loyalty to her king had been enough to lead her to cast that hospitality aside, but even so it was a raw wound within her.

On some level, probably beneath her conscious awareness, the immortal child had somehow hoped that she'd be able to return to that once her duty had been fulfilled. An impossible dream it might be, but some part of her had hoped that once her king was resurrected both he and she could return to the manor of the King of Steel and all of them could be friends. It was absurd, an unattainable hope, but for all her immortality, a part of Guinevere was like the child she appeared to be. It was something that she wanted in her heart of hearts, but which she knew she could never have, a most exquisite pain indeed.

Now, Alexander Gascoigne was tearing at that wound, striking at the insecurities that must be plaguing her and doing his best to drive her into a frenzy. And by the look of things he was succeeding. With fangs, claws, tail and breath the white dragon was now lashing out almost indiscriminately. Her assault was so ferocious that it seemed to have had some effect; the Black Prince was now bleeding from a gash to his right arm. In the flurry off movement Tiamat had missed the blow that had dealt the damage, but the results were clear to see.

Why was he acting this way? His infuriating Guinevere had made her less careful about preserving her magical energy, but even so he was still losing it faster than her. In addition rage had granted her strength and speed, enough that her attacks were coming perilously close. Still, almost every part of this battle had been in the palm of his hand, so what could he possibly have planned now?


-()-


It took a lot of effort for the Divine-Ancestor-become-dragon to think past the veil of red rage that threatened to strip her of all rationality, but she managed it none the less.

Some part of her wanted to let go though, to allow the rage of a dragon to overtake her and run wild as it chased its foe. Against any other enemy she might have allowed it, but the Black Prince was not an opponent that would allow blind aggression to overcome him.

Still, as things stood she had the advantage. She might have squandered a bit more of her reserves than she was comfortable with in her earlier anger, but she had brought her fury under control now and she was still confident that she could outlast the fourth Campione. In addition she had drawn blood, not a severe would, but one serious enough that it could not be simply ignored. The constitution of a God Slayer was sufficient that her foe didn't have to worry about bleeding out from it, but it would be another drain upon his stamina.

She could win this!

The thought came to her as she snapped out at him with her teeth once more. He evaded, but his movements were just a touch slower than they had been a few moments ago. She was wearing him down, of that there was no doubt. If the battle continued then she would win, all it would take was one slip on his part, one moment of ill fortune, one distraction. If nothing else then the arrival of her dear knight would be enough.

She really could wi-

"Hear me, daughters of the endless night, daughters of the earth and shadow!"

NO!

As she heard the words that Gascoigne was speaking all thoughts of potential victory fled from the transformed immortal's mind. She knew what those words were, the Authority that they invoked. She had seen them tear apart one of her false deities years ago when she had tried to trick the Black Prince into becoming her ally.

Whipping about she zeroed in on the spot where Alexander Gascoigne now stood, atop one of the rises that overlooked the beachfront where they had been fighting.

Too late!

Even though her magical wind had sealed his movements, her foe no longer had reason to care. In response to the chanted verse, three figures had appeared about him. Inhumanly huge, beautiful and otherworldly the trio of infernal goddesses manifested about him in a guard even as they appeared. Above him and to his left and right were Megaera, Tisiphone and Alecto, the Erinyes, the three goddesses of vengeance, the Furies.

How? How had he managed this? Guinevere knew about this Authority, and she also knew its weaknesses. Setting up the site to be suitable for summoning the three goddesses required spending a substantial amount of time on meditation and a ritual. As a result it was impossible to use in immediate battles. Like some of his other divine powers it was more of a trap than a weapon, more suited for luring the enemy where preparations had been made beforehand, then summoning the Erinyes to gain an astounding advantage.

But she knew about this, she'd personally witnessed the three goddesses defeat her false Minos and having borne such witness she had carefully investigated the nature of such a vicious Authority. It had taken her some time, but she'd eventually been able to divine the power of the Authority. Quite simply all damage and destruction inflicted upon the 'marked' area was reflected back upon the perpetrator by the furies. The more damage done, the more power they had.

But this made no sense, always before she had been able to sense the traces of divine magic that the Black Prince used to mark such territories. That was why she had risked becoming a dragon, and why she had been so free in her destruction, she had sensed no such marking upon this island. For almost eight years she had carefully tracked him and confirmed that every time he used the Authority the touch of the divine magic had been there.

