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.

Right, before I go any further I have something I want to get off my chest. Recently I've been playing Persona 4, all in all a pretty damned good game, save for one issue.

THAT WRETCHED FISHING MINI-GAME!

Seriously, I think I've spent something like an hour trying to catch that damned Sea Guardian fish so that I can get the last Social Link with the fox, but no matter what I do it's like the blaste game is deliberately trying to wind me up. I have it right next to me, then the cursor shoots off to the side and suddenly the wretched line has broken and the fish ahs got away! I'm not going to give up though, I AM GOING TO CATCH THAT FISH, AND THEN I'M GOING TO MOUNT IT ONE MY WALL! Well, probably not, but I will get a shot of the screen once I do.

Okay, thanks for bearing with me while I'm venting. Now on to the story itself.

WOOHOO! With the last chapter I've made it to a full 5000 reviews, and that is AMAZING! Now I don't want to sound arrogant, but not that many fics manage to make it to so many reviews, and I think that the vast majority of mine are on the positive side, so the fact that I've made it this far has left me in an extremely good mood. I'd like to thank all my readers who've taken the time to write a review, and I'd also like to thank you for how civilized you've been about it. The vast majority of my reviews have been thanks, encouragement or constructive criticism. In the years since I've started writing I think I have only ever received something like seven reviews that have been so abusive that I needed to delete them. So I'd just like to say thanks before we get on with this chapter.

I'd like to thank all the readers that chose to send me their ideas for Masters, I've got several that I'm definitely going to use, as well as a number that have sparked some excellent ideas. The sole sticking point in it has been something that's largely my fault. I asked for a suggestion as to what Servant the proposed Master would like, but I was a bit unclear. When I asked that I meant would they prefer; an Archer, so they can snipe targets from a distance, an Assassin, so they could target the other Masters, a Caster, so they can build up a base to work from, and so on. Quite a few of the suggestions sent to me have included specific Servants, such as original Servants like Genghis Khan, or canon Servants like Nero. These ideas were interesting, but what I wanted was to know what style of combat the potential Master would favour. Sorry for not making that clear.

I have to say that this chapter has, pardon my language, been a bitch and a half to write. I was able to get a good chunk of it done, then all my inspiration dried up like a bucket of water in the middle of the Sahara. I'm afraid that as a result I had to power through some writer's block and so some bits aren't quite how I'd like them, but they're close enough. Please be gentle.

Lastly; I've decided to use a Shielder Servant, but there seems to be a rather sad lack of heroes famed for their shield. So far I've only got Achilles and Galahad. If you have any ideas you'd like to suggest please let me know. Just remember, gods like Athena aren't valid contestants, despite her having the famed Aegis.

SPOILERS.

I hope that both the scenes I wrote about Alex proves a satisfying read for those that wanted him to suffer more. Originally the Omake at the bottom was going to be the real reaction that Alex had, but my Beta correctly pointed out that I might have taken things a bit too far. After all, Gascoigne might be hateable, but he is also a Campione, an existence that transcends humanity and so should not crumble so readily or so completely. Instead I rewrote it to be a bit more true to life, Alex being more angry than traumatized, and already planning on how to get his own back. I kept the original, since I'd put so much time and effort into it, and I hope that you enjoy reading it as an Omake.

The main thrust of this chapter has been to illuminate how things have change, and how Lancelot and Guinevere fit into the new status quo. The idea of Guinevere being the new custodian of the Jewel Sword came to me almost as soon as I decided for her to come over to Shirou's side. It made sense that since she's had experience using one massive vessel of power she could handle another. Also, with Shirou's help and some research, in time she will be able to make limited use of the Jewel Sword. It won't be anything like having full access, but remember that by mortal standards Guinevere is something akin to a moderately powerful Caster. Her knowledge and skill surpasses any but the highest pinnacles of what mortals can do, so even limited access could become a major boon to her.

I also wanted to give Tiamat a bit of time in the spotlight. Mainly I wanted to make it clear that though she is still weakened her strength is returning to her. I have plans for her in the future, but I've been wanting to make her recovery a slow thing so she will have several opportunities to see things from a new perspective.

In regards to the scene near the end with Odysseus and Circe, props to anyone that works out who they're going to meet. I'd also like to say that that should be the last of the new characters to be introduced during this arc of the story.

Once again I would like to offer my thanks to my Beta for his splendid work in helping get this chapter ready for you all.


Chapter Thirty Three: What Remains To Do

Alexander Gascoigne was not a man normally given to any great showing of emotion. He preferred to be restrained, to give nothing away whilst taking in everything he could. Outbursts of passion were too telling, they allowed others to get a grip on your personality, let them work out what methods could be used to manipulate you, what buttons could be pushed to get the reactions they wanted. In the face of this the fourth Campione had worn his calm and collected nature as a warrior might wear a suit of armour.

It was therefore quite a surprise that he was currently snarling into his phone as he paced about the hotel room he was currently renting.

"Yes, I don't care how much it costs, or who it might inconvenience! I don't even care what class it is! All I want is for you to get me a seat on the next flight leaving for England later this morning!"

There was a response from the speaker on the other end of the phone, and the Black Prince's face almost contorted with barely repressed rage.

"If there isn't one until this afternoon then take control of a private jet! Find some fool with that much money and use hypnosis to make sure that he thinks a sudden trip to Britain is a wonderful and urgent idea! I don't care; just make sure you have a way to get me out of this wretched country by the time I reach the airport!"

Like a man delivering a death sentence his finger stabbed at his cell phone, cutting off any reply that might have been forthcoming.

His face still a mask of irritation Gascoigne dropped into a seat and scowled at the view through his room's French windows. Outside he could see much of the city, as well as a slice of the waters of Tokyo Bay. The sight made his scowl deepen, and a creak of plastic signalled that his grip on his cell phone was becoming a bit too firm.

"Damn it."

His words dripped a vitriolic mix of frustration, anger, exhaustion and resentment, and all of it could be traced back to a single source.

Emiya Shirou.

The Black Prince bit back another curse as his thoughts once more turned to the cause of his frustration, but that wasn't really much of a surprise. For practically every waking moment since he'd left the site of his humiliation Gascoigne had been able to think of little else. Again and again he'd gone over the battle in his mind, but each time he found himself unable to fully accept what had happened.

Black Thunder was one of his trump cards, and while it wasn't an invincible power it was one of the strongest his arsenal of Authorities had to offer. Using it at the time had been his best option, of that he was sure. His other Authorities had been expended and the few spells and potions available to him simply lacked the power to do anything against a fellow Campione. Using the final form of his lightning Authority should have granted him victory, even if Emiya Shirou had been able to survive it through the use of one of his own Authorities the others, Guinevere and Lancelot especially, could not have done so, not as vulnerable as they had been at the time. With them dead it wouldn't really matter if the eighth Campione had survived, Alex could have just left via his potion and been out of the country in short order. To be sure it would have meant leaving Emiya both infuriated and with a grudge against him, but the Black Prince had been more than willing to accept that.

Instead the King of Steel had somehow managed the impossible, he'd cut the Black Thunder out of the air, and even more absurdly he hadn't used an Authority to do so.

Gascoigne had always dismissed the rumours that the eighth Campione could use magic that somehow overcame the hierarchy of the world. He'd thought such claims to be nothing but a cunning ruse, something that the newest of the Devil Kings had used to elevate his status. The Black Prince had been confident that he'd be able to see through such a deception, and that he'd be able to uncover the truth. Instead he'd been soundly defeated and the truth of the claims laid clear before his eyes.

But that hadn't been the end of it, not by half. Gascoigne's hands clenched into fists as he remembered the helplessness, the bewilderment, the fear, all the emotions that had been inflicted upon him when Emiya Shirou had forced him to capitulate.

Anger, no, rage gripped Alexander's heart as he remembered the moment when he'd given up, when his courage had broken in the face of death and he'd given in to the other God Slayer's demands. Never in his life had Gascoigne been so humiliated. Even before he'd become a Campione he'd not been forced to endure such disgrace. Through guile and skill he'd always been able to overcome what opponents or obstacles he'd faced, and when he'd become a Campione that hadn't changed. To be certain the foes he'd faced had been gods, but even they hadn't been insurmountable, regardless of their power or skill. Oh, he'd been injured, cut, beaten, once even being buried alive, but he'd always been able to overcome it all to grasp victory.

But against Emiya Shirou . . . there had been no way to win, no last minute reversal of the odds. Gascoigne had felt death closing in over him as he was held beneath the water, and there had been nothing that he could do about it.

In a single violent movement he rose from the chair to again pace about the room, his movements sharp and almost jerky as he tried to burn off some of his nervous energy.

The worst part of it all was that as things stood he had no way of implementing any form of retaliation. At the moment half his Authorities were still recovering and despite having had some time to heal up his body still felt like it had gone through a thresher. Added to that was that Emiya was backed by not only all his normal resources, but also two goddesses and a powerful Divine Ancestor and one didn't need to be a strategic genius to see how a second confrontation would probably go.

And that wasn't taking into account the damage he could do to the Black Prince's reputation should he release that recording he'd taken. That, more than anything else, burnt in Alex's craw, that there was such detailed proof of his lowest moment. More than anything else he wanted to forget that that moment had ever happened, he wanted to utterly erase it from existence. As it stood though, it was just one more weapon in the hands of his already well armed enemy.

No, as bitter a pill as it was to swallow departure from the Japanese isles was the only real option available to him right now.

Of course, that didn't mean that he had no plans for the future. Emiya Shirou had humiliated him in the most absolute way possible, that was not something that Alex could leave unanswered, his pride simply would not allow it. There were steps that would need to be taken, plans made, alliances forged, but in the end he would be able to . . . balance the scales.

Yes, a plan was already forming in his mind. Voban would probably be his best bet for an alliance, despite his vicious and unpredictable nature. He had no real ties to either of the Kings of this country, and so would have no objection to coming back here. Also he'd relish the opportunity to hunt two goddesses at once. To be sure, Tiamat might not be at her full strength, but the idea of her fighting side by side with Lancelot, that would be something to make the old wolf's mouth water.

Alex might also be able to do something about the recording as well, though that was a bit more on the tenuous side. Several of his allies in the Royal Arsenal were skilled with computers, and supplemented that skill with some unconventional magic. If he was lucky and provided them with enough resources then there was a chance that they might be able to find where the recording was being stored electronically and do something to make it irretrievable. Granted, that still left any copies that the eighth Campione might have made, but there were ways that those could be dealt with as well. Those ways might be costly and would put him in debt to some people he was less than happy to owe anything, but even that would be a small price to pay.

There'd have to be other measures taken as well. Setting up that battlefield to his advantage, maybe seeing if he could hunt down some new Authorities to augment his power, possibly even hunting down ancient weapons to see if they could be of any use. One thing he would need to do would be to gain more information of the King of Steel's abilities, since it was quite clear that his own theories about the strange magic he used had been hopelessly incorrect. Those weapons he could create, he needed to know more about them. the report he'd read about the mess where he'd fought Kusanagi Godou and Luo Hao had said that he had access to a great many of them, thousands at least. That was a troubling thought.

Still, he would not let it overwhelm him. It was a matter for the future, not a puzzle he needed to solve right this instant. For now he'd focus on simply leaving this country, that was a good first step to work on. But once he'd gained some room, some breathing space, then things could start to move.

The Black Prince would not simply accept the humiliation that had been dealt him. He would have retribution. The thought of it brought a small smile to his lips as he retook his seat and glared down at his cell phone.

Of course, had he been a bit more self-aware, he might have noticed the way his hands trembled ever so slightly at the thought of facing Emiya Shirou in combat once more.


-()-


Homura was, in a word, ecstatic.

It had been about eighteen hours since his king had set off to battle with the Campione from England, but finally word had begun to trickle in as to just what had taken place.

Kaida-sama had apparently been able to convince the goddess Tiamat to elaborate on what had happened, and her description of the battle only served to further vindicate the former field operative's absolute faith in his chosen king.

The arrogant and thieving foreign king; defeated and humbled. The queen of the Divine Ancestors; rescued and now the absolute ally of her saviour. The legendary knight Lancelot, now revealed as a rare and powerful goddess of Steel; sworn to the service of the Campione that had defeated her in combat and claimed her loyalty.

This . . . this was beyond anything that he could possibly have imagined. It beggared the mind and made one doubt the reality of the world before them. It was also something that considerably tipped the scales when considering King Emiya in several lights.

First and foremost, there was a dominant Campione in Japan, and as far as Homura could determine it wasn't Kusanagi-sama. The seventh Campione might be a fine king and a true hero, but it didn't change the fact that in practically every way imaginable he was outgunned by the eighth. Kusanagi-sama had powerful utility due to the numerous Authorities he had, but this was eclipsed by the apparently unlimited number of legendary artefacts and weapons that Emiya-sama could create with his magic. Kusanagi-sama had some of the finest knights and Hime-Miko that Eastern and Western culture had to offer serving as both lovers and women, but Emiya-sama had gods as both servants and allies. Kusanagi-sama had connections with such influential people as the Witch of Sardinia and the White Princess of the Witengamot, but the King of Steel owned a multi-national business that was swiftly growing into a full corporation under the careful management of his subordinates.

No matter how one looked at it Emiya Shirou was the dominant force. Such had never been more obvious that it was now.

This had to be it, the last nail in the coffin of any thoughts of swearing to the seventh Devil King. Emiya-sama had proven himself superior, so he was now the obvious choice. It wasn't even as though there would be any sort of negative backlash either. Under circumstances choosing between two kings would be a perilous proposition since the spurned Campione might take insult and be direct in his or her retribution. Choosing the weaker king could lead to the destruction of an organization. Indeed, sometimes choosing the stronger king could lead to the same result, that was why sensible associations tended to steer as clear of God Slayers as they could.

However this time the situation was much different. Both the Devil Kings involved were unusually reasonable and even tempered, and had no conflict between them. If the Committee were to swear to the King of steel Kusanagi-sama was hardly going to swear vengeance against them and attack them. Quite frankly the only points of contention that Homura could see cropping up were if some idiot decided that the Committee swearing to Emiya-sama meant that the Mariya sisters and Ena Seishuuin should no longer be associating with the seventh King. If that happened then the former field agent had no doubt that Godou-sama would be willing to fight the Committee, Emiya-sama and all his allies in order to secure their freedom, his personal loyalty was that strong.

Still, the chances of that happening were slim to none, given that Homura was quite certain that his king would have no problem with the Hime-Miko continuing the be his fellow God Slayer's women.

Yes, with this there were no longer any rational obstacles to the History Compilation Committee making the correct choice!

His cell phone beeped in his pocket and he was brought out of his thoughts. It was a small sound, but it served as a reminder of the sword of Damocles that was currently hanging over his head. The future of the organization he was a part of might be largely decided, but there was a chance that he might not be a part of that future, if things went badly anyway.

It all came back to a choice he'd been faced with when it came time to releasing the recording that Emiya-sama had sent him. He'd almost dispatched the recording just as he'd been ordered to, but in the end it had been his faith in his king that had made him hesitate.

Emiya-sama had obviously sent it to him as a contingency, something to be put into effect if something should happen to him. It was the exact type of forward thinking that the former field agent admired, the type of quality that only strengthened his certainty that he was the most suitable king for the Committee to swear to. But at the same time he was convinced that it was also unnecessary. Wise though Emiya-sama might have been to prepare such a contingency plan Homura was also completely certain that it would not be needed. That the King of Steel should fail, should be defeated and slain, unthinkable!

So when two hours had passed and he'd not heard from his king the magic users found himself in a bit of a quandary. On the one hand his king had given him a command, one that should be obeyed as a faithful subject to the King of Steel. On the other hand Homura was sure that it was a contingency plan, and if he should go through with it while his king still lived then there was a chance it could cause him trouble. He wanted to show himself to be a reliable subordinate, but at the same time he couldn't help but think that his actions might cause difficulties for his king if implemented incorrectly.

In the end he had chosen to call Emiya-sama's mansion in hopes of being able to get some information on what was happening. He'd been answered by one of the maids, but on learning who he was and for whom he worked he'd been passed on to Kaida-sama. The Hime-Miko had informed him that his majesty had indeed returned home alive and largely well. At the time he was unconscious, most likely due to exhaustion from his battle, but his life was in no danger and he should be back on his feet in short order.

That had been enough for him. He'd thanked Kaida-sama for her information and let her know that he would greatly appreciate it if she could inform him if she found out just what had happened out there in the bay. Then he'd hung up and very carefully put his cell phone away without sending the message and recording that Emiya-sama had sent him. It was a gamble, he admitted it to himself, but he was certain that it was the correct decision. If it turned out that he as wrong and had somehow managed to foul up his king's plans, well he was prepared to accept the consequences.

And that was what led him back to here, waiting for confirmation as to whether or not he'd made the right choice or had instead inadvertently thrown a spanner into the workings of his king's plan.

The report that Kaida-sama had forwarded to the Committee had been a welcome distraction, but as things stood he was still waiting for news as to how his king would react once he rose from his sleep. It wouldn't be too much longer now, of that Homura was sure. Campione possessed superhuman vitality which translated nicely into an equally absurd ability to recover. If it didn't kill or permanently maim a God Slayer outright then they could probably recover from it in only two or three days at the most. As far as he knew Emiya-sama hadn't received any true injuries, he'd simply exhausted himself to the point of unconsciousness. After a good night's sleep he'd awaken, probably still feeling a bit tired, but otherwise fully capable.

Assuming that he'd slept for about twelve or so hours and then taken another three to recover and deal with his own demands on his time that meant that it had been about three or so hours since the earliest he could have found out about Homura not following his instructions. That meant that he should be hearing from his king, either directly or indirectly, fairly soon.

As though the mere act of thinking it had caused reality to catch up with thought the small cell phone on the table before him buzzed as the screen lit up. The former field agent leaned forwards to see who the caller was, then felt his heart stop as he saw the name displayed there.

Emiya Shirou.

Alright, this was it. Time to face the music.

"Hello Emiya-sama, how can I be of service?"

"Homura, I've just been told that you didn't follow my instruction to release the video I sent you after two hours passed."

The King of Steel's voice was level, not raised or angry, just even and measured. The former field agent could imagine a high level corporate manager using a similar tone when engaged in negotiations, or addressing someone about to get the axe. The problem was that the eighth Campione could make that metaphor quite literal. No! He mustn't let his thoughts slip into paranoia. King Emiya was a fair man, not one given to rash action or petty cruelties, if Homura had made the wrong choice he was sure at least that his life wasn't in danger.

"Yes, your majesty." No point in denying it after all.

"Well, it was the right thing to do," At those words something in Homura's chest relaxed, and his heart started to beat easier, "I was planning to call you afterwards to let you know not to send it out, but after the fight with Lancelot I was so tapped out that I ended up unconscious. The video I sent you is a guarantee of a promise, not be released unless that promise is broken. If it had been sent out then things between us and Gascoigne's faction would be strained at best. At worst . . . well, it might have kicked off some serious escalation of hostilities, not to mention damage to the value of my word."

The last was added almost as an afterthought, but despite his best efforts to be attentive Homura was only listening with half an ear. The rest of his focus was on the fact that not only had he made the right choice, he had also saved his king considerable trouble. Anything that could serve as blackmail against another Campione was both extremely valuable and horrifically volatile. Had it been released incorrectly then the results could have been catastrophic. God Slayers were dangerous, but God Slayers with little to lose and a desire for vengeance were absolute nightmares for anyone in the magical community.

"Ah . . . thank you sire, I'm glad to hear I made the right choice. It has been . . . weighing on me." Honestly, he didn't know what else to say, the sword hanging over him was gone and relief was setting in.

"Of course. Still . . . I would like to know why you chose not to send it off though. I did order you to do so."

And suddenly the sword was back, and just to make things more fun it had brought along a whole bunch of shiny and pointy friends to join it in its vigil over his easily punctured form. As soon as the thought went through his head Homura decided that the lack of sleep over the last couple of days must be getting to him, that was the only explanation as to why he'd be thinking something so absurd. Pausing to swallow the lump growing in his throat Homura picked his words carefully.

"The impression I got at the time was that your orders were intended as a contingency plan should you, or perhaps one of your allies, be killed. By the time the two hours had passed I'd received reports that you'd both survived and been victorious. I know that it was presumptuous of me, but I decided to wait for confirmation from you before releasing it, since I thought that doing so might prove the wrong action. My apologies for overstepping my bounds."

Alright, that sounded about right, contrite but also resolved. It also didn't hurt that it made it quite clear that he regarded himself as subordinate to Emiya-sama's authority

There was a small thump on the other end of the call, probably his king changing position or moving something on his desk. A simple action meant to take up a little time as he got his thoughts in order, most likely. It was a common thing for people to do, and even god slaying Devil Kings were people.

"No, it was the correct choice. Slavish obedience isn't something I want in those I work with, you were quite correct to evaluate the situation before following through on what I asked of you. No actions shall be taken against you for this, rest assured of that."

"I . . . thank you, your majesty."

Was this what a man facing the firing squad felt like when the last minute intervention came through? All the wretched blades were gone and he was in the clear. No, more than that, it would seem that he'd been successful in earning his king's approval. A worthwhile prize in and of itself.

"Sire . . . forgive me for being presumptuous, but . . . could I impose upon you for some of your time at a later date?"

Alright, this might be pushing his luck a bit, but this was too good an opportunity to miss.

"Well, I'm going to be more than a bit busy for the next few days, but if it can wait until Monday then I'm sure I can arrange something."

That was better than he'd expected, honestly he'd been expecting to have to beg, bargain and cajole for even a brief meeting, but once again Emiya-sama proved himself to be as magnanimous as he was mighty. Actually, now that he thought about it, this was even better. An immediate meeting wouldn't give him time to prepare, but a slightly delayed one would afford him the opportunity to put together a full presentation worthy of the situation's gravity.

"That would be ideal your highness, I thank you for being so generous as to afford me some of your time."

"You've dealt me good service; it would be churlish of me to deny you such a small thing if you ask it of me. I've already made arrangements for you and all the others that participated in the watch on the bay to receive a generous financial reward for your work yesterday. It should be arriving in your accounts in the next day or two."

That came as welcome news, but not wholly surprising. King Emiya had a reputation for generosity in his dealings, enough that between that, his ever growing success in the business world, and his Authority that provided him with treasure, he had gained a new title in addition to being the King of Steel. The All Wealthy, that was what he was being called, an oddly fitting title in Homura's opinion. He wasn't sure how much such a king would consider 'generous', but he was sure that however much it was would be a welcome sum.

"Thank you your majesty, I assure you that your generosity will be most gratefully received."

"As I said, it's what you've earned. I'll have someone contact you in the next few days with details as to when we can meet. Until then, take care of yourself, and enjoy your just reward."

The King of Steel didn't wait for a reply; instead there was a click and a long tone.

For his part Homura simply put down the phone and stared into space. That had gone well, far better than he'd had any right to hope for. Still, no time to waste on that now, he had to get ready, he had to prepare. Getting to his feet he picked the phone up again and walked to the door as he dialled another number.

Lots to do.

Then, just before he could make a move to get started, his phone buzzed once more. Surprised Homura glanced down and saw that Emiya-sama had called him back.

Almost immediately his heart leapt into his throat. Was something wrong? Was his King calling him back in order to inform him of something that he'd mis-said, some information that had been inaccurate? Was he going to cancel their meeting? Was he going to-

No, no he couldn't let his mind slip into conjuring up wild scenarios. He just needed to answer the call and hope for the best.

"Yes, Emiya-sama?"

"I just remembered, there're a couple of other things that I need you to do."


-()-


This was not pleasant. That was the main thought running through Shirou's head as he stood and awaited his fate. This was something that couldn't be avoided, something that couldn't be delayed; this was something that could only be faced head on.

Others moved around him, but they were inconsequential at this point, little more than moving parts of the scenery. This was an uncommonly uncharitable thought for the young Emiya head, but given the situation he was in he supposed he could be forgiven. More and more figures passed him by, but his focus remained upon the doorless exit across the room from him. Any moment now, many had passed him already, so the object of his fear should be arriving soon. Any moment now, any moment now . . .

Ah, there! The figure he had been waiting for advanced upon him, wreathed in a subtle aura of killing intent. It wasn't something overt, but even the normal people that drew near must have sensed something amiss, because they seemed to be turning away and giving the figure a wide berth without really thinking about it. Ruby eyes fastened upon him, and the King of Steel knew he had no other option than to accept his fate and prepare to pay for his transgressions.

"Stupid onii-chan!"

Shirou had fought gods, heroes, monsters and mages. He had faced forces that most humans couldn't have imagined in their wildest dreams. All had been taken on with determination and resolve, but in the end getting kicked in the shin by his irritated adopted sibling was somehow oddly a sharper pain than having his body, soul and mind torn apart by the invading power of his alternate self. The simple truth was that at the end of the day it really was those you love that had the power to hurt you the most.

Fortunately, for all her clear irritation and outrage, the thing that Illya did almost directly after kicking him was throw her arms around him and hug him as tightly as she could. Granted, due to him being pretty tall for his age and her being a bit small for her biological age, this resulted in her arms going around his middle just under his rib cage, and her face being pressed into the base of his sternum.

"You left me behind," she mumbled into his chest, "You left me, and I was all alone."

Guilt ripped at Shirou's soul as his arms came around on their own to enfold his little sister. He knew that what he'd done had been the only real choice, had he delayed then there was a strong possibility that Guinevere, and maybe even Lancelot, would have died at Gascoigne's hands. Still, even if that was true he hadn't wished to cause Illya any distress, he just . . . hadn't had time.

Intellectually he was well aware that she'd been in no danger. She had been the guest of the Witengamot, and they would have known to see to her safety and comfort if they didn't want to face his displeasure. In addition to that Illya herself was quite possibly one of the most powerful non-Campione mortals in the world. Between her enormous prana reserves, her Wishcraft alchemy, the Noble Phantasm he'd given her, and the puppet Berserker she controlled there wasn't much in the world short of those that wielded Authorities that could be much of a threat to her. She was also no ordinary girl, one that would panic at having been left or collapse into despair; she was capable and easily able to see to getting back to Japan even if she couldn't demand others aid her.

Still, it must have been hurtful, for him to just dash off like that, even if he had made as many arrangements as he could and left a message. Not the act itself, but the motive behind it, as well as the suddenness. Leaving her alone was one thing. Leaving her alone so that he could fly off to save someone else was another, doing that and leaving without a word to her though . . . that had to have stung.

"I'm sorry Illya, I'm really, really sorry that I-"

His apology was cut off as he noticed that despite her slight size the arms around his waist were gripping him with surprising firmness.

One might even go so far as to call it steely.

Oh dear.

His cunning adopted sister hadn't simply thrown her arms around him because she was happy to see him. Oh, that was in keeping with her character, and he was sure that the sentiment had been entirely genuine. However the snow haired Einzbern was in no way averse to taking advantage of something she was already doing, or rather something she'd already been planning to do. As it was he was caught in her grip and had no way to escape without hurting her. He might be more skilled in personal Reinforcement thanks to the memories he'd inherited from Archer, but Illya had both superior magic circuits and more adaptable magecraft in the form of her alchemy. The end result was that she had him neatly trapped, unable to escape without escalating to the level where she could be hurt, something he'd be happier sawing off his own legs than doing.

Illya must have noticed the way he tensed up, because a rather evil grin spread across her face as she craned her head back to look up at him.

"You left me behind onii-chan, that wasn't nice and you're going to make it up to me."

The sentence was delivered as a statement, not a request but rather an absolute description of how things were going to be.

Shirou didn't even bother trying to protest. He'd already been resigned to something like this, somehow bribing her to get her forgiveness after having left her behind. His original plan had been to invite her on a shopping binge at one of those otaku stores that she'd become so fond of. An hour or two of shopping with a near unlimited budget should have been enough to soothe any lingering anger on her part. However he hadn't anticipated her moving so quickly to exact her toll from him, he'd been expecting her to pout and sulk for a little bit first, not cut off his escape routes and then move straight to making her demands.

"Alright," he said, throwing up his arms in an overly dramatic gesture of surrender, "You've got me, and I said I'm sorry. What do I have to do to pay you back?"

She blinked at him, then her cheeks puffed out in adorable annoyance as she narrowed her eyes.

"It's no fun if you just admit it!" she declared, releasing her grip on him and taking a step back as she put her hands on her hips.

"But it does save time." Shirou countered, allowing a small grin to touch his lips.

Illya didn't reply, instead she somehow managed to pout and puff her cheeks out at the same time, a combination that should have looked absurd, but somehow conspired to simply be more adorable.

"Come on," he wheedled, knowing that she had already forgiven him, but wanted to make him work for it, "How about a trip to the water park? You were going on about it the other day after watching your anime, we could make a day of it, fun in the morning, have lunch there and then go see a film or something."

He could see her wavering; that his suggestion was gaining some traction. But she shook her head.

"We've just gone to the beach; I don't want to go swimming again so soon. Maybe in a couple of weeks, but not so soon."

"Then how about a shopping trip? I'll take you to Akihabara and you can run wild, as long as I can carry it then you can get it. Just this once though."

Oh, that one had her interest; he could see the way her pupils dilated slightly at the notion of being set loose with a near limitless budget in the famed otaku central of Tokyo. Idly he wondered if he might need to see about moving her into a bigger room, given that her collection of manga, anime, toys and games were growing at a rather ferocious rate. Actually, no her room was still plenty spacious, it was just that the collection was pretty disorganized. Maybe he should have her help in setting up some new shelves or something; it would be a lesson in the fact that she had to take responsibility for her purchases.

"N . . . No, not that."

Shirou's idle train of thought was thoroughly derailed by Illya's refusal. It was pretty clear that she was forcing herself to reject the idea, and it was equally clear that she really, really, was having a hard time doing so. Still, it was enough to stump the King of Steel, he'd been absolutely sure that she'd jump at the chance. Her refusal had left him a bit flat footed in that he'd not bothered to come up with any alternate options.

"So . . . what would you like to do then?

That put things back in her court, and that was okay. As necessary as his actions had been he wasn't going to deny that they'd been hurtful to her. So he was willing to let her choose how he'd make it up to her, just so long as it remained in the regions of reasonability.

". . . ant a . . . te."

Illya spoke so softly that Shirou could barely make it out. Actually, he couldn't make it out, not in any legible way at least.

"What was that?"

"I . . . I want you to take me out on a date. Take me out somewhere nice for the whole day! That new fun park that opened last week, take me there for the whole day!"

Each sentence was spoken faster than the one before, leading to the snow haired girl almost babbling the last one. Her face had flushed redder, and her left foot was raised, the toes digging at the floor tiles in a sort of nervous gesture.

"Uhhh . . . okay." Shirou didn't really have anything to say to that. He'd gone out with his adopted sister a number of times before, but this was the first time she'd demanded he take her on a 'date'. What did that mean anyway? How was that different from how they'd normally go out?

Any other questions that he might have thought of were cut off as all hint of hesitance or timidity fell from Illya like a raincoat being shucked off, and a beaming smile lit up her face.

"Right! We'll go tomorrow! I'll book tickets tonight! Just you wait; we're going to have loads of fun!"

She didn't wait to see what his response might be; instead she turned and dashed out the door, heading towards the limousine that was parked outside. The eighth Campione moved to follow her, but a hand on his shoulder arrested his movements.

"Are you Emiya-san?"

The woman asking him was dressed in the uniform of the airport, but didn't have the look of a flight attendant. Her clothes had a more expensive and professional look to them, something that said this was upper management rather than general dogsbody. Her expression wasn't hostile, but there was a certain resolve to it.

"Yes?"

"Your sister brought additional baggage onto the plane with her. There was enough room for it, but since it passed her allotted space she needed to pay for the additional luggage. She said that you would pay once she arrived, and our computer system found that your credit was good for it so . . . if you would be so kind?"

She handed him an invoice fastened to a clipboard and reached for a small credit card machine that had been slung at her side. In almost automatic response Shirou took the board and reached to his pocket where he kept his wallet and credit cards. Then his eyes dropped to the total, and for a moment it felt as though his heart had forgotten how to beat.

That . . . was a lot of zeros. Alright, it wasn't anywhere near as many as his mansion had cost, or his yacht, or some of the artefacts and historical knick knacks he'd bought online, but considering that it was simply for extra luggage space it was pretty damned spectacular.

"Are you sure this is right? I can't see how-"

His query trailed off as a flight attendant came through the same exit that Illya had passed through a few moments ago; she was pushing a trolley loaded down with a trio of suitcases. The first and smallest was his, the one he'd left in London due to his haste to leave, the second was Illya's, the bright colours were unmistakable, as was her name written in bright red across the side. The third one though, the much larger one, was unfamiliar. Also large as it was it shouldn't have cost so much to transport. He was about to enquire about it when another trolley was pushed out, this one laden with two suitcases, each large enough that he could have comfortably fitted inside.

Then came another trolley.

And another.

And another.

And . . .

Shirou's eyebrows climbed his head as one after another more than a dozen trolleys came out. All told there had to be more than thirty suitcases altogether, all of them large, all of them apparently stuffed to near bursting. Just what . . . ? His eyes flicked over to the limo and he could see Illya cheerfully waving at him from her place at the back. He could also see that from her vantage point she could see both him and the growing fleet of trolleys. Clearly she'd begun to extract her repayment early and went a bit crazy in London before boarding the plane home.

With a sigh he took out a credit card and inserted it into the machine the woman held out to him. He intellectually knew that he could easily afford it, but the habits of years of living on his own and being careful with his money were hard to set aside.

"I'll have a van sent over to collect all the extra luggage later today. Could you have someone look after it until then?" He asked as he tapped his number in.

"Certainly, though I think you might want to have someone bring a truck rather than a van."

Looking at the mass of various suitcases Shirou really found that he could only agree.


-()-


Guinevere sat in one of the chairs that dotted the patio overlooking the back lawn of her host's manor and absently took a sip from the glass in her hands. It was a sweet taste, a lemonade made by Asuka herself, and as a result was as delicious as everything else that she seemed to make, and the air was pleasantly warm without being oppressive. All in all it was the ideal atmosphere in which to enjoy a nice cool drink, the sort of moment of calm tranquillity that should be savoured.

However the Queen of the Divine Ancestors was only granting the most cursory of attention to the drink, the vast majority of her focus was turned inwards, focused on the thorny topic that occupied her mind.

"Now what?"

She mumbled the question as she leaned back in her chair and set the glass down on a nearby table. She'd come out here in an attempt to find some sort of perspective. Even though she was currently in the middle of a city the estate of Sir Shirou was large enough that it could grant the illusion of being in the countryside. It wasn't ideal, what she really wanted was a lake to look at, something about a large and still body of water like that calmed her, but that wasn't to be had here. She'd thought about going back to her manor, to use the lake there to contemplate her future, but somehow leaving seemed . . . wrong.