But it hadn't been there this time! How?! How could it be?!

"Fighting evil with evil, repaying crime with crime, shedding blood for blood, knocking out a tooth for a tooth, thus vengeance begins. By the blood of the slain mother, tragic death denies all future attempts at filial piety!"

Her breath lashed out at him, a thousand knives of ice propelled by tempest winds to be faster than even bullets could hope to be. Reinforced with the magic of a divine dragon the frozen daggers should have ripped the flesh from his bones, even the wind that carried them would have struck with the force of a cannonball. However none of it mattered, as a great feathered wing opened up to block her attack.

Guinevere could see him behind the wing that sheltered him. He was smiling, a small but satisfied smile, that of a fraudster that had pulled off a scheme that would net him a fortune.

He'd planned this!

The thought ripped through her mind like the bolt of lightning he could become. This . . . this was the final culmination of his plan! All these years since he had first encountered her . . . he'd always added that lingering trace of magic whenever he used his Judging Furies Authority. He hadn't needed to; he just always had, even when it had been disadvantageous to him. Again and again, year after year, every single time he'd used it, even if he didn't know she was observing, he'd always taken that extra step to give his own Authority a give away trace so that she'd think it was a part of the Authority.

And it had all been for this, for the one battle he knew she wouldn't flee from even if she could get away. She'd felt no trace, no marker, and had thought herself safe, free to employ her destructive power as she saw fit.

All part of his plan!

The goddesses were now fully manifested, their raven-black wings reached into the air from their backs, while every strand of hair was a serpent. There was barely enough human there to consider them beautiful, but it was their very monstrous nature that gave them a dreadful glamour.

"Megaera the demon, Tisiphone the avenger, Alecto the relentless, retrieve the curse and execute vengeance! Now is the time for revenge!"

There was nothing she could do. This was the second authority Alec had usurped, the authority of vengeance, a power that took the crimes of destruction and revisited them upon the one who had perpetrated them. Simple yet deadly, it was the trump card that had allowed Alexander Gascoigne to slay Minos and Behemoth.

In response to Devil King's chant the formerly serene features of the divine trio twisted into vicious countenances. Spreading their black wings they attacked, their speed such that even a divine dragon like Guinevere could only watch and prepare.

She couldn't win, she had known that from the very instant that the three furies had appeared. Empowered by the destruction she had herself inflicted upon the artificial island the Erinyes possessed more than enough power to slay even a divine dragon like her. Still, she would not surrender; she wouldn't go meekly to her death. Perhaps it was some remnant of her rage, perhaps she was drunk upon the power of a dragon, perhaps she had gone mad in her despair. It didn't matter, here, at this moment, she would not dishonour all those that had led her to this fight.

It was insane, Guinevere was timid, almost a coward by nature. A brave coward, but always her choice had been to flee rather than fight. Now, facing death, she couldn't flee, but at the same time meek acceptance seemed utterly unthinkable. Sir Knight, her beloved King of the End, Sir Shirou, even divine Tiamat, all of them had given her aid, support, shelter, even when she'd had no reason to expect any. How could she dishonour any of that by being less than her best in the face of her end?

'Sir Knight has been a bad influence on Guinevere.' The inane, almost foolish, thought flashed through her mind as she glared up at the goddesses of vengeance descending upon her.

Then a massive water spout shot from the ocean and smashed into Megaera with a force as though the sea itself had taken offence with her!

Through the mist of spray thrown up by the impact Guinevere could see the half obscured form of Tiamat as she grappled with the larger goddess. One clawed hand lashed out as wings frantically buffered the air and a new spray coloured the air, this time red rather than white. The Mother of Dragon's voice rose in a cry of pain, but that cry was swallowed up as she unleashed a torrent of dragon's fire straight into the face of her foe. The Fury's voice rose in pain . . . then the transformed immortal had no more time to watch as the other two Erinyes descended upon her.

She snapped out at them, even as she lashed out with both her wings and claws. One slipped past all her attacks, but the other, Alecto, wasn't quite fast enough. The divinity of vengeance let out a shriek of agony as Guinevere's huge fangs sank into the feathers and flesh of her left wing. Immediately the dragon thrashed her head about, violently shaking the Fury like a rag doll, before smashing her down into the stony ground below.