And that, right there, that was the problem. She didn't want to leave Sir Shirou's home; she didn't want to leave his side. She wanted to stay near to her . . . her king.

And that was what he was now, her king, the sovereign to whom her loyalty and service belonged. She could feel it as deep as the marrow in her bones, an absolute certainty that it was her place.

It made her want to tear at her hair in frustration. Her loyalty to the King of the End was the result of her rebirth after the White Mother Goddess that she had once been gave up her life in order to create the Holy Grail. So great had her past self's devotion to the god once known as Artus been that it carried over to her next self as a Divine Ancestor. Guinevere had been different from other former goddesses in that she came into being with knowledge of her duties and an impressed loyalty and devotion to her king.

Her king . . . how did she feel about him now? Artus had been the centre of her previous self's life, an existence that she'd so greatly admired that she had gladly thrown her life away in order to further serve him. Divine, incomparable, valiant, magnificent, he'd been all of these things to such vast degrees that he'd drawn her in like some moth mesmerized by a dancing flame. For as long as she could remember that had been the driving force in her life, the desire to once more bathe in that radiance, that incomparable divine presence.

She had been her king's handmaiden, a role that she had fallen into at the moment of her rebirth. Her duty had been to prepare for the return of her sovereign, to gather power in the Grail so he would not need to quest in order to regain his full strength, to polish his Steel so it would be all the more dazzling, to awaken him so that he might once more dominate the world with his boundless strength. With Sir Lancelot at her side she had been certain that she would be successful in her quest, she had been fearful and hesitant on occasion but never had she ever considered abandoning her goal.

And now, all of that had been swept away. The king she had so diligently served had never wanted her services, her quest, to which she had devoted such absolute commitment, had been a nuisance, an annoyance that ran against his wishes. She had been discarded, cast aside and abandoned untold years in the past, even as she had strived to reawaken her king. She should have felt despair, rage, ruinous sadness, the loss of all she had existed by for decades.

And yet she didn't.

Oh, to be sure she felt remorse at not having been able to understand the wants of her sovereign. She also felt sadness at not having been able to achieve her ends and been reunited with Artus. But neither emotion was as overwhelming as it should be. It was the feeling of having let down a friend, of having made a foolish blunder that had cost them, but not dearly. Grief and despair were there, but they were oddly distant, as though they could be seen, but could not touch her.

And at the same time she no longer felt the same . . . drive to seek him out. Her king . . . he was no longer her king, that was the only way she could think of putting it. If he wanted to sleep eternally, then she would honour his wishes and leave him be. Once, that thought would have been anathema to her very being, but now . . . the bond, the link was just not there anymore. She didn't feel any different, but her emotions and drives in regards to the King of the End were a faded shadow of what they had once been.

And then there was her new connection to her host, the link that now tied her to the King of Steel.

How could she describe that? It wasn't as though her mind or feelings had radically changed, she was in no way slavishly devoted to the young Devil King as she would have been had she fallen under the influence of a love Authority such as Venus could use. To her Emiya Shirou remained the same kind, courteous and chivalrous young man that had saved her from Mordred and offered her a place in his home when she had asked for it. He was the same frustrating enigma that persisted in violating all the rules of rationality by constantly defying her expectation and revealing powers and attitudes that should have been impossible. He was the same perplexing Child of Pandora that simultaneously threatened to make her tear her hair out in frustration, and made her heart beat faster each time he looked at her.

But for all that there were some things that had changed now. Before she had always felt a tiny niggling of guilt at spending time in his manor. It had been a small thing, but it had felt as though in some tiny way she was betraying Artus by enjoying spending time with the King of Steel rather than devoting that time to the service of the King of the End. She had felt that her growing friendship with her host was inappropriate, like a married woman spending too much time with another man, even if nothing untoward was taking place. Her growing attraction to the eighth Devil King had only served to exacerbate such feelings, making her feel even guiltier in her heart of hearts.

Yes, she could admit that to herself now. She was attracted to Emiya Shirou, perhaps her feelings ran even deeper than that, but as of yet she was still trying to sort out the tangled mess that her emotions had become. Her attraction, her attachment, these feelings had been there before things had changed, so she knew that they were hers. But now things were different, there was something more between her and Sir Shirou, something that hadn't been there before, the link that had been forged between them when he had saved her life and broken her old bond to Artus.

She was his handmaiden now. Of that she was sure, but in all truth that was all that she was certain of.

How could she serve as a handmaiden to a Child of Pandora? Her duties to the King of the End had been clear and defined, no uncertainty, no ambiguity. She was to gather power in the Holy Grail so as to be able to serve and empower her king once he awoke, and she was meant to search for his place of rest so that she might awaken him. Once he was returned to the world she would be charged with polishing the brilliance of his Steel, and taking care of the tasks below his exalted station. She would organize his worshipers so that mortals would once more give him the adoration he was due, she would be the touch point between those devotees and their deity, a high priestess and demigod in one. But even that would be secondary to the simple act of being her king's supporter, one willing to bear any burden that was needed so long as it meant that she could be of aid to her most beloved liege.

However, now things were no longer so clearly defined. Sir Shirou had no need of worshipers, though she had no doubt that in time he would amass a fair number, the sheer scale of his deeds so far all but guaranteed it. Likewise she no longer had the Holy Grail, as it was the mark of her former king's handmaiden it had abandoned her as soon as her new status had become reality. As for being his servant, there was precious little that she could offer that he did not already have at his beck and call.

Well, that was not entirely true. The King of Steel might be able to summon spellcasters of great power from beyond the grave to be his servants, but all of them were mere mortals in the end, hardly the equals of a Divine Ancestor, and certainly nowhere near the match of the Queen of the former goddesses herself. But that didn't change the underlying issue, namely that there wasn't any clear role that Guinevere could slip into as a handmaiden to Sir Shirou. What could she do for him that would prove her worth?

Polish his Steel as she had done for Artus? No, that wasn't an option in this case. Excalibur, or at least the Authority that had been wielded by the King of the End, had been a blade that could draw upon the powers of the Earth Mothers for greater strength. When empowered by the sacrifice of such a goddess then its power would grow to the point of invincibility, but even without such a sacrifice a former goddess like Guinevere could lend her own power to the blade, to polish it and add lustre and strength to it. That wasn't something she could do for her . . . new king? Sir Shirou's Steel dwelt in his strange otherworldly field of infinite swords; it wasn't something she could lend her strength to as she had with Excalibur.

But she wanted to do something! Being like this, feeling as though she were a leaf caught on a wind that she had no control over, it irritated her. Trying to give vent to the emotions roiling about inside her she exhaled in a rather unlady-like manner.

"Oh ho, that was a most weighty sigh, dear one. What ails you so on this fine day?"

It was a good thing that Guinevere had put down her drink, had she still been holding it then it would most likely have gone flying into the air as she let out a startled shriek and shot upright as though someone had touched her with a live wire. As it was she only managed to get her legs tangled in the folds of her dress, still something of a humiliation, but nowhere as bad as it could have been.

"Sir Knight, must you keep startling Guinevere like this? I think you have fallen into bad habits." She gently scolded as she sorted herself out.

The honey blonde goddess stepped up beside her charge and sat herself down on the other sun chair on the patio. Unlike Guinevere she didn't lay back on it, instead she kept her feet on the tiles and sat upon it as though it were simply a stool. As she did so her movements were oddly silent, though not in the manner of an assassin trying to stay quiet. Instead she was like a hunting cat, a being to which such stealth came as naturally as breathing.

"Please allow this knight the chance to guess at what troubles you." She said, blithely ignoring the Divine Ancestor's admonishment, "Could it be that the precious child doesn't know what to do next? Could she be feeling rudderless in the sea of possibilities that now confront her now that her past loyalties are gone?"

Guinevere did not reply, but that was largely due to her power of speech having suddenly abandoned her. Instead she simply stared at her long time protector, her mouth hanging open in a most undignified way.

It was, perhaps, a slight overreaction, but if so then it wasn't by much. As much as she dearly loved and respected her protector there was no getting away from the simple fact that for all her skill and power, she was, to put in the kindest way possible, an uncomplicated person. She knew both who and what she loved and saw little reason to be interested in anything else. Introspection, personality analysis, these things were as foreign to her as the concept of ice was to a man in the desert. Yet here she was, speaking with jaw droppingly uncharacteristic insight.

"Wha . . . ? How . . . ? but . . ."

All Guinevere could do was splutter incomplete questions as she floundered to find her mental footing.

"That is in no way unusual, after undergoing such a radical shift in the structure of your life some confusion and uncertainty of the future is only to be expected. However as long as you maintain clear reason and do not rush into the first options that appear before you then you will find your way, in time. You must simply show patience and be ready to evaluate all of your options before coming to a firm choice."

At this point the queen of the Divine Ancestors was considering testing her drink to see if it had somehow been tampered with, most likely an infusion of powerful hallucinogens. Such substances didn't generally manage to affect immortals such as her, but there were ways to increase their potency, so it was within the realms of possibility. Certainly more so than her beloved protector suddenly being able to read the deepest uncertainties of her heart and be able to offer sage advice.

"Are you well dear child? You seem to have gone somewhat pale."

"You . . . Sir Knight, where did you learn such advice?!"

The question burst out of her, her voice almost a squeak as she tried to vocalize her bewilderment.

"Oh, last night one was feeling . . . restless, but was entirely too tired to actually do anything. This knight's battle with King Shirou was a most arduous experience, but slumber would not come. Instead one spent some time in the gardens with Steadfast, but even that wasn't enough, and one still felt weary. Then one of the servants suggested that perhaps an entertainment that our host's sister was fond of might be of interest. Having little else to do this knight decided to give it a chance."

The goddess's lovely features curled up into a smile, her eyes taking on a slightly distant look to them.

"At first one was not too entertained, the tale of young children hunting creatures to trap them in small balls and forcing them to battle was momentarily interesting, but it failed to engage. At the urgings of one of the maidservants this knight tried a number of different 'channels' and sampled a number of different tales. A great many seemed to focus upon the activities that the children of this nation face in their schools, and those one found to not be very engaging. However this knight then found another tale, one with great battles and enjoyable conflict. There might have been some discussions thrown in, but those proved to be of some interest as well."

But . . . what did that have to do with it?"

The immortal child was honestly confused. Television? Was that what her protector was talking about? Wait, she'd mentioned that it was something their host's sister enjoyed, and something about trapping animals in small balls. There was something there, but what-

Unlike many immortals Guinevere was not totally ignorant of some of the developments that had taken place in the modern world. Gods tended not to really pay much attention to it, their minds subconsciously drawing upon the knowledge of the void to comprehend such things as telephones or cars, but even so they rarely paid such things any great attention. They were simply parts of the world, pieces of the scenery far less important than the people about them. What need had they of cars or other such vehicles when they could conjure up divine steeds or be carried by the very wind? Modern weapons were toys, modern communication inconsequential, it was all there, but none of it mattered to them.

On the other hand, the queen of the Divine Ancestors was a bit more knowledgeable; enough that she realized just what it was that the Knight of the Lake was talking about. The realization slammed into her even as the warrior goddess answered her question.

"There was one tale where one of the principle heroes found himself in a similar position to yourself. He underwent some anguish and made some foolish choices before his teacher beat him most severely and then dispensed some sage advice. One thought that since you found yourself in a situation much akin to his then this knight might help you by providing you with the same advice, though one feels you can do without the beating."

Anime? Sir Knight had begun to watch anime? Sir Knight had begun to watch anime and was regarding it as possessing sage advice? And it was working? Guinevere's sense of unreality only grew as she tried to wrap her head around what was happening. The mere notion of her divine protector taking any sort of interest in modern entertainments was ridiculous; she was a goddess of battle, an incarnation of mounted martial might after all. But then again, she was anything but a 'normal' Heretic God, if such a thing could even be. Lancelot possessed ties that allowed her to be more rational than most, and that was what made the key difference. Upon descending to the mortal plane most Heretic Gods were consumed by their desires, their most basic natures, fighting, revelling, indulging in the sheer use of their Authorities. By contrast her protector had burnt out most of those desires during her battle with Sir Shirou, as a result her mind was . . . calmer than would have been expected for a goddess of her nature. Apparently enough so that she was taking an interest in the world around her.

And, it would seem, taking it at face value, thinking that anime were worthy tales of heroism and wisdom to be attended to with all due attention.

What was even stranger was that apparently she seemed to be correct, since the advice she'd just imparted actually did make sense.

That notion was enough to make her blink as her train of thought skipped a beat before continuing. Sir Lancelot was right, rather than sitting here simply letting the radical shift in her life floor her she should be evaluating what had happened, see what paths had opened up to her. She'd have to spend some time thinking about this.


-()-


"Huh."

Erica looked up at the simple exclamation, her face a mask of exasperated irritation.

"Really Godou? 'Huh', is that all that you have to say on this matter?"

"Well . . . what do you expect me to say? Shirou was able to sort out the whole mess without kicking up too much of a fuss. I mean, there's still that island floating around in the bay, but I heard on the news that they're saying its some sort of artificial landmass formed by trash collecting together and forming a breeding ground for some mutated form of coral. This Gas . . . cony . . . fellow? Well, he did steal from Shirou, but he got his butt handed to him, according to this, and should soon be getting out of the country. Guinevere's been saved, and Lancelot's not dead. What else is there to say?"

As he spoke the seventh Devil King gently waved the file he'd been reading to illustrate his point.

He and his 'harem', though he mentally shied away from even thinking of them in such a term, were currently sitting around a table at a coffee shop not too far from the Nanao Shrine, having been called together by Erica. Apparently the Diavolo Rosso had shown up at the shrine less than five minutes after Amakasu Touma had stopped by to drop off the report. Yuri had been meant to be the one to pass it onto her king as a sign of the History Compilation Committee's respect and subservience; however before she'd even worked up the courage to call Godou Erica had descended upon her like an unexpected hurricane. In short order she'd seized the report, read through it at a rate of knots, and arranged for a meeting between Godou and all of his 'women' to discuss the recent developments.

Godou had just finished reading through the report, and honestly, he couldn't see what the problem was. As far as he could see everything had been resolved, aside from a few minor loose ends, and any sort of crisis had now passed.

And it hadn't involved the Kusanagi heir in any way.

That was the thing that really threw him, but at the same time was oddly pleasant. Ever since he'd defeated Verethragna and become a Campione Godou felt as though every time anything happened he was the one that got dragged into the thick of it. Verethragna, Melqart, Donii, Athena, Voban, monsters in the woods, Sun Wukong and his siblings, Apollo, a mind controlled Emiya Shirou, the list was depressingly impressive.

Well, this time things hadn't dragged him in. At about the same time that Shirou was having a fight with Gas . . . whatever his name was, and Lancelot Godou had been sitting at home and getting on with his homework. Finding out about the whole mess only after it had all been resolved had been a pleasantly novel experience.

"Godou, King Emiya was able to not only recruit Guinevere as a personal servant, but also gained the loyalty of a fully empowered goddess." Liliana explained, her voice a touch strained. "With Tiamat as an already confirmed ally that shall fight at his side this means that he could well raise his status above your own if he so chose."

"And . . . so what?"

Godou honestly didn't see any problem with that. To his mind being a Campione was almost nothing but a burden. Oh, to be sure there were things about it that he wouldn't trade for the world, Erica, Yuri, Liliana, Ena, all of them had only become his friends due to him being a Devil King. But the appeals for his dominion, the fights with gods or his fellow God Slayers, the mess of problems that seemed to follow him around no matter where he went, those he could do without.

Well, he had to be honest with himself, some dark and buried part of him relished the battles. Being able to pit his wits, will and power against a foe of equal power that sought his life . . . it made his blood boil in a way that he both loved and hated.

"If Shirou's influence and status expand so much that it eclipses yours, then there's a chance that the Committee and all its subordinate associations will submit themselves to him exclusively." Erica explained, her tone patient.

"Well . . . that doesn't really matter to me. I mean, I never really wanted them to submit to me."

He knew that he was frustrating the mage knight, but he really was only being honest with her. He knew Erica wanted him to be great, that she had absolute faith that he'd be the strongest Campione of all, that he would one day rule as a supreme king above all supreme kings. Godou though, he didn't have any such ambitions. Well, maybe that wasn't strictly true. He dearly wished he could somehow beat some common sense and general decency into some of his fellow Campione's head. Salvatore Donii was a prime candidate, but Voban could also do with a dose of civility, and really Luo Hao could also do with some. John Pluto Smith, well, he might be weird, but he seemed to be generally less of a mess maker than the others. Emiya Shirou seemed to be much more stable than the rest of the God Slayers, so if he wanted to deal with all the general problems that came with ruling over Japan then Godou would happily hand them over wrapped up in ribbons and with a bow on top.

"Are you sure? If he does gain such authority over the Committee then he could always give orders for Yuri and Ena to terminate their contact with you. Are you sure you want to risk that?"

"Mmmm, no, he wouldn't do that."

Erica's counter argument was shot down as her king immediately dismissed the possibility of Shirou ever doing something like that. From the way her shoulders slumped it looked like she was well aware of how thin a reed it had been to place any weight upon. The King of Steel had a tendency to draw others to him, but so far he'd never demanded anyone's loyalty or service. Well, aside from Lancelot anyway, but that was something of a special case.