There was no time to do anything else though, before Guinevere could follow up on her attack Tisiphone was there at the base of her neck, slashing and tearing as she ripped into the pristine white scales. The pain hit a moment later and the former Witch Queen let out her own bellow of pain as she brought both her wings down to smash the Fury from her back. Tisiphone was knocked away, but then Alecto had regained her own senses and was on the attack, beating against the side of the dragon's ribs with a force like a divine sledge hammer.

Feeling her bones begin to crack the white dragon raked at the goddess with claws the size of spears, she dodged back, but not quite fast enough as their tips left a bleeding line running down one of her legs. Before Guinevere could pursue her though Tisiphone had leapt up once more and was ripping up the membrane of her right wing.

On and on it went, the former Divine Ancestor didn't know for how long. It could have been hours or it could have been seconds, the whole thing blurred into a seemingly endless succession of bloody exchanges.

Against either of the Erinyes Guinevere could have won, but two of them at the same time, that was too much. As soon as she gained any sort of advantage over one then the other would attack her from behind. She'd be forced to retaliate, and the other would take advantage. It was a bloody business of trading wounds for wounds, each time striving to inflict that little bit more damage. Had she been up against three of the vicious Furies then Guinevere doubted it would've been any sort of fight at all; rather it would have been her massacre, them being too fast and too strong for her to have had any sort of chance.

But against two of them . . .

Through a haze of blood and pain she saw the two goddesses break into motes of light and fade away. One had been impaled by a claw while the other had suffered a blast of wind driven ice daggers to the head. But Guinevere had paid for her victory, oh how she'd paid.

The scales that covered her form were no longer the pure white they had been. Indeed, now they were more scarlet than they were white, great wounds along her back; sides and belly were spilling out her life in a steady flow. One wing was completely gone and both her limbs on her left side were crippled, broken to the point of uselessness. Blinking she realized that she was seeing this through only one eye, the other having been blinded at some point in the battle. Off to the side she could see the apparently insensate form of Tiamat lying in the shallow surf of the beach. She had apparently been victorious in her own fight, but had paid for it in blood as the waves about her were tinted with red. She wasn't dead, but she wasn't moving either.

Still, all of this was mere background noise, something that her mind noted but didn't assign too much importance. Instead the vast majority of her thoughts were taken up with a single overshadowing fact.

She was dying.

She'd fought hard, but though she had brought her foes down with her it hadn't been enough. The body of a dragon was mighty, but in the face of the Furies there was only so much that could be endured. Now the great form of the white dragon had begun to petrify as life left it, the white scales covering her losing their lustre and becoming a dull white rock. Underneath them muscle and bone also began to become stone, even as Guinevere fought against it.

"N . . . No! Not like this . . . Not now . . ."

Her voice was almost a rasping croak as she fought to force her dying form to move. Stiffening limbs moved, claws dug into the ground, against all odds the sheer determination of the handmaiden-become-monster was enough to drag her dying forn along in the general direction of the island she had sought to reach. It was a magnificent effort, one doomed to failure as it was impossible for her to get there.

"You really surprised me," the voice of the Black Prince broke her concentration as he calmly walked closer. "When I unleashed the three Erinyes upon you I was certain that it would be a slaughter. Both you and Tiamat should be commended, I have never seen any able to fight back against the Furies once they have been unleashed."

His words were complimentary, but the tone was insulting in its superiority.

"Well, it didn't really matter too much in the end; things have concluded much to my satisfaction."

"No!" Guinevere's voice was little more than a hoarse whisper, "Even though Sir Knight has become a Heretic God, her loyalty to our beloved king has never been lost! Now that the land of Avalon has appeared, she will not succumb to the heretical madness; she will complete our task and awaken our king!"

A portion of the dragon's neck, a part that had yet to petrify, bulged upwards forming a bump about as large as a curled up cat. The growth quickly grew swelling in size before splitting open to disgorge the human form of Guinevere. The Divine Ancestor was a mess, her dress a shredded ruin, her skin covered in a multitude of wounds, her hair a wild mass instead of the careful curls it had been in.

However despite her appearance the real damage was harder to see, the former dragon felt as though at any moment her form might just simply break apart into its constituent particles. She hadn't escaped death, not by any stretch of the imagination. But by casting aside the form of a dragon she'd been able to buy herself a few precious more moments. Her power was gone though, almost all her magic used up. It was taking all that she had left as well as every bit of her will to hold her body together.