"And even if he did it's not like me or Yuri would just abandon Godou's side. Sure, our families could try to order us, but as long as he wants us to stay by his side there won't be any problem."

Ena made her declaration as though going against the will of an organization that had managed the supernatural side of Japan for more than three centuries was only a minor issue.

"Ah . . . what about her Eminence?"

The hesitant question came from Mariya Yuri, who until now had remained silent.

"What do you mean?" the seventh Campione asked, confused as to why she'd bring up his so-called 'older sister'.

"Well, if she hears that you're falling behind Shirou-sama despite the teachers she's sent you then . . ." Her voice trailed off, but not much more needed to be said.

Had Godou been able to see his own face he would have been quite shocked by the way his pupils suddenly shrank to pin pricks. Not being the supreme king of Japan, that was fine. Shirou being known as the greater king, that he could deal with. Having to knock some heads to ensure that Ena and Yuri could stay with him, that he could handle. Having his self proclaimed older sister decide that he might need more stringent training in order to keep up with his fellow Japanese King though . . .

Visions of being forced through the sort of training regime that only belonged in the most ridiculous of martial arts manga ran through his head as he felt a chill make its way down his spine. She could do it, of that he had no doubt. Running around with a boulder strapped to his back, being chased by conjured divine beasts eager for his blood, having to meditate on a hot grill over an open fire, all of it seemed terribly possible when it came to the Chinese God Slayer. He could just imagine her standing there, watching him suffer and telling him with sincere seriousness that it was all for his own good so he could become a better King, one worthy of being her brother.

"Errr, maybe you're right about trying to improve my status." He agreed, the vision of potential future torture still dancing through his mind's eye.

"Ah, I'm glad you see things my way," Erica smiled beatifically, "Don't worry; I have a perfect first step for you to take."

"What'd that?"

"You'll seduce Athena and make her yours."

There was a pause, one that the seventh Campione was leaving so that his blonde suitor could chuckle and admit that she was just kidding.

Any moment now.

Any moment . . .

. . . Now?

Now?

Why wasn't she saying it was a joke?

With a sort of amazed horror the grim realization that she wasn't in fact joking rose up inside him.

"Ah . . . wha . . . ?"

He couldn't even finish the sentence in a rational manner, all he could do was stare at her and wonder if running away right now might somehow let him escape what was coming.

"Since King Shirou has been able to secure the services of Sir Lancelot and Guinevere, as well as an alliance with Tiamat, the only way to maintain parity is for you to likewise secure the presence of a goddess at your side. Since Athena has declared you her prey it is almost inevitable that she will return to face you, and when she does you will sway her to your side!"

She said it with absolute confidence, as though the outcome of such an action was already a forgone conclusion. Godou, on the other hand, was recalling a small girl in school uniform and a knit cap who had silver hair, white eyes and was really, really scary. Seduce her? The idea didn't really fit into his head. Athena was . . . something to him, that he would admit, but for the life in him he couldn't really articulate just what that was.

She was his enemy, yet he felt no malice towards her, and he knew she had none for him. He'd once held her life in his grip, he had broken her defences, stripped her of her power and wounded her to helplessness, but rather than kill her and gain another Authority he'd chosen to let her go. It just hadn't seemed right to him at the time, killing a girl that had no way to fight back, as he'd said, it wasn't the action of a civilized man.

In return Athena had declared him to be her one true enemy, so much so that she had risked her own life to defend him, slicing the black miasma that Jord had unleashed upon him. After that whole mess had ended she'd decided to help him 'sharpen his fangs', namely by attacking him at random moments so that he had to improve or die. She'd continued to do it, and as much as it pained him to admit it, in time it had become almost a normal part of his life. He'd actually started to call her 'Athena-chan' on occasions, when he wasn't thinking about it.

And Erica wanted him to seduce her?

"Ah . . . I'm not sure that Godou-san should try something like that. If Athena-sama returns then it could be a dangerous fight, shouldn't we focus on that instead of having him . . . um . . .?"

Mariya Yuri's voice trailed off as she blushed at the notion that she was trying to suggest.

"No, I see where Erica is coming from with this suggestion," Liliana's voice was speculative, her eyes slightly distant as she gave the idea thought, "It plays into Godou's strengths most effectively. I have no doubt that Athena will return stronger than before and armed with new tricks, however I am also certain that he will be able to defeat her. The battle may be long, and the effort might be great, but I am certain our king will be the one to emerge victorious in the end.

"That shall be when he employs his devil-like charms to snatch away Athena's heart and make her fall in love with him. To one such as Godou, someone that ensnares the love of girls without realizing it and toys with their affections without knowing he does so, it should prove to be no great challenge. Once she has been ensnared Athena can join us at his side, that should go a great way towards equalizing the balance of power between Godou and Emiya-sama."

Honestly, it wasn't fair that the universe seemed to be deriving some sort of entertainment from taunting him like this. Liliana was in many ways the most earnest of the girls that aided him, and that just made her words all the more cutting. She held Godou in highest respect; she would unhesitatingly fight at his side no matter the odds. Even so she still sincerely believed him to be some sort of barely repressed carnivore that subconsciously sought to slake all sorts of hedonistic appetites by amassing a great following of enamoured women. It was enough to make him want to cry.

"Huh, so we will have to contend with Godou having another woman?" Ena sounded oddly calm about the whole thing, as though she was discussing who'd have to make a trip to the corner shop to pick up snacks. "Well, just so long as he doesn't become neglectful of me or Yuri-chan then I suppose it will be fine. It might even be interesting to have a goddess on our side."

"Is this really the best path to take? What if Godou-san doesn't want to . . . um, charm Athena-sama?"

"Oh, it's really the only option that makes sense," Erica declared, her smile a slightly less malicious version of a cat that had seen a fat cannery with a broken wing, "The great goddess Athena will return, this is an inevitability. When she does Godou will have to face her once more, and when he emerges victorious . . . well, do you really expect him to kill her?"

There was no reply from any present, not even Godou himself. Kindness, it was one of the main traits that had led all four of the girls to follow him, as far as he could tell. The seventh Campione wasn't by nature the most introspective of people, but he knew damned that the number of situations that could force him to take Athena's life were few, very few.

"Exactly," Erica gestured grandly with the knife she'd been using to cut into a slice of cheesecake as though it were a sanctified sword of ceremony. "If he won't kill her then the only choice is to make her an ally. Athena herself has said that it is the duty of the defeated to obey the victor, so when he is the winner Godou will demand that she come to our side and become an ally."

"And when does Godou seduce her?" that came from Ena, who seemed entirely too interested in the matter for the young Kusanagi's peace of mind.

"Ah, I think I see your plan," Liliana nodded sagely as she took a sip from her teacup. "Rather than overtly demanding she become Godou's woman you shall instead move to recruit her as an ally. After that she will spend much time with him as the bonds of comradeship tighten. However as this takes place Kusanagi Godou's hidden nature will take over and he will, all unnoticed, sink his poisonous fangs into her and draw her into his influence. It is as I have said before, he is a rare unaware lady-killer, and as such Athena will not suspect a thing until it is too late. Initially she will be somewhat resentful of having been forced into his service, but then that resentment shall give way to respect. Over time that respect shall become admiration, and then her fall shall be inevitable. Though she will attempt to maintain her distance the same fascination that worries her will draw her back to Godou's side. At that point all will be lost for her, try as she might she will be unable to deny the feelings that have sprouted and taken root in her heart, and she will only be able to offer up her love to the man she once tried to slay!"

The fairy-like knight paused at that point, apparently becoming aware that at some point in her analysis of the situation all other discussion at the table had ceased, and everyone else there was just staring at her.

For his part Godou recalled that Liliana tended to write a novel in her spare time when she was stressed. Could it be that the plot of one of her stories had spilt over into her imaginings on how the possible recruitment of Athena could play out?

"My Lili, that's quite the scenario you have all worked out there. Maybe you should write it down somewhere properly; I know I wouldn't mind reading it once you've fleshed it out a bit more."

It would seem that Erica was of a similar opinion, as she shamelessly teased the now thoroughly flushed knight of the Bronze-Black Cross. Liliana tried to splutter out some protests, but in her embarrassment and panic they came out as little more than garbled nonsense.

As the light teasing continued Godou looked down into his cup of coffee and wondered at exactly what point his life had abandoned any sense of normality.


-()-


Had any been there to see it they would have been witness to a most unusual sight.

The coast was not a particularly nice one. Had the weather been nicer then it could have been a pleasant enough coast, the long stony beach being a place where the slightly harsher sort of beauty could have been found. At that moment though, with rain lashing down in freezing cold sheets, and the wind whipping about to make it even harsher, this was the kind of place where only the desperate or the deranged would willingly go.

With that in mind it made the sight of a young girl clad only in a school uniform and a knit cap all the more incongruous.

She stood on the beach, her eyes turned south, and ignored the weather about her with the disdain that a dragon has for an ant. The water would not touch her, her clothes remained dry as desert sand. The wind left her undisturbed, not a hair shifted from place despite the strength of the gale that whipped about her. All of it was unimportant to her, mere background noise unworthy of attention.

Instead her eyes focused out across the sea, unwavering, unblinking. Had someone with a map, a compass and a talent for geography been present then they might have been able to work out that if one followed the direction of her gaze precisely then they would find it pointed straight at Tokyo. Straight at a certain coffee shop where a group of teens were meeting.

It had only been a few days since she had completed the absorption of the power trapped in the tablet, but even so the growth of her power had come as a surprise to her. Her strength was now comparable to what it had been when she had faced Kusanagi Godou after regaining her true form. The power wasn't as settled as it had been then though, but that was only to be expected. Back then she had regained her old power by taking in the divinity that had been locked away in the Gorgoneion, and that strength had slipped easily into place, returning to where it belonged and completing her. After her defeat at the Seventh Devil King's hands the newly returned part had been jarred loose by her divinity being severed by his Authority and her body being blasted and stabbed. She had been more complete than before, but even so her power hadn't been fully returned.

Since then she had carefully been using external sources of power to refill that empty spot in her power. It wasn't an ideal solution, but it was the one that offered her the greatest chance of success, so she had continued on. Little by little it had become more evident that she'd made the right choice. The dragon she had absorbed in Naples had aided her greatly leaving her strong enough to be the dominant force in the alliance between her and the Divine Ancestors that had sought her aid. By the time Jord had enacted her treachery Athena had been strong enough that she had been certain she could have successfully protected Kusanagi Godou from her had she pressed her attack at the time. To be sure, she most likely wouldn't have emerged as the victor in a prolonged battle with the goddess become dragon, but for the purposes of defending her future foe and escaping it would have been sufficient.

Of course, it never crossed her mind that he might be a bit unhappy that she spirited him out of danger but left all his friends and allies to die.

Regardless, now that she had added the power trapped in the tablet to her own, the Queen of the Night estimated that she was only fractionally weaker than she had been at her best. That last bit was only out of her reach because the 'foreign' powers that she'd assimilated into herself had yet to fully settle within her. As things stood now her mantle of divinity was a patchwork affair, something unworthy of a greater goddess such as herself. Still, in time it would mend, the patches being integrated and dyed in her colour. It would be a long and laborious process, but in time she would once again be fully restored.

Too bad she didn't intend to wait that long.

Athena was no fool. Womanly wisdom was one of her most primal Authorities, an aspect of hers that dated back all the way to prehistory when she had ruled as the queen of the gods and been feared and adored in equal measures, so acting unwisely was a trap she was able to avoid for the most part. However something deep within her nagged incessantly, some small kernel of dissatisfaction that would grant her no peace. It was true that she had regained the vast majority of her power, and it was true that if she simply waited and focused upon it then she would be able to fully restore herself and once more be the queen of death and darkness. That was the rational thing to do. That was the intelligent thing to do.

But it wasn't what she wanted to do.

She had a promised battle with the young child of Pandora who had defeated her waiting. It hung over her, an unfulfilled promise that was both tantalizing and terrifying in its brilliance. Were all truth to be told Athena herself was unable to properly understand why it was so important to her. He had spared her life, she had saved his, the scales were balanced, all debts repaid, her battle with him was something that she could safely leave for the future. She could wait in the distant mountains as her power settled and his power grew, then, once they had both reached their full heights of might, she could challenge him once more. It would be glorious, of that she was certain, and it would be a battle worthy of the death of a goddess or a king.

There was no reason she couldn't wait, and yet the very thought of it made her skin itch in a way she had never experienced before. He could be out there, fighting right now. The thought nagged at her, pulled her on, denied her peace. Yes, she could wait, wait until her mantle was complete, wait until her power was at its zenith, but what could happen in that time? Kusanagi Godou was no craven, not one willing to hole up behind his defences and amass his power like a miser gathering coins. The young king that defeated her was a champion, a hero sovereign that would ride out to face the beasts and villains that threatened his people. The mere notion of someone like that avoiding danger was too absurd to be seriously contemplated.

No, her enemy, her fated foe, would face all comers head on. Indeed, if someone came to him with a tale of hardship or tribulation then chances were good that he would leap to their aid. Such was his nature, as much a part of him as the colour of his eyes.

And therein lay her greatest fear.

What if some other crisis arose? What if one of the other Devil Kings came to his land and challenged him? What if another Heretic God arose to cause chaos, and he went to put it down? Oh, she had faith in his prowess, in his skills and in his instincts, but even so the battlefield was the place where fortune, both good and ill, flitted about without care or allegiance. Every Campione to ever live had overcome fate and moved beyond mortal destiny; however that was not to say that they could not fall in battle in the past centuries many Devil Kings had come and gone, all of them powerful, all of them defiers of destiny, and now all of them dead.

Kusanagi Godou could die, this was as simple a truth as saying that the sun could rise; it was a truth, an inevitability. However Athena was unwilling to surrender that honour to anyone else. He was her prey, her foe, hers! If anyone was to take his life it would be her, she would hold him, his memory and his death, in her heart as dear treasures, a way to ensure that for the rest of her immortality he would be hers and hers alone.

Yes, the intelligent thing, the wise thing, was to wait for her power to complete itself, but on this occasion she had no interest in doing the wise thing.

She would return to that island in the Far East, she would face her dear foe once more, and this time she would be the one to emerge victorious.

And if she fell, if her foe should be the one to cut her down . . . well, there were worse fates than to fall to him.

There was a blur, and suddenly in place of the young girl was an owl, its wings flapping in the wind and rain. Then there was another blur and the stony beach was empty.


-()-


Shirou collapsed back into his chair.

It was a nice chair, one with enough padding that it could almost be counted as a lounge armchair. It was thickly cushioned, cushions deep enough that he could actually feel himself sinking into them in just the right way, with adjustable positions that allowed him to alter it to suit his wishes. It was done up in the kind of soft leather upholstery that normally cost more than some cars, while the metal parts were brass polished until it gleamed like gold. All in all it was one of those hideously expensive pieces of furniture that seems to have little function other than to emphasise just how rich the one sitting in it actually was.

At least, that had been Shirou's initial impression of it, then he'd sat down in it, and he had to admit that his opinion had changed. Aside from being a symbol of wealth, and a less than subtle ego boost to its owner, the chair was also absurdly comfortable to sit in, so much so that there had been a few nights where he'd nodded off while seated there. Supposedly it had been a gift from some minor but well off satellite magic association in Hokkaido, their way of showing their support and general respect to the new Campione to make Japan his home. Idly the Emiya heir wondered if Godou had to deal with things like this.

Well, whatever the case might be it wasn't too important right now. With a sigh the young King sat up in his chair and turned his attention to the desk before him, or rather what was piled upon it.

Unlike the chair the desk wasn't quite so elaborate an affair. True, it was large, made from mahogany or some such dark wood, and was clearly skilfully carved, but it lacked the almost wild ostentatiousness that the chair possessed. Rather than being a clear demonstration of the riches at the owner's back this was instead a working man's desk. True, a man that worked somewhere that could afford a fairly fancy desk, but still a desk to work at none the less.

At this moment the desk had quite a few things on it, an in tray piled high with unread documents. A small sculpture of a sword in a stone that had been a gift from Illya. A number of pens and pencils held in a sort of metal rack, waiting for them to be used. But the thing that held his attention were the two piles of paper right in the middle.

The one on the left, and the far smaller one, was a report sent to him by Homura detailing the aftermath of the battle. After he'd spoken with the agent earlier that morning Homura had immediately set about completing the tasks assigned him with commendable speed and efficiency. It had already only been a few hours and the tasks set him were already finished.

That was one less headache; the new Jewel Sword had been retrieved from the false Avalon and was in the process of being delivered to his manor. Since the Labyrinth had been brought down it had made it possible for mortals to reach the floating island without being diverted or shipwrecked, meaning that the Committee had been able to land agents that had retrieved the artefact he'd left there. Reading that had been a load off his mind, he hadn't been too happy about leaving the prana vessel there unattended, but given that the only other option had been to carry it into battle it had been the only sane choice. Getting it back, as well as making sure that no civilians went bumbling about the magically created isle, had been the tasks that he'd set Homura earlier, and by the looks of things they'd been handled admirably.

All in all it was something of a weight off his mind, some distractions dealt with so that he could focus on the other stack before him.