"G . . . Guinevere believes in Sir Knight's heroism and devotion. She'll take my place, going forth to serve under the banner of the King of the End! H . . . His majesty will awaken from his rest and once more walk the earth with the finest of knights at his side!"

All she could do was declare her faith in her loyal protector, she couldn't even walk. Still, if she could buy Sir Knight even a single extra second by distracting the fourth Campione with her words then it was a worthy spending of her last seconds.

"If that island were the true Avalon, then perhaps things might proceed in that fashion."

Neither merciless nor hateful, he simply spoke without emotion, and somehow that chilled her blood even more than his earlier arrogance had.

"The Heavenly Reverse Halberd that I acquired from the History Compilation Committee is, quite simply, a divine artefact for building countries, and is affiliated with Izanagi and Izanami, the parents of Japan's islands. In their legend their creations were not limited to completed lands, but also included the creation called the 'Leech Child,' an amorphous fluidic object that was exiled to the ocean according to the myths."

Alexander Gascoigne was showing no hurry in his words, he was simply delivering an explanation of what had happened and what he had used.

"The Heavenly Reverse Halberd happens to be the divine artefact that possesses the power of this legend. My personal theory is that it's either a surviving remnant of an Authority from one of Japan's creators, or it's a Dragon Bone from when they fell. Regardless, its power allows it to produce both dry land and the failed land of the Leech Children, a most useful ability.

"My research also determined that approximately a thousand years ago, the King of the End had revived for the sake of exterminating the Campiones active at the time. Completing his mission as usual, he went to sleep on a certain island in Japan. That island, the one where the King of the End now sleeps, was converted into a Leech Child using the Heavenly Reverse Halberd. The question that I ran into after learning that was; who did it and why?"

Guinevere felt a growing hollowness in her stomach as she listened to the words spoken by her foe. No, it couldn't be what she thought! Much of what he said matched up to what her own research had revealed, but still-

"Apparently the masterminds were the elders among the local gods who viewed your king as a threat. Turning the island where the troublesome tiger slept into a Leech Child, they sank it to the bottom of the sea to conceal it. It was an excellent method, but there still remained existences like you Divine Ancestors to be worried about. Since they were going to hide the island, the elders thought they might as well use an even more well thought out method to be safe."

No . . . no, it couldn't be! The fates could not possibly be so cruel!

"A week ago, I tried using the Heavenly Reverse Halberd to reconstruct the Floating Island. When I did so I was able to verify the absence of something that should have been there. On that island there was no decrepit divine sword, there was no sign of the remains of the King of the End. From what I've been able to determine after careful consideration, the elders must have changed the king's sleeping location to somewhere else entirely."

A trick! It had all been a trick! This floating island held nothing of her King, it was nothing but a huge red herring meant to draw her and Sir Knight in. For this, for a false hope and an empty promise, she had thrown away the hospitality and shelter offered to her by King Shirou. She'd fought, she thrown away her immortality, her life; all of it had been for something that wasn't there in the first place.

Relentlessly the Black Prince's voice continued on, hammering the depth of her failure into her mercilessly.

"Ultimately, the Floating Island is not Avalon. Even so, it was sufficient for my purpose of baiting you. That was why I used the labyrinth authority to lock it up, to act as the crucial element of the trap."

"B-But both Guinevere and Sir Knight could sense the divine sword's aura from this island . . . !?"

Though it was a protest, it was one without hope. Guinevere was already certain that that was another part of Gascoigne's trap, but in an almost masochistic manner she wanted to know just how she'd been tricked so completely.

"It was a minor thing; a decrepit Divine Sword of Salvation was recently discovered in Indonesia. After verifying that it was the true deal I sent an associate of mine to acquire it and then bring it here. It didn't have much power, and unlike you I was unable to polish it to return its lost brilliance, put placing it here gave the island enough of a sense of your master to make you think this was his resting place."

Nothing, there was never anything here. Everything, all she had lost, all for nothing.

The strength went out of Guinevere's legs as she collapsed to the ground, the pebbles and stones beneath her scraping her knees and drawing more blood, but that went unnoticed. How could it possibly register in her mind in the face of the enormity that filled it? She was going to die, and it would accomplish nothing. No, it could never have accomplished anything. For all her effort, for all her sacrifices, she had been like the Monkey King jumping about in the hand of the Buddha. It . . . it was too much!