This was information that he'd told the Committee to start gathering for him before he even left for England. The demand might have been a bit heavy handed, especially since his relationship with the magical organization was as yet still undefined, but at the time he'd not been at his best. Learning that his home had been broken into and one of his most valuable and dangerous possessions had been stolen, on top of the harrowing mess that had happened during his vacation . . . well, it hadn't left him in a diplomatic mood. He really needed to do something to smooth any feathers he might have ruffled, mend bridges he might have damaged. Something to remember.

Right now though, he had other things on his mind.

The simple fact was that the last few days had been flat out absurd. He'd gone on a vacation . . . well, been dragged on it if he was being honest, because he'd needed a chance to recharge his batteries. He'd been pushing himself too hard, been taking too much weight on his shoulders, and even the vitality of a Campione possessed limits. But those first two days had been enough to let him recover, just in time as it had turned out.

From there it had been a mad parade of messes one after another. He'd nearly been killed by Odysseus, had somehow found a short lived portal to his home world, and had seen any chance to recreate it fade away when the travelling god escaped. He'd then returned home, only to find that the fourth Campione had stolen the Jewel Sword and was now running around with a magical weapon on par with an atomic bomb, and a fragile one at that. So he'd dashed off to Britain to try and track him down, only to have to rush back to Japan to try and save the life of his erstwhile friend after she decided to confront Gascoigne herself. Then there had been the battles with not just the Black Prince, but also saving the mortally wounded Guinevere and fighting Sir Lancelot.

And all of that had taken place over the course of only five or six days. With all the rushing around he wasn't too sure what his travelling between time zones had done to his schedule. The whole thing was such a mess of extremes and calamities that it was almost a comedy.

But through all of it Shirou had kept one thing firmly in his mind, something that he hadn't forgotten even when he was fighting with his fellow God Slayer or with the Hero Goddess. He'd found a way back home, a way back to Sakura, Rin, Rider, Taiga, to all of them. He hadn't been able to do much about it, not with all the chaos and general urgency of everything else that was going on, but he'd thought about it in his few free moments.

Now, finally, he had some time to work with, and he intended to make the most of it.

The larger folder was all the information that had been gathered about Odysseus on short notice. Most of it was a detailed analysis of his exploits in the Iliad and the Odyssey, the trials he had undergone and the tricks he had employed. This was then followed by a list of gods that might be the true origin behind the hero. It was depressingly long, and only emphasised how little concrete information was actually known. According to the entirety of Greek Mythology Odysseus had been a mortal man, not a god, a demigod or the child of some spirit or nymph. He had been a mortal king, one favoured by many gods due to his heroism and cunning, but never had he been called a god.

Of course, the same could be said of Perseus. Oh, he might have been a demigod, one of the many sons of Zeus, but he had never been a deity that was worshiped and feared. However he had been a god, Mithra, the enemy of Angra Mainyu, a powerful Persia god. This meant that the same might be true of other 'hero' gods; the trick was working out just who they were. Odysseus would be a hard nut to crack, but Shirou was sure that with enough time and resources he could do it.

Failure wasn't an option he could accept, not when the travelling god seemed to be the best possible lead on finding a way back home. He'd managed to make some headway into researching other avenues of world travel, but so far he'd only gained minimal results. His trip to the Netherworld had yielded some information, showing him that his world was within perceivable 'range' but still far out of reach. The Netherworld was 'closer' to his home than the mortal plane, but the difference was minor at best.

What he'd seen on the island though, that was what he was looking for. A direct path back to his home world, not steps towards it, not maps to how he might get there, it was a passage that could take him back in a single step. It was everything he was looking for.

The problem was how he could get hold of it.

Idly he began flipping back and forth between the sheets that had been sent to him. Since sitting he'd carefully read them all, but maybe something would click if he just browsed through them? Ithaca, which had been the name of the island over which Odysseus had been king. Troy, where the war of legends was fought upon the edge of Turkey. Circe, the goddess that had fought the girls on the beach while Odysseus had come after him. There was nothing there that really sparked anything, no revelations or flashes of insight.

Well, at the very least he had something of a starting point. The Committee didn't have too much to work with, but one thing they had gotten their hands on was a paper written several years ago by one of the more respected mages from Greece. The main bulk of the paper hadn't been relevant, but there was a section that had been printed on one of the papers given to Shirou. It was a bit on the long winded side, but what it boiled down to was the notion that all the 'hero' gods were never of the same pantheon that ruled the lands in which they were heroes. Perseus, for example, had actually been Mithra. Siegfried, the god of Steel that had reduced Jord to the Divine Ancestor Brynhildr, had not been a Norse god, but had instead come from elsewhere.

If that was the case then it simply narrowed down the possibilities to any god that wasn't of Greek origin. Not exactly a major achievement, but he'd take what he could get. It did have the ring of truth to it since it applied not just to Perseus but also to Mordred. But, that led on to the problem that if he wasn't from Greece then where was he from?

The Greek nation was well situated to take in influences from any number of directions, so Odysseus could likewise be from any of them. Asia, Africa, northern Europe, all of them were options.

With an irritated sigh Shirou leaned back in his chair to massage away the growing headache he was developing. Glancing up at the clock hanging on the wall he noted that he'd been at this for well over three hours. Superhuman endurance or not that was quite enough for the time being. Worrying away at this any more wasn't going to magically produce different results, not any time soon at least. Right now he needed to take a break, try and get his head back in the game and think of a different line of investigation that he could pursue.

When someone knocked on the door he was actually glad for the interruption, since it gave him a good point to stop at. Yes, he'd deal with this and then go and have something to eat, maybe spend some time in the dojo or go for a workout in the somewhat underused gym.

"Yes?"

At his question the door opened and Kaida poked her head inside.

"Shirou-sama, the delivery that you've been waiting for has arrived. You said you wanted to be informed when it got here."

Ah, that would be the Jewel Sword. Honestly he was a bit surprised that it had been delivered so easily. Some small part of him had been resigned to the fact that it would be stolen or spirited away by some power hungry fool or something like that. And then he'd be stuck having to go chasing after it just to make sure that whichever idiot had gotten their hands on it didn't accidentally reduce a small portion of Japan into a glassed crater. Maybe it was a bit cynical of him to think so, but over the last few days it was as though everything that could go wrong had. Well, maybe that was something of an exaggeration, but there was some truth to it.

Whatever the case, getting the prana container home without fuss was a pleasant surprise and a weight off his mind. It was also something he could get sorted out fairly quickly before going for his break.

"Thanks Kaida, I'll get on that right now."

The Hime-Miko, currently dressed in her maid's uniform, nodded to him before taking her leave. As Shirou got to his feet and stretched to work the kinks out of his spine he noted that she had lingered for just a touch longer than she normally would. It was a small thing, and under normal circumstances he wouldn't have noticed it, but right now his mind was a bit keyed up from trying to wring some sort of clue out the mass of data available to him. Maybe it was because he hadn't been able to find anything there, but he had seized on her slight hesitation as a discordance, something out of place.

He just had time to wonder what might be bothering her before the answer hit him as a memory shook loose. Her mother! Of course she was going to be . . . hesitant? Unsure? Impatient? The last thing the two of them had talked about before the whole sequence of catastrophes had begun was about him seeing if there was anything he could do to help her. Since then Kaida must have heard rumours about what he'd done for Guinevere, healed her from a wound so mortal that even a Divine Ancestor would have perished. Those rumours would have later been confirmed when 'official' word of what had taken place was put out, and for the Priestess of the Dragon's Roar that must have been like a confirmation of all her hopes. After all, if he could heal a dying immortal then surely he could heal a mere mortal woman, right?

So, now she was wondering when she could ask him to go see her. Of course, she knew that he wasn't one of those tyrant Campione, but at the same time she knew all that he'd had to deal with, did she think it would be presumptuous to push it so soon after the collection of messes he'd had to deal with? She was probably worried that if she asked at the wrong time it would only yield negative results.

Internally Shirou both thanked and cursed EMIYA for providing the knowledge that let him recognize these little tells and work out what they meant. On the one hand he'd never really had the skills to think like that before he became a Campione, on the other hand it left him feeling a little dirty that he was able to pick her apart like that. Perhaps it wasn't the most rational way to think about it, but for some reason he felt as though he was somehow violating her privacy.

Internally he made a noise of disgust. Why was he even bothering to think about this? True, in the haze of general bedlam that had inundated the last few days the promise that he'd made to Kaida had been . . . not forgotten, but perhaps a bit overshadowed. Well, whatever the case, he'd be sure to see her by . . . actually; he'd get this little bit of business sorted out, then he'd asked the Hime-Miko to take him to see her. He was now largely recovered from his fight the day before. Sure his magic reserves weren't completely restored, but he'd gotten more than half of it back, and his vitality seemed to have largely restored itself. He should be good enough for something at the very least.

Looking up he opened his mouth to inform Kaida of his decision, only to see that she'd already left while he was lost in thought.

Alright, he was going to get the Jewel Sword into the remains of his workshop and then secure it as well as he could. Sure Gascoigne had left it something of a blasted and torn open ruin when he'd ripped his way in, but at least some of the spells that Illya had set up there for him were still intact. It was still a good deal less defended than it was previously, but aside from her workshop it was still the best protected location on the manor grounds. He'd have stowed it in his sister's workshop, but after a minor incident where he'd come in when he shouldn't have and set her work back a couple of days she'd stopped giving him the key to her bounded fields. In an emergency he could break in there through sheer brute force, but that would involve breaking down or burning out her defences, not what he wanted in this case.

Shirou would have to make do with the remains on his own workshop. Although . . . maybe something else? Not a curse beast, he did not want to lay himself out using that Authority again, but maybe a returned soul? One of his sensei, they were all pretty strong in their own right. Actually, he hadn't used one of the mages that he could summon yet, maybe there was one that would be suited to this, if he gave an order then he wouldn't have to worry about the guardian getting curious and fiddling with the sword he or she was meant to guard.

Yes, that could work. Still, first things first, he should get the sword, then start planning how to keep it safe.


-()-


"This knight would just like to say that she is very proud of the courage being showed by her beloved charge."

The goddess of war spoke easily as she effortlessly kept pace with the shorter Guinevere. For her part the diminutive Divine Ancestor was striding down the halls of her host's manor, her hands lifting her dress slightly so as to allow her a longer stride and easier freedom of movement. It also served to make her look quite adorable, rather like a puppy that was determinedly advancing to get that stick that had always managed to elude it in the past.

"Thank you, Sir Knight," the golden haired immortal child replied, "Thanks to your advice, Guinevere has decided on a course to take."

"Oh? One is most pleased that this knight's humble advice was of aid to the precious child. Would it be rude of one to ask what path Guinevere intends to walk?"

The witch of Britannia paused in her stride and turned to face her long time protector. The smile on her face was a small and happy one, the smile of someone that had managed to work their way out of a previously highly frustrating situation.

"Well, Guinevere was unsure of how she could be of aid to Sir Shirou now that she is his handmaiden," she explained, "She cannot serve him as she did Artus, so that means that she must find new ways in which to discharge her duties to her new king."

"Indeed, it is rare to see dear Guinevere so stymied." Commented Lancelot, as she leaned against one of the corridor's walls.

"Sir Knight is kind, but even so Guinevere really couldn't think of anything. So, she then had an excellent idea."

The smile on the small immortal's face was now unquestionably that of someone proud of themselves.

"Yes, since Guinevere doesn't know how to be a handmaiden to Sir Shirou then the solution is simple. Since she can't think of a way to overcome this problem, then she will simply make it her new king's problem and let him overcome it instead."

That was enough to make Lancelot blink in surprise. Such an approach was . . . unexpected to say the least. It would have been more in character for the Queen of the Divine Ancestors to try and find some way to make herself invaluable to her new liege. Granted, such an undertaking would not have been easy, not given the wide range of resources and powers available to the All Wealthy King of Steel. Still, she had possessed absolute faith in the cunning and wiliness of her dear charge. After all, had not Guinevere managed to navigate the complex world of gods and god slayers for decades? While finding her new role might have presented a temporary stumbling block surely she could overcome it with some time and thought.

"Ah, Guinevere sees that Sir Knight is surprised by her choice." The golden haired immortal's smile had taken on a slightly mischievous caste to it. "Well, the truth is that her new King is not one easy to pin down. So instead of racking her mind to find some way to be of service to him Guinevere will simply ask what she can do instead."

Lancelot didn't reply, instead she elected to simply smile and shake her head, then take off to follow her charge as she set out again.

It would seem that luck was favouring the queen of the Divine Ancestors today, because just as they turned the corner the two of them spotted their host stepping into the entrance hall. Guinevere opened her mouth to speak, but paused as she saw the front door to the mansion open and a man enter carrying a long package.

The Knight of the Lake didn't need to focus her divine senses to guess at what might be contained in the carefully wrapped bundle; simply by being near she could feel the power it contained. In a way it was familiar, after all she had been at her charge's side, invisible and intangible, barely more than a wisp of a ghost, when King Shirou had revealed one of his more potent secrets. The Jewel Sword was a vessel of power comparable, though not equal, to the Holy Grail. Lancelot knew that Gascoigne had set off the confrontation between him and the King of Steel by stealing it, so it only made sense that it was only now returning to its owner's possession, what surprised her was that it was so unguarded.

Well, it was in the hands of a god slayer, so perhaps thinking of it as being unguarded was pure folly.

"Guinevere sees that Sir Shirou's stolen property has at last been returned to its rightful place."

The red haired Devil King turned to face her, a fairly easy smile on his face as he held the bundle in one hand.

"Yeah, I couldn't bring it into battle with Gascoigne, so I had to leave it on that floating island. The Committee just delivered it back to me after some of their agents retrieved it."

"Though still mighty your sword feels . . . diminished from what it once was," the immortal child commented, her brows furrowing slightly, "was your vessel of power harmed during the time it was stolen from you?"

"Sort of," Sir Shirou admitted, glancing down at the bundle, "Gascoigne did something pretty stupid, and I had to make a new Jewel Sword and then transfer as much of the prana from the original to it as I could. The transfer went fairly well, but even so I lost lots of it, it'll take months to make it all up."

The frustration in his tone was all too easy to hear, though it only lightly touched his features. With a sigh he held up the wrapped length of the gemstone sword and almost casually gave it a wave.

"Well, I'd best see about get it secured somewhere. That's something else I'll have to worry about, getting my workshop back into order. Illya isn't going to be happy about having to help me set up those protections again."

That last bit was spoken more to himself than it was to his small audience, but both of them heard it clearly.

"Sir Shirou . . ." Guinevere spoke the words slower than she normally would as an idea started to form in her mind, "Guinevere thinks that . . . maybe she could be of some aid to you in this matter."

Her host's face took on a look of curiosity, mild to be sure, but it was something, a small inroad that she could hopefully use.

"She has spent decades as the handmaiden to his Majesty, the King of the End, and one of the duties taken was to care for and maintain the Holy Grail. In both this life and the last Guinevere guarded the sacred chalice and saw to it being empowered and preserved. Though your Jewel Sword is a very different vessel Guinevere is certain that she may be of aid in both helping you regain the power that has been lost and securing it from any possible future theft."

Standing behind her charge Lancelot watched as she played her hand. It wasn't a bad offer, indeed it was one that many circles and magic associations would have willingly paid in blood to have, even if it was just for a single day. As childish and fearful as she might act it didn't change the fact that the Witch Queen of Britannia was one of the most skilful users of magecraft in the world. Her aid was far beyond anything all but the most powerful of mortals could equal.

"Please, Sir Shirou," there was no mistaking the pleading in Guinevere's voice. It wasn't too noticeable or obviously desperate, but it was there. "Guinevere is no longer the servant of the King that Manifests at the End of the World; she is the handmaiden to the King of Steel. Please allow this maiden to fulfil her duties and be of aid to you."

There was a noticeable pause, and as it stretched out, Lancelot could practically see the gears of their host's mind turning. King Shirou had a reputation, one she knew of since even in her insubstantial form the Knight of the Lake had sometimes hovered about her charge and read some of the reports she'd gained over her shoulder. It hadn't been Lancelot's normal interest, but it had been some minor entertainment, and she had been interested in the Campione that had caught the immortal child's attention so thoroughly. Given the power he had so quickly been able to accumulate it was generally accepted that the King of Steel was a strategic genius, one able to gain allies, weapons and power at an almost unprecedented rate.

From what she'd seen though, the warrior goddess was more of the opinion that her host was simply sincere and lucky. He seemed to more stumble into power and onto allies, rather than gain them through careful planning and cunning negotiation. His undead servants, a good fortune from his Authority, the same was true of his wealth. Tiamat following him for her own safety, and the attraction she seemed to both deny and enjoy. Even Guinevere becoming his guest, and then friend, had been something he'd more or less bumbled into, though the mortal mages that watched him believed it to have been some sort of grand alliance resulting from secret negotiations and pacts.

Honestly, it was enough to make Lancelot smile, but it also didn't detract from another fact. As much as his achievements might have had much to do with good fortune it was also true that his instincts had played a part in it. Dissuading Tiamat from her self destructive path, inviting Guinevere to his banquet of Kings, even befriending Lancelot herself, all of these had been spur of the moment decisions as far as she could tell. But for all their lack of thought they seemed to have served him well. Looking at him now she could almost see the instant when he seemed to stop over thinking things and simply went with his gut.

"Sure Guinevere, if you can help me with this I'd appreciate it."

The smile of the Witch Queen could only be described as radiant, and it remained on her face the entire time it took for the three of them to make their way to the half scorched remnants of the shed in which their host had previously stored the sword.