Her concentration was slipping; the force she'd been using to hold herself together . . . it was coming apart. She couldn't feel her toes, and when she looked down her fingertips were no longer flesh but instead resembled something like golden sandstone. This . . . this was it, the end! Alexander Gascoigne had won, and there nothing she could do about it.

Strangely she didn't feel angry, all she felt was a crushing sense of regret. Remorse that she would never see her king's divine countenance again, remorse that she could never apologise to Sir Knight for steering her wrong, and, strangely enough, remorse that she could never say goodbye to Sir Shirou nor thank him for the kindness and courtesy he had shown her despite them being natural enemies.

The world swam before her as tears grew in her eyes. So much regret and remorse, she thought she'd lived her life since her rebirth without hesitation or doubt, but here at the end just these few regrets were enough to hurt so much. Was this what it was like for mortals? If it was then how could they possibly live like this?

Her staggering thoughts were suddenly brought up short as she felt . . . warmth flood through her. Her finger, all of which had lost feeling as they became the golden sandstone, tingled with heat as she suddenly regained sensation in them. Blinking her eyes to clear them she looked down to see a wet and bloodied hand fastened onto her wrist with a white knuckled grip.

"T . . . Tiamat-sama?"

She . . . she was sharing her divine power, using it to shore up Guinevere's own crumbling life. But that was insane! To do that she was bleeding herself dry, even for a full deity it would be taxing, for someone like Tiamat, a goddess already much reduced and injured on top of it, it was almost certainly suicidal!

"It . . . It would seem that King Shirou's brand of recklessness is infectious!" The Mother of Dragons declared through gritted teeth as she struggled to maintain the flow while not draining herself dry at the same time. "This is foolishness of the highest order, and yet here I am doing it. That wretched acceptance of his is more dangerous than any Authority he could possibly have usurped."

The last sentence was spoken in an almost inaudible hush, but dazed as she was by pain and emotion Guinevere heard it none the less.

"This . . . is an irritation."

Her eyes snapped away from Tiamat and back to the Black Prince.

The Campione was slowly approaching them, his formerly expressionless face now visibly annoyed. It was oddly incongruous, the expression of a gardener that had found some snails approaching a prized plant.

"It wasn't my intention to have to kill Tiamat as well," he commented almost casually, "She's still under Emiya Shirou's protection, and the less conflict I have to be drawn into with my fellow King the better. However as things stand I don't believe I can end this without exterminating her as well."

"N-No!"

With all the strength she had left in her the Witch Queen tugged the hand from her wrist and pushed Tiamat away. Internally she was screaming at herself for her stupidity, all that was keeping her alive was the divine essence being passed to her, but now she was pushing it away. Yet, at the same time she knew that to do anything else was invite shame on herself and those that stood for her. The fallen goddess couldn't save her, she just didn't have the strength, all she could do was prolong the last moments she had left. If Guinevere was willing to endanger her life just so she could leech the power to last a few more minutes in this world then she was truly fallen from the position as the handmaiden of a hero.

"Go!" she declared, staring at Tiamat with as much conviction as she could manage. "Guinevere thanks you for your kindness Tiamat-sama, but it makes no sense for you to die here for no reason. You have stood by me in a terrible battle and have been as stalwart an ally as Guinevere could ever hope to have. Any obligation you might have to either me or Sir Shirou is more than fulfilled. Please, escape and live!"

"I . . ."

The Mother of Dragons hesitated, clearly unsure of what to do. On her blood streaked face the Witch Queen saw anger, sorrow, confusion, fear and a growing sense of helplessness. It was oddly painful to see, the realization that though she was a god she was still helpless to do anything.

"GO!" The Divine Ancestor declared again, trying and failing to push the fallen goddess away as her strength failed her.

Tiamat opened her mouth to say something, but whatever it might have been was cut off as with a flash of light and an electric crack the Black Prince suddenly shifted to lightning once more. For a split moment Guinevere thought that the Campione had lost patience with them, that he was attacking now. Instead the lightning he had become arced off to the side, rematerializing closer to the ocean.

In the next instant the spot where he had been standing exploded as a lance of oak with a pristine white blade stabbed down into the earth and released a flood of power.