In truth the shed wasn't quite as badly off as it could have been. When Gascoigne had stormed Guinevere's castle back in Britain he'd ended up leaving the centuries old structure a collapsing and smouldering ruin. By comparison the wooden shack was at least still a reasonably sound structure. Certainly the doors had been blown off their hinges, the left side was seared by flames and defaced by black char marks, there was a crater before the shed large enough to form a good sized pond if filled with water, and the roof had a small hole punched into it from falling debris, but despite all that it was still largely repairable.

"Illya and I spent a lot of time on those bounded fields." King Shirou commented, his voice oddly mournful as he bent down to look at the looked ground where the wood of the shed met the earth.

Lancelot had little interest in magic. Oh, she knew of what it could do, the advantages it could grant and the perils it could pose to others, but at the same time the war goddess had minimal knowledge as to just how the art functioned and formed. She guessed that he was inspecting the remnants of whatever magic he had used, and idly wondered just what it had been intended to do. Given that he was generally a kindly ruler Lancelot doubted that the defences of his treasure had been deadly upon contact. He'd have set it up so that the initial protections would have been unpleasant but survivable, something like a small jolt of pain or a force that pushed them away. Such a thing would be intended to ward off the foolish and inattentive, those that tried to enter the shed without malice. Should those trying to enter be so foolish as to continue then no doubt they would encounter less gentle protections.

Almost certainly there had been other enchantments, ones meant to turn aside those that forcefully tried to break through them by retaliating with equal fervour. Such would be in keeping with the natures of both the King of Steel and his snowy haired sister after all. However in the face of a fellow King even the workings of one with as much power as Emiya Shirou, or as much skill as his sister, stood no chance.

"Might . . . might Guinevere ask what defences you had in place?"

The kneeling Campione looked up at that, the somewhat hesitant question apparently catching him off guard.

"Ah, we originally had a bounded field simply to act as an alarm, but when we started to build up the mansion's defences we added in more things and tied them into the original fields. I provided the power, and Illya shaped it into the fields and wards. In the end there were a whole bunch of traps and things. We tried to tie some of my undead servants into the array, but my Authorities don't play well with magic."

He paused as his gaze flicked out across the lawn and patio on whose edge the shed had been built, Guinevere's eyes followed as she also took in the scene before them. In the time since the attack on the manor efforts had been made by hired groundskeeper, one in the know about the magical world, to repair the damage done by the thaumaturgic defences. So far most of their work had been in disposing of the more dangerous after effects, such as the pool of acid or the shards of lethally sharp crystal that had been lying about. That had just been finished, and they'd begun to make some progress on dismantling the two huge stone arms that jutted out of the pathway. That meant that most of the craters and gouges that peppered and ripped the area were still about, a silent testimony to just how potent the defences had been.

Of course, given that they'd been deployed against a Campione, it was hardly a surprise that they'd proven to be largely ineffective.

Still . . . there were ways around that. The magic resistance of a God Slayer was damnably difficult to deal with if you weren't using an Authority against it, but the former handmaiden to the King of the End knew a few tricks that could help with that. The resistance of a Campione was based upon their skin, their exterior, if you wanted to harm them you had to go after their internal systems. Historically the best way to inflict such attacks was by mouth to mouth transfer of spell words. In this way curses and enchantments could slip in directly and with maximum potency. Potions and poisons also worked, though these were often dulled by the sheer superhuman vitality of their targets. Still, they had some effect, as did mists and cloud type curses, once inhaled they could also inflict harm upon a Devil King.

"Sir Shirou, Guinevere believes that she can offer several suggestions as to how your protections can be improved to defend against another attack from one of your fellow Kings."

She made the offer in just the right way, her tone submissive without sounding cringingly subservient, her words helpful rather than pleading. This was to be her first step in her new king's service; she wanted it to have the correct ring to them.

He blinked at her, then nodded his head.

"When Illya's up to it and we get started I'll be sure to call you. We could use some suggestions, and I'm sure you'll have some good ones."

Not quite what she'd wanted, she'd have preferred it to have been just the two of them thus making it a chance for her to cement her position as a trusted aide. Still, it was better than nothing, but it wasn't what she wanted either. She wanted to be more than just another helper, she was his handmaiden, there had to be more to it than just that.

Once again her eyes were drawn to the wrapped form of the sword that Sir Shirou carried. It was not a large thing, but curiosity nagged at her. Though she was no longer the custodian of the Holy Grail she still took some pride in the time she had spent protecting it. The Jewel Sword had come as quite the shock to her when she had seen it; never had she thought that such a vessel of power could exist. Many times during her stay here as a guest she had wanted to question her host about it, but the time had never seemed to be right. Aside from that she hadn't wished to do anything that might have cast suspicion upon her, and enquiring about the most potent vessel of magical power known to exist, aside from the Grail of course, could have been seen that way.

Now though, things had changed. She no longer had other loyalties tying her down, so she could ask the questions that had been nibbling at her. Perhaps it would provide some welcome distraction from her inability to find a way to serve her new king as she wanted to.

"May Guinevere see the Gem Sword again, Sir Shirou?"

Her question seemed to have taken him slightly by surprise. His eyes flicked to the wrapped artefact, then back to her, then back to the sword. For a moment he paused, then simply shrugged his shoulders and nodded.

"Of course."

Really? She'd been expecting to have to be somewhat more persuasive, having to make assurances that she had no ill intentions, or something of that vein. On the other hand, what real threat could she possibly offer? He was a King, she a merely a Divine Ancestor, a powerful one to be sure, but nowhere near his equal. Even her dear defender Lancelot could not be counted as an ally against him if things came down to it, not while her oath bound her as his knight. She supposed she could take the sword and flee with some spells, but there was little point to doing so. Where would she go? What would she use the sword for? No, he had very little, if anything, to fear from her.

The cloth fell away and once more Guinevere found herself staring at the glittering form of her host's enigmatic treasure.

Guinevere was not a being who could be moved by mere wealth. To her, possessions were things to aid her in her duties, castles were bases of operations, priceless magical artefacts were mere tools, chests full of treasure were simply articles to use to buy the aid of petty mortals. Her sole vanities were the dresses she wore, and those were simply because she liked to appear pretty. Still, despite all this she couldn't help but stare at the massive sword shaped jewel and marvel at it.

In the past there had been Campione that had used their Authorities to create great works of art or statues of gold and the like, but never had there been one like Sir Shirou, who could shape the very riches of the earth as he so chose. Some gods could create vast hoards of treasure, especially those with ties to dragons, but even so such were normally simply mass recreations of what mortals already had. This sword though, this was something different. It was made of what had to be hundreds of perfect gemstones, each of different hues and lustres, all melted flawlessly together so that they were a single piece while still retaining some separation. In a way it looked like a rainbow that had gone insane and then crystallized, colours ran from one hue to another without rhyme or reason, the effect beautiful but at the same time almost psychedelic.

The form of the treasure was somewhat changed since the last time that she'd seen it. Before it had been rougher, as though someone had hacked a massive gemstone into the general shape of a sword using a hammer and chisel, now it was something else. The lines were cleaner; the features smoother, all in all it now looked more like a sword than it did a carved piece of stone. In her mind it was an improvement, it no longer looked like such a primitive creation, now it was more of a work of art, a true treasure.

But even beyond its physical appearance was the power that radiated from it. It wasn't as much as it had when she'd first seen it, of that she was certain. It no longer had the same sense of immensity that had so stunned her before. To be sure the amount of magical energy contained in the Gem Sword was still massive, but the reduction in it left her better able to get a handle upon its great volume. She estimated it to be just over half of what it had been before, its apparent misuse by Gascoigne having drained it considerably.

Still, it was an enormous amount of power, easily several times the total amount that even a strong Campione could hold in their bodies. And in time it would be refilled, after all Sir Shirou did have a means of pouring more of his magical power into it.

Actually, that was something she was rather curious about. She knew how the Grail could steal away the immortality of a goddess in order to enrich itself, but as of yet she had no idea as to how her host went about imparting his power into the Gem Sword.

"Sir Shirou, could you show Guinevere how you pass power into your sword?"

He blinked at her again; clearly somewhat surprised by her request, then he simply nodded his head. She supposed that to him it was a minor enough request, or at least that's how it seemed to be. She supposed that if the methods involved some form of ritual or elaborate preparation then he might have hesitated, that he agreed so simply meant that it must be something fairly simple.

And simple was what it turned out to be, all her host did was take the hilt in one hand and press his other hand palm down on the flat of the blade. The immortal child could feel the flow of energy as it began; it was like a small river, one that wasn't wide, but which ran deep. The current was strong; strong enough that she didn't know what would happen if she were to touch it incautiously. The flow passed directly into the sword, which in turn drank it up with seemingly unquenchable thirst.

No. That wasn't quite right. Guinevere's eyes narrowed in concentration as she focused her mystic senses as much as she could.

Yes, there it was. She'd almost missed it, but there was definitely something wrong. The Gem Sword was drinking in all the magical power that Sir Shirou was pouring into it, but though that power went in it didn't seem to be . . . settling properly. Much of the energy was coming loose and drifting back out. It was strangely diffuse, to the point where had she not been looking for it it would have been invisible, and it seemed to scatter into the atmosphere far more readily that she would have expected such raw magical power to. Was this what the King of Steel was doing every time he invested power into his strange treasure, it was odd to say the least. Given the sheer amount of power that was leaking away Guinevere would have expected the entire neighbourhood to have been reduced to a jungle-like hellscape after just a few weeks of this taking place once every three or four days.

Her eyes widened in surprise as she turned to look about her. Yes, it was true that so much leaked magical power should have had that effect, but clearly it hadn't. The garden and grounds of the manor seemed to be perfectly normal. No, actually that wasn't quite true. As the queen of the Divine Ancestors paid close attention to it for the first time she noticed that the lawn and gardens that she'd become familiar with weren't totally normal. They were all healthy, extremely healthy. Not unnaturally so, but certainly more so than should be accounted for by the professional but somewhat uninspired efforts of the grounds keeper. Closing her eyes she extended her senses, entreating minor wind spirits to carry them further. As her awareness expanded she saw that the same was true of all the gardens in the neighbourhood, and of all the parks nearby, even of the seaweed in the bay.

Returning to herself she once more focused upon her host. It would seem that once again Sir Shirou was able to defy all expectations and the rules thought to be laid in stone. The amount of power he was releasing should be having catastrophic results, but somehow it was defuse enough that it scattered sufficiently to become largely harmless. Actually, it was probably somewhat beneficial. Had these been the old days when communities were built around farms and the like then her host might well have come to be worshiped as a god for the blessings he was unknowingly laying upon the land. It was a comically absurd notion, the god slayer being revered as a god.

Actually, the way that the energy was slipping out of the Gem Sword . . . perhaps . . .

Without really thinking about it Guinevere stepped closer to her host, her hands extended so that her palms faced the Gem Sword. She could feel the power more easily now, it was like an infinite amount of silken lines were flowing from the sword, only to disintegrate into the air as mist.

"Oh air that surrounds us in our every moment, please pay heed to my entreaty and entrust thy power into mine custody."

The spells words slipped from her lips without any conscious thought, the entirely of her focus narrowed down to the flow of magic leaving the sword. In her mind the problem was being framed, that the magical power wasn't settling after being introduced to the sword. It wasn't a case of rejection, that was easy enough to see. It was just that it wasn't staying. If that was the case though, then perhaps it meant she could help. The magical power was fragmenting into the atmosphere, but that also meant that air could be used to do . . . this.

Air responded to her will and the current of the lost magic changed direction. Instead of just flowing away it now curled back upon itself, the lost magic leaving and then returning to the treasure. As it came back into contact with it the Gem Sword once again sucked up the magic as it had before. Then it spilled out again, but this time there was less of it, some of it having settled into place. Without pausing she continued the action, once again using her magic to gather up the spilled power and funnel it back into the sword.

Sir Shirou must have noticed what she was doing, because his eyes widened in surprise.

"Huh? You're . . . ?"

Cutting off his startled question he instead focused back on the sword in his hands. The queen of the Divine Ancestors wasn't too sure what he sensed, but the majority of her attention was still centred on maintaining the flow she had set up, so she wasn't in the best place to work it out.

"Can you keep it up? It's not a strain or anything, is it?"

This time it was Guinevere's turn to blink. That was his first question? An involuntary smile touched her lips at the thought. Of course it was, in the face of this new development Sir Shirou didn't think to demand she continue or give an explanation, instead he first questioned if she could keep doing it safely.

"It is no trouble," she assured him, "It takes some concentration, but not much power, Guinevere can continue to do this for hours on end if she has to."

"I don't think you've got to worry about hours, if we can keep this up for another twenty minutes it should be fine."

Guinevere didn't reply, she just nodded, then turned her full focus back to the task at hand. Still, some part of her wanted to dance with glee. Though it was a small thing she had managed to be of aid to her new king. It was a start, something she could work on, and in time she would forge herself a place as his handmaiden.


-()-


Honestly, it was all Shirou could do to keep from punching the air and crying out in triumph.

When he'd acceded to Guinevere's request he hadn't really given it much thought. She'd asked him to show her how he put power into the Gem Sword, and he didn't see any real reason not to. Besides, the whole mess with Gascoigne had left it drained of a very large portion of the prana it had held, if he wanted to get it back to where it was he'd have to double down on charging it over the next few months. Right now his prana was largely recharged, so he might as well give it a quick topping off while showing her how he did it.

Still, it was disheartening to feel just how much ground he'd lost. Before the sword had been filled with dozens of times his full capacity of prana, the result of his dedicated charging of it every time it was safe to do so. Though he didn't want to seem arrogant Shirou had been sure that if he'd kept it up the Gem Sword would in time be able to hold enough raw prana to power a whole Holy Grail War all on its own. Granted, that was a long way off, even for him, but the sheer capacity it seemed to have to store prana made such a crazy notion at least feasible.

Now that notion was even further away, lost with the energy that the fourth Campione had leeched off during his scheme to kill Guinevere. And given how he now had to spend more time tracking Odysseus down, as well as dealing with anything else that came up, that could take months to rectify.

Or at least that was what he'd been thinking until Guinevere had reached out.

Shirou didn't know how she was doing it, but she was somehow collecting the prana that didn't enter the Gems Sword and then channelling it back in. All the power he was putting in, and none of it was being lost.

This . . . this changed things. If this wasn't too taxing for Guinevere then this could lead to the Gem Sword being refilled to the point it had been in barely more than a couple of weeks, even if his sessions with it were less frequent than they had been. After that, well, he'd be able to keep filling it until it dwarfed its old levels, enough that it would be what he might need.

Shirou had originally cooked the jewel based Mystic Code up as a means for support. Back then he'd still thought that the magical world of this new reality would be similar to what he was used to back home, meaning that both he and Illya would have been considered prime research subjects. Under those conditions having some way to quickly refresh himself if his prana was running low seemed like a logical and necessary step. After he'd found out that he was actually sitting at the top of the magical hierarchy, as far as humans were concerned anyway, he'd turned his attention to the problem of getting home. Since the Gem Sword had already been there it had only made sense to continue building it up. After all, even if he did find some way back to his home world crossing realities like that was hardly undertaken lightly. The users of the Kaleidoscope could move between realities with ease due to the ridiculously overpowered nature of the True Magic they wielded. For any others there were options available, but such means were normally ruinously expensive in terms of the prana needed to make them work.

To bore a hole between worlds, even if it was only a temporary one would require more energy than even a Campione could generate on their own. So the only option that might work was to seek out an external source of power. The Holy Grail was one such example, but at the time Shirou hadn't been aware of its existence, so instead he'd focused on using the Mystic Code he'd created. After all the effort he'd put into it he'd felt it might have been ready. Naturally he couldn't be sure, the memories he'd inherited from Archer hadn't included anything specific on this, only some general information that he'd gained from having a chat with Rin on one occasion, but he'd though it was getting there.

Then Gascoigne had squandered away a large portion of it, leaving the Emiya heir with no choice but to start again. At least, that's what he'd thought, until he saw what Guinevere could do.

Letting out a slow breath Shirou ceased pouring prana into the sword shaped jewel. For another minute or so his blonde guest continued to cycle the leaked prana back into it, but then tapered off as the last of his power was accepted by the Mystic Code, then her face smoothed out from its earlier concentration as she looked up at him.

"Thank you," Shirou said, taking care to be as sincere as possible, "that was a great help."

"Sir Shirou needn't be so forthright," the immortal replied as she avoided meeting his gaze, "Guinevere is pleased to be of aid to her new king. If she can aid you in any further way, please do not hesitate to ask her."

"Could you help like this again?" If she could it would be a great help, but did he really have the right to ask it of her? Was it a strain for her? Was it something that she couldn't undertake lightly?

Her eyes widened for a moment, then with all the grace of a princess presenting herself at court the immortal child delicately took the edges of her dress in each hand and performed a beautifully elegant curtsy.

"Sir Shirou, it would be Guinevere's pleasure and privilege to be of aid to you. You have but to ask and she will do all she can in your service."

"And it will be alright? You won't be pushing yourself too far or anything like that will you? I don't want you getting hurt."

There, he'd said it as plainly as he could. In response Guinevere flushed red and stared down at her hands where they were still lightly gripping her dress. Damn it, had he said something wrong again? Had he embarrassed her somehow by implying her skills or power would be insufficient?

"Sir Shirou is kind to be concerned for Guinevere, but he need not fear, the magic she used is not taxing, it merely requires a lot of focus. If it can be of any aid to his majesty then he need but ask."

"Then . . . would you be able to help me charge the sword each day? With your help I can get done in one day what would take three or four. If we keep it up it'll only be a couple of weeks before its back to where it was before, and then we'll quickly surpass it."

"Of course, Sir Shirou can count on Guinevere!"

Her earlier embarrassment seemed to have vanished, replaced with genuine enthusiasm. More than that, the smile on her face seemed to be, for want of a better word, radiant.

"Ho ho, one is most pleased to see that the precious child has found her first new duty."

Shirou was actually startled when Lancelot spoke. With his focus on the Gem Sword and what Guinevere had managed the presence of the warrior goddess had somehow managed to slip into the background until it faded from his surface thoughts. Actually, it was the fact that he'd forgotten about her at all that startled him more than her sudden words.

Forgetting about her was absurd; she was a goddess, a being on par with a Servant. Forgetting she was there was like forgetting Berserker was in the same room as you. Alright, maybe it wasn't quite that bad. Potent though she was Lancelot lacked the overwhelming physical presence of the bastard son of Zeus, but even so she wasn't an existence that could be overlooked. She was a danger, a being that was a true threat to him. Of all those in the manor only she and Tiamat were true threats to him. Guinevere, Illya, if either of them were hostile to him they lacked the raw power needed to overcome his Authorities. Even if his sister brought out her Berserker puppet the odds would overwhelmingly be in his favour.

But not with Lancelot, and that was important. Sure, he'd beaten her once before, but then neither of them had been at their full strength. He'd managed to make her exhaust her power and immortality breaking through his assault, but his last move, the one that had caught her with a blade to her throat, had been one of desperation, and one that could easily have failed. With both of them recovered . . . no, with her fully recovered and him now with only half his prana available, the outcome of a rematch was far more in doubt. She was a threat, a true and genuine threat that had the potential to end his life if he didn't take proper care with her.

And he'd just forgotten she was there.

It made no sense; it went against every instinct he'd cultivated through the mess of the Holy Grail War, and the instincts he'd inherited from EMIYA. So why had she slipped from his attention?

Great, yet another thing to worry about. At least Lancelot hadn't made any move to take advantage of his carelessness, that was one mercy at least.

Standing up he tried to cover his start with an exaggerated act of rewrapping the Gem Sword in its cloth. Right now he'd best get this stowed away behind what defences remained in the workshop. Once that was done he could move on to other things. For her part Lancelot was doing nothing but smiling down at her charge with an encouraging look on her face. Guinevere was returning it with a smile of her own, as both the goddess and the immortal seemed to share in whatever had put them both in such a good mood.

Well, at least that was something. Happy guests were better that unhappy guest, after all.


-()-


Circe was not a being used to unhappiness.

This was hardly a surprise; after all she was a goddess. To a being with her type of power it was extremely unusual for her to encounter any distress which she could not simply dispose of with minimal difficulty. If a mortal insulted or scorned her then his or her fate was to become a common farm animal. If her location caused her distress then she could leave it, or use her magic to reshape it. If a god caused her unhappiness then she would flee or fight them. To a being of her power unhappiness was a transient thing, something she could either flee or destroy. Other times, such as when she'd been crippled, abandoned and trapped by the God Slayer Alexander Gascoigne, neither of these options had been available to her, but even then it hadn't been in her nature to mire herself in misery. Instead she'd simply gone about healing herself as best she could, and making her prison as comfortable as possible.

In the final analysis, unhappiness was something she had encountered, but never had too much experience with.

Until now at least.

More rain lashed down and another wave washed over the side of the ship. Had she been a mere mortal then she might have feared for her life. Actually, had she been a mere mortal she would have been experiencing a combination of heat delirium, starvation, dehydration, scurvy and possibly the early onset of madness.

Ever since the night when she had confronted the allies of the eighth Devil King while Odysseus had faced the God Slayer himself things had grown steadily worse for the sun goddess. She was becoming familiar with a great many things she'd had little experience with, discomfort, unhappiness and fear, definitely fear.

Initially she'd continued to accompany her companion because she didn't really have anything better to do. He was clearly still determined to pursue his goal, and her reasons for following him had still been valid. He had offered her a chance to expand her world, a chance to seek out new loves and romances, a chance to find heroes worthy of her affection. What had taken place upon that small island had been beyond anything she had expected, but she had maintained her goal. Her magic and her otherworldly senses had let her know in crystal clarity just what was taking place. The world had, for a mercifully short time, broken. The break had been mended and the damage repaired, but even so it had been a momentous occurrence that could have led to catastrophe.

And she hadn't cared, not then.

What did it matter to her? She was a goddess after all, had the situation grown direr then she could have made her escape and left the mortals to die. Certainly her ally might have been caught up in the eruption of power, but such was something she could live with. She'd been dismayed when it had first shown up, but after the breach had been shut she'd though that was the end of it.

Seeing what had become of Odysseus had changed her mind about that. A god that had gone insane, it defied reason. Still, she had not been discouraged, at least not then. It had been an intimidating sight, but she had been certain that she could manage it. His madness seemed to be focused upon the King that had bested him, and if that remained the case then Circe was willing to remain with him. If the situation should become sour then she could always abandon it.

Or so she'd thought.

Odysseus had set sail like a mortal possessed, the sail of his vessel catching the wind and driving hem on. However, much to her surprise, he hadn't used an Authority to accelerate their travel. Instead he had shifted their voyage to pass through the astral plane, not so deep as the netherworld, but still deep enough that they faced many trials that could have been avoided. Impossible weather, sea monsters and other beasts, whirlpools and treacherous reefs that didn't exist in the mortal realm, all of these had come at them in the first day alone, and by the end of it Circe had been at her wit's end with it. There was just no need for this, either his or her powers could have easily carried them across miles like this in the blink of an eye, instead they were forcing themselves through the layer of the astral world that was cluttered with the detritus of thousands of years of dying legends.

This was the layer of reality where echoes lived on. When the mighty monsters that were the servants or remnants of gods died they normally ascended back to the realm of legends where they could rejoin or reintegrate with their controller. However if their existence was large enough then an echo or ghost was created in this layer of the world. It was an easily ignorable thing, since they could not move from that layer it meant that neither the mortal plane nor the netherworld barely even knew they existed. Gods and God Slayers with the correct Authorities could easily slip though this realm without noticing it was even there. All the echoes could do was live out a sort of twilight existence until they broke down and dissolved into the ether of that realm's magic.

Circe had endured a full day of dealing with the trials that realm threw at them before deciding that she had had enough. The idea of being able to seek out new heroes to find love with was appealing, but as things stood the chances of it actually taking place seemed to be growing more remote with every passing moment. So she'd drawn her power about herself and tried to become a globe of sunlight. In that form she could have sailed through the air, shifted between the planes and returned to the mortal world. Perhaps the pickings there were somewhat slim, but she was sure that she'd be able to find some hero worthy of her favour.

Well, at least that was what she'd tried to do.

She had become a sphere of light, but as soon as she tried to leave the deck of her companion's ship she'd found herself unable to move. For a moment she'd simply hung there, her own power battling against whatever force held her in place, but after a short time she'd returned to her form of flesh and metal as she realized she could not force her way to freedom.

"There'll be no leaving, not yet anyway."

The voice of Odysseus had come as a surprise to her, since their departure he hadn't done more than mutter to himself beneath his breath, indeed after a time Circe had begun to fear he'd forgotten she was even there. Now though, he addressed her with a voice that had none of the fervour and franticness that had coloured it earlier. Had she not still seen the feverish light in his eyes the sun goddess would have doubted that madness still had any hold upon her fellow god.

"What do you mean? It is most boorish of you to bar the path of this maiden. Is it not the prerogative of a lady to come and go as she so wishes?"

"Perhaps," The hero god allowed, his face a slightly smiling mask that gave nothing away, "But a quest has begun, and until it has ended none may leave. You have joined me on this quest, so you shall see it through to the end."

Realization struck her, and a chill made its way down her spine. This was an Authority that she knew Odysseus possessed, but which she had never expected him to use. Odyssey was powerful but dangerous, it allowed its user to select a goal, a target they wished to reach, and then create a direct path along which the user could travel. By using it Odysseus could do the impossible, find anything he so chose, achieve any goal he set himself, at least in theory. The reason he did not use it often was quite simple, for all its utility it had three major restrictions. The first was that once he had set foot upon the path it created and begun the quest both he and any allies he brought along with him were bound to have to complete it. Any attempts to leave would either be thwarted or result in disaster. Secondly it could only be used to reach far off goals, thus making it worse than useless in an immediate situation such as a battle. Instead it could only be used upon something distant, such as trying to find a mortal wife, or tracking down some long lost treasure. Lastly, the quest that the user had to complete in order to attain the goal was always long and arduous. In ancient times Odysseus had only used it the once, after the end of the Trojan War, to seek out a kingdom and a wife to sooth him after his great battle and for him to reign over.

The trials he had undergone as a result of that use of his Authority had become legendary, and had claimed the lives of all others that set out upon the journey with him. It had brought him to her shores, and she might well have been his end had he not received aid from the other gods of Greece. Odyssey was a powerful Authority, but it was one of the only ones she knew of that would actually try to slay its user.

And that was what led to her current position. She was trapped here; as things stood she had no way to escape. The only way that the Odyssey could be ended was if Odysseus himself were to die, however under the current circumstances Circe knew that she couldn't kill him. Weak as she was, with much of her body replaced with the metal substitutes she was forced to use while healing, she was not the match of a warrior hero that had recently regained long lost strength as well as having been in fine form beforehand. Perhaps she could take him by surprise, but the sun goddess was unwilling to take the chance, not under these circumstances.

So she had tried to find a comfortable place to sit upon the deck, and wait out to see if Odysseus could complete his quest, or if he would be laid low by his own Authority.

That had been two days ago.

Since then she'd had to undergo all the hardships the quest had thrown in the hero god's way. Her attempts to distance herself from the dangers had lasted barely half a day before she realized that it wouldn't work. The monsters that lashed out at the ship paid no attention as to just whom they targeted and were just as willing to feast upon her divine flesh as they were to consume her companion. So she had been forced to fight, forced to lend her magic to hold the ship together, forced to defend them from storm and sleet and crashing waves.

Now, during one of the lulls in danger, she'd come to the conclusion that she hated it with a fiery passion.

Adventure, at least this type, was not a part of her nature. She was a witch, a divine priestess to her father, Helios; her natural location was in the temple or the craft hall. She was a magic user, a sorceress goddess, not some warrior or adventurer. She wasn't meant to be here!

But, she was, and as things stood there was very little she could do about it.

"And just where do you intend to quest to?"

It took her a moment to realize that she'd asked the question out loud. For the last few days Circe had refused to speak directly to Odysseus, a decision made easier by the fact that he'd been ignoring her for the most part. Mostly it had been due to her anger at him for forcing her to join him on this wretched quest, but there had also been some fear that he wouldn't answer even if she did speak to him. His ignoring her, refusing to even recognize her existence, had not been something that she wanted to face on top of all else that she was having to deal with. Well, now she'd asked, so she might as well try to get a straight answer.

When the hero god didn't reply she persisted.

"I know of how rarely you choose to use this Authority. For a god of travelling and of adventure it seems strange that you would not use it to ensure a grand quest that would be worthy of you, but never have you used it since that long ago adventure that brought you to my island along the way. So why have you chosen to use it now? What goal do you have that could lead you to use it?"

Still he didn't answer.

"You said that you needed allies. You said that 'he' could help, that he would help. Is that the goal of your quest? Does your destination end with finding one that could help you defeat the god slaughtering King that you faced upon that island?"

God though he might be she could see a tension running through him. The Greek armour that he wore couldn't hide the tensing of his muscles, nor the flex of his neck. He might not be answering, but that didn't mean that he couldn't hear her.

"But what allies could you seek? This goddess was at that isle as well, you should recall. I have felt the power that was invoked, I know what it meant. Do you truly think that any ally you can gain will allow you to stand against such might? I know not from whom the young King usurped such power, but against it there are oh so few who can endure, let alone triumph."

And that was the truth. What she'd seen on that island, the power of the land being invoked and then controlled as it had, such a power in the hands of one was almost enough to terrify even a god. She didn't know where it had come from or how it had been directed; she had only known that in its face even Zeus would have drawn back. Perhaps it had been under the Devil King's control, perhaps it had been a power he had somehow invoked but had no control over, in the end it didn't really matter. It had been there, and it had been potent, that was all that was of relevance.

"He . . . can't use that power again, I saw it. That Steel will not answer him yet, he hasn't claimed it, hasn't made it accept him. As long as that is true his Steel is incomplete."

Odysseus spoke softly, not even turning to face Circe, but his words carried clearly.

"It's his flaw you see, what makes him vulnerable. He has unlimited Steel to call upon, but forging the Strongest Steel left a hole, a flaw. He's still strong, but he's brittle now, if you know just how to hit him. But I can't hit him, not like that, not with the power I have. I need someone else for that, someone strong in a different way, someone that can break Steel."

Break Steel? Now that was something the sun goddess wasn't too sure about. The deities of Steel represented the warrior aspect of Divinity. No, more than that. Some war gods, such as Ares or Mars, had been gods of the earth by nature. They had the capacity to wield steel, but Steel hadn't been a part of their nature since they were tied to the land. Instead Steel was more predatory, the natural enemy f the Earth Mothers, but also the enemy of many 'evil' monsters that preyed upon mortals. Steel was more often than not the nature of the heroes that were venerated as saviours by the mortals. Artus, Lancelot, Perseus, Sun Wukong, even Odysseus himself, all of them possessed natures of Steel to one degree or another.

Mentally she paused at that. It was true, Odysseus had a nature of Steel, this was something she was intimately familiar with since she'd stolen one of his Authorities and with it a portion of his divinity. Though his main nature was as a traveller, her companion also had some nature of Steel to him. When compared to other heroes it was almost shamefully unpronounced, but it was still there. Yet now he was setting out in search of one that broke Steel, to her that seemed like a foolish move.

What did 'breaking Steel' even mean? To her knowledge there weren't any types of gods that naturally opposed those of Steel, just whom could he be referring to?

Well, Odysseus was now answering her; she might as well ask him and see if she'd get a reply.

"And just whom has the power to break Steel? This maiden goddess had never encountered such a one."

Odysseus turned then, a half turn which let him crane his head around to look at her. Even though she had been braced for it Circe still couldn't keep a sudden involuntary intake of breath from passing her lips as her eyes met the hero god's feverish gaze.

"Steel . . . Steel won't break easily, not unless it meets something stronger. But there are other ways, other things that can be done. Steel can rust, it can corrode, it can rot, all that's needed are the right conditions. His Steel is strong, and there's so much of it, but sometimes poison can be more dangerous than Steel. Sometimes you need something a bit . . . darker!"

"Just . . . just who do you mean?"

Circe's voice was hushed, almost as though she were afraid to raise it for fear of attracting some unknown something's attention. Truthfully some fear was gnawing at her heart, but she was keeping it controlled. More and more the situation seemed to be spiralling out of any sort of control. She wasn't certain, but she had some idea of just whom Odysseus sought to ally with, or at least the type that he or she might be. What frightened her was that they were not the type of existences that he should be allying with; the very notion of it went against the core concepts that were intrinsic to a hero.

And yet, he seemed to plan to do it anyway.

Odysseus, the hero of the Trojan Wars, the king that had travelled the Odyssey in order to return to Ithaca, intended to ally himself with a monster, a villain.

"Ahriman."

Circe heard the name, but it meant nothing to her. Had she been more recovered then she would have searched the Memories of the Void to determine who that was, but as things stood it wasn't an option.

For now all she could do was endure. She would endure, wait and plan, and once this wretched Odyssey had ended . . . well, she'd see what options were available to her.


-()-


Tiamat sat in her room and worked upon her shawl.

Her fingers danced across the blue and crimson silk as her power guided golden threads to weave through it again and again in ever more complex patterns. It was a meticulous task that had to be conducted with the utmost skill lest a single flaw ruin the entire design. Were mortals the one that were performing the task then it would require no less than five master mages working in tandem, two of them to work in the designs, and the other three to double and triple check their work to ensure that no mistakes were being made.

The fallen goddess, on the other hand, was only paying half a mind to the task, even as she performed the working perfectly. Instead the majority of her attention was focused upon her internal assessment of the recent events.

Though she had taken some unnecessary, some might even say foolish, risks during the battle with Alexander Gascoigne she had been able to emerge from the battle having made a gain on the effort she had invested into it. Both Guinevere and Lancelot were now indebted to her, both for her having fought at the Divine Ancestor's side and for her having saved her life when Guinevere had begun to crumble. Also, she had hopefully also been able to make an impression upon King Shirou with those same efforts. Seeing how the last day had been filled with travails in the aftermath of his victories the Mother of Dragons had elected to give him space, but she had no intention to just forget about it.

The golden threads paused in their motions as her attention left the task. Instead she held up one hand and allowed her power to play between her fingers in a visible display of power.

Magic danced across her flesh, and she relished the sensation as she watched the fire that could have been liquid flow at her mental commands. Tiamat was not the equal of a Campione, and as such her exhausted reserves of magic hadn't yet fully restored themselves. Had she been at her full divinity then her rate of recovery would have been comparable, but as things stood her incomplete divinity meant an extended recovery time.