That lance . . . she recognized it! How could she not? It had been her that polished it and returned its vitality, making it a weapon of power once more instead of a decrepit old relic. The great weapon shimmered then faded, but the Queen of the Divine Ancestors knew that it was only returning to its wielder's hand.

Looking up she saw two great horses descending from the sky. One white and with wings, the other equally white, but clad in armour. In only a moment both mount's hooves had touched the earth and were kicking up small clouds of dust and sand as they found their footing. Upon one horse was her dear Sir Knight, her face drawn into an uncharacteristic frown of concern as she looked down upon her heavily injured ward. Upon the other was Sir Shirou, as ever clad in common garb of white and blue, his face . . .

Guinevere did a double take as she gazed up at the face of her one time host. She had spent much time around the King of Steel, had seen him in times of joy, in times of anger, in times of frustration. She had come to respect the young man greatly and learnt how to discern what his humour might be. In the past few weeks, as his anger had tried to fester, it had become important to know when to give him his space. In the days since the battle with Odysseus though things had gotten better. His anger seemed to have gone and been replaced with a sort of eager energy, something that had been much more pleasant to be about.

Now though, she could read no expression on his face because it seemed as though there were none to read. Sir Shirou's features were strangely blank, as though the emotions that drove them had suddenly turned to ice. There was no anger, not outrage, just a strangely terrifying calm as he looked at her and then at Tiamat.

"K . . . King Shirou . . ." the fallen goddess tried to say something, but the eighth Campione simply raised a hand to stop her. Rather than listen to her he instead turned to face his fellow God Slayer.

"Gascoigne. What have you done?"

"What was inevitable," he replied, "Guinevere has been my enemy for years, and Tiamat sought to interfere in our battle despite her having no part in our vendetta. I made some efforts to avoid slaying her, but she continued to interfere regardless."

It would seem that her old foe was unwilling to back down even in the face of Sir Lancelot and one of his fellow Devil Kings. The air veritably crackled with tension as none showed signs of backing down. Even though she didn't have long to live Guinevere found that some part of her hoped that she would live long enough to see how things turned out.


-\-/-\-/-\-/-


Calesvol, the Shadow Cast by Excalibur: The Giant Slaying Sword

Type – Anti-Unit/Anti-Giant

Rank – A

Range – 1-5

No of Targets – 1

This is the sword granted to the Cornish giant slaying hero known as Jack by a three headed giant whose life he spared despite having slain many of his kind. Though the name of the giant was lost to time there was little doubt as to the nature of his skill in weapons crafting.

Since Jack was a contemporary of King Arthur the giant existed in the same time as when the King of Camelot wielded the Sword of Promised Victory. For reasons unknown the nameless giant attempted to duplicate the power of the Last Phantasm, possibly in preparation for a confrontation with the King. However the resulting sword, though powerful, was not the equal of Excalibur. Also, due to the giant's own blood having been involved in its creation, the sword possessed a powerful anti-giant effect that made it more dangerous to giants than it did to humans. Knowing of the reputation of Jack the Giant Killer, the giant gave it and other magical artefacts to his guest in exchange for an oath not to hunt him. Jack would continue to use the sword in his adventures for years to come, slaying several powerful giants with it and keeping it when he became an honorary Knight of the Round Table.

Calesvol is a powerful sword that possesses a holy quality despite the nature of its creator. Wielding it grants its user a '+' modification to their Strength stats. Also, due to the Anti-Giant property, this sword will totally bypass any sort of defence possessed by a giant. Magical protections, invulnerable skin, conditional invincibility, all of these are ignored as the sword can cut through their flesh as easily as it would a normal human.

Additionally this sword has been used by other heroes in the past, nameless heroes whose exploits were folded into the legend of Jack. One of these was able to use this sword to slay a degraded aspect of the phantasmal beast Behemoth. Consequently the giant killing aspects of this sword can be applied to certain huge beasts, negating natural armour or supernatural abilities. Dragons are exempt from this effect as their existence is 'higher' than the rank of this sword.

Unlike Excalibur the abilities of this sword are passive rather than active, meaning that in terms of prana cost this Noble Phantasm is very efficient. Also, unlike many other Noble Phantasms, this sword can be give to others, so if needs be it can be passed onto an allied Servant or onto a Master.

As an arrow for Shirou this Noble Phantasm isn't the most efficient, but its ability to lay low giant foes actually surpasses Giant Slayer in terms of reliability since its power isn't tied to the size of the enemy.