Well, perhaps not that incomplete. Though her reserves were still drained Tiamat could still feel the entirety of her godhood, and so she was aware that something had changed. Her divinity was still cracked and fractured, but it was more complete now, some of the missing parts of her power having regenerated. It was far from a full recovery, but even though her mantle of power was still shattered, now far more of the pieces were there. As of yet the sea goddess wasn't entirely sure what had lead to her advancement in her return to her full power, but she did have some theories.

The battle with the fourth God Slayer had been the most intense use of her power since she had been reduced to this state. Even on the island, when she had aided King Shirou's allies in their battle with the goddess there, she had not pushed herself, nor strained her power. However against Alexander Gascoigne . . . it had been almost farcical how recklessly she had driven herself. She'd hurled her power against the child of Pandora himself, then, when he had summoned his subordinate divinities, she'd hurled herself against one of those as well.

Her hand reached down to trace a line across her left ribs where a wound was no longer there. What she had done, it had been foolish, foolish to the point of idiocy. Of course such would have applied to that entire battle, given how absurd it had been for her to even stand at Guinevere's side to begin with. Still, to have hurled herself into bodily conflict with one of the Three Furies, that was something that she now looked back upon and wondered just what under all the heavens had been going through her mind at the time.

As she was, with her divinity broken and her strength fragmented, Tiamat was more akin to a supremely powerful mage than she was a true goddess. Her immortality was intact, but like a cracked shield it was fragile, unable to provide true protection. Quite simply, she should not have entered into a close range fight with a winged and clawed incarnation of retribution, she would have been far better suited to have remained at a distance and attacked with controlled blows of sea water and her dragon's breath.

But she hadn't, instead she'd used her sea water to hurl herself at one of the Furies and had physically grappled with the divinity as they'd crashed to earth.

Tiamat had faced combat before. Even prior to her battle with Perseus she had been no stranger to the viciousness of battle. During her legend she had been brought low by the younger gods in a great conflict, Marduk being the one to slay her dragon form and use her bodily remains to craft his domain. She had slept in her legend to recover, and had then descended to the mortal plane as a giantess with the scales of a dragon. She had been beautiful and she had been terrifying, and for years she had vented her frustration upon the coasts of the mortal nation of Persia. In time she had moved west, and come across the lands of Greece where she had encountered the Steel god Perseus and met her end.

Through all of this she had engaged in many battles, both in her giantess form and in the shape of a dragon. She had been no stranger to violence by her own hand, and her strength had let her use it all the way up to the time of her defeat. Afterwards thing had become different though, she had been reduced to a Divine Ancestor, a being far more vulnerable and fragile than her true self. Weak as she was she could no longer risk direct combat and had to rely upon spells and subterfuge.

But back then, seeing the trio of vengeful Furies descending upon Guinevere's draconic form, she hadn't thought of that. All she'd felt was anger that they were going to rip her ally apart. She'd acted without thought and lashed out without a plan. It had almost been reckless stupidity at it's worst.

But doing that, closing with her foe, scorching her flesh with dragon fire at point blank range and tearing into her with nothing but her bare hands, even as her foes claws cut at her flesh and spilt out her blood, it had called to something in Tiamat that she'd forgotten was there. It was primal and savage and brutish, but for all the ugly simplicity of it there could be no denying that it was a part of her.

Maybe that was why she'd been able to recover as much as she had. Maybe tapping into that forgotten part of her had been enough to let her regain a portion of her lost self. Or it could have been how she had pushed herself. She had driven her limits as far as she could, both in battle and by sharing her magic with Guinevere in order to keep her from dying. Could her return of portions of her divinity be related to that?

So many questions, not enough answers. Idly the Mother of Dragons wondered if this was similar to what it was like to be mortal.

Well, in the end it didn't really matter. What was important was that her full godhood was returning and bit by bit her vulnerability was falling away. Sheltering here with King Shirou had been the correct choice, but soon the need for her to take refuge beneath his protection would end.

Or . . . would it? Certainly if she did return to her full power then Tiamat would have little to fear from ambitious mages seeking to take advantage of her weakened state to become Campione, but that would not mean that she would be completely safe. The other Devil Kings were still out there, and she knew that many of them would be all too happy to be able to seek her out and fight her. And it would not just be them; there was also the gods of Steel to consider. Yes, her full majesty was mighty, especially when combined with all the tricks and tactics that she had learnt in her millennia as a Divine Ancestor, but that didn't mean she was invincible. She had fallen to this state in the first place because she had been defeated by a god of Steel, one that at the time she had thought would be beneath her.

In the end, did she really wish to leave? For that matter did she even need to if she didn't want to? King Shirou was already offering shelter to Lancelot, and she was a goddess in possession of her full strength. Would he be any less hospitable to her once she was restored? Such a thing seemed unlikely; the eighth Campione seemed uncaring of such things to a degree that would have been called insane in one without his power.

Still, Lancelot had sworn an oath of servitude. A conditional one, but even so it had allowed him more authority over her than any mortal had ever possessed upon a god, at least as far as Tiamat was aware of. If she did elect to remain after being restored it was possible that the King of Steel would require something similar from her. On the other hand . . .

In the privacy of her room the fallen goddess let out a quiet, and somewhat unladylike, snort of disgust. What was she doing? Letting herself become caught up in a pointless mental tangle of 'what ifs' and 'maybes' was beneath her. She was Tiamat, and she would deal with the world as it came at her. Once she was a true goddess once more then she would do as she saw fit at the time. Yes, she would be gracious to the Supreme King that had sheltered her in her weakness, but in the end his opinion was but a minor concern.

. . . really.

. . . alright, perhaps she was a touch concerned at the thought of him looking at her with eyes filled with betrayal or disappointment, but that was all but meaningless.

. . . really.


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


Omake: The Broken King

Alexander Gascoigne sat in the corner of his shower and shivered.

He hated this. There were simply no words in the English, Japanese, Hebrew, Latin or Sumerian language that could possibly describe the level of loathing he had for his current state. As a Campione all the languages of mortals were his with only a little effort, yet he knew that even if he studied for a century he would be unable to find any means to articulate the hatred that seethed within him.

He shifted his weight slightly and he felt a shard of glass press against the bare flesh of his thigh. If he had been any other mortal then the shard would have slid into his skin and drawn blood, but he was a God Slayer, such trifles couldn't hurt him.

But he wanted it to.

He pressed down on it harder, trying to drive it in, trying to draw blood, trying to hurt himself. That was what he wanted right now, simple pain, the most primal and basic of sensations, something to distract him. Something to keep him from thinking about-

Unbidden the memory rose up in him, pressing onto him even as he tried to think of something, anything, else.

He'd arrived back at his hotel room, the emergency escape potion having done its job and carried him away from the battlefield. It hadn't been a smooth trip, and he'd ended up crashing sideways into one of the room's armchairs with enough force to break a couple of the legs. That, combined with his general exhaustion and pain, had been enough to leave him just lying there, seawater and sand dripping from him onto the expensive carpeting he was lying on, as he struggled to recover.

After a few minutes he was able to pull himself back to his feet and start moving. He was fairly certain that he didn't have to worry about any retribution being exacted upon him; Emiya Shirou didn't seem the type, especially after having got his record of the promise. Lancelot or Tiamat might be, but both of them were on metaphorical leashes held by the eighth Campione so Alex didn't think that they would be of too much concern either, at least not in the short term anyway.

No, right now he had time. Time to rest, time to recover. He was at the weakest he'd been in years, but with time to gather himself he would once more regain his lost strength.

Still, that didn't change the facts of the situation. At this point in time he was at perhaps the worst that he'd been since he'd become a Devil King. He'd succeeded in his goal, he'd defeated Guinevere and slain her, but that was just about all that could be said for the day's events. He'd lost the Grail, Guinevere still lived, Lancelot remained in the world, and he, the Black Prince, had been beaten.

It was the simple truth, one that he faced full on no matter how ugly it might be. Emiya Shirou, the King of Steel, had crushed him, it was a bitter pill to swallow, but it needed to be done. More than that though, the red haired teen had done what even gods had failed to do, he'd forced Alex to submit, to give up, to surrender. Moreover he'd recorded it on his damned cell, sent the message to his underling and told him to release if he wasn't ordered to otherwise. That was another complication, since Emiya had been unconscious when Alex left then he might not have been able to make the call to stop the dispersal of the recording. As painful as it might be to think it might have already been released, people, mages and all, might already be watching him break and promise.

Alex's jaw clenched as he gritted his teeth. This could be a massive blow to his reputation, one that could spill over to the Royal Arsenal and all other groups associated with him. Ever since he'd first become a God Slayer the Black Prince had carefully crafted his image to be one of cunning and rationality. Amongst his fellow Campione he had set himself up as the sane one, the reasonable one, the composed one. To be sure he had taken what he wanted and ignored what rules were inconvenient to him, but in comparison to the whimsical nature of the other Supreme Kings in the world he'd done his best to set himself up as the best option.

His rationality, his composure, those had been key to his image, valuable tools to make sure others saw him as he wished them to.

And now it was all broken.

He hadn't been rational, he hadn't been composed, and most of all he hadn't been in control. Emiya Shirou had broken that control, stripped him of all composure, torn his rationality to shreds. All that had been left had been the animal instincts, the raw drive to live, to stave off death in any way possible. Dignity, poise, composure, all of it had been abandoned in the face of death. For those few brief seconds Alex had just flailed about like a mindless thing and had agreed to lose so he could live.

He hated it, he hated it, he HATED IT!

But he had to deal, he had to go on. So he'd forced himself to his feet, he'd called down to the room service and ordered a meal be sent up to him in about an hour, then he'd stripped off his sodden clothes and fallen into bed, uncaring of the sand still in his hair or the salt crusting his skin.

Sleep had come easily, but it hadn't been an easy sleep. Nightmares plagued him, but not the kind that could be pinned down. Images of Guinevere, her dragon form, Tiamat, Emiya Shirou all blended together into a disorganized mess that made no sense. Then there was the memory of the grip on his throat, hands holding him down, pulling on his limbs, pulling him down into the water, pulling on his arms, his legs, his hair, everywhere as he struggled to get free but could barely muster the strength to wriggle like a worm on a hook. And it hadn't come all in one go; it had been in flashes, breaking the darkness of sleep into fractured pieces like a broken mirror. In the end it had been during one of those flashes of water and grasping hands that he'd woken up, his body soaked in sweat and his limbs fighting against the bed clothes that had entangled his thrashing form.

For a bit he'd just sat there on the mattress, fighting to get his panting breath and racing heart under control. He had to have control; he had to keep his composure.

In the end he'd found himself distracted by how itchy his skin was from all the dried salt on it. Sand and grit had also come off in his bed making it uncomfortable to lie in. Deciding that he probably wasn't going to get any more sleep with the adrenaline still flooding his bloodstream Alex got out of bed and decided to have a shower, hoping that getting clean and into some fresh clothes would leave him feeling a bit more like a man and less like some sort of panicked animal.

So he'd stripped off his remaining clothes, got into the shower and turned the water on. This was a high class hotel, not one of the ludicrously expensive ones, but one of those that could afford the best plumbing and heating. Unlike some places where it took ages for the water to warm up here it was steaming as it came out. He'd leaned into the spray in a move used so often that it was instinctual . . .

. . . and everything went wrong.

Suddenly he wasn't taking a shower, he was back in the surf of that tiny island, the water closing over his head as the air was driven from his lungs. He tried to shout, to protest, to curse, and it was all drowned as the sea rushed into his lungs in place of life giving air. This wasn't like before, this wasn't him remembering, this was him being THERE again, being trapped in that moment.

The next thing he knew he was back in the hotel bathroom, his head pounding, the glass of the shower broken and the shower head almost ripped from the wall.

Water, that was all it had taken. A few splashes of water and he'd been back in Emiya Shirou's grip, his life ebbing away as the waters drowned him. a few splashes of water and the mighty Black Prince, the God Slayer that had blazed the trail of the latest generation of Campione, was reduced to a shivering wreck sitting in the corner of a shower stall and trembling.

And the worst part? The part that gnawed at him even as he sat there shivering and trying to distract himself with petty self mutilation? He couldn't bring himself to even consider going after Emiya in revenge. Oh, he'd thought of it, vengeance, hurting him to pay him back, making a trap, hurting his sister, even breaking his word and going after Guinevere. He could do it, of that he was sure; he was smart enough, his power flexible enough, his influence far reaching enough. In a direct fight the King of Steel might be stronger than him, but with the correct preparations he could-

And that was as far as he'd gotten. As soon as he'd begun to give it any real thought, any real consideration, his hands had started to shake. No, that was an understatement; it had been more as though they had begun to spasm, the convulsively scratching at nothing as he'd pressed them to the shower floor in an attempt to control them. Control, hah! It was a bad joke, what control did he have? The spectre of the eighth Campione had loomed in his mind even as he'd tried to regain his composure and that had been all it took to break his fragile hold on himself.

His muscles had all locked up, even as he'd collapsed to the side. Had someone been there to offer him the Holy Grail on a silver platter he wouldn't have been able to lift a finger to take it. All he could do was lie on the enamelled porcelain and twitch as his mind was filled with the recollection of a face with golden eyes that were cold as the void between stars yet somehow seemed to have fire blazing within.

It had been almost a full ten minutes before he could move again, before terror loosed its hold on his muscles and let him have freedom once more. And once he could move all Alex did was sit in the ruins of the shower and laugh, laugh until tears ran down his face.

Here he was, the Black Prince, the fourth God Killing Devil King of the world, a child of Pandora that had made gods and his fellow kings dance to his tune, and here he sat, broken by a boy more than ten years younger than him.

Broken. Yes, that was a good word to describe it. He was broken, just the thought of facing the King of Steel again, the idea of being helpless like that again, it was enough to lock up his body as the primal parts of his mind insisted that the only way to survive was be completely still and offer no hint that he was there.

Why though? Alex had faced dire situations before, Behemoth had almost buried him alive, Minos had trapped him in his maze, Ramiel had tormented him for sport when he was simply a mortal, yet none of them had done . . . this to him. What was so different? Why was this defeat burned into his memory like a brand?

Still shivering he forced himself back to his feet and stumbled back into the room. Almost mechanically he reached for the damp face cloth that sat by the bed, a touch of luxury in this hot weather. It wasn't much, but it was at least enough to wipe his face and torso with, enough to get some of the salt and sand off his body. Not nearly as effective as a proper shower, but at least it was something and the damp towellet hadn't sent him into another panic attack. It was all he could do not to break out into hysterical laughter as he realized what he'd just thought. Once upon a time he'd stood in the centre of a collapsing island without flinching; now he was happy that a damp cloth hadn't sent him into unreasoning terror.

His mind seemed to be stuck on that, an endless loop of incredulity, self hatred and frustration as he pulled on a fresh suit. It was something he'd done so many times that the movements were just automatic, underwear, shirt, trousers, socks, ties, jacket, shoes, all of them went on with the simple thoughtless motions of one that had been dressing themselves for almost their entire life.

Then his shoelace broke.

Such a small thing, under any other circumstances he might have clicked his tongue in irritation and gone to find another pair of shoes until he could get a hold of some new laces. That was the sensible thing to do, the reasonable thing to do.

Instead he'd howled in rage and thrown the shoe across the room, smashing a mirror that had hung on the wall there. This was followed by him picking up the bedside table and smashing it into the room so hard that the plaster shattered and the wooden beams behind it cracked. His rage unsatiated Alex had grabbed the side of the bed and heaved as he flipped it over, the frame breaking as he twisted it to drive it into the floor as hard as he could. After that it became a blur, things broke under his hands, crashes resounded through the room, but all of it was secondary to the sheer need to vent his anger and frustration. In the end it was a knocking on the door that brought him back to himself. A simple, familiar sound that seemed out of place in the midst of his turmoil.

"Mister Gascoigne? Is everything alright in there? There have been complaints of loud noises and . . . violent activity, from the rooms adjacent to yours."

Alex looked around the wreck that had once been his hotel room. He looked down at his hands, skin like kevlar and the knuckles were still torn up and bleeding. Alright? How could he possibly be described as alright? No! Deal with one thing at a time, get rid of this fellow, keep things quiet, get things ready to leave, then get out of this wretched city. Once that was all done he could devote some thought to getting his head on straight.

Going over to the door he opened it just enough to look at the young man on the other side without revealing just how damaged the room behind him was.

"S-Sorry," he said, a deliberate catch entering his voice, "I . . . I just received some bad news about a family member. I'm afraid I . . . went a bit berserk and damaged the room."

He could see the sudden concern rising in the man's face, the sudden realization that he might be facing someone inclined to violence.

"I'm over it," Alex assured him, "I will, of course, be happy to pay for all damages. Please tell the management to add it to my bill. In fact, tell them that they can add an extra service charge for the inconvenience. I think that after all this it's the least I owe them."

The promise of full payment, as well as a bit extra, seemed to assuage the concerns to the staff member, because he nodded and left. Alex supposed that there might have been a bit more of a concern had he not been a frequent user of this hotel, enough that he'd built up a decent reputation with them. Granted, his actions today would probably burn through that reputation quite handily, but a suitably lavish apology should hopefully sooth any discontent.

As he reached for another pair of shoes the Black Prince winced as he realized that for all his release of tension through violence the problem remained.

The dark water still waited for him at the back of his mind. Dark water and burning eyes.

Wordlessly Alex cursed his weakness, his fortune, and most especially, he cursed Emiya Shirou.

And all the time the water and eyes waited in his mind